by M C Beaton
“And they all married well?”
“Very well. They are spread throughout the country and all of them now have children of their own. They do not come to London, which is why you have not met any of them.”
“But a man to have charge of six girls! I suppose that was why my father decided to leave me in your care.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he did not know of any suitable female. Here we are.”
He jumped down and then held up his arms to help her from the carriage.
She tumbled forward so that he had to catch hold of her tightly. For a brief moment, a delectable bosom was pressed against his chest and a beautiful, laughing face was turned up to his own. He realized to his horror he had been within an ames ace of kissing her as he quickly released her and turned sharply away.
“Has there always been a menagerie here?” asked Patricia, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.
“I think it was started in the thirteenth century by Henry III. He started off by keeping a polar bear. It was a great success until he ordered the sheriffs to pay fourpence a day for its upkeep.
“Mind you, the animal was a great favorite and crowds would flock to watch it fishing in the river. After that, Henry then instructed his sheriffs to build a house at the Tower forty feet by twenty to house his elephant. I think the original site of the menagerie must have been somewhere in the Outer Bailey. King Henry’s elephant died after only two years of captivity and the elephant house was turned into a prison.
“By Edward II’s reign the Keeper of the King’s Lions and Leopards was a regular appointment carrying a fixed wage and lodgings within the Tower.”
They walked along beside the cages examining the dusty, ragged-looking collection of beasts. The air was hot and stifling and the smell was abominable.
“Let us go,” said Patricia miserably. “It is not at all what I expected. Poor animals.” She had forgotten for the moment to try to charm Lord Charles, but as her eyes filled with tears, he felt a tugging at his heart and a longing to take her in his arms.
She looked so sad and forlorn as they drove off that he racked his brains for something to distract her.
“The Monument!” he said, seeing the tall pillar rising ahead of them. “Would you like to climb up it? The view is said to be very fine.”
“Oh, yes,” said Patricia brightening.
The Monument to the great fire of London—“The loftiest stone column in the world”—rose 202 feet high above the surrounding houses. On a plaque on the side, the “Popish faction” was blamed for starting the fire, although there was no proof of the Catholics having had anything to do with it whatsoever.
When they were about to climb up the 311 steps on the inside of the pillar, Lord Charles hesitated. It was getting late, and he had really meant to call on Mary after that drive in the Park.
But Patricia had already started to climb, and so he followed her, determined to make his peace with Mary later.
Flushed and breathless, Patricia at last stood on the platform at the top. London lay spread out at her feet, seeming to swim in the hazy golden light of afternoon. A whole forest of masts bobbed lazily in the waters of the Thames below.
“How beautiful,” sighed Patricia.
She took off her bonnet and let it dangle by the strings. A light breeze blew a lock of hair across her face.
“Yes. Very beautiful,” said Lord Charles, his eyes on Patricia.
Without turning around, she became intensely aware of him. She felt sure she could encourage him to kiss her. But all at once she became alarmed at the intensity of her own feelings. For she wanted him to kiss her more than anything in the world. This was no way to plan revenge.
She turned her back on the shining city and walked slowly to the stairs.
“Something has upset you?” he said. His voice was deep and husky. She turned and looked up into his green eyes, seeing the concern and warmth and kindness there.
She dropped her eyes quickly. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “I was merely thinking of those poor animals in the Tower.”
He led the way down, feeling as if all the magic and excitement had gone out of the day. But Patricia became dizzy with all the turns of the spiral staircase and had a fit of the giggles, and soon he found himself laughing as well.
Lord Charles thought of Mary, thought of Mrs. Chalmers, and wanted to delay the outing just a little longer.
On the road back he insisted on stopping at a pastry cook’s. Patricia ate several cakes, laughing at him and saying he was trying to make her as fat as she had been when she was sixteen.
Then she asked him all about the long war in the Peninsula and he talked and talked as the sun sank lower in the sky and the bells of the City churches rang for evensong.
