Althea (22 page)

“Mr. Pendarly, I vow I cannot have seen you the last week and
more,” Althea said clearly. Pendarly blanched and moved closer to her in hopes
that she would lower her voice. Georgiana seemed not to hear: she was happily
engaged in a discussion of the play with Mr. Wallingham, and paid not a
moment’s attention to what her fiancé was doing.

“Can you be at outs with me?” Althea continued. “I wish you
will tell me, for I cannot bear to have my particular friends alienated from
me.”

Pendarly stared at her in horror and made some sort of
mumbled reply, all the while glancing over her shoulder at Georgiana. Mr.
Wallingham had said something to make Georgiana blush. She was acting in a
manner he had never seen before, and disliked intensely. Althea, in the
meantime, asked several questions about his opinion of the play, listened to
none of his replies, and repeated her question as to what had strained the
friendship between them. He winced and attempted to answer in a manner that
would not entirely compromise him with either of the ladies present.

Georgiana felt lightheaded, as if someone else were talking
for her. She was aware that she had never behaved this way in her life, and was
unable to understand why it came so easily now. She did not like Wallingham —
there was something in his address that made her nervous — but whereas a week
ago she would have made a weak smile at him and sunk into silence, tonight she
was capable of anything. She babbled and laughed and babbled. Althea’s advice
seemed to be right, for Wallingham appeared to be enjoying the discussion. And
Edward, she realized with relish, was entirely lost in the situation he now
found himself in. The combined efforts of Althea and Georgiana were taking a
definite toll: Pendarly was beginning to look years older and much harried.

“I cannot remember such a splendid evening’ “ she chirped
enthusiastically to Mr. Wallingham. “Even that dreadful woman in the puce does
not bother me — she will poison the heroine, I make no doubt, and I shall not
mind it in the least.” She hesitated for a moment, then went recklessly ahead
and batted her eyes at him in an admiring manner.

Mr. Wallingham, who had appraised Georgiana from across
halls and considered her considerable fortune more than once, was surprised at
how easily he had captivated little Miss Laverham. He had assumed that her
manner would be as insipid as he privately thought her looks to be, but was
agreeably surprised to find her quite amusing, for a wealthy and respectable
woman. He found himself enjoying her company despite her regrettably blond hair
and slight figure, especially when he considered the healthy figure she would
bring with her to any marriage she she made.

“You do the play tonight an injury,” he said fulsomely, “for
what mere mortal will watch the stage when be has you to gaze upon?” Pendarly,
near enough to overhear every word, glowered fiercely at Althea; Georgiana only
blushed and wagged her fan at her admirer. Althea continued her torturing
friendliness toward Pendarly, but spared a thought in admiration of her
friend’s management in the toils of Rake Wallingham. She wondered if perhaps
she had been wise in promoting their introduction, but, she thought
fatalistically, it was too late now to worry. Georgiana was performing
beautifully, and Pendarly was utterly confounded. She gave a gurgle of unintentional
laughter in the midst of one of Pendarly’s labored speeches. He looked at her
so piteously that almost, for a moment, Althea thought of relenting, of letting
him suffer over Georgiana without her interference.

“Lady Bevan, Francis, good evening.” A voice from the rear
of the box broke through her thoughts and Pendarly’s conversation. “Good
evening, Althea.” Concentration all to pieces, Althea looked unwilling at
Calendar. He was standing just inside the door to the box, looking immaculate
and elegant in evening dress that made Wallingham and Bevan look like
overdressed fops and Pendarly like a raw country squire. His manner was cool, a
little wary, but except for the satirical curve of his mouth, friendly. Althea
was entirely infuriated by it.

“Good evening, Pendarly,” Calendar continued smoothly. “I
see Miss Laverham is with you as well.” He lifted his eyebrow slightly; the
cynical look became even more marked.

“Evening,” Pendarly choked. Althea was sure that this was
the last straw for him: he was beginning to look panicked, and for the second
time she thought of stopping the whole game out of pity for his predicament.

“Miss Laverham” — Edward looked piteously at Georgiana — “I
think it is time we return to your mother — she has been alone quite some while.”

