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In any case, I trust Lord Charles, and it does rather sound like a daring adventure as well as a challenge, Alexa thought defiantly afterwards when she recalled her rash promise to meet him on the private strip of sandy beach at the bottom of Sir John’s garden. He was going away, and he wanted to talk with her—had given her his solemn word that she would be perfectly safe in his company. As of course she would be, for he was far too honorable to try and take advantage of her trust in him. And what fun it had been to progress from arguments to arrangements right under the stolid noses of the others; particularly Charlotte’s, which had been pink with indignation during the rest of their ride. She didn’t really care a jot what Charlotte or Mrs. Langford thought or speculated about either, Alexa decided firmly. She would pretend to have developed a headache and retire early tonight, and then... Lord Charles had said that he had something very important to ask her. Was he thinking of proposing to her? And suppose he actually did, how should she answer him? It was all very exciting, and helped to push other, less pleasant thoughts from her mind.
Chapter 10
That night, at dinner, Mrs. Langford seized on some flimsy excuse to hold forth at great length on the subject o
f the correct and proper training of pure, and yet far too impressionable, young minds. She had a rather high-pitched voice that grated on Alexa’s nerves, and a consciously affected turn of phrase as well; being overly fond of throwing in quotations at random from either the Bible or one of her favorite sermons to illustrate her every point, or pointed comment.
“...The unrestricted reading for books, for instance, and especially novels...!” Here the lady’s rather thin lips had puckered, as if she. had just tasted something unbearably sour, before she continued in rather heavier tones that were meant to convey the extent of her disapprobation: “And especially the kind written by foreigners, in their languages... ah, how important some gentle but firm guidance in the right direction is, in order to prevent the corruption of a young mind that, as our dear and learned Dr. Jennings has often said, resembles a clean slate waiting to be written upon and is open, in its innocence, to every influence. Parental supervision—constant advice and guidance—how important they are, and most especially in the case of a young female, delicately nurtured and of a tender susceptibility! ‘As the twig is bent...’ I know I need not complete the phrase, for my Charlotte has heard her father quote it many times. Colonel Langford also believes very strongly in the importance of disciplining as well as instructing the young, immature mind; along with, of course, the social graces such as manners and proper deportment and behavior—so essential for a young woman who dreams of being the perfect wife and mother when the time arrives for her to be passed from the benevolent guidance of her loving parents into the keeping of—her Husband!”
If she continues in this vein for much longer... If I have to listen to that voice and those smug platitudes and watch how Charlotte preens herself without realizing or even caring that she has been brought up and trained like a show pony or a brood mare; only in order to be passed from the hands of one owner to another...! I wonder what she would do if I suddenly gave way to a violent fit of hysterics? A headache? But then Uncle John would start to worry and concern himself needlessly, and she would probably think...
Alexa forced herself to look down at her plate while she pretended to occupy herself with cutting into her slice of boiled mutton surrounded by carrots and potatoes. But in spite of all her efforts her mind seethed rebelliously. Slavery! That was what it amounted to. Passed, like a possession, from one man to another; and yet most young women thought like Charlotte, who would consider herself honored if some pompous jackass should consider to ask her father for her hand in marriage. And after that, instead of “Yes, Papa!” and “Of course, Papa!” it would be “Oh yes, Mr. So-and-so!” or “But of course, Mr. So-and-so, you always know what is best for me.” How could any human being with a mind capable of reasoning submit will as well as person so unquestioningly and so passively?
Thankfully, Mrs. Langford had interrupted herself in order to enjoy her third course, and the sudden quiet that seemed to descend encouraged Alexa to change the angry trend of her thoughts. In that direction lay frustration, she reminded herself wisely. And she had more immediate problems to deal with tonight. Planning—or should she be prepared to improvise instead? It was certain that she would have to wait until the servants had been dismissed to their quarters for the night and most of the house lights extinguished before attempting to slip away. And what should she wear? Something cool and light and not too encumbering nor too showy either. A gown she could feel comfortable in without appearing too dowdy or shabby. Her green cotton with the lace inserts, perhaps? It was at least two years old, of course, and the style had been copied from a fashion journal of the early ‘thirties but at least it did flatter her figure as well as show off her shoulders and ankles to advantage. And being a man, Lord Charles probably would not notice in any case. Yes, the green dress would be exactly the thing—not that it really mattered of course, because she had no intention of staying out beyond half an hour at the very most, even if he did propose!
