Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I (9 page)

In her mortification--“Nothing makes one look sillier than a pleasantry not relished or not understood”--Ann retired to the safety of a chair, and the company of Lady Thomasin, whose talent for self-perpetuated conversations enabled her to recover her composure unnoticed. As Lady Thomasin sustained the flow of her speech by expounding on every thought that flitted across her mind, it was not long before, observing her great-niece’s partner, she began to talk about
him
. On the subject of his social and mental deficiencies she was either reticent or ignorant, but as the history and fortune of every one in society is considered the lawful property of every one else, and the possession of such knowledge the duty of every responsible parent, she did not scruple to tell her companion all that was known.

Ann was still at the stage of her embarrassment in which any mention of Sir Warrington brought renewed discomfort, but she steeled herself to listen, and was astonished to hear that as a young child he had been spirited away by gypsies; that their ingenuity had defeated every attempt of his parents to recover the boy; and that it was not until after the death of his father, at the time of the late uprising, that he had reappeared and deposed his younger brother, who had been brought up in expectation of the baronetcy. Ann could not help wondering if Lady Thomasin had proposed this romantic and incredible chronicle in jest, but as that lady gazed back at her with every appearance of having delivered a round unvarnished tale, she was forced to give it credence, if only as a respected rumor. Some response being required, Ann remarked that this was surely a hard circumstance for the younger son, to be so quickly and unexpectedly deprived of his inheritance; to which Lady Thomasin replied,

“Oh yes, indeed--but at least he does not make a display of his disappointment; he leaves that for his mother to do. It is shocking the way that woman behaves! After all, one is her son, as well as the other! At least--well, I have heard some doubt may exist on that head--but I for one do not believe it--and I should not be at all surprised to find she had put it about herself! Ha! Ha! If there were the slightest possibility of his not being who he claims, you may be sure she would not acknowledge him even as much as she does! As it is, he might be a
flea
, from the way she looks at him, when she can bring herself to do so at all! She cannot forgive him for being older than her darling, and now that Sir Warrington has come to London in search of a wife she is twice furious. Ha! I suppose she thinks that having had the poor taste not to be dead or lost beyond reclaim, he ought at the very least have the courtesy to go to the grave without further interference with the succession! But Sir Warrington has other ideas, and who can blame him? Ha! Ha! Though why he must come here when there are plenty of pretty girls in Ireland who would be happy to help him spend his rents--! Ah well! Poor boy! One trusts he will not regret it. Ha! They call him Edgeworth’s Essay, I understand. Mrs. Erskine told me that it was Lord Al_____y who began it--saw him coming down St. James one day and exclaimed, ‘Oh no! Here comes Edgeworth’s Essay--Illustrated. Gentlemen, I’m off!’ Of course his companions thought he had uttered something terribly clever and rushed about repeating it.” Glancing over, she evidently mistook Ann’s expression of discomfort for one of perplexity, and added, “From the book, you know.”

Ann said that she did; and seeing her chance, told of her conversation with Miss Spenhope. “I fear I should not have said that about Sir Warrington. I did not then know his history, but I should not have said it in any case.”

“Well, you certainly should not have said it to one of the Spenhopes! Have you not heard about poor what’s-his-name? The eldest boy--he stays at Bell Hall with his attendants. Something happened to him when he was born; I do not know what, but he is quite childish, I understand, and subject to violent fits, and has never said a word in his life.”

Lady Thomasin was not burdened with a great deal of sensibility, but Ann’s distress at this disclosure was such, that even she could not mistake it. She gave Ann a look of commiseration, and then searched the room for a likely distraction, which she soon found. “Here comes little Jenny Carruthers! Ha! Her mother married one of the Risleys, and his family never saw him again--which I always thought rather excessive, as she was a perfectly legitimate widow. And Meg Carruthers may have been a silly piece, but she was not half the chatter-basket her daughter is! You have never seen such a girl! She can carry on a conversation
all by herself
, without a word from anyone else ever being needed! Ha! Ha! I pity that young Mr. Ardmore--they say he is going to offer for her--perhaps he has some notion that her tongue will slow down as she grows older, but in my experience that kind of gabble-grinder only grows worse with the passage of years! Some one ought to warn him before it is too late! He will spend his life listening to her rattle on and plotting how soon he can leave for his club! Ha!”

