“Miss Penelope Fairweather,” said Lady Anne, testing the name aloud. “She will have red hair and black sparkling eyes, a witch with a beauty that shall enthral the ton.”
“She will be mousy with brown hair and brown eyes, a veritable wallflower,” the dowager replied.
“In any case, she is dead now.”
“It is not even two hours since her intended arrival.”
“I hope she is not dead. She is my only hope of survival during the season.”
The dowager rolled her eyes and picked up her knitting. They sat in silence, eyes straying every now and then to the ticking grandfather clock. As the minutes went by the dowager became worried and Lady Anne more impatient.
“Shall I ring for some more tea?” Lady Anne finally asked.
“As you wish,” the dowager replied, tossing aside her knitting.
Lady Anne reached for the bell, but before she could ring it the butler entered.
“Miss Fairweather,” he announced.
“Send her in,” Lady Anne said, dropping the bell back in its place.
A hesitant finger nudged the door open, and then the rest of Miss Fairweather entered the room. The dowager and Lady Anne inspected the newcomer with interest.
Miss Fairweather was not pretty, nor could she ever be a wallflower. She was rustic, a woodland creature with an aura of something fay. She had brought the mist, rain and storm with her into the drawing room of the Blackthorne Mansion.
She had brown hair and brown eyes, but that was the only thing that matched the dowager’s prediction. Her dark wild hair defied the multitude of pins stuck here and there. Her bonnet was askew and sat precariously on her head, threatening to topple at any moment. Her nose was delicate, the very tip round and pink. Her chin was stubborn and her mouth sensitive. Rebellious freckles dusted her flushed cheeks. Her alert, bright eyes darted curiously about the room, the hand gripping her skirt the only indication of her nervousness.
She wore a shapeless, mud splattered dress, which made both the women wince, but it was not the dress or the young lady’s appearance that made Lady Anne squeal or the dowager scream in terror.
It was the goat that did it.
Miss Penelope Fairweather had bounded into the room followed by a goat; a medium sized white goat with black hooves and a bright peachy nose. It stared around the room through long lashes, its hooves digging into the plush blue carpet.
Miss Fairweather curtsied, aiming her elegant dip not at the dowager or Lady Anne but at the butler.
“Thank you, Perkins, that will be all,” the dowager hastily interrupted just as Miss Fairweather opened her mouth to ask the butler his name.
Perkins scuttled out in relief, carefully manoeuvring himself away from the goat.
The dowager composed herself. “Miss Fairweather, I am delighted to have you here. We were getting worried, the rain and the storm … You brought a goat,” she finished abruptly.
Miss Penelope Fairweather stood dripping water, a tiny puddle forming at her feet. Her eyes took in the luxury of the blue drawing room, the burning fire beckoning her. Her leather slippers squelched loudly as she hurried forward and bobbed a curtsy aimed in the general direction of the two women.
“Yes, this is my pet Lady Bathsheba. Lady Bathsheba, this is … err … the dowager and …?”
“Lady Anne,” Lady Anne supplied helpfully.
“… Lady Anne and we are to stay with them for a while.” She turned to the dowager, “I had heard that some ladies in London keep tigers and elephants, so I did not think my onliest loneliest goat would cause any trouble.”
The dowager’s right eyebrow shot up at the ‘onliest loneliest’ bit.
Lady Anne grinned. She had never been introduced to a goat before.
Penelope continued speaking unaware of the sensation she was causing, “Mary was to take her to the kitchens, but the poor thing was distraught over making the wrong sort of impression downstairs. I mean, a lady’s maid arriving with a goat is not impressive. Among servants you have to appear assertive from the very beginning or you end up with the worst of tasks. Mary told me that. She wants to be liked and perhaps find a stablehand to marry. She loves babies … You have to marry to have babies, but Lilly our neighbour was shipped off to Dublin because she had a baby without a husband … which was odd … so err … Mary said that a maid with a goat is not desirable. I agreed to keep the goat until she impresses them downstairs and …” Penelope faltered at the disapproving look in the dowager’s eye.
