Mr. Darcy's Daughters (24 page)

Fanny was nodding her approval. “Write to Mr. Darcy at once, Mr. Gardiner, assuring him that Letty’s natural disappointment has led her to take a harsh and extreme view of the life the girls are living here in London. He may be perfectly at ease, knowing that you and Mrs. Gardiner, as well as Fitzwilliam and myself, are taking the greatest care of his daughters’ happiness and reputations.”

Sackree, who had lingered on the landing outside the drawing room, a pile of Camilla’s underclothes fresh from the laundry maid in her arms, listened with keen attention, as did John the footman. They had flattened themselves against the wall when Alethea came out, but she had barely given them a glance, being too keen, as Sackree remarked, to get upstairs and tell Miss Griffin what had happened.

“All eyes and ears, Miss Alethea is. She had the right of it, what she said about that Valpy in there. Right free and easy with his hands, he is; he had Figgins pressed up against the wall, him and his nasty black coat and slimy ways.”

“Bet he didn’t get far with that Figgins. Like a cat, she is.”

“He did not. She don’t spend all that time hanging round the stables without learning a trick or two, and who’s to blame her? A woman’s got to look after herself in this wicked world, for nobody else isn’t going to do it for her.”

“That’s true enough. I’ve seen him giving Miss Alethea the eye and all. You’d think he’d have more sense if he’s after the eldest one.”

“Miss Darcy to you.”

“Still, she’s got that governess to watch out for her, tells her everything, doesn’t she?”

“I reckon as how it all gets put down on paper by Miss Griffin; scribble scribble, she goes, all day long.”

“Going to wrap it all up and hand it to your master soon as he’s back from foreign parts, I dare say, and never a good word to say for anyone by the look of her.”

Sackree got on well with Miss Griffin. “I’ve known worse, and she won’t be passing on secrets, she’s not the type. It’s a journal she’s keeping up there, recording it all for posterity.”

“What all?”

“Life.”

John snorted. “What’s an old spinster stick like her know about life? Now, if it was you, Sackree,” he said with a leer.

“You keep your sauce to yourself. Ssh, now, Miss Letitia’s finished her complaining; let’s see what the others have to say.”

“I’ll miss you if you has to go back to Derbyshire.”

“I’ll not be going back to Derbyshire except as according to the original arrangements. Miss Camilla won’t stand for it. There now, Lady Fanny’s putting them right. Mind you, she’s wrong about assignations; assignation is those twins’ middle name, and that’s the truth of it!”

Camilla was pleased to see Mr. Layard standing beside Wytton on the street outside Mr. Gardiner’s house. His face broke into a welcoming smile as she descended from the carriage.

Hearing that she was driving out with Sophie that afternoon, Mr. Gardiner had insisted on taking her. “Then I can give this letter from your father to Mrs. Gardiner. I am sure she will agree with Fanny, but I should not like to reply without her advice.”

Sophie came down the steps of the house, charmingly dressed in a fine Indian muslin. She greeted her father prettily, and smiled at Camilla, Wytton and Layard.

Their destination was a jeweller’s off Maddox Street. Camilla would have walked there, it being only a short distance away, but Sophie was not at all a keen walker and much preferred the open carriage, where she could see and be seen. Besides, she confided to Camilla as Mr. Wytton handed them in, her light satin shoes were not made for walking, and the dusty streets did dirty one’s dress so. She settled herself on the seat and held up a lace parasol to protect her exquisite complexion from the sun’s rays. She gestured to Camilla to sit beside her; Layard took his place opposite, next to Wytton, and the carriage moved off.

“Egypt is very hot, is it not?” Camilla asked Wytton, her mind dwelling on sun and complexions.

He looked at her in some surprise. “Extremely so, and for most of the year. Very dry and dusty, also. It is not so bad, though, for one travels everywhere by boat, on the Nile. The river breezes provide some relief from the heat.”

“I have seen drawings of those vessels, I think, with curved sails.”

“Yes. The prevailing wind blows one south, and on the return journey, one relies on the current. The Nile flows from south to north, did you know that? It is most unusual for a river; but then, the Nile is altogether extraordinary. Only consider the incredible variety of creatures to be found in its waters and upon its banks.”

Mr. Layard leant forward. “Tell me, Miss Camilla, would you care to be introduced to a crocodile?”

“I believe I have met several these past few weeks in London.”

Wytton laughed. It occurred to her that she had not heard him laugh out like that before. He had a pleasant, resonant voice, and his laugh matched it. “I think you might find the Nile crocodiles a sad disappointment in comparison,” he said.

Sophie’s face had taken on a discontented look. “If you are to go on about Egypt, Camilla, I shall wish you had never come, it is so dreadfully boring.”

Wytton’s smile faded, and he said no more.

“How I envy you the opportunities you will have for foreign travel,” she said to Sophie. “Why, when you are married, you will see all kinds of places that most of us can only dream of. Not only Egypt, but Greece, and Turkey.”

“Your parents are in Turkey; might you not have accompanied them if you are so eager to travel?” said Mr. Layard.

