by Ann Barker
‘As his lordship has already told you, I am his sister’s companion,’ she replied repressively, trying to inject some of Lady Agatha’s haughtiness into her tone.
‘Really? I thought perhaps he had made that up. You’re far too pretty to be anyone’s companion – unless of course you’d like to be mine.’
‘Sir!’ exclaimed Jessie. ‘I am an engaged woman.’
‘Engaged are you? Who’s the lucky fellow?’
‘He is a clergyman,’ Jessie answered.
Sir Wallace pulled an expression of distaste. ‘Dull fellows, all of them,’ he said dismissively. ‘Still, plenty of advantages with the married state, what? More freedom, for instance.’
Jessie felt her temper rising. ‘Sir Wallace, if you are implying—’
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I’m not implying anything; just suggesting. You can’t blame a man for making a suggestion.’
At this moment, the discussion over Mrs Machin’s book was concluded, and Lord Ashbourne wandered over to join Jessie and Sir Wallace. She was never more glad to see anyone in her life, for she had found the conversation with the baronet confusing and insulting. ‘Well, Miss Warburton?’ said Raff. ‘Has Weary entertained you well?’ The usual polite society expression was on his face, but in his eyes there was a certain stillness, and Jessie made an astonishing discovery. Raff was clearly well aware of what manner of man had been talking to her. He was inviting her to tell him if she had been insulted. If she told him that she had, then he would be obliged to demand an apology of the other man, and insist upon satisfaction if no apology was forthcoming.
She had been insulted, but she could not ask that of Raff. Instead of saying how she really felt, therefore, she forced herself to lower her eyes and say, ‘Sir Wallace has been very amusing, my lord.’ With her averted gaze, she was unable to see Ashbourne’s expression harden. She was also unaware that the baronet was now looking at her in a decidedly speculative way.
*
The paper delivered to Mrs Machin’s house often provided fresh inspiration, and the reports dealing with the royal wedding were particularly interesting to the two ladies. ‘This is just the sort of event that Lady Meredith ought to be attending,’ sighed Mrs Machin one morning, as she was reading about that occasion. ‘The report here says that the Princess is a handsome woman with a fine head of hair. Oh how I should like to see her.’
‘If the Prince of Wales is as good-looking as people say, they should make an attractive couple,’ Jessie observed.
‘Have you never seen him, then?’
Jessie laughed. ‘Remember that I have never been to London before,’ she answered. ‘Where would I have seen him? I don’t think he’s been to Illingham.’
Henrietta looked at her speculatively. ‘Might the Prince not have gone to Ashbourne?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Jessie answered, determined to put a halt to this line of enquiry. ‘Lord Ashbourne is ten years the Prince’s senior, remember. He has also spent a good deal of time abroad.’
‘I suppose so,’ agreed Henrietta reluctantly. ‘You know, Jessie, reading these reports makes me long to attend some of these glittering occasions myself.’ She paused hopefully.
‘Henrietta, neither of us is well enough connected to gain the entrée to any of the social functions listed in the paper. And before you say anything, Lord Ashbourne’s recommendation would not do either of us any good, and you know it.’
Mrs Machin sighed again and turned back to the paper, leaving Jessie to get on with her letter.
For a long time, Jessie sat with her pen in her hand and her thoughts elsewhere. She had to smile. She had never supposed that this visit would be anything other than a quiet opportunity to get to know her new sister-in-law. If Henrietta had her way, the visit would be anything but quiet. Jessie only wished that there was something more that she could do to assist her.
Her birth might entitle her to enter London society without any eyebrows being raised, but her circumstances were not affluent enough to enable her to take such a step. The only person of any rank known to her was Lord Ashbourne and she would not ask him for help. She was engaged to Henry Lusty, and to her Ashbourne must only be a family friend and kept at arm’s length for the sake of her peace of mind.
The following morning, as Jessie was preparing to come downstairs, she was startled to hear a scream. Hurrying out of her room, she looked around and seeing no one, listened for hurrying feet in order to discover whether anyone might have been hurt. Instead, Mrs Machin came out of her room in such haste that one might have almost supposed that she had been propelled by some unseen force. Her hair was awry, her cap missing, and clutched in her hand was something that looked like a letter.
