Authors: Jude Morgan
‘And I suppose you have been behind the scenes at theatres too,’ Fanny went on, her tireless eyes shining at Caroline. ‘What is it like? Are the actresses ever so
—
you know?’
‘You should not badger Miss Fortune so, Fanny,’ her stepmother said.
‘No, no, Lady Milner, I am not badgered
—
only a little perplexed how to answer without disappointing. Most of the actresses I saw were married ladies, who went home after the performance to exemplary domesticity.’
‘What a pity! Oh, but I’ll wager they
weren’t’,
Fanny said, with a poke in Caroline’s ribs, ‘only you can’t say. Well, what about the Peninsula? Did your mother not follow the drum? I would have.’
‘It is a hard life, for an army wife,’ said Aunt Selina, giving a momentary impression of being about to break into poetry.
‘Oh, la, I can bear any sort of discomfort.’
‘I am glad to hear it, Fanny’ observed Isabella, with her old quiet smile, ‘and shall keep it in mind, next time there is no chocolate left for your breakfast.’
‘Boo to you, Miss Grave-Airs,’ Fanny said, jumping up to slap Isabella’s knees with a true sisterly affection that made Caroline smile, and made Lady Milner, she could not help but notice, draw herself in and up in still deadlier fashion.
A preliminary barrage of coughs alerted her to the fact that Captain Brunton was about to speak to her.
‘Miss
—
er
—
Miss Fortune,’ he said, planting his hands on his thighs, ‘your father
—
in the Peninsula. I am all admiration. Might I ask what regiment?’
‘The Twenty-ninth.’
‘The Twenty-ninth, ah. And his wound? Where did he receive it?’
‘Just above his right kneecap,’ was what Caroline was tempted to say
—
but Captain Brunton’s heavy manner was not propitious. ‘At Talavera, sir; and before that he was at Corunna,’ she answered, dearly hoping that he would not repeat the last word.
‘Corunna?’ The Captain took a firmer grip of his thighs. ‘Ah. It was gallantly fought. A retreat, to be sure, but gallant.’
She fancied some condescension in this, and could not help replying: ‘At sea, of course, sir, you never have retreats
—
owing to the impossibility, I imagine, of the ships going backwards.’
‘I think, Miss Fortune, you do not quite comprehend naval manoeuvres,’ he began: then coughed and ran a hand through his stiff thick hair. ‘Ah. You are amusing yourself.’
It was on her lips to say she had to amuse herself, as the present company was not likely to do it for her, but she relented. ‘We both know there was much gallantry both on land and at sea, Captain Brunton, in defeat and victory: there, that was a very proper little English speech, and now we may nod and tuck our chins in and murmur agreement in the true English fashion.’
‘Just so
—
just so,’ he said, actually doing it: then his scalp lifted and a smile, quite a boyish smile, slowly dawned. ‘Our famous reserve. It puts me in mind of when I was made Captain. I was on the Mediterranean station when the glad news came
—
news indeed that was the summit of all my hopes
—
and I confided it to a Spanish acquaintance. He remarked that my demeanour suggested I had heard no greater piece of news than an old aunt leaving me a tea-set in her will.’
It was pleasant to feel she had drawn him out, though he huffed and coloured and seemed about to go back in again, so Caroline laughed obligingly; and at once Lady Milner cut in with: ‘What’s that? Edward, what are you talking of?’
‘Only the tale of when I was made Captain, Augusta
—
and Miss Fortune was just saying
—’
‘It was late, much later than your deserts,’ Lady Milner said, in an aggrieved tone. ‘You were most shockingly passed over, Edward, I shall always maintain it.’
‘Well, I think it was above my deserts, Augusta, in truth: there were better men than I still stuck at Commander.’
‘You should not denigrate yourself, Edward,’ Lady Milner said, with her steeliest look. ‘There are always people aplenty to do
that
for you, I find.’
‘Oh, I have only gratitude for the service: it has been the means of my rising in the world, in a way I could never have hoped otherwise.’
Lady Milner’s compressed lips revealed how little she liked the obscure origins of their family being discussed; but before she could speak Fanny interposed: ‘Is it not a terrible consideration, though, that you can only rise by other men getting their heads blown off?’
‘Fanny!’ hissed Lady Milner; but her kinsman only huffed his inward laugh and answered, ‘It is a terrible consideration, indeed. It is not the
only
way, for officers are promoted upwards as well as
—
as
—’
‘Being promoted heavenwards,’ Caroline suggested.
‘It is a nice ethical question,’
Dr Langland
said, ‘for likewise, when the sun shines on me, is someone else not left in darkness? When I eat a loaf of bread, do I not take that bread out of another’s mouth? What do you think, Bella?’
‘I cannot imagine
you
taking bread out of anyone’s mouth, Uncle John,’ Isabella answered.
‘That is not what
Dr
Langland meant, Isabella,’ Lady Milner said freezingly. ‘He meant the hypothetical case.’
‘Lord, Augusta, we’re not in the schoolroom now!’ cried Fanny; and oblivious to the icy silence emanating from her stepmother, turned back to Caroline. ‘You see how dreadfully dull we are here
—
so dreary and provincial
—
really you must enliven us, Caroline. I count on you
—
you must show us all the new modes, and spread lots of shocking scandal, and make all the men fall in love with you. Oh! and you have been lately at Brighton, I know
—
tell me, is it as fast as they say?’
‘There are some
—
fast characters to be met with there, certainly,’ Caroline said, thinking of Mr Leabrook. ‘But for my part I prefer slow and honest.’
‘Oh, I know you have to say that,’ Fanny said, giving her an expressive wink. ‘And what about the Prince’s Pavilion
—
is it as fantastical as they say?’
