Elizabeth Mansfield (18 page)

He wheeled about. “Don’t say anything, please! If there’s anything I don’t want from you, it’s thanks.” He took three quick strides back to her and lifted her hand to his lips. “Good-bye, my dear. I wish you happy.” That said, he hastily walked away, leaving her staring after him in despair.

Just a few steps away, hidden by the brandy ball booth, Cleo stood leaning against its side, her cheeks white. It was there her father found her a few moments later.

“Cleo, my love,” he exclaimed at the sight of her deathly pallor, “what is it?”

She lifted her head and peered at him as if at a stranger. Then she fell against his shoulder, as limp as a doll. “Oh, Papa!” she murmured miserably.

He stiffened in alarm. “Good God, girl, what’s
happened
to you?”

She was silent for a moment. Then, with a slight shudder, she stood erect and straightened her shoulders. “Papa,” she said in a muted voice, “let’s go home.”

24

At Enders Hall that night, dinner was not served. No one wanted to eat it. Lord Smallwood had announced that he and his daughter were departing for London immediately and would not stay for dinner; Tris had not been seen since the fair had closed at dark; and Lady Phyllis, the only one left, had no appetite. So dinner was canceled.

The staff did not mind. They had quite enough to do, readying the guests for departure. On strict orders from Lord Smallwood himself, the maids and footmen had only one hour in which to ready their coach and bring it to the door, help Lord Smallwood and Cleo to dress, pack their bags and bandboxes, carry them down and load them atop the carriage. Why there should be such a great hurry all of a sudden, when the Smallwoods had been dallying in complete ease at the hall for more than a fortnight, was a question no one on the staff could answer.

Lady Phyllis, who had by this time completely forgotten that when the pair had first arrived she’d longed for their quick departure, was now quite upset by this abrupt decision to leave. It did not help in the least to hear Lord Smallwood’s inadequate answer when she’d asked if anything was wrong. He’d only said that it was urgent they return to London at once.

Phyllis stood helplessly in the entryway watching the footmen rush in and out. Neither Smallwood nor Cleo made an appearance until the coach was ready to depart. They came down the stairs together, dressed for travel and looking strained. “I wish you will sit down and take a light repast before leaving,” Phyllis begged.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Smallwood said brusquely, “but we must be off.”

“Can you not even wait for Tris to come home? I have no idea where the boy has gone for so long, but he’s certain to come home at any moment. He’ll be so dismayed at having missed seeing you off.”

“He’ll get over it,” Lord Smallwood muttered.

Cleo threw him a quick, disapproving look. Then she threw her arms about Phyllis’s neck and held her tight. “I shall never forget your generous hospitality,” she said in a shaking voice. “Thank you from my heart, ma’am.” And she ran out the door.

Lord Smallwood, using his cane to help the limp that had suddenly become very pronounced, hobbled across the floor to his hostess and took her hand. “I too will never forget your many kindnesses, ma’am,” he said.

“Come now, Smallwood,” Phyllis demurred, “we’ve surely become good enough friends to skip these formal thank-yous.”

He smiled sadly. “Yes, I suppose we have. I only wish...”

“Yes?” she prodded eagerly.

He shook his head, dismissing the unspoken thought. “Well, no point in dwelling on wishes,” he muttered as he limped to the door. “My mother used to say, ‘If wishes were buttercakes, beggars would be fat.’“

She followed him out to the carriage and watched as a footman helped him climb up. Then the steps were lifted, the door was shut, and the coachman cracked his whip. Lord Smallwood lowered the window and poked out his head. “Good-bye, m’dear,” he shouted against the noise of the horses’ hooves.

“Good-bye,” she answered sadly. “I also wish...” But the carriage was already moving down the drive. He probably hadn’t even heard her.

25

Tris came home reeling. He teetered toward the stairway, trying not to make any noise, for it was past midnight. But his mother, who’d been waiting in the sitting room, heard him. She hurried out to the hallway, took one look and gasped. “Tris! You’re
drunk!
”

“Yes, ma’am. As a lord.”

