Althea (24 page)

“Damn it, if Ally hasn’t the sense to keep from making a
botch of her own affairs, she might at least leave someone else’s alone,” he
said savagely under his breath after meeting Althea and her sister in the Park
one afternoon. His companion, Lord Petersham, was happily engaged in some
animated discussion of snuff and paid no attention to Tracy’s mutterings. It
was observed by certain knowledgeable passersby, however, that from the black
look on Calendar’s face there was certain to be trouble in some quarter, and
soon.

He made some effort, when in company and likely to meet
Althea, to escape before his tongue betrayed him into saying things he had no
intention of owning publicly. He could not see how to bring about a reconciliation
until there was some issue from whatever Althea thought she was doing. So he
thought seriously of retiring to his seat in Lincoln and waiting there for a
while.

In the end he dismissed this notion. There was still,
despite all else, the damnable wish to see how it all came out. So he stayed in
London and tried to restrict himself to his clubs and to such social events it
appeared Althea would be likely to pass upon. His aunt shrewdly guessed at what
had happened, but asked no questions, preferring to wait until he volunteered
some information of his own will. At last her Joblike patience wore thin, and
when the dowager had for the third time that evening interrupted the long
thoughtful pause, with a question he did not reply to, she asked him to come
out with the matter and stop his melodramatic manners.

“A quarrel with Althea,” she stated for him. He looked at
her with respect.

“I swear you know everything, ma’am. Which of your spies
informed you of it?”

“No spies at all, dear child. I have eyes in my head and a
reasonably well functioning mind that can still add two and two and come up
with four. I must say that I have been impressed,” she added thoughtfully.

“With what, ma’am?”

“With Althea, for inspiring such affection — I’ve never seen
you take any set-back in such a fashion, Tracy! Next I’ll see you rending your
locks and going about with your collar askew like that German fellow — who was
that? oh, yes, young Werther. I do dislike people who take themselves so
dreadfully seriously.”

Calendar bowed in his aunt’s direction. “I regret to
discommode you, Aunt Peg.”

“Fiddlestick. I admire Althea for making you feel so, and I
am glad of it, dear. I used to wonder if watching the chasings and comings and
goings of that frippery set you grew up with had soured you completely upon the
subject of women, or if you would ever bring yourself to care for anyone at
all. So now, what is to be done?”

“I cannot think of a thing, save to wait and watch, Aunt.”

“A wise dictum, Tracy, but do you think you can support it
for long? Or better still, do you think that I can support watching you support
it for long? I no longer have your stamina, dear one.”

“I don’t think I have much choice in the matter, ma’am,” he
said ruefully. “Ally is set upon some sort of revenge on Pendarly, and she
seems to have made Miss Laverham a part of it. What bothers me is that she has
introduced Miss Laverham to John Wallingham —”

“Not that dreadful son of old Wallingham — the one who
brought his convenient to church incognito! What a turn-up that was. So Ally
has promoted a flirtation between this Wallingham and Miss Laverham in order to
discomfort what-y’may-call-him?”

“Pendarly, Aunt.”

“I know, I know!” the old woman snapped. “So they have this
Pembroke, or what have you, they have him tied up over his Miss Laverham’s
defection, and confused by the attention I imagine Althea is showing him — oh,
dear me, what a lovely plot. If only you didn’t see quite so much, or rather
less of it, dear.” She clucked merrily to herself under the exasperated glance
of her nephew.

“I was able to understand everything you said until that
part at last — although why you scruple to ask me for details when you know as
much or more of what has gone on than I do I cannot fathom. What more or less
am I supposed to have seen?”

“Your maddening lack of consequence, Tracy!” Lady Boskingam
chided. “You suppose that this plot is all for Pendarly’s benefit! Something —
I have no idea what — has decided Althea that you needed a lesson of some sort.
Tracy, dear stupid male that you are, she has been hanging on Pendarly’s sleeve
as much to annoy you as to worry him. Lord, love must be blind, for it is all
clear as daylight to me.”

“What?” The black look returned to his face, complicated by
a lingering aspect of confusion. His dark brows knit into a straight
threatening line over his eyes, and Lady Boskingram shrank a little from his
glare. What occasioned his wrath, as much as the fact that he had a genuine
dislike for machinations of this sort, was the equally important fact, and one
that he had only just realized, that the plot had been successful. Even when he
knew how she must dislike and distrust Pendarly, there had been in the back of
his mind a maddening thought that perhaps her affections had been more deeply
engaged than she knew. He had been, in short, very jealous, and completely
unaware of the fact.

