Maulever Hall (11 page)

“No one in the village would hurt me,” said Marianne stoutly.

Lady Heverdon shrugged: “I expect you are right. But
just the same, I believe if I were you I would let that would-be gallant parson of yours squire you home another time. Better safe than sorry, you know.”

Two notes were waiting for Lady Heverdon when they got back to Maulever Hall. One was from the Countess of Lashton announcing her intention of calling on Mrs. Mauleverer on the day after next.

“Oh dear,” exclaimed that lady when Lady Heverdon told her the news. “How could I have been so stupid as to forget that wretched election. It will still be going on, and I very much fear Mark will not be able to give them the meeting.”

“Never mind,” said her guest. “It will be a consolation to us in his absence.”

Marianne, quietly listening as usual, found herself wondering whether this had been Lady Heverdon’s idea all along. Did she, perhaps, not wish Mauleverer to meet her cousin, Ralph Urban?

She rebuked herself, later, for this unworthy idea when Lady Heverdon announced mournfully that her cousin Ralph would not, after all, be able to escort the young ladies: “It is too provoking, but it seems he has urgent business in town. But we shall not lack for cavaliers, since they bring Mr. Merritt and Mr. Fenner, a most gentlemanlike couple, and quite devoted to the young ladies.”

Marianne
woke early on the day of the visit, and was relieved to see that it was brilliantly fine, for while making lavish arrangements for the comfort and feeding of this rather formidable group of guests, she had found herself constantly wondering how they were to be entertained. The Countess, who kept late hours even in the country, had insisted that they would not trouble Mrs. Mauleverer even for an early dinner, but they would of course be served a cold collation as soon as they arrived. This would take up some time, and give the riders in the party a chance to rest, but what then? Since Mauleverer did not play, the billiard table had gone to wrack and ruin, and his mother’s idea of entertaining guests was to sit mildly chatting about clothes, food, and the deplorable behavior of the lower classes. Whether this would be adequate to entertain a party of lively young society people, Marianne very gravely doubted. But at least, after luncheon, they could all walk about, exclaim at the variegated blossom of the shrubberies and lose themselves, if they so desired, in the wilderness. After that, she hoped that Mauleverer, who had promised to return as early as he possibly could, would
b
e there to help entertain them. As for her, she intended to keep out of the way. Her part of the day’s exertions would be done when the guests had been fed.

The party arrived with admirable punctuality, and Marianne, waiting to lead the ladies upstairs to the rooms set aside for their toilette, was able to observe that the Countess was a thin, proud-looking woman engaged in fighting a losing battle to preserve the remnants of pink-and-white British beauty. Her daughters, less fortunate, had no particular beauty to defend, but showed every sign of having inherited their mother’s pride in lavish measure. The two gentlemen who attended them struck Marianne as such complete nonentities that she found herself unable, throughout the visit, to remember whether the slender pale one was Mr. Merritt and the robust red-faced one Mr. Fenner, or vice versa. Luckily, the question, so far as she was concerned, was quite academic, since the entire party seemed to find her just as invisible as Lady Heverdon had done on the first day of her visit. The Misses Lashton chattered away to each other, as she led them upstairs to the green dressing room, as if they were entirely alone, exchanging frank criticisms of everything they saw, from Mrs. Mauleverer’s gray
morning
gown (deplorably out of style) to the green dressing room’s rep curtains (shabby). Later, as she handed cold meats and glasses of wine, Marianne observed, with wry amusement, that Lady Lashton’s companion, Miss Barker, received and obviously expected exactly the same treatment, losing no time in retiring to an inconspicuous corner, where she made up by an enormous meal for what she was missing socially.

Sorry for this shapeless dumpling of a woman, Marianne joined her in her corner as soon as everyone had been served, and attempted to engage her in conversation. But it was no use. Miss Barker replied in monosyllables, darting, as she did so, anxious glances at the gay group settled carelessly around the table. Her place, it seemed, was to be seen, if necessary, but never heard. Abandoning the attempt, Marianne settled more comfortably in the corner and watched the party. It seemed to be going well. Lady Heverdon was obviously on the best of terms with the Misses Lashton and their cavaliers, and was being regaled by a minute account of everything that had taken place at Lashton House since she left. The Countess, of course, had fallen to Mrs. Mauleverer and seemed to be enjoying herself very much in cross-examining her about the domestic economy of Maulever Hall. Listening to her questions, which were frank to the point of rudeness, Marianne could not help being sorry for her gentle hostess, who knew so little about her own household that she was reduced to making up the answers as she went along. “And soup?” came the Countess’s harsh and carrying voice. “I suppose you give soup regularly to the peasants in the winter months. I have found one can make a most nourishing broth out of the leavings from the servants’ hall. But then, I suppose our staff at Lashton must be quite double yours here. Tell me, how do you manage?”

