The Sisterhood

by Penelope Friday

  “Never mind. We won’t die from a little wet,” Charity said practically.

  “No, but it would be rather uncomfortable. However, Victor—the coachman, you know—says that he believes it’s set to stay fair all day, and he is usually right about such things. And I wanted to show you my phaeton, so I simply leapt at the opportunity! Plus,” she added happily, “it is so very much quicker and lighter than trundling in the big carriage, as well as being ten times more elegant.”

  “It’s certainly beautiful. Oh Isobelle!” Charity cried in alarm as Isobelle narrowly missed running over a stray dog that had darted out into the road.

  “You concentrate, Miss,” came the voice of Jem from behind them.

  “Yes sir,” Isobelle said. “Now really, how can I be expected to predict the every movement of a horrid little mongrel? Don’t worry, Harry. I won’t spill you.”

  Isobelle was true to her word, but in truth Charity found it a somewhat alarming journey. Isobelle’s hands were light on the reins and the horses were obedient; everything was perfect so long as Isobelle didn’t spot something she was interested in, or turn her head to speak to Charity, forgetting to check the road ahead. However, they reached the house with no mishaps, and Isobelle left the vehicle in the capable hands of Jem as they went to greet Lady Caroline, who with Nan Musgrove and the ‘lovebirds’ Emily and Jane, had already arrived and were standing on the terrace.

  “Drove, did you?” Cara asked, looking at Isobelle’s driving dress with interest. “You’re lucky you had a nice day for it.”

  “Of course it is a good day! It wouldn’t dare do anything so cruel as to rain when I wanted to drive,” Isobelle said.

  During the next hour, various others of the Sisterhood arrived, until there was a merry group of revellers. Emily and Jane, as usual, tended to go off together by themselves to explore certain rooms (the library, for instance) in more depth, but the rest of the Sisterhood mixed merrily—with the exception of Charity and Nan Musgrove. Charity avoided Miss Musgrove whenever possible, though she found herself watching the lady from afar, trying to make sense of her character. But she had thought her dislike of Nan was subtle enough not to cause comment until now.

  Isobelle, touching her arm lightly, said seriously,

  “Now Harry…” Her face was as stern as her voice.

  “Yes?” Charity tried to think of anything she might have done wrong. She could think of nothing, but that only made her more anxious. What on earth had she managed to do accidentally?

  “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Very well.”

  “Stop looking at me like that,” Isobelle chided. “I’m not going to eat you, silly child. I just want to know what it is that you have against Nan. Of all the inoffensive people I know, Nan must top the list!”

  “Really?” Charity was uncommunicative. To explain her reason for disliking Nan Musgrove felt like telling tales, but she hated to think that Isobelle thought badly of her.

  “Really.” Isobelle put her hand over Charity’s. “You might as well tell me now, you know,” she said gently. “I’m determined to find out.”

  “It’s nothing. Nothing much.”

  “Even better,” Isobelle said briskly. “If it isn’t anything much, it is easily dealt with. What did she do, stand on your best dress at a dance and rip it? A sin indeed, but like the dress, easily mended.”

  “Of course not.” Charity hesitated. Isobelle looked determined, and it was hard to resist explaining. Yet at the same time, she felt a sort of shame: she was embarrassed about having trusted the wrong person, and she couldn’t help wondering whether it was something about herself which had caused the problem. If everyone else thought Miss Musgrove was so wonderful and yet Nan had been so unkind to Charity, perhaps Charity was the problem and not Nan Musgrove. She sighed. “It’s silly. I told her something, something a little bit private, and I thought she’d keep it to herself—”

  “You’re not telling me she told someone else your secret?” Isobelle interrupted.

  “It wasn’t a secret. It’s just…I hadn’t expected her to laugh about it behind my back. Like I said,” Charity added hastily, “I know it’s silly. It’s nothing important. I didn’t ask her never to tell, after all. But…” She trailed off.

  “Nan did that?” Isobelle opened her eyes to their widest extent. “You’re sure?”

