A Civil Contract

Chapter XII

The Dowager, attended by her daughter and her dresser, reached London in excellent time on the day appointed, for she came post, her previous journey having helped her to overcome her dread of strange postilions. Mr Chawleigh would heartily have approved of the cavalcade which set out from Fontley, for two of the grooms rode with the chaise, and it was followed by a coach carrying my lady’s footman and a number of trunks and portmanteaux, and also by a fourgon loaded with such movables as the Dowager considered her own and had removed from Fontley.

She arrived in a wilting condition, but Jenny was on the watch, and as soon as she saw the chaise she called to Adam to go down immediately to welcome his mother. He reached the street in time to support her as she totteringly descended on to the flagway. She was gratified by this attention, and uttered: “Dear one!” as he kissed first her hand and then her cheek. She then, and in less fond accents, said: “Lydia dear!” as that damsel ruthlessly hugged Adam.

Adam led her into the house, where the first object to attract her apprehensive gaze was the Egyptian lamp at the foot of the staircase. She drew in her breath sharply. “Good heavens! Ah, yes, I see! A female form, with sphinxes. Dear me!”

“It is a lamp, Mama,” said Adam defensively.

“Is it, dearest? No doubt Jenny found the stair ill-lit. I was never conscious of it myself, but — And are those strange alabaster bowls lamps too?”

“Yes, Mama, they are! And here is Jenny, coming to welcome you!”

He was relieved to see that Jenny was more successful than he had been in dealing with his mother. She greeted her with proper solicitude, and said that it was no wonder she should be feeling done-up.

“I am afraid I am a sad, troublesome guest,” sighed the Dowager. “I am so much pulled by all I have gone through that I am fit for nothing but my bed.”

“Well, then,” said Jenny, “you shall come up directly, ma’am, and get between sheets, and have your dinner sent to you on a tray.”

“So kind!” murmured the Dowager. “Just a bowl of soup, perhaps!”

Lydia, who had been listening in strong indignation to these melancholy plans, exclaimed: “Mama, you can’t go to bed the instant you set foot inside the house! Why, you said yourself, when Mrs Mitcham came to Fontley, that nothing was more odious than a visitor who arrived only to be ill, and was for ever wanting glasses of hot water, or thin gruel!”

“Oh, fiddle!” said Jenny. “It’s to be hoped your mama don’t think herself a visitor in her son’s house! She shall do whatever she chooses. Do you come upstairs, ma’am, and be comfortable!”

The Dowager mellowed. She had had the amiable intention of frustrating any festive scheme which might have been devised for her, entertainment by retiring to her bedroom in a state of exhaustion; but as soon as she was entreated to do exactly what she liked she began to think that if she rested for an hour she might feel sufficiently restored to join her family at the dinner-table. She allowed Jenny to escort her upstairs, and although it naturally caused her a pang not to be going to her “own” room, she found that such careful provisions for her comfort had been made in the handsomely furnished apartment allotted to her that her melancholy abated. By the time she had been settled on a cushioned day-bed, and had been revived with tea and toast, she was wonderfully in charity with Jenny, and told her that rather than disappoint her dear ones she would make an effort to overcome her fatigue sufficiently to come downstairs in time for dinner.

Meanwhile, Lydia, having peeped into the dining-room, and exclaimed, in awed accents: “Goodness, how rich!” had gone up to the drawing-room with her brother. She paused on the threshold, and stood at gaze, not saying anything for a full minute. Then she looked doubtfully at Adam. His eyes twinkled. “Well?”

“May I say what I think, or — or not?”

“You may, but you needn’t. I know what you think.”

“It’s the stripes!” she said “It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if you took them away — though I must own I don’t like that very peculiar sofa much. Those horrid little legs look like some sort of an animal.”

“Reptile. They are crocodile legs.”

