Caught in a Cornish Scandal

by Eleanor Webster

  She approached the front entrance with little enthusiasm and that familiar feeling of not quite belonging.

  The door was opened almost immediately by a stooped and elderly butler. This individual ushered Frances, Millie and Lil into a spacious front hall and, after relieving them of their travelling cloaks, led them into an elegant salon. Meanwhile, the servants set about unloading the carriage while the nursemaid was led upstairs to ensure Noah’s comfort.

  Lady Wyburn’s home was not huge, but everything about it spoke of wealth, comfort and an understated elegance. A fire flickered invitingly from within a marble fireplace, gold trim glittered about the ceiling, long mirrors lined the walls and a red Indian carpet dominated the room’s centre.

  ‘Do not worry,’ Frances said, catching Millie’s expression. ‘My aunt isn’t anything like her house.’

  Millie smiled but was sceptical. While she did not have a vast acquaintance with the aristocracy, she was quite certain they would not appreciate a travel-stained slip of a girl with a dress several years out of fashion and made of a rather cheap cloth in the first place.

  Frances was correct in one thing: her aunt was not anything like the house. Indeed, Millie later concluded that Lady Wyburn defied description. She bustled into the salon moments after their arrival wearing a gown of a deep burgundy shade and, despite her obvious age, moved fluidly and with surprising energy. Indeed, she brought with her an eager, almost girlish enthusiasm, her face wreathed in smiles, while a profusion of grey ringlets peaked out from under her bonnet.

  ‘I am so very happy that you have come to visit,’ she said, pressing a kiss to Frances’s cheek while greeting both Millie and Lil with genuine enthusiasm. ‘We live rather a boring life. Indeed, I am always in search of diversion and poor Merryweather is not a great conversationalist. He is greatly hampered by the fact that he is almost entirely deaf.’

  Millie glanced in the direction of the butler, but his face remained impassive.

  ‘Now, first things first,’ Lady Wyburn continued. ‘Should we have tea now or would you like to freshen up first?’

  ‘I would just like to ensure that Noah is comfortable,’ Frances said immediately, her forehead already wrinkled, and Millie noted a nervous jumpiness about her.

  ‘An excellent idea, although I usually find infants travel remarkable well. I think it is because of their size. Lying comfortably in a bassinet seems so much better than bouncing on a seat.’ She paused, looking towards the butler and adding in strident tones, ‘Merryweather, we will have tea in half an hour.’

  ‘Thank you, that would be lovely,’ Millie said as Merryweather departed.

  ‘I am glad we decided to delay tea,’ Lady Wyburn confided as she led them through the front hallway. ‘It will take Merryweather at least half an hour to even order tea as he suffers from the most dreadful arthritis, but he insists on working and one doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. Anyway, it will provide me with ample time to show you to your rooms so that you can get settled.’

  Lady Wyburn led them upstairs while still talking, her grey ringlets bobbing every now and again for emphasis.

  ‘Now your bedchamber, Frances dear, is attached to the nursery, which may be unusual but quite convenient. I made up beds for the maid as well. I always feel that the nursery is quite the best place in the whole house and nursery teas are so much nicer than the things one has to eat as an adult.’

  They left Frances with Noah and the nursemaid, and Lady Wyburn led Lil and Millie to two adjoining bedchambers which shared a very comfortable sitting area. ‘I hope you will have everything you need but, if not, we will purchase it. I always enjoy shopping and find a spree so uplifting if I am in the least bit despondent. I do hope someone will come with me; the only thing better than shopping alone is to shop with a companion. In fact, I have been experiencing the strong feeling that I am greatly in need of a new bonnet.’

  ‘I would love to come,’ Lil said with enthusiasm.

  ‘And we could organise a soirée or tea party. Do you enjoy such events?’

  ‘I do,’ Lil said.