  Charity bit her lip. She was sick of hearing what a paragon of virtue Miss Musgrove was. She remembered the way she’d felt, hearing the other girls giggle about her. She couldn’t blame everyone else for trusting Nan—Charity had done so herself, after all. She had been honest about herself, for the first time since coming to London, and this was how Miss Musgrove had repaid that trust.

  “I’m sure,” she said curtly. “I heard the girls laughing about what Miss Musgrove had said, how I’d answered. I just…oh, I don’t know, maybe she’s different with you. I’ve seen how kind she is to people usually. But not with me. Perhaps it was something I did, I don’t know. But I’m certain enough of the truth.”

  “It does sound very unlike Nan,” Isobelle said. “I’ll ask her, see what she says.”

  “You can’t!” Charity put out her hand, as if physically to stop Isobelle, but her friend was taking no notice.

  “Nan!” she called across the room, to where Nan Musgrove and Louisa Garland were chatting animatedly about the family portraits hanging on the wall in front of them.

  Miss Musgrove turned and smiled at her. She was wearing a green dress, an elegant shawl flung over her shoulders. She looked, Charity thought with vague annoyance, rather pretty. Charity had never considered her in that fashion before, but then of course even the greatest beauties faded to nothing beside Isobelle in Charity’s mind. Nan Musgrove, though, was always so…so interested, so involved in what she was doing. She treated everything and everyone with an eager fascination that lit up her features. Bother her!

  “How can I help you, Isobelle?”

  “Oh, it isn’t I who needs you. Can you come here a second?”

  “Isobelle please,” whispered Charity. “Don’t. I trusted you. Please, not again.”

  Isobelle patted her hand gently. “But I am showing why I am worthy of that trust. I will not laugh at you, and I won’t allow Nan to do so. Have faith, my dear.” Nan had reached them now, her blue eyes inquiring. Isobelle kept hold of Charity’s hand, preventing her from sliding away without making a scene. “Nan, I gather you met Harry before she came here?”

  “I did indeed.” Nan looked straight at Charity. “At the Carrington’s ball, wasn’t it? You weren’t dancing.”

  “No,” Charity said, in a small tight voice. “I wasn’t.”

  “I’ve often thought about that conversation. It had never occurred to me that height could be such an impediment until you mentioned it.” Miss Musgrove smiled. “Well, it was never a problem I would suffer from.”

  Charity didn’t—couldn’t—answer. Hearing Nan Musgrove speak so lightly of something that had hurt her so much made her insides turn over.

  “But Nan,” Isobelle said guilelessly, “why did you mention it to anyone else? You must have known what some of the debutantes are like. Gossip is their middle name.”

  Her friend frowned. Charity noticed that Lady Caroline had shushed Lydia Seacombe and was listening unashamedly. “I didn’t. It was none of their business.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at Isobelle. “You’re forever scolding me for my lack of interest in gossip, Isobelle. As you know well, if I’d intended to mention the conversation to anyone, it would have been the Sisterhood. But I’m not one for talking over this or that event. It’s no one else’s business.”

  “But…” Charity began.

  Miss Musgrove turned to face her. “But what?” she asked. “I saw you again, of course, at the picnic, but you were…busy, as I recall.”

  Charity blushed. She knew she had been rude that day. It had seemed reasonable at the time, knowing what she’d t
hought she knew about Nan’s behaviour. But if Miss Musgrove hadn’t talked… Oh, Charity thought, helplessly, what had she done? What had she said? But it must have been Nan. It must have been.

  “The other girls knew,” she said.

  Nan’s gaze was steady. She looked almost hurt. “Not from me.”

  “She wouldn’t, you know,” Isobelle said.

  “How did they know, then?” demanded Charity. Miss Musgrove’s sincerity seemed so genuine and her expression so hurt that it was difficult to doubt her. But someone had told.

  Nan smiled wryly. “You are rarely more than a few inches from another person at such crushes. It was perhaps foolish of me to speak so openly to you, leading you into saying more than was safe. I’m sorry for that. But I told no one, and I would not laugh at you for worlds.”