The dowager sank back in her seat. She eyed the nervous girl with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Miss Fairweather’s thoughtfulness towards her maid was commendable, yet her disregard for the impression she herself would make upon arriving with the goat was another matter. Unmarried women having babies … The dowager shuddered. She wanted to clamp a hand over her avidly listening daughter’s ears.
She wanted to scold Penelope but she couldn’t, not when the girl had just arrived. She needed to go slow. This one fault could be overlooked. A kind heart was not such a bad thing, and appropriate topics of conversations could be taught.
She glanced at her daughter, who looked like she had been given a giant present wrapped in tinsel with bows hanging off the sides, and no wonder— Miss Fairweather had brought a goat and curtsied to the butler.
Things could have been worse. The girl could have been lying dead in a pool of blood.
“You are soaking, my dear. Would you like to change? We can’t have you catching a cold on your very first day here,” the dowager asked.
“Thank you, but I don’t think Mary would appreciate being put to work after our long trip from Finnshire. Besides, I can see you have not yet had your tea. I don’t want to delay you any further. I will sit by the fire and will be dry in no time.”
“Yes, but … you are dripping,” Lady Anne exclaimed.
“I am sorry, are you worried about the furnishing? I didn’t think ….”
“Don’t be silly. A bit of water will not harm the cushions,” the dowager said, sending her daughter a quelling look.
“Well, then you needn’t worry about me. I have been caught in the rain plenty of times and have never caught a cold. The old hag … I mean, the healer in our village often says that the thunder peals to scare away those weak of heart. Lightning strikes to send people scuttling home, but only the brave stay to feel the happy rain on their skin.”
“Not the brave but fools rather who don’t mind catching their deaths,” Lady Anne muttered under her breath.
The dowager helplessly wrung her hands. She wondered if the girl was touched in the head. Happy rain, a goat as a pet, and wanting her tea in soggy skirts. And it had not been five minutes since her arrival. She stroked her temple. A headache, she was sure, was not long in coming.
She nodded to Miss Fairweather to take her seat, her mind racing to come up with a solution on how to present the unpresentable to the ton.
Chapter 2
It is monstrously unfair that whenever a girl needs her wits about her, she goes and does something completely idiotic. Penelope was that sort of girl.
She did not want to have her tea in soggy skirts. She did not want to ruin the silk cushions between which she was currently sat. And she certainly did not want the two aristocratic women looking at her like she was an imbecile. Yet here she was having tea in the duke’s drawing room utterly drenched and deuced uncomfortable.
She blamed the Blackthorne Mansion. The Blackthorne Mansion was luxurious, vibrant and beautiful, like a freshly plucked peacock’s plume. Her previous abode, that is her father’s house, could be best compared to a pickled mushroom.
It was intimidating, and Miss Penelope Winifred Rose Spebbington Fairweather was intimidated.
And when Penelope was intimidated, she not only behaved like an idiot, but she also liked to please those who intimidated her. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time it didn’t. Instead of being pleased, the recipients of her selfless goodwi
ll either became frightened of her enthusiasm or uncomfortable.
The dowager and Lady Anne were suffering from the latter emotion. They were a tad uncomfortable. The pained smile that Penelope was sporting did not help matters, nor did the presence of an extremely inquisitive goat.
Penelope’s dripping skirts, her shivering hands and the sandwich stealing goat were by mutual unspoken consent ignored. Instead, the three women latched onto the safe topic of the weather.
They discussed how much it had rained in the last month, how much it was expected to rain in the coming month, how cold it was and then how warm it was, how unusual the weather was for this time of the year, and then it was back to rain again.
The topic of weather exhausted, the women became silent. At this point of time a morning caller normally departed. Penelope could not depart, since this was now her temporary home. Therefore, she twiddled her thumbs and stared up at the ornate circular roof where a vivid painting of an old man tweaking the nose of the devil caught her eye. The dowager pretended to knit, and Lady Anne searched for topics in her buttery scone.
