The Forest (87 page)

‘A minuet,’ cried Mrs Grockleton. ‘Come, Fanny. Come Edward, lead us in the minuet.’

Fanny and Edward both danced well. The count and his wife fell in behind, the other French officers were not slow to take partners and the business got under way very nicely; although when Edward whispered to her that Mr Gilpin was at the piano because Mrs Grockleton had forgotten the band it was all Fanny could do not to collapse with laughter. The minuet was followed by several more dances. Mr Gilpin then indicated that he felt he should be relieved and rose from the piano. But the two fiddlers, having got quite into their stride, struck up a country dance on their own, and this brought most of the Lymington folk on to the floor; so that it was a very jolly, if not very elegant scene that greeted Mr Martell’s eyes as he quietly entered from the far end of the room just as refreshments were announced.

Fanny did not see him at first. With Edward’s help she had brought her aunt a little fruit pie and a glass of champagne, which was all she wanted; but old Francis Albion, who seemed to be enjoying himself enormously, demanded a plate of ham and some claret. Not only that, he gave his daughter quite a naughty look – which she had never seen before in her life – and suggested that she brought some of the young ladies to talk to him. She was quite astonished at this transformation in the old man and dutifully did as he asked.

A few minutes later, talking to one of the French officers, she suddenly became aware of a presence beside her and knew at once, with a little tremor, who it was.

‘I had been searching for you, Miss Albion,’ said Mr Martell and, almost unwillingly, she looked up at his face.

The tiny gasp she gave was quite involuntary, as was the expression of horror she must have shown, since the sight of it made him frown. Yet she really couldn’t help it. For at her side stood the man whose portrait she had seen the night before.

The thing was uncanny. This was no mere likeness – a similarity of hair, saturnine features or proud, handsome look. This was the man himself. Indeed, it seemed to her, she could only assume that up at Hale House at this moment the frame in the shadowy passage was empty, and that Colonel Penruddock himself had stepped out from it, changed his clothes, and was now standing beside her, tall, dark, very much alive and threatening. She took a step back.

‘Is something wrong?’ No wonder he was puzzled.

‘No, Mr Martell, nothing.’

‘You are not unwell?’ He looked concerned, but she shook her head. ‘I should have called upon you before this but Sir Harry has kept me rather busy.’

‘You would not have found me anyway, Mr Martell, these last two days. I have been away.’

‘Ah.’ He paused a moment.

‘In a house I recently visited, Mr Martell, I saw a picture that bears a striking resemblance to you.’

‘Indeed? Was it such a disagreeable face, Miss Albion?’

If this was intended to draw a smile from her, she remained serious. ‘A Colonel Thomas Penruddock, of Compton Chamberlayne. About the time of Charles II or a little after.’

‘Colonel Thomas?’ His face grew most interested. ‘Pray where did you see this?’

‘At Hale.’

‘I had no idea of its existence. What extraordinary good fortune, Miss Albion, that you should have discovered it. I must go and see it.’ He smiled. ‘Colonel Thomas Penruddock was my mother’s grandfather. My ancestor. We have no picture of him, though.’

‘You are a Penruddock?’

‘Certainly. The Martells and Penruddocks have married each other for centuries. I’m a Penruddock many times over.’ He grinned. ‘If you get one of us, Miss Albion, you get both.’

‘I see.’ She kept very calm. ‘There was some trouble between the Penruddocks and a family called Lisle in the New Forest.’

‘So I have heard. The Lisles of Moyles Court, I believe – although I confess I have never known the details. The other branch of that family were more respectable, weren’t they?’

‘I couldn’t say.’

‘No. It was a long time ago, of course.’

Fanny glanced across to where her father and Aunt Adelaide were sitting. Mr Albion was chatting happily with two young ladies, but her aunt appeared to be falling asleep. So much the better. There was little point in her being made aware that there was a Penruddock in the company.

‘Perhaps, if your father is in better humour,’ he was saying, ‘I may call upon you …’

‘Better not, I think, Mr Martell.’

‘Well. There is to be a dinner tomorrow at the Burrards. I have a note here from Lady Burrard asking you to come. May I tell her …’

‘I am afraid that I am already promised elsewhere, Mr Martell. Would you please thank her for me. I will send a letter to her tomorrow.’ She suddenly felt very tired. ‘I must look after my father now,’ she said.

