Mr. Darcy's Daughters (20 page)

He gave his stepmother a graceful wave of his hand and sauntered out of the door.

Fell, excellent butler though he was, was outmanoeuvred and outnumbered. Mrs. Pollexfen and Mrs. Gardiner arrived, from opposite directions, on the doorstep of the house in Aubrey Square at the very same moment, their carriages jostling for space in front of the house. They were more than a match for any quantity of butlers of whatever experience and stateliness. Moreover, they had right on their side: Neither of them was some mere caller to be denied; they were both family.

Sophie, a pouting, bored expression on her pretty face, tripped into the house after her mother and cousin.

Camilla had run upstairs on returning from her visit to Mrs. Rowan to restore some order to her hair, blown about on her rapid walk back, and to cool the high colour from her cheeks. She hurried down to the drawing room when she heard the voices.

Letitia was already in the drawing room, her embroidery frame laid down on a small table, her silks in a box at her feet. Camilla noticed the marbled cover of a book peeping out from under a cushion—she was not much surprised to find that her sister had been reading a lurid novel rather than setting stitches or perusing a more solemn tome. Letty was clearly eager to present a serious appearance to the callers—had she been expecting Mr. Valpy?

Camilla did not particularly want to see her aunt Lydia, whom she mistrusted. Anyone, though, was better than odious Mr. Valpy, with his insinuating ways and his open hints about Pemberley. He was, she was quite sure, fishing for an invitation to Derbyshire, one that might well be forthcoming if he were to persuade Letty to do what she said she longed for: to shun London life and return to the country with her sisters.

Camilla could imagine nothing more tiresome than being cooped up at Pemberley with Valpy, Letty at her most sententious, and two—no, three—sulking sisters; Alethea would most likely have to be dragged kicking and screaming into any coach intended to take her away from Signor Silvestrini’s lessons. With some cause, for it was remarkable how her singing had improved, and her playing upon the pianoforte, too. Not to mention that she seemed to have taken up the flute—where had the instrument come from? she had wondered, but Griffy’s closed face when questioned on the matter had precluded further enquiries.

Aunt Lydia and Mrs. Gardiner, old enemies, were exchanging civilities.

“So this is little Sophie,” cried Lydia, all smiles. “Why, child, how pretty you’ve grown, I should hardly have known you! I declare it is an age since I last saw you, and here you are quite grown up and with a very eligible
parti
to your credit; you are to be felicitated. Of course, the match has its drawbacks, for Wytton is eccentric to his bones, all that family are eccentrics; have you met his mother? No? She is abroad? Well, that is all of a piece, she jaunters about all over the place just as though she did not have a perfectly delightful home, for Wytton would never turn his mother out of the abbey; of course, there is the Dower House, but it is dreadfully ancient, I believe, so I am sure he means her to make her home with him—whenever she happens to be in England, that is, and indeed she cannot keep on with her travels for ever, for she is by no means a young woman. But you will not mind having her there, Sophie, I dare say you will be glad of the company, for your husband will certainly not intend to stay at the abbey, or even spend much time in London. He has itchy feet, as the saying is, which is perhaps a change from most other men, who have itches quite elsewhere in their anatomy, and so he will constantly be abroad, visiting all those horrid places like Egypt and Greece; however, they are very dangerous, that is one thing to be said for them, and so you may not have to be a deserted and lonely wife for so very long—widows do have much the best of it, I assure you, once the appointed period of grief is over and done with.”

Sophie was, for once, utterly at a loss as to how to reply to this flow of talk. Mrs. Gardiner, well used to Lydia’s ways, merely gave her a quelling look and said that the young couple would only spend part of the year at the abbey.

“You
may
change Wytton, Sophie,” said Lydia, ignoring Mrs. Gardiner’s interjection. “It is amazing what being married can do to a man, I have often remarked upon it. But if I were you, I would make the most of my London season, there is nothing so much fun as the season. Have you been to the assemblies at Almacks, and danced the night away at all the most fashionable balls?”

Camilla suspected that her aunt knew perfectly well that no Almacks vouchers had been forthcoming for Sophie, and had guessed that Sophie minded this very much. Mrs. Gardiner had too much sense to fret about whether the patronesses of Almacks approved of her or not, but she must feel for her daughter’s disappointment, and sensible or not, no one would relish having their nose rubbed in this act of social exclusion—least of all by Mrs. Pollexfen.

