An Accomplished Woman (43 page)

As she inclined her head
Juliet seemed to flash a questioning glance at Mr Durrant; but he was now
performing his unrivalled imitation of a graven image, and did not leave off
until roused by the tuning of the violins.

Lydia would have been
content to sit out the first pair of dances, and enjoy the liberty of observing
her twin anxieties — Phoebe being led out by Mr Allardyce, and Mr Durrant
leading out Juliet — and mentally urging on the one, and cautioning the other.
But Hugh Hanley insisted on her hand.

‘Really, you need not
trouble, Mr Hanley: at my time of life all I ask is a seat near the fire and a
rubber of penny whist.’

‘If you really meant
that, Miss Templeton, I should be concerned. I should not expect you to realise
that you are as handsome as any woman in the room — that would be to fly to the
other extreme of vanity — but beware of thinking such things, for one is apt to
start believing them. And so, that is the family, is it? Well: Mrs Allardyce I
fancy is a vain woman, who presents as plain-speaking what is actually a good
deal of malice and meddling; and the gentleman is too habitually good-natured
to restrain her.’

Lydia could not
contradict this, nor even disapprove it. ‘And Miss Allardyce?’

‘Oh, really, Miss
Templeton,’ he said, with his most decorous smile, ‘I could not presume to
pronounce on a person’s character after so short an acquaintance.’

It was curious to see
the glances of speculation and envy directed at her dancing with Hugh Hanley,
and consider how little they were merited — how little she cared for him as a
man — how little she trusted him: though she doubted there was much actual
mischief he could do, considering the characters of both Mr Durrant and Juliet.
The only real evil she could foresee, indeed, was that in trying to dissuade
his uncle from his pursuit of a bride, he would have the opposite effect. It
was a relief to turn from him, and the tangle of thoughts he occasioned, to the
solid virtues of Mr Allardyce, coming to claim her for the second pair of
dances.

He seemed in high
spirits. ‘Now, Miss Templeton, how do you like your dancing talk? Solemn? Or
shall we try idiocy instead — remark on what a very genteel assembly it is —
height of elegance — nothing wanting — superlative dancing — many fine dresses
— distinguished company—’

‘Stop,’ she said,
laughing, ‘this is too fast. Such remarks are meant to last the whole evening —
there will be nothing left for you to say later.’

‘Oh, I shall think of
something,’ he said, relinquishing her hand as they took their positions in the
set.

‘Solemn, or idiotic?’

For a moment she thought
he had not heard her: but then he bowed and said: ‘You alone must be the judge
of that.’

Though thunder and rain
had left a cool washed day, candles and bodies had soon rendered the ballroom warm
and stuffy, and Lydia was glad to be free of the exertion of the third dances,
ply her fan, and take a turn about the room. Passing near Mrs Allardyce’s
bench, she saw no sign of her being abashed: instead she was holding forth to
two other matrons, in a voice loud enough to be heard over the orchestra.

‘. . . Strictly it is
not to be spoken of yet — but just between us, I may say that the engagement is
all but a settled thing. An excellent match — I have favoured it from the
beginning: I will not mention the fortune, but I can say it is handsome — very
handsome. But I can say no more . . .’

This was interesting:
she looked about for Mr Allardyce, wondering if he was in hearing, and what he
would think of it; but he was right at the other end of the room, talking to
some other acquaintance, of which he doubtless had many in Bath. Phoebe, she
saw, was dancing with Hugh Hanley and coming in for the jealous stares: doubly
jealous, for they were unquestionably the best-looking couple in the room.
Juliet was sitting out, but not unattended: Mr Durrant was seated closely at
her side, their heads were close together, and he was nodding, with a sort of
rapid decision, at something she was saying.