“Crocodile?” Lydia inspected them more closely, and went into a peal of laughter. “Yes, they are! I thought you were trying to hoax me. But why? Oh, yes, I see! It’s the Egyptian mode, isn’t it? I know it’s all the crack, but I don’t think it’s very comfortable, do you?”

“I think it’s detestable,” he answered, laughing too. “Wait until you see Jenny’s preposterous bed! She didn’t choose this stuff, you know: it was her father.”

“Poor Mr Chawleigh! I expect he thinks it’s the very first style of elegance. Mama won’t, you know. Besides, she doesn’t like Mr Chawleigh. I do, even if he is a funny one!” She heaved a sigh. “Oh, Adam, I wish Mama hadn’t settled on Bath! If she had decided on a house in London I could have borne it better, for I should have had you to talk to when I felt quite desperate, which, I’m sorry to say, I frequently do.”

“Has she been very trying?” he asked sympathetically.

“Yes. And I find that I cannot be a comfort to her. Am I very unnatural, Adam?” He shook his head, smiling. “Well, Mama says I am, and sometimes I fear I may be, because I am growing to dislike Charlotte as much as I dislike Maria! Would you have believed it possible that I could? Charlotte!”

He laughed. “Poor Charlotte! But you don’t really, you know.”

She eyed him somewhat ominously. “No! But I shall if you are going to call her poor Charlotte too!”

“I take it back!” he said hastily. “I never said it!”

Her dimples quivered into being, but she said gloomily: “It’s such humbug! Mama talks about her as if she were dead — except that she hasn’t yet called her her sainted Charlotte. And how she can do so, when she knows Charlotte is as happy as a grig — ! We have had a letter from her, you know, sent from York, where they were staying for a few days.”

“No, I didn’t know, but I’m delighted to hear that she’s so happy.”

“Adam,” disclosed, Lydia, in an awed voice, “she says that Lambert partakes of all her ideas and sentiments!”

“Good God! I mean, how — how fortunate!”

“They shared solemn and elevating thoughts in the Cathedral.”

“No, they didn’t,” replied Adam instantly. “Charlotte had solemn and elevating thoughts, and Lambert said; ‘Ay, very true! By Jove, yes!’ Lydia, you wretch, you are making me as bad as you are yourself! Be quiet!”

She chuckled but had to wink away a tear. “Oh, if only Maria hadn’t died! Then I shouldn’t have been obliged to be a comfort to Mama, or have gone to Bath, even!”

He gave her a hug. “I wish you needn’t have gone, but I think you must, at any rate for a time. Try to bear it! If Mama doesn’t bring you to London herself next spring, would you like to come to us, and let Jenny present you?”

The hug was returned with interest; Lydia cried rapturously: “Yes, of all things! Aunt Nassington spoke of bringing me out, but I would far prefer to be with you. If Jenny would be agreeable?”

As Jenny, who came into the room at that moment, said at once that nothing would afford her greater pleasure, Lydia’s spirits bounded up, and she said, in a burst of confidence, that she hoped Mama would decide to remain in Bath during the spring.

“Outrageous brat! Take her away, Jenny! By the bye, don’t neglect to show her your bathroom! She’ll like it!”

Lydia, in fact, was entranced by it, and scandalized Martha Pinhoe by declaring her determination to use it. “You don’t mean to tell me you don’t, Jenny? Why, it is a beautiful bath! All these mirrors too! You may see yourself whichever way you look while you’re in the bath.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be my notion of a high treat!” remarked Jenny. “However, you’re welcome to use it if you choose.”

“No, that she is not, my lady!” declared Miss Pinhoe. I’m surprised at you, saying such a thing! We all know what land of creatures they are that sit in their baths with looking-glasses all round! The idea!”

It was evident that Lydia was exempt from this universal knowledge, and as it was also evident that she was going to demand enlightenment of Miss Pinhoe, Jenny hurriedly took her away to her own room. Lydia approved of this too, exclaiming: “Why, it’s all new, except for that chest, and the little chair by the window! I must say, it’s a great improvement: it was dreadfully shabby before!”

