poetry and perfection 15

 

 

Chapter 15

 

“Charles!  I should go to Kitty!” cried Mrs. Worthington, when she received Hugo’s letter. Her husband took it, and read it.

“No, you should not, Caroline,” he said. “If you go to her, and fuss over her, you are almost certain to let it out that she is a girl.  Bottringham has nursed his sister, and we must assume he knows what he is doing. I cannot like it, but for Kitty’s good name, it is the best I can think of. As to him marrying her, well, that is a bridge to be crossed when she is home. I am going to write to him, on the assumption that she is expected to remain there for a few days, thanking him for his good care, then I will have the coach set to, to collect Stephen from South Mims. Perhaps you will see to the arrangements of having the Misses Bottringham to stay, as suggested, so that we can all share news, and so they have an adult in the house. I’m not going to attempt to go haring after Kitty. She seems to be in good hands, and I shouldn’t object to Bottringham as a son-in-law, if she agrees.  He’s chivalrous, but I don’t think he would offer marriage if he didn’t like her well enough; he would pass her off as too young to be on the town, and suggest rusticating until everyone had forgotten anything whatsoever about her.”

“Oh, Charles! I fear you are correct, I should find it hard to pretend she is a boy,” said Mrs. Worthington. “It seems so wrong for a man… and yet doctors… and accoucheurs in the most intimate of situations to aid with birthing… but she is very young, and I cannot like her being tied to a man some seven years older than she is, without love or even affection. And he seems so cold!”

“My dove, if he were cold, he would not be adored by the sister we know, nor be prepared to put himself out for the other we do not know,” said Worthington.  “I agree, I would rather Kitty found herself a beau of whom she is fond, but I can’t help thinking that if she picked one who was too meek and mild, she would henpeck him to the point he either became violent, or just abandoned her. And, my dear, I would point out that there are eight years between us, and it answered very well, for Kitty is your very image, perhaps even less volatile.”

Mrs. Worthington blushed.

“Oh, Charles! And I have grown to love you very well. Papa was correct when he chose you for me, though I did not know at the time why you had suddenly become assiduous in your addresses. But I did want Kitty to have a choice.”

“I will not let her marry him if she is unwilling,” said Worthington. “But I do hope he does not spring it on her as a fait accompli, for there is nothing so much as that to set Kitty’s back up, and leave the poor young man faced with a veritable virago. Now, I shall write to him, and then be on my way.”

                                                                                                      

 

My dear Bottringham,

I thank you for your tender care of my offspring.  I am sure you must be most put out at having the care of Kit, who appears as equal to falling into trouble as Stephen. As to any plans, it must be something you discuss with Kit, who is quite stubborn enough, should you introduce the subject in an inopportune manner, to run off somewhere, without being fully healed. I hope you will be cognizant of the fact that my younger child can be led, but is as stubborn as a mule or a goat if driven. I have found over the years that choices should be presented in the light not so much of whether to do something, as in the correct timing in which to do it.

I know that Kit will not be happy if this suggestion is in any way a self-sacrificing offer, being as straight as a die, and as fair as anyone might hope a young gentleman to be. And I am sure that if this is the case, we can find some way to get over heavy ground lightly.

Please find enclosed some ready money; I doubt you set out with the intent of being holed up in an inn for several days.

Worthington.

He reflected that Kitty was the younger; by about twenty minutes, so he was not entirely inaccurate in so naming her.

 

 

Kitty found herself sleeping a lot during the day; her headache mostly went away when she was asleep, and she did not hurt her ribs with her breathing. When she was awake, Hugo read to her of the doings of Miss Austen’s ‘Emma.’

“I think Emma is a silly creature,” said Kitty. “She means well, but she interferes too much, and she’s too top-lofty. If I was Mr. Knightley, I’d spank her.”

“He can’t really; he’s only her brother-in-law.”

“And I can’t see you hesitating for a moment in spanking me if I was rude to… oh, an old governess of Sophie’s,” said Kitty.

“You have me, there,” said Hugo. “Though I might hesitate now we are going to get married; it’s rather a brotherly thing to do.”

“Oh, I suppose so,” said Kitty. “I don’t think Jane should have anything to do with that awful Frank fellow. If Emma does and is taken down a peg or two, I won’t be upset.”

