Indiscretion (32 page)

Well, Caroline thought, with a certain nibbling vexation as she watched them take the floor, she had only got him to dance with her
—
no great triumph; and if she thought she could induce him to seriousness, then it showed how little she knew him. Now there was a further vexation — it looked as if she herself would have to stand up with Matthew, as Isabella was being led out by her fiance, and Mr Carraway stood ready again at Fanny’s elbow. But then Lady Milner, putting by the mantle with which she had been fussing, looked up and intervened.

‘Fanny, recollect yourself, please. It is not correct to show exclusive partiality to one partner all night.’

‘Isn’t it? Do you mean it is wrong, Augusta?’

‘It is what no young woman of good breeding should do: and it will assuredly be noticed.’

‘Oh! well, if that’s all, I don’t care,’ Fanny said, springing up; but then Captain Brunton stirred and hemmed and said, with frowning looks: ‘Miss Fanny, your stepmother speaks wisely, and I do wish you would heed her.’

‘Do you, sir? But as you are not even my stepfather, I can hardly consider it any of your business.’

‘Really, Fanny, this is shocking,’ lamented Lady Milner.

‘No, Augusta, it isn’t,’ Fanny said cheerfully, ‘and only you could think it so; but I know you mean well, and so I shall have this dance with Mr Downey, if he will be so good, and redeem myself as a young woman of correctness and breeding — on condition, Mr Carraway, that you dance with Caroline. Because she at least knows there is more to life than these deadly conventions.’

As no one could object to this, or at least, as Fanny’s usual self-assertion had left them speechless, Caroline took the floor with Charles Carraway: who was full of praises for his late partner.

‘She has the most irrepressible spirit, has she not? Ah, spirit. Beautiful word. I shudder when I hear a man say of his horse that he is going to
break
its spirit
—
still more when schoolmasters and pedagogues boast the same of the children in their charge.’

‘You speak from experience, Mr Carraway?’

‘Yes
—
though only briefly. I was sent to such a schoolmaster, once. I broke his cane over my knee and ran away,’ Mr Carraway said quietly, with his sidelong dreamy look. ‘I told my guardian what had happened: he embraced me and said I had done right. It is so important to think for yourself, is it not? But Fanny has told me you agree on that.’

‘I suppose I do: though sometimes Fanny seems to attribute ideas to me before I am even aware I have them.’

Mr Carraway laughed pleasantly. ‘Ah, but I’ll wager she is always right. Such is the delicacy of her perception, you know, I have more than once found her putting into words my own inmost thoughts!’

‘Tut, dancing with a lady while singing the praises of another
—
is this your gallantry, Mr Carraway?’

‘I know you don’t mind it, Miss Fortune,’ he said, whispery and warm, ‘because you are on our side.’

Well, if it were a matter of sides, Caroline would always incline to Fanny’s view of things, rather than the chill proprieties invoked by Lady Milner; but she was rather alarmed at the idea of sides being taken at all, and she might have addressed herself more seriously to this question, if her mind had not been still taken up with Richard Leabrook. She had observed a preoccupation, a silence about him since Matthew’s insistent talk of Brighton: watching him at the other end of the set, she saw he looked absent from the dance, and seemed to answer Isabella’s smiles with difficulty.

It is because of me: he cannot be easy with me here, thought Caroline; and though very soon after the next set of dances, Aunt Selina’s retiring habits ensured that their carriage was ordered to be brought round, so putting an end to the discomforts of the Hethersett ball, there were still the discomforts of tomorrow to be managed; and she could not stifle a fear that they must come to some sort of issue.

The next day was, as Mr Leabrook’s groom had predicted, fine and bright, though with the full sharpness of autumn in the air. The party Mr Leabrook had gathered, comprising the Downeys, the Milners, Mr Carraway, Captain Brunton, and Caroline, were all young: not liable to fuss about cold, or regularity of mealtimes; and the plan was to take a tour of the grounds and park, return to the house for a collation, and amuse themselves with cards and billiards and books as they liked, or go out again, just as their fancy and the weather dictated.

