by M C Beaton
“I never thought of it,” said Felicity, running her fingers nervously through her chestnut hair. “I was always so taken up with wondering who we were and where we came from. We cannot have had low parents, for the orphanage was very genteel and in a lower one we would already have been found posts as servants. But Mrs. Waverley made our incarceration here seem so logical. It is a man’s world, and she made us feel like a courageous band of women who had decided to live their own lives. I cannot find fault with her ideas, you know. Women do not have any rights to speak of. What is marriage? Tied to some tyrant for life and only allowed peace after one has produced a string of babies and miscarriages.”
Frederica looked slyly at Fanny. “But what if one falls in love with a handsome man like, say, the Earl of Tredair?”
Fanny had a brief thought of what it would be like to be shackled to the Earl of Tredair for life. The idea that it might be heaven came to her, and she decided her nerves must be sadly overwrought.
“Stop teasing me about the Earl of Tredair,” she snapped. “We should study these members of society at Lady Artemis’s party and watch how they go on. On the other hand, it is all very well to have high principles but I, for one, do not want to appear as a sort of sideshow to amuse Lady Artemis’s guests. Believe me, Lady Artemis will make a great story out of our quarrel and how Mrs. Waverley locked us in our rooms. We shall be treated with contempt.”
“We could all fall ill,” said Frederica, after a long silence.
“Mrs. Waverley would send for the doctor and he would soon find out we were malingering,” jeered Felicity.
“Wait a bit.” Fanny sat up straight. “Dr. MacAllister is short-sighted. He is also morbidly afraid of catching an infection himself. If we were to paint red spots on our faces, he would stand at the end of the bed and not dare to come any nearer. Fetch your paintbox, Felicity. We have work to do!”
***
Lady Artemis was furious. Her drawing room was crowded with the cream of the ton. The earl and Mr. Fordyce were there as was Lord Alvanley, Lord Petersham, Lord Byron and many more fascinating and interesting men, not to mention some high-nosed ladies who had been chosen for their social position rather than their looks. Lady Artemis did not want any competition. Not only did Lady Artemis feel she had brought them all to her house on false pretences, but she considered it outrageous that Mrs. Waverley should come alone from an infected house. Lady Artemis kept stealing looks at herself every time she passed a looking glass as if dreading to see red spots beginning to pop out all over her face.
“You must be relieved that the ladies are ill,” said Mr. Fordyce to the earl. “You appear to have taken the beautiful Miss Fanny in dislike.”
“Not I,” said the earl. “I was simply angry at having allowed myself to be coerced into attending this tedious affair.”
He would not confess to himself that he was disappointed. He tried to remember Fanny with that awful hairstyle and dowdy gown, but all he could remember was all that glorious fall of golden hair and how soft and pliant her body had felt against his in the balloon.
“Now Lady Artemis is in the suds,” he said.
“Why?” asked Mr. Fordyce.
“Well, from the cheers outside and the commotion downstairs, I fear Prinny himself has arrived to see the latest heroine.”
Sure enough, the Prince Regent was announced. Lady Artemis fluttered across to welcome him, explaining nervously that Miss Fanny and her sisters had been struck down by a mysterious affliction.
The royal eye fell on the earl, and the portly royal figure moved toward him. “Tell me of your adventures, Tredair,” said the prince.
The earl obliged, giving almost as highly colored an account as he had given the villagers of Deep-Under-Lime. The prince was obviously enjoying himself and Lady Artemis began to relax. The earl finished his story and then said, “But, sire, although Miss Fanny is not present, Mrs. Waverley is.”
“Ah, yes, the gel’s mother,” said the prince. “Which is she?”
Lord Tredair did not think it necessary to point out that Mrs. Waverley was not Fanny’s mother. Instead he nodded across the room and said, “The lady yonder in the purple turban.”
The Prince Regent raised his quizzing glass, looked at Mrs. Waverley, and muttered, “It can’t be.”
“I beg your pardon, sire,” said the earl.
“Nothing … nothing. Must leave. Pressing engagements, lots to do.”
