Lady Susan Plays the Game (11 page)

Since Frederica was dancing gracelessly with the peevish-looking Stanmore boy, she told him to go and be nice to Mary and ask her to take a hop with him – she used the word she thought appropriate for a Lincolnshire squire. She then berated him – just a little – for not engaging Miss Manwaring before. It was remiss of him as a guest and still the official suitor.

At first he seemed reluctant to obey. He wanted to remain with her whether she danced or not. She gazed at him in amusement. He really didn't know whether he wished to pay court to the mother or to the daughter. But it was clear he no longer wanted to pay attentions to Mary Manwaring.

Lady Susan ordered him again and sometime later she saw him leading Mary out for the country dance. The girl didn't seem especially happy – no doubt Sir James's invitation lacked polish – but at least her scowl was less pronounced.

The fiddles played and Lady Susan looked on as two new visitors took Sir James's place and tried their gallantries on her. The vicar joined the party and made a sprightly remark at which they all laughed. Mr Carlton Smith gave them a pained look. Lady Susan caught it and smiled placatingly.

It was probably as well that Frederica was not dancing with Sir James. He had desperately wanted to ask her for the Scottish reel but Lady Susan had advised against it. ‘You must let her be bashful,' she said. ‘Let her come to you slowly in her own time. You are already rushing her.' As a result Frederica was now led out by the still bored young Palliser; despite his military intentions he seemed scarcely out of the nursery.

Later Manwaring took Frederica on to the floor. She danced awkwardly but her mother could not help noticing that Manwaring acquitted himself well even with so clumsy a partner.

‘Have you had dancing lessons, Miss Vernon?' he asked, his eyes twinkling.

‘I did the country dance with the dancing master at my friends near Wymondham,' responded Frederica in a whisper.

‘Aha,' he said forcing her into a twirl, ‘that must have been the three-footed number.'

She couldn't understand his tone and kept her eyes down.

‘But I'm sure you have very pretty feet,' Manwaring went on, ‘however many they are.' He lowered his voice. ‘Certainly they're smaller than Mary's, which are like paddle boats.'

He grinned and she smiled weakly. Was it right to mock his own daughter? Her papa would never have done such a thing. Then she blushed: was he joking perhaps? She wished the dance was over.

Just then the pattern whisked her away; when she came close to Sir James she made sure not even her gown touched him.

Back in the line with Manwaring she thought she should say something but could think of nothing. Her anxiety made her more nervous than ever. The wind had come up and howled outside but not even the weather could tempt her from silence.

‘You're trembling at the knees like a horse that's galloped too far,' said Manwaring with a chuckle. The horse analogy brought Sir James horribly to her mind.

Lady Susan gave her lover and Frederica only the most cursory glances when they came together again – it was too dangerous to do anything else. But she enjoyed the comedy of the coupling.

When Manwaring had left Frederica, Lady Susan was amused to find her trailing after Mary towards the supper things. Her former friend had obviously no wish to speak to her and turned away whenever she was close. Sir James lacked dramatic ability and Lady Susan feared that he'd been unable to conceal his confused feelings or keep his eyes where they should be. She imagined that his mindless chatter was less attractive to Mary than it had been when he'd been her declared suitor and was offering a house to re-furnish and an
income to spend. She wondered how much the girl really knew of his changed feelings. She doubted that Frederica would have confided in her.

It amused her that none of them had much idea what they were about. They were all going round like so many planets in an orrery, with no sense of each other's paths.

Some of the older men and women had sat down to cards in the Chinese drawing room, and in due course Lady Susan joined them. Manwaring had had the same idea after his dance with Frederica, feeling he had done his duty by the ladies. So it happened that the two ended up on the same table. Studiously she avoided his eyes.

The stakes were low. Ironically Lady Susan found herself winning and winning in this unimportant game; always the trump cards arrived in her hand. Was this to do with Manwaring? If so, he would need ‘punishing'. She smiled to herself as she thought this but avoided glancing at him. She knew that, despite all her warnings, now that he had drunk wine his eyes were often on her.

