Frederica

XXVII

It was surprising, Frederica thought, how much benefit was to be derived from two nights of unbroken sleep. She felt very much better, far less depressed and irritable. Her affairs having been taken back into the Marquis’s capable hands, she had very little to worry about: none of the complicated arrangements attached to the removal of a family from a house in London to another a hundred miles distant, and no housekeeping cares to contend with at the end of the journey. To one who, from early girlhood, had never had a respite from these, this was bliss indeed. It ought to have made her happy, and she was obliged to take herself to task when she found that she was looking forward to several months spent in sylvan solitude with a slight sinking of the heart. Not that it would be really solitude, of course: there would be Charis, and the boys, and the unknown Mrs Osmington, the widowed cousin whom Alverstoke had decided, in his usual highhanded way, to install at Alver. There would be Septimus as well, and no doubt his mama would drive over to visit them. It was bound to seem a trifle flat at first, and she would certainly miss her friends in London; but Alverstoke meant to come down for a few days, which would make an agreeable break. He had given her a carte blanche to invite any of her friends she chose to stay with her, begging her to consider the house her own. She had no intention of taking him at his word, but as she was unable to think of any friend whom she particularly wanted to invite this resolve cost her no regret.

Alverstoke was going to escort them to Alver, too: that was another of his sudden and highhanded decisions! She had protested, as in honour bound, but he had merely said that he had business there, so she had said no more, though she guessed that his business was to introduce her to his cousin, and to make sure that his servants had provided every comfort for the party. How anyone could say that he was selfish and heartless was beyond comprehension! No one was ever less so; it made one quite hot with anger that people.should dare to misjudge him so wickedly.

For the rest everything was going on fairly well. Mr Peplow had invited Harry to accompany him on a visit to Brighton; Buddle and Mrs Hurley were thankful to be granted a long holiday after the exigencies of a London house; and Charis, though in unequal spirits, seemed to be growing more resigned to her fate. To be sure, she was subject to sudden attacks of woe, which made her run out or the room with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes, but Frederica, recalling the agonies attending the dismissal of her first very undesirable suitor, hoped that the present agonies would be of similarly short duration.

Septimus Trevor, a well-set-up young man, with easy manners, and a general air of cheerful competence, she liked on sight. So, which was more important, did her brothers. She made an excuse to leave him alone with them, to become acquainted. She felt a little doubtful about Felix, who, unlike Jessamy, was not at all eager to resume his studies; but when she came back into the room he greeted her with the information that this Mr Trevor knew much more than the other Mr Trevor: they had been talking about coal-gas, and the transmission of power by compressed air; so that doubt was laid to rest, leaving her with only one serious anxiety: Felix’s health.

This was a very real anxiety, and would not be allayed until Sir William Knighton had seen Felix. He was better, certainly, but far from well yet. He flagged quickly, became too easily excited — even, she suspected, a little feverish — and his normally sunny disposition had given place to irritability, and occasional fretfulness.

“I expect it is just that he doesn’t feel in high force yet, and that he will be better in the country, but I can’t help feeling anxious,” she told Alverstoke.

“No, and you can’t think of anything else, can you, Frederica?”

“I suppose I can’t,” she confessed. “I do try to!”

“Do you feel that you may be able to — without trying — if Knighton gives you a comfortable report?” he enquired.

“Oh, what an unspeakable relief that would be! Yes, of course I shall!”

“I’m glad,” he said cryptically. “I feel pretty confident that he will, and I trust it won’t be long delayed!”

“He is coming to us on Thursday, before noon.”

“Good! So, then, am I!” said his lordship. “After noon!”

“Of course!” she twinkled. “No need to tell me that! I only wish he may not arrive to find Felix at his very worst, but I’m much afraid that he will. Felix is already out of reason cross about it — declares he is in prime twig, and won’t let any doctor maul him! — and he won’t at all relish being made to stay in his bed until Sir William has examined him! Oh, well! If he becomes outrageous, I shall ask Harry to try if he can divert him!”