The earl watched curiously as the prince walked across the room to take his leave. Then the prince stopped as he came abreast of Mrs. Waverley. That lady’s face had lost all color. She curtsied low. The earl went and stood behind the prince. “Clorinda?” said the prince, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can it be you?”
Mrs. Waverley gave him a look of mute appeal and then quickly dropped her eyes. “Charmed to meet you,” said the prince in a loud voice. “Sorry your daughter is indisposed. Brave lady. Good day to you all.”
The earl tried to engage Mrs. Waverley in conversation, but she was trembling and abstracted. Had it not been for that overheard whisper of “Clorinda”, the earl would have assumed she was overcome simply by the honor of meeting the Prince Regent. At last, in great agitation, she protested she felt faint, strongly refused his offer to escort her home, and took her leave.
“I think we should go as well,” said the earl, returning to Mr. Fordyce.
“We’ve only just got here!” cried Mr. Fordyce, looking longingly in the direction of Lady Artemis.
“Stay by all means,” said the earl. “I shall most probably see you at the club later.”
But he spoke to thin air. Lady Artemis had just smiled in their direction and Mr. Fordyce had assumed that smile to be for himself and was now standing beside her, talking earnestly.
The earl hesitated before leaving Hanover Square. It would do no harm, surely, to call and pay his respects to Mrs. Waverley. He had not asked her about Fanny.
But when he knocked at the Waverley mansion, Mrs. Ricketts, after leaving him standing in the hall for what seemed a very long time, returned to tell him that now Mrs. Waverley, too, was indisposed and would not be receiving visitors for some time.
***
By the next day the Waverley girls had washed off their spots and were prepared to venture once more into the outside world. But it transpired that even their walks in the square were canceled. Mrs. Waverley kept to her rooms and refused to see them or anyone. After four days of this gloom, the rebellious Frederica put on her bonnet and cloak and made to leave the house to take a walk, only to find her way barred by Mrs. Ricketts and two maids. No one was to leave the house, said Mrs. Ricketts sourly, and force was to be used if necessary.
Bewildered, Frederica returned to tell the others. “Then we’ll need to use the library window again,” said Felicity. “Me first. I feel if I do not get out of here, I shall scream. Have you any money, Fanny?”
“I have quite a lot left over from pawning that brooch,” said Fanny, “but I meant to keep it until we could raise some more money to add to it and get the trinket back.”
“Just a little bit,” pleaded Felicity. “Just enough to buy a trifle in one of the shops.”
Fanny relented. She was enjoying their new found friendship and closeness and did not want to spoil it.
So Felicity went out that day, and Frederica the next. Fanny could hardly wait for it to be her turn. The silence in the house was oppressive. Mrs. Waverley still refused to see anyone, although people knocked at the door all day long. Everyone was anxious to meet Fanny, who had featured so largely in the newspapers.
***
“So you have decided to set yourself up in style,” said the earl to Mr. Fordyce as they walked through the elegant streets of the West End.
“Yes, it seems silly to live in cramped lodgings when I have the ready to hire a town house,” said Mr. Fordyce. “Barton told me he’d got a place to rent, and you’ll never guess where it is.”
“Where?”
“Right slap bang next to Mrs. Waverley,” said Mr. Fordyce.
“And right across the square from Lady Artemis,” said the earl slyly.
Mr. Fordyce blushed. “Coincidence, that’s all,” he muttered. “I mean, it’s demned difficult to find a place during the Season. Barton is asking a reasonable rent.”
“Don’t make up your mind until you see the place,” cautioned the earl. “He may be asking a reasonable rent because it’s ready to fall down.”
“I’m on my way there,” said Mr. Fordyce. “Come and see it with me. You can call on the Waverleys.”
“I have no interest in the Waverleys,” said the earl. “In fact, I do not have much interest in anything at the Season.”
“Then why attend?”
“I do hope to get married one day. I am getting somewhat long in the tooth.”
“Should be easy for you,” said Mr. Fordyce, jealously. “You have only to drop the handkerchief.”
