Indiscretion (30 page)

He shook his head mournfully, as if regretting this display of hard-heartedness. ‘Well, I still think it a great shame — and yes, I must say it, you have made matters more difficult for
me,
though I acquit you of thinking any such thing at the time. Indeed, plainly you did
not
think of it — there’s the pity!’

‘Mr Downey, this is doing it a little too brown,’ she said, with warmth, remembering the effort she had put into pleading his cause with his aunt. ‘I freely confess I did not think of you in those circumstances. I had and have nothing but cordial feelings towards you, but I insist that you at least consider the novel notion that not everyone thinks exclusively about you all the time. Our own petty concerns, I am afraid, prevent us enjoying that luxury’

Matthew shook his head again, more sadly: she remembered that he had, to put it lightly, never been one for irony. ‘I think you are still feeling your loss, Miss Fortune, and that is why you are not yourself.’

She swallowed her irritation at the presumption of this. ‘Well, Mr Downey to lose a father, as you know—’

‘Hm? Oh, that — to be sure, yes, I know that pain, indeed I think I can say no one knows it better than I — but I was thinking more particularly of the loss of your position. After all, it was one from which you might have had hopes — hopes that, if I could not approve, I could certainly understand.’

Caroline found she was thirsty: it was the consequence of doing so much gasping. ‘Mr Downey,’ she said, finding her breath, ‘Mrs Catling occupies, quite naturally, such a central place in your life that you assume it is the same with others. I assure you it is not. Since leaving Brighton I have had the keen pleasure of never having to give that lady a moment’s thought, and it is a pleasure I would like to continue to enjoy. And if you and I are to meet without arguing
—
which I would much prefer
—
then she is a subject probably best avoided between us.’

‘Very well.’ Matthew gave her such a hurt, wistful, nobly forbearing, and absolutely infuriating look that if Caroline had been a rich aunt she would have cut him out of her will on the spot. ‘And yet, you know, I had thought you friendly to me, Miss Fortune. I would never have entrusted you with my secret otherwise
—
and I am troubled to think
—’

‘I am friendly to you, Mr Downey!’

‘And yet the way you speak of my aunt, an estimable lady for all her foibles, and who was so good to you
—
really I am baffled.’

Caroline gave a laugh
—
a short and vexed laugh, but the best she could manage. ‘Clearly, Mr Downey, we are
not
avoiding the subject. Now the dancing is beginning, and I cannot suppose you would wish to partner me; so let us exit severally like they do in Shakespeare, and perhaps when we meet again we shall rub along better.’

Matthew appeared as disinclined as ever to drop a subject until he had harried it to death, so there was nothing to do but turn away from him as politely as she could. Caroline’s nature was not emotionally strenuous, and she had to be much goaded before she would go to the exertion of a quarrel: still, Matthew had put her quite out of patience. ‘Poor Perdita!’ she said to herself. ‘Is it only the secrecy you find a strain, I wonder?’

Couples were forming up. Caroline knew well that Stephen Milner had only been joking when he talked of having his one dance with her again, so it would have been sheer nonsense to look about for him, and even greater nonsense to feel anything akin to disappointment when he did not appear: so she persuaded herself that she did neither of these things. Someone who did appear very promptly, however, to ask her to dance was Captain Brunton.

He approached her with a determined air, as if this time to prove his independence of Lady Milner
—
though she was, in any case, being gravely squired to the floor by
Dr Langland.
For all his gruffness, Captain Brunton appeared such a sensible man, after the sighings of Matthew Downey, that Caroline was quite pleased to accept him. Nor was his taciturnity unwelcome just now; but as they joined the set, she began to wonder about these heavy silences and dark looks. Was he, in fact, if not actually out of love with Lady Milner, then a little in love with herself?

