and that he wouldn’t answer for his temper when the claret was in him.”
I sank down on the sopha beside her. “Do not regard it, Fanny. Those young gentlemen will say a good deal they ought not, when thrown together with little to do, and a fresh corpse laid out in the scullery. Only conceive how unsettling for all of them, believing that one of
their guns
had despatched Curzon Fiske.”
“Yes, but the knowledge—which I fear my brother Edward conveyed to them—that Mr. Fiske was in fact killed by a
single lead ball
, has relieved their minds so much, that they are ready to indict the first stranger who comes to hand.” There was a fretful edge to Fanny’s tone. I must credit her delicate sense of Justice—or Julian Thane’s dexterity in the waltz.
“It seems,” she continued with a diffidence not wholly natural, “that Mr. Thane has
been out
some once or twice.”
A lady who has
been out
is considered on the Marriage Mart, and a virginal member of Society intent upon changing her status as swiftly as may be. A gentleman who has
been out
, however, is quite otherwise: for he is one who has met a rival at twenty paces on a duelling ground, with seconds to the rear and a swift carriage standing ready to convey him to the Continent, should he prove so unlucky as to kill his opponent.
“How very dashing, to be sure,” I murmured. “And does Mr. Thane keep his duelling pistols by him, when he comes into Kent?”
“He certainly did not display them in the ballroom!” Fanny flashed with asperity.
CHAPTER TEN
A Dish Best Served Cold
“Watch your tongue, when a king is across the table.”
G EOFFREY C HAUCER, “T HE S UMMONER’S T ALE ”
F RIDAY , 22 O CTOBER 1813
I T WAS A SUBDUED PARTY THAT SAT DOWN TO DINNER LAST evening; and I might have passed over the interlude without comment, and proceeded directly to my account of today’s events, had not Mr. Stephen Lushington, MP, obtruded himself on my notice.
I have said before that I am half in love with Mr. Lushington. He reminds me a little of my brother Henry, with his persistent good humour and air of Fashion. It cannot be an accident that both men are fourth sons—your fourth sons being left so entirely without expectation, that they must push for themselves from the moment they leave the cradle, and are, as a result, creatures of charm and insinuation their whole lives long. In this, Stephen Lushington is all that a Member of Parliament
ought
to be—so smiling, so replete with energy and fervour, and so condescending in his notice ofthe generality of mankind, even females who may be judged essentially worthless for their lack of vote. Mr. Lushington, one instantly perceives, is possessed of the sort of fine understanding that acknowledges the
unofficial
power of Woman in the Home—the sort of influence a Sister, or Aunt, or Daughter, or Wife, may exert upon the opinions and strength of the Voting Member. A subtlety of mind and a delicacy of expression, in the condescension of such politicians, as they cultivate the vanity and good opinion of ladies like myself, who have only to see the London papers brought round to the door, to have them read; ladies who consider themselves to be thoroughly informed on all matters of Governance and Policy, and may be trusted to voice those opinions in the firmest language imaginable—is the kind of perfection I cannot fail to enjoy. Mr. Lushington offers exactly that complex of High Art and Absurdity I find most diverting in Modern Life.
Our MP was determined to be gay this evening; and as gaiety was so decidedly out of place, given the fact that Dr. Bredloe had
not
succeeded in removing the remains of Curzon Fiske from the servants’ wing, Mr. Lushington’s only appreciative auditors
must
be Miss Clewes and Harriot Moore. Edward, to whom most of his sallies were directed, preserved a quelling silence, his fingers idling on the stem of a wineglass and his looks devoid of all but
I sank down on the sopha beside her. “Do not regard it, Fanny. Those young gentlemen will say a good deal they ought not, when thrown together with little to do, and a fresh corpse laid out in the scullery. Only conceive how unsettling for all of them, believing that one of
their guns
had despatched Curzon Fiske.”
“Yes, but the knowledge—which I fear my brother Edward conveyed to them—that Mr. Fiske was in fact killed by a
single lead ball
, has relieved their minds so much, that they are ready to indict the first stranger who comes to hand.” There was a fretful edge to Fanny’s tone. I must credit her delicate sense of Justice—or Julian Thane’s dexterity in the waltz.
“It seems,” she continued with a diffidence not wholly natural, “that Mr. Thane has
been out
some once or twice.”
A lady who has
been out
is considered on the Marriage Mart, and a virginal member of Society intent upon changing her status as swiftly as may be. A gentleman who has
been out
, however, is quite otherwise: for he is one who has met a rival at twenty paces on a duelling ground, with seconds to the rear and a swift carriage standing ready to convey him to the Continent, should he prove so unlucky as to kill his opponent.
“How very dashing, to be sure,” I murmured. “And does Mr. Thane keep his duelling pistols by him, when he comes into Kent?”
“He certainly did not display them in the ballroom!” Fanny flashed with asperity.
CHAPTER TEN
A Dish Best Served Cold
“Watch your tongue, when a king is across the table.”
G EOFFREY C HAUCER, “T HE S UMMONER’S T ALE ”
F RIDAY , 22 O CTOBER 1813
I T WAS A SUBDUED PARTY THAT SAT DOWN TO DINNER LAST evening; and I might have passed over the interlude without comment, and proceeded directly to my account of today’s events, had not Mr. Stephen Lushington, MP, obtruded himself on my notice.
I have said before that I am half in love with Mr. Lushington. He reminds me a little of my brother Henry, with his persistent good humour and air of Fashion. It cannot be an accident that both men are fourth sons—your fourth sons being left so entirely without expectation, that they must push for themselves from the moment they leave the cradle, and are, as a result, creatures of charm and insinuation their whole lives long. In this, Stephen Lushington is all that a Member of Parliament
ought
to be—so smiling, so replete with energy and fervour, and so condescending in his notice ofthe generality of mankind, even females who may be judged essentially worthless for their lack of vote. Mr. Lushington, one instantly perceives, is possessed of the sort of fine understanding that acknowledges the
unofficial
power of Woman in the Home—the sort of influence a Sister, or Aunt, or Daughter, or Wife, may exert upon the opinions and strength of the Voting Member. A subtlety of mind and a delicacy of expression, in the condescension of such politicians, as they cultivate the vanity and good opinion of ladies like myself, who have only to see the London papers brought round to the door, to have them read; ladies who consider themselves to be thoroughly informed on all matters of Governance and Policy, and may be trusted to voice those opinions in the firmest language imaginable—is the kind of perfection I cannot fail to enjoy. Mr. Lushington offers exactly that complex of High Art and Absurdity I find most diverting in Modern Life.
Our MP was determined to be gay this evening; and as gaiety was so decidedly out of place, given the fact that Dr. Bredloe had
not
succeeded in removing the remains of Curzon Fiske from the servants’ wing, Mr. Lushington’s only appreciative auditors
must
be Miss Clewes and Harriot Moore. Edward, to whom most of his sallies were directed, preserved a quelling silence, his fingers idling on the stem of a wineglass and his looks devoid of all but
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