10
The day of the Vauxhall excursion finally arrived, and Diana couldn’t remember feeling this much excitement since she was a child anticipating her father’s return from sea. She was even more excited about this excursion than she had been about the ball, as she’d been far too nervous that evening to truly enjoy herself, although there had been moments of joy interspersed with periods of terror. This would be Diana’s first time visiting the famous pleasure gardens and, surprisingly enough, Lady Regina had never been there before, either. While Vauxhall had been popular with Londoners from all facets of society since the first half of the previous century, it was not considered the most proper of entertainments for unmarried young ladies. But since most of their group were past their teen years, and some were widows of unsullied reputation, this seemed a perfect opportunity to go; especially when they had gentlemen accompanying them to protect them from any nefarious characters who might be present.
In preparation for their visit, Diana and Regina had diligently studied the novels of Frances Burney, in which poor Evelina was attacked by libertines on one of the dark walks, and a drunken acquaintance of Cecilia’s shot himself near the supper boxes. They both felt that, having done such meticulous research, they could avoid the absolute worst dangers that might exist in the gardens: the dramatic scenarios invented by a lady author.
Their group was too large to travel together; fourteen of the ladies were coming, accompanied by fifteen gentlemen. (There was one extra gentleman because Miss Ballard had insisted upon two escorts.) They had therefore planned to travel to Vauxhall in smaller groups and meet at the Orchestra at eight o’clock. Diana’s group was composed of her five favorite people: Lady Gordon and Regina, with their escorts Monsieur de la Tour and Lord Jerome, and Diana’s escort, Mr. Dean.
While it was possible to travel there by coach (and with the completion of the Vauxhall Bridge last year, that was the most convenient method), they decided to take a boat across the Thames. Even though Diana lived on the river, she found the prospect of crossing it by wherry on an excursion to the pleasure gardens in the company of three handsome gentlemen very thrilling, as did Lady Regina. And Lady Gordon was pleased to observe the excitement of the younger ladies. (Though she’d arranged for her coachman to be waiting for them at the Coach Gate on Kennington Lane later that evening when it was time to leave.)
When Diana asked Monsieur de la Tour to accompany them to provide an escort for Lady Gordon, she explained to him that Lady Gordon had last visited Vauxhall with her late husband and that she may be saddened by her memories of him.
“Poor lady,” Monsieur de la Tour said sympathetically. “It is no easy matter to go on living when those you love are gone.” And Diana realized that he must have experienced much loss in his own life, surviving a revolution in France and escaping to England alone. “I will take the utmost care of her,” he promised, and Diana, observing him that evening, felt he was very diligent in fulfilling his responsibility. He was very jealous of his role, not allowing any of the other gentlemen to hand Lady Gordon in and out of the carriage or the boat and treating her as if she were made of porcelain.
Lady Gordon accepted such treatment with the grace and dignity with which she always conducted herself, and Diana was pleased to see that she appeared to be in a cheerful mood, not seeming too troubled, at least not outwardly, by sad memories.
It was a tad chilly on the river, even though it was the end of June and the days had grown warmer and longer. Diana shivered as she was struck by a particularly strong breeze, and Mr. Dean drew closer to her, trying to shield her from the wind with his body. Diana felt warmth infuse her almost immediately, but she was unsure if it was because Mr. Dean had successfully blocked the cool breeze, or because she was so affected by his consideration (and proximity).
Finally they arrived, and after they paid the entrance fee and entered through the Water Gate, Diana and Regina looked around them in wonder, feeling Vauxhall Gardens not only met but exceeded their expectations. While Frances Burney’s Evelina allowed that the gardens were “very pretty,” she complained that they were too formal, and that she would have been “better pleased if it consisted less of straight walks.” Diana felt the opposite. The neat rows of trees covered in multicolored lanterns, the arches and porticos and piazzas, the beautiful sculptures, some life-sized, scattered throughout the gardens; all of this made Diana feel as if she’d been transferred to a foreign land. There was obvious inspiration from Italy, with the Italian walks, Palladian architecture, colonnades, and loggias; and the French influence was also apparent in the elaborate interior of the Rotunda and the artwork by French artists and sculptors, such as the famous statue of Handel by Louis-François Roubiliac. But there was also a Chinese pavilion, and a Turkish saloon, and the orchestra building, described as “Gothick,” was like nothing Diana had ever seen. It was a semicircular building with three levels, the second of which held the fifty-person orchestra, and it was topped by a huge crown, brilliantly lit, modeled from the crest of the Prince of Wales. And many of the paintings, by Hayman and Hogarth, were quintessentially English: composed of rural May Days and milkmaids, scenes from Shakespeare, and British military victories. Diana had definitely entered a different land, but it was a fantasyland, not one that existed anywhere else in the world.
