Indiscretion (21 page)

‘No,’ laughed Caroline, ‘not even if you had said it, instead of just thinking it.’

‘I don’t like myself even for thinking it,’ Isabella said, shaking her head. ‘That’s what I mean about the change in myself. Oh, I wish I could be like Fanny: she either ignores Augusta, or laughs her off. But then she hasn’t got Captain Brunton to deal with as well.’

‘Dear, dear, you quarrel with the Captain too?’

‘It isn’t that. He is constantly intervening. I fancy he has taken it on himself to convert me to my stepmother’s side. And so I forever hear his apologetic cough and his ahem, presuming to suggest
...
Well, I am being perfectly horrible today, so I may as well go on and say I do not like him being always about the house and I do not trust his association with my stepmother.’

‘Lord! Do you mean you suspect them
... ?’

Isabella shrugged. ‘I should say no more. Because when we dislike someone we are always very ready to believe any ill of them. But they are so very thick together: and when I walk into the room, and they are deep in one of their talks, and break it off so that we can all be uncomfortable together
—
well, I feel rather like an intruder in my own home. And that, I’m sure you’ll agree, is quite enough complaining from me. Now tell me how
you
do, my dear.’

‘I would do much better if I could think of something to help you. But I can only come up with that most unsatisfying of counsels; patience. This is very disagreeable for you, but it will end
—
as one might say to a man having a tooth slowly pulled.’

‘It will end. You are right, of course. I must keep that in mind
—
once I am married, there will be an end to all this.’ Isabella fixed her gaze on a skein of geese arrowing across the cold blue sky, as rapturously as if they were leading her to that blessed future; and it occurred to Caroline, just for a moment, that a very great burden was placed on a marriage that represented an escape from misery, as well as an admittance to happiness. But then, she supposed, she knew nothing of these things; and she was distracted by Isabella’s bursting out, with a shy squeeze of her hand: ‘And
—
and how lucky I am to have someone like you to unburden myself to! There, I dread to think what colour my neck is now.’

‘Between pink and lobster. And when you are a bride, you know, you may leave Lady Milner and her salty suitor to do what they will. Unless you do not like the thought of leaving Fanny in their company?’

‘I would not, if Fanny were not so very well able to take care of herself. Besides, you know, she will have her heroine near at hand, to watch over her.’

‘Oh, Lord
—
Isabella, if this is truly the case, then I beg you to be so good as to disillusion that poor girl about me.’

‘Too late
—
you are already her model of all that is daring, dashing, and unconventional. You will have gathered she is of a romantic spirit: she has long deplored the tameness of our society here; and to know someone who has lived in the world as you have has quite put her into transports.’

‘Well, I am glad to have made someone happy; but I fear she will suffer a great disappointment, when she comes to realize that I have never had an oyster supper with Lord Byron, and that my favourite excitement is a little plain-sewing in the evening, followed by a quiet hand of penny whist.’

Isabella took this last no more seriously than Caroline meant it: yet it had some relation to the truth, in that Caroline greatly valued the harmony, peace, and mutual consideration that prevailed at the Rectory, and was pleased to find herself fitting into its tranquil routines; and she was all the more solidly appreciative after the contrast exhibited by the domestic atmosphere of the Manor. Indeed that very evening she looked up to find Aunt Selina’s tired pretty eyes resting smilingly on her, and to hear the heart-piercing words: ‘Do you know? I can’t remember when you weren’t here with us.’

Still, she was not ready for decorating tea-caddies and distributing baby-clothes just yet; in sociability, company, activity lay Caroline’s chief enjoyment: and so she was gratified when they were invited to dine at the Manor, a few days later, and all the more so because the invitation proceeded from the master of the house.

Mr Stephen Milner was back. He had given no hint of his imminent return to Wythorpe
—
all of a sudden his muddy boots were in the hall, as Isabella told her afterwards; and when he called at the Rectory, Caroline missed him, having gone that day with Aunt Selina on a shopping trip to Huntingdon. Her aunt and uncle expressed their satisfaction that he was home; and Caroline discovered in herself a strong wish to encounter Mr Milner again, a wish comparable perhaps only to that impulse which makes us prod at a bruise, for in their short association they seemed to have done nothing but vex one another.

