Life Mask (41 page)

I'd almost scrubbed this dreadful subject from my mind until just a few weeks ago, when I was sent an anonymous epigram that called my friendship dangerous to ladies (how it burns me to write that). So it seems as if the baneful seed hasn't withered away after all but flourishes in secret.

But I wouldn't have you
too
alarmed, my dear M. It's only a matter of a scribbled rhyme, which may not have circulated at all; nothing (as far as I know) has appeared in print and I have no reason to believe Combe involved this time.

Anne paused, puzzled by how to go on. Why did she feel guilt hang round her neck like an albatross?

If I've been at fault—and somehow, for the first time, as I unburden my heart on paper, I dread that I have—it was only in responding too carelessly to that first malice all those years ago,
too lightly, or rather, too squeamishly, too disdainfully. It's possible that the judicious payment of £50 or so might have killed off the many-headed dragon in its infancy; should I not have paid that tax to the World? Perhaps I was too confident, too proud.

You & I are now to be parted for so long, dear M., you may well ask, why haven't I told you as a true friend would, face to face? To which lean only reply that my courage failed me; these things are more easily committed to paper. Though I know this letter will frighten and mortify you.

Oh, God. Anne didn't want to beg. What should she say now, what could she ask for?

I only hope, when you've reflected on the matter, that the goodness of your heart & the valour of your spirit will still let you count among your correspondents & friends

your servant,
(I need not risk signing;you know my hand well)

T
HE POST
brought her notes twice a day, but they were all from Walpolfe, and irritating.
I long for a line from Dieppe & then Rouen, Paris, Lyons & Turin,
he scribbled.
Not till the family are settled in Italy & I have confirmation of the fact will my anxiety subside into steady, selfish sorrow.
When two days had passed without word, he became convinced that the little sloop had foundered in the Channel. Finally he wrote to let Anne know the joyful news that he'd got a brief note from Agnes announcing their safe arrival in Dieppe after a twenty-four-hour crossing that had been only slightly rough. Anne, who'd heard nothing, had other terrors. Why didn't Mary reply to her letter? Put another way, why had she written of such terrible things to a young woman with eyes as stern as a hawk's?

She was so shaken that afternoon that she took four drops of laudanum. She hadn't touched the stuff since a very bad headache a year before; she'd almost forgotten what a magic elixir it was. It only sent her to sleep if she was tired already; on a restless day like this one it lifted her spirits and smoothed them out like a hot iron. She didn't feel drunk, only blissfully at ease; for hours on end she read Dante. That night, though, she was pulled back into turgid nightmares; she walked through gigantic pagan temples, looking for something, she couldn't remember what.

The next morning the letter arrived. It was postmarked Paris.

Oh, my dear A.—

How very honoured I feel that you've trusted me—as a friend of such recent date, though boundless affection—with your dreadful subject, as you call it. I'd never heard a word of this appalling libel, but that's not surprising, considering what restricted circles I've moved in until recently. The ways of the Beau Monde are still strange to me
£s?
its language a harsh one.

I can assure you, you still have my friendship, for as long as you want it.

You don't ask for my advice in this matter of the recent revival of the rumours, but somehow I feel inspired to offer it; forgive me this forwardness. Perhaps you were atfault, as you say, in taking the first battle too lightly instead of forcing a retraction from Combe. (Though I know, of course, that for rumours to be publicly denied is for them to be repeated.) It's as a friend that I say, now, don't let your reputation go undefended; it (I mean any woman's) is afrailfortress. Though you can't fight an invisible enemy (this latest epigram), you can keep watch.

I suspect it wasn't only the circumstances of your widowhood that left you open to thefirst dreadful accusation, but your splendid and enviable prominence in the masculine field of sculpture. My own unhappy circumstances in life, which have made me dependent on the kindness of my superiors, have impressed on me the necessity of holding on to people's approval. Perhaps you, too, should err on the side of pleasing the World rather than always following your own inner guide?

But enough of this & perhaps too much already.

We three Berrys are all well & enjoying Paris. The strangest things have changed since our last visit; the carriages of the nobility all have their coats of arms painted over, for instance. We purchased tickets to the Assembly at a very high price & heard a lively debate on the draft Constitution, during which the President had to ring his bell to try to hush the Comte de Mirabeau—a vast, shaggy bear of a man. Don't tell W., but Ag. and I have bought ourselves some tricolour bodices & iron bracelets, which are somewhat like light shackles. Things made of poor stuff like iron and cotton are all the rage here, it's the Democratic look.

Remember your promise,
cara anima
(yes, I carried your words away from North Audley Street, hidden in my ear) & write to me often. Write to me always candidly upon the subjects uppermost in your mind, be they what they may. It may bring you some relief to express yourself to one who, though she may sometimes reprove, will always sympathise. I hardly need to assure you that despite all the slings & arrows of outrageous fortune, I'm honoured to count myself

your friend,
M.

Anne read it through three times, her face flushed with relief. This was more than she had hoped for. How bravely Mary was grasping the nettle! And how mature she sounded—no trace of the humble protégéé about her.

The rain began to spatter on the parlour windows. Anne wished she were in France herself, where everything seemed new-made. Or in Italy. If she stayed here all winter she'd go as pale as a maggot.

