Danse De La Folie

  The conversation was thus constrained as the four whiled away the last hour before parting again to dress for dinner. Clarissa still had the headache; her cousin Philip had retreated behind extreme reserve; Kitty behaved like an effigy of herself, responding with such careful politeness that Clarissa would have suspected her of satire had she not seen the troubled pucker in Kitty’s brow. Only Bess chattered on, apparently unaware, or maybe she wished to prevent a recurrence of the earlier vexations.

  In any case, it was a relief when the innkeeper came to inform them that dinner would be served in half an hour.

  They parted to dress. Kitty bolstered her faltering courage with the sight of Clarissa’s yellow muslin newly made into an evening dress, with tiny pearl buttons (removed from one of the ball gowns) sewn down the front of the bodice, and the simple yellow ribbon at the sleeves and waist.

  She smoothed her hands down the skirt and turned to observe herself in the long pier glass. At least no fault could be found with her appearance, she thought as she scratched at Clarissa’s door.

  Bade to enter, she observed Rosina trying to coax side curls to fall at either side of Clarissa’s ears

  Kitty said, “Clarissa, would you forgive me for observing that the other style is more flattering?”

  “Which?”

  Kitty gestured with her hands, indicating the smooth crown of hair on top of Clarissa’s head.

  Clarissa blinked in surprise. “That is how I wear it at home. It is not at all modish.”

  “Perhaps not the mode, but it is a mode. What’s more, it is attractive.”

  “I wonder...” Clarissa saw the quick twitch of approval in Rosina’s lips, and nodded. “That is what I shall do, then.”

  Rosina cast a grateful glance at Kitty, then began brushing out Clarissa’s hair anew. As she did, Kitty explained what Bess had told her, figuring that the maid had to have heard most of it—along with the rest of the occupants of the inn.

  At the end, Clarissa said, “You must know that Bess—Elizabeth—has been much indulged. Her father was very old and her birth was most unexpected, which is why there are a dozen years between her and Philip. After her father died, her mother treated her like a pet. It was actually Philip’s idea to send her to school, for she must learn how to go on in Society. Her hoyden’s tricks were smiled on at home, but a young lady cannot indulge in pranks or distempered freaks when her will is crossed.”

  Clarissa saw comprehension in Kitty’s expressive countenance. She’d requested Kitty to take Bess out so that both might have a chance to recover countenance. She and Cousin Philip had chatted of travel, and he asked about the details of the shipwreck, expressing real concern, for he was partial to sailing.

  She was surprised to discover, when the two parties rejoined, that he had exchanged his riding dress for the fine coat and satin knee breeches of proper evening wear. She was used to him relaxing social strictures such as this when away from London.

  Kitty, whose brothers had invariably worn riding dress, found his formal appearance intimidating, perhaps even a rebuke. She confined her attention strictly to her plate.

  A glass of wine and some food chased away the last of Clarissa’s headache. This was fortunate, as she felt obliged to take the lead in conversation. Her initial forays, however, resulted in only the most polite of nothing-talk. Bess was resigned, Kitty subdued. These reactions she understood. But Cousin Philip was unaccountably quiet, even when she introduced the topic of literature, on which they shared many tastes. He must still be aggrieved with his sister—or maybe he was apprehensive of her indulging her moods again?

  His reflections had nothing to do with his sister.

  Beautiful girls he had seen aplenty in his years on the Town. Beautiful girls unconscious of their effect—whose faces changed with quick wit—were rarer. But hard on that appreciation was the hideous prospect of a young lady who shared Bess’s most unfortunate characteristics. He braced for another outburst, permitting himself to relax only when it became apparent that this unknown Lady Catherine very plainly regretted their unfortunate first encounter. Her manners had become so stilted they were nearly wooden.

  He felt a strong impulse to coax her out of her stiffness, but squashed it. Far too often what he regarded as the most disinterested kindness seemed to engender expectations. And so he confined his conversation to polite necessity.

  Clarissa, despairing of the prospect of an evening with three silent people, turned to her younger cousin. “Have you received a letter from my sister Eliza?”

  “Not since Christmas, Cousin Clarissa,” Bess replied, very politely.

