‘I hope,’ said Dido quietly at last, ‘that Miss Harris is feeling better today?’
‘Yes. I thank you,’ said Sophia gravely. She was silent for several more minutes, then she sighed and gave her companion a sidelong look. ‘The proposal was unexpected,’ she explained reluctantly, ‘and Amelia was a little shaken by it. It will, of course, be refused – politely, regretfully. And the business will soon be forgotten.’
‘Forgive me,’ said Dido cautiously, ‘but I cannot help enquiring: was it her intention that the proposal should never be made?’
‘Of course it was!’ Sophia sighed again, more loudly, recognising that she would only hear Dido’s idea after she had explained herself. ‘If you are going to help us, Miss Kent, then I suppose it is only fair that I should be candid with you. We have never talked of our scheme to anyone before, but I think… Yes, I am sure, that in these circumstances my sister would agree with me that disclosure is justified.’ She said all this with such solemnity that Dido wondered what could possibly follow. ‘It is,’ she intoned with great dignity and weight, ‘our intention that
Dido stared. ‘That is a rather singular aim for two young women!’
‘I have a notion,’ said Miss Sophia, primming up her mouth, ‘that it is more common than one might suppose, though most women do not perhaps go to quite the lengths that Amelia and I have adopted. But, you see, we were very young when we decided against marriage and had several years in which to perfect our scheme before we were in serious danger.’
Dido studied her companion carefully, for, despite what she had observed over the last three days, she could not quite judge how serious she was in this. But it seemed that Miss Sophia was serious in everything. She certainly showed no propensity to laugh at herself. ‘You intrigue me,’ said Dido. ‘May I ask why you came to such a decision?’
Sophia folded her hands and shrugged up her plump shoulders a little. ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘that it was because of my dear mother’s attempts to make us marriageable. You look puzzled, Miss Kent! I had better explain. Mama, never having had the advantage of an extensive education herself, was quite determined that Amelia and I should be as accomplished as possible; that our minds should be improved and all our talents encouraged.’
‘I see.’
‘Well, we were provided with the very best masters and given every opportunity to learn. And, either because of the excellence of our education, or because of some natural taste in us, the undertaking was very successful; more successful, I suspect, than such programmes of study generally are. Too successful, I might almost say. For, by the time Amelia was fifteen years old and I was fourteen – when everyone expected, of course, that we should start to neglect our books for invitations and visits and hair curling – well, by then, we were both so devoted to our studies, so accustomed to finding pleasure in the serious business of books and drawing and music – that even a ball seemed an unwelcome intrusion upon our time.’
‘That is very singular!’
‘Is it?’
‘I do not think I have ever heard before of a young lady of fifteen who would not be happy to abandon her studies for a ball.’
‘Yet I see no reason,’ said Miss Sophia severely, ‘why there should not be as much variety of temperament among young women as among young men – and among young men we are not surprised to find examples of the serious as well as the trivial.’
‘Well, I suppose you are right,’ said Dido. ‘It may be that I am prejudiced by my memories of my own talentless struggles upon my mother’s old spinet and my wretchedness over drawing houses that would, despite my best efforts, look like mountains and chickens that looked like trees. There was only one thing which I hated more and that was arithmetic. I certainly had no more cause to love the visits of the drawing master and the music teacher than they had, poor fellows.’
‘But you are a clever woman, Miss Kent, and I think that you must have loved your books.’
‘Oh yes!’ cried Dido. ‘I was excessively fond of books. Provided, of course, that they came from a circulating library and had a great many handsome villains and horrid mysteries in them and were quite free from any serious moralising or instruction.’
‘Now,’ said Sophia, rather offended, ‘I am sure that you are mocking me and, furthermore, doing yourself a grave injustice.’
‘You are too kind! And I shall say no more upon the subject on purpose that I may pass for an educated – but modest – woman. But I interrupted your very interesting account just now. I believe you were going to tell me that you and your sister decided that the most unwelcome intrusion upon your time – the very worst disturber of your studies – would be marriage.’
‘We did. For have you ever met a married woman who practises upon her instrument or touches her crayons?’
‘No, on that we would certainly agree. The demands of a husband, a household and a family prevent even the most talented woman from pursuing any endeavour which does not relate directly to them.’
‘Quite so, Miss Kent. Marriage is so very final. It changes everything.’
Dido gave a little start. For some reason those words touched something deep inside her. It was almost as if they answered a question she had been asking herself, but just at the moment she could not remember what the question had been. It was something which she must think of later. For now Miss Sophia, quite blind to anything but her own concerns, was continuing with her strange tale.
‘…and so, you see, we laid our plan. We knew that to declare our intention of never marrying would do us no good at all: we would only be laughed at and disbelieved. So we set ourselves parts to play. Amelia’s quieter character made her prefer to adopt a repelling silence; while I chose – well, I need not explain. You have seen my behaviour in company. We aim to disgust sensible men with our silly manners and devotion to accomplishments in which our performance is less than mediocre.’
‘And what,’ asked Dido with a smile, ‘of men who are not sensible?’
‘They,’ said Sophia solemnly, ‘do not generally present a problem. Our parents do not expect – or wish – us to marry foolish husbands.’
‘I cannot fault your plan, Miss Sophia,’ said Dido after a few moments’ thought. ‘And yet I wonder whether it is entirely necessary. For I have a great idea that real accomplishments, education and intelligence might frighten away lovers – even sensible lovers – more surely than any amount of silliness and incompetence.’
Sophia’s face clouded. She clasped her kid gloves in her lap and frowned down at them. ‘You may be right, Miss Kent,’ she said at last. ‘It is a subject which Amelia and I sometimes talk about. And yet, there is this to consider: whatever means we use to escape marriage, we will be mocked for it. That cannot be helped. It is the way of the world.’
‘Yes,’ said Dido with a pang, ‘an unmarried woman will always be a target of laughter.’
‘Exactly so,’ said Miss Harris, quite insensible of the pain she was causing. ‘And I believe, Miss Kent, that there is not a woman born who would not rather suffer ridicule for what she knows to be a pretence – a part she has acted – than for the very thing that she most wishes to be true – the ideal to which she aspires.’
‘You are right, of course,’ said Dido politely. ‘I am sure you have found the best way of arranging things.’
Sophia breathed a heavy sigh and shook her head. ‘Except, of course,’ she said, ‘that our scheme is powerless against Mr Tom Lomax. This is quite a different sort of danger.’
‘Yes, your plan cannot protect you against such a suitor.’
‘I don’t doubt,’ said Sophia slowly, ‘that if we both refuse him…’ She broke off and her fists curled in her lap. ‘Amelia and I care little for what the world thinks of us, and the shame would only protect us more certainly from marriage.’
Dido rather doubted that she could be as insensible to disgrace as she declared – but she let the matter pass.
‘But poor Mama,’ Sophia continued, ‘her greatest pleasure lies in society and I will not…’ One fist struck the palm of the other hand. ‘I will not allow him to be the means of destroying her happiness.’
Dido, who had been finding the girl’s self-satisfied manner rather repulsive, was touched by this concern for her mother. It strengthened her resolution of helping.
‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I have a plan. We shall confront Mr Tom Lomax after dinner. But, first, this is what I would like you and your sister to do…’
