A London Season (13 page)

But even exhausted as she was by the mingled emotions that had beset her that evening, it was a long time before Elinor could fall asleep. She lay tossing and turning in her bed, hearing the tall clock upon the landing strike the hours, staring unseeingly at the faint squares of light that the moon, scudding through clouds beyond the oblong panes of the big sash window, cast on the ceiling of her room, as her mind went over not just the day
’
s events, but also those of a summer eight years ago.

Who could ever have thought of her meeting Grenville Royden again? She caught herself up: ridiculous to think in such a way!
She
could have thought of it, and so she should have done! What was more natural than that
Mr.
Royden should come up to London from Essex, to squire an unmarried sister about town? The fact was, she had never stopped to think that by now her former charges must be grown up. She still imagined them as little girls of thirteen and ten, just as they were when she last set eyes on them. To think of Mary
’
s being married! Her conscience smote her, amidst her own turmoil of feelings, for having failed to ask Mary
’
s married name and her direction, but she would make up for that when Charlotte called in Upper Brook Street.

She supposed, however, that the main reason why she had failed to anticipate such a meeting was sheer reluctance to bring that summer at Royden Manor back to mind. She made up for the omission now, deliberately tormenting herself with the memory of her own folly. Eight years ago, listening to sermon after shocked sermon, lecture after lecture from her aunts, both severally and together, some obstinate streak of individuality deep within her had stoutly if silently maintained that it
was
only folly, not utter wickedness, to have fallen so helplessly, hopelessly in love with her employers
’
eldest child and only son. Sent down in disgrace from Oxford three years earlier, for some misdemeanour which his parents carefully avoided mentioning, although a parlourmaid had hinted to Elinor that it was a very shocking affair to do with the most disreputable class of female, he had never settled to anything since. By chance, young Elinor had overheard one angry scene between Grenville and his father, with old
Mr.
Royden raking down his son for his idleness and lack of interest in the estate. The agricultural troubles following the end of the French wars had hit Royden Manor hard, and the older Elinor could now sympathize heartily with
Mr.
Royden
’
s vain attempts to make his land pay its way.

But at the time she had been wholeheartedly on Grenville
’
s side when he complained to her, bitterly, of his father
’
s unreasonable behaviour in expecting a young gentleman of fashion to apply himself to so dreary a matter as estate management. No, the thing was to employ a steward to take care of all that! He supposed his father thought to
force
him to stay at home by making him such a wretched allowance! His having spent the whole of it for the current quarter, when that period still had six weeks to run, was the circumstance which had brought him to Royden Manor just when the new young governess arrived to take up her post. So he had some reason, he assured Elinor, to be grateful to his father after all! That, naturally, was music to her ears. How could she believe, for an instant, what Meg the parlourmaid had hinted about a woman of the town and a baby
—
when Grenville so plainly adored
her,
just as she adored him? Mere servants
’
gossip! She was very glad she had given Meg a setdown, and refused to listen to any more improper remarks!

What easy game she must have been, she thought ruefully. She could still remember, only too clearly, every moment of those brief weeks of bliss: the first time he put his arm round her waist, out in the orchard where she and the little girls were picking cherries, and he had playfully demanded
his
share, with a significant glance at her lips. She had been so afraid that Mary and Charlotte would notice how the mere, fleeting touch of his hand made her tremble! And there was the day when she slipped out of the schoolroom and he kissed her for the first time, in the succession house at the end of the garden. Her cheeks burned as she remembered, all too clearly, the ardour with which she had returned his kiss. Good God, she would not have denied him if he had wanted to take her there and then, among the forced melons and pineapples. (Such luxuries, beloved of
Mrs.
Royden, from whom her son inherited expensive tastes, were one of the reasons why Grenville
’
s father found retrenchment so difficult.)

She
had
felt a good deal of distress
—
not that she could now allow that to be much to her credit. She was betraying her employers
’
trust, she was no fit example to her pupils
—
but how could she help it, she had asked herself? She was sure that love conquered all, and
he
thought so too, positively urged her to think so, said he could not live without her, either. She wondered if he had ever really meant, however fleetingly, to marry her. He had certainly assured her that once the knot was tied, his parents would soon come round to the idea of the match. And the notion of being actually married to him, the prospect of such amazing, incredible, life-long bliss, had so dazzled her as to make her blind not only to virtue but to common sense as well!

Once again, in her mind, she went over that stealthy flight in the post-chaise brought to the Manor gates at dusk; she could still remember how she had trembled as she stepped up into it and into his arms. And then came the bedchamber upstairs in the inn on the Great North Road. She had been a little surprised, at first, that Grenville had not bespoken two rooms
—
but when it became clear what his intentions were, had she resisted? No, she had not. What Grenville wanted, Grenville should have, and she would give it gladly! How ungenerous to insist on waiting for a mere formal ceremony, when he desired her so much! She knew, in some separate part of her mind, that she was doing wrong, but if it didn
’
t feel wrong, how could she care? And here her memories became such as to cause the blood to rise to her cheeks yet again. In point of fact, she had not particularly enjoyed the experience. Quite apart from her own innocent ignorance, Grenville Royden was not the most skilful and certainly not the most considerate of lovers. But she could hardly have known that, and was only pleased to have made him happy; the idea of their future life together made up for any momentary disappointment. What was that phrase of Shakespeare
’
s?
The heyday in the blood
...
well, she had let it govern her to the exclusion of all else, which she now supposed
was
wickedness, just as they had all said. Very certainly it was foolish beyond permission!