But when, on Thursday morning, Frederica, with a recalcitrant brother on her hands and various household duties left undischarged, desired Buddle to send Harry up to Felix’s room, Buddle said that he rather thought Mr Harry must have gone out.

“Oh!” said Frederica, rather blankly. She hesitated, wondering whether to send for Charis. But as Charis had chosen this, out of all other mornings, for a display of affliction, weeping over the tea-cups, and refusing all sustenance at the breakfast table, she decided against it.

“I fancy he must have taken Miss Charis out for an airing, ma’am, for she is not in the drawing-room,” volunteered Buddle.

Frederica’s brow cleared. She had been nursing some uncharitable thoughts about Harry — so careless as to go off to amuse himself when his little brother was to be examined by one of the first physicians of the day! — but she realized at once that she had been doing him an injustice: he was clearly trying to be helpful, by taking Charis off her hands! She said: “Ah, very likely! Never mind: I’ll go up to Master Jessamy’s room.”

She found Jessamy immersed in his books, but he agreed at once to try what he could do to entertain Felix; and, when she apologized for disturbing him, said, with one of his darkling looks: “It is time one of us did something to help you!” He then stalked out of the room, with Lufra at his heels.

Touched by this outburst, Frederica called after him that it wouldn’t be for long, since Sir William might be expected at any minute; and went downstairs, to discuss with her housekeeper the various things that must be done to set the house in order before they left it.

She had not far to go. Mrs Hurley, a stout woman, having toiled upstairs from the basement in search of her, had halted on the first floor, to recover her breath before attempting to mount the next flight.

“Oh, Hurley, you shouldn’t have come up all those stairs!” Frederica said. “I was on my way down to you!”

“No, ma’am, I know I shouldn’t, not with my palpitations,” said Mrs Hurley. “But I thought it my duty to let you know at once!”

This time-worn phrase, which in general heralded the disclosure of a very minor household disaster, did not strike dismay into Frederica’s bosom. She said: “Oh, dear! Is something amiss? Come into the drawing-room, and tell me about it!”

“Dear knows, Miss Frederica,” said Mrs Hurley, following her into the room, “I wouldn’t trouble you with it, with all the trouble you have to worrit you already, if I didn’t feel in my bones that you’d wish to be told immediately.”

Broken china! thought Frederica.

“But,” pursued Mrs Hurley, “the instant Jemima brought it to me, her only being able to read print — and not much of that either — I said to myself: ‘Doctor or no doctor, Miss Frederica must see this at once!’ Which is what it’s my belief you weren’t meant to do, ma’am. And nor you would have if I hadn’t sent Jemima up to Miss Charis’s room to take down the curtains to be washed, for the room was swept and the bed made while Miss Charis was at her breakfast, so that there was no reason for her to think anyone would go into it again this morning.”

“Miss Charis?” Frederica said sharply.

“Miss Charis,” corroborated Mrs Hurley. “There was this, laying on the dressing-table, and Jemima, thinking it was a letter for the post, brought it down to me. It’s for you, Miss Frederica.”

“For me —!” Frederica almost snatched it out of the housekeeper’s hand.

“And Miss Charis’s brush and comb aren’t on the table, nor the bottle of scent you gave her, ma’am, nor anything that should be on it,” pronounced the voice of doom inexorably.

Frederica paid no heed, for the information was unnecessary. The letter in her hand had evidently been written under the stress of strong emotion. It was freely blotched with tears, and largely illegible, but its opening sentence stood out boldly.

Dearest, ever-dearest Frederica, Charis had written, with painstaking care, By the time you read this I shall be married, and many miles away.

After that, the writing deteriorated into a wild scrawl, as though Charis, having made this promising beginning, had not known how to continue, and had finally dashed off the rest in a hurry.

But the beginning was all that mattered to Frederica. She stood staring at the words until they danced before her eyes, unable, in the first moments of sickening shock, to believe their incredible message.

Mrs Hurley’s hand on her arm recalled her to her senses. “Do you sit down, Miss Frederica, my dear!” Mrs Hurley said. “I’ll fetch you up a glass of wine directly: no need to tell Buddle!”

