Animating Maria (3 page)

‘If I have to share the same room as you,’ said Maria, ‘then there is every reason to treat you in such a manner.’

‘I have never been so humiliated in my life,’ wailed Miss Spiggs.

Maria’s face softened. ‘Do not take on so, Miss Spiggs. You have been living alone for some time now, have you not? It is not your fault. You could not possibly know how smelly you had become.’ She went over to her jewel box, ferreted about and finally drew out a handsome diamond pin. ‘You may have this, Miss Spiggs. It will look very fine on your gown.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ breathed Miss Spiggs, staring in awe at the sparkling diamond. ‘You must forgive me for being so upset, Miss Kendall. Of course you have the right of it. My poor neglected solitary life. If only Mr Spiggs could see me now in the lowly position of companion, he would—’

‘Yes, he would turn in his grave,’ sighed Maria. There came a scratching at the door. Maria opened it. A liveried footman stood there. He bowed low. ‘The Duke of Berham’s compliments,’ he said. ‘His grace would be honoured if Miss Kendall would join him for dinner.’

‘Tell the Duke of Berham I have no wish to join him,’ said Maria, her face flaming as she remembered that kiss.

The footman bowed and walked away.

*   *   *

Maria’s temper was soothed by the excellence of the fare served in the dining room. The first course consisted of carrot soup à la Creole, soup à la Reine, baked cod, and stewed eels. The entrée boasted riz de veau and tomato sauce, vol-au-vent of chicken, pork cutlets and sauce Robert, and grilled mushrooms. The second course was rump of beef à la jardiniere, roast goose, boiled fowls and celery sauce, garnished tongue and vegetables. The third course offered grouse and pheasants, quince jelly, lemon cream, apple tart, compote of peaches, Nesselrode pudding, cabinet pudding, and scalloped oysters. Then followed fruit and ices.

‘A delicate repast and elegant sufficiency,’ said Miss Spiggs, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. Her eyes were bulging, as if all the food inside her were putting pressure on them. She was so well pleased with her present of the diamond pin that she even forgave Maria for ordering the maid, Betty, to sit down at table with them, Maria pointing out that, as they were screened from the rest of the dining room, they did not need to follow convention. Their table was set in the bay of a window, and outside the rain drummed down with remorseless fury.

There came a great deal of noise and argument from the dining room as more travellers arrived demanding to be served. Maria heard one man say that part of the road had been washed away and no one knew when they would be able to resume their journey.

Maria frowned. She did not want to be trapped in this inn with the Duke of Berham. She wanted to forget him. He had behaved disgracefully, and she had no man to support her and exact revenge for that kiss. She fell to dreaming about the captain again, wishing he were not a figment of her imagination. But, unlike other times, the dream did not comfort her. The duke’s handsome and haughty face kept interrupting it. She began to dream of revenge instead.

She had never consciously tried to attract any man; such suitors as she did have she had always considered an unwelcome interruption to whatever dream she had wrapped round her. The fact was that Maria had been overbullied by her parents since an early age and had learned to escape from them in rosy fantasies. What if she could make this duke fall in love with her and then spurn him? It would do no harm to find out a little more about him.

When the meal was over, she sent Miss Spiggs and Betty upstairs and sought out the landlord, Mr Swan, and complimented him on his chef. Mr Swan beamed. He had been sure Maria was going to complain about the duke.

‘We keep a good kitchen, miss,’ he said. ‘Travellers come from all over to stay here.’

‘And from quite near too,’ said Maria. ‘The Duke of Berham owns the land on which this inn stands and so he must live hard by.’

‘A few miles from here, miss. But, like yourself, he was caught in the storm. Bound for London is his grace.’

‘He seems a cold and proud and arrogant man, from what I have heard,’ pursued Maria.

‘Very lofty in his ways,’ agreed the landlord, ‘but he
is
a duke.’

‘I thought that after the experience of the American colonial wars and the French bourgeois rebellion the English aristocrat would have been more careful not to appear autocratic,’ said Maria.

