Dressed in Black

Chapter 10

I happen to have received a letter this morning," the General said as the family grouped before the hearth after supper, each with something in their hands. The General; a letter, his wife; a huswife, his daughter; a hand mirror, his son; a cigar, and his charge; a book. "From one Joseph Plympton. He has invited us to Lemmon Lodge with a particular desire to meet our Catherine."

"Oh, papa, shan't we go?" cried Henrietta, poking and prodding her satin skin as though she had spotted an inconceivable flaw somewhere on it. "I have not seen Poppy Plympton for almost a twelvemonth."

"Indeed you have not," he acknowledged with a stern bow of the head. "However, I have a better plan, which I shall endeavour to present to Plympton in the form of an invitation to the Abbey."

"But papa!" Henrietta snapped her mirror down, focusing her startled eyes on him. "The Abbey is so tedious! Why cannot we all go to Lemmon Lodge? They have the sweetest rooms and gardens!"

"Harryo, my good girl, you haven't much prudence," he replied shortly, his brows gathering sternly. "You've no sound judgement in these affairs, so I do not want another word from you. Now, the reason for my making this decision is that Catherine is still in mourning, and it would be highly improper for her to go a-visiting and a-courting young men and their sisters. Don't you agree with me, Catherine?"

"Indeed I do, sir, and must express my sincere gratitude for your consideration," she smiled neutrally.

"There now! I shall write to Plympton this instant. Miranda, fetch me my stationery and an inkstand to go with it. There's a good woman."

"Papa," Henrietta breathed in a low voice. "Shall the Dandies come too? And the Winthrops."

"Yes, yes, along with the noble Dents and the beautiful Badeaus," he nodded gruffly; grasping the quill pen his wife had handed him. He immediately applied himself to writing the letter, sealed it when done, and rang for his valet, ordering him to send it that very instant by way of messenger.

"All is settled," he smiled sensually, pursing his lips and pushing his chin out as he reclined in his high-backed armchair, gazing triumphantly from Henrietta's rosy face to Catherine's white one. "The Abbey's empty rooms shall soon be filled, and I expect there to be no long, extinguished faces under my roof while there is company."

*

Harry was hard and cold, as usual, and when he met Catherine with one of his toothy smiles, there was a more palpable tension between them than there had been hitherto. Indeed she felt quite powerless at his side, and felt molested by his mocking attentions.

Henrietta, whose aspect was absurdly decorative, though unbeatably attractive, paid as good as no attention to her friend, for she was with Lord Kinney, the apple of her eye.

"That chap," said Harry into Catherine's ear as they rolled down a path leading into the thin wood. "Is a sly one. He beat me at cricket and whist, and bewitches as well as tortures every woman he meets. He is selfish, cool-headed like a businessman and spares no unnecessary formalities. I do abhor formalities, Catherine."

"I feel rather uncomfortable without them," she observed in retaliation. "They are safe, these formalities, and I would feel a thousand times better if –"

"Look, Catherine!" he hissed, cutting her short. "A regular English fox. Did you see it?"

"Nay," she grumbled, folding her hands in her lap. Henrietta, on the other hand, was squealing at every bump and turn. "I don't care for foxes."