Now, though, Caroline reflected, she had a cause with which to tax him
—
her friend and his sister, Isabella, who was unhappy and surely might be made less so, if he would only exert himself. And there was a certain remark about cats and baskets, which made her feel so satirical she could hardly wait for the appointed evening to arrive.

Caroline dressed with care for the occasion
—
an evening gown of dove-grey poplin with pearl buttons gathering the sleeves: it had been finished by Aunt Selina’s Bath dressmaker, just before their departure, and now came out of its tissue-paper to her mingled admiration and dubiety. It was very handsome: but was it too handsome for her? However, once inside it, and with her hair dressed and curled by Aunt Selina’s exceedingly skilful maid
—
who had been longing to try her hand at something more elegant than her mistress’s perennial topknot
—
Caroline recovered her confidence. She felt that she looked rather well; ‘and besides,’ she considered, ‘I need to be dressed to advantage tonight, for
he
will soon find something to remark on if not.’

He
was Mr Stephen Milner; and his disobliging words about her, overheard at Bath, were much in Caroline’s mind as they rode up to the Manor
—
Aunt Selina having initially expressed strong doubts about using the carriage for a journey of three-quarters of a mile, but being persuaded at last by the coachman, who solemnly informed her that the horses were suffering a depression of the spirits from being in the stable so long. The representation of her as
trouble
struck Caroline as more and more unjust; and she was all the more determined to demonstrate to Mr Milner
—
a man altogether too sure of being always right
—
that his prognostications were wrong: that she had not set the neighbourhood by the ears, destroyed its bucolic peace, or corrupted its youth.

‘And so,’ she told herself, ‘he may wipe that provoking smile from his face’; yet she had the curious experience, just then, of being unable to recollect Stephen Milner’s face at all. It was most odd: the image would not be summoned, try as she might throughout the drive; and this was only terminated by an even more curious experience, when on arrival at the Manor they were greeted by Mr Milner himself on the steps, and Caroline beholding him thought: But
of
course: I have known that face all the time.

‘Uncle John, how d’you do, sir? Aunt, give me a kiss, you look well
—
ah, and Miss Fortune.’

‘Mr Milner.’

He shook her hand, scrutinized her very briefly
—
with the look, she thought, of a man tendered a spurious banknote
—
and then turned aside to give some directions to the coachman on the stabling of the horses. He is no more civil than before, thought Caroline
—
but with a serene absence of rancour: for as she intended her own conduct to be beyond reproach, he might do as he pleased.

In the drawing room, though it was a mild evening, Lady Milner clung close again to the fire; but if this was with some notion of thawing herself out, it was not working, judging by the bare, stiff courtesies she extended to the guests from her hearthside station: nor was there any more ease in the manner of Captain Brunton, who stood over her like a benign warder, not knowing what to do with his hands. Joining them, besides the family, were the youngish couple by the name of Hampson, whom Isabella had described to her: he very handsome in a fat way, she very plain likewise, and both unremitting in their attention to one another, with an armoury of secret smiles, nods, and glances, that proclaimed their marriage to be of recent date as surely as if they had still had rice in their hair.

The real surprise for Caroline, however, was the change in the feeling of the house, which struck her as forcibly as if it had all been new-painted since her last visit. Isabella was in cheerful looks, Fanny’s animation was more genial and less noisy: the servants were more amenable: even the spaniel’s yap seemed mellower in tone. Caroline was forced to conclude that Mr Milner had wrought this change, simply by his return. She was reluctant to allow him this credit, as it must be increasing a propensity to be pleased with himself already, in her opinion, too much developed. But no, let it stand: for if his presence could be so beneficial in its effect, then he was all the more to be reproached for his absence.

This was the subject of
Dr Langland’s
first remarks: the Rector clapping his great hands together, smiling upon the company, and pronouncing: ‘Now this, my dear Stephen, is what I joy to see. The master of the house in residence, and all as it should be. You were missed, Nephew, greatly missed.’

‘I thank you, Uncle, I greatly thank you,’ Mr Milner said, ‘and I’m glad to be back. I always am, right up to the moment when I go away again.’

