Indiscretion (11 page)

This was the nub of it. Richard Leabrook was well able to dismiss the question
what then?
He was a man, and rich, and independent: the consequences of any such affair must be slight. For her, they must be profound.

‘I am not sure how to answer you, Mr Leabrook: there is so little precedent. When a man asks a woman to marry him, it is I believe usual to begin with an expression of gratitude for the offer, whether she means to accept or decline. When a man simply declares that he is in love with a woman, there is similarly I imagine some formula of acknowledgement that may cover the confusion of the moment, whether she returns his sentiments or not. But when a man asks a woman to go off with him and become his mistress for some unspecified time on some unspecified terms, there is as far as I can see no ready response
—
certainly none that could do justice to her indignation, or his conceit.’

‘Very well,’ he said, blinking rapidly, though his posture was unchanged. ‘Very well, you have placed the matter in the worst light possible. But consider the better. Consider what you would be leaving behind. Servitude, no less; and servitude without hope of a prosperous release. For you have told me you have no other hopes or connections.’

Their conversation the other day, in which he had asked with such apparent sympathy about her father and her situation, came back to her with new understanding. Yes, he had made sure of her.

‘I have nothing, in fact
—
that is what you are saying.’

‘No indeed: you have charm
—
wit
—
taste
—
beauty
—
these have engaged my attention from our first meeting; and there was, I thought, something else also
—
spirit, daring. Without that, I would not have ventured thus. But above all, I did not suppose
you
indifferent to me.’

‘Certainly there is, or was, a degree of regard, even partiality,’ Caroline stated. ‘I was always glad to see you: we agreed very well. But that is not enough to throw myself away for. I would have to set a very low value upon myself to do it. And though you represent Mrs Catling as treating me like a servant, in truth you esteem me at even less value than she does. For I am, as you say, without hopes or connections: consider then what my prospects would be once our little adventure was over.’

‘So: I am mistaken in you, Miss Fortune.’ His tone was dispassionate, even bored; but his look was much altered: he resembled a handsome boy denied a treat. ‘You are a deal more conventional than I supposed: I am sorry for it.’

‘Not wholly mistaken, perhaps, Mr Leabrook. I do not say that I could never be persuaded to sacrifice my reputation to passion
—
only that it would take a great deal more than I feel for
you
to make me do it.’

She got up and walked away from him. Absently she noticed that he was sufficiently discomfited to forget his manners, for he did not rise with her; but she was chiefly occupied with balancing the emotions of astonishment, anger, and hurt pride, which she bore just like heavy, awkward objects, requiring grim concentration.

The crowds of people around her were a blur, but she did catch sight of the sunflower-like head of Maria Downey, and turned instinctively away from it. She needed a space of solitude: she was unequal to enquiries about her agitated state. Worst of all, this evening’s work appeared to her as something she could not tell anyone about.

Much as she might revile Mr Leabrook for his arrogance and presumption, still she felt a sharp humiliation that he should suppose her a likely prey. Swiftly she reviewed her own conduct, pained lest it expose her to the reproach of having encouraged him. She could not imagine it had: her mind grasped an essential truth about the man, that he was a mere opportunist; and it further asserted that if to flirt was to declare oneself fair game, then half the women in the room were compromised. But this did not draw the sting of her feeling. She could not confide to Maria, for example, something so utterly mortifying to her sense of self. And from Mrs Catling, whose stony bosom one would not fall on in any event, she could imagine no response better than acid satire, whilst the worst
—
and most likely
—
would involve her own motives being suspected, and a cold conclusion drawn that she had thrown herself at him.

Bitterest of all, perhaps, was her reflection on her own misjudgement; for if her affections had never been wholly engaged, still she had liked Richard Leabrook very well. Silence, then, must be her portion, hard as it was; and cheerful composure must mark her outward appearance, difficult though it was to command
—
for she did not want him, above all, to perceive her trouble. She lingered in the card-room, on pretence of looking over a game, for as long as she dared, whilst summoning her normal looks and manner.

