back to the play. It concluded with a melodrama in which a large Newfoundland dog really acted admirably. He defended a banner for a long time, pursued by the enemy, and afterwards came on the stage wounded, lame and bleeding, and died in the most masterly manner, with a last wag of his tail, which was really full of genius.’
‘The dog did not
really
die?’ asked Abigail anxiously.
‘No, that animal was as fine an actor as Kean. Besides, the audience would not have minded a human being, or a bear or a bull actually dying on the stage, but not a dog like that.’
‘How exciting and wonderful it all sounds,’ said Abigail wistfully. ‘Miss Trumble reads us the plays of Shakespeare and we often act the parts, but it is not the same as seeing one. Do you have a busy social life in London?’
‘I do what everyone does,’ said Lord Burfield, meaning every man in society. ‘I rise late, read three or four newspapers at breakfast. I look in my visiting book to see what calls I have to pay, and either drive to pay them in my curricle, or ride. At this time of year, I am sometimes startled by beauty even in dingy London. The struggle of the blood-red sun with the winter fogs can often produce wild and singular effects of light. I return when it is dark, work a little at my papers, dress for dinner, which is now at seven or eight, and then usually spend the evening at the theatre or at some small party or rout, but usually I avoid routs. One hardly finds standing room and is pushed and pulled in a hothouse atmosphere. But small parties are not very enlivening either. There is no general conversation. Each gentleman singles out the lady of his choice and talks to her all evening. Everyone talks French “tant bien que mal,” but this annoys the ladies after a time and any gentleman who sticks to English can be sure of a good reception.’
‘And do you often find a lady who pleases you enough to sit with her all evening?’ asked Abigail, her motive for asking the question owing all to curiosity and none to flirtation.
He smiled into her eyes, ‘Not until this very night, Miss Abigail.’
The compliment was insincere, but then so were most of the compliments bandied about society. Seeing the little flicker of disappointment in him in her large blue eyes, he was about to try to reclaim her good opinion when he realized the lady on his other side was trying to catch his attention. He turned reluctantly towards her. Abigail turned her attention to the gentleman on her other side and appeared, thought Lord Burfield a little sourly, to be keeping him well amused.
From across the room, Prudence flirted and charmed
her
companion while, from under her lashes, she covertly watched Lord Burfield and felt a sense of relief when he finally turned away to speak to the lady on his other side. She had not liked the way that he and Abigail Beverley had been talking. She could not hear a word they had been saying, but she sensed a rapport between them.
Lord Burfield had danced two whole dances with her and therefore could not ask for another. Then she remembered that she and her parents were supposed to stay with Lady Evans only until after the ball. Lord Burfield was staying longer. She must get her parents to suggest they stay longer themselves. She bit her lip. Lord Burfield had danced with Abigail and had taken her in to supper. Therefore he would call on her the following day to pay his respects. In town, gentlemen often sent a servant with a card instead. But this was the country.
There must be some way she could stop him from going. But what? If she locked him in his room, all he had to do was to ring the bell or shout for the servants. Her mother had a bottle of laudanum. She could drug him so that he would sleep through the day. Perhaps that was the answer. But what opportunity would she have? Perhaps when the ball was finally over and the guests had departed, she could suggest the tea-tray be brought in. Too difficult.
‘The dog did not
really
die?’ asked Abigail anxiously.
‘No, that animal was as fine an actor as Kean. Besides, the audience would not have minded a human being, or a bear or a bull actually dying on the stage, but not a dog like that.’
‘How exciting and wonderful it all sounds,’ said Abigail wistfully. ‘Miss Trumble reads us the plays of Shakespeare and we often act the parts, but it is not the same as seeing one. Do you have a busy social life in London?’
‘I do what everyone does,’ said Lord Burfield, meaning every man in society. ‘I rise late, read three or four newspapers at breakfast. I look in my visiting book to see what calls I have to pay, and either drive to pay them in my curricle, or ride. At this time of year, I am sometimes startled by beauty even in dingy London. The struggle of the blood-red sun with the winter fogs can often produce wild and singular effects of light. I return when it is dark, work a little at my papers, dress for dinner, which is now at seven or eight, and then usually spend the evening at the theatre or at some small party or rout, but usually I avoid routs. One hardly finds standing room and is pushed and pulled in a hothouse atmosphere. But small parties are not very enlivening either. There is no general conversation. Each gentleman singles out the lady of his choice and talks to her all evening. Everyone talks French “tant bien que mal,” but this annoys the ladies after a time and any gentleman who sticks to English can be sure of a good reception.’
‘And do you often find a lady who pleases you enough to sit with her all evening?’ asked Abigail, her motive for asking the question owing all to curiosity and none to flirtation.
He smiled into her eyes, ‘Not until this very night, Miss Abigail.’
The compliment was insincere, but then so were most of the compliments bandied about society. Seeing the little flicker of disappointment in him in her large blue eyes, he was about to try to reclaim her good opinion when he realized the lady on his other side was trying to catch his attention. He turned reluctantly towards her. Abigail turned her attention to the gentleman on her other side and appeared, thought Lord Burfield a little sourly, to be keeping him well amused.
From across the room, Prudence flirted and charmed
her
companion while, from under her lashes, she covertly watched Lord Burfield and felt a sense of relief when he finally turned away to speak to the lady on his other side. She had not liked the way that he and Abigail Beverley had been talking. She could not hear a word they had been saying, but she sensed a rapport between them.
Lord Burfield had danced two whole dances with her and therefore could not ask for another. Then she remembered that she and her parents were supposed to stay with Lady Evans only until after the ball. Lord Burfield was staying longer. She must get her parents to suggest they stay longer themselves. She bit her lip. Lord Burfield had danced with Abigail and had taken her in to supper. Therefore he would call on her the following day to pay his respects. In town, gentlemen often sent a servant with a card instead. But this was the country.
There must be some way she could stop him from going. But what? If she locked him in his room, all he had to do was to ring the bell or shout for the servants. Her mother had a bottle of laudanum. She could drug him so that he would sleep through the day. Perhaps that was the answer. But what opportunity would she have? Perhaps when the ball was finally over and the guests had departed, she could suggest the tea-tray be brought in. Too difficult.
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