Phoebe’s ashen look the
next morning suggested that the sleep she had craved had refused to be
summoned, and after a bite of breakfast she begged to be excused and returned
to her room. Lydia, having drunk a good deal more wine before retiring, had
purchased rest at the expense of a liverish headache, and was unequal to
conversation even if they had been able to find any. Talk there must be — of
what to do now, whether they should remain in Bath, and what should be reported
to Lady Eastmond — but the time was not yet. Lydia’s one hope was that there
would be no morning callers — a most reliable device for ensuring a swift knock
at the door. She wished she could simply tell Mary to say ‘not at home’ — but a
remnant of pride prevented her. Much as she longed to, she would not hide her
head.
The callers were Mr and
Mrs Vawser. Lydia was by now too resigned to the malevolence of Fate to be
surprised.
‘Well, Miss Templeton,
and so here you are — quite snugly situated, I declare!’ Mrs Vawser, her flow
of spirits quite restored, subjected the drawing-room to a thorough scrutiny;
and it seemed she was prevented from actually peering under the sofa only by
tenderness for her hat, which was so profuse with ribbons, beads, pearls and
feathers that it looked as if a large bird had expired in a sewing-box. ‘Quite
pleasant indeed — though for my part I should not care to be so close to the
river, with its damps. We are quite free of that in Marlborough Buildings. But
where is Miss Rae?’
‘She is a little
indisposed this morning.’
‘Now I call that a pity!
I was saying to Mr Vawser earlier how we positively owed a call to Miss Rae and
Miss Templeton — that what with all the demands of acquaintance and company, we
had neglected them shamefully. And now we are here, and no Miss Rae! Really it
is too bad. We wanted to repeat our invitation to take her for a drive in the
barouche — nay, I meant to insist on it. Such a blooming young creature will
positively wilt if she is not afforded the means of an airing. I confess I
thought her not absolutely in her best looks last night. A pretty enough sort
of occasion, was it not? One did not expect a
great
deal of fashion, but
all the same there was very little to blush at. And we made
one
thoroughly
delightful acquaintance. Mr Hugh Hanley — an officer of the Prince of Wales’s
Own. The very pink of the
ton,
but not in the least affected — you know
I have a horror of affectation. An altogether charming young man — and what is
scarcely to be believed, actually nephew to that dry old stick Mr Durrant!’
‘Yes, I know of their
relation, as I know Mr Hanley.’
‘Oh! well, I dare say
you would,’ Mrs Vawser said, with a shrug. ‘But such a difference between them!
Mr Hanley so agreeable — so entertaining — whilst between ourselves, I find Mr
Durrant’s company so heavy I would almost go out of my way to avoid it, if it
were consonant with politeness. Mr Vawser is quite as taken with the young man
as I am — indeed they have so much in common one might almost suppose them
brothers.’
‘Twins,’ offered Mr
Vawser, putting his head over the parapet of his cravat. ‘Her her her.’
‘He dances excessively
well, as one might expect — and again between ourselves, I cannot have been the
only one to remark on Mr Durrant’s taking the floor so often last night.
Nothing
against
a man of his years doing so, to be sure — but with his
stiff standoffish ways, it was rather a curious sight. One could not help but
stare. Mr Vawser’ — with a playful slap — ‘was rogue enough to suggest he was
in liquor. Of course
you,
Miss Templeton, did not dance at all, which
was much more sensible.’
Lydia did not trouble to
correct her, nor to exert herself beyond bare civility throughout the length of
their call; which ended with Mrs Vawser insisting that Miss Rae be given her
friendly message about the barouche. ‘For I do not take no for an answer, Miss
Templeton — all my friends will tell you so. “Penelope”, they say, “is like a
dog with a bone — an absolute dog with a bone.”‘ Lydia, mentally bestowing on
her guest a canine comparison of her own, promised that Phoebe would be told,
and heard the door close upon them with a gloomy relief that lasted perhaps five
minutes before the knocker resounded again.
It could have been much
worse — it was Mr Durrant; but such was her weariness of spirit that she could
only say: ‘Oh, hullo. What do
you
want?’