“No, no, I don’t want a glass of wine! I must think — I must think!”

She allowed herself to be pushed into a chair, and tried to decipher the rest of the letter. It seemed to consist entirely of pleas for forgiveness, mingled with assurances that only desperation could have driven the writer to take so dreadful a step. At first glance, Charis appeared to have subscribed herself, Your wicked Charis; but closer scrutiny revealed that the word was not wicked, but wretched. Frederica thought bitterly that wicked more exactly described her sister.

She raised her eyes to Mrs Hurley’s face. “Hurley — I don’t know what can be done — if anything, but say nothing of this, I beg of you!”

“Certainly not, ma’am! That you may depend on!”

“Thank you. You have guessed, of course.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve guessed, ma’am!” said Mrs Hurley grimly. “And I know whose door to lay it at! If some people, naming no names, had attended to their rightful duty, instead of picking quarrels, and flouncing out of the house so highty-tighty, it would never have happened, because that great Jack-of-legs couldn’t have come here, like he used to, in spite of anything I said to her, which I did, and Buddle too! So now she’s eloped! Oh, dear, dear, however could she do such a thing? Not but what they say what’s bred in the bone will come out in the flesh, and it’s what her poor, dear mother did, after all!”

“Oh, if I could think what’s to be done!” Frederica said, unheeding. “There must be something — though I feel almost inclined to let matters run their course! To do such a thing, and at such a time —! No, no, what am I saying? If I had been kinder, more sympathetic —!” She started up. “Hurley, I must see Lord Alverstoke! If anyone can help me, he will! Tell Owen to fetch a hack, while I run up for my bonnet and gloves: there’s no time to waste in sending for the carriage!” She stopped, halfway to the door. “No, I can’t! I was forgetting. Sir William Knighton!”

“Just what I was thinking myself, Miss Frederica,” said Mrs Hurley. “There’s a carriage coming up the street at this very moment, which was what put me in mind of the gentleman. Now, is it going to pull up at our door, or — yes, it is!”

Frederica hurried over to her desk, and sat down at it, dragging a sheet of writing-paper towards her, and dipping the pen in the ink. “I’ll write to him!” she said. “Wait here, Hurley, and take it down to Owen! Tell him to carry it to Alverstoke House immediately — in a hack! It’s not yet twelve o’clock: his lordship won’t have left the house. Tell Owen it is to be given into his lordship’s own hand — not left with the butler, or one of the footmen! Is it Sir William?”

“Well, he has a bag in his hand, as you’d expect, ma’am,” reported Mrs Hurley, from the window, “but he doesn’t look like a doctor, dressed as nattily as he is! Ah! Now Buddle has let him in, so it must be him, you having given orders you was not at home to visitors!”

“Oh, heavens, he will be upon me in a trice!” said Frederica distractedly. She signed her name quickly to the very brief note she had written, and had just sealed it with a wafer, set all askew, when Buddle announced Sir William.

She arose, handed the missive to Mrs Hurley, and, summoning to her aid every ounce of her self-command, moved forward to meet Sir William.

If he thought her civility forced, and her answers to his questions disjointed, he must have assumed her to be suffering from shyness, she supposed, or from dread of what his verdict might be, for he did not seem to be at all surprised at being confronted with a lady who said: “Yes — no — I can’t remember — let me think!” He was not even impatient; and under his calming influence she very soon regained her composure, thrusting Charis to the back of her mind, concentrating her attention on what was being said to her.

He was quite as successful in his handling of Felix. Encountering a hostile scowl, he said, with his pleasant smile: “How do you do? Yes, I am another bacon-brained doctor — as though you hadn’t been plagued enough already!”

The scowl vanished; Felix blushed, and shook hands. “How do you do, sir? But I’m perfectly well again, I promise you, and there was no reason for my sister to have sent for you!”

“Well, you certainly look to be going on in a capital way,” agreed Sir William. “However, since I’m here I may as well take a look at you, don’t you think?”

