Elizabeth Mansfield (15 page)

But she put the matter out of her mind and hurried back to her writing desk. She had to compose an answer to Ethelyn’s letter, and, for once, she was able to frame her response with complete confidence. She knew just what she would say. Her conversation with Georgina had given her the inspiration, and she couldn’t wait to put that inspired idea into execution.

At first, her pen flew over the page as she told her sister-in-law that “Philippa and her dear little friend” would be arriving at the suggested time for a brief visit to Wyckfield Park. But the writing slowed down considerably as she struggled to phrase the rest of her message.

I, however, will not be accompanying the girls on this visit,
she wrote, pausing frequently to ponder the effects of her words.
I am very much tied to London at this time. You see, Ethelyn, I’ve been thinking, just as you have, of the matter of remarriage. You will be pleased to learn that I am seriously considering taking your advice about finding a husband for myself and a father for Pippa.
(“It won’t hurt to remind her that she made the suggestion herself,” Camilla muttered with a small smile.)
As chance would have it, I have recently become acquainted with a gentleman who has many qualities which would make him suitable
. (What qualities?” she asked herself, chewing the tip of her pen thoughtfully.)
In fact, I’m certain you would agree with me that he is in several ways more suitable than the vicar’s brother, of whom you wrote so glowingly. For one thing, the gentleman I speak of is not so far into middle age as Mr. Harbage. The gentleman in question
—

(She scratched out the last phrase. She couldn’t keep referring to her imaginary suitor as “the gentleman in question.” She had better give him a name. This detail troubled her; she hadn’t wanted to dip so deeply into deceit. Giving him a name imparted to the imaginary man a certain discomfiting reality. But there was no help for it. “Thus the liar becomes mired in her dishonesties,” she sighed aloud as she pulled out a blank sheet of paper on which to scribble out some experimental names.
Mr. Jonathan Invention
, she began with a nervous giggle and then added, playfully:
Mr. Robert Fiction, Mr. John Ficsham, Mr. John Invensham, Mr. Robert Fabricaysham, Mr. Frederick Falsham, Mr. Peter Fablesham, Mr. Fable Petersham
… “Petersham,” she mused aloud. That was not an unbelievable
name. It had a rather honest sound, in fact, when one rolled it comfortably off the tongue. Mr. Petersham, her soon-to-be-betrothed. With a grin, she tore up the scratch sheet and proceeded with her letter.)

Mr. Petersham, the gentleman in question, is not above thirty-five, which you must agree is an age more suited to father a ten-year-old child than a man of fifty. As for his other qualities
… (She nibbled the tip of her pen again, trying to think of the sort of qualities she would like in a husband.).
As for his other qualities, he has a cheerful disposition, a keen sense of humor and a lack of pretension. These, in addition to some of the qualities you admire in your Mr. Harbage, like good health, firmness and godliness, make my Mr. Petersham an even more promising candidate than the vicar’s brother.

It is, of course, much too soon to make a final decision on this matter, and I know you will agree that the matter should not become a subject for public discussion but be kept strictly between the two of us. However, it seems to me that I should not absent myself from London at this delicate juncture in a budding relationship
.

Feeling gleefully and mischievously wicked, Camilla reread what she’d written, added her usual wishes for her sister-in-law’s good health and signed her name. Then she folded the sheet, sealed it and handed it over to Hicks for posting. The deed was done.

***

Camilla didn’t think about her act of dishonesty during the next few days. She was busily occupied in preparing Pippa for her trip to Dorset, for one thing. And for the another, she was somewhat eagerly making arrangements for the first formal dinner party to be held in her new home. It was to be a small gathering—only Lord and Lady Sturtevant and Sir James Cambard had been invited. (Sir James had arranged for the four of them to attend a performance of
Cosi Fan Tutte
at the King’s Theater in the Haymarket, and Camilla had invited them all to dine with her at Upper Seymour Street beforehand.) But although the number of guests would be small, it was to be the first time the Worcester Royal china and the new gold plate would be used, the first time the staff would be required to serve dinner guests, and the first time the cook would be asked to put to use her talent in preparing creams and pastries. With the packing of Pippa’s clothing and the readying of the formal dining room for guests, the household was humming with activity in the midst of which Camilla forgot all about the imaginary Mr. Petersham … not dreaming how ominously his ghostly presence was looming over her future.