  “I see.” Charity felt confused by the mix of emotions. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

  “It was an understandable mistake,” said Nan, though Charity thought she still sounded upset, however much she tried to hide it. They both glanced at Isobelle, who was about to speak. Miss Musgrove got in first however. “No, Isobelle, don’t say it.”

  “What mustn’t she say?” Charity asked, her guilty mind suggesting that Isobelle might turn on her, unforgiving, for misjudging Miss Musgrove so badly. Had she not only hurt Nan’s feelings, for it was clear that this was so, by misinterpreting her actions, but also lost Isobelle’s esteem as well? She did not think she could bear that burden.

  “I have,” Nan Musgrove said, “a great suspicion that she wishes to say ‘I told you so’. Am I right?”

  Isobelle blushed prettily. “Would I say a thing like that?”

  “Quite definitely,” said Nan drily. She turned back to Charity, who felt almost faint with shame. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the other girl with frank, sympathetic eyes. “They teased you, did they not? I know how the debutantes can be when they sense a weakness. Like a pack of wild hyenas.”

  Isobelle laughed, and even Charity managed a smile at this improbable simile.

  “Oh Nan!” Isobelle exclaimed. “Hyenas? Really? In those dresses?”

  Nan gurgled with laughter herself. “Well, perhaps not. But you know what I mean. They can be cruel, and they hunt in groups. If I had not been out of town that while, I might have been able to prevent it, but I honestly had no idea of what had occurred.”

  “So,” Isobelle began briskly, “is that settled? No more awkwardness between you two?”

  “Not from my side,” said Nan.

  Charity felt guilty. She felt that she should apologise again, but her throat seemed all stuck up as if she had swallowed glue. She nodded and cleared her throat. “Nor mine,” she said.

  “But I must speak to Emily,” Nan said. “Excuse me.”

  Charity knew it was an excuse, but she was grateful for Nan’s tact. She could not have said another word to the lady if she’d tried. Isobelle, far from saying ‘I told you so’, touched Charity’s arm lightly.

  “All right?” she asked gently.

  Charity nodded. “I feel silly. And guilty.”

  “Don’t.” Isobelle’s hand stroked her arm, soothingly. “Nan won’t mind. She understands.”

  “She might not mind, but I do.” Charity once more looked across to where Nan was determinedly engaging Emily Summercourt in conversation, loudly enough to make it quite certain that she could not hear the conversation between Charity and Isobelle. “I should at least have asked her.”

  “You should indeed,” Isobelle said with false severity. “And next time, dear Harry, trust your Isobelle when she tells you something. Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “I am very wise, you know,” Isobelle said laughingly. “And pretty. Do you not think I’m also pretty?”

  “I think you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Charity said.

  She knew by now that Isobelle lived for praise, soaking it up like a cat soaked up the sun. But Charity didn’t speak the words because of that: to Charity, flowery compliments did not come easily. It was simply that Isobelle truly was the most beautiful lady she had ever seen. She saw Isobelle’s face flush with pink at her words. Her cheeks gained a blush the same colour as the roses pinned to the dress she was wearing. Charity’s heart caught a little. Isobelle was irresistible at moments like this.

  “You mustn’t flatter me,” Isobelle scolded, meaning, as Charity well knew, nothing of the sort. She caught up Charity’s hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her dress rustled as she moved, as if it were whispering to Charity.

  “I don’t.” Charity looked straight at Isobelle, a startling realisation rushing over her. How long had she been in love with the other lady? Now the thought had crossed her mind, she knew that this was no new feeling. But then, how could anyone do anything but love Isobelle? “You know I don’t flatter. I would not know how.”

  Isobelle laughed at this. “Oh, Harry, you are so sweet, and so funny. I never met a girl like you before.”

  “Nor I one like you.” Charity drew her hand back gently. “But most people use the word ‘strange’ when speaking of me.”

  “It is easy to hate what one doesn’t understand.”

