The Bachelor List

by Jane Feather

  “Have mine.” Constance put her slice on Chastity's plate and glanced at the clock. “It's nearly eleven. I wonder if he'll be early.”

  The doorbell jangled again. They all looked towards the curtain. A man's voice, lowered to a bare murmur, reached them from the shop. “It's him.” Chastity wiped her fingers on her napkin, took a quick gulp of tea, and stood up, adjusting her thick black veil. “Can you see my face?”

  “Barely.”

  “I'll try my French accent.”

  Mrs. Beedle emerged from the shop. “Gentleman's here for you, miss.”

  “Thank you.” Chastity nodded at her sisters, braced her shoulders, and went into the shop. Her sisters moved as one away from the table to the curtain. Constance tweaked it aside a fraction so that the corner of the shop where the biscuits were arrayed was visible.

  “You are looking for me, m'sieur.” Chastity's exaggerated French accent caused her sisters momentary disarray as they struggled with involuntary laughter. She sounded like a French maid in a Feydeau farce, Constance thought.

  “You are the Go-Between from The Mayfair Lady?” The man was in morning dress, carrying a top hat and a silver-knobbed cane. His hair was gray and rather sparse on top and he wore pince-nez perched on the end of a long, thin nose. A neat little moustache graced his upper lip. He looked undistinguished but perfectly respectable.

  “I am its representative,” Chastity said.

  He took off his gloves and offered his hand with a bow. She gave him her own gloved hand and gestured to the corner of the shop. “Let us talk there, if you please. We will be quite private.”

  He looked around. “I had expected an office.”

  “We have our own reasons for wishing to remain anonymous also, m'sieur.”

  The sisters behind the curtain exchanged approving nods.

  “But you can help me?”

  “I will know that better, m'sieur, when you have answered some questions.” They moved into full view of the watchers behind the curtain. “You must understand that the ladies who are interested in our service request only the most impeccable referrals.”

  “Yes . . . yes . . . of course. I would not expect otherwise,” he said hastily. “Please do not misunderstand me, madam. I meant to cast no aspersions—”

  Chastity held up a hand, cutting him off. “That is all right, m'sieur. We understand each other. Let us review your circumstances and the qualities you desire in a wife. You say that you prefer to live in the country?”

  “Yes . . . yes. I have a small estate in Lincolnshire. Not a grand mansion, you understand, but more than comfortable. I am possessed of a comfortable fortune.” The words seemed to be tumbling over themselves in his haste to get them out. Constance and Prudence knew what was happening. Chastity frequently had this effect on people. Her very posture and the softness of her voice, even in its present disguise, always implied sympathy and an empathetic ear.

  “And you are looking for a wife.” Chastity nodded her veiled head. “Someone with quiet tastes, no doubt.”

  “There is little excitement in our village, madam. Of course, my . . .” He coughed behind his hand. “My wife would entertain the vicar and his wife, the squire and his lady from the next village. We have little card parties, and occasional musical evenings. But in general we lead a quiet life.”

  “And as I understand it, you require neither beauty nor fortune?” Chastity managed to sound slightly incredulous.

  “I require a companion, madam. From what I have read, beauty makes a poor companion. It is too much interested in itself. I abhor vanity in a woman.”

  “And just what have you been reading, my friend?” Constance inquired sotto voce behind the curtain. Prudence kicked her ankle.

  “That does not concern the Go-Between, m'sieur,” Chastity said with a neutrality that neither of her sisters could have managed. “We are only in the business of making introductions. It is for our clients to decide if they will suit.”

  “Quite so . . . quite so.” He coughed again. “As for fortune, I believe I have more than sufficient to support a wife.” He turned his hat around between his hands, brushing nervously at the brim. “I would not care for an extravagant wife, madam. My fortune is sufficient for a quiet and comfortable life, but we do not indulge in excessive luxury in Lincolnshire.”

