Indiscretion (13 page)

In the midst of these, which were naturally melancholy, she remained Caroline enough to find a strand of loving humour in Captain Fortune’s characteristically meeting his end in the very activity that was meant to do you good. No one would have laughed more heartily at that than the Captain himself; and feeble comfort as this was, it might have set Caroline in a fair way to consolation at last. But not while she was under Mrs Sophia Catling’s eye. No one could make less allowance for the quiet nursing of emotional bruises than her employer
—
a woman so greedy of attention that she plainly resented and envied even the consideration that was due to bereavement. She expressed this at first by a niggling dissatisfaction with Caroline’s manner of reading.

‘What’s that? Read that again. You mumbled through it. No, don’t go on with that part
—
why on earth do you think a sick woman would be interested in a subject like that? I’m not talking about what I usually like. I’m talking about
now.
And hold your head up.’

But soon this was not enough: she snapped at Caroline to leave off reading, sighed windily, and said, with an ostentatious gathering of effort, ‘Well, well, it’s plain you’re still brooding on your father, so you had better speak of it. Come, what’s your concern? Did he suffer?’

‘I believe he did not.’

‘Very well. Are you troubling yourself about what he may have left you?’

‘I know quite well he had nothing to leave,’ Caroline said.

‘Likely enough. Well, that simplifies matters, at any rate. Are you afraid his creditors will come after you for his debts? You won’t be liable. Or d’you fear for your position here? It’s true I took you on partly to oblige him, but I’m not about to go changing for that reason. Come, I can’t think what else there can be to make you so untoward.’

‘Only that I have lost my father, ma’am,’ Caroline said, after an open-mouthed moment, ‘and I can’t help being sorry for it.’

‘You might help it, if you exerted yourself. That is, by bearing up. Why, when Colonel Catling died, don’t you think I bore up against my sorrow?’

Caroline murmured that she had not a doubt of it.

‘Wait, what a fool I’m being
—
this cold has quite clouded my head
—
you’ll want
mourning,
of course. Well, I dare say I can bear the expense. See my dressmaker tomorrow. I won’t wear any myself, it would be affectation, but I daresay the coachman might have a hat-band when we go out, for a week or two. Now, I do believe that is all your little fusses dealt with, and all that remains to say is, be a credit to him, my dear, such as he was, and you can begin by mixing my sherry posset, as my throat is like sandpaper from all this talking.’

‘There is one thing, Mrs Catling,’ Caroline said, doing as she was bid, ‘if you don’t mind my mentioning it now. My aunt is arranging for my father’s funeral in Bath, and wants to know how soon I may get there.’

Mrs Catling, applying herself to her handkerchief again, directed at Caroline such a grey, fishy, unresponsive look that her companion supposed for a moment she had not heard her.

‘The funeral, ma’am. In Bath. I might go by the public coach, and willingly will do so, but my aunt says that if I go post, she will meet
—’

‘Go?’ Mrs Catling repeated the word with as much force of amazement as if she had found it painted in large letters on her Chinese wallpaper. ‘Go?’ She ignored the steaming glass Caroline held out to her. ‘I do not understand. Why on earth should you go?’

‘Because he was my father,’ Caroline found herself saying. Was this a trick question? Her fingers were burning: she turned to put the glass down.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m going to put this down to cool, Mrs
—’

‘I mean,’ her employer barked, ‘what are you doing, proposing this absolutely unwarranted absence from your duties to me, above all when I am in such particular need of attendance? My dear Miss Fortune, you have very much mistaken your position here, if you suppose you may gallivant off whenever the fancy takes you: and as for a time like
this
—’

‘But it is an exceptional occasion, ma’am. I didn’t suppose
—
that is, I assumed
...’
This was a dangerous word, she realized as soon as she had pronounced it.

‘To assume is to presume,’ Mrs Catling said. ‘I will overlook the presumption in this one case, as you are something out of sorts on account of your loss. But you must know that your going to Bath is quite out of the question. I am surprised at you for even thinking it; and this aunt of yours must be a nonsensical woman to propose it. Does she not understand your position?’

‘She assumes
—
that is, she thought I would certainly be permitted to go,’ Caroline said.

‘Pretty in her, to high-hand it with my private affairs! I’m afraid I cannot suppose her well bred: certainly it was not the custom in my day for women to attend funerals at all, let alone those in a dependent position. The whole thing is sentimental and ridiculous, and I would find it so even if I could spare you, which I cannot. You must write this woman and tell her so directly, if you please, and then no more of it. Well, didn’t I tell you I wanted my sherry posset? Where is it?’

It was so very nearly all over Mrs Catling’s head that for long afterwards Caroline could only wonder at her own self-control. But though she restrained her hand, she could not curb her tongue.