Letitia provided a diversion by beginning a plaintive complaint against the excesses and worldliness of London and the season, causing her aunt Lydia to roll her eyes upwards in disbelief and shrug her elegant, bony shoulders.

“That may do all very well for when you are in your dotage, Letty, my dear,” she said, interrupting her without apology. “However, it is a great deal of nonsense for a young woman of your age and position to condemn what you hardly know. Take care; such sentiments will make you seem sour, and that, with the Busby affair so fresh in people’s minds, will never do.”

Camilla had to admire her aunt Lydia, who had the knack of striking at her prey with the precision of a marksman. Camilla should feel sorry for her sister, she knew, but she couldn’t help an inward smile at Letty’s discomfiture. Letty’s naturally serious outlook on life had turned—under Mr. Valpy’s unhelpful influence—into daily preaching and more sanctimoniousness than any rational creature could be expected to bear.

Sophie, flushed and unhappy, rose and walked across to the window, where she studied the street below with intense and spurious interest. Her shoulders drooped, and it was only at the entrance of the twins that her spirits seemed to revive a little. Georgina came in through the door as though making an entrance on to the stage at Drury Lane, and Belle drifted after her in her usual floating way. They pulled Sophie to a sofa, and the three of them sat with arms wrapped round each other, heads close, whispering in voices not audible to any of the others.

Mrs. Gardiner frowned at this want of manners, but she wisely chose not to rebuke Sophie—much to Camilla’s relief, as, judging by the tension in Sophie’s body, any criticism might provoke a flood of tears, or even hysterics.

It was odd, for Sophie had always been one of the robust kind, not given to emotional displays and fanciful turns; Camilla would have said that under all the exquisite prettiness, there was a clearheaded, practical person. Lately, though, her young cousin’s nerves had seemed balanced on a knife edge and, going by the anxious looks Mrs. Gardiner was directing at her daughter, she wasn’t the only one to form such an opinion.

Lydia was now telling Mrs. Gardiner about the ravishing new silks from France, and on this safe and interesting ground, the two women conversed in temporary harmony. Letty listened with keen attention, Camilla noticed, although her sister was pretending to be absorbed in her own thoughts to show she had a mind above such fripperies. A little more of silks and clothes and a little less of sackcloth and Letty would be much happier; how she wished they could get her out of her doleful ways.

She had had such hopes of Captain Allington, so willing to squire Letty to the park and on riding expeditions, and always on hand to request a dance when the opportunity offered. One had to remember, though, that it was the gallant captain who had taken Letty to Mr. Valpy’s church in the first place, and Camilla could have pulled the whiskers off his handsome face with fury at his having done them all such a disservice. He was less attentive to Letty now. Belle seemed to have claimed him for one of her many victims, which left Letty even more at the mercy of the Reverend Valpy.

Camilla’s mind drifted, still casting its own private cloud of unhappiness. It was like an aching tooth, a pain that might at times be acute, at others no more than a dull reminder of its power to hurt. If that was what love was about, then she was done with it. Aunt Lydia had the right of it: You did well to choose a husband that you liked, to be sure, but for whom you would never feel any more intense passion. That way, whatever he did, you would not mind, and you would not be taking any more hostages to fortune the way she so foolishly had by allowing herself to fall in love with Sir Sidney.

Her heart gave a jolt, as at that very moment she heard her aunt speak his name. Lydia flashed her a look—not at all a kind one—and continued in a somewhat louder voice to talk to Mrs. Gardiner about the scandal that still had the polite world entranced.

“Have you not heard? He fled to Italy, as you must know. He left everything behind, and the household is all at sixes and sevens not knowing if he will return or if dustcovers and boxes to be sent on are the order of the day. The knocker is off the front door, and there is not a single footman remaining in the house.” She leant towards Mrs. Gardiner for emphasis, nodding her head. “They say Mrs. Delamere has dismissed every single man but the butler, who is too old to have been up to any mischief; even the boot boy has gone, and only the female staff are left.”

Camilla gripped the back of a nearby chair. Never mind Sophie and her fragile nerves, how could she herself manage to maintain an appearance of indifference before the sharp-eyed Lydia, who was keenly searching her face for any signs of weakness to report back to her interested friends?

