Feral Park (9 page)

“Here, here!” said Mr. Peppercorn from the other table, raising his glass as well and lingering his gaze upon Miss Younge when all others had fixed their looks elsewhere.

Soon every glass had been upheld for the purpose of relaxing convention and loosening lips and Mrs. Dray, the hostess for the evening, decided that there should be no harm at all to a loosening of propriety, and that it may even be of some benefit, for nerves needed a bit of “the balm of the grape” after what had earlier occurred, and, after all, the evening would not be offering a musical recital by her daughter May upon the new pianoforte, and so the card tables having been employed in service to a meal rather than to a game of whist, might, instead, prove excellent anchors to prandial frivolity and happy intercourse, the likes of which had long been absent from Thistlethorn since the tragic death of its master, Mr. Oliver Dray, through post-coital drowning.

By the final course all were happy indeed. John’s voice had gone even higher and Miss Younge’s tongue had become ever the more operable, the latter regaling those at her table with the following observation: “Oh, ’tis a hard life for those without money in London town. I have seen economic deprivations and I have seen the depravities of the morally deprived as well, such as could not be related in proper company such as this. La, there are even places there where men go to watch women dance like monkeys!”

“I have heard of those parlours,” said John, with some interest, “but I have never been to one.” Then to the only other man in the room: “Tell me, Mr. Peppercorn, have you ever attended a show at one of the infamous London monkey parlours?”

Suddenly there was attendance from nearly all within the room to the fact that the faces of both father and daughter were colouring at nearly the same rate. Anna, for her part, would not look at Gemma, who, having been told of Sophia’s employment there, was not aware of Mr. Peppercorn’s enlistment in times past as lip-licking spectator. “My, but I think you
have
been to a monkey parlour, Mr. P!” squealed Mrs. Dray with mischievous delight. “Yet think nothing of it! I myself went to sea for the purpose of adultery with my husband’s brother, and short of concealed murder, I cannot believe anyone in this room to own an offence greater in unalloyed wickedness.”

“Oh, Mamma!” Gemma cried. “The wine has lubricated a frankness within you which can only result in discomfort to us all. Let us stop all such talk at this instant and repair to some place without a smell so that we may drink coffee and hold forth on topics that do not address our moral failings!”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Peppercorn with manufactured joviality to mask the shame of admitting through a blush that he had delighted in seeing the furrynippled monkey dancers in Gracechurch Street. “The women should quit the room so that the men may take cigars and discuss the farm and weather reports. And how fortunate am I that Mr. Dray is here or I should be forced to respect custom by sitting alone with my cigar and talking to myself as would an inmate at Bedlam.”

Mrs. Dray bestowed an indulgent smile upon Mr. Peppercorn, whilst saying, “You funny man. Now you must tell my daughter that I am not saying any thing that most of us do not already know. I own my offence and will
always
own it as my lifelong penance. For I know that though once I was a bad woman, I am a good woman now, am I not?”

“You are a
very
good woman, Mamma,” interposed May, her eyes halfclosed into a droop of sleepiness. “We are all good people, each of us, would you not agree, Cousin Marie? Notwithstanding, of course, my behaviour earlier this evening for which I am most dreadfully ashamed. The evil ones in
this
family do not go by the name of Dray, but of Quarrels, and the distinction applies to both the mother and the son.”

Cousin Marie nodded and said nothing. The nod was sufficient to the purpose.

Mrs. Dray expounded upon what her daughter had said: “There is no greater hypocrite who ever lived than Lydia Quarrels. To point such an accusing finger at
me
with
her own
life so mired in putridity!”

“And what sort of putridity is
that
?” asked Anna.

“I cannot say. I vowed never to speak of what I know about the woman.”

