A London Season (8 page)

But she persisted. “Sir Edmund, surely I must tell you what it was he meant! I do think perhaps
—
perhaps he might be wrong, even though he is a clergyman, and it was not
after all so
very
bad
—
”

“Of course not!” said Sir Edmund briskly, notwithstanding his total ignorance of the supposedly reprehensible matter under discussion.

“But you might not
wish
to employ me once
...
once
...”

“I do wish it, if
employ
is the right word, considering the favour you would be doing to my sister and myself.” Touched to see Miss Radley turn away to hide the tears that sprung to her eyes, he added, in a rallying tone, “Come, you don
’
t mean to tell me that whatever shocking indiscretion you committed in the schoolroom
—
”

“Only just out of it!” she said almost inaudibly.

“
—
makes you unfit to take charge of Persephone, when my very strait-laced Cousin Sophronia considered you a proper companion for herself and a suitable wife for that fellow Spalding?”

“That
’
s it, you see!” she said, grasping at this straw. “Lady Emberley
did
say that
—
that her giving me a home restored me to respectability. No,” she added scrupulously, if with reluctance, “to a
measure
of respectability.”

“Evidently she had a turn for fustian too. She was an old dragon when last
I
saw her, as well as clutch-fisted, and I can see she never changed to the day she died,” observed Sir Edmund. Lady Emberley, he deduced, had for her own ends browbeaten a young girl into a sense of disproportionate guilt over some youthful folly: this was the interpretation he was most inclined to put on what he had heard. He would have liked to know more, if only to reassure Miss Radley, for his judgment of character was in general sound, and he could not believe that her conscience was really burdened by anything but the mildest of peccadilloes. However, he sensed that the subject was best left alone just now, and moreover, at this moment Persephone burst into the room.

She had apparently exhausted the music to be found in the piano stool, for she inquired, “Miss Radley, I suppose you have not got the music of Haydn
’
s Canzonets, have you? I heard them sung not long ago, and have wanted to try them myself, but I couldn
’
t obtain a copy in Bath.”

“No, I
’
m afraid I haven
’
t one here either,” said Elinor, with an effort wrenching her mind away from the amazing vista of freedom before her. “But of course, you may easily obtain them in London.”

“Good gracious, so I may!” It was obvious that this had not previously occurred to the single-minded Persephone. “Why, I may buy all the songs I want in London, mayn
’
t I
?
”

“So long as you don
’
t squander
all
your wealth upon them!” said her guardian gravely.

She now appeared to be feeling in perfect charity with him, for she said only, with a trill of laughter, “Don
’
t be absurd! Oh, I see you are funning me.”

“My dear Miss Grafton, how beautifully you sing,” Elinor put in. “Forgive me, but I cannot help saying so. How much you must be looking forward to the Opera and all the concerts one may hear in London.”

At this, Persephone brightened even further. “Of course, there
will
be concerts there, will there not? More than I could ever hear in Bath! Do you know, I never thought of that before! Why, I don
’
t think I shall mind going to London so much after all!”

“Good,” said Sir Edmund. “Then perhaps you
’
ll add your voice to mine—and by the by,
I
had no notion either that you had so fine a singing voice
—
and help me to persuade Miss Radley, who is in fact our Cousin Elinor, or so she and I have agreed
—
to come to London and bear you company. You remember that I promised we should find someone who was agreeable to you.”

“Oh yes!” cried Miss Grafton readily. “Oh, do say you will come! I should like it so much! You know, perhaps he is not so very bad,” she said naively, contemplating her guardian, “for he
did
say I should not have an old cat as chaperon.”

“And to my own discomfiture, we have already discovered the evident fact that Cousin Elinor is no such thing,” said Sir Edmund.

“I am so glad you are to come with us, Miss Radley,” said Persephone blithely. “For you will, won
’
t you?”

“Yes
—
yes, if you really wish it.” Overborne, Elinor looked from one to the other.

