Menfreya in the Morning

5

I felt wretched back in the London house. I had lost Gwennan, Bevil was furious with me, and before me stretched the dreary season through which Aunt Clarissa would guide me.

She sat in the drawing room facing Jenny, dressed in black, which was a reproach to Jenny that his sister had not yet cast off her mourning for her brother although his wife had seen fit to do so. She looked like a crow intimidating a little budgerigar.

Her voice was high and shrill. “Of course, this house would have been ideal. I remember the entertainments my brother used to give. I have seen these rooms decorated with exquisite flowers and even - a fishpond in the library.”

My stepmother fluttered her hands, but these helpless gestures, which had so enchanted my father, left Aunt Clarissa unmoved.

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of using this house now ... a house which not so long ago suffered a bereavement!”

“AH houses must have had their bereavements at times,”

I put in, because I had to come to Jenny’s aid. “If no parties were ever given in houses where people had died, there would be few parties.”

“I was addressing your stepmother, Harriet.”

“Oh really, Aunt. I’m not a child to speak only when spoken to.”

“Until you are officially out, I look upon you as a child.”

“Then I shall be very pleased to have crossed the magical barrier.”

There is one thing I must talk to you about, Harriet. Your tongue is too tart.”

“I should only succeed in artificially sweetening it”

“This is absurd digression. I was saying that it is not possible to use this house, and I suggest that Harriet makes her home with me until the season is over.”

Jenny looked helplessly at me, I realized that it would have to be as Aunt Clarissa suggested.

Aunt Clarissa’s house was set back from the road; there were two gates at each end of a semicircular path which led to the front door. It was larger than our house in the London square, but much less elegant. Aunt Clarissa’s husband had not been as rich as my father—a fact which she had always resented and, I believe, continually pointed out to my poor uncle. He had died some five years ago after a long illness, and I had heard his death called “a happy release.” I could well believe it bad been.

Sylvia and Phyllis welcomed me into their home with contemptuous indulgence. I was no rival; in fact I would be a foil which would enhance their pink-and-white prettiness.

There was a whirl of activity in the house. Poor little Miss Glenister, the seamstress, was working in one of the attics, which was called the sewing room, from early morning until late at night I was sorry for her; she was harassed not only by my aunt but by my cousins; and it could be a major disaster if Miss Sylvia did not like the set of her sleeves, and Miss Phyllis, after deciding that she adored the coffee-colored lace on her blue velvet, suddenly decided that she hated it after all. Miss Glenister was the scapegoat, the whipping boy. Everything was blamed on her. Sometimes I wondered that she did not throw her pins and cottons at them and walk out of the house. But where to? To be employed by some other family who would exact the same duties and shower on her similar blame?

When she made something for me I always declared myself delighted with it, which wasn’t true; but I couldn’t bear to add to her troubles.

My cousins would put their hands to their lips to hide their smiles.

“Well, I shouldn’t care for it, Cousin. But I suppose you feel it is not very important.”

Miss Glenister would make excuses for them. She said to me: “Well, Miss, they’re so pretty. It’s understandable they would want the best”

The dresses were filling our wardrobes. Ball dresses—several of them, for as Aunt Clarissa said, it would be disastrous to wear a dress so many times that it was recognized.

“Does that mean we shall wear them only once?” I asked.

“What ridiculous extravagance!” retorted Aunt Clarissa.

“But would it be safe to wear them twice? There may be some people who will be alert enough to recognize them even after one airing. The dress detectives!”

“I beg of you, Harriet, don’t imagine you are being clever. In fact you are being very stupid.”

But I had shaken her, and this gave me malicious delight I took every opportunity to undermine her confidence in her daughters and their success in what I called the marriage market. I was ashamed of myself; I told myself that I despised the entire business, but secretly in my heart I knew that had I been beautiful, charming and attractive, I should probably have been as interested in the dresses as my cousins were, and as eager for success. The confidence which I had acquired dropped from me, and I was nearer the sullen child I had been when my father was alive than I had been for a long time. I had two personalities—the one which could be gay, hopeful, amusing and even attractive, and the sullen, caustic one which was continually on the defensive, expecting attack. I was reminded of the wooden figures in the little house in my cousins’ nursery: the gaily dressed woman with the parasol to indicate sunshine, the somberly dressed man when it was dull or stormy. Sunshine (that was Bevil and Menfreya) brought one me out, and gloom (that was my aunt and cousins) the other.