But not even the sad prospects of Mr. Ardmore could long deflect Ann from her remorse. However, by the time the Parrys’ carriage was summoned, her feelings had subsided to more manageable proportions, and she was able to face the prospect of the nightly review, with only the smallest amount of reluctance.

She was so taken up in wondering how to begin, and sighing with the renewed regret which these reflections brought, that only gradually did she become aware that Julia’s spirits were as cheerless as her own. She was quiet, almost grave, and so much in her own thoughts, that Ann spoke to her twice without receiving any notice. This was so unusual, that Ann at once lost interest in her own troubles, from curiosity over her friend’s. She ceased to worry about the whens and ways of telling her own tale, and related it with an absence of concern, and an indifference to choosing words which would make her own behavior look as admirable as possible, that is seldom achieved in such narratives. Her sole desire, now, in telling it, was to encourage a return confidence, and she could not be bothered to take pains over her reputation.

Julia was all sympathy, and exclaimed and murmured and Oh-Ann’d, and was positive in her conviction that Miss Spenhope was not one to despise an apology, even had she not yet realized that only ignorance had prompted the unhappy speech.

Ann, allowing herself to be comforted, had not long to wait before she received the reward for her openness, which had been her hope. The question, “what had Julia herself thought of Sir Warrington?” was all that was required. Julia shook her head, and replied that she did not think it right to classify a man as stupid, when she understood so little of his conversation, that the perceived inadequacies of it might very well be in her own head. All she felt qualified to say of him, was that he was very friendly, very inquisitive, and danced very badly.

Ann was of the opinion, that they need not scruple to lay stupidity to his charge as well, for, said she, “Was not excessive friendliness a sure sign of mental deficiency?”

This was a favorite maxim of Clive’s, and usually did not fail to provoke a derisive smile, and a disparaging word from his sisters; but on this occasion, Julia said nothing, and when, after a moment, she looked up, Ann was astonished to see tears standing in her eyes.

Explanations could only follow, and Ann soon learned, that Julia’s answers to Sir Warrington’s catechism had so impressed that finicky son of Erin, that he had barely waited for the set to end, before grasping her hand, and more or less dragging her about the rooms in search of someone, as persistent as a hound on the scent. The trail had ended at a gentleman in a brown coat, who was identified by the baronet, as his brother. “He appeared less than delighted at being cornered in this fashion, and I suppose one could scarcely blame him,” said Julia, “for not only did Sir Warrington seize upon his arm as if afraid he might attempt to escape, but standing thus, with one of us secured in each hand, he made his introductions a mere preface to urging his brother to dance with me. It was, to be sure, a most graceless presentation--and I could easily have forgiven Mr. Lenox, if, in the discomfort of being placed in such a fix, he had blundered in his handling of it. But he did not appear to be in the least sensible of its awkwardness!” In the agitation of her feelings she rose and walked about the room. “If I could but make you understand the manner in which Sir Warrington presented me! I do not know quite how to describe it—”

Here Ann assured her, that descriptions were superfluous, as she had seen how it was with him, from the way in which he had gazed at Julia as they danced. “He presented you, did he not, as if you were the golden bird of Tippoo Sahib, and he had been to India and won you from the despot by his own ingenuity and valor? At once proud, joyful, and not a little awed by his good fortune?”

“Dear Ann, you make me laugh; are you never at a loss for an analogy? Yes, it was exactly like that. He was so childishly pleased with himself for having found me, and so sure that his brother would admire his treasure just as he did; and then, to see his disappointment! So cruel, so unnecessary!” She turned her head away, but after a pause, said more calmly, “Whatever Mr. Lenox thought of me, and however much he may have resented his brother’s ill-advised attempt to dispose of his dances, Sir Warrington surely deserved better from him, than such open indifference. I cannot believe, that a few minutes of perfunctory dissembling, would have harmed Mr. Lenox’s conscience, or exhausted his capabilities!”

