Mr. Darcy's Daughters (8 page)

Sir Sidney was a connoisseur and altogether an urbane man; yes, he was just such a one as might do for Camilla. He was not rumoured to be of an ardent temperament; gossip had never linked his name with any of the flightier high-born ladies in his circle, but then, no doubt, he looked for his amorous encounters in the world of the demi-monde, like so many other men.

She was not sure what Camilla’s feelings might be, for beneath the laughter and liveliness lay a good deal of reserve. She was like her father, who had never been one to show his innermost feelings. His contemporaries might laugh and cry and be as emotional as they liked; she had never seen him other than in control of himself.

It was a pity that Letty did not take after Darcy in that. She was all too willing to indulge her emotions. As for Belle and Georgina—well, they were young and overflowing with good humour. Belle’s languid airs had an appeal quite lacking in Letty’s worries and glooms, and Georgina was as full of spirit as you could wish.

“That reminds me,” Fanny said to Camilla, “Dawson tells me that Belle and Georgina have hardly a dress fit to wear; she says they must have grown since the gowns they have were made.”

Camilla nodded. “They have grown, I noticed it as soon as they arrived. How tiresome of them, for now they are in London, they will want more fashionable gowns; it will be impossible to keep them in schoolroom clothes.”

“No, indeed not, and it would be unsuitable, for they are quite grown up, you know, however much you and Letty want them to keep upstairs.”

Miss Griffin had her own views on this subject, and she had expressed them to Camilla in her outspoken way. “It won’t do. I cannot have them up here, buzzing around like flies in a bottle, discontented, their minds full of nothing but parties and beaux, as they will call the young men, full of resentment at being kept away from all the pleasures of town. I confess I have failed with them. Nothing I have done has given their minds a proper turn; they are bent on frivolity and enjoyment, and I wash my hands of them.”

Miss Griffin was seated at a small writing table in one of the top floor rooms, a pile of paper beside her. She was engaged upon a literary work; much given to reading novels and to telling the girls exciting and improbable stories while they were gathered round the schoolroom fire, she had yielded to their persuasion and set about taking up her pen to record the more lurid of her heroine’s doings.

“How is it coming on?” Camilla asked, hanging over the back of her chair, trying to sneak a quick read; she longed to know what Miss Griffin’s story was about.

Miss Griffin waved a deprecatory hand towards the quarto pages, neatly covering up any visible words with another sheet of paper. The sound of scales came from next door, where Alethea was practising. “That is another thing: It is very hard to keep Alethea’s attention on her books when all she can think of is music. Next week she goes to sing to Signor Silvestrini, and if he chooses to take her as a pupil, I dare say she will be even worse. I cannot feel I am fulfilling the terms of my engagement with your family, Camilla; indeed I am not.”

“Oh, such stuff,” Camilla said at once. “Why, you know how pleased Papa and Mama have always been with you, and Papa often says he is delighted to have two educated daughters. He knows as well as I do that there is nothing to be done about Belle and Georgina; indeed, you have done more than anyone else could have, you must believe me. They have some accomplishments, they can speak French and they can keep accounts. They have empty heads otherwise, but that is their nature, and no one could change that.”

She paused and patted Miss Griffin’s shoulder. “My aunt Georgiana says that they take after my aunt Lydia, who was very wild when she was young. She married a man Papa would not have in the house; you will remember her coming to stay on her own.”

“I remember Mrs. Wickham, as she was then, very well. She lost her husband in the Peninsula, is that not so? And has married again.”

“I believe so, to some man of fashion. She lives in London, but I know that Papa does not wish us to see her more than politeness dictates. I fancy she moves in quite different circles to those of the Fitzwilliams.”

Miss Griffin was not to be deflected from the subject of Belle and Georgina. “If they are not to be in the schoolroom with Alethea, then they must go about in society. Lady Fanny seems willing enough to take on such a responsibility, although I fear they will eat up her time; it will leave you and Letty very much to your own devices.”

“Oh, do not worry about us. Letty is determined to mope for the present, and as long as Fanny will escort me to the kind of evening parties where I cannot go alone, I shall be perfectly content.”

