Walking in Pimlico (17 page)

Professor Moore ended his performance to thunderous applause, many in the audience on their feet and clapping the fellow vigorously from the stage, after which they settled again, the entertainment continued, the vocalists resumed their poorly disguised torture – and I heard nothing, so preoccupied was I by Helen’s performance and her betrayal. With her brother between us, it was difficult to seek out her face, and I was left with the glimpse of her hands, composed in her lap or, worse, on the arm of Mr Stranger – and reeking of infidelity! The interval arrived, though I waited in a snare of nerves, when I knew I should have the opportunity of exchanging some words with her, and I composed carefully my remonstration, even including a harmless witticism about her neighbour’s jawful of teeth, which I knew would amuse her, and perhaps win for me her little smile of encouragement. But how all occasions informed against me! Mr Stranger, with complete disregard for propriety, it seemed, offered her his arm – and Helen took it, leaving me to trail in their wake, like some pensioned chaperone to be ignored and even avoided!

Did I tread upon Mrs B’s toes, or elbow Mr D in the ribs? I do not know, for despite my best efforts in the crush of the vestibule I lost sight of them. Helen’s fair head disappeared in the throng, and I was unable to reach her. Turning and turning about, I was searching desperately through the crowd, and on the point of shrieking out her name, when her brother suddenly appeared at my shoulder. I know I was distracted and must have appeared as one on the brink of madness, casting about me and standing a-tiptoe. But John was calmness personified, and kept a firm grip upon my arm, steering me away from the mêlée and into the less populated regions of the hall.

‘My dear Miss M,’ he said, with amusement playing upon his lips, ‘please, please be calm. My sister is in no danger. See! There she is on the balcony with Mr Newman.’

‘Mr Newman?’

‘Our neighbour. In the Pavilion.’

Indeed, there they were, framed by an organza rose bush and a pot of ferns, my girl smiling and inclining her head – and piercing my heart.

‘Mrs Gifford is standing sentry,’ he added with a smile. ‘The citadel is in safe hands!’

I was dumbstruck by his levity, and my expression must have registered – what? My disapproval? Disappointment? Despair? I am not sure. Nevertheless, he retained hold of my arm and led me towards the opposite door.

‘I suggest,’ he continued, taking my hand and placing it upon his arm, ‘that we take in the River Walk, and the cooling breezes. You look rather pale.’

Pale, perhaps, but seething with a jealous fury I could hardly contain. We walked for only ten minutes, elbowed by half the population of the town, along that narrow path. Even Professor Moore hurried past us, his head down and his bag slung across his shoulder,
never to be seen again in Springwell. I watched him go, torn for a moment by concern to keep him under my eye. But Helen claimed my attention more, and John Shovelton was distracting and amusing, and quickly forced me to smile at his witty parody of Springwell’s Guide to the Venetian Carnival, the wonders of the enchanted grotto and fairy dell! Indeed, I soon forgot Professor Moore and succumbed to the charms of this amiable man. But when we returned, refreshed, to the Pavilion, the old anxieties returned. Helen and Mr Newman – plump, moneyed, vacuous, as well as toothsome – were where we had left them, still deep in conversation, and this dampened my cheer and increased my irritation.

There is no need to describe the agonies that followed. For the remainder of the performance I was intent upon Helen and her partner, and upon convincing myself that it was, after all, merely flirtation. I should be cross with her tomorrow, but would forgive her for her amiability, her simply being affable. But my resolution was soon shattered when, at the end of the evening, Helen left on the arm of Mr Newman, and walked ahead of us, while her brother and I, trailed by Mrs Gifford, sauntered in the rear. I was eager to draw level with them, and hear what they were saying, but John Shovelton showed no inclination to do so, and indeed seemed determined to remain at a distance. On arriving at the George, I was informed – by Helen of course – that Mr Newman was invited to join our party the following day, the prospect of which clearly delighted him, and further encouraged his expressions of admiration for Miss Shovelton!