They had arrived nearly an hour before they were supposed to meet the others, though while walking through the gardens, they did occasionally pass some of the Ladies of the Registry and their escorts, intent on a similar exploration of the park. When this happened, they all exclaimed spontaneously and rapturously at the coincidence and were genuinely delighted to see one another. And while it was not so very unlikely a meeting (as they had obviously arranged to meet there that evening and knew they were to see one another again a mere half hour later), there were so many hundreds of people milling about that were unknown to them that it was quite thrilling to recognize a familiar face among the throngs.
While Diana’s small group of six stayed within sight of one another while wandering through the gardens, a very natural separation occurred, so that the three couples were spread a small distance apart. Lady Regina and Lord Jerome, the most energetic and high-spirited of the bunch, had taken the lead, and Diana could hear them up ahead, laughing and chattering gaily. The gentlemen had visited Vauxhall before, Lord Jerome in particular having done so many times, so they were very familiar with the gardens and were pointing out their favorite aspects to the particular lady at their side. Although Diana overheard Monsieur de la Tour and Lady Gordon having a more serious conversation. It appeared Lord Gordon had been a founding member of the Wilmot Committee, which had been formed to alleviate the suffering of French émigrés to England, and had been of assistance to Monsieur de la Tour when he had arrived in London. This was before Lord and Lady Gordon had married, so she had not even been aware of her husband’s involvement in the charity, but Monsieur de la Tour’s mention of it led her to reminisce about him, and Monsieur listened patiently and attentively as she did so.
When Diana and Mr. Dean were out of earshot of the older couple, whose conversation had become so intense that their pace had slowed considerably, Diana brought up a matter that she’d been curious about. “Lady Gordon was quite surprised by her inclusion in your directory,” she told him.
“When you say surprised, I assume you mean she was grossly offended, like you were?” he asked, smiling ruefully.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t think she was offended; she just felt she is past the marriageable age, and so couldn’t understand why you would put her on a list of prospective brides. Were you unaware of her age?”
“I don’t know her exact age, and I hope I’m too gentlemanly to inquire,” he said with a smile. “But I did know she was more than a decade my senior. I can understand if, like yourself, she has no desire to remarry and therefore was upset that I included her without first asking permission, but I do not feel her age should disqualify her from marrying again. While I had not made the acquaintance of many of the ladies in the directory, I did know Lady Gordon. I met her soon after I came to town, about seven years ago. She and Lord Gordon were my idea of what a truly successful marriage should be.”
“In what way?” Diana asked, curious as to what he might consider a successful marriage.
“They appeared to have, as Shakespeare wrote, ‘the marriage of true minds.’ Theirs was not the typical society marriage of a Lady Oxford or Lord Yarmouth, with their dozens of lovers and ‘miscellany’ of children, sired by unknown fathers and born to women other than their wives. Lord and Lady Gordon seemed loyal to each other and very much in love. I greatly admired Lady Gordon, and still do. I think any man who won her hand would gain a great prize, even if she had no fortune,” he said.
“But she was unable to have children,” Diana said.
“That is a pity, if she desired them. But many men would prefer to find a true love like she and her husband possessed, to find that other half of their soul, whether that union resulted in children or not.”
“Is that what you’re looking for? The other half of your soul?” Diana asked, her heart beating tumultuously at her boldness in discussing such intimate subjects with him. She had never had a conversation like this with any man.
“I do not know what I look for,” he said, and was quiet for a moment before adding: “I only know what I lack.”
Diana had been too shy to look at him throughout their conversation; she had kept her gaze fixed ahead of her on the path, but now she found herself compelled to look up. As she did so, he looked down at her, and their eyes met. And she found herself feeling that she, too, had been greatly deprived.
