Elizabeth Mansfield (10 page)

Prue had not minded in the least being excluded from the drive in Lord Denham’s curricle. Since Letty had not seen fit to confide in her sister about the true nature of her feelings for Lord Denham, Prue could not conceive how her presence on the drive would have been any help to Letty. The thought had crossed Prue’s mind that perhaps she should try to attach Lord Denham herself and thereby rescue Letty from her predicament, but she soon realized that the scheme was too far-fetched. Lord Denham had taken no special notice of her, and as much as she admired his looks and demeanor, Prue had no personal interest in him. She was only seventeen and had never before gone into society. She looked on Denham as a member of an older generation. Although Prue wished her sister well, she was quite willing to allow Letty to deal with her own problems.

What Prue really wanted was the opportunity to develop her skill at coquetry on young men closer to her own age. Therefore, when Aunt Millicent suggested that she spend the morning in the company of her young friends at the Pump Room, she was quite content.

Aunt Millicent accompanied Prue to the Pump Room where she left her in the company of Miss Gladys Summer-Smythe while she went on to pay her call on Lady Denham. Prue, completely unchaperoned for the first time in her life, felt positively lightheaded with freedom.

Unfortunately, however, Miss Summer-Smythe, whose first few weeks in Bath had been depressingly uneventful and lonely, welcomed Prue’s arrival with the enthusiasm of a lost puppy for the arrival of its master. She immediately drew Prue to a rout bench near the clock and eagerly attempted to establish an intimacy between them by confiding to Prue all manner of girlish secrets, in particular her newborn but overwhelming passion for one of the young men in their “circle.” Prue, her eyes roaming
the room in search of a rescuer to interrupt this tête-à-tête, answered in polite monosyllables, but these were evidently encouraging enough to Miss Summer-Smythe to make her reveal the identity of the object of her secret passion: Sir Ralph Gilliam.

“Rabbit?”
Prue asked, staring at the girl incredulously.

“Yes,” Miss Summer-Smythe admitted, lowering her eyes in maidenly bashfulness. “Don’t you think he’s … elegant?”

“Elegant?” Prue repeated, trying not to giggle. Sir Ralph was the most
in
elegant man Prue could imagine. It was not only his rabbity appearance that was inappropriate for elegance, but his entire demeanor. He wore his shirtpoints so high that he could barely turn his head, and he was so conscious of the fit of his clothes that he constantly tugged at his waistcoat or smoothed out his breeches. The stiffness of his carriage, combined with his incessant tugging and pulling, made him appear ludicrously uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I would have chosen
that
word to describe him,” Prue ventured.

“Oh, yes, it’s the very word,” Miss Summer-Smythe insisted. “His manners, his address, his … waistcoats. Why, did you not see him last evening at the concert? He was wearing a waistcoat of puce satin with wide yellow stripes. I’m sure it must have been the most outstanding waistcoat in the room.” She glanced up at Prue and, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper, revealed (for Prue’s ears only, of course) the most exciting tidbit she could offer. “I told him so! Truly. When he approached me at the intermission, I actually told him so! I know it was terribly daring of me, but I said it. ‘Sir Ralph,’ I said, ‘yours is by far the most outstanding waistcoat in the room.’ You don’t think it was too forward of me, do you? Telling him that?”

Prue, accustomed to the outspoken style of a large family, could only stare at Miss Summer-Smythe in amazement. At length she managed to nod and say, “It certainly
was
an outstanding waistcoat. I … er … noticed it myself,” and endeavored to change the subject. Again searching the room for a rescuer, her eyes met those of Brandon Peake, who had just entered. He came to them immediately. “Good morning, Miss Summer-Smythe, Miss Glendenning. By your leave, Miss Glendenning, may I ask where your sister is today? I don’t see her anywhere about.”

“She is otherwise occupied this morning, Mr. Peake.
Our
company will have to suffice, I’m afraid,” Prue said, smiling at him teasingly, “unless you’d rather go off into a corner and read that book you’ve brought with you.”

