Authors: A London Season
Lord Rayleigh was also uneasy about a relationship he had for too long taken for granted. By the time he and Jane left for Bellerman Hall he had pretty well fathomed the state of David's feelings. He had mentioned to Jane, casually, that he expected her to come to London for a visit in the spring. As he had dwelled mainly on the opportunities she would have to see the great art collections of the capital, she had not protested loudly. When the subject came up within David's hearing, however, Lord Rayleigh had seen the sudden rigidity of the boy's back which, along with the spasmodic clenching of his lean hands, had given him away.
There was one other occasion when David's private emotions, usually kept well in check, were revealed to the observing Marquis. They were out on the heath one morning with five of the horses. Jane was galloping one of the mares while Lord Rayleigh, David, and the two grooms stood lined up to watch. She had lost her ribbon and as she galloped by her hair streamed out behind her like a black silk flag. She pulled the horse up and came toward them, her face brilliant with pleasure, and the Marquis turned momentarily to say something to David. What he saw in that still face struck him to the heart; an underlying desolation that spoke of an emotion that was intensely serious.
Lord Rayleigh was an innately good-hearted man. He liked David. But he could not allow his niece, Lady Jane Fitzmaurice, well-born, beautiful, and an heiress, to become involved with a boy who worked in his stables. Jane, who, thank God, was clear as water, obviously had no inkling of David's feelings. The Marquis was profoundly grateful that David had had the sense not to say anything to her. He did not want to have to fire the boy. And he would get Jane away to London as quickly as possible. He made a great effort to banish from his mind the look he had seen on David's face.
The union of Edward St. John Francis Stanton, Marquis of Rayleigh, to Miss Anne Bellerman of Bellerman Hall was celebrated at the end of October with all due pomp and circumstance. Jane was a bridesmaid and performed her part in the ceremony with suitable gravity. The wedding took place in the chapel at Bellerman Hall and was attended by large numbers of the bride's family. The groom's family consisted of his niece and numerous cousins and friends.
Jane was delighted to see Lord Massingham, Mr. Firth, and Sir Henry Graham, all of whom she knew well. She hated strangers and immediately joined one or the other of them whenever she got a chance. For their part, Lord Rayleigh's friends, all confirmed bachelors, were pleased with her company. They were all horse-mad and consequently had always approved of Jane. Nor were they blind to her beauty. The four of them had a much better time at the wedding than they had expected to. Their enjoyment was not looked on kindly by Lady Bellerman, who disapproved of Jane's obvious intimacy with such famous Corinthians.
After the wedding party had departed, Jane found herself the only guest at Bellerman Hall. John Bellerman, at the request of Lord Rayleigh, was shooting with friends in Scotland. The Marquis had no desire to encourage young Mr. Bellerman's unreciprocated infatuation. He had concluded that it would take a very different kind of man to attract Jane.
Bellerman Hall was quiet, but Jane was not idle. She had brought two of her hunters with her and was out practically every day with the local pack. She soon became friendly with Sir Thomas Osborne, the local squire, who was fifty-five, bluff, vulgar, amiable, and hunting-mad. He had not been pleased to have Jane join his hunt, but after the first day he became her devoted slave. They spent hours in the office of Sir Thomas's stables, discussing various aspects of hunting and exchanging stories.
Lady Bellerman was scandalized. Jane's riding outfit was her first sin. Instead of the full-skirted, floor-length habits women commonly wore, Jane appeared in an ankle-length divided skirt of heavy melton cloth with a tailored jacket and a man's hat. The dreadfulness of this apparel was almost forgotten, however, when Lady Bellerman learned that Jane rode astride. Jane's reassurances that her uncle perfectly approved did little to soothe Lady Bellerman's outraged feelings.
Then Lady Bellerman learned that Jane was rapidly becoming the bosom friend of Sir Thomas Osborne. Lady Bellerman vehemently disapproved of the Squire. She thought him crude, rude, and boorish. When she pointed out all his faults to Jane, her maddening guest merely replied that Sir Thomas was a first-class hunting man. As if, Lady Bellerman thought in exasperation, that had anything to do with his suitability as a companion for a seventeen-year-old girl.