She flicked through the post on the salver. Various invitations to musical soirées and routs to launch the Season. She really had to say yes to three of them—her sister's, Georgiana's and Lady Melbourne's. (Though the two of them were no longer intimates, Anne was still on the invitation list for large events.) She thought of what she might wear—who else might be there—the acceptance cards she had to send as well as the polite refusals. An enormous weariness was creeping over her. To live in the World was a full-time activity; how did anyone find time to do anything but socialise? Coming out at seventeen, hundreds of wedding visits, the elaborate protocol of mourning clothes—each stage of life brought new obligations. So many things one had to remember, and do, and buy, and say, and not say: a tiny universe of rules and whispers.

N
OVEMBER 1790

'Aha,' said Derby when the black footman showed him into the parlour at no. 8 Grosvenor Square, 'I can tell by the trunks in the hall and the rolled-up carpets that I've caught you just in time.'

Anne grinned as she shook his hand. She was looking well; her mouth had lost that melancholy line it had worn on the last few occasions he'd glimpsed her. 'You know what it's like, trying to pack in the middle of farewell visits. I was meaning to call on you, if I found a moment.'

He wasn't sure he believed her. 'I won't keep you long,' he said, accepting the chair the footman brought to his side. 'Actually, I
don't
know what it's like, though. I haven't been abroad since I was a boy.'

'Derby!' She moved from her paper-choked
secrétaire
to a plump silk chair beside his.

'Oh, I admit it's a scandal, especially for a man of my political sympathies. I haven't the least prejudice against foreigners—I pride myself on being cosmopolitan—but I prefer to meet them in Mayfair.' She laughed. 'It's Lisbon you're off to, I hear? "O
Portugal,
" he quoted the famous tag from
The Wonder, "thou dear garden of Pleasure—"'

She capped it. '...
inhere Love drops down his mellow fruit, and every bough bends to our hands and seems to cry, "Come, pull and eat."'

The line sounded mildly licentious. 'Do you know anyone there?'

'No,' said Anne, 'which is one of its attractions.'

He grinned at her. 'Well, if you really want to strike off from the familiar route, you could cross into Spain—explore the whole peninsula.'

'Oh, I'd like nothing more,' she said, 'but my parents are fretting about the risk of war over this Nootka Sound business—'

Derby shook his head a little smugly. 'I've just come from the Privy Council and I can tell you in confidence that's quite blown over; the Spanish have submitted to British terms.'

'How marvellous! Well, maybe I'll see the Alhambra at last.' Her eye fell on the long strip of paper in her hand. 'If I ever get through my list, that is.
Letters of introduction, bankers' instructions,'
she read at random,'
portable writing desk, mouse-proof hamper, bedding, dictionaries, hot-water bottle, chess set, cushions for Fidelle, stick and gun...'

'Oh, yes, where is the clever creature?'

'Under your chair.'

He fished out the tiny greyhound and inspected her paws before lifting her on to his grey silk breeches.

'I'm determined to manage with only two servants. I've dreamed of going alone—just myself and dog,' said Anne with a touch of self-mockery. 'Has any lady ever travelled without servants, I wonder? I imagine it would be exhilarating to be driven along through the mountains, quite solitary and undisturbed...'

'Ah, but who'd lay out dinner when you were hungry?'

'And even more to the point,' she said ruefully, 'what if I needed a man to go into a tavern on my behalf and I couldn't find one who spoke English? That wouldn't be freedom but its opposite.'

'Well, I'm sure you'll have a memorable winter. You'll be much missed by your many friends.' The pause stretched.
That wasn't the best-chosen phrase,
Derby thought.

'Well,' said Anne. 'I wouldn't say they're
many,
but the ones I do claim are loyal.'

'And I hope I'll always be counted among their number,' said Derby, ridiculously awkward. What he really wanted to ask was,
What in all the hells happened between you and Eliza?
He'd raised the matter with the actress once or twice now, in a tactful way, and she'd pretended not to understand his questions. He didn't like to go asking a third party behind their backs. No, really the only person Derby could dream of asking was his old friend Anne.
Come on,
he told himself,
she's about to leave the country.

'While—'

'I think—'

They both stopped short. Derby apologised and urged her to go on; Anne insisted it had only been the most trivial of observations.

'Well, then,' said Derby, 'what I was going to say was, while we're on the subject of friendship—I must just say, I'm heartily sorry that you and, ah, Thalia aren't on the terms you once were.' There was a heavy silence. He groaned inwardly. Plain statements were so much easier in male company. Sometimes he felt as if the sexes spoke different languages; a fellow could so easily commit the equivalent of double entendre. Like the story of the English débu-tante at the end of a Parisian banquet who loudly claimed to be
pleine,
she meant
full
but what the other guests understood was
pregnant.
Derby rushed on, now. 'I know it's not my place and I wouldn't dream of intruding on your privacy'—wouldn't he? What else was he doing at this minute?—'but I must admit the thing mystifies me.'

Her face was closed.

'Was there some ... misunderstanding?' he asked feebly. 'Or a quarrel? A political matter, even?'

Her mouth twitched, perhaps in derision. 'No, no quarrel.'

'Anything a mutual friend could help with at all?'

'I don't think so,' said Anne at last.

Was she in the grip of anger? he wondered. It looked almost like embarrassment, but what had she to be embarrassed about? It was Derby who was blundering crassly, ripping open old wounds. He'd never have made a diplomat. 'It's just that I have the greatest of respect and ... and liking for both of you.'

'Thank you. These things happen,' she said bleakly.

'Oh, yes,' he assured her.