Authors: Philippa Carr
“The whole purpose of the affair,” said Helena, “is to parade the girls so that they can aspire to a grand marriage. Our marriages were grand for us but not to the world. Martin wasn’t known at all when I married him.”
I knew the story of how they had met on the way to Australia with my great-grandparents. Martin had been going out to write a book about convicts. Uncle Peter had helped him when he returned to England and had molded him so that he had become the successful politician he was today.
Morwenna said: “And Justin was not considered a good match. He is just a good husband.”
“To get a good husband is a more successful way of going about it, I should think,” I said.
“You see what a wise woman our little Rebecca has become,” said Helena. “I am going to pray that yew find the most successful way.”
We all were pleased that the great ordeal was over but we all knew there could be more to come. There would be the invitations, the gaiety, the splendor and the misgivings of the London season.
My stepfather would be watching me. He after all had borne the cost of the expensive arrangements of getting me launched. There had always been a great deal of entertaining at his London house—and at Manorleigh, of course; but that was political entertaining. Now the parties would be for his stepdaughter. There would doubtless be a strong political flavor about them, I supposed, because that was the circle in which he moved. But on the face of it the balls would be given for
me.
What return did he expect? He wanted to see little notices in the paper. “Miss Rebecca Mandeville, stepdaughter of Mr. Benedict Lansdon … the debutante of the season …” “Miss Rebecca Mandeville announces her engagement to the Duke of … the Marquis of … It will be remembered that she is the stepdaughter of Mr. Benedict Lansdon …” Uncle Peter had been like that. His grandson had inherited his talent for advertising himself. My mother used to laugh at Uncle Peter. What had they said of Benedict? “He’s a chip off the old block.” Well, if he expected me to shine in society and walk off with the big matrimonial prize, I feared he might be in for a big disappointment.
There was to be a ball for me at the London house. It was the first of the season. Great preparations ensued. Celeste was eager to help in any way she could. She was certainly trying hard to be friendly. She came to my room to help me dress for the ball, bringing her maid, Yvette, with her.
My gown was of lavender chiffon. Celeste had chosen it. She had said: “I wish everyone to say … Who is that beautiful one? Is her gown not
charmante
? I wanted Benedict to be proud of you.”
“He’ll hardly notice me.”
She lifted her shoulders in a resigned gesture. I thought she was expressing her own disappointment in being unable to please him.
She and Yvette twittered round me while Yvette dressed my hair.
I must admit that the final effect was surprising. I looked different. More attractive … yes … but older … more sophisticated. The person who looked back at me in the mirror hardly seemed myself.
And there I was at the top of the grand staircase under the grand chandelier with Benedict on one side of me and Celeste on the other, greeting the guests. There were many compliments on my appearance and I was aware of Celeste’s gratified smile.
I was beginning to like her and somewhere in my feelings was a certain pity. She was not happy and that unhappiness was due to him. All was not well with their marriage. He did not really love her. He had loved my mother and no one else could take her place. I understood that but I felt he had had no right to marry this young woman and then make her miserable by his devotion to someone else … even though that someone was dead. It was, as Mrs. Emery had said, an unhealthy situation.
My dance program was full that night. There was none of the agonizing which Morwenna and Helena had told me they had suffered, sitting out just hoping that someone … anyone … the oldest, clumsiest man in the ballroom, would ask them to dance for even he would be better than no one at all.
I was lucky because there were three men whom I already knew and as it was the very beginning of the season quite a number of young people were unknown to each other.
I danced first with a young politician to whom my stepfather had introduced me. I was glad of Madame Perrotte’s tuition which enabled me to concentrate on the conversation as well as on my feet.
The young man told me how delighted he was to meet me and what a wonderful person my stepfather was. This conversation was peppered with comments on the House and comparisons were drawn between Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli, the former being clearly the favorite which was natural because the young man belonged to the same party as Benedict. I answered as intelligently as I could; and I was rather pleased when the music released me. And no sooner was I returned to my seat between Morwenna and Helena than someone appeared to claim the next dance.
