A Little Folly (10 page)

‘Believe me, I shall not mind if there are not,’ Louisa said, seeing from the corner of her eye Mr Lynley drawing stiffly away.

‘I do not mean only here. You have youth, fortune, beauty and spirit; and I do believe you are not vain of them. In society, trust me, they would secure you such attention as would leave you very little time to sit by with the old married ladies.’

It was said with all Lady Harriet’s quick, quiet grace; but Louisa was so little accustomed to compliments as to be thrown into some confusion. The picture of herself thus presented was too strange for vanity to find a likeness there; but the very words, even if there were scant truth in them, fortified her further against the overweening proprietorship of the man stalking about at her back. – She had not long, however, to hesitate over a reply. Suddenly Valentine was before them, and inviting Lady Harriet, with a deep bow, to dance; and Lady Harriet, after what seemed a momentary shake of the head, was accepting him.

Louisa watched them take the floor. They were well matched in their lustrous darkness of looks, in their height, and in their grace: such must be the reaction of any who beheld them, even knowing the unfortunate circumstances of the lady; and Valentine’s gallantry in refusing to see her neglected was surely to be admired. If there was anything to cause disquiet in the sight, it was very soon thrust aside by a feeling much more distinct and bracing, as Mr Lynley took the seat by her, uninvited, and pronounced: ‘And now she is actually dancing! I should not have believed it, even of
her
. It is a private rather than a public occasion, to be sure: but to expose herself in this way – a woman in all the dubiety of her situation – shows her to be more shockingly dead to propriety than I had supposed.’

‘I do not observe anyone else being shocked, Mr Lynley – everyone seems too preoccupied with enjoying themselves. And Valentine and I would never, I hope, have a guest in our house, and then set limits on what that guest could do.’

‘Allow me to remark, Miss Carnell, that you should not need to. A sense of what is right and fitting should operate on both sides, to the prevention of such unseemliness. – Indeed, I cannot restrain myself on this matter – on other matters also: I must beg, Miss Carnell, that you will favour me with a word in private. Let us step back into the parlour.’

There was real urgency in his tone; and though a part of her wanted to retort that it would surely be unseemly and improper for them to take themselves off, she restrained it as childish. – If he wished to speak to her seriously, she was no less willing to address him in the same terms. She rose, and with a stiffness of back that even he could hardly have emulated, went before him into the parlour, where the noise and gaiety of the dance, appropriately, was distanced and subdued.

‘I must take what may seem to you an inopportune moment to speak to you,’ he said, closing the door almost to, ‘because of the course of my own affairs. I may not be much longer at Hythe. I anticipate an early removal to town; and that being the case, I must have things made plain between us.’

‘To town? Not bad news, I hope,’ she said, with very effortful civility.

He gave a bare shrug. ‘As I have said, I must engage a reputable governess for Georgiana; and then there is my brother. His ship is in, and he intends lodging in London; but he is doubtless distressed for funds. It will be best if I take a house in my usual neighbourhood – I have acquaintance who will secure it – so that Francis can be decently accommodated with us there, while we consider his future.’ His expression, as he sat down, was that of a man contemplating an ill-cooked meal. ‘I have friends who possess influence in the Excise, for example, that might be exerted on his behalf. Or something else might be found to settle him. Above all, he must be forestalled from applying to my grandmother. Her health is not equal to
that
trouble again.’

‘Certainly it sounds as if you have a good deal to arrange, Mr Lynley; and so I’m sure there should be nothing to delay your departure.’

‘Only yourself, Miss Carnell,’ he said, with a penetrating look. ‘Some of the things I have to say to you on that score you will not like. But believe me, I urge you to these considerations not in any spirit of criticism but out of a wish – a cherishing wish – to protect you: to protect you from error and danger – to protect you, perhaps, from yourself.’

‘You say I shall not like some of the things you say: I have rather a presentiment I will not like any of them. Your disapproval of Lady Harriet’s presence you have already expressed – and have now demonstrated, I should add, with a disregard for her own feelings that I find difficult to reconcile with the actions of a gentleman. I assume you have further reproofs ready; but before I hear them, I must ask what right you suppose yourself to have, Mr Lynley, to make them?’

