Sir Lampard and his sister had sent word ahead to open up their town house in Curzon Street well in advance of their arrival, but even so for the first few days all was confusion and chaos. Never having been one to travel light Aunt Tattie had brought with her a mound of luggage most of which Portia knew would be unwanted because having helped her aunt to pack she had seen that most of what she had selected would be totally unsuitable for London. She also brought with her a particularly noisy parrot she had just rescued from the Abandoned Birds Society and a pair of canaries who both escaped almost as soon as their cage had been put in place inside the house, flying up a chimney and remaining there for the first three days. This was all too much for Aunt Tattie who, since she considered the strain of travelling into Norwich from Bannerwick too much for her, naturally found a journey like the one she had just been forced to undergo excessive in the extreme and so took to her bed almost at once complaining of nervous exhaustion, leaving the task of sorting out the household and its arrangements to Portia, Louis and the selection of servants whom they had sent ahead of them from Bannerwick.
Never having been to the Tradescant London house before, Portia was surprised at its style and its layout. There was no doubt that for a town house it would have to be considered grand not only from the position it enjoyed and from its fine and elegant frontage but from the fact that besides having very large and ornate reception rooms on the ground floor it also had its own ballroom, something which Aunt Tattie had informed her was considered almost obligatory for anyone not only doing the Season but determined on entertaining in a serious fashion in London. On the other hand the rest of the house was like a rabbit warren, with the smallest bedrooms imaginable, not just for the servants but for the family as well. Again this was explained by Aunt Tattie as being often the way with houses in London which were purposely designed simply for seasonal entertainment. Since no-one of any real class lived in London for any length of time other than during the actual Season itself, architects were instructed to use as much of the available square footage of the said houses as possible in rooms for entertaining, and to sacrifice all excess space for this purpose. Even so, Portia was horrified to find that while the family as such were expected to dress, change, bathe and sleep in rooms she imagined were no bigger than the ones to be found in boarding houses, most of the servants had no rooms in which to sleep at all.
‘Ah oui, Miss Porsher,’ Mr Louis agreed when she pointed this shortcoming out to him. ‘But zat is ’ow zis is ’ere en Londres. In London zare ’ave never been enough of ze beds neizer oop ze stairs nor down zem, yes? So zis is why long ago I myself bring all the doors. When I was before wis the duchesse, you know? She always say me, Louis, she say, never forget ze need for doors in ze Saison. At first I has no idea what she mean. And zen, when I am at ’er ’ouse ze first time, je comprends parfaitement. We ’ave no beds, not zat is enough, so in ze Saison in ’er town ’ouse we put down doors across ze furnishings, yes? Myself I slip in my pantry on a door ’eld up by two chairs, no? And zis was what we all do. We slip on all zese old doors, on cushions and some pillows, or on tables sometime, or even the ’allboy he slip on top of the dresser in the kitchen. It is all vair’ strange, mais c’est la Saison. And the Saison is as you say the law into itself. Yes?’
‘It would seem so.’ Portia smiled, remembering something else her aunt had told her about the house when they first arrived. Apparently in order to get Portia’s great-uncle Sir Bartholomew Tradescant to come to London for the Season Lady Tradescant had been obliged to create a town garden much larger than was usual so that her husband, who was a confirmed outdoor man, would not feel confined. Even so the old boy was forever being overcome with boredom, so much so that one day his wife discovered he had found a new way of relieving the monotony by riding one of their carriage horses bareback around the garden jumping all the benches and any other such obstacles en route.
* * *
Within her first two days at 3 Curzon Street, Portia had organized the sleeping arrangements upstairs so that her aunt had the use of two rooms in which she could dress and sleep, her uncle the largest single room and herself what would have been one of the maids’ rooms on that particular floor, consigning the two lady’s maids into the rooms in the attic. She then rolled up her sleeves and set about organizing the rest of the house with Mr Louis and the housemaids, two of whom had been hired specially for the Season and considered themselves much grander than Mildred and Evie whom the Tradescants had brought down with them from Bannerwick. As they set about their duties Portia began to get the oddest feeling, as if she had been there before, here in this very house preparing for another Season in some other era.