The more I disliked myself the more wretched I grew. The difference now was that this mood did not manifest itself hi sullen silence; I merely made use of my barbed tongue to wound them and spoil their pleasure.

I think I was most hurt by the poor little seamstress to whom my cousins behaved so badly and to whom I tried to be kind, because in spite of this she preferred making dresses for them; and although they made her shed many a tear into her seams and gathers, she admired and respected them.

What am I doing here? I used to ask myself during those days.

We were duly presented, and the round of activities began.

I had to escape from the silly chatter, the poring over lists of names.

“We must try for him. He would make any party.”

“He” was the most eligible bachelor in town, possessed of a barony and a fortune.

“Even better than the Earl because, my dear, he is hard put to it to keep up those vast estates, and you can be sure he will be looking for a fortune. Something beyond our dowries. If your father had only … But we have to make the best of what we have. The Baron is a charming man … and rich … rich! Of course, I know George Crellan is the son of an earl … but the fourth son, my dears! If he were the second, there might be a chance … but the fourth. The Honorable Mrs. Crellan …! Yes, very nice. But I would much prefer a more solid title … something that is hereditary … Honorables are so doubtful, I always think. There are times when it isn’t good taste to use them. So we must try for the Baron …”

She saw my lips curling with contempt.

“If you think that you might have a chance with the Earl you’re mistaken. If your father had not been such a fool as to marry that woman … and leave his money in trust … Oh dear. What a tangle! I thought when I launched you I should at least have your fortune. And now unless she were to die … and she’s so young…”

I laughed aloud:

“Harriet!”

“All this is full of sound and fury and certainly signifies nothing,” I said. “I don’t want the Earl nor the Baron nor the Honorable George Crellan, I do most sincerely assure you.”

“Don’t worry,” retorted my aunt angrily, “you will never nave the opportunity.”

“And if the gentlemen have any sense, neither will my cousins,” I retorted.

There was nothing to do then but leave them; and because I wanted to escape from the triviality of it all, I paid a visit to my stepmother.

Jenny was pleased to see me, and I thought she was looking prettier and more animated than usual.

“Bevil Menfrey called yesterday,” she told me. “What a charming young man. He was very amusing.”

I pictured the scene, Bevil’s being very charming, as he always would be to a pretty woman.

“He asked after you, of course.”

“I don’t think he’s very pleased with me,” I replied, “He thinks I am partly to blame about Gwennan.”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t think that It would be quite unfair, and he’d never be that.”

“He was unfair. He blamed me. It was quite clear.”

“That was the heat of the moment He was upset then.

Naturally he didn’t expect you to tell tales. I asked him if he had heard anything of Gwennan, and he said no. He had made enquiries and they came to nothing, and he expected she was married by now and there was no point in trying to bring her back if she were.”

“And he … mentioned me.”

“Yes. He said, ‘Harriet was in the plot T. . sworn to secrecy. If only she had given us a hint… but naturally she wouldn’t do that!’”

“So you think he really understood?”

“Of course. He would have done the same. He said he was coming to some of your parties. Your aunt had sent him invitations.”

I knew I was looking radiant; but an uneasiness crept into my mind as I looked at my pretty stepmother, her eyes shining with pleasure as she recalled Devil’s visit, her skin glowing with that fresh yet transparent clarity which was so unusual and attractive.

A few days later we went to the ball Lady Mellingfort was giving for her daughter Grace. Preparations for it had gone on all day, and I was bitterly disappointed because Bevil had not called on my aunt, as I had expected him to.

In the privacy of my room I practiced dancing. I could dance. I had proved that in the haunted room at Menfreya and at the ball at Chough Towers, but I imagined I lacked grace.

There was only one reason why I should want to go to a ball, and that would be if Bevil were there.

I was dressed in green, which my cousins had informed me was unlucky. I felt a few qualms as I put it on, for I had chosen it more out of bravado than anything else. Green silk made into a ball dress by Miss Glenister’s pricked fingers and her worn-out eyes! I thought I looked plain; and I could see from the pleased expressions on my cousins’ faces that they thought so too.

