Menfreya in the Morning (17 page)

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.**

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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, / 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 extravagancel” retorted Aunt Clarissa.

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“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 it* self 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.

f*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

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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 …1 Yes, very nice. But I would much prefer a more solid title … something that is herdi-tary … 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. // 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.

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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 Bevfl 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

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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

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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!”