All these disputes, however, were merely preliminary skirmishes. The real battle came after Jane had been two weeks at Bellerman Hall. On that memorable day she returned from the hunting field to be greeted by the butler, who requested her to attend Lady Bellerman in the blue saloon. Without bothering to change, Jane went down the hall, wondering what grave offense she was guilty of this time. Jane had been very polite to Lady Bellerman thus far. She had listened respectfully to all her hostess's strictures before proceeding to do exactly as she chose.
She found both Lord and Lady Bellerman in the blue saloon, taking tea. Lady Bellerman looked exceedingly grave. “This letter arrived for you in today's post, Jane,” she said, picking up a letter from the side table.
Jane's extraordinary eyes lit. “Oh, good. My letter from David. May I have it, please?"
"I thought perhaps that was who it was from,” Lady Bellerman said even more gravely than before. She had heard something of David from both her son and her daughter. She agreed with them that it was not a relationship that should be encouraged. “I do not think I can give you this letter, Jane,” she said unwisely.
Jane was very still. “What do you mean?” Her voice was ominously quiet.
"You should not be allowed to correspond with this stableboy. You are not a child any longer, and I feel it is my duty, while you are under my care, to censor your mail as if you were my own daughter. Your uncle is an excellent man, but gentlemen are never the best judge of what is good for a young girl. You must allow me to decide matters of this kind for you."
Jane listened to this magisterial speech in an astonished silence. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously and her voice, when she spoke, was so cold, so exact, that it virtually paralyzed her listeners. “Whom do you think you are speaking to?” she asked Lady Bellerman, her eyes like blue ice. “I have been extremely forbearing with you, Lady Bellerman, but I will not tolerate this kind of interference. I must inform you that I am not accustomed to having my clothing, my behavior, and my friends criticized by persons whom I scarcely know. The only person with a right to criticize what I choose to do and whom I choose to know is my uncle. Now either you give me my letter or I leave Bellerman Hall. Immediately."
There was a catastrophic silence as Lady Bellerman stared at the beautiful, implacable face of her young guest. Very slowly she held out David's letter. Jane took it. “Thank you,” she said curtly, and turning on her heel, left the room.
Lady Bellerman turned to her husband. “Well!” she ejaculated weakly.
There was a gleam of admiration in his eyes. “She was right, Lizzie,” he told his outraged spouse. “You overstepped yourself. What's more, you'd better leave the girl alone or she'll carry out her threat and bolt back to Heathfield. Rayleigh won't relish the scandal if she does that."
"She is a termagant,” Lady Bellerman said, her voice gaining strength. “I pity poor Anne from the bottom of my heart."
"They'll probably get along just fine,” Lord Bellerman prophesied. “Anne won't make the mistake of crossing her like you just did. Let her uncle keep her in line. If he can."
Seems, madam! nay, it is;
I know not “seems."
—William Shakespeare
Lord and Lady Rayleigh collected Jane from Bellerman Hall in early December and they all returned to Newmarket for the holidays. Christmas was usually a busy time at Heathfield. There was always a house party of the Marquis's friends, which entailed daily hunting and shooting expeditions. Anne had been a trifle apprehensive about taking over from Jane the role of hostess and chatelaine of Heathfield. She need not have worried; it was a role Jane had never had much interest in playing. Anne had an inkling of this when Jane blithely referred her to Mrs. Andrews, the housekeeper, who “saw to all that sort of thing."
Jane did, in fact, consult with the cook and kitchen staff daily, but the purpose of her visits was not to discuss the day's menu but to sample something from the pantry. Anne was startled, when she arrived in the kitchen one morning to inspect her new domain, to find Jane lounging at the big wooden table chewing on a pastry and chatting in flawless French with Alphonse, the Marquis's august chef. They were arguing amiably about the virtues of democracy. Jane was for it; Alphonse definitely was not.
Anne had been very strictly reared by Lady Bellerman and was somewhat shocked to discover her husband's niece to be on such terms of intimacy with the servants. When she found out that Jane also played cards, for money, with the grooms, she broke her own unwritten rule and mentioned Jane's behavior, not to Lord Rayleigh this time, but to Jane herself.
