Elisabeth Kidd (12 page)

She hesitated, aware of an impulse to reach out to touch his face in return, to smooth away those harsh lines around his mouth. But then her
sense of humour belatedly rescued her from what she felt might have
been an irretrievable blunder.

“Indeed, I am excessively sorry!” she assured him, smiling. “Isabel and Mr Gary had organized a rubber of whist for this evening, you will recall,
and you were needed to make a fourth. Of course, if Mr Gary goes with
you, as I suppose he must, we are quite lost—reduced to our usual
two-handed game, in fact. It is too bad of you!”

Accommodating himself to her mood, he accused her of incurable
frivolity. “If it is only whist and piquet you want, my enchanting butterfly,
you have only—as I have repeatedly told you—to marry me and I promise
you an eternal round of dissipation—with my aunts to make us four,
playing for penny points.”

“It was my impression, sir, that I had made quite clear my intention
not to so engage myself.”

“Not even for love, Antonia?”

His tone was still light, but his questioning eyes were in earnest, and
she fought not to look into them.

“Especially not for love!”

There was a brief, awkward silence before he lifted his brows and
levelled a mocking gaze at her. “Take care, madam —I may not ask you again.” She gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, but he went on mercilessly,
“I may find some pliable creature more willing to tolerate my advances.”

“I wish you well of her.”

“Cruel Lady Disdain! But I have another argument.”

“I thought you might.”

“Need I remind you of your promise to call on me for whatever aid I may render you in London?”

“I have not forgotten. Isabel, too, is grateful—

“Spare me Isabel’s gratitude! I do what I can because
I
want to do
it—for you.”

She was disconcerted by the intensity with which he spoke, as if he
were afraid of losing something important by having to leave her, even for
so short a time.

“Indeed, my lord, you are very kind. I shall not forget, and I—we
both—look forward to meeting you again.”

He said no more, but took her hands again, and for a moment looked
off into the distance beyond her right shoulder while she waited, feeling in his hands the effort he was making at self-control. At last, he relaxed perceptibly and smiled, saying, “I don’t know why I prejudice my own
cause with every word I utter. Remember only that I wish above all things
that we may see each other again very soon.”

With that, he raised her palm to his lips and kissed it softly. She knew
she ought not to let him do that, but could not bring herself to pull her
hand away. She felt it grow warmer under the pressure of his kiss, and all at once a shock of unidentifiable feeling communicated itself from him,
through her hand, coursing all through her. She pulled away abruptly
then, a blush of breathless confusion rising to her cheeks. Kedrington
seemed not to notice, although he did not meet her eyes. Then, saying all
that was customary and remembering to express his regrets to Isabel, he
took his leave.

When he was gone, Antonia stood alone in the hall, staring at the
closed door until she became aware again of normal sensations. It was
cold in the hall; she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders but
could not stop shivering. She looked around her at the home that had
always held the greater part of her happiness within its walls and wondered
why it suddenly seemed so empty.

It was Philip Kenyon, suddenly recalled to his godfatherly duties, who
took it cheerfully upon himself to find a suitable house in London which the Misses Fairfax might rent for the season. In February he wrote to them that they might move immediately into a large house in Queen
Anne Street, or they might wait until March, when a smaller, better-
furnished one in Mount Street would fall vacant, but—discharging that obligation as cheerfully as he had assumed it—he left the choice to the
ladies. He would not be in Leicestershire in the near future, having
committed himself to an inspection tour of the Sussex Iron Railway, but he had left instructions with his solicitor in London — Antonia would know his direction—to settle the question of the lease for them and to
forward the bills for all their expenses to Mr Kenyon. Their loving Uncle
Philip hoped to see them very soon and in good health, and oh yes—Lord
Kedrington had charged him to ask Antonia if she preferred whist to piquet. Mr Kenyon supposed Antonia knew what he meant.

Antonia would dearly have liked to reply in kind to the viscount’s impertinence, but while she was grateful to him for reverting to that easy camaraderie they had enjoyed at the beginning of their acquaintance, she
hesitated to initiate a correspondence with him that must at some point recall the disquieting incident on which they had parted.

She had done her best to put that out of her mind, instead conjuring up those comforting images of Charles Kenyon which had hitherto been
all she required for happiness. She succeeded thus in restoring her
equanimity—at least until the next mention of Kedrington’s name,
which seemed to crop up far too frequently in the conversation nowadays.
She slipped the last page of Mr Kenyon’s letter into her pocket and went
to consult with Isabel about the rest of it.

“Oh,
Antonia, we couldn’t possibly go now,” asserted that young lady.
“Miss Jensen won’t finish my satin ball dress or any of the new pelisses
for a fortnight, and Madame Labiche said she will have to send to London for the
gros de Naples
for those two bonnets, and
...
oh, there must be a
dozen things to do still!”

Antonia was satisfied to have the matter so easily resolved—although she remarked that it seemed a trifle odd that they must send to London to
trim the bonnets they were to wear there. Isabel smiled perfunctorily at this attempt at levity and went away to attend to more serious business.

Antonia was amused by her niece’s attitude of mingled apprehension and
determination, and by the feverish activity in which she attempted to overcome the former with a great deal of the latter. She suspected that Isabel was in as much of a mental quandary as she was herself, but she
could not question her niece about it without also revealing her own
dilemma, and that she was not yet prepared to do. Instead, she concen
trated on following Isabel’s orders and marvelling at her energy.