  Sometimes Isobelle’s statements shocked Charity with their clarity. It was all too easy to think of Isobelle as a frivolous young lady, caring only for clothes and attention. But there was more to her than that, Charity thought, the warmth of her love spreading through her. She was so much more than merely a pretty face. Perhaps knowing that her interest was in other ladies, rather than gentlemen, had led Isobelle to think more seriously than otherwise might have been the case. Certainly that sentence might apply in more than one way—both to Charity herself, and to Isobelle.

  “Is it? I tend just to feel ignorant.”

  Isobelle giggled again, tucking her arm through Charity’s. “Well, never mind all this nonsense! We have grounds and gardens to explore. Let us do so right this very moment!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  A week after the visit to the large house, Charity—misgivings notwithstanding—went to call on Miss Musgrove. Isobelle had willingly given her the address, but as Charity stood nervously on the doorstep, waiting as her name was sent up, she was not at all sure that she would not be turned away. And she could not blame Nan if such was the outcome. But it was not, she was glad to discover. Indeed, anything but. Miss Musgrove herself came down with the footman to the door, smiling a welcome.

  “Harry!” she exclaimed and then hesitated. “I may call you that, now, may I not?”

  “Of course,” Charity said quickly.

  Nan smiled. “I’m glad. It suits you. Come in. My parents are otherwise engaged at the moment, so I was feeling very dull until you appeared.”

  Charity stepped into the house. It was smaller than Isobelle’s, though not by a great deal, and was very different in style. The Greenaways’ house was light and airy, full of white and open spaces. The Musgroves’ house, in comparison, was cluttered. An old oak table, polished to a fine sheen, stood in the hallway, with a number of curios atop it. There was a grandfather clock in the corner, ticking steadily; and the walls were covered in hangings. Charity did not need to be an expert to know that many of them were precious, perhaps centuries old, and well looked after. Nan Musgrove took her down a little corridor to a room that opened onto a small courtyard garden.

  “I know this isn’t a very big space,” she said apologetically, “but I do like the view. We get sparrows and other birds down here. See the bushes around the sides and the little bird bath at the back? It’s such a comforting room. It used to be my brother’s and my play room when we were children.”

  “You have a brother?” Charity realised that she did not know even the simplest details about Nan.

  “Yes.” Miss Musgrove smiled suddenly, as if the thought of him made her happy. “He is a couple of years older than I, but we have always been the best of friends. He is a sailor, you k
now. I saw you looking at some of the ornaments in the hall. He brings us home the oddest objects from his voyages.”

  “It sounds fascinating.”

  “He is in the navy,” Nan explained.

  “Oh.” Charity paused. “Then…he was involved at Trafalgar?”

  “He was,” Miss Musgrove said, absent-mindedly twitching the curtains to their furthest extent, so that the view out of the large picture windows was at its clearest. “But not in the main action. He had been injured a few months beforehand. It was the reason that I was out of town, in fact, last Season,” she added. “We all went to the country, when my brother was well enough to be moved, to help with his recuperation. He was sorry to take me away from London during the Season, but I much preferred to be with him. He is so often away, you know.”

  “Yes. I never had a brother,” Charity said thoughtfully. “It must be strange.”

  “Oh, everything is strange if one has not experienced it oneself, I think. I myself have not a sister. At least, not in the usual sense! Isobelle, of course, has no siblings at all, though there was a boy once, who died before she was born.”

  “You seem to know about everything.” It felt odd to Charity to have a comparative stranger tell her things about Isobelle she did not already know. Of course, Nan must have known her for far longer than Charity had, but somehow, Charity was in the way of thinking of Isobelle as somehow hers. It jarred that she had not known about her dead brother. “You know so much about slavery, as well.”

  “Oh, well, that is through my brother too, you know,” Nan said. “In his time in the Atlantic, he and his crew boarded many a slave ship, and what he saw doesn’t bear thinking about. It seems too terrible that such things should happen in our world. I want so much to make things better, but it is difficult.”

  “Yes, I see you do. Nan, I’m sorry.” Somehow, it was easy to refer to the lady in front of her as Nan now, when previously it had seemed so hard.