Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I (20 page)

Leaving Julia to enjoy Miss Denbigh’s artless prattle without interference (which Ann soon did) I turn my reader’s attention to the rest of the company, where the thing that might well strike them most, as it did Ann, is the fact, that for the first time she was seeing the family of Lenox all together in the same room--or, indeed, the same house. She thought it strange that this circumstance should not have occurred to her in anticipation, particularly in picturing the interaction between Lady Lenox and her eldest son. Why had she not realized the possibilities for further discord, with son Do-No-Wrong and son Do-No-Right both within reach of their mother’s tongue? Why had imagination not dabbled its brush in past-experience, and painted a disturbing portrait of one son heaped with praise, and the other determinedly snubbed? Of Sir Warrington, a humiliated, ever-smiling lump, becoming more and more pitiable to the embarrassed eyes of those around him? Of his brother, expression fixed with distaste for the situation, and perhaps driven even to quietly check his mother, to the further discomfort of everyone?

Grateful to the greater part of the company’s feelings, was the dissimilarity of reality to imagination. The latter’s vivid portraits, happily never drawn, would in any event have proved to be mere shop-window cartoons, truth exaggerated out of all proportion, and given the worst interpretation. It may have been, that from associating with those who persisted in crediting him with more intelligence than a blackbeetle, and did not sweep his opinions aside as so much dust polluting the air, Sir Warrington had gained enough assurance to dissuade his mother from attempts on sentences that he might now be willing to fight for the right to end as he pleased; or perhaps she was put in too good a humor by the complimentary yappings of the gentleman-pug to bother. For whatever reason, she never once interfered with her eldest son’s speech, or indeed, took any notice of him at all, but let him converse with whom he would without restraint. She did, it is true, scatter a number of what Clive called “braglets” throughout her conversation, and cast many a fond glance in dearest Edmund’s direction; but as he always happened to be listening to someone else, and as she found that praise of him served only to encourage Lady Bertram to hold forth on the accomplishments her own offspring--a very dull subject, which the woman really ought to have known better than to introduce into a company that could have no interest in such an insignificant brood--eventually she was cured of even this symptom of partiality.

Altogether, Ann judged that she had endured many a worse dinner party, for aside from the presence of Parrys--that incalculable good--there was also the Lenoxes’ cook, whose talents almost merited the extravagant commendations Lady Lenox bestowed on him. Dearest Edmund had, naturally, been the one to find and engage this treasure, and it was well that he had done so, for the talk being kept general at their hostess’s insistence, and there being few topics on which half of the party could speak without wearying the other half within five minutes, food became gradually as much to be spoken of as consumed. And dinner would have been made that much longer, had they all been forced to spend it contriving complimentary things to say about a parade of inferior dishes.

After tea, however, Lady Lenox, her uncle and aunt, and the pug, as well as Lady Charlotte’s party, all determined on cards, leaving the rest of the company nothing to do but make up yet another table, or employ themselves in some time-wasting pursuit like becoming better acquainted. This they did with universal satisfaction, moving animatedly from such topics as the methods of transplanting grown trees, to the sadly declining health of the venerable Mr. Newton of St. Mary’s, until someone (it might have been Mr. Hayden, it might have been Mr. Parry) having introduced
en passant
the question of supra-
versus
infra-lapsarianism, the number of voices raised in opinion or comment instantly decreased to three. I do not mean by this either to imply that the others were not welcome in the discussion, or to cast aspersions on their understanding. Indeed, Lady Frances so thoroughly understood the controversy, that when after a few minutes Mr. Parry bethought him of the discourtesy of engaging in such an exclusive topic in general company, and begged her pardon for it, she smilingly replied, that though to her mind it resembled a wrangle over whether the baker had first mixed in egg or butter, when the order of precedence could make no whit of difference to the persons enjoying the cake, she had not the smallest objection to its continuation. Julia attended to the various arguments with a countenance of impartial and intelligent interest, which bespoke her familiarity with them, and even Ann, though previously ignorant of the subject, listened to the debate for a considerable time, and was only torn from her attendance on it at the last, by the superior attractions of a game of Old Maid, first proposed by Sir Warrington in a whisper, to an equally restless Miss Denbigh.