  Millie nodded somewhat vaguely as Lady Wyburn seemed so kind that she hated to discourage her. Besides, maybe Lady Wyburn’s friends might be pleasant. She had to admit that, while somewhat eccentric, Sam and Frances’s great-aunt gave one the feeling of belonging and as though one’s elbows, knees and feet were, in fact, the correct number.

  * * *

  Lil and Lady Wyburn had kept themselves happily occupied shopping during the first week while Millie diligently did everything she could to avoid shopping. Fortunately, Frances helped with this as they often had tea in the nursery or went for walks with Noah in the park nearby.

  Physically, Frances was improving. She did not look so pale and her face had lost that pinched look. She still did not speak much and sometimes had a faraway look, worry and fear visible in her expression. Millie did not pry at these moments, when Frances seemed absorbed and distanced from the world. Sometimes she would distract with an amusing anecdote, but often she remained silent, allowing Frances the time and space for contemplation.

  Towards the end of the second week, Sam wrote, announcing that he had finished in Cornwall and would soon be returning to London.

  Millie had found that Sam’s absence had filled her both with relief and irrational disappointment. This mix of sentiments had irritated her. As well, she noted she had an unfortunate, and equally irritating, habit of dropping things whenever his name was mentioned.

  * * *

  Sam’s arrival in London was announced when Merryweather came in with a note laid on a silver platter.

  Lady Wyburn took it, scanning the words quickly and smiling in great delight. ‘He will see us tomorrow.’

  ‘Who will see us tomorrow?’ Lil questioned.

  ‘Dear Sam.’

  Millie promptly dropped her butter knife.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she hastily said, as Merryweather shuffled in her direction. She was uncertain if, having bent to the floor, he would ever straighten.

  ‘He has to spend the entire day with solicitors, which I’m sure he finds dreadfully dull. Really, solicitors and magistrates should come with some sort of a warning.’

  ‘A warning?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Indeed, that prolonged contact is likely to make one dyspeptic. Or perhaps it is the occupation. I have always noted that my solicitor looks decidedly dyspeptic whenever I am talking to him.’

  ‘But Sam is going to visit us?’ Frances prompted.

  ‘Indeed, although I personally prefer entertainment with less caterwauling,’ Lady Wyburn continued.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Sorry, I forgot to mention, the dear boy has invited us to the opera. He loves it, you know, but I find there is too much singing.’

  ‘Singing is rather an integral part of opera,’ Millie said.

  ‘Indeed, and I will go, of course, because caterwauling is more entertaining than staying at home. I will invite the dear boy to dine here and then we will proceed to the opera. That way we can have a decent conversation before the caterwauling starts.’

  ‘It will be lovely for us all to spend some more time with him in a less crowded and more intimate environment,’ Lil said and Millie promptly dropped her butter knife again.

  * * *

  The following day seemed to involve nothing but preparations for the dinner and the opera. Lil was quite beside herself with enthusiasm because she had never attended any theatrical production in London and Lady Wyburn was also in a high statement of excitement because it was her nature. Meanwhile, Millie’s emotions had all the stability of an ill-made weather vane and Frances determined that while she would enjoy the dinner, she did not wish to attend the opera.

  ‘I still do not like leaving Noah during the evening which is foolish, I know. And I also worry that there may be gossip.’


  ‘Lady Wyburn is quite certain that someone will have done something more scandalous and no one will have any interest in us,’ Millie said. ‘Although a restful evening at home would be pleasant.’

  ‘Stay home? Good gracious, you sound like an antiquity. Do you think the Prince Regent will be there?’ Lil asked.

  The three women were sitting in Noah’s spacious nursery. It was a bright room with a huge, cheerful fire, high ceilings and soft, comfortable chairs. Indeed, Millie felt it was quite the best room the house.

  ‘Antiquity or not, I am quite certain I would also prefer to stay home,’ Millie said, leaning back and putting her feet up on a footstool.

  ‘You should go to the opera,’ Frances urged. ‘Please do not stay home on my account.’

