Flint and Roses (64 page)

Indeed she did, help coming too, rather surprisingly, from Jonas, who, although by no means prepared to fetch and carry like Freddy, had his own academic experience to draw on, and, his own Latin being perfect, his Greek flawless, his knowledge of French, mathematics, history, geography, the literature of several countries, enormous, he was not to be deceived by the pretensions of others. And, moreover, for the first time he seemed willing to suggest, rather than tell Prudence what she should do, steering her quite gently away from one very glib teacher of mathematics and directing her attention to another, working out a most ingenious timetable which he submitted, not for her admiration, but her approval.

‘Why, Jonas—that is quite brilliant. Why didn't I think of it?'

‘Well, it is similar to the one used by an acquaintance of mine from Cambridge. I cannot take all the credit for it.'

And we wondered, Prudence and I, had Aunt Hannah, not insisted of making a lawyer, a lord mayor, a Cabinet Minister out of him, whether he would have been happy as a schoolmaster.

My aunt and uncle came up from Bournemouth at the start of the good weather, my uncle still showing the strain of the winter although, as usual, his descent on the mills was immediate and dynamic, the sharpness of his eye and his opinions quite undimmed. And for a day or so even Blaize was less inclined for laughter, arriving at his office a little earlier, leaving considerably later, while it was widely known that Mr. Nicholas Barforth, now that his personal enterprises were prospering, was exhibiting a marked reluctance to do things any way but his own.

Caroline was to leave for London at the beginning of July to spend the summer season with Hetty Stone, her aim very clearly to make the acquaintance of Lady Hetty's brother, now the sixth, or possibly even the seventh Duke of South Erin, and to bring him back to Listonby in triumph, as her guest. But she had the time to arrange a dance in her father's honour, knowing how much it pleased him to see her receive the county at the head of her brilliantly illuminated staircase, a duke's sister standing a step or two behind her, making sure she did everything in the correct Mayfair manner, but somewhat in her shadow just the same. And because it also pleased him from time to time to see his family gathered together—and there was nothing Caroline would not do to please her father—she summoned rather than invited us to dine that same evening in the exquisitely frail, century-old saloon she reserved for intimate occasions.

Caroline had changed nothing in this room, leaving the baroque plasterwork, which had once reminded Aunt Verity of gently decaying petals to continue its mellowing from the original white to a blend of musk rose and honey, retaining the fragile chairs with their tapestry covers in the same misty shades, a table polished by generations to the appearance of ebony glass, nothing else in the room at all but hushed space and memory. Yet, despite all her efforts, it was from the start an uneasy gathering, an evening when nothing seemed altogether right.

I had dressed, as always, most carefully, knowing that it was expected of me, that I had a small local reputation by now to consider as well as my husband and my vanity. And, since Listonby was not really Cullingford, I took out a dress I had ordered from Monsieur Albertini in Paris, which I had been reserving for our next trip to London, a tremendous skirt stitched over its wire cage in tiny white frills that had the appearance of feathers, a neck so low that Caroline would certainly raise pained eyebrows over it, my swan cameo pinned on what little there was of the bodice, a pearl scattered velvet ribbon around my neck. Clever, I had thought, checking the finer details in my mirror, something Blaize would appreciate, but when I came downstairs, trailing my shawl behind, me, to receive his applause, he merely said, ‘Very nice—in fact,
very
nice', quite automatically, and all through the journey from Elderleigh barely said a word.

‘Did something happen at the mill today?'

‘Dear me no,' he said, stifling a yawn, ‘Does anything ever happen at the mill—anything worth mentioning, that is?'

‘Well—you are certainly out of humour.'

‘I beg your pardon. It is my footloose nature, I imagine, telling me I have been in Cullingford rather too long. I am in the mood to be off again, I think—and really one should take advantage of it, for we are in constant need of new markets. Nicky, of course, can't bring himself to agree.'

‘He doesn't want you to go?'