A good plan; and as there was nothing missing for their enjoyment, it was all the more curious to find how heavily the day went, and what a dull and spiritless set they were on the whole.

‘There is one unalterable rule of social intercourse,’ Stephen Milner said to Caroline, as they set out to walk across the terrace and down to the park, ‘and that is, that any group of people who say
we must do this again,
and meet up to do so, will not enjoy themselves.’ He seemed so satisfied with the proof of this that he was for a time the brightest of the party; and Maria Downey, lazily flirting, declared that he was not such an ogre, brute, and savage after all. But besides this general rule there were, Caroline thought, specific reasons for their unease. There was a strained quality about their host’s welcome, and his repeated professions of hospitality, that was plain at least to herself, and she guessed also to Isabella, judging by her friend’s troubled looks. Captain Brunton had obviously not wanted to come, and was as gruff as was consonant with politeness. Matthew Downey had been expecting a letter from his aunt Sophia in Brighton, and could not refrain from wondering aloud why it had not come, in spite of his sister’s enumerating several plausible reasons
—
to all of which he readily assented. ‘To be sure. Of course, that must be it, absolutely
...
Still,’ he would break out, after a prospect or a specimen cedar had been duly admired, ‘still, I cannot help but wonder
...’
until Maria fairly groaned.

Only Fanny and Mr Carraway were really happy.

‘Mr Carraway, you must run a race with me. To that summer-house. And you are not to let me win.’

‘Oh, I shall not do that, Miss Fanny, never fear. But I cannot run in these
...’
his hessian boots. He sat down on the grass and began tugging at them. ‘I wonder if one of you gentlemen
... ?’

‘I’ll do it.’ Fanny grasped and heaved, nearly went over backwards. Caroline, all on edge though she was, found their young laughter infectious: a pity that Lady Milner would surely nip it with withering disapproval; oh, the indecency of seeing a man in his stockings.

But no. There was even a look in Lady Milner’s eyes, as she watched them haring off, that reflected Caroline’s own feeling — that they were silly, and rather too inclined to show off their abundant spirits, and yet that there was a beauty about the two of them at that moment which sent a wistful pang to the heart.

Stranger still, when the party followed them, at a sedater pace, it was Lady Milner who attached herself to Caroline, and deliberately slowed her steps so that they walked apart from the others. If Lady Milner had any opinion of her at all, Caroline thought, it would have been that she was — like romantic novels and the pert manners of servants — generally Regrettable. And yet now
—
‘Miss Fortune, I wonder if I might ask you a question.’

‘Certainly. Anything. Except which king came before Henry the Eighth because that I never can remember.’

She was only rattling because she was nervous; but at once it crashed in on her that Lady Milner might think this a sneering reference to her governess past. Caroline flamed with mortification, hesitated over several reparative remarks all of which seemed equally unfortunate — but Lady Milner only smiled weakly and said: ‘Henry the Seventh. It would be helpful if they all went like that, would it not? No, it is rather a personal question: or at least, a question about personal matters. I suppose, Miss Fortune, you cannot fail to have observed the intimacy that has grown between Fanny and this Mr Carraway. What do you think of it?’ Caroline’s surprise at her opinion being sought must have shown, for Lady Milner went on, timidly touching her arm: ‘You are young, yes, but older than Fanny, and I think you have had a good deal more experience of the world.’

‘Well, I think — I think it is very natural. Fanny has a romantic temper, and so it seems has Mr Carraway: they both love to talk; and they have been thrown much together lately,’

Lady Milner gave her such a pained, dubious, unsatisfied look that Caroline very nearly asked if they could go back to the kings.

‘Miss Fortune, I should tell you that I feel
...
a great responsibility for her. For her own sake, and for my late husband’s. I promised Sir Henry faithfully that I would do my best for my stepchildren — odd though it may seem to call them such — and the one thing I can say for myself, Miss Fortune, is that I am faithful. So, I do my best. It is not always easy, for a woman alone. But that is how it must be. Certainly I shall not marry again. That is what I mean by faithfulness.’

