Lady Susan Plays the Game (36 page)

He grinned boyishly, but Mrs Vernon could not bring herself to respond. Was she really hearing this?

‘Sister, Lady Susan can tell you in her own words far better than I can. And indeed,' he stammered slightly here, ‘she herself wishes to speak to you, if you will give her the time.'

He smiled again, rose quickly, then left. He was relieved to go. He blamed himself for doubting Lady Susan and believing the girl – and yet was annoyed at his sister for not welcoming his sudden changes. He slashed the floor with his riding crop as he walked back along the corridor.

As he passed the hall window on his way to take some fresh air he saw Sir James's coach rolling away down the driveway.

At first Lady Susan had intended to take Mrs Vernon to task for her gloating and interference. But she didn't feel quite well yet and it hadn't seemed worth the trouble; so she confined herself to remarking, when next they met, that, as she'd supposed, Mr de Courcy had changed his mind and Mrs Vernon must be pleased. She also commented on Sir James's welcome departure and her hope that Frederica's dramatics would now cease.

Later in the same day she sat at her writing desk. Reeve & Reeve awaited her instruction concerning the bank draft they had received for her. She had written to lawyer Burnett to ask him to explain and tell her how much more she might expect, but no reply had come. In the past she had made it a principle not to question good fortune, record expenses or keep careful accounts – she had an obscure sense that calculation interfered with luck. But there was something here she ought in truth to investigate. In the meantime she felt the effect of the unspent money. The draft would allow her to pay off the necessary gaming debts and a little more beside; she longed more than ever for London.

There were other problems however. Reginald must have been boasting of his love when he wrote to his friends, even perhaps of his conquest, and word had reached Manwaring. He and Charlotte, now on the most frigid terms, had gone to their town house; Manwaring had written at once to Lady Susan, declaring equal passion and jealousy. At one moment he would take her to himself for ever, at the next he would run the new lover through and never see her again. He thrashed about in writing much as he thrashed about in bed.

He had a new, less pressing but still nagging worry: money. He hoped that most of Charlotte's fortune could not be alienated from her spouse whatever happened, but it was better not to bring the matter to the test. Fortunately she was no longer in touch with her wily old guardian, Mr Johnson.

Mrs Johnson was, he'd found, a very different matter. Knowing she was Lady Susan's friend and the go-between in their correspondence, Manwaring sought her out soon after he arrived in town. He was now to convey to Lady Susan the pleasant news – pleasant for all three of them – that Mr Johnson was about to leave for Bath where his gout, which had been worsening with the cold months, might be looked after by his maiden sisters. He didn't want to go without his wife – she was best not left to spend his money on her own – but she'd been insistent that his sisters must have him to themselves. There would be no peace in the house with all of them squashed together, she'd said. For the moment he was confined to his chamber upstairs and could be trusted to remain there all day.

Alicia Johnson enjoyed having Manwaring in Edward Street. He was a fine man with good carriage and legs and she admired his careless way of dressing – as if he had just grabbed his expensive clothes and thrown them on. She liked sitting with him praising Lady Susan. Both were agreed she was wasted in the country and must come back to town as quickly as ever she could.

‘And let her leave that simpering miss when she does,' added Manwaring, ‘we had the devil of a time with her at Langford, so quiet, so sly. She even made a friend of my daughter until Mary saw what she was about.'

Mrs Johnson agreed. ‘She brings no credit to dear Lady Susan. She's the kind of timid girl who will always be protected by someone or other but contrives to be miserable however kind people are. She's as completely suited for the countryside as her mother to the town. But Susan shines wherever she is.'

‘She does, she does,' exclaimed Manwaring excitedly. ‘Isn't she wonderful!'

He is a charming man
, thought Mrs Johnson,
so much is clear
. But she herself would not – had she had the amazing chance – have married him. How silly of Charlotte to choose a charmer over the baronet Mr Johnson had found for her.

Unaware of the reassuring bank drafts, Alicia Johnson worried about her friend's resources. She knew her habits and had tried once to warn her but, having met with a cold response, had not tried again. However, a recent remark of her husband made her resolve to mention once more the advantages of Reginald de Courcy and his income.

