Chapter Six #2
‘She ought to take you back. I’m sure she will want you to go back to her when she knows.
She allowed you to remain here on the understanding that you were safely engaged.
Oh, really, it is too much! How could Angus Tullamore make such a business of it?
Maud knew quite well, we all knew, that you were not to be married until you came of age.
’ She frowned as another thought came to her. ‘You do still want to marry him?’
Rachel looked down at her hands. ‘I – I don’t know,’ she said.
‘Rachel Tallant, you said you were in love with him!’ Aunt Caroline said indignantly. ‘You insisted you wouldn’t marry anyone else, gave a great deal of trouble and made everyone quite uncomfortable. You can’t now say you don’t know!’
She looked up. ‘Angus wanted me to be free so that I could be quite sure. He – he said something about letting a wild animal loose and seeing if it came back to you.’
‘Wild animal, nonsense!’ Aunt Caroline said, waving a dismissing hand. ‘Don’t try to confuse me with words! Oh dear, I don’t know what to do for the best! This Mr Farocean, for instance: what are his circumstances?’
‘He’s his father’s heir and will be very rich,’ Rachel said. ‘He likes me. I know he likes me.’
‘But is he likely to make you an offer? And if he did, would you accept it?’
‘I don’t know. I might.’
‘Oh, Rachel!’
She grew indignant in her turn. ‘Well, none of you thought Angus good enough for me. I should think you’d be glad if someone else wanted me.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Or do you want me left on the shelf?’
‘Please don’t cry,’ Aunt Caroline said firmly. ‘I really can’t cope with tears just now. Oh dear, I can feel a headache coming on! I must go to my room and lie down. I really don’t know what is the right thing to do about you.’
‘Please don’t write to Mama!’ Rachel begged.
‘I can’t talk about it any more,’ Aunt Caroline said, and quitted the room.
A moment later Rachel ran up to her bedroom, and indulged in a bout of crying, tears that were partly of frustration, partly of fear for her future.
She didn’t know if she still wanted to marry Angus – she thought she still loved him, but she was angry with him and, oh dear, what if he was beginning to fall out of love with her?
But if she went to her mother, Mama would make her marry a Russian prince, and she knew she didn’t want that.
If only Jervis Farocean would declare his love and make her an offer…
Rachel was not accustomed to analytical thinking, but even she did not think it was a coincidence that she was summoned to visit her grandmother the following day.
It was a cold, blowy day with a hint of rain in the air, but Bruton Street was only just around the corner from Aunt Caroline’s house in Berkeley Square, so it would have been absurd to take a cab.
She had to walk, keeping one hand poised to steady her hat when it gusted.
The prickle of rain stung her cheeks as it blew straight in her face.
At the cab rank on the corner the jarveys had already put the mackintosh sheets over the horses’ backs in anticipation of proper rain.
The horses stood with heads lowered and eyes closed against the weather.
It was a day to stay indoors, she thought resentfully – but one never said no to Grandmère.
The butler Chaplin admitted her, said my lady was expecting her, and conducted her upstairs at a more than usually stately pace, which Rachel interpreted as disapproval.
It gave her time as she climbed in his wake to think, indignantly, I haven’t done anything wrong and It’s not my fault, and to worry about the storm she anticipated was going to break over her head.
Grandmère never raised her voice, but her withering scorn was nearly as bad as her mother’s icy rage.
When she entered the drawing-room she was glad to find Richard there: he would create a buffer for her, she hoped. ‘What a wonderful colour you have. April weather?’ he greeted her. He kissed her cheek, whispering, ‘What have you done?’ as though it were a delicious joke.
Grandmère had just recovered from a cold and looked pale, but nothing would ever make her sit less upright.
It was she who had drummed into Rachel from the age of ten that no part of a lady’s back should ever touch the chair she was sitting on.
Rachel stooped and kissed her, catching the faint, familiar smell of otto of roses that always hung about her.
Grandmère gestured to the Louis XVI fauteuil opposite her and said, ‘Very well. Sit down.’ In her disconcerting way, she jumped straight to the point.
‘What is all this nonsense about your engagement?’
