Lament for a Lost Lover Page 8

  She was looking at me, a trifle maliciously, I thought. It was almost as though she wanted to shut me out.

  She had turned to Edwin. “We shall have to work hard together,” she said.

  “I am sure it will be more like pleasure than work,” he replied.

  “Are you good at learning?”

  “No good at all,” he replied cheerfully. “I think you should make me the scene shifter.”

  “Ah, scenery! We have to devise something. But you are certainly Romeo. The part fits you.”

  “Then I shall have to rely on Charlotte. And I’m sure you’ll give me a tip too when I need it.”

  “You can be sure I shall do all I can to guide you,” replied Harriet.

  Lady Eversleigh looked in to say that there were several trunks of clothes in the attics and we might like to go through them to see if we could find something that would be useful. We were all excited at the prospect and immediately trooped up to the attics.

  What a hilarious morning that was! There were clothes in trunks which must have been there for years. Shrieks of laughter echoed in the old rafters as we tried on the oddest of garments. Harriet, however, found much there that could be adjusted. There was in particular a little black cap which fitted closely to the head. It was covered in stones which looked like coral and turquoise and had a peak which came halfway down the forehead. I was the first to see it; I seized it and put it on my head.

  “It’s lovely!” cried Charlotte.

  Edwin was smiling at me. “You must wear that,” he said. “It suits you.”

  Harriet had come to me. “Why, it’s Juliet’s cap,” she said. “It’s just the thing.” She took it from my head and put it on her own. I suppose if it had looked effective on me, it would look doubly so on her. She certainly looked very handsome, for the jewels set off her magnificent colouring.

  Charlotte said surprisingly: “It really suits Arabella’s colouring better.”

  Harriet took it off and looked at it. “What a find,” she cried. “It is Juliet’s cap.”

  We were all late for the midday meal but Lady Eversleigh was delighted. She was a born hostess and she must be thinking that her guests would so appreciate this house party that they would talk about it even when they returned to England.

  That afternoon we went for a ride and I found myself side by side with Edwin.

  He told me that very soon he would be expected to go to England. They were waiting for the command to leave. It seemed that the time had come to assess the effect of Oliver’s death. This was why he was with his family. At the appointed time he would leave for England to, as he put it, “spy out the land.”

  “Wouldn’t it be rather dangerous?” I asked.

  “If our mission were discovered … perhaps.”

  “What I remember of it,” I said, “there was so much wanton destruction. I can recall how peaceful it seemed when we came to France, because even when we were with my grandparents in Cornwall, there was an uneasiness and we were watching all the time.”

  “Danger can be exciting,” he said. “There is always that, you know.”

  “Do you find exile dull?”

  “The last few days have been far from dull. I am so glad my parents met yours and that this should be the result.”

  “It is kind of you to say so, and a great adventure for us. We have lived very quietly in Château Congrève.”

  “I know how it is. My mother has found it most irksome. In the old days she always had the house full of guests. Her desire to get back is an obsession.”

  “As it must be for so many. Are you among them?”

  He was silent for a while. Then he said: “I have always been able to accept what is—perhaps because I don’t take life seriously enough. You’ll no doubt find me rather frivolous.”

  “Shall I?”

  “Oh, yes. In these days it is better not to take things too much to heart. Life changes. Let us enjoy what we can while we can. That’s my motto.”

  “It’s probably a good one. It prevents repining.”

  “Laugh and be merry, for who knows what the morrow will bring?”

  “It must be wonderful to feel like that. You are never greatly concerned about what may happen.”

  “My father says I should be more serious now that I am a man, but it is difficult to cast off the habit of a lifetime. I have the gift … if you can regard it as such … of living in the moment, forgetting the past and letting the future take care of itself. At the moment I am completely happy. I can think of nothing more delightful than riding with Mistress Arabella Tolworthy.”

  “I see you are gallant and determined to flatter me, but as you have already warned me that I must not take you seriously, I shall not do so. I daresay you would be as happy or happier riding through an English country lane with Mistress Jane or Betty.”

  “At this moment I ask nothing more. Perhaps if I were in an English country lane with Mistress Arabella that could be a more desirable project, but it hadn’t occurred to me in my moment of pleasure. If I were at home that would mean that the excitement was over. I have to confess another failing. I enjoy excitement.”

  “And danger?”

  “Therein lies the real excitement.”

  “I think,” I said, “you do not mean all you say.”

  “I mean it at the moment. Later on perhaps I should mean something else.”

  “You are a fickle person, perhaps?”

  “Fickle in some ways, constant in others. Constant in friendship, I assure you, and I hope, Mistress Arabella, that you and I are going to be friends.”

  “I hope that too,” I answered.

  He leaned towards me suddenly and touched my hand.

  I think I was already half in love with him.

  The others caught up with us. I noticed that Harriet was riding with Charles Condey and that he was still a little bemused by her. Charlotte was with them. She did not betray that she had noticed Charles’s attitude towards Harriet, but I had already assumed that she was a girl who would not show her feelings.