‘Well, they was for a bit,’ agreed Mr Swan. ‘But now it looks as if no one’s going to hang them from the lamp-post, so they’re free to go back to their old ways.’

‘No doubt his duchess is equally haughty.’

‘His grace is not married. ’Tis said he claims he cannot find a lady to suit him. Lor’, there’s many that have tried. I’m sorry about your extra bedchamber and that private parlour, but there was no stopping him.’ Mr Swan laughed. ‘You should have heard him. ‘‘Who is this Miss Kendall?’’ he says, looking down his nose at me. ‘‘I am surprised, Swan, that you should put the comforts of a nobody above those of myself.’’’

The landlord laughed, and Maria gritted her teeth. ‘Still, stands to reason,’ the innkeeper went on, ‘him owning all the land. He even goes on as if he’s running this inn. Says if the weather continues bad tomorrow, he’s going to organize a dance in the assembly rooms at the back.’

‘Well, let’s hope the weather clears,’ said Maria, ‘for I am anxious to be on my way. The people who are waiting for me in London will wonder what has happened to me.’

‘It’s bound to be in the newspapers,’ said the landlord soothingly, ‘that’s if the towers hasn’t been washed away.’ He meant the observation towers strung across the country, where news was signalled from one to the other and so to the capital.

‘I hope so,’ said Maria. ‘Good evening, Mr Swan.’

She went up to her room and sat patiently while Betty brushed her hair. Miss Spiggs chattered on about this and that, but her voice buzzed only faintly in Maria’s ears. If this ball did take place and if she wished to attract the duke with a view to getting her revenge, she could hardly do so with the wardrobe she possessed.

‘Get me out the white muslin ball-gown,’ she said to Betty, ‘and bring me my work-basket.’

Maria looked gloomily at the gown. It had puffed sleeves and a high neckline and screamed provincial from every seam. She took out a small pair of scissors and began to pick the seams apart. ‘Get me that green silk frock, Betty,’ she ordered. ‘This dress needs a bit of trimming.’

‘I do not think your mama would like you to touch that gown,’ said Miss Spiggs severely. ‘She considered that gown very suitable for a young lady making her début.’

Maria paid her no heed. She began to cut and stitch, glancing all the while at the open pages of an issue of
La Belle Assemblée
she had brought with her.

Miss Spiggs finally undressed and went to bed, still grumbling as she fell asleep. Maria drew a branch of candles closer to her and continued to work.

*   *   *

Amy, Effy, Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph were playing a rubber of whist. Amy was abstracted and had to keep being called to order. At last she threw down her cards. ‘It’s that wretched girl,’ she mourned. ‘The papers say the roads are washed away. Goodness knows what she is getting up to. People like the Kendalls will consider it our responsibility if anything happens to her, even though she never reached here. And who are we to find for her? Only think of those parents. Do you think we might get her married off by persuading them not to attend the ceremony?’

‘Do not be ridiculous,’ said Effy. ‘Mr and Mrs Kendall’s sole ambition is to have their daughter married well and to be present at the wedding.’

‘All you ladies do is think of weddings,’ teased Mr Randolph.

Amy rounded on him, her eyes flashing. ‘And why not, sir? What in the name of the devil’s backside are such as Maria Kendall to do? If she does not marry, her life will go on a vulgar hell of bullying to the grave.’

‘Let us hope she knows how to charm the gentlemen,’ mumured Effy slyly. ‘Your farouche behaviour has not been exactly successful, sis.’

Such a snide remark in front of two gentlemen, two
eligible
gentlemen, left Amy breathless.

Mr Haddon said severely, ‘We are not discussing Miss Amy, Miss Effy, although many gentlemen such as myself find Miss Amy’s honest and direct manners a welcome relief from simpering and giggling. We are discussing the marital hopes of a young girl of unfortunate parents. My advice is not to look too high. There are many fine men in the merchant class.’

Effy bridled. ‘We do not know such persons.’

‘You know me.’

‘My dear Mr Haddon, no one considers the East India Company to be
trade
.’

