Elisabeth Kidd (22 page)

A number of other servants were busy in the ballroom, dusting, polishing champagne glasses, and moving furniture to and fro. The
several cut-glass chandeliers had been lowered to the floor and, under
Belding’s autocratic direction, were being cleaned meticulously, for the first time since Charles had purchased the house, of the accumulated
wax of past functions. Antonia, carefully treading her way among them,
was treated to Belding’s opinion of the housekeeping habits of the
previous tenants, and the general despoiling tendencies of persons who let houses for a temporary period and have no care for them.

“Have we any coloured candles?” Antonia asked, cutting off this restrained but heartfelt flow.

“They may be obtained, miss. What colour would you wish?”

“Pink.”

“An excellent notion,” Imogen said, coming up at that moment with a
cracked vase in her hand. “Do you think this can be mended?”

“Yes, I expect so. Belding will know where to send it. We mustn’t use
it in here, however. Someone is certain to notice the fault.”

Charles appeared in the doorway just then, and Antonia, handing the
vase back to Mrs Curtiz, approached him to apologise for the turmoil.

“No, no! I am delighted to see it,” he said, looking at Antonia and not
at the ballroom at all. “My poor abode will look as fine as Carleton House
before you are finished.”

“It is a very fine room to begin with,” Antonia assured him, flushing a little under his intent gaze. “You must know we are very grateful for the use of it—”

“Yes. Well! I trust you will not tire yourself with all this work, my
dear,” he said, interrupting her. She had long since learned that Charles
had no wish to hear such expressions of gratitude from her, but she
attempted to voice them nonetheless. “I have asked the housekeeper to
have some refreshment for you in the morning room in half an hour,” he went on. “I shan’t join you, I’m afraid. I am on my way to the city. Have you any errands I may execute for you?”

“Thank you, I think not.”

He accepted this compliantly and said he would therefore remove
himself from underfoot. She saw him to the door and, as she was
watching him get into the hackney he had called for, it came to her yet
again that she was behaving as if this were her own home rather than Charles’s. Naturally, she must be grateful to him for making her feel at
ease there and for instructing his servants to treat her as if she were its mistress. Nevertheless, she could not help a pang of guilt that this was so—even some apprehension, as if her life had been taken out of her
control and was being led inexorably toward some predestined end.

Since Charles’s arrival on the scene, Antonia had passed a large part of
every day in his house supervising the arrangements for the ball. The
responsibility for the refreshments had been happily taken over by a
willing Mrs Driscoll, but that lady was obliged nevertheless to come to
Antonia for an opinion on whether they ought to serve coffee at supper,
or only lemonade, and on the number of cakes to be baked, and whether
to include cold lobster, in which case they would have to offer two or
three kinds of sauce to go with it. Belding was set in charge of arranging
the tables in the supper room and the card tables in some of the smaller
rooms, as well as the chairs to be set up in the ballroom to accommodate
chaperones and those who did not care to dance. Antonia, although she
made few changes, was not satisfied until she had inspected everything
herself.

Isabel presented herself at regular intervals to enquire plaintively if
please, was there not something she might do to help, upon which her
aunt would send her off on some small but time-consuming errand,
having long since despaired of persuading Isabel that her proper concern
was only for her gown and her dancing partners.

Fortunately, Antonia had a willing advocate in the redoubtable Miss
Beecham. While Isabel was torn between her natural shyness and a
deeper, very feminine longing to be the belle of the season, Cloris
unashamedly fostered the latter ambition. Isabel had contrived to wear
each of the gowns she had brought with her only once before Cloris took
her off—with a push from Antonia—to Franchon’s for new ones. Cloris
saw immediately that it would be useless to attempt to detach Isabel from
the ball gown made for her by her dearest Miss Jensen, but she did succeed in persuading her that a lace overskirt would set the white satin off to perfection, with the result that Isabel’s subsequent inspirations
regarding the composition of her costume caused it to be completed at the very last minute—and then only because Imogen, finding Isabel
working at it late into the night, snatched away her needle and thread and
spectacles and locked the gown in her own room, where, she said, she would finish it herself.

Lady Sefton had been generous enough to call once again, bringing with
her the formidable Mrs Drummond-Burrell, another of the patronesses
of Almack’s, who was sufficiently impressed with Isabel to go away and
tell several of her cronies that the little Fairfax was remarkably taking, as
well as pretty, and that she possessed a truly remarkable talent with that
heathenish instrument—a balalaika, that was it. Yes, Mrs Drummond-
Burrell had heard with her own ears what a charming sound could be
coaxed out of it by a talented musician. This opinion—deriving in large
part from Isabel’s particularly enquiring of her guest what piece she
would like to hear, and then knowing how to play it—went far to make
Isabel’s ball something of an Event.

Charles had been all along cheerful, eager to help, and expert in obtaining many of the items necessary to the success of the venture. He encouraged Antonia to avail herself of his house, his carriages, his servants, and any other thing she might require. Since Mrs Curtiz and
even Isabel had no hesitation in taking instant advantage of this generosity,
Antonia’s scruples against doing so began to appear unreasonable, even
to herself.

The difficulty seemed to be that now Charles was part of her life again,
she could no longer conjure up the romantic memories which had been
all she had of him when they were apart. Now the sheer physical
presence of him overwhelmed her, and fragile memories faded and died.
She was forced to confront the Charles that was now—strong, vital, and
continually at her side.