‘Perhaps we’re all ghosts really,’ she said to Mr Louis as they straightened the pictures, planned where to place the flower arrangements, pulled off all the dust covers and raised the Holland blinds filling all the rooms suddenly with the spring sunlight. ‘Do you ever think of that? That we might actually all be reincarnations and that everything we are doing we have done at some other time? Or at least something very like it?’
‘No, I would think of zat as too oppressing, Miss Porsher,’ Mr Louis replied.
‘Depressing, I think, Mr Louis. To oppress is to lie heavy on or weigh down.’
‘Yes, zis is what I mean. Such a thought it sit ’ere on my chest. Comme un chien grand et noir. To think I do ze same things in every one of my lifes. Over and over and over once more. No no, I do not even contemplate such a motion.’
‘Notion.’
‘Mais oui. What you say I cannot even think.’
Even so, the longer she worked around the house the more Portia amused herself by thinking how possible it was that they were all spirits from another time, come to haunt the present, that what she was experiencing was not reality at all but some sort of dream and they were all some part of a Divine Inferno and this was their punishment for being so socially ambitious. As retribution they had to return to the same place each year and perform the same monotonous routines, attend the same dinners and balls, be presented at the same court to the same Queen, and go to the same sporting functions and see the same races and competitions. Then once the Season was over they had to shut the house back up and leave it exactly as it was before they had materialized, with the Holland blinds lowered, the dust covers replaced, the flowers thrown away, the bags all packed and the rooms all locked up, before each and every one of them faded back into invisibility to be transported back to their particular circle of the Inferno, there to spend the next seven months in limbo until it was time for the next Season to be launched.
‘You seem very deep in thought, Portia dear.’ For a moment Portia had no idea where she was nor to whom the voice belonged. She looked up from the window seat where she found she had sat herself down and saw an anxious Aunt Tattie staring down at her. ‘I have been searching everywhere for you,’ she continued. ‘And here you were all the time in the next-door room to mine.’
Portia looked round her and found she was in the room she had selected as her bedroom. So deep had been her daydreams that she could not recall even climbing the stairs. In fact the last thing she remembered was removing and folding the final dust cover in the vast drawing room.
‘I think I must have been asleep on my feet the last hour or so, Aunt Tattie,’ Portia confessed, putting a hand to her mouth quickly to stifle a small yawn. ‘I didn’t realize there would be quite so much to do.’
‘You must have an early night, dearest, for you have worked yourself to a standstill before I dare say you have even had time to recover from such a long journey. And you will need all your wits about you tomorrow, I fear, because tomorrow in case you had forgotten your Aunt Augustine is At Home.’ Aunt Tattie sighed and began twisting her old amber necklace round and round her fingers. ‘It is not an invitation we can decline, as I explained to you, particularly as she is the person in charge of your debut. But we shall survive it no doubt, and we shall do our very best, shall we
not? To be as polite and charming to your mentor as it possible for us to be, for it cannot be denied that she has a great say as to what goes on in Society and there is no doubt that such an influence as hers will be of enormous help to you in your Season. So the only thing left to concern us is what you are to wear.’
‘Aunt Augustine has sent round a selection of what she considers suitable day dresses for such an occasion, Aunt Tattie,’ Portia replied. ‘I have not had a chance yet to try any of them on, but they all seem quite beautiful.’
‘She can afford it,’ Aunt Tattie sniffed. ‘Your Aunt Augustine is an abominably wealthy woman. So let us go and see these dresses together, shall we? Although we might require the help of that maid of yours in choosing, for as you know I am a veritable ostrich when it comes to fashion, my dear.’
For Portia’s debut into Society, out of the many dresses and outfits sent on approval by Augustine Medlar, between them they chose a beautiful lightly embroidered cream day dress with the now obligatory huge puffed sleeves over which was to be worn a superbly cut waist-length cloak, ornately decorated on the lapels. Such cloaks were also the very height of fashion since sleeves had become so wide it was physically impossible to pass them through the armholes of any outer garment. However, a cloak properly designed and cut, with the right amount of curve and swagger was a most attractive appendage particularly when topped off with the latest fashion in hats, such as the one Portia chose, a Cissie Fitzgerald or the Gaiety Girl as it was more popularly known, a low-crowned confection with a wide brim and a four or five feather trimming.