Soon it felt as if the silence had taken on the form of an invisible elephant who sat snorting right in the middle of the three women.
The elephant was banished by Lady Anne when she asked, “Is Finnshire a fishing village?”
“Fishing village? Oh, because of the Finn. No, we are far away from the sea. We do have a pond in our backyard. We have fish … The ducks eat them,” Penelope replied sadly.
The elephant threatened to loom again, and the dowager quickly asked, “I hope the journey from Finnshire wasn’t too stressful, my dear?”
Penelope brightened, “I had a bit of an adventure.”
Lady Anne perked up at this and leaning forward in her seat said, “Do tell.”
Penelope carefully placed the plate onto the table and sat up straight. She adopted what her sisters called her storyteller pose. She folded her hands on her lap, and tilting her chin slightly up she said, “I took leave of Gertrude, Papa, my five sisters, the cook, the scullery maid Martha, the goats and cows on the farm, Periwinkle the pig, Mrs Biddy, my friends in the village—”
“They will miss you, I am sure,” the dowager sympathised.
“Oh no, they have a wager going. Janet, my youngest stepsister, wagers that I will be back within a week. Della, the cook, is confident that I will last at least a month, and Mrs Biddy, my neighbour, wagered two whole pounds that I will back by tomorrow afternoon. No one truly believes that I will last the season, let alone return wed.”
The dowager frowned, “You are going to stay right here. I had promised your mother that I will take care of you. I will provide you with as many seasons as required until you are wed, and to the right man.”
Penelope smiled gloomily, not really believing that the dowager could follow through on her promise. She did not expect more than one season and doubted if she could intrude on the dowager’s hospitality any further than that. Besides, if Finnshire men ran the other way whenever she approached, then what chance did she have with the polished London men?
“Tell us of the adventure,” Lady Anne said soothingly.
Penelope took a deep breath and pushed away her unhappy thoughts. She once again assumed her storyteller pose and said, “Yes, the adventure … Where was I? Oh yes, so I said goodbye to my sisters, and accompanied by my uncle, an armed guard on horseback, and my maid, I set forth in the post-chaise to London. It is but a trifle few hours journey and I assumed it would be a simple, uneventful ride. The day was hellishly fine, with a bright shining sun and not a cloud to be seen for miles. I had set off feeling melancholy, but the thought of seeing London for the first time in my life soon had me thrilled. We stopped at an inn, The Golden Pass, and had a spot of lunch. It was far from golden, let me tell you. Why, I think the chicken they served me was, in fact, a poor crow that the sour-faced innkeeper shot down in his backyard. My appetite thoroughly ruined and with all of us feeling decidedly nauseated, we set off once more towards London. We bounced along comfortably lulled by the trotting horses when all at once our post-chaise shuddered to a halt. A shout by the driver had my uncle poke his head out of the window. When he turned back in, his face was ghostly white.”
“No, what was it?” Lady Anne asked in a hushed voice.
“It was … the Falcon.”
The dowager let out a small scream and Lady Anne grabbed Penelope’s hand and said, “Oh dear, not the … not the Falcon.”
“The very same,” Penelope said, nodding sagely. “He had at least ten men with him and we were dreadfully outnumbered. He ordered us to get out of the carriage and we had no choice but to comply. Our lone gunman was completely surrounded, and my poor uncle trembled so. My maid Mary swooned and lay prostrate on the ground as soon as she saw him. I almost joined Mary as well when I spotted him. The Falcon, let me tell you, cut a remarkable figure.”
“What did he wear?” whispered the dowager.
“He wore a black mask, a scarlet suit with a long satin black coat, and his hat was made of pure French lace.”
“His stockings?” Lady Anne asked breathlessly.
“White silk,” Penelope promptly replied.
“Then what happened?” Lady Anne asked, now sitting at the very edge of her seat.
