Indiscretion (43 page)

‘Well, you
can
be sure,’ Fanny said, and then with a look half mutiny, half bravado: ‘Indeed, step in
—
yes, step in, by all means, as you now know where we reside. I have no objection to that. I have no secrets. You will be supposing, of course, an illicit liaison. I do not accept these arbitrary prescriptions of society
—
neither does Charles: nevertheless I may as well say we maintain separate establishments within our set of rooms.’ She looked so crimson and conscious as she said this that it was impossible to say whether it was an outright lie or the surprising truth: though Caroline did have her own ideas. ‘You will not find those rooms particularly luxurious or well appointed: that is our way: I merely mention it, I do not apologize for it. So, if you do wish to
—’

‘Devil take it, Fanny, stop orating, you sound like the Lord Mayor’s Banquet,’ said Stephen, unimpressibly. ‘D’you think we’ll turn our noses up if there’s no footman in powder? As we said, we’ve come to see you, that’s all. Now lead the way, do. Miss Fortune’s been making me drink too much wine and my tongue’s like burnt paper, and I’m sure you can make us tea in your ill-appointed rooms.’

Partly mollified, yet with several suspicious glances, Fanny led the way: at the shop door she glanced significantly down at Stephen’s affectionate arm. He relinquished it with a cheerful gesture, which made her look all the more perplexed. Presently they were passing through the shop, where Mrs Gerrard peeped out at them like a wondering rabbit, and climbing some narrow stairs. Here Stephen paused for a moment, and whispered urgently to Caroline over his shoulder: ‘Whatever I say, no matter how absurd, agree with me.’

He had been right: the second floor, at the back, was where Fanny and Mr Carraway had their lodging; and it was not so very bad. There was a large sitting room, incompletely filled with the sort of furniture that must have been deeply loved by someone for it not to have been thrown away; and opening out of it a smaller room with a good window, which was obviously Charles Carraway’s painting room, as he was to be seen there — framed — clutching palette and maul-stick, staring at the visitors with a good deal less than Fanny’s self-command. As for the sleeping arrangements, Caroline extended the benefit of the doubt, as she couldn’t tell. Though she still had her own ideas.

‘My dear Charles, you see we are pursued,’ said Fanny, in an excessive voice, ‘pursued and actually caught, but apparently we needn’t fear, as my brother
says
he has simply come on a visit, and is not going to drag me away.’ She went and set a kettle over the fire. ‘If he does, you know I shall fight — but I don’t want you to, do you hear me?’

Judging by Mr Carraway’s perspiring pallor, this advice was superfluous. But he cheered up a little when Stephen, advancing on him, thrust out a hand with a breezy ‘Mr Carraway, glad to see you again, how d’you do?’ and then flung himself into a creaking chair, amiably yawning. ‘Well, you are snug here, I must say. Not the prettiest of situations, though, which is a pity.’

‘Charles and I care nothing for fashion, Stephen, as you well know,’ Fanny said airily. ‘It is far more important that we live within our means, as we intend showing this is not a mere adventure; and as we have these rooms on easy terms, on account of Mrs Gerrard being Charles’s cousin, they suit us very well for the time being.’

‘Oh, a cousin!’ said Stephen, still amiable, hands in pockets, and Caroline read his thought:
So that’s what you call it.
She was divided between amusement and anxiety: for Fanny had committed herself so whole-heartedly to this life, and yet that curled charmer now relaxing into a smile half sheepish, half triumphant could at any moment walk out of the door and never come back. He had done it before. All that could be said was that he had not done it
yet;
and that was perhaps more a tribute to Fanny’s qualities than his.

‘Well, do tell me how everyone is at Wythorpe,’ Fanny said. ‘I have been meaning to write — but to get a reply, you know, I must give an address, and that
—
well
...’

‘That is an irrelevance now, of course,’ said Stephen. ‘It would have made things a good deal easier for us, as you have been the very devil to track down, but no matter — no reproaches,’ he added quickly, as Fanny’s chin went up. ‘Well, Caroline can tell you better about that, I think.’

