Chapter Seven
“You are not required to come down,” Elias said. “It is written into the treaty in your own hand. You may dine upstairs, and I shall say you are indisposed. No one below will contradict me to my face.”
“It is also written that no one decides for me.” Victoria turned from the glass. “I have decided to come down.”
“I wished only to remind you that you need not.”
“You are forever reminding me that every door stands open. It is becoming tiresome. A woman cannot walk freely through a door while someone watches to see whether she chooses it.” She faced him. “Who are these people? Which of them must I charm, and which must I survive?”
“There are six of us, besides Sophy, who, naturally, remains only for as long as you think proper.” Elias considered.
“You will either like my aunt Maribel or be made to like her. She permits no third possibility. She is deaf in one ear and pretends deafness in the other whenever it assists her argument. She has already decided in your favour upon no evidence whatever, which is how she reaches every conclusion she considers important.”
“And the others?”
“Cole, my solicitor. He cannot make small talk and has wisely abandoned the attempt. I find it restful; most people find it alarming. Nathaniel is my cousin’s son, four and twenty and frightened of women, wine, and cutlery, in that order.
Miss Beatrice Ellery is my aunt’s goddaughter and the kindest creature I know, which among this company is almost a disability. ”
“And the one I must survive?”
“Mrs Crawford.” He pronounced the name as one might announce bad weather. “She has dined upon other people’s misfortunes for twenty years. She accepted tonight because the scandal is fresh and she means to report how we bear it.”
“Then why admit her?”
“Because an account formed at my table, beneath my aunt’s eye, is less likely to grow beyond recognition before it leaves the house. By the end of the week, Mrs Crawford will have carried the evening into forty drawing rooms. I should prefer that she begin with something resembling the truth.”
“And the truth is that your wife appeared gracious, untroubled, and entirely mistress of her new house.” Victoria’s voice cooled. “You have already written my part. I told you I would not be used, Elias.”
“You are not being used. I am telling you why I invited her.” He inclined his head. “If you would rather remain upstairs, do so, and I shall give Mrs Crawford the dullest evening of her life. I am asking, not arranging.”
“I shall come down. Not for your version of events, but for Sophy. A mother who hides invites questions, and I have had enough of being the subject of other people’s questions.”
***
Small yellow primroses had been set among the old silver along the length of the table. Victoria had only time to notice them before Lady Maribel entered upon Cole’s arm and filled the room with the force of weather.
“So this is the wife.” The old woman stopped three feet inside the door and inspected Victoria from hem to crown without the least pretence of discretion.
“Turn towards the light, child. I am half blind and wholly curious, and I have waited several days to see you. Yes. Very good. You have a chin. I cannot abide a woman without one. They agree with everyone and mean none of it.”
“Aunt,” Elias said warningly.
“Do not aunt me. I am being charming.” Lady Maribel waved him aside. “She has a chin, a spine, and her own expression instead of the one usually issued for such occasions. I approve. You may tell the room I did so before the soup and spare them the suspense.”
“Thank you,” Victoria said. “I think.”
“You are welcome, and you need not think. I have done it for you. It is one of my few remaining pleasures, and I do not intend to share it.” She allowed Cole to guide her towards a chair.
“Now, where is the child? Elias wrote that there was a child. I did not cross London for the company of adults. I see quite enough of them and think less of the species every year.”
“She will remain for a quarter of an hour,” Victoria said. “It is already past her usual hour, but she wished to see the table lit, and I have never mastered the refusal of that particular request.”
Sophy entered at that moment with Ruth tucked beneath one arm and stopped when every face turned towards her.
“Come here, child, and bring the lady under your arm,” Lady Maribel said. “Sit beside me. I am by far the most interesting person at this table, and the others will only bore you into your soup.”
“This is Ruth,” Sophy said, edging towards the offered chair. “She does not eat because she is made of wax, but she likes to see.”
“A sensible arrangement.” Lady Maribel settled her beside her with brisk tenderness, then added in a confidential undertone, “You shall sit here, and I shall tell you which of these people deserve your notice. It is a short list.”
“Is there custard?” Sophy asked.
“There is always custard in this house,” Elias said gravely. “Cook regards it as an instrument of peace. She sends it up whenever the table begins to quarrel, on the theory that no one can be truly uncivil with a spoonful of custard in hand. She is very nearly always right.”