After Evie, who had been elevated to the position of lady’s maid while they were in London, had finished helping to dress her mistress Aunt Tattie requested her niece to stand back so that she might have a good look at her.
‘Yes, I do declare,’ Aunt Tattie said after walking all the way round Portia three times, ‘I do declare you’re as pretty as a September peach.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Tattie,’ Portia replied, catching sight of herself in the cheval looking glass and secretly thrilling at the sight. ‘I must say the costume seems to fit quite perfectly.’
‘Just so,’ Aunt Tattie agreed. ‘Mind you, if I had been given a little more time I am sure Mrs Shipman could have run you up something just as becoming.’
Portia pretended to agree while privately knowing this not to be the case at all. Mrs Shipman had to be the very worst dressmaker in England, and while she just about got away with the clothes she made for Aunt Tattie because the garments ordered from her were generally required to be loose-fitting, anything she had ever tried to make which was designed to be even slightly tailored was invariably a disaster. Uncle Lampard referred to her as the tentmaker. But as for this costume she now had on! Portia sighed and swirled once more in front of the looking glass. She had never once worn anything even remotely fashionable, and while as a child she had been perfectly content to wear facsimiles of the latest in the Arts and Crafts fashions for children, such as her famous yellow Liberty wool smock which had done her so proud for so long whenever she had been invited out to tea, like all young women she had often pined to wear a beautiful and well-tailored dress. Whenever she had accompanied her aunt out shopping to one of the local towns the constant sight of the girls in their pretty, fashionable clothes had invariably proved too much for her, and she would have to constantly duck into some shop doorway rather than be seen by them in her homemade Arts and Crafts outfits.
But this dress! And this cape! And the divinely pretty hat! They made her feel so different, so much more feminine, so much more confident! Portia could hardly contain her excitement yet she knew she must until her aunt was out of the room, for if she even so much as hinted at her delight she knew she would either hurt her dear aunt’s feelings or else let herself in for a long lecture on the slavery of fashion and the unnatural restrictions it imposed on the female form. So she waited until Aunt Tattie had removed herself to go and sort out her own costume for Lady Medlar’s At Home before she gave one more delighted twirl and hugged the startled Evie to her in excitement.
‘Isn’t this simply absurd, Evie?’ she asked.
‘Tell us what is an’ us’ll tell you whether us agree or not,’ Evie replied, wriggling out of her mistress’s clutches.
‘Why, all of this, Evie! I had no idea that anything like this was going to happen! No idea at all!’
‘But nothin’ ’as ’appened as yet, Miss Porsher. All ’as ’appened is us cleaned the whole ’ouse through an’ you got dressed up. That don’t account for a lot, do it?’
‘No, no, no of course you’re right, Evie,’ Portia assured her, carefully removing her hat. ‘What I meant was that what was exciting was the thought of everything that is to happen. I can’t in all honesty say that I relished the idea of coming to London, and I would simply hate to live here all the time, but I would be lying if I did not say that I find it all somewhat enthralling. After all, I have spent almost my entire life at Bannerwick, and much as I love the place and much as I prefer the open countryside, I have to confess that there is obviously much to see here in London. And so much to do. And now that I am wearing fine clothes for the first time and do not look like a—’ Portia stopped herself from saying what she was about to say, namely that normally she looked and felt like a frump, for fear of hurting her maid’s feelings, for as far as the local boys went Evie, who in all honesty was as plain as she was characterful, was considered a bit of a looker. ‘For the first time I do not look like a likely spinster.’