‘Oh, yes — let’s see, everyone is well, Uncle John and Aunt Selina, and Isabella and Lady Milner, and Captain Brunton was there for Christmas
—’

‘And they are looking after the dogs, aren’t they?’ Fanny put in, with a brimming look. ‘They haven’t — taken it out on them? I so wanted to bring them, but it would have been impossible
—’

‘My dear Fanny,’ laughed Stephen,’do you suppose we whip your dogs daily, to punish you for your elopement? They are as spoiled as ever. I call it an elopement, by the by, for want of a better term.’

‘Words are only words, you know, Mr Milner,’ said Mr Carraway, finding his voice. ‘It is feelings that count. It is our feelings that have guided us, and they are guides that, I believe —’
he gave his misty sideways look
‘—
can never lead us wrong.’

Caroline could contain herself no longer. ‘It would be interesting,’ she said, as temperately as she could, ‘to know if Miss Harvey still agrees with those sentiments.’

Fanny, making tea at the crowded table, froze with spoon suspended. ‘Who is Miss Harvey?’

‘“Who is Sylvia, what is she, that all our swains commend her”?’ sang Stephen, badly. ‘One for the pot, remember, Fanny.’

‘Miss Harvey,’ Caroline said, ‘was the sister of a naval officer, a friend of Captain Brunton’s. She ran away to London from Deal with — well, I believe with this gentleman.’ Who had gone very pale again. Should she, Caroline wondered, add that they had taken these very same lodgings? No: that was too much.

‘Yes,’ Mr Carraway said, nodding earnestly, ‘yes, that is correct, that was the case, indeed.’

Fanny finished making the tea with a certain vigour. ‘You never told me this, Charles.’

‘Not strictly’ Mr Carraway said, with a judicious frown, ‘not strictly perhaps — but you know, Fanny, I did tell you I had loved before. I never made any disguise of that.’

‘Yes, Charles
...
Though I did not know it was that sort of love.’

‘Oh, my dear girl, what other sort is there? You know my nature: I cannot tack to the winds of convention: I am all or nothing.’ Mr Carraway did some wistful blinking. ‘If you would know about Miss Harvey, I can tell you. I can tell you that it was all a piece of youthful folly. I was young, she was very young, and we hardly knew what we were about. And I regret it, for it ended unhappily.’

‘Particularly so for Miss Harvey, was it not?’ Caroline suggested.

‘What does this mean? Charles?’ Fanny demanded sharply: and Caroline felt a little hope in that sharpness. This one, Mr Carraway, is made of sterner stuff than Miss Harvey.

‘I do not know what story you have heard, Miss Fortune,’ he sighed, with a limpid look. ‘If it represents me in a bad light, I cannot help that. I can only say that our separation was a mutual affair. As I remarked, we were both young and absurd, and we fell to quarrelling over trifles. Then there was a lasting quarrel, and I took myself off, and when I returned to — to where we lodged, she had taken herself off likewise, and that was the end of it. It sounds a sad tale, but really it is not: for we were not good for one another. And there can be nothing worse than two souls yoked inharmoniously together
—
is that not a living death?’

‘Aye, aye, there’s something in what he says,’ grunted Stephen, who under lowered lids had been watching the painter carefully. ‘What do you think, Fanny? Ah, tea.’

Fanny glanced, perplexedly, from Stephen to Caroline to her raptly gazing lover. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘it is a great pity. And I agree with Charles: of course I do. Though I think it was also a pity, Charles, that you could not tell me about this
—
did you think I wouldn’t understand?’

‘I would have to be an even greater fool than I know myself to be to think
that,’
he said meltingly, ‘for you always do understand
—
always! But come,’ he added more briskly, ‘you do right, indeed, Mr Milner, to appeal to Fanny: for that is what the whole matter is about, is it not? Fanny’s choice: Fanny’s decision: that is, thank heaven, to be with me. Are we to respect and abide by that decision?’

