Chapter Ten #2
“I refer to your manner toward both Mr. Hearne and Mr. Tilson. Mrs. Eveleigh tells me you continue agreeable and attentive with Mr. Tilson at dinner, and I saw your kindness toward Mr. Hearne with my own eyes when you were hearing his speeches for the play. Your willingness to let the gentlemen’s true colors slowly appear pleases me. ”
Frances welcomed this generous construction of her conduct, but she was nevertheless uneasy.
Clearly Mr. Hearne’s and Mr. Tilson’s “true colors” were meant to appeal to her, but that was one short step from being asked to encourage them.
And while Frances could be friendly, she balked at flirtation.
It was not that she thought she could not do it or would not enjoy it, but that under the circumstances it would be deceitful.
Deceitful not only to the gentlemen, whom she did not intend to marry, but also to her benefactress, in raising Mrs. Dere’s hopes.
In fact, was she not already deceiving her patroness, in not declaring outright that she would have none of them?
Nor was this Frances’ only vulnerability. For supposing one of the gentlemen were to fall in love with her? No one seemed about to, but just suppose. She would then certainly fall afoul of Mrs. Dere if she refused him out of hand.
Danger lay on both sides, and it was all too possible she might fall between two stools if she did not take steps to avoid it.
Therefore, in light of these uncertainties and contingencies, Frances deemed it prudent to lay the foundations for her self-defense. Or to begin to lay them, at any rate.
It cannot harm Jane or Mr. Midgecomb now, if I pretend a liking for him, she persuaded herself. His devotion to her remains steady, and she at least does not dislike him and might even begin to like him.
Yes.
She must act. While still a deception, this one held out the least promise of harm to any involved.
Hugging her decision, Frances took comfort, even rejoicing that she could start as soon as the other guests arrived.
For the first time, however, with sixteen at table, Frances found herself beside Mr. Hearne, her usual conversation partner Mr. Tilson now across the table between Mrs. Barstow and Miss Jarvis and separated even from Frances’ view by a magnificent silver epergne.
Neither would help be found on Frances’ righthand side because there sat Peter Dere, far more inclined to talk to Gordon and Maria.
And finally, casting smiles Mr. Midgecomb’s direction was made utterly impossible, as he was far down the board at Mrs. Dere’s left hand.
Mr. Hearne ate steadily, answering the occasional question Mrs. Eveleigh or the baron on his other side put to him but otherwise staring at the epergne.
Catching Mrs. Dere’s eye upon her, Frances felt obliged to make an effort.
“What—what are you thinking about, Mr. Hearne?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say.
“Cowslips.”
Glancing at the roses and peonies bursting from the centerpiece, she raised an eyebrow. “What about them, sir?”
“The cowslips have finished blooming.”
“So they have. Which is why Mrs. Robson the housekeeper has chosen roses and peonies. Perryfield is known for its double peonies. Lord Dere always kindly sends a bouquet of them to the Cottage.”
“We are past Midsummer Day,” was his next observation.
Frances drew a deep breath. First flowers and now days of the calendar?
“Yes,” she uttered. Down the table, Gordon said something which made Maria and Peter and George Denver laugh, and Frances wished she could have heard it.
“Have you ever wondered, Miss Barstow, why the unnamed fairy at the beginning of the second act says he must ‘hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear’ when it is midsummer, and they are past blooming?”
“I—” Frances frowned. “Does he say that?”
“He does.”
“Oh. Poetic license, I suppose. Perhaps in the magical wood, all flowers bloom in all seasons.”
“I don’t think so,” Mr. Hearne answered mildly, “for Titania—you, Miss Barstow—speak of all four seasons: ‘the spring, the summer, the childing autumn,’ and ‘angry winter.’”
“That’s right, I do.” Her frown deepened, and she eyed him askance. “You certainly have been studying the play very hard, Mr. Hearne, and not only your own parts.”
In answer he gave the familiar tap to his temple. “My difficulties, you know. I must.”
“I see. In any event, Titania does also say the seasons are altered because of the discord in the fairy kingdom. Perhaps that explains the cowslips. But—did you say there’s an ‘unnamed’ fairy?”
“Yes. One who speaks with Puck.”
“Dear me. Did we count that one? Because we planned on making six sets of fairy wings: Oberon, Titania, Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed.” Frances counted them on her fingers.
“I’m afraid the unnamed fairy makes a seventh.”