“I wish you would not stare at me in such a ferocious
manner: you petrify me absolutely. Think a moment if you can: at least the
gamble you spoke to me of once has paid off — more successfully than you knew.
Only a woman who has some — shall I say interest — in a man will play such a
charade. Especially a woman of Althea’s wit.”

“It seems a confoundedly difficult way for a woman to inform
a man that she is — interested in him,” he muttered. “And I do not bother to
apologize for my language — you taught me everything I know of it.”

“So I did. But Tracy” — Lady Boskingram reached her hand out
to him — “do not be too hard on her. Who knows what sort of nonsense she has
been supporting from that bird-witted sister of hers, or from that deadly dull
pompous father — she told me all about him — not to say this strange situation
in which she has found herself. She seems to attract furor as honey attracts
bees, and you will have to accept that fact if you wish to marry a heroine. But
consider that she has spent her life in a little Lancashire town with no
society to speak of before you judge her too harshly.”

There was a long pause. “I think that I had best go think
over all you have said, Aunt Peg,” he said tightly.

“Meaning you will go to your club and get foxed and sit in
some overstuffed chair all evening and brood and snap the head from everyone
who comes near you. Your uncle used to do just the same.”

“Correct as always, Aunt Peg,” he said admiringly, and
stalked out of the room, looking, she thought, terrifying enough to startle any
well-intentioned friend he should meet. Lady Boskingram sighed deeply and shook
her head.

o0o

True to her word, Georgiana had, after some consultation with
Lady Liverpool, taken over the design and execution of Lady Bevan’s costume for
the theatrical. Althea dutifully kept Maria from impeding progress on the
costume by hanging over the shoulders of the seamstresses and making
nonsensical suggestions by drilling her sister in her few lines. Georgiana
wanted to achieve the suggestion of a nightingale without the feathers, paint,
and jewels that Maria imagined necessary to such a toilette, and was devoutly
grateful for the time Althea kept her sister out of the sewing room.

The morning of the day set for the theatrical found Maria
trailing about the library speaking her lines to Althea, who was paying no
attention at all, reading instead
Tristram Shandy
and trying not to let
her amusement disturb her sister’s tenuous train of thought. Georgiana was
upstairs, directing the seamstresses in the last details of the costume, a
sheer white crepe gown embroidered with pailettes, which in the light contrived
to suggest feathers.

When the knocker was dropped several times in furious
succession Althea was shaken from her book and Maria from her recitation.
Upstairs, Georgiana dropped her pin-cushion, picked it up again, and said a
brief prayer that it would not be the everlasting Wallingham. It was not. Even
before Debbens could step to the door of the library and announce the arrival,
a young man, prodigiously fine in a bottle-green coat matched unsuitably with
buckskins, and slightly greasy top boots, and with a film of dust over all,
surged into the room and stood before the amazed sisters.

“Merrit!” they exclaimed in one voice.

The boy gave a cheeky grin and advanced to kiss his sisters.

“Come at last. Father said it was time I went after you to
bring you home, Ally. Things are in a sad state, with Cook threatening daily to
leave, and lord knows what — not. But don’t think you need take any great hurry
in getting back, m’dear,” he said easily. “I don’t fancy returning home just
yet.”

“But how are you come, and why did you send me no notice!”
Maria squeaked. Debbens, still standing in the doorway, wondered if perhaps
that was not the usual manner of travel in Lady Bevan’s family — he still
remembered Miss Althea’s arrival too well for his comfort. Since the young
gentleman was obviously not to be turned from indoors, Debbens decided that he
had done his duty and could return to polishing his brasses.

“I say, Mary, who’s the dasher I saw at the top of the
stairs? Pretty thing in a stuff gown with a pincushion in her hand. Blushed
like fury when I smiled at her and ran off down the hall.”

“Merrit,” Althea said reprovingly, “you will stop thinking
whatever it is that you are thinking. The girl is Miss Laverham, and she is a
good friend of mine, and she is here helping Maria with her costume for a
theatrical tonight — you will come, won’t you? —
and
she is engaged to
be married.”