Sylvia was in pink and silver, and Phyllis to blue and silver. The same silver ribbon for both of them; it was cheaper to buy a quantity. I had to admit that they looked very pretty in their way, which I deluded myself into thinking was an insipid one. Their maid, whom we all shared, had dressed their hair very charmingly, and each wore a curl over her shoulder. No one would have guessed that the curl had been produced by being put into rags the previous night; rather uncomfortable and grotesque, but Aunt Clarissa was against the curling tongs. I had brushed my own straight hair and rolled it into a chignon, which I wore high on my head.

“Aging!” commented Phyllis happily.

“At least,” I said, “there shouldn’t be three fairy dolls from the top of the Christmas tree.”

“Jealousy!” whispered Sylvia.

“No,” I retorted. “Fair comment.”

I certainly did not look my best. I scorned the rouge with which my cousins had touched their cheeks. I would go to the ball plain and ungilded just to show that I didn’t care.

“She looks like someone’s governess,” said Sylvia to Phyllis.

“Except, of course, that governesses don’t go to balls.”

“Phyllis! Sylvia!” I said sharply. “Your manners are not half as pretty as your dresses.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m acting like a governess, since I look so like one.”

They would have been surprised if they could have known that there was a tight feeling in my throat and a burning sensation in my eyes. I could have thrown myself on the bed and wept. I felt so wretched, and my wretchedness was like an echo from the past when my father had shown so clearly that he did not care about me and Aunt Clarissa had wondered how she was going to find me a husband.

The carriage was at the door and we set out. I watched Aunt Clarissa—her complacent eyes resting on her daughters. She thought they looked enchanting.

Near Lady Mellingfort’s house in Park Lane we were held up in the stream of carriages which were taking guests to her ball. This was one of the most grand balls of the season, and Aunt Clarissa’s emotions were divided; she was delighted to be a guest and at the same time wondered how she was going to vie with such splendor when her turn came to be the hostess.

People looked in at us—some ragged with gaunt faces. I shivered. I always disliked contrasts. I wondered whether they hated us sitting there not only well fed but in our glittering garments—the cost of our gowns would have fed a family for weeks.

I was glad when we moved on and arrived at the house.

I had a vision of red carpet, powdered footmen and palms in white pots, the hum of excited voices, the anxious eyes of aspiring mammas.

Then we were mounting the wide staircases to be received by Lady Mellingfort, who in white satin, diamonds and feathers was waiting for us.

It was the nightmare I had imagined it to be. Mothers greeting each other, complimenting each other on their charming daughters, lynx-eyed for a sign of superior beauty and to catch the eye of the most enticing prey.

I caused no qualms; I could read their thoughts as I was introduced.

“Sir Edward Delvaney’s daughter! Not exactly a beauty! And since her father married a young woman … no fortune. A real outsider.”

I didn’t belong here. How I longed for the time when we should be saying our farewells and grateful thanks to our hostess. How much more enticing did my own room seem.

It was as I feared. I was introduced to one or two men— the more aging and unattractive—who eyed me speculatively. I presumed my diminished fortune was of some interest to them. I danced awkwardly and chatted for a while, and as I made no effort at trivial conversation they drifted away.

I saw Phyllis and Sylvia dancing; and I was sorry that they saw me too. They threw me pitying smiles which didn’t quite hide their complacence.

I don’t care what they say, I promised myself, I shall never come to another of then- silly balls.

Then he was coming towards me. I knew that several of the rapacious mammas were watching him, but he was unaware of it. If not the most handsome, he was surely the most distinguished man in the ballroom.

“Harriet!” he said in a voice which was heard by those nearby and made heads turn and eyebrows raise themselves. “I’ve been hunting for you for the last half-hour!”

“Bevil!” I cried, and all my joy and pleasure was in my voice for the watchers to detect.

He sat down beside me. “I should have been here earlier, but I was detained in the House.”

“I had no idea that you were coming.”

“I wasn’t sure whether I should manage it. But I beard from Tony Mellingfort that your aunt and her protegees were invited so I was determined to get here sometime. Are you pleased to see me? What a noise!”

I was too happy to speak in those first moments. Then I said rather quietly: “I suppose it’s what we must expect … the music and the chatter.”

“Actually I avoid such affairs whenever possible.”

“I shall too, but ill! be easier for you than for me. Is there any news of Gwennan?”

“None,” he said. “I have to apologize, don’t I? I was angry, and I thought it might have been avoided if you had told us about the affair; but of course I understand that she took you into her confidence, and you’re the last one who would betray that.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“You met this fellow, didn’t you? Oh God, what a noise! Shall we try and find a quieter spot?”