Ann observed the inception of this game from the corner of her eye, bestowing on the players a smile of tolerant amusement, and the thought that only for that pair could there be any modicum of suspense in a two-handed game. Precisely when tolerance changed to wistfulness, she could not be certain, but she found herself increasingly distracted from the consideration of eternal blessedness, by the anxious squeals of Miss Denbigh, who was convinced that her defeat was inevitable, and that every draw would see her face to face with Ape-leading Majesty. Ann, however, was not ready to broadcast her preference for childish amusements in the face of a dialogue of such weight, and she kept her eyes, if not her mind and ears, fixed attentively on the lapsarians, until Lady Frances, rising quietly from beside her husband, moved across the room to take the chair hastily vacated by Sir Warrington, and cheerfully demanded to be dealt in. The eyes of Julia and Ann met for an interrogative instant, and then Julia smiled, and turned her head back toward the gentlemen, and Ann, after a moment’s hesitation, slipped from her chair, and left the scholarly trio to their polysyllables. Whether the gentlemen succeeded in resolving the matter I do not know; but one thing was resolved that evening, and that was, that there never had been a player at Old Maid as favored as Lady Frances, and that Julia’s laughing suggestion that perhaps her mother had fiddled the cards (offered on the journey home in answer to Ann’s mock grumbling), could not have been the correct one.

My reader may well be thinking, “Here is a deal of chatter about nothing to the purpose! Several irrelevant people introduced into the narrative, and yet no mention made of whether or not Mr. Lenox kept his word to Ann!”

Patience, O All-discerning Reader. Hear my excuses before you condemn! An historian and biographer (at least a truthful one) is at the mercy, not only of faulty human memories, but also of fallible human senses; and the truth is, that for the greater part of the evening, Ann herself was kept in suspense. It was not until after tea, when the card table was being set up, and the talk had turned briefly to fishing, that she became again tolerably convinced, that all her plotting, all her pangs and mortifications, had indeed borne fruit. Julia, having been drawn into animated defense of some favorite method or other, was reaping the good-natured ridicule of several more experienced anglers, when Mr. Lenox--who, according to his brother, was known throughout five counties for his skill in extracting fish of historic proportions from their natural environment--came intrepidly to her support. He did not say a great deal; he did not even
entirely
agree with her; but by placing himself deliberately in her camp, he drew down on his own head the slings and sniggers of outrageous infidels; and if Lady Lenox had not just then significantly announced the readiness of the card table, there is no telling where his championing might have ended.

This was indeed notable; but even more so, was the manner in which he afterward received Julia’s playful acknowledgement of his deed, by taking the “colors” she conferred on him (a silk ribbon, pulled from the netting of her reticule), and threading it carefully through a buttonhole, much to the noisily-expressed approval of Sir Warrington.

It was a small thing, a minute marching in a parade of hours; and Ann might well have suspected herself of fabricating an oasis from the vapors of her own expectations, had Julia not unwittingly confirmed its reality, by her later use of the singularly inappropriate phrase “wholly delightful,” to describe what had, after all, been an evening of no more than passable attractions.

**

Few who scheme to interfere in the lives and problems of others, for those others’ good, meet with the success their benevolent intentions deserve. A partial attainment of their goal is perhaps the best that can reasonably be hoped for; and many count themselves fortunate, if they are but spared the torrent of angry recrimination, which is widely believed to be the only fitting response to such interference. Ann was one of the blessed few, to whom complete success is granted; and this despite all the blunders she had committed, in the execution of her scheme. She was not unmindful of the rarity of her achievement, and for some time continued rather astonished at the perfection of it. But it was an astonishment not of long duration, for she soon perceived the splinter in the thumb, which is the necessary concomitant to all human endeavors.