She had stung him: it was with a flush, and unwonted quickness that he answered: ‘My right is surely plain – though I should consider it more an honour. The implicit trust placed in me by your late esteemed father, whose watchful care of you I have the happiness to consider now a portion of my own duties—’

‘It is not at all. Dismiss that from your mind, Mr Lynley, I beg of you. I do not stand in need of a guide or guardian.’

‘Allow me, with the greatest respect, to dispute that. You have lost a great prop and stay, after all—’

‘Mr Lynley, you force me to be truthful. I know you admired my father: you considered him, I think, a great and singular character; but I must assert that in that character was comprehended much harshness, injustice, and even cruelty. Perhaps you think I should not say this: indeed, I don’t want to; it gives me every pain that disloyalty can inflict. But you must at least consider that not every proscription placed on us was well meant: that in his forcefulness there was a love of power, and of directing for directing’s sake, which was no less apparent in the arrangements he saw fit to make for our future. Yes, there has been a loss; but if you and I are to understand each other at all, you must recognise that there has been a gain also.’

Even through the mist, half anger, half wretchedness, that swam in her vision, Louisa saw that Mr Lynley’s mind was struck – that he was actually listening; and it was with some caution in his tone that he at last said: ‘I do not dispute your right to say this, Miss Carnell, not at all. My knowledge of Sir Clement was that of a family friend; but yours, of course, was different in kind and degree, and must be honoured. I do not doubt there were oddities and excesses in his temperament: there are few, very few, of whom that cannot be said.’ He paused as if mentally reckoning the number, and limiting it, on reflection, to himself. ‘And you have, indeed, helped me to a better understanding. If your father’s treatment of you was all you say – and I do not doubt you –’ with a hasty bow ‘– then I fear he did, most regrettably, and with the best intentions, sow some unhappy seeds. A little more moderation might have prevented all this.’ Rising to his feet, and pacing, he gave an inclusive wave of his hand. ‘It was, perhaps, inevitable. This reaction – this rebellion you are suffering—’

‘I am not suffering, I am enjoying it. Though, really, if an impromptu dance for twenty couple is to be accounted evidence of rebellion—’

‘I refer to all of it. All of those misjudgements – those lapses of decorum I have been constrained to observe at Pennacombe since my return to the county. Consider, Miss Carnell: on my very first call here, I encountered you in such a situation as can only be described as—’

‘Up a tree,’ Louisa said; and, at his mortified look, ‘Do go on, Mr Lynley.’

‘I refer to a trifling instance; but I might with much greater pertinence point, though I have refrained from doing so, to your putting off blacks after six months. To be sure mourning is a convention that can be too scrupulously observed; and I hope I can forgive the natural desire of a young woman to look well, which cannot long tolerate a restriction on dress, even at the expense of conscience.’ He seemed to take encouragement from Louisa’s silence at this; though it was rather as if a man should conclude that there was not going to be a storm, because the air was so very still. ‘But when it is added to these other deviations – of which, yes, I count the acquaintance with Lady Harriet Eversholt not the least disturbing – then I cannot help reprehending the course you are set upon, even though I understand it in part.’

‘Very well; you have set out my failings, and I am ready to own them, Mr Lynley, if you will now undertake not to suffer another moment’s anxiety over them. You have done your duty by my father, and we have spoken enough of that. Now let me bear the consequences myself.’

‘That is exactly what I do not wish. You asked by what right I spoke; and I should have said, by the right of my attachment to you. If I did not esteem you so highly, I should not be so careful of you. You have a lively and developed mind – indeed, your father used to lament to me that you spent too much time with books –’ he quenched at once the reminiscent smile this occasioned ‘– and though you are inclined to a certain playfulness of fancy, I know you to have abundant sense, discernment and discretion; indeed, with no disrespect to Mr Carnell, I have always considered yours the greater portion. These are qualities I know how to value; and I should not wish to see them neglected, in a mere giddy rush after novelty and pleasure.’