  Millie pulled a face. ‘It sounds a bit too much like a soirée.’

  ‘Sam has a box, so you won’t have to talk to anyone but him, if you do not want.’

  Millie felt a sudden flush in her cheeks. The thought of only talking to Sam was not quite the balm on her nerves that Frances intended.

  ‘Well, I’ll...um...think about it.’

  ‘But at least let me dress you for dinner?’ Frances said, leaning forward with sudden eagerness and enthusiasm which was lovely to see, but also somewhat disconcerting.

  ‘I have been managing fine for the last week. I have not been running around in a state of dishabille,’ Millie said.

  ‘But we have a surprise.’ Frances looked at Lil. ‘Should we tell her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Millie removed her feet from the footstool. ‘Now I am truly suspicious. What have you done?’

  ‘Come up to Lil’s bedchamber. We have been conspiring,’ Frances said.

  * * *

  Lil’s bedchamber appeared to have been struck by an explosion of boxes. They were strewn across every flat surface: floor, bed, chair and night table. Each one appeared open, their contents overflowing in a mess of lace, ribbons and silk.

  Millie stepped carefully over the debris, sitting gingerly on the corner of Lil’s bed while Frances went to a box. Picking it up, she placed it on the bed beside Millie, carefully removing the lid. With equal care, she lifted up a dress and draped it over her arm in a spill of soft lavender silk.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Millie said.

  ‘It’s for you.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘We took one of your gowns and asked the seamstress to make it up. I also got a dress for Lil.’

  ‘You shouldn’t. We do not have the money,’ Millie said.

  Frances laid down the dress, reaching for Millie’s hand and holding it tightly in her own. ‘Please—it gave me such joy to pick it out and you have helped me so much. I am so glad and grateful you are here. Please, please let me give this to you.’

  Millie turned towards the dress and with careful, almost reverent, movements, touched the gossamer silk. Frances’s eagerness was so warm and genuine, it seemed unkind to refuse.

  ‘It is beautiful. I have never had anything half as lovely.’ A lump formed in her throat and tears prickled in her eyes. It seemed impossible that such a dress could be for her.

  ‘And it’s even suitable for mourning. You’ll wear it tonight?’

  A dress would not magically change her, Millie reminded herself. It would not make her elegant, witty, or in charge of her feet and arms and elbows.

  ‘Yes,’ Millie said, with a tiny shiver of excitement.

  This, naturally, encouraged both Lil and Frances to suggest that they spend some extra time on Millie’s hair. Again, Millie would normally have prevented such fuss and excitement about her appearance, except she could see Frances’s eagerness. Indeed, it was Frances who arranged with Lady Wyburn to lend her maid, Heloise, to them.

  ‘I have heard that she is masterful with tongs,’ she explained.

  * * *

  Lady Wyburn had been more than happy to lend Heloise and by the middle of the afternoon the diminutive French maid had arrived, complete with scissors, curling tongs, ribbons, combs and all manner of other items.

  ‘I generally do not much suit frippery or ringlets,’ Millie told her with some apprehension.

  ‘Moi, Heloise, I wouldn’t do that to you,’ the maid assured her. She was as short as Millie, her speech characterised by a French accent, the strength of which varied considerably. ‘However, I do think a fringe would be beneficial.’

  Millie eyed the scissors with some apprehension. ‘A fringe? You are certain?’

  ‘Absolument. One can have too much forehead. I will add some curls.’

  ‘Curls? That is more something that Lillian would have.’

  ‘Mademoiselle, you need curls. Beauty is about contrasts. Too many curls with blonde hair and blue eyes is de trop. But curls with those severe eyebrows—perfection.’

  ‘I doubt anyone’s called my eyebrows perfection before,’ Millie muttered.

  ‘That is because the brows with the forehead is too much, mademoiselle.’

  ‘They are somewhat hard to separate.’

  ‘Which is why we will have curls, mademoiselle,’ Heloise said firmly, as though explaining the issue to a wayward child.