“Then that is all settled,” said Sir Edmund, with satisfaction. “It
’
s fortunate that you seem to be fond of music yourself, cousin! I dare say that once you are in London, you will know how to provide for whatever Persephone needs in that line.”

“She will require a pianoforte,” said Miss Radley.

“I shall require a pianoforte,” remarked Persephone at almost the same instant.

“Excellent!” said Sir Edmund, smiling. “I can see you will go along famously together.”

5

A
he had been swept off her feet: so much she acknowledged to he
r
self. The sensation, while unusual, was far from disagreeable. Who could have supposed only two days ago, thought the bemused Elinor, retiring to bed in the charming room prepared for her in Upper Brook Street, that she would now be in London, welcomed into the Yoxford household quite as a member of the family?

During the last forty-eight hours, she had had very little leisure to reflect upon the extraordinary change in her fortunes. Such a whirlwind of activity as those two days had been! Sir Edmund had determined to spend a second night at the Plough in Cheltenham, to allow Miss Radley time to make her own preparations for travelling to London, while he took the opportunity of settling the outstanding business relating to his cousin
’
s estate; he had therefore sent John Digby on ahead of the rest of the party, with a letter for the Viscount and Viscountess.

Elinor was relieved to know that this missive gave advance notice of her own arrival in London. Despite all Sir Edmund
’
s assurances that she would be more than welcome at Yoxford House, and Persephone
’
s disarmingly obvious liking for her company, she had quailed a little at the idea of appearing quite out of the blue. Not that she had much time to spare for misgivings, as she and
Mrs.
Howell bustled about the house in Royal Crescent, completing the task of sorting its contents in preparation for the sale of the property. And
she
for one wouldn
’
t be sorry to see the back of the place,
Mrs.
Howell affirmed. “Many
’
s the time Joshua and me would have given our notice, miss, but for the difficulty of finding another place for a couple at our age, and what
’
s more, leaving you to my lady on your own! And where she would have found another respectable pair at the wages she paid us
I
don
’
t know! But there, I won
’
t speak ill of the dead, and to be sure, she did right by us in the end, miss, as I dare say Sir Edmund has told you, and we
’
re to have our own little cottage and be very snug. And I
’
m as glad as I can be to see you off to London to enjoy yourself, miss. Time and again I
’
ve said to Joshua: this is no kind of life for a pretty young lady like Miss Radley, I
’
ve said.”

“Oh, hush,
Mrs.
Howell!” said Elinor, smiling. “I am not going to London to
enjoy
myself, you know, but to look after Miss Grafton.”

“Ah, well, I dare say you
’
ll have as many fine beaux as her,” said
Mrs.
Howell cheerfully, rising from her knees on the floor beside the linen cupboard, where she had been counting sheets. “Eh, just hark at her now!” For Persephone had not been at all averse to remaining in Cheltenham another day provided she might have the use of the Royal Crescent pianoforte, and she was now mid-way through a song by Mozart. Its liquid notes poured out from behind the book-room door. “I never in all my days knew a young lady so fond of playing the piano, never! And how
loud
miss does sing, to be sure! Still, she seems a nice young thing, and a very pleasant gentleman Sir Edmund is, too.”

Elinor was very ready to agree whole-heartedly with this last proposition, but told herself sternly, as she carefully folded her own modest wardrobe and laid her gowns in tissue, that she had not been swept off her feet in
that
way! And would not be, either. It was one thing to acknowledge that she had taken an instant liking to a man who insisted, with such delicate tact, on the relationship between them, becoming her benefactor while making it seem that
she
was doing
him
the favour. That was a very natural way for her to feel in the circumstances! It would be quite another thing if she were to lose her head over him, just because he had a pleasing face and fine figure, combined with an engaging manner and a sense of humour that exactly chimed with her own. No, my dear girl, thought Elinor, firmly addressing herself, no, you learned your lesson a long time ago, or so I should hope! Not that Sir Edmund, of course, is in any way comparable to
...
”
but here she gave herself a little shake, and made haste to finish her packing, after which she went down to share with Persephone the light luncheon
Mrs.
Howell had prepared.