‘I thank you for the compliments, Mr Lynley – all the more so, as they are plainly wrung from you quite against your inclination. But an attachment that seems chiefly to consist in knowing what is best for me is not one I can bring myself to prize; and its proceeding so little from the heart, and so much from the will, reassures me that it will cost you scarcely any pain to give it up, as I earnestly hope you will do.’

There was no pacing now: he was all rigid, sharp-jawed attention. ‘Miss Carnell, I hope I know my own worth. I do not consider my attention and regard as something either to be lightly bestowed, or lightly abandoned: that is not my nature. Nor is it in my nature to see my true esteem and affection slighted with any of that indifference you attribute to me. A man must value himself very poorly, who could receive it so.’

‘Then I am sorry,’ she said, feeling as if she had stepped out on to a path that looked merely a little wet, only to find it treacherously iced. ‘I have no wish to injure your feelings, Mr Lynley; and if, as you insist, they are more developed than I have had any evidence to suppose, then my regret is all the greater. But I hope I value myself also – though the sense of self-worth has never been encouraged in my upbringing; and therefore I cannot simply accept the attentions of a gentleman, either because my father told me to, or because the gentleman tells me I ought to.’

‘This is still to place my attentions in a very disparaging light,’ he said, frowning. ‘I do not think when your father was alive you would have expressed yourself so, Miss Carnell. And I cannot help but conclude that this alteration is the result of an influence – recent, ill-advised and pernicious – that I was right to mistrust from the very beginning.’

‘I could not express myself when my father was alive, sir, because I was afraid of him – afraid for my brother’s sake and mine; and just now I heartily wonder that that fear never turned to hate. But here is another charge to lay at my father’s door, perhaps; for if, Mr Lynley, you gained any impression that your sentiments were returned, it must have come from him. I apologise if I did not make it plain
then
that I do not care for you; but apology is superfluous
now
, for I am telling you very plainly that I do not; and if this is to inflict a wound, I am convinced that your vanity will very soon repair it, to the perfect restoration of that splendid self-regard, which you have been good enough to recommend to me as one of your attractions.’

As unfortunate punctuation, a loud, shrill laugh carried from the drawing-room at that moment. The incensed glare that Mr Lynley threw in its direction was, Louisa saw, at least partly intended for her; and its force was little diminished when he turned back to her, and said with an almost crackling composure: ‘You refer to my vanity: I would prefer to call it pride; however we name it, you may be assured that it will prevent the renewal of these addresses, which are apparently so unwelcome to you. The vigilant care for your interests, which I consider was enjoined upon me by your father, I relinquish likewise; though, believe me, Miss Carnell, with no very sanguine hopes of how you will fare without it.’

He was gone: gone altogether from the house, as she discovered when, after sitting frozen and breathless for some unguessable time, she returned to the drawing-room. The dance was still in lively progress, but she could only creep to the furthest chair, and hope to escape notice while she tried to collect herself.

It was done: relief, overwhelming relief, there must surely be, at the simple ending of suspense. Yet for now a stifling multiplicity of feelings pressed on her – just as a number of gentlemen began urging her to dance, when she wanted only to be still. There was nothing of positive regret – nevertheless, she had given pain, and she could take no satisfaction in that. Anger remained: – anger at Pearce Lynley’s presumption, and anger with her father that he had ever placed her in this position. An alarming emotion this last; and crowding close behind it, and refusing to be denied, was guilt – guilt muttering to her that she was an unnatural, ungrateful daughter, who deserved never to know peace again. But one sensation she did not recognise: it wore something of the aspect of freedom – something even of power; and though it hovered in the background, there was that in its look which suggested their acquaintance would soon ripen.

T
he dancing continued until the early hours, but Louisa sought her bedroom by midnight; and there Valentine soon came tapping.

‘Are you quite well?’

‘Oh, yes: only fatigued. Go back to our guests, Valentine, you’ll be missed.’

