A London Season (12 page)

“And there was
The Fatal Marksman
, or,
The Demon of the Black Forest
,” offered Persephone, rather surprisingly. “I know that,” she explained, “because a fr
—
someone I met in Bath had seen it, at the Royal Coburg Theatre. It is hardly to be wondered at, you know,” she added with the engaging air of gravity she assumed when pronouncing on musical matters, “that nobody could fix on a good title in English, because it is not easy to translate
Freischiitz
!”

“Fry-what?” inquired Charley, lost.

“Yes, well, you see what I mean!” she told him. “The word signifies a person who has made a pact with the Devil, and in exchange for his soul gets magical bullets which never miss their mark, so he is a man who shoots
freely
—
without aiming, that is to say
—
and that is the meaning of the title, because the young man called Max in the opera has struck just such a bargain. Or no, wait! Another huntsman does so on his behalf, and obtains the bullets, and there is a tremendous scene when the spirit is conjured up, very wild and romantic indeed. I wish so much that I could have attended a performance,” she repeated wistfully, regarding her relatives with amazement as she reflected that none of them had gone out to see the work when it was practically upon their doorsteps, and in six versions at that! Except, she concluded, Sir Edmund. “Which one did
you
see, sir?” she
asked, turning to him.

“I didn
’
t see any of the English versions, but I have seen the opera in Berlin, where it was first performed,” he said.

“Oh, how I envy you!” cried Persephone, and Elinor, watching, saw with some amusement that Sir Edmund had evidently risen suddenly in his ward
’
s esteem, as a man who seized his chance to attend performances of such works as Weber
’
s.

“And I suppose this fellow-what
’
s his name, Max?
—
gets carried off by the Devil, eh?” Lord Yoxford asked.

“No, because he is betrothed to a very virtuous girl called Agatha,” Persephone told him. “Hers is a very affecting part, and her love saves Max in the end. She has some beautiful music
...
I wonder if I can recollect any of it?” And stepping swiftly towards the pianoforte in the corner, she lifted its lid and began tracing out a few notes, feeling her way into a simple, improvised accompaniment. “No, that
’
s not it,” she said half to herself, as she struck a false note. “Wait
...
ah, yes, I have it!” And she began, quietly at first, to sing.
‘
Leise
,
leise, fromme Weise
—
”

“Eh? What?” said Charley, baffled.

“Oh, it is in German, you see,” she stopped to inform him, absently. “It signifies
Softly, my pious song
—
or something of that nature.” And, more confident in her accompaniment now, she allowed The Voice full rein.

Not even Charley would have dreamt of interrupting the song as it rose, strong and steady, soaring to heights of pure and lyrical sound. Since she was singing in German, none of her hearers but Sir Edmund, whose diplomatic career had made him fully conversant with that language, was able to understand the words, but the music held them all spellbound. The Viscount and Viscountess had never before been exposed to the full power of Persephone
’
s singing voice, for in obedience to Miss Radley
’
s gentle hints, and herself instinctively aware that it was not a suitable instrument to be brought into play in a polite drawing room, she had hitherto reserved it for the privacy of the Yellow Parlour. They might not be used to finding themselves moved by music, but they were much impressed. Not in general a very imaginative woman, Lady Yoxford found herself fancying that the spirit of song itself had invaded her saloon. After the last notes had died away, there was a moment
’
s complete silence in the room.

“Upon my word!” uttered Lord Yoxford, at last. “Good gracious me!” said Isabella. “How very pretty that was, my dear!”

“Pretty?
Beautifu
l
!
” Elinor could not help exclaiming. “Beautiful indeed,” Sir Edmund agreed, and even Charley contributed a hearty, “I
say
!”

Flushed and a little confused, as if she had but just come down to earth from some heavenly region of harmony, Persephone closed the lid of the instrument, and said shyly, “Th-thank you. Well
—
now you can see why I fancy you would like Herr Weber
’
s new opera! You
must
come too, Cousin Isabella, indeed you must!”

“I didn
’
t know you had learnt German,” said Sir Edmund, interested.