Miss Grafton, partaking with relish of cold chicken in aspic jelly and a tart of leeks and cream, volunteered the information that singing always made her hungry. “But I must not sing much more today.”

“No?”

“No, because at my age, it does not do to overstrain the voice,” said Persephone, with an air of great wisdom. “If one
has
a voice, you understand, one must look after it: train it, and do one
’
s voice exercises every day, of course, but not
force
it. Opera singers, you know, take the smaller parts in general when they first go on the stage.”

“I see
—
but
you
are not going on the stage,” said Elinor, with a smile.

“No,” agreed Persephone, but with such lack of conviction in her tone that Elinor felt a stirring of alarm. Could the child be nurturing some fantastical ambition to become an opera singer? Elinor had been to the Opera herself during her single visit to London. Long ago as that was, she could not help feeling that Persephone
’
s voice might well challenge comparison with that of many a professional performer. But Sir Edmund and the Yoxfords would hardly look kindly upon theatrical aspirations!

“The thing is,” Persephone was continuing, helping herself to more leek tart, “that if I am careful of my voice, it should come to its best when I am a good deal older, perhaps about your age. Oh dear, I ought not to have said that!” she exclaimed, for once looking abashed. “I didn
’
t
mean
to be uncivil, Elinor
—
I may call you Elinor, mayn
’
t I? And you must call me Persephone.”

“You may certainly call me Elinor: I wish you will! And
you were not a bit uncivil, for if I were
not
a good deal older than you, I should hardly make a suitable chaperon.”

“No, I suppose not. But I did rather expect that whatever my own feelings, Cousin Edmund or Cousin Isabella would choose somebody
really
old, and
that
you are not, after all!”

“Thank you,” said Elinor, gravely.

“And I must own,” continued Persephone engagingly, “that when Cousin Edmund said you were to come with us, it made me think better of him directly, even if it
was
unkind in him to make me leave Bath without a chance to say goodbye to my friends
—
”

“But, my dear, surely he would have let you take leave of them if you had but asked him!”

“Oh
—
oh, well, the thing is that my
—
that some of my particular friends are not in Bath just now,” said Persephone, a little gruffly. Elinor observed that her colour was heightened. “They have gone on a walking tour in Wales, and
—
oh, and now how are they
ever
to know where I have gone?”

This came out as a little cry of despair, and went straight to Elinor
’
s heart. “You can always write to them,” she suggested.

“They don
’
t reside in Bath,” said Miss Grafton gloomily. She seemed about to fall into a downcast mood, but at that moment, most fortunately,
Mrs.
Howell entered with her
chef d
’
oeuvre
, an ice pudding, at which Persephone exclaimed in delight. Her spirits much restored, she told Elinor, as she made inroads upon the pudding, “As I was going to say, you are not at all like a chaperon really, and I feel more as if we should be
sisters
, don
’
t you? I am sure it must be a very comfortable thing to have a sister!”

Elinor, an only child herself, owned that she had often thought the same, and by the time it was established that both she and Persephone had lost their parents young, and had subsequently been brought up by rather elderly ladies, they were firm friends. Not so absorbed in her own affairs that she could not take a lively interest in those of someone she liked, Miss Grafton soon elicited from Elinor the information that after the death of her widower father, a clergyman, when she was twelve years old, she had gone to live with her maiden aunts Jane and Matilda, and when she was eighteen she had spent a Season in London at the house of her eldest and only married aunt.

“And did you like it in London?” inquired Persephone. “Did you receive a great many offers of marriage? Do tell me all about it!”