She did not in fact know Mr Quigley’s direction but, acting on Isabel’s
sensible suggestion, she speedily obtained it from Pomfret and wrote to
the solicitor’s offices in the Temple to say that they would take the house in Mount Street. Belding, two footmen, and three housemaids were duly despatched thither a few weeks later, together with Mrs Driscoll, who at
the last moment won out over Antonia’s notion of hiring a modish
French chef for the season by producing an unexpectedly elegant dinner,
which included lobster in a sauce whose ingredients Mrs Driscoll
triumphantly refused to divulge, and a meringue of so delicate a texture
that Isabel declared that no London chef could equal it.

But not until the first week of April was all in order, and even on the
very day of their departure, it was only Isabel’s abigail, Esme—newly
promoted from housemaid—who stood ready in the yard of The George
in Melton Mowbray, proud of both her new post and her new bonnet and
eager to be off in the handsome hired chaise which awaited them.
Everyone else seemed to find any number of excuses sufficient to detain
them.

They had been half an hour late in leaving Wyckham, Maria having
become suddenly cognizant of that which had been mentioned to her a
dozen times a day for a fortnight. She had thereupon announced her
intention of coming down to see them all off, and the ladies had waited in
the parlour for twenty minutes only to learn that she had changed her mind
and they were all obliged to troop up to her bedroom to take an affecting
farewell before Maria could forget once again where it was they were
going.

At The George, Antonia suddenly realised how long it would be before
she saw Ned Fletcher again, and she took him aside to add some remarks
to the list of instructions she had already given him. While Ned listened patiently, nodding in agreement, Baskcomb shifted from one foot to the
other and wondered if he should walk the horses.

At last, however, they were really on their way. They intended to make
a leisurely journey, spending the first night at Huntingdon and a second
at Stevanage, leaving them to arrive in London early on the third day without excessive fatigue. This scheme was successfully carried out, but
unknown to the travellers, their schedule brought them into London
precisely on the day following the arrival of the news from Paris that the remains of the Imperial Army had surrendered, and that the Allies had at
last entered the French capital. To be sure, they had been expecting something of that nature from Carey’s recent description of what turned
out to be the final campaign of the war, near Toulouse.

Gen’l Soult’s army seems to be deserting him on all sides,
Lieutenant Fairfax had written,
including the Rear, where this Action is referred to
as ‘Straggling.’  Duoro kept old Salt out of Bordeaux handily, ‘spite of our
Reinforcements not fetching up in time. This looks like Ball is over at
last....

But the Fairfax ladies were unaware of the extent of the jubilation in
London, where the continental news was even in ordinary times received
with considerably more interest than the neighbouring shires evinced in it, and they little suspected that the city would be in a whirl of celebration through the months leading to the official victory festivities the follow
ing August.

Isabel was reading aloud from a guidebook as they were crossing a peaceful corner of Finchley Common on the last phase of their journey, when she looked up, blinked through her spectacles, and exclaimed,
“Goodness! What was that?”

“It sounded like cannon,” Antonia said, mystified.

“I fancy it is the Tower guns,” ventured Mrs Curtiz. “The sound seems
to be coming from that direction.”

Antonia put her head out of the window and called to Baskcomb on the perch, but that country-bred worthy could add nothing to their
speculations.

They were soon to be informed, however. The country to the north of the New Road, which ran from Paddington to Islington, was still largely
wooded and peaceful, but soon the neat brown and grey brick houses
began to come closer together, and to rise to three and four stories. The
flagstone pavements and cobbled streets between them narrowed, and
from behind archways and down narrow lanes emanated the faint but
unmistakeable aromas of stables and kitchens and chimneystacks. South
of Oxford Street, foot and horse traffic grew heavier. Pedestrians, sedan-
chairs, carts, and carriages slowed their progress, so that the travellers
had leisure to admire the luxurious mansions lining Grosvenor Square, with their handsome carved doors and the brightly polished knockers
which indicated by their presence that their owners were at home to
callers.

Many of these houses were decorated with white bunting and fleurs-de-
lis. Flambeaux outside their doors stood ready to be kindled at dusk.
Some of the citizens who passed by wore white cockades in their hats,
and two or three vehicles were even draped with laurel leaves. A dowager
in a purple turban stared rudely at Antonia from a passing barouche, but Antonia’s irritation at this insolence evaporated at the sight of two ladies out for a walk. One of them had her hair dressed in an ethereal fashion
which Antonia later learned was called
à la Médusa
, and which now
caused her to exclaim, “Oh, I like that!”

Mrs Curtiz looked after the passing lady and approved. “Very nice,
although hardly suitable for morning. You would look well with it for a
dinner party.”

Suddenly a sporting phaeton, with an equally sporting young driver in
canary-yellow pantaloons, dashed out of South Audley Street at an
alarming pace. Baskcomb manoeuvred to avoid the phaeton, but a red-
haired young lady on the perch beside the reckless whipster glanced curiously into the chaise as she passed and cried out, “Oh, Ollie—stop!
It’s Isabel Fairfax! Do
stop
, you stupid boy! Izzy, Izzy —halloo!”

Baskcomb, who had been put to the unenviable choice of running into
a fence on his right or a small boy and his nurse emerging from the
square on his left, came gratefully to a halt. The young man on the
phaeton backed his horses and Isabel looked out of her window just as the
red-haired lady clambered down from her perch with the aid of an agile
tiger in pale green livery, who had been clinging to the rear of the
phaeton.