Frederick seemed to look at me a little sadly, and then said gently, “Take care with whom you play games, cousin.” Then, having considered me a little longer, he seemed to brighten, and said “I suppose you are merely a child, H, and no harm done.” Then he changed the subject, to my relief, as I felt very cast down to be called a child. “I see the party is disbanding. We must say our good-byes.”
Roger and Frederick saw the young ladies home in the coach and Evelyn and I talked a while with our aunt. She always felt the cold most extremely. (She said this was why she could never be happy in the country, as English country houses, she said, seemed purposely designed to admit as much cold air, and their fireplaces to emit as little heat, as possible.) As a consequence, she had a habit, when there was no company, just we girls, of sitting in a chair by the fire with her feet on the mantelpiece, allowing the warmth to penetrate her usually heavily skirted nether regions. Either this, or she would stand with her back to the fire, with her skirts hitched up behind, her countenance betraying a state of the uttermost bliss.
Having adopted her unusual seated position, she enjoyed a few moments of elevation before asking us our opinions of Miss Sylvia.
“She is very pretty,” I said, having discovered this was always an acceptable answer.
“Yes, but what say you to her character?” she asked.
It hadn’t occurred to me that Sylvia had a character at all. She seemed, as I observed all fashionable people did, to exist mainly on the exterior.
“I don’t think we know her well enough to tell,” said Evelyn sensibly as always.“But you have known her some time. What is your opinion, Aunt?”
Aunt Madge considered this.
“I fear she has a cold heart,” she eventually decided.
“She seems fond of Roger,” I ventured.
“I don’t say she has no capacity for affection,” my aunt explained. “I fear she may lack sympathy.”
Evelyn and I kept respectfully quiet at this.
“Aunt,” Evelyn eventually said in the tone I knew to presage something causing her some distress. “What I said at dinner about widows. I didn’t think, I mean… I fear I seemed flippant.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Evelyn,” Aunt Madge said. “Your observation was quite correct. Widowhood has many consolations. I can keep the company and the hours I choose. I can mostly do as I please.” She stretched her arms and yawned. “And just now I should like to go to bed. Alone!” she added, in mock tragedy and then smiled at us. “You are good girls. I confess to the sin of pride, as I felt very proud of you both this evening.” She kissed us both and went up to bed, followed by Evelyn, while I remained to put out the lights.
I was tired but not ready to sleep so started clearing away the remaining dinner things as Aunt Madge had let the servants go to bed. I noticed that Sylvia had left her fan on the table and picked it up. It was very pretty, made of ivory or bone intricately worked, and green taffeta. I flicked it open experimentally. It had a smooth action and made a pleasing sound. I opened and closed it a number of times and then carried it to the looking glass above the fireplace and held it in front of my face. Then I had an idea and took a dab of soot from the chimney on my finger and improvised a beauty spot. Delighted with this effect, I practised a number of expressions: beguiling (fluttering my eye-lashes), disdain (chin up), amused (twittering); before I realised there was someone else in the room with me. In the glass I could see my cousin, though which one I could not tell. I turned round, holding the fan behind my back but could not tell whether it was too late – his expression did not tell me whether he had just come in or whether he had been there for some time, watching me.
“Roger?” I experimented.
“Fred,” he said. “Roger’s… gone on with some friends.”
He came towards the fireplace and placed the guard in front of the embers, while I took the opportunity to slide the fan onto the table. Straightening himself, he considered me, then reached towards my face. For some reason I found myself trembling.
“Don’t be afraid, coz,” he said, cupping my chin and turning my face towards the light. He drew out his handkerchief and dabbed at my cheek. “You have got some soot, I think. There.”
“Thank you,” I heard myself squeak.
He stood back and looked at me again, with the same expression as when he had said I was a mere child.
“I should like to take you and your sister out tomorrow, if that would please you.”
“Oh, yes!” I said. “I mean to say, I’ll ask her.”
He seemed to want to say something more, and then to change his mind.
“Up to bed, H,” he said. “I’ll lock up.”
I said goodnight and just as I reached the door, he said, “Have you not forgot something?” My mind misgave me I had committed some fault. I wondered what it could be. Had I neglected to say thank you for something? Should I have curtseyed? Seeing I was nonplussed, to my horror, he picked the fan up from the table and offered it to me.
“Oh, it’s not mine,” I said and turned and ran all the way up to our room.
10
The next morning, from my aunt’s pursed lips whenever he was mentioned, I deduced that Roger had not yet come home. She agreed to join us for our little outing. We were to go over the river to the pleasure gardens at Vauxhall as the weather was so fine and then, in the afternoon, to see a play. I resolved to put behind me the humiliation of the night before and Frederick was very pleasant to us both and I soon felt at my ease again.
Evelyn and I were most cautious getting into the boat, as neither of us had been on the river before, but Aunt Madge jumped in with the carelessness of a true citizen. The river looked much bigger from here, and I hoped the boat would not sink as I could not swim. Frederick pointed out all the spires of the churches and our aunt supplied the names of those he did not know. It was windy, too, on the river, and smelt, as I thought, how the sea would smell. We had a good view of the bridge and the houses on it and Frederick told me that Nonesuch House (the great house in the middle) was brought in pieces from Flanders and reassembled on the bridge, and that due to the ingenuity of its construction, not one nail was used to hold it together. London was indeed full of such marvels. And Frederick said that the fire that had burned part of the bridge down was caused by a maid leaving a bucket of hot ashes under a staircase, which it ignited, and Aunt Madge said, “That’s right! If in doubt, blame a woman!”
The New Spring Gardens were very pretty, though Aunt Madge said it was even better a little later in the summer, and there were all kinds of amusements, from a dancing bear to a marionette show. Frederick suddenly decided we should have some custard tarts, even though we had just had quince marmalades. Despite our protestations (and in truth my aunt never put up a convincing argument against tarts of any variety) he chivvied us into a booth and ordered us up some tarts and coffee before disappearing, as he said, to pay his respects to an acquaintance. While my aunt descanted on the relative merits of the tarts of the New and Old Gardens, my gaze followed Frederick and I saw that he had found Roger. I was just about to speak when I realised something was amiss and made an excuse to slip out to get a better view of what was occurring. Roger was with some ladies, who were very heavily painted and brightly dressed and they were all very drunk and noisy. I had never seen ladies drunk before and it was most alarming. One of them lifted up her skirts and showed her legs right up to her garters. Frederick turned away and seemed to be gesturing towards the booth, as if to encourage Roger to go away and not let his mother see him in this condition. Nevertheless, to my horror, Roger began to lurch towards the booth, surrounded by his exotic companions who seemed anxious not to let him out of their sight. As a last resort, Frederick put himself in Roger’s way, and to my horror, almost before I had realised it, Roger threw a punch at Frederick, knocking him to the ground.