“Miss Griffin is of your mind,” Camilla told Fanny, knowing that this would please her cousin. “She is no longer prepared—that is, she does not think the twins belong in the schoolroom any more. Only, she says that if they are to go about in society, they must have a maid; it will be too much for Sackree to look after and dress all four of us.”

Fanny’s face brightened. “Does she say so indeed? Well, in that case, there can be no objection, for I would not for the world cause your governess to go off in a miff. You know how it is with these family retainers. I dare say your parents would never forgive me if she left.”

“There is no question of that. Letty and I would never agree to her going, especially not on account of Belle and Georgina, and how would Alethea go on without her? It would not be so easy to find a new governess for her, I can tell you.”

Fanny stood somewhat in awe of Alethea’s character and talents, even though she told herself it was absurd to take any notice of a chit of a sixteen-year-old girl, and she had not the slightest wish to see Miss Griffin depart—besides, for the twins to come downstairs and go about in society was exactly what she wished for.

“I will summon my dressmaker immediately,” she said. “And I shall talk to Dawson about a maid; she will know what is best.”

It was not a day for walking in the park. There was a bitterness in the wind and a greyness in the sky that took away any pleasure in being out, even for Camilla, who usually delighted in the exercise. The smells of London were caught in the damp air: horses, smoke, the scent of the river carried on the wind. Sackree had been grumbling from the moment they had turned the corner out of Aubrey Square and had been struck by a particularly icy gust of wind. A quarter of an hour of this was enough to make Camilla abandon her walk and decide instead to call on Mrs. Rowan in nearby Bruton Street.

Mrs. Rowan’s house was one of those up-and-

down houses built at the beginning of the previous century with a flat facade, prim windows and neat red brickwork. The hall was not large, and the staircase plain, so the first-floor apartment into which Camilla was shown by a little black page was therefore even more of a surprise. It was a fine, large room with three sash windows overlooking a small square, bare of greenery at this time of year.

Outside, all was grey and forlorn. Within, the room was a blaze of colour, reds and dark pinks with splashes of purple and gold. There were Turkey carpets on the floor, and others hanging on the wall between a spread of pictures: portraits, landscapes, miniatures, water-colours and a number of unusual drawings of be-sworded men in strange robes with red-tasselled hats upon their heads. Chairs and sofas were set in little groups, some near to a merrily crackling fire, others placed round tables, or in an intimate huddle in a corner of the room.

The coverings were silk brocade, in shades of pink that she had never seen before, and everywhere more glowing colour was provided by the silks and damasks of the cushions to be found on every seat and heaped on the floor—delightful, plump, soft cushions redolent of comfort and ease.

There were a number of people in the room. Mrs. Rowan detached herself from a small group gathered near the fireplace and came forward at once to greet her, both hands outstretched.

“How glad I am that you are come.” She laughed at the expression on Camilla’s face. “You are looking round with an air of astonishment at finding yourself in such strange surroundings! It is often so with people on their first visit. My father lived in Turkey when I was a child and I stayed there with him for several years after my mother died. I developed a taste for the furnishings and indeed for some of the customs of the Ottomans. Now, let me see, whom do you know?”

Pagoda Portal was there, together with a surprising number of other morning callers, although after a very few minutes Camilla found herself wondering only that Mrs. Rowan’s friends and acquaintances should choose ever to call on anyone else.

She was pleased to find that Sir Sidney Leigh was there, and gratified when he smiled at her and came over.

“Come, here is a sofa we may sit upon; let us take possession of it instantly, for I hear footsteps on the stairs, and Mrs. Rowan’s guests are often so numerous that one is obliged to stand, or to loll upon her cushions.”

“The cushions look very comfortable,” she said.

“Indeed, they may be, but I do not choose to loll. One may be very comfortable when down, but then one cuts such an undistinguished figure while striving to be up again. Let the young cubs have the cushions. One may grant the young suppleness of limb, if one cannot say as much for their minds.”

“I see no young cubs,” she said, looking around the room. She saw Mr. Wytton, caught his eye, received a cool nod. Mr. Layard was beside him, and he gave her a lively wave of greeting, accompanied by the friendliest smile.