He took my hand and pulled my arm through his; several eyes followed us as we found our way to an alcove slightly secluded by palms.

“That’s better.”

“Far from the madding crowd,” I murmured, my spirits beginning to rise.

“But not far enough. This actor, what was he like?”

“I only saw hint on the stage and quite briefly behind the scenes.”

“But how did he strike you, Harriet?”

“It’s hard to say. He was so much an actor that he always seemed to be playing a part—offstage as well as on.”

“I don’t know what will become of her.”

“She’s very resourceful.”

“She hasn’t written to you and asked you not to tell us?” He smiled. “But then if she had, you wouldn’t tell, would you?”

“No. But I can tell you this: She hasn’t written to me.”

“I wonder whether that’s a good or bad sign.”

“It could be either.”

“You don’t deceive me, Harriet. If Gwennan had anything to boast about she would have written to you. Didn’t she always?”

“Yes. But she might be afraid you would get on to her trail and try to bring her back.”

“We couldn’t… if she were married. If you do hear, will you tell me … providing, of course, you aren’t bound to secrecy?”

“Of course I will, Bevil.”

“Well, that’s that. Now tell me about yourself. You’re staying at your aunt’s, I gathered, when I called on your stepmother the other day.”

“Yes, and I shall be glad when all this is over! I hate tbflle affairs.”

“So do I.”

“You were under no compulsion to come.”

“Wrong again, Harriet. I was under the great compulsion of wanting to see you. You know that you are the most intelligent and amusing young lady of my acquaintance, don’t you?”

“I know that you have the art of paying compliments.”

He leaned towards me and kissed my nose. I thought: There was never happiness such as this. Why could I have thought I didn’t want to come to Lady Mellingfort’s ball?

We talked of Menfreya, and as I sat with Bevil in that alcove, I could hear the swish of the waves and see the machicolated walls and the old clock in the tower; I could see myself riding with Bevil through the woods and lanes. I felt intoxicated by happiness.

Later when we went in to supper together, to my dismay we were joined by my Aunt Clarissa and Sylvia, whom I was malicious enough to note was without an escort.

“Mr. Menfrey! How delighted I am. My daughter Sylvia.”

I felt a twinge of fear as he looked at her in that warm, caressing way he and his father looked at all women.

Sylvia said: “I’m delighted too, Mr. Menfrey. I’ve heard so much about you-“

“Then there is delight all round. Harriet could talk of nothing else but her charming cousins all the evening!”

I caught my breath, but he was smiling at me. He had summed up the situation.

Lady Mellingfort had thought it would be amusing for her guests to help themselves at the buffet supper; and Bevil suggested that he should bring our supper to the table.

“Take Sylvia along with you. She will help you. Go along. Sylvia my dear.”

I watched them go off together and I hated my aunt She was hating me too.

“Really,” she said under her breath. “People are talking!”

“You’d hardly expect otherwise. This is not a monastic order where silence is expected.”

“Harriet! Listen to me.”

“I am listening, Aunt.”

“Your conduct has been disgraceful!”

“In what way?”

“Secreting yourself away with that man.”

“Secreting ourselves? Oh, Aunt, there was nothing secretive. We could be seen quite distinctly through the palms . .. and we were.”

“That’s what I mean. It simply is not done. You are under my care and I am most displeased. You monopolized Mr. Menfrey. Did it not occur to you that other people might have wanted to speak to him?”

“He has a very small fortune, Aunt. Of course, there’s the title which hell have one day, I suppose … but a country estate ... and a comparatively small one. Not to be compared with earls and barons or even the Honorable Mr. Crellan.”

“Will you be silent! Well, at least he and Sylvia seem to be getting along well together.”

They did. My brooding eyes had watched them laughing as they selected from the delicacies at the buffet table, assisted by Lady Mellingfort’s powdered flunkeys.

“Oh, here they come. Mr. Menfrey, what delicious things you have brought us! Pray sit here. And Sylvia, my dear, you sit there.”

Bevil had drawn his chair a little closer to mine. “I trust,” he said, smiling at me, “this will be to your taste.” He was charming to my aunt, and towards Sylvia he displayed that mildly flirtatious attitude which he seemed unable to avoid. The evening was not exactly spoilt, but I had descended a long way from the Elysian heights.

Nor did I have a chance of regaining them, and all too soon we had said our farewells, Bevil had accepted an invitation to call at my aunt’s house, and our carriage was taking us along Park Lane. We were all silent.

