An Accomplished Woman (19 page)

But instead Phoebe said,
with her most beautiful pensiveness: ‘You are right, of course: it is an entirely
false comparison, and I think I have known that even while trying to soothe
myself with it. What it all comes down to, I fear, is that I do not have that
self-command I admired in you. I have — and I loathe myself for it — whatever
is the opposite of self-command.’

Which makes you very
vulnerable, Lydia thought: any man who admires you, you will conceive as doing
you a great favour: because you insufficiently value yourself. She thought of
Phoebe’s upbringing, and caught the whiff of Calvinist brimstone. Miserable
sinners ye are. From Lady Eastmond’s account, the two gentlemen, whatever their
other qualities, were honourable: Lydia hoped so with a fierceness that
surprised her.

‘Well, let us turn to
specifics,’ she said. ‘You will not mind me making free with the names: there
is a Mr Allardyce, Lady Eastmond tells me, who is in the diplomatic service,
and a Mr Beck, who is a — a man of letters. You met them both in London, and
came to know them very well.’

‘Yes — but not together.
Not, what’s the word?, concurrently. Hooray, I’m on the letter
c.
There
were different social circles, you understand.’

‘Just so. And you
conceived an attachment for each of these gentlemen. And — forgive me, I must
be harsh as a lawyer — this attachment was mutual in each case?’

‘Both Mr Allardyce and
Mr Beck —’ Phoebe’s voice grew thin with emotion ‘— were very particular in
their attentions to me.’

‘Very well. I must
continue forensic, or even scientific, and assert that nothing in nature can be
identical. No two pieces of string can ever be
exactly
of the same
length. Therefore, your feelings for these two gentlemen cannot be exactly
equal. One must be stronger, even if by a tiny amount, than the other.’

‘Oh, assuredly’ Phoebe
answered, ‘but I don’t know which.’ She smiled with a rueful tenderness that
made the devotion of her suitors, in spite of everything, wholly
understandable. ‘I told you you would wish to drop the subject.’

The subject was not so much
dropped as hurled aside by Mrs Vawser, who at that moment disengaged herself
from Mr Paige’s arm and turned wildly upon them.

‘Oh, this heat! Miss
Templeton, do you not feel it? — absolutely killing heat — Miss Rae, is it not?
— I am fagged half to death —’ she swayed dramatically ‘— really afraid I shall
fall down in a faint — don’t know how I am to contrive — if you wish to go on,
you must leave me . . . leave me here . . .’

There was a good deal
more tottering and groaning, before an application of hartshorn from Mrs
Paige’s reticule effected a partial recovery Still Mrs Vawser was at the end of
her strength — could not go on — could not even put one foot in front of the
other. What was to be done? Lydia longed to propose that they start breaking branches
from the trees and constructing a litter; but instead Emma’s anxious suggestion
that someone should go back to the house restored Mrs Vawser’s energy. The
house — yes, she was sure she could manage to walk back to the house — there
would be cool, and something to drink, and the mere thought of it would, with
luck, sustain her ... In short, she was bored with the beauties she had yearned
to see. She set off on the return journey at a vigorous pace; and was soon
drawing ahead, and merrily calling back to the others that they were shocking
laggards, to be so knocked up by a mere walk around the park.

‘So, Miss Rae, my
scientific talk of lengths of string has done no good,’ Lydia resumed. ‘Perhaps
the feelings cannot be analysed and measured in that way. Tell me, do you
correspond with the gentlemen — either, or both?’

‘Oh, good heavens, no,
neither,’ Phoebe said, with a shocked look. ‘That would be most improper
without an engagement. And besides, I already feel I am being duplicitous —
there, I am on the
d
s— horribly duplicitous, in receiving the attentions
of both gentlemen.’

‘Why,
I have known many a young woman delight in having a whole flock of lovers at
her command.’

‘But that, I suppose, is
mere flirtation. I wish I could think like that, but I can’t. Which is why I
have even thought it might be better if I broke off all connection with both of
them.’ Phoebe’s voice trembled a little, and she forced a cough. ‘And now this
is all very silly and tiresome, and I think we should go back to Johnson’s
Dictionary.’