It was difficult to take in such a sudden and strong dose of confidence. Caroline’s mind made swift reappraisals while she tried, and failed, not to look over in the direction of Captain Brunton, who was striding with hands clasped seamanlike behind his back and his eyes fixed on the turf as if he were mentally measuring the distance.

‘It must be a great responsibility, indeed,’ Caroline said. ‘And Fanny is a very
—
lively creature.’

‘She is headstrong and wilful, and she
needs
direction. Isabella is soon to be respectably settled: I have no anxieties there. But with Fanny — I fear that she may be led into indiscretion by her — her liveliness, as you term it.’ Lady Milner grimaced, as if the word were some brutal piece of coal-heaver’s slang. ‘This Mr Carraway seems to be respectable
—
as artists go
—’
which, Lady Milner’s frown suggested, was not very far
‘—
and Mr Leabrook has a high regard for him, which must be in his favour. Still, I feel that Fanny should be aware that this over-familiarity with the young man may compromise her reputation.’

‘Fanny would say, I think, that she does not care a fig for her reputation.’

‘So she ‘would, and it is dangerous nonsense. We do not live in a state of nature: we live in society; and society has great power. ‘There was something behind Lady Milner’s tightening voice
—
remembered struggles of her own, perhaps. Then she sighed and waved a hand. ‘But I have said all this to her, and not been heeded. That is why I wanted to ask you, Miss Fortune, if you will speak to Fanny about this matter.’

‘Me? But I
—
well, really, I cannot think how I can pretend to any sort of authority over Fanny’ ‘No: but she listens to you.’

Caroline, about to deny it, stopped. For it was true. She was, heaven help her, Fanny Milner’s oracle. She blinked away low autumn sun-dazzle, seeing between its sequined flashes Fanny and Mr Carraway falling laughing to the ground outside the summer-house, Isabella’s gold-limned head inclined towards Richard Leabrook’s shoulder, Stephen moodily swiping at weed-heads with his stick. She tried to sweep her scattered thoughts together.

‘Fanny will not like to listen to that, I’m afraid,’ she answered at last. ‘That is, if I am to caution her about her behaviour with Mr Carraway
—
and really, Lady Milner, I’m not sure that I see anything very reprehensible in it. I’m flattered that you think my influence so great, but in truth
—’

‘I don’t mean to flatter, Miss Fortune. I would rather Fanny heeded my advice, but as she will not, I must perforce turn to someone to whom she does listen
—
for whatever peculiar reasons.’

Something had captivated Sir Henry, Caroline thought with a strong awareness of her own teeth, but it surely wasn’t charm.

‘I will do what I can,’ she said.

And suddenly there was warmth. ‘Thank you
—
a thousand thank-yous,’ Lady Milner said, turning on Caroline a brilliant, anxious smile
—
the first real smile she had ever seen on that sombre face.

More reappraisals. She is young after all, Caroline thought
—
the
gravitas
made one forget
—
and the responsibility must weigh heavy. And now the thought occurred to her for the first time: was Lady Milner the person to speak to about her secret knowledge? She was concerned about Fanny flirting mildly with a young man: what must she think of her other stepdaughter’s prospects, if she knew about Brighton?

It was a thought
—
but still, no more than a thought. If you were going to speak out, Caroline nagged herself, the time to do it was right at the beginning. Lady Milner would think
—
anyone
would think
—
why now?

Isabella would think it.

Dear God, look
—
we are chess-pieces, Caroline thought, as she cast her eye over the party.The fitful autumn sunlight made chequered patterns on the grass, across which the scattered figures moved in purposive clusters. Matthew talking about his aunt Sophia and the missing letter to Captain Brunton, who was divided between courteous attention and looking back for Lady Milner: Isabella being tugged away from Mr Leabrook’s arm by a laughing Fanny, urging her to run a race: Maria trying to tease a response from Stephen, stalking saturnine ahead. In this game, Caroline reflected gloomily, there is no doubt that I am only a pawn, whilst Richard Leabrook of course is a king
—
king of all this lush domain. Yet a pawn could checkmate a king; and she felt he knew this. Even the back of his dark, elegant head
—
which was all he tended to present to her
—
seemed to say it.