She had scarcely got started on her tentative lecture before Jane interrupted her. “Poor Anne,” she said sympathetically. “I suppose you can't help being such a slave to convention. Your mother probably nursed you on it."
"I beg your pardon,” Anne said faintly.
"She tried it on me, too,” Jane said scornfully, “but I soon put a halt to her."
Anne stared at Jane wonderingly. To her knowledge, no one had ever successfully “put a halt to” her mother. “I may be a slave to convention, as you say, Jane,” she responded finally, “but there are certain things a lady just does not do. She does not, for example, hobnob with the servants."
"Why not?” Jane asked flatly.
"It undermines discipline,” Anne said. “It is never wise to encourage vulgar persons—"
Jane cut in, “The servants at Heathfield are not vulgar. Many of them have excellent understandings. I like them. I have no intention of ceasing to ‘hobnob’ with them. It is vulgar, Anne, to allow other people's opinions to divert you from what you know is right. It is vulgar and cowardly and unintelligent. Great heavens, Anne,” she concluded, and centuries of untarnished pride sounded in her voice, “I am Jane Fitzmaurice. What do I care what a pack of gossiping old women like your mother think of me?"
Jane was obviously sincere. She was Jane Fitzmaurice and did what she liked. Anne felt a pang of envy; it must be marvelous to be so self-confident, she thought. “I don't know what to say to you, Jane,” she answered finally. “I have always been taught to be mindful of the feelings of others."
"I am mindful of the feelings of those people I care about,” Jane returned.
"What if David asked you to stop doing something because he didn't like it?” Anne queried slowly, conscious of treading on dangerous ground.
"I would stop doing it,” Jane answered promptly.
"Why?"
The answer came just as readily. “Because David is intelligent. He has reasons for what he says and does. He understands people much better than I do."
Anne raised her eyebrows faintly. “And I, I take it, am not intelligent?"
Jane looked impatient. “That's not fair, Anne. You appear to be perfectly sensible, but your mother is not. And when you parrot your mother, you really cannot expect me to pay much attention. It's too absurd.” Jane headed for the door feeling she had had enough of this conversation. “The next thing I know, you'll be trying to tell me I mustn't know David!” she said, a parting shot to demonstrate the idiocy of Anne's whole point of view.
The Christmas houseparty went on for longer than usual this year, to be followed by a series of other parties arranged by the Marquis. Jane was kept very busy, which was the main purpose of such continuous entertaining by Lord and Lady Rayleigh.
"I hardly get a chance to see you anymore,” Jane complained to David one morning when she had come down to the stables before breakfast purposely to seek him out. “It is like a hotel up at the house. We run one group in, mount them on horses, send them out with guns, feed them, bed them, send them on their way, and before the last of them is down the drive, the new group is arriving. Is it always like this in the winter?"
"It has never been as busy as this,” David told her. “I expect Lord Rayleigh wants to introduce his wife to all his friends."
"Well, I don't see why they can't go visit someone else's house for a change,” Jane grumbled. “Then perhaps you and I could have a moment's peace together."
Peace was something that David was finding impossible to achieve. He had a good idea of Lord Rayleigh's motives in filling his house with company. David had not missed the anxious glances the Marquis occasionally cast toward himself and Jane whenever they chanced to be together. And David himself hardly knew what he dreaded more: to be with her and have to dissemble or to be without her. Either option was unbearably bleak.
It was almost with relief that David learned they were leaving for London. It was March and the Season wouldn't really get started for another month, but the Marquis was anxious to remove Jane from Heathfield and David, and Anne said it would take some time to provide Jane with a proper wardrobe. They told Jane they would return to Heathfield for the first Newmarket Meet and Jane assumed that she would remain at home for the rest of the summer. They did not disabuse her of her notion.
Jane's main impression of London during the first week of their residence there was that it was filled with shops. Anne insisted on buying her a whole wardrobe from the inside out. “You will be accompanying me to parties, Jane, and you must look presentable,” she said when Jane balked.
Jane was not at all interested in going to parties, but she was willing to humor Anne a little. “I can see the need for a few new dresses,” she said reasonably, “but you are getting carried away, Anne. How many parties do you expect to attend, for heaven's sake?"