As they played she found, to her surprise, her longing for him grow. Usually the game took over. True, this was a very tame one, but, had it been otherwise, it would still not have overwhelmed the new feelings, the new ache.

She could almost feel Manwaring, although he sat on the other side of the table. Once or twice she thought she touched his foot but she was afraid to lift her eyes in case she was wrong and the contact encouraged him to gestures that must be too revealing.

The ball, the wine, the excitement of company and the brilliant rooms with their shimmering candles meant that, when people left about six in the morning, there was a languid desire still unfulfilled. Just at the last moment Lady Susan let a look towards Manwaring escape her. He caught it. She went upstairs and lay for a moment fully clothed on the daybed in her dressing room. She would not summon Barton at once. She did not feel like her maid's usual chatter. Since Barton had become friends with Mrs Manwaring's maid Parker she was too full of household gossip. Then the door slowly opened and in slid Manwaring.

It was reckless for he was noisy when excited. Yet she had often wished this. The summer house had fitted its purpose: always it had that element of danger, though Lady Susan wondered whether Manwaring confided in his man Robert, using him to stand guard in the
grounds. But the space had been cramped and the Turkish sofa with the shawls Manwaring must have brought surreptitiously from the house smelt just a little musty. It had been furnished as a hermitage, he said laughing, only his wife had never managed to lure a hermit into it. And all the time there had been the beautiful blue dressing room left vacant. Now here he was.

He closed the door and came towards her. She stood up. In silence they pulled off each other's clothes, the petticoats, the breeches, the chemise, the shirt. Soon they were in her bedroom on the bed with the silken sky blue spread and he was wetting her with her own wetness. It was delicious, like caressing herself with him. She slapped the white rump that lay beside her and which was caught in the triple glass in the adjoining room. He held her hand tightly, almost roughly and slapped himself with it like a whip. Her hand tingled, as it did in playing the cards. She slapped him again, then hit him hard.

‘Wait,' he said. She lay tingling in the dark, aroused and pained by the sensation. He returned with a black lacquered whip he had held inside his jacket. ‘Now,' he said, ‘for you'.

He left mid-morning before the house was stirring after the night. She mused on the pain and aching pleasure. It brought her half-sister Henriette to mind – the guillotine, the violence of France. She had worn black for her and her bankrupt count but wasted no tears on people she'd never known.

Yet people had murmured to her about the horror of such carnage. She mused on the immense difference between demanded and inflicted pain. Her arm had hurt as she continued to raise the whip, and the handle, though smooth, had come to chafe her fingers until blood had flowed.

As she came fully to consciousness after a short fitful sleep she realised she had a searing headache. The pain had been so delicious but it had left its legacy and she was anxious. Who had heard? Could anyone know? It had been a stormy morning after the early night of full moon, with great gusts of wind in the lime trees. Would anyone awake have thought the noise, the great thumps, to be tapestries bumping against the wall in the wind? Her rooms were distant from Mrs Manwaring's and her cousin's much further down the
corridor. Only Frederica was nearby and she slept deeply. She would have no idea of such goings-on and would never put a name to the rhythm. And yet Lady Susan was uneasy.

She and Manwaring did not see each other until late in the afternoon when Manwaring sat awkwardly on a high-backed chair. She felt sure they all knew why and she wanted to laugh aloud. Her fan with its black feathers and carved ivory panels, another present from Lord Gamestone, hid her smile.

Frederica had upset everyone – but how could she have behaved otherwise? After Mary had danced with Sir James at the ball, she had said something spiteful to Miss Dawlish about Frederica being an artful minx and she had intended Frederica to hear the remark. It was so loud that Miss Dawlish had shushed her. Mary said she'd quite clearly seen Sir James and Frederica walking arm in arm in the garden.

Mrs Manwaring had been kind when she first arrived; now neither she nor her cousin wanted even to notice her beyond the most perfunctory politeness. And all the time Sir James was trying to get her to talk – or rather listen – to him; worse, he touched her or brushed against her whenever he could.

