how he admired you, too. It is just what
I could have wished for you.’
‘Oh? I am surprised. I had not thought
him the kind of gentleman to take your fancy. We do not know very much about
him, and—’
‘But one can see at a glance that he is
used to move in the first circles.’ She lowered her voice and, with a glance at
Parry, who was dozing beside the fire, said, ‘I have been so concerned about
you. I could see how Lord Launceston’s presence in Bath affected you. To be
sure it could not be—’
‘Launceston? What are you talking
about?’ Zanthe had never spoken so sharply to her sister-in-law before, but
Margery did not take offence. She merely took one of Zanthe’s hands between her
own and said, ‘You see—I know.’
‘You know—what?’
‘My brother told me all about it. How
Launceston won your heart and then cruelly deserted you.’
‘No! He did not. You do not know all. It
was Papa’s doing. Jarvis would have married me. He has told me how it was.’
‘Easy to say that now.’ Margery shook
her head. ‘You are too trusting, my dear.’
Zanthe toyed with the idea of showing
Margery exactly how mistaken she was about both gentlemen, but she refrained.
Launceston was no fool. It would be difficult to convince him that she truly
meant to encourage Sir Marmaduke’s suit. Margery’s innocent enthusiasm for the
connection must lend verisimilitude to her stratagem.
‘Well, we will not quarrel about it. I
must go up and change my gown before dinner. We are to go to the play tonight,
are we not?’
‘Yes, indeed. Mr Cholmondeley has taken
a box. It promises to be an enthralling evening. Shakespeare, you know.’
‘Oh,’ said Zanthe, dully. ‘Shakespeare?’
‘Hamlet.’
‘Hamlet? It is very long, is it not,
Hamlet?’
‘But full of the most wonderful poetry.’
Zanthe sighed. She was not of a bookish
turn of mind, and the only memories of Shakespeare she retained from the
schoolroom were rather painful. When Parry called after them as they departed,
‘Rather you than me, Zan,’ she responded with a comical grimace of despair.
Thirteen
Zanthe’s
first sight of the celebrated Mr Kemble was not encouraging. He was still a
fine-looking man but, in spite of the heavy greasepaint he wore, it was obvious
that he was considerably older than the actress portraying his mother, while
his self-conscious and studied delivery had the effect of rendering her
extremely sleepy. Her attention wandered, and she amused herself with studying
the other members of the audience.
The play was very well attended. She
soon picked out many of her acquaintance: Mrs Weatherspoon and her three
daughters sat in a box with Lord and Lady Kilmarnock, Mrs Preston, and Miss
Tarleton, all of whom were gazing rapt upon the stage, with the exception of
Lord Kilmarnock, who was enjoying a comfortable nap. She stifled a giggle as a
loud snore escaped him during one of the great actor’s interminable pauses.
In another box, there sat an elegant
party comprising Mr Fallowfield and a middle-aged couple unknown to Zanthe. The
lady was not handsome but extremely graceful and exquisitely dressed. The other
gentleman seemed vaguely familiar to Zanthe, but she could not tell why until
he leaned across the box to speak to Mr Fallowfield and she was struck by the
resemblance between the two men. Was this another member of the Fallowfield
family? Even as the thought crossed her mind, the unknown gentleman cast a keen
glance in the direction of the Brookenby box. He stared for a moment at Susanna,
who was sitting between Margery and Miss Cholmondeley, stifling a yawn with one
mitten-covered palm, and then he bent to murmur in the lady’s ear. She lifted
her lorgnette and seemed to study the girl for a moment before letting it fall,
with a sigh, as though it were too heavy for her.
It came, therefore, as no surprise to
Zanthe when, as soon as the curtain closed upon the first part of the
performance, the three rose as one
I could have wished for you.’
‘Oh? I am surprised. I had not thought
him the kind of gentleman to take your fancy. We do not know very much about
him, and—’
‘But one can see at a glance that he is
used to move in the first circles.’ She lowered her voice and, with a glance at
Parry, who was dozing beside the fire, said, ‘I have been so concerned about
you. I could see how Lord Launceston’s presence in Bath affected you. To be
sure it could not be—’
‘Launceston? What are you talking
about?’ Zanthe had never spoken so sharply to her sister-in-law before, but
Margery did not take offence. She merely took one of Zanthe’s hands between her
own and said, ‘You see—I know.’
‘You know—what?’
‘My brother told me all about it. How
Launceston won your heart and then cruelly deserted you.’
‘No! He did not. You do not know all. It
was Papa’s doing. Jarvis would have married me. He has told me how it was.’
‘Easy to say that now.’ Margery shook
her head. ‘You are too trusting, my dear.’
Zanthe toyed with the idea of showing
Margery exactly how mistaken she was about both gentlemen, but she refrained.
Launceston was no fool. It would be difficult to convince him that she truly
meant to encourage Sir Marmaduke’s suit. Margery’s innocent enthusiasm for the
connection must lend verisimilitude to her stratagem.
‘Well, we will not quarrel about it. I
must go up and change my gown before dinner. We are to go to the play tonight,
are we not?’
‘Yes, indeed. Mr Cholmondeley has taken
a box. It promises to be an enthralling evening. Shakespeare, you know.’
‘Oh,’ said Zanthe, dully. ‘Shakespeare?’
‘Hamlet.’
‘Hamlet? It is very long, is it not,
Hamlet?’
‘But full of the most wonderful poetry.’
Zanthe sighed. She was not of a bookish
turn of mind, and the only memories of Shakespeare she retained from the
schoolroom were rather painful. When Parry called after them as they departed,
‘Rather you than me, Zan,’ she responded with a comical grimace of despair.
Thirteen
Zanthe’s
first sight of the celebrated Mr Kemble was not encouraging. He was still a
fine-looking man but, in spite of the heavy greasepaint he wore, it was obvious
that he was considerably older than the actress portraying his mother, while
his self-conscious and studied delivery had the effect of rendering her
extremely sleepy. Her attention wandered, and she amused herself with studying
the other members of the audience.
The play was very well attended. She
soon picked out many of her acquaintance: Mrs Weatherspoon and her three
daughters sat in a box with Lord and Lady Kilmarnock, Mrs Preston, and Miss
Tarleton, all of whom were gazing rapt upon the stage, with the exception of
Lord Kilmarnock, who was enjoying a comfortable nap. She stifled a giggle as a
loud snore escaped him during one of the great actor’s interminable pauses.
In another box, there sat an elegant
party comprising Mr Fallowfield and a middle-aged couple unknown to Zanthe. The
lady was not handsome but extremely graceful and exquisitely dressed. The other
gentleman seemed vaguely familiar to Zanthe, but she could not tell why until
he leaned across the box to speak to Mr Fallowfield and she was struck by the
resemblance between the two men. Was this another member of the Fallowfield
family? Even as the thought crossed her mind, the unknown gentleman cast a keen
glance in the direction of the Brookenby box. He stared for a moment at Susanna,
who was sitting between Margery and Miss Cholmondeley, stifling a yawn with one
mitten-covered palm, and then he bent to murmur in the lady’s ear. She lifted
her lorgnette and seemed to study the girl for a moment before letting it fall,
with a sigh, as though it were too heavy for her.
It came, therefore, as no surprise to
Zanthe when, as soon as the curtain closed upon the first part of the
performance, the three rose as one
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