She glared at him, aghast. “How
could
you? Tonight of all nights, when I have such important matters to discuss with you!”

He blinked at her woozily. “Wha’ important matters?”

“I can’t tell you now. Not when you’re in this indecent condition.”

“Yes, y’can. I’m a bit mizzled bu’ not yet seeing by twos.”

“A bit
mizzled?
You can barely stand! I’m surprised you’re not walking on your knees.”

“Dalderbash!” He threw back his shoulders and tried to stride past her into the sitting room, but he stumbled and would have fallen if she hadn’t caught him.

He shook her off, tottered into the room and dropped down on the nearest easy chair. “There, now. Wha’dye want t’say t’me?”

She shrugged and sat down on the sofa opposite him. “For one thing, your guests have departed for London.”

He blinked at her, openmouthed. “Cleo? Gone?”

“Yes, with her father.”

“Gone, eh? Hmmmmm.” He thought the matter over for a moment. “I’m not... surprised.” His mother shook her head. “You look surprised.”

“Well, in a way I am surprised. An’ then again I’m not.”

“That’s a logical answer,” Phyllis said sardonically. “For a drunkard.”

“Cleo did indi... indicate t’me that she might leave,” he managed.

“When did she do that?”

He wrinkled his brow in thought. “T’day, I think. This after... noon.”

“Did you quarrel?”

“Yes. No.” He put up a hand to steady his swimming head. “I dunno.”

Phyllis eyed him in disgust. “Really, Tris, this is getting us nowhere. You should go to bed.”

“Quarreled wi’ Canfield, though. Remember that right enough. Gave ‘im a facer. Knocked ‘im off ‘is pins.”

“Tris!” She rose from her seat in concern. “Are you saying you actually engaged in fisticuffs? With
Peter?
”

“Knocked ‘im right off ‘is pins.”

“But why?”

“Th’ bounder wuz kissing Julie. Had no right t’kiss Julie.”

Phyllis’s eyes widened, and her heart gave a jump in her chest. Suddenly, in this useless and depressing exchange, she heard something to delight her. “Oh,
Tris,”
she cried, dropping to her knees before his chair and taking his nerveless hand in hers, “do you know what that means?”

“It don’t mean anything. On’y means I floored ‘im wi’ my fives. Nothing at all nigsifigant... fignisigant... significant in that.”

“But it
is
significant. It means you were jealous! And jealousy, my dear boy, is a sign of love.”

He fixed his eyes on her blankly. “Is it?”

“It means you love Julie! Just as we’ve always wished!” She got to her feet and gazed at him fondly, her anger gone. “But never mind now, dearest. You need to sleep away your inebriation. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’ll ring for Livesey to put you to bed.” She went to the bell-pull, her step almost dancing. “You dear, dear boy!” she chirped excitedly. “You’ve made me the happiest of mothers!”

Those words were the first Tris remembered when he awoke the next morning. Something in his head hammered painfully, preventing him from understanding the words’ significance. It was a long while before he was able to think clearly, but when he could, he began to understand what it was that had made his mother so happy: she’d concluded that he loved Julie after all.

Perhaps it was true. He’d certainly been acting like Julie’s lover these past few days. Ever since he’d seen Peter kissing her in the dappled sunlight of his library, he’d been like a man possessed. After plotting and scheming to encourage Peter to fall in love with her, he’d made a complete about-face. Now he seemed to be scheming, instead, to tear Julie from Canfield’s arms. What did that mean? It was jealousy, certainly. But was jealousy the result of love?

What did he really know about love, after all? he asked himself. He’d truly believed he loved Cleo, but these last few days he’d barely noticed her, so blinded had he been with jealousy. And when she’d tried to interfere with him, he’d felt nothing but irritation. Had his love for her simply died away? Passed like a spring rain? Or had it never existed at all?

