CHAPTER NINE: Running the Gauntlet
Washed, brushed, dressed in clean linen, and refreshed by a good night's sleep, Tavington felt more than equal to dinner with the unpleasant Miss Everleigh. He amused himself wondering who would be at the dinner table. Possibly Wilkins, possibly the revolting George Montgomery, possibly some hitherto unknown family friend or connection who would be equally unappealing. Or perhaps there would be only Miss Everleigh, testing the degree of his interest by humiliating her niece.
Deep in his own thoughts, he almost missed Julia waving him at him as she stood outside, away from the windows.
She hissed in a loud whisper, "Colonel Tavington! Over here!"
Inclined to indulge her, and curious, he joined her beside the house. "From whom are you hiding? Your cousin?"
"No, he's inside. They're trying to wash him, if that's possible. I was sent to my room as a punishment."
"You are manifestly not in your room."
"We have a lovely tree next to our window. It's too hot up there. How was your patrol?"
"Too hot as well. And too many insects."
Julia was sympathetic. "It is always like this in the summer. I suppose it's different in England."
He smiled. "Very. And how do you do? And how are your sisters?"
Julia positively radiated excitement. "You will not believe what happened! Lilabet whipped the fire out of George Montgomery!"
Tavington looked his surprise.
Julia, pleased at his response, repeated herself. "She whipped the fire out of him! I have never seen her so angry! You know where it says about 'Terrible as an army with banners' in the Bible? Well, she was like that! We were all so frightened, and George screamed like a girl, and Cousin Charlotte came running down to see what was wrong with him, and Lilabet gave her such a look that she ran right back upstairs without saying a word! It was terrible-—and thrilling, too!"
"He must have provoked your sister exceedingly."
"Oh, yes, he was on his high horse, saying that no stupid female knew anything worth learning. Lilabet was trying to teach him the multiplication tables—imagine a great boy of ten not knowing them! He wouldn't pay attention, and gave wrong answers on purpose. And then he said that about stupid females, and she went still and white, and then her eyes flashed, and she grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him outside, and broke a switch off the dogwood, and pushed him up against the well house, and she whipped the fire out of him."
"My dear Miss Julia, you have seen actual battle, and not had so much to say about it!"
"But this was Lilabet! She has never struck us! One expects men with swords like you to go around chopping people up, and it is very shocking, but not shocking in the same way. Do you think I'm silly?"
Tavington, torn between laughter and dismay, paused a moment to command his countenance. "No, you are not silly. It is very confusing when a person one knows well does something so very much out of one's experience. When did this happen?"
'Monday morning. Things have not been the same around here since, I can tell you."
"How is your sister?"
"Quiet. She is all right, I suppose. We have all been so busy sewing—but I'm not to tell you about that."
Tavington consulted his watch. "I really must go in. Will you be joining us at dinner?"
"Yes, but I must go back up the tree so I can be let out of the bedchamber. I'll see you in the parlour shortly." She darted away, ducking under the windows, and was quickly out of sight.
***
Uncle Ganymede showed Tavington into the parlour with an air of resignation. Miss Everleigh was waiting for him with the boy George Montgomery, as well as another lady, who was briskly introduced to him as Charlotte Montgomery, wife of another of Miss Everleigh's grand-nephews.
Mrs. Montgomery was plump, blond, and doll-like, and spoke to Tavington so timidly that he supposed Miss Everleigh's domineering nature had rather crushed her. She seemed to be constantly apologising for everything. Tavington wondered if she were like this in her own home, and if so, how her husband could bear it. She then presented her son George to him, as if begging his pardon.
George Montgomery was indeed cleaner than the last time Tavington had seen him, but certainly had no advantage in manner or speech. Luckily, he also seemed too afraid of his great-aunt to mutter anything other than "How d'you do, sir?" to Tavington.
At that moment, Miss Wilde and her sisters arrived. Tavington looked, and looked again, for Miss Wilde, instead of her usual black, was attired in a quite charming gown of sage green silk taffeta, embroidered at sleeves and neckline with a delicate rose pink. She saw the appreciation in Tavington's eyes and turned rather rose pink herself. The total effect was certainly very attractive. It took Tavington a long moment to remember to bow, and other moment to remember her sisters were there.