So much for family feeling!

Mrs. Gardiner came to Camilla’s rescue. “I expect they will let the house,” she said in a dismissive voice. “Now, Lydia, it is most interesting what you were telling me about shawls. Are they genuine cashmere? For there are many on sale of greatly inferior quality—although they pass them off as cashmere, they are no such thing.”

The moment passed, several deep breaths did their work, and, although pale, Camilla was able to give a perfectly collected answer on being appealed to by Georgina and Belle about the respective merits of white as against sprigged muslin for summer dresses.

If only one’s mind would leave one in peace, to think of nothing more than silks and shawls and ribbons for one’s shoes. She wanted none of the regrets and anguish and futile going over the sterile ground of a relationship that had turned out to be so different from what she had once imagined. She forced herself to answer a query about how many feathers one might becomingly wear on one’s head. Bother feathers, bother hats, bother everything.

Lydia was rising to her feet, fussing about her to collect her parasol, her reticule, to adjust the hang of her dress. “So it is all quite settled, you will bring the girls on Thursday to my rout, and your Sophie, too, of course; so many pretty creatures all at once, I do not know where my dearest Pollexfen will look in the face of so much youth and beauty, he will be in raptures.”

The very instant that the drawing room door had closed behind Mrs. Pollexfen, Camilla and Letitia burst into exclamations of vexation and dismay about the invitation that Mrs. Gardiner had accepted on their behalf.

“For I do not wish at all to go,” Camilla protested. “It was understood between ourselves and Mr. Fitzwilliam that we should not go about in society while Fanny was away.”

“Why, as to that, it is only a matter of a chaperon, and I am quite as well able to chaperon you on this occasion as Fanny, better indeed, for I am related to Lydia Pollexfen, and she is not.”

Letitia was eager to have her say. “A period of quiet and reflection, dear Mrs. Gardiner, that is what we were promised while Fanny is away, a pause in the round of dissipation and idle pleasures to allow ourselves time to think about how our lives should best be spent—in duty, and humility and service to others.”

The words were pure Valpy. Humility, indeed! There was nothing humble about Letty, no, nor about Mr. Valpy, however much he bowed and scraped and pretended to be one of the meek destined to inherit the earth. Camilla acknowledged the clergyman’s desire for a great inheritance, but was sure he intended it to be in the shape of a certain number of thousands of pounds and provided by Miss Darcy rather than by divine beneficence. Unless he considered that Letty had fallen into his hands at the direction of the supreme being; yes, he might even be capable of such sophism and be convinced that he deserved a rich and well-born wife as a sign of his favour in the sight of the Lord.

Letty was still prating, and Camilla silenced her with an impatient gesture. “Do be quiet, it is hardly our immortal souls that are at risk here. For myself, I am sure I shall find it as intolerable and boring an evening as you will; it is of the others that I am thinking.”

“Oh, no, you shan’t prevent us from going,” cried Georgina. “You need not look in our direction! I can see it in your face; you think that you and Letty shall go, if anyone has to, and that we shall stay at home like children. We shan’t, that’s all. We love visiting my aunt Lydia’s house; she knows the most delightful people and everyone is always very gay.”

“And just how much time have you spent there?” said Letitia, rounding on them. “Is this the reason for your long sorties to Bond Street? From which you return empty-handed as often as not, I have noticed.”

So Letty wasn’t quite so bound up in her good works as not to have her eyes open. Of course, that was what the twins had been up to, while Letty had been off attending to her societies for the prevention of this and that, and she herself had been going about London like a lovestruck dairymaid, ignoring what was under her very nose.

Pray God Alethea had not likewise been up to any secretive expeditions, although at least in her case Miss Griffin was on hand, more than able to repress any tendency to go beyond what was permissible.

“My dears,” said Mrs. Gardiner, drawing Letitia down beside her. “Do not upset yourselves. I know your sentiments, Letty, and I sympathise with your desire not to go about in society just at present, Camilla, but indeed it will not do. Fanny is bound up in her daughter’s well-being, as is only proper, and that is why she has not considered the consequences of your withdrawing from company at the height of the season. People will talk; people are already talking. Not to go to Lydia’s rout, which will be a very smart affair, when you are known to be her nieces, would give rise to even more gossip and speculation.”