My Dear Jenny (17 page)

Miss Brickerham had begun to discuss her church work (for
she was far more devoted than Jenny had ever been to “the dear parson and his
work”), when the gentlemen returned from the dining room, carrying the rich
scent of tobacco and port with them. Lady Teeve announced herself altogether
unable to part with Emily’s company, and Jenny, with only one backward look to
assure herself that the girl was faring well enough, acceded to Lord Teeve’s
request that she come and play backgammon with him. He was a skilled player,
far better than she, but a lucky roll of the dice and her own small talents
brought her tally almost even with him. When the tea tray was brought in, she
had won three games and was about, it appeared, to win yet another in a
complete backgammon. Lord Teeve announced that, since it seemed such a sure
thing that she would win, he would concede the game to her, but Jenny replied
that there was always the chance of a lucky roll, and begged that they finish
the play. When she had removed her stones entirely from the board Lord Teeve
congratulated her on a fine win, and they went to tea much in charity with each
other, to Lady Teeve’s ill-disguised disgust.

Miss Quare sat behind the pot, and Jenny imagined that this
was one of her duties. Examining the woman as she moved about, dispensing tea
with an air which plainly indicated she felt herself above such tasks, Jenny
thought to herself that such might have been her life, and thanked heaven for
her aunt and uncle Winchell and her welcome, however qualified, into their
house. Lady Teeve was served first, then Miss Pellering and the Misses
Brickerham. As Miss Quare filled the next cup, Lady Teeve gave her a look of
quiet significance, and the cup was passed along to Lord Teeve. Sir John, Peter
Teverley, and Domenic received their cups, and finally Miss Quare filled a cup
for herself and settled, with a grateful sigh, into her chair. Left without a
cup of tea, Jenny smiled a rueful smile and would, herself, have forgone the
pleasure of the beverage, but Lord Teeve had seen all.

“But my dear Mary,” he addressed Miss Quare, “you have
forgotten one of our guests.” At the mutinous look the companion gave him, Lord
Teeve remarked, “You need not stir yourself, my dear. You have done quite
enough.” And with a creaking of stays he rose from his seat and made for the
tea tray.

“No, my lord, please, I can serve myself—” Jenny
began.

“And deprive me of the chance to play the gallant?” He
smiled at her. “Call it payment for those games you won of me—and damme
if you ain’t a fine player, too. D’you play at home?”

“Indeed, sir, with my uncle I do. My aunt has no taste for
the game, so I learnt it for his sake.” Jenny received her tea from the
viscount’s hands and favored the old gentleman with a grateful smile. But Lady
Teeve was not to be so easily crossed, and made it obvious that someone would
have to be made uncomfortable to pay for her vexation.

“I cannot think,” she began with a loud sigh, “how Mary came
to forget Miss Prydd’s tea.” She frowned at her companion, ruthlessly
sacrificing her. “Pray remember, in future, Mary, and do not do it again.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Mary Quare muttered. “Excuse me, indeed.” And
with an agitated flutter she rose and left the room, sparing only a look of
bleak dislike for Miss Prydd.

Oh, dear, Jenny thought, and sipped the controversial cup.
Now I
do
have an enemy, and where I meant none, too. From across the
room Peter Teverley smiled at her, one brow raised quizzically, and Jenny found
herself almost hating his look for the attention she was sure it must draw upon
her.

Emily was unaware of any of this. Lady Teeve had asked that
she talk of herself, and there are few things a girl of seventeen would rather
do. She rattled on, unaware that she was giving details of her life—and
Jenny’s as well—to a woman who was almost a complete stranger. Jenny
could only hope that Emily would remember not to tell this woman, of all the
leaders of the
ton
, how and where she had met Peter and Domenic. But
since her chair was placed too distant to hear what was said, she decided there
was nothing to be gained by fretting, and began again her conversation with
Lord Teeve.

