Chapter Sixteen #2
There could be no dashing about in the stables, of course – you never made sudden movements around horses – but there was still a great deal going on.
Provision had to be made for visiting horses, and Giddins, the head man, wanted the stables to be spick and span for what he assumed would be critical visiting eyes.
All the carriages would be needed to take the wedding party down to the church, and in addition the state landau had to be got out for the bride and groom, its bodywork polished, its upholstery brushed, its springs and straps inspected.
Drivers’ and grooms’ liveries had to be cleaned; every scrap of tack and harness to be polished.
Giddins was in a state of bliss over the chance to show the world what they could do, even after his lordship pricked his balloon by telling him there would be no need of borrowing two more greys for the carriage, that four would be enough.
He personally exercised the greys every day, and as he said goodnight to them every evening he told them in a crooning voice of the wonderful day to come, in which all eyes would be on them.
Some might believe that the bride would be the centre of attention, but he knew better.
He would see to it that their coats shone and their hoofs gleamed; they would be decked with white silk rosettes, and their mane plaits would be topped with the stiff royal blue standards that he’d kept in a tin under his bed for safety ever since the last time.
His beauties, his darlings must be on their best behaviour, he murmured, must hold their heads nicely, and lift their knees high, and make him proud.
In the shadowy stable, they shifted their feet peacefully in the straw, mumbled his palms, blew softly in his hair; and the sound of his voice followed them into their innocent sleep, rocking them to the rhythm of his dream.
There was a final fitting in Bond Street for Rachel and her bridesmaids, Alice and Gussie.
Richard found he had somehow promised to meet them at the dressmaker’s afterwards and take them for tea.
He had been given a time, but knowing how these fittings always overran, he had arrived fifteen minutes late, only to find they still weren’t finished.
He stumped away to beguile another quarter-hour in the Burlington Arcade, found himself tempted by the idea of a new pair of gloves, and was standing, nose to the glass and hands clasped behind him, when the reflection of a passing lady halted next to his own.
He turned, hand going automatically to his hat, to see that it was Miss Rowsham.
‘Is it the black or the tan occupying your attention?’ she asked.
‘I was actually contemplating the burgundy Italian pair,’ he answered.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said gravely. ‘Those fancy cuffs! Dandyism is one of the seven deadly sins, you know.’
‘Surely not? I feel I should have remembered that from my nursery. Nannies were very keen on the Bible in those days.’
‘They still are, or what would become of the nation? I believe it fell somewhere between Pride and Avarice.’
He grinned. ‘And evidently Misdirection was so far down the list you never managed to read that far, O Miss Rowsham!’
She opened her eyes wide. ‘Dear me, can you possibly be accusing me of untruth, Mr Tallant? I’m not sure our friendship runs that deep.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. You are a shining beacon of virtue. Are you here alone? Shopping?’
‘Idling. My sister Vanessa is with her dressmaker, and when they had spent half an hour on floss trimming, I found I needed a breath of air. I shall have to go back before she finishes, but at the present rate of progress that may not be before next week.’
‘I’m in the same position. I promised to take my sister and her bridesmaids for tea after their fitting, but they weren’t nearly ready.’
‘Ah, yes, the wedding, We did hear about it – in Lady Vane’s drawing-room as it happens.’
‘She’d have heard all about it from my aunt Caroline – they are bosom chums.’
‘Quite a small affair, I believe?’
He considered her tone, wondering if there was hurt in it. ‘Scandalously so,’ he said. ‘Family and neighbours only. Even the servants are shocked. But my brother is not a great one for entertaining, and a country wedding, you know…Not like a Town one. I wish you could have been there—’
‘Oh, no,’ she demurred immediately. ‘I’ve barely met your sister. And I know nothing of Sir Angus. I believe it’s a love match?’
He ignored that. ‘But I mean it,’ he said – a little to his own surprise. ‘Weddings are deadly affairs for us men – nothing but fuss and feathers! The only possible leaven to the lump is entertaining company to distract one. And I have found you very entertaining whenever I’ve met you.’
‘It sounds as if what you want is a jester in motley.’
‘I expressed myself clumsily. I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘I’m not offended,’ she said. ‘If one can’t be decorative one must be useful. I only have to look at that reflection over your shoulder in the shop window to know where my duty lies.’