  While I was changing, Harriet came in. I had slipped off my riding habit and put on a loose gown.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” was Harriet’s comment.

  “I like it here,” I replied. “Don’t you?”

  “I like it very much.”

  She rose and looked at herself in the mirror. She took off her riding hat and, shaking out her hair, picked up the Juliet cap which was lying on the table and put it on. She studied her face from all angles.

  “What a discovery!” she said.

  “It’s really rather beautiful.”

  She nodded, keeping it on her head, still looking at her reflection and smiling almost secretively.

  “You and Edwin seemed to get along very well,” she said.

  “Oh, yes. He is easy to talk to.”

  “He’s very charming. Rather fond of the ladies I should say.”

  “Perhaps that is why we like him. Naturally we would like those who like us.”

  “Clever observation,” she said with sarcasm. Then she looked at me though half-closed eyes. “It wouldn’t surprise me …” she began and stopped.

  “What wouldn’t surprise you?”

  “If the meeting had been arranged with a purpose.”

  “A purpose? What do you mean?”

  “Don’t assume innocence, Arabella. He is an eligible young man … extremely eligible. You are not without some eligibility. Daughter of a general, who is friend and close associate of the King. You see what I mean? Here we are in exile where it is not so easy to mate suitably. Therefore, when an arrangement can be gracefully made, it is.”

  “You do talk nonsense. I shan’t marry for years. Besides …”

  “Besides what?”

  “We should both have to agree, shouldn’t we?”

  “By the look of you I would say that if the proposition were put to you, you would not be altogether unwilling.”

  “I
scarcely know him …”

  “And he? I think he would be malleable. He is easygoing. I can’t see him putting up a fight against what was so eminently suitable. Oh, Arabella, don’t look so cross. Think how lucky you are to have your future so carefully planned.”

  “This is your usual romancing. I think the lies you have told since you have been in this house have been … outrageous. Perhaps I should not have been persuaded to bring you.”

  “Think of all the fun you would have missed.”

  “And take that cap off your head. It looks quite ridiculous.”

  “Wait until I wear it on the great night. I wonder what will have happened by then?”

  “That even you cannot prophesy,” I replied.

  “We shall have to wait and see,” she replied, smiling at me.

  I lay awake that night, thinking of what she had said. Could it really be true? I had to admit that it was possible. I was seventeen and because of our exile there was very little hope of my meeting someone whom I could marry. I wondered if my parents had discussed my marriage with the Eversleighs. Our mutual standing was such that neither family would be averse to a union, and I supposed it was a great concern to parents as to how they were going to get their children married.

  Had Edwin really been chosen for me? I had to admit that, although I should have preferred him to have chosen me romantically, I could not help being excited by the prospect.

  I had never in my life seen a young man so handsome, so gallant, so attractive. But then what young men had I seen? The only one I could compare him with was the actor Jabot and of course he was very different from him. I had not liked Jabot in the least and could not understand why Harriet and Fleurette could have been jealous about him. Edwin had everything to make him appeal to a romantic girl, and I was a romantic girl.

  What a glorious adventure! I was in love with Edwin and he was the man my parents have chosen for me.

  The next day more guests arrived and they were all extremely excited by the prospect of the play. Parts were assigned. Harriet was Juliet and Edwin, Romeo. I was Lady Capulet, which I said was absurd, as I should portray Harriet’s mother.

  “It will be a test of your powers as an actress,” she told me severely.

  Charles Condey was Friar Laurence.

  “It will suit him,” said Harriet with a laugh.

  I don’t think I had ever seen her so excited. She was at the centre of everything.

  Everyone was drawn into the project. The servants were eager to help. One of them was an excellent seamstress and she was working almost the whole of the day making costumes. Harriet was in her element. She sparkled; she grew more beautiful than ever, if that were possible. Everyone referred to her. I called her the Queen of Villers Tourron.

  She spent a good deal of time with Edwin—rehearsing, she told us.

  “He’s quite a good actor,” she said. “I am really making a Romeo of him.”

  She spent a little time with Charles Condey too, schooling him in his part. I was a little worried about Charlotte because she seemed to become more withdrawn than ever.

  I remonstrated with Harriet when we were alone.

  “I don’t think Charlotte is very happy about you and Charles Condey,” I said.

  “What about us?” she asked.

  “You know he is becoming infatuated by you.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Is that my fault?”

  “Yes,” I answered shortly.

  She burst out laughing. “My dear Arabella, it is up to Charlotte, is it not?”

  “Charlotte is a girl who would never deliberately set out to attract a man.”

  “Then it serves her right if she loses him.”

  “Oh, come, men are not prizes to be won for … I was going to say for good conduct … but I could hardly call the way you are behaving that, could I?”

  “Oh, but they are,” she said. “Some people have prizes presented to them when they really don’t deserve them. Others have to work for them. Charlotte may lose hers simply because she has made no effort to keep it.”

  “Are you trying to win Charles Condey?”

  “You know I always go for the top prizes. He’s hardly that.”