I recognized him at once as the man who had called at Manorleigh. Oliver Gerson.
“I crave the pleasure of the next dance,” he said, bowing agreeably to us all. “I have the honor of Miss Mandeville’s acquaintance. We met at Manorleigh.”
“Oh yes, of course,” said Morwenna. “I believe we have met. Mr. Gerson, is it not?”
“How gratifying that you remember. And you are Mrs. Cartwright, and Mrs. Hume, of course, the wife of the great Martin Hume.”
“On the other side of the political fence from you, I imagine,” said Helena.
He lifted his shoulders. “Although a great friend of Mr. Benedict Lansdon and having an immense interest in all he does, I do not have political inclinations. My vote goes to the side which at the time of the election, seems most desirable to me.”
“Which is probably the wisest way,” said Helena laughing. “And now you are asking Miss Mandeville to dance.”
He smiled at me. “Am I to have that pleasure?”
“But of course.”
We went onto the floor together.
“How delightful you look!”
“I owe a great deal to Mrs. Lansdon and her French maid.”
“I am sure you owe a great deal more to Nature who made you as you are.”
I burst out laughing.
“I have said something amusing?” he asked.
“It amused me. How do you think of these things? They trip off your tongue as though you really mean them.”
“That is because they come from the heart and I do mean them.”
“Then it would be ungracious of me not to say Thank you.”
He laughed with me. “I did enjoy our encounter in the gardens at Manorleigh.”
“Yes … it was amusing.”
“How is the sprightly Belinda, and the somewhat demure Lucie?”
“They are well and still at Manorleigh. Mr. Lansdon thinks it is best for them to be there.”
“Miss Belinda made quite an impression on me.”
“You made quite an impression on her.”
“Did I indeed?”
“Don’t congratulate yourself. She is impressed by all who show an interest in her.”
“I shall make an excuse to visit Manor Grange again. But I shall be sure that I come when you are there. I suppose you will be from time to time?”
“I shall be in London till the end of the season, I suppose.”
“During which time I hope to see more and more of you.”
“Have you the time to spend in frivolous pursuits such as balls and functions for debutantes?”
“I do not find enjoying the company of interesting people a frivolous occupation.”
“But occasions like this …”
“When there are moments such as the present there is nothing more I would ask for.”
“You know a great deal about me. Tell me about yourself.”
“Benedict Lansdon’s grandfather was a benefactor of mine. I suppose I was a sort of protégé of his. My father knew him well and Peter was always interested in me. He said I had vitality … I reminded him of himself. It is always a point in one’s favor if one reminds people of themselves. It gives them high hopes of you.”
“Do I detect a note of cynicism?” I asked.
“You may. The truth can sometimes appear so. But we all have the utmost admiration for ourselves and if people are made in our image we must admire them too.”
“I expect you are right. So Uncle Peter regarded you favorably?”
“Most favorably. You were fond of him, I see.”
“It was impossible not to be fond of him. There was something about him. He was very worldly wise but at the root of it was great kindness … and understanding.”
“It is often easier for the not-so-virtuous to be more lenient towards sinners. Have you not found that in life?”
“Yes, I think so. So you were a friend of his and he took you under his wing.”
“He never struck me as a bird or a celestial being who, I believe, are the only creatures who possess wings. You could say that he showed an interest in me, guided me, taught me a good deal of what I know and made a business man of me.”
“I don’t suppose it was such a difficult task.”
“Now who is paying the compliments?”
“I meant it. There is something …” I paused and he asked:
“Yes? What were you going to say?”
“There is something astute about you.”
“Astute? Perceptive. Shrewd. Having insight. It sounds very commendable. But are astute people sometimes a little sly … self-seeking … having an eye open for the main chance?”
“Perhaps that covers it, too. But everyone would like to be astute surely. Who would wish to be otherwise?”
“Then I thank you.”