  Chastity nodded, her expression hidden behind the muslin folds of her veil. “And do you have any other requirements, m'sieur?”

  “I must have a wife of good family . . . who can hold her head up in our little society.” He reddened, then continued hesitantly, “A lady not beyond the age of . . .” He cleared his throat. “. . . of child bearing would be an advantage. An heir, you understand?” He gave an embarrassed smile.

  “I understand perfectly,” Chastity said. “And it is possible that I have a recommendation for you, m'sieur. I can effect an introduction if you so desire.”

  “I would be most grateful, madam.” He clasped his hands together in a fervent gesture.

  “Next Wednesday you should come to the address on this card at three o'clock.” Chastity handed him a visiting card. “It will be a simple At Home. The lady I would recommend to you will be wearing a white rose in her buttonhole. You will ask your hostess to make the introduction if you decide you wish to meet the lady.”

  He looked down at the engraved card and said doubtfully, “Manchester Square. This is Mayfair. Would a lady of retiring tastes frequent such an elegant address?”

  “M'sieur, you want a lady of impeccable lineage. Where else would you expect to find such a one? Everyone's tastes vary, regardless of their position in society.”

  “Oh, bravo, Chas!” Prudence applauded silently.

  “Of course . . . of course.” Anonymous nodded vigorously, still examining the visiting card. “The ladies at this address . . . the Honorable Misses Duncan . . . they will know why I'm there? How should I introduce myself?”

  “With your name, m'sieur. I assume if you decide to pursue this further you would see no difficulty in making your identity known at that point.”

  “No,” he agreed. “No, it would not serve a useful purpose to remain anonymous if I'm to court a lady. But what of my hostesses? Are they associated with the Go-Between?”

  “The Go-Between has nothing whatsoever to do with Ten Manchester Square,” Chastity lied smoothly. “The At Home is merely a convenient way for you to meet a possible wife in secure and respectable circumstances. You will present your card to the butler in the usual way and when you are announced to your hostesses, you'll simply say that you are an acquaintance of Lord Jersey's who happened to mention that he would be at Manchester Square that afternoon and you wish to talk with him. Needless to say, he will not be there, so there will be no awkwardness, and since many people attend the ladies' weekly gatherings, no one will think anything of your dropping by. How you choose to pursue the introduction once it's made is no concern of the Go-Between.”

  “I see. It seems very complicated.”

  “It is simply in the interests of discretion, m'sieur. For both you and the lady.” Chastity managed to sound rather stern.

  He nodded hastily. “Yes . . . yes, of course. Most necessary.” He turned the card over in his hands. “Is there a fee for this consultation, madam?”

  “You have paid the fee for this morning's consultation, m'sieur,” Chastity said. “However, if you wish to take up the recommendation and present yourself at Manchester Square, then there is an additional five guineas owing now. If you choose not to, then, of course, we have no outstanding charges.”

  “May I know something more of the lady before I decide?” He asked the question with all the hesitation of a schoolboy afraid of making a fool of himself.

  It seemed to Chastity that for the extra five guineas he was entitled to some more information. “She is a lady of good family . . . her father is a clergyman. I believe her to be this side of thirty-five. Of pleasant appearance and demeanor but no fortune, and she has a devou
t temperament. I would imagine she would enjoy the company of the wives of squires and vicars.”

  “It seems you have understood my needs very well, madam. I assume that the lady is interested in acquiring a husband.”

  “I believe so. But the Go-Between can make no guarantees as to her response.”

  “I understand.” He extracted five guineas from his coat pocket. “I will attend the At Home at Manchester Square on Wednesday, precisely at three o'clock.”

  “Perhaps you should make it closer to half past,” Chastity said, tucking the note into her handbag. “People don't always arrive on the dot of three.”

  “Oh, no. Quite . . . quite. Ladies are often unpunctual.” He stroked his neat, waxed moustache, an enthusiastic gleam now in his eye.