‘You are in trade yourself,’ went on Mr Haddon, showing an unexpected glimmer of malice. ‘You advertise for young girls.’

‘That is a genteel occupation,’ said Effy, becoming tearful. ‘What has come over you, Mr Haddon? You are
attacking
me.’

‘Steady, Haddon,’ murmured Mr Randolph. ‘You are being too hard on Miss Effy. Do not cry, Miss Effy, or you will make your eyes red.’

This had the effect of drying Effy’s tears. The game continued with some semblance of friendliness. But Amy was worried. Never before had Effy been quite so openly malicious. Did Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph not realize they were still marriageable and that the two poor spinster Tribbles looked on them as their last hope? Amy then thought of Mr Haddon’s compliment but it did not warm her. He had leaped to her defence as a good friend should, but Amy longed for something warmer than friendliness. She thought of all those London Seasons stretching back down the years, Seasons where she and Effy had sat on the edge of the ballroom floor, hoping and hoping. Every winter hope had died only to spring again, phoenix-like, from the ashes as a new Season began.

Amy suddenly had a very clear picture of how the pair of them must have looked to society in the more recent years, two spinsters still acting like young hopefuls, two objects of pity. She suddenly covered her face with her hand of cards and began to cry.

‘I am a wicked woman,’ screamed Effy. ‘I have hurt you. Oh, forgive me, sis.’ And Effy began to cry as well. Mr Haddon patted Amy on the back, recommended brandy, gave her a clean handkerchief, and then sat down and began to cry himself, as any gentleman of sensibility ought to do. Not to be outdone, Mr Randolph sobbed with little snuffling noises into a fine cambric handkerchief, and the tears rained down from the eyes of all until the cards on the table became quite damp.

‘A pox on this,’ said Amy at last. ‘Let’s have some champagne and forget the Kendall girl. She’s probably dreaming so hard, she don’t know what day of the week it is!’

Vengeance, deep-brooding o’er the slain,
Had lock’d the source of softer woe;
And burning pride and high disdain
Forbade the rising tear to flow.

Sir Walter Scott

The next day, the rain ceased, although a sullen grey sky still pressed down on the sodden fields about the inn. Maria went for a walk along the road with Miss Spiggs to view the ravages of the storm. They had gone only a little way when Miss Spiggs began to complain that her feet hurt. Maria longed to send her back and walk ahead on her own, but she knew she ought to be chaperoned, and although she still fiercely blamed the Duke of Berham, the thought of her own behaviour made her blush. She should never have gone to see him on her own. When she saw him half-naked, she should have fled. So she ignored Miss Spiggs’s complaints and picked her way along the muddy road, holding up her skirts.

They had gone about half a mile when they came to a raging torrent which cut across the road and plunged down a rocky slope into the tangled briers and scrub of an an uncultivated field below.

A knot of people were already there, staring at the flood in dismay. One of them, a gentlewoman who was there with her maid, turned round as Maria approached and exclaimed, ‘They say we will be stranded at the inn until this torrent abates. Perhaps it is as well we have the Duke of Berham to provide for our amusement.’

‘And how is his grace going to do that?’ asked Maria, wondering if there was to be some diversion other than the proposed dance.

‘He is giving a ball in the assembly room tonight, and as the road north between the inn and his estates is clear, he has sent for his staff to help with the arrangements.’

Maria stiffened. ‘If the road to his home is clear, why does not the duke return there and leave room at the inn for travellers?’

‘I think he feels it his duty to plan amusement for us, as we are on his land,’ said the lady. ‘We must introduce ourselves. I am Miss Frederica Sunning-dale.’

Maria, introducing herself in turn, saw that the face peering out at her from the shadow of a great poke-bonnet was young and pretty. ‘Do your parents accompany you, Miss Sunningdale?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes. Papa and Mama are in high alt. They are taking me to London for the Season, but they have high hopes that I will entrap the duke. There are not many young ladies at the inn. I had hoped for a clear field, but you are very pretty,’ said Miss Sunningdale candidly, ‘and so I shall have to battle for his attention.’