“Why, truly, I am not quite sure.” Mrs. Mauleverer had been darting pleading glances at Marianne throughout the cross-examination, but now, finding these useless, she tried a direct appeal: “Marianne, my love, how do we manage?”

Thus directly applied to, Marianne had no choice but to rise and cross the room to where Mrs. Mauleverer sat, but was relieved to have her answer forestalled by Lady Lashton, who rose to her feet and moved away to the window. “How very disagreeable,” she exclaimed, “it is actually raining.”

“Oh darling Mamma!” Her daughters hurried to join her and mingle their exclamations of dismay with hers. What to do now, was the universal question, and once more Marianne was aware of Mrs. Mauleverer’s appealing glance. But how could she arrange entertainment for people who did not even see her? “Why not suggest charades?” she murmured to Mrs. Mauleverer, but this idea, when put forward, was condemned as a dead bore. “Charades have been out this six months or more,” said the elder and plainer Miss Lashton.

At this moment, the plump companion joined Marianne with a whispered request that she might retire for a few moments. “Riding backward in the hot sun has done my business as usual,” she explained as Marianne led the way upstairs, and Marianne, settling her on her own bed was at once too polite and too kind to suggest that three helpings of everything and several glasses of wine might have something to do with it too. Besides, she was too grateful for the excuse to escape to cavil at its reason. Promising to call the sufferer in plenty of time before the party left, she made her way down the back stairs to the little ground floor sanctum on the wrong side of the green baize door that she had made her own. There were various things here that she needed to see to. Boxall, the bailiff, had asked her to look through his monthly accounts for him before he submitted them to his master, and recognizing this as a true and overwhelming compliment, she
worked her way through them with the greatest care, marking, here and there, a point where Boxall’s mathematics and spelling had failed him, for his talent was all outdoors, and as he himself said, he could more easily plan the year’s cropping for the whole estate, than set down in writing what should be done with a single field. Reading through page after page of this cramped and difficult writing, Marianne was aware of the soft incessant patter of rain on the windows and wondered with half her mind what Mrs. Mauleverer and Lady Heverdon had found to do with their visitors. At last, conscience and curiosity together became too much for her and she put down Mr. Boxall’s smudged pages, sighed and made her way through the baize door to the front of the house.

VI

As Marianne entered the drawing room from a side door, Mauleverer appeared, still in riding dress, at the other end of the room. Both paused in surprise, Marianne silently, Mauleverer with a suppressed exclamation that sounded like an oath. A large round table that usually held knickknacks and albums had been pulled out into the center of the room and covered with a green baize cloth, and the entire party was gathered round it, bent so eagerly over their game of cards that they did not notice the new arrivals.

Bright spots of color burned high on Mrs. Mauleverer’s cheekbones, and her hand shook as she gathered up her cards.
“
My point, I think,” her voice slurred, almost, Marianne thought, as if she were drunk.

There was an awkward little stir around the table. Lady Lashton’s eyebrows were high, her daughters whispered to each other across Mr. Merritt who was exchanging a speaking glance with Mr. Fenner. Lady Heverdon alone seemed entirely composed, “Yes, your game, Mrs. Mauleverer, and we are all your debtors.” And then, she looked up, saw Mauleverer, and turned suddenly white. “Why, Mr. Mauleverer! This is a pleasant surprise! We did not expect you for another hour or more.”

“Yes.” He advanced upon them, almost, Marianne thought, threateningly. “I came home early in honor of your guests, Lady Heverdon. I beg you will present me. But first”—a hard glance swept the table with its litter of cards and counters —“if you have been playing, as it seems, for real stakes, I hope you will let me repay your losses. I told you that my mother does not play at games of hazard.”

“On the contrary,” said Mr. Merritt, “She plays all too successfully.”

Mauleverer advanced another step and seemed to tower over him. “I do not know your name, sir, but I demand to know what you mean by that.”

Merritt’s round red face seemed to crumple and he shrank back in his chair under Mauleverer’s furious glance. “Why—I ... I meant nothing at all, sir; merely that Mrs. Mauleverer has had a most remarkable run of luck which, as a charming hostess, she richly deserves.”

Lady Heverdon had risen and moved round between the two men. “And, truly,” she said, “we are all tired of cards and grateful to be interrupted. But it rained so—” Her voice was apologetic, almost pleading, and she gazed up at
him
with her huge blue eyes distended.

His dark gaze met hers uncompromisingly. “It has stopped raining now,” he said, “and I shall be glad to show your guests about the park—such as it is.”