‘No, no: but I do not
see the need to turn Gothic, and talk of renunciations. I would simply ask —
well, where do you see happiness in life, Miss Rae? Does it lie only in meeting
the right man, and marrying him?’

‘It ought not to, I dare
say. But it is where most women place their happiness, after all.’

‘And is that a reason
for doing something — because it is what everyone else does?’ Lydia asked; it
came out more sharply than she intended.

‘You are right, of
course,’ Phoebe said humbly.

‘Women may
place
their
happiness in the prospect of marriage, but it is debatable how often they find
it there. Mrs Vawser is married to a worthless, foolish rake: doubtless when
she married him she did not find him so, or expect that he would make her
unhappy; or indeed that unhappiness would make her foolish in turn. For a woman
without means, marriage may wear a different aspect: it is her only hope of
maintenance, and protection from poverty. In that sense marriage is like
drawing a bad tooth: a necessary prevention of a greater evil, which one must
hope will be as little painful as possible. But your fortune, Miss Rae, secures
you against any such necessity.’

‘You think so much more
clearly than me!’ Phoebe said admiringly ‘And I do hope I am not rushing
towards marriage — on rails, so to speak. I know it is a profoundly important
choice. But — I think you and I feel differently about these things.’

In Phoebe’s thus quietly
standing her ground, Lydia found more to like and respect than in constantly
being agreed with. Still, the girl is romantic, she thought — indeed, downright
romantical, as her old nurse used to put it. Just what she expected, in fact.
Lydia made herself be bracing. Come: Phoebe Rae is healthy, she has a great
deal of money coming to her, and as long as she does not choose to marry an
absolute brute, she will surely do tolerably well in life: there is, after all,
only so much interest and sympathy one can extend to her situation, and I have
extended it.

But this left aside the
fact that Phoebe was charming, that she was by no means stupid, and that she
was alarmingly innocent. Also something Lydia had not bargained for: her own
reluctant but undeniable curiosity about Mr Allardyce and Mr Beck.

‘We feel differently,’
she said, smiling, ‘but there is the true mark of civilisation, when people can
do so without pummelling each other. You anticipate, I think, seeing both
gentlemen in Bath this summer?’

‘I do,’ Phoebe said, on
such a deep, tremulous note as gave ‘anticipate’ a new meaning. Such as, desperately
and wretchedly and passionately long for.

‘In that case, nothing
can be better,’ Lydia declared, as they came to the ivied wall that admitted
them to the gardens. ‘The separation, as you say, has confused your feelings,
and suspense has heightened them. The relative merits of the two gentlemen will
become clearer once the acquaintance is renewed. You will be able to compare
the reality of each with your memory of them: assess again their manners, their
looks, their conversation. Surely then the pieces of string will not remain
equal. One of them will grow and lengthen.’ She stopped: the image was, at
best, unfortunate: the expressive gesture she was making with her hands even
more so. ‘Good Lord, I think we must have come the wrong way — I wonder where—’

‘There,’ Phoebe said,
pointing to the house, elusive as a mountain. ‘Miss Templeton, are you quite
well? I hope you have not caught the sun like Mrs Vawser . . .’

She had not, but she was
glad all the same to reach the terrace, and step again into the cool of the
breakfast-room: by which time she had also composed herself, and mentally
banished the lengths of string, and was fit for company. She was happy to find
her father comfortably seated there, with a full glass of wine unregarded at
his elbow, and a volume from the library on his knee. The cold luncheon stood
ready, and Mr Paige was soon doing the honours of the table, and aggressively
helping everyone to ham and Madeira.

Mrs Vawser, however, was
discontented. Really it was too provoking of her dear monster not to be here to
welcome them back — one of those whimsical creatures who could not bear to be
thanked, no doubt, but still, she did not like to taste a crumb unless her host
was present — she was fastidious in that way, all her friends would say so; and
at last Lydia, knowing the house, and feeling that the servants had been busy
enough, and wishing above all an end to the woman’s noise, undertook to go and
find him.