‘Quite so,’ Fanny said, rallying, ‘and I tell you, Stephen, you will not fence me about with your spirit-soiling prohibitions.’ Proud of that one: she has lain awake thinking them up, Caroline guessed.

‘No intention of any such thing,’ Stephen said, standing up and roaming about as he drank his tea. ‘Just wonder whether you wouldn’t like to seal it
—
your decision, I mean
—
by getting married. It would be so much better in all ways, you know.’

‘How?’ said Fanny, scornfully.

‘Well, you love each other, don’t you?’

‘Absolutely! How can you doubt it?’

‘My dear dramatic sister, I don’t. That’s why I’d suppose you’d like to show that love to the world. Proclaim it. Rather than this, which is almost as if
—
that is, it might be misconstrued by duller spirits
—
as if you are ashamed of it.’ Stephen finished his tea and beamed.

‘Pooh, you don’t understand me very well, Stephen, if you think I care for that,’ Fanny said, with tense gaiety; and stole a look at Caroline. ‘You understand, Caro — don’t you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she answered easily, ‘though I do tend to agree with Stephen
—
about showing your love to the world, I mean.’

‘And then there’s your money,’ Stephen went on. ‘Dear conscientious Father made sure you and Bella had your fifteen thousand apiece as a marriage portion, and it seems a pity that it should lie there a-rusting.’

‘Money’ Fanny pronounced, ‘is sordid stuff, and we don’t care for it.’

‘Not a whit,’ Mr Carraway said, with
—
to do him justice
—
what seemed like complete sincerity.

‘Don’t you? Hey, well, it does seem a shame,’ Stephen said, shrugging indifferently ‘as when two such people as you are in love, it’s nice to see them properly set up. A good painting-studio, for example, and plenty of room for dogs, and spare money to help the needy, and
—
well, anyhow, it was just a thought. Really that’s not why we’re here. Aha, you are about to say, then why are you here? I’ll tell you: to give you our news. Our own most happy most delightful news.’ He came over and took Caroline’s arm. ‘Caroline and I are getting married. Yes!’ he cried loudly, covering her yelp of surprise. ‘Yes, is it not the most delightful thing? You’ll observe the engagement ring
—
best that could be got out in the wilds. And so we’ve come to Town to get a licence, so we can be married as soon as may be. Oh, we did think about going through the whole business of calling the banns, but it takes so long
—
and why delay? The fact is, as we’ve found, when you’re in love everything is romantic
—
even getting a marriage licence from Doctor’s Commons. Isn’t that so, Caro?’

‘Yes, Stephen,’ she managed.

‘Well, aren’t you going to congratulate us?’ Stephen pursued. ‘I had thought, Fanny
—
and this is why we were so eager to find you
—
that you of all people would be pleased for us. I know how fond you are of Caro
—
and now you are going to be her sister-in-law!’ Staggered as Caroline was, she did register a small pleasure in seeing the rather too self-assured Fanny reduced to such silent astonishment; and that helped her to collect herself.

Yes, Fanny’ she said, ‘I hope you are as pleased as I am, my dear.’ ‘I
—
oh, yes, I am,’ stammered Fanny, ‘only it is so
—
so very unexpected!’

‘Love is always unexpected, I believe,’ Caroline said. ‘As for me, I can think of nothing better than being united with the man I love for the rest of my days
—
openly and in the eyes of the world
—
and amongst those who are dear to me.’ She found this both very easy and intensely difficult to say.

‘Quite so,’ Stephen said, with hearty approval. ‘Well, that’s our news, and thank goodness we found you so we could tell you it
—
and now, what say you dine with us on the strength of it? The four of us, tomorrow evening, at Grillon’s
—
what d’you say? Call it a settled thing. I’m at Batt’s in Jermyn Street if you need to say nay for any reason. But do come. It would give us great pleasure.’

‘Then
—
yes, thank you, we shall be happy to join you,’ said Mr Carraway, who had the dawning look of a man woken from a bad dream and realizing none of it was true. ‘And
—
many congratulations to you. Eh, Fanny?’

‘Yes,’ Fanny said, in a small voice.