I was in a turmoil of anger and jealousy – and forced to disguise these emotions under a façade of polite interest. And worse, Helen was unreachable. She might have been upon some distant continent for all I could talk to her, or even catch her eye. She seemed determined not to see me, and even moved out of my reach, so that my whispered words could not, did not find her ear. So we stood in the
doorway of the George, Mr Newman bowing and smirking, and patting Helen’s hand with a familiarity that I thought would drive me mad. At last, he left amid fulsome farewells and I saw my chance to speak to her.

But as we reached the foot of the stairs she tripped swiftly away from me, and, on reaching her room, was calling for Tippy who bounded out and on whom more affection was bestowed in that moment than I had ever received in all the hours we spent together! There was the swiftest goodnight, the door was closed, and she was gone, and though I tapped and called to her over and over (despite Gifford’s shaking head signalling that my persistence was becoming noticed), Helen ignored me, and there was nothing for it but to retire.

Had I known what the next few weeks held in store for me, perhaps I would not have slumbered so easily! For after that wretched entertainment and the intrusion of Mr Newman into our society, I enjoyed only inconsequential smiles and everyday familiarities from Helen and nothing more. The more I tried to be alone with her, the more she seemed intent on avoiding me. Only in my imagination now did we spend afternoons, under the dozing eye of Mrs Gifford, confiding our love and exchanging kisses. Only in my dreams did I steal barefoot across the corridor to burrow comfortably into Helen’s bed, where she would call me her ‘rabbit’ (as I imagined), and curl close to me. No more of our walks, our confidences, our secret times together, since now we were in the company of gentlemen almost continuously. Cousins might have been more intimate than we! The most annoying – and persistent – of all the gentlemen, the ubiquitous Mr Newman, showed no sign of ever departing. Indeed, although he had explained in tedious detail that he had appointments in manufactories the length and breadth of the land, there to do business with magnates of unimaginable importance (at which Helen’s eyes grew large), they mysteriously shifted to ‘Oh!,
next week!’ and ‘Ah!, a fortnight Friday!’ when a new walking excursion or amusement was projected.

It was difficult to believe that the love my girl once professed for me had changed so much. And so soon. Cast again upon my own resources and with no confessor, I examined my soul, my behaviour, towards her, for any little way in which I might have offended. I was certain there must be an explanation for her sudden change of heart, her cooling towards me, her disinclination to continue those fond exchanges that we had both so eagerly anticipated.

There was an explanation, of course, which I quickly formulated – it was all the fault of her amiable brother, who was so anxious for her happiness and amusement that he encouraged the attentions of young men, whether rich or poor, dull or fascinating, to compensate for their dreary life at home. Hence the steady procession of callers at the George, eager to make the acquaintance of Miss Shovelton. And John himself was not without admirers. Certainly the matrons temporarily resident in Springwell were happy indeed to discover a young man, independent, unattached and unaffected, who was inclined to look upon the attention of their gaggle of silly daughters without the least hint of irritation. Consequently they pursued him relentlessly. When we took a turn upon the River Walk or the Parade, he was accosted by mothers of all ages and dispositions with ‘Good day to you, Mr Shovelton,’ and ‘How does this fine weather suit you, Mr Shovelton?’ while their doe-eyed daughters simpered or stared!

I, too, had my happy band of followers. From the moment that Helen received (if not encouraged) Mr Newman’s attentions, I too was pursued by a succession of young men – the dashing Captain Witney of the Lancers, Mr Devine of the West Indies, Mr Carmikael, who claimed to be something of a scholar and wrote brief and enigmatic essays for the local newspaper, and the pale and sickly Mr Tennant, a member of the Church of England and, as
John wittily put it, soon to be a partaker of Life Everlasting! These and many others made their way to the George or the Pump Room or the Pavilion during our weeks at Springwell, so many in fact that it seemed the entire unattached male population of the country had hired a horse and hat and presented themselves for our inspection! Mr Treverrick, a Cornish gentleman accompanied by an elderly mother and two rosy sisters, paid me constant attention, and wherever I went his florid face and bushy side whiskers were somewhere in attendance! John Shovelton made quite a joke of it, calling him my Cornish pisky, after the mythical folk of that county!