“Oh!” Persephone seemed to catch her breath. “Well, I haven
’
t
—
that is to say, I know hardly any, only the words of a few songs.”

“There must be an English version of that aria?”

“Yes, I dare say. Several, I suppose, if there were so many productions of the piece here. But
—
but I learned the German words when I was in Bath. ” She seemed to think for a moment. “At the house of
Mr.
Ford, who taught music to the girls from the Seminary.”

Later, when Sir Edmund contrived to be alone with Miss Radley, he discovered that she, too, had gained the impression that Persephone was picking her words with care, as if to skirt round a subject while avoiding an outright lie.

“So what do you think of the music master himself as candidate for the part of lovelorn swain?” he asked her directly.

“Oh, nothing at all, I
’
m afraid!” she said, with the delightful laugh he realized he had been hoping to hear ever since he entered the house that afternoon. “For one thing, there had been
—
had been a little difficulty over a previous music master, or so I collect from Persephone
’
s animadversions on Miss Madden and the
bee she had in her bonnet
about even the most unexceptionable persons, if they happened to be young men! For another, Persephone herself tells me that
Mr.
Ford is old and has a great many children.”

“Yes, that hardly sounds the epitome of romance! And I take it
—
if your other deductions are correct
—
that he has scarcely abandoned his wife and all the children to go walking in Wales. All the same, there was
—
how shall I put it?
—
a kind of glow in the child
’
s eyes when she spoke of learning the piece at his house.”

“There was, wasn
’
t there?” Elinor agreed. After a moment
’
s thought, she began, “Perhaps
—
” Simultaneously, Sir Edmund said, “It may be
—”
Finding themselves speaking together, they both stopped, laughing, and he then continued, “It may be that she learned it from someone else in Bath.”

“Precisely,” said Elinor, “for you observe she didn
’
t say she learned it
from
Mr.
Ford, only
at his house.
Oh dear!” she added in dismay. “If the young man is musical too, that makes it so much worse!”

“Does it?”

“Yes! For as you know, I was persuaded that music would take her mind off this unsuitable love affair.”

“I suppose we can be certain,” said Sir Edmund thoughtfully, “that it
is
unsuitable?” And when she made no immediate reply, he answered himself. “Yes, no doubt we can; otherwise Romeo would have come pelting up from Bath, petitioning me for Juliet
’
s hand!”

“Yes,” Elinor agreed. “But if he is musical, you see, the case is different from what I had supposed. For I can
’
t help thinking that a shared interest is
—
well, a great attraction.
Oh dear, what is to be done? I do not like to pry into Persephone
’
s affairs, but if only we knew more about this young man
—
and at present we know next to nothing of him
—
it would be so much easier to help her, poor child! However, it would certainly be fatal to ask her outright.”

“I
’
ll tell you what,” offered Sir Edmund, after a moment
’
s thought. “The estimable
Mr.
Stanfield, in Cheltenham, should have various documents ready for me to sign pretty soon now; I might just as well visit him and deal with the business in person as have him send them to London, and then I could continue to Bath, and pay a call upon this
Mr.
Ford. For all we know,” he added meditatively, “among the many children, there could be a grown son of Persephone
’
s own age, who is musical too.”

“That might well be it,” she agreed. “I own it
would
set my mind at rest to know whether
Mr.
Ford can say anything to the purpose
—
but you would not go all the way
just
to set my mind at rest, I hope!”

“No, though I will admit that that must ever be an object with me,” he said gravely.

She could not be at all sure how serious he was, but laughed. “What a poor creature you must think me! When the very reason that you engaged me was to relieve you and Cousin Isabella of such problems.”

“I had no idea, then, that they would persist. For you really do fear we have underestimated the strength of Persephone
’
s attachment, don
’
t you?”

She nodded. “Yes, I do. I am sure she has written to Bath, you know, and had no answer. You should see how she watches for the letters to come every day. Oh, if only she could meet some eligible young man like Lord Conington
—
”

“Do you favour Conington too? But forgive me, I interrupted you.”

