“We yearn for the day when we can return,” said Harriet, and although I looked at her sharply, she went on: “But the news is more hopeful. Perhaps it will not be long before we are making our plans to go home.”
“It must be soon. There is great excitement among the King’s entourage. My husband is there, you know, for it was there that he met your parents. That dreadful Cromwell … dead! And this son. He is not like his father … a fellow of no account, I have heard. That is all to the good, don’t you see?”
We replied that we saw absolutely, and she said she would leave us to refresh ourselves and then if we would come down to the salon she would have the utmost pleasure in introducing us to her son and daughter.
When the door shut, Harriet looked at me and laughed.
“At least,” said Harriet, “our hostess is not at a loss for a word.”
“She is very friendly.”
“And seems delighted that we have come. I wonder what the son and daughter are like? I suppose we have been invited to provide them with companions of their own age. Well, it is a little more grand than our own dear château. There is a shabbiness though. I suppose it could hardly be expected that the French nobility should hand over their best properties to the exiles.”
“You are somewhat critical, considering that but for your coming to Congrève, you might have been living very frugally with your band of players.”
“I don’t forget it, but that does not prevent my making a reasonable assessment. What shall we wear for our first meeting with the young?”
I looked down at my riding habit. It was not as immaculate as it had been when we set out, naturally, but it had not occurred to me until that moment. “Really,” I said, “I have no idea.”
“Then you must put your mind to it. First impressions are important. For you your blue muslin with the lace collar, I think. It is fresh, young and innocent looking, as you are, my dear Arabella.”
“And for you,” I retorted, “brocade or velvet? Silk or satin?”
She grimaced. “It is more necessary for me to make a good impression. I don’t carry your credentials, remember.”
“As my friend, I think you do.”
“Even so, I need an extra fillip. They know that you are the worthy daughter of a worthy general high in the King’s favour. All my glory is reflected. I must try to make a little of my own.”
“Very well,” I replied. “Wear your most elaborate dress, but it will be your manners on which you will be judged.”
She laughed, mocking me, and when we dressed she selected one of her simplest gowns. She looked charming in it, I thought, for the blue wool with a peaked bodice set off her slender waist; and with her hair piled high and drawn off her face to show that high forehead, she looked regal.
Lucas was already in the salon when we came down and Lady Eversleigh took Harriet and me by the hand and led us forward.
“Just an intimate gathering tonight,” she said. “I thought it better that we get to know each other before the others arrive. Yes, we are having more friends visiting us. That is why I must put you two in the same room, for which I do apologize.”
“It is because of my unexpected coming,” said Harriet quickly, “so it is for me to apologize.”
“Please … please we are delighted to have you. I always say the more the merrier. It is merely that not being in our own home we are cramped for space. Now here is my daughter Charlotte and Sir Charles Condey … a very dear friend. And where is Edwin?”
“He will be here shortly, Mama,” said Charlotte. Charlotte, I assessed to be in her late twenties. She had a mild face, with light brown hair hanging in rather reluctant curls, which looked as though the slight breeze would unwind them and let her hair return to its natural state which was completely straight. Her mouth was smallish and rather pinched, and there was a fawnlike look about her as though she were poised for flight and would leap off if she should be startled. Her gown suited her; it was of silk and lace and of a deep blue which accentuated the colour of her eyes which were rather large but too prominent for beauty.
She took my hand and smiled at me. Timid, I thought and eager to be friends. I warmed to her.
Sir Charles Condey was bowing. He was, I guessed, about the same age as Charlotte. Of medium height, inclined to be rotund, which made him look shorter than he actually was. Big brown eyes which reminded me of those of a horse, large features generally, pleasant, but rather lacking in vitality, I assessed, but easy to like as long as one did not have to spend too much time with him.
I reprimanded myself for making hasty judgements. My mother had warned me of it. I remember her saying: “People who sum up others on a first meeting are invariably mistaken. You can only really know people after years of living together and then it is amazing what one has to discover.”
“I trust you had an easy journey,” said Sir Charles.
“We did,” I told him. “It was just as Lady Eversleigh said it would be.”
He was looking at Harriet. She was smiling. The special smile I had noticed she bestowed even on Lucas. Sir Charles blinked a little as though he were slightly dazzled.
“It was so good of Lady Eversleigh to let me come,” she said. “I am staying with Arabella and her family.”
“We are glad you did,” said Lady Eversleigh. “We shall be a large party, and it is always so much easier to entertain with a crowd.”
“Oh, I do agree,” said Harriet. “There are so many more things one can do with numbers.”
“As soon as Edwin comes we will go in to dinner,” went on Lady Eversleigh. “I can’t think what is keeping him. He knows we have guests.”
“Edwin is never punctual,” said Charlotte. “You know that, Mama.”
“Many times I have reasoned with him. I have told him that unpunctuality is bad manners just as much as slamming a door in someone’s face. The implication is that there is something more interesting to claim the attention and therefore everything else can wait. That is what my husband Lord Eversleigh impressed on me. As a soldier he is naturally the most punctual man alive. I had to mend my ways when I married him. Really one would not believe that Edwin … Ah, here he is. Edwin, my dear boy, come and meet our guests.”
All her annoyance had faded at the sight of her son, and I could understand it. I thought Edwin Eversleigh was the most attractive man I had ever seen. He was tall and very slim. He faintly resembled his sister Charlotte, but the likeness had the effect of making her look more insignificant than ever. His hair was the same colour as hers, but it was more abundant and had a faint kink in it which made it manageable. He wore it to his shoulders after the fashion which had prevailed at the time when King Charles had lost his head. His loose-fitting coat of brown velvet was braided and tagged about the waist. His sleeves were slashed to show a very white cambric shirt below. His breeches matched his coat in colour. It was not his clothes, though, which I noticed but the man himself. I imagined he was several years younger than Charlotte; that he was his mother’s darling was obvious. The way in which she said: “My son, Edwin,” was very revealing.
I find it difficult to describe Edwin as he was at that time because to give an account of the size of his nose and mouth and the colour of his hair and eyes conveys little. It was something within him—a vitality, a charm, a quality which was immediately obvious. When he came into a room something happened. The atmosphere changed. Attention was focused on him. I knew what Harriet meant when she said that some people had this quality. She had it, of course. I saw that clearly now.
_Edwin was looking at me, bowing, smiling. I noticed the way he half closed his eyes when he smiled, how his mouth turned up at one corner more than the other.