At last he pulled a heavy gold watch from his waistcoat and looked at the time in alarm. “Eight o’clock, Patricia,” he said. “Now I am in the suds. We were supposed to call at Miss Chalmers’ home at seven-thirty before going to Vauxhall.”
“We shall not be so very late,” coaxed Patricia. “I can change very quickly. Oh, do you think we might take Miss Simpkin with us? She does so enjoy some gaiety and her role has been usurped by Miss Sinclair. And no one can possibly accuse me of being fast with two governesses by my side.”
“You may bring Miss Simpkin. But hurry. We are very late. I hope you are not going to be sick. You ate so many cakes.”
“I was hungry,” laughed Patricia. “I won’t eat anything else until tomorrow.”
Miss Sinclair was pacing up and down the hall when they arrived. “I am so glad you are safe!” she cried. “I feared an accident. The Chalmers’ footman has just left. Mrs. Chalmers sent him, demanding news of you.”
“As you can see, we are both well,” said Lord Charles. “I shall send a message to Mrs. Chalmers and to my fiancée that we were delayed. Tell Miss Simpkin she is to accompany us as well. Now, Patricia, let us see how quickly you can dress!”
Patricia ran lightly up the stairs. She turned on the landing and leaned over the bannister. “I forgot to thank you for a wonderful day,” she called softly.
“The pleasure was all mine,” laughed Lord Charles.
Miss Sinclair looked from one to the other, her back rigid with disapproval. Poor Miss Chalmers. Patricia was behaving in a disgracefully intimate way with Lord Charles, who, like all gentlemen, was so easily duped. That disgraceful affair with the soldier—that was obviously the real Patricia. She had merely pretended to be good and demure in Boston.
In her muddled way, Miss Sinclair was already making up her mind that if she could not have Lord Charles, then Patricia was certainly not going to. But she forced that ignoble thought far down inside and told herself righteously that it was up to her to save Lord Charles’s engagement to a highly suitable lady.
This determination was strengthened when they arrived at the Chalmers’ home. After Lord Charles had cheerfully—and heartlessly, Miss Sinclair thought—explained the reason for his tardiness, he then turned to Mrs. Chalmers to enquire politely about her health, since Mrs. Chalmers suffered from rheumatism. While they were engaged in conversation, Mary Chalmers drew Miss Sinclair a little to one side and said in a low voice, “Was it necessary to bring that dreadful old governess along? Such a person must offend your sensibilities, Miss Sinclair.”
Miss Sinclair looked to where Miss Simpkin sat, sipping ratafia and beaming vaguely around, and murmured, “Yes, indeed, but I fear Patricia must have persuaded Lord Charles to include her in the party. And to think that I was engaged to try to undo the harm that woman, Simpkin, had done.”
“Have you no influence with Miss Patterson?” asked Mary. “Her manner to her guardian is very bold and forward.”
“I am afraid he encourages her,” said Miss Sinclair. “Never fear, I will see what I can do.”
“I am sure you will,” said Mary in a low voice. “You are very kind.”
Miss Sinclair glowed with loyalty. Here was a lady who appreciated
her worth and who spoke to her as one equal to another.
But it was very hard to get near Patricia. They were joined by Lord Charles’s friends, the Lucases, and with them came Colonel Brian Sommers. He was a tall and amiable gentleman with a splendid pair of flaxen military whiskers. He brightened perceptibly when he saw Patricia and promptly moved to her side as if determined to stay there for the rest of the evening.
As they set out for Vauxhall, Lord Charles took the Lucases and Mary and her mother in his carriage and Colonel Brian Sommers followed in his with Patricia and the two governesses.
With eyes sharpened with jealousy, Miss Sinclair noticed that in Lord Charles’s absence, Patricia became quiet and demure again and only replied half-heartedly to the colonel’s compliments.
Patricia was surprised that the staid Miss Chalmers had agreed to visit Vauxhall. Although the gardens were very pretty and hundreds of lamps hung from the trees, it was a circus of a place with dancing floors, spectacular panoramas of Arctic regions, Indian jugglers, Mr. Ducrow’s “equestrian entertainments,” and the “ethereal Saqui”—a sturdy looking lady in a Roman helmet who descended the slack wire on one toe.