‘They’re footing it happily without me. Your midshipman declares he will not leave off until he sees the sun.’ He came in and sat on the foot of the bed. ‘Lady Harriet was concerned about you. She feared there had been some dissension – some unpleasantness – and that she was the cause.’

‘Not at all – not in the sense of being to blame. She was
referred
to this evening in terms I found objectionable. But that was only one of my manifold errors, which I have had the pleasure of hearing recited.’

‘Pearce Lynley, I collect,’ Valentine said; and then, with a darkening expression: ‘I hope the man was not insulting to her. If so, I shall—’

‘No, no,’ Louisa said hastily, ‘nothing of that. He was – he was simply being Mr Lynley, with all the officious propriety one expects. But we had a very uncomfortable interview, in which he declared himself to me, as far as such a man can, and I rejected his addresses. – Dear me, his language is catching. Well, all is made plain between us, at any rate.’

‘Good,’ said Valentine, firmly. ‘Good, first and above all, because you have exercised your free choice – which is a wonderful thing, is it not?’

‘Yes,’ she said – but the wonder of it was still clouded. ‘I am afraid, though, you are not to be rid of me yet; and you must be a little troubled, lest I contract a habit of rejecting eligible gentlemen.’

‘Rid of you? Such talk.’ He saw she was perturbed, and squeezed her hand. ‘Look here: now, I can say it. I can say that I should have hated to deliver you into the matrimonial custody of Pearce Lynley. But I have been careful not to influence you in either direction. No, I want us to enjoy life together a good while yet – to taste the world fully, as we resolved to do. And not just here. Louisa, I have been talking to Tom. He tells me, with regret, that he and Sophie must return to London – Lady Harriet also. But this need not be an end: rather, a beginning. Our cousins very much wish that we would go with them.’

Valentine was all shining animation; and though Louisa, from the agitations of the evening, was unable to match it, she experienced a moment of leaping thankfulness. – Yes: let them get away, far away from the scene of this horribly unsettling business with Mr Lynley. Another moment’s reflection reminded her that he also was planning a removal to London; but, then, that was different: there he would be one among a multitude, here a continued neighbour, presence, and irritant.

‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I hardly know. Yes – yes, I should like to go of all things. But how long? Where would we stay?’

‘With the Speddings, of course. Tom is most insistent that he return our hospitality – will not be easy until we accept. And for as long as we like. You know they are not the sort of people to set quibbling limits. To be sure, we shall only come in for the end of the season – but, then, they say town will be very different
this
summer: none of the usual deadness, with the peace celebrations coming on; so it could hardly be better.’ He kissed her and sprang up. ‘Well, we shall speak more of it tomorrow. Lady Harriet has promised me one more dance.’

Louisa lay long in the dark, listening to the sounds of a party coming to a close – hilarity turning a little quarrelsome, and fiddles going out of tune. The transformation of the house struck her afresh – her own transformation no less: she saw, as if beholding another person from outside, the abandonment of caution and submissiveness, the adoption of boldness and independence; to these were added visions of London, as vague as they were grand, which presently melted into dreams. Such a tumultuous activity of dreams did she have that night, in fact, that she woke late more exhausted than refreshed.

The subject of a removal to London was already under discussion when she joined the others at breakfast. Every voice was for it: and Louisa had nothing to urge against the project. The first impulse of last night – to quit a place where something troubling had happened – was present in maturer form: the change must be of benefit in raising her spirits and diverting her thoughts, so that she would not be forever dwelling on it, and making her company tedious for others. In its train came a very real excitement at an idea that promised so much of novelty and interest: to see places that her reading had painted before her mind’s eye in almost fabulous colours: to go into society, not through the imaginative accompaniment of a novel-heroine, but in her real self; and the cheerful encouragement of her cousins, their ready engagement for the unstinting welcome that would be extended by her aunt Spedding, and the relish with which they set forth plans for the Carnells’ entertainment while in town, were not to be resisted. She was soon joining in, not only in acquiescence but in actively considering dates and times and travelling arrangements; and, in this pleasant flurry, she was able to give only passing attention to a little inner voice, which told her that what she was really doing was escaping from her father.

