Elizabeth Mansfield (24 page)

“I’ve heard Camilla’s friends seek her advice very often on matters pertaining to the decoration of their establishments,” Thomas said, pushing his advantage, “so I’m not alone in believing her taste to be admirable.”

“What other opinion can I expect from a besotted newlywed?” Ethelyn said, smiling at him indulgently.

“Sybil says,” Pippa volunteered, “that Lady Sturtevant and all her circle consider this house to be the most agreeably harmonious in decor of any in their set.”

“You don’t say,” Ethelyn muttered, unconvinced. “Nonetheless, one must note that such draperies are woefully inadequate when drawn at night. How can they be expected to keep out draughts?”

“Since we never sit in here at night, that is a problem which doesn’t much affect us,” Thomas pointed out.

Camilla bent to her cup to keep her smile from showing. How delightful it was to have someone to fight her battles … someone at her side who could be counted on for support and protection! She felt her spirits rise and her tension ease. Ethelyn would have a difficult time winning an argument from her irrepressible footman.

It wasn’t long before Ethelyn engaged him again in dispute, this time on a matter she considered much more serious than draperies. “Are you saying,” she demanded in a voice choked with aversion, “that you don’t hold family prayers
at all
?”

“No, we don’t. I suppose you’ll think us godless reprobates, ma’am, but—”

“I consider you to be a typical London
degenerate
!” she exclaimed. “Camilla, how
could
you—after all the warnings and instructions I gave you and the promises you made to me—permit such neglect of your child’s moral upbringing, to say nothing of your own—”

“I assure you, ma’am, that Pippa’s moral upbringing has not been neglected,” Thomas said firmly, “and that—”

“The child’s name is
Philippa
!” Ethelyn cut in coldly.

“I
like
to be called Pippa,” the girl said in loyal defense.

“Yes, Ethelyn,” Camilla supported quickly. “It’s only an affectionate nickname. Thomas uses ‘Philippa’ on formal occasions, just as he ought.”

“But we are moving from the point, ma’am,” Thomas said. “In regard to family prayers, it is our belief that—”

“
Our
belief!” Ethelyn scoffed. “I am thoroughly familiar with
Camilla’s
beliefs, so you needn’t waste your breath. Camilla is the sort, I am sorry to say, who bends to the strongest wind. It’s quite clear to me that you’ve coerced her to accept your undoubtedly latitudinarian views against her own better instincts.”

“Ethelyn, that’s not
true
!” Camilla cried. “You have no idea
what
my instincts are in this regard. You’ve never let me express them.”

“And as to coercion, Lady Ethelyn,” Thomas said calmly, “you completely misunderstand how we live in this house. There is no coercion here. We long ago discussed among ourselves (for Pippa’s views are as important to us as our own) our feelings about religious observances, and we were unanimously agreed that—”

“Are you trying to make me believe that both Camilla
and
Philippa willingly agreed to forego the very observances that had been so important a part of their former lives?”

“Not to forego them, ma’am. Only to change the outward form.” He passed a plate of biscuits to Ethelyn with a smile. “Daily family prayers are very public displays, you know. We prefer to perform our obeisances in private.”

“In
private
? What’s privacy to do with it?”

“Well, if one thinks about it,” Oswald interjected with unaccustomed bravery, “praying in private is more … more straightforward.”

“More sincere,” Pippa amended.

“Yes, that’s true,” Camilla said with unusual assertiveness. “In private devotions, one is less apt to be swayed by the practices and opinions of others.”

“And less likely to mouth words by rote,” Thomas said. “Private prayers are less a matter of ritual
and more a matter of honest faith.”

“
Give me, kind heaven
,” Pippa recited a bit pompously, “
a private station
,
A mind serene for contemplation
.”

Ethelyn stared at the child, speechless. Philippa had even brought in poetry to join with the others at the table in giving support to a position which Ethelyn had, until this moment, found untenable. Now, however, she was quite at a loss as to how to argue the matter; one could hardly debate the value of attempting a private communion with one’s God. She looked from one to the other of the faces surrounding her, shrugged and reached for the teapot. “Hummmph!” was all she said when she found her voice.

Thomas and Camilla exchanged looks of triumph, while Pippa squeezed her hero’s hand under the table to show her pride in him. Thomas seemed never to let her down. She looked at her mother with an expression that said as clearly as words,
See? He’s every bit as wonderful as I said he’d be
.