Anna looked to her father to discern if
he
knew. The face hinted that he did. Anna snorted with distemper. She could not believe that such intelligence within the parish had somehow escaped his ken. Certainly her father
must
know, and, moreover, he had not been honest with her. Had he not indicated that his next meeting with his mysterious friend might reveal if there existed any intelligence of past wrongdoing by Mrs. Quarrels and her son that could be employed to restore the good reputation to Sophia Henshawe and remove her for ever from dishonourable employment upon the monkey stage? And had not the two already had their interview and her father reported that he had no information to retail? Intoxicated by Madeira, Anna was now given to ill thought of her father, but she quickly checked herself with a sharp prick of conscience. “He will have an explanation for why he would not tell me what he knows. At all events, I shall squeeze the details of past discreditable behaviour on the part of the Quarrels from either my father or from Mrs. Dray. Surely
one
of them will tell me what I require to spare Sophia from further degradation in Gracechurch Street.”

Perhaps Mrs. Dray was reading Anna’s thoughts at that moment, for it was she who spoke next, and upon this very topic: “Dear Anna, I may tell you all I know by and by. Especially if you can find use for the intelligence to do great harm to my dead brother’s contemptible wife.”

“Lord in Heaven!” exclaimed Gemma, with a shake of the head and a roll of the eyes—both her own and the marbly one. “Must we descend into attacks on those we do not like? It shades us all in such dark and ill-suited colours.
Mamma.
”

With a nod and a sigh, Mrs. Dray allowed that her daughter was right. She punctuated her concordance with a sip of wine, and then with a pleasant smack of the lips, and then another agreeable sip. After wiping her mouth with her table napkin in a far-from-dainty manner, she delivered across the room and in an orotund voice: “So neither be alarmed nor concerned, Nephew John, that I will speak unkindly of this woman you wish to marry—this Miss Godby possessed of more money than Croesus—this daughter of an earl or some such title. I will
not
say how foolish it will be merely to marry one for her money, when Cowpens Acres is so very beautiful and your income should be enough to sustain you
and
your beautiful acreage even should you chuse a scullery maid for your bride!”

As John Dray blushed at what Mrs. Dray said in an ill-executed attempt to avoid saying what she should
not
say, Miss Younge subjoined, “Times have changed and a man of means or lofty station may marry even a poor girl if his heart directs him so. To marry for love is the best reason of all,” (turning to Gemma,) “is it not, Miss Dray?”

“But to marry for love to one who
has
a little money would not be a bad choice either,” (turning to Anna,) “am I correct, Miss Peppercorn?”

John Dray tossed his napkin upon his plate, withdrew his chair, and rose to unsteady feet so that he might be better heard by all within the room. “It is no crime,” he proclaimed, “to marry a woman whom one loves and who just happens also to enjoy a large income should she be amiable and open-handed to the poor and twenty other things which just happen to highly recommend her. Now, Cousin Gemma, if it was your purpose to invite me to Thistlethorn so as to work upon me with the goal of dissuading me from marrying Miss Godby, may I say what an absolute waste of time it all should be! And of that same piece, may I say that if your dinner invitation to Miss Peppercorn was for the singular purpose of enticing my interest in her, granted that she is certainly a lovely creature,” (turning for the moment to Anna,) “and you
are
, ma’am, upon my word,” (returning his address to Miss Dray,) “I must reiterate that my heart has been exclusively enchained by Miss Godby and Miss Godby alone, and nothing will alter this fact, and I tire of your making objection to my choice, and I consider it both an insult to her
and
an insult to my ability to chuse a mate wisely.”

It was now Gemma’s turn to bound up from her chair. “But cousin, I do not speak ill of your ability to make such a choice. I only say that perhaps love has blinded you to the fact that Miss Godby may not, in the end, be the best match for you.”

“And
why
do you say this? Do you know her?”

“I have met her. We have all met her except for Mr. Peppercorn and Miss Peppercorn and Miss Younge, whom Miss Godby would not—if you may recall—condescend to engage on account of her caste.”

Added Miss Younge in a small, forlorn voice, “She wagered, as well, that I carried disease, because I have worked with the poor.”