I recall these incidents now with some amusement and irony, but was less distracted by Mr Treverrick, or any of our admirers, than I was by Helen, and the relish with which she appeared to entertain their attentions. It seemed to me a betrayal of our love and our friendship that she was unable to look upon me now with the same affection that she did of old. Suddenly, all that we had promised to each other, even if said in the heat of girlish passion (which triteness it never was on my part), was held as nothing, and I watched her with a heavy and jealous heart as she smiled upon Captain No-chin and Mr Red-nose as she had once smiled upon me.

I have many faults, but self-deception is not one of them. Years of thwarted desires have forged in me stoical acceptance, but also painful self-knowledge. I have survived, I have sometimes thrived, but I have always understood my own heart. However, Helen’s sudden withdrawal left a greater void than I could have imagined possible. It was not merely the want of her physical presence, but her easy companionship and gay-heartedness. She shone in dark days like a bright star in the night sky, and her mild temperament, so fond, so easily amused, was my constant pleasure! I loved her with such a simple fervour that if I could have devoted to her my every waking moment, I would have done so gladly, and to have had her smile upon me now would have been a reward treasured above
anything else! She was a perfect star in my universe! Nay, she was the
only
star in my universe!

Now, empty days stretched before me, days empty of Helen. We had been all and everything to each other – or so I believed. And now there was only an abyss of longing. I saw her, but could not possess her. Could not even reach her. Suddenly, it seemed, she was remote, a mere acquaintance. And if I am honest, that pained me with such an intensity that it was difficult to bear. Her indifference induced in me a wretchedness I had never known before and her cold politeness was torture. When she smiled upon Mr Newman, and nodded to Mr Evans, and flirted with Captain Ellis, my whole being was consumed with a raging agony of despair and misery.

This, in its turn, was gradually replaced by dull resentment and anger. Helen’s little ways that were once so delightful now irritated me to the point of fury. Her once charming laugh, with which she punctuated all her conversations with Mr Newman, now seemed false and shrill. Her childish ways – putting her finger between her lips, pouting, and that wide-eyed stare that she thought so alluring – simply enraged me. And when she nursed Tippy, and called it her baby, her pug-dog, her Tippy-dog, I had to walk away, fearing that I might scream at her or the dog, or the attendant gentlemen, all of whom smiled and simpered and found her ‘so charming’.

The final event of the month was a ball. Handbills and tastefully printed notices were evident throughout the town and, of course, everyone would attend. There was the promise not only of dancing, but of fireworks, a Venetian gala upon the river, and a cold supper. Helen was in raptures of excitement, and each day brought with it a new crisis – this gown was old-fashioned, that had a torn hem, these slippers rubbed her feet. She was a fright! She could not go!

How quickly feelings change when they are abused! I could have adored her tantrums once. And indeed, seeing her stamp her foot and grow red-faced and hot, I still felt a trace of that affection that
only weeks ago would have made me want to fling my arms about her, distract her, and make her laugh! It should have been an easy matter to stroke her cheek and command Mrs Gifford to repair the injuries to her dress. Yes, once it was, but now that affection was short-lived, and her display of temper simply the outburst of a spoiled child, for, constantly excused and indulged, she was liable to lash out at any offending object or person. On the very morning of the ball she was still stamping her foot and declaiming in a shrill voice that her pink gown was quite the most unfashionable rag, the white made her appear ill, the hem of the blue was ragged and torn, and how could she be expected to go looking as though she could not afford a decent gown! Even her brother, usually amiable and even-tempered, excused himself from the excesses of her demands. It seemed a good notion – to escape – and I offered my own apologies and invented an errand.

‘Then go!’ She turned upon me. ‘Why bother to tell me? Why should I be the least interested in anything
you
do? Go! Don’t hurry back! Stay away as long as you wish!’

Startled, and much inclined to remonstrate, I bit my lip, and perhaps she saw this tiny sign of weakness, for it was enough to inflame her temper even more.

‘What are you waiting for? For goodness sake go! Go!’

She paced about, pale and ugly, picking up a gown and throwing it down again, kicking her shoes across the room, all the while her childish temper rising.

‘I do hope you weren’t contemplating coming tonight, Phyll, for then I shan’t have to talk to you. Indeed I
won’t
talk to you. As I am going with the Evanses, and as you haven’t been introduced, I’m afraid you’ll be all alone.’