Page 15

15. The Story in Their Eyes

“Pay close attention to the officer on the corner with the blondish hair?” Mrs Black said on the fourth day of their course.

“You mean the very handsome one?” Miss Green asked energetically.

“Handsome is as handsome does. Watch him carefully.”

The ladies were standing about in a first-floor room above a heavily trafficked market square loaded with officers. The students had been sceptical that they could learn anything from one floor above the street, forty yards away, looking through lace curtains, but Mrs Black was not to be argued with. The group had decamped to a smaller town outside London for the day’s observations, and the environs were little different from Meryton.

Mrs Black had slightly softened her look by moving from unrelenting black to dark blue but was still just as strict and intimidating.

Mary joined the group in their observations, though she allowed most of the other ladies to take the front row. She did not think anyone else had worked out Elizabeth’s secret yet, nor had she let her sister know she was on to her scheme.

A minute later, the officer in question sauntered out of the corner, and engaged a couple of ladies who seemed to be running an errand or looking at the shops, though they could just as well have been officer hunting. The men engaged with them, and both ladies had the happy looks of someone who enjoyed the attentions.

Mrs Black said, “Always be suspicious of coincidence. Those two men were stalking their prey in that corner. Notice their posture. In the corner they were hunched over, laughing amongst themselves, and rather slovenly. As soon as they headed for the ladies, they smartened their uniforms, stood up straight, pushed their chests out, and put smiles on their faces. Do not be fooled—that smile is a wolf’s grin.”

“How can that be?” Miss Green asked. She was always the most sceptical, and the least likely to accept Mrs Black’s instruction, but she was at least listening without argument, which was an improvement over the previous days.

“It is a ploy as old as time. People love happenstance. It sounds romantic, so enforced coincidence makes the meeting seem more like fate. Also, there is nothing more unattractive than someone just wandering around flirting. They want to appear as busy men grudgingly pulled away from important business by the pleasure of your company, which they just do not have the strength to resist. As for the posture, you cannot determine if a strong posture means anything unless you see the man in several situations. All of you know men who have that posture all the time, particularly high-status gentlemen, or senior officers. Most of them learnt a strong posture with the help of a cane at school. If they have an upright, even stiff manner, it means almost nothing in isolation. If they only have that posture when they are with ladies and under observation, then it becomes highly suspect.”

“What if you just met them?”

“You reserve judgement. There are a dozen things about a man’s countenance that can give you clues to their character, but there are very few that are definitive . Your task is to put the clues together. For example, pay particular attention to the smile and his eyes. Even from this far, you can tell something, and from up close the clues will smack you in the face if you know what to look for.”

“Go on,” Miss Red asked, mostly to keep Miss Green from derailing the discussion.

“Romantic books and poetry make much about the eyes. Window to the soul… smile did not reach his eyes… eyes met across a crowded room… lowered her gaze in modesty… his eyes darkened with emotion… a furtive glance betrayed his unease… eyes shone with unshed tears… eyes locked in unspoken understanding… a fleeting glance, quickly averted… his eyes betrayed what his lips would not say. You get my meaning?”

Everyone nodded, at least acknowledging that the expressions existed, though not necessarily agreeing. Some agreed from knowledge, but those who had not ever read a book clear through agreed mostly because it was ill-advised to get on Mrs Black’s bad side.

“They all have some grain of truth, but— this is important —most of those can be faked, at least partially.”

“What do you mean,” Miss Blue asked, indicating probably that she was finally showing some real curiosity, much to Mary’s approval.

Jane had mostly gone along with her same old serene expression through the first days of training, but finally seemed to be getting the idea there was something worthwhile to learn.

Mrs Black pulled them away from the window and separated them into two groups facing each other in lines.

“I want you to take turns making each other laugh. Start with Miss Green… you seem like someone who can be silly when the occasion calls for it. You can do anything you like, but I want a good belly-laugh in the other group. Each of you should watch the other group like a hawk, particularly the eyes. Start now.”

Lydia made a horrendous face that at least got some in the other group laughing gaily, then Miss Violet replied by mimicking something Mrs Black had said in the lower-class cant. After five minutes, each of the groups had been in quite good spirits for a time, and it was becoming easier to generate mirth.

