Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Read online

  Sir John, opening the door, said, “No; you will find it more comfortable in here. I will ask Jess to bring you some coffee.”

  Agnes did not reply but inclined her head and motioned to Louisa to take one of the fireside chairs.

  “He is no longer yellow,” she observed as soon as the door was closed.

  “No; it is the good, fresh air and food of Sussex, I believe.”

  “And perhaps your nursing skills, with which he seems to be excessively pleased. He looks better than when I last saw him,” she went on. “I suppose he has not been drinking so much nor staying up so late at the gaming table.”

  “Possibly not; I am ignorant of his former behaviour. We have been feeding him as much as he will eat as well as a modest amount of red wine, on Dr Cooper’s orders. I daresay he was used to imbibe large quantities of brandy before. As for the gaming, he has given that up and goes to bed quite early, I believe.”

  “What do you think of him now?” Louisa asked bluntly.

  “I? As I said, I was not acquainted with him before but he seems a perfectly agreeable person, inclined to occasional bitter remarks and with a slightly cynical sense of humour but by no means odious. What do you think of him, Louisa? Have you changed your mind about rejecting his offer?”

  “No, but I cannot see that it matters how I feel about the matter. It is perfectly clear that he has changed his.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that he has. He is still in need of a fortune and, now that he has become a little more agreeable, would very likely pay you the attention you craved but which he denied you before.”

  Louisa was both astonished and hurt by this unusually harsh judgment coming from a person she had previously considered gentle. She said, “Some of his cynicism seems to have worn off on you.”

  “Perhaps. What did you want to say to me, Louisa?”

  “That I know that Danehill made you an offer and I guess that you rejected it but, if you did so for my sake, I wish you would not. I do not need your patronage.”

  “Did he confide in you? If so, I daresay he will transfer his affections in time. I did not reject him on your account; I am not, I own, so wedded to self-sacrifice that I would give up a man I wanted, even for the sake of my friendship with you.”

  “What would make you give him up?” Louisa asked curiously.

  “His own good, I suppose,” Agnes replied.

  “Did you think rejection would benefit him in some way? Make him more humble?”

  “Ah, I thought for a moment you were speaking hypothetically about an imaginary man for whom I had developed a strong attachment but nevertheless decided I must reject, either due to ties of friendship or in a disagreeably sanctimonious belief that doing so would improve his character. No, I do not love him. It is very simple.”

  “I do not see that it is simple at all!” Louisa exclaimed with some violence. “You have just suggested I take Sir John Armitage, who never wanted me, merely because I find – or once found - his looks fascinating while you, who could surely do with becoming Marchioness of Danehill for purely practical reasons, have refused merely because you do not love him! Are you certain you can afford to be so nice in your requirements?”

  “No, I admit I cannot afford to be so nice and that anyone with any sense would advise me to accept and make the best of a dazzling opportunity. But I cannot. Whatever his lordship has to offer, and it is a great deal, it is not something that I could stomach – and it would, in addition, be cruel to marry him when my heart is not engaged.”

  “I am expected to marry without my heart having been engaged at all,” Louisa exclaimed, growing increasingly annoyed. “What makes you so exceptional?”

  “Nothing; it is simply that I cannot do it.”

  “Why can you not?”

  “Why can you not contemplate marrying Sir John when you have admitted that you find him handsome? Unless I am deluded, it is because you have fallen in love with Danehill and cannot, consequently, consider marrying anyone else, at least just at present.”

  “Is that why you cannot marry Danehill?” Louisa asked, suddenly understanding. “You have fallen in love? With Sir John, I suppose – unless it is his brother who makes your heart beat faster?”

  “No,” Agnes admitted, hanging her head. “It is the odious Baronet who has taken possession of my heart but, as neither of us has two pennies to rub together, there is no hope for a happy outcome. That, too, is why I cannot stay here much longer; being in such close proximity is very difficult.”

  Louisa blinked. For all her earlier teasing of her friend over her defence of the Baronet, it had not until this moment occurred to her that she might have formed an attachment to him.

  “Has he declared himself?”

  “No; it is my belief that he is determined not to for, once he has, I do not think there would be any going back, but there is no doubt in my mind that my sentiments are reciprocated.”

  “No doubt? They all seem to fall in love with you! Does he know how you feel?”

  “Oh yes, I think so. It is painful but, at the same time, almost unbearably sweet to love and be loved. I am both deliriously happy and drowning in grief. I suppose such feelings will ameliorate once I am away from their source.”

  “So, rather than marry Danehill, with all the attendant advantages, you will run away again and find some horrid job miles away? How will you live? How will you endure forty years or more without your love?”

  “Oh, Heaven only knows!” Agnes cried, tears springing to her eyes. “For I do not, but I cannot marry another – I simply cannot.”

  “Has he no money?” Louisa asked, frowning.

  “He not only has no money but he has debts running into many thousands, debts which his father left and which he will have to try to meet. It is a horrible situation.”

  “His father’s debts? They are his, Agnes, his gambling debts which his father kept paying to save him from prison.”

  “His father was a fool,” Agnes said succinctly.