“Well, I certainly would favour him, as your sister does, if Persephone showed any real feeling for him beyond mere liking. But she doesn
’
t! I was going to say, if she could only meet and marry someone who was eligible in every way
and
shared her passion for music, then
...”
She saw that Sir Edmund had idly picked up her book from the side table where she had recently laid it down, and was looking at the title, very much as if Persephone
’
s affairs had ceased to interest him. It was Voltaire
’
s
Candide.
“Well,
then
,” she finished, smiling, “I should hold, like the good Dr
.
Pangloss in that tale, that all was for the best in the best of possible worlds!”

“But you imply that such a happy outcome is unlikely.” He put the book down, and suddenly, disconcertingly, bent his very blue gaze on her. “Cousin Elinor, I do begin to feel I
’
ve asked you to undertake a more onerous task than I knew. You don
’
t regret agreeing to it?”

“Dear me, no!” she said, laughing, though a little breathlessly as her eyes met that steady gaze. “How can you ask, Cousin Edmund? So far as
I
am concerned, I am very sure that all
is
for the best in the best of possible worlds!”

8

E
linor was to regret those words. Had anyone, she wondered, ever tempted Providence so rashly? For it was only the next day that the meeting took place which overset her peace of mind entirely.

She had gone, with Persephone, to the weekly Assembly at Almack
’
s. They were not accompanied by Lady Yoxford, who professed herself exhausted by the tiring manner in which they had been racketing about town, but Lord Yoxford
’
s coachman had driven them to the Assembly Rooms, and Sir Edmund, who was dining with Canning the Foreign Secretary and several other prominent members of the Government, was to join them later and escort them home. By now Elinor felt quite at ease in the company where she and her charge found themselves. Lady Cowper came over to them, and endeared herself very much to Miss Radley by the warmth with which she spoke of Sir Edmund, mentioning several tributes paid to his gifts and diplomatic competence by the Honourable Frederick Lamb, perhaps Emily Cowper
’
s favourite among her brothers. Persephone had no shortage of dancing partners, since several other ardent young gentlemen besides Lord Conington were in constant attendance on her. As the country dance into which Conington had been privileged to lead her came to an end, and the music of the band playing in the gallery above the dance floor died away, she rejoined her chaperon, protesting that she was quite breathless, and must sit down for a moment.

“I declare, if dancing in April is such warm work as this, I don
’
t know what it must be like in May and June!” said Miss Grafton, fanning herself with the pretty little tortoiseshell fan she had found in the Pantheon Bazaar, and which went so well with her pri
mr
ose gauze dress and amber beads. “I tell you what it is, Elinor: I should never have allowed Bates to lace me so tight!” She looked down, with dissatisfaction, at her tiny waist. It was small enough, in all conscience, without any lacing, but Isabella had insisted. Isabella might (and did) occasionally think, wistfully, that it was a pity the high-waisted fashions which had so long held sway were now outmoded. They had been so extremely comfortable! What was more, she had once remarked to Elinor, it was really too bad that when she herself had a waist every bit as small as Persephone
’
s, it was modishly concealed beneath ethereally flowing draperies, whereas now that she had borne six children and in the course of Nature the measurements of her figure could not be
quite
what they once were, the waist of a fashionable dress had descended to its proper place on the wearer. But Lady Yoxford was not one to be defeated by the perversities of fashion, and like the rest of her female acquaintance in Society had resolutely adopted tightlacing.

Anxious as she was, moreover, that Persephone should appear to her very best advantage at Almack
’
s, she had prevailed upon her to accept the expert ministrations of her own lady
’
s maid for this evening, and Persephone was now regretting it. “I never
would
have allowed her to lace me up, either, if I had been going to sing tonight,” she added. “Not on any account! Elinor, let us see if someone will find us some lemonade. Oh, look! Do you know those people? They certainly seem to know
you
!”

But Elinor hardly seemed to have heard her. Persephone saw that she was already staring, as if transfixed, at the couple on the other side of the room. After a long, penetrating stare at Miss Radley, the gentleman had bent to say something into his companion
’
s ear, and she instantly glanced up and then quickly crossed the floor towards Elinor and Persephone.

