Danse de la Folie (8 page)

Remembering that Kitty’s mother had died many years ago,
Clarissa was dubious, but she said, “I am happy to be of service.”

Soon they were kneeling on the cold floor of Kitty’s
dressing room. The bedchamber was large, with two south-facing windows. New
hangings and a fire would’ve made it very cheerful. Clarissa pulled her shawl
around her tightly, marveling how Kitty did not seem to heed the bitter chill.

As Kitty flung open one of the three large, battered trunks
at least a century old, she said without a trace of self-pity, “My Papa was quite
odd, and very selfish. He had no interest in ordering clothes for me until I
should —
some
how — attract an
eligible husband, so I have been wearing my mother’s clothes since I first put
up my hair. With great good luck, he had enjoyed seeing her in the very best,
so I have had much to choose from. I have discovered that many of the fabrics
are dreadfully outmoded. My brothers have fared rather better, as Papa never stinted
for himself, either, and he only died a little over a year ago.”

A powerful aroma of lavender pervaded the room as, with
careful hands, Kitty spread one gown after another over the other trunks. “When
I first sorted through her things, I saved out what I thought might be turned.
Most were those great, stiff-bosomed things with the wide skirts. And the tall
wigs she preserved, oh how they would make you laugh. She, with the most
beautiful hair.”

Kitty fingered the folds of a heavy silk sacque embroidered
over with rosebuds as Clarissa asked, “Are there any more?”

“Oh yes. Here are the ball gowns.”

Kitty opened a second trunk, and pulled forth glorious
lengths of laced and embroidered taffeta, velvet, and silk. Some still retained
their beauty, others were faded or spotted. All were quite hopelessly outmoded.

“You can imagine many of these were my models for Andromeda,
on her adventures,” Kitty said shyly as she smoothed the heavy lace on a
sky-blue caracao jacket. “She is wearing this, for instance, when the Duke
spies her through the window of the house where she is imprisoned. And this one,”
she breathed with reverence as she unfolded silver paper.

From the nest of paper she lifted out a magnificent ball
gown white satin with seed pearls and tiny diamonds sewn down the front of the
bodice and across the over skirt, and bunches of velvet ribbons on the
underskirt and at the richly lace trimmed sleeves. “Andromeda wears this gown
at the masquerade she attends under an assumed name, and the Duke dances with
her. But before they can discover one another’s true names, the villainous
Count Scorbini abducts her.”

“From the ballroom floor?” Clarissa blinked in surprise.

“Why, yes.” Kitty sat up, smiling brightly.

“And no one comes to her aid?”

“Well, they don’t know who she is. She doesn’t struggle, for
he puts a potion in her glass of orgeat, and she feels faint, so he says he
will carry her to a sofa, but instead takes her out to his carriage.”

With careful hands, Kitty folded the gown back into its
protective silver paper and laid it in the trunk. “Ned thinks it a preposterous
dress, but all he cares about is sporting, and war, that is, if the French were
to start it up again. Carl has been much too busy to go into society, but when
I showed him this gown, he said if I ever wore it anywhere, he would go just to
see me beat the other young ladies all to flinders. Not that I should wish to
go to go just to shine down others, but oh, to catch the eye of a duke! Or it
doesn’t have to be a duke. I know there are not all that many of them, and it
is highly unlikely that I would be put in a place to meet one, if there were.
But some gentlemen who is highly romantic, and ever so handsome, and rich
enough to help Carlisle out of his straits, who would see me across the
ballroom floor, and love would instantly dart into his heart. And mine, too, of
course.”

She looked up at Clarissa, appeal in her gaze.

“A romantical vision, and I hope it comes to pass,” Clarissa
said, shifting uncomfortably on the chilly floor. “What is in the third trunk?”

“Three velvet riding habits, a couple of redingotes, shoes
with great paste buckles, and accoutrements like lace caps, and sashes, fans
and the like. The preposterous headdresses and so forth are up in the attic
still.” Kitty’s excitement dimmed a little, and she cocked her head to one
side. “What is amiss? Are they none of them suitable?”

“Are there any other day dresses aside from this white
gauze?”

“I have been using them these seven or eight years. So Mama’s
things are hopeless, then?”

