Indiscretion (5 page)

‘Mr Jenkins is dreadfully mistaken, because I am assuredly not an an
gel.’

‘That won’t stop him. If anything, the reverse. You take my meaning, I feel sure, but I will state it unequivocally: I will not countenance your throwing yourself at men. Call it my other foible. I was fortunate enough to contract a rational marriage. The Colonel was not, thank heaven, a
pressing
man. I would commend such a sensible attitude to attachments to the whole world: a great deal of trouble would be saved by it. I know the world will not listen, but I can make sure my writ runs in my own household. I am no friend
to
t
hat overprized imp Cupid. Look at what he did to your mother. You don’t resemble
her,
I hope.’

‘You’ll forgive me if I can’t join you in that hope, ma’am,’ Caroline said, colouring, ‘as I have tender memories of my mother, and would be
very pleased to be like her.’

‘Hey, well, that’s loyal of you, I suppose, and not to be reproved,’ Mrs Catling said, with a shrug. ‘But my conditions, Miss Fortune, remain. You may be foolish, vain, and acquisitive, and no doubt you
are.
But what I will not tolerate is if you are flighty. I may as well add that the same conditions would surely apply if you went to be governess to some merchant’s brats, which is your only other recourse. But there your world would consist of sticky stubborn faces, spiteful
lies
tattled to Mama, and solitary suppers in some draughty schoolroom. With me, there would be legance, society, and rational conversation. The choice is yours.’

‘Do you mean
—
the post is mine?’

‘Let me put it this way: I have seen three other young women, and each was on her way home by this time. One had a squint, which I could not look at; one kept talking of her duty to God, which is such a vulgar subject for polite intercourse; and as for the third, she breathed altogether too loudly.’ Mrs Catling made a gruff sound, which Caroline recognized after a moment as laughter. ‘I jest about the last, of course.’ But there was a cockerel beadiness about her eye, which hinted that she could be quite as capricious in earnest, if she chose. ‘Well, I suppose you hardly know what to say, and all the rest of it?’

‘That would be affectation, as I came here to apply for the post. No, I will say a very heartfelt thank-you, and beg leave to ask a question.’

‘About your remuneration, no doubt.’

‘That I shall be happy to learn about; but my question is really to myself. That is, you are so good as to suggest I will suit for the position
—
but do I think the position will suit me?’

Mrs Catling gave her the narrow sideways look again. ‘You are fencing with me, Miss Fortune. I don’t mind it, in moderation.’

‘I dare say it is my habit. But I am quite serious also. It’s true that I need the post, ma’am, and I suspect a certain well-worn phrase about beggars and choosers may have crossed your mind. But still it will mean going away from my father, perhaps finally, and though I hope I’m not over-sentimental myself, I can’t help but feel deeply about that, and wonder if I’m doing the right thing.’

‘Wonder? Nonsense. A moment’s reflection will convince you there can hardly be a doubt of
that.
I have known a good many men like your father, Miss Fortune, and I will engage for it that your presence does not make him any better or worse. Well, is it not so? He is a sad rake now, and will be a sad rake left to his own devices, and the only difference will be in your situation. Which will be safer and steadier,’ Mrs Catling pitilessly concluded, ‘and free of the pretence that
he
looks after
you,
when of course it is the other way around.’

This was a shrewd hit. Plainly not much was lost on Mrs Catling: just as plainly, she was more clever than kind. But Caroline found she did not at all dislike the old lady. Indeed, even as she posed herself the question of whether this was to be her new life, she answered it: yes.

‘You know, of course, that I live principally at Brighton,’ Mrs Catling went on. ‘So you must make a removal from London. I come up to Town only once a year, for a small part of the season. But you have no family or connections hereabouts, at least not such as will acknowledge you, I’m sure; so there can be no loss there. And unless I have much misread you, you are no Evangelical, to disapprove
Brigh
ton’s reputation.’

‘Quite the reverse, Mrs Catling
—
I’ve always wanted to go there.
I h
ave
been at Bath, and Margate
—’

‘Not the same thing at all,’ Mrs Catling said, with a fastidious shudder. ‘The Colonel, on his deathbed, urged me to retire to Bath when he was gone. I informed him that as I was neither decayed spinster, ambitious tradesman nor disreputable fortune-hunter, I could
not
fall in with his wishes. He was not in a condition to laugh, but I flat
ter
myself there was amusement in his respiration. As for Margate, it has its votaries, and I dare say there are people there I could, at a pinch, speak to. But for fashion of the first water, Brighton is the place. To be sure, there is a fast set there. The moral influence of the Prinice, making it his favoured resort, is not entirely salubrious. But there is no denying that where he goes, fashion attends. I am not of his inner circle, of course; but the Colonel knew him, and I have been invited to the Pavilion a few times.’

