Chapter Sixteen
What dances shall we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours
Between our after-supper and bed-time?
“Shall I accompany the dancing, madam?” Frances asked Mrs. Dere, as the footmen moved the furniture, and Peter and Gordon rolled up the carpets.
“Of course not. All you young people must dance. The older ladies will play tonight.”
When the gentlemen entered shortly after, they found Mrs. Eveleigh at the pianoforte and Mrs. Dere ordering the music for her, while Miss Jarvis hitched Miss Eveleigh’s short train on its buttons.
Gordon claimed Frances at once, which she was glad of.
Brothers were so convenient at such times!
For her part, Jane glided from Miss Jarvis’ hands, eyes bent downward to assure herself her train was out of harm’s way, before stopping all by chance beside Mr. Hearne.
“Yes, yes, that will do, Annabel. Oh! Pardon me, Mr. Hearne, I did not see you there.” It was masterfully done, and Mr. Hearne had no choice but to ask her to partner him, leaving Frances conscious of a twinge which could not possibly be envy.
It was soon plain that all three of the young Christ Church men were acceptable partners.
Mr. Midgecomb tended toward affectations of grace—poised fingertips, sweeping arms, a lifted chin, and so forth—and Mr. Tilson benefitted from timely nods and finger points during the more intricate figures, but there was no fault to be found with Mr. Hearne, apart from a vagueness of expression, as if he moved through the patterns in his sleep.
When Childgrove ended, Frances attempted her first admiring, hopeful look at Mr. Tilson, but he didn’t notice and asked for Jane to partner him. George Denver then approached her, Maria over his shoulder mouthing, “Look out for your toes!”
The dancers whirled from partner to partner, even the baron and Mrs. Barstow taking part. Mr. Eveleigh alone sat to the side reading a book and later taking up a game of backgammon with Lord Dere.
With Mr. Midgecomb Frances was smiling but silent. With Mr. Tilson she was smiling and chatty. And just when she began to think Mr. Hearne would ask every lady present but her, there he was before her, eyes sleepy and vacant. “Miss Barstow, perhaps you would like to dance?”
He said it exactly as he had said, “Miss Barstow, perhaps you would like to marry me?” and Frances felt indignation rise along with her color. Fortunately everyone was pink with exercise and it passed unnoticed.
“Auretti’s Dutch Skipper, Annabel!” Jane commanded Miss Jarvis as she herded Mr. Midgecomb into the set below Frances and Mr. Hearne.
It meant she might at least take hands with Mr. Hearne on the corners, but it also meant she and Mr. Midgecomb would be progressing up the room while Frances and Mr. Hearne went down.
Fully expecting to pass the dance in silence, Frances was surprised when Mr. Hearne addressed her.
“Do you not find it odd, Miss Barstow,” he began, “that ‘trip’ can mean ‘to skip’ or ‘to caper,’ as well as ‘to stumble’?”
“Yes, you’re right,” she said with an effort at brightness.
“That is curious. Though when Oberon says, ‘Sing, and dance it trippingly’ in the play, I don’t think he is commanding everyone to blunder about.
” The mental picture drew a genuine smile from her, however, and as they stood to let the couple below circle them, her gaze crossed his and something in her tightened.
Dear me! There it is again, that wolf in the undergrowth.
The next instant it was gone, but when it came time for him to lead her down the set, she hesitated almost imperceptibly before giving him her hand.
And though he neither squeezed her fingers nor so much as pressed them, and though they both wore gloves, some invisible tremor passed from him to her or her to him or both ways at once, and it was all Frances could do not to snatch her hand back.
Thankfully, this time through the figures brought them to the bottom of the room, leaving them out for one iteration, and she furtively seized her skirts, twisting them, as if to scrub away the strange thrill.
“I blundered about,” he said idly.
“What? No, Mr. Hearne, you dance very well.”
“I refer to the time I tried on the ass’s head. I blundered. I am judging by the result.”
Frances’ mouth popped open. He was bringing this up again, what had passed between them? Was this a function of his plodding brain? That, like a heavily-laden wagon once jolted into a beaten rut, it now could only lumber along in that track, unable to turn aside?
The lower couples were circling, and they would have to rejoin the figure any second.
She shook her head. “You did not blunder,” she hissed. “My answer would have been the same, thank you, however—elegantly—you might have put it.”
Musingly he held out his long, gloved hand, and a flustered Frances lay hers upon it with rather too much force, but he bore up under it, leading her up to circle Peter and Miss Jarvis.