“I wonder if it’s even possible,” she said, and was only half-aware she was speaking aloud.
“What?” he whispered.
“To fill that empty part of your soul.”
“I cannot say for certain, but I’m beginning to suspect that it is,” he told her, and pressed the hand that rested confidingly on his arm.
Lady Regina, who had flirted and joked with Lord Jerome down the entire length of the Grand Walk, suddenly realized that they had outdistanced their companions by quite an extent. Still, they had numerous chaperones in the great crowd of humanity that surrounded them; mostly consisting of those of the solid middle class, but also including a few members of the haut ton, who had seen Lord Jerome and Lady Regina walking together and looked slightly astonished by the sight.
Regina, like Diana, was thoroughly enjoying the gardens, and had listened happily to Jerome’s explanation of the history of some of the art and the engineering behind the waterworks. He had stopped talking and they were walking in silence, but Regina was thinking about how well-informed and intelligent he was, and how devastatingly attractive those qualities were in a man who actually knew what he was talking about. So she was taken by surprise when her companion suddenly drew her into a slight alcove off the main walk, out of sight of the crowds.
“I beg your pardon, Regina, but it just occurred to me that we might not have another opportunity like this to talk in private, and I wanted to ask you something.”
Regina, startled by this announcement, tried not to let her imagination run away with her and assume he was about to make a declaration or anything resembling one. Perhaps he was interested in one of the other ladies in the directory and wanted her opinion of his chances with her. Since that thought was too terrible to contemplate, she quickly decided that it was more likely that he wanted to know what his friend Mr. Dean’s chances were with Diana. Realizing that she was delaying the inevitable and that he was starting to frown at her lack of response, she finally nodded, smiled, and said: “Of course, Jerome. You can ask me anything.”
He smiled back, but then immediately grew serious. “It might be hard for you to talk about,” he warned her, and her heart dropped. “I just wanted to say, I had to apologize—dash it, he didn’t hurt you, did he? Because I can still challenge him, though it might be difficult for me to find him after all these years. And you’d have to tell me his name, because I can’t remember it for the life of me. Was it Cassidy? Cathaway? Cavity?”
Regina was totally confused. Jerome was making absolutely no sense. And here she’d just been telling herself how intelligent he was. “I am sorry, Jerome, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That cad you eloped with. It occurred to me that he might have hurt you.”
“I see,” Regina said, and her heart melted a little at his concern. Jerome was obviously very upset, even though it had happened eleven years ago. She saw his hands trembling before he clenched them into fists, and he looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to weep or murder someone. “It is very kind of you to be concerned, but my father arrived before he could—before anything happened,” Regina said. She wasn’t about to tell Jerome her suitor hadn’t been very eager to do anything anyway. She was thrilled that he cared so much. “He didn’t hurt me, but I appreciate your concern.” She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand, wanting to comfort him in some way and express the affection that had welled up inside her. She wished she had the courage to kiss him.
She was about to remove her hand, thinking that perhaps she was embarrassing herself and he had no desire for her to touch him (and also realizing that it was a very forward thing to do), when he put his hand over hers, holding it against his face. Then, turning his head, he pressed a kiss into her palm, before lowering her hand to her side and slowly releasing it.
She was smiling at him so hard she thought her face might crack, and he was looking at her wonderingly, before he raised his hand to her cheek. “You have a dimple,” he said, touching it briefly with his finger. “Have you always had one and I’ve never noticed? It’s adorable.”
“Only one, however,” Regina said, breathlessly. “I don’t have a matched set.”
“It’s unique; like you are,” he said, not sounding nearly as quick-witted as he usually did, though Regina had no fault to find with his conversation. They stood there smiling at each other, and Regina started to wonder if he might be about to kiss her when she heard Diana calling her name.
Regina felt a little foolish stepping out of the wooded alcove where she’d obviously been secreted with Lord Jerome, but he’d regained his smooth tongue, and told the rest of the party he’d been showing Regina a rare plant, a Sonophorus japonica.
“I’d love to see it as well,” Mr. Dean said. “Does it have bell-shaped flowers?”