“Do you like it?” Jenny asked anxiously. “I haven’t very good taste myself — not that I had anything to do with furnishing the house: Papa did it, while we were at Rushleigh, to — to surprise us. Only I’m afraid he made it all rather too — too grand!”

“For my part,” said Lydia, “I shouldn’t care a rush for that. How truly splendid to have a father who gives you such sumptuous surprises!” She hesitated, and then said shyly: “He won’t change Fontley, will he? Not too much?”

“No, no, I promise you it shan’t be changed at all!” Jenny replied, her colour rushing up.

“I don’t mean that this house isn’t very elegant!” said Lydia hastily. “Only that it wouldn’t suit Fontley so well!”

It was the opinion of the Dowager, when she descended to the drawing-room, that the style favoured by Mr Chawleigh would suit no house, and at the first opportunity she expressed this opinion to Adam with great freedom. He found himself defending even the green stripes. He said doggedly that stripes were of the first stare. “Such a very vulgar shade!” said the Dowager, with a shudder. “Far too much bullion on the curtains too! Alas, when I remember how this room once appeared I can’t but grieve at such a transformation!”

He was goaded into retorting: “It could hardly appear the same, ma’am, once you had removed from it everything but the carpet and three of the pictures!”

This unfilial rejoinder wounded her so deeply that not only were the ghosts of Stephen and Maria evoked, but she said, when Jenny told her of the small party arranged for her pleasure, that no doubt dear Jenny had forgotten that she was in deep mourning.

“As though any of us could forget it, when she is positively dripping black crape!” said Lydia. “But don’t be in a worry, Jenny! She won’t retire to her room, I promise you!”

Jenny was obliged to be satisfied with this assurance, but her anxiety was not really allayed until the Dowager came downstairs just before eight o’clock arrayed in black silk, and with Adam’s mantilla pinned over a Spanish comb (also his gift) set in her fair locks.

“Oh, how pretty you look!” Jenny exclaimed involuntarily. “I beg your pardon! I couldn’t resist!”

“Dearest child!” murmured the Dowager indulgently.

“I take great credit to myself for knowing that nothing would become you better than a mantilla,” said Adam. “Perfect, Mama!”

“Foolish boy!” she said, rapidly mellowing. “I thought it right to make the effort, since you have invited these people particularly to meet me. I daresay, if you were to mention that I have a fatiguing journey before me tomorrow, they will not stay very late.”

This did not sound propitious, but it was misleading. From the moment that Rockhill, after holding her hand while he gazed admiringly at her countenance, carried it to his lips with old-fashioned courtesy, the Dowager’s enjoyment of the party was assured.

The arrival of the Oversleys coincided with that of Brough, and in the confusion of greeting no one noticed that Adam and Julia stood handlocked for longer than was customary, or heard Julia say: “This was not of my contrivance!”

“Nor of mine,” he returned, in a low voice. “You know that I cannot, must not say to you — ” He checked himself, and pressed her hand before releasing it “Only tell me that you are better! The anguish of that moment, at my aunt’s, will haunt me all my life? I think.”

“Oh, don’t let it do so! I shan’t mortify you again, I promise you! We shall grow accustomed, they tell me — forget that there was ever anything but friendship between us. I must wish you happy. Can you be?” A tiny headshake answered her. She smiled faintly. “No, your heart is not fickle. I’ll wish you content only.”

She turned from him as she spoke to meet Lydia, who came up to her, saying: “I am so glad to see you, Julia! What an age it has been! The things I have to tell you!”