“Well! I suppose one of the little fairies can deliver those lines.”
“They wouldn’t have time to change costumes,” he said in the same agreeable, even tone. “Because they are doubling as the mechanicals and will have just left the stage one line earlier.”
“Dear me!” said Frances again. “And I can’t do it because it would be confusing if first I was an ordinary fairy, and then I was the queen. And Oberon can’t, and Puck can’t, and you can’t.”
“It could be Lysander,” he suggested. “Or Demetrius. They play no other roles and would have time to don wings. It had better be Lysander, though. George Denver will be ridiculous enough, but Tilson as a fairy might strain credulity past bearing.”
To her own surprise, Frances had to smother a giggle, her shoulders hunching, and the thought flitted through her head: Why, once Mrs. Dere abandons the notion of me marrying him, I might like Mr. Hearne well enough!
They could confine their intercourse to the play, a province where intensive study clearly alleviated his dull-wittedness.
Her goodwill lasted until the card-playing began, for Mrs. Dere had chosen whist for the first game of the evening and not very subtly placed Frances at a table with Miss Jarvis, Mr. Hearne and Mr. Tilson.
“Who would you like to partner with, Miss Barstow?” asked Mr. Tilson. “We will bow to your decision.”
While Frances suspected Mr. Tilson would be the better player, she selected Miss Jarvis.
Let Mrs. Dere think she was giving both potential suitors their chance to shine!
It was not long, however, before she thought she could not have chosen worse combinations.
Miss Jarvis with her weak eye kept lifting her patch for a better look, and when she inspected her hand with her stronger eye, more often than not a card or two spilled out and was revealed.
Flustered apologies followed, to be met by half-exasperated assurances that no harm had been done.
By the fourth time around, Frances could bear it no longer and asked if, perhaps, Miss Jarvis might like to leave off with the patch for a few hours?
But Miss Jarvis’ ocular affliction was the least of their troubles.
No, indeed, it was the gentlemen who caused the greater disturbance, with Mr. Tilson growing more and more impatient with his partner’s play.
And though Frances acknowledged Mr. Hearne proved as incompetent as she imagined, she also thought Mr. Tilson ought to be more used to it as Mr. Hearne’s longtime friend.
“Why did you play your trump on me?” demanded Mr. Tilson of his partner in an early hand.
“Oh! Are clubs trump, John?”
“Of course they are! Which you ought to have remembered, that not being the first time a trump has been played!”
And then, sometime later: “Wrong, wrong, wrong, Adam! I played the knave, so you ought to have kept your queen for the next round.”
“But I took the trick.”
“Yes, but my knave would already have done that, and now you have wasted the queen!”
And still later: “What are you doing leading hearts, when you know Miss Jarvis hasn’t any?”
“Hasn’t she? Then she may trump me,” answered Mr. Hearne pleasantly, with a smile at that lady.
“Need I remind you we are trying to take tricks,” Mr. Tilson ground out, “not feed them to our opponents.”
“How fierce you are, Mr. Tilson,” observed Mrs. Dere, who happened to be distributing the cups of tea. And he did have a wild gleam in his eye, half competitory, half enraged, as he glared at poor Mr. Hearne.
“I—forgive me, madam,” he said through tightened lips. “I do hate to lose any sort of game or competition.”
She clicked her tongue thoughtfully. “My, my. I trust it does not happen to you often, if it makes you unhappy. At least there is nothing at stake this evening. At the worst, you can suffer no more than a blow to your self-satisfaction, and that will pass soon enough.”
“That’s right,” he agreed, still terse and still considering his hapless partner through narrowed eyes. “Lucky for Hearne. If this were to cost my pocketbook anything, I would be far harder on him.”
“What’s that, Tilson?” called Mr. Midgecomb from the neighboring table. “Not forgetting yourself are you, and imagining yourself at the club or the betting post?”
“You’d forget yourself too, Midge, if you were paired with this saphead.”
Another ripple of muffled dismay greeted this (second) discourtesy to his friend, and Frances guessed it was Mr. Tilson’s conduct which made Mrs. Dere clap her hands soon after and announce that they would shortly rearrange the card-players.
Soon enough, he and Mr. Hearne were replaced by George Denver and the baron.
Mr. Tilson’s bad temper had achieved one thing, however, Frances thought later. It appeared that one young man at least was no longer in Mrs. Markham Dere’s good graces.