During the rest of the meal, Sir John, who had noticed and understood the dangerous gleam in Alexa’s slate-dark eyes, made sure that their conversation was steered into safer channels, leaving Mrs. Langford and Charlotte no choice but to follow his lead. Alexa’s mood lightened noticeably and her whole manner became quite animated when the discussion turned to horses and a lively argument ensued regarding the merits and shortcomings of crossbreeding.
The entrance of Sir John’s dignified-looking butler, carrying a silver tray bearing decanters of port and brandy and a beautifully carved rosewood box containing a variety of the very finest cigars, filled Mrs. Langford, for one, with a feeling of profound relief. She had noticed that her poor Charlotte, like herself, had barely toyed with the last two courses, and had not even had a second helping of the chocolate soufflé. But now, at last, she could with all propriety give the signal for the ladies to retire—and high time too! There had been moments, she thought with an inward shudder of taste, when she knew that she could not prevent herself from blushing at what she could only dare describe, even to herself, as “stable talk.”
How she had longed to be able to cry out that Charlotte should instantly clap her hands over her ears when certain unpleasant subjects were being discussed far too freely! She could only hope and pray of course that dear Charlotte’s carefully nurtured innocence would protect her; and it was with considerable relief that she had noticed Charlotte’s rather puzzled expression when there were subjects mentioned and blunt terms used that no well-brought-up young lady should have any knowledge of. And that any young woman of good background should actually sit and discuss with such ease and familiarity such unsuitable topics not only reflected badly on her unfortunate parents but was enough to make any other person forced to listen and observe such behavior positively recoil! The blame did not lie with Sir John Travers, who had been a bachelor all his life and was more used to male company, poor man. No, it was the responsibility of a female, if she was indeed a lady, to make haste to change the subject to a more tasteful one. It certainly did not speak well for the education of women if this was its result. Foreign languages, the reading of novels, far too much freedom of both action and thought—all insidious poisons that twisted and corrupted. No wonder poor Charlotte had been almost distraught when they had returned from their excursion on horseback; so torn, the dear soft-hearted creature, between loyalty to another of her own sex and the high moral standards she had been taught.
“I vow I do not mean to sound uncharitable, Mama, but I have to confess that I could not help longing for the time when we would turn back, in spite of the fact that Mr. Sutherland was so kind to me and showed himself to be so understanding of how I had to feel, and was made to feel. Mama, you know how hard I have tried to make a friend of Miss Howard and to guide her, as you told me I should. But today, why she was flirting quite boldly with Lord Charles, and monopolizing him! Even Mr. Sutherland admitted to me that he could not help being disappointed and rather surprised at her behavior. And then, to make things worse, they began speaking in... Oh, I don’t even know what it was. Some foreign language that sounded like gibberish that none of us could understand; and when I only tried to hint, tactfully, that it was rather rude, she actually snubbed me, Mama! And turned back to him, laughing! And you should have seen the looks they kept exchanging all the while. I have never been so embarrassed in all my life, and my head aches so badly from the strain of it all that I can hardly bear to lift it!”
At least she could be thankful that Charlotte, poor disillusioned child, had seen for herself the consequences of too much freedom, Mrs. Langford reflected grimly. But even if she put her natural maternal feelings aside, there still remained her Christian Duty towards the young and unfortunately misguided female who had, after all, been placed in her care. Yes, a few words of wisdom and of caution could not be amiss.
Following her mother’s example, Charlotte had already risen to her feet with alacrity, but Alexa, on the other hand, tried hard to pretend she hadn’t noticed. How on earth, and why, had such a silly c
ustom become established? She didn’t in the least mind the aroma of a good cigar, and she would much rather have continued her interesting conversation with Uncle John instead of being forced to retire with the Langfords.
“Miss Howard? Will you not deign to join us?”
Alexa had begun to rise, slowly and unwillingly, when Mrs. Langford’s rather sarcastic reminder of her manners made her angry enough to sit down again and defy both custom and silly women. But in the end, after only an infinitesimal hesitation, her head went up defiantly while her eyes took on a pewter sheen that would have warned anyone who knew Alexa to caution. Even her face seemed to have changed in some subtle way, appearing suddenly older and harder, while her voice seemed to have crystallized into dry ice.
“I do beg your pardon for being a few seconds tardy in joining you, Madame. Thank you for the tactful reminder.”
So his young Amazon was primed to give battle? Sir John Travers spent a few extra seconds staring thoughtfully at the double doors of polished satinwood bound with brass that had just closed behind the ladies. He was sure that Alexa, with her clever mind and gift for ingenious argument, could hold her own against Mrs. Langford quite easily, if only she could manage not to lose her temper to the extent that she also lost all power of reasoning.