‘Jessie!’ she cried. ‘You will never guess our good fortune! This might be the start!’
‘Never say that it is an invitation to dine at Carlton house with the Prince and Princess of Wales!’ exclaimed Jessie, teasingly.
‘No; but who knows what may come of it! Some cousins of Mr Hinder are out of town and unable to use their box at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. They have offered it to him, and he has invited us. He says so in this note. What do you say to that?’
‘The theatre!’ exclaimed Jessie; and for all that she did not scream, she was now starting to feel almost as excited as her hostess. For a moment the two ladies stared at one another, then, as with one voice, they said together, ‘What shall we wear?’
Chapter Nine
Because she had spent some weeks staying with the elegant Lady Hope, Jessie had several gowns that she knew were very becoming. They might not be in the first stare of fashion, modes changing more quickly in London than in the provinces, but she knew that she would not look like a dowd. Mrs Machin’s wardrobe was more limited. Her circumstances were modest and her opportunities for going out socially were few, so she tended to wear a small selection of gowns, mainly in black or grey.
‘I must visit a modiste,’ she said anxiously. ‘Where to go, though? I do not want to spend a large sum of money and get very little for it.’
‘Why not ask your maid?’ Jessie suggested. ‘She may sometimes need to purchase fabrics and may know where good stuff can be had for a reasonable sum.’
‘An excellent idea,’ exclaimed Henrietta enthusiastically. ‘Let us summon her immediately.’
Dilly did indeed know of a very reasonably priced silk mercer’s in Covent Garden, and the three of them set off that very afternoon to buy some material. Mrs Machin, who had confined herself to half mourning for several years, became almost like a skittish child when confronted with the wide selection of fabrics and colours available to her, and Jessie and Dilly had to be quite firm with her in order to prevent her from running amok.
Eventually, her choice was made, and she came away with a length of dark-blue silk, together with some trimming. As a reward for being so helpful, Dilly was permitted to choose material for a new petticoat, and she left the shop with a length of pale-green fabric wrapped in paper and tightly clasped in her hands. The next problem, that of making up the fabric, was soon solved. ‘There’s a woman lives a few doors down who is glad of a bit of work,’ said Dilly, still smiling with pleasure at her acquisition. ‘I’ll ask her if you like.’
‘We’ll all go,’ said Mrs Machin firmly. ‘If someone is making me the first new gown I’ve had in five years, I want to meet her personally.’
It was as Dilly was procuring a hackney carriage for them that disaster struck. She had succeeded in attracting the attention of one driver, but before Henrietta and Jessie could join her, two noisy young men, who were rather the worse for drink, elbowed her out of the way and took the carriage for themselves. As they did so, she was caught off balance, and dropped her precious parcel. Before she had time to retrieve it, the carriage had set off and dragged the parcel under its wheels, tearing it open and ruining the contents.
Jessie and Henrietta both hurried forward to comfort Dilly, whose eyes had f
illed with tears. ‘Perhaps something might be salvaged,’ said Jessie doubtfully, bending to pick up what was left of the parcel.
Dilly caught hold of her arm. ‘No miss,’ she said bravely. ‘Ain’t no call to ruin your gloves as well. Just leave it.’
‘It hardly seems fair,’ said Henrietta sympathetically. ‘We’ll come back and get you some more another day, Dilly.’
‘Yes, of course, ma’am,’ said Dilly, trying to smile. ‘I’ll get us another carriage now, shall I?’
‘I rather think that that ought to be my task,’ said Lord Ashbourne’s voice from behind them.
‘Oh, would you?’ said Henrietta thankfully. ‘Poor Dilly, here, found us a carriage, but some young men seized it from her and she lost her parcel in the process.’
The earl glanced down at the ruined material on the ground. ‘That’s very unfortunate,’ he murmured. ‘I trust they did not hurt you, Dilly.’
‘Oh no, my lord,’ Dilly stammered, clearly overcome at being addressed by a peer in the open street.