It was a startling thought. Not a happy one, for her regard for him, increased though it was, did not extend to reciprocation: but no sooner had she entertained it than she began to doubt it. He was more abstracted than attentive, which even in a shy man like Captain Brunton surely did not bespeak the lover; and where his grey glance did fall was on Mr Leabrook and Isabella, leading off the dance with every appearance of harmony and cheerfulness. At last Caroline made some remark about Mr Leabrook’s having laid on a very splendid entertainment, and Captain Brunton burst out: ‘So he might
—
he is secure in a felicity such as I can never aspire to. No
...
not for me,’ he concluded, with a sort of growl, which gave Caroline a momentary apprehension that now
he
was going to confide in her. But he subsided into such complete, stiff-jawed silence that Caroline received a pitying look from Fanny, who was dancing spiritedly with Mr Carraway.

Caroline did not lack for partners in the succeeding dances, and one flushed young man who had drunk too much wine repeatedly informed her, with more gallantry than exactitude, that she was a magnificent Tigress. It was partly to escape the attentions of this zoological gentleman that she withdrew to the card room
—
in what turned out to be a mortifying mistake. For Richard Leabrook, unengaged, had just stepped in there likewise; and
Dr
Langland, who was seating Aunt Selina at her customary game of sixpenny piquet, looked up to see two young people not dancing; and in a moment bore down on them with all his blundering benevolence.

‘This will never do
—
my dear Caroline, my dear Mr Leabrook, you should be on the floor — you are neither of you an old ruin like me, to be lurking about in card rooms when the sound of a country-dance calls — that is
a Boulanger
if I am not mistaken, and just the thing for two such elegant dancers as I know you to be. Come, do you lack an introduction? Surely not — surely you met at the Manor long since — no, no, there is no excuse for it, let us see you tread the measure
...’

There was no help for it. Once again Caroline wished she had cultivated some missish mannerisms, so that she could have plausibly whimpered that she was tired; and Mr Leabrook, thin-lipped, seemed desperately casting about for some excuse also. But it was doubtful that anything could have prevailed against
Dr
Langland’s overbearing conviviality; and soon they were being thrust on to the floor, where with the coldest of bows, and the briefest of curtseys, Caroline and Mr Leabrook faced each other as they had not done since that night at Brighton.

‘You have seen our mutual acquaintances, the Downeys, I think,’ he said at last, with colourless correctness.

‘Yes.’

‘They seem well.’

‘They are well, I believe.’

‘You know, Miss Fortune, as we have been thrown together in this unexpected way, with no help for it, I think we really ought to try at least to be civil with one another,’ he said, all honeyed reason — even though he had been quite as reluctant as she to undertake this dance.

‘I am being civil, sir. But if you doubt it, I can very easily be uncivil if you like — for purposes of comparison.’

‘Of course I cannot deny you these pleasantries,’ he said, with a bare smile, ‘but I cannot think any purpose would be achieved by your continuing in them.You have formed a friendship with Isabella, I find. Surely for her sake at least you would not wish to cause unpleasantness.’

‘Certainly I would not. But you chiefly want me to behave myself, Mr Leabrook, for your
own
sake, not for Isabella’s. You want me to save your skin, which is a different matter.’

‘If that is in the nature of a threat, Miss Fortune, I may as well say that Isabella trusts me implicitly, and is hardly likely to be moved from that trust by irresponsible gossip. My future wife does not doubt my word, and nor need she: I do not lie to her.’

‘I do not mean any threat, Mr Leabrook: if I were to speak, don’t you think I would have done so before now? I don’t care about you: only about Isabella.’

‘To whom I accord all the deep respect she deserves.’

‘As opposed to another sort of girl, who deserves none at all.’

With a look that was almost bored — but which did not deceive Caroline in the slightest — Mr Leabrook said: ‘I gather you are still exercised by a certain misunderstanding we had, Miss Fortune, and I am sorry for that: but all I can say is, I did have my reasons.’

‘You could have had no reasons, sir, that could be anything but a dishonour to yourself, and an insult to me.’

That must have knocked him back a little, for he almost missed a step.