‘You a spinster, Miss Porsher?’ Evie giggled as she began to help undress her mistress out of her finery. ‘Lawks, everyone downstairs is a-sayin’ you’ll end up marrying a duke or somesuch.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, Evie,’ Portia laughed in return. ‘These fine clothes certainly flatter me but they don’t deceive. My figure is perfectly acceptable because I am slim enough not to require over-tight lacing, but I am on the small side, do you see? And no girl may be considered to be a beauty who is not tall. My eyes are my best feature, but even they are not especially striking, and see?’ She indicated for Evie to look at her reflection in the glass. ‘The rest of my features are quite unremarkable. My face is small, my forehead broad, and while my hair is dark and well groomed my nose is a little too rétroussé – that is upturned, Evie. And see my mouth? Because the top lip is shorter than the bottom one it hardly resembles what it should resemble, namely the traditional rosebud. All in all I am hardly the very model of good looks, let alone beauty. But it doesn’t matter, Evie.’
‘No, course it don’t,’ Evie agreed without knowing quite why.
‘No, it really doesn’t. Because I have come to London not to find a husband but to find out about myself. So while I shall of course do everything that is bidden of me during the coming weeks, I shall use the time to learn a little more about living. After all, Evie, this time will never come round for us again.’
‘No, course it won’t, miss,’ Evie automatically agreed again, carefully laying on the bed the dress she had just taken off her young mistress before folding the sleeves across the front. ‘An’ you just watch your step an’ don’t go walkin’ off without lookin’, miss, ’cos that dog of yours undone your bootlaces again.’
Sure enough while they had been talking Henry had been up to his favourite trick, having managed to undo both of Portia’s laces without her noticing. With a laugh she tapped him on the snub of his snout before lifting him up and putting him on her petticoated knee as she sat in the window to look down at the scene in the street far below. It was a fine sight, with ladies dressed in the very height of fashion on the arms of their equally smartly dressed gentlemen walking up and down Curzon Street and out into Park Lane where the very latest in carriages drawn by the smartest teams of horses Portia had ever seen rumbled by, their hoods rolled back in celebration of the first fine day of springtime to allow their rich and sumptuously dressed occupants sight of each other as they passed each other by, sometimes wi
th a wave from the women or the doffing of a hat by the men and sometimes with a quick glance in the opposite direction as certain parties avoided acknowledging the presence of certain other parties. Beyond in the park Portia could just catch sight of others on horseback, riding in what she understood to be called Rotten Row, elegant ladies in fine riding habits cantering past young hussars or officers of the Life Guard, young men and women who were probably all destined to meet in the ballrooms and salons of the grand mansions standing in the elegant streets around the house where Portia now sat at her upstairs window, some to fall in love and marry, some just to meet and marry, and others just to fall in love.
And as she sat there watching the wonderful cavalcade while thinking about what might happen to the people taking part in it, even to herself, for the first time Portia felt a very distinct and positive thrill of excitement.
* * *
Unfortunately by the time Portia and her aunt met the next afternoon in the hallway of the house preparatory to their departure to Lady Medlar’s it was too late to do anything about Aunt Tattie’s appearance. They were already behind their appointed time which was both their faults, Portia’s for fussing and worrying over the exact angle at which to wear her Cissie Fitzgerald and Aunt Tattie’s for simply falling asleep when she should have been summoning her maid to get her dressed and ready.
‘Come along, dearest,’ Aunt Tattie said, heading for the front door which was being held open for them by a tired-looking hall boy. ‘I know it is perfectly all right to arrive at any time on these open house occasions, but one wishes to be neither too early when there is no one there nor too late when everyone has gone. So it is essential to arrive just at the right time which is about in the middle of proceedings.’
The sight of his employer’s hat soon brought the half-asleep hall boy back to his senses and as Aunt Tattie steamed towards him his eyes grew ever wider at the curiosity which adorned her head. Portia too was dumbfounded because she had never seen it before, although to judge from its appearance the hat most certainly was not new, covered as it was with a thin coating of dust and bearing a small serration on the brim which looked suspiciously as though Henry had at some time got his teeth in it. Not that he could be blamed, for the hat would have looked less like a hat to him than something to be chased, since its crown was adorned with a very large and vibrantly coloured stuffed bird, which nodded vigorously up and down every time Aunt Tattie moved.
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