The pursuit – for pursuit she now had to call it – came to a climax near the stables. Since Mr Manwaring was heading there Frederica thought she could venture to creep along out into the meadow beyond without being caught. But, as she walked through the courtyard round which the stables were ranged, she ran straight into Sir James. She couldn't flee without seeming ridiculous to Mr Manwaring. Sir James seized the moment: his famous counting horse was just being led from his stall with elaborate decorated bridle and throatlash. She must see it.

‘It seems that the beast has as many changes of clothing as a fine lady,' remarked Mr Manwaring as he walked towards them.

‘Yes, he has,' replied Sir James excitedly, pointing to other throatlashes, as well as browbands and cavessons which the groom was told to bring out from the stall for display. He then explained the difference between the standing martingale and the tiedown.

‘In Lincolnshire, do guess what I have.' Manwaring suppressed a response; Frederica was forced to wait. ‘I have the saddle which was worn by Sir Peter Teazle when he won the Derby. Just think of that.'

After his usual braying laugh had subsided, he continued, ‘But you must see my horse count, Miss Vernon, Mr Manwaring.'

The little horse was brought close to them – too close, for its eyes looked a little wild, Frederica thought. They all stood staring.

‘I cannot understand,' cried Sir James, ‘why the Almighty endowed a horse with such genius, then gave him only four legs to reveal it with. Just one, two, three, four, only that you see. He can only count to four with his four legs. Three, three, I say,' barked Sir James addressing the horse. After a moment it pawed the ground twice, then waited. Sir James lifted his whip as if to strike, then the horse stamped again.

While the spectators considered the event in their different ways, the horse – it became apparent – was performing further addition of its own. It had now achieved an erection that could not but catch the most innocent eye.

‘Numbers seem to excite him,' said Manwaring. ‘I fancy that you have taught him to count to five.'

Frederica blushed deeply. Did he mean what she thought he did? It was not a gentlemanly remark.

‘No,' said Sir James impulsively. ‘Miss Vernon has.'

It was the cleverest thing Manwaring had ever heard him say; Frederica kept her eyes on the ground.

The two men stared in silence at the small horse's display, Manwaring trying to cover his amusement. Then, suddenly, he grew bored. ‘I will leave you and Miss Vernon to the excitement. Good day.' He walked off.

‘I wish I was a horse,' said Sir James. ‘It would make things so much simpler.'

Then, abruptly, he lurched into Frederica and pushed her hard against the stable wall. She felt the discomfort of a browband sticking in her left ear but, before she could experience real fear, Mr Manwaring, having left his gloves on a ledge, returned and coughed. Sir James was easily pushed off.

‘Enough of educated horses,' he said. ‘Perhaps Miss Vernon should go and read Dr Darwin on
vegetable
impregnation. More appropriate.'

They were both mocking her. She saw it now. She stifled a sob and fled.

‘Such scenes,' joked Manwaring to Lady Susan later that day, ‘fancy Sir James trying to mount your daughter. Who'd have thought he had it in him?'

Lady Susan laughed but was not amused.

At last even Sir James felt his departure overdue. Before he left, he sent a message through Barton asking to see Lady Susan in the library.

This was encouraging. She could hear the tinkle of music in the distance – Frederica was practising the piano in the music room. She played poorly, so Lady Susan could recognise the performance. Mary had given up music for the moment and was moping in her room.

She entered the library. Sir James came towards her, wriggling in all his parts.

‘Madam, your ladyship,' he said. She smiled. She had become used to his pauses in the wrong places whenever he was nervous. ‘You can't have failed to notice …' (
No, no
, thought Lady Susan,
nor has anyone else, not even the horse it seems
) ‘to notice, that is, how much I am attached to your daughter's …' He halted. Lady Susan wondered if she should help him and decided against it. ‘ … person and, um, character, an amiable and modest young lady.' He remembered his mother's words. Surely this was the very girl she would have chosen.

Despite her resolve Lady Susan was losing concentration. Half her mind had settled back on Manwaring. If he had been free, if that scrawny pale wife of his were to die … Could she wait? But what would she live on in the meantime?