Lady Harriet, though good-humoured enough, could not participate entirely in their elation. She smiled, but sighed also; and on their quitting the breakfast-room, spoke aside to Louisa.

‘I am afraid I have been a check on your spirits, Miss Carnell. Pay no heed to it. The fact is, I like it so well at Pennacombe that I cannot contemplate a removal without sorrow. Here there has been peace and cordiality – that is,
I
have been fortunate enough to feel it –’ with a gentle touch on her arm ‘– though I fear my presence has not always occasioned it. As for returning to London, it is a thing I must do, rather than a thing I wish to do. But it will be some recompense if I can count on my new friends there – though even in that there will be alteration. In town I must lose the person I have been here, and find the old one I despised.’

She said no more in this strain, however; and once preparations were thoroughly under way, became lively. – The sheer stimulation of change, perhaps; or perhaps the compensations she spoke of impressed themselves more vividly on her mind, for she spent much time in conversation with Valentine, discussing the best means of travelling, and describing what was to be expected in town at this part of the season, to his evident fascination.

At last the day was fixed for their departure: Valentine, with some impatience, occupied himself with instructions for the steward and housekeeper during their absence; and its soon being given out that the Carnells were to leave Pennacombe, callers came to give friendly wishes. Mrs Lappage was among the first, and the most sincere.

‘It is quite what I have always wished, my dear, that you and Valentine, Mr Carnell I should say, should see something of society; and indeed if I were truthful, I would say it was a great pity that two handsome young people of fortune should have been forced to wait till
now
, because of the unfeeling obstinacy prevailing in a certain quarter. But I shall not allude to that. However, I shall miss you, my dear: indeed, we shall be quite depleted in the district, for as you may know – as indeed no one is better placed to know – Mr Lynley leaves shortly for London also. Whether you may see anything of him in town I can hardly conjecture – as I’m sure that depends on a great many things, you know, which are really none of my affair.’

‘It is possible we may do – only by chance,’ was Louisa’s answer: which gave Mrs Lappage such delightful room for speculation that she could hardly wait to prod Mr Lappage awake so she could go home and take possession of it.

There was no call from Mr Lynley himself: only a short note presenting his compliments, wishing Mr and Miss Carnell a safe journey, and announcing his own departure next week, for a residence in Brook Street, Grosvenor Square. He expressed no hopes or wishes of waiting upon them in town; an omission which was so far from a disappointment to Louisa that she considered this note the most satisfying communication from Mr Lynley she had ever received.

The day before their own removal, the Carnells and their guests fulfilled a promise, and called at The Ridings, the Tresilians’ house near Teignmouth. In this there was, for Louisa, always pleasure: there was nowhere quite like it. Old Mr Tresilian, on coming to wealth and gentility, had built his house out of sight of the sea, as if to assert that he belonged now to the country and not the port; but his son had added, just behind the house, a round tower with steps leading to a platform, whence the sea was visible, and where he spent many contented hours with a telescope. It had been one of Sir Clement’s favourite jests that this building might have been called Tresilian’s Folly, if the term had not already been appropriated by the fellow’s marriage; but even he must have perceived this as harsh, for he only repeated the sally to Mr Tresilian himself once or twice a month, and always added that he meant no harm by it.

The old merchant had built likewise in a formal style, the severity of which extended to the grounds; but since coming into the inheritance, Mr Tresilian had softened this appearance with profuse planting and trellises, seats and arbours, so that what had been chill and stony was generous and woody; and within, he had indulged his taste for the curious, filling the lofty rooms with collections from all across the seas, from maps and engravings to shells and corals. He had fitted out also a handsome music-room for Kate, complete with a portrait of Handel, signalling transcendent genius in the usual way, by his wearing a very loose coat while holding a pen.