‘Of course. When the dancing begins again I shall claim you.’

She smiled politely but non-committally and retired to the far corner, leaving Martell a little puzzled. It was evident that a distance had opened up between them, but he was not certain of the cause. Was it because he had neglected her during his stay? Were there other reasons? No doubt the matter could be put right, but he felt anxious to do so, and had it not been for the dangerous presence of her old father he might have followed her there and then. A moment later, however, Louisa appeared and as she remarked that she was hungry, he could hardly fail to escort her towards the refreshments. Nearly half an hour passed before the sound of the violins signalled the resumption of dancing and even then she did not move.

It was at this point that some of the more discerning guests in the main room began to notice that all was not quite well with Mrs Grockleton’s ball. The two fiddlers were working away hard enough, but one of them was getting rather red and the second, between dances – or even during a dance – was pausing to drink out of a tankard that contained something other than water.

Was their playing a little out of tune? Was a note missing here and there? It would have been inappropriate to ask. Mr Grockleton did murmur to his wife that he might remove the tankard. ‘But if you do that,’ she cautioned, ‘he might stop playing.’ So he left it where it was.

A country dance was in full, if slightly lurching, swing when Mr Martell finally emerged and saw Fanny standing alone. He did not waste any time in moving towards her, but she did not see him approach. Her eyes were upon other things.

Aunt Adelaide was asleep, quite comfortably propped in her chair. But old Francis Albion was in a remarkable state. She had never seen anything like it. He was well into his second glass of claret and looking very cheerful on it. The ladies in general, from her friends at the academy to the count’s wife, had all decided to adopt him. There were at least six of them sitting around him and at his feet, and if his gleaming blue eyes and their peals of laughter were anything to go by, he was entertaining them thoroughly. Fanny could only shake her head in wonderment and suppose that, in the long years of his travels before she was born, her father might have had a more active social life than she had realized.

‘Perhaps you would do me the honour of granting me the next dance.’

She turned. She had already made up her mind what to do if this happened. Now she must see if she could carry it out. ‘Thank you, Mr Martell, but I do not care to dance at present. I am a little tired.’

‘I am sorry. But glad if it means that I have the chance to speak with you. My stay here will shortly end. Then I return to Dorset.’

She inclined her head and smiled politely. At the same time she glanced around the room in the hope that, without being rude to him, she could interrupt his attempt to converse with her. She caught sight of the count and nodded to him; she could see Mr Gilpin, but he was not looking in her direction.

The interruption came blowing in, however, from a different quarter, in the form of Mrs Grockleton.

‘Why Mr Martell, so there you are! But where is dear Louisa?’

‘I believe, Mrs Grockleton, she …’

‘You believe, Sir? Pray do not tell me you have lost her.’ Had Mrs Grockleton, perhaps, had a glass of champagne or two? ‘You must find her, Sir, at once. As for this young lady.’ She turned to Fanny and wagged her finger. ‘Methinks we hear interesting news of a young lady visiting a certain gentleman up at Hale.’ She beamed at Fanny. ‘I have been speaking to your aunt, Miss. She has formed a very good opinion of your Mr West.’

‘I scarcely know Mr West, Mrs Grockleton.’

‘You should have brought him with you,’ cried Mrs Grockleton, oblivious to Fanny’s embarrassment. ‘Methinks you are hiding him.’

How she might have silenced her hostess Fanny did not know, but at this moment the gallant count appeared at her side, asked for the minuet just beginning and, murmuring quite untruthfully to Mr Martell that she had already promised the count this dance, Fanny gratefully took this means of escape.

‘When this dance is over, Miss Albion,’ the Frenchman asked with a twinkle in his eye, ‘shall I return you to Mrs Grockleton?’

‘As far away as possible,’ she begged.

For another quarter of an hour she managed to avoid Mr Martell. She saw him dancing with Louisa, then she sought refuge in the company of Mr Gilpin, with whom, for a little while, she could safely watch the proceedings.

Unfortunately, it could no longer be denied by now that Mrs Grockleton’s ball was not going quite so well. They should have taken the fiddler’s tankard away, since it contained a potent mixture of claret laced with brandy and his fingers were slipping. Strange sounds were beginning to emerge. A few people had started to giggle. Glancing towards the entrance, Fanny noticed Isaac Seagull standing there quietly, looking in with amusement; and wondered what thoughts were passing through his cynical mind. It suddenly occurred to her that his presence, reminding her of the grim secrets of her own ancestry, was not unlike the discordant notes in the music.