“The gauze could be turned. I suppose. Though I do not see
how, as its neck is so wide and the waist so low. The remainder... The ones
closer to the modes of today are the materials customarily worn by married
ladies.”

“That I learned to my cost once,” Kitty said grimly, and
turned her face away as she busied herself with weighing the old finery back in
the trunks.

Clarissa took a deep breath, wanting somehow to help this
generous, kind-hearted, romantical girl. “I think... Yes. I do believe I have a
way to resolve the difficulty.”

Kitty’s head turned, as she hastily daubed at the revealing
tears on her eyelids. “What? How?”

Clarissa betrayed a blush as she gazed upward. Then her lips
pressed as though she wish to hide a smile. “You shall see, I promise. Soon.”

Kitty clasped her hands. “You would not be playing a trick
on me?”

“Never.” Clarissa shook her head emphatically.

“Oh, thank you. How kind you are. Not only for myself, as of
course I shall enjoy myself beyond anything, but in London, I might be able to
help Carl. I am determined that I shall find and marry a rich man. London must
be full of
them
, however few dukes
there may be, for I must not be thinking solely of myself. If he is rich, nothing
else matters, save that he is not cruel.”

Clarissa, thinking of Lord Wilburfolde, reflected that there
was a vast range of possibilities betwixt handsome and cruel. Ordinary men
without the villainous proclivities of a Count Scorbini could be just as vexing
in a thousand small ways from which there might be little escape.

o0o

At the end of that evening, Clarissa could see the tiredness
and preoccupation in her hosts’ faces, though they strove for politeness. Being
conscientious, she rose far earlier than she might have, and professed herself
ready to retire.

Edward promptly rose with her, yawning behind his hand. “Lord!
I trust you will forgive me, Miss Harlowe, but I am asleep on my feet. We were
up and riding long before the sun chose to rouse itself. Here, I will light the
way for you.”

He picked up a waiting branch of candles and led the way
out.

Kitty was not tired, either, but she had a great deal to
think about. She could see it her elder brother’s countenance that he wished to
talk to her. “Are you going upstairs, Kit?”

“Not immediately.”

“I had hoped to find a chance to talk to you.”

She puckered her brow. “Oh, Carl, I do
hope
and trust that you are not going to tell me I cannot go, for
some horrid reason.”

St. Tarval did not speak immediately. Kitty’s consternation
altered to surprise as her brother took a turn about the room, then stopped at
the fireplace to stare down into the flames. His profile was pensive as he
said, “I take it, then, you wish to accompany Miss Harlowe to London?”

“Above anything.”

He remained silent for a time, his long fingers so much like
Papa’s absently toying with the fire tongs. Seeing his profile bent so seriously,
his gaze distant from the employment of his hands, Kitty said quickly, “You are
thinking perhaps it will not answer, my going to stay with someone so recently
a stranger to us. But recollect Clarissa and I spent all this time solely in
one another’s company, and I know she feels grateful for the rescue. And oh,
she is so easy to talk to, and though she is ever so well read, she is kind.”

“Miss Harlowe’s manners are particularly good,” he said,
still staring down at the fire.

Kitty’s eyes widened. “You do not think she only pretends to
like me?”

“No, Kitty. That is, not precisely. But she does not know
you, and you cannot say you know her after a mere day’s acquaintance.”

“But I have formed a very good impression of her. What
inspires your doubt, Carl? Do you think her invitation insincere? Surely you do
not believe she is the sort of heartless fashionable that you despised in
London on your one visit?”

“I do not. Yet we know so little about her or her family,
beyond the title, the family name, and that they live in Hampshire. We do not
know what kind of welcome you might meet.”

“Though I have never been to London, please credit me with
some sense,” Kitty exclaimed indignantly. “Do you think I would wish to go if I
thought they were all like that horrid aunt?”

“I think there is very little you would not tolerate if you
thought you were to go to London.” He smiled.

Kitty pressed her lips on a retort that a
kind
invitation would have been for the
two weeks following Easter, one would think.

Aloud, she said only, “Clarissa has spoken a little of her
family. I do not believe that I will find unwelcome there. Except perhaps from
Mrs. Latchmore. The
things
she said
to Alice and Mrs. Finn! But that is neither here nor there.”