Mrs Catling was snappish with her on her return: the old lady had put on kid shoes for the two sedate dances she allowed herself, but now wanted them changing back for her overshoes, and only Caroline would do. This was usual enough to be reassuring. And then Mr Leabrook sauntered over, and declared to Mrs Catling, with a great yawn, that he was tired to death
—
he had been on a long walk today, which must account for it
—
and he craved her pardon for breaking up the party, but he simply must return to his lodging, or sleep where he stood.

He was uncomfortable, and would meet no one’s eye. Here at least was a satisfaction to Caroline; but it was the only one she could draw from an evening that seemed to drag interminably to its close, and which to her own shame she rounded off, once she was alone in her room at West Street, by sitting down and crying for a good half-hour. Sleep would not be summoned; and the only help, at last, was to creep down when all the household was abed, and take a little of Mrs Catling’s restorative brandy from the sideboard. She might have felt a renewed shame at this: but Caroline’s sense of humour feebly rallied. ‘I have been taken for a hussy tonight,’ she quavered, to the small hours’ silence, as the tot went soothingly down, ‘what does it matter if I am a toper as well?’

Mr Leabrook was leaving Brighton at once: he came to West Street to announce it, coolly and pleasantly, the very next morning. The Downeys were calling at the same time, and Matthew indignantly protested that this was the first he had heard of it.

‘It is the first anyone has heard of it,’ Mr Leabrook said, smiling, ‘because I have only just made up my mind to it. My dear Matthew, don’t look so surprised. I told you I can never endure to be in one place for very long; and now that my carriage is ready, I have the itch to be moving again. Deplorable, I know.’

‘But why? We have all been getting along so famously’

‘That is always the best moment to part
—
before indifference and aversion set in. Not that I can imagine feeling either towards such excellent company, but you take my point.’

But Matthew was more inclined to labour a point than to take it. He went on declaring himself baffled and disappointed. Mr Leabrook laughed and appeared perfectly easy
—
but Caroline knew better now than to trust to appearances with that gentleman. And if there were any consolation to be found on this most unpleasant of mornings, it lay in the suspicion that she had wounded his pride more than he cared to show, and that he was hastily quitting the scene of a defeat.

Consolation
—
but not much. Caroline had woken with the unhappy recollections of last night aggravated by the after-effects of brandy, and was feeling thoroughly miserable. At breakfast her shaking hands had made such a clatter with the coffee-pot and the sugar-bowl that Mrs Catling had amiably remarked that she was more stupid than usual today. Of the secret that oppressed her, she still could not say a word; and between the twin stones of inner loneliness, and the obligation to be companionable, she felt herself ground to a very powder of perplexity.

And now here was Mr Leabrook calling, and as elegant and civil as ever, and actually sitting a yard or so from her in his rangy, lounging way, chatting on as if nothing had happened. Yet there was a change. He did not address a single word to Caroline.

The smooth surface of his manner was unruffled, which made the omission less noticeable
—
not that anyone there was inclined to take very much notice of her in any event. But Caroline felt, acutely, the intended sensation: he was turning her invisible.

For a few moments she contended with a fierce desire to pick up the nearest candlestick, and launch it at his handsome head along with the cordial enquiry, ‘How was
that
for invisible?’ But she overcame it, reflecting that such a demonstration might convey to his vanity a strength of emotion she certainly did not feel. The wretchedness and awkwardness must be borne: they would soon be over, since he was going away; and time would reduce the whole thing to a cautionary episode, even perhaps to be recalled with wry thankfulness as a lucky escape.

Such was her hope: but if only Matthew would let the matter lie!

‘This is so very sudden,’ he grumbled. ‘Really, Leabrook, I cannot think why you must be so sudden about it. I had thought of your staying another week at least
—
I had thought, you know, of making up a party to Shoreham, or
—’

‘That you may still do without me, my dear fellow. And then, consider
—
how long before you and Miss Downey must return to London? A fortnight at most? You see, we are all impermanencies here, except your estimable aunt.’

‘Who is beginning to wonder at you, Matthew,’ said Mrs Catling, with relish. ‘For it would seem that when Mr Leabrook is gone, there will be nothing in Brighton you care for. Not a flattering reflection on me, though not surprising.’