In her heart Caroline deplored the Regent as the gluttonous buffoon of the public prints, but that did not affect the fascination of that fabulous palace by the sea, which he was continually improving, and spending vaster sums on, and
—
reputedly
—
holding orgiastic parties in. ‘Oh, ma’am, what is it like? Is it true that they burn two hundred pounds’ worth of wax candles a night, and that everything is in an Oriental shape, even down to the close-stools?’

‘Let us just say that reports of the Prince’s style of living are seldom exaggerated. I might tell you a tale or two, on another occasion. But come! Is there to be another occasion, Miss Fortune? I am making you the offer, and I am not at all used to being turned down. I leave for Brighton the day after tomorrow. Will you come?’

‘I will be very glad to come. I
—
well, thank you, Mrs Catling.’

The widow waved a hand with a repressive look, as if even this degree of warmth unsettled her. ‘Very well. Now, I suppose the rest of your wardrobe is like that? Dear me. You had better come here tomorrow, and we will go to my modiste at Bond Street and begin fitting you out. Aside from clothes, I do not anticipate you will have much luggage. If there are some books and other small effects, those may travel with us: anything larger will have to be sent to Brighton separately You will, of course, have your own room there, and the servants will wait on you in the ordinary way. I may send my maid to help dress your hair when we go out. And now there is one last test. My passion, Miss Fortune, is cards. I must have cards every night. I know every card game. I look on a careless lay at cards as a sin. I will play for hours and never get tired. Now I am watching your face carefully’

As this was one area of her education that had not been neglected, Caroline had no fear of what her face might betray.

‘So, you do not quail at the prospect of partnering an old woman at whist for years upon years? For I should add, Miss Fortune, that I fully intend to live for ever.’ Mrs Catling’s eyes took on a hooded look as she said this. ‘I hope that does not disappoint you. Does it?’

‘I can’t fairly answer that, Mrs Catling,’ Caroline said candidly, ‘so I wonder if it’s perhaps not a fair question.’

‘Of course it isn’t. I have often heard people make the most sickening brag that they are
hard
but
fair.
Not I. I am nearly always unfair. Like the world. You might say thus I harmonize with Nature, as those dreary poets of the Lakes would have it. Uff!’

Caroline was already coming to recognize this gruff exclamation as Mrs Catling’s version of laughter. It was wry but also scornful.

‘Never mind. You have evaded the question neatly enough. In truth I acquit you of any conscious designs on my wealth: I think you are probably too
naïve
for that, and still thrive on the blissful belief that a rich and handsome man will descend from the skies and marry you. Your father, on the other hand, is most assuredly hoping that I will
do something
for you. He could hardly have made it plainer if he had said so. Hey, well, I am used to that, God knows, with my family.’ Mrs Catling made a face of distaste, her eyes hard and absent; then stirred, and looked up at the clock on the mantel. ‘There
—
less than thirty minutes, just as I said. Come
—
shake hands upon the arrangement, Miss Caroline Fortune: and now ring the bell and go and find that father of yours, and tell him the news. By the by, he has debts, I suppose? Well, I am not a charitable foundation; but I did promise the Colonel to stick by the colours. Tell him that if he supplies me with the names of his principal creditors, I
may
be able to relieve him of his most pressing difficulties. As for you, return here at noon tomorrow, for the shopping
—
without him: he will only be fawning.’ The footman came. Mrs Catling rose and, as Caroline did likewise, ran an unrelenting eye over her figure. ‘As tall as me: dreadful to be so stalky, is it not?’

A little dazed, Caroline found herself following the footman to the drawing-room door; where he coughed apologetically, and stepped back to Mrs Catling. ‘Ma’am,’ he murmured, bending and seeming to wince, ‘I should say
—
Mr Downey is here. I ‘wasn’t sure
—
he would insist
—’

‘Again? I made it quite clear to him. Tell him to be gone,’ Mrs Catling snapped; and the footman bowed out of the room precipitately, propelling Caroline before him, so that she was half-way down the stairs before she knew it.

Below, in the hall, a young gentleman was waiting in peculiar agitation
—
pacing about and swishing his cane as if he were in a field of dandelions. He looked up sharply when Caroline appeared: the disappointment on his face swiftly thinned into a narrow glance of suspicion; but then he turned bodily from her, and demanded of the footman, ‘Well?’

‘Mrs Catling is not at home, sir,’ the footman said, with a suffering look.