At last, tea finished, Lady Teeve rose to retire, taking the
ladies with her. Lord Teeve was punctilious in thanking Jenny for the games of
backgammon, and she promised him his revenge on the next evening; Domenic
managed to distract his mother to Miss Brickerham, and paused at Emily’s side
to tell her, with a look of tender meaning which she ignored, that he would see
her in the morning. Dom watched Emily leave the room with a backward glance to
Teverley, who was entirely oblivious of the whole, wondering why, all of a
sudden, Emily had grown so cool. In sum, the good-evenings were so fraught with
looks, meaning, and portents on the parts of Lady Teeve, Miss Pellering, and
Miss Brickerham—who was also, obviously, interested in Peter Teverley’s
oblique, unreadable smile—that Jenny was unable to restrain a gusty smile
of relief when at last she attained her room.

“I was right, and Teverley was right, and I ought never to
have come; Emily ought not to have come,” she sighed, brushing out her hair. “But
here I am, rain or shine, and we must make the best of it. If only I could
vanish
.”
She examined her all-too-solid self in the mirror. “No chance of that. So I’d
do well to stay far from Lady Teeve’s notice when I can, and out of Miss Quare’s
as well—poor thing! And if I can keep Emily from making a complete cake
of herself I can return to London—I can return to Dumsford, indeed!—in
good faith. Which is probably what I had better do, and quickly, before I
forget how to be happy with my lot, and think”—she smiled irrepressibly—
“of what I had not ought. But at least he is not angry with me anymore.” She
settled herself in the large bed, realizing that she was exhausted, not so much
from the journey as from the dinner. “Hi-ho, I shall be entirely done up by
Sunday,” she murmured, and was asleep before she could think further.

When the morning arrived, and Jenny was awakened by a maid
kindling the fire and setting a can of hot water on the table, things looked
eminently improved. The sun was already hot through the windows, and Jenny
realized, with some surprise, that she had missed country mornings since coming
to London. By the time she had washed, dressed her hair, and donned one of the
new day dresses Lady Graybarr had given her, optimism had risen undeniably
within her breast, and even the thought of Lady Teeve could not extinguish the
smile on her lips. Indeed, looking out over the park and the small wilderness
that made up the view from her window, she found it in her to hope that Lady
Teeve would be satisfied with the unpleasantness she had created among her
guests the night before, and would now feel content to ignore their past
difficulties. This thought enabled her to descend to the breakfast room still
smiling.

It was, she realized, still earlier than she had thought:
Lord Teeve was deep in conversation with Peter Teverley over the remains of a
large platter of ham, and there were no others of the party in sight. Both the
men rose when she entered, and Lord Teeve greeted her with the cordial cheer of
an early riser greeting one of his own kind.

“Y’see, Peter, I told you if we waited long enough one of
the ladies would come to grace our coffeepot. And,” he added, as Peter Teverley
seated her, “I am sure you will do so charmingly, my dear.” He went on to
inquire after her rest and to beg her to sample this dish and that from the
sideboard. “It ain’t so lavish a spread as you find at dinner, but you should
be pretty well set up with what’s here.”

“Indeed, sir, how could I fail to be?” Jenny smiled up from
her bread and butter.

“Dinner is Lady Teeve’s province, and she likes it lavish
and full of French dressings and fancy savories. Not that there’s anything to
dislike in them, but I do like straightforward English cookery—at least
at breakfast. Hey, Peter?”

Mr. Teverley grinned good-naturedly at his uncle, a smile
untainted by the least irony. “You forget, Uncle, that I have spent years in a
climate where they’re as like to serve you pickles at breakfast and curries at
luncheon; the cook we had with us in Amedabad knew only two English dishes, porridge
and pork pie. And being among the Hindu, we could hardly eat beefsteak every
night.”

“Why not?” Lord Teeve asked.

“They feel that the cow is sacred, and indeed, it is a major
crime to kill one, let alone permit someone to cook it. We would very probably
have been murdered in our beds, for we were out in the country at that time,
and we were far from substantially armed.”

Jenny shivered deliciously. “You don’t speak much of your
travels, Mr. Teverley. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Surely not, my dear Prydd.
Miss
Prydd,” he amended,
for his uncle’s sake. “I’ve become too used to ladies asking to hear my
traveling stories, who yawn politely behind their hands and hope I think they
are gaping in amusement. You cannot tell me you are genuinely interested.”

“I could be, but if you had rather not speak of it, I will
not press you,” Jenny answered, stung by the tone of his speech.