She was a tall, fair girl of about Persephone
’
s own age, her features pretty without being anything out of the common way, but she had an endearingly ready, open smile which lent charm to her face. The smile was much in evidence now, as she approached Elinor with both hands outstretched, saying, “It is
—
it surely must be you, Miss Radley! I cannot be mistaken! Grenville said he was sure he recognized you, and the moment he pointed you out to me I was very sure that
I
did!”

Gathering her scattered wits, Elinor said, a little faintly, “Good gracious, can it really be you, Charlotte? But I fancy I ought to call you Miss Royden now. Why, how you have grown!”

Even to her own ears this last comment sounded inept, but she had to say something, and was finding it difficult to speak at all. However, her words drew a charming laugh from Miss Royden, who said, “Yes, I have, haven
’
t I? When I came to live with Mary
—
she is married now, you know, and I have been residing with her since Mama died last year
—
well, Grenville said he thought I should tower above all my dancing partners, and while it isn
’
t quite as bad as that, you can see for yourself that it
’
s bad enough!”

“How delightful to see you again!” Elinor managed to utter. She did not sound at all convinced of the truth of what she said, which seemed to Persephone odd, since nothing could have been more taking than the young lady
’
s frank amiability, or her evident pleasure in seeing Miss Radley. “But I am wool-gathering! Persephone, let me make Miss Charlotte Royden known to you. Eight years ago, she and her sister were my pupils when I was a governess. Miss Royden
—
Miss Persephone Grafton!”

“Oh, do pray call me Charlotte still,” begged Miss Royden, smiling. “How odd it would be if we were to stand on ceremony now.”

“Odd indeed!” a man
’
s voice drawled behind her. And what in the world was there in that, Persephone wondered, to make Elinor stiffen? The movement was almost imperceptible, but Miss Grafton thought she had not been mistaken.

“Miss Grafton, this is my brother Grenville,” Charlotte Royden introduced her escort. “You will certainly remember
him
, Miss Radley, for he can
’
t have changed as much as I have done.”

“Of course I remember him,” said Elinor, civilly.

“Of course,” the gentleman echoed her. He had crossed the room in his sister
’
s wake, but at a more leisurely pace, and now stood with his gaze travelling lazily from Elinor to Persephone and back again. “How charming to encounter you once more, Miss Radley! Or have you, I wonder, now changed your state, and are you married to somebody?”

“No,
Mr.
Royden. Persephone, let me introduce
Mr.
Grenville Royden to you.”

“Ah
—
the Nightingale of Upper Brook Street!” said
Mr.
Royden, gallantly. “For so I have heard you called, Miss Grafton.”

“Have you indeed? How no
n
sensical!” laughed Persephone.

“No, no, I assure you; your fame has gone abroad. What a pity we can have no chance to hear you play or sing tonight! But I must hope for that pleasure on some other occasion.”

“You are fond of music,
Mr.
Royden?” There was an instant warmth in Persephone
’
s eyes. Elinor, watching, had perforce to hide her vexation at seeing that Grenville Royden had plainly lost none of his ability to please.

But he was changed, she saw, since their last meeting eight years ago
—
changed more than she had at first supposed. Of course he looked older; he must now be thirty years of age or more. He was still remarkably handsome
—
yet scrutinizing the face and figure that had dazzled her when she was Persephone
’
s age, Elinor found their charms decidedly tarnished. One did not at first perceive it, because of the excellent cut of his evening dress, but he had filled out and become less lean and athletic. Self-indulgence? It was not at all unlikely. Though who was
she
, thought Elinor, to hold self-indulgence against anybody else, living as she did a life of ease at Yoxford House under what, she had a dismal feeling, were dreadfully false pretences?
Mr.
Royden
’
s fashionably cropped hair was not quite as thick as it had been, and his complexion had coarsened; in repose, his full mouth drooped, taking on a certain expression of petulance. It was the mouth of one who had always been accustomed to getting what he wanted. But there was still a challenging brightness in his eyes, and a challenge in his smile too as he turned from Persephone back to Miss Radley.

“And so
you
are the cousin who is chaperoning Miss Grafton about? Well, well! I had heard of the musical heiress, to be sure, but I had no notion that you were any connection!”