Before Brandon could answer, the other three gentlemen arrived and greeted them noisily. As soon as the greetings had been exchanged, Miss Summer-Smythe blinked up at Sir Ralph and, interspersing her words with a series of self-conscious giggles, told him that his waistcoat was again outstanding. Since Sir Ralph had buttoned his coat, covering over all but the very edges of his waistcoat (which, since he knew it would not show, was a rather innocuous pale blue), he stared at her dumbfounded. Prue, to cover what she felt must be an awkward moment for poor Miss Summer-Smythe, immediately directed her most enticing smile at the three gentlemen and demanded to know what had kept them all away until this advanced hour. The three, delighted that they had been missed, eagerly surrounded Prue and jostled with each other for her attention. Brandon had no liking for superficialities of this kind. He caught Prue’s eye and, with a brief by-your-leave, took himself off. Prue was the only one who took note of his abrupt departure, her eyes following him until he took a seat across the room and opened his book.

Osbert Caswell, the tallest of the young men and the one most casual in his dress, leaned toward Prue, pulled at the ends of the handkerchief he’d tied around his throat, and announced proudly, “I’ve written a poem about you, Miss Glendenning.”

Prue, aware that Brandon’s withdrawal had irritated her unduly, tried to recapture her former good
spirits. “Have you indeed?” she asked with eager insincerity.

“Yes. I sat up half the night composing it. It’s somewhat in the manner of Ben Johnson’s ‘Celia.’”

A giggle and nudge from Miss Summer-Smythe reminded Prue of that neglected young lady’s presence. In an unaccountable wave of generosity, Prue attempted to share with her the attentions of the young men. Slipping an arm around her, Prue drew Miss Summer-Smythe into the circle and said to her laughingly, “I’m not terribly fond of ‘Celia,’ are you, Miss Summer-Smythe?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met her,” Miss Summer-Smythe answered blandly.

There was a stunned silence for a moment. Then Prue quickly attempted to cover the gaffe by requesting Mr. Caswell to read his lyric aloud. This Mr. Caswell refused to do. “It’s for your ears alone, lovely lady,” he insisted, and would not be moved.

“I wonder where Mr. Peake has gone?” Miss Summer-Smythe asked suddenly.

Sir Ralph glanced around and spotted Brandon seated some distance behind them. “There he is. Shall I get him for you?”

“No, no,” Prue said quickly. “He’s deep in his heavy reading, as usual. We mustn’t disturb him, must we, Miss Summer-Smythe?”

Miss Summer-Smythe looked around toward Brandon. “I don’t think it’s heavy reading,” she declared seriously. “It’s only a very
little
book.”

For Prue, this was the last straw. While the gentlemen struggled to keep from laughing, Prue lowered her eyes demurely and said nothing. But her sympathetic feelings for Miss Summer-Smythe evaporated as suddenly as they’d come. The silly chit could manage for herself from now on. Prue washed her hands of her.

Sir Ralph restored the equilibrium of the group by referring again to Osbert’s poem and demanding a reading. When Prue added her voice to the rest, Osbert weakened and took from his pocket his opus magnus, a poem of two eight-line stanzas, which would have taken no more than two minutes to read had not every line been greeted with hoots, catcalls, and derision. Every “rosy lip,” every “glance divine,” every “coppery curl” was met with a loud laugh from the listeners. Every “whilst” and “beguil’st,” every “lover pained” and “kiss abstained” was ridiculed merrily. Before very long, even the poet himself had joined in the hilarity, for he was quick to learn what many writers had learned before him—that if one cannot move one’s readers to tears, moving them to laughter is the next best thing. So successful was the comic rendering that his listeners demanded three readings before they were satisfied.

Prue, her sides aching from her laughter, looked up to find that Brandon had returned and was regarding her balefully. “Aha!” she clarioned, “You’ve returned! No doubt you’ve finished your book and, having nothing better to do, decided to rejoin us.”

The others, their discrimination having been weakened by laughter, reacted as if Prue had said something of enormous wit. They roared. Brandon merely frowned and asked Prue if he might, by her leave, have a word with her in private. Prue raised her eyebrows in surprise, excused herself, and walked away on Brandon’s arm. “Well, sir,” she asked when they were out of earshot, “what is it you wish to say to me?”

“I hope that you’ll not take this amiss … That is, I realize that it is not my affair, but … by your leave …”

“I’ve given you my leave by accompanying you, sir. Please speak up,” Prue said with a shade of impatience.

“With your own reputation as my only concern, Miss Glendenning, I merely wished to point out that you’ve been the object of some … er … disapproval from the … er …”

Prue frowned at him in dawning annoyance. “I think I begin to feel the direction of the wind,” she said stiffly. “Are you about to offer me a scolding, Mr. Peake?”

