The Regency (71 page)

She turned back to him, and he saw that there were tears
on her cheeks.

‘
Don't you think I have been worried too? But we must
trust in God,
mon âme.
He wants our child to have existence.
One cannot be niggardly with life. Everything will be all right, my own love. I'm sure of it. Be happy — please be
happy.'

‘
I am happy,' he said, and drew her to him again to sit on
his lap. He folded his arms round her, and she rested her head
against his. Under his hands, within her narrow body, his
child grew, the seed of life that would not be denied, growing
in the darkness, struggling towards the light. It was nothing to him yet, only an idea; but she, she was the warmth of the
sun to him. If he should lose her —!
She pressed her cheek against him, knowing his thoughts,
as she so often did. 'I love you too, James,' she said.

Last to come home was Mathilde, delivered to the door by the
Wickfields in their handsome new travelling-chariot. There
were affectionate farewells, promises of letters and future
visits, and the carriage drove away, leaving Mathilde to walk
into the house, feeling a little flat and rather low-spirited in
reaction.

In the hall, Ottershaw was waiting to greet her with a quiet
smile. 'It's good to have you back, miss,' he said, and
Mathilde's heart was warmed.

‘
Where is everybody?' she began to ask, when with a
clattering of claws on the marble floor, Tiger flew at her in
silent joy, tail revolving franticly, wolf-eyes shining; and there
was Edward, hurrying out from the direction of the steward's
room. His face was alight with pleasure, and he advanced
with both hands out, to take hers and press them warmly.

‘
I thought I heard the carriage! My dear Mathilde, how
good it is to see you!'

‘
I'm glad to be home, Cousin Edward,' she said, feeling her
cheeks to be a little pink. Don't be foolish, she told herself
sharply. That is all in the past, all over.

Edward released her hands, but continued to stand before
her, smiling as though he had forgotten how to leave off.
‘You're looking well,' he said at last. 'Is that a new hat?'

‘Yes: Mr Wickfield bought it for me.'

‘
That was kind of him. It becomes you. You look very well.’

‘
You said that before, Cousin Edward,' she said.

‘
Did I?' He continued to smile. 'You've done your hair
differently, too.' She didn't think that needed an answer. 'Well,
so you're back,' he said foolishly. 'Everyone thought you
would come back married, or engaged to be married at least.'

‘
Is that what you thought?' she asked, trying to resist a
delightful idea that was attempting to make its way into her
head.

He didn't answer that. 'You didn't meet anyone agreeable,
then, on your travels?'

‘
I met lots of agreeable people, thank you, Cousin Edward,'
she said, 'but no-one I wanted to marry.'

‘
And so you're back,' he said with an air of satisfaction.
'Well, the others will be wondering what's happened to you.
We'd better go and find them. Will you take my arm?’

She tucked her hand under his elbow, and it seemed danger
ously comfortable. They crossed the hall together, circled by
Tiger, bent on tripping them up.

‘
I was wondering,' Edward said diffidently, 'whether, if
you're not too tired from your journey, you might like to play
chess with me tonight.'

‘
Gladly,' she said. 'And you can tell me how the Morland
Merino is coming along.’

*

Fanny was delighted with the plans for her come-out. It
seemed to her doubly delightful, for she would be officially
out as soon as she was sixteen, which had been her ambition,
and would have all the glory of a grand ball at Morland Place,
and the chance to go to formal assemblies in and around
York; and then she would have it all again in London, with an
even grander ball, and all the excitements of the Season.

She would have preferred not to have to share her London
début
with her cousins, but there seemed to be no help for
that. It was plain that Madame could not bring her out in her present condition, and it was unthinkable to wait for another
year. She comforted herself that Hippolyta, though pretty, was no-one, without rank or fortune; and though Flaminia
was
Lady
Flaminia, which was annoying, she was quite plain,
and not an heiress in the same way that Fanny was. Flaminia
would have twenty thousand pounds, but Fanny would have
Morland Place
and
Hobsbawn Mills.

Everyone at Morland Place seemed to be happy that
autumn. Héloïse was particularly happy because, from her
own observations, and after consultation with the returning
Miss Rosedale, she had decided that there was no need to
send Sophie back to school. Miss Rosedale had agreed with
her that Fanny no longer posed any threat to Sophie — if,
indeed, she ever had, for the incident so long ago had never
been proved to be anything to do with Fanny — and that, with all the excitement of her come-out ahead of her, she
would be too busy and happy to make trouble for anyone.