“Oh, I should have liked it above all things,” she said. “It was not thought suitable, however, and Mama and Papa wished me to spend some time in London.”

“Perhaps you would have found life under the Ottomans less restrictive than London society,” said Wytton.

“How can you say such a monstrous thing?” said Sophie. “It is quite horrid in that part of the world, all harems and odalisques. The men are not at all respectable, and wear red hats all day long. Papa has been, and he told us all about it—tales that would make your eyes start out of your head, Camilla. You would not like it there at all, take my word for it.”

“Have you never been abroad?” Wytton asked Camilla. “Not even to France?”

“Not even to France? Why, I have hardly been out of Derbyshire before this; we have led very quiet lives.”

“You may say that, but Pemberley is my idea of heaven,” said Sophie. “It is the finest house I ever saw, so spacious, and so many fine furnishings and hangings; it is done up with great elegance and taste. Everyone says what a fine house it is. I am quite envied for having relations who live there.”

Yet Sophie would have her abbey soon enough; how odd to hear such yearning in her cousin’s voice. And why should she suddenly think of Pemberley with such enthusiasm?

“If I lived at Pemberley, I should stay there always,” Sophie went on. “I should never want to leave. Everyone is so happy there. How sad you will be, Camilla, when you come to marry and have to leave it. How shall you bear it?”

“I like Pemberley well enough, but it is still only a house, Sophie. People make one happy, not houses.”

Sophie pulled at the tassel on her parasol handle. “I do not think so. Houses are more to be trusted than people.”

Wytton was not looking in their direction, but had his head turned round to give instructions to the coachman.

“I am sure Wytton would rather be on the box than sitting here with us females,” Sophie said. “He is never happy to sit and be driven by others, just as he fidgets in the drawing room and strides up and down in a ballroom. He is a very restless person who must always be doing something.”

“Now, that is not true. I have seen Mr. Wytton sit beside you in the most amiable manner; why do you abuse him so?”

Wytton brought this conversation to an end by announcing that they had come as close to the jeweller’s shop as was possible, it being situated within a tiny cul-de-sac. It was just as well; Camilla didn’t care to talk about Wytton in this way with Sophie, as though her future husband were elsewhere, or deaf, if not actually half-witted.

The purpose of their outing was for Wytton to show Sophie the necklace that his mother was bestowing upon her as a wedding present, and to allow her to choose a clasp for it.

Sophie stared down at the garnets set in intricate webs of warm gold.

“How beautiful,” said Camilla, breaking the silence that lasted too long. She sensed that her cousin’s lack of response was due to quite other feelings than appreciation of the necklace’s beauty. “It must be very old, I think.”

“Exquisite,” murmured Mr. Layard, his cherubic countenance quite solemn.

Wytton never took his eyes from Sophie’s face. “It is Italian; it was made by a Florentine master of the Renaissance period. It was given to an ancestor of my mother’s as part of her wedding dowry, and it is the custom in our family for it to be passed on to the eldest son’s bride. My mother wore it on her wedding day.”

The hint was obvious, and Sophie’s mouth became decidedly peevish. “Well, I shall not wear it on mine, for it will not do with my dress. You should have shown it to me earlier, and then perhaps the whole piece could have been reset in a more modern style. It is too late to change anything now. I cannot possibly wear it.”

Wytton frowned, and the jeweller, an old man with a serene and distinguished face, gave a slight cough. “It would be very wrong to attempt to reset such an heirloom.”

Camilla could see that Sophie was about to say something unforgivable, and she plunged in, exclaiming over the fine filigree and asking the old man how such intricate work was achieved.

She listened with only half her attention to his courteous explanations. Whatever had come over Sophie? Apart from mislaying her usual good manners, she seemed unhappy about the whole business. Her mother had spoken of nerves; was this kind of behaviour normal for her? It was so unlike the Sophie she had known. Could an engagement change a girl so much? It was apprehension, no doubt, fear of the unknown, a reluctance to shed her girlhood and assume the role and duties of a married woman.

Whatever it was, no young woman should look this miserable only a few weeks before her wedding day, and in the presence of her lover, too.

Sophie had wandered over to look at some diamond bracelets that lay nestled in dark blue velvet. “These are pretty. See how modern and stylish. Old jewels are quite out of fashion, you know, Wytton. I would much prefer to have a diamond necklace.”

These last words were spoken so low that she wasn’t sure if Wytton had heard them. If he had, he made no reply, but continued his consultation with the jeweller.

How could Sophie prefer one of the diamond necklaces to that exquisite garnet and wrought-gold one?

“These diamonds are very charming,” Camilla said to her cousin, “but the necklace you are to have will make everyone stare—it is so beautiful and unusual. Anyone may have diamonds; an heirloom is an ornament of quite a different kind.”

For a moment there was a gleam of pleasure in Sophie’s eyes, then it dimmed. “Do you think so? I do not think Wytton’s necklace is at all in my style, it will never suit me.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s ankle was slow to heal, and Sophie was quick to call on her cousin again to accompany her when she went out with Mr. Wytton.