In no time, a hackney was summoned, and the ladies were helped in, followed by Dilly. ‘Thank you, Raff,’ said Jessie.
‘My pleasure,’ the earl replied.
‘May we drop you anywhere, my lord?’ Henrietta asked him.
‘Thank you, no, I have some business to transact. Good day to you.’
Miss Simms was a pretty, worn-looking woman in her early twenties, who stood up to greet her visitors when they were announced by a stolid looking housemaid. Jessie noticed that there was a large pile of sewing on the table in the window, and guessed that this was how she earned her living. The faint sound of a child crying seemed to be coming from somewhere in the house.
Miss Simms was delighted when the ladies explained their errand, and even more pleased when she heard the sum that Mrs Machin was prepared to offer for the work. ‘It’s no distance at all to travel for fittings,’ Henrietta explained, ‘but I do need it made for a week from today.’
Jessie was impressed by the fact that Miss Simms looked businesslike rather than alarmed. ‘In that case,’ said the seamstress, ‘I must insist that we start as soon as possible. When may I take your measurements, ma’am?’
Henrietta looked round at Jessie then at Dilly. ‘This moment, if you wish,’ she declared, standing so that Dilly could help her out of her outdoor garments.
Dilly had remained very quiet during the journey home, and Jessie suspected that she was thinking about her loss. It must have been very hard to have something new for so short a time, only to have it snatched away, she concluded. Unfortunately, Henrietta did not have a large amount of money to spare, and would not be able to purchase more material for Dilly for another quarter at least.
On their arrival at home, Henrietta and Jessie went upstairs to take off their outdoor garments. As Jessie came down the stairs, Dilly was standing in the hall with a package in her hands. ‘It’s just come, miss,’ said Dilly, who by now had recovered her composure. ‘It must be for Mrs Machin, I should think.’
Jessie took the package from her. ‘No, Dilly, it’s for you, care of Mrs Machin,’ Jessie replied, reading the superscription.
‘For me, miss?’
By this time, Henrietta was coming down the stairs. ‘A parcel has been delivered for Dilly,’ said Jessie. ‘It’s just come.’
‘I ain’t never had a parcel delivered before,’ said Dilly in awestruck accents.
‘Bring it into the drawing-room and open it there,’ said Henrietta.
Once in the drawing-room, they went over to the table in the window, and Jessie and Henrietta stood watching whilst Dilly opened the parcel with trembling fingers. As she lifted the paper, a length of material in the finest pale-green silk came spilling out over her hands. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she cried, her hands going to her cheeks, whilst Henrietta caught hold of the fabric so that it did not fall to the floor.
‘Jessie, this is beautiful stuff,’ she said admiringly. ‘It’s far better quality than we purchased originally, and there’s a lot more of it – enough for a gown, at least. Where can it have come from?’
Jessie did not need to read the note that had fluttered to the floor in order to discover who had sent the stuff.
To replace what was spoiled.
Ashbourne
‘Oh, how kind,’ exclaimed Dilly, crying all over again. ‘How very, very kind!’
‘You must thank him in person when next he comes, Dilly,’ said Henrietta. ‘Would you like me to write him a note for you?’
Jessie smiled, but like Dilly, she was moved by the earl’s kindness and could feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes. She was remembering her figurine.
The next week was punctuated with fittings and also additional outings to purchase stockings and gloves, for it would not do, both the ladies agreed, to go finely dressed with grimy or darned accessories. Jessie was a capable needlewoman, and when she saw how much there was to be done, she willingly offered to help Miss Simms by doing the more pedestrian chores such as tacking pieces together, or stitching up hems. ‘You will still receive the same sum,’ she assured the seamstress. ‘It is just that I enjoy sewing, and I am glad to help. What is more, I have seen that waists are higher in London than in the provinces, and I am hoping that if I help you to finish, you in your turn will help me to alter my gown.’
