Fragile Mask (22 page)

‘
Impolite? My darling, that is false modesty, when you know
very well that a young man of rank and fashion must have a cogent
reason for visiting such a place as this.’

This was the fell hand of Mrs Felpham. Such an idea would
never have occurred to Mama without a prior suggestion. But Verena
saw how it could be deflected.

‘
Why, so he has,’ she agreed. She managed an amused laugh.
‘Mama, have you forgotten the exciting event in the Ruishtons’
life? He has come to greet their new daughter, of
course.’

She saw doubt burgeon in her mother’s face. It had been his
own explanation, and Verena saw no reason to disbelieve him—even
had she wanted to, which she did not. If Mama could be brought to
believe it, so much the better. She pressed her
advantage.

‘
According to Unice, her husband and Mr Hawkeridge have been
inseparable from youth. Though, for my part, it is evident that
this “young man of rank and fashion” did not care to miss any part
of the Season, and has only come here—belatedly, one might think—at
a time when no other amusements offer.’

Mrs Peverill’s face fell. ‘Oh, Verena, I was in such hopes
that he might have taken a fancy to you.’

‘
Well, hope it no longer, Mama,’ Verena advised, thinking
how much more for herself it was of fear, than of hope. ‘Besides,
you know very well that I have no desire to be courted by any
man.’

Her mother gripped her fingers. ‘You say it for
my sake, Verena. But if chance offers, I
beg
you, my
dearest, do not hesitate. Take instant advantage of such an
opportunity. Fall in love. Seize what happiness might be open to
you.’

Verena commanded herself to produce a scornful
laugh at this, but she could not. Why, she was at a loss to
imagine. She had not changed her views about ‘love’. Certainly not
for the sake of Mr Denzell Hawkeridge. As for
happiness
—
that was quite beyond
her expectations.

She was, she hoped, a realist. Life must be taken for what
it was, even should that prove to be one’s present unaccountable
misery. One did not bay for the moon.

‘
Well, let us not go over all that again, Mama,’ she said
with an air of calm that she was far from feeling. ‘Besides, I have
been thinking lately that it may well be in our best interests to
remove from here.’

‘
Remove from Tunbridge Wells?’ cried Mrs Peverill, releasing
her daughter’s hands. ‘Oh, Verena, must we?’

Verena eyed her, her attention caught. ‘Why, Mama? Are you
so fond of the place?’

‘
No, no, but—’

‘
But you wish to keep me where I may yet fall victim to some
eligible gentleman, is that it?’

Mrs Peverill fidgeted with the petticoats of her gown of
French lawn in her favoured lilac shade, looking conscious. ‘Not
only that, dearest. Adam—’

Verena pressed the hand she still held. ‘I know,
Mama. But that is just my reason. I love Adam dearly, as I know you
do, and I don’t wish to part you from him. But I am sorry to be
obliged to confess that I don’t
trust
him.’

‘
That is a horrid thing to say, Verena,’ protested Mrs
Peverill, snatching her hand away.

‘
Yes, I know. But it is the truth.’

Angry colour suffused the elder lady’s cheeks. ‘I don’t
know how you can be so unkind about your own brother. He would not
dream of betraying me.’

‘
Not when he is sober, no,’ agreed Verena.

Her mother gasped. ‘How can you, Verena?’

‘
Very easily, Mama. In that respect, Adam is proving
altogether too much like his father.’

Mrs Peverill burst into tears.

***

In the midst of an entertainment that should have gladdened
even his jaded senses, Denzell was brooding.

An impromptu ball had replaced the usual Friday night
Assembly. It was being held on the dry clean grass of Potter’s
Green, beside Burlington House below the Grove, and had been
greeted with enthusiasm by the Wellsians. Flaring torches were
placed about the Green, and ringing the area marked out for
dancing. Although in the bright summer evening they were hardly
needed, they gave a pleasant glow to the scene as dusk began to
fall around nine o’clock.

But Denzell, attired for the occasion in the russet coat
and embroidered apricot waistcoat on a cream ground that he had
acquired for Teresa’s wedding, but worn over satin breeches of his
usual black, watched with a jaundiced eye the gay abandon with
which the dancers executed the various figures. He found himself
unable to enter into the spirit of the event.

‘
Not dancing, Mr Hawkeridge?’ enquired a now familiar
voice.

Stupid woman, Obviously he was not dancing.

‘
Later, perhaps.’

Mrs Felpham sighed. ‘So difficult to attach dear Miss
Chaceley for a dance, is it not?’

Touched on the raw, Denzell could have hit her. He forced a
smile to his lips. ‘Miss Chaceley is always much sought
after.’

He was rescued by Sir John Frinton, who came up behind them
and surprised Mrs Felpham by slipping his arm through hers. ‘My
dear lady, I protest you have neglected me shamefully this night.
Come along and tell me all the gossip. You will excuse us,
Hawkeridge?’

Denzell threw him a grateful look. There was nothing he
wished less at this moment than to discuss his lack of that
particular partner. Not that it was merely his inability to secure
a dance with Verena which was driving him into unaccustomed
ill-temper, though that was bad enough. The formality of engaging
beforehand for the country dances which constituted the evening’s
programme had been dispensed with, but every time Denzell thought
to make an approach, he had been forestalled by others. Whether
this was by Verena’s design, he could not tell.

It was all of a piece with the rest of it. Yet why had she
taken against him? She did not dislike him, of that he was certain.
She could not have spoken so easily with him that first day if such
had been the case. Since then, however, for the best part of the
week since his arrival here, she had not allowed him near
her.