In my bedroom I threw my gown over a chair and got into bed, where between waking and sleeping I imagined I was at Menfreya looking out to sea and then rowing over to the island where Bevil was waiting for me, or riding through the woods, laughing, talking; then galloping to escape from Aunt Clarissa and Sylvia, who were in pursuit. It was pleasant dreaming with only the faintest shadow of doubt and distrust —a true reflection of what had happened to me at Lady Mellingfort’s ball.

The next day my aunt suggested that it would be seemly for me to visit my stepmother, and I quite willingly obeyed. I was surprised at this little gesture of thoughtfulness until I learned that Bevil had called while I was out—as presumably had been arranged without my knowledge—and had taken wine and biscuits in the drawing room.

When I returned and discovered what had happened I felt murderous.

“He paid such attention to Sylvia!” cried Phyllis. “I thought you were trying to flirt with him,” put in Sylvia. “Well be is rather amusing, and in any case he would keep talking to me.”

I could not bear to listen to their conversation; but the triumph was mine when the next day—just before we were leaving for another of the season’s parties—one of the maids brought in the flowers.

They were in a charming box—two orchids—most tastefully displayed.

“Give it to me,” squealed Phyllis. “Oh, I do wonder who sent it”

My aunt came bustling in. “Flowers! Not at an unusual. Don’t get so excited. You'll find this is quite a practice when a man wants to show he is interested.”

Sylvia was scowling at her sister and trying to take the box from her. “How do you know they’re for you?”

“Mr. Sorrel was so attentive at Lady Mellingfort’s and he hinted that he hoped we’d meet again, so I’m not surprised ...”

“Oh, so they’re not for you?”

Sylvia was laughing at the card, which she had snatched out of the box.

“For you?” asked her mother.

But Phyllis tried to take the card from Sylvia and it dropped to the floor close to me and looking down at it I saw the writing on it “I'll be looking for you tonight, Harriet B.M.”

“It can’t be true,” said my aunt.

I picked up the box. My name was written on it very clearly. I took out the orchids and held them against my dress.

My aunt had snatched the card and was reading it.

“B.M.!” she cried.

“Specimens from the British Museum, you’re thinking? But I’m sure they were sent to me by Bevil Menfrey.”

I took the orchids to my room. I would take pains over my toilette and choose the dress which best matched the orchids.

This was a pale green and as I tried the orchids against it I knew it looked charming.

It was not easy to hide my elation, and my cousins and aunt were well aware of it.

“It doesn’t do, Harriet,” said my aunt gently, “to attach too much importance to a gift of flowers.”

“I am sure it does not, Aunt,” I answered demurely.

“That friend of yours, Gwennan, she was a wild creature. It was quite shocking the way she ran away on the eve of her wedding. They must have been ashamed of her.”

“Perhaps they all make a habit of running away after promising marriage,” suggested Sylvia.

“They’re a wild family, I have always heard, and their prospects are not dazzling. I heard on very good authority that there are debts. They’ve got some crumbling old estate in the wilds of Cornwall, and I doubt we should know them but for the fact that your father, Harriet, was the Member there. And he took the seat because the previous Member had resigned on account of a scandal. That was your friend’s father. I think one would have to be very careful with a family like that.”

“Oh, you should be,” I said mischievously. “You shouldn’t ask any member of it to call for morning wine and biscuits when I’m out”

The exotic scent of the orchids was in my nostrils, intoxicating me. I did not care what they said, what they thought.

I believed the night was going to be wonderful because I should see Bevil.

I was right It was. He spent the evening with me as he had before. We danced scarcely at all. Knowing how conscious I was of my infirmity, be suggested we talk instead. This we did, though not seriously, but I felt myself sparkling or I imagined I was. Perhaps happiness, like potent wine, makes you believe that of yourself. But Bevil laughed a great deal and at least gave the impression of enjoying my company, for he did not stray from my side the whole evening and he told me he was delighted to see me wearing the orchids.

Best of all I knew that we were watched, that speculations were being made about us.

Can it be possible that right at the beginning of the season Harriet Delvaney, who has nothing—but nothing at all to recommend her since her father married that actress—is going to be the first of the fillies to reach a winning post?

It was triumph.

We were conspicuous, Bevil and I, for we were always together, and it was only natural that the society papers should notice us.