  Chastity said, “I trust you will find that this recommendation suits your requirements, m'sieur.” She extended her hand. “I bid you good morning.”

  He shook it eagerly. “Good morning, madam.” He bowed and left the shop, something of the cock in his walk.

  Chastity threw back her veil and breathed deeply, fanning her hot face with her hand.

  “You were amazing, Chas.” Prudence pulled back the curtain with a clanking of the brass rings.

  “That accent is straight out of Feydeau,” Constance said. “I can't think Anonymous believed in it for a minute.”

  “I don't think he cared,” Chastity said. “Anyway, all we have to do now is ensure Millicent Hardcastle comes on Wednesday, and we have to contrive to put a white rose in her buttonhole. But I don't think I should be there, just in case he recognizes me.”

  “No,” Prudence agreed. “Even without the veil and the phony French accent his suspicions might be aroused if he talks to you.”

  “I'll make myself scarce. But now I need more lardy cake.”

  “As much as you want, duckie.” Constance held the curtain aside for her. “That was an astonishing performance. I don't know any Lord Jersey. Is there one?”

  Chastity grinned and sat down at the kitchen table. “Not to my knowledge. That's why he won't be there on Wednesday. I was quite proud of myself. And actually I think Anonymous will really suit Millicent.” She bit into the cake. “Mrs. Beedle, this is the best I've ever had.”

  Jenkins's sister beamed. “Eat it up, m'dear. Eat it up. It doesn't keep. I'll be back to minding the shop now. Take your time.” She headed for the curtain, then said, “Oh, quite slipped my mind. There's another letter for you. I put it up behind the tea caddy.” She pointed to the shelf and the brightly painted tin tea caddy.

  Constance took down the letter. “Aunt Mabel or the Go-Between . . . any guesses?”

  Her sisters shook their heads and waited expectantly. Constance slit the envelope and opened it. She read in silence, her expression rapt.

  “Well?” Prudence demanded finally.

  “It's a letter from a reader in Hampstead asking if we would publish the schedule of meetings for the WSPU,” Constance said slowly. “She writes that it would be a great service for people who can't attend regularly or declare their affiliation openly.” She looked up, eyes shining. “We're getting through! Finally we're reaching these women.”

  Her sisters rose and hugged her. It was Constance's triumph but it was also their mother's, and as such belonged to them all. They stood close together for a minute, silent with their own memories. Such moments still happened often between them and they had learned to live with the knowledge of loss and take comfort from the shared memories.

  When they moved apart, Chastity dashed a hand across her eyes and asked, “So, what now? These five guineas are burning a hole in my pocket. How about we treat ourselves to lunch?”

  “Something modest,” Prudence said. “If we spend it as soon as we get it we're never going to be solvent.”

  “Modest, it is,” declared Constance. “And afterwards we'll have time before the At Home to scoop up little Hester and take her to visit her future mother-in-law, then bring her to the At Home, where David is bound to be in attendance. That should be good eventually for a substantial donation to the fund for indigent spinsters.”

  Chapter 12

  A secretary could only add to your consequence,” Constance said from her supine position on a blanket on the lush green riverbank just below Windsor Castle.

  “And why would my consequence need such an addition?” Max inquired, looking down at her with a quizzical gleam in his eye. “I'm quite satisfied with it as it is.”

  “Oh, but you're bound to be a Cabinet Minister soon,” she said. “And there must be so many details of your life that need to be arranged. Appointments, topics for speeches. Why, you might even want someone to write speeches for you. And I'm sure you could use the help of someone to look things up for you . . . references, legal and parliamentary precedents. Those sorts of things.”

  “What are you up to?” he demanded, reaching to refill their glasses from the champagne bottle on the grass beside him.

  “Why would you think I was up to anything?”

  “Oh, Constance! Don't treat me like an idiot.”