“And yet, cousin, Miss Godby does not seem at all troubled by the fact that the face of her betrothed is disagreeably pitted from pox. Although I must say, cousin, that your pits are much
less
disagreeable than they were last year.”

“Thank you, Cousin Gemma; I am using a cream, that if it is not repairing the pits, is at least caulking them with some success. But this kind sentiment from you does not conclude our discussion. And I will tell you, Miss Younge, that Miss Godby avoided making your acquaintance on the occasion of your recollection only because the children in your charge upon our chance meeting in Grosvernor Street were all coughing as if their lungs were pulverizing within their chests, and as Miss Godby is of a somewhat delicate constitution, neither she
nor
I wished the exposure.”

“But what of poor Anna!” Gemma now cried.

“Yes, what
of
me?” teazed Anna. “I have been brought all the way from one end of the parish to the other to shew you, Mr. Dray, that, in spite of what you believe, I am most definitely
not
a shrew!” Anna attempted a wink, but it was ill-delivered and made her look only as if a cinder had entered the eye, to her great discomfort.

“True. True. Or
perhaps
…” Now John winked, his lips curving into a mischievous grin, “…the wine has merely softened your customary disputatious nature.”

“I used to give her a thimbleful when she was but a baby,” offered Mr. Peppercorn. “It calmed her most effectively then, as it pacifies her now in its slightly larger dose.”

“The former ‘shrew’ remark was, besides,” said John, “a silly quip, a comic bagatelle to win a smile. I hope that Miss Peppercorn did not take it for a moment as mal-intended.”

“I gave umbrage to the remark at first but now own no grievance whatsoever against you. Gemma must let you do as you see fit, and if marriage to Miss Godby be your choice, she should allow the match to take place without a breath of objection. My friend knows in her heart that it would be the right thing for
each
of us to do.”

Another weakening remonstrance from Gemma: “But I still feel that
you
and John would make the best connexion of all, dear Anna. Besides, Miss Godby, in my estimation, is gruff and her personality roughly hewn. One cannot believe that a girl of such a brittle character could descend from such superior breeding.”

Now Mrs. Dray rose from her chair, was put back into it by a lightness to the head, then, restored, rose again to make comment: “Gemma, my dear, dear daughter—the fight is lost. Even if Miss Godby appears roughly hewn to all of
us
, it is, in truth, John’s decision and John’s alone. I further suspect that your cousin John perceives a tenderness within the girl, a soft suppleness and pliability allowed to him, which none of us may ever perceive. The heart is a mystery, my dear. And you are the last person, I should think, to make it scrutable, as you are without any prospects for attachment yourself.”

Gemma appeared mortified by her mother’s candid observation and sank deep into her chair in a display of most grievous wounding. Upon the instant, Mrs. Dray went to repair the cut, laying her hands upon her daughter’s shoulders and kneading them both with deep, attentive, maternal strokes. “There, there,” said she in a comforting tone. “Mother meant only the first half of what she said. You are an excellent prospect and we will find you a special husband, who is not repelled by your fabricated parts.”

A moment of silence passed.All that could be heard within the room during the interval was a grunt here and there from those who were contemplating what had just been said, and a murmur of pleasure from Gemma, who liked being kneaded—especially by her mother—and a little clatter of plates as some of the china was cleared. Shortly thereafter John puckered as if to speak. But his cousin May, quickly rising to her feet, seized the floor to say, “Miss Godby is indeed gruff and ill-disposed and once I saw her belittling a servant who had done her no harm, but then I have also seen her petting a kitten and giving a coin of large denomination to the poor.”

Miss Younge smiled at mention of assisting the poor.

May Dray continued, “There is both good and bad in her as there is both good and bad in all of us. So I must ask: where could John do better if we cannot generate within him an interest in our Miss Peppercorn? I say that he
cannot
do better but he certainly can do far
worse
, and so I endorse the marriage and I ask all within this saloon to do the same and let us together seal our approval with a toast to the future health and happiness of this determined couple.”