The Last Suitor. A J McMahon
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hexagonal Pavilion of the Sun. With them were Lady Breckenridge, the mother of Percival, and Percival’s bored younger brother, the seventeen year-old William. The tableau was not set by accident, for there was a design to it, and the centerpiece of the design were the two figures of Isabel and Percival.
Isabel sat composedly, her hands in her lap holding her fan, which she twirled now and then. Percival himself was anything but composed, fidgeting in his chair continually, straightening in his chair and then slouching down, his legs crossed, the heel of his right foot occasionally tapping at his left calf.
They had exchanged pleasantries, enquired after each other’s health and also after the health of various relatives and friends. They then both expressed concern about the international situation, which was bad, as usual. Percival had then spoken at length about harmony, mutual understanding and the merging of destinies. He appeared to have memorised certain quotes because his eyes would slightly glaze over at times as he brought forth segments of highly polished prose containing the wit and wisdom of the ages. Isabel nodded as if attentive to everything he said, the picture of an appreciative audience. In point of fact, she was hardly listening to a word he was saying, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless.
She always enjoyed being proposed to no matter who the suitor in question was. They were all one to her because she had absolutely no intention of accepting any of their proposals. She was twenty two years old and frequently badgered about getting married by her guardians, Lord and Lady Easton, but she was not getting married for several reasons. One was that she enjoyed her independence, another that she enjoyed being chased after by every eligible bachelor in New Landern, and another was that she had never yet met a man who she wanted to marry.
She knew that the Eastons had particular hopes for this match. Percival was twenty-eight, good-looking with a very handsome moustache, from one of the noblest families in the land and incredibly rich. They felt that this match had everything going for it, including the undeniable fact that it was definitely time for Isabel to get married. While never complaining about their own roles as chaperones, it could not be denied that this was also part of their reasoning. They would then have their own time back to themselves rather than being obliged to be Isabel’s guardians, but to their credit this was a secondary consideration for them.
Percival had fallen silent for some time while Isabel had patiently waited.
‘Isabel,’ Percival said, ‘well, here we are.’
Isabel saw that he was getting his nerve together to make his proposal. She always enjoyed this part. Her suitors varied in their degrees of anguish, and they each took their varying times about working themselves up to the moment of truth, but when the time came she took a certain interest in watching them go about what they had to do. The sight of the pain, her suitors were going through gave her a warm and pleasurable feeling. She said nothing, her eyes demurely downcast, twirling her fan in her hands.
‘So here we are, are we not, Isabel?’
‘Yes, we are here, Percival,’ Isabel said calmly.
‘So,’ Percival continued, ‘we are here, are we not?’
Isabel looked down at the fan in her hands, peeking up at Percival now and then.
‘Yes, we are here,’ Percival said, ‘and here we are.’
Isabel unfolded her fan and studied the elephant drawn on its opened expanse. The elephant had its trunk upraised as if trumpeting. Isabel wondered what kind of noise an elephant made when it was trumpeting. Was it like a trumpet? Was that why the word trumpeting was used? What kind of word was trumpeting anyway?
‘Isabel,’ Percival said, ‘there comes a time when a man must decide on questions of the utmost seriousness. This is a momentous occasion, a time of solemnity, a collision of destinies.’ He paused to take a deep breath.
Isabel thought that the phrase a collision of destinies wasn’t bad. She hadn’t heard that one before. She thought that a momentous occasion was an over-used phrase, though, so Percival lost marks there.
‘There comes a time in the life of a man, Isabel,’ Percival continued, obviously reaching into his memory for a rehearsed set of words, ‘when the pleasures and comforts of the day are not enough, when his soul thirsts for something of which he knows not, when beyond what he sees and understands he hears the call of the unknown seeking an answering call to a question he dares not ask.’
Isabel was very pleased with all this. It was excellent. Percival was doing very well. At this rate, she would give him very high marks for his performance.
‘You understand me all too well, I fear, my sweetest Isabel,’ Percival said, looking at her closely. ‘Do you not, my sweetest Isabel?’
Isabel noticed that he had called her my sweetest Isabel twice in the same breath. She could tell he was not far away from his proposal by now.
‘I am all at a loss to understand you, Percival,’ she said hesitantly, folding up her fan. ‘You speak of such high and lofty things that my head spins merely to dare to comprehend matters of such deep import. Oh, you must help me to understand these matters of which you speak. On my own I cannot.’
Percival stroked his magnificent moustache while he pondered her reply. This wasn’t the answer he had hoped for. He had hoped that she would have gotten the drift by now, thus helping him over the last hurdle of actually proposing. It was still going to be uphill for a while longer, Percival realised. But the blood of kings, adulterous archbishops and countless counts flowed in his veins, and he manfully squared up to the challenge. ‘It falls to my duty to do that which I gladly take up with a shout of joy,’ he said.
Isabel wondered if Percival had got that right. Hadn’t he misquoted Courtlyn? It didn’t sound right, somehow. ‘Your eloquence is beyond compare, Percival,’ Isabel said in a tone of the deepest admiration. ‘How do you express your thoughts with such a fluid and elegant turn of phrase?’
‘Ah,’ Percival said meaningfully, ‘my words fly on wings sent from the deepest least wayward impulses of my heart.’
Well, he got that quote right, Isabel thought, recognising the line from Dacian’s epic poem of the love between the mermaid and the doorkeeper of the great castle by the sea.
‘So that is why,’ Isabel commented. ‘But still I cannot understand what it is that you wish me to understand.’
Percival swallowed back the annoyance which had momentarily arisen on hearing her words. How many times, he thought, did he have to use such phrases as impulses of my heart before his beloved comprehended the import of his discourse? ‘What it is that you must understand,’ he said, ‘is that however we fly on the wings of our mind, it is the earth that pulls us downward.’
Lorene, Isabel noted, another quote which Percival had actually got right. ‘You must think very badly of me,’ Isabel said, ‘but still I do not understand.’
‘Isabel, dearest, my dearest sweetest Isabel, sweet, sweet Isabel, I wish you to be mine, I want to travel hand in hand with you along the great journey of life, together, your hand in mine, I am yours for all of eternity, dearest Isabel, will you grant me that which is in your keeping and all that I desire?’
Isabel realised she couldn’t play dumb for much longer. She thought that the sentence I want to travel hand in hand with you along the great journey of life was actually not too bad. She memorised it in order to tell her friends later. She wondered if Percival had thought it up by himself or if he’d had help.
‘Goodness!’ Isabel gasped, raising her hand to her mouth, ‘can it be so? But what are you saying, Percival? Surely I mistake what you say!’
‘No, beloved Isabel,’ Percival assured her, ‘I wish you to marry me and be mine for ever.’
So he had finally got to it, Isabel observed. He had used the word marry which as far as she was concerned was the actual proposal itself. She noted that he hadn’t actually gotten onto his knee and proffered a ring, which brought his marks down as far as she was concerned, because she always liked