“It’s not in bloom at the moment,” Lord Jerome said, with a glare at his friend, who apparently knew his Latin.
“Perhaps we can see it some other time,” Diana said sweetly, as if she wasn’t aware that Jerome had just invented it. “It’s time to meet the others in our group.”
As she was speaking, Lady Gordon and Monsieur de la Tour caught up with them, and they all turned to walk back to the main piazza and the orchestra building. Though if some of them wished they had not invited quite so many to the gardens that evening, they kept such thoughts to themselves.
“Mr. Pitt,” Regina whispered to Lord Jerome, as they were walking.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“My former beau. His name wasn’t Cavity, it was Pitt,” she said.
And Lord Jerome, who was known to rarely even smile, was observed that evening laughing out loud.
They met the rest of the group near the orchestra building, which was very crowded and noisy, as the band was playing. After exchanging greetings and a few introductions (as while the ladies were familiar with one another, their escorts weren’t known to everyone), they all went to their assigned supper boxes.
The supper boxes were inside colonnades that lined the main walks and the central square, and Lord Jerome led their group to a box on the Grand South Walk, in a quieter part of the gardens. There were walls between the boxes, which afforded them privacy from those on either side, but each was open at the front and back, and shortly after they had sat at the dining table, a signal was given and a large painting was “let fall” at the back of the box.
Diana and Regina exclaimed at the sight of a huge painting, at least eight feet wide and five feet tall, that now formed one of the “walls” of their supper box. It displayed a trio of milkmaids dancing for their customers in a village square on May Day, their tightly corseted dresses of the previous century appearing much too rich to be worn by country milkmaids, but beautiful nonetheless. The central figure wore a dress with an intricate vine-and-floral pattern, her petticoat (and a great deal of bosom) peeking out above the cinched bodice. Her dance partner, another milkmaid, was caught mid-twirl, and wore a gown of iridescent pale pink. There were men in the painting as well: a porter carrying the “garland” and a fiddler who supplied the music for the dancing, but they did little to distract attention from the women.
After studying it carefully, Regina turned to Jerome with a teasing smile. “Did you pick this particular box so that you could gaze upon beautiful young women while you ate your slivers of ham and drank your punch?”
“Not at all. While I do like the artwork, I selected this box for its location. If I wanted to gaze upon beautiful women, I have no need to look at a painting,” he said, bowing to Regina, before turning to nod at Diana and Lady Gordon.
“You notice he omitted the word ‘young,’ ” Regina said to the other ladies, sotto voce, but she was obviously joking.
“The setting is English, but the style seems very French,” Monsieur de la Tour said, in reference to the painting.
“Yes, you are right,” Jerome told him. “Francis Hayman, the artist, was very influenced by the French rocaille style. Hayman did many of the paintings in the supper boxes. There is even one titled See-Saw, and I believe Fragonard has a painting on the same subject.”
“La bascule,” Lady Gordon translated for Monsieur de la Tour’s benefit, and he smiled at her.
“Could we see a few of the other paintings?” Diana asked, as she was very interested in art, though her canvas of choice was fabric and she painted with a needle. “Since we know the inhabitants of the nearby supper boxes, it makes a perfect excuse to take a tour.”
The others liked this idea as well, and the group visited the adjoining boxes, chatting with the other ladies and their escorts, and viewing the paintings. They saw scenes of pastoral England, with children and adults playing at bird-catching and cricket, but they also found the painting Lord Jerome had mentioned, See-Saw, which was in the box where Mr. Pryce, Miss Jarmyn, Miss Ballard, and her two noble escorts sat.
This painting was not as lighthearted as many of the others; the colors were darker, and while the young men and women were at play, it appeared as if something ominous was about to occur. The seesaw looked to be rather haphazardly constructed, and was near a building surrounded by scaffolding.
“Looks more like a battle scene than fun and games,” Mr. Pryce said, surprising everyone (except Miss Jarmyn) with this sensible observation.
“Some of Hayman’s paintings were very moralistic, at the urging of the first manager of the gardens,” Jerome explained.
“And what is the moral of this one?” Miss Ballard asked. “Don’t play on seesaws?”