“I collect Mr. Lenox thought differently?”

“Mr. Lenox looked at me, and said, ‘I cannot think what my brother sees to admire in you! I wish you will go away at once and stop imposing on his naivete!’”

“Julia! He
cannot
have said such a thing!” But despite her words, Ann’s horrified exclamation held nothing but belief, and Julia’s reply of, “No, certainly not; he only
looked
it,” was for a moment lost on her. Then she sighed, and laughed; at which the other commented, that Ann might very well find it diverting--after all,
she
had not been the one to receive the look: “Which,” added Julia, “I assure you, conveyed his sentiments quite as clearly, as if his lips had been framing those words, instead of the ‘How do you do, Miss Parry? My brother has not thought, but I am very sure you have not another dance free this evening,’ with which he informed me, that he had not the slightest wish to stand up with me.”

But Ann, delivered from the obnoxious rigidity of spoken words, into the more malleable realm of inference, refused to credit her friend’s reading of the matter, and urged all manner of refutations, until Julia halted her by saying, “Ann, your arguments are misplaced. Mr. Lenox’s opinion of me is of little moment. I own, it is unpleasant to be taken in dislike, and vexing, when one has as yet done nothing to merit it; but I have at least the consolation of knowing, by his unkindness to Sir Warrington, that in refusing me his good opinion, he has refused me nothing of value. I am grieved, not by his coldness, nor even chiefly for Sir Warrington’s disappointment, but by my own behavior. You spent the evening writhing and wriggling in shame because, in complete innocence, you uttered a handful of light-hearted words that were taken amiss--but my case was much worse.”

“I am quite sure that
you
said nothing you need blush for.”

“Spoken with the unshakable confidence of the best and blindest of friends, the more remarkable in that it is found in one otherwise supremely level-headed! But no, I do not think I did; such is the benefit of early training. ‘Cordial phrases may sound from the throat without having the slightest echo in the heart.’ Have you ever considered, how merciful it was in our Creator, to give us respectable, unrevealing foreheads, behind which we may entertain the pettiest, most hateful thoughts, and no one the wiser? We would certainly all be kept in a perpetual state of offense, if He had not--As this evening: in my speech, I was the very ‘pineapple of politeness,’ but in my
thoughts
, I was grinding up Mr. Lenox very small, and, on the basis of his not wishing to dance with me, denouncing him as a disagreeable, silly man with no taste at all, whose brother was greatly to be pitied!”

“You were just indignant on Sir Warrington’s behalf.”

“No; that is a pleasant conceit, and I entertained it for as long as I might; but the truth is, that because my vanity has been resting peacefully, like a well-fed viper, I was not much aware of it. But let a careless foot approach, and it arises at once, and shows itself to be in a very flourishing state.”

She looked so troubled at the memory of it, that Ann was moved to suggest, that perhaps they ought to apply themselves to helping Mr. Lenox recover from her venomous evaluation. “It should not be too difficult,” said she, with a sly glance. “I believe there were a number of
antidotes
to be found even at tonight’s assembly.”

“I know there were,” replied Julia, “for I saw him dancing with one, afterward.”

Their eyes met, and though they looked immediately away again, the mischief was done. Julia avowed, that her condition was even more appalling than she had thought, if she could not even mourn over the ravages of Vanity, without falling straightway into Spite; but as she could scarcely speak for laughing, Ann was not unduly remorseful.

“That was dreadful of us,” said Julia, when she was able. “No, really, Ann, we should not be laughing. There is nothing amusing about it--those ladies cannot help their faces, and probably their understandings are excellent, and they would never, ever, dream of sitting around after an assembly and abusing the looks and characters of their fellow guests.”

“No,” said Ann, who was better acquainted with assembly-room chairs, and those who filled them, “for why should they wait until
after
the assembly, when they have so much leisure to occupy while it is in progress?”