‘Possibly not. Perhaps it would suit him better if I stayed and took what he calls my share of responsibility at Lawcroft and Tarn Edge—especially now that Mayor Agbrigg is mayor again and too busy with his building regulations to be much use for anything else. Which sounds quite reasonable, of course, until one realizes that what he really wants is for me to take the weight off his shoulders so that he can do some private empire-building of his own. If I'm in Russia—which is where I'd dearly love to be—Nicky can hardly spend all day at the Wool-combers, can he, nor at Nethercoats for that matter, if he manages to get his hands on if after all. He'll have to spend his time concentrating on Joel Barforth and Sons, as I do—and we really need those new markets, you know.'

Georgiana and Nicholas did not arrive together, Nicholas coming from Tarn Edge, Georgiana from Galton where she had been staying with her grandfather, having taken Gervase with her, I'd heard, to enable him to avoid school.

‘Good evening,' Nicholas said to me, giving Blaize no more than a nod by way of greeting.

‘Georgiana,' Blaize replied, ‘you're looking very beautiful'; but she wasn't, for her extremely expensive ballgown, the kind of over-embroidered creation she bought because she imagined that was how a manufacturer must want his wife to look, did not suit her, the complicated arrangements of ringlets in which she had imprisoned her coppery hair was too heavy for her head, and she herself too much aware of it, holding her neck too stiffly in case it should all come tumbling down. She had emeralds in her ears, bracelets on both arms, a gold and emerald necklace, jewellery she was at the same time too hardy and too air-spun to carry, a woman dressed up against her nature, and more uncomfortable every minute with this false image of herself.

Throughout the meal which Caroline had planned as a joyful family reunion, Nicholas and Blaize addressed not one word to each other; Freddy Hobhouse, unaccustomed to Listonby, talked only to Prudence; my sister Celia, for some reason, seemed unwilling to speak to anybody, which was clearly displeasing to Jonas, creating so tense an atmosphere that everyone around her seemed inclined to whisper, leaving us with the brittle, social chatter of Hetty Stone and my mother, Aunt Hannah's well-meant but heavy-handed determination to ‘bring us all out of ourselves', Sir Matthew's vague geniality, Mayor Agbrigg's clear intention of leaving well—or ill—alone. While even Sir Joel, for whom the celebration was intended, would have preferred, I thought, to have been placed a little nearer to his wife, finding even a yard of mahogany and cut crystal an unacceptable barrier, these days, between him and his Verity.

‘I can't think what ails them, Faith,' Caroline muttered as we left the table. ‘One puts oneself out, and is it too much to expect that they should do the same—especially with Hetty Stone looking on, thinking that everything she has ever heard about manufacturers must be true. After all, it is for father. And, if Nicholas and Blaize have had a set-to at the mill, then they should have left it there. And Faith—really—what
is
the matter with Celia? She was most odd at Christmas and I declare she is odder tonight. Mark my words, she will start feeling unwell in half an hour and will make Jonas take her home, and if she does then I shall not invite her again. I suppose you know that certain people are beginning to feel sorry for Jonas. I was talking to Mr. Fielding and to several of his political associates just the other day—one of them by no means without influence in the party—and they were all saying the only fault they could find with Jonas Agbrigg as a future candidate was his wife. I couldn't bear to hear that said of me. My goodness! I'd hide my head in shame. You'd better talk to her, Faith. Well—I can't feel that this is going to be one of my most successful nights.'

But, positioned at the head of her staircase between Sir Matthew and Sir Joel, waiting to receive her ball guests, Caroline's spirits began to revive, finding the same healing quality in the guttering ballroom behind her, the Long Gallery beyond it, as Georgiana found in the cloister at Galton. And as those august names, one by one, were announced—‘Sir Giles Flood and Mr. Julian Flood. Sir Francis and Lady Winterton. Lord and Lady de Grey. The Hon. Mrs. Tatterton-Cole. Colonel and Mrs. Vetchley-Ryce'—I knew her mind was already exploring next season's triumphs, when surely, if she made herself pleasant enough and useful enough to Hetty Stone, the Duke of South Erin himself would be advancing up her painted, panelled staircase to greet her.