Aunt Clarissa pointed it out to me; she was half-impressed, half-envious. It seemed to her incredible that I, with no better fortune than her girls nowadays, and not a quarter of their beauty, should be the first to be mentioned.

I had come down to breakfast to find my aunt and cousins already at the table.

“Look at that,” said Aunt Clarissa.

“Oh, an account of Tuesday’s ball.”

“Read what it says.”

“Mr. Bevil Menfrey, Member of Parliament for a division of Cornwall, is seen to be constantly in the company of Miss Harriet Delvaney. Miss Delvaney is the daughter of the late Sir Edward Delvaney, who was Member for the division which Mr. Menfrey now represents. It will be remembered that Sir Edward died some eighteen months ago, shortly after his marriage. Is the enjoyment these two charming young people find in each other’s company due to politics … or ...or”

I laughed aloud.

“So we have been noticed.”

“I only hope,” said Sylvia, “that he is not amusing himself.”

“I am sure he is. He’s not the man to endure boredom.”

“You pretend to be so naive.”

“I, my dear coz?”

“Really, Harriet, you are very flippant,” chided my aunt. “This could be a very serious matter.”

I did not answer. It was a serious matter. The most serious in the world.

A few days later Bevil called at my aunt’s house.

By good fortune or by design he chose a time when my aunt and cousins were paying calls. I was in my own room and was startled and delighted when the maid appeared to tell me that he was in the drawing room.

“Asking for you, Miss Harriett,” she said, with a little grimace. The manners of my aunt and cousins did not endear them to those who worked for them; and consequently the servants here were delighted with my social success in putting their noses out of joint—of which of course they had heard, since I had no doubt this was freely discussed belowstairs.

I wished that I was not in my plain lavender gingham and wondered whether I had time to change; I looked into my mirror and saw that my hair was untidy as usual. I looked very different from the young lady who had taken such pains to appear at her best at social entertainments.

I said: “Tell Mr. Menfrey that I will be with him in a few minutes.”

As soon as the door closed, I threw off my gingham and put on the gray faille dress with a separate bodice and skirt. While I struggled with the hooks I was conscious of the seconds ticking away, but when I had fastened the last one I noticed again the untidiness of my hair and paused to comb it It had taken a little more than five minutes to make the transformation. I have often thought of those five minutes as some of the most significant of my life.

I hurried down to the library to find Bevil standing with bis back to the fireplace. He took both my hands in his and for a few seconds stood there smiling at me.

“What great good fortune to find you in … alone.”

“My aunt and cousins should not be long,” I answered demurely. “Unless they should be unduly delayed.”

“Ladies,” he said, “have a habit of being unduly delayed.” His eyes were laughing at me, and I was aware that he knew I had stopped to change my dress.

“It’s very becoming,” he went on, “but with such intricate booking, four hands are better than two. Allow me.”

He turned me round and I felt first his fingers as he booked the dress and then his lips on my neck.

“Bevil!” I cried.

“My reward,” he said. “You must always expect to pay for services rendered.”

I did not turn round to face him because I knew that my face would betray my delight.

He said rather abruptly: “I’m glad I found you alone. There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Yes, Bevil?”

“Come and sit down.”

He took my arm and we sat on the sofa side by side.

“I’m leaving for Cornwall today,” he said.

I did not speak; my heart was beating too fast and my throat felt constricted. I should be denied the pleasure of his company at the next functions, but he had something to say to me and he had come to say it I believed I knew what it was, and if I were right I would be completely happy. I wanted him to take me away to Cornwall, away from the London house to which I should surely have to return very soon.

“I’ve got to be at a meeting there,” went on Bevil. “It’s absolutely essential; otherwise, I shouldn’t go.”

“Of course.”

“The politician’s daughter would understand. And Harriet …”

The carriage had drawn up outside the door, and my aunt and cousins were alighting. I heard my aunt’s shrill voice. “Come along, Sylvia.”

Bevil looked at me and grimaced. My aunt was in the hall. I heard her penetrating voice. “In the library.” Then she was at the door, and sweeping into the room.

“My dear Mr. Menfrey, how perfectly charming of you to call.”

I felt deflated. The moment had been at hand and had passed.

Bevil looked rueful too, I imagined.

And as Sylvia and Phyllis appeared and our little tete-a-tete was mined, I assured myself that if he had been on the point of asking me to marry him, it would merely be a postponement, and I should not be too despondent.