“I was pale with fright, and my uncle stood mute in terror. The Falcon ignored us, and flinging his cape across his shoulders, he ordered the men to bring out our trunks. He kept his pistol trained at Uncle and asked one of his men, Terrible Tim, to break open the locks. He soon had one of the trunks open and its contents displayed. Imagine my horror when I realised that the trunk was no one else’s but mine. I fairly shook in indignation. Imagine going through a lady’s unmentionables in such a manner. My anger gave me the strength to object and I said to him, ‘Sir, that is my trunk. How can you go through a lady’s belongings with no shame whatsoever? What would your mother say?’
He paused and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. His black eyes flashed behind the mask.
I stared right back, refusing to drop my lashes. I had found the courage to speak and I refused to be cowed.
He then said to me, ‘My dear lady, my mother threw me out when she caught me stark naked with the milkmaid in the barn.’ ”
“No, he didn’t say that!” Lady Anne exclaimed in shock.
“Oh, he did and more. I can admit to you now that I was frightened and horrified, but I composed my face and said coldly, ‘Shame on you, sir. It is not seemly to be unclad in the presence of a woman. Your mother was right in showing you the door. Instead of repenting, you have taken to robbing innocent travellers. Have you no fear of God?’
He seemed taken aback at my boldness for he replied more respectfully, ‘I do beg your pardon for robbing you, ma’am. It is but misfortune that makes me do so. I promise to leave you enough to see your journey through. I always apologise to my victims after disposing them of their worldly goods. As for God, if he existed, then I wouldn’t be married to that milkmaid today. She was so fair when we tumbled in the hay, but as soon as the banns were read, she showed me her true colours. She has already born me eight brats, and I am not even sure which ones are mine. Yet I need to feed them and do my duty by my family.’
I truly melted at his plight. I softened my tone and said, ‘How sad. Eight is a very large number. I am pleased to hear that you apologised to your victims. Still, I think you should stop being a highway robber. Can’t you find some honest work?’
‘Oh, but this is just a side job. I am a burglar of some note, a deer stealer, and a horse thief. Highway robbery is just a side profession,’ he replied proudly.
I pulled myself up straight and addressed him thus, ‘Then you do not need our shillings and our pounds. Unhand us and let us be on our way. It is getting late and we still have a three hour journey. We cannot afford this diversion. If I had not been in a hurry, I would have taken the time to visit your wife and tell her of your doings. I am sure she wo
uld not approve.’
That seemed to do the trick, for the poor Falcon visibly quaked with some unknown emotion. His eyes moistened and his bottom lip, which was visible beneath the mask, trembled ever so slightly.
He finally got himself under control and said, ‘It has been a long time since a woman scolded me thus. The last time … last time it had been my sister berating me for leaving home. She begged me to change my ways, but I was so full of pride that I ignored her words. My wife is too busy tending the children to bother telling me what to do. I admit I do miss my mother, and my brothers and sisters … to have them scold me once more ….’ he trailed off.
My heart wrenched in pity, and I approached him and asked softly, ‘What is your sister’s name?’
‘Penelope,’ he answered.
‘So is mine! I too am Penelope. Penelope Fairweather,’ I said curtseying.
Now let me tell you, Lady Anne, my curtsy had the oddest effect on him. Since I treated him like a gentleman, he felt it was his duty to respond in kind. His chest puffed up and he eyed me so fondly that I felt a twinge of affection for the poor beleaguered soul. ‘Jimmy Grey at your service,’ he replied, bowing back with such flourish and elegance that in my place even King George would have been flattered.”
“Jimmy Grey?” Lady Anne interrupted in astonishment.
“Yes, doesn’t sound so fearsome now, does it? After learning his name, I lost some of my fear as well and I smiled at him and that seemed to break the ice. It seemed that I reminded him a lot of his sister and his honour did not allow him to rob us anymore. He quickly had our trunks locked and placed back in the carriage.”
“How nice of him,” Lady Anne said pleased.
Penelope nodded. “I thought so as well. Jimmy is a good man, and he was extremely apologetic of his chosen profession. Why his apology was almost poetic, and I learned he is a tad partial to Wordsworth and Byron. He is quite the thing …”
Love Regency Style Page 316