Rachel told the story again, trying to keep her gaze steady on her grandmother and not to allow the slightest glance at Richard in case he made a face at her and put her off.
She knew he wouldn’t sympathise with her.
During her exposition, she saw Grandmère’s lips tighten and, afraid it signified disapproval, she began to falter, and finally found she was repeating herself and stopped.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Richard put a hand over his mouth and heard him cough, concealing his laughter.
Oh, yes, please do make a joke of it! she thought bitterly. He took nothing seriously.
‘You should not have kept this matter secret,’ Grandmère said at last. ‘You should have told us at once, and not put us to embarrassment.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rachel said, as humbly as she could.
But then, to her wonder, she realised her grandmother was also suppressing a smile. Rachel didn’t know whether to be relieved or indignant. Grandmère caught Richard’s eye, and lost control. ‘Foolish one!’ she said, chuckling.
Richard actually laughed out loud. ‘Oh dear, poor Rachel!’ he said. ‘I’m not laughing at you, just the situation. I can quite see how it made your position difficult.’
‘But no!’ said Grandmère. ‘How so? It is very simple. Either you are engaged or you are not engaged. Il n’y a pas de juste milieu.’
‘I think it is rather not,’ Rachel said mournfully.
‘Eh bien, then you are free to dance with anyone you please. You have the whole world in front of you. This young man, plut?t sévère, if he loves you, he will come back.’
Rachel was pleasantly surprised. ‘I thought you would be angry with me,’ she said.
Grandmère looked at her with unprecedented kindness. ‘You will not always be young, ma petite. Life passes away more quickly than you can imagine. And love is not always what it seems, or to be found where you suppose.’
She looked at Richard as she said that. His smile disappeared. After a beat of silence, she resumed, to Rachel, ‘You must dance every dance while you can. One day the music will stop. A life of waiting is a life wasted.’
Rachel wasn’t entirely sure what her grandmother was telling her, though it sounded profound.
Richard obviously understood, because he got up and went to Grandmère, bent over to whisper something in her ear – in French, probably.
Grandmère pushed him away and said quite briskly, ‘Don’t be sentimental,’ and he sat down again.
He gave Rachel a cheerful look. ‘So now you have licence, from the highest authority, to enjoy yourself to the top of your bent.’
‘But I don’t really know what that means,’ Rachel said. ‘What am I to do?’
‘Just what you did in your come-out season,’ he said. ‘Test the water. I can tell you that, from a man’s point of view, older girls are much more interesting than debutantes, so you will not be short of partners. But do set your sights just a little higher than Mr Farocean.’
Rachel felt herself blush, and Grandmère said, ‘Who is this Far Ocean? Tiens, quel nom! Can it be real? Personne ne s’appelle “la mer”!’
‘He’s the son of a businessman,’ Richard told her.
‘But so is Tullamore,’ Grandmère objected.
‘Yes, I’m afraid my little sister is developing a taste for les hommes d’affaires,’ Richard said, laughing. ‘How will our mother react to having a grandson “in trade”, I wonder?’
Rachel glared at him and asked, to change the subject, ‘Should I tell everyone that I’m not engaged any more?’
‘Bien s?r,’ Grandmère said. ‘How else will you receive offers?’
Richard was still laughing, but silently.
Rachel found she felt better now, with people who did not take her situation too seriously.
They had removed some of the sting, though not all.
It was quite exciting to think of revisiting her come–out year, when she had been the centre of male attention; but on the other hand it was a nervous prospect.
Suppose Angus didn’t come back and no-one else offered for her?
On the whole, she felt she would rather be engaged to Angus and not dance than have the whole world in front of her, as Grandmère said, and risk being left on the shelf. She hadn’t her courage.
It didn’t occur to her that fifty extra years of living had engendered that courage. She couldn’t imagine Grandmère as a young woman. In her mind, she had always been exactly as she was now.
Alice had enjoyed a few days at the Castle at Easter, in the delight of riding again.
That was the worst thing about living in London – no Pharaoh.
But she was not sorry to be going back. She missed the structure of her days at the school, the sense of worth it gave her, the feeling of progression towards a goal.
And there was the prospect of her special lessons with Mr Wentworth to look forward to.