“Well, if it is the intent of you children to play at
quarrels and dagger-drawing, I shall retire to the study. Peter, can you join
me for an hour or two this morning?”

Teverley smiled again at his uncle; Miss Prydd found herself
wishing that he would, just once, turn that smile upon her. And smothered the
thought.

“Of course, Uncle, I’ll join you directly.” He nodded at his
half-emptied teacup.

“No need to rush, my boy. I will be closeted up for the
morning. My dear Miss Prydd—no, I shall take an uncle’s privilege and ask
if I may call you Jenny as my son does.”

“Indeed, I would be flattered, sir.”

“Well then, Jenny, I hope you enjoy your morning. If you
like flowers, I suggest you ask Dom to show you through the outer gardens and
the wilderness. In fact, I’d ask that Peter show you, for I’ve no idea when my
slugabed boy will show his face, but I require Peter’s services myself.”

Jenny assured him that she quite understood, and thanked him
for his kindness.

“Well,” Peter Teverley said, once his uncle had departed, “the
two of you are in prime charity with one another, ain’t you?”

“Your uncle is very kind to a stranger. I think, although I
expect he would deny it, that he let me win at backgammon last evening.”

“Not if I know my uncle, ma’am. But had he done so, would
that be sufficient to prove his geniality in your eyes?”

Jenny bridled at his curt tone. “It does not. To tell truth,
I would rather win or lose honestly than be assured of winning—in which
case, why bother to play the game at all? But even had he done so, it shows
only a concern and kindness toward his guests, however wrongly he might have
judged me.”

“He would judge you, I imagine, by my dear aunt.
She
would have no qualms about winning by default, so long as she was, in the world’s
eyes, the winner.” He looked hard at her. “You look uncomfortable, Miss Prydd.
Do I offend you? Do you like my estimable aunt and consider her worthy of your
support?”

“Whatever it is that I think of your aunt, I would certainly
not speak of her in such a tone in her own home; and I wonder that you would
ask such questions of me.” Jenny rose, her breakfast unfinished, and started
toward the door.

“Oh my God, Jenny, stop,” he began, looking suddenly ashamed
of himself. “Forgive me. When I am in company with my aunt it makes me somewhat
unfit to be in company with anyone else. And it is the devil having to watch
Aunt Teeve playing with you and Miss Pellering as she did last night.”

“I am perfectly capable of tending to myself—and Miss
Pellering, if necessary,” Jenny stated, unmollified.

“Worse and worse,” Teverley muttered. “Look, Jenny, I did
not mean—that you were incapable—that is, I meant to say...” He
trailed off, looking ruefully perplexed. Looking at him, Jenny began to giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly, after a few minutes. “I am not
in the least a giggling sort of woman, but—” She gasped helplessly. “You
looked so comical and furious, and—”

“In other words, I was making a proper jackass of myself.
Teach me to lose my temper irrationally before an intelligent woman. And I can
never remember to hold my damned tongue.”

“I can see,” Jenny said soberly.

“My dear Prydd, I believe you are teasing me. And it is
entirely unfair of you to harass a man who’s been so long from decent society
he has forgotten how to act with a proper lady.”

“I had not noticed there being any difficulty,” she
answered. Then it was her turn to blush and curse her ready tongue.

“I was not much in company with
ladies
in India—it
wasn’t like Calcutta, you see, or the other outposts; there was very little
society, and the women there were mostly of the—the type—”

“I quite understand,” Jenny finished for him.

“There were some of the respectable sort, but they were
generally worse than the—other sort. At least the
convenients
had
a sense of humor, and didn’t try to make a silk purse out of an entirely
different nation! Whereas the officers’ wives and the merchants’ wives were
bent on creating a society as petty and close-minded as even my Aunt Teeve
could wish.”

“Well, perhaps it is not the country, but the ladies
themselves,” Jenny suggested reasonably.

“Probably so. But nothing would make me take a wife to India—not
if I valued my own peace.”

Jenny, with the image of Emily Pellering settled into an
Indian household, surrounded by the sort of women Teverley described, in a
place new and foreign to her, shuddered. Teverley saw and read her expression.