“Now, do you notice that when someone laughs or smiles naturally, their eyes crinkle a bit. That is difficult or impossible to fake. In fact, genuinely happy people usually have crow’s feet or laugh lines around their eyes when they get older.”

The charges nodded, though mostly reluctantly.

“Miss Blue, I shall require your assistance. You have a beautiful face and uniformly serene and smiling countenance, I would like you to smile as you usually do, and the rest of you should look carefully at her face.”

Jane felt supremely uncomfortable with the discussion, and beyond annoyed at being singled out, but she felt uncomfortable in any company with her mother present, so she reacted the way she always did.

“Notice that Miss Blue is perfectly gorgeous, and smiles very prettily, but her eyes do not crinkle. When she was laughing at Miss Green’s most recent silliness, her eyes lit up like the sunshine, as they will any time that she is genuinely happy or amused. I doubt either feeling is present right now. In fact, I would bet more on something between mild annoyance and murderous rage—though you hide it very well.”

The rest of the ladies giggled, not really knowing if Mrs Black was being serious or teasing.

“I do not criticise Miss Blue’s countenance or the way she lives her life. We all adopt a mask to get through society, and I can probably find similar strategies for each of you. I just wanted you to see the effect.”

She led them back to the window, where the blondish officer was still plying his trade.

“From this distance, you cannot tell for certain if his smiles are genuine, but I doubt it very much. Also pay attention to how much time he spends looking in the ladies’ eyes. He does that deliberately because it makes him seem interested. You know from the books— he could barely tear his eyes off her . That is his way of signalling that he is more than a little interested, but it is all manufactured. I will give you ten to one he is interested in a piece of her , but he is most certainly not interested in all of her. Look how close he stands. It fosters a feeling of intimacy, and makes ‘accidental’ touches more likely, though he will supplement those with deliberate accidental touches if necessary.”

The ladies all sat thinking while continuing to watch the encounter, and several other similar ones they could easily see from their vantage point. Some of them had spent considerable time in similar encounters and were belatedly becoming uncomfortable with their observations—especially the part where a man might want a piece of her . They mostly had no idea what exactly that meant, but it certainly sounded bad.

“Do not discount the ladies and their countenances. More aggressive mothers teach their offspring to bat their eyelashes, but I can tell you that most men think that just means you have a bug in your eye. It never works to make a man genuinely appreciate you, and in fact, it is more likely to backfire. It signals the man that you are available for flirtation, but do not really know what you are about. The same can be said for overly revealing styles, flaunting around swinging your hips, and other similarly flirtatious tricks. Such tricks will be mostly ignored by honourable men but picked up easily by scoundrels.”

Miss Green stood up tall and looked like she was ready to argue, but Mrs Black just stared her back down.

“A more subtle or devious lady might learn to give subtle glances, the same as a man would. Eye contact is different between men and women, but the amount and type of eye-to-eye contact tells a story, and seducers learn how to take advantage of the language of the eyes.”

“Does that mean what you see in the eyes is wrong?” Miss Violet asked pensively.

“Not necessarily. We all speak with our eyes, and when you find the right man, the eyes will say a good deal. For genuine emotion, we cannot help it. For a particularly shy man, it may be the only way he really can communicate at first—but you have to be aware of the charlatans. Before you listen to what a man’s eyes say, you should be aware of what his posture says, what his character says, what he says by how he treats those below him. May I assume none of you would take up with a man who beats a dog?”

The gasp was enough to confirm the thesis.

“How about a man who beats a servant?”

The reaction was not quite as abrupt, since many gently born people were taught that servants were less , and that sometimes they had to be beat because they would cheat you otherwise.

“I am disappointed to see your reaction was not as strong, but you should be more concerned for the servant than the dog. Neither can really fight back without consequence. Remember this rule—and remember it well. Any man who beats a dog, a servant, or a street urchin will just as likely beat his wife.”

They all sat staring at her in stunned silence. She had shown them a few women who had been beaten on the second day of the course, and she had taken them through a pauper’s grave and described some of those she knew personally who now rested there. It had been as stark as the visit to the woman dying of pox.

Mrs Black saw that she was overwhelming her charges, as expected, so she moved onto lighter fare.

“Now, look at that group there… the one with the red-haired man and the brunette lady.”

They all moved their attentions away.