‘It looks rather like a grand birdcage crowned with onions.’
‘The Pavilion is built in the Oriental style. That is why it looks odd to you, Miss Fortune,’ Lady Milner informed her.
As there was no reply more civil than ‘I know’ to be made to this paralysing remark, Caroline contented herself with a polite nod. It was Isabella who came to her defence, saying: ‘Of course Caroline knows that, ma’am, she was trying to give us a picture of it. Rather than being hypothetical.’
‘Quite a vivid one indeed,’ said Captain Brunton, ‘though to be sure, Oriental is the correct term. Something to be said for both sides, I think, Miss Milner.’
‘I thank you for the instruction, sir,’ Isabella said, very coldly; and Caroline saw, with mingled sympathy and amusement, that the neck-blush was called forth by anger as well as modesty.
The amusement was possible to her, of course, because she could come away from that house: as the Rectory party very soon did, with
Dr Langland
blissfully remarking on what a pleasant chat they had had, and Lady Milner, in spite of having given them an indifferent welcome, contriving to make it seem they were leaving very soon, and even appearing offended by a departure she had herself hastened. But for poor Isabella there was no such escape
—
except by the early marriage for which Caroline could now see some very persuasive reasons.
‘Not an easy woman by any means,’ Caroline said later, when Aunt Selina tentatively asked her opinion of Lady Milner. ‘But I dare say that, like everyone, she improves upon acquaintance.’
Aunt Selina replied, ‘Ye-es,’ in such a dubious tone as suggested that in this regard Lady Milner was the exception that proved the rule. ‘I think they are settling a little better as a family
...
But it is so very awkward for Fanny, who was used to her as a governess, and now finds her a stepmother.’
Privately Caroline thought the irrepressible Fanny much more at ease with the situation than her quieter sister, and was only concerned at the young girl’s propensity to make a heroine of herself: even on leaving the Manor, she had tugged Caroline aside and whispered: ‘You shall tell me some
real
stories when Augusta’s not by’ Caroline was not at all averse to being admired, but what she was being admired
for
in Fanny’s case
—
a racy past, sophistication, the sulphurous whiff of the town and the taste of forbidden fruit
—
made her feel rather a fraud. Nor could she suppose Lady Milner would approve such a species of admiration; and she dreaded to think what Stephen Milner would make of it
—
though on second thoughts, why his opinion of her should be a matter of dread was a curious question, and one she felt disinclined to pursue.
But when Isabella made her usual call at the Rectory next morning, it was with Fanny alongside her; and during their usual walk, it was Fanny who plied Caroline with numerous questions about London, about Bath and Brighton, about actresses and demireps, dandies and Corinthians, ladies’ boarding-schools and nocturnal elopements from the same (which she seemed to think so frequent they were virtually part of the curriculum), and other worldly excitements, whilst Isabella remained relatively quiet. Fortunately for Caroline’s peace, Fanny was devoted to her dogs, and would suffer no one but herself to feed and exercise them, and accordingly she had to hurry back to the Manor for that purpose, leaving Caroline and Isabella free at last for confidence.
It was not long in coming. Caroline slipped her arm through her friend’s, observed that she seemed a little hipped, and was rewarded with a sigh that came from a full heart.
‘It is very stupid. I feel very ashamed,’ Isabella said. Caroline guessed she was not the sort of person who readily wept, and there was confirmation in her expression
—
a look that might have been taken for grim ferocity, if you did not realize she was suppressing a flood of tears. ‘I am stupid and ashamed
—
stupidly ashamed.’
‘But so very grammatical. My dear girl, what can you have done? I see no constables in pursuit.’
‘You are quite right, it
is
trivial, and I should not be such a fool about it.’
‘Now I know it cannot be trivial, because it has put you out of temper, and that is not like you.’
‘I declare you are quite clairvoyant sometimes!’ her friend returned wonderingly, gazing up at Caroline with beautiful myopia. ‘That is precisely why I hate this horrible business
—
because it makes me a stranger to myself. Well, it is simple enough, and you have probably guessed it, now you have seen our blissful domicile for yourself. There was another dreadful quarrel this morning
—
no, I should not put it so.
I
had the quarrel, with my stepmother. We are always doing it. Isn’t that dreadful?’
‘For you it is, I can tell. Though there are some people who like nothing better than a good, regular quarrel, like a dose of rhubarb. It is quite a refreshment to them.’
‘I cannot understand it. I’m sure it must be my fault, but we just cannot get along. I thought it would be simply a matter of time
—
that one would adjust. Stephen said we would eventually settle down like two cats in a basket.’
Did you now? thought Caroline. You superior creature!
‘But we get cross over the slightest things. This morning it was about breakfast. She has got into the habit of coming down to breakfast very late
—’
‘My dear Isabella, as a confirmed slug-a-bed myself, I must confess I may not be able to take your part here.’
‘Oh, no, I don’t mind that
—
it was simply that this morning she had engaged to breakfast earlier, because of Mrs Cooper, our cook. Mrs Cooper has a sister at Huntingdon very ill, and this is the day she was going to visit her, so she wanted to be off early. So, no having to cook a second breakfast at eleven
—
well, that was the agreement; but my stepmother forgot it, or did not trouble about it, and came down late as ever. And with no apology to poor Mrs Cooper at all. And when I spoke up about it
—
which perhaps I should not have
—
my stepmother informed me that she was the mistress of the house and the welfare of the servants was her concern and not mine. Well, I was very unwise, and said she did not seem to concern herself very much at all
—
and so it went on. The worst thing is
—
well, what I thought but did not say, thank heaven
—
that
she
of all people should understand their position.’ Isabella grimaced. ‘There. Does that not make me the vilest of wretches?’