An Accomplished Woman (2 page)

‘How very shocking!’ the
girl said excitedly, dropping her handkerchief.

‘I grieve to report it,
indeed; but her true nature, as you said, must show itself sooner or later. And
where her temperament does not betray her, liquor surely will.’

Stooping to retrieve the
handkerchief, the girl froze. ‘You don’t mean to tell me she is a toper?’

‘It is not a thing
evident,’ said Lydia, ‘though I don’t positively say she isn’t: but it is
certain to come. When books and music pall — as they surely must — and there is
nothing more to be got from this parade of cleverness, and when she has so
stubbornly chosen to reject society, what resources remain? What solace but the
decanter? This is a harsh reflection I know — but I fear nothing is more
probable. And
then
she will be glad to catch at her father’s steward, or
even an attorney’s clerk, to avoid being an old maid at last. Mind, I don’t
doubt she will make a parade of that too, for it is well known she has no
proper sense of distinction.’

‘A clerk . . .! Good
heavens! And yet, you know, on reflection one can only conclude that these are
her just deserts.’

‘Quite so; and one must
pity the poor clerk, for a woman of such inconstant temper will surely be false
to him within a twelvemonth.’ Lydia picked up the girl’s handkerchief and gave
it to her. ‘Probably with a footman.’

The girl’s mouth opened,
but only a vague, shrill noise came out.

‘Believe me, I don’t
intend to shock,’ Lydia went on soothingly. ‘But it is an unhappy truth about
women like Miss Templeton that under the cloak of superiority they are
concealing the grossest of appetites.’

‘Grossest ... I never
thought I . . . And yet I believe you are absolutely in the right of it, for
such an unnatural woman must be unnatural in everything. Really it could hardly
be plainer, when one thinks of it.’ Very bright and brisk now, the girl began
to gather up her mantle. ‘Well, now poor dear James can hardly fail to listen.
I shall take a chair at once, and when he comes home I shall have a vast deal
to tell him—’

Lydia rose with her.
‘May I help you to find a chair, or—?’

‘Oh, I shall manage very
well, I thank you. Before — before, you know, I felt unequal to anything: but now
my spirits are quite restored. But I am greatly obliged to you for your
concern, and for the information also, Miss — dear me!’ the girl faltered, with
a shy smile. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t your name.’

‘Templeton.’ Returning
the smile, Lydia extended her hand. As the girl seemed seized by a temporary
paralysis, Lydia reached over, got hold of her hand, and shook it as one would
a dog’s paw. ‘Lydia Templeton. Are you sure I can’t call you a chair?’

Being a guest in someone
else’s house, even that of your brother, inhibited certain physical expressions
of emotion. When Lydia got back to Queen Anne Street she found George, Susannah
and the children were all out; but still she felt it inappropriate — lacking
decorum — to slam doors or throw things.

So the impulse must be
mastered. Seating herself in the long drawing-room, which was full of afternoon
light and quiet, she contrived to relax her shoulders, open a book, turn the
pages.

But the same unmeaning
sentence was still dancing before her eyes when she heard George come in.

‘Poor Lyddie, all alone
and neglected.’ George’s big presence immediately shrank the room. Floorboards
groaned at his hearty tread. ‘Where’s Susannah? Oh, airing the children, I
should think.’ He greeted his reflection in the pier-glass, grimacing as if
trying to make himself less handsome. ‘We’ll have dinner as soon as they come
in. Have any luck with the British Museum fellow?’

‘Hm? Oh, that. No.’ This
morning seemed an age ago. ‘No, he insisted that every gentleman must duly apply
for a ticket of admission. When I asked if it was the same for ladies he gave a
sort of sickly smile, which terminated the conversation.’

‘Great dunderheads. I
hear the collection’s in a shocking state. Stuffed monkeys rotting away and so
on,’ he said, through a yawn, disposing himself comfortably on the sofa,
stretching long booted legs with a cat’s supple satisfaction. ‘Well, I hope at
least the Royal Academy didn’t disappoint.’

