Fragile Mask (6 page)

He might have been cheered could he but have seen Verena at
that moment, left alone outside the Ruishtons’ front door.
Breathless, she put a hand to her breast, as if to still the
fluttering there within. Dear heaven, but what charm there was in
his smile. Had she not trained herself all these long years to
suppress even the slightest outward display of emotion, she feared
she must have given him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had
moved her. Her control had never been so severely
tested.

She drew a steadying breath, and came away from the door,
her half-boots crunching along the worn path that was once again
showing beneath the dissipating snow and ice. Lost in her thoughts,
she had forgotten the short cut and began along the longer trail
that led back to the road.

Heavens, but she did not wish to have
any
man affect her this way. Least of all, such a man as that.
Eligible, indeed. Heaven send Mama did not get wind of his
interest. If there was any substance to it, which she frankly
doubted. That winning smile, the limpid gaze from those misty eyes,
had all the hallmarks of the accomplished flirt.

She had not been so out of the world that she could not
recognise these signs. The society of Fittleworth might be limited,
but she had not been the reigning belle for several years without
schooling herself to nip these sorts of pretensions in the bud. It
would surprise her very much if Mr Denzell Hawkeridge took the
matter any further.

A sneaking regret caused her to quicken her pace, lashing
herself mentally. None of that, Verena Chaceley. Did she so easily
forget the horrors that lay in store for the unwary female who
allowed herself to be beguiled by such men as this? How could she
forget?

She dismissed the idea. She was but human, and a comely
countenance, accompanied by such an onslaught of determined charm,
was bound to have its effect. She need not concern herself over
that. Particularly when she guessed him to be singularly
experienced at this game.

All at once she checked her pace. No harm in arming
herself, just in case Mr Hawkeridge should not have been
sufficiently deterred by this one meeting. Turning away from the
route home, she passed back along the row of houses that bordered
the lane and crossed beyond them towards the New Inn. Two houses
down, she stopped and knocked at a certain door.

Mrs Felpham, her sturdy frame planted in a chair by her own
fireside, expressed herself as being delighted to welcome Miss
Chaceley. Of course she was. She had been trying these few months
to penetrate the wall Verena had erected to keep out just such
intrusions. Verena could almost feel sorry for her. This was her
purpose in life.

A widow, settling here some few years since, she had
nothing to do but busy herself in hunting out all the little
details that made up the lives of those around her. What else had
she, except a very obvious pride in her dress—up to the minute in a
spotted lawn open robe whose high waistline could not be said to be
becoming to a flat chest in a square frame?

There was no need for Verena to touch upon the subject of
her visit, because the lady herself brought it up the instant the
greetings were over.

‘
A most
charming
young man,
and quite eligible. His father is Lord Hawkeridge, and I believe
the estates are in very good heart. No other sons to be provided
for. There is a sister, I believe, and she is out already so that
she must soon be off their hands.’

‘
Indeed?’ Verena said, maintaining the cool company manners
that stood her in such good stead.

‘
What a pity you were not there last night, Miss Chaceley,
for I am sure you could not fail to catch his eye.’

‘
As it chances,’ Verena said, ‘I have just met him at the
Ruishtons’. I called to see how Mrs Ruishton did, and am happy to
report that she seems very well.’

‘
Oh yes, dear Unice carries her children most comfortably.
And, pray, what did you think of Mr Hawkeridge?’

Verena met the eager gaze under the large lacy cap with a
show of complete unconcern. ‘I do not know that I thought very much
about him at all, Mrs Felpham. Except perhaps to form the
impression that he is a practised flirt.’

‘
Quite accomplished, so I have been informed,’ averred Mrs
Felpham. She leaned forward in a confidential way. ‘Dear Miss
Chaceley, allow me to put you a little on your guard, although I am
persuaded it is not necessary, so sensible as you are.’

If it was not necessary, Verena thought, why bother to say
it? But outwardly, she was all polite attention.

‘
How thoughtful of you, Mrs Felpham.’

Excitement showed in the woman’s eyes. ‘You are so young,
my dear. You can have no notion of the sort of tactics that young
men such as Mr Hawkeridge are apt to employ.’

‘
What sort of tactics, Mrs Felpham?’

‘
Well,’ said the dame, settling down to enjoy herself. ‘I am
led to believe that there have been few female hearts held proof
against him. Do you know what is his practice?’

‘
No, Mrs Felpham,’ said Verena, though she was sure the lady
was going to tell her.

‘
What will he do, dare you imagine, but select some poor
wretch, and then tantalise and tease until she does not know
whether she is coming or going.’

‘
Indeed? How might he do that?’

Mrs Felpham’s avid eyes sparkled. ‘Why, pay her a battery
of compliments and attention. Then, the very next time he sees her,
what will there be? Nothing but indifference and
withdrawal.’

She stopped, eyeing Verena as if waiting for some comment.
There was much Verena might have said, but she waited politely,
allowing no change in her own expression. Mrs Felpham sighed, and
resumed.

‘
Of course it means nothing. For on the next
occasion, he will be all smiles and charm, declaring that it had
been
her
rebuff and he only feared to approach her. Once
she is softened by such mouthings, he will desert her once more,
sometimes for days, not paying court elsewhere, you know, but
keeping company instead with his particular
cronies.’

‘
And that is the end of it?’ asked Verena, unable to help
herself.

‘
No, indeed,’ exclaimed Mrs Felpham, brightening at this
show of interest. ‘He returns again. For by now, as you may
imagine, the unfortunate female is on tenterhooks and positively
tearing her hair out with yearning.’

The more fool she, thought Verena, as Mrs Felpham sat back
with an air of utter satisfaction.

‘
What do you think of that, Miss Chaceley?’