‘Dear, dear
—
what will settle you, I wonder?’ cried
Dr Langland.
‘Perhaps a pretty young wife, like our friend here?’

There being no pretty young wives in the room, attention fastened, after a momentary bewilderment, on Mrs Hampson, who coloured appropriately. ‘Ah,’ said her husband, with a rapt gaze into his consort’s eyes, or at least into the one that was directed towards him, ‘how true, sir, how true. I can honestly say, that I never knew felicity till I knew Felicity!’

This compliment to Mr Hampson’s bride, with its delicate pun on her name, was loudly admired by the Rector: although Caroline intercepted a suffering look from Isabella, which suggested she had heard the sally too many times for it to retain its entire freshness.

‘Ha, I see Caroline smiles,’
Dr
Langland went on, ‘which means, I think, that she approves my prescription.’

‘I doubt whether Miss Fortune approves matrimony any more than I do,’ Stephen Milner said, with a foxy smile, and a decided air.

‘I’m flattered, sir,’ was Caroline’s calm rejoinder.

‘Are
you? Good God. Why?’

‘Oh, wait, this is revealing, Mr Milner
—
that you are surprised at having said something nice to a woman.’

‘You are wrong, Miss Fortune,’ he said collectedly. ‘I am not surprised, I am astonished.’

‘No more astonished than I at hearing anything like a compliment from
your
lips: but so I have: and the highest compliment of all, perhaps. You have suggested that I think as you do.’ Caroline made a bow of mock reverence. ‘Surely no greater praise could be bestowed.’

‘Absolutely so,’ said Mr Milner, with a look of keen enjoyment. ‘For is this not how we all proceed? “I met a very pleasant woman at the coach-stand this morning.” In what way was she a pleasant woman? “Why, she agreed with everything I said.’”

‘Oh, Stephen, for shame,’ Aunt Selina put in, smiling, but serious. ‘People may be friends without agreeing on every subject.’

‘So they may, Aunt: and secretly each will be hoping to convert the other to their belief. But that is only the common run of friendship. I cannot conceive true friends who are not absolutely candid with one another, including where they differ.’

As this was Caroline’s own view, and she hoped a fair description of her relation with Isabella, she let it pass, observing only: ‘And what about your despised matrimony
—
should the same prescription not apply?’

‘Oh, I don’t actually despise it. I only know it would not do for me.’

‘True friends may be married also,’ Aunt Selina said. ‘Your uncle John has been my best friend for nearly thirty years.’

‘Lord! Thirty years!’ cried Mrs Hampson, appealing to her spouse. ‘Only think of it, my love! Shall you still be as fond of me then, do you think?’

‘I would say fonder,’ Mr Hampson ardently replied, reaching for her hand, ‘if it were not an impossibility to be fonder than I am now!’

Some caresses and simperings concluded this exchange, observed by Mr Milner with an ironical look in which Caroline also detected triumph, as if his point were being proved.

‘Oh! Caroline
—
you will never guess what Stephen has brought me,’ burst out Fanny. ‘It is
Glenarvon
and, you know, I do not find it dull as you said
—
perhaps a little absurd in places but such passion too
—
and Glenarvon himself is so darkly fascinating, really I would be quite ready to throw away my reputation for him.’

‘Tut, Fanny, this is not proper in a girl your age,’ Lady Milner said, rousing herself from an assiduous session of shawl-smoothing.

‘Isn’t it? Oh, Augusta, do tell me at what age it
will
become proper to throw away my reputation,’ Fanny responded, with a wicked smile, ‘so that I may mark it in my calendar.’

‘This is hardly a fit subject for jest,’ her stepmother said repressively.

Fanny turned, still glinting with mischief, to Caroline. ‘What do you say? You have seen something of the world. Isn’t it possible for a woman to
fall,
and still keep cheerful?’

Caroline was careful. ‘I dare say it is possible, though society is so very severe upon such a woman that she may not find cheerfulness easy to come by. It is easiest if she is like Lady Caroline Lamb: wealth and title may cushion the fall, at least.’