‘Mrs Catling, I want very much to say goodbye to my father by attending his funeral, and I may as well say that I too assumed that I would be freely allowed to do so. I never intended a long absence from my duties, but an absence, yes, and one that I’m convinced most people would see as reasonable.’

‘I am not most people,’ Mrs Catling said, in a grinding tone, ‘and you had better stop now.’

‘I can’t, ma’am, not without telling you my intention, which is that I shall go to Bath whether I have your permission or not. I do not think you can physically deny me, short of locking me up, and I assure you that nothing
but
that will prevent me. I do you the courtesy of telling you this, rather than simply going, because I do feel beholden to you for some kindnesses, above all to my father; but I emphatically refer to past events, and not your present conduct, which is nothing less than that of a selfish, unfeeling old tyrant.’

Caroline felt she was keeping commendably calm under the circumstances; and Mrs Catling
—
though she went from white to crimson to white again with a swiftness that was, viewed as an objective phenomenon, rather sensational
—
also maintained such command over herself that she sounded only capable of manslaughter rather than outright murder as she hissed at Caroline: ‘Never
—
never have I been spoken to like that. I believe this grief of which you are making such a parade has turned your wits. I will allow you a few seconds to recover them, and then I will hear your full apology, and then I may consider
—
only consider
—
not dismissing you from your post at once.’

‘You need not trouble with the consideration, ma’am, nor do I want your bounty of a few seconds. I am going to see my father laid to rest, and I am going today.’

‘Then you will not be returning, Miss Fortune, ever. Pack all your bags, and consider our association at an end from the moment you step out of my door. You will not get a character from me, and I will acknowledge no communications. Is this your choice?’

‘That’s rather like the executioner asking the felon if he chooses to be hanged,’ Caroline snapped. ‘If you will see fit to give me my wage for this month, Mrs Catling, then I undertake to be out of your house by noon.’

‘Apply to my steward: I’ll have nothing more to do with you.’ Mrs Catling waved her away curtly; but added with, it seemed, real bafflement: ‘You are a fool
—
a fool against your own interests!’

It was in Caroline’s mind to say that her father was too, but at least he would have one sincere mourner at his graveside, and this was one more than Mrs Catling could ever count upon. But that was not a thing to be said to an old woman, even in the heat of battle. So she walked to the drawing-room door with her head high, in silence, surrendering the last word.

Which Mrs Catling had still not spoken. ‘And just you make sure,’ she said to Caroline’s back, ‘you return my smelling-salts.’

Bath: finally it rose, a soft grey cluster of spires and hilltop crescents, before Caroline’s weary eyes. She was in the public coach, aching comprehensively from a journey on roads churned up by autumn rain, and broken overnight at a very indifferent inn where her manifold bruises had proved no impairment to the appetite of the fleas. As a young woman travelling alone she had met with scant courtesy, the prevailing opinion being that she was either a harlot, or wished to be made into one: the scowls of matrons, and the winks of fat old men, conveying to her severally this disagreeable intelligence. Normally Caroline would have shrugged it off without a thought, having led a far from sheltered life, and being accustomed to self-reliance. But she had taken such a battering
—
the latest blow being the manner of her silent exit from Mrs Catling’s house, with the very servants forbidden to speak to her, and only a hired porter to carry her baggage to the Ship, and not a single word or look of farewell to mark the end of this passage in her life
—
that her spirits were almost crushed.

So were her toes, from the clumsiness of the dozing attorney sitting opposite, who seemed to be stamping on a plague of beetles in his sleep. By stretching, she landed a sharp and almost accidental kick on his shin, but he only snorted and blew winy bubbles. Thank heaven, here was Pulteney Bridge like a graceful porch admitting them to Bath at last.

The Abbey bells did not ring for their arrival, of course, as they did for distinguished visitors in their own carriages, and Caroline was not here to write her name in the subscription books or parade the Pump Room. It was with a feeling not unlike the low light of autumn gold declining across the squares that she viewed this place, where her poor father had come to the end of his own eventful journey. But it was proof that her spirits were not quite as crushed as her toes that she was still curious to meet her unknown Aunt Selina, even so sorrowful as the occasion was. Nor had grief obscured the sight of the future, which must soon be faced in all its dizzying uncertainty.

Having been silently handed her outstanding wage before leaving Brighton, she was now in a position to calculate her worldly wealth, and to reckon up how she would manage with the ten pounds, eight shillings and some odd pence that she had tucked into a place, more secure than comfortable, under the bodice of her gown. Above all it must suffice to get her to London, where her best chances of employment lay
—
such as they were now, with no one to give her a character. She would have to apply to the Petty Register Office, and take absolutely what she could get, if it meant nursemaid or washerwoman. Well, turning a mangle could be no worse than pandering to the faradiddles of Mrs Catling
—
a situation she had no regrets about leaving, even though it was the one in which her father had placed his last hopes.