‘ I
see.’ The young gentleman breathed hard, and clapped his hat on his head. ‘And
she,
I suppose
—
’
with a twitch of his cane in Caroline’s direction
—
‘has just been here to clean the chimneys.’

‘Quite so
—
and shockingly dirty they were,’ Caroline said, moving past him to the front door. Glancing into his face, she fancied a resemblance to the old lady upstairs, for though he was rather of the middle height, and square-cut, there was the same dark colouring, and the same wilful hitch of the chin as he returned her look. This, and his hostility, disposed her to think him Mrs Catling’s relative; but having no particular desire to be introduced, she advanced to the door, telling the footman with a smile that he need not trouble.

Before she could open it, however, Mr Downey made a lunge at it, muttering, ‘Oh
—
here, allow me.’ He flung it open and stood frowning ungraciously a moment, and then with another grumble of ‘Oh
—
but I should go first
—
I mean, as it is I who am not
wanted
here,’ squeezed ahead of her, and went with an angry drumming of hessian boots down the steps, and off along the street.

There was more in this to amuse than to quell Caroline’s spirits
—
for had she not succeeded where others had failed?
—
and by prospects that offered, at the very least, the excitement of novelty. Bursting with her news, she sought out her father at the tavern in Dover Yard. The sight of him in the taproom should have dispelled any lingering doubts about how he would get on without her. Within half an hour he had acquired three new bosom-friends, all standing about with one leather-breeched leg up on the fender in the sporting manner, deferring to his views on horseflesh, and had moreover charmed them into standing him drinks; so that it was a vague, swaying, benevolent, open-armed Captain Fortune who received her news, and whom she just restrained from offering to treat the whole tavern on the strength of it.

‘It will be,’ he cried, kissing her heartily, ‘the making of you, Carol’ His speech was a little foxed, of course, and it was noisy in the taproom
—
which accounted for her mishearing
making,
for an alarming moment, as
breaking.

Now, two days later, a travelling-carriage stands before the house in Dover Street, ready to depart. A neat equipage, but substantial enough to bear the trunks, boxes, and dressing-cases strapped up behind: the four well-matched bays, the shining harness, the coachman’s blue livery with silk facings and gold-laced buttonholes, all produce a smart and spanking appearance in the high June morning; and they have attracted a rag-taggle of boys who stand watching with intense interest the last preparations, commenting knowingly on ‘how she will go’, and calling up unwarranted
speculations
on the private life of his mother to the postilion
—
who, the same age as they but liveried, waged, placed, blushes and cringes across the little gulf of class. The carriage belongs, of course, to Mrs Sophia Catling, and offers ample evidence of her wealth, her taste for the best, and her insistence on privacy. Not for her the hire of a post-chaise, with its attendant exposure to the independent ways of post-boys employed by a livery-stable and not under her own strict control. Indeed if money could buy such a thing, she would have her own private road all the way from London to Brighton. Caroline Fortune has certainly never travelled in such style, and while her new employer makes some last uncomplimentary remarks to the lawyer’s clerk who has come to collect the house-keys, she too stands regarding the turn-out with admiration. Melancholy, very faintly, tinges her view. She has parted with her father at his Henrietta Street lodging early that morning
—
Mrs Catling laying a strict injunction on his coming to see them off, for fear of what she called theatrics’
—
and the occasion brought out the blue devils in him.

‘Well, my dear, I hope your poor mother’s shade looks kindly on me today. It
is
an opportunity for you; but I could have wished for a better. I should, in truth, have done better. I know it: I feel it. No more of that. Just remember, Caro, who you are. Keep hold of your pride
—
for I venture that Mrs Catling, splendid woman though she is, may come it a little high now and then
—
keep hold of it, and remember that your father’s family were well settled in Devonshire when Wellington’s were trotting the bogs; and that there’s good family on your mother’s side likewise, for all they’ve got vinegar in their veins. You are a young woman of quality, my dear, and never forget it. Of course, that need not stand in the way of your being
obliging!

As to what he will do when she has gone, he has airily assured her that he has various irons in the fire, and still has hopes of a return to the stage, perhaps back in the West Country
—
he will write and tell her all about it. She can only suppose that he will hang about his old Town haunts, and pursue his old Town dissipations; and though she dearly wished to beg him to keep clear of the debtors’ prison, she concluded that such an appeal was equally unfitting for a leave-taking, and unlikely to be heeded; and so she held her peace, promised to come away if she had a moment’s unhappiness with Mrs Catling, and kissed him goodbye.