Adam moved away to mingle with his other guests, only a slight rigidity of countenance betraying that he was labouring under stress. Lydia, who had a schoolgirl’s admiration of Julia, was chattering away to her, and Julia seemed to be interested and amused. Adam heard her silvery laugh, and was thankful, for joined with the pain of being so close to her was the unacknowledged dread that she might allow her sensibility to overcome her upbringing, and precipitate them all into embarrassment. He wondered if Jenny, placidly talking to Lord Oversley, had any conception of the ordeal to which she had exposed both himself and Julia. She appeared unconscious, and when she chanced to meet his eyes there was no suspicion in hers, but only a little friendly smile. She seemed to be enjoying herself; and although this set her poles apart from him it relieved another of his anxieties: at his aunt’s assembly, and at Lady Bridgewater’s, her shyness had made her an awkward guest, but in her own house it was otherwise. There would be no need for him to keep a watchful eye on her, ready to help her over conversational hurdles, or to nudge her into a hostess’s duties: she was quiet, but she was quite assured, because she had been mistress of her father’s house for years, and was accustomed to entertaining his friends.

The dinner which was presently served was excellent, and since there were several topics of immediate public interest to be discussed conversation did not flag. Chief amongst these was the betrothal of the Princess Charlotte to the Prince of Orange, for so persistent were the rumours that the Princess had cried off that it was naturally a subject of paramount interest. Various reasons for the rupture were suggested, but Rockhill, who, being one of the Carlton House set, was probably better informed than anyone else present, said that he believed that the rift had arisen from the question of domicile: the Prince expected his bride to live in the Low Countries; the Princess, standing as she did in direct succession to the English throne, was determined to remain in her own country. This resolution, after some discussion, was approved, but it remained for Jenny to say that it seemed strange that the Regent should be willing to send his only child packing to foreign parts.

“Yes, indeed!” agreed Lady Oversley. “It really makes one wonder — But I believe she is excessively like him!” She then realized that her inconsequent tongue had betrayed her, and exclaimed, with even more inconsequence: “Which reminds me, Adam, that you must take your seat! Oversley was saying only the other day — weren’t you, my love? — that he must put you in mind of it.”

“Yes, I must, I suppose,” said Adam. “My uncle was speaking to me about it the other evening. He says he will go with me, and tell me what I must do when I get there — for I’m ashamed to say I don’t know!” He saw that Jenny was at a loss, and he smiled at her, saying: “In the House: I’ve a seat there, and must take an oath, or some such thing. I’m not obliged to make a speech, am I, sir?”

“Oh, no!” Oversley reassured him. “To be sure, Nassington is the man to sponsor you, except that — ”

“But he is not the man!” protested Brough. “Have my father, Lynton!”

The Dowager gave this her support. She distinctly recalled having heard the late Viscount deplore Lord Nassington’s Toryism, and was consequently sure that he would be much disturbed if he knew that his son was to take his seat under the aegis of a Government supporter. She then recounted a slightly muddled anecdote, told her by her father, about a party given by Mrs Crewe at the time of the great Westminster Election, at which the guests had worn blue and buff favours, which had something to do with General Washington. Or was it Mr Fox? Well, at all events, the toast had been True Blue.

“True Blue and Mrs Crewe, ma’am,” corrected Brough, well-versed in the annals of Whiggery. “Often heard m’father tell that tale. The Prince proposed it, and she whipped back with True Blue and all of you! Took very well.”

This naturally brought to mind the Prince’s sad change of front, now that he had become Regent, and the discussion became extremely animated. Adam took no part in it, but there was a decided twinkle in his eye, and when Brough said: “Go with m’father, and take care you sit down on the Opposition bench!” he replied in a soft, apologetic voice: “But I don’t think I wish to sit on the Opposition bench!”

Lord Rockhill laughed, but the other three gentlemen, momentarily stunned by this shocking announcement, recovered only to break into protest, even Mr Oversley being moved to say: “But you can’t! What I mean is, must be trying to hoax us!”

Adam shook his head, which made Brough demand to know why he was a member of Brooks’s. “Oh, that was my father’s doing, before I knew anything about politics!” he replied.

“You know precious little now!” said Oversley severely.