At the sound of her name on his lips Georgiana turned
quickly; just as quickly she controlled her eagerness and turned back to
Wallingham to make a lingering farewell, regretting that their pleasant chat
was to be so soon broken up. She managed a coquettish smile as she took her
leave of him, then turned to Althea to make her farewell. A long look passed
between them, and Althea said she hoped to return her friend’s kind visit very
soon. Tracy glanced lazily at Althea but said nothing. Edward Pendarly was, by
this time, at the door of the box, wearing a look so earnestly desirous of
departure that Georgiana cut short her thank you to Lady Bevan and followed him
at once.

When they were gone, and John Wallingham, feeling he had
made his point for the night, had taken himself off to dance attendance upon
some other monied maiden, Tracy removed Althea’s fan from between her gloved
hands and began to fan her. In the heat she might well have been appreciative
of the gesture, had not the gesture been an excuse for some not so gentle
questioning.

“I shudder to do so, but I must ask you what plot you are
hatching, my dear. I grant that you have a legitimate complaint against
Pendarly, but need you rake him so publicly over the coals? And must you needs
throw that little Laverham chit to the claws of a fox like Wallingham? It is
all very well for him to dangle after your sister, who is a married woman, but
an innocent like that girl is not proof against one like him.” He sighed
exasperatedly. “What are you playing, Ally?”

Since he had first entered the box Althea had felt herself
become more and more out of patience with him. The feelings of ill use she had
begun to nurture the night before, the fact that she was sure that he was
unaware of these same feelings (no matter how reasonable that ignorance might
be), and, finally, the fact that he was scolding her in public for a thing she
herself had begun to fret over, overpowered Althea altogether. She dimly
remembered a time — perhaps only yesterday — when she had remarked to herself
how well she and Calendar were dealing together. That seemed years ago. She was
seized with an almost overpowering impulse to box his ears.

“I play no games, Sir Tracy. I understand, of course, that
you do, and make no difference in your dealings with
whom
you play.” If
Althea had expected this shot to go direct, she was disappointed; Tracy looked
puzzled. “I am not at all sure I care for your implications about my sister,
either. You have caused far and away enough consternation in my family without
I mention this to Francis, who would doubtless dislike to hear you speak so of
Mary.” In fact, Althea doubted whether Francis would care to tangle with anyone
who had the reputation with pistols that Calendar had, but she could not unsay
the words, no matter how fustian they sounded.

“I have not the slightest idea why you are enacting me this
bit of Cheltenham drama, Ally, but I wish you would make your grievances a bit
more clear. And until you do, I wish you would have the kindness to keep an innocent
like Miss Laverham away from Wallingham’s addresses.”

Althea felt a strong desire to cry. Instead she gathered her
strength for one more assault on the enemy. “I am hardly Miss Laverham’s
keeper, sir. To hear you speak of her innocence, one would assume I had none
myself, nor wit either. She is perfectly capable of caring for herself. And I
am perfectly able to judge my own conduct without advice from you.”

“I do not particularly approve of your conduct right now,
Althea, and for your character, my love, I take leave to tell you that I am
sure you have a ready enough supply of naiveté. I do not think you a stupid
woman, Althea, but at the moment you are behaving like such a greenhead that I
can only suppose it is your naïveté and not stupidity that occasions it.” He
pressed his lips tightly together. “I will speak to you tomorrow, perhaps, when
you are recovered from whatever passion this is. But let me tell you, Ally” —
his voice dropped — “that I do not care for machinations, and if I find that you
have made that poor child unhappy to suit your own purposes, I will have a
great deal to say to the point.”

Althea started to retort that he had already said a great
deal to the matter, but her voice showed a disturbing tendency to break and
quiver, and all that she could do was turn her eyes toward the stage while
Tracy made his apologies to Maria and Francis. When he had left, the Bevans
were in close consultation for a few minutes. It was Francis who moved his
chair close to Althea’s and patted her hand in a clumsy, inefficient, but
endearingly comforting manner.

“Ally, what’s to do?”

She suppressed a manic urge to laugh. “Hardly anything at
all, Francis,” she murmured brokenly. “That man is the most infuriating person
I have ever met.” Francis looked a trifle perplexed over this, until he
remembered a few occasions during his own courtship when Maria had professed to
feel exactly the same way about himself.

“I know you rather like Calendar. Mary told me so, and he
really is the best of good fellows. Can’t have said anything so bad here at the
theater.”

“He is a wretched, preaching, prosing d-d-dandy!”