Felix submitted. At the end of the examination, he demanded to be told whether he might get up, to which Sir William replied: “Yes, of course you may. It would do you a great deal of good to go out into the fresh air, so I suggest that your — brother, is it? — takes you out for a drive round the Park. Abominably stuffy, is it not? But I understand you are going down to Somerset: how much I envy you!”

Frederica, directing an enquiring look at Jessamy, received a nod in answer, and led Sir William back to the drawing-room.

He stayed for some twenty minutes, and relieved her mind of one at least of its cares. The possibility of repercussions could not be disregarded, but he considered it to be remote, provided his instructions were faithfully carried out. He paid a graceful compliment to Dr Elcot, and wrote out a prescription to replace Elcot’s medicine, saying that, excellent though that was, he fancied that his own might perhaps be more beneficial now that Felix was convalescent; and went away, recommending her, with his understanding smile, not to fidget herself over the boy.

“For that, you know, would fidget him!” he said. “I have written down the name and direction of a Bath practitioner in whom you may repose complete confidence. But I don’t anticipate that you will require his services!”

Meanwhile, Owen had given Frederica’s letter into the Marquis’s hand. He had found him on the point of setting out with his sister for Somerset House, the Lady Elizabeth having recollected that she had not yet visited the Royal Academy Exhibition: a scandalous omission which, as she positively must bring her extended visit to an end on the following day, had instantly to be repaired. Having no respect for his lordship’s matutinal habits, she swept them aside, telling him that after deserting her for the better part of her stay the least he could do to atone was to escort her to Somerset House.

The Marquis spread open the single sheet, read Frederica’s note at a glance, and nodded dismissal to Owen. Lady Elizabeth, her eyes on his face, said: “What is it, Vernon? Not Felix?”

He handed her the note. “I don’t know. You will have to excuse me from accompanying you to Somerset House, Eliza: pray accept my apologies!”

“Don’t be such a gaby! I am coming with you! Vernon, I am dreadfully afraid that some accident must have befallen one of them! I beg you will come here immediately. I have no time to write more, but will explain when I see you. Pray do not delay! Poor girl, she is plainly distracted with worry!”

“Yes. Therefore, let us not delay!” he answered curtly.

They reached Upper Wimpole Street just as Frederica, having, as one in a dream, seen her brothers set off for their drive, had mounted the stairs again to the drawing-room, and was once more trying to decipher Charis’s letter. When Alverstoke entered the room, which he did unannounced, going up the stairs two at a time, and leaving his sister to follow him, she looked up eagerly, and sprang to her feet.

“I knew you would come!” she said thankfully. “I beg your pardon for sending you such a hurried note — you see, Sir William was at the door, and I had no time — ”

“Never mind that!” he interrupted. “What is it, Frederica? Felix?”

“No, no! he’s better — Sir William thinks he will soon be quite stout again. It is far, far worse — no, not that, but — ”

“Gently, my child, gently!” he said, taking her hands, and holding them in a strong clasp. “If I am to help you, just tell me what has happened! And without flying into a grand fuss!”

Lady Elizabeth, arriving on the threshold in time to hear this blighting command, blinked, but Frederica, regaining control over herself, conjured up the travesty of a smile, and said: “Thank you! I am behaving very badly. I don’t think even you can do anything. I don’t know why I begged you to come, except that it was the first thought that came into my head — before I had had time to consider…. But I am afraid it is useless.”

“And still I am in the dark,” said Alverstoke.

“I’m sorry! I can scarcely bring myself to tell you — Cousin Eliza! I beg your pardon! I didn’t see — ”

“That’s of no consequence, my dear. I came to help you, if I could, but I think you would prefer to talk to Alverstoke alone, and if that is so, I’ll go away,” Eliza said.

“No. You are very kind! I had hoped to have kept it secret, but I see now how impossible that must be.” She drew a painful breath. “You see, — Charis has — has eloped with Endymion!”

Eliza gasped; but Alverstoke said, with no perceptible loss of calm: “Have you proof of this? I should not have supposed that Charis would consent to any such exploit; and if Endymion persuaded her into it I can only say that I have been strangely mistaken in my reading of his character. A high stickler, my blockish cousin, Frederica!”