Oh, Matthew, don’t rise to it, Caroline thought
—
even as Matthew did so.

‘Really, Aunt Sophia, you could not suppose I meant
—
I only meant that Leabrook’s company is, you know, an addition
—
and that without him
—’

‘It will not be the same!’ put in Mrs Catling, sighing. ‘Yes, I see, Nephew
—
I see very well!’

‘No, no, it will be the same
—
that is, there is always pleasure in
your
society, Aunt
—
but the difference I mean .
..’
Matthew toiled on: the effect was rather like watching a bound man trying to untie his ropes with his teeth.

It was Mr Leabrook who put an end to it. ‘Downey, enough: your sentiments do you credit on both sides. Now here’s my proposal: you and Miss Downey shall come and stay with me in Northamptonshire, just as soon as you are able, and as soon as it can be reconciled with your aunt’s prior claim. What do you say to that?’

‘Prior claim? Dear me, you make me sound quite the tyrant,’ chuckled Mrs Catling. ‘I would not dream of standing in the way of such an invitation: indeed I shall think quite the worse of you, you two, if you do not take it up. But I am not without regret on my own part for your going, Mr Leabrook: for who will we have now to compose our quarrels?’

‘There, Matthew,’ Maria said yawning prettily, ‘it is all handsomely arranged, and I think you may leave off hammering at that same nail now.’

‘True
—
to be sure, yes,’ Matthew said, ‘though I still think you might have said something, Leabrook, instead of being so sudden.’ His eye fell for the first time on Caroline. ‘Miss Fortune, don’t you think so?’

Caroline said, looking at no one: ‘I’m sure Mr Leabrook has excellent reasons for his departure.’

‘On the contrary, only foolish trivial ones,’ Leabrook said
—
but addressing Matthew, as if he had spoken. ‘Still, they suffice. So, Mrs Catling, do you hear when the Prince will be next in residence
... ?’

‘Well, I never saw a better-bred man,’ was Mrs Catling’s conclusion, after Mr Leabrook had taken his final leave. ‘You might do worse, Matthew, than look to him as your model. There is still time to erase your father’s unfortunate influence, and make something of you.’ And to Caroline: ‘Hm, you’re mighty quiet, miss: if going to balls puts you into a mopish mood, I shan’t take you to any more.’ Altogether Mrs Catling was in high good humour, and only needed to discover some negligence on the part of the servants for her day to be complete.

Caroline did not much care if she ever attended a ball again. When Mr Leabrook left West Street, he made such a cold, correct, and silent bow over her hand, accompanied by such a fleeting, inward twist of a smile
—
as if he drily laughed at himself for ever thinking of her
—
that she suffered a renewed gush of misery, sufficient quite to put out the spark of philosophical hope she had lit.

It was not that she sorrowed to see him go. Indeed there was the rub and rasp of it: she had been put in such a position that no usual emotions seemed appropriate. There was anger, indignation, humiliation
—
yet none in a strong enough measure to be purgative. Her sense of self had been dealt the severest blow. If Richard Leabrook had seen her as fair game, then was that how she habitually appeared? Did she bear some Cain-like mark that incited the adventurer, that roused the rake? Nonsense, said Reason: as well say the fox invites the hounds. But Reason’s voice could not always be heard above the clamour of self-doubt, especially when she fell to a melancholy wondering whether this kind of offer
—
the kind that was hardly distinguishable from an insult
—
was the best she could ever hope for.

In this depression of spirits, it might be expected that Caroline would have little energy to devote to pleading Matthew’s cause, especially as he had been, if unwittingly, the means of bringing Richard Leabrook into her life. But it was not so. During the ten days that remained of the Downeys’ visit to Brighton, she took every opportunity of acting as his advocate with Mrs Catling. Simply, it was refreshing to think of this rather than of herself; and notwithstanding his occasional absurdities, Caroline remained well affected towards the young man, whose sincere attachment to the worthy apothecary’s daughter appeared the more honourable in contrast to the grubby experience she had just undergone.

How much of this she could take credit for she could not tell, but by the time of the Downeys’ departure Matthew stood well in his aunt’s favour. Not only had they scarcely quarrelled for a week, but Mrs Catling had decided to increase his allowance, and unbent so far as to say she would miss his nonsensical ways when he returned to London.