Here the Carnells and their guests were made comfortably welcome. Mr Tresilian was an attentive host, and Sophie a most satisfying guest to be shown the curious collections – vastly interested in everything, not shrinking from the Turkish sword but wanting to take it down from the wall and flourish it about, and very ready to climb the steps of the tower and train his telescope on the sea, while he pointed out the beauties of Teignmouth harbour, including the masts of one of his own ships. Yet for much of the time he seemed deep in thought, or rather deeper than usual: and even a little dejected. When they all came to take a walk about the gardens, Louisa manoeuvred herself so that it was her arm he took. It was not that she wished to separate him from Sophie: rather, she wished to satisfy herself as to how much, or if at all, his affections were engaged. Simple curiosity accounted partly for this – but there was concern also; for delighted though Sophie clearly was with Mr Tresilian’s company and with his house, all her thoughts, all her conversation these last days had been fixed upon London, with an anticipation of unalloyed pleasure, and with only such regrets at leaving Devonshire as were natural on quitting a place where pleasant times had been passed, and pleasant new acquaintance made.

‘So the enterprise of living quickens,’ he remarked, with his eyes on the grass.

‘Yes: but it is nothing wild, after all. We are only going to stay in London with our cousins. We have come to know them so well that it seems rather natural than otherwise.’

‘They are agreeable people,’ he said reluctantly, glancing back at Tom, who was inflicting on Miss Rose all the agony of his unfeigned politeness and attention. ‘Not at all like you and Valentine, though.’

‘Do you mean in agreeableness, or in some other quality?’

‘I mean that they seem to have no fear of life.’

‘Neither do I – or at least I should hope not.’

Mr Tresilian gave her a short, sceptical look. ‘I think it is salutary to have a little,’ he said, and fell silent.

‘It is surely allowable to follow the impulse of the heart
sometimes
,’ she resumed.

‘If you are looking to me to disapprove of your project, so that you can be grand and defiant about it, I must disappoint you. A scheme to London sounds very well: it will be worth seeing this summer, I hear. Visiting dignitaries, reviews and parades. Junketings. Ah, I’m glad of the opportunity to say that word. Let me do it again. Junketings … No.’ His face fell. ‘Not so good this time. One should never take a second sip from the cup of pleasure. Valentine: I am a little uneasy about Valentine.’

Louisa looked at her brother, who was walking some distance ahead with Lady Harriet on his arm. ‘Are you? I cannot comprehend why,’ she said, with such a sensation that, if it were not uneasiness, was something wonderfully like it.

‘He is headstrong. Let him fix on an idea and he will not be moved from it. Whereas you may talk high-flown nonsense like one of Byron’s creatures, but you remain a rational being at heart.’

‘I
think
there is a compliment there somewhere, but it is very well disguised. Well, you may be assured, Mr Tresilian, that whilst we are in town I shall try not to let the nonsensical overwhelm the rational. But if you are troubled at not having Valentine under your eye, who do you not essay a visit to London yourself ? Then you and Kate might enjoy the junketings also.’

‘London? No, no. I have far too much business on hand here to consider anything like that. No, indeed.’ Again she found something telling in the very promptness of the refusal, and the frowning silence that followed. ‘Besides,’ he resumed, ‘Pearce Lynley is going also, I hear – so you will not lack for the comfort of the familiar.’

‘Even if I wanted it, I should not seek it
there
.’

‘Ah!’ he said on a long bass note; and then in his most cryptic manner: ‘You are doing it all, then … Well, all I can say is, it will be damnably odd without you.’

‘It is damnably odd to be going,’ Louisa said, experiencing a shiver that was only partly excitement. ‘I hope London will not open its mouth and eat me up.’

‘The other way around, I should think,’ said Mr Tresilian. A short distance ahead Valentine and Lady Harriet were crouching by the fish-pond, pointing and laughing together. Mr Tresilian sighed. ‘A pretty picture. I do not like to disturb it; but I had better be true to my character, and take him aside for some dull, heavy words about being prudent, and mindful of the temptations of London and whatnot.’