Mutely she held Charis’s letter out to him. He took it, and, after one glance at it, groped for his quizzing-glass. Eliza, drawing Frederica to the sofa, said: “My dear, surely you must be mistaken? You can’t mean that you believe them to have gone to Gretna Green?”

“I think it must be so,” Frederica replied. “Where else could — ”

“Then you may stop thinking it!” interposed Alverstoke, looking up from the letter. “Where have your wits gone begging, Frederica? By the time you read this I shall be married, and many miles away. My dear girl, even such a henwitted female as Charis could not suppose that she could be transported to the Border within an hour or two! How fortunate that she didn’t bedew the start of this hubble-bubble effusion with her tears!”

“Then where can they have gone?” demanded Frederica.

“That I haven’t yet discovered. I should doubt whether I ever shall, but one never knows: something may yet emerge.”

“Nothing but what she might as well have spared herself the trouble of writing,” said Frederica, sighing.

He said nothing, continuing to frown over the letter for several minutes, while Eliza, possessing herself of Frederica’s hand, sat patting it soothingly. Silence reigned, until the Marquis broke it. “Ah!” he said. “Not licorice, but licence! The clue to the labyrinth is now in our hands, Frederica! It’s a pity the pen spluttered at the preceding word, but no doubt it is special. Your sister, my love, has married my blockish cousin by special licence. Whether or not this constitutes an elopement I am not yet in a position to say, but it really doesn’t signify. The case is not desperate, nor will it be incumbent upon me to pursue the couple to the Border — a prospect, I must acknowledge, which filled me with repugnance. All we have to do is to throw dust in the eyes of the quizzes and tittle-tattlers. It will afford me great pleasure to do so! I wonder who told Endymion that he could be married by special licence?”

Frederica sat up. “But he couldn’t!” she said. “Charis is not of age!”

“Do you mean that you suspect Endymion obtained a licence by telling lies about Charis’s age?” demanded Eliza. “I don’t believe it! Why, that’s a serious offence!”

“No, that is not what I suspect,” he responded. “Endymion may be a cloth-head, but he is not a scoundrel, my dear Eliza! He would neither marry Charis by special licence, nor across the anvil, without her guardian’s consent.”

“Well, if you are not her guardian, who is?” He did not reply. He was watching Frederica, a look of amusement in his face as he saw her stiffen. “Harry!” she uttered. “Harry!”

“Well?”

She got up quickly, the incredulity in her eyes turning to wrath. “How could he? Oh, how could he? Helping Charis to a disastrous marriage — helping her to deceive me — knowing what my feelings were —! And she! No wonder she sat crying all through breakfast! With this on her conscience!”

“Did she?” said his lordship, interested. “She certainly wept all over this letter. What an inexhaustible flow! Do you suppose she was still weeping when she joined Endymion at the altar?”

“I neither know nor care!” snapped Frederica, who had begun to pace about the room, as though her rage had to find a physical outlet.

“No, nor anyone else!” agreed Eliza. “Really, Vernon, how can you be so flippant? This is not a farce!”

“It bears a strong resemblance to one!” he retorted.

“Would you think so if it concerned one of your sisters?” asked Frederica fiercely.

“My dear, I should be sure of it! Louisa, for instance? No, I think I prefer Augusta in the role.”

She gave a gasp, and choked on an irrepressible gurgle of laughter.

“That’s better!” he said encouragingly. “Shall we now consider the matter without quite so much heat?”

She did not answer; but after a moment or two she went back to the sofa, and sat down again. “If what you think is true, there is nothing to be done, is there? If I had had time to have read that letter more closely — to have considered it — I should have known it was useless to suppose that you could prevent a marriage which must already have taken place.” She smiled rather wanly. “In fact, I sent for you to no purpose at all! I beg your pardon, cousin!”

“Oh, not to no purpose at all!” he said. “It is certainly quite out of my power to prevent the marriage, but I trust I can prevent you, Frederica, from making a mull of it! What we must do, you and I, is to make all tidy. I’m well aware of your sentiments: you wished Charis to contract what the world calls an eligible alliance, and you believed that you could bring this about.”