Miss Everleigh's hoarse voice broke the spell. "Told you he'd like it, Lizzie. You look much better in that than making yourself an eyesore in black." She seated herself with dignity. Tavington took care to sit next to Miss Wilde on the sofa, with Julia taking the place next to him.
"We all helped make it," Julia said. "Saturday night, Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva said Lilabet must have a new gown, and sent Calypso upstairs to look over what might do for it, and they cut it out that very night. We couldn't work on it on Sunday of course, but we talked about it--."
'Julia, you talk too much," snapped Miss Everleigh. "Take a leaf from your Cousin George's book, and hold your tongue."
Julia pressed her lips together and glared resentfully at her aunt. Satisfied, Miss Everleigh smiled smugly and confided to Tavington, "I like to see well-dressed people. I particularly like to see my kinfolk well dressed." She sneered at Charlotte Montgomery. "We will have to do something for you next, Charlotte."
Mrs. Montgomery, who was in fact very becomingly dressed, flushed and eyed her own gown in confusion.
Miss Everleigh then turned her unblinking black gaze on Amelia, who shifted uncomfortably. "At least you look decent now, Melly. I never saw such an abomination as you when you turned up on my doorstep dressed like your own brother. I thought there would surely be a judgement on all of us for it." Amelia eyes turned red, and Tavington decided to interfere with Miss Everleigh's general massacre of her relations.
"I think Miss Amelia looks extremely well indeed. Most ladylike." Amelia looked gratefully at Tavington. He added, "But her previous dress was very practical in her circumstances and served her well. And there are literary precedents. I thought it rather like Rosalind in the Forest of Arden, or Viola on the desolate coast of Illyria."
The Montgomerys, mother and son, stared blankly at him.
Miss Everleigh snorted. "Shakespeare! There are some fine examples to follow there! We'd all be murdering the King, blinding our fathers, running riot, and dining on some pretty shady meat pies if we took him too seriously!" She laughed uproariously. The Montgomerys now stared at them all as if they had gone mad.
Miss Everleigh laughed at that as well. "We are discussing literature, Charlotte! The stuff that books are made on! If George and the girls apply themselves, they will find out what we're laughing at! Until then," she smirked, "you'll just have to wonder."
Tavington began to feel a faint fondness for the dreadful old woman in spite of himself.
At that moment, Uncle Ganymede silently crept into the room to announce dinner. Miss Everleigh imperiously put out her arm for Tavington to escort her.
"You will sit by me, Colonel," she said. "I see no point in having a good-looking man at my table, if I cannot have a good look at him."
Ganymede served them, tottering around the table so precariously, that Tavington, unfolding a fringe-trimmed napkin, wondered how much of the meal would be dropped on the floor or on the diners. Miraculously, the ancient man managed to do everything quite perfectly, glaring at them scornfully all the while. Miss Everleigh seemed amused at his demeanour. Another way to keep her guests off-balance, I suppose, Tavington thought.
Tavington had to give the old lady credit for providing an excellent dinner. With Miss Everleigh at the head of the table, he found himself across from Mrs. Montgomery and Amelia and next to Miss Wilde. Julia was next to Miss Wilde, which unfortunately put George Montgomery and his table manners across from Julia and clearly visible to Tavington.
Tavington had seen gruesome sights in his years as a soldier, but George Montgomery crumbling beaten biscuits to powder, and using his fingers to pull apart his meat, then dropping it into his mouth, was fairly off-putting. He felt Miss Wilde stir next to him, obviously wishing to say something. Her aunt, however, said it first.
"George," called Miss Everleigh. The boy immediately dropped his hands, looking guilty. Miss Everleigh picked up her fork and displayed it to him. "What is this?"
"A fork, Aunt?"
"Well, start using yours, or we'll all be sick!" George began to use knife and fork, plainly unaccustomed to them. Throughout the meal, Tavington felt the boy's eyes on him, trying to follow what he was doing. Tavington ignored him in favour of the attractive ladies across from and beside him, and the interesting if horrible old woman at the head of the table.
