Darkwater by Dorothy Eden Page B

wardrobe. Amelia needs several new gowns, and as for me—’
    ‘Stop it,’ said her husband harshly.
    ‘Stop it! Please don’t speak like that to me! I am merely asking for one small fur tippett.’ Louisa’s full mouth pouted, reproachfully. ‘Only it must be of white ermine. Lady Mowatt has something similar, but of muskrat. Ermine is a much more rewarding fur. And really it is to be such a summer, with these strange children foisted on our household—why I meekly put up with them, I can’t imagine—and then the utter fatigue of Amelia’s coming-out. But it’s the children who are worrying me so much. Your brother’s after all, and it’s scarcely my fault that he turned out to be such a waster. I don’t see why I, or Amelia, poor child, or any of us should be so put about—’
    Again Edgar held up his hand to interrupt. He recognised the familiar grievance in his wife’s voice. He knew that the ermine tippet would naturally extend to being a cloak costing a great deal more than he cared to think about. He also knew that life wouldn’t be worth living until the cloak hung in Louisa’s well-filled wardrobe.
    ‘My dear Louisa, will you listen to me a minute? When I said that it would be out of the question to re-furbish the London house, I meant it. Money’s short at present. I’ve made one or two bad investments lately and it’s left me short of cash.’
    Louisa was alarmed.
    ‘Edgar, it’s nothing serious?’
    He laughed easily. ‘Good gracious, no. It will right itself in time. Something else will come up. But in the meantime I’d be glad if you’d exercise a little economy in the house.’
    This was not amusing. Louisa pouted again.
    ‘That won’t be easy with two extra mouths to feed and extra servants. Though it would be the least Fanny could do to offer some help. I hope you will speak to her, Edgar. And this, I might say, was certainly not the time to give her an expensive present. Why, that sapphire would have kept the children for a year, or—’
    ‘Bought your ermine tippett?’ Edgar observed. ‘This was exactly the time to give it to Fanny, if we expect her cooperation. Besides, the child deserved it. Remember, she didn’t get a ball, as Amelia is going to.’
    ‘She’ll share Amelia’s. She can’t expect more than that.’
    ‘A very different kettle of fish, my dear. As Fanny would be the first to realise. Well, I suppose I must dress.’
    Nevertheless, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, making no move to go to his dressing room. He was sunk in thought.
    ‘Edgar, what is it about this man from China that upsets you?’ asked his wife shrewdly.
    ‘Eh? What are you getting at?’
    ‘Something’s worrying you, and I know all that talk about money is merely a disguise.’
    ‘Oh, you do, do you?’
    Edgar surveyed his wife. She was laced into her stays and hooked firmly into her crinoline. The neck of the bodice was low and displayed a too generous amount of white flesh. Her hair style, with its tight sausage curls liberally flecked with grey, was more fitting to Fanny or Amelia than to a middle-aged matron. Her cheeks were flushed, and the tip of her nose swollen and bulbous. She had already arranged her face into the animated expression that would last until her guests left. After that, the pouting lips and the look of grievance would return.
    When he was in his early twenties, Edgar had fallen deeply in love with a delicate and nymph-like girl called Marianne. He had laid his heart at her feet and she had laughed at him. She had said in her clear laughing icy voice, ‘But, Mr Davenport, you look so exactly like a frog!’
    Seven years later he had met Louisa who had not laughed at him. She hadn’t been pale and nymph-like, but she was the granddaughter of an earl. Edgar had decided that ambition was a much more satisfying object to seek than love. Although he was not beyond expecting that Louisa’s ample flesh might be pleasant. And so it was, if grudgingly given.