All classes mixed freely—too freely to judge from the giggles and squeals coming from the darker parts of the walks.
Nor were they free from the noisy crowd when they took their places in the box in the Rotunda. For the Bucks and Bloods passing underneath ogled Patricia quite dreadfully and the prostitutes tried to do business with Lord Charles, the colonel, and Mr. Lucas.
Miss Sinclair’s sharpened eyes noticed that Patricia was flirting with the colonel and yet glancing sideways at Lord Charles to see what he was making of it.
Lord Charles was suddenly very tired and very bored. He racked his brain for a topic of conversation, but found he could think of nothing. Surely he and Mary had talked amicably for hours? What had they talked about? He could not remember.
Mrs. Chalmers was prosing on about her rheumatism and how she feared the air of the gardens was damp. Mary nodded and smiled her little curved smile and arranged her mother’s wraps about her shoulders.
The only person who seemed to be truly and uncomplicatedly happy was Miss Simpkin, who watched the moving, shifting throng with bright eyes.
“Your ward is drinking punch,” said Mary in Lord Charles’s ear.
“Let her. She is old enough.”
“I do not agree with you. Patricia has become bold in her manner.”
Lord Charles looked across to where Patricia was conversing with the colonel. There was nothing vulgar in her manner that he could see.
“I can hardly check her in front of the company,” he pointed out.
“But later…”
“Yes, yes,” he said testily, for the colonel and Patricia had risen to their feet.
“Going to see the fireworks,” said the colonel. “Told Miss Patterson they were worth a look.”
Lord Charles nodded and watched them go. Then he muttered with annoyance. Colonel Sommers was easy-going and absent-minded. Smitten as he obviously was with Patricia’s charms, he was, nonetheless, not making a very good escort. They were being buffeted and jostled by the throng, and one drunken Buck tried to get his arm around Patricia’s waist. She shrank away from him, but the colonel did not even seem to notice.
“Excuse me,” said Lord Charles hurriedly. He vaulted over the edge of the box and then started shouldering his way through the crowd.
Patricia was just about to seize hold of Colonel Sommers’ arm. She turned her head and, looking back, saw Lord Charles rapidly gaining on them.
A noisy crowd of revelers pushed their way between the colonel and Patricia and she deliberately allowed herself to be swept to one side. The colonel ambled on and then looked around in bewilderment, obviously wondering where she had gone. Patricia was wearing white flowers in her hair. The colonel was a trifle short-sighted. He saw a girl with white flowers in her hair bobbing along with the crowd ahead of him, and, convinced it was Patricia, he set out in pursuit.
“Where’s Brian?” asked Lord Charles, catching up with Patricia and glaring ferociously at a burly young man who had been about to speak to her.
“I’ve lost him,” said Patricia.
“I am not surprised. What a rabble! Let’s go back.”
“I did so want to see the fireworks,” pleaded Patricia. “The Lucases and Miss Chalmers will understand. I am still a country yokel. Please. Just this once.”
“Very well… only we cannot stay long.”
“I wonder where Charles has gone?” Mary Chalmers was saying.
“Probably to watch the fireworks,” said George Lucas rather testily. He thought Mary Chalmers a poor sort of woman. Everything she said always seemed to be tinged with disapproval. But he was fond of Lord Charles, so he added, “I am sure my wife will excuse me if you would like me to escort you to the display, Miss Chalmers.”
“Not I,” said Mary. “I do not like fireworks. They are extremely dangerous. Lord Charles is of the same opinion.”
“I feel like walking about a bit,” said George Lucas. “Come along, Mrs. Lucas, we’ll get a bit of exercise.”
“It is very bad of Charles to stay away,” said Mrs. Lucas when the couple were finally a little away from the crowds in a tree-lined walk. “Do you think he is falling in love with his ward?”
