Indiscretion (18 page)

‘Thank you,’ Caroline said, pressing the arm which, she found, she had taken quite spontaneously. ‘When
... ?’

‘Last December. He was the best of fathers
—
though of course one always thinks that.’

‘Well, I’m not sure mine was the
best
—
but I wouldn’t have changed him on any account.’

‘No, indeed. I
have
heard that he was troubled with
—
with practical difficulties
—
that is, Aunt Selina wrote me
—’

‘Lord, it’s no secret,’ Caroline said, smiling, as Miss Milner’s colour rose again. ‘Poor Papa was forever in Queer Street, and even when he wasn’t, the blunt just slipped through his fingers. Money,’ she added hastily, at her companion’s blank look. ‘Mind you, I collect that this is not a place to keep secrets in any case
—
judging by the thorough inspection I am getting from those men by the gate.’

‘Oh, that is Mr Beeny, the smith; and on the left Mr Cubitt, one of my father’s tenants, over at Hangland Farm. That is, he was my father’s tenant
—
it still comes so natural
—
now, of course, he is my brother’s tenant. Which does not seem at all natural. Yes, everyone will be shockingly curious about you, I’m afraid, and watch your every walk and remark your every sneeze.’

‘Hm, and discuss my every purchase at the shop, no doubt.’

‘I’m sure they would, if we had a shop in Wythorpe,’ Miss Milner said, nimbly eluding a puddle, ‘but we have none.’

Caroline could not help revealing herself a little staggered at this intelligence.

‘Well, there is the Seven Stars
—
the inn, which we will come to presently, at the corner of Splash Lane
—
which is the letter-office, and takes a daily newspaper. And then I believe Mr Miles, the seedsman, deals in a few market articles
—
sacking and tallow and such, and will fetch them if you ask him. But generally one must go for shopping to Huntingdon
—
not above seven miles off. Stephen will often walk it, though of course he is a creature of odd notions. Has that hideous blush of mine faded yet?’

Caroline hardly knew how to answer. ‘It
—
well, I do not think it hideous
—’

‘Thank you,’ Miss Milner said, in her gravest tone. ‘I have tried to think in that way myself, but it’s no use, I still loathe it. If one must blush, at least let it begin in the cheeks, like a normal Christian, and not at the back of the neck. Which I know it does. I did something complicated with mirrors once and watched it. It’s as if my head is on back to front. Well,’ she added, looking shyly at Caroline’s amused face, ‘you are very forgiving.’

‘Am I? I must be, for I cannot even think where the offence lies.’

‘Oh, but you must know
—
that remark I made, at the Rectory. So very unthinking. I can only ask you to believe I truly did not mean it.’

‘Now I feel as if ray head is on back to front. Miss Milner, what
do
you mean?’

‘I spoke of the unhappy consequences of unfortunate marriages,’ her companion said in a rush, ‘and I must suppose you would detect a personal reference. For Aunt Selina has written me, briefly, of her late sister’s history
—
the family quarrel with your poor mother and father, I mean
—
and as soon as the words were out, I realized it must sound
—’

‘Oh! my dear Miss Milner, is that it? Upon my word I never detected anything of the sort. If my parents’ marriage was unfortunate, it was so only in the financial sense; and the chief consequence was me, and I am not unhappy.’

Miss Milner gazed long at her. (What a family they are for
looking,
Caroline thought.) ‘You are very wise,’ she sighed at last. ‘Still, Miss Fortune, I do hope I didn’t offend. I truly was not thinking of that, but of something much closer to home. Though I should not say so,’ she added, with a look of alarm, as if afraid Caroline would somehow seize on this. ‘Indeed I should be glad if you would forget I said it.’

‘I’m still getting over being called wise,’ said Caroline, who had plenty of ideas of her own about what Miss Milner was referring to. ‘And if I may be candid for a moment, Miss Milner, I may as well say I thought you must surely hate me.’

‘Did you?’ It added to Caroline’s favourable estimation of Miss Milner’s character that she did not go into a schoolgirl squeal of denial at this, but gave the question a sober consideration. ‘You fear it being a newcomer, perhaps. I can see I would have similar fears in such a situation. Also, and at the risk of being disloyal to the sex, I have observed that women are often severest in judgement upon each other.’

‘True: perhaps because we know deep down what we are like. And men are lenient to each other, on the same principle. Indeed, Miss Milner, I wonder if we have hit on it
—
I wonder if this is why men have the beating of us, and have gained the mastery of the world
—
and now that we have the secret we can rise up, and storm the Bastille of masculinity.
Vive la révolution!’

Miss Milner looking alarmed again, it occurred to Caroline that such words were perhaps not even to be pronounced in jest in a place like Wythorpe, and she could not suppress a grimly facetious image of outraged countrymen leaping from the next hedgerow brandishing a scold’s bridle. However, her companion recovered herself, and after a moment said decidedly, ‘No, I don’t think I would wish to lead. It simply wouldn’t suit me, I fear: I hope you don’t think me a mouse.’

‘Not at all
—
but consider, you would not have to depend on your nonsensical brother, for example, to proceed with the arrangements for your wedding.’

‘True
—
too true
—
though all I really wish is that he would stop gadding about, and come home long enough to set things in train. Then he might do as he pleased again
—
though I always do miss him, exasperating as he is. I believe he has got worse since
—’
Miss Milner caught herself up, and in a reactive flurry asked: ‘What did
you
think of him, Miss Fortune?’

Caroline, accustomed to her tongue being quick even when her mind was not, was surprised to find herself struck into silence for a few moments. ‘I found I wanted to quarrel with him,’ she said finally.

‘Oh, I do know what you mean,’ Miss Milner said, which was more than Caroline did. ‘He will not take anything seriously. And for all I love him, I am afraid that is a grave failing, is it not?’