‘Oh, society
—
it can only hurt you if you care for its opinion,’ Fanny said airily, stretching herself out on the sofa, ‘which I do not.’

‘Dear, dear, I begin to repent of bringing you that book, Fanny,’ her brother said. ‘To think of such sensational stuff sullying poor Father’s library’

‘Well, it isn’t
—
I don’t go in there to read any more. It’s too deuced cold.’

‘Fanny, please, that word,’ intoned Lady Milner.

‘But you don’t like it when I say damned,’ Fanny said reasonably.

Stifling a smile, Mr Milner asked: ‘Why is it so cold in the library? Is there a window-pane gone? Those frames are rather ancient.’

‘It’s cold because there’s no fire lit in the mornings now’

‘Isn’t there?’ Mr Milner frowned a little. ‘Well, then, ask for one.’

‘I’ve done that, but apparently it’s mistress’s orders,’ yawned Fanny.

‘I decided to discontinue the practice, at least until it is true winter, since it seems rather wasteful,’ said Lady Milner, drawing herself up. ‘I have not told you of this, Stephen, as I understood that these domestic matters were to be my province: though if that is no longer the case, please inform me, and I will observe the alteration accordingly’

I must try to be charitable, Caroline thought: probably she doesn’t mean to sound as if she is continually translating from Latin.

‘No, no,’ Stephen Milner said, ‘of course not: only I hope if my sister wants something in her own home, she may have it.’

‘Certainly: I have only to be asked.’ Lady Milner’s glance fell on Isabella, who had risen and moved away with an unsettled look. ‘I feel that these things should be in the power of one member of the household only, simply to avoid confusion.’

‘Confusion can be creative, I think,’ Mr Milner said, on his feet likewise, ruffling his impossible hair, and jingling the change in his pockets. ‘But have it as you will: so long as I am not plagued with it. Uncle John, how was your barley this year?’

This was a clear enough hint to drop the subject
—
clear to everyone except Lady Milner. ‘Such other innovations as I have made,’ she went on purposefully, ‘are not, I think, numerous or considerable. There is one which I believe Isabella disapproves, and that is the servants’ bedchamber candles. I consider wax a needless extravagance, and have ordered tallow instead.’

‘Yes,’ said Isabella, her eyes shadowy: there had been another quarrel, Caroline guessed. ‘I don’t think it is fair on them.’

‘But it is what I use in my own bedchamber,’ her stepmother said. ‘I do not ask them to make any sacrifice that I am not making likewise.’

‘Sacrifice, forsooth,’ groaned Mr Milner, pacing, ‘what is this business about sacrifices? Are we poor all of a sudden, Augusta, that you must go burning tallow in your boudoir? Surely you must dream of cattle-markets all night, sleeping in the smell of that. No, no more of it. I hereby reinstate wax. It is like me, bright and sweet-smelling.’

‘Your late father never had occasion, I think, to find fault with my domestic economy.’

‘Well, Father was an odd fish in many ways,’ Mr Milner said, still pacing. ‘Believed that cabbage-water was good for the digestion. Dosed himself with a pint of it every day.’ His eye fell on Caroline, not without a spark. ‘“Ah, my boy,” says he when I protested, “you should imagine what I would be like without it.”‘

‘I think you exaggerate, Stephen,’ Lady Milner said dourly. ‘It was not half a pint.’

Scrubbing violently at his hair, and seeming, as an amused Caroline saw it, to close his eyes in momentary exasperation, Mr Milner paced harder. ‘You are not about to go off again, I hope, Stephen,’ said Aunt Selina, lightly, but shrewdly.

Just then Mrs Hampson gave a little startled squeal at what seemed to be the growling of a large dog behind her, but which resolved itself into Captain Brunton, clearing his throat before a broadside.

‘You know, Miss Milner,’ he said, bending his muscle-bound attention on Isabella, ‘it is remarkable
—
that is, it has been my observation so
—
how very little light a person may contrive to see by, once they are accustomed to it. I well remember when I was midshipman on the
Persephone:
ill-provisioned, not a candle-end to be had, and the most shocking dark, crabbed ward-room you ever saw, and yet I made shift to read by the mere glow of a taper, stuck into the boards.’