Lady Susan Plays the Game (35 page)

She arrived in the room some minutes after Mrs Vernon had re-entered, so missing Reginald by several minutes. But she imagined that he had told his sister of his intentions – half the house already knew them.

She greeted Sir James and her sister-in-law, then seated herself across from the latter. She saw at once she was right: Catherine Vernon was finding it hard even to pretend to eat and her delight was palpable.
Hateful woman
, thought Lady Susan, smiling sweetly.

‘I understand through many intermediaries that we will soon be losing Mr de Courcy.'

‘Indeed yes,' replied Mrs Vernon. ‘He goes this morning He has need to be at home and has business in London I believe.'

‘How very curious,' said Lady Susan catching her sister-in-law's eye. ‘He said nothing of all this at dinner last night. What a sudden change of plan. But then this is so typical of young men.' She directed her smile and nod especially at Sir James. ‘They are always coming and going on the slightest whim. I wonder if they ever know their own minds.'

Before Sir James could think up a reply, Lady Susan continued, ‘I shouldn't wonder if Mr de Courcy didn't find his mind changed again before too long.' She smiled once more on Mrs Vernon.

Sir James was still intent on eating. The journey before him was long and he must be well ballasted. So even he was silent.

Soon after this exchange and after only a small piece of breakfast bread, Lady Susan left the room. Mrs Vernon had noted her comment on flighty young men and assumed she was trying to recoup her dignity. The final remark had startled her but not interrupted her delight.

She sipped her tea. She was rehearsing the letter she was about to write to her parents informing them to expect their son in a few days' time. She had seldom had to write a more welcome piece of news.

Sir James finished eating at last and was starting to talk. It was time to go. Mrs Vernon excused herself a little abruptly, rose and walked into the morning room to the writing desk. She sat down and began. She wrote quickly, not even making the usual enquiries and polite reflections before giving the delightful news, so eager was she to have the note dispatched to Parklands.

When she concluded, she lit the candle and sealed the letter, then sent for the footman to have it conveyed as quickly as possible to the post. She sat down again at her writing desk, giving herself up to the happy expectation that, within the next twelve hours, Sir James would be gone, Frederica would be saved, and Lady Susan defeated.

After a while she got up and walked from the morning room through the hallway, musing over her next actions with Frederica. Now she knew that things stood as she'd long suspected, her way was clear. She must become a proper aunt, almost a parent, to the poor girl who had been so fortunately swept into her house and into her protection.

She arrived at her husband's study. He loved to repair there after an early breakfast supposedly to look over the paperwork for the estate and read in private the latest newspapers, but primarily to smoke his clay pipe. He got up as she came in and the two sat down together in easy chairs on either side of the window talking. To Mrs Vernon it felt like old times again as the tobacco smoke rose between them.

Charles Vernon had heard of Reginald's sudden intention to leave and assumed it had much to do with his sister-in-law. For his wife's sake he was glad. She would shed the gloom that had settled over her in the past weeks. It was certainly as well that Sir James was going – his companionship in the field had not compensated for his laugh and chatter – but he was on the whole sorry to lose Reginald whose conversation was often well informed. He liked the fact that the young man could sit with him over a glass of port without needing always to be saying something.

He kept the thoughts to himself and entered into his wife's repeatedly expressed delight. He questioned her about her plans for Frederica. ‘You're right, my dear. It's clear that the girl doesn't want him, but you – we – must be careful. It would be quite improper to come between mother and daughter.'

‘Poof,' said his wife. ‘We will do what we have to. The girl must be saved. Reginald himself said she must not be sacrificed.'

‘That's strong talk,' responded her husband. ‘No one has planned to sacrifice my niece, though' – and he hurried on before his wife could interrupt him indignantly – ‘I do agree that her wishes in this particular matter are clear. Perhaps all will turn out for the best once Sir James is gone away again and they both have a chance to reflect.'

‘Well,' retorted Catherine Vernon, ‘I for one am determined that that sweet girl should not again be the prey of her devilish mother.'