I danced a great deal, as I always did at Listonby, responding easily to the enchanted world Caroline had created, her lovely, high-ceilinged ballroom panelled at one side in glass so that every drop of cut crystal in her chandeliers was doubled, every swirling, satin skirt had its partner, every soaring violin an echo, everything—as Caroline had always intended—being at least twice as large as life. I went down to supper with Julian Flood, who kissed my shoulders on the stairs and asked me with a composure that was almost off-handed if I would care to meet him one Friday to Monday in London. But I was a fashionable woman who knew how to deal with that, a woman who invited attention and could not complain when she received it. I was Blaize Barforth's wife, too sophisticated by far to dance with her husband, merely smiling, making an amused gesture with my fan which certainly in his opinion signified ‘Good luck, darling', when I saw him strolling downstairs with Hetty Stone.

Prudence sat in the Long Gallery, with Freddy, surrounded by portraits of ancestral Chards, no severe schoolmistress that night but allowing him rather more liberties, I thought, than holding her hand. Celia, who had been invited with the rest of us to stay the night, went home, a certain friction arising between Jonas and his father when Jonas—involved in serious, possibly lucrative political conversation—had at first insisted that she should remain. And in the ebbing and flowing of the crowd I did not miss Georgiana until Caroline took me sharply by the elbow and hissed. ‘Come downstairs—at once. Come and talk sense to her.'

But it was too late. All I saw, through the wide open doorway, were the horses on the carriage drive, two men in evening-dress already mounted, another waiting for Georgiana as she flew down the steps, cupping his hands to receive her foot and throwing her up into the saddle, her expensive satin skirts bunched wildly around her, the lovely, quite fragile line of her profile, her throat, her breasts, fine-etched against the dark as she threw back her head, laughing and crying together.

‘Georgiana!' Caroline called out, and Georgiana, looking down-raised an arm in a military salute and they were off—Julian Flood, Francis Winterton, Rupert Tatteron-Cole, the reckless, hard-drinking young men who had ridden with Perry Clevedon—and Perry Clevedon's sister—riding off now on some mad escapade. Caroline clapping both hands to her ears as they started their hunter's yelling, their horses tearing past her lodge gates as if the whole world was burning.

‘She was bare-legged,' Caroline said, aghast. ‘Didn't you see? My goodness! The whole of Listonby is going to see, for she is riding astride. I have never been so shocked—so mortified—in my life.'

‘She has gone to look for Perry, I suppose,' Blaize casually offered, when I found him. ‘I imagine Perry might seem more real to her than some others she has seen here tonight.'

‘She's an original, that one,' Hetty Stone murmured, her hand still on Blaize's arm, her fingers flexing themselves with a feline movement of satisfaction that told him he was original too.

‘She'll kill herself,' Caroline insisted, too furious to copy Lady Hetty's Mayfair nonchalance. ‘And just where is Nicholas? Obviously he will have to be told.'

It was past three o'clock of a beautiful June morning before the last carriages had rolled away, and although Caroline had declared she would not go to bed until Georgiana returned, having some slight concern for her safety and a great deal for her reputation, Sir Matthew, who could on occasion be firm, eventually led her away, allowing the rest of us to follow.

I slept perhaps an hour, it seemed no longer, waking to an odd sensation of being quite alone, and, raising myself on one elbow, saw Blaize standing against the window, looking down at the carriage drive.

‘Darling—is she back?'

‘Hush,' he said and, as my head cleared itself of sleep, I could hear in the distance the sound of hoofbeats, one horse, I thought, coming slowly, a hesitant clip-clop that did not convey the speed and dash of anything Georgiana would be likely to ride.

‘Hush,' he said again, and as I got up and joined him at his vigil, realizing now that he had not slept at all, I felt once again that careful, feline probing in him, the curiosity but also the concern.

‘Now,' he said. ‘Here she comes. And I imagine you are about to see a species of destruction. Yes, I knew he'd be there to meet her. Even good old Matthew knew that and had the sense to take Caroline away.'

And far below me I saw the back of a head, the broad, dark shape that was Nicholas, saw the glow of his cigar as he dragged the tobacco deep into his lungs, the taut anger in him as he tossed the butt away.

‘I don't think I want to see this, Blaize.'

‘You might as well. I intend to.'

She took a long time to reach him, coming as reluctantly as if she were struggling against the tide of air, and, even when the driveway ended and he stood directly in her path, she rode up and down in front of him for a moment, unwilling to dismount.