"Well, Colonel, how goes the war?"
"Well enough, madam, were it not for the climate, the insects, and the rebels."
"Ha!" She dissected her chicken avidly. "Which is worst? Don't tell me, don't tell me! You weren't sent here to fight the heat or the bugs. The rebels are a sad lot of troublesome fools. Like that Hamish Crawford—your beau's Papa, Lizzie! Don't shake your head at me, Miss! The fellow went on with me about liberty and taxation without representation. I said to him, 'Liberty, indeed! And you the master of one hundred slaves. Who amongst them voted for you?'"
"A very good point, Miss Everleigh."
"Better than they know. If a few people get their liberty, it won't be long before everyone else wants theirs, and then where will we be? But Hamish Crawford always was a fool. Always underfoot, making sheep's eyes at Emma--" Tavington felt Miss Wilde stiffen. Miss Everleigh looked past him at her niece and then changed direction. "Well, all the Crawfords were born foolish. His sons were no better, but then Lizzie was always unlucky with men."
Tavington glanced at Miss Wilde, who was glaring furiously at her plate. Miss Everleigh continued between bites, "First there was that DeLancey boy she was going to marry right out of school. Her parents had a nursery full of little girls and wanted an unpaid governess for them, so they put a stop to that! And then that Charles Crawford! Five years younger than Lizzie, and never paid her a mite of attention until Richard died and it looked like she would be inheriting Arcadia. Well, we all know how that ended!"
Miss Wilde, sweet and poisonous, said softly, "At least no one can say I was never asked."
Miss Everleigh paused a moment and gave a harsh laugh. "No, indeed!" She turned her attention to the chicken, knife cutting neatly through the flesh. "You look very well in that dress, Lizzie! I am glad I thought of it. Not a good colour for me anymore, but you can still carry it off!"
"Yes," said Tavington, very distinctly. He turned to Miss Wilde. "I think you look extremely beautiful."
Dead silence at the table. Tavington was vaguely aware that Amelia, Julia, George, and Mrs. Montgomery were staring at them open-mouthed. He looked only at Miss Wilde. And she looked only at him.
"Colonel," she said softly, and swallowed.
"Well," said Miss Everleigh, complacently, "since we all agree that Lizzie is looking well, perhaps we can finish our dinner before it is cold."
Tavington silently fumed, feeling that he had been outrageously and successfully manipulated into revealing more than he wished. Rather than let the odious woman see the extent of her victory, he attempted to introduce a new topic of conversation.
"Mrs. Montgomery, your husband is also in the King's service?"
Startled, the mild little woman gave Miss Everleigh an apologetic glance, and answered, "Yes, sir, he is with the American Volunteers."
"Under Ferguson, then. A very fine fellow. Your husband is fortunate in his commander."
Mrs. Montgomery gave him a timid smile. Tavington felt faintly guilty, now remembering Ferguson's uncompromising opinion of one Lt. Montgomery.
"Ferguson?" asked Miss Everleigh. "Scotch, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Tavington, "Major Ferguson is a Scotsman."
"Not surprising. Seems like most of the Scotch are over here. They cannot make a living in their godforsaken country and must hire out their swords."
Tavington gave her a cold stare. "Major Ferguson is my particular friend." He spoke directly to Mrs. Montgomery. "I hope for your husband's swift, safe, and victorious return, Madam." She gave him a shy smile, uncertain what to do with so much unaccustomed courtesy. George Montgomery had found a hero to worship.
Even misery has its limits. The meal was at last over and they returned to the parlour. Tavington began to think of pretexts to speak alone with Miss Wilde, but her aunt plainly had not finished with him.
"I'm sure that Lizzie has shown you some of her father's work, Colonel, but I have a picture that might interest you."
Julia, sitting opposite him, mouthed the words, Don't look, at him, and shook her head.