Mr Johnson was in increasing pain, so not in the best humour. ‘I hear your friend is up to her old tricks,' he'd remarked from his bed while his wife sat sewing beside him. Alicia had looked up from her work and waited. ‘She's dangling that de Courcy boy on a string. It's monstrous. He's the heir to one of the best estates in the south. What can his poor father think?'

‘Nonsense,' Mrs Johnson had replied pleasantly, ‘you know nothing of the matter.'

Mr Johnson could have responded that he knew a good deal from a number of sources including a letter inadvertently left open by herself. But he thought it impolitic to mention this.

The exchange concentrated his wife's mind. When Lady Susan arrived in London, Alicia Johnson must make more effort to persuade her to think again of this young man as a husband. A marriage would establish Lady Susan comfortably and since he was said to be infatuated – and she couldn't imagine anyone not being so with her lovely friend – he wouldn't interfere with her way of life, even in town. Mrs Johnson knew the stubbornness that would not let Lady Susan give up her scheme of getting Sir James for Frederica, but she would be better thinking just now of herself and leaving the daughter to relations who deserved her. Let them find the penniless girl a husband.

A few days later, as Mr Johnson kept to his bed, Manwaring paid another call on Alicia Johnson. He had worked himself into a passion. Further rumours had come out of
Churchill and he declared his intention of getting on his horse and riding there to find out the truth. Mrs Johnson was appalled. Silly Sir James had been bad enough by all accounts, but an impetuous man like Manwaring would be far, far worse. Lady Susan would be furious.

She set about calming him by making him talk about his wife. She was out of all patience with a plain woman who, with so large a fortune at her disposal, married a handsome man with not a penny to his name, then expected affection and constancy. If women will be fools, they must be treated as such. She listened complacently as Manwaring described the constant round of hysterics and headaches, vapours and nerves, smelling salts and potions – and cloying demands. By getting him to concentrate on his home life – and its perils – she hoped she'd distracted him a little from his crazy schemes. But, when he'd left, she thought it prudent to send a letter to Lady Susan warning her of the danger.

‘Come to town, dear friend, and soothe this volcano or no one can answer for the consequences,' she wrote, then added, ‘I have taken the liberty of acquiring lodgings for you in Upper Seymour Street near to myself, just the other side of Portman Square.' Of course nothing would have pleased her more than to have invited Lady Susan to stay in Edward Street but, even when Mr Johnson had repaired to Bath, she would not have dared to do this – and he had not yet left town. She regretted deeply that she'd recently run up rather large bills for the new season's fashions and some necessary refurbishing of the bedrooms; to have these expenses paid she'd had to reiterate her promise never to have Lady Susan in her home.

Lady Susan sat in the pale yellow drawing room in Churchill with her bird embroidery spread on her lap. In recent days she had noticed her sister-in-law staring fixedly at it; as a result two of the gorgeous plumes had recently been finished – with the help of Barton. Lady Susan was musing on London and on Alicia's advice.

It was certainly time that she returned to town but Frederica presented a problem. On the one hand she ought to be taught a lesson and that could only be done away from Churchill. On the other, it would be torture for them to be together in small lodgings. In the last week, to prevent too much gossip in Lady Clem's coterie, she had, with the help of the Reeve & Reeve bank draft, paid some of what she owed to Madam Dacre; she hoped the money would restrain that lady from entertaining the town with Frederica's escapade but she knew it was insufficient to make her change her mind on the subject of runaway pupils. Lady Susan imagined London headmistresses consulted together and she doubted anyone would now take the girl, even if she agreed to attend another school. After more reflection Lady Susan proposed to follow her friend's advice and make a virtue of necessity: she would leave Frederica with the loving relatives with whom she now seemed, as Lady Susan put it to Mrs Vernon, on such affectionate terms. She would be sad to go without her daughter but she had always put Frederica's interests first.

She was amused to see how little her daughter tried to disguise her joy at the decision. Indeed, it was one of the few times when she saw the girl without tears in her eyes or running down her cheeks.