‘It did not disappoint,
indeed: I came away thoroughly . . . enlightened. And with a new acquaintance —
that is, new to me, though it is highly possible you know her. A Miss Sissons.’
The girl had stammered the name out before mortification had sent her scurrying
flame-faced away.

‘Ah? Oh, that would be
Kitty Sissons, I should think. James Sissons’s younger sister.’ George cradled
his leg and studied the sole of his boot, coughing, or making a noise as if he
wanted to. ‘James Sissons you know, of course.’

‘I do; though even when
I heard the name it took me a moment fully to recollect the gentleman. He has
only called here a few times, after all, and our acquaintance has been but
slight. Yet Miss Sissons seemed to think it was of a much more developed
character.’

‘Did she? Curious thing.
Of course, you know, people will take up these wrong ideas . . .’

‘George, tell me — do I
sleepwalk?’

‘Eh?’ After a dubious
moment, her brother’s scalp lifted in relief at the change of subject.
‘Sleepwalk, Lyddie, no. Never. At least, never at home as I remember, and I’m
sure you haven’t done it here. I remember I did once, though, at Oxford. A bad
mutton-pie disagreeing with me, I think. Proctor found me in the quad in my
nightshirt. Put the worst construction on it. Rather unfair, I thought. Cold,
too. Feet and so on.’ He offered her a hopeful smile. ‘Curious things you fret
about. I must say I’m ready for dinner, I wonder when Susannah—’

‘I ask this question,’
Lydia said, ‘because it is the only explanation I can see for what Miss Sissons
told me today. According to her, I have encouraged her brother to believe that
I entertained for him the strongest attachment — that a love-match was all but
made — and now, I have jilted him in the most heartless manner. This was a
great surprise to me, because although I do remember the gentleman — in particular
the very pale blue eyes, which his sister also possesses, and which made me
think I recognised her — still I cannot recollect showing him anything but
common civility. So I can only suppose I did these dreadful things while in a
state of unconsciousness, which gives me some unease as to other things I may
have done likewise. When next a robbery is reported in the
Morning
Chronicle,
I quite expect to reach under my bed and hear the clink of
stolen candlesticks.’

‘Oh, Lyddie,’ her
brother said. The words seemed to exhaust him. He sagged like a shorn Samson.

‘Oh, George.’ She joined
him on the sofa, half seriously slapping the back of his large golden-haired
hand. What
have
you been saying about me?’

‘Now, look here, Lyddie,
in the first place I never — well, I never supposed old Cribs would take on so.
I ran into him yesterday at Gunter’s, and I saw he was in the dismals, and I
took him to task pretty stiffly. “Cribs,” I said, “these things happen—”‘

‘George. Go back,
please. What is — who . . .
Cribs?’

‘Cribs Sissons. Well,
James Sissons, that is, but at Oxford we always called him Cribs. It was a, you
know, a name. In fact there’s a story behind it . . .’ George’s eyes met hers.
The story died. ‘He is an excessively good fellow, Lyddie, taken all in all. And
I did warn him not to let his notions run away with him, which has always been
his failing. From what you say, I’m afraid he has been pouring out his woes to
his sister, who is rather a romantic little creature. The fact is, though, my
dear, he
is
disappointed, and I can’t help feeling for him a little —
though I’m sure you meant no harm in what you did.’

‘Oh, George, I did
nothing!’ she burst out, leaping up and pacing. ‘During my stay here you have
had numerous friends calling, and I hope I was civil to them all, including Mr
Cri— Mr Sissons. With whom I estimate I have exchanged perhaps two hundred
words in our whole acquaintance. Many of which were “yes”, “no”, “indeed”, and
“quite”.’ She reflected. ‘Also, I think, “dromedary”, though I can’t imagine how
that came up. George, I am sorry for your friend, because he has been
grievously misled, but if anything I found him something of a bore.’

George watched her with
mild unhappiness. ‘Poor old Cribs. Never has expressed himself very easily. But
he was very taken with you, Lyddie. He said as much, or hinted as much, to me,
and I never saw a man more in earnest. Oh, not that he spoke with anything but
the greatest delicacy; and he is much too honourable to venture upon such a
subject unless he were sure of its being welcomed.’

Ah. ‘Ah. By you.’