It was only later that I realized the important part chance plays hi our lives and that stopping to change from gingham to faille had put an alarming question mark in my life which would haunt me for some time to come.

I felt desolate after Bevil had left I called to see Jenny, and while I was in the house I went up to my old room to find Fanny there.

She was looking unhappy so I asked her if anything was wrong.

“I’ve been hearing about you in the papers,” she said. “They’re hinting at a wedding. I didn’t much like it”

“What didn’t you like?”

“You're growing up now, and I reckon you think I shouldn’t be talking to you like I used. But I’m taking the liberty because to me you'll always be my girl … well, I had you since you were a baby.”

“Yes, Fanny, I know, but I’m not a baby anymore, you see; and suppose I were to marry? I’m eighteen, you know.”

“It ain’t that, Miss Harriet It’s ... it’s the way they’re coupling your name with … Well, I like to think of you settling down and having me with you, and then the little ’uns that come along would be mine too.”

“There’s no reason why that shouldn’t happen, Fanny.” She looked fierce. “No, there’s no reason and that’s how it would be. But I’d like to see you happy and … married to the right man.”

“You surely wouldn’t want to choose him for me?”

“I wouldn’t think to go so far as that But there’s some you know that’s wrong ‘uns.”

WI don’t know what you’re hinting.”

“There’s gossip and rumors going the rounds, and they don’t always come to the ears of them they could be most useful to. But I’m not going to mince my words no more, Miss Harriet. I’m talking about that Mr. Bevil Menfrey, that’s who. Now it’s no use you looking at me all cold and haughty like, I know you don’t want to bear a word against him. No more do I want to say it to wound you. But a slap in the face now is better than a lifetime of misery. Now look here, Miss, don’t you get into a paddy. I’m worried. I am, and it’s all along of what you could so easily fall into.”

“What do you know about Menfrey?”

“That he’s one of them Menfreys, that’s all. They’re bad. It’s in ‘em, and there’s no bones about it. Oh, I know they’re nice enough to look at; they know how to lay on the charm. But underneath they’re bad. Look at that Miss Gwennan— letting down poor Mr. Harry at the last minute for her own whims … She’s one of them Menfreys. They’re not to be trusted.”

“Do you know something about Mr. Menfrey?”

Fanny pursed her lips and lowered her eyes.

“Fanny!” I took her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Tell me. I insist.”

“You won’t like ft, Miss.”

“Ill like it still less if you attempt to keep anything from me.”

“Women. That’s what it is. I’ve heard that he keeps a mistress in a little house at St. John’s Wood. And you remember Miss Jessie, the doctor’s daughter? Well, she’s a governess to a family in Park Lane, and I hear that Mr. Men-frey’s a frequent visitor—above- and belowstairs.”

“It’s all tittle-tattle,” I cried.

“Perhaps it is, Miss, but when I see you concerned in it then I prick up my ears ...sharp.”

“Why are you telling me all this, Fanny?”

“I’ll answer that by telling you something, Miss Harriet I’ve never talked to you, have I, about my little ‘un … my little girl. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to. I could talk to you about the orphanage and all that misery … but I couldn’t bring myself to talk about my little 'un. I had a baby girl. See, when I left the orphanage I went into service, and the housemaid there had a brother. Billy … Billy Carter. He was a sailor and we got married. We hadn’t been married a year when the sea took him. Going down to that place in Cornwall brought it all back. I’d lie awake at night and listen to the sea—all noisy and wild—and I’d say, That’s the sea that took my Billy,’ The baby was well on the way, and I used to tell myself of nights that it would be better when the baby was born. They said it was all I’d gone through … the shock and that She only lived a day … my little baby. I thought I’d die. Then I come to you. There was a little girl baby, the same age as mine, and she’d lost her mother. You see, there was a baby without a mother and a mother without a baby. It stood to reason. I was the wet nurse, and so in a way I got my baby.”

“Oh, Fanny,” I said, and I threw myself into her arms.

“My baby!” she crooned, stroking my hair. “You see … my little one wouldn’t have had a father, and it was like as if you didn’t have one either. But then it was different I didn’t cry myself to sleep. I had my baby to think of. It was like Providence. I’d got a baby after all. And that’s why I reckon I’ve got a right to warn you, love. We’re close, dearie, you and me … and if I had to look on and see you not happy, I reckon it would just about break my heart”

“Dear Fanny,” I said, “don’t think I don’t understand . .. don’t think I don’t appreciate. We’ll always be together … and my children will be yours as well. But you’re wrong about Bevil and the Menfreys.”