As often as not on these occasions, they were joined by Mr. Layard, as though Wytton, too, felt the need of a companion when he was with Sophie. This puzzled Camilla. If such uneasiness in the company of one’s betrothed might be understandable in the case of a seventeen-year-old girl, the same reasons could hardly apply to a man of eight-and-twenty. He had lived in the world, as the saying went, and bashfulness could not account for his behaviour.

Nor did she believe for a moment that Wytton didn’t trust himself alone with the delectable Sophie. He was a man of strong feelings, that was obvious; yet, unless her judgement was at fault, and it was true that she wasn’t too confident in her judgement of men just now, a man of his years, upbringing and temperament was unlikely to be so overwhelmed by passion as to forget himself and go too far with an inexperienced girl—and one, furthermore, who was destined to be his wife.

There was no explaining it. Camilla could only show herself willing to help Mrs. Gardiner by going about with Sophie and Wytton, and amuse herself by observing the strange couple and trying to come to some sensible conclusions about the true state of affairs between them.

Mrs. Gardiner felt the awkwardness of her position. “I would not persuade you to be with Sophie if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Camilla did not wish to seem a disappointed woman. “It is nothing. It would be a different matter if I were obliged to spend time in Sir Sidney Leigh’s company.”

There, the name was out; the first time it had passed her lips since that dreadful day. And she prided herself that her voice sounded calm. “I cannot shut myself away so that I never have to see an engaged or newly married couple. I shall in due course become accustomed to the notion of matrimony.”

“Your own, I do hope,” cried Mrs. Gardiner.

“Oh, well, as to that, there are not so many agreeable men in the world, but if I look around, I may find a man who prefers women to men.”

“Pray, do not make such remarks! It is all very well when you are with me, within the family, but out in the world you must mind your tongue; it is essential that you appear innocent, that you know nothing of that side of men.”

“How can I pretend that, when everyone knows why I fell out with Sir Sidney?”

“It is amazing what you may pretend. Nothing can do you more harm in society than an outspoken tongue on such matters. You must listen to what I have to say upon this subject, Camilla, if you are not to find yourself languishing on the fringes of the polite world, excluded from the best circles. Ostracised and derided, no less!”

Camilla couldn’t help laughing at this dramatic picture. “I do not think it will come to that.”

“Not your name nor your fortune, nor your youth and good looks will save you if you acquire a reputation for speaking your mind on subjects about which an unmarried girl is supposed to know nothing. And, as to everyone knowing why you quarrelled with Sir Sidney, you may be very sure that the Fitzwilliams have taken care to maintain that you broke off with Sir Sidney at their instigation.”

“That is nonsense. Fitzwilliam was furious with me. Votes lost, family made a laughing-stock, jilts cast into the wilderness—I had it all.”

“That was before Sir Sidney decamped to Italy. Now Fitzwilliam tells a very different tale.”

“Does he? Then I despise him for it, more than I did for his caring more about votes than for my making a disastrous marriage.”

Mrs. Gardiner raised her hands, warding off these rebellious ideas. “My dearest girl, not so high, if you please. You are too vehement, you show too much of what you feel. Always a good face on everything, remember, and, at your age and in your situation, the face must also always be an innocent one.”

“Ignorant, you mean.”

“I do, and do not despise my advice, it is well meant, and I do know what I am talking about. It is true that in the very highest circles—in the top ranks of the aristocracy, among your Hollands and Spencers—young girls are allowed an astonishing amount of freedom in what they say and think and even do, but, thankfully, you do not come from quite that level of society.”

Camilla saw that Mrs. Gardiner was genuinely upset by her attitude, so she apologised, said that her tongue had run away with her, and indeed, she was careful about what she said when with any other than her intimates.

“Oh, my dear, do not imagine for a moment that your intimates are to be trusted.”

“I suppose not,” she said with the trace of a smile. “I am coming to the conclusion that it is better to trust no one at all.”

“Now, that is not the case if you are thinking of men, as I know you are. Not all men turn out to be such sly, unnatural wretches. You will meet a man you can love and trust, Camilla; you may already have done so without as yet being in the least aware of it.”

There was another reason for Camilla not objecting to being Sophie’s companion, for if it hurt to be surrounded by the wedding preparations at the Gardiners’ house, it was even more painful to be in company of her sisters in Aubrey Square.

Letty wasn’t the problem. She was at her most disagreeable, it was true, still prosing about the frivolity of London life, still rebuking and criticising her younger sisters, but she was so involved with an ever-increasing number of societies and organizations and with Mr. Valpy that Camilla saw little of her, and was able to keep on reasonably good terms with her. And it had to be said to Letty’s credit that she was a dutiful guest, quite prepared to attend such parties and dances and functions as Fanny accepted on her behalf, and turning herself out like the beauty she was. Her very aloofness brought her a number of new admirers, none of whom interested her at all. Unless a man was caught up in the Evangelical movement, she felt he must be a flibber-tigibbet or a moral simpleton.