Mr Vernon smiled indulgently at his wife. ‘Your happiness is making you dramatic,' he said.

Mrs Vernon left her husband's study in a pleasanter mood than she'd been in for many a week. She intended now to seek out Reginald to say goodbye. In the past she could not have imagined a situation where she would want her beloved brother to leave her house, but now here she was planning to wish him godspeed with a contented smile.

As she passed along the corridor, then up the stairs towards her dressing room, she wondered idly where Reginald was. Perhaps he was seeing about his luggage. It would be good to be able to speak with him a little for a last time. She would take care not to allude to the events of the recent weeks. They would be beloved brother and sister again.

Mrs Vernon did not meet Reginald because he was at that moment in Lady Susan's dressing room. After breakfast she had summoned him and, although he was on the point of departure and had determined never to see her again, a direct request could not be disobeyed. Nor, if he was honest, did he quite want to disobey.

He entered her room with the slight swagger of a man who no longer intended to be fooled by a woman.

Barton withdrew as Lady Susan rose from her dressing table. She had been planning to rest again, so had taken off her mourning garb and was in dishabille. The loose white garment was held at the throat with a pale blue ribbon, its ends dangling down over her breast, while her fair hair hung about her shoulders, lustrous with Barton's morning brushing. Her lips glistened a little where she had been sipping her hot drink.

Reginald's heart missed a beat. She seemed so beautiful and dignified. His defences began to crumble. But he remained standing. He would not sit down though she had motioned him to a chair.

‘I have taken the liberty of asking you to come to see me before you leave, dear Mr de Courcy. If you are indeed going, let us for God's sake not part in enmity.' She gave him a look of gentle reproach. ‘These last weeks in your company have been the sweetest and most comforting to me since I lost my dear husband so many months ago. Let them not be tarnished by a single disagreement. We perhaps both spoke more warmly than we wished.' She sighed and fingered her blue ribbon. ‘For my part I know I responded acutely to what I feared you were impugning, my love for my daughter.'

Reginald was silent.

‘I don't ask you to stay,' Lady Susan resumed, ‘and not of course for my sake' she gave him a more melting look than she'd allowed herself before. ‘But I cannot, I must not let you go under such a misapprehension as I know you to be.'

She was silent for a while and her eyes became just a little moist with unshed tears. Reginald studied her closely. She was so delicate, so fragile.

‘It pains me excessively to have to admit my failure, that for all my care and love, Frederica will not make a friend of me. She is, I suppose, of an age when girls are secretive and resent their elders. So I have acted while thinking one thing and all the time I have been mistaken. Why oh why, Mr de Courcy, did the dear girl not come to me, why instead – forgive me – go to a relative stranger? She is fiction-maddened or she would not act in these sensational ways when all she had to do was talk openly to me. Do you really think I would press her to do what she truly didn't want?'

Reginald continued to look directly at her. She saw his face soften.

‘Please, dear Mr de Courcy, let us both sit down. Let me explain …'

And from then on it had been a quiet slide down into persuasion, acceptance and in due course reconciliation.

‘I realise that, after such unfortunate events one of us must leave this house. You have acted as yourself in offering to go but I must insist, sir, that if anyone goes, it will be myself. I cannot give such pleasure to your sister and brother-in-law as you can. Indeed I fear I have trespassed on their hospitality far too long as it is. I could not answer to my conscience if I were the cause of separating such affectionate relatives from each other. No, I and my poor girl must leave. Where Reginald de Courcy goes is of interest to many; where I go can be of little to anyone – perhaps not even to myself.'

She stopped. The effect was as she wished. Very soon, after a few more speeches on each side, they decided that neither need leave at once but that both would do so in a short time.

Then, without drama or fanfare, the proposal slipped out.

‘Your hand,' he concluded grasping the delicate fingers. ‘It would make me the happiest man alive.'

‘It is so sudden, Mr de Courcy,' she replied, her eyes fixed on the carpet, ‘and I am overwhelmed. But I am still in mourning.' A long pause ensued as he held her hand. He was not sure whether he or she was trembling.