“Look at his posture… his countenance… his eyes. He slouches more than when he was just walking alone, and he looks at his feet more often than his companion. He answers reluctantly but looks at his companion when he speaks. He moves his gaze from her face to her feet without dwelling overlong on her décolletage. He is probably shy. He may very well be a good man, and I would take him over Mister Blondish any day, but that can be faked too . You have to be careful in your attentions. My hackles raise like an angry dog at Mr Blondish, but I would give Mr Redhead a second look if I were interested.”

“How do you fix his attention if you have to study him for a twelve month before you know anything?” Miss Blue asked.

“An excellent question. You take it slowly. The carpenters say, ‘measure twice, cut once.’ That is not a bad motto to live by. For example, I bet you could name several men who singled you out within minutes of meeting you, Miss Blue. They entered a ballroom, went unerringly to the prettiest girl in the room like a bee to a flower, and commenced flirting immediately?”

Her normal serene countenance turned hard. She ground her teeth and swallowed several replies before she answered, “I could.”

“And I suppose at least one of them continued his attentions relentlessly, over days or weeks?”

“Yes,” she bit out angrily.

“Sad to say, but such men are more often than not rather inconstant. You might have been one more conquest in a long line, or perhaps he was dissuaded by factors other than yourself.”

Before Jane could react angrily, Elizabeth held up her hand for silence.

“That said, I cannot pronounce such judgement on him. Perhaps he had met a lot of angels in the past but might have finally found true love with you. Perhaps he is inconstant and not to be trusted. Perhaps you hide your feelings so well he could not tell if you were similarly interested. Women are taught to hide our feelings, which is counterproductive and stupid, but required by our society. Whilst it is fine for a man to attach himself to you like a yipping dog at your heels, the same behaviour from you would label you fast, a light skirt, or a fortune hunter. It is a fine line.”

Jane ground her teeth in frustration.

“Can you tell me, Miss Blue, what any of those men really thought about you with any confidence, after what we have learnt these days? Can you honestly say you learnt anything from his countenance and actions? Were any of these erstwhile suitors Mr Blondish, Mr Shy, or something else? Did any of them ask questions and really listen to your answers, treating you like a rational human being rather than a caricature of a beautiful and agreeable woman?”

She finally shook her head.

“I know it seems a sorry business. It is difficult, though not hopeless. Perhaps he is the fish that got away, or perhaps you just need to set your hook better. We shall discuss that at the end.”

“What do you mean?” Miss Violet asked.

“The first ten days of your fortnight is spent in general training, as we have been doing. The last four, I will be working with you individually and trying to see if any of your fish can be brought back to the line—presuming they are worth catching in the first place.”