Caroline, in truth, could think of many that were graver, and was some distance from thinking it a failing at all. So, avoiding a reply, she said: ‘He is not opposed to your marriage, I hope?’

‘No
—
that is, no more than to marriage in general, which he calls a fool’s game. But he says I am too precipitate, and should wait a while. When I would gladly be married next week
—
tomorrow.’

‘You are very eager!’ Caroline said, with a smile.

‘I am,’ Miss Milner said, without one: which left Caroline with the problem of what to do with hers, as it felt so inappropriate: so she plumped for a quick diversion, crying out: ‘Ah, now, I wonder, can you tell me the name of that flower? It is so very pretty’

‘That is a daisy,’ Miss Milner said, after a moment in which politeness overcame disbelief.

Even townbred as she was, Caroline had that much botany: this, she thought, was not one of my better diversions; and then at that thought she was lost, and began laughing like an idiot. It was the sort of moment at which a friendship is either formed, or becomes an impossibility. A frozen stare would have signalled the latter. But Miss Milner began laughing too, quite as helplessly: and when they came out of it their relation had changed.

‘I can see I shall have to instruct you in these rural matters, for your own safety,’ Miss Milner said. ‘I would not have you walking into a pasture not knowing a cow from a bull.’

‘That, you may rest assured, I
do
know.’

‘Oh, you
—
there goes my wretched blush again!’

‘Truly, though, I do wish I knew the names of flowers and things like that. Am I too late to learn? You are already well up in all that sort of thing, I’ll wager.’

‘Yes,’ Miss Milner said simply, ‘I am: I suppose it has always seemed natural to me. At the Manor we have a quantity of gardens, and they have always been my delight
—
oh, especially my herb garden: I hope I can show it to you some day.’ She darted a doubtful look at Caroline. ‘Though I realize that may not be a
very
thrilling prospect for you.’

‘I should greatly like it
—
and I do wonder what conception people must have of me. Am I popularly supposed to have spent my life amongst fleshpots? Whatever they are. Pots of flesh. They don’t sound appealing.’

‘Of course it is presumptuous to draw conclusions about a person from what one has heard,’ Miss Milner said earnestly, ‘and I am very wrong to do it.’

‘It is the most natural thing in the world, and I do it all the time. Only I am afraid I shall disappoint people’s expectations dreadfully, as I’m really not at all scandalous, or stylish, or wicked.’

‘Oh, but you are,’ cried Miss Milner, adding hastily, ‘stylish, I mean
—
that is, you have a look
—
well, I’m sure that’s what they are all wearing in Town just now.’

‘If they are, they are very secretive about it.’ Caroline laughed. ‘But I’m flattered
—
and I can return the compliment, and much more truthfully, by telling you that what
you
are wearing is quite the elegant thing: not that many can wear it in the way you do. Lord, such mutual cordiality
—
we must surely begin savaging each other soon, else what’s to become of human nature?’

‘Oh, but we won’t do that,’ Miss Milner said, her face seeming all luminous blue eyes. ‘I know you are funning, but still
...
I beg your pardon, I’m very serious, an’t I? I know it, Stephen is always reproving me for it. In truth, I did have this gown from London
—
my last visit there. When my father was alive we would all spend a month in Town nearly every year. Now, though
—
well, Stephen says he is sick of London, he prefers ruins and those hillocks with bones in. There is a word for them, but I don’t much care to think of it.’

‘He is sick of London? Then
he
has had his share of it?’

‘Oh, he was there a good deal, after Cambridge: he was quite the town-buck for a time.’

‘This is fine indeed. This is your true pig-headed male
—
he will deny you the pleasures of Town, but of course he has enjoyed his fill of them. Oh, no, I’m sorry, but the revolution it must be.’

‘Well,’ Miss Milner said, with a shy look, ‘not all men are like Stephen.’

‘Ah
—
you mean your future husband? I approve him already. But wait, do you mean he will be taking you off to live in Town? Am I going to lose my first friend here so soon?’

‘Oh, no, we shall live at Hethersett
—
his place, you know. Well, of course, you don’t know. It is only six miles off. But we shall spend a part of each season in Town, I think. That is
—
we have agreed so. Now, there is the inn I was telling you about, and that’s Mrs Vine who keeps it.’

There was a reticence in speaking of her
fiancé
that Caroline found refreshing in Miss Milner: infinitely preferable to the gush and twitter she had observed in some young women about to be married, with their flourishing of rings and calculated indiscretions about what he whispered to her last night; and it seemed to her earnest of a true attachment, of which she was honestly glad for her companion’s sake, and honestly envious.

‘And this is Splash Lane,’ Miss Milner went on, ‘so called because right at the bottom there is a ford.’

‘And when you go through it, you splash.’

‘Just so. And down there at the turning is the Old Grange, lately occupied by a new-married couple named Hampson. He is a lawyer, and she is a Bristol heiress with more money than
—’
Miss Milner caught herself up with an abashed look
‘—
than many people. They are very fond of entertaining
—
you are sure to be at a Hampson carpet-dance before long. That is
—
I do beg your pardon, Miss Fortune, I don’t know whether you are accepting invitations yet
—
under the circumstances.’

‘Well, I know my father would want me to, that’s all I can say: just as he always loathed mourning weeds, and would hate to see me in them. And while we are about the business of flouting convention, let me entreat you to call me Caroline. I know it is reckoned a great vulgarity to be on first-name terms after short acquaintance, but I may say candidly
I feel
as if I have known you longer: also we are in a way, in a sort of way, related: also I am not so very afraid of a little vulgarity: also we can go back to Missing each other when we are in company, if you like. And now, after all that, if you
don’t
wish to call me Caroline, I shall be in rather an awkward position, and I shall have to go and throw myself in the splash.’