Caroline loves her father as much as any daughter should, and probably a little better than he deserves. The wrench is felt, without threatening to kill her; and the simple burst of tears shed at their parting, whilst it might dissatisfy a sentimentalist, is all that nature demands.

Now the coachman, deciding that the gang of boys has peered and crowed enough, steps down and sends them away with a shake of his whip; and ambling near to Caroline quietly comments: ‘I thought we might see the danglers today, before she gets off
—
but no sign of ‘em.’

‘Danglers?’

‘That’s what I call ‘em. On account of their dangling after her money, you see, which is on account of her having nobody to leave it to but them. That’s what they reckon, anyways.’

‘This is Mrs Catling’s family?’ Caroline asks, finding she has adopted the coachman’s hoarse whisper. ‘There’s a nephew and niece, I understand?’ ‘That’s them.’ ‘Is one a Mr Downey?’

‘One
is
a Mr Downey. And the other’s a Miss Downey. But you know what I call ‘em?’ ‘Danglers.’

‘Just so. Oh, she likes to keep ‘em dangling, you may be sure. It’s nits to her. Why, she loves it better than a rubber of whist. Well, it doesn’t look as if they’re coming today: I thought they might turn up, and make a great fuss of her. You’ll meet them sooner or later, no doubt, miss. Of course, they won’t like
you!
‘Won’t they?’

‘They won’t. On account of seeing you as another dangler.’The coachman gives a shrill chuckle, whilst keeping his face absolutely straight
—
to very peculiar effect; then adds, ‘I never said any of this, mind,’ before sauntering back to the carriage.

No danglers appear, however; and soon all is ready, and Caroline takes her seat in the carriage along with Mrs Catling, and Mrs Catling’s personal maid
—
a little pinched comfit-chewer with a look of settled, not to say lifelong discontent.

‘Well, Shrewmouse?’ Mrs Catling accosts her. ‘You are sorry to be leaving Town, no doubt, just as you were sorry to come here. That’s about what I’d expect of you.’ Caroline was at first surprised that a woman of Mrs Catling’s
ton
should be attended by a servant so very drab and dour, and so undeniably moustached; but remarks such as this point to the heart of the matter. The Shrewmouse
—
whose name is Miss Lott, but who mostly comes in for this and other unloving nicknames
—
is of that useful class of people, whose function in the social sphere corresponds to that of the boot-scraper and the slop-basin in the domestic.

Caroline is sorry for her; but, Mrs Catling shall not make a boot-scraper out of
me
, is her own silent resolution as the carriage begins to move. It is taking her into a new life, which she is entering without doubts or reservations: she sincerely wishes its success, and intends that no failure of effort, temper, or spirits on her part will jeopardize it. But she has made very sure to bring her self-respect in the top of her luggage.

‘Hm
—
I knew it. The milk-seller has left her chalk-mark by the door, and now there is a chimney smoking,’ Mrs Catling says, peering out at a house on the other side of the street. ‘They
are
home. But they have put up their shutters, and are hiding, so that no one will suppose they are so unfashionable as to stay in Town for the summer. What nonsense!’

‘Unless they have just left some servants there,’ Caroline suggests.

‘Oh, not they. The woman is a perfect nipcheese, and would never leave servants to burn coal and drink milk at her expense. No, no: I have found them out.’ This fact alone seems to put Mrs Catling in high good humour. ‘Well, Miss Fortune, I am pleased to observe your father heeded my instruction, and did not pursue you to the end. I am no friend to protracted farewells. My own goodbyes have been said, at the expense of very little time or trouble. I have a large circle of acquaintance, but I admit few intimates. Now what, your romantic girlish imagination wonders, can have happened to Mrs Catling to make her so chary of intimacy? Nothing. I simply do not like most people, and those I like I do not like very much. Now you think me a cold, unnatural woman: but you are also thinking rather well of yourself, for after all
you
are being let in. Isn’t it so?’

‘Oh! I beg your pardon, Mrs Catling,’ Caroline says after a moment. ‘You seemed so confident of reading my thoughts to your own satisfaction that I supposed my assent irrelevant.’