“Well, that scotches that, don’t it? All right, Sis,” he
said easily. “Mary, where’s Francis? I count upon him to show me some of the
city before I have to return to Hook Well. The devil’s in it that I’m on
damnably short purse strings — Father’s had to pay some duns for me, and I’m
afraid that he wasn’t much pleased. I don’t suppose either of my kind sisters
could advance me just a little of the ready?” He smiled charmingly and threw
himself into a delicate chair, which shuddered under his impact. Maria had
opened her mouth to offer some assistance when Althea stopped her with a
cautious hand

“Cannot let good nature overcome good sense, Mary. Merrit,
it seems that the last time I advanced you any money, you vowed upon all points
to repay me by the new quarter. That was all of two years ago, and I still am
wondering when I am to be paid.”

“Never said which new quarter I’d pay upon did I?” Merrit
objected cheerily. “Come, Mary, surely you have a little pin money tucked by
for me….”

Maria, strengthened by Althea’s refusal, gave one of her
own. “You know, dearest, that if I could depend upon you to pay me back, I
would, but things have not been so easy financially, and I am sure you would go
directly to some dreadful hell and there would go all my chance of
reimbursement.”

“Is it my fault that my luck is damnable? Besides, it ain’t
for the tables I ask — I simply need a new rig-out. Can’t show my face in town
with these rags I’m wearing.”

There was a certain truth to what he said, Althea reflected,
but she was of the opinion that Merrit’s idea of new furnishings would only be
a newer, more spectacular version of his present outlandish costume — very
expensive, depressingly bandboxy, and ridiculously extreme as to cinched waist,
padded shoulders, and collar points “You do have your evening dress, don’t
you?” she thought to ask.

“Brought it, but I’m damned if that means you’ll be able to
drag me from Almack’s to the opera, or any other dull-as-ditch-water functions
of the like. As long as I’m here I intend to make good of it — Father told me I
should acquire a little town bronze. He also said I wasn’t to spend my money
too freely, but that’s Father all over.” Merrit was the first to look up when a
gentle rapping sounded at the door. “The seamstress, I’ll be bound,” he
whispered wickedly. Althea made a threatening motion as Maria called for
Georgiana to enter.

“Excuse me, Lady Bevan,” she began. “I thought you could try
the headdress now that the glue is dried on the peacock boas.” She stood in the
doorway with a tentative air. “I would like to see them on you and adjust their
size if it is needful.”

“Of course, I’ll come straightaway.” Maria dropped her book
and started for the door.

“It appears that I am the only person in this family who has
manners enough to be admitted into Society,”’ Althea said rebukingly. “Merrit,
for pity’s sake, stand up. I care not how tired you are. Georgiana, this
rapscallion is my brother Merrit. Merrit, this is Miss Laverham.
Now
,
Maria” — she turned to her sister — “go try on your peacock feathers. I’ll come
upstairs in a little while and see.” Georgiana and Maria retreated from the
room and went to deal with the headdress. In the library Merrit surveyed his
sister doubtfully.

“You’ve not got it in mind to scold me, have you, Ally?”

“Have you anything to be scolded for, love?” Althea closed
Tristram
Shandy
and settled herself back in the chair. “I was just wondering if Papa
had the thought to send you for me, or if it was all your own notion.”

“It was Father’s idea, Ally, I’ll swear that. I don’t deny
but that I did my best possible to make him send me, rather than going himself.
Thought you’d rather be spared his prosing for a while than not.”

“And that you’d make more of London that he would? O
selfless brother, your motives stick out a mile! But tell me, are things in
such a bad case at home?”

Merrit stretched one dirty boot out before the other and
perused the toe thoughtfully. “It ain’t very happy there. Father’s in one of
his gouty moods. Had a turn-up with one of his straw damsels — don’t frown at
me! — and that’s put him about, too. So he’s been in a fighting mood, and
anyone without the sense to stay out of his path gets lambasted thoroughly.
He’s fired and rehired Cook three times to my certain knowledge. Doctor
Phillips tried to put him on a diet of barley water and weak gruel for a few
weeks — you can picture the turn-up that produced! And Andrew and young Will
say Father has been poking into the stables again, which you specifically
promised them he would not do. And Firth has been trying to keep the maids to
their work, but he don’t seem to have the knack of it — don’t know how to
handle them the way you do, and Cook has them stirred up against him now. I’ll
tell you something, Ally: if something ain’t done, Father will end in Bedlam,
and probably old Firth will be with him.”