The Flood-Tide (48 page)

Her dealings with the Anstey family were bound to be a little delicate, but she had the fortune to meet Augusta Anstey - now Augusta Keating - in a milliner's in Stonegate one day. Mrs Keating, eager to show her card with her married name, especially to one who had always been more handsome than she but was not yet married, made the first move of reconciliation, which Mary met gracefully. The following day Mary called to leave her card with Mrs Keating, and as luck would have it she called at a moment when John Anstey had just arrived, bringing his sister Celia to visit Augusta. There was a moment's embarrassment, and a moment's stiffness; but Celia, who had heard nothing talked of amongst
her
friends for weeks but Mary Morland's clothes and Mary Morland's hairstyles and Mary Morland's experiences abroad, longed to be reconciled; and John Anstey, besides being a genuinely kind-hearted man, was still in love with her. Mary's cosmopolitan polish smoothed the way, and they soon thawed, and then warmed, and by the end of the twenty minutes there might never have been any cause for coldness between them. When Mary took her leave, John Anstey's eyes followed her as wistfully as they had done since she was twelve years old.

At John's request, Sir John and Lady Anstey invited Mary to take tea at the new and elegant house on the Lendal, and though they, mo e than their children, resented the slight she had put upon them in refusing their son, and were reluctant to receive her at all, Mary's good manners and her sincere praise of their new house won them over. They were sorry to see all the symptoms in John of being as much in love as ever; but hoped that, as Mary was still unwed herself, they might come to an understanding in time. Young Alfred, the second son, who was normally considered quite a rip, and who had been boasting privately to his sisters that he might cut old John out, was reduced to a most abnormal silence by Mary's beauty and manner, and on that first visit found his tongue only once, to ask her, stammering, if she would take another dish of tea.

*

James came scurrying into the hall one day in July when Mary was standing there drawing on her gloves.

‘Are you going out?' he asked her. It was an unecessary question, quite apart from the gloves, for Mary was in a walking-dress of some elegance, dark yellow silk with a mustard-coloured frill at waist and hem, the deep, square neckline filled in with a lawn so fine it was almost transparent. Over it she wore a sleeveless green silk pelisse puffed out at the back and drawn up into three swags by three seams in black piping and three large jet buttons, and fastened in front by emerald-green ribbon. The same ribbon trimmed her spotless lawn cuffs. Her hair was dressed into a thick plait which was turned up and pinned behind, while her side hair was puffed out into a series of fat curls, and the whole was crowned with a neat black hat, tilted forward at an impudent angle by the thickness of hair, and decorated with ruched green bands and bows, three white ostrich feathers, elegantly curled, and a glossy black cock's feather, jauntily erect.

‘I'm going in to York, to visit Celia Anstey - why?' Mary said. James waved a hand.

‘All that, for Celia Anstey? Curled hair, curled feathers and all, for Celia Anstey?'

‘Celia is a very sweet girl, and I dote on her,' Mary said. ‘What do you want, you impudent boy?'

‘You'll have the coach out, then? Let me ride in with you. I think you need an escort, sister dear.' He offered his arm to her with a mocking bow, but though she frowned at him, she accepted it. James always looked well, and it was pleasant to have a man beside one when riding in a coach.

‘What do you want in York?' Mary asked. 'I hope you are not going to spend the day soaking in some tavern, or in that dreadful club? You know that drinking too much will ruin your complexion.'

‘Oh, don't begin that old song again,' James said, leading her out into the courtyard. 'You don't sing it to brother William, I notice.'

‘William doesn't drink as much as you,' Mary said.

‘He does indeed - he drinks twice as much as me,' James said indignantly, and Mary paused, knowing it was true. But she was wary of William.

‘Well, he's older. Besides, he hasn't any complexion to ruin. And he doesn't smoke cigars, which I know you do, because I've smelt them on you at night when you come upstairs.
And
he doesn't gamble.'