Miss Everleigh noticed Julia's warning, and smiled maliciously. She beckoned to Tavington to join her by the mantel, to one of side of which was a framed drawing in pencil. "My grandfather, their great-great-grandfather, James Everleigh, was a founding member of the Royal Society. He was very good friends with Mr. Robert Hooke, the distinguished natural philosopher and author of Micrographia, of which I have an enscribed copy. Mr. Hooke was curator of experiments for a number of years for the Society, and in this instance made an interesting drawing of the subject. The object was to flay a dog, and determine at which point the creature could no longer survive without its skin. You see how very well Mr. Hooke captured his subject."
Tavington looked. It really was quite horrible, and very precisely drawn. He had seen worse, but could not imagine doing such a thing even out of scientific curiosity.
"Most interesting," he said calmly. "A unique work."
Amelia, greatly daring, said "But it is so cruelly painful for the poor animal."
"My dear Amelia," said her aunt, with contempt, "if your sister taught you to read the works of M. Descartes, instead of trashy French novels---La Nouvelle Heloise, indeed!—you would understand that animals do not feel pain. They are merely machines, and what appears to be pain is merely the machine's automatic response."
"It looks like pain to me," said Julia, rebelliously. "Colonel, do you think animals are only machines?"
Tavington shook his head. "That is not a question to put to a cavalryman. I have known too many horses superior to the men who rode them."
Miss Everleigh snorted.
"Besides, Aunt," said Miss Wilde, "the works of M. Descartes are in Latin, and I do not have your acquaintance with that language."
"Oh, yes, that is true," smirked her aunt, "I seem to remember that had something to do with you being sent to school. Her father," she continued, addressing Tavington, " was very much opposed to the idea of girls learning Latin. I am glad my father had no such prejudice." She drew a deep, satisfied breath. "Cogito ergo sum." She raised her wrinkled brows at Tavington.
"I think, therefore I am,' he translated. Or perhaps, he mentally paraphrased, I think rude thoughts, therefore I say them to all my relations. Miss Everleigh was regarding him much as one does a dog that has done its trick. She looked around the room for a new victim.
"Amelia, I feel in the mood for music. Play that piece you were practicing this afternoon for Colonel Tavington."
Amelia sat still a moment, and then gave her aunt a little defiant tilt of the head. "Very well, Aunt." To her sisters' evident surprise, she immediately went to the pianoforte and began to play. It was Handel, and a little old-fashioned, but it was very nice indeed. She had no sooner finished the theme, and begun the first of a set of variations, than Miss Everleigh began talking again.
"Music is such a wonderful accomplishment for a young woman. Do not you agree, Colonel?"
Tavington gave her a sharp nod of assent, and resolutely gave his full attention to Amelia. Miss Everleigh smirked at his annoyance.
"It makes up for whatever a girl may lack in looks or charm." Amelia glanced at her and played a little louder.
"Amelia certainly needs all the help she can get."
At this, Tavington got up, walked to the pianoforte, and began turning Amelia's pages for her. The piece was soon over, and Amelia flushed happily at acquitting herself so well.
Her sisters and Tavington applauded, and after an uncertain moment, the Montgomerys followed their lead.
"You play beautifully, Miss Amelia," said Tavington.
"Thank you, Colonel. Lilabet plays the best of all of us, of course."
Miss Wilde came over to kiss her sister. "That was lovely, dearest." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "I am very proud of you."
Tavington asked, "Would you not play for us, Miss Wilde?"
"If you wish it," she said, and took the chair at the pianoforte. She thought a moment, and then began, in a mellow and well-trained contralto:
"Art thou troubled? Music shall calm thee.
Art thou weary? Rest shall be thine.
Music, source of all gladness, heals thy sadness at her shrine,
Music, music ever divine.
Music calleth, with voice divine.''
The long phrases, the serenity of the song, spread an air of peace over the company. Miss Wilde gave Tavington a glance, and a hint of a smile. No one, since he was a child, had ever sung just for him. The song ended; there was a moment of silence, and then the applause of Miss Wilde's listeners, including a grudging three claps from Miss Everleigh.
Feeling that the Wilde sisters had scored something of a victory over their aunt, Tavington decided it was time to escape before Miss Everleigh mounted a counterattack.