‘Very good! You mean me to understand, right from the beginning, that you will not be tyrannized. Very well, miss, I have read the signal, and you have asserted your independence of mind, and now there’s an end of it. Tell me, what was my coachman talking to you about? Oh, don’t fear, you won’t get him into trouble. I know anyway. My family. My precious nephew and niece. He thought they might come to see me off. As did I. But even they must have baulked at such a naked display of interested hypocrisy. You will suppose me deficient in family feeling also — but in truth I am not. I am very fond of my nephew and niece, certainly fonder than their conduct towards me warrants. You are sure to hear a deal of gossip about the matter, so you may as well know the facts now. I have one sister living. Her return for being the pretty, blessed, and indulged one of the family was to make a thoroughly bad marriage. When the man died, and left her with two children and very little else, she considered herself illused rather than the author of her misfortunes. She has cultivated sickliness more or less continually since then, and scarcely stirs from her house
—
which is in no better an address than Golden Square, if you please. The one effort to which she will rouse herself is to remind her offspring, who are now grown, that they have a rich old aunt. Oh, when their booby of a father was alive, Matthew and Maria paid me no attentions at all; and you may be sure that if they were to find a fortune in a cave, fairy-tale-like, I would see no more of them. But for now the precious pair are most devoted to me. They are forever seeking reassurance as to the state of my
health
.’ Mrs Catling utters her scornful laugh. ‘And for all that, they are creatures of dreadful caprice
—
let them fancy that I have slighted them, or in some way been
unfair,
and they get upon the high ropes at once. Dear, dear!’

Caroline sees that a game is being played here, between Mrs Catling and her young nephew and niece
—
not a pleasant one: she senses resentment, power, and greed as only some of its elements. But what chiefly troubles her is the prospect, which the coachman seemed to hint at, of her being dragged into it.

Well, she thinks, if I meet them, I shall tell this Matthew and Maria at once that I have no designs on their aunt’s fortune, that they are not to consider me a rival or enemy, and that I do not wish to be involved in the matter at all.

And they, of course, will then see me as the most cunning designing mercenary minx that ever schemed for a fortune.

This thought, like breath on glass, a little smudges her vision of the future. But for now there is the excitement of bowling out of London on the Brighton coach road
—
probably the fastest, smoothest, and smartest in the kingdom. Mrs Catling’s carriage cannot make the pace set by the post-chaises, the sleek curricles, tilburies, chariots and chair-back gigs that pass them with a whirl of red-rimmed wheels, but still they get along at a great rate, the postilion blowing a horn to alert the turnpike-keepers on the road ahead. The strong sun throws shifting cloud-shadows on the Downs, and adds to the exciting sensation of the whole world being in swift motion.

Exciting in a different way is the glance of frank admiration bestowed on Caroline by one of the speeding curricle-drivers
—
a fashionable young buck with a sparky eye, making great play with his skill at the ribbons, and casually transferring the straining reins of his mettlesome pair to one hand so as to raise his hat with the other.

‘We shall see him in the ditch later on, I dare say,’ remarks Mrs Catling. ‘A pretty fellow, eh? I saw those sheep’s eyes. No doubt you would believe everything he told you, even after he had ruined you.’ Before Caroline can protest, the old lady chuckles and turns to give a prodigious poke in the ribs of her maid, who had taken out her Bible. ‘And as for you, Shrewmouse, you put all your trust in the promises of that volume, don’t you? So I have a fool on either side of me
—
what fun!’

Caroline quickly concludes that it would be as useless to continue replying to these asperities, as it would be imprudent, given that subservience must be her lot. It is plainly Mrs Catling’s pleasure to pin her acquaintance like so many butterflies, and there is nothing to be gained by wriggling.

They stop to water the horses and refresh themselves at Reigate, and then at Cuckfield, where they dine. And here Caroline has an opportunity of observing Mrs Catling’s conduct towards the waiting-people at the inn. They all know her; and all, from landlord to chambermaid to waterman, attend her with a sort of stiff-jointed promptness that looks very much like smothered terror. And yet Mrs Catling is all affability. The one fleeting indication of another side to her character is when the waiter in their private dining room lays a dish of cream on the table, and is sharply addressed by the old lady with the words: ‘Not there.
There!
As she does not even look up from her plate as she says this, and makes no accompanying gesture whatsoever, the poor man is thrown into confusion, from which Caroline feels she must rescue him at last, by asking for the cream herself. She thinks he lets out a stifled sob, whether of anguish or
relief, as he leaves the room: but she cannot be sure.

Even with stops they make such good speed that it is still afternoon
when they come to Brighton; and the resort, seen for the first time in coppery sunlight that softens the edges of newness, answers all Caroline’s expectations.

It was Brighthelmstone, fifty years ago when it was a plain little fishing-port. Now there is aptness in the contracted name for the expanded resort. You can even find the appropriate words
bright
and
ton
in it:
ton
meaning fashion, stylishness:
bright
just right for its new
stuc
coed and whitewashed terraces and squares and crescents adorned with wrought-iron, the colourful tents and pennants of Brighton Camp, the painted bathing-machines
—
like gypsy caravans trying to drown themselves
—
that are drawn up all along the beach.