  “Perhaps, but I am persuaded he felt it to be his paternal duty. I don’t suppose Lady Armitage would appreciate your holding such a harsh opinion of her husband.”

  “No, probably not, which is why I have not mentioned it to her.”

  “Does she know about you and Sir John?”

  “I have not the least idea; she has not said anything, I am certain he has not, and I will not either. It is, in the circumstances, best we all hold our tongues.”

  Chapter 31

  When Louisa left, having extracted a promise from her friend that she would attend the ball, Agnes sat down at the square pianoforte and began to play a recently published sonata by Beethoven. She was not a gifted pianist and, not having possessed the music for this work for long, made a great many mistakes, each of which caused her to sigh heavily and begin again at the beginning.

  Playing such a piece in such a manner soon had the effect of alerting the two Armitages to Miss Newbolt’s departure. Irritated, as most people are, by constantly aborted practice, it did not take long before they returned to the saloon.

  “I take it your meeting with Miss Newbolt did not go entirely to plan,” Sir John observed as he shut the door.

  “I did not have a plan,” she rejoined, letting her hands drop. “Louisa came here with one and I am afraid I did not altogether fall in with it. She is not pleased with me.”

  “She is a woman who expects to impose her will on others,” he remarked.

  “You surely cannot have come to such a conclusion on the basis of five minutes in the same room with her,” his mother said. “Were you acquainted with her before?”

  “Yes, I was, Mother; as a matter of fact I paid my addresses to her. She rejected me without showing much sympathy for a frustrated suitor.”

  “Oh!” she said on a descending note. “I had hoped that you would like her.”

  “I thought you might be thinking along those lines! I do like her but I am glad she decided she didn’t like me because we w
ould not have suited. She is by far too dictatorial. I think she is under the impression that her money can buy obedience. Is that the source of your disagreement with her, Miss Helman?”

  “Not altogether, but I am persuaded she expected me to agree with what she suggested today. It is not her fault, you know; perhaps you should be thankful that you are not prosperous because having too much money seems to lead people to think they can not only do what they like but buy other people’s obedience. All the same, she is excessively kind and I love her dearly.”

  “Of course,” he agreed with a rather sardonic twist to his mouth. “What did she want you to do?”

  “I am not sure. I think she was afraid that she had driven me out of her house or, rather, that I had felt I must leave and she wished to make certain that I still felt warmly towards her – which I do.”

  “But not, I think, quite so warmly,” he said.

  “I do not know what to do,” she admitted. “You know why I left – and so does she, although she interpreted my actions slightly differently. I do not in the least wish to break with her but I cannot, it is simply not possible, for me to undo what has distressed her. It is not within my power to make all right for her.”

  “You mean, I assume, that you do not rate your chances of persuading Lord Danehill to transfer his affections to her? No, it is an interesting fact, is it not, that, although you have inspired him to feel them, you cannot simply pass them, like a dish of carrots, to another person?”

  “Lord Danehill?” Lady Armitage exclaimed. “Did he make you an offer? I asked if you had fled on account of a gentleman pressing his attentions upon you. My dear child, you should reconsider; he is an excellent catch and, if he feels so strongly about you, I am convinced he would be an agreeable husband.”

  “Are you acquainted with him?” Agnes asked.

  “Yes, a little, but it was a long time ago; he is considerably older than you and Louisa, and was a fixture on the social scene when I was a girl. At that time he was known to be something of a rake as well as a gamester.” She pronounced the last word in the hushed tones of a person mentioning death in the presence of someone recently bereaved and cast a surreptitious glance at her son as she spoke.

  “Oh, you do not have to lower your voice in my presence, Mama,” Sir John said rather impatiently. “You know that I have forsworn gaming. He may have done so too, for all I know. In any event, if he is looking to settle down, I am certain he will have abandoned his rakish behaviour – or will do so if he is fortunate enough to marry the woman he loves.”

  “You both seem determined that I should marry him,” Agnes said with a sigh. “But you are destined to be disappointed. No doubt you can set me right on this, my lady, having rather more experience of the world than I, but it’s my belief – and my hope – that if I go away and Louisa goes to London in the spring she may succeed in attaching Lord Danehill. He will have forgotten me by then.”

  “Do you really suppose people’s hearts are so changeable?” the Baronet asked.

  “No. I suppose, if I thought that, I would consent to marry him,” she added thoughtfully.

  Lady Armitage said, “Have you – were you at one time – are you still perhaps - attached to someone else, Agnes? I own I have wondered why you were not married.”

  “No,” Agnes said again. “Only I do not wish to marry without love.”

  “Are you still hoping to experience it one day?” Sir John asked with an assumption of interest which she took to be assumed.

  “No, I am not; perhaps I have read too many books but, to my mind, there is nothing so miserable as – as that sort of love.”

  “What sort?” he asked, now blatantly teasing as he saw her begin to flounder.

  “I really know nothing about it,” she exclaimed, becoming annoyed. “And I wish you would not quiz me in that way.”

  “But I want to know,” he persisted.

  “Why? You are old enough and worldly enough to know whereof I speak; you simply wish to discountenance me and I do not like it. Indeed, I will not say another word on the subject.”