Elinor had some difficulty in complying with this request. She could not truthfully have said that her one London Season had been a great event in her life: her Aunt Elizabeth had felt that she did her duty in having the girl to stay at all, and since she and her lawyer husband did not move in very fashionable circles, she made no great effort to exert herself on her niece
’
s behalf; the parties to which Elinor had gone had been few and rather dull. However, it was certainly no part of Sir Edmund
’
s intentions for her to set Persephone against London. Equally certainly, the child
’
s prospects there were brighter by far than hers had ever been.

“Well, yes, I liked London a good deal,” she replied. “And I did receive one offer, but I
’
m afraid it was not very romantic! He was a widower of over forty, and rather stout, and I could not like him.” She did not add that her Aunt Elizabeth had been so much disgusted by her refusal of this eligible
parti
(for the widower had been well-to-do) as to dispatch her straight back to Aunts Jane and Matilda in disgrace. “He meant well, and was kind, but I could not have spent the rest of my life with him.”

“I should think not, indeed!” said Persephone sympathetically. “So after you did not marry the fat old widower, what did you do next? Has nothing of an
interesting
nature ever happened to you?”

“Oh, then I became governess to a family in Essex,” Elinor said lightly, “and then it chanced that Lady Emberley needed a companion, and that is all there is to tell.”

She was ruefully aware that she had skated over mention of the one event in her life which Persephone would have considered interesting, and felt a renewed stab of misgiving. Should she not have insisted on telling Sir Edmund the whole? He would have learned it from the aunts
’
letters if he had read his way through the family correspondence in that desk of the old lady
’
s, but he had urged her to burn it all, and she had been glad to do so. Well, perhaps she had done wrong in allowing him to overbear her and persuade her to accompany Persephone to London, but at all events, she vowed to herself, now that she
had
been overborne, she would do her very utmost to justify the trust he so generously reposed in her.

Persephone spent much of their journey from Cheltenham the next day busily plying Miss Radley with more questions about London and the Season. Sir Edmund had solved the problem of accommodation in the post-chaise, which was not built to carry three persons inside, by declaring his intention of hiring a saddle horse to ride part of the way, and getting up behind in the dickey if this exercise palled, so that the two ladies were able to talk privately. Several times, when they stopped to change horses at the posting-houses along their way, Sir Edmund noted that his ward was now displaying the natural excitement and anticipation to be expected of a young lady on her way to the capital for her first Season, and was very well satisfied. She had plainly struck up an excellent understanding with Miss Radley, and he congratulated himself yet again on the good fortune which had led him to the house in Royal
Crescent
.

Indeed, it was not until Lord Yoxford
’
s chaise drew near London that the animated conversation between Elinor and Persephone died away. Both, for different reasons, were feeling somewhat apprehensive as the moment of arrival actually approached. Persephone had uncomfortable memories of the tremendous scold Cousin Isabella had given her on their last encounter; Elinor could not but wonder whether Lady Yoxford would really be as pleased to receive her as Sir Edmund thought. Still, the meeting must be faced.

In the event, Lady Yoxford was discovered reclining on her sofa in the Grey Saloon with an expression of acute apprehension on her own pretty countenance, and clutching a vinaigrette in one hand as if her life depended on it. Quickly realizing, however, that nothing to cause her faintness or severe palpitations was likely to occur in the immediate future, she very soon set down this article. Her imagination, refining upon the Unfortunate Business which sprang to her mind whenever she thought of her young cousin, had led her to forget that even at sixteen, Persephone had been able to behave very prettily if and when she chose. She chose to do so now, and consequently found Lady Yoxford not at all like the hysterically outraged figure of her own memories.

As for Elinor Radley, a very little conversation with her sufficed to show Isabella Yoxford that her brother had not been mistaken in informing her that he had found the very person to take charge of Persephone. Miss Radley
’
s quiet elegance and air of good breeding were all that Lady Yoxford could have wished for, and like Persephone (and indeed Sir Edmund) she warmed instantly to the humour that gleamed now and then in her new cousin Elinor
’
s eyes and smile.