Every time he had approached her, whether it be in the
Upper Rooms, on the Pantiles, or at the theatre where Mrs Baker’s
company were now to be seen, so Unice had told him, two or three
times each week, he had been permitted a bare exchange of greetings
and that was all. She would make some excuse—and the devil take his
wits if they were not excuses—and move away.

She was avoiding him, he could not doubt it. Deuce take it,
he could feel her poker up on his approach. The mask was always
there, but against Denzell himself it positively iced
over.

Had she been more normal with him, more as she was with
other men, he might have been discouraged. Indifference was an
impregnable defence. But she was not indifferent. That he would
swear to on his life.

What did dishearten him was his growing
conviction that she
feared
him. If that
was the way of it, he might as well go home this moment. How the
devil was he to overcome a fear of which he understood nothing, and
which she would not by any means permit him to
understand?

This evening there was something more. She looked achingly
beautiful, in a gown of lemon tiffany under a short over-gown of
gold net that shimmered in the torchlight so that she seemed to
glow. Yet she was under severe strain. He could see it. Oh, she was
making every effort to appear normal. But only look!

There, as she turned away from her partner in the movement
of the dance, had not the mask slipped a little? And now—was that a
faint tremble in her lip?

Watching her still, he saw her eyes close wearily in a long
blink. He could swear it was a wisp of a sigh she snatched then. It
was as if the cracked veneer was breaking up, as if he could see
beyond it, into the vulnerability that kept her so resolutely
aloof. Chaste stars, but he could no longer endure this. She would
not keep him at bay. What, was he a monster to frighten her? He
wanted only to help her, if he could; to brush away the trouble
that haunted her. Oh, he had seen it—on that now far-off day when
they met on the Common one early winter morning.

By the veriest good fortune, the next person to attach
Verena for a dance was Osmond himself. Naturally she had no quarrel
with Osmond. He had been admitted to the ranks of her friends. Not
that she had been very much in evidence at the Ruishton house since
Denzell’s arrival. Oh no. All of a sudden, these ‘everyday’ visits
to Unice had ceased. He did not have far to seek for the reason.
But she would not fob him off this time.

Moving with purpose, he contrived to intercept his friend
as the couple were threading through the pockets of the talkative
assembly towards the dancing arena.

‘
My dance, I think, Ossie.’

Without waiting for a reply, he seized Verena’s hand,
mittened in gold net to match her over-gown.

‘
Hey!’ cried Osmond.

‘
Hey to you!’ retorted Denzell, and was on the move,
regardless of the effect on Verena.

She was too taken aback for a moment to resist, let alone
find anything to say. Besides, the warmth of his hand about hers
was rendering her breathless. He had caught her so much off guard,
for in Osmond’s presence she was now apt to be a trifle more
relaxed, that she had been unready for such a determined
assault.

Before she had time to recover, she found herself taking up
a position in one of the sets then forming. Denzell released her
hand as he took his place, and turned to face her, smiling
disarmingly.

‘
Will you forgive me for this piracy? I doubt Ossie will
not.’

‘
I do not think—I mean—’

Verena willed herself to continue, but the effort to
control the quivering in her lips was too great. Where was her
strength? Thank the lord Mama had elected not to come tonight. For
all the work of these few days would be gone in a moment. She had
hoped—in vain?—her conduct had convinced him that she did not wish
to pursue their acquaintance. She did not indeed. She did not wish
even to speak to him, let alone dance with him,

‘
You don’t wish to dance, do you?’ he said, as if he had
read her mind.

The next instant, just as the music started, he whisked her
out of the set, and out of the dancing arena altogether. But not
back towards the colourful throng moving below the arena. Instead
she found herself passing out of the flare from the burning
torches, and into the shadows beyond, where the darkness of the
Grove beckoned.

‘
Where are you taking me?’ she asked.

‘
Where we may be a little private.’

‘
But – ’

‘
Miss Chaceley, trust me!’

A few steps more and he stopped, right on the edge of the
Grove, where sight and sound of the gaiety on the Green was muted,
and yet within a few feet of the laughing enjoyment of the crowds
therein.

Denzell did not release his hold on her elbow, which he had
used to steer her through, so silently, so rapidly that he doubted
whether anyone had observed them depart. Besides, he was ready to
wager theirs was not the first such secret departure. This type of
entertainment lent itself to stolen meetings such as this. But for
himself, there was no amorous intent.

‘
This is better,’ he said, as he turned to look down into
her face, visible quite in the still fading daylight, but
sufficiently hidden for the mask to have been dropped. And it was
gone! There was a world of confusion in her face. Confusion, and—by
George, he had been right—fear.

‘
Verena,’ he uttered urgently, ‘don’t look at me so. Why are
you afraid of me? God knows I intend you no harm.’

Verena’s heart sank. Yes, she did fear him—his effect on
her. How had he divined so much? She must not allow him to believe
it, for that would weaken her position. Desperately, she fought to
regain her control. But that was very difficult when his very touch
was causing waves of trembling heat to invade her breast. She
shifted away, pulling her elbow out of his grasp.

‘
Don’t run away,’ he uttered at once. ‘I must talk to you.
If you will not allow me to do so in public, then grant me this one
opportunity, I beg of you.’

‘
I h-have no intention of r-running away,’ she
said on a snap, annoyed with herself for the tremor in her voice.
‘And
I am not
afraid of you!’

‘
Then why are you avoiding me?’ he accused. ‘Don’t try to
pretend that you have not been doing so.’

The mask snapped back into place. ‘Really, Mr Hawkeridge, I
don’t know what you mean.’

The coolness of her tone stung him. ‘Ah, so you are armed
again, are you? Well done, Miss Chaceley.’

His sarcasm distressed her, but it toughened her, too. With
even more blandness, she said, ‘I am quite at a loss,
sir.’