‘He would not want me to be unhappy,’ she told herself, as the coach swung to a halt. The thought made the tears start to her eyes again: she wiped them briskly away, and relieved her feelings by trampling all over the attorney’s feet as she climbed out into the yard of the White Hart.

As a letter could scarcely have got here faster than herself, Caroline had not written her aunt of her coming, and it was with some nervousness that she directed her bags to be sent to Gay Street and, equipped with directions given her by a civil ostler, set out to walk there; for in spite of her aunt’s invitation, there seemed to her a certain presumption in this. She had thought briefly of writing a note from the inn announcing her arrival, but that might give the even more presumptuous idea that she expected to be fetched.

Though it was the close of the season, Bath was busy yet, and there was no scarcity of strollers, of jogging sedan-chairs, of high-perch carriages negotiating the steep inclines. It was years since she had been here, and Caroline’s mind was divided between recollecting familiar landmarks, noticing the sedater atmosphere after racy Brighton, and wistfully reflecting that these had been the last sights seen by her father’s eyes; so that in no time at all she found herself at Gay Street, north of Queen’s Square. On the subtle social index represented by Bath’s various addresses, this stood high in solid respectability, without the glitter of fashion. The townhouse where her aunt and uncle lodged was tall, quiet, neat, a little gaunt, and wintry — all epithets that might have been applied to the lady who, to Caroline’s amazement, flung open the front door when she was only half-way up the steps and, pushing aside an equally amazed maidservant, hurried down to meet her.

Not only to meet her, but to throw her arms about her, crying: ‘My dear girl, I saw you from the parlour window
—
oh, my dear Caroline, I am so very thankful that you came.’

‘But how could
—
how did you know who I was?’

‘How? Because you are the image, the living image of my poor sister. I never saw such a likeness. You simply could not be anyone else.’ Having embraced her, Caroline’s aunt now withdrew to arm’s length with an abrupt stiffness which suggested that such demonstrations were far more the exception than the rule with her. ‘Forgive me, this conduct must seem quite extravagant. I haven’t even introduced myself.’

‘You’re surely my aunt Selina,’ Caroline said, moved by her reception, ‘and I could have wanted no better introduction.’

‘That’s her again!’ the other sighed. ‘She would have said the same. I could never
—
well, what am I thinking? Walk up, my dear, please
—
you’re surely tired after such a journey. You must have set off as soon as you got my letter.’

‘Pretty much so,’ Caroline said awkwardly.

‘And you came post, I hope?
Dr Langland
will reimburse your employer just as soon as
—’

‘No
—
no, Aunt, I came by the coach.’

‘Dear me. But she’ll have sent someone with you, no doubt. Do they go straight back to Brighton? If they want refreshment, or a gratuity, we can surely
—’

‘I came alone.’

‘Alone? By public coach? I never heard of such a thing.’ And from the expression on Aunt Selina’s long, honest face, it was plain that this was no mere figure of speech. ‘What can she have been thinking? And you having suffered such a loss.’

This simple kindness nearly undid Caroline, in spite of her resolution not to begin the acquaintance by blubbering. Seeing this, her aunt changed the subject, saying her uncle was longing to meet her, and pressing her to walk in. Soon, without quite knowing how, she was in a comfortable parlour having her hand powerfully shaken by a lean, gangling, fresh-faced gentleman in clerical black with bright, boyish eyes under a profusion of grizzled-fair hair.

‘My dear, I was never more glad in my life
—
but you must be tired. Hungry and thirsty too no doubt
—
we’ll ring the bell directly. Only I was never more glad of anything in my life, you know, than this opportunity. John Langland. Your uncle John no less
—
I hope you’ll call me so
—
I never knew Selina’s sister, of course
—
not that that signifies
—
and in short I was never more glad
—
really this is quite delightful. Hard to see how it could be better.’

‘Perhaps, my dear, it
could
be better,’ suggested his wife, tentatively, with a pained look, ‘as, happy though we are to see Caroline, it is not a happy occasion that brings her here.’

‘Oh, to be sure, that’s true
—
entirely true. Dear me, did I speak out of turn? I fear I must have, now you point it out, Selina. This is rather dreadful. My dear Caroline, I hope you don’t think
—
really I’m quite floored now
—
and what I did not mean to suggest, and yet I fear I have suggested
...’

Dr Langland’s
attempts to extricate himself reminded Caroline so forcibly of a carthorse backing out of the shafts that she was as near to laughter as the occasion allowed; and there was such an innocent good nature about him that she was very far from taking offence, and hastened to assure him so, whilst gently reclaiming the nerveless lump that used to be her hand.

‘Refreshment you must certainly have, my dear,’ her aunt said, pulling the bell-cord by the fireplace. ‘Will you have
—
well, shall I suggest tea? You don’t object to taking it at this time of day, I hope?’