  “Then you will be hearing from her soon, I am certain. You know that Amelia is to make her bow to society this year, and as a consolation, Mama is going to invite several of Eliza’s and Tildy’s particular friends for a week. I heard your name mentioned.”

  “At Oakwood or in Brook Street?”

  “In Brook Street, to be sure.”

  “I shall write to her at once, as soon as I reach Bath,” Bess responded, her mood visibly brightening.

  That was the highlight of the conversation, in spite of Clarissa’s best efforts. She was relieved when they all parted for the night, and moreso to rise the next morning to the news that that the Devereaux party had just departed.

  NINE

  Mr. Bede had all in readiness once the ladies had broken their fast. They departed under leaden skies. By noon, Clarissa had succumbed to another headache, made worse by the rocking of the coach as a cold wind rose.

  Kitty, face pressed anxiously to the glass, feared being stranded in a blizzard when the carriage rolled onto a well-graveled road between beautifully tended hedges. The first flakes were falling as they climbed out of the carriage, and were led into a hall.

  A stout, red-faced butler had just shut the front door behind them when two young ladies skimmed down the broad stairway, their slippers whispering on the checkerboard marble floor.

  “Clarissa! You’re home! Clarissa!” they clamored, trying to be heard over one another.

  “Were you really attacked by French agents?”

  “Is this Lady Catherine?”

  “Mama says we are to go to Brook Street early to order gowns!”

  Clarissa kissed them both, responding in a gentle voice that caused the two to lower their own tones. She introduced Kitty, who found herself regarded by two pairs of celestial blue eyes wide-set in round faces framed by curling fair hair. She couldn’t help but think that Cendrillon had been turned about, for the step-sisters were very beautiful—much moreso than Clarissa—but it was also apparent that Clarissa was much beloved.

  The girls dropped neat curtseys and promptly resumed their questions. Kitty had the leisure to observe that Amelia was a trifle taller than Eliza, and that the latter’s hair was more golden, whereas Amelia’s would probably be ash in five years. Though nothing would mar her astonishing beauty.

  “Where is Mama?”

  “In the Red Saloon, to escape Tildy’s noise. She’s trying to learn off that horrid Haydn sonata. You cannot conceive the false notes.”

  Eliza added from the other side of her sister as they started up the stairs, “Papa says Tildy is just as unmusical as Hetty.”

  “Oh, Lizzy, give over boring on about the pianoforte. Clarissa, you do not know the best. Papa says I am to have my very own riding hack for Town. But he says I cannot ride without a groom, like you, until I am one-and-twenty, if I should stay unmarried that long.” She ended on a decidedly peevish note.

  Eliza added in a low, indignant whisper, “Aunt Sophia told Papa that young ladies who ride without a groom are considered fast, even though we all saw Amabel Whitlew riding with her sister, last year, and neither of them above eighteen, and that horrid old stick Miss Kiddermore rides alone, and James said, if she’s fast, then—”

  Amelia cut in, “For my part, I think Aunt Sophia says it because she does not like horses. Whatever anyone does that she mislikes, she always says it
’s fast.”

  Eliza tugged Clarissa’s arm. “What, precisely, is fast, anyway, Clarissa? Amelia doesn’t know anything, James just teases, and Hetty won’t talk to me at all, though before she was married she promised to tell me everything.”

  “Perhaps you should ask Aunt Sophia,” Clarissa suggested.

  “And be scolded into writing out my Collect ten times? I think not,” Eliza declared, marched across the landing, and flung open the gilded door to a charming saloon newly done in the Athenian style. “Mama, they are here.”

  “My dear, do not bounce so,” a faint, drawling voice was heard from within.

  Kitty entered to discover a vision in blue gauze rising from an elegant reclining sofa. “Clarissa, dear.” The vision kissed Clarissa, then turned Kitty’s way. “And here is Lady Catherine? Oh, you have such a look of your mother. She was pointed out as the diamond of diamonds, when I was in the schoolroom. I still remember her appearance at Vauxhall, in a gown of—but never mind that. Clarissa, your trip was dreadful, of course?”

  “I will be quite recovered as soon as I drink some tea,” Clarissa said.