Perhaps love was a will-o’-the-wisp, like happiness, always floating just beyond one’s grasp. Or perhaps it was a quiet, slowly developing emotion, made up of affection and loyalty and undramatic steadiness, like his feeling for Julie—a sleeping beast only roused to passion when driven to extremes of jealousy or lust. He wished he could discuss the problem with someone older, wiser and more experienced than he... someone like Peter. But passion had made him punch Peter in the jaw, thus precluding any possibility of engaging in friendly conversation with the man again. Passion had its price.

After another hour of head-hammering contemplation, he was still without a single answer to the dozens of questions his conduct and his muddled feelings had aroused.

There was nothing for it, he decided, but to go down and face the consequences.

His mother, who’d been eagerly awaiting his descent all morning, greeted him warmly. “Do you remember what we talked about last night?” she asked as soon as he sat down at the morning room table for a late breakfast.

“Yes, every word,” he assured her.

“Then I think we should run over to Larchwood as soon as you’ve eaten, and tell Madge. And Julie, of course.”

Tris paused in the act of bringing a muffin to his mouth. “Tell them what?”

“Tell them to set a wedding date, of course.”

He set the muffin down on his plate unbitten. “Of course,” he said at last. “What else could I have been thinking of?”

Whtat else indeed?
he asked himself as he slowly sipped his tea. His feelings for Julie were obviously very deep, much deeper than he’d dreamed, or else why would he have behaved like such a crazed buffoon these past few days? He would marry Julie, with whom he was always completely comfortable. They would live together in the blessed familiarity and fond affection that had been a constant condition of their lives. It was evidently meant to be. Their mothers had always known it. It was only childish rebellion that had made them oppose the idea all these years. Well, he’d grown up at last. It was about time.

26

Julie had no questions in her mind about the nature of love. She knew what love was; she’d recognized it almost at once. Perhaps she hadn’t quite admitted it when she’d first laid eyes on Peter at the assembly, but it hadn’t taken her long afterward to acknowledge the truth. Though she’d never come face-to-face with that sort of love before, it was not in the least unfamiliar. Love was, to her, an instantly recognizable emotion.

As she lay sleepless on her bed the night after the disastrous fair, she was pondering a problem of another sort— how to win the object of that love. And that was a problem she had no idea how to solve. She’d gone to see the gypsy in the desperate hope of getting a clue, but the experience in the gypsy tent had been too confusing. Besides, it was ridiculous to take fortune-telling to heart. Crystal balls... mysterious voices... lines on the palm... they were all nonsense. Anyone who took such things seriously was a dupe, and she was no dupe. She knew perfectly well that someone had been under the table, holding a candle under the globe and blowing smoke into it. Perhaps that same hidden swindler was the one who’d said those confusing words. There was nothing supernatural about any of it.

And yet... and yet... Hadn’t the gypsy said there were two men, one tall? Julie had known instantly that they were Tris and Peter. How could the gypsy woman have known that? And hadn’t the old crone predicted the fight? The mill hadn’t been as terrible as she’d said it would be, but there
had
been blood. And a crowd. And Peter had gone down and would not get up. That was a great deal to explain away by calling it coincidence. Perhaps there
was
something supernatural in the midst of all that flim-flam.

But of all she’d heard in the gypsy tent, the words at the conclusion troubled her most.
The tall man will not win unless you untie the knot you knit yourself.
What did it mean? What knot had she knit herself?

If she were honest with herself, she would admit that there was indeed a knot in the threads of her life. She could easily identify it. She’d foolishly admitted to Tris that she was attracted to Canfield, and she’d been a willing participant in Tris’s scheme to capture him. If she’d never told Tris how she felt, and if she’d been brave enough to admit to Peter that she was not in love with Tris, the threads would never have tangled. She herself was the one to blame for “knitting” the plot. And that was the knot she had to untie.