12
My plan was to avoid seeing Roger until dinner, when, in the company of others I would have no option but to behave in a way which would arouse no suspicion. This was easily accomplished, by reason that as soon as Roger arrived, he was summoned to my aunt’s presence and there followed one of their customary noisy and emotional interviews. This one was much noisier and more emotional than usual and went on for nearly two hours and at one point Evelyn reported hearing my aunt sobbing. Evelyn observed that I looked pale and again asked me not to go down to dinner, but I insisted. Above anything I did not want to give Roger the satisfaction of thinking he had hurt me, or indeed was capable of having any effect on me whatsoever. I could not change what had been done to me, but I could choose the person that Roger perceived in me.
When Roger came down, Dr Rookham and Mr Fluke had already arrived and I made sure I was busying myself making them comfortable and appearing not to notice him come in. Mr Fluke asked me under his breath whether “those patched and painted little trollops” were expected with Roger, and I said I thought Miss Sylvia and Miss Melissa were indeed invited, and then talked to the elderly gentlemen of the weather, which was unseasonably hot for early May, and of how parts of the town stank abominably as a consequence, the street-rakers never seeming to keep up with the level of filth and rubbish. I kept on like this as I was determined that Roger should have to address me before I seemed to notice him. I was aware of him standing behind me and still did not turn. He coughed. I finally condescended to acknowledge his presence, and turned to face him, with a prepared and pleasant smile on my face.
“Cousin,” he said, bowing.
I made sure I looked him full and steadily in the face before dropping a curtsey. I was delighted to note that he looked thoroughly uncomfortable and even afraid. I made sure he was aware that my gaze never dropped from his face as he saluted the senior gentlemen, who received his greeting with their usual courtesy, though it was clear to me now that neither of them had the slightest affection for him.
Evelyn also greeted him politely but as one who knew he was better kept at a distance, and Aunt Madge, who I saw had indeed been crying, seemed to behave towards him with unusual indifference. I realised, with some unbecoming elation, that Roger began to understand that no one liked him. I began to feel the hard glitter of revenge course through my veins: it was an unfamiliar and heady sensation to me to feel exalted because of another’s pain.
Indeed it was pathetic to see him work so hard at being jovial, and I realised that two things were missing which usually oiled the wheels of his conversation. One was drink – Roger was, for once, and probably at my aunt’s insistence, stone cold sober (this he remedied as soon as we sat at table) – and the other was Frederick, who I now understood tended to mitigate any unfortunate circumstance Roger got himself into. As well as being sensitive to his brother’s failings, and willing to compensate for them or distract from them, he also supplied a foil to Roger and a butt for Roger’s jokes. Also, as I guessed Sylvia carried Melissa around with her because she benefited by the comparison, so Roger shone brighter next to Frederick. On his own he began to cut quite a sorry figure.
Sylvia and Melissa then arrived and after greetings had been exchanged, Sylvia immediately drew Roger aside and they whispered together. When Roger quit her side and approached his mother I made my move and presented Sylvia with the fan she had left behind last time. She looked at it as if it were a strange and foreign thing and then looked back at me.
“I understand you have been unwell,” she said. “I trust you are quite recovered?”
“Oh, quite, thank you,” I said.
“They say the plague is in town,” she said.
“Oh?” I said. “I had not heard of it.”
“Oh yes,” said Sylvia. “Several people have died. Above forty I believe.”
“Pish!” said Melissa. “There are plague cases every year. And in any case, it’s only in St Giles. When you see how such people live it’s no wonder.”
“Yes,” Sylvia agreed, looking at the fan again and then at me. “It mainly affects the poorer sort. Please keep it,” she said.
I believe I succeeded in concealing the effect of Sylvia’s insult upon me and politely insisted that she took the fan back.
“Indeed, no,” she said. “I have above a dozen at home, and I doubt you have one.” With a glacial smile, she turned away to indicate she had finished with me. I slipped the fan into my pocket thinking I should never like to use it now.
As usual, the conversation at the table became more voluble as each bottle was consumed. Roger was becoming increasingly loquacious with each brimmer, and I noticed my aunt place her hand on his arm when he reached for another decanter. “Zounds, Mother, it is a special occasion, is it not?” I heard him say.
In a low voice I heard my aunt say they had agreed not to mention it before the guests, but I could not catch the reason why, nor what it was. Roger seemed to pooh-pooh her and rose unsteadily to his feet. Raising his glass aloft he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I should like to propose a toast to Sylvia, who has done me the honour to agree to become my wife.”
I think everyone was shocked and surprised, but a quick glance round the table told me that this was no surprise to either Aunt Madge or indeed to Melissa, who seemed ready to burst into tears at her friend’s great good fortune. Sylvia smiled graciously. Seeing that everyone looked to her for their cue, my aunt composed her features, raised her glass and wished them great happiness, though I perceived tears in her eyes not of the happiest kind.
“May I enquire,” said Dr Rookham, “when this happy event is to take place?”
“This morning!” volunteered Sylvia. “You see before you a bride of only some hours!”
Again this news was shocking and surprising to most of us and once more Aunt Madge had to lead in congratulations.
“Welcome to the family, my dear Sylvia,” she said.
General conversation then broke out, and I observed Mr Fluke lean over to Roger and say with a grin, “Tonight’s the night, then, my boy?”
“Indeed, sir,” replied Roger, drinking deeply and setting down his glass rather heavily. “Tonight’s the night.”
He smacked his lips and the room vertiginously dropped under my feet; swimming before my eyes was Roger’s face, huge, distorted and horrible. I am not sure I actually fainted as I was dimly aware of activity around me. Evelyn and Dr Rookham rushed to my side and pulled back my chair.
“The plague!” shrieked Sylvia, leaping to her feet. “I knew it!”
“Hold your tongue you foolish woman,” snapped Roger. “It’s not the plague, she has fainted merely.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “I will carry her up to her room.”
“No!” said Evelyn sharply. “H, dear, can you stand?”
I found that I could.
“I think I need to lie down, only,” I said, and Aunt Madge sent for Cook to make me some eggnog, while Dr Rookham held the door open for Evelyn and myself.
As everyone was occupied in helping me, I heard Roger say, “It is the shock, merely.”
“What shock?” said Sylvia.
“That we are married, you halfwit,” was his unguarded response.