Mr. Lenox had indeed kept his word to Ann; the cloud was most thoroughly removed: no longer was Julia distressed by a disparate formality. Thus far, Ann had reason to congratulate herself. But he was not content with this. He had always been quick, generally pleasant, invariably gentlemanlike; but the lack of openness, the constraint, that had manifested itself, variously, in grave-faced silences that extended beyond mere absence of mind into conversational discomfort, or in his abruptly rising to take his leave, when he had seemed content in their company the very moment before--these had proved a barrier, which not even the warmest gratitude could fully surmount. Now, he himself dismantled the barrier, and displayed an unguarded, almost Warringtonistic readiness to please, and to be pleased. The Parrys could not help but note and rejoice in the change, but they charitably attributed it to his “methodology of friendship”--Incremental instead of Instantaneous--rather than to the abandonment of a previously-indulged fault, or the removal of previously-held suspicions.

Ann admitted herself irked. She could not, of course, regret anything that brought joy to the Parrys; but also she could not help resenting, for their sakes, that improvement of manner, which drew them deeper into friendship, even as they remained ignorant of its true origin. And it was she who was responsible for the improvement, she who had schemed and rehearsed, and very nearly commanded it into existence! She took what comfort she could in the reflection that while she may have railed at him for slighting Julia, and told him he had no right to try to direct his brother’s life, she had certainly never instructed him to be engaging.

Clive, celebrating the difference in his favorite Parroic couplet, found Ann curiously unappreciative.

“Who was that young man, who came here to dine?

Who smiled at our jokes, and sipped at our wine?

Who chatted politely and left before ten--

That distantly affable, bilafare friend?

He’s gone: not a word, not a note, not a trace;

And a singular fellow has taken his place:

This one--despite a respectful veneer--

Has a sly way of laughing, and ventures to jeer

At books and opinions that don’t suit his taste:

Dame Radcliffe is scorned with unchivalrous haste.

He disputes with his host over Eire Castlereagh’d;

And worse, fancies logic and facts will persuade.

He dismisses the clock, as if time were his servant,

And is met with the sun, clear-eyed and observant,

Ever-ready to comment, tease, laugh or opine--

He is oddly content to ride, talk, or dine.

At times we recall our old bilafare friend--

And hope he came not to an unhappy end.

We think of him kindly, and deep in each heart,

Give thanks for whate’er made that young man depart.”

(I ought perhaps to explain, for the benefit of those of my readers who have not the means of travelling extensively, that “bilafare friends” are a species of agreeable persons one occasionally encounters whilst touring a certain part of the country. For a week one might meet them daily, might dine with them every night, and even arrange to explore houses and gardens and ruins with them, all without having the slightest expectation, or even desire, of ever seeing them again, once the reckoning at the inn has been paid: thus, a “bill-of-fare” friend.)

Secure in their illusions, the Parrys were now in the happy position of knowing no less than three ‘families’ within easy distance, whose company they enjoyed, and who as often as not were perfectly ready to dine with them at no more than half a day’s notice. The Spenhopes and the Lenoxes had long possessed standing invitations to come whenever they wished; the Spenhopes, indeed, had many demands on their time, and could not avail themselves of theirs as much as the Parrys might wish; and of course, Mr. Lenox had previously left it to his brother to make full use of their own; but now, not only he, but Mr. Hayden and Miss Denbigh as well, were frequently to be found gratifying the Parrys’ sense of hospitality. These persons, occasionally modified and expanded by Clapham friends, or relatives, or various men (and their families) whom Mr. Parry had known in India, and who had now undertaken the thankless task of directing the Hon. Company, gradually became almost the total sum of the “society” in which the Parrys moved.

Nothing could have suited them better. This was precisely the sort of thing they delighted in; what they had left behind in Warwickshire. The London version of conviviality, of rushing madly from party to party, that one’s popularity might never be in doubt; of sitting in one’s carriage, and sending a footman to fling one’s card at a succession of servants, that one might talk of the number of persons one had “called on” that day; or perhaps--if one was very conscientious--actually sitting face to face with the occupants of a house for ten minutes, with a mouth full of gossip or platitudes, an eye on the clock, and a mind filled with the next residence to be sped to--all these established parodies of friendship, had filled the souls of Lady Frances and Julia with revulsion. Some dutiful attempts had been made, to pursue these rituals of the Polite World, in accordance with Lord Meravon’s desires, but Kitty’s misadventure had provided an interruption, from which they had never fully recovered; and with each addition to the table of true friends, their power increasingly sank.