“Perhaps it’s a warning to young ladies not to play with more than one gentleman,” Miss Jarmyn said, frank as usual. Diana and Regina exchanged a glance at Miss Jarmyn’s outspokenness. They realized Miss Ballard couldn’t help but feel those words applied to her, the only lady in their group with two gentlemen escorts.
“Then I’d better study it diligently, hadn’t I?” Miss Ballard said, apparently unperturbed by Miss Jarmyn’s remark, and she rose from her seat to walk closer to the painting.
Diana moved closer to the painting, too, and found that she agreed with Miss Jarmyn’s explanation. A young man and woman sat on opposite sides of the seesaw, the boy suspended high in the air, the girl down low. However, the innocent scene was made somewhat shocking by the fact that the young woman was half lying in the arms of a different young man who had caught her on her descent, and who was now holding the seesaw down with one foot so it did not move as he embraced her. Another young man, a bystander, had his fists clenched and looked to be running toward the girl and her embracer. And the others in the painting watched with horror-stricken expressions, either because they thought a fight was about to break out or the seesaw would collapse with the other boy’s extra weight.
“It does appear that the young lady is toying with two men’s affections,” Mr. Dean said, but since his awful pun lightened the atmosphere and directed attention away from Miss Ballard, Diana was very grateful for it, and laughed harder than the joke deserved.
The waiter arrived just then with the other party’s food, and Diana’s group used it as an opportunity to return to their own box and escape the slightly awkward atmosphere of the other. Their meal soon arrived as well, and as it had now grown dark, there was soon a whistle and the lamplighters lit the thousands of lanterns.
This felt miraculous to Diana, as they all seemed to light up at once, and Mr. Dean explained to her that it was because cotton wool fuses had been set up during the day so that when a lantern was lit, the flame automatically traveled from one oil lamp to another.
Diana thought Vauxhall Gardens was a veritable feast for the senses, between the beautiful trees and walks, the artwork, and the music from orchestras playing in several venues throughout the park and which could still be heard, though not too loudly, in their supper box. Diana even found nothing to complain about as regards the food, though she’d heard others joke about how thinly the ham was shaved and how watered down the punch was. Diana thought it was just as well the punch wasn’t very potent, because she was already so overwhelmed by her surroundings and their beauty that she felt intoxicated by them, and did not think she could handle any further stimulation of her senses.
But just as she had decided this was the most memorable and enjoyable evening of her life, as well as the most romantic, something occurred to greatly lessen her enjoyment.
A number of people had passed in front of their supper box as the group ate and occasionally one or two would call out to Lord Jerome, Lady Gordon, or Mr. Dean, who would exchange nods, and sometimes greetings, with these acquaintances. Lady Regina and Diana knew fewer people in London, and most of those they’d met through Lady Gordon, so she was usually greeted first. Therefore, Diana was very surprised, and annoyed, to hear her name being called by a lone gentleman. She was finally enjoying a private tête-à-tête with Mr. Dean (the other two couples having left to resume their exploration of the gardens) and was not happy to have been interrupted. “Cousin Diana! What an unexpected surprise to see you again so soon,” the man said loudly.
It was Lucius Boyle, smiling in a way Diana persisted in feeling was disingenuous, though what reason he would have to pretend to be pleased to see her she couldn’t imagine. She felt, however, that their meeting was not “unexpected,” nor was he “surprised” to see her.
Diana nodded at him but didn’t speak, hoping that her lack of enthusiasm at seeing him would discourage him and he would leave. But she should have realized that it would not be that easy. He came into their box, saying apologetically, “I beg your pardon for interrupting your supper. Allow me to order another bowl of punch.”
“No, Mr. Boyle, that will not be necessary; we have just finished eating and were about to walk through the gardens,” Diana said, still hoping he would take the hint his company was unwelcome.
“Cousin Diana, how many times must I ask you to call me Cousin Lucius?” he gently chided her. “And I don’t believe I’m acquainted with your companion,” he said, turning his glance expectantly toward Maxwell Dean.
Maxwell could tell by Diana’s expression that this man’s presence was unwanted, but she did not deny that he was her cousin, and Max did not feel that he should be rude to a member of Mrs. Boyle’s family. So he acknowledged the introduction in a polite, though distant, manner, and was relieved to hear the bell that signaled the ten o’clock showing of the Cascade.