  Lady Chadwick gestured for the girls to be seated. Kitty perched on the edge of a lyre-backed chair cushioned in red satin, and regarded her hostess, who, in spite of five children, had managed to retain her figure. She dressed to make the most of it. Her ashy blond hair was youthfully arranged under its frivolous lacy cap, and her pretty face had been delicately enhanced by an artistic hand.

  Lady Chadwick put a few questions to Clarissa, then dismissed her younger daughters, who were whispering on the other side of the fireplace.

  They obediently retired, but their raised voices echoed off the marble as they walked away: “Well for my part I find her beautiful, and I cannot see that she is dressed at all peculiar.”

  “No, indeed. Aunt Sophia must have windmills in her head.”

  Then the two voices fell suddenly silent. Kitty blushed, her cheeks hot, but Lady Chadwick was so unmoved it was clear that she paid no heed to the girls’ prattle as she said, “I rang for tea as soon as I heard you were arrived. Pray sit down, my dears.”

  On her last word, the reason for the girls’ sudden silence entered the room in the person of Mrs. Latchmore, who was fanning herself agitatedly with several pieces of paper. “My dear Lady Chadwick, I’ve just received three applications for the post, and, oh, Clarissa, I see you are returned at last. And safe, thank Providence, which is more than I expected, though of course devoutly to be hoped for. Lady Wilburfolde has been asking every day. And Lady Catherine! Why, what a lovely traveling gown, and I do hope—travel. What was it I was about to say?”

  The moment she walked in, a new and hideous worry had crowded out the old in Kitty’s head: what if Mrs. Latchmore recognized Clarissa’s made-over gowns? But the quick glance, the slight brow-lift of approval and the general air of indifference reassured her as Mrs. Latchmore turned back to Lady Chadwick, and began talking over her business as if the girls were not in the room.

  Clarissa touched Kitty’s wrist. “We will drink our tea elsewhere. Permit me to show you the house.”

  Kitty followed Clarissa, relieved to have avoided another hideous scrape. She shivered as she followed Clarissa out onto the landing and across to the other side, where the sounds of determined fingers thumping impatiently at a Haydn sonata could be heard, strongly marking the time. But as the two proceeded along the landing, the music halted abruptly.

  A leggy schoolgirl appeared, and flashed a happy smile as Clarissa and Kitty approached. Kitty smiled back, thinking that this child would easily be the most beautiful of all Clarissa’s astonishing sisters.

  As soon as Clarissa had performed the introductions, Matilda clasped her hands and declared, “Oh, Clarissa, were you truly in a shipwreck?”

  “Yes, Tildy.”

  “Oh, if only I had known you would have such an adventure, I would have been wild to go. Was it the French, or pirates?”

  “Neither,” Clarissa said. “Are you quite finished with your lesson? I am afraid that Miss Gill will be disappointed in me if I interrupt.”

  Miss Matilda Harlowe lifted an impatient shoulder. “Just as I thought. It was only Aunt Sophia making things up again. And I know that Lady Catherine does not wear her maid’s cast-off clothes, either. I never believed that, but I did hope about the French or the pirates. Now that we know that you survived,” Matilda added hastily.

  Kitty’s cheeks warmed unpleasantly as Clarissa said, “I believe Miss Gill is waiting, Tildy.”

  Matilda cast a heart-felt sigh. “If the Prodigy Mozart had any notion how much torment he might cause people who had done no harm to him, he surely would have confined himself to stickball with his friends.”

  “I believe that particular piece was written by Mr. Haydn,” Clarissa said, as Matilda started away with lagging steps.

  “It is all one,” Matilda replied. “Horrid!”

  o0o

  Kitty was given a charming room with hangings of rose and gold in the very latest Athenian style. The beautiful room quite oppressed her, as did her reflections on the day. She fell asleep wondering if it might be best to go home after all.

  But she woke to such a beautiful morning that her courage soon returned. Alice appeared with the hot water, full of praise for everything that she had seen so far. She and Clarissa’s maids had become fast friends, and Alice was learning very quickly how to go on.