Frederica was indeed pleased. To be accepted by people without having a perfectly straight back or knowledge of how to enter a room gracefully was happiness. She continued to worry a little about her aunt since Mrs Vernon and Lady Susan didn't care for each other and she must, she feared, always displease one of them. But her uncle was a comfortable presence. She saw little resemblance between him and her father except in a gentleness of manner, yet there had to be a bond between brothers, and the few references Mr Vernon made to their shared boyhood with their dead sister – rat-catching in the old barn, winding
Sarah's dandelion chains round and round her skirts, pranks on stuffy parents – endeared him to her. She offered to show him her drawings. Charles Vernon patted her hand, ‘You're a good girl, Frederica.' It was so long since she'd received such praise that she smiled directly at him.

She moped when she learnt Reginald de Courcy was going to Parklands and then to London. He had betrayed her to her mother. But she remembered his kindly expression when she'd sobbed before him. Lady Susan was invincible – it was no surprise that even so wonderful a being as Mr de Courcy should admire and want to serve her; heroes had weaknesses, though they always overcame them in the end. Reginald de Courcy had been affected by what she herself had said, she was sure of that, and even though he'd taken no further notice of her, the fact that Sir James was leaving so abruptly must be due to him. He had acted for her. She had wept too much or too soon, she knew, but good young men must be touched by the sight of a sobbing young girl. And Mr de Courcy was good. He had given her his handkerchief. She had washed it, then neatly folded it; now it was always under her pillow or in the top drawer of her cabinet. She doubted her mother had so intimate a part of him.

In contrast to Frederica, Barton was delighted to be leaving Churchill. The little flirtation with the upper footman had not turned out well: he'd been seen kissing one of the parlourmaids near the door to the wine cellar, a raw country girl with nothing but dimples to recommend her. Sally Barton would be glad to be back in London with more stylish company. She had said as much in the servants' hall.

Lady Susan and Reginald decided to leave separately but meet up in town, by which time she would, she hinted, be ready to entertain his proposal. She had bestowed on him a narrow plaited piece of her fair hair bound with a thin blue silk ribbon; to Reginald its glossy haziness resembled her dove-grey eyes. He would have it set as a miniature, a token to cherish until he saw her again.

On a bright, almost spring-like morning Reginald prepared to leave in his curricle for Parklands while Lady Susan would take the Vernons' coach to London with her maid and Jeffrey as postilion. It would be good, she thought, if she could once more ride in her own carriage.

Again she considered the money waiting for her and wondered whether it might stretch to a new equipage. It depended, of course, on how much more would follow and how many debts she would be forced to pay off in the end. As she watched her trunks being loaded she reflected that her clothes were too few and old-fashioned. She resolved when she reached London to provide herself with the smartest spring mode. She was now in half mourning and visualised the extra finery open to her. Pleasant hours would be spent in Oxford and New Bond Streets at the milliners with Alicia Johnson, along with private fittings at the French dressmakers in Conduit Street.

Reginald and Lady Susan parted in private. Mother and daughter took their leave more publicly in the hallway. Moved by her seeming good fortune – and guilt at her relief that her mother was going – Frederica was emotional, but did not cry. The moment was not prolonged. A quick embrace and Lady Susan was gone. Reginald did not say a particular farewell to Frederica; she closed her eyes as he left and resolved not to be hurt.

As she travelled from Churchill, glimpsing the leafless branches of the avenue against the grey sky, Lady Susan's mind reverted to the first outfit she would order. With it she might have a her hair thrown into larger curls and contained with a bandeau of black and white ribbon cut out and formed into a wreath of flowers. In the front she would wear one black and two white ostrich feathers. Her petticoat, she was sure, would be best in clear lawn, embroidered in black; over it she proposed a Robe a la Turque of black taffeta, with black braids on the back. There would be long gauzy sleeves and a handkerchief also of Italian gauze, which would lie within the robe. The whole would be finished with a gold festoon necklace and the earrings Lord Gamestone had given her, white gloves, and shoes, embroidered in black. So decked – and she was not sure that the robe would be quite the style – she would enjoy brilliant nights at the tables of Lady Harriet and Lord Cawton, and, of course, afternoons with Manwaring. It was a full programme and Lady Susan intended now, after such rural purgatory, to live each hour to the utmost. She had grown weary of manoeuvring. It was so provincial, so familial.