There could be no doubt what Verena thought of it. She had
never heard of anything more shabby. Disgust rose in her at the
thought of such arts being employed, so as to turn some poor girl’s
head into a whirl of confusion. Dear heaven, she ought to know how
dangerous a pastime was being played here! So he blew in turns hot
and cold upon his victim, did he? All to satisfy his own vanity, no
doubt. What a conceit. Little did he know how well aware was she of
the effects of such erratic conduct.

Mrs Felpham was waiting for her answer, a look of
such comical anticipation in her face that Verena must have laughed
had she not been so disappointed. Disappointed? Well, she had as
well admit to it. It
had
been flattering to
be the recipient of such strong attentions. To hear now that it was
but a prelude to a practical campaign could only drop Mr Hawkeridge
in her estimation.

‘
I think,’ she said, ‘that any female who is taken in by
such blatant posturings must be a complete fool.’

Damped, Mrs Felpham was silenced for a moment. But she
rallied. ‘Then I have only to say, Miss Chaceley, that London is
full of a great many fools.’

Verena permitted herself a faint smile. ‘In that case I
must be happy that I have no place there, Mrs Felpham.’

She left the widow dissatisfied, she thought, but herself
secure in the knowledge that her words would be carried through the
town as swiftly as possible, so that none would be able to suppose
her to be falling under the spell of Mr Hawkeridge. It would rather
be the gentleman himself they would watch, waiting to see his
failure with the female whom no one in the spa town had as yet
succeeded in touching.

Hurrying home, Verena resolved she would remain aloof,
nevertheless. She might be disenchanted, but she already knew
herself to be vulnerable to him, and she had seen too much of
Mama’s sapped strength not to suspect her own.

She was able to maintain her resolution for several days,
Mama offering her the best excuse possible by her current bout of
weakness. They did not attend Sunday service at the King Charles
Chapel, and Verena caught herself out wondering whether Mr
Hawkeridge had missed her, instead of she being compelled—according
to Mrs Felpham—to miss him.

Furious at herself for even this slight show of interest in
the man, she spent Monday at her bureau in the parlour, handling
overdue accounts and some belated correspondence with the lawyer
who had charge of Grandpapa Whicham’s trust fund, to which she owed
her present independence.

It was Mrs Peverill who undid her daughter’s best
laid plans
not
to appear in sight of the flirtatious
Mr Hawkeridge. Having spent Monday resting contentedly on the
day-bed, reading one of Miss Burney’s romances borrowed from the
circulating library, she greeted Verena as she came to breakfast on
Tuesday morning with what was, for her, a deal of
enthusiasm.

‘
Dearest, I am feeling much more myself today. I should so
much like it if we were to go down to the Rooms tonight. Do you not
feel we might enjoy keeping company for a change?’

***

Denzell, happening to be deep in conversation with Sir John
Frinton, did not see Verena and her mother enter the room. But a
sudden break in the old man’s attention alerted him.

‘
Ah, there she is at last,’ uttered Sir John on a note of
satisfaction. ‘Would that I were forty years younger.’

Turning to follow the direction of the old man’s gaze,
Denzell at once espied Verena, and his breath caught. If she had
been beautiful in a brown pelisse and a ribbon-trimmed bonnet, she
was ravishing in full dress.

An open robe of white muslin with a low pleated bodice,
sleeved to the elbow with beaded trimming covering the long gloves
of York tan, was worn over a dull yellow petticoat. The shade
perfectly complimented the honeyed tresses, simply dressed with a
ribbon-bandeau threaded through so that one or two curling locks
fell across her white breast. A fairy princess, truly.

Staring in wonder, Denzell became aware of a sense of
hushed expectancy pervading the room. It held a moment, and then
broke, as every male in the place seemed to converge upon Miss
Verena Chaceley.

Denzell did not move. With difficulty, he brought his gaze
to bear upon the woman standing by Verena’s side. The resemblance
was plain, although the mother—there could be no doubt of her
identity—was but a pale echo of the daughter, a waif-like creature
in violet silk. She was of slighter stature, seeming so frail that
she might break.

Before the various gentlemen could reach her, he watched
Verena turn to her mother, solicitously drawing her towards a chair
by the fire. Then she was engulfed and he could no longer see her
plainly.

‘
Well?’ came Osmond’s probing voice at his side. ‘What are
you doing standing there? You will never make any headway if you do
not thrust your way into the melée.’

‘
What, and make one of a crowd?’ said Denzell with scorn,
turning his head. ‘You know me better than that.’

Both gentlemen were suitably attired for the occasion,
Osmond in his favourite purple, while Denzell once again sported
the claret suit with its black-silk accoutrements.

Osmond had his attention on the area by the fire where the
portly Mr Cumberland and the wheezing Mr Yorke were vying with a
number of other gentlemen who tried, regardless of the proprieties
of rank or station, to be first with Miss Chaceley. It was Sir
John, Denzell saw, who succeeded in procuring her smile, however,
for he was so adroit as to set the chosen chair for Mrs Peverill,
thus evidently earning the beauty’s gratitude. The little circle
widened as Miss Chaceley herself took a seat, enabling Denzell to
watch her as she turned, from one to another gentleman in turn, to
answer whatever sallies they might be making.

‘
I cannot see that she favours any one above another,’ he
observed in a pleased tone.

‘
Told you so. She always metes out exactly the same
treatment to all—just as she did to you.’

‘
For pity’s sake, what is she made of, ice? Or is she just
soulless?’

Osmond grinned at him. ‘Love dying already, eh?’

Denzell shook his head. ‘Growing, Ossie. I tell
you, I am intrigued past any bearing. I swear to you, she was so
vital, so
alive
.
This is—well, I don’t know what this
is, but I can see that it is apt to drive me
insane.’