She had also occasionally, and sadly, wondered how long Grenville would have kept her with him if they had not been discovered next morning. Perhaps he had even
meant
his father to discover them? Certainly the elder
Mr.
Royden had no difficulty in following their trail, and in catching up with them before they so much as left the inn. The most dreadful thing of all, still clear to her mind in every mortifying detail, had been Grenville
’
s ready acquiescence when his father pointed out where his duty lay; his turning on her when she protested, and asking whether she really thought he could marry a penniless girl who would let herself be tumbled so easily? He hoped he had a better notion of what he owed his family! The absolute brutality of this had made her feel quite faint, and had been a little too much even for old
Mr.
Royden, happy as he was to find that he was going to have no trouble with his son and heir over this peccadillo. The old man had given her five guineas to see her on her way to her aunts
’
house. She would dearly have liked to fling them in his face, but knew she could not, without being left alone and perfectly destitute.

The shock of rejection had, at least, the advantage of numbing her to some extent during the hours, days and weeks of disgrace and constant scolding that followed. It must be hushed up, the aunts all agreed, it
would
be hushed up
...
but that did not mean they had the least intention of holding their own tongues in private. Aunt Elizabeth arrived from London, to add her voice to those of Aunts Jane and Matilda. She was not surprised, she stated with gloomy triumph, to find that a girl who refused such a very respectable offer of marriage as Elinor had done was capable of this, too
—
but neither did her lack of surprise prevent her from expressing her sense of horror and outrage at interminable length. An atmosphere almost worse than one of mourning pervaded the house: there were whispered consultations, a letter too urgent to be entrusted to the mails was sent by special messenger, and a portentous solemnity settled upon Elinor
’
s aunts as they awaited the answer. It was almost a relief when that answer came, and Elinor was dispatched to Lady Emberley, to undergo yet more hours of strictures.

But even Sophronia Emberley could not continue in that vein for ever, and there was only one of her, whereas there had been three of the aunts to take turns in scolding. And there were small, practical things for Elinor to do about the Cheltenham house: that helped. She had grown up that summer, but too painfully. It had taken her a long time to teach herself how to raise her spirits and make the best of things. But she did find, at last, that by an effort of the will she could inure herself to the references Lady Emberley was in the habit of making to the shocking past
—
though it was certainly rather hard, when the Reverend
Mr.
Spalding became so intimate a friend of the old lady, to discover that he too had been regaled with the entire story, and to have to endure solemn reproofs from him, mingled with his ponderous attempts at courtship. With another effort of will, however, she contrived to persuade herself that she found
that
very diverting. Over the years, she had discovered an inner strength in herself, on which she could rely.

Yet perhaps even that lesson in self-reliance, learnt with such difficulty, had been a mistake too, and she was justly served. Or so it certainly seemed in the dead middle of the night. She did not know how she could face Persephone any more, or the kind Yoxfords or most of all Sir Edmund! She turned over once again and wept quietly into her pillow.

At last, common sense reasserted itself, and she recollected that she not only
had
faced Sir Edmund that evening, he had been all kindness and concern for her. This was a cheering reflection. It was some small comfort, too, to realize that she felt not the least pang of regret for her lost love when she set eyes on
Mr.
Royden again. She had sometimes wondered whether her old feeling for him was completely dead
—
but now, she could not imagine how she had ever been in love with him! What she certainly did feel for Sir Edmund Grafton, which she now acknowledged to herself, was a very different matter, but
that
would perforce remain for ever locked in her own breast. However, she had been right in telling Sir Edmund, when they were speaking of Persephone, that the passions formed at eighteen did not last.

Another cheering fact was the realization that all Grenville seemed to want was a welcome for Charlotte in Upper Brook Street, in return for the silence by which he evidently supposed she set great store. Now that she thought of it (and she reproached herself for giving way with too much abandon to her own distress), Charlotte and Persephone had plainly taken a fancy to each other, so there was no difficulty there! And hugging these happier thoughts to herself, Elinor at last fell asleep.

9

B
ut the incident marred Miss Radley
’
s pleasure in the first night of
Oberon
, if it could not entirely destroy it. All twelve performances of the work that were to be conducted by its composer had been sold out in advance, and the scene at Covent Garden was a dazzling one. The theatre itself had been rebuilt only some ten years earlier, after being ravaged by a disastrous fire. Tonight, every box was full, and the spectators seemed to be vying with the splendidly costumed performers in the magnificence of their dress and jewels. Looking about her, Lady Yoxford was satisfied that she had done right to come, and when the performance began, the opera itself came as a pleasant surprise to her. It was not at all wearisome! The scenery bore out the lavish promises of the playbill and won applause in its own right, particular enthusiasm being reserved for the effect of a sunset reflected on water in the second act, while the manner in which the Spirits of the Storm materialized out of the rocks was very striking, and the picturesque background of the sea shore made a charming setting for the Mermaid
’
s song.