“Because I took you by surprise?” he asked, when they executed their two-hand turn. “I took myself by surprise.”
Frances had to wait until they performed their steps with the other couple before she could answer. “It was indeed a surprise.”
“Have you considered further, then?”
Unable to prevent her incredulity from showing, she stared at him. Honestly! Did he really intend to thresh this out in the five-second intervals permitted by the dance? If so, she had better quash this at once, whether or not his brain had difficulty following her.
They passed each other in the series of rights and lefts to begin again, now with Gordon and Mrs. Barstow above them.
“Thank you,” she resumed when she could. “But I have not changed my mind.” Then she must take Gordy’s hands on the diagonal for a two-hand turn, in which her brother unhelpfully told her, “You’re red as a plum, Fran.”
Mr. Hearne smiled at Mrs. Barstow when it came their turn, and whatever he said to Frances’ mother as they spun, she beamed at him.
The next progression took them up to George Denver and Jane Eveleigh, and Frances pasted a neutral expression on her face so that Jane could not later accuse her of anything.
“Ah, Mr. Hearne,” said Jane, casting around him, “I was just telling Mr. Denver here that we ought to insert a dance in the play. Not just for the fairies, you know, but for the whole fairy court, including Puck.”
“And I told Miss Eveleigh that I hoped it would leave out the unnamed fairy, for I’d be sure to stamp all the other fairy toes,” George added ruefully.
Mr. Hearne only smiled sweetly and made no answer.
“Were you attending, Mr. Hearne?” called Jane, when the first corners met and turned.
“Oh, yes,” he replied, coming to meet her corner for their own turn. “But I was thinking.”
On such a pronouncement, Miss Jarvis brought the dance to a close with ringing chords played ritardando, for the footmen had entered with the tea urn and trays of sweetmeats.
Tossing a smile at her partner by way of thanks, Jane abandoned George to address Mr. Hearne. “Yes?” she persisted. “And what have you concluded, sir?”
“About what?” he stood there blinking in his most empty-headed manner, so that Frances saw even Jane’s patience was tried.
“About the play!” she said, her smile tight.
Mr. Midgecomb strode to join them. “Are we discussing the play? Then I insist on my rights as acting manager.” He gestured them toward a grouping of chairs, and Frances had time to marvel how confidently he chose one for Jane.
If her own actions had achieved nothing more (and even muddled a few other things), at least she had given Mr. Midgecomb more assurance around Jane.
Tipping his head Frances’ direction he continued, “Miss Barstow, do you be seated as well. And, with your clear and cogent mind, would you be kind enough to acquaint me with the matter being discussed?”
“Yes, do, please,” added Mr. Hearne, depositing himself on the same sofa and fixing her with an expectant gaze, as if he himself had not heard as much as she had.
Nor was he the only one. As the play concerned or interested the entire company, Frances somehow found herself in possession of the room’s attention.
“Jane would do better to explain this,” she began, “it being her idea, but she suggests we add a dance to our production. One for the fairy court. Meaning, not just Mustardseed and Cobweb and Peaseblossom and so forth, but also including the king and queen and—Puck.”
“But not the unnamed fairy,” reiterated George, made anxious by the glow of universal enthusiasm which met Miss Barstow’s words.
“What a lovely idea, Miss Eveleigh,” said Mrs. Barstow, to murmurs of agreement from Mrs. Eveleigh and Mrs. Dere. “With the work we are doing on the fairy costumes, one might as well display them to further advantage.”
“But what would we do for music?” asked Peter. “It would be silly for the fairy court to prance about in silence.”
“If the pianoforte were brought into the long gallery, there would be any number of us in the audience who might accompany you,” Mrs. Eveleigh said.
“But accompany us doing what?” he replied, a shade of crossness in his voice. Frances suspected Peter Dere did not especially want to dance onstage. “It would be absurd for the fairy court to dance Auretti’s Dutch Skipper or Blackheath.”
“Thank goodness the Athenians aren’t obligated to join in,” chuckled Mr. Tilson, “for Auretti’s Dutch Skipper and Blackheath would be all this Demetrius would be capable of.”
“I’m certain your partners this evening would all agree you acquitted yourself well, Mr. Tilson,” Frances forced herself to say, accompanying the compliment with an equally hard-won look which she prayed passed as encouraging, rather than insipid.
Jane regarded her with lifted brow but said, “I could devise something fairyish, if we agreed on a piece of music.”