  She sat up. One really couldn't play games with Max Ensor. She said with an air of open frankness, “There's a man I'd like to help. He wants to marry an acquaintance of mine but he needs to get regular employment if he's to support a wife and family. He's very able at office work, although his passion is music. He's a very talented pianist but he can't make enough teaching piano. So I thought perhaps you might try him out.”

  “Very well. Send him to see me.”

  “You'll see him . . . just like that?” She couldn't help her astonishment.

  “Why not? Isn't that what you wanted?”

  “Well, yes, but I thought I'd have to work on you a lot harder.”

  “Oh, so that's what lies behind the charming, compliant, sweet-tempered façade I've been treated to all morning,” he declared. “I should have known. You were just buttering me up. I would never have expected it of you . . . you of all women!”

  Constance felt her cheeks warm at this well-justified accusation. “I have to use what tactics are available to me,” she said defensively. “I wasn't to know you would be so compliant yourself. You haven't exactly demonstrated that tendency in the past.”

  “Neither, my dear, have you.”

  The arid observation brought a rueful smile to her lips. “True enough. We're not the most peaceable pair, are we? I admit I had a reason for trying to make sure we didn't have any differences of opinion to spoil the mood. But it was a lovely picnic lunch and I enjoyed both it and your company regardless of ulterior motive.”

  He was silent for a minute, then said, “You didn't seem too pleased to see me the other morning.”

  “You took me by surprise,” she said. “I had things on my mind and you took me by surprise.”

  “I'll know better another time,” he said as dryly as before. He was quite certain that there was more to it.

  She hesitated, wondering if this was the right moment to move things onto a more confiding level. If she was to influence his opinions they needed to be a lot more intimate and trusting with each other. Lust alone wouldn't do it. She had no idea whether they could move their affair into something meaningful, let alone what would happen if they did, but the possibility intrigued her. Of course, if he had no intention of taking things to a deeper level, and he had given no indication that he did, then if she pushed now it might drive him away.

  The silence had gone on too long and she made up her mind. Do or die. “I was . . . am . . . afraid that things are moving too fast. I know I was responsible for what happened at Romsey Manor, but when we got back to London I started to think that we don't really know each other at all. I enjoy your company.” She gave a tiny little laugh that almost sounded embarrassed. “I'm in lust with you. But in the cold light of day that's not enough.”

  Max was taken aback. He had not expected such a frank invitation, or was it a challenge, to explore the possibilities of a deeper relationship
. At least not so soon. In truth, he hadn't thought her interested in anything more than a passionate, lighthearted affair, and it hadn't occurred to him to consider whether he was interested in more than that either. Was she saying now that if he turned down this invitation—or challenge—then their present involvement was at an end? He certainly wasn't ready for that to happen.

  “Then perhaps we should start to get to know each other,” he said in a considering tone. “Perhaps we have been putting the cart before the horse.” He turned sideways on the grass to look at her, his blue eyes resting intently on her face. “Tell me about the most important thing in your life. Apart from your family, I mean. What stirs you, Constance? What makes your blood run hot?”

  She gave another little laugh. “You mean apart from having sex with you?”

  “Be serious,” he chided. “You were the one who started this conversation.”

  “Women's suffrage,” she said, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass at the familiar surge of energetic fervor the topic always brought her. “I am passionate about women's suffrage. About equal rights for women. It is the driving force of my existence.”

  “I knew your views on the subject,” he said. “You don't hide them. But is it really that important to you? The driving force of your existence?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, returning his intent gaze. “Without exaggeration.”

  He was once more taken aback. How could anyone describe a single political issue as the driving force of her existence? It was the description of a fanatic. “Then you're a member of the WSPU?”

  “Of course,” she said. “But I don't broadcast it. It would upset my father. The time will come to be open about my affiliation, but not yet.”

  “I see.”

  She continued to look at him with the same intensity, as if she would read behind the seemingly placid façade of his countenance. “You think a member of the Union makes an uncomfortable bedfellow, Max?” There was a hint of mockery in her voice. “Better to know that now rather than later.”