‘My dear friend, at last I have you alone!’ Lucy’s whisper startled Dido from her reverie. She looked about her to find the first act concluded, Penelope and Harriet walking off with Silas and Captain Laurence in quest of tea – and Lucy taking the empty place on the bench beside her.
‘Had we not better go to drink tea?’ Dido said quickly and attempted an escape. She was, at any time, uneasy to be addressed as Lucy’s ‘dear friend’, and just now she was particularly unwilling to have the train of her thoughts disturbed.
But Lucy took her arm, held her securely in her place and leant close as people hurried along the aisle beside them. ‘There is a great secret which I must tell you about,’ she said in a low, thrilled voice.
‘Oh!’ Fond though she was in general of secrets, Dido doubted that she wished to hear this one. She cast longing eyes towards the inviting little tables under the balcony, where the urns were bubbling and hissing comfortably and ‘the cups that cheer but not inebriate’ were setting out. A very pleasant scent of hot tea and sweetmeats filled the air.
But Lucy was blushing and fidgeting with her fan. ‘Captain Laurence,’ she whispered, ‘is to go away from Bath for two days tomorrow.’
‘Oh, but that is no great secret! He has told us of it himself.’
Dido attempted to stand up; but Lucy held hard to her arm. ‘There is a very particular reason for his going,’ she whispered. ‘He is going to make preparations.’
Dido detected danger in the words and ceased trying to escape. ‘What kind of preparations?’ she asked, searching Lucy’s face closely – and noticing a thick, unbecoming layer of powder and rogue laid over the freckles.
‘Preparations for our marriage.’
Oh dear! Dido’s heart sank. ‘But why,’ she asked impatiently, ‘must we whisper about the business in this way?’
‘Because no one is to know anything about it until after we are married – and then you know, no one will be able to stop it.’
‘A secret marriage!’ cried Dido aghast, staring at her companion who was sitting upon the edge of the bench and swinging her feet like a delighted child. ‘And in haste too! I do not believe it!’ Indeed she could not, would not believe it. Not even of her!
Lucy looked a little disconcerted. Her feet stilled.
‘Why?’ urged Dido desperately. ‘I can see no reason for secrecy. You are of age – no one can prevent your marrying the captain if you have set your heart upon it. Why cannot it all be honest and open?’
‘Oh!’ Lucy shrugged, spread her fan and pretended to study the peacocks painted upon it. ‘But Harriet would want to prevent it, you know. And dear, dear, Laurence is so very afraid of losing me!’ She blushed and looked towards the tea tables, where the gentleman himself was leaning easily against one of the columns, cup in hand. ‘For he knows how excessively it grieves me to cause anyone pain. He says he cannot be easy until the matter is settled beyond any danger of persuasion.’
‘Does he indeed!’ Dido was almost overcome with apprehension. She was sure Captain Laurence was engaged upon strange and devious schemes: he knew something of the death of Miss Fenn; he consorted with unpleasant men with fat leering faces – and, by Harriet’s account, the morals of his friends were as objectionable as their countenances. In short, he was not to be trusted. Lucy risked too much by putting herself into his power in this way …
But she did not know how to act. The instinct of nature cried out to her to run immediately to Harriet, who was now tranquilly sipping tea at one of the tables, and tell her all – to prevent at all costs this dangerous concealment. But the power of reason kept her still on the bench at Lucy’s side. For what would she achieve by disclosure but an instant rupture between the sisters – and a hasty marriage?
Wit alone could prevent this elopement.
She shifted uncomfortably upon the narrow bench as the cacophony of voices echoed about the high ceiled room. ‘Upon my word, Lucy,’ she pleaded earnestly, ‘you risk too much by going away in secret with such a man. Your good name …’
‘Oh! You are too careful! I do not wonder at your never having married! True love knows nothing of caution!’
Dido’s face burnt with more than the heat of the crowd; but she had time neither to think about the comment, nor be wounded by it. And Lucy hurried on. ‘Dear Laurence’s mind is quite made up,’ she said, ‘I cannot think of myself. I must do as he wishes.’
There was a short pause here; they were disturbed by a large party of ladies bustling past to regain their seats, and Dido took the opportunity to reform her thoughts. Perhaps she was only hardening the silly girl’s resolve by arguing against her. As they reseated themselves she said cautiously, ‘I am very grateful for your confidence …’
‘Oh!’ cried Lucy, taking her hand. ‘It is only natural I should trust such a steady creature as yourself! There is a kind of solidity about your reflections which I am sure I know how to value – even though it is very different from my own quick, lively character.’
‘Thank you.’ It was not the most pleasing compliment she had ever received, but Dido smiled graciously nonetheless.
‘And besides,’ ran on Lucy, ‘I have a particular reason for confiding in you. Dido …’ she looked quickly about the crowded concert room, setting her curls bobbing, and clasped together her hands like a little girl at prayer. ‘I need your help,’ she whispered.
‘Ah! Well …’
‘No. Please listen to me. We have not much time to talk. You see, there is to be a letter for me – a very important letter.’
‘And it will be from Captain Laurence, I daresay.’
‘Yes. He must send me news of what is arranged, you see. But Harriet is so suspicious! I know she looks at every letter I receive. So, you see, I have no choice …’
‘… but to make me complicit in your deception!’
‘Upon my word!’ cried Lucy in a voice that was suddenly quick and sharp. ‘I am only asking you to watch for the letter and, if you should see it, hide it from Harriet and hand it quietly to me. I do not think that so great a test of friendship!’
‘No,’ said Dido, forcing herself to speak soothingly. ‘Of course it is not.’
She was sick at heart, almost overwhelmed by a crowding host of fears which were all the more painful for being so very ill-defined; but she dared not risk losing Lucy’s confidence: for retaining it seemed to offer the best – the only – chance of working against the marriage.
Chapter Thirty-Four
… Oh Eliza, what am I to do? I am miserable – and angry too with Lucy for having entrapped me in so invidious a position. It is monstrous to deceive Harriet – and yet I dare not speak a word. And my only comfort is in writing this account to you. I am like the man in the fable who must whisper to the reeds, ‘King Midas has asses’ ears.’
And I sincerely hope that you will forgive me for likening you to a bed of reeds!
But, if the very worst should happen: if this marriage should take place and Harriet afterwards discover that I have appeared complicit in it, I beg that you will bear witness to my motives – which, from the very beginning, have been fixed upon prevention.
I cannot sleep tonight for thinking about the business and I have fallen into my vicarage habit of writing in bed by candlelight. Though I do not know that, if my mind were completely at ease, I should get much sleep, for the lights in the street and the ringing calls of the watchman telling the hours make the night rather uncomfortable for a country-woman.