Lydia closed her fan so
sharply that she caught the tip of her forefinger in it, and uttered a curse
quite unsuited to a Bath assembly. She was inclined to repeat it when she saw,
coming towards her, the Vawsers: he in a tightness of breeches scarcely to be
contemplated on a full stomach, she in a filmy costume that included laced
sandals and a plumed turban, as if an ancient Greek poetess had joined the
circus. But Lydia was spared the infliction of vivacious greetings. Plainly
something had happened. The only change in Mr Vawser was that he looked
stupidly uncomfortable, instead of comfortably stupid; but Mrs Vawser had on
her apocalyptic face, and passed by like a procession, seeing nothing. The fact
that they were still arm in arm suggested that this was not a renewal of the
grand tragedy — that Mr Vawser had not fallen prey again to the charms of a
woman in an unlikely profession; probably it was a tragedy of a lesser sort — a
slighting word, or an imagined one: perhaps a chipped fingernail. Still, there
was sufficient unhappiness on view to make it a cheering sight nonetheless,
like a glimpse of a robin on the windowsill.

Lydia had wandered close
to the dais, and was peering up at one of the musicians’ scores, and wondering
who had done such beautiful copying, when Mr Allardyce appeared at her side.

‘Miss Templeton, this
will never do. They are about to begin again — you may tell it by the way the
second violinist starts scratching himself — and you, I believe, are
unengaged.’

‘Oh! yes, but quite
happy to be so, sir.’ She looked over for Phoebe, but could not see her in the
milling crowd. ‘What of Miss Rae — is she unengaged?’ She saw a momentary
embarrassment in his face at her smile, and understood. To dance repeatedly
with the same partner, at so public an event as a Bath Dress Ball, was such an
obvious avowal as would be talked about — as would be the subject, indeed, of
definite conclusions. But the time for this discretion, she felt, was past. ‘Mr
Allardyce, I hope we are in a position from which I may speak frankly. If you
are concerned with the matter of
appearance . .
.’

He nodded ruefully ‘I
confess I am. A miserable stiff-necked sort of confession, but there it is.’

‘No: I honour you for
it. But please believe me when I say — well, I go further than I should,
perhaps: but I can assure you, there is that degree of understanding — of
warmth — of readiness — which renders this concern unnecessary.’

He blinked at her,
breathing rather fast: then gave a short, rattling laugh of relief. ‘Thank you
— Miss Templeton, thank you for your frankness. I — well, I was never more glad
of anything. And now they
are
beginning — and I cannot see Miss Rae —
and so there is nothing to prevent your dancing with me.’

She took his proffered
hand, and joined the set: very happy in their understanding, and only a little
doubtful that this delicacy might still retard him from the avowal that, as she
had tried to convey to him, needed only to be made. That would be too bad. It
was not that he had a rival now: Mr Beck was gone; but with all due respect to
Phoebe, Lydia conceived that a girl who could fall in love with two men, could
very easily fall in love with a third, if the suit of neither came to a happy
issue.

Mr Durrant and Juliet
were partners in the dance also — Phoebe, Lydia saw now, had been claimed again
by Mrs Allardyce — and in their crossing, Lydia found Mr Durrant giving her
such a searching look — unpleasantly searching — that she was impatient for it
to be over, so that she might ask him what he meant by it. Of course she must
first detach him from Juliet: but opportunity favoured her; as soon as the
dance was concluded, Mrs Allardyce called Juliet over to do something trivial
and demeaning for her, and with softer accents demanded her son’s presence too.
Lydia marked the deep bow with which Mr Durrant surrendered his partner, and
then drew near.

‘Oh! there you are,’ he
said, glancing down at her. ‘I thought you looked as if you wanted to tax me
with something. I don’t suppose it’s tea yet, is it?’ He shuddered. ‘Tea.
Better than nothing is all one can say.’

‘No,
you
looked
at
me
as if— Well, never mind. Now you will deny it. This is the
privilege of men, to give looks, often thoroughly unpleasant ones — yet to
affect to believe them a mere nonsensical preoccupation of women, who are
naturally always over-sensitive to such things.’

‘Now I know you want to
tax me with something. When a woman begins fulminating against men in the
abstract, it usually means one particular man has annoyed her — or has failed
to pander to her vanity, which amounts to the same thing.’

‘Oh, please, Mr Durrant,
do not squander these pretty compliments to the sex on me: save them for Miss
Allardyce: but be aware that she also has a mind, and may not reward them with
the requisite giggle.’