“Almost nothing,” Adam agreed. “Only that I’m not drawn to a set of fellows who have made it their business to snap and snarl round old Douro’s heels!”

“Oh, Wellington!” Oversley said, shrugging. “The belief that his victories have been exaggerated doesn’t comprise the whole of the party’s policy, my dear boy!”

The twinkle in Adam’s eye disappeared, and a rather dangerous sparkle took its place; but before he could speak Rockhill intervened, giving the conversation an adroit turn, guiding it by way of Brooks’s Club to White’s, and disclosing that a Grand Masquerade was to be given by the members of White’s, at Burlington House, in honour of the foreign visitors. The ladies found this a topic of far more interest than politics, and at once besieged Rockhill with questions. As might have been expected, he seemed to be very well-informed, and was able not only to tell them the names of the various princes and generals who were coming in the trains of the Tsar and the King of Prussia, but also to give them a forecast of what the celebrations would be. Besides the reviews, and the formal parties, there would be illuminations, fireworks, and lavish spectacles in the parks.

“That’s true,” corroborated Jenny. “At least, I know they mean to have illuminations at India House, and the Bank, and some other places as well, for my father was telling me about it only yesterday. And a civic banquet at the Guildhall, too, with all of them going to it in procession. He is going to hire a window for us — that is to say, he can very easily do so if we should wish it!” she added, with an involuntary look down the table at Adam.

“I should rather think you would!” exclaimed Lydia enviously.

“You would too, wouldn’t your” said Brough, who was seated beside her, “Can’t it be contrived? I shouldn’t go to Bath, if I were you: very dull sort of a place! Full of quizzes and cripples — balls end at eleven — nothing to do all day but drink the waters and parade about the Pump Room — not the style of thing you’ll enjoy!”

“I know I shan’t,” she sighed. “I have to go because of Mama. It is my Duty, so of course I don’t expect to enjoy it”

Jenny, who had quick hearing, had caught some part of this interchange. She said nothing then, but a little later, when the ladies had retired to the drawing-room and the Dowager was enjoying a comfortable gossip with Lady Oversley, she moved to where Lydia and Julia were seated side by side on a sofa, and said abruptly: “I’ve been thinking it over, and I believe I should ask Papa to procure a large window, or perhaps a room with several windows, so that we may invite our particular friends to share it with us. Would you care for it, Julia? And do you suppose that her ladyship might spare you for a visit to us, Lydia, so that you could see the procession, and all the other sights?”

“Oh, Jenny!” Lydia gasped. “If you truly mean it, and Mama won’t let me come, I’ll — I’ll jump on to the first stagecoach, and come without her leave!”

“No, that won’t fit: it wouldn’t be seemly,” said Jenny. “There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be able to spare you, for it won’t be for a few weeks yet, and you’ll have time enough to settle her into her new house. I’ll broach the matter to her now, while my Lady Oversley is here to add her word to mine, which I’ll be bound she will do.”

She gave her little characteristic nod, and crossed the room again. Watching her, Lydia said: “You know, Julia, one can’t but like her, however much one means not to! I quite thought she would be detestable, for I was as mad as fire when I knew what Adam had done, but she’s not! To be sure, I should have known she couldn’t be, because she was your friend.”

“I never knew her,” Julia said, in a low tone. “O God, will this evening never end?”

She got up as she spoke, and took a few hasty steps away before she recollected herself. The Dowager, seeing her standing by the pianoforte, said: “Dear child! Are you going to indulge us with a little music? Such a treat!”

Julia stared at her for a moment as though she scarcely understood; and then, without answering, threw her fan and her reticule aside, and sat down at the instrument. The Dowager, saying how well she remembered how very superior was dear Julia’s performance, resumed her conversation with Lady Oversley.

Amongst a multitude of damsels who numbered pianoforte-playing as one of their laboriously acquired accomplishments, Julia’s performance was indeed superior. She did not always play correctly, but she had, besides a great love of music, real talent, and a touch on the keys which Jenny, who seldom played a wrong note, could never rival.