‘Not at all,’ Caroline assured her aunt, who seemed really anxious on the point; indeed she would not have objected to something much stronger, but had an instant intuition that these were not people to whom one could say such a thing. There was much kindness and decency imprinted on their features, but everything
—
from her aunt’s low, precise voice to her plain, untrimmed cap to the penitentially hard chairs where a heap of earnest sewing and a stack of devotional volumes, crowned with a magnifying-glass, attested the twin pursuits of their leisure
—
was serious: intensely serious.

‘And now, you will be staying here with us until after the funeral?’ Aunt Selina went on.

‘If you will have me, I will, with many thanks. I’m sorry I couldn’t write you before my coming
—
but things fell out rather awkwardly
...’
All at once a tremendous weariness overcame Caroline. It must have shown, for
Dr
Langland sprang forward and, with a great deal of hard breathing and banging, placed a chair for her close to the fire.

‘Such a journey,’ he fussed, ‘and yet you didn’t post it, my dear? Do I have you right? This is most odd
—
for when you wrote, Selina, you urged her to travel post, did you not? I could swear I remember you saying so
—
I was sitting by you when you wrote the letter, you recall, and we talked of it. I was looking into the fifth volume of Hooker’s
Ecclesiastical Polity
—
not the most cogent of the five, you’ll agree, my dear,’ he added, with a glance of humorous confidence at Caroline. ‘And I distinctly remember marking my place with your penwiper, Selina, while we talked of the matter, and how we would settle the cost with Caroline’s employer. Do I have that right? I could swear to it. Let me fetch the volume, and you’ll see the penwiper still in it, I dare say
—’

‘I don’t think you need do that, my dear,’ said Aunt Selina, whose look of worn, fine-boned patience seemed at least partly attributable to dealing with her husband, like the ground-out hollow in a whetstone. ‘I don’t doubt you, but it really wouldn’t prove anything, you know. I certainly did urge Caroline to travel post, but she did not, no doubt for very good reasons of her own.’ A maid who, from her look of wholesome scrubbed seriousness might have been immediately identified as the Langlands’ maid from a parade of a hundred, appeared noiselessly at the door. ‘Jane, will you bring tea and bread-and-butter, if you please, and
—
is there a good kitchen fire?’

‘There is a good kitchen fire, ma’am.’

‘Then perhaps coddled eggs — if you consider our eggs are fresh enough to serve so. I am always in some doubt of Bath eggs. It is not like the country, where one may be sure
—
what do you feel, Jane? Would you advise the eggs?’

The maid, with due reflection, pronounced the eggs satisfactory, if no more. The question was now referred to Caroline, whether coddled eggs might not disagree with her; and Caroline, who from girlhood had freely eaten devilled kidneys, peppered steaks, mustard-patties, and other such spicy and soldierly fare, could only answer with proper solemnity that she was sure they would not.

‘But these reasons,’ went on
Dr Langland,
who plainly was not to be moved on from a subject, ‘what can they be, my dear? Surely your employer cannot have refused to advance you the funds. Your late father, during our short acquaintance, constantly spoke of her as a sterling woman. Unless, dear me, she entertained a doubt of
us,
as guarantors for the sum? To be sure we are personally unknown to her, but our
bona fides
can be easily established. Selina is of course of unimpeachable family, and as for me a rectorship is surely recommendation enough, though one could add that my late sister was the first Lady Milner. Not that such worldly testimonials have any bearing upon virtue or honesty
—
they do not. One should never forget that humble poverty was often seen in the early Church as a positive aid towards virtue. You might easily find, my dear,’ he said, with a benevolent nod at Caroline,’a score of passages to that effect, in the writings of the Early Fathers.’

Caroline could not think of anything she could do
less
easily; but any hope that this diversion might lead her uncle away from the point was quickly crushed by his insisting: ‘But tell us these reasons, my dear, pray
—
for my part I cannot at all guess them. I am at a loss. I am baffled. I really have not a notion—’

‘Very well, sir,’ Caroline burst out
—
partly to silence him, as he seemed prepared to go on finding different ways of saying he did not know more or less for ever; but also because she saw it must come out. She had not wanted to begin by telling her new-found relations that she had lost her position, and had hoped she might somehow avoid telling them at all. Caroline had not an atom of regret about leaving Mrs Catling, but she was human enough not to relish appearing a failure, especially as her father had obviously boasted to the Langlands about her late situation. ‘The fact is, I have parted with my employer, and so it was scarcely to be expected she would pay for my carriage. She settled my wages up, but of course I will need to be careful of my funds, against my next situation; and so I came by coach. Really it wasn’t so bad. I have gone about on the public coach before. A good stout umbrella protects you against most perils, believe me.’