But Camilla, proud of his performance though she was, tempered her satisfaction with her awareness that she hadn’t heard the last of the matter from Ethelyn. If she knew her sister-in-law at all, she was certain that Ethelyn would not let the subject of family prayers pass without further argumentation.

But the subject did not come up again. In fact, the day passed with surprisingly little strain. Ethelyn found nothing to complain about until teatime, when a small occurrence threatened to cause the break that Camilla had been fearfully anticipating all day.

Hicks, assisted by Daniel and the parlormaid, Gladys, had done the serving. The butler had not forgotten his former difficulties with the woman who was now a guest in the house, and he’d been particularly frozen-faced during the repast. After Pippa and Miss Townley had finished their tea and returned to the schoolroom, and the servants had taken their leave, Ethelyn remarked between bites of her sweet roll that she was surprised to see the butler still part of the household.

“Hicks?” Thomas asked in surprise. “Why should he not be?”

“The fellow is a dreadful incompetent, and rude in the bargain. Only Camilla’s completely misguided loyalty explains his continued presence here,” Ethelyn declared, brushing the crumbs from the impressive expanse of black bombazine that covered her bosom.

“But he’s always seemed to me to be the most perfect of butlers,” Thomas insisted.

“You are only a man. Men never take proper notice of the quality of their servants, except, of course, their valets.”

“Hicks has doubled as valet for Thomas,” Camilla said defensively, rising to her feet, “and he’s never expressed the
slightest
dissatisfaction with him!”

“Pooh! That only proves that your husband is too easy to please. I’ll have you know, Thomas, that your wife is notoriously incompetent in dealing with servants.”

Camilla colored to her ears. “Really, Ethelyn!”

But Thomas, getting to his feet, couldn’t help chuckling. “Is she indeed?” He crossed the room and put a comforting arm around Camilla’s waist. “It has always seemed to me that she deals with her servants remarkably well,” he said, looking down at her fondly.

Camilla’s color heightened. To the onlookers they seemed the epitome of happy newlyweds. “That’s because you’re obviously bewitched,” Ethelyn said placidly, helping herself to another bun.

Oswald chortled in agreement. “That much is quite plain. Smelling of April and May, the pair of you.”

“But when the bloom wears off,” Ethelyn predicted, “you’ll discover for yourself what havoc a crew of incompetent servants can create.”

Thomas looked down at the woman he held encircled in his arm. “I doubt that the bloom will ever wear off,” he murmured. “Will it, my love?”

“Never,” she answered, meeting his eyes with a wide-eyed glow in her own.

“So you see, ma’am,” Thomas said to Ethelyn while bending to plant a kiss on Camilla’s cheek, “the servants will never be a problem to us. We’ll never bother to notice whether they’re incompetent or not.”

“That,” Ethelyn responded acidly, “is nothing but foolishness. And I can’t say I approve of such public snuggling and caressing, either.”

“This isn’t public,” Oswald pointed out. “We’re family.”

“Nevertheless—”

“Nevertheless, Lady Ethelyn,” Thomas said firmly, taking Camilla’s hand and leading her to the sofa, “this is our home, where we can behave as we like. We shall hold hands if we like, hold prayers where we like, hire servants whom we like. This is a happy house, you see, and we intend to keep it that way. We shall always be glad of your approval, of course, but we can’t permit ourselves to seek that approval at the expense of our own happiness. You yourself would not wish us to act otherwise.”

Camilla stared up at him, her throat contracted. Those were the very words she herself would have liked to say to Ethelyn but had never found the courage to utter. She lifted a hand to his arm and drew him down beside her. “Thank you, my dear,” she said softly.

Ethelyn looked from one to the other. “Hummmph!” she said and took another bite of her bun.

Later, on her way up to dress for dinner, Camilla came upon her sister-in-law on the stairs. It was the first time since Ethelyn’s arrival that they’d been alone in each other’s company, and Camilla held her breath and waited for what she was certain would be the inevitable diatribe against the manners and morals of the husband she’d dared to select without her sister-in-law’s permission. But Ethelyn only said, “Your Thomas is a man of strong opinions.”

“Yes, I … I suppose he is,” Camilla murmured, bracing herself for the attack.