But Lady Lashton and her daughters had risen and, among a little flutter of introductions, announced that since it was very late—the moon was new—they could not risk being benighted. Marianne was watching Mrs. Mauleverer whose febrile excitement had given way to a look of almost childish terror at her son’s appearance. Now she rose: “I am not well,” she said. “I beg you will excuse me.” And then, with almost a gulp of relief: “Miss Lamb!”

Marianne was across the room in an instant and supported her friend through brief, awkward leave-takings before leading her up to her own room and helping her out of her gown whose elegantly boned bodice was contributing to her discomfort. She said nothing until Marianne had put her into a loose negligee, then settled on a sofa, moaning, half to herself, “Mark will be so angry. Did you see how he looked?” And then: “Send me Martha: I must have my drops, quickly! And tell them I will not come down to
dinner. Make what apologies you will to Lady Heverdon. I cannot
...
cannot face him.”

Martha, summoned from the nursery where she was playing with little Thomas, rose grumbling. “I said no good would come of it,” she said. “Nor ever has. Yes, yes, I’ll go to her.” And then, with a quick, venomous glance for Marianne, “You see who she needs when she is ill.”

“I am glad she has you.”

When Marianne returned, reluctantly, to the drawing room, the visitors had gone and Mauleverer and Lady Heverdon were, all too evidently, quarreling passionately. “You should have explained,” wailed Lady Heverdon as Marianne entered the room.

I thought it enough to tell you.” His brow was as black as ever and he ignored the pretty disorder of golden curls, the pouting appeal of a red mouth turned up to him. “Ah, Miss Lamb. Tell me, how is my mother?”

“Very unhappy,” said Marianne, “and far from well. She begs, Lady Heverdon, that you will excuse her absence from dinner.” She longed to say: “And excuse mine, too,” but knew that the proprieties demanded her presence. She could only hope that Mauleverer would change his mood with his costume, but one glance at his face, when he joined her in the drawing room an hour later, showed it as overcast as ever. She was glad that she had taken the precaution of coming down early and establishing herself, apparently very busy, with some work in her accustomed corner. He did not seem to see her for a moment, then came across to her, “Is my mother better?”

“No.” Marianne did not mean to spare him.

He looked taken aback at the curt monosyllable. “You think me, then, a brute, Miss Lamb?”

“
Frankly
”
—she looked up at him with wide, thoughtful eyes—“and since you ask me, Mr. Mauleverer, yes.”
He gave a smothered exclamation and turned away to pace the room,
as
she bent once more to her work to hide her face, now crimson at her own daring.

“
You do not understand.” He had come back to stand over her again, as he had over Mr. Merritt.

“No,” she agreed calmly. “You are quite right. I do not understand. But you cannot frighten me as you do your mother—and that poor Mr. Merritt.”

He laughed, a short harsh bark of a laugh. “Yes, poor
man,
he was almost in a jelly of terror, was he not, but, as to my mother
...
Miss Lamb, you must let me explain.”

“I would not dream of troubling you so. Explain to Lady Heverdon, if you like. She is your guest.”

“And you?” He looked at her quizzically.

“I am your mother’s friend, if you do not think it presumptuous of me to say so. Indeed, I do not care what you think, I love your mother, and I think you treat her monstrously.”

“Oh I do, do I?” She had shocked him out of the sullens into anger. “I suppose I should let her go about the country, to Bath, to London, wherever she likes, and make a laughingstock of herself and a nayword of me by her cheating at cards. That would be kindness, would it?”

“It might be better than to leave her cooped up on her own here, so wretched for lack of company that she has become subject to a woman like Martha. What are those drops she takes? Have you ever thought that there might be worse things than a little innocent manipulation of the cards?”

“You mean?”

“I do not know what I mean, but I am not happy about Mrs. Mauleverer. I think you should take her to London to see a doctor—even if it does mean that she may disgrace you at the card table.”

He winced at the scorn in her voice, and turned, with relief, to welcome Lady Heverdon who came sweeping into the room in all the confidence of a low-cut and desperately becoming gown of violet silk. “Mauleverer!” She held out both hands to him. “You have forgiven me?”

“How can I help it?” His glance, as he bent over her, joined his words in tribute to her absolute beauty.

The evening was a success after all—at least, from Lady Heverdon’s point of view. Mauleverer, suddenly in tearing spirits, entertained them with a vivid description of the scenes, worthy, he said, of Hogarth’s pencil, that had taken place at this, the second to last day of the Exton election. Lady Heverdon hung on his words, the perfect listener, and Marianne had nothing to do but eat her dinner, enjoy his turn for vivid description, and wonder how Mrs. Mauleverer would be in the morning.

It was, disconcertingly, Marianne’s part to rise, when dessert was finished, and lead the way back to the drawing room, but Lady Heverdon, pausing only to give Mauleverer her best smile and urge him not to be long behind them, took her arm as amicably as if, she thought, she had been one of the proud Misses Lashton.