"I have had such a delightful time, Madam," he said, granting Miss Everleigh an ineffable smile. "One hardly expects such a civilized evening in a provincial town." He bowed to her, and shaded the smile slightly to a sneer. She smiled graciously, indulgent and warily respectful. Tavington acknowledged the rest of the room. "Ladies. Master Montgomery." Amidst the general farewells, Miss Everleigh's strident voice was raised.
"Lizzie, go help the Colonel find the door again."
She drooped somewhat as she saw him out.
"Miss Wilde, thank you for a most enjoyable evening."
She looked at him in disbelief. "You cannot possibly have enjoyed it. It was horrible. You will probably never want to see any of us again."
"I have known far worse, believe me. I rarely have the pleasure of music. And your aunt is really quite interesting, when she is not aiming her darts at me or those I care for."
She glowed a little at the subtle compliment. "You do know that she was making you run the gauntlet tonight."
"I suspected as much. Her words cannot hurt me. Only being forbidden the privilege of seeing you could do that."
"My family did not exactly appear to best advantage tonight. Except for Julia and dear Amelia, of course. I was so pleased with Amelia's behaviour, but it was inspired by her very great regard for you."
"I heard that you had some difficulties with the boy. He seemed properly chastened."
"Oh, dear. Poor George. I am sure Julia could not wait to tell you. Was she out of her room again?"
"My lips are sealed."
"Incorrigible girl. At any rate, I expect you heard about George being punished. I feel somewhat guilty about that."
"Whipping naughty boys is against your principles?"
She laughed. "Please do not think me so absurd. No. He deserved his whipping, but he did not deserve all of Richard's whippings and Tom's whippings as well. That was unfair. When he spoke so despisingly of the stupidity of women, it brought back all the unkind words my brothers ever said to me. As my aunt could not resist telling you, my father taught them, and would not teach me. And I was jealous."
"Never apologise to him. He would not understand, and would merely think you weak."
"I daresay you are right." They were silent a moment, and Tavington could hear Miss Everleigh holding forth in the parlour.
Miss Wilde said, "You must think me very ungrateful to complain of my family, when your own is so far away."
"I have no family."
She gave a small, incredulous laugh. "Everyone has a family."
"Not I. I have not a single hostage to fortune. You see before you a truly free and independent man."
"Forgive me, but it seems a dreadful freedom. Though perhaps you do not regret it after a evening spent with my relations."
"The evening had its moments." She had come very close to him. He looked down at her, and she blushed and caught her breath.
"Lizzie," called her aunt. "Can the Colonel not find the door?"
Miss Wilde and Tavington looked at each other, suppressing outright laughter. Miss Wilde called back, "We are very nearly there, Aunt." She gave Tavington a mischievous smile, "Colonel, I cannot spare my sisters, but if you would like some family, I could offer you an aunt for a modest sum."
He did laugh at that. "I would not deprive you for worlds, Miss Wilde." He grew serious. "May I call again?"
"Whenever you like. I know that you have little leisure. If you call, I shall certainly be here."
"Do you ever get out of the house?"
She sighed, "At Arcadia, I taught all day too, but my dear Mother saw to it that I had time to myself and exercise. Poor Zenobia. I did not know I could miss a horse so much. Some brute is probably using spurs and a curb bit on her as we speak."
Ganymede had appeared from nowhere, implacably presenting Tavington's gloves and helmet to him. Miss Wilde looked aside, amused and embarrassed, as Tavington took them from him, and Ganymede pointedly opened the door. Tavington had hardly a moment to bid the lady goodnight, when the door was closed firmly behind him.
---
Author's notes: Robert Hooke (1635-1703), a pioneering English scientist, was indeed curator of experiments for the Royal Society. The experiment with the dog is, regrettably, true. However, I know of no illustration of it currently in existence. And that's just fine with me.
Amelia played a Sarabanda in d minor by Handel, which is a theme and two variations based on La Folia, a tune used by a number of other composers, most famously Arcangelo Corelli.
Art thou troubled by Handel really is a sublime song. I will never forget Dame Janet Baker opening a recital with it and I have no trouble recalling how it sounded even after twenty years.
This will be my last posting of double chapters, though I still hope to have a new one up each week.