‘Everyone knows that reflections lie. I, for instance, look quite plain in the mirror when I’m shaving of a morning, whereas in real life I am extremely comely.’
He had said it to make her laugh, and she did. ‘Oh, extremely! Whenever one sees you one is put in mind of Alexander the Great.’
‘Now that is downright satirical!’ he said severely. ‘Your tone suggests you mean the exact opposite. Shame on you! I say,’ he added on impulse, in a different tone, ‘why don’t you come to tea now? I’m dreading it, three females fresh from the mantuamaker, but you’ll make all the difference.’
‘Thank you, but wedding talk is my least favourite kind.’
‘Simple-minded as they are, they’ll hardly dare talk dresses with a guest there,’ he said. ‘And if they do, you and I can have a sensible conversation on the other side of the table.’
‘But you forget, I’m waiting for my sister,’ she said mildly. ‘In fact, I should go back. If she finds out that I wandered away she’ll be angry, and expound on my many faults for the rest of the evening. Goodbye, Mr Tallant. It was…entertaining talking to you.’
He smiled at her mischievous word, and lifted his hat. ‘It was delightful talking to you,’ he said.
The first thing Alice did when she got back from Town was to change into her riding habit.
She wanted a long gallop to drive all the gowns and wedding nonsense out of her head.
She liked Angus enormously and thought Rachel was very lucky to be marrying someone so sensible, but the wedding preparations couldn’t but remind her of her own situation.
The dreadful shame of the Wentworth business was fading, but what was left afterwards was an emptiness.
When the wedding was over and life went back to normal, what would normal be for her?
What was she to do with the rest of her life?
What purpose would she have? Occasional aunt to Louis and Alexander?
Sad spinster aunt, gradually growing more shrivelled, like a forgotten apple.
Some women – Kitty was one – found all they needed in the gentle tides of the domestic sea.
But, then, it was her sea. Alice imagined that she could have been happy with her own, if it had contained a certain person… As it was, she needed something to do.
She left her room to go down to the stables, but bumped into a maid, evidently coming to find her, with the message that she was requested in the nursery.
She changed direction and climbed the stairs, to find that the emergency was simply that Louis wanted to show her the book Uncle Richard had brought back from London for him – Rip Van Winkle, by Washington Irving.
‘Will you read it to me, Auntie?’
‘I will, but not right this minute,’ she said. ‘I have to go out, and you have to have your tea, and then your bath.’
‘When I’ve had my barf will you?’ he asked, wheedling. ‘It’s got pictures. Look!’
So she opened it and, yes, it did have pictures, full colour plates, delicate and detailed drawings by Arthur Rackham. She gazed, fascinated, until a grubby small pointing finger intruded into her line of sight. ‘Who’s that funny man?’
‘That’s Rip Van Winkle himself,’ she said.
‘What’s he doing?’
‘We’ll find out when we read the book,’ she said. She ached from standing still at the dressmaker’s and sitting still at tea and on the journey home. She had to get out. ‘I’ll come and see you after your bath and read to you in your nightshirt, I promise.’
She left him quickly before he could ask anything more, clattered down the stairs fast – and bumped into Richard coming up.
‘There you are! I was looking for you,’ he said. ‘It didn’t take you long to get into riding clothes!’
‘No, I—’ she began.
‘I went upstairs first,’ he went on, seeming impervious to her air of haste, ‘and then thought you’d probably head straight out to the stables, but you weren’t there – though Josh has got Pharaoh ready for you.’
‘Oh, good. I—’
‘If you’d waited a bit I’d have come with you. I need to blow the cobwebs away.’
She writhed. ‘I could wait. Or you could catch me up.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a heap of letters to attend to. I really just wanted to ask you if I could borrow these.’ It was a sheaf of her pictures, the Gulliver ones.
‘What do you want them for?’
‘Oh, just to look at for a bit. They’re very good. I’ll take great care of them, I promise.’
She smiled tightly. ‘Yes, of course you can have them.’
‘Thanks. Go on, then – I can see you’re longing to be in the saddle. I envy you. Think of me toiling away at my desk while you’re galloping across the tops.’
She felt guilty. ‘I will wait, if you’re quick.’
‘No, go and enjoy yourself. You looked very pretty in the bridesmaid’s dress, by the way. That shade of yellow suits you.’
‘Jonquil,’ she said.