They all nodded, mostly in confusion. Some had never had a single beau in the first place, while some had let one or more get away. Time would tell if any of them ever caught anything worth keeping.

~~~~~

After another two hours of watching soldiers and other men interact with the women of the town, with Mrs Black narrating what she could see, and what she could not possibly know, they all found themselves quite peckish.

They were a good two hours from their lodgings, so Mrs Black took them to a tea shop across the road. The fact that a table was already reserved and a waiter greeted her by name was not the least bit suspicious.

The ladies tried not to stare at the poor waiter, whose face had the worst scar any of them had ever seen. He looked like a wax statue that had melted. He let them stare without flinching, then left to fetch their order.

“I have been telling you about the bad men of the world, so allow me to redress the balance lest you decide to become spinsters for life,” Mrs Black said with a chuckle.

None of her charges had ever wondered what happened to Mr Black, or if he ever existed in the first place. The term ‘Mrs’ was slightly ambiguous in English society. It most often meant a woman was married, but it was also common when she took a senior position. For example, most housekeepers were ‘Mrs’ regardless of their marital status. Most governesses did not go to that extreme, but a senior governess, or the head of a school might. Mrs Black seemed to be the head of this school so that fit. Naturally, that did not count for all the women who had a baby on the wrong side of the blanket and just called themselves Mrs to pretend they were widows—an act nobody with any sense blamed them for.

“That waiter is Mr Gabriel Sinclair. He got that horrific burn rescuing a child from a burning building. Actually, he got the burn on the fourth trip. Who do you suppose the victims were? Take a guess.”

Everyone guessed some variation of sister, friend, niece, or acquaintance.

“They were trapped in a burning orphanage. He had no connexion to them whatsoever, save he was outside a burning building, and they were in. See the woman behind the counter?”

They all tried to look surreptitiously and saw a woman with the good looks of Jane. She obviously did not dress as well, but it was the kind of pure beauty that would attract nearly any man of her station she wanted.

“That is the fortunate woman who loves him. I doubt she spends much time worrying about his burned face when she knows his heart.”

About half of the ladies doubted the claim, suspecting it was simply romantic nonsense, but did not have the fortitude to argue with their tutor.

“Miss White,” she asked, making the young heiress jump. “How many children do you suppose are under the patronage of your guardian? By that, I mean orphans, natural children, widows… that sort of thing?”

She looked like a startled animal, but finally stuttered, “I have no idea.”

Mrs Black shrugged. “I do not know either, though I suspect if you ask him, you will find a number in the dozens or hundreds. Now, let us presume I have the right of it.”

She stared until Miss White finally gave her full attention.

“Let us suppose it is hundreds when he could in fact afford thousands if he wanted to beggar his estate. If he did so, would that make him a better man, or just a foolish one?”

“Nobody can do everything!” Miss White replied emphatically.

“That is right. Each man does what he can and hopes it is enough. Suppose the number was half of what his father did, or double. Would that change anything? Anybody?”

Nobody had a clear idea, but Mary finally said, “So long as he is doing what he can and his father did what he could, I doubt we should judge them.”

“Exactly. If his father were generous and he cut off the funding, he would be a bad man. If his father was miserly and he just barely did his duty, he would be a modestly good man. If he did all he could reasonably be expected to do, he would be a good sort of man.”

“What does all this mean?”

“It means that it is not all gloom and doom, and you have to look at the world in a balanced way. Someone in my line of work could quite easily become jaded and cynical enough to hate all men, because I have to prepare so many ladies to avoid the worst of them. That way leads more to misery than happiness. On the other hand, some of you were on the road to ruin because you were not cynical or cautious enough, and you considered a handsome countenance and pretty manners a sign of good character. There has to be a balance. You will not have to look over your shoulder your whole life, but at this stage, caution is warranted. You should hope to live with your husband for decades, and young ladies seldom have the vaguest idea what that is like. I should think a few weeks or months of caution, or even years, is warranted to prevent being miserable the rest of your life. There are good men to go along with the scoundrels—you just have to find them and recognise them when you do.”

“And attract them,” Miss Violet added.

“Well, there is that,” Mrs Black replied with a chuckle. “We shall cover a bit of that in the second week, but that is not the primary focus of this course.”

Their tea and sandwiches arrived. “I thank you, Mr Sinclair. I hope you might give our compliments to Mrs Sinclair.”

“She will be happy to hear it, as always, Mrs Black.”

Once he left, she pointed out the window to all the people in the street.

“When you have learnt what I have to teach you, then you will look on the world closer to what it is than what you want it to be or fear it could be. We all have our biases and overcoming them is the work of a lifetime. I hope to reduce yours somewhat. That said, look around. At any given time, some of them will be very good men and some will be very bad—but the vast majority are perfectly ordinary. If you wish to marry, you need to find one good man while avoiding some dozens of bad ones. It is far from hopeless.”

“What if you are expected to marry within your class, and good men are rare as hen’s teeth in your society?” Miss Yellow asked.

Mrs Black looked at her for a moment. “What would you think of a man who fished in the same stream for years but caught nothing?”

“Not a very good sportsman,” Miss Green replied petulantly.

“Or not really trying,” Miss Violet added.

“Or too fastidious,” Miss Burgundy said.

After a moment or two, Miss Red said, “He needs a different stream or better technique.”

“Exactly,” Mrs Black replied emphatically. “Every one of you has a huge benefit over the vast majority of women, who rarely venture more than a few miles from their birthplace. However much you may be discouraged, there is no law of nature that says you need remain in your own environs. Your very presence here shows your ability to travel. If your stream is not very well stocked, perhaps it is time for a different stream. London has over a million inhabitants, which seems like it offers far more possibilities than the couple dozen families most of you have in your neighbourhood, and that does not even count the men your fathers went to school with and their associates.”

“Or a different sport,” Miss White added pensively.

“Or different bait.” Miss Yellow chuckled.

With that, Mrs Black herded her charges to the carriages, and they returned to their tiny little rooms, which they mostly no longer minded.