“Why do you dislike him?” asked Hugo.

“Why, he is cruel to Jane, and puts her down, and that’s the act of a bully,” said Kitty. “He’s sly and backhanded in the way he says cruel things, and I don’t find him charming at all.  I expect that Haselbraid fellow manages to be charming in the same way.”

“The hell! You’re quite right. Oh, I beg your pardon.”

“I am all boy, and don’t regard an expletive in the least,” said Kitty. “You can see it, now, can’t you?”

“Yes, and I’m glad you aren’t likely to be taken in by someone like that,” said Hugo. 

“Oh, well, if we’re going to get married and you really don’t dislike the idea, I can refer people like that to you to draw their cork and darken their daylights.”

“Now, where did you learn such sporting cant?”

“Stephen, of course. He took me to a mill, once, but there was no science, only milling, and it was a bit gross, so we went away again, only we were discussing it in an inn when the local hero came in, and he was put out, so Stephen taught him about science, and we won a packet,” said Kitty. “Don’t tell Mama! Papa suspects, I think, but then, Papa is fairly down to earth about things like me borrowing Stephen’s clothes, because we’ve always been close.”

“You’re a hell-born babe,” said Hugo. “Well, if you understand science, and you know how to drive, you certainly have two topics of conversation which interest me.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Kitty. “Now you can explain Metaphysical poetry to me.”

“Well, mostly it’s couched in metaphor,” said Hugo. “A man, approaching his lover, wants to be between her legs,” he blushed as he spoke of such. “And so he might say,

I sail between two spits of land

In search of a sweet luscious bower

Advancing an exploring hand….

“What?” he added as Kitty giggled.

“Oh, that could end as one of those Sapphic odes you use for irony with the line, ‘a golden shower!’” said Kitty.

Briefly he looked outraged, then he laughed.

“Well, that shows that you have the meaning of the metaphor and a good way of pricking any pomposity I may show,” he said. “I had been going to conclude that quatrain, “to pluck a rare and beauteous flower.”

“This is why I’m no good at poetry; I see the comedic side which can be brought to bear, not the clever or romantic side,” said Kitty. “Flower?”

“The plucking of a rose has long been a metaphor for taking a woman, and one speaks of ‘deflowering,’ as well,” said Hugo.

“So, one might answer that also in metaphor?” said Kitty.

“Exploring hands may feed the soil

With blood from thorns of briar and brake

Unless to tend a flower, they toil,

And give, not take.

“Yes, though you have that Sapphic ode form and its truncated fourth line in your head, otherwise bravo for a good reposte,” said Hugo.  “It might be better as ‘to gently ask to share, not take.’. Do you see?”

“I do,” said Kitty. “I know little about verse form, only that sonnets come in four quatrains and a couplet, and that the most of it is iambic hexameter, but the couplet can be Alexandrines, which is cleverer, which are six double feet to the rhythm, not five.”

“You studied Shakespeare’s sonnets?”

“In woeful detail,” sighed Kitty.

“I’ll dig you out my book about poetry,” said Hugo. “It’s a bit prosy, but once you’ve done all the exercises as exercises in satire, you should be happy with all manner of set forms.”

“Maybe you know me better than you thought,” said Kitty, happily. “I find it terribly hard to stay serious.”

“Hmph.  Well, maybe you need someone to write serious and sincere poetry for you,” said Hugo.

“Maybe I do,” agreed Kitty. “I didn’t sabotage Stephen’s poetry to Elvira, well apart from to him, though I did tell her about it. If I don’t like a girl he’s eulogising, I change the lines, and he doesn’t usually notice, so it comes out just sarcastic enough that, unless she’s stupider than a stump, she is offended.”

“Your sisterly duty, I suppose?”

Kitty nodded seriously.

“He’s too susceptible,” she said. “Dear me, I do hope the vicar of South Mims has no personable daughters, or at least, if he does, that they are nice for real as well.”

“Indeed, for a young man being physicked by a pretty girl is in a vulnerable position,” said Hugo.

“And I don’t really want a well-meaning but preachy sort of sister,” said Kitty. “I’d be happy if he sticks with Elvira, but of course he has another year and a bit of university, so unless she’s ready to wait for him, I think I’ll be disappointed.”