Miss Rosedale was happy to take on the teaching of Sophie.
She had been sorry to think that her time at Morland Place
was coming to an end, for once Fanny was launched on the
world, she would no longer need a governess; Sophie would
give her a few more years' grace. Sophie, of course, was
deliriously happy at the news that she might stay at home with Maman and Nicholas and all her friends in the servants' hall.

‘
But what about Africa?' she asked anxiously. 'Her papa
wanted her to go to school. Will she have to go back on her
own?’

Héloïse didn't know. 'We shall have to ask him, of course,
and if he says she must go, then I'm afraid we shall have to
send her. He will be coming to England in November, accord
ing to your Aunt Lucy, so I think for the moment she can stay
here and take her lessons with you and Miss Rosedale, and he
can make a decision when he comes home. But I think if I tell
him that she is not happy at school, he will not insist.'
The preparations for the ball fell mostly on Héloïse, and she
and Fanny were naturally thrown together for long periods.
Héloïse was amazed at how she had changed and grown
up, how sensibly she could talk, how excellent her air and
manner had become. She remembered the brooding, sulking
child she had met on first coming to Morland Place as James's
bride, and all the tantrums and storms and escapades they had endured since then. She remembered the torn dresses,
the lost shoes, the muddy feet, the tangled hair, the hoydenish
tricks. This Fanny was a different person.

A tentative friendship began to build up between them, as
they pored over ladies' journals together, visited warehouses,
fingered materials, drew up lists of guests, planned decor
ations and menus. Héloïse, remembering Fanny's bitter
resentment of herself, was as surprised as pleased that they
were now able to have calm, pleasant conversations, even occasional little jokes, and that Fanny seemed sensible of
Héloïse's good will, even of the worth of her advice.

James noticed them getting on together, and was delighted.
'My two favourite women,' he said one day, putting an arm round each of them and kissing their cheeks, as they pored
over dress-designs. 'You look so lovely together — you might
almost be sisters.' It was a remark to gratify neither of them,
and they glanced at each other with identical expressions of
 
distaste, and then both laughed.

‘
It is fortunate that Fanny accepts me now,' Héloïse said
afterwards to James, 'for I shall have to chaperone her until Christmas at least, and it would be dreadful for both of us if
she hated me still.'

‘
Fanny never hated you,' he said, wrapped in his new
euphoria. 'You never understood her properly.’

The plans were complete. There was to be a dinner first for
forty people, two full courses plus dessert; a supper later, half
way through the ball, with a decorated cake, and champagne;
and for those who survived to the very end, white soup and
oyster patties. Monsieur Barnard went into a prolonged
frenzy, which only just exceeded those of Mrs Thomson and
Ottershaw, whose preoccupation with linen, silver, crystal,
servants, liveries, and the etiquette of receiving, seating and
serving all the guests, left them no time to worry about decorating the house. Mathilde was glad to take over that task, and
pottered happily about the gardens with a gardener anxiously
in tow, and even walked over to Shawes, to see if she could
inveigle some hot-house blooms out of old Morton.

Héloïse and Fanny between them drew up the guests lists
and sent out the cards of invitation, and determined the
placings for dinner. They walked about the house and decided
that the long saloon simply wasn't big enough, and that the
dancing should take place in the great hall, with the musicians
playing upstairs to save room. The card tables could then
be set up in the drawing-room, the steward's room could
serve as a smoking-room, and the great bedchamber and its
closet could be made available to the ladies for their toilette.

The children were fascinated by the whole business, and
made themselves useful by remembering details such as the
need for a pin-cushion and a sewing-maid in the ladies' room;
pencils and paper as well as new packs of cards for the card-
room; and Sophie suggested sensibly that supper should be
laid out in the long saloon — 'Otherwise the servants will
have to walk through the hall where everyone's dancing with
trays of food and things.' Fanny, listening, was aware of a
delightful glow inside her at the thought that now at last she
would be part of the ball, and not, like Sophie and Africa,
confined to watching the arrivals through the balusters,
before going to bed.

Not only that, but she would be the most important person
there, and would lead the first dance. It was a matter of considerable interest to her to know with whom she would open
the ball. Every eligible young man in the neighbourhood was
invited, along with all the respectable families, but when she
contemplated the Micklethwaites and Applebys and even
Tom Keating, she couldn't help feeling they were a poor
bunch. Of course, now she was coming out, she would not be
confined for choice to the younger set, but still she wished that Lieutenant Hawker was going to be there. To open the
ball with him would be distinction enough for her; but he was
still in Nottingham, as far as she knew. She knew that Papa
had dined again with Colonel Brunton, and hoped that there
would be some officers present. A ball with no red-coats at all
would be in danger of being stigmatised a dull affair.