‘I know she has a mind:
and she never giggles,’ he said, gazing with fathomless disgust at a blameless
old gentleman going into the card-room. ‘What’s this? Has Hugh been talking to
you? God knows he has been hard on my trail tonight, and Juliet’s too.’

Lydia chose not to
notice, or dislike, that ‘Juliet’: her aim was above such things. ‘Yes, of
course Hugh has been talking to me — he talks to everyone: it is like his job.’

‘It’s magnificent in a
way isn’t it?’ Mr Durrant murmured, with rapt distaste. ‘The yawning servant
who opens the door — the old lady he makes way for in the street — he makes
sure they all remember him, as deedily as if he hopes for something from their
will. When you or I get out of bed in the morning, our first thought — if we
have one — is compounded of dryness in the mouth, and mild dread of the coming
day; but Hugh’s is “I am that delightful young man! The world requires me!’“ Mr
Durrant drew a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry — what were we talking of?’

She hesitated.
‘Something you will probably not like — something I wish could come from
someone else; because from
me,
you will suspect it. Could you not
imagine that, say, Dr Templeton says this to you — that I am my father?’

‘The relative absence of
whisker detracts from the impression — but go on.’

‘Does it not occur to
you,’ she pursued, trying to ignore this, ‘that Hugh must now be sufficiently
aware of the seriousness of your displeasure — even of your consequent
intention, however distant its fulfilment: and that so much of your work has
been done, as must make it a pity — even a folly — to hurry it through to a
hasty conclusion?’

He eyed her narrowly.
‘Is this about our wager? Do you consider your fifty pounds in danger?’

‘I do not care for the
fifty pounds. The dangers I see are much more important — more real. The
dangers arising from your flirtation with Miss Allardyce—’

‘Flirtation?’ He
snorted. ‘I have never flirted in my life.’

‘Well, the apparent
intimacy, then. If Hugh goads you to increase it, think of the potential for
misunderstanding, painful misunderstanding, on either side. This would be a sad
result: and a sad confirmation of Hugh’s power to make mischief— the very thing
you wanted to undo.’

Listening attentively,
eyes averted, Mr Durrant nodded at last. ‘Yes . . . yes, that did sound tolerably
like your father. Of course, the fact remains that it isn’t him speaking: it is
you. Now, wrong-headed of him it may be, but Dr Templeton does genuinely care
for my welfare.’

‘And you suppose I do
not,’ she said angrily. ‘Too spoiled and selfish, perhaps. Thank you, Mr
Durrant, you have exceeded yourself in compliment.’

‘I meant no derogation
of you: only an observation. But I do thank you, Miss Templeton, for your
thoughts; and I can assure you, in return, that I know very well what I am
about.’

‘But does Miss Allardyce
know?’

He showed his teeth.
‘That she must answer for herself. But your taking such a strong interest in my
private affairs emboldens me to make a like return. You have elected to give me
a warning — and I can only say, look to yourself, Miss Templeton.’

‘I don’t understand
you.’

‘I should hope so — for
if you are aware of what is going on, and even encouraging it, you are placed
in an unflattering light indeed. But I shall do you the justice of believing
your sincerity in this, as I could not in my own case. And I repeat, look to
yourself: for I fear Mr Allardyce’s attentions grow particular.’

She stared at him in
bafflement. ‘Mr Allardyce’s attentions — yes, to Phoebe, quite so, but there is
nothing in that—’

‘Not to Phoebe. Mr Allardyce’s
attentions to
you
.’

Lydia stood frozen; and
when he touched her elbow to give a little room to a lady passing, she shook
him off sharply. At first there was only this cold, drenching anger. Doubtless
he was put out by what she had said, and was trying to give her the retort —
but to snatch at
this,
something at once so shabby and ridiculous . . .
After a few moments it was the ridiculous aspect that stood forth to her, and
she wanted to laugh, if without pleasure. Really he was not good at this: he
was pitiably out of his depth. She felt a sort of shame for him: he had often
been vexing — never contemptible; and he was not the man she had thought him,
if he could stoop to such littleness of malice.