“Ah, but I think marriage should involve companionship, and I have not yet met a lady who would not bore me after a very short time.” For some reason he felt a sudden stab of disloyalty to Fanny. Absence from her was blurring that dowdy image of drab clothes and twig strewn hair.
“I should think any man would be fascinated by Lady Artemis for life.”
“Ah, but I am a difficult creature. I wish you well.”
“I do not think I have much hope there,” said Mr. Fordyce wistfully. “She won’t even look at me when you’re in the room. I thought she was smiling at me at her party, but when I went to join her, all she could do was exclaim at you taking your leave so early and say how disappointed she was and ask me all sorts of things about you.”
“Persevere,” said the earl cheerfully. “They often pretend to be interested in your friend when they are interested in you.”
“I wish I believed that,” said Mr. Fordyce. “I shall be in a good position to plan a campaign if this house is at all bearable.”
They made their way toward the tall house adjoining the Waverley mansion.
Mr. Fordyce fished in his pocket and produced an enormous key.
The door creaked open and they walked into a large hall. The house was double fronted with a saloon, a morning room, and a library on the ground floor. On the first floor was a large drawing room, dining room, study, and another saloon. Above that were the bedrooms.
Everything smelled damp and dusty. Mr. Fordyce got down on his hands and knees and poked up the drawing room chimney with his cane and then leapt back as a cascade of soot tumbled down the chimney. “All the chimneys need sweeping. I’ll bet,” he said gloomily.
“And everything needs scrubbing. Let’s go up and examine the beds,” said the earl. “Bound to be lumpy.”
The beds were, as the earl had feared, lumpy. But Mr. Fordyce, glancing out of one of the bedroom windows, saw Lady Artemis driving out in her carriage, and his mood changed.
“I think the house is splendid,” he cried. “Just a little cleaning and scrubbing and firing and it will be as right as rain.”
“Do you really need all this?” asked the earl, shaking the bed hangings and releasing a choking cloud of dust.
“I plan to entertain, and I cannot entertain in lodgings.”
“Well, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll offer that old screw, Barton, half of whatever he demanded.”
“I’ll try. Anyway, we’ve seen everything.”
“No, we haven’t,” said the earl. “You’d better have a look at the kitchen.”
Mr. Fordyce surveyed his tall friend in amazement. “Kitchens? Why?”
“My very dear friend, if you want to keep a good chef, you have to have a suitable place to house him. Kitchens are very important.”
“Oh, very well,” said Mr. Fordyce reluctantly.
They made their way down to the basement, and the earl pushed open a door and revealed a large, gloomy kitchen. It was a typical kitchen of the times, except that it was rank and dirty. The walls, which should have been limewashed two or three times a year, were black with smoke and grease, and the floor, which should have been sluiced and scrubbed daily, was slippery with dirt. There was an open fire and a spit.
“You see how important it is to examine the kitchen?” said the earl. “Any chef or housekeeper would faint if they saw this. You need a squad of scrubbing women and then you need men to limewash the walls. You’ll have to install one of these new kitcheners. Everyone uses cooking stoves now. Just look at those pots! Throw the lot out and buy new ones. I say, do you really want to go through all this? You can use my house to entertain, if you wish.”
“You won’t recognize the place by the time I’m finished with it,” said Mr. Fordyce with a cheerfulness he did not feel.
“Let’s see what else there is,” said the earl, leading the way. “Servants hall, dark and poky, and dirty like all the rest. Still room, store room, preserving room. I suppose there is a garden of sorts?” He unlocked the back door and tugged it hard. It was stuck fast with the damp. He put his booted foot against the wall and wrenched hard. The door sprang open to reveal a weedy garden beyond.
“I don’t see why these London gardens should be so neglected,” said the earl crossly. “There are plenty of bushes that will survive the constant rain of London soot. And …”
He stopped talking suddenly and cocked his head to one side. There came a scrabbling sound from the other side of the wall.