‘To refresh myself at
the never-failing springs of your charm, of course. Aren’t you going to invite
me to sit down?’
‘No, because you never
do.’
‘Never let it be said
that I am predictable,’ he grunted, taking a chair and hitching up one long
leg. ‘In truth, I came to ask after your health, and not in the usual unmeaning
way of the phrase. I heard from Juliet last night that you had gone home
feeling ill. A Dress Ball is certainly enough to turn me sick, but I had
thought your stomach stronger. Are you recovered? What was it?’
So, it was still
‘Juliet.’
‘Nothing of consequence.
I am better now. Tell me — have you called at Queen Square today?’
‘Not yet. My next call.
Why?’
There was a certain
peculiar pleasure — if any feeling could be termed pleasure on such a joyless
day — in knowing that he had come here first; but a little disappointment too,
for she was anxious to know what, if anything, was being said at the Allardyce
house. Her hope was that Mr Allardyce would never speak of the matter, but
there were difficulties in the way of that. The close friendship with the ladies
of Sydney Place must necessarily be at an end now — neither she nor Phoebe nor
Mr Allardyce himself could possibly maintain it even as a fiction — and Mrs
Allardyce, who had been so plainly anticipating Phoebe as a daughter-in-law,
would want to know why.
‘I merely supposed that
you would call there today, because— Oh, Lord, I don’t know.’ Sunlight was
vigorous at the window, and she shielded her eyes from its hateful stabbing. ‘I
suppose nothing. I have done with supposing.’
Mr Durrant moved his chair
closer to hers. ‘Miss Templeton — you really are ill.’
‘Do you mean you doubted
it?’
‘Well ... I did wonder
if the indisposition was of the tactical sort. Indeed I confess to a certain
sense of— not guilt — responsibility. I fear
I
may have spoiled your
evening, with what I said to you about Allardyce. It was ill-considered. It was
the result of one of those peculiar feelings, which may be uncannily accurate,
or else mere gammon. But in either case, I should have reminded myself that you
surely know perfectly well what you are about.’
She raised her eyes to
his. ‘As you do?’
‘I hope I do,’ he said,
after an instant’s hesitation.
‘Well — it was
ill-considered, certainly,’ she said looking away: she was too raw for any
touch of sympathy, and her inward flinching made her curt. ‘But I didn’t leave
because of that. I hope I am not so weak.’
‘I’m sure you are not.
Where’s Miss Rae? Is she indisposed too?’
‘Yes — that is, a
little. Mr Durrant, I fear I am rather indifferent company today. The Vawsers have
been here, and—’
‘Good God, after that
you should be prostrate, not indisposed. I’ll leave you. Try a glass of port.’
‘Port — at this hour?’
‘Yes, why not? We should
not let the clock dictate to us: we invented it, after all, not the other way
around. I have a very sharp way with my clocks, believe me.’ He rose, stood
irresolute a moment. ‘I’m sorry you did not have a pleasant evening.’
She waved a weak hand.
‘Thank you. But I hope you did, Mr Durrant.’
She felt him studying
her — looking for irony, no doubt; but she was herself mildly surprised to find
there was none. That too, it seemed, was exhausted.
‘It was ... it was all I
could have wished,’ he said, in a tone that seemed forcibly stripped of
expression; and, with a brief good day, left her.
The afternoon brought
two notes. One was from Juliet Allardyce, and was addressed to both Lydia and
Phoebe.
My dear friends — I
thought I should tell you that my brother leaves Bath for London tomorrow
morning by the earliest coach. Sudden and urgent business, he says — I can get
no more out of him tho’ it seems to me sudden and urgent to an almost
impossible degree — and he knows or will say nothing of his possible return. I
have made no preparations to leave until September and so remain here — rather
perplexed — all the more so as I have urged him to come to you and make his
goodbyes — but he pleads lack of time and asks me to present his compliments
and apologies! What think you? And is it fair that our sex is always called the
inconsistent one? Mama’s mood by the by is even more singular — something brews
— but of course she will tell me nothing about that. Hoping, my dear Lydia,
that you find yourself recovered — yours with all good wishes &c,
Juliet
So, Mr Allardyce was
leaving the scene at once! Was this delicacy, or embarrassment — the wish to
avoid inflicting discomfort, or the wish to avoid experiencing it? Whatever the
case, avoidance was the essence of it; and Lydia detected a pique that did not
increase her respect for him. She read the note alone, but it must be
communicated to Phoebe, though its effect would surely be further to depress
her spirits: here was the man she had believed warmly attached to her, taking
off without a word to her face; and it was with a heavy heart, when Phoebe came
down at last to dinner, that Lydia placed the note in her hand.