Lady Oversley felt relieved. She had seen how impetuously Julia had sprung up from the sofa, and she had been seized by apprehension. But she knew that once Julia sat down at the pianoforte the chances were that she would forget herself and her surroundings, and become lost in music; and so she was able to relax her strained attention, and to apply herself to the task of persuading the Dowager to look with a kindly eye upon Jenny’s scheme for Lydia’s entertainment.

Julia was still playing when the gentlemen came into the room. She glanced up, but indifferently, and lowered her eyes again to the keyboard, and kept them so until she had struck the final chord of the sonatina, and Rockhill, moving forward, said: “Ah, that was very well done! Bravo! Now sing!”

She looked at him, faintly smiling. “No, how should I? You know my voice is nothing!”

“A little, sweet voice, charmingly produced. Sing a ballad for me!”

But she sang it for Adam, her eyes meeting his, and holding them. It was a trivial thing, a sentimental air which had been all the rage a year before. She sang it softly, and quite simply, but there was always in her singing a nostalgic sadness that tore at the heart-strings, and made people remember the past, and the might-have-been. For Adam, to whom she had sung it many times before, the song conjured up every banished memory. He was still standing, his hand resting on the back of a chair, and as he listened, unable to drag his eyes from Julia’s face, it closed on the gilded wood, gripping it so tightly that his fingers whitened. Lydia noticed it, and, looking upward, saw an unguarded expression in his face which frightened her. She glanced instinctively at Jenny. Jenny was sitting very upright, as she always did, with her hands folded in her lap, and her eyes downcast; but as Lydia watched her her eyelids lifted, and she directed a long look at Adam. Then she looked down again, and there was nothing in her face to show whether she had seen the suffering in his.

Lydia began to feel uncomfortable. The opulent room seemed to be charged with emotions beyond the range of her experience. Scarcely comprehending, she was yet aware of tension. Blighted love and broken hearts were phrases which had tripped readily from her tongue; it had not appeared to her that Adam, laughing at Jenny’s bathroom, poking fun at Lambert Ryde, could be unhappy, until she saw the look in his eyes as he watched Julia. It was a dreadful look, she thought, and dreadful for Jenny to see it, even if she had married him only for social advancement.

She stole a surreptitious glance round the circle. No one was looking at Adam. The older members of the party were all watching Julia; Jenny’s eyes were downcast; Charles Oversley, plainly bored, was gazing at nothing in particular; and Brough, Lydia discovered, was looking at herself. There was the hint of a smile in his eyes: it drew a response from her; and this encouraged him to change his seat for the vacant space beside her on the sofa, saying under his breath: “Musical, Miss Deveril?”

She shook her head “No!”

“Good!” he said. “Nor am I.” Under their heavy lids, his eyes glanced at Adam, and away again, as though he had intruded upon something not meant for him to see.

The song ended. Hardly had the chorus of acclamation, abated than Lydia jumped up, saying: “Jenny, you said we might play a round game! Do let me find the counters for a game of speculation!”

It was gauche; it made the Dowager frown; but Brough murmured approvingly, as he dragged himself to his feet: “Good girl!”

“Speculation? Oh, no!” uttered Julia involuntarily.

Lady Oversley did not hear the words, but she saw the gesture of distaste, and braced herself to intervene. She was rescued by Rockhill, who gently shut the lid of the pianoforte, and said, smiling with amused understanding into those tragic blue eyes: “But yes, my little wicked one! Come, Miss Mischief, I depend on you to instruct me!”

She smiled too, but reluctantly. “You? Oh, no! You will play whist!”

“No: my attention would wander too much.” He took her hand, and held it sustainingly, saying softly: “Put up your chin, my pretty! You can, you know.”

Her fingers clung to his. “Ah, you understand — don’t you?”

“Perfectly!” he said, the amusement deepening in his eyes.