  “Then why not leave him to Charlotte?”

  “Perhaps I will.”

  I was very uneasy, but after our talk I noticed she was less with Charles than before. She said she had to concentrate on her scenes with Romeo.

  She was rather upset one afternoon after the midday meal when I came to our room to get a book and I found her there. When I asked if anything was wrong she grimaced and said: “Lady Eversleigh wants to talk to me. I am to go to her room at three o’clock.”

  “Why?” I asked in alarm.

  “That is what I should like to know.”

  “It’s something about the play, I expect.”

  Harriet shook her head. “I am not sure. She looked very grave, and what was more disconcerting she said little. You know she is usually so loquacious. I wondered why she couldn’t say it there and then. But this seems to be a secret.”

  “You don’t think she has discovered you are not what you seemed? Can she know about those atrocious lies?”

  “Even if she had she wouldn’t want to send me away. The play would collapse without me.”

  “Conceit!” I said.

  “Truth!” she parried. “No, it can’t be that. I wonder what it is.”

  I had rarely seen her so concerned as when she went for her talk with Lady Eversleigh, and when she came back, I was waiting for her in our room. Then she was really angry. Her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes blazing—and she looked magnificent.

  “Why, Harriet, what is it?”

  She threw herself into a chair and looked at me.

  “You are to play Juliet,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The royal command,” she said.

  “She sent for you to tell you that.”

  Harriet nodded. “She didn’t say so but she thinks I am spending the time with her precious Edwin that he should be spending with you.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Oh, yes, it’s true. She was very friendly, thanking me profusely for coming and working so hard to make her party a success. She appreciated that, she said. But she makes it quite clear that you are to play Juliet so that you can play at love with Edwin-Romeo. That is what is to be. It’s an ultimatum. Underneath all that inconsequential femininity, Matilda Eversleigh is a woman of iron. She knows what she wants and she is going to get it.

  “I said to her: ‘But the part is demanding. It needs a real actress. Arabella is not that. She hasn’t the experience … the acting ability to play it.’ She laughed and said: ‘My dear Mistress Main, it is only a game, you know. It will amuse our guests and that is its object. The little mishaps are such fun in games like this. Don’t you agree? And Charlotte tells me that Arabella looked quite beautiful in the cap you found in the attic.’ Then I thought to myself it’s that cat Charlotte who has done this.”

  “Don’t speak so loudly,” I warned. “And Charlotte is not in the least like a cat.”

  “She is. Sly, secretive, ready to scratch.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have offended her by flirting with Charles Condey.”

  “Oh, nonsense! How can I help being more attractive than Charlotte? It is no great achievement in any case. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred would be that.”

  “Well, go on,” I prompted. “What else did Lady Eversleigh say? I trust you hid your fury.”

  “I didn’t show by a twitch of my nose or a twist of my lips how furious I was. Or if I did … she put it down to my love of the art.”

  “Your love of yourself more likely. Tell me more.”

  “She became a little coy. ‘Our families,’ she said, ‘are hopeful that there might be a match between Arabella and Edwin. For a long time my husband has admired General Tolworthy. He is one of the best soldiers in the King�
�s army. The King is very grateful to him.’ I nodded and said with sarcasm which was lost on her: ‘When we get back to England the King will want to show his gratitude to people like the General.’ ‘He has promised,’ she answered, ‘so I think that once we are back …’ I finished for her: ‘His daughter would be an excellent match for you son.’ ‘That is what Lord Eversleigh thinks,’ she replied, ‘and so do Arabella’s parents. The times make everything so difficult and it is rarely that a happy arrangement can come about. It is for this reason that I should like to see this matter settled.’”

  I was shifting uneasily on my chair, feeling embarrassed and a little angry that my affairs should be discussed in this way.

  “Then it came,” went on Harriet. “The play was so romantic. Juliet and Romeo were the great lovers of all time. She thought it would be rather charming for the two who everyone was hoping would want to make a match of it should play the parts together.”

  “And what did you say to that?”

  “What could I say? I caught something in her eye. I think Charlotte had been carrying tales. I had an idea that if I refused she would have made it impossible for me to stay here. She is a very ungrateful woman. She has already forgotten that I have prevented her house party’s being a tiresome bore. The fact is she doesn’t want me to play love scenes with Edwin and she thinks you and he should. It will be a little practice for you.”

  “Well, I think it’s all rather sordid. What are we going to do?”

  “You’ll have to play Juliet, and the way you’ll play it I should think would be deterrent rather than a spur to love.”

  “There are times,” I said, “when you are insufferable. I do believe you think no one is of the least account but yourself.”

  I was thinking of Edwin then; his tender look, his easy smile, his tall, lean body and his rather sleepy brown eyes. I was in love with Edwin. My parents and his wanted us to marry. How could I feel incensed because Harriet had been robbed of her part? I was glad. I would play Juliet. Edwin and I would spend hours rehearsing together. I should be with him all the time. I had been a little bored with Lady Capulet.