“And why shouldn’t she have done so?” intervened Eliza. “Charis is a most beautiful girl, with charming manners, and great sweetness of disposition. If her understanding is not extraordinary, pray, how many gentlemen care for clever women?”

“There was only one reason why she shouldn’t have done so,” he replied. “She lacked the ambition to contract such an alliance, or even to sport a figure in society.” He smiled at Frederica, a little mockingly. “You never would believe that, would you? Yours was the ambition — oh, not for yourself! I don’t think you have ever wasted a thought on yourself! — and it was you who delighted in the admiration she won. She didn’t, you know. She told me once that she preferred the country to London, because in London people stared so! She prefers country parties to London ones, because she thinks it more comfortable to dance with her friends than with strangers. This, from a girl who had nearly every prize in the Marriage Mart dangling after her! I’ve never concealed from you that I think her a lovely and excessively boring wet-goose, but I’ll say this for her: she hasn’t an ounce of conceit!”

“I didn’t wish her to contract a brilliant marriage — only one which — But there’s nothing now to be gained by repeating what I’ve told you before!”

“I haven’t forgotten. You wanted her to be comfortable. But her notion of comfort isn’t yours, Frederica. She’s a persuadable girl, and I daresay she might have obliged you by marrying young Navenby, if she had not met and fallen in love with Endymion.”

“And she would have been happy!”

“Very likely. Unfortunately, she had met Endymion, and it appears that from that moment her mind was made up.”

“Fiddle! If you knew how many times she has fallen out of love as quickly as she fell into it —!”

“I’ll take your word for it. But I would point out to you, my child, that with I don’t know how many sprigs of fashion with far more address than Endymion paying court to her, she did not fall out of love with Endymion. So perhaps this marriage won’t prove to be as disastrous as you imagine. The manner of it is — to put it mildly! — regrettable, and that is all that now concerns us. It must be wrapped up in clean linen.”

“If it can be,” said Eliza doubtfully.

“It can’t. Only consider the circumstances!” said Frederica. “There has been no advertizement of an engagement; no guests were invited to the wedding; and it has taken place two days before we leave London! How could such a scandal be scotched?”

Alverstoke flicked open his snuff-box, and inhaled a delicate pinch. “Difficult, I admit, but not impossible. I don’t immediately perceive how to get over the omission of the engagement-notice — unless we sacrifice Lucretia? What do you say, Eliza? I am perfectly willing to do it, if you think it would answer.”

Frederica could not help smiling. “You are quite odious,” she informed him. “Besides, how?”

“Oh, by making her the bar to the marriage! She became so alarmingly ill at the very mention of it — she would, too! — that it was thought the effect of seeing the announcement in print might carry her oft.”

“Whereas the news that Endymion was secretly married would have restored her to health!” said Eliza sarcastically.

“What a good thing it is that you came with me!” remarked his lordship affably. “You have your uses! Try if you can discover why the engagement was kept secret: I can tell you why only the immediate relations were present at the wedding.” He flicked a few grains of snuff from his sleeve. “Owing to a bereavement in the bride’s family, the ceremony was private. We’ll put that in the notice.”

Lady Elizabeth said reluctantly: “Yes, that could be done. But why wasn’t Lucretia present?”

“She was.”

“You will never induce her to say so!”

A derisive smile curled his lips. “Would you care to bet against the chance?”

“No!” said Frederica forcefully. “You mean you would try to — to bribe her, and I won’t have it! Besides, it wouldn’t answer: you know it wouldn’t! You must forget I was so stupid as to have applied to you: I can’t think what made me do so, for it is no concern of yours, and I had no business to embroil you in it!” She put up her chin. “I must make the best of it myself, for I know it was my fault. If only she doesn’t regret it — and people don’t — don’t refuse to receive her — ” She faltered, and stopped, dashing a hand across her eyes.

The door opened. In a voice of deep disapproval, Buddle said: “Mr Trevor, ma’am!”