A prompt and scathing response from Ethelyn brought the entire matter forcibly back to her mind. With her sister-in-law’s acrimonious letter held in a trembling hand, Camilla realized how short-sighted she’d been to have indulged herself in the hope that her invention of a London suitor would put to rest Ethelyn’s urge to control her life. It was obvious, from the acerbic tone of the letter, that Ethelyn had no confidence whatever in Camilla’s ability to choose a husband for herself.
How dared you take it on yourself to surmise
, Ethelyn demanded, the heavy down-strokes of her pen making the words almost shout in anger,
that your Mr. Petersham can in any way compare with the lofty, zealous, inspired Mr. Josiah Harbage? Who is this Mr. Petersham? From your inadequate characterization I have the impression that he is nondescript at best. What do you know of his family? If he were related to the Petershams of Lincolnshire he would have a title, wouldn’t he? What is his income? Have you given a single thought to any of the practicalities of such a match? I very much fear, Camilla, that you are much too fanciful and bubble-headed to be trusted to make a decision of such importance as the choosing of a suitable mate. I therefore insist that you come to Wyckfield and meet Mr. Harbage before you become hopelessly involved in a situation which will lead to disaster
.

Camilla burned with fury. Fanciful and bubble-headed indeed! How dare her sister-in-law so contemptuously presume that she was incapable of choosing a husband for herself! Dashing away a few hot tears of anger, she stalked to her writing desk and penned an impassioned reply.

Even if I were as bubble-headed as you think me
, she scribbed in impulsive wrath,
my own decision in the choice of a marriage partner would be better than anyone else’s. I have learned enough of the conditions of matrimony to understand what I require for my own happiness. I know that I need kindness more than firmness, laughter more than solemnity, and freedom more than repression. These are the qualities that I find in my Mr. Petersham, and besides these, the questions of his income and his family fade into insignificance.

I have no wish to seem unappreciative of your concern for my happiness, but I cannot permit you to assume a parental role over me. I am of age and of sound mind. It is my considered opinion that I would not find happiness as the wife of a clergyman of the sort Mr. Harbage seems to be. Therefore I shall not subject myself nor Mr. Harbage to the embarrassment or discomfiture of a meeting. I hope you will respect my wishes in this matter and not refer to this subject again.

Since I know how much Pippa means to you, and how deep her affection for you and for Wyckfield remains, I shall not—as I was tempted to do—cancel our plans for her visit. I trust, however, that you will not discuss this matter with her while she is with you. My possible remarriage is a subject of the most delicate intimacy, and I shall confide my plans to my daughter if and when I believe the time is right. Any breach of this condition will certainly cause an estrangement between us, Ethelyn, and I am sure you do not wish to cause the severing of the slim ties which still hold us together as a family
.

Without even a re-reading, Camilla sealed the letter and sent it off. With considerable apprehension she waited for a reply. But the days passed with no response, and at last, when the day came for Pippa to leave, and there had been no word from Wyckfield, Camilla realized that her sister-in-law had, by her silence, indicated clearly that she wished to do nothing to jeopardize Pippa’s visit. In a way, the silence revealed also that Camilla had achieved a victory in the clash of wills. But she felt no sense of triumph. She watched her daughter board the carriage with a heart fluttering with misgivings.

Before Miss Townley could follow her charge into the coach, Camilla drew her aside. “You’ll be sure not to permit Lady Ethelyn to persuade you to extend the visit, won’t you, Ada?”

“I’ve told you a dozen times, Miss Camilla, that you needn’t trouble your head on that score. I won’t stay in Dorset one minute longer than I have to.”

“Good. But there’s something else.” She turned her head away so that Pippa, waving happily at her from the coach window, wouldn’t see her troubled frown. “My sister-in-law may wish to engage you in conversation about … about my possible remarriage—”

“Remarriage?” The governess’s eyes lit up with delighted speculation. “Miss
Camilla!
Are you—”

“No, I’m not, so you may wipe that expectant smile from your face. But if Lady Ethelyn presses on you the virtues of a certain clergyman—a Mr. Josiah Harbage by name—you are to give her no encouragement. Just tell her you’re certain I would not be interested.”

