Chapter Fifteen #2
“Frances!” cried Jane Eveleigh, tripping over to her after courtesies were exchanged. “How is your head?”
“All better,” Frances answered swiftly, dismayed to find the others coming to crowd about her. “Too much sun, I warrant. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Eveleigh, for the fruit.”
“It was Mr. Midgecomb’s idea,” Mrs. Eveleigh declared, with an arch purse of her lips.
“Mm. Thank you, Mr. Midgecomb, then.”
He lifted his blade of a nose and gave a slash with it as he bowed again. “Miss Eveleigh need not have asked after your health because plainly it is glowing.”
Catching Mrs. Dere’s complacent expression at these attentions, Frances returned a half smile and murmured more thanks before turning decidedly toward the baron and saying, “I see you have brought out your insect collection, sir.”
Jane looped an arm through hers. “Faugh! You can’t want to see those, Frances.
Nasty beetles and flies and bugs! You must come instead and look over the music I have chosen for dancing after dinner.
” And when they were beside the instrument, she added sotto voce, “You dearest friend! I must thank you for keeping yourself out of the way today, for I had the gentlemen all to myself.”
“How did you spend the day?” Frances asked.
“I practiced my music, in case I am called upon to accompany us,” began Jane coyly, “but then, when I saw Mr. Hearne sitting in the arbor, playbook in hand, staring vacantly with his beautiful, blank eyes, I hastened out and asked if he might help me to practice my speeches. I do wish Puck and Bottom had a scene together! I mean, other than where I chase him through the wood. You are fortunate in playing Titania, in that you get to coo at him and stroke his furry head.”
A memory flashed upon her of doing exactly that, and Frances hastily leafed over the music Jane had gathered, tapping on Blackheath at random. “I hope we dance this one.”
“And he has a lovely voice, too—have you ever noticed?” Jane continued, ignoring her suggestion.
“I would have liked to close my eyes and let it flow over me like syrup. So you see, if I marry him, he wouldn’t be just to look at.
I might listen to him, too. I would make him read to me, though, because left to himself he does say such stupid things, which quite spoil one’s good mood. ”
“What—stupid things did he say today?” Frances asked in spite of herself, her heart beating faster. Though surely if Mr. Hearne had said to Jane, “Perhaps you would like to marry me, Miss Eveleigh?” Jane would not have called that stupid!
“Bah! He said that we were luckier than most in our casting, in that our Helena was properly taller than our Hermia—he once saw a production where the actors were the same height, so their Hermia had to crouch down throughout in a ridiculous manner—”
“I don’t see what’s stupid about that remark,” interrupted Frances contrarily.
“That wasn’t the stupid part. It was that he then said he always imagined Puck would be a gnome-like little urchin with green skin who would snicker irksomely and think too highly of himself and his talents, so he was very glad he wouldn’t be, in our play.”
Frances shrugged. “I don’t see what’s stupid about that either. It sounds like he meant to compliment you, in fact. He was implying that you weren’t gnome-like, and you didn’t have green skin, and you didn’t snicker and think too highly of yourself.”
“Hardly a compliment!” scoffed Jane. “To be called not gnome-like, not green, not snickering, and so on? Nor did he bother to say so much. He only implied it, as you point out. That was what I meant by him being stupid. Especially when he went on to say how, yes, we were lucky indeed. Only see how Mr. Midgecomb was so very Oberonish, and how Miss Barstow was nice and tall and golden, as a Hippolyta ought to be. And I said, too bad Miss Barstow must be Titania as well, because I thought fairies should be dainty, and the fairy queen the daintiest of all. (You needn’t give me that look, Frances, for it’s my honest opinion, and I daresay you could ask a hundred people, and they would all tell you the same.) But Mr. Hearne said you were daintier than Mr. Pendergast of Oxford, at any rate, and a fair sight prettier.
So you see how stupid he is? Saying flattering things about another girl is no way to win hearts.
And promise me you will keep the word you gave to me and Mama! ”
“You needn’t scold me for something Mr. Hearne said,” Frances retorted, though she raised gloved hands to her heated cheeks.
“And you might ask another hundred people, and they would tell you that being called more delicate and prettier than some Oxford fellow is scarcely an improvement on being called not-gnome-like.”
The argument could not be settled then, however, because Wood entered to murmur in Mrs. Dere’s ear, and they were summoned to dinner.
They would be too many at table for general conversation, but Frances and Mr. Tilson were so used to being seated beside each other at Greenwood Hall Frances was not anxious about it, and she thought the end of the meal might be a good time to bestow her first admiring look on him in full view of the others.
She had not counted on the addition of the Deres, however, or the Perryfield order of precedence which now placed her between Mr. Hearne and Peter, with Mr. Tilson out of reach across the table and one seat up!
Would her planned look be wasted on the intervening epergne?
Would the others think she was admiring the flowers instead?
Nor did she know whether to be glad or uneasy that Mrs. Eveleigh and Miss Jarvis were seated so that they would certainly hear anything which passed between her new dinner mate and herself.
Placed far down the side at Mrs. Dere’s end, Jane shot Frances a reproachful look before sitting, as if she had decided on the arrangements.
But Miss Eveleigh need not have feared. Five full minutes passed before Mr. Hearne addressed Frances, and then it was only to say, “I like the fish. Have you tried it?”
“I have not.”
Ten more minutes passed. The baron and Mrs. Eveleigh spoke doggedly about his insect collection, with occasional additions from Mrs. Barstow and Mr. Tilson. After some time and quiet inward practice, Miss Jarvis made bold enough to join the discussion.
“I do not know how you do it, Lord Dere. Even if—the creature—were already dead, I would not have the bravery to take anything and pierce it with a pin!” she tittered.
A sympathetic chuckle swept their end of the table, but then Mr. Hearne said, “‘So should the murder'd look, and so should I,/ Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty.’”
He addressed his salad, but a peculiar little shiver darted up Frances’ spine, as if he were looking in her direction.
Yes, Jane was right. Mr. Hearne’s voice was indeed alluring when he had something of value to say.
Something better than “I like the fish.” Bottom’s comic speeches, being so like Mr. Hearne’s own inanities, did not call forth the same qualities of richness and warmth.
“What was that, Mr. Hearne?” demanded Mrs. Eveleigh on his left hand. “Was it something from the play?”
“It was my speech, if I’m not mistaken,” interposed Mr. Tilson from across the table. “That is, Demetrius’ speech. I should have thought of it myself, only I don’t have the same sort of brain as Hearne, plodding endlessly on the playbook lines, like a donkey at the mill.”
Frances heard the ladies click their tongues at this continuing evidence of Mr. Tilson’s unkindness to his friend, and she half frowned at him herself because such a display would not make her task of pretending love for him any easier.
The meal went on; the conversation went on. And when Frances rose with the other ladies, she managed no look at all at Mr. Tilson, promising herself she would make up for it when they danced.