‘My dear lady’ he resumed, ‘I would in all friendliness suggest that you look about you, and consider whether it would be easy for someone like you to blacken my good reputation. Undeserved it may be — and of which of us is that not true? — but the fact is it does stand firm and solid as Hethersett itself, whereas yours
...
well, let us call it an unknown quantity.’

‘My dear sir, I don’t give a fig for your reputation, or my own come to that: my only concern is Isabella.’

‘I must say you make very free with my fiancee’s name, when you have only a few weeks’ acquaintance. I would remind you that she and I have known each other much longer.’

‘I query whether she has truly
known
you at all, sir.’

‘I see,’ he said, with a sniff of displeasure.’So you do wish to make mischief. And to what end, I wonder — to see Isabella still trapped with her strait-laced stepmother and that Portsmouth booby who trails her about?’

‘I wish to do nothing, Mr Leabrook, except to warn you that I will not see Isabella’s happiness threatened. I am willing to believe you sincere in your attachment to
her,
only because that is Isabella’s belief, and not because of any trust I feel able to place in you. That is all I mean to do — unless I am provoked.’

For a moment his tolerant attention was darkened, as when he had first glimpsed her in the oak avenue, by a look that might have been fear. But then he replaced it with a smile, and in his most urbane tones said: ‘Miss Fortune, we don’t need to talk in these dire and doomy tones, surely? You have lived in the world and so have I, and you know that a great deal of undue trouble is caused by heart-searching and agonizing and generally being too serious. At least, I had always thought you of that opinion: it’s why we appeared to get along.’

‘I have said all I mean to say, Mr Leabrook: and now, lest people do think we are being too serious, we had better talk about the weather till the end of the set.’

It had been an agitating exchange altogether, but something in his last remark pricked Caroline with uncommon sharpness. ‘I had always thought you of that opinion’ — how tired she was of what people thought of her, and the uses they made of it! For now all she wanted was the comfort of anonymity, and as she could see her tiger-man getting ready to stalk her again she withdrew from the ballroom and looked about for some retreat other than the card room, which had proved so disastrous.

Or had it? It was surely likely, in this close society, that she would have found herself alone with Richard Leabrook at some point. So, it was at least over with; and what was more, she had told him plainly enough where they stood. And yet she could take no satisfaction from the encounter. Somehow she felt as wretched and lonely as the night after the Brighton ball, when the sordid light in which he saw her had been revealed.

She opened a door at random, and found herself in a handsome library
—
but not, alas, alone: she could have groaned when she saw the figure moving behind a bookcase. Then he stepped out.

‘Now this is a real library,’ Stephen said approvingly. ‘The books have plainly been read. Though I think it was Leabrook’s father who was the collector. This is an original Urquhart Rabelais, marvellous thing. Also shocking, of course. You can always tell the indelicate parts of a book — where the edges of the pages are grubby from thumbs. You are unhappy, Miss Fortune.’

Caroline turned hastily away. ‘Indeed I am not,’ she said, in a voice so full of tears she might as well have howled it while beating her fists on the floor.

‘Is it to do with the general unsatisfactoriness of life,’ he asked, balancing the book on his nose, ‘which it is best, by the by, to ignore, or is it something more specific?’

‘Why? I mean, supposing it were — if it were in your power, Mr Milner, would you help me?’

‘I might at that,’ Stephen said, replacing the book on the shelf, ‘because when you’re low like this, there’s no fun in arguing.’

Caroline was silent as she considered a whole clutch of paradoxes. For if anyone could help in her circumstances, surely it would be someone like Stephen Milner, with his absolute independence of mind, his disinclination to rush to moral judgement: she remembered the scandalous and ostracized friend he had dined with in Bath. And yet the absurd thing was, she did shrink from confiding in him of all people, and not because she feared his satire. I do care dreadfully what he thinks of me, she admitted to herself: I do not wish to be sunk in his estimation, and I don’t know why, and I know it makes no sense when I did nothing wrong anyway but I simply cannot help it.