Miss Townley looked at her employer shrewdly and shrugged. “If that’s what you wish me to say, that’s what I’ll say.”

“Thank you. And there’s … er … one other matter. She may ask you if you know anything about a … a Mr. Petersham.”

“Petersham? Who’s Mr. Petersham?”

“No one. That is, just say you haven’t met him.”

“Well, since I haven’t, what else can I say?” the governess retorted.

“Exactly. Just remember to say you haven’t met him, and change the subject.”

“All this sounds very havey-cavey to me.” Miss Townley squinted at Camilla suspiciously. “Are you up to somethin’ smokey? Who is this Mr. Petersham?”

“No one. I’ll tell you all about it …
him
… when you return. But for now you’d better go along. Sybil will be on tenterhooks by this time. Take good care of the girls, Ada. I’m counting on you.”

It was the first time Camilla had been separated from her daughter, and she was overwhelmed with despondency. To shake herself out of the doldrums, she threw herself into the preparations for the dinner party. She knew it was ridiculous to make so great a to-do over the prospect of a tiny party, but it was the very first such occasion she would be arranging completely on her own. For the sake of her self-esteem, she wanted everything to be planned and executed with perfection.

She and the cook had already planned a most sumptuous menu. They were to start with a soup of creamed cucumbers, followed by English turbot in lobster sauce, rolled veal, a timbale of macaroni
Napolitaine
, some poultry filets
à I’ Orleans
, little mutton
patés
, orange biscuits, cabbage flowers, Spanish celery, other assorted vegetables and a complete array of cakes,
soufflés
, jellies and creams.

A magnificent Persian carpet had recently been laid in the hitherto-unused formal dining room, and although the room was somewhat large for such a small assemblage, Camilla was determined to use it. She had Hicks remove all the center leaves of the table to make the seating arrangement more intimate, and she ordered large pots of flowers to fill every corner. On the afternoon of the event, she herself arranged three huge bowls of fresh blooms—one for the entryway, one to set before the dining-room windows and one for the center of the table.

Before she went upstairs to dress, she surveyed the scene with Hicks at her side. The dining room glowed from the efforts of a household of servants who’d scrubbed, aired, dusted and polished for two days. “Everything looks lovely, Hicks,” she said with satisfaction, “and you are very impressive in your tails. Just make sure that Daniel and Thomas have done everything proper with their livery. And, Hicks, see that they don’t overdo the hair powder. I have a nightmarish vision of Thomas clapping his hand to his head and loosing a cloud of white flour into the air! Warn him not to do anything the least bit out of the way, will you?”

By the time Betsy had dressed Camilla’s hair and helped her into her favorite gown (a plum-colored creation of Genoa velvet with long sleeves and a positively wicked
dècolletage
), Camilla was feeling festive, excited and optimistic. Everything had been arranged down to the last detail. Everything and everyone was prepared and ready. There was not a thing she could think of which could go wrong.

Her guests arrived promptly and were in the very best of spirits. Lady Sturtevant, sensing that this first dinner party was special to her friend, had seen to it that she and her two escorts were dressed with appropriate grandeur. They gathered, glittering with elegance, in Camilla’s drawing room, where Sir James offered the ladies many effusive compliments on their outstandingly impressive looks. The wine, which was served by Hicks with flawless formality, was pronounced by Edgar (who considered himself a connoisseur in such matters) to be superior, and Sir James heartily seconded his brother-in-law’s judgment. By the time dinner was announced, several glasses had been consumed and even the taciturn Edgar had unloosened enough to laugh at his wife’s jokes and make one or two sallies of his own.

The first course passed with equal success. The food was much praised, and Sir James asked for his plate to be refilled so frequently that Camilla was convinced that his kind words were more than mere
flattery. The two footmen, impeccable in their formal liveries, handled the serving without a slip, even Thomas behaving with such restraint that he was barely noticed. By the time the first course had been removed, Camilla knew that her party was a success. Edgar, surprising everyone by emerging from his usual reticence, took over the conversation, starting with a toast to his hostess. He lifted his wine glass and said, “To Camilla, who should teach my wife how to organize a dinner as memorable and free from disaster as this one.”