It was pleasant to be
alone for a little space: to dawdle along the familiar beeswax-scented
passages, and enjoy a renewal of that feeling of mellow tranquillity: even to
congratulate herself. She had withstood the assault of memory: she had done her
duty to Lady Eastmond, in interesting herself in Phoebe Rae, and giving her
considered advice. Indeed, Lydia felt she had talked a good deal of sense.

She found Mr Durrant in
his study: a manservant was just coming out with a bundle of letters for the
post, and Mr Durrant, still at his desk, beckoned her in.

‘Don’t tell me: I am
wanted.’

‘By a certain party.’

Growling, he rose. ‘I do
not think I am equal to any more shrieks. If she shrieks, I am off.’

‘Such a budget of
letters. Are you writing off to Bath, to bespeak lodgings for your great
adventure?’

‘No, I shall go to my
friend at Clifton first,’ he said neutrally. ‘He undertakes to find lodgings
for me. He knows about these things. The letters are mostly to do with the
school I am founding. Here —’ he thrust towards her a building plan ‘— this may
be of interest to you.’

‘On your land?’

‘Over towards Pickworth.
For the children of the villages thereabout. There is no other provision. I
have been writing to those few whose opinion I respect, as well as those who
would expect to be consulted.’

‘Tut, teaching the poor
to read,’ she said, in a parsonical voice. ‘They will only be saucy and get
above themselves.’

He smiled grimly. ‘Yes,
that’s what most people will say. For my part I like the saucy poor: they have
spirit at least: it is the poor who creep to church and profess themselves
contented I cannot bear. But I shall have the school, whatever they say.’

She knew that this was
no empty boast. Mr Durrant was an exemplary landlord, and a friend to all
schemes of improvement; but sometimes she felt there was something altogether
too showy in his hobnobbing with tenants and workers. Lady Bountiful in
reverse, she thought with faint malice.

‘It looks like an
admirable project,’ she said. ‘And if I were to be consulted, which I won’t be,
I would lay down only one stipulation: that the girls should receive the same
education as the boys.’

‘Certainly: perhaps
more. They stand in greater need of it.’

‘You had better beware,
though,’ she said, brushing this aside, or trying to, ‘of being too much the
friend of the poor. They might take it to the ultimate conclusion. What if they
decided they wished to have Culverton, and divide it among themselves?’

‘I would resist it, of
course — because I am selfish, and it belongs to me, and so on. But it would be
an interesting experiment, though I can foresee the result. They would not
divide it among themselves: they would talk willingly of doing so, and then the
strongest of them would take the whole lot for himself

‘An excellent excuse for
keeping it in your own hands. But, Mr Durrant, such a dim view of human nature
— I cannot believe you really hold it, else why build a school at all?’

‘Human nature is not
incapable of improvement: it is only very resistant to it. It is like a sickly
patient, liable to weaken and sink the moment his treatment is neglected.’

‘Hm. Mind, I suspect you
would let the poor, saucy or sanctimonious, have Culverton before your nephew.’

‘Good God, yes,’ Mr Durrant
said, going to the window and opening it to let out a drowsy bee. ‘If the law
of the land allowed — but Culverton is entailed. And as I cannot change the
law, I must change something else.’

‘You really do hate Hugh
Hanley, don’t you? Why?’

‘I hate him,’ he
answered with cool consideration, as if discussing a badly written book,
‘because he is part of a strand in the human race that has always caused
trouble, and inflicted pain, but is always forgiven and indulged; because its
members are superficially attractive. They talk well, and fit into society
neatly, and find nothing in the scheme of the world that they would protest
against, except the necessity of their having more money, and being allowed to
do what they want even more than they do already. Hugh is a careless young
coxcomb now, craving indulgence for his follies, and even asking that we admire
them: and there is nothing more certain than that he will end up as an elderly
magistrate handing out stiff sentences and saying, “Youth is no excuse.’“ He
did not look at her: his angular profile against the window showed no disquiet;
but she sensed that there was a relief for him in pronouncing this speech, as
if it had been revolving in his mind. ‘Well,’ he said turning, ‘the school.
Sit, sit. Boys and girls, certainly: and I shall insist on reading
and
writing.
Religious instruction there must be, else it will never be approved, but I will
not have it excessive. Now, what else do you recommend?’