“I do beg your pardon, Mr. Boyle,” he said, “but I had promised to take Mrs. Boyle to see the waterworks.”
Diana hopped up eagerly, as she had been greatly looking forward to this treat, but Mr. Boyle somehow took this as an invitation to accompany them. Though Diana held firmly on to Mr. Dean’s arm (especially as the crowds grew in number) and tried her best to ignore Mr. Boyle, he stuck like a barnacle to her other side.
They finally met up with the other members of their party at the Cascade and Diana and Mr. Dean were able to separate themselves from Mr. Boyle at last, though Diana could still see him on the periphery of the group, struggling to make his way back to her side. The press of people had forced her and Mr. Dean even closer to each other; he was standing behind her and her back now rested against his chest. He touched her nowhere else, but Diana felt as if he were forming a protective shield, keeping her safe from Mr. Boyle and anyone else who would bother her. Once again she felt intoxicated, giddy with nervous excitement and pleasure, especially as Mr. Dean began to speak into her ear. He was merely explaining to her the features of the Cascade, but he could have been reciting Samuel Johnson’s dictionary to her and it would have been just as exciting, as the breathy whisper in her ear was causing the most delightful tickling sensation. Still, she struggled to pay attention to what he was saying and to the sight in front of her, as it was like nothing she’d ever seen before.
The Vauxhall workers had raised a curtain, and behind it was a painted landscape of a bridge with a water mill. This mill was magically turned by a cascade, or waterfall. But there was no water, as much as it looked and sounded as if there were. Mr. Dean explained it was manufactured from pieces of tin affixed to two wheels and illuminated by hidden lights. At the same time you “saw” the waterfall, you heard the sound of running water. There were even coaches, wagons, and people to be seen crossing the bridge, all simulations of reality. Finally, a rainstorm began, and by the ferocious sound of it, Diana fully expected to get wet. She drew further into the shelter of Mr. Dean’s arms, and he responded by putting an arm around her waist. But just as she had forgotten Lucius Boyle, forgotten everyone but Mr. Dean, Mr. Boyle finally succeeded in pushing his way through the crowds and his voice sounded gratingly from beside her.
“Cousin Diana, did the sound of the storm frighten you? You are welcome to take my arm, if so,” he said, and Diana unconsciously moved even closer to Mr. Dean in her attempt to get away from Lucius Boyle. However, as if becoming aware that he was practically embracing her in public, Mr. Dean dropped his hand from her waist, and stepped between her and Lucius Boyle.
“I am Mrs. Boyle’s escort, and she has the use of my arm, should she need it,” Mr. Dean said, and Diana thrilled at his protective tone.
“Of course, I beg your pardon, sir,” Lucius Boyle said, still with that fake smile. “Cousin Diana, I will call on you tomorrow,” he told her. And then, finally, he took his leave of them.
The rest of the evening, without Mr. Boyle’s annoying presence, proved to be as delightful as the start of it had been. They watched the fireworks, listened to music, and even danced one set, before Diana and her group finally left Vauxhall a little after midnight, before the crowd became too rowdy. (Though Diana suspected some of the other Ladies of the Registry weren’t planning on leaving for hours.) Diana felt that Lady Gordon had also enjoyed herself, and when Diana asked her on the carriage ride home whether she was pleased she had come with them, she agreed that she was. And when Monsieur de la Tour saw Lady Gordon to her door and said he would do himself the honor of calling on her the next day, she nodded and smiled in reply.
Lady Regina and Diana, after arriving home and changing into their nightclothes, happily relived the evening for another hour, and when Diana woke up around seven, she was confused to find herself in Regina’s bed, where she’d fallen asleep shortly after Regina had confirmed that there was no plant called “Sonophorus japonica” and had continued to expound on the intelligence and other sterling attributes of Lord Jerome until Diana had been overcome with drowsiness. Regina, on the other hand, had listened patiently to Diana’s story of Mr. Dean’s bravery in protecting her from Mr. Boyle, and only yawned once. Diana, tiptoeing out of the room to go back to her own to sleep for another few hours, resolved to let Regina talk about Lord Jerome as much as she wanted to over breakfast.