The music had stopped.
“Alas,” he said. “I must return you to your guardians. But the night is just beginning. There will be other opportunities.”
“I daresay there will.”
“Your dancing program is almost full, is that so?”
“There are quite a number … it is after all given by my stepfather and people feel in duty bound to dance with me … as I am to dance with some of his friends.”
He grimaced. “I shall watch for my opportunity and, being perceptive, shrewd and having insight, trust me to leap in and seize my chance.”
I laughed. It had been a stimulating encounter.
Morwenna said to me: “Did you enjoy that? You looked as though you did.”
“He is very amusing.”
“And exceptionally good looking,” commented Helena. “Oh, there is Sir Toby Dorien coming over. You’re to dance with him, I believe. He’s an important colleague of Benedict. Martin knows him well.”
How different it was dancing with Sir Toby! He was far from being an expert dancer and there was a certain amount of stumbling and one or two painful jabs at my toes. Madame Perrotte had given me a few hints on how to react on such occasions and I did not emerge from the ordeal as battered as I might have been. His conversation was almost completely political with references to all the well-known politicians of the day. I was very glad when that duty was over.
I had only just returned to my seat when a young man came towards us. He was vaguely familiar—very dark and of medium stature, good looking in a certain way.
I was momentarily puzzled until Helena said: “Oh, good evening, Monsieur Bourdon. I expected to see you here tonight.”
He bowed to us all.
“It is an occasion which I was determined not to miss.”
“Do you know Miss Mandeville? You must …”
“Oh yes. We met long ago. In Cornwall. I remember it well.”
“I remember, too,” I said.
He took my hand and kissed it.
“This gives me great pleasure,” he said. “Then you were a little girl. I knew you would grow into a beautiful young woman.”
“I daresay you are longing to dance,” said Helena. “I advised Rebecca that she must leave certain gaps in the program. That was absolutely essential.”
“And this is one of those gaps? What luck for me. Miss Mandeville, will you allow me the pleasure?”
“But, of course,” I said.
He was a polished dancer—by far the most practiced I had had that evening. To dance with him meant an absence of tension. He led the way, guiding me so that all I had to do was follow. I could give myself up to the joy of the dance. Madame Perrotte had said: “With some partners you can forget all the do’s and don’ts. You merely dance. Your feet are free from violation. Let yourself rejoice and enjoy. It rarely happens.”
Well, it was happening now, for here was the perfect dancer.
“I heard you were home—from Celeste,” he said.
“Are you often at the house?”
“It depends. If I am in London, I call. We have a house in London … a
pied à terre.
But mostly I am in Chislehurst or France.”
“So never in the same place long?”
“I have been at Chislehurst with my family. It is a very sad time. You have heard of the son of the Emperor and Empress … the Prince Imperial …”
I was puzzled.
He went on: “He was killed in the war. You know of the trouble between the British and the Zulus?”
“There has been a good deal of talk about it but it is over now, is it not?”
“Yes. The Zulus were defeated and now they are asking for the protection of the British. They want to be taken over. They need the protection of a great power … but so far that has not come about. The rulers are reluctant to take on new responsibility. There is indecision at the moment and still strife in Zululand. During the trouble the Prince Imperial was killed while in the service of the British army. You can imagine the mourning there has been at Chislehurst.”
I nodded.
“The Empress … turned from her throne … losing her husband … and then her son. She has had a hard life. Those of us who were in exile with her have done our best to comfort her. It has kept us in Chislehurst. There. That is the long explanation of why I have not seen you before. But now … I hope to see you much.”
“I suppose you will be visiting your sister often?”
“I shall with double pleasure now … because you and she are under the same roof.”
“So you do have your residence in London?”
“Yes, as I said … a small place …
a pied à terre
merely.”
“What of High Tor?”
“It belongs to my parents. They bought it when they thought they would stay there. But later they decided to go to Chislehurst and have bought a house there. High Tor has been kept ever since.”