“The connection,” said Elinor, maintaining her tone of civil coolnesss, “is very remote, and is on different sides of the family of Persephone
’
s guardian, Sir Edmund Grafton.”

“You must know, Miss Grafton,” Charlotte was meanwhile informing Persephone, with easy friendliness, “that Miss Radley was
quite
the kindest governess my sister and I ever had! Miss Radley, you must tell us all your news! I think I have already told you mine, except that Papa died five years ago.” Elinor murmured formal condolences. “And so now we are all fixed in London, except that Grenville comes and goes between town and Royden Manor, but the house there is more or less shut up, because he doesn
’
t wish to be at the expense of maintaining a full establishment in the country. How happy Mary will be to know that I have met you! She has a little boy now, and a dear little baby, and because she is expecting another child very soon she does not go out much at present, but you must call upon her. We were both very sorry when you left the Manor so suddenly.”

“I was obliged,” said Elinor, carefully, “to leave in order to take up the post of companion to Lady Emberley, an elderly relative of mine.” For some reason that Persephone could not fathom, she looked straight at
Mr.
Royden rather than at Charlotte as she spoke. And now something occurred which Elinor had been fearing for the last few minutes, but
w
hich she saw no reasonable means of averting: she was going to be left alone with
Mr.
Grenville Royden. Lord Conington was approaching with a friend; introductions were made, and very soon Persephone and Charlotte had both been borne off into a quadrille. Looking round rather desperately for a familiar face, Elinor saw a lady whom she had recently met, and, grasping at any straw, was moving away to greet this acquaintance when
Mr.
Royden said gently, “Oh, don
’
t go! I should so much like to talk over old times with you.”

His tone might be gentle, but Elinor realized with some indignation that he had actually taken her firmly by the elbow, and she could not pull away without creating a most unseemly little fracas. He released her only when she turned to face him. “Well!” he continued. “To think of you being here, and in the part of a chaperon! Within the sacred halls of Almack
’
s, too! Who would ever have thought it?”

Her head came up. “I think we need not discuss the matter,
Mr.
Royden.”

“
Mr.
Royden? Oh, so formal!” He laughed at the fiery glance she shot him. “Oh, don
’
t agitate yourself
—
you
’
ll allow that I could hardly resist that! So here you are, in the company of Grafton
’
s ward. Did you know he and I are neighbours in the country? No, perhaps not, but so it is.” Now that she thought of it, Elinor did recollect that during her brief period at Royden Manor, the name of Waterleys, which she now knew to be Sir Edmund
’
s place in Hertfordshire, had been mentioned as that of a neighbouring estate, but the circumstance had been of no interest to her at the time. How strange to think that, long ago, she had been so close to Sir Edmund without ever meeting him
...
or no, more likely she had not, she reminded herself prosaically, since he would have been abroad at that time.

She was brought out of her thoughts by
Mr.
Royden
’
s voice, that very irritating hint of amusement still in it. One might suppose, reflected Elinor, summoning all her dignity to her aid, that he would at least be abashed to meet her again, but evidently it was no such thing! For he was continuing, in the same tone, “Grafton, and the Yoxfords
—
you have certainly done pretty well for yourself, Elinor! You move in elevated circles indeed! But you haven
’
t asked me what
I
am doing in London.”

“Escorting Charlotte to parties, I suppose.”

“Well, yes, but I
’
ll be frank with you, Elinor. After all, were we not once upon very close terms? I feel sure frankness cannot offend you! I
’
m here to get Charlotte a husband.”

“I should imagine,” said Elinor, quite tartly, “that Charlotte will be well able to do that for herself, for she has the most engaging manners, and is sure to take.”

“Ah, but you don
’
t quite understand me, my dear. Just
any
sort of husband will not do! Mary married well enough, but not
very
well
—
and he
’
s a prosy fellow, her husband, and doesn
’
t seem to care for me, I can
’
t think why! No, it
’
s a rich husband I need for Charlotte
—
rich, and well-disposed towards her only brother, if you understand me.”

