Imogen Robertson - Island of Bones

He got to his feet in one fluid movement and walked quickly away without waiting for an answer, carrying off his anger before it spilled all over her.

The reception of the party from Silverside was all but passionate. Harriet and Mr Quince found friends on all sides and were ushered to their seats like royalty. Harriet tried to ignore the sight of money changing hands between some of the men, and simply enjoy the warmth. Every word Mr Quince managed to utter was treated as gospel and his occasional attempts at a witticism were greeted with such gales of refined laughter one expected to see a duke in the centre of all this attention rather than a humble tutor. Mrs Briggs and Harriet shone contentedly in his reflected glory and found themselves feted as his supporters and friends.

In spite of the assiduity of their welcome, Harriet was still able to see enough of the reception Felix and the Vizegrafin received to note it contrasted most markedly with their own. It seemed that the populace of Keswick were suddenly overcome with a terrible clumsiness whenever they came close to Felix. His elbow was jogged repeatedly. He received apologies ranging from the curt to the satirically effusive. Harriet noted his smile becoming rather tight. The Vizegrafin was finding that men and women who a few hours before had found her fascinating were now passing her by with hardly a nod, and those that were forced by the press of people into conversation with her, seemed to be continually finding something far more interesting to look at over her shoulder. Harriet was glad to see them seated at last, and relieved that Felix made his way back from the refreshment table with glasses for himself and his mother only a little lessened by one or two unfortunate spillages.

Harriet had found herself in crowds that seemed to disapprove of her too often to take great pleasure in this treatment of the Vizegrafin and her son, but she did take a certain pride in the way her countrymen adopted so wholeheartedly the cause of the underdog. She was not surprised to find that, by the time the crowd’s attention was drawn to the north shore of Vicar’s Island where the fireworks were to be let off, the seats of the Vizegrafin and her son were empty.

Mr Askew, having made sure the more popular members of the Silverside party were comfortable, looked around him with satisfaction. It was a profitable arrangement for him, and he hoped an easy one for his guests. A great number of tables and chairs, rented from every inn in Keswick, had been placed in the area and he had sat at each one to make sure they would provide a noble view of Vicar’s Island. He had paced that shore a dozen times with the gentleman who was providing the fireworks to check that all was well, and was assured it was a perfect spot. He had supervised the placing of the torches and seen them stamped firmly into the ground. Mr Askew had also arranged for a collection of passable musicians, hired from Cockermouth, to provide an accompaniment to the display. As the party from Silverside arrived they were already sawing away at old Handel with all of the delicacy and less of the artistry than the fellers of the oaks of Crow Park had displayed some forty years before. However, the gentry Mr Askew had gathered together seemed to be happy enough with the performance and he found, in the moments he had between greeting newcomers and shooing away local boys from the supper table, great pleasure in composing in his mind a description of the scene for the Westmorland Paquet .

Stephen, having spent over a year with only his country neighbours for society, was as pleased by the company as he could have been at Versailles. He realised everyone was being kind to Mr Quince, and enjoyed the fact that the good humour spilled over onto himself. He was perhaps patted on the head too often, but two men had already given him shillings and for that, he felt, they could pet him like a toy poodle if they wished. He saw beautiful powdered women about him, and men in tight coats, decorated with enamelled fobs and jewels. It seemed to him a scene of splendour.

Harriet, her memories of polished London society rather more accurate, saw in the company the simple manners and dress of a provincial crowd, but was pleased to be among them. She had found the brittle brilliance of the capital trying when she was last in Town, though that might have been an effect of her preoccupations whilst there. Here, by the still-darkening shores of the lake, she was disposed to see in every face honesty and prosperity earned, rather than inherited. She knew she was surrounded by a few minor nobility, but the bulk of the crowd behind Mr Askew’s velvet ropes were professional men and their families, traders and farm-owners. She felt, as the wife of a self-made man, that she knew them and their concerns, and was at ease, particularly after Crowther’s sister and nephew removed themselves. It must be bitter for them, so used to ballrooms crammed with ducal crowns, to be snubbed by lawyers and shopkeepers.

She smiled and let her eyes pick out one character from the crowd, then another: the man with the large wig must be a lawyer, the lady who watched from behind her fan and frowned as he refilled his glass at the punch bowl again, his wife. It was possible she had been introduced to them at Silverside. The red-faced man with large hands who shifted awkwardly from foot to foot was a farmer and surely only one generation away from earth floors, so still not sure in his blood of how to conduct himself at this level of society. She was pondering the fine distinctions made in her country and the silk-like strength of polite conventions when she noticed Mr Quince stiffen at her side, and turned to see what had caught his attention. There was a very beautiful dark-haired girl standing just beyond the ropes — looking, it seemed from her attitude, for someone in the crowd.

‘Do you know that lady, Mr Quince?’

‘Stephen and I met her today. She accompanied us to the Druidic stones,’ he said, still watching her.

‘She seems to be looking for someone, don’t you think? Please, do go and offer your assistance. I am quite content here.’

Mr Quince stood at once and bowed to her before making his way through the throng to the place where the lady was. Harriet watched as he addressed her. The woman’s first look was of recognition, then as Mr Quince spoke, her face darkened. After a moment of silence Harriet saw her ask Quince something. He bowed and crossed to where Mr Askew was standing. Again a question was asked, Mr Askew shook his head, then Quince went back to the woman. For Harriet it was like watching a dumbshow and she found it quite entertaining. The lady’s eyes as he approached were again hopeful, then when he spoke, downcast once more. Quince said something further — he seemed to be inviting the young lady to join him. She shook her head and in the same moment turned away from the ropes, and Harriet found Mr Quince returning to her side with a frown on his face. She realised she had not been alone in observing him. Mrs Briggs was taking a seat to Harriet’s right, and as Quince came up to them, she opened her mouth to speak.

‘Who is that handsome lady, Mr Quince? She is not a native of this place, I think. Will she not join us?’

‘Her name is Fraulein Hurst,’ Quince replied. ‘Stephen and I met her today during our explorations of the town. She mentioned that she might attend this evening, but tells me she came here in search of her father. He did not return to their lodgings when expected. Mr Askew informs me that, although bought tickets for the entertainment, Herr Hurst has not been seen here. I asked her to join our party, but she said she would rather return to her lodgings, and insisted on doing so alone.’

‘She will be quite safe,’ said Mrs Briggs, and patted the tutor’s arm. ‘The lakeside people make far too many guineas out of these visitors to allow any harm to come to them, young man. Her father has probably found his way into one of the inns of Borrowdale and will spend the night under their roof.’ She added more quietly, ‘They brew very strong down there.’