“Why is she not married?”

“Who? Mrs. Latchmore? She is a widow.”

“No. Miss Harlowe,” he said, walking to the window. He stood
thus, looking out, though the darkness must have precluded his seeing much.

Kitty gazed at him in astonishment. “I can scarcely ask her
that, not unless we had known one another for ages. Though I own, it seems odd
to me, too.” Kitty’s eyes narrowed reflectively. Her interest in people caused
her to consider her guest. “She did mention offers, but delicacy forbids me to
ask more. Perhaps she has no wish to marry. Why these questions, and the long
face? Do you mislike Clarissa?”

“I have scarcely exchanged a hundred words with your guest.
I cannot claim to be any more than acquainted.”

“Then,” Kitty waved her hands, “you must sit down with her
and converse. She is as well read as you are. You shall find her interesting, I
vow and declare.” She peered into her brother’s face. His expression was
somber, and so she said in a very different tone, “Carl? Do you really fear
that my going to London is a mistake?”

He dropped into his chair and forced a smile. “Not at all.
Merely, I wish circumstances were such that
I
might be taking you to London. I am failing you in that I am not.”

She flew up out of her chair and gave him a quick embrace. “Absurd
creature! As if it were duty to waste time and money on such a thing. I regard
Clarissa’s invitation as an unlooked-for treat, a reward for our good offices
when their yacht strayed so horribly into our path. Let us hear no more of
duty. And,” she said earnestly, her cheeks red, her gaze determined, “I would
be less than honest if I did not assure you that there are things I would as
lief give the go-bye, even to get to London.”

He looked up sharply, and she took a deep breath. “I did not
wish to go with Lucretia. And not just because I knew I would be sitting in
their house listening to them plan balls, and talk of their invitations, or
watching Lucretia and Lucasta while they are visiting milliners and
dressmakers. The truth is, I always feel so countrified in her company. I did
not become aware of it until I spent this time with Clarissa, with whom I never
felt it, not for a moment.”

St. Tarval looked uneasy. “Lucretia has said countless times
that she feels for your lack of a mother or a sister, and I know she looks out
ways to help you to the mode with her suggestions.”

Kitty sensed the question underlying these words, and she
knew that delicacy forbade her from entering into a discussion from which
either of them might not be able to extricate themselves creditably. “It is
very kind in her, I am sure,” Kitty said in a subdued manner, and bade her
brother a good night.

After breakfast the next morning, unprecedented noise
reverberated through the windows.

Clarissa and Kitty rose to look out in time to see an
impressive cavalcade of three carriages bump up the drive, and vanish beyond
the hedgerow dividing the house from the stable yard, the horses in snow up to
their fetlocks.

Leading the way was the ancient berline belonging to the
Decourcey family. The second bore the Chadwick arms, and all three were piled
high with luggage.

Kitty said, “Perhaps we should go to the drawing room?”

The young ladies were standing in the chilly room, in which
a housemaid was just laying a fire, when the butler announced Lord Chadwick’s
steward. Mr. Bede greeted Miss Harlowe, and then handed her a sealed letter.

Clarissa had assumed as soon as she saw the mountain of
baggage that her aunt had equated Tarval Hall with the Antipodes. The letter and
the huge sum of money it said had been entrusted to Mr. Bede confirmed her
speculations.

Mr. Bede said, “If you are wishful to set out today, Miss,
if I may be permitted to say, it’s coming on gray. We’d be best to start out as
soon as may be, but I smell snow on the wind.”

Clarissa glanced from him to Kitty’s pale face, then said
firmly, “We will depart on the morrow, for Lady Catherine will accompany us.
Did you bring Oliver along, Mr. Bede?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then we shall send him on ahead with a letter to Lady
Chadwick. Will you see to it that he has something to eat, while I pen this
letter? Thank you, Mr. Bede.”

As soon as the steward had left the room, Kitty danced
around the cold room, far too ecstatic for mere words.

o0o

Oliver the footman departed just after midday, under
lowering steel-gray clouds. Having been issued a generous sum to see him back
into Hampshire, he left in sanguine spirits. If the weather forced him to halt,
it would mean a snug night at an inn.