“Then I should like to quarrel,” Sophy said promptly, “so that it comes sooner.”
“You have the makings of a diplomat,” Lady Maribel said, delighted. “Do not let your mother waste you upon the pianoforte.”
“Mama says I must learn the pianoforte whether I like it or not.”
“Your mama is correct. You will dislike it for six years and be grateful afterwards, which is the whole history of education in one sentence.”
Lady Maribel leant nearer.
“Now tell me one thing plainly, for I have no patience left for any other manner of telling. Is the Earl kind to your mother?”
The table became attentive while pretending otherwise.
Sophy considered the question with her whole grave face.
“He had yellow flowers put in my room the day after we arrived,” she said at last. “The sort I like. And he does not shout. Papa shouted. Lord Harwood only goes quiet, and his quiet is not frightening.”
Lady Maribel sat back. “There. A sensible report from the only reliable witness present. You may all resume pretending to eat.”
The quarter-hour passed before the custard arrived. When Pruett appeared at the door to collect her, Sophy set her chin in the precise attitude Victoria wore when displeased and declined to move.
“You promised custard,” she said. “I have not quarrelled nearly enough to earn it. It is not fair to send me upstairs before it comes.”
“You may have some upon a tray,” Victoria said, “and share it with Ruth, who has earned a great deal by sitting still.”
“I do not want it upon a tray. Trays are for being ill. I am not ill. I am at dinner.”
The table fell into the particular silence of adults waiting to see how a mother would manage a scene. Victoria heard Mrs Crawford draw the small, satisfied breath of a woman storing away a detail for later.
Before she could answer, Nathaniel set down his fork with great care.
“Miss Sophy,” he said, addressing the child rather than the room, “I wonder whether you would do me a kindness.”
She looked at him gravely.
“I believe Cook has already sent some custard to your room,” he said to Sophy. “Though I cannot promise the ghosts have kept their hands off it.”
Sophy turned her full attention upon him. “Ghosts do not eat custard.”
“One hopes not,” Nathaniel said gravely. “But I should rather make certain.”
Sophy considered this, then slid from her chair and held out her hand.
“Ruth must come too.”
“Naturally.”
Nathaniel rose, his ears scarlet, and led her from the room.
Miss Beatrice Ellery watched them leave with an expression she was a shade too slow to conceal. Lady Maribel, who overlooked very little and pretended to overlook a great deal, noticed.
“That boy has not strung six words together in company since he was breeched,” she murmured to Victoria, “and he has just produced sixty for a child of five. Meanwhile, my goddaughter has turned the colour of your primroses. I mark such things. It is cheaper than medicine and twice as diverting.”
The custard arrived just as Mrs Crawford judged the company settled enough for her purpose.
“You will forgive my frankness,” she began, in the tone of a woman who had never expected forgiveness, “but the whole town is agog, Lady Harwood. A wedding arranged within days, a special licence, and so soon after that unfortunate business at the Ashcombe ball. One naturally wonders how it all came about with such speed.”
The table stilled. Cole regarded his plate. Nathaniel’s empty chair offered no assistance.
“I believe sudden marriages have occurred before,” Victoria said calmly, “though perhaps not all of them have been so fortunate in their witnesses.”
Mrs Crawford blinked. “Then Lord Harwood’s presence in the conservatory was quite accidental?”
“His presence was timely,” Victoria replied. “Beyond that, the matter concerns my husband and me, and I should not care to make an evening’s entertainment of it.”
“But so sudden, my dear. People will say things.”
“People will say whatever most amuses them, whether I explain myself or remain silent. I have therefore decided to remain silent and enjoy my dinner.” Victoria lifted the serving dish.
“You must try the custard, Mrs Crawford. Cook regards it as a diplomatic instrument, and I begin to understand why. It is remarkably difficult to pursue an indelicate question with a spoon in one’s hand.
Do have some. I insist upon it as your hostess. ”
Mrs Crawford weighed her appetite for gossip against her appetite for custard. To the private satisfaction of the table, the custard carried the vote.
“It is very good,” she conceded.
“Cook will be gratified,” Elias said. “She has ended more quarrels with that custard than most magistrates manage with a bench.”
Mrs Crawford set down her spoon. “I begin to suspect I have been managed.”
“Only fed,” Elias replied pleasantly. “The distinction is important.”
Lady Maribel gave an approving nod.