‘Gambling is bad for the complexion too, is it?' James asked a little peevishly as they settled themselves in the coach. 'Anyway, who told you I gambled?’

She gave a sigh of exasperation. 'Oh Jamie, it's common knowledge. All the girls talk about it, and John Anstey eats at the Maccabbees Club sometimes, and he's seen you there.'

‘Oh, all the girls talk about me, do they?' he said with a grimace. Mary looked at him sternly.

‘I don't know how much you are losing, but I'm sure it is more than your allowance - isn't it?' James did not answer. 'What are you going to do, when you run out of credit? They'll go to Papa, and then it will be all up with you.'

‘I'll do what I've always done - borrow from someone.' ‘But that's even worse. You must have debts all over the place. What when they want their money back?’

borrow from someone else to pay them, of course.

Really Mary, don't preach. I wouldn't have asked you to let me ride with you if I'd known you were going to dig into my little pleasures like this.'

‘James, they aren't so little any more, and I'm worried about you,' Mary said. 'You're getting a bad reputation in York and it can be only a matter of time before it gets back to Mother or Father.'

‘Mother and Father are too innocent ever to suspect anything, and I can manage Father Ramsay, as I always have. You needn't worry about me. Though I suspect it's
your
reputation you are fearful for. You don't want to be known to be my sister, the sister of a confirmed rake,' James said languidly.

‘Don't put on that air with me,' Mary said crossly. 'Save it for your lady friends. And if you think Mother and Father wouldn't mind about all this, you are very much mistaken. For heaven's sake, James, have a little sense!'

‘Oh don't worry, Polly, it won't get as far as Father. If I get into the soup, brother Ned will fish me out again. He's done it before. Marvellous economical old boy, is Ned. Never spends his 'lowance, puts it by for an emergency. Always good for a guinea or two at a rub, brother Ned.'

‘Well, if he's fool enough to give it to you, I'll say no more. But you'd better keep out of trouble for the next few weeks, while he's away.'

‘He won't be away long,' James said confidently.

‘Why should you think that? He's gone to visit his friend Chetwyn, and he hasn't seen him for two years or more. He won't hurry back.'

‘He won't stay long this time, because Chetwyn's Papa, the old Earl, is ill, and they won't want him hanging around the house making a noise. Ten to one he'll bring Chetwyn back here with him. And then there'll be two of them with spare guineas.’

Mary sighed, but left it at that, seeing that there was no future in arguing with him. There was some truth in the idea that she was concerned for herself, for most of her friends had been in love with James at some time, and all of them had been flirted with by him, and it did make things uncomfortable when his name came up in conversation; especially with Celia Anstey who, whatever she said, was still very much under James's spell, which made her petulant on the subject.

‘So where is it you are going in York? You didn't tell me,' Mary said, to change the subject.

‘Oh - I'm going to visit - another of your admirers,' James said with a certain awkwardness that Mary did not quite understand.

‘Who can you mean?'

‘Tom Loveday,' James said with a grin. 'Poor Tom, how he talks of you, sighs over you - quite touching to see it.'

‘Be quiet, you impudent creature. And how long have you been friendly with Tom Loveday?'

‘Ever since you came home, and he thought cultivating my friendship might bring him in your way,' James said with a grin. Mary drew her dignity on.

‘We had better change the subject, or we shall certainly quarrel. Talk about something else, pray.’

They went into the city through the Micklegate, and crossed the river, but as they were about to turn the corner into Spurriergate, James rapped on the roof and said to Mary, 'You had better let me out here.'

‘But Tom Loveday lives in Coney Street, doesn't he? We go right past the door - we can drop you there.'

‘Ah, no, I forgot to say that I want to see my hatter first - a matter of some urgency. That's in Jubbergate, you know. I can slip through the lanes from here.’

Mary fixed him with a stern glance. 'You are not going to the club, are you?'

‘Certainly not.'

‘Nor an inn somewhere? Do you swear you are not going to do something more to disgrace us all?'

‘Mary, dear, I swear I am not going to drink or gamble, now or at any time today. Now will you let me out, before we have a dozen angry carters around our ears?'

‘Oh, very well.’

She let him out, and watched him walk quickly away down one of the alleys that formed a maze amongst the mean dwellings on either side of Peter Lane and Feasegate, and then knocked on the roof, and the carriage moved on. They passed, as she had said, right by the Loveday house, an old and shabby building on Coney Street, the more unhappy-looking by contrast with the smart new house of the Ansteys further along on the Lendal. She suspected James of having a kind heart underneath his air of indifference, and it occurred to her that he might have preferred to arrive at Tom Loveday's on foot, rather than emphasize, by coming in a coach, the Lovedays' poverty, which meant they could not afford a coach of their own.

At the Anstey house she was warmly received by the younger Ansteys, Sir John and Lady Anstey and John all being out. Her hat, as she had anticipated, caused great enthusiasm.

‘Mary, darling, what a
love
of a hat! What a perfect
darling
of a hat!'

‘And what a cunning way you have done your hair! I simply adore the plait - did you copy it from your brother, Mary dear?' This from Celia, who had been rather sour since her younger sister Margaret had become engaged to Edgar Somers, while she, who had now reached the dangerous age of twenty, had never even been offered for.

‘She knew how much
you
admired it, dear sister,' Margaret retorted, willing to take revenge for the small needlings she had had to endure recently. But Mary had not come to cause quarrels.

‘Try it on, Celia, do. I'm sure it will suit you better than me,' she said, reaching for the pins of her hat.

‘I heard that hairstyles were coming down this year,' Margaret said with interest, 'but I see no sign of it happening. I wonder the Court ladies can bear it. It must be so uncomfortable.'

‘Oh it is - but terribly amusing. Did I tell you of how Lady Meldon dressed her hair for the Royal Birthday ball in Naples?’

The time passed happily, and tea was brought in, and Mary told them of Flora's last letter, in which she described the multitude of delicious cakes and biscuits and pastries the Scots were accustomed to serve with tea. 'It is quite a meal with them,' Mary was saying, when a servant came in and spoke in a low voice to Celia, who coloured and said, ‘Yes, of course, how stupid you are. Show him up at once.' The servant bowed and departed, and Celia said, trying for unconcern, 'Your brother James, Mary, is below asking for you. I did not know he was in town today.'

‘He came in with me, but I dropped him off. I expect he only wants to know what time I shall be going home.'

‘Well, he shall take a dish of tea, at least,' Margaret said, sliding her eyes at her elder sister.

Benjamin, the next youngest, cried, 'I must go and tell Alfred that James Morland is here. He will not like to miss him. What a capital fellow your brother is, Miss Morland.' And he jumped up and dashed away. The servant reentered with James, and Celia, inquiring graciously and with perfect self-control if he would like tea, sent the servant for fresh china and hot water, and invited James to sit down.

‘Upon my word, Miss Anstey, I did not intend to intrude upon you,' James said, sitting beside Celia readily and smiling his most charming smile. 'I only asked your servant to inquire at what time I should come for my sister, but—'

‘Please don't apologize, Mr Morland. Your presence is very welcome - to all of us. What brought you to York today?' Celia said. 'We don't often have the pleasure of seeing you.'

‘If I had known, ma'am, that I was to have the pleasure of taking tea with you, and Miss Margaret and Miss Elizabeth,' with a bow to each of the Anstey sisters, 'I should not have wasted my time elsewhere, and would have been on your doorstep the sooner.’

Mary watched all this, marvelling at his performance, and seeing how it had its effect on each of them, making Celia a little more at her ease, Margaret a little less loftily detached, and Elizabeth, who was not yet seventeen, a great deal more tongue-tied, pink, and admiring.

‘But where
have
you
been, Mr. Moreland?' Celia persisted, for something to say.

‘Oh, I have been to call on my old friend, Tom Loveday,' James said easily. Celia looked puzzled.