Both men turned and looked at the wall that separated the garden from that of Mrs. Waverley’s. As they watched, the top of a bonnet appeared over the edge of the wall to be followed by the determined face of Miss Fanny Waverley. She was so intent on her escape that she did not notice the two men. She sat astride the plank, which one of the girls must have found, and propped again on Mr. Fordyce’s side of the wall, slid down, then stood up, and brushed down her skirts.
“Good afternoon, Miss Fanny,” said the earl.
Fanny started and blushed. “Oh, don’t tell on me,” she cried impulsively. “I have to escape.”
“Escape? Why?” asked the earl.
“We are not allowed out,” said Fanny wretchedly. “Not even for a walk in the square. So we have been in the way of escaping by this route, just to walk about the streets and parks for a little.”
“Is Mrs. Waverley still indisposed?”
“I do not think there is anything very much up with her,” said Fanny. “It all happened after she had been to that party at Lady Artemis’s. She returned home and locked herself up in her rooms and gave instructions that we were not to be allowed out. What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Fordyce is going to rent this house.”
“Oh.” Fanny’s face fell. “Now what are we to do?”
“It does seem hard,” said Mr. Fordyce, “that you should not be allowed out. I tell you what, Miss Fanny, I shall pretend I do not see any of you, and you may still use this route.”
“But you will have servants,” said Fanny. “And they will talk to our servants and that will be an end of it.”
“Are you recovered from your illness?” asked the earl.
“What illness?” asked Fanny and then blushed again and looked at the ground. “Oh, that illness. Yes, thank you, my lord. I am recovered.”
“Tell me, Miss Fanny, why did you really have twigs in your hair?”
“I was getting over the wall and fell into the bushes.”
“So that explains it. Does Mrs. Waverley know the Prince Regent?” asked the earl abruptly. Fanny’s eyes flew to meet his. “Of course not. She would have said so. Who would not?”
“I thought I overheard him say, ‘Clorinda’ to her at Lady Artemis’s party.”
“You must be mistaken,” said Fanny. “Her name is Maria. But the Prince Regent was there! Oh, wait until I tell the girls. They will be disappointed not to have met him.”
“I think the whole of society is disappointed at not meeting you, Miss Fanny. One after the other tells me o
f calls on your house.”
Fanny shrugged slightly. “They have already ceased to call. I am no longer a celebrity. Are you really going to take this house, Mr. Fordyce? It looks sadly neglected from the outside.”
“And hideously neglected on the inside. But nothing will deter Mr. Fordyce. How did you plan to get around the front?” asked the earl.
“There is a path there that leads around the side of the house and up the area steps,” said Fanny. “Perhaps I should not go. I am always afraid of discovery.”
“It is monstrous you should be so cooped up,” said Mr. Fordyce, his kind heart touched. “Perhaps Lady Artemis has some influence with Mrs. Waverley and can persuade her to take you about.”
“Mrs. Waverley will see no one, not even Lady Artemis,” said Fanny. She stopped and listened. “Oh, dear, our servants have finished their tea and are back in the kitchens. I am always afraid they will see me when I return.”
“Come and see my new abode,” said Mr. Fordyce expansively, “and then we may hit upon a way to get you back in your own front door.”
Fanny followed them into the house. She was relieved that the presence of the earl was not disturbing her. No suffocating heartbeats, no trembling knees. She exclaimed at the mess that was the kitchen.
“Mrs. Waverley would be shocked,” she said. “She has very strong views on kitchens. Ours has the latest in closed stoves and is always clean and sparkling. And the kitchen servants have real beds and are not made to sleep on the floor in front of the kitchen fire as they are in most households.”
“Would she feel strongly about this kitchen?” asked the earl curiously.
Fanny looked at him in surprise, and then laughed. “She would be itching to manage the whole thing and Mr. Fordyce as well.”
“Then perhaps this is just the tonic she needs,” said the earl. “Follow me, Miss Fanny, I have a plan.”
The earl knocked at the door of Mrs. Waverley’s mansion. Mr. Fordyce stood behind him. Mrs. Ricketts answered the door.