Intolerable Civility

Chapter One: Captain David Demery

The knock at the front door disturbed Cate from her shallow doze, but she was too weary to answer it, so she only lay in bed with her eyes shut, listening for the sound of Miss Skinner's footsteps going to answer it. Silence. Miss Skinner was no doubt too proud to answer the door herself, and the manservant had taken the maid-of-all-work to the village to buy the weekly groceries. Well, let the visitor go away then, whoever they were. The vicar, perhaps, on his weekly ministerial visit, or a travelling salesman with some knick-knack she did not want and could not afford anyway.

As Cate was drifting back to sleep, the knock came again. Miss Skinner's footsteps sounded at last from downstairs, sharp with irritation. The low vibration of a man's voice came distantly to Cate. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Miss Skinner would get rid of him. Miss Skinner was very good at getting rid of people.

Instead, however, there were more sounds from below: doors opening and closing, the creak of the stairs, footsteps. Then Cate's bedroom door swung open.

"There is a visitor for you," Miss Skinner said, in the same tone as she used to say, 'There is cod liver oil after supper'.

"Make him wait. Come back later," Cate murmured sleepily.

"It is Captain Demery."

Drowsiness blunted the terror of the name but did not kill it entirely. Cate opened her eyes, the faded counterpane and peeling wallpaper coming blurrily into view. Slowly, she sat up, rubbing her face. She was dizzy and heavy with sleep. Demery. Captain David Demery. Her heart raced unpleasantly.

"Why is he here?"

"He did not tell me." Miss Skinner ran her squinty gaze over Cate. "You will need to arrange yourself before you meet him."

Cate ran her hand through her hair, wincing as she caught at a snarl. "Right. Can you offer him tea?"

"I do not make tea, Miss Balley," Miss Skinner said coldly. "I am not a maidservant."

"I'm sorry. Never mind. Can you tell him to wait?"

Perhaps he would not wait. Perhaps he would go away without seeing her. Somehow, Cate doubted it.

Miss Skinner left the room without a word or a gesture. Cate crawled out of bed and went to her dressing table. She avoided looking at her reflection these days and had the mirror turned to the wall. With a flinch, she turned it around. The ghost of her own face stared back at her, surrounded by a halo of knotted fair hair. She pulled it roughly back with one hand and scrabbled for a pin. It would be easier to hide it under a cap than brush the knots out. Besides, now that she had a baby, she had the right to dress like an old woman, if not a married one.

When she came downstairs twenty minutes later, she was at least tidy, though she still felt unprepared to meet Captain Demery. She had always felt unprepared for him, but she felt so now even more, in the drab, six-roomed Shropshire cottage which represented her exile from society. He should not be here. No one had visited her but her father and her mother. Her sisters and brothers had been forbidden from coming, and her friends had abandoned her when the scandal broke.

She paused outside the half-open parlour door and peered through the crack. Demery was standing by the window, looking out at the incessant October rain that had broken the mild, dry September. Tall, dark, severe, and, as always, dressed in a faded black coat of a cut ten years out of date. A ripple of scorn came over Cate, quelled almost immediately by fear. Why had he come to see her?

She opened the door with trembling fingers and stepped into the room. "Captain Demery."

He turned and gave her a shallow bow. "Miss Balley."