‘Something must be done,’ muttered Gilpin. ‘If Grockleton doesn’t act, I shall have to.’ And, as if to prompt him, the violin now made an excruciating screech that stopped the dancers in their tracks.

At that moment the vicar caught Grockleton’s eye. A sign and a brisk nod from Gilpin were enough, and with good grace the Customs officer stepped forward, clapped his hands, raised one of those claw-like appendages and announced: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, the evening is growing late, I know, for some. So Mr Gilpin has kindly consented to give us a final – no, you are very generous, Sir – two final minuets.’

The first started off well enough. Fanny partnered one of the French officers. Louisa again danced with Mr Martell, but she tried not to look at them. Mr Gilpin on the piano acquitted himself admirably. Only towards the end did trouble break out.

The two violinists decided they had not done. They were both of them now at that stage of drunkenness where they believed they were enjoying themselves and took quite unkindly to any interference. They felt sure that Mr Gilpin needed accompaniment. Suddenly, therefore, the dancers became aware of the sound of strings. Even this might have passed, since Mr Gilpin was holding his own with firmness, had the other two not come to the conclusion that accompaniment was not enough. The vicar needed leading. And so it was that now the dancers became aware of a more strident sound from the strings, one of greater and greater urgency, but which, most unfortunately, was not the same tune that the vicar of Boldre was playing. In fact, it seemed to be a country dance. The dancers came to a halt. Mr Gilpin stopped and looked furious.

Mr Grockleton stepped forward, tried to speak to the fiddlers, who were still playing, put out his arm to restrain one of them and was promptly tapped on the head with a fiddle. Pale with annoyance, now, he grasped one of the fiddlers and began to drag him away, whereupon the other, who still had his tankard with him, emptied its contents over the Customs officer and started to belabour him with his bow. He might even have hurt him had he not suddenly, with a yelp, felt the finger and thumbnails of Mrs Grockleton close like piercing pincers upon his ear as that lady marched him away, past a grinning Isaac Seagull, past the plants and straight out into the night air.

The good people of Lymington laughed and applauded, and laughed again until they almost cried which, all semblance of dignity having been lost anyway, was probably the sensible thing to do. Mr Gilpin, considerably irritated now, but unwilling to see the evening end in shambles, waited patiently for a moment or two by the piano, then bravely continued the minuet, which the dancers very loyally took up again and brought to a conclusion. But as the Grockletons had now returned and the room was still awash with ripples of laughter, the good vicar had in common charity to do his best to save the day.

He rose to the occasion admirably. ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He advanced to the centre of the room. ‘In the days of ancient Rome it was the custom to grant victorious generals a triumph upon their return. Such a triumph, I think you will agree, has been earned by our kind host and hostess.
For they have expelled the barbarians from our gates
.’

There was stamping, ‘hear hears!’ and a round of applause. Fanny, standing to one side, heard a voice she knew to be Martell’s quietly murmur: ‘Well played, Sir.’

‘And now, for a final dance, I am at your service. Mrs Grockleton, what shall it be?’

It would not be true to say that the room fell silent. All around, murmurs arose from behind hands, or other people’s backs, or into handkerchiefs and fans. And Mrs Grockleton heard them. She smiled as gamely as she could. ‘Let it be a country dance,’ she said.

It really seemed they all would dance: the French aristocrats, the local coal merchants, the doctor, the lawyers. Fanny was not at all sure that Mr Isaac Seagull was not dancing as well. Mr Gilpin struck up, with the obvious intention of giving them a good five minutes’ worth.

But Fanny did not dance. She stood at the side, content to watch, unnoticed. She looked for Martell but did not see him. Louisa was dancing with a young Frenchman. Fanny frowned. And then she slowly realized. She had heard his voice just behind her before the dance began. He must, therefore, be standing there now. She dared not look round in case he should ask her to dance. For she had no wish to do so. She was sure she hadn’t. But if he was behind her, what was he doing? Did he mean to speak? How could she speak and what was the point, when he cared so little for her and when, besides, he was a Penruddock? She wished, if he was there, that he would disappear.