“I don’t hold with all his views, of course, but he’s a great deal more sensible than I’d expected him to be.”

Camilla, though inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, was nonetheless offended. “What
did
you expect, my dear?” She asked with a wry smile. “That I would wed an imbecile?”

Ethelyn paid no heed to the sarcasm. “Perhaps not an imbecile, but I
did
expect a weakling. I didn’t think your spiritlessness would attract any other sort.”

“Thank you very much indeed!” Camilla said curtly. “Now that you see that you were mistaken, do you find it possible to admit that I am, perhaps, not as spiritless as you thought?”

“Now don’t climb up on your high ropes. I meant no offense. I’ve always told you that you were too amenable—”

“I might have appeared so … but only because I didn’t wish forever to be arguing with you.”

“Be that as it may,” Ethelyn said, strolling down the corridor beside the younger woman in complacent self-assurance, “I will admit that no one can say your husband is a milksop.” Camilla gave a dry little laugh. “No, one certainly can’t.

‘Milksop’ is the
least
fitting of words to describe my hus—er … Thomas.”

“All things considered,” Ethelyn mused, patting Camilla’s hand approvingly, “it seems to me that you haven’t done badly for yourself. Not badly at all.”

***

With a satisfactory verdict thus pronounced, Lady Ethelyn saw little reason to prolong her visit. She informed Camilla the next morning that she and Oswald would remain for one more night only. “No matter how pleasant the company, my dear,” she said, “London is still London. It is, and always will be, a blemish on the English isles. Now that I’ve seen for myself that your situation is tenable as far as your marriage is concerned, I feel no need to remain. We shall leave tomorrow after breakfast.”

Camilla could scarcely believe her ears. A wave of relief swept over her so strong that she felt almost giddy. What a triumph! They had
done
it; the ruse had succeeded. Thomas’s wonderful performance had transformed her deceitful tale into a most believable performance. And now she would be free—free of Ethelyn’s interference, free of her past, free to live her life as she wished. She wanted to dance around the room in joy.

In the heady delight of the relief of her tension, she determined to make this last evening of her sister-in-law’s stay as festive and enjoyable as possible. With Hicks and the cook, she devised a menu fit for royalty. Then, while Ethelyn took an afternoon nap and Oswald went out to stroll through the streets near Whitehall where he’d once spent so much of his time, the staff went to work to ready the large dining room for its second use.

The entire household was in a flurry. Daniel and the housemaids dusted the chandeliers, polished the plate, waxed the floor, aired the room and set the table. The kitchen staff bustled about in a frenzy, for her ladyship had decided on serving not only partridge filets
à la Pompadour
, a veal ragout with onions, a roast of beef, a fish stew
Bordeaux
, three kinds of bread and six side dishes, but, to please Lord Falcombe’s sweet tooth, a lemon gelatine mold, a “Turkish Mosque” cream, and some tiny apple-filled pastries which took great effort to concoct.

Pippa was quite put out when she learned that she would not be permitted to attend the dinner party. “It will be Thomas’s last dinner as your husband,” she pouted, “and I had my heart set on observing him.”

“I’m sorry, love,” her mother explained gently, “but it is not appropriate for girls your age to attend such affairs. And besides, we shall take our places at the table at an hour much too late for you. I promise to observe everything very carefully and to tell you the whole tomorrow in great detail.”

With that Pippa had to be content. But she instructed Miss Townley, who’d been invited to attend, to be equally observant. “I want to know
everything
that Thomas says and does,” she requested, “so, please, Miss Townley, watch and listen as carefully as you can.”

Miss Townley, who was busily letting out the waist of a gown which Miss Camilla had given her, merely grunted. “Ye’ll turn into a regular busybody if you don’t watch yourself,” she said brusquely, biting off a thread. “Better get your nose back into that book and work on your French declensions.”

By early evening, all was in readiness. But Camilla’s careful plans were slightly disrupted when Oswald returned from his outing with the news that he’d met an old friend, Lord Jeffries, while walking near Whitehall. Lord Jeffries, who was still with the Admiralty, had been delighted to see him, and they’d spent more than an hour chatting about old times. Oswald had so enjoyed the encounter that he’d impulsively invited Jeffries and his lady to join them for dinner. “I hope, Camilla, my love,” he apologized, puffing over his exertions to remove himself from his greatcoat, “that I haven’t incovenienced you.”