“No, no, of course not. I would scarcely call it … No, indeed. Merely a cautionary word of advice from someone who—”

“Someone who is almost a stranger to me, isn’t that right, Mr. Peake?”

“Perhaps. But, you see, my friendship with your sister is my justification for presuming to speak to you on a matter which I would otherwise not venture to broach.”

“Indeed? Do you think my sister would countenance such presumption?” Prue asked angrily.

Brandon began to feel misgivings. “I suppose not,” he admitted, “b-but I only wished to point out to you that your … by your leave … your beauty, if I may be blunt, is such that you attract many eyes, and therefore, it behooves you to show even more restraint than is necessary for other young women—”

“I’m glad you find me beautiful, sir, but I fail to see—”

“I didn’t say
I
find you beautiful, exactly. I mean, I do, of course … that is … I mean that
others
do, and therefore, your rather unseemly conduct this morning seems all the more indecorous because people tend to keep their eyes on you …”

“I see,” Prue said with dangerous restraint, her eyes giving off a steely glint. “Other people—but not you, of course—find me beautiful, and therefore, I may not enjoy myself with my friends, is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m afraid I’m not expressing myself at all well, Miss Glendenning,” Brandon said, beginning to feel acutely uncomfortable in his chosen role as protective uncle. “I only meant to remind you of the wisdom of Aesop when he said, ‘Outward show is a poor substitute for inner worth.’”

“I was wondering when you would come forth with a quotation. That was the one thing this conversation lacked,” Prue said nastily.

“I’m sorry if my tendency to rely on quotations offends you,” he responded lamely.

“Your tendency to rely on quotations is the least of it!” Prue burst out. “Your temerity in speaking to me at
all
on this matter offends me! Your calling my behavior unseemly offends me! Your avuncular manner offends me! And even your calling me beautiful offends me!”

Brandon, unaccustomed to the emotional outbursts of women, was completely taken aback. “I … I’m … sorry,” he stammered, backing away from the angry flash of her eyes. “I m-meant no harm …”

“Meant no harm? Meant no harm? You call me a vulgar hussy and then say you meant no harm?”

“V-Vulgar hus—? I never said … ! Miss Glendenning, please believe me! I never meant to imply—”

“How else am I to interpret what you said?”

“I merely indicated that your rather noisy frivolity was a bit unseemly, that’s—”

“Unseemly! That, Mr. Peake, is not much better than
vulgar
!” Prue snapped and turned her back on him.

Brandon came up behind her and said placatingly, “Please forgive me, Miss Glendenning. I meant it for the best. As Sophocles said in his great
Antigone,
‘None love the messenger who brings bad news.’”

Prue wheeled around and found herself face-to-face with her accuser. Staring at him stonily, her mind made irrelevant note of the fact that, slight in stature as he was, he stood at least an inch taller than she. Summoning all the control she could muster, she said spitefully, “But you see, Mr. Peake, I don’t consider you to be the messenger. As far as I’m concerned, you are the bad news!”

Poor Brandon was stunned. “By your leave, Miss Glen—” he began.

“By
your
leave, Mr. Peake, I don’t wish to hear any more. I intend to return to my friends and
comport myself exactly as I wish. And I’ll thank you to take no further notice of my behavior. In fact, I’d be delighted if you took your by-your-leaves and your classical quotations and never spoke to me again!”

She turned on her heel and ran quickly back to her friends, leaving Brandon bemused, remorseful, and miserable. To make matters worse, he looked around to find himself the object of several curious stares. There was nothing for him to do but take his leave. Prue, on the other hand, resumed her laughter and flirtations with more energy than before, until she realized that Brandon was no longer in the room. Then some of her spiritedness seemed to desert her, and although she continued to smile indiscriminately on her three swains, she noticed that somewhere at the back of her throat she felt very close to tears.

***

In the meantime, Lord Denham was doing his best to find a way to penetrate his companion’s thick wall of reserve. He had set a course for Limpley Stoke, promising Letty that she would have much picturesque scenery to enjoy, for the road ran along the Avon’s banks for several miles. For the first hour, he engaged in the kind of polite and amiable exchanges that had marked their conversation during his brief “courtship,” but as the distance from Bath increased and the traffic on the road became lighter, he gave the horses their heads and turned his attention to the girl beside him. “It is quite lowering to realize, Miss Glendenning,” he said disarmingly, “that I owe your company today to the coercion of your aunt.”