Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I (36 page)

When a large gathering of like-minded persons is compelled, by the inclemency of the weather, to huddle within a single dwelling, there are few more congenial ways of spending an evening, than by hearing some work of literature read aloud by one of the party, to the general diversion of all. If it is an excellent work, a well-written work, a profound and edifying work of near genius, this is good; but if it is an inferior work of substantial inaccuracy, this is often, for many in the party, even better.

One cold evening, after the Parrys and their several guests had passed the greater part of two hours in this agreeable pastime, Clive spoke over the general laughter to announce, that if any person in his family were ever to become famous, so that someone felt obliged to pen their history (it was a biography they were abusing at the time), he should prefer Ann to be the someone to take that task in hand.

“And why is that so?” asked Mr. Whitwood, a genial young man who had come to stay with the Northcotts for a fortnight, and had become a great favorite with the Parrys.

“Oh, because she is so delightfully partisan,” replied Clive. “She would magnify all our good qualities and present us as the most charming, witty, accomplished family that ever ennobled this earth by deigning to tread across it.”

“Surely not! I had taken Miss Northcott for such a sensible young lady.”

“That is but a facade. If you come to know her better you will discover that she is extremely impressionable. Indeed, it is a source of wonderment to me that our parents continue to allow us to associate with her, for despite our many attempts to display before her the more unpleasant aspects of our natures, she persists in attributing to us most improbable quantities of virtue. In the end, it cannot help but have a deleterious effect on our characters. And yet, here she is, established in our drawing-room as if she were a valued friend, instead of a corrosive agent with a demure face.”

“It must be her loyal ways,” said Lady Frances, smiling at Ann.

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Parry. “And Clive has failed to cite other qualities that Ann possesses, which admirably fit her for the role of biographer: one, that she fully atones for her softness in regard to our own faults, by adopting an attitude of ruthless severity toward everyone who would, in her judgment, cause us the least amount of inconvenience or bother; and also, that she is infallibly able to discover that every adverse circumstance that affects us has some origin in herself.”

“You are quite right, sir,” said Clive, smiling with the rest. “I beg Ann’s pardon; I did not do her justice; I had not thought. My word, I begin to see that it is a great pity that, unless Buonaparte does something foolish soon, and Stacey or Uncle Tor manage to distinguish themselves, we are not likely ever to have need of a biographer.”

“There is no difficulty about that,” Ann replied. “I assure you, I am able this minute to find a multitude of things to write about the inhabitants of Merriweather. Indeed, I can imagine no easier and pleasanter occupation than to fill several volumes on such a subject.”

“What, scribble off seven or eight volumes full of extravagant compliments and maiden flutterings,
á la
Richardson? I beg you will not. Wait at least, if you please, until something of interest occurs within our family, before you seek to immortalize us. I do not ask for a Mr. B., or even a Sir Hargrave--in fact, I positively refuse to countenance such disreputable persons anywhere near my sisters--but I do stipulate some event of at least moderate significance.”

“But we have had one, Clive. Julia has got married.” This, from Kitty, very quietly, from her corner.

But Clive objected to this, on the grounds that matrimony was not noteworthy in itself: it was committed all the time. He pointed out that just as no bookseller rushed to print an account of every robbery that took place, so they ought to practice the same restraint where matrimony was concerned, and not fill all the library shelves with volumes writ by persons of dubious talents, and inhabited by females bearing implausible names and unjust persecutions from their dastardly relations.

Ann commented that he had got somewhat away from the subject at hand, which was, the suggested history of his own sister, who was most certainly not possessed of an implausible name, or even one dastardly relation. “Though some of them,” added she, with a speaking look, “can, on occasion, be quite obnoxious.”

“I do not believe,” replied he, with an air of solemn consideration, “that I have ever read of a heroine flinging herself into the embrace of an ill-intentioned suitor in an effort to escape the witty badinage of a younger brother. It is an ingenious notion; perhaps you should attempt to set it down, before some other precipitate soul does so, and becomes known for the brilliant originality of her ideas.”

“Do not regard him,” said Lady Frances. “I would like very much to have a book written about Julia, especially by our own dear Ann.”

“If I were to undertake such a work, Lady Frances, I know exactly what it should be called: ‘
The Marriage of Julia; or, How Ann Meddled
.’ Or perhaps, more succinctly, ‘
Friendship and Folly
.’”

Everyone smiled, and then began laughing as Clive exclaimed, “But I forgot--I worry for nothing! It is impossible that such a tome will ever be launched upon the dark and inky seas that flow from Fleet-Street, for it must inevitably founder upon the shoals of its own analogies; sink under the weight of its own similes; and finally disappear, with a creaking groan, beneath the waves of its own metaphors.”

Lady Frances attempted to utter a rebuke, but she could not stifle her own mirth long enough to do so convincingly. Ann did not mind. She laughed with them, glad to see them so well entertained. But privately she thought, that because it dealt with Parrys, such a narrative must be of interest, even if, when all was said, it
did
concern nothing more uncommon that the transmutation of a young man and a young woman, into a husband and wife.

But of course, this might simply have been an instance of my partisanship displaying itself, and I must leave it to my readers to determine if I was right.