‘With pleasure,’ smiled Miss Simms. Colour came into her cheeks making her look quite pretty. After that, Jessie spent nearly every morning sitting in the window of Miss Simms’s house, where they could get the benefit of the morning sun as they both stitched busily. They talked a little, mostly about their work. Jessie told the other woman something about her life in Illingham, and the simple country pursuits that took up her time as Lady Agatha’s companion. For her part, Miss Simms told Jessie about her youth spent in a small market town; but she did not name the town in which she had lived, and she was very reticent about her reasons for coming to London.
On the third day, Jessie began to get an inkling of what might have happened. She had heard a child’s voice on one or two occasions, and if she had thought about the matter at all, had supposed the sound to come from the garden belonging to the house next door, where a solicitor lived with his wife and three children. On the day in question, the ladies had paused in their work, and Miss Simms asked the maid to bring them a cup of tea and some biscuits. The woman had just brought the tray in and set it down, when a small child aged about three came tottering in. It was not possible to tell the sex of the child, for it was in skirts, as was usual with any child of that age.
On seeing Miss Simms, the infant gurgled ‘Mama! Mama!’ and made straight for her, its arms raised.
With a heightened complexion and a look that was half embarrassment, half defiance, Miss Simms bent down and saying, ‘Come to Mama, then,’ scooped the child on to her lap, where it sat, thumb in mouth, staring gravely at the visitor. ‘This is my daughter Bryony,’ said Miss Simms. ‘As you are aware, I am not married. I suppose you will want to take your sewing elsewhere, now.’
Jessie smiled at the little girl. ‘Hello, Bryony,’ she said. In response, the child immediately hid her face in her mother’s shoulder. ‘I can think of no reason why I would want to take the sewing elsewhere,’ she went on. ‘Unless, of course, you have discovered that with a child to care for, you do not have sufficient time to do the work.’
The young woman’s expression seemed to relax a little. ‘I have time enough, with good Bess, here, to help me.’
The rather stolid looking middle-aged maid put out her hand to the child. ‘Come on with Bess, then. I’ve something for you in the kitchen.’
The child scrambled down and went with Bess willingly enough. ‘What beautiful hair,’ Jessie said involuntarily as she observed the child’s copper-coloured locks.
‘Yes. She has her father’s colouring,’ said Miss Simms in the same defiant tone as before. Then after a brief silence, she said, ‘I might as well tell you as much as I’m p
repared to say. I was a governess for a family in London. A man came to the house, and made me the object of his attentions. I believed his protestations. I was a fool. By great good fortune, just as I was being dismissed from employment, I inherited this house from a great aunt. I supplement the tiny income she left me by taking in sewing.’
‘Does Bryony’s father ever see her?’ asked Jessie.
‘No never. He is unaware of her existence, and that is the way that I would like things to remain,’ replied Miss Simms. ‘That’s all I’m willing to say. Shall we get on with our sewing now? I want to have these sleeves ready for Mrs Machin to try on this afternoon.’
Jessie did not say anything to Mrs Machin about Miss Simms’s past. This was not because she feared that Henrietta would withdraw her custom; on the contrary, with the vicar’s widow’s desire to write a scandalous novel, Jessie’s fear was that she might want to interview Miss Simms more closely in order to get more ideas for her book, a thing that she did not think the seamstress would take to very kindly.
Miss Simms proved to be a quick worker, and on the evening when they were due to go to the theatre, both ladies were able to get ready in the knowledge that they would not look out of place among the ton.
Mr Hinder arrived wearing a green brocade coat with knee breeches and a dull gold square cut waistcoat. He did not look anything like a man who was considering a career in the church. Jessie told him that he looked splendid and his cheeks glowed with boyish pleasure. With his cheerful enthusiasm for almost any project, he always made an entertaining companion.
They dined together at four o’clock, for the evening’s performance began at six. ‘I know that it is fashionable to be late for everything, but I cannot bear to miss a single minute,’ confessed Mrs Machin.
For her part, Jessie was in agreement. She could not imagine anyone booking a seat in a theatre and then arriving late. Although she was thirty years old, her experience of the theatre so far had been limited to an occasional small provisional performance. The theatre at Drury Lane seated over 3000 people. She had never been in such a big crowd in all her life. What would it be like?