A Little Folly (5 page)

‘And your brother?’ Valentine asked. ‘He is still abroad?’

‘He is,’ Mr Lynley said, with a further stiffening of his immobile features, ‘but he is shortly expected home. I have received one of his rare communications. – He is wounded. Not severely: a ball in the foot during a skirmish before Orthez. The danger of the surgeon’s saw is past, but he is lamed, and returns to England by the first ship.’

‘Poor fellow! He will miss the final bout with Bonaparte, then,’ Valentine said. ‘But he has served with honour, nonetheless.’

‘He has remained three years with his regiment,’ said Mr Lynley, in a tone of austere correction. ‘It is more than was expected.’

The subject was plainly an uncomfortable one for Mr Lynley, and for that reason alone Louisa would gladly have seen it pursued; but Valentine, disappointingly, changed it.

‘And how does Miss Lynley?’

‘Georgiana is well enough; but I have been much disappointed in her governess, to whom her care was entrusted while I was in Nottinghamshire. There is not the improvement of manner and address that one looks to in a girl of her age, properly guided: indeed, I feel she has not progressed at all. I begin to wonder whether an effective governess is to be procured by gold – though I remember Sir Clement having like troubles. I must resolve the difficulty, I think, by applying to one of the agencies in London – and as soon as may be, for Georgiana cannot remain as she is, without an instructress.’

‘Do you mean you have dismissed this governess?’ Louisa cried, unable to prevent herself.

‘Most certainly. Having presumed on her position so long, she could hardly expect the indulgence of notice.’

‘But what is to become of her?’

‘That, Miss Carnell, is scarcely my concern, once she is out of my employ.’

‘But her situation … Has she family? Has she somewhere to go?’

‘There is an aunt, I believe, in Bristol,’ Mr Lynley pronounced, with a sort of comprehensive distaste. ‘Mr Carnell, your late father was always a zealous upholder of the Game Laws. Have you been troubled with poaching here, as we have at Hythe Place?’

‘Oh, very little, I think – Valentine, is that not so?’ Louisa put in before her brother could answer. ‘But if in future we should see the odd bird or hare go missing, I think we should not be hasty. It might after all only be a dismissed governess trying to procure herself a meal.’

‘You have a lively fancy, Miss Carnell,’ said Mr Lynley, in a way that implied he deplored rather than admired it; and turned the talk to politics.

Still his eyes dwelt on her: he continually presented her with an expression cool, ready and attentive, even when no reply was to be expected from her – which was not seldom, as his conversation was equally dry and categorical. – He spoke of dull things, and made them duller by his absolute assurance that he knew all about them. No curious question, no interesting sidelight was to be allowed: there was only the essence of a thing, and that once dealt with was to be put away neatly in a drawer of the mind. Valentine, who was playing his part well in spite of Mr Lynley’s tendency to treat him as a boy dressed up in a man’s clothes, responded courteously; but at last he caught Louisa’s eye with a dark flash, and suggested that Mr Lynley might like to see the gardens – adding mischievously that he could positively engage for Louisa’s not climbing any more trees.

The garden-walk, then, it must be: she must take Pearce Lynley’s arm, and consent to that purposeful ambling, which, to any observer not acquainted with her mind, must look like the natural proceedings of courtship. Mr Lynley certainly seemed glad to have her arm, though his possessiveness was not so much lover-like as a sort of taking into intimate custody; and it was he who directed their steps, knowing the grounds of Pennacombe very well, and his the remarks on the growth of the timber, the trimming of the shrubs, and the condition of the lawns; so that to the same observer, it would have appeared that he was showing the lady around his own domain, and with a great complacency about how much she must like it.

His present contentment with talking at her, rather than with her, did allow Louisa to review his appearance, and examine her feelings. There was no gainsaying that he was handsome: his dark, strongly marked features lacked nothing but expression. His figure was good: he was a fine horseman, his usual mount being a superbly groomed and sinewy black thoroughbred, and somehow horse and rider had become interchangeable in her mind. If anything, his looks dismayed her, for she had strong doubts about the shape of her own chin and the tendency of her hair to do wild things within a minute of the curling-tongs. – She was conscious indeed that many a young woman would envy her position, and consider Pearce Lynley, who possessed in Hythe Place one of the finest establishments in the county, a great catch; but Louisa was not much interested in great catches, unless it were Selim the Turkish pirate in
The Bride of Abydos
, whose appearance in Devonshire society she must reluctantly accept to be an unlikelihood.