‘I cannot, cannot accept now, though you have become, I admit it, very dear to me. But in time …'

Shortly afterwards she sent down for tea and the two drank it very pleasantly together. When the kettle was empty, Reginald had forgiven her entirely. Lady Susan had by no means forgiven him.

The news was still speeding round the house that Mr de Courcy had ordered his swiftest horse saddled for himself, and his curricle prepared for his man to drive with the baggage. It reached Frederica later than most of the servants. She was stunned. She was still in her bedchamber, avoiding breakfast and a last encounter with Sir James. But she was already dressed, so she could at once fly down the corridor. There she saw Reginald's trunks being carried from his room by Ladder and a footman. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Before she reached the hallway she met Mrs Vernon on the stairs coming from her husband's study. Catherine Vernon had not seen her crying openly since the day she arrived. She stood in the girl's way.

‘What is it, my dear? What can have happened so to upset you?' she put her arms round Frederica and pulled her close, ‘Tell me.'

‘It's all my f-f-fault,' stammered Frederica. ‘Mr de Courcy is going away,' she sobbed, ‘and it is all my fault.'

Mrs Vernon held the girl's shoulders to try to stop the sobs. ‘There, there, dear, shsh.'

Frederica tried to pull herself together. ‘Mama will be so angry with me. She will n-n-never forgive me.' Here she sobbed again wetting her aunt's fichu with her tears. She went on, ‘I was not to talk to any of you and I didn't, but I did talk to Mr de Courcy because he is so kind and if anyone could speak to Mama and persuade her …' She stopped. It was hard to continue.

Mrs Vernon let the tears flow for a while. When Frederica seemed to be stopping, she said quietly, ‘You mean you had been forbidden to speak to your uncle and me? But you had not been expressly told to avoid my brother. Is that the case Frederica?'

She nodded, swallowed and looked up at Mrs Vernon. ‘I will truly never be forgiven. Mama will insist on Sir James now. Whatever shall I do? I shall go mad.'

‘No, my dear, you will not go mad and you will not marry anyone against your inclinations. You are quite justified in disobeying your mother in such a case as this for it affects your happiness in life. I wish you had trusted me earlier; I would, of course, have taken your part, dear child. But you have done well to speak to my brother. It can only have done you good. And it has done us all good since—'

Mrs Vernon checked herself. There was no need to express her satisfaction quite so clearly. Lady Susan was, after all, the girl's mother.

Frederica had at last stopped crying. She produced a weak smile. Satisfied, Mrs Vernon embraced her again, clasped her shoulders, then moved slightly away. ‘We'll see to it that you are happy once more, Frederica. Trust in us. Your uncle and I care deeply about you.'

As she said these words Catherine Vernon felt an elation that continued as she walked back up towards her dressing room.

Then she heard a noise and turned to look back down the corridor. There she observed Reginald, with his coat over his sleeve and riding crop loosely in his hand, emerge from Lady Susan's dressing room.

Frederica, who was mounting the stairs some way behind her, gave a little gasp as she spied him and fled on past him towards her chamber. Mrs Vernon was left standing stock still in the corridor.

Reginald saw her and hesitated. Their looks met. He flushed, then averted his eyes.

Mrs Vernon was the first to recover. ‘Are you leaving this instant, Reginald?' she asked. ‘Your horse and curricle are both ready, I see.'

‘No, sister,' he replied, his eyes still turned away. ‘With your permission I shall remain a little longer after all.' He recovered his composure and walked towards her. ‘May I have a word with you, Catherine, and not in the corridor?'

Mrs Vernon motioned him to follow her and together they went towards her dressing room.

‘Do sit down, brother. You obviously have something important to say.' She was unsmiling.

Now that he was sitting close to his sister, Reginald felt abashed. He found her cool surveillance disconcerting – he had been so used only to smiles and encouragement from her.

‘Catherine,' he began in a manner which she afterwards described to her husband as blustering, ‘Catherine, I have been impetuous and foolish. I am continually getting the wrong end of things, making mistakes.'