  Heloise worked diligently. She cut a delicate fringe across Millie’s forehead, creating a few loose curls while scooping the remainder of her hair into a low bun. Occasionally, Frances or Lil would come in, providing assistance and encouragement.

  ‘Now we will be putting on the dress and we will be seeing how very, very beautiful you are,’ Heloise announced, drawing out the syllables.

  Millie questioned this. She doubted very much that she looked even close to beautiful. Indeed, she only hoped she did not look too odd.

  ‘Do not be grimacing until you have the opportunity to look at yourself,’ Heloise said, tutting irritably.

  ‘I was only thinking that I have never aspired to beauty. Just to blend in and avoid attention.’

  Heloise shook her head. ‘The key, mademoiselle, is not to blend in. It is about confidence. It is about knowing your value, oui? Now we will dress you in your gown. And then you will see a miracle.’

  Millie acquiesced, although she somewhat thought it might take something of biblical proportions to provide the transformation the woman seemed to anticipate.

  The dress was a shimmering waterfall of a gown. It was in the newest style and had a low neck and no corset, the cloth cascading to the floor in loose folds. Heloise walked around her, adjusting the odd curl or ruffle as she went.

  ‘It is not bad,’ she said, at last, with a sniff, stepping back with a satisfied expression.

  Frances and Lillie were more exuberant with their praise.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Millie,’ Frances said with such a happy smile that Millie did not care if she looked like a primped China doll. ‘Look.’

  Millie stepped in front of the floor-length looking glass. The reflection gazing back at her was quite different from anything she had anticipated. She appeared fashionable and...almost attractive. Soft curls covered her high forehead, making her face less angular. Delicately curled tendrils furthered this effect, framing her cheeks. Her eyes had always been big, but now they sparkled with excitement, their colour enhanced by the lavender gown.

  Almost shyly, Millie stared into the glass. The improvement was amazing, indeed almost miraculous.

  ‘Is this quite decent?’ Her hand touched her throat. ‘The neckline seems quite low.’

  ‘The style is everywhere in London,’ Lil assured her. ‘Have you been under a mushroom this last week?’

  ‘I go out as infrequently as possible,’ Millie said, wryly. ‘But I do look nice.’

  ‘What did you expect, you goose?’ Frances said, giving her a hug. ‘Besides, you always look nice. We have merely made it more noticeable.’

  ‘You will do,’ Heloise announced
when she saw the women dressed for the evening. ‘Almost you are a credit to me. Now, I trust you will not get yourself untidy?’ She directed this question to Millie, pulling her brows together formidably.

  ‘I promise I will do nothing worse than read.’

  ‘Good, at least you are not like Viscountess Wyburn, who invents things.’ She gave a sorrowful shake of her head before leaving.

  ‘Invents things?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Yes, one of Aunt Tilly’s former protégées,’ Frances explained. ‘She likes to invent things like butter churns. She married Aunt Tilly’s stepson. You will like her.’

  Millie looked somewhat sceptical.

  ‘You do not believe me?’ Frances asked.

  ‘My mother made me come to London when I was younger. I went to these dreadful tea parties with other girls my own age and everyone talked about shopping, fashion or gossip. I find it hard to believe that I would have anything in common with a viscountess.’

  ‘You will like Rilla. Besides, one’s early adolescence is never the best time for anyone. Perhaps you should stop judging us all by those tea parties,’ Frances said.

  ‘I—’ For a moment Millie was going to argue, but then shrugged, laughing. ‘Perhaps you are right.’

  * * *

  Sam stood within the entrance hall. Millie jerked to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs, her hand tightening on the banister and her heart thumping. He looked every inch the Corinthian. He was immaculate, handsome and fashionable, but not in a foppish way. Instead, his clothes merely enhanced his physique, his broad shoulders and long limbs. His dark hair, chiselled nose and jaw gave him the look of a classical statue, making her ache somewhere beneath her breastbone.