This withdrawal from its pleasures, by one who had so brightly adorned them, naturally provoked a storm of protest from the World. Lord G_____, perhaps recollecting having seen Miss Parry’s name on his wife’s list of those to receive invitations to her ball, and meeting with Lord Meravon on the steps of the House soon after it had taken place, graciously thought to congratulate him on how well his granddaughter had looked, appearing as fresh at the ending of the evening, as she had at the beginning, despite having never been allowed to sit down for even one dance. The Earl was highly pleased by this report, and triumphantly passed it on to the Parrys, who received it with modest incredulity, before hastily turning the conversation; agreeing solemnly among themselves, after he had departed, that a powerful imagination was really a desirable attribute in a minister of state, and that it would have been a rather remarkable occurrence, if Julia
had
been knocked up at the end of an evening, when she had done nothing more strenuous, than play a song or two on the pianoforte, and laugh till her head ached, over Mr. Parry’s reading of
The Apprentice
. And no less a personage than Mrs. D_____, happening to meet with Lady Frances at a Bazaar, playfully scolded her for missing a wonderful dinner, before launching, without pause, into a detailed description of those who had come, everything that has been said, and everything that had been served.

Even Lady Thomasin was moved to note, that she did not recall having seen her great-niece at an assembly the night before, and to wonder how she could have missed her.

“Very easily, ma’am,” replied Julia, smiling. “I was not there! We spent a most comfortable evening at home. Sir Warrington sang for us after tea, and mother showed Miss Denbigh how to make a new kind of stitch.”

“This is gaiety indeed!” exclaimed the other. “Ah well, I suppose that those who spend most of their time in the country, have greater difficulty in adapting themselves to the more vigorous life of the town. Ha! I do believe it might have been so with me at the first--but now I can stay up all night, and never feel the least ill effects. Ha! Ha! It will be the same with you, I have no doubt. Each Season will see you accustomed a little more quickly, until one year you will find that you can arrive one afternoon, go shopping all the next day, and attend a ball that same evening, without any extraordinary weariness.”

“Thank you, but I really do not think I have the constitution to support such a regimen of delights. We cannot all have your vigor. Besides, I have come to the conclusion that Mrs. More is perfectly correct, and that ‘no woman takes so little interest in the happiness of her real friends, as she whose affections are incessantly evaporated in universal civilities; as she who is saying fond and flattering things at random, to a circle of five hundred people every night.’”

“Ha! Ha! What a wit that woman has! I remember I read her first play aloud to St. Bees, and we both agreed, that Sheridan could not have done better. Well, it is an art; it is an art, indeed. ‘A circle of five hundred’! Ha! I am sure I do not talk to half so many people, most nights! But there, St. Bees has never been quite the figure in society that I could wish--he cannot help it--I was saying to Julian just last week--But wait! My dear, I was forgetting your grandfather! He is certainly--Ha!--under the impression that you are gadding about town and spending his allowance to you in an appropriately wasteful manner, as befits a young lady making her come-out. Ha! Ha! And instead, here you are disporting yourself in frugal domestic comfort! He will not understand---he will shout--to be sure, he will shout!” The thought did not appear to alarm her unduly, for coming of the same stock, Lady Thomasin possessed the nerves, and lungs, both to withstand, and match, any display of her brother’s.

“I do not see how he can justly complain,” replied Julia coolly. “I have come to London; I have spent his money (the dressmaker’s bills for that first month, must have been all his heart could wish); I have eaten countless dinners whose only recommendation was the appearance of the plate on which they were served; I have danced with any number of agreeable gentleman, and many more who were not; I have lost a great deal of sleep, and raised a positive courtyard of blisters, in the noble pursuit of amusement. And I have been given to understand, that I have even succeeded in making several persons extremely unhappy, at least for a time, by either refusing to do one thing, or unconsciously doing another. So it does not seem to me, that I have neglected any part of his program. I have now only to depart next month, leaving the inhabitants of London to recover from the shattering effect of my absence, as best they can: