Twixt Two Equal Armies (24 page)

“They have engaged musicians, Lie-lie,” Mrs Tournier assured her. “You may both be as untalented and uselessly beautiful as you wish this evening.”

“Oh, we will be, Aunt. I have such a good idea for fixing Holly’s hair, too.” Elizabeth held up the completed gown to Holly, “Here, see? With my embroidered stomacher and your new shawl it is a completely different dress.”

M
RS
H
IGGINS PULLED OUT A
chair and offered her cousin a seat at the kitchen table as she took the parcel held out for her and began unwrapping the contents.

“Thank ye for coming by, Heather. With everyone gone to this party, here’s the first moment’s peace I’ve had in days. Och! This little bit of coffee will be a rare treat for the Mistress.”

Mrs McLaughlin leaned forward and pointed to the rabbit carcass at the bottom of the basket. “Now, Mr McLaughlin snared that one his own self, but ye just tell Miss Holly if she asks, that I took too many of the mushrooms and couldnae rest until I made it right.”

She pulled a small packet of recovered leaves out next and rose to sprinkle it into the kettle to make her cousin a proper pot of tea.

“So, it’s been a noisy time around here with all the company? It’s little enough room ye have for it, that’s certain.”

“Ach, that’s the problem, Heather. It’s nae noisy at all — it’s been quiet, very quiet, but a louder quiet I’ve never heard, if ye know what I mean.”

“This Mr Pembroke . . . ”

Mrs McLaughlin pronounced the name hesitantly.

“Aye,” was her cousin’s only reply as she reached for the cups.

“I thought they were friends of the family . . . ?”

“The parents are. Good people they are, but the son . . . ”

Mrs McLaughlin could not quite understand and her expression showed it freely. Mrs Higgins sighed and sat down to wait for the water to boil.

“He takes advantage of their dependence on his parents,” she said, “and you can guess what that does to the Mistress of this house.”

Mrs McLaughlin nodded.

“But it’s more than discourtesy and disrespect. What it is though, I cannae rightly say. But I do know this. Mrs Tournier hates the man. Miss Tournier despises him. And it’s as plain as parritch Miss Bennet loathes him, too.”

“And you?”

Mrs Higgins squared her shoulders and gave her cousin a rare, unbridled look. “Well, let me just say that were he to fall down the stair and howl for help or break his neck, I’d be much too busy watching the bread dough rise to be of any assistance.”

Chapter 11

The Soirée-Musical at Tristam Lodge

“Are you quite sure about this, Eliza?”

Holly sat on her bed and, holding up her small mirror, tried to catch her cousin’s work on her tresses at the back. Elizabeth was twisting and puffing up and Holly could not quite make out what she was about, wielding the hot iron tongs that she was brandishing about Holly’s hair.

“Yes, I am quite sure,” Elizabeth said and let a few curls loose from the red hot instrument. She skipped off the bed and shoved it into the fireplace to heat up again. Deftly she pinned some of the curls up towards the crown of Holly’s head while letting a few others fall freely around her ears. “Your hair is just as thick and strong as Jane’s and she always wears it like this. Well, except that she is fair. But other than that you know she is quite twice as beautiful as me so she is worth emulating.”

“I usually put it up in small braids all over,” Holly muttered, still having a hard time catching the over-all arrangement of her hair in the small mirror.

“And how usually is usually?” Elizabeth said in a mock stern voice. “When was the last time you dressed up to go to a fine
musicale
?”

Holly smiled. “Three years ago. Oh actually, Sir John took me to the theatre once in Edinburgh last year. I dressed up then.”

“And sat hidden behind people in the back shadows of the box for the whole night watching a performance no doubt,” Elizabeth said. “This is a party! There! Done. Now it is your turn. I want the braids you usually have!”

Her cousin climbed off the bed, still in her shift, nearly hitting her head on the low ceiling in the process and settled down in front of Holly, who started to braid Elizabeth’s smooth, dark hair into an impressive bun high on the crown of her head, leaving one on either side to frame her beautiful eyes. When she was done, they helped each other struggle into their dresses. Afterwards, Elizabeth held up the small mirror and tried to show as much of the two of them as possible. Elizabeth was a fair vision in fine, sheer muslin with some exquisite work on her bodice and a skirt that came down in three layers to show her satin slippers. Holly was all smooth lines in a simple but richly coloured green velvet dress with a small train.

“The neck is too low,” she muttered and pulled it upwards by the fine lace trimming.

“No it isn’t,” her cousin said and tugged at her waist to bring it down again. “And anyway, that’s why I left these tendrils here at the side and back. If you exposed all that milky white skin of yours without any protection, you would have the men swooning in your wake.”

Holly had to laugh. “I doubt it,” she said, “unless Mr Grant is there. Not that he needs this much skin to do that.”

Elizabeth pulled out one of the small satin flowers she had worked into her hair and pinned it into Holly’s. “There,” she said, “in case there is anyone who does not know we go together. Aren’t we perfect!”

They stayed admiring each other for a little while until Holly looked at her small golden watch hanging from her waist — the most precious piece of jewellery she owned.

“Oh dear!” she said. “Maman!”

Mrs Tournier was not normally a woman of great patience when obliged to leave her house to go to something as tiresome as a
soirée-musicale
given by Lady Tristam. The girls rushed down the steps in the hope that she had not lost her temper waiting for them already, but they were met by a calm lady standing in front of a mirror in the hall adjusting her shawl to exactly the right and fashionable angle.

“I beg your pardon, Maman,” Holly gasped. “Will we be late?”

It was a very different Mrs Tournier who turned around and awarded them with a gentle smile. The girls gave her a surprised look as they took in a very elegant lady, perfectly poised and dressed in the perfect shade of blue to set off her auburn curls under a soft sweeping feathered turban and bringing out the colour of eyes more usually seen peering narrowly over a pair of spectacles.

“I think not. The carriage is not here yet.”

“You look very beautiful, Maman,” Holly said and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Do you think anyone will believe I am your daughter?”

“Well,” Mrs Tournier said, gratified, “vanity keeps dotage at bay. The day I don’t feel tempted to run late by just a tweak here and a tuck there to make me look my best before I show myself to the local elite, is the day you can put me in the poor house. You both look very nice as well. So that is what your cousin thinks your hair needs. It is very nice. I do believe you will not be able to avoid dancing later tonight.”

Holly looked at Elizabeth. “Dancing! Oh, it has been so long!”

“And if your courage fails you I will solicit the first one and force you out into a quadrille!”

S
IR
T
ORQUIL
T
RISTAM, DESPITE HIS
place at the top of local society, was an amiable gentleman, devoid of all pretension save one: Lady Tristam — and perhaps his oldest daughter, Primrose. Together they planned and put on a yearly
soirée-musicale,
insisting on calling it thus, as if by giving it a name void of established meaning, they would be celebrated for bringing forth something unique and dazzlingly spectacular. In reality, it was just as Lord Baugham had presented it to his houseguest: a country ball. But they were readily forgiven by the local society for this aspiration to singularity and exclusivity, for Lady Tristam always insisted on bringing the very best musicians and players from Edinburgh to perform, the atmosphere was formal and as genteel as could be managed in the Southern Uplands of Scotland and the invitation list was long and varied. Miss Tristam possessed a marginal vocal ability, but, through prodigious distribution of food and drink, the guests were generally in an amiable mood by the time the evening’s highlight took place and she treated them to an aria, accompanied by Miss Prudence and Miss Patience on the harp and pianoforte.

H
OLLY RAN HER GLOVED HAND
over the seat beside her. They were waiting in Mr Darcy’s carriage, especially sent to convey them all to Tristam Lodge. Mr Darcy had chosen to go with Lord Baugham in a separate conveyance and Holly wondered how Elizabeth interpreted that. She looked up and watched her mother and her cousin sitting opposite her. Her mother looked almost regal, she thought. She looked like she belonged in such a fine carriage with the finest inlaid wood and smoothest velvet seats. Her cousin, too. It felt like a fairytale and they could be fine ladies on their way to a grand ball. She only hoped the carriage would not turn out to be a pumpkin and her carefully arranged shawl and cloak would not reveal tattered rags at some point in the evening. In all honesty, she felt like she was already wearing those tattered rags and hoped that the lighting at the party would be dim enough to hide the threadbare spots on the velvet of her gown that Elizabeth had been too polite to mention while working on it. But for now she tried to put it out of her mind and turned back to her companions; there was no reason for anyone to pay any particular attention to her or her clothing that evening. Elizabeth was gazing out of the window with a faraway look in her eye while still arranging her skirts; Miss Bennet sitting in Mr Darcy’s carriage. Would she soon be Mrs
Darcy, sitting in the same carriage and calling it her own?

Elizabeth turned her eyes and popped them wide open in reaction to Holly’s silent scrutiny.

“Really, Holly!” she said.

Holly was caught off guard and was startled.

“Stop it!” her cousin went on, but with a smile on her face. “I know what you are thinking and I will not have it.”

“Have what? You cannot know possibly what I am thinking.”

“Of course I can! It is written all over your face! And besides, it is exactly what I am trying very hard not to think myself.”

“Well, you cannot stop me from doing so in any case,” Holly laughed, “and I think you had better get used to the idea. It is a lovely coach.”

“Yes, it was very friendly of him,” Elizabeth said quietly and Holly thought she could see a slight blush sweep over her cheeks as she looked outside again.

The exuberance of the ladies was cut short when Mr Pembroke belatedly climbed in and plumped down beside Holly. Elizabeth’s open countenance clouded over and Mrs Tournier steadfastly stared out of the window.

Mr Pembroke, unable to catch another friendly eye, had to be content with winking at Holly and apologising for being late without a flicker of remorse to his voice or demeanour. Mrs Tournier cut him off by knocking on the roof with a force that took them all aback and the carriage set off on its journey towards the evening’s entertainment.

T
RISTAM
L
ODGE WAS SPLENDID IN
the early darkness of a November night, Baugham reluctantly admitted as he and Darcy approached. It was brilliantly lit, the owners sparing no expense, and the first glimpse of it when coming up the drive was an impressive sight not easily forgotten.

Lady Tristam displayed a barely contained enthusiasm as the gentlemen entered the already crowded rooms. Music could be heard coming from one of the salons and people had gathered to listen, but she came swooping in at full speed when informed of their arrival.

“My lord!” the lady said, completely out of breath and evidently suffering from the ambition of tightening her stays to the measure enjoyed in her girlhood. “Mr Darcy! I cannot. Tell you. How pleased. I am. My husband! My daughters! Here. Somewhere. I cannot believe . . . ”

Scanning the crowd with a look of breathless vexation, Lady Tristam sailed off as suddenly as she had arrived, possibly in search of the missing members of her family to present to the gentlemen. They did not tarry to see whether she found them or not, instead plunging into a crowd of curious whispers and stares. Darcy adopted a grim set to his mouth.

“Well, I don’t profess to love this any more than you do,” Lord Baugham said to him with an exasperated sigh, “but you must promise me not to relieve your frustrations by going around spouting sarcastic comments that will only confuse the provincials.”

“That will not be possible to refrain from, I’m afraid,” Darcy said dryly, “but I will promise to try to find someone who will enjoy them.”

Baugham noticed Darcy’s attention shift and his demeanour change. It did not become any less stiff or imposing, but a subtle difference came over him — a measure of apprehension and a new kind of irritation. The source of this transformation, of course, was not hard to discern and Baugham looked at the two women standing where the music still gently flowed out of the well-lit room.