She shook her head sadly. “And you, my love, you’re bewitched by ‘em. Do you think I don’t know you? Do you think I ain’t seen this coming? You know I’m right, don’t you? You believe what I’ve told you?”

I felt as though I wanted to burst into tears. It was unfair of her to thrust her sentimentality at me and then talk scandalously of the man I loved.

I turned away from her. “I don’t like gossip, Fanny,” I said. “Oh don’t think I don’t know that your concern is all for me. I’ve always known I could trust you, and you know you can me. But I know the Menfreys better than you ever can.”

“I’m worried,” she insisted.

I put my arms about her. “Fanny, haven’t you learned yet that I can take care of myself?”

But she only shook her head.

When Fanny had left me I sat on the edge of my bed. I was miserable because although I pretended not to believe Fanny’s accusations against Bevil, my common sense told me that there was a very good chance of their being true. It was the Menfrey way of life. Infidelity was as natural to them as breathing. I was foolishly romantic if I thought that Bevil would change the habits of a lifetime merely because he had met me. Had I not always known this? Yes. But I had had a foolish idea that once he was my husband he would miraculously become all that I desired him to be. And what I asked of Bevil was that he should be exactly as he was and always had been except in one respect—he should be faithful to one woman, and I was that woman.

Even now I was deceiving myself. I could not trust Bevil if while he was paying court to me—and surely he was doing so—he had a mistress in St John’s Wood and at the same time was in love with Jessica Trelarken. Only a man with an elastic morality could behave so—but was that the Menfrey morality?

Could anyone who was capable of such deceit be the lock on which one longed to build one’s future life? How could I trust such a man? How could I feel secure?

That was what I needed, what I had always missed. Security. The desperate desire of the young and vulnerable. My father had withheld it and I had found it in Fanny; and now Fanny was warning me, trying to protect me from straying into the morass of marriage with what she considered an undesirable husband in the same way as she bad snatched me up once, I remember, as I was about to run into a bed of nettles.

I went thoughtfully back to my aunt’s house.

We were in the sewing room with Miss Glenister and there were yards of white satin decorated with tiny gold flowers spread out on the table.

Aunt Clarissa had bought the material cheaply and was crowing over her bargain. Miss Glenister was nervously measuring it and calculating what sort of a gown it would make, while Sylvia and Phyllis Were quarreling as to which of them it would most become.

I listened as I was listening during these days, with amusement and interest. I wanted to think of such trivial matters; it was one way of stopping my thoughts running in uncomfortable directions.

“Bishops’ sleeves,” cooed Sylvia.

“They don’t become you. You are too plump,” retorted Phyllis.

“Perhaps, Miss, you would like a flounced skirt … in which, I can tell you, you look very stubby,”

“Now,” cried Aunt Clarissa, “if you are going to be naughty, I shall wish I had not found this bargain. Miss Glenister will say what can be done, and then we shall decide for whom the dress shall be made.”

“It must be in time for Lady Carront’s ball,” said Sylvia.

“And that is in two days' time,” I pointed out.

“Oh, I’d sit up all night if need be to finish the gown,” declared Miss Glenister meekly.

I fingered the material and, holding it up to my face, glanced at myself in the mirror.

Sylvia laughed. “Mamma did buy it for one of us, Cousin,” she reminded me.

“I know that, but I thought there would be no objection to my examining it.”

“It is too delicate for you.”

“Perhaps for us all,” I said. “It is quite elegant”

“Any why should we not be elegant?”

“We should if we could, of course.”

“Clever, as usual. Well, your cleverness didn’t stop a certain person from putting to flight, did it?”

“Who has put to flight?”

“You know full well. After making you rather conspicuous he took fright, I suppose, in case you had ideas.”

I was hot with anger and turned furiously on my cousin, but just at that moment there was a knock on the door and one of the maids entered.

“It’s one of the maids from Westminster square, madam. She’s asking for Miss Harriet.”

I ran out of the room, down the hall where Fanny was waiting. I knew at once that something was wrong … terribly wrong. For a few seconds she looked as though she were vainly searching for the right words to convey the enormity of this calamity.

“Miss Harriet … it’s your stepmother.”

“She’s ill?”

Fanny shook her head.

“She’s dead,” she said.