  “No, indeed,” Lady Armitage said at once. “John, pray desist! It is not kind in you to try to make poor Agnes feel uncomfortable.”

  “But, Mama, we are neither of us doing her a kindness by pretending that the sort of love to which I think she refers is not something to which we all of us aspire – until we learn we cannot have it. I think she would be wise to become Lady Danehill but I cannot argue with her adherence to her belief in love – it does her credit even if it will in the end not make her happy.”

  “You are absurd!” Lady Armitage exclaimed. “We are not talking here of poetry but of practical matters. Agnes has no portion so that it will not be easy for her to find a gentleman who can afford to marry her; equally, she has no means by which she can support herself other than marriage or working, as she has with me – and I cannot pretend that at her age I would have looked with equanimity at spending my life ministering to an old lady. If Danehill, who has been extravagant in his youth, thinks he can afford to take such a girl – because he loves her – she should be thankful and accept.”

  “I agree with you, Mother, and have told her so already. But, if she will not, it is of no use our tormenting her.”

  “I have foolishly said I will go to the ball,” Agnes said, deciding to air another dilemma in the hope that it would displace the vexed subject of thwarted love. “Now I wish I had not for it will only exacerbate matters and, in any event, I do not possess a suitable gown.”

  “You can buy one tomorrow,” he said.

  “But I do not want to spend all my money on a dress I will never wear again.”

  “But perhaps it will prove to be an investment,” Lady Armitage essayed. “Is there not another gentleman in the house whom you would consider? Perhaps he will come to the point on the night of the ball.”

  “If everyone knows what passed between Lord Danehill and me I hardly think it likely that another of the guests would feel it proper to make me an offer at this juncture,” Agnes said. “No, I do not think I should go. I will write Louisa a letter, explaining that I would prefer to stay away until all the guests have left.”

  But before a suitable moment arose in which she could put pen to paper, she received a letter herself.

  It was delivered by one of the men from the big house later that evening, after dinner. There were only the three of them, Mr Armitage having remained at Newbolt House all day.

  “Do you suppose that is Louisa again?” Lady Armitage asked when a knock fell upon the door.

  “She would not come down here at this time of night,” Agnes murmured with a nervous glance towards the hall.

  “Are you afraid it is your suitor?” Sir John asked.

  She nodded and he rose, saying, “I will answer the door. I take it you do not wish to speak to him.”

  “No.”

  She and Lady Armitage heard a low conversation take place on the doorstep after which the door closed and Sir John returned, bearing a sealed letter.

  “He has not come himself,” he announced, “but has sent you a letter. At least it bears his seal.”

  He handed her the missive.

  “This is from Lord Danehill?” she asked.

  “I believe so - unless he has lent his seal to someone else. Why do you ask? I do not think it surprising he would write to you. I imagine he wants to reiterate his offer, perhaps try to persuade you by means of a new argument that you should reconsider.”

  “It is only that I have seen this writing somewhere else,” she murmured, frowning in an effort of recollection.

  “He has not written to you before?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps he has written to Miss Newbolt and you have seen the letter lying around or perhaps his writing resembles that of another. Does it matter?”

  “No; no; why should it?”

  “Why indeed? Would you like us to withdraw so that you can read it in private?” />
  “Of course not; I can read it in my room later. I am sure it is not urgent.”

  “I should imagine he thinks it is.”

  She shrugged and laid the letter on the table beside her but she could not resist looking at it from time to time and her concentration lapsed so that she began to lose heavily in the game of whist which they were playing.

  “How fortunate that we are not playing for money,” Sir John remarked, “or you would have lost all your wages before you had been able to spend them on a ballgown.”

  “I am not going to the ball.”

  “Oh, my dear, I think you should!” Lady Armitage exclaimed. “You may never have another chance to go to a ball if you are determined to bury yourself with old ladies!”

  Agnes started, her ladyship’s warning falling like a hammer blow on her senses; it was almost as though she had decided to retreat to a convent. For a moment she wondered if she should accept the Marquess; after all, if she could not have the man she loved, might she not just as well live with one who loved her? And would she not, as they both kept reminding her, come to love him? After all, she had already, in the short time she had known him, grown so attached to him that causing him pain made her weep.

  She did not answer but she thought that she would think about it more deeply during the long night which stretched ahead and, if she came to the conclusion that it would not altogether break Louisa’s heart and sunder their friendship permanently, she would at least go to the ball. Indeed, she even began to look forward to buying a suitable gown the following day.

  Shortly after this, Lady Armitage laid down her cards and announced that she was going to retire for the night. Agnes rose too and picked up her letter.

  “I will be here for another hour or two if you want to consult me on the contents,” the Baronet said as she made for the door.

  “That is very kind of you, sir, but I cannot think that I will be in need of your opinion.”

  “Probably not, but the offer is there. Good night.”

  Agnes did not undress at once. She sat down on the narrow maid’s bed in which she now slept and broke the seal. She could not have explained why she felt so impatient to read the contents of the letter; it was not as if she had many doubts about what it would say but she nevertheless had such a sense of urgency that she could barely wait to sit upon her bed before making herself mistress of the information it contained.