The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [320]
The interruption came blowing in, however, from a different quarter, in the form of Mrs Grockleton.
‘Why Mr Martell, so there you are! But where is dear Louisa?’
‘I believe, Mrs Grockleton, she …’
‘You believe, Sir? Pray do not tell me you have lost her.’ Had Mrs Grockleton, perhaps, had a glass of champagne or two? ‘You must find her, Sir, at once. As for this young lady.’ She turned to Fanny and wagged her finger. ‘Methinks we hear interesting news of a young lady visiting a certain gentleman up at Hale.’ She beamed at Fanny. ‘I have been speaking to your aunt, Miss. She has formed a very good opinion of your Mr West.’
‘I scarcely know Mr West, Mrs Grockleton.’
‘You should have brought him with you,’ cried Mrs Grockleton, oblivious to Fanny’s embarrassment. ‘Methinks you are hiding him.’
How she might have silenced her hostess Fanny did not know, but at this moment the gallant count appeared at her side, asked for the minuet just beginning and, murmuring quite untruthfully to Mr Martell that she had already promised the count this dance, Fanny gratefully took this means of escape.
‘When this dance is over, Miss Albion,’ the Frenchman asked with a twinkle in his eye, ‘shall I return you to Mrs Grockleton?’
‘As far away as possible,’ she begged.
For another quarter of an hour she managed to avoid Mr Martell. She saw him dancing with Louisa, then she sought refuge in the company of Mr Gilpin, with whom, for a little while, she could safely watch the proceedings.
Unfortunately, it could no longer be denied by now that Mrs Grockleton’s ball was not going quite so well. They should have taken the fiddler’s tankard away, since it contained a potent mixture of claret laced with brandy and his fingers were slipping. Strange sounds were beginning to emerge. A few people had started to giggle. Glancing towards the entrance, Fanny noticed Isaac Seagull standing there quietly, looking in with amusement; and wondered what thoughts were passing through his cynical mind. It suddenly occurred to her that his presence, reminding her of the grim secrets of her own ancestry, was not unlike the discordant notes in the music.
‘Something must be done,’ muttered Gilpin. ‘If Grockleton doesn’t act, I shall have to.’ And, as if to prompt him, the violin now made an excruciating screech that stopped the dancers in their tracks.
At that moment the vicar caught Grockleton’s eye. A sign and a brisk nod from Gilpin were enough, and with good grace the Customs officer stepped forward, clapped his hands, raised one of those claw-like appendages and announced: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, the evening is growing late, I know, for some. So Mr Gilpin has kindly consented to give us a final – no, you are very generous, Sir – two final minuets.’
The first started off well enough. Fanny partnered one of the French officers. Louisa again danced with Mr Martell, but she tried not to look at them. Mr Gilpin on the piano acquitted himself admirably. Only towards the end did trouble break out.
The two violinists decided they had not done. They were both of them now at that stage of drunkenness where they believed they were enjoying themselves and took quite unkindly to any interference. They felt sure that Mr Gilpin needed accompaniment. Suddenly, therefore, the dancers became aware of the sound of strings. Even this might have passed, since Mr Gilpin was holding his own with firmness, had the other two not come to the conclusion that accompaniment was not enough. The vicar needed leading. And so it was that now the dancers became aware of a more strident sound from the strings, one of greater and greater urgency, but which, most unfortunately, was not the same tune that the vicar of Boldre was playing. In fact, it seemed to be a country dance. The dancers came to a halt.