“Not Charles,” said Mr. Lucas comfortably. “Never has been in love, and never will be. Stands to reason. If he’d had any sense, he’d have snapped you up. Thank goodness he didn’t, or I wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
“Silly,” said Mrs. Lucas with a giggle. “Still, I am very fond of Charles and I don’t think we will see much of him after he is married. She doesn’t like us.”
“She doesn’t like anyone,” said Mr. Lucas. “I would like to see Charles with someone younger, prettier, and happier.”
“Like Patricia Patterson?”
“She is a charming little thing. Some scandal about her, though. Had to be sent to America.”
“Whatever it was, it could not have been so very bad or Charles would not waste so much time on her,” said Mrs. Lucas. “If only we had not invited Miss Chalmers to our house that afternoon. Charles would never have met her.”
“Why did we invite her?”
“It was my fault. I met her at the Southerns’ musicale. I ripped my gown on one of their rickety chairs and Miss Chalmers proved to be very helpful with a needle and thread. So I invited her.”
“Well, who would ever think Charles would even look at her.”
Mrs. Lucas sighed. “Shall we go back and join the severe young governess and the painted old governess and the frozen-faced Chalmerses?”
“No. Let’s be very selfish and go home. All this noise is making my head ache. One orchestra is playing one tune over there, and t’other’s making a different sort of row on the other side of the walk.”
“What shall we tell Charles when we see him again?”
“Say you had the vapors.”
“I never have them, silly.”
“Bound to be a first time.”
“We’ll send a boy back to the box with a message, and that way Charles will know not to wait for us.”
They walked off amicably, hand in hand, debating whether to hire a hack or to take a ferry back to the north side of the river.
Below the fireworks platform at the eastern end of the grounds, Patricia stood with her hands clasped, watching the fireworks burst against the night sky.
Lord Charles watched Patricia’s upturned face.
He had often wondered since that disastrous night with the young soldier whether Patricia had retained her virginity. Now, he was sure she had. There was a freshness about her, an untouched air. But he had to be sure for his own peace of mind.
“Why?” he demanded suddenly. “Why did you run off with that soldier, and what really happened?”
His voice was low and yet Patricia heard every word. “We cannot talk here,” she
said.
“Let us move a little away,” he urged. He suddenly felt he had to know all about it immediately.
They walked back down the deserted walk. Everyone else was still watching the display.
There was a little arbor set among a stand of trees a few yards to the side of the walk. Lord Charles led her there and waited until she was seated before asking again, “Why?”
Patricia gave a little sigh. She seemed to be looking back at another Patricia, willful and headstrong and determined to get her own way.
“I was furious,” she said. “I had been used to being mistress in my own house. Suddenly, the servants would only obey your orders. I felt I was too old to be confined to the schoolroom. I drank too much at the ball. I know the captain’s name, but it doesn’t matter now. He was deathly drunk. I only realized that afterward. At the time he seemed young and carefree and determined to rescue me… from you. Oh, it seemed such a good idea. I had it all worked out. We would marry and play at keeping house and play at being parents. I think I thought of having children rather as having a new set of dolls to play with.
“Things went badly wrong when we went to the inn. Well, you saw it! He started drinking brandy right away in great gulps. I had to… to go somewhere. I meant to tell him I had changed my mind. But when I returned, he had taken off all his clothes and was lying on the bed. It was terrible.
“I shook him and he staggered to his feet. I heard you knocking at the door. I was trying to help him pull on his Inexpressibles when you burst into the room. And then, as you know, he simply j-jumped th-through the w-window.”
Patricia began to laugh and laugh, the tears running down her face. “It is not at all funny,” said Lord Charles, sitting down beside her. But, as she continued to laugh, it struck Lord Charles as being exquisitely funny as well, and added to that was exhilaration at the knowledge that the captain had left her untouched. He felt happiness going to his head like wine. They clung to each other, laughing helplessly, their faces lit red, blue, and gold as the fireworks burst in the sky far above their heads.