Francis was shocked. “Not a dandy, Ally. He’s a great swell,
certainly, and I wish I had his way with a cravat, but he only wears one fob,
and never any tassels to his hessians.” Having established, at least to his own
satisfaction, Calendar’s sobriety in matters of dress, Francis continued on to
the other charges. “As for being wretched and deceitful and prosing and
whatever else you said, Calendar’s far too punctillious in matters of
ton
to
lie, especially to a lady, except if she ask him about her clothes, the way
Lady Monkford did that time at —”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Francis!” Althea hissed impatiently.

“Well, he doesn’t prose, as I have reason to know. Don’t
know if Mary told you, Ally, but I got into some deep play with Calendar and —”

“Yes, yes, I know the whole of that!” Althea said bitterly.

“There, you see! Had a golden opportunity to prose like a
father — Alvanley tried sure enough — should have listened, but I don’t suppose
it would have helped what with the pother I was in. But Calendar never said a
word. It won’t do to go creating scenes at Covent Garden, Ally,” he confided.

“
I
did not create a scene. It was foisted upon me by
that —” Words failed Althea at this crucial moment, and she turned toward the
stage, trying to pick up the thread of the hopelessly confused dramatic
narrative before her. “I suppose,” she said a moment later, when she felt a
little more composed, “that everyone in the entire theater is looking at me.
Well then, they may stare as much as they vulgarly please to!” She dropped her
fan, and in reaching for it bumped her head against the railing, which did
nothing to improve her temper.

“Just you wait there a while until they finish with this act
and we shall leave. Never did care much for the theater. Mary likes this stuff,
and one must go anyway. It’s all a lovers’ quarrel anyway,” he added obscurely.
“I’ll just go tell Mary what we plan.”

His tone was so genuinely solicitous that Althea managed a
weak smile and begged him not to spoil Maria’s pleasure. To herself, she vowed
that she hoped never to see Sir Tracy Calendar again. One could not, she
reasoned, have a lovers’ quarrel with someone one did not love. For herself,
she only wished to be able to go home and be quietly miserable with a glass of
warm milk in her own room. For the first time since her dusty arrival at the
door of her sister’s house, Althea wished that she was back in the boredom,
solitude, and safety of Hook Well.

Mrs. Fulvia Laverham was displeased. Not with her own
conduct, for of course there could be no fault there, but with the inexplicably
difficult behavior of the rest of the world. Mrs. Laverham prided herself on
her ability to right things that she did not like, so in her customary manner
she studied the problems and set about trying to resolve them — to her own (if
no one else’s) satisfaction.

To her irritation, since the meeting at Covent Garden three
nights before, John Wallingham had begun to insinuate himself into Georgiana’s
company, and there appeared to be no way, short of tossing him out to the
gutter, to indicate to this gentleman that his presence was not strictly
desirable. Mrs. Laverham had gone so far as to lecture her child on the folly
of encouraging the pretensions of a man of Wallingham’s stamp: to be sure, his
name and family were well enough, and his lack of money was no cynosure, but no
Laverham was going to marry a shopworn piece of mischief like Rake Wallingham,
Mrs. Laverham had thundered. It would without a doubt put her dearest Georgie
beyond the pale. To which Georgiana had answered, with a laugh in her best
flirtatious style, how such a thing could be so when Wallingham was received
everywhere? “If he had a wife as respectable as I, Mama, it surely must only
improve his credit, not damage mine. Not,” she continued blandly, “that I mean
to marry him, for I do not, but he is much more diverting than poor Edward, is
he not?”

Mrs. Fulvia Laverham was not pleased at all.

That morning, when Mr. Wallingham again appeared, he found
that Miss Georgie was not at home. Mrs. Laverham, feeling it about time that
she was firmly in control again, had sent her child out on errands and lain in
wait for such a visit as this. It was her intention to give the man as
unpleasant a half-hour as was in her power. When the interview was over, she
arose, serene in the belief that she had entirely confounded and intimidated
Mr. Wallingham. It would have been a mortifying blow to her to learn that Mr.
Wallingham had quit her house under the impression that he had charmed her
completely, so that if and when he did approach Georgiana, it would be with her
support. Satisfied with this piece of work, Mrs. Laverham spent the rest of the
morning trying to work out how to restore Georgiana to her former docility.