“They will come later. I tell Mrs. Rowan not to admit them; what have we to do with these callow young fellows, some of them not even down from the university?”

“And what does Mrs. Rowan reply to that?”

“Oh, she says they must learn to be civilised, and if they do not begin at that age, they will be insupportable by the time they are six-or seven-and-twenty.”

“Mrs. Rowan is quite right, in my opinion. Young men must learn how to behave in society.”

“Young men may learn their manners elsewhere. There is no excuse for them now, they may travel abroad at their leisure, and get polish and address that way. Let the French and Italians give them their lessons and spare us the trouble.”

She laughed. “I believe you have travelled abroad a good deal, sir.”

“Yes, with interruptions for war; I consider it not the least of that Frenchman’s sins that he treated travellers so cavalierly.”

“Do not speak of the war, I beg you,” called Mrs. Rowan from the other side of the room. “It is a banned subject in my house; we are to be concerned only with the present.”

“Why, surely not, ma’am,” protested Mr. Wytton. “For here am I telling Pagoda all about the antiquities that have lately been shipped to this country and transported to the abbey—they are certainly not of the present, so must I not mention them?”

“Oh, classical subjects are all very well, and so fashionable that you may hear them talked of wherever you go. I will permit talk of antiquities, but not if you start upon Thucydides and how like some campaign in Spain was to how some Athenian general took on the Spartans or the Persians.”

“Antiquities?” said Sir Sidney, turning his attention to Mr. Wytton. “What does your shipment consist of?”

“Statues, for the most part. I bought them in Paris, where all the plunder in the world is to be found on sale. They are from Italy: some Roman busts and a fine Greek nymph. She formerly belonged in the Vatican, and was stolen by that man whose name is not to be mentioned.” He gave a slight bow in Mrs. Rowan’s direction. “It was for some reason not among the items returned to Rome at the expense of the Prince Regent. A loss for Pope Pius, but I am the gainer for it.”

“At the expense of the Prince Regent?” Camilla asked, curious to know more. “What had he to do with the Vatican’s statues?”

“After the war, the cost of conveying so many stolen treasures back to Italy was too great to be undertaken by the pope,” Sir Sidney said. “They were offered for sale to the Prince, who is a notable collector, as you are no doubt aware, but with a rare burst of magnanimity, he said that such treasures belonged to Rome, and he paid for them to be transported back to Italy.”

“Did he do that indeed?” she said. “I honour him for it.”

“So must we all, although pray do not let your enthusiasm run away with you, Miss Camilla,” said Sir Sidney dryly. “When you have been in London a little while, you will find any admiration for the Regent is misplaced.”

“Shall I? I doubt if I shall have any occasion to form an opinion one way or the other, I am hardly likely to move in those circles.”

“Is not your aunt married to one of the Carlton House set?” asked Mr. Layard, coming across to the sofa and seating himself on a convenient low stool beside it. “I believe Mrs. Pollexfen is your aunt.”

“Mrs. Pollexfen your aunt!” cried Mrs. Rowan. “Dear me, Camilla, you will find yourself flying very high if you take up with that company.”

“I have seldom seen her,” she said, “and not at all since her remarriage.”

“She was formerly a Mrs. Wickham, was she not?” said Mr. Portal.

“Yes,” she said. “Mr. Wickham was killed in the Peninsula, at the battle of Salamanca. Oh, I am sorry, ma’am,” she added, sending Mrs. Rowan a repentant look. “There is the war again. However, that has nothing to do with her present husband. All I know is that they live in London. I know nothing of any Carlton House set.”

“They live in London in considerable style,” said Mr. Portal. “You will see for yourself; you will be calling on her, I dare say.”

“I do not think—that is, when my parents return from Constantinople, perhaps we may—”

A rather pretty woman sitting next to Mr. Wytton whispered in his ear that Mrs. Pollexfen had always been considered fast. Her first marriage had some breath of scandal about it, some elopement or disgrace, covered up by her family. That was all in the past, of course, and of no consequence, but the lady had not improved her reputation by marrying Francis Pollexfen, for although wealthy and well-connected, he was not at all the thing. Mr. Wytton must have met him.