Sir John sighed rather heavily as he turned back to his brandy and cigar, thinking ruefully as he did that it was a pity indeed that the young had everything except experience and the wisdom and ability to exercise self-control, whereas those like himself who had learned life’s hard lessons no longer had youth or time enough to use the knowledge they had gained. Youth and knowledge and wisdom. Ah, to possess all three gifts at the same time was to rule the world, and perhaps that was why it so seldom happened that way.
Alexa. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth under his greying mustache as he remembered the leggy colt of a girl she had been when he first encountered her. Even then she had had spirit, an eager, questioning mind, and courage as well. She, and not poor delicate Freddy, should have been the boy, of course; but what was the use in regretting what was? Alexa was no longer a girl but a grown young woman—an attractive young woman too, with a kind of aura about her that made her somehow unique, although she herself was as yet quite unaware of this special quality in herself that would always cause her to be noticed and singled out wherever she went. She was still quite immature, for all of her book-knowledge and education and that quick mind of hers. But there was so much potential there! Potential he had helped to nurture and had hoped to see realized some day if only... Well, what was the point in thinking about it now? His doctors had decreed otherwise, and mortal man cannot circumvent fate. So be it! At least he had been able to arrange that she’d always have enough money, so that she need never have to feel herself obligated to sell herself on the marriage market, even when Freddy inherited. Beyond that, his greatest hope was that when she was ready she would find the right kind of man for her—one she could converse with, who would appreciate her intelligent mind and free spirit and love her for what she was and not for what he thought he could make her into.
Sentimental old fool! You can only do the best you can and hope for the rest; and since you won’t be around to see how it turns out in the end, there’s no use worrying about it, is there? Clearing his throat fiercely, Sir John relit his cigar and dragged on it far too deeply, forgetting his doctor’s orders. Even though he had chosen an exceptionally mild one, it made him cough, and he swore inwardly. When he looked up at last after his coughing fit had ended, Sir John realized with disgust that his butler was hovering over him while pretending to rearrange everything on the silver tray in an ostentatiously significant manner that obviously called for comment.
“Well?” Sir John grumbled testily. “And what the devil d’you think you’re up to, fiddling about like that? If you’ve anything to say to me, be out with it!”
Velu, who had run his master’s house in Colombo for over fifteen years, merely turned down the corners of his mouth with a look of patent disapproval.
“I hear doctor say only half cigar, and much better Master take no cigar!” And then, noting indications of an imminent explosion, Velu went on hastily and with some relish, “But I come to tell Master that it is better, maybe, that Master retire to Study Room with door locked? Ladies make many arguments and the big lady is very angry. With mouth open like this...”
Velu’s imitation of Mrs. Langford actually left speechless for a change tempted Sir John to chuckle, and he was not able to compose his features quickly enough to prevent the sharp-eyed Velu from noticing his mouth twitch before he said drily: “I see. And I won’t ask you how many times you invented excuses to go in there, you old rascal, but I’m sure you didn’t miss anything, did you, eh? What of the young ladies?”
“Ah...” Velu rolled his eyes with pretended concern. “Big lady’s young missy crying and our missy Alex she smile but speaking sharp like knife. Good thing she have no knife or gun or maybe I think big lady be dead! Too bad!”
“I won’t ask how that last pithy statement was meant to be taken,” Sir John said after he had cleared his throat loudly to cover his involuntary chortle. He added thoughtfully, “But I suppose you are right in suggesting that I’d do well to take myself off to my study, where I have urgent correspondence to deal with and must on no account be disturbed.”
As Velu sprang to pull back his chair, Sir John reflected with a grim kind of amusement that this was certainly the first time anyone could have accused him of running away from a battlefield. But under the circumstances, and in view of his decided partiality, there could be no question that in this case at least discretion was most definitely the better part of valor.
“Oh, and Velu...” Settled before his desk with the open French doors bringing in the night-smells of dew-wet grass and frangipani and jasmine, Sir John held up one hand to halt his servant. “If by some chance you might have reason to visit the drawing room—perhaps to ask if the ladies need anything before they retire—you might just say a few words to Miss Alexa in your tongue, perhaps a mumbled undertone. You’re good at that when you imagine you’ve something to grumble about, eh? Tell her... The devil take it! Just make sure she’s not about to lose her temper and start throwing things, you hear? You might move my Ming vases out of there. That ought to give her a hint. Tell her those were my orders and she’ll understand very well what I meant. That’s all. And since I might go outside for a stroll later on, I don’t want you sitting up for half the night either. That clear? You’re getting to be an old man too. Hah!”