‘This harmony is almost sinister,’ Maria confided to Caroline, as they took their farewell promenade along the Steyne, pointing her parasol at the figures of aunt and nephew walking arm in arm ahead. ‘I hope it’s not the calm before the storm.’

‘Perhaps the storms are over.’

‘Aunt Sophia and Matthew at peace
—
what a thought! It makes a
sort of revolution in my brain — like when Galileo, or was it the other one, stood up and said the earth goes round the sun and not the other way, or does it? For my part I don’t know how they can
tell
, anyhow. One has quite enough to do to get up in the mornings, without thinking about the universe. Mama will not be best pleased.’

‘About the universe?’

‘Lord, she don’t know there’s any such thing. A woman of limited views. I remember Papa patiently trying to explain to her where oysters come from. “But they come,” says she, “from the fishmonger’s, and that is all there is about it.” No, she won’t be pleased about Matthew and Aunt Sophia being friends.’

‘Oh? I had thought
—
that is, I had supposed
—’

‘That Mama’s forever angling for Aunt to untie her purse-strings for us? So she is. But still it wouldn’t suit her for her sister to seem anything but an ogre. That way she shows up in the best light. Poor as a church mouse but warm-hearted. Oh, we are a sad set, aren’t we? You’re lucky you’re not really connected to us.’ Maria aimed a prod with the parasol at the fat bottom of a bad-tempered little boy who ran across their path, and feigned innocence when he glared round. ‘I shall be so glad when my tropical gentleman comes home and changes my name.’

On the way back it was Matthew who claimed Caroline’s arm, and began at once to speak warmly of her efforts on his behalf. ‘I confess,’ he said, ‘to some misgivings at first
—
after you so very deftly got my secret out of me. I did wonder whether it would be safe
—
whether you might not let something slip, in the very act of trying to assist me.’

‘Well,’ Caroline said, after a speechless moment, ‘you may rest assured, Mr Downey, I have used the utmost discretion.’

‘Oh, to be sure, that is quite plain. There could hardly have been this cordiality otherwise. By the by, Leabrook writes me the pleas-antest letter: he is back at his place in Northamptonshire now, and looks forward to welcoming Maria and me there as soon as may be. I’m so glad, you know, that it was not one of those invitations simply thrown out with no intention of their ever being made good. I dislike that sort of superficial dealing extremely. But then as soon as I met Leabrook I knew that here was a man after my own heart
—
plain, open, honest
—
it’s odd how one can tell these things at once, is it not?’

There was nothing to be said to this except yes, unless she were to take it upon herself to warn Matthew about his friend’s capacity for duplicity: which would mean making her own embarrassing disclosure. Having no intention of doing that, and considering she had already been officious enough on Matthew’s behalf, Caroline contented herself with a murmured agreement that it was, indeed, odd.

‘I knew you would think so!’ he said, fairly beaming on her. ‘You know, I was never more pleased by anything than the capital way we two have got along, Miss Fortune. I shall be very happy to think of Aunt Sophia’s having your company when I am back in London
—
indeed, I shall be heartily glad to see you again when we next visit. I’m not sure when it may be
—
before Christmas perhaps; but no matter, because you will still be here.’

‘I will still be here,’ Caroline echoed; and could not quite prevent the plunge of her heart at those words, and the grey picture they conjured up.

· · ·

The Downeys returned to London, and soon, though the resort remained lively enough, a more general exodus was noticeable from the villas and lodging-houses of Brighton as the summer came to a close. The tints of September were little to be observed, as it had long been remarked that a man who wanted to hang himself at Brighton would be thwarted for lack of a tree to do it from; but the lessening bustle of wheels and hoofs about the streets, the appearance of shutters above the wrought-iron balconies, and the chill mists that stole in from seaward once the sun was down told their autumnal tale. And Mrs Catling revealed a new aspect to her character. Caroline would have credited her with the constitution of a grenadier, and had often heard her speak scathingly of displays of sickliness: but the first sniffle of a cold transformed her into a tremendous invalid.