  Kitty was just putting her feet into her slippers, and Alice bent to tie the ribbon, when she added that Lord Chadwick and his son had arrived during the night, and Kitty would find them at breakfast.

  Kitty knew it was silly to imagine falling in love with Clarissa’s brother, but she could not help thinking of it as she went downstairs. She entered the breakfast room in a little flutter of trepidation, and took her place at the noisy, lively family table.

  Clarissa’s brother James was certainly handsome, but within a very short time he reminded Kitty so much of her brother Ned that she began to enjoy herself, the fancy quite forgotten.

  Instead, she looked with interest at her host. She detected a faint resemblance to Clarissa in Lord Chadwick’s long face, though there it ended. Lord Chadwick, like his son, was dressed in riding clothes.

  The voices rose, Mrs. Latchmore’s above them all as she tried to scold the younger girls into silence. Lord Chadwick took no notice as he addressed himself to his breakfast.

  When that was done, he looked up, and Kitty was startled to find him eyeing her. He gave her a genial node, and said, “St. Tarval’s daughter? Lord, you’ve a strong look of your mother. She was a reigning Toast, you know.”

  Kitty thanked him demurely, hiding the urge to laugh. She could not but help think of the warnings she had grown up with while her grandmother lived, that she must not do this, or think that, lest she become as notorious as her mother, which would spell instant social ruin.

  The ease with which Clarissa’s family accepted Kitty reassured her, and she had begun to relax when Matilda, who had been writhing with increasing impatience under her aunt’s continued scolding, cried out, “Papa! What did you bring us?”

  Amelia had been talking to her brother across the table. She broke off to say triumphantly, “Nothing but my London hack.”

  “It is not a long-tail gray,” Eliza stated.

  Lord Chadwick had risen. Paying no attention to his younger offspring, he said to Clarissa, “I’m off to my study. Want to speak to you.”

  Kitty’s enjoyment had vanished like the sun behind the clouds now gathering outside the bow windows. Eliza and Amelia glared at one another in a way that called the Bouldeston sisters to mind. Too often when Lucretia and Lucasta argued, Lady Bouldeston would admonish them in a low, cruel drawl, “What will people say about you?”

  ‘People’ meant Kitty, usually, for seldom was anyone else present. To be regarded as ‘people’ made Kitty feel like an interloper, someone whose presence required a false front.

 
It did not help that as soon as Lady Bouldeston was away from the room, the sisters would turn angry glances her way, though she never once said anything to anybody. Not after Lucretia had observed in a sweetly horrid voice a couple of years before, “I suppose you are going to run to Carlisle. I cannot stop you from saying horrid things about us, but it is just a little disagreement like anyone may have.”

  Kitty hated the thought of being a tale-bearer. She also knew that she did not understand the rules of society, as Lucretia often reminded Kitty, adding the rider that her motive was enlightenment, and charity.

  No one likes charity, Kitty thought as she sat there mute and miserable, intensely aware of being in a strange house, with sisters glaring at one another across the table. She braced herself, waiting for Lady Chadwick to admonish them in a way that would make Kitty feel like a stranger. But Lady Chadwick was reading her letters as if no one else was in the room.

  Then Clarissa rose, touching Amelia on the shoulder. She did not say anything. Her smile was small, her gaze steady. Amelia met that gaze and the anger died out of her face. She blushed a little, then said to Eliza, “No, quite right. But she is beautiful, even so. Come out to the stable and see her. Perhaps you would like to ride her when you come down to Town.”

  Eliza’s mutinous expression vanished. “Oh! May I? Oh, please?”

  Clarissa whispered to Kitty, “I will join you presently.” And she walked out, leaving Kitty feeling puzzled to understand what had taken place.

  TEN

  When Clarissa reached her father’s study, he tossed aside the newspaper. “What is this I hear about French agents? More of Sophie’s turning dust into mountains?”

  “There were no French agents, Papa,” Clarissa said.

  “Thought not. Had a stay with old Tony St. Tarval’s boy and girl? That was a good notion, to bring her back with you, if you girls have taken to one another. She is a diamond, like her mother, though I hope she isn’t as wild a piece. Dark, too, so Amelia won’t get into a pucker.”