I suppose you mean that you have been running through your inheritance.” She could well believe it; improvidence had been one of
Mr.
Royden
’
s more notable characteristics as a young man, though as she ruefully recalled, she had been so blind to any faults of his that such mundane matters had not seemed to signify at the time.

“Let
’
s say, the estate was pretty much encumbered already, and I
’
ve no fancy for entrenchment,
or
much liking for the life of a country squire. A wife with a handsome dowry might do the trick, but then, matrimony
’
s not in my line, my dear Elinor
—
never was.” Miss Radley suppressed the gasp of indignation that nearly escaped her; Grenville might be baiting her, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her rise to his bait! “No, a rich and obliging husband for Charlotte is the thing, and would pull me out of the suds nicely!” He glanced at his sister, talking to Lord Conington with unselfconscious ease during an interval in the dance, and remarked, “Not such a connection as
that,
of course; I can tell I
’
d be setting my sights too high there, and besides, the talk is that Conington
’
s infatuated with your pretty Miss Grafton. However, this is a very fortunate meeting, Elinor, for it occurs to me forcibly that you and I might be very useful to one another.”

“How so?” she inquired glacially, not troubling to hide her dislike of this style of conversation.

“Why, you may introduce Charlotte into the Yoxfords
’
circle. She won
’
t put you to the blush; she
’
s pretty enough, though not so beautiful you need fear her outshining Miss Grafton! But Mary and her prosy husband don
’
t move in the
first
circles, let alone the fact that Mary seems to be forever in an interesting condition, and
—
well, let
’
s say the matter of a
—
er
—
suitable husband for Charlotte is becoming tolerably pressing!”

“Poor Charlotte! I collect that she is ignorant of these delightful plans for her welfare! Well, I am sure she will be very welcome in Upper Brook Street, for she is grown into a charming girl,” said Elinor, decidedly relieved to find that an introduction was all that was required of her. More, however, she could not do
—
and would not if she could, as she told
Mr.
Royden, matching his own frankness. “You seem to care more for money than for her happiness in marriage!”

“Ah, but then money
is
important in matchmaking, is it not!” inquired
Mr.
Royden blandly. “As I
’
m persuaded you must know.” She was far too much mortified to make any reply to this, and in a moment he added, “But you haven
’
t asked me what
I
can do for
you
!”

“Nor do I mean to!”

“I
’
ll tell you, all the same,” said
Mr.
Royden, close to her ear. The whole distasteful conversation had been conducted in a tone of such confidentiality that no bystander could have caught their words, which made it, somehow, even more nightmarish. “I can keep my mouth shut, can
’
t I? Or not,” he added reflectively, his gaze turning towards the door.

Following the direction of his eyes, it was with extraordinary relief that Elinor saw Sir Edmund enter the room and look about him. He was impeccably clad in a blue dress-coat with gilt buttons, a waistcoat of a lighter shade of blue, and pale-coloured pantaloons strapped under the feet. On locating her among the onlookers at the side of the floor, he came towards her with a smile that made her heart lift. It immediately plummeted again as
Mr.
Royden repeated, very softly, “Or
not,
as the case may be.”

From the circumstance of their estates marching together on the borders of Essex and Hertfordshire, the two gentlemen were slightly acquainted, so she had no need to perform introductions, for which she was thankful; just then she felt she could not have uttered another word. To her immense relief,
Mr.
Royden soon took his leave and walked away, and Sir Edmund, noting her pallor, caused her to sit down and procured her a glass of orgeat. She sipped it thankfully.

“There, is that better?” he asked, looking at her with concern. “What was the matter?”

“Oh, nothing!” she said quickly. “The
—
the heat of the room! As Persephone noticed too, it is a very warm evening for the time of year!”

Sir Edmund, who knew a civil falsehood when he heard one, let this pass, but regarded her with no lessening of his concern. She was very glad when he suggested an early return to Upper Brook Street, and when Persephone concurred. Miss Grafton was still regretting the tightlacing to which she had succumbed, and Elinor was thankful indeed to attain the solitude of her own bedchamber after an evening which had quite cut up her peace. And for that, she acknowledged despairingly, she had no one but herself to blame!