She could not put these vague feelings into words, but neither could
she have confided them to anyone, recognising them as foolish and
sentimental and all the other things she professed to despise. In any case,
Isabel was very little at home to talk to, and even Imogen had found other
things to do. She at least had no scruples about ringing for one of
Charles’s footmen to accompany her in Charles’s carriage to Berry Brothers,
where she would choose teas to replenish her supply, leaving Antonia at
home, counting Charles’s spoons and thinking hard.

It was Mrs Curtiz who later conceived the happy notion of holding the dinner party which was to precede the ball in Mount Street. Antonia
seized on this idea, pointing out to Charles that although his dining
room was, like his ballroom, much larger than the Fairfaxes’, their own
was more than sufficient to accommodate the small party invited to dinner, and still to maintain the atmosphere of comfortable intimacy
which Antonia preferred. She immediately sat down in her own library to
write to the dozen persons who would compose the dinner party, informing
them of the change of plan, and felt much better for it. After she had sealed the last letter, she called for her own carriage for an outing, during which she discovered at Messrs Swan and Edgar’s new establishment in the Regent’s Street that ribbon trim was now all the crack. She purchased
a quantity of this in a shade of rose that exactly matched her favourite sarsenet gown, and returned home feeling very feminine and frivolous.

Philip Kenyon at last made an appearance six days before the Great
Event, walking in at Cavendish Square as if he had only gone out to fetch
a newspaper. He found Antonia discussing the musical programme for
the ball with Charles.

“You had best delegate that task to Isabel, my dear,” said the elder Mr
Kenyon, depositing his cane in the umbrella stand. “Charles has no more
notion of what would be suitable than I have.”

“Uncle Philip!”

“Father! How do you come here? Why did you not send word when
you would arrive?”

“My dear boy,” his patient parent explained, as he received Antonia’s
welcoming kiss, “why should I send word when I am here to tell you
myself that I am here? How do you all find yourselves? Your arrange
ments are proceeding at a goodly pace, I see, just as it should be.”

“We might have guessed,” Antonia complained, “that you would wait
until the work had all been delegated to others before making yourself
available.”

“My dear, I am not in the least available! If you have any notion of
finding me something to do, I shall speedily make myself absent again.”

Antonia laughed and said he was shameless, but asked Charles why he
did not send for some refreshment for the weary traveller, which role Mr
Kenyon readily fell into, supporting himself on her arm as they made
their way into the drawing room. There Antonia reassured him that he
would occupy a supervisory position only in regard to the forthcoming
festivities, and entertained him with an account of all that had occurred since last they met.

“You will be astounded, I daresay, at the size of our guest list, but
people have been most kind to us, and we simply could not leave anyone
out.”

“I would not be at all astounded,” Mr Kenyon told her, “so you need
not enumerate your guests to me. Indeed, let us take a rest from all this
planning, which has already fatigued me beyond measure. I shall be glad
of a cup of tea. Where is Imogen, by the way?”

“She has ventured into Saint James’s for reinforcements. She must
have guessed you would come today, Uncle Philip.”

Mr Kenyon considered this intelligence and then announced that he
had errands to run himself, and that there was no time like the present to
accomplish them. This was so far from Mr Kenyon’s usual philosophy
that Antonia could not resist teasing him about it and asking if he had
some grand new project in view.

“I do, if you must know. I shall tell you all about it—but not now, for I
must call on our friend Mr Quigley, who has been making a nuisance of himself with his letters about... well, never mind that! Shall we take supper together tonight?”

Charles told him that they had planned to attend the theatre at Drury
Lane that evening to see the renowned Edmund Kean as Richard III, and Antonia immediately invited Mr Kenyon along, saying it was just the
sort of sociable outing he would enjoy, if he did not mind that they would
not set out until nine o'clock.

“Quite
de bonne heure
, my dear,” he told her, after ascertaining that he would be given his dinner beforehand and not be obliged to go hungry during the performance.

They were absorbed in arranging the details of this engagement when Imogen Curtiz appeared, walking into the room as if she had not been informed of their visitor’s presence—which must have been the case, for
she came to an abrupt halt when she saw him. Antonia had never seen quite so startled an expression on her friend’s normally unrevealing
countenance.

“Good heavens! Philip!”

Mr Kenyon rose quickly and moved to take her hand and raise it to his
lips. As his eyes left hers, Imogen reverted to her customary composure,
but Antonia had a notion that her caustic greeting was inspired by other
than usual emotions.

“One never knows when to expect you, Philip,” she said. “Perhaps we
ought to just give you a key, so that you may let yourself in and out as you
please.”

Showing her to a chair and resuming his own, Mr Kenyon replied
blandly that he did in fact have a key to this house, but that if she were
offering him
carte blanche
at Mount Street, he would not refuse it.

Imogen maintained her equanimity, but Antonia was nearly betrayed
into astonished laughter. She glanced at Charles, but he appeared to
notice nothing out of the ordinary and, indeed, had risen to ring for the
tea his father had earlier expressed a wish for. But he did hesitate for a
moment when Mrs Curtiz addressed him.

“Charles, were you not on the point of going somewhere?”

“Ah, well... yes, I was.”

“Excellent. Why do you not take Antonia with you? I daresay she
would enjoy a drive.”

Ever obedient, even to unexplainable whims, Charles bade his father
and Mrs Curtiz farewell and offered his arm to Antonia. As he closed the
door behind them, however, she said, “
Were
you going somewhere, Charles?”