‘I suppose he could
hardly stay,’ was Phoebe’s comment at last. ‘It would be too painful for him.’
Lydia hardly knew which was
the more distressing: Phoebe’s tone, still of a terrible stifled evenness, or
the substance of her remark. She was still pitying Robert Allardyce — and
pitying him for his unrequited love. This was intolerable. Lydia had been
striving, during the tortuous reflections of today, to find some sympathy for
him — here, after all, was a man making the most profound of avowals, and being
rebuffed in the bluntest terms; but it was no good. Indignant loyalty to her
injured friend would not allow it; and she had had, besides, no consciousness
of being loved. He had merely presented her with the evidence of it, like an
amatory warrant, and gone into a pet when she refused to accept it.
No such robustness of
feeling, alas, could be detected in Phoebe, who was a quiet and distracted
companion at dinner. Lydia had debated whether to tell her about the second
note, but now she was convinced that reticence was the best course. It was from
Mrs Allardyce.
Dear Miss Templeton:
Have the goodness to wait upon me at Queen Square tomorrow morning at your
earliest convenience. I do not require a reply, only your presence.
Catherine
Allardyce
‘Well, Miss Templeton,
well? What have you to say? I look to you, you know, for an explanation — a
thorough explanation. Oh, sit down, sit down — I don’t stand on ceremony:
that’s not my way.’
‘I would gladly sit
down, ma’am, but your dog is in the chair.’
‘Lord, what a fuss! Shoo
him away: he won’t hurt you.’ The creature looked as if it wanted to — though
if it did, Lydia had her response ready, in that she had already chosen which
window she was going to throw it out of. But after some more snarling, the
pug-dog waddled off, and Lydia was able to sit down in the limited comfort
afforded by visible hairs and probable fleas.
‘Now. First of all, no
doubt, I should apologise for my summoning you here in such a fashion — but I
shan’t: the matter is too important. There is no shilly-shally about
me,
at
such a time as this, and I don’t care who knows it.’ Mrs Allardyce was as
carefully dressed, as grandly enthroned as ever, but there was a tautness about
her lips, a glitter in her unkind pretty eyes, that proclaimed her ill at ease.
‘Do
you know that my son left for London at first light this morning,
with no hint of his possible return?’
Lydia inclined her head.
‘Miss Allardyce was good enough to write me the news.’
‘Oh! Juliet — we are not
talking of Juliet. It is my son that concerns me — my son who has astonished
me, disturbed me, by this unaccountable behaviour. Well, do
you
not
think it so?’
‘Mr Allardyce is a man
of affairs, and as such may surely be required to make such sudden removals,’
Lydia answered, with the coolness of mere recital; and she did feel cool, oddly
enough: quite cool. ‘Beyond that, ma’am, I can really say nothing: my acquaintance
with him is not such as—’
‘Nonsense! Miss
Templeton, do not trifle with me. Those who try it come away with their fingers
mightily burned, believe me: that’s the way I am. Something has happened to
make him act so, and I want to know
what.’
‘I dare say — but I do
not see, ma’am, why you should ask me.’
‘Because, Miss
Templeton, I challenged him. Others might not, but I did: that’s my way: I
spoke up. When he announced this extraordinary decision yesterday, and actually
began his packing, I faced him: I demanded to know
why
he was going,
just when everything seemed so propitious, just when his continued presence in
Bath was surely of critical importance — what could it mean? And do you know
the only answer he would give me? “Ask Miss Templeton.” Just that — in a tone,
in a manner quite foreign to him — and with a refusal to say anything more.
“Ask Miss Templeton.” And you may be sure, I
am
asking, and I demand
nothing less than an answer!’