What chiefly occupied her, however, was what he had lately said about his sister’s governess. In this she found all her aversion for Mr Lynley most potently distilled – the more so as, from what she knew of Georgiana Lynley, who was more than ten years her brother’s junior. Louisa considered any governess who could tolerate the frosty little creature as thoroughly earning her salary and more. As for his dismissive references to his younger brother, she had to confess she knew very little of Francis Lynley; she had not set eyes on him since he was a mere youth, for after that he had spent much of his time at his grandmother’s house in Nottinghamshire, where he was reputed a favourite – until he had done something, she knew not what, to incur the family disapproval; and subsequently, after trying various modes of life, and settling to none, he had taken a commission in the Regulars and gone to the Peninsula. He was always named as troublesome – her father, in his colloquies with Mr Lynley, would grimly shake his head at the very mention of his name; and there was, in short, everything to prejudice her in his favour, except his being a Lynley. Even if he shared in the family characteristics of coldness and pride she felt he deserved better on returning wounded from the war than the slighting remarks that were all his brother had seen fit to bestow on him.

But Mr Lynley did not recur to either of these subjects: having concluded his pronouncements on the state of the grounds, with some recommendations for a stricter supervision of the gardeners, he returned to the theme of her late father’s virtues. ‘You and Mr Carnell have contrived very well, I am sure: still, the absence must be hourly felt. As I said, I was conscious throughout my stay in Nottinghamshire of my inability to play such a part here as I could have wished.’

‘It is good of you to think of us, Mr Lynley,’ Louisa said, as evenly as she could. ‘But I’m sure – as you have suggested – that you have many concerns more pressing and urgent than the neighbourly.’

‘Neighbourly I hope I shall always be,’ he said, after a bare moment, ‘but I do not consider my position at Pennacombe to be so limited as that. I believe, Miss Carnell, that I possessed a good deal of your late father’s esteem, trust and confidence. The legacy of the favourite gold-headed cane in his will, which Mr Carnell was good enough to send me, was a token of it. – Only one token,’ he added, with a brief but for him significant look in Louisa’s face.

But be assured that, though he might have wished to, he did not leave you
me
in his will. This was Louisa’s bristling, unspoken thought; but she diverted herself from it with the memory of Valentine’s wrapping up the cane in brown paper, and then remarking, as he contemplated the long thin parcel, ‘I wonder if he will guess what it is?’

‘This is why I was thankful of the opportunity to have some talk with you alone, Miss Carnell,’ her companion pursued. ‘To assure you that the degree of intimacy with which I have been received at Pennacombe is one I hope and expect will be maintained – even increased.’

‘I am not sure I understand you, Mr Lynley. You were, as you said, one of my father’s firmest friends – but my father is no longer with us.’ An unworthy, half-hearted sort of response, but she found she was not so accomplished in rejection as she thought.

‘My dear Miss Carnell, that is only one aspect of the case.’ He gave his limited, satisfied smile; and she saw that he took her answer for nothing more than maidenly bashfulness. ‘The intimacy I speak of is that which your father was good enough to encourage – even to speak of as his dearest wish: the intimacy that would in time see the estates of Hythe and Pennacombe united.’

The terms were perhaps more appropriate to a map-maker than a lover, but there was no doubting their import.

‘Mr Lynley, I am aware – I have long been aware of my father’s wishes in this matter. But I cannot too strongly emphasise that they were his wishes, and not my own.’

‘To be sure, you have been so much accustomed to depending on his guidance that now you must be a little at a loss. I quite understand your hesitancy, Miss Carnell.’ There was no diminution of his composure: no sign that he saw anything but a becoming modesty in her response. ‘I am precipitate perhaps – a future occasion will be more suitable than this, our first meeting since the sad event, to speak at length of these things; but let me employ this one, if not to express my esteem and admiration, then at least to assure you, Miss Carnell, that you have it.’