‘Well, yes. By me,
possibly. The fact is, when I heard from Cribs what was in the wind, I was
altogether gratified. Cribs Sissons, one of my oldest friends, and my dear and
only sister — why, nothing could have pleased me better. Susannah and I talked
of it — just incidentally, you know — and we agreed that it would be an
excellent match. And as there were indications that the regard was mutual—’

‘Indications? My dear
George, what could they be? If I had been caught carving Mr Sissons’s initials
on a tree, or addressing him in rhyming couplets’ — “Behold, the tears of
passion clog my nibs, Whene’er I seek to pen the name of Cribs” — stop it —
‘then I would have to confess. But I am convinced that the greatest mark of
regard I ever showed him was to stifle my yawns in his presence.’

George was shifting
about and trying not to quail.

‘I think, George, that
the only indications Mr Sissons received came from you. I think you encouraged him
to believe his affections were returned — which was unfair to both of us. I
only hope he has not been made very unhappy by it, because I do not wish him
ill in the slightest; and I would apologise to him, if I felt the fault lay
with me, and not with my incorrigible brother having a fling at matchmaking —
an occupation usually reserved, George, for elderly ladies with too much time
on their hands: so if you intend taking up carpet-making next, or
appliqué-work, please give me warning.’

‘Now I know you’re not
very
angry with me, because you’re talking in long sentences,’ he said, with a
satisfied look. ‘But look here, Lyddie, I did think it a promising development
— no more — that should be given time, and perhaps the odd nudge. On my honour,
I didn’t suspicion old Cribs was so very deep in. But fair now, at the end you
did lift him up and then drop him — think on it.’

Queasy echo of her own
words in the exhibition-room. Surely not? ‘I am thinking on it, George, but
truly I—’

‘It was quite a blow for
a man like Cribs, you know.’ George sighed, gusty and pensive. ‘All in all I
think he took it rather well. And I was there for the first part of it, so I
can testify to—’

‘George. I’m talking in
short sentences. Beware.’

‘My dear sis, the drive.
The drive! It was after dinner on Tuesday — remember now?’ George unwisely
adopted a solicitous sickroom tone. ‘Cribs was talking of his
curricle-and-pair, and what capital drives the park affords, now the weather
improves? And you remarked how delightful those drives must be? In an open
carriage?’

‘George, one more
question-mark and your head goes in the fire.’

He laughed, then looked
at her, and at the fire; weighed up the odds, and grew grave.

‘Well, the very next day
he called. Quite a declaration in itself, you know; and he asked you, in my
hearing, whether you would not like to be driven about the park on such a fine
morning.’ George’s voice was husky with transferred shame. ‘Lydia, you
refused.’

On a side table there
was a decanter of canary wine. For some time it had been winking at her,
blowing kisses and generally carrying on. Lydia gave in. She walked over to the
roguish saucebox and let it have its way with her.

‘I politely declined the
offer,’ she said, with a refreshed gasp. ‘I wasn’t at all inclined, though it
was civil of him to ask. Yes, I remember thus far. So, what next?’

George was all pained,
eggshell reproach. ‘There was no next, Lyddie. That is the point. You declined
— whereas the night before, you know, you had expressed an interest in his
equipage.’

Sometimes there were
simply too many replies. Lydia made herself think of sad things, and at last
was in command of herself sufficiently to take a seat and look her brother in
the face.

‘Was that it?’ she
asked. ‘The trifling and jilting? Mr Sissons told me about his carriage, and
then I didn’t go for a drive in the park in it?’

‘Ah, it’s not driving,
it’s being driven, Lyddie, that’s the difference.’

‘But I don’t want to be
driven round the park, George. It has a thoroughly cattleish sound, for one,
not that there’s such a word as “cattleish”. For another, it is mere circular,
pointless, jiggling motion.’

‘Oh, you’d be in no
danger with Cribs, you know,’ said George, grasping the wrong end of the stick
with both hands. ‘Don’t be afraid of that. His curricle has a pretty high
perch, to be sure, but he understands the balance perfectly. Never had an
upset. There’s not a better hand at the ribbons in the country.’