“She’ll still be your sister if you marry me,” said Hugo.

“Oh! Yes, but I would like Stephen sorted out before I get married, just so I know he’s safe,” said Kitty.

Hugo laughed.

“Well, if he is my brother because of us being married, I would watch over him more carefully myself,” he said. “I like the chub a lot; I spoke to him at first because I liked the way he drove, with a combination of panache, but care for the safety of his team and the general public.”

“Yes, he was very conscious of the honour done to him by a man of fashion and renown,” said Kitty. “Goodness! I have mostly forgotten that you are a man of fashion and renown, because you have become a person through knowing you as Elvira’s brother.”

“I know; you informed me so when you apologised for calling me ‘Hugo’ when I first rescued you from the consequences of not knowing how the wicked world wags,” said Hugo. “Blurting out things like that is one reason I wondered if you were very young, but I think it’s just you. And a natural curiosity about why personal remarks are fine sometimes but not others.”

Kitty flushed.

“I’m afraid it’s just me,” she said, ruefully. “Mama has mostly learned not to.”

“Oh, well, I would prefer honesty, even if tactlessly couched, than the often-sly nature of polite fiction,” said Hugo. “You may use my name in private.”

“And you may use mine,” said Kitty, shyly, blushing again.  “Do you fight duels?”

“What a question! Duels are illegal, my good sprout.”

“Well, Haselbraid seemed to think it reasonable to suppose you had been hurt in a duel; he says you’re quarrelsome.”

“I’m not douce with him, but I’ve never actually fought a duel.  I think he assumes it would appeal to the romance of a young girl.”

“I’d have found it more believable if he’d said that you had been hurt in a mill with a… a pet of the fancy.”

Hugo gave a shout of laughter.

“Well, to be honest, that would be more likely,” he said. “He’s a fool.  Assuming we can move in a few days, we might just get to see a mill on the way back to London, if you would like; it should be more scientific than what you have seen previously.”

“Oh, thank you, Hugo; I should like to see it performed with skill.”

“It is a shame that your only experience is of a brawl.” He looked self-conscious. “Is it vain in me to hope that I have the chance of a wife who actually appreciates my skill?”

“I think it is only reasonable,” said Kitty. “A woman expects her husband to admire her housekeeping abilities in finding his household life smooth, with meals he likes, on time, events arranged efficiently for him, fresh flowers, embroidered slippers, and so on.”

“Seriously, you enjoy embroidering slippers?”

“Not in the least, but it’s a skill one is supposed to have. I would rather draw you caricatures of the people you know, to amuse you.”

“Oh, that, I would also prefer. Is that what you girls giggle over, in your commonplace book?”

“That, and my little verses.”

“Go on….”

“Off the top of my head…”

Mr. Langer’s dignity is carried all before;

He keeps it in his embonpoint, when he sets off to bore.

He thinks so much of his great brains, he keeps them safe at home

And never puts them on display, lest they should chance to roam.

“Oh, very accurate and most reprehensible. Very good!” said Hugo. “A talent for witty bon mots is going to prove more useful in the drawing room than being able to assemble a villanelle, or the new form of poetry, which comes from the Malay, called a pantoum.  It’s not hard; the second and final lines of the first quatrain are used as the first and third of the next, and so on. If you want to be really clever, you can put the first and third lines of the first stanza as the second and fourth of the fourth.”

“Oh! This I have to try; give me some paper, please?” said Kitty.

Smiling, Hugo handed her paper, and a tray to lean on, so she might scribble away. It kept her occupied.

It took Kitty a good ten minutes to produce her effort, and she handed it to him.

The boxer takes his starting stance

With ready feet and meaty fist

Ready to make his fighting dance

With solid knee and braced his wrist

 

With ready feet and meaty fist

He jabs to find a weakness, where

With solid knee and braced his wrist

He might exploit it should he dare.

 

He jabs to find a weakness, where

The opponent’s guard is scarce or poor

He might exploit it, should he dare

And put the other on the floor.

 

The opponent’s guard is scarce and poor,

The boxer takes his starting stance

He puts the other on the floor

In science with his fighting dance.

“I had to change some of the lines slightly,” she said, frowning.

“No, that is accepted – that’s very good,” said Hugo. “I am going to enjoy teaching you.”