There was nothing to reply to this: to thank him would be to convey that she was glad of his feeling for her, if feeling it could be called. Silence, on the other hand, might suggest that she was flattered, tremulous and overcome – surely
would
suggest it to someone so over-supplied with self-belief as Pearce Lynley. Instead Louisa found herself – to her own surprise as much as his – bursting out: ‘Mr Lynley, your sister’s governess – do you mean you dismissed her without a character?’

He looked as displeased at this as his habitual aloofness would allow. ‘I was not aware that we were talking of the subject, nor of its pertinence. But, yes, I made it plain that I had found her services so unsatisfactory that I could not safely recommend them to another.’

‘Then I think, sir, you have done an ungenerous thing. If circumstances compel her to be a governess, you may be sure she has no other resource. Is she young?’

He was reluctant. ‘Quite young.’

‘Only consider, then, that though she has not succeeded well with Miss Lynley, she may do better in another situation; she may improve, and will surely strive to do so, if she is granted another chance – which she will not get, I am afraid, without a character from her last employer.’

‘To give such a character seems to me very like rewarding incompetence,’ he said crisply, a little flushed. ‘However, your womanly sympathy does you credit,’ with a bow. ‘And to please you, Miss Carnell, I will consider writing for her such a brief testimonial as is consistent with my regard for the truth.’

It was hard to be profuse in gratitude for this frozen gallantry; nor did she at all wish for it to be done to please
her
– but it was done at least, and she thanked him for it.

‘You will allow me to remark, Miss Carnell, that you have much to learn in the ways of the world,’ he said, with a return to smooth coolness. ‘An open, trusting nature is indeed to be numbered among a woman’s graces: one would not wish to see it changed; yet anyone with a particular interest in your future must fear to see it imposed upon. Hence my relief in being at hand once more. Naturally there is much at Hythe that requires my attention, after so long an absence – but I hope that will not prevent you, or your brother, from applying to me at any time when the advice and example of experience may be useful to you.’

‘Again I am obliged to you, Mr Lynley; but as for lack of experience, is that not a thing everyone must remedy for themselves – by gaining it? And please do not allow thoughts of how we are faring to distract you from your many responsibilities. We shall shortly be much occupied ourselves. – We expect a visit from our connections in London – our cousins, the Speddings.’

‘I know no connections of yours of that name,’ he said, with a look such as one might give to a child making up a particularly unlikely story.

‘I dare say not,’ said Louisa, her impulse to kick him restrained less by decorum than by the continuing pain in her foot. ‘They are our cousins on our late mother’s side. Presently they are at Lyme – but we welcome them soon to Pennacombe. We have not met since we were children, and you may imagine with what pleasure Valentine and I anticipate their coming.’

‘Ah. These connections – I take it your father was not on terms with them.’

‘He was not.’

Mr Lynley directed a frown of disapprobation at a squirrel scampering along a branch, as if it ought to be doing anything but that. ‘What sort of people are they?’

She realised she hardly knew – but it would not do to say so. ‘Tom and Sophie Spedding are of our own age – and young people of fortune; that is, our uncle Spedding was a rich man.’

‘I see. – Of course, if you and Mr Carnell consider this attention due to your relations, I have nothing to say against it. I am sure you are never less than mindful of how your father would have
wished
you to conduct yourselves; and you will already have duly considered that if he severed the connection, he must have had his reasons for it.’

‘Mr Lynley, you are, I think, five years or so older than me. I wonder, do you remember my mother? I have only dim recollections of her.’

Cautiously he answered: ‘I was, let me see, at Eton when she died. But I recall Lady Carnell as an elegant, quiet-natured woman, generally well thought of.’

Well thought of – or pitied! thought Louisa. ‘I have lost a father,’ she said, ‘but it remains the case that I lost a mother also, distant though the event is. And these are her sister’s children.’

‘Of course there is nothing to do with such sentiments but honour them,’ he said, with another bow; but his jaw was grimly set, and he seemed reserving his real opinion for that future occasion to which he had alluded and on which, presumably, he would combine his declaration of love for her, with a thorough-going criticism of her character and judgement.