Debutantes

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘Why do we not exchange lists at this moment, Tatiana my dear?’ she enquired. ‘I could read your suggestions and you could read mine, then we shall see whether or not we have any names in common.’

  ‘No,’ Tatiana replied, folding her list in two and posting it back into her porte à lettres and leading Portia to suspect that Aunt Tattie’s list might either be fanciful or perhaps even blank. ‘I prefer to discuss these things aloud so that Portia herself may be party to the people proposed.’

  Again Aunt Tattie was rewarded with a suspicious stare from Lady Medlar before the conversation was resumed. ‘Very well,’ she agreed, folding her own list in two. ‘But before we compare, there is another matter I should like to discuss because I should be interested to hear your opinion. I hear the Countess of Evesham as she now is has extended her patronage to some Anglo-Irish gel with the promise to present her personally at court. Now while we know it to be a common practice for the best connected of us to help certain fortunate gels make their debut—’ She smiled at Portia here to indicate her own unspoken generosity and Portia nodded politely back in acknowledgement. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘it is not in the character of Daisy Lanford that was to be this generous without good reason, and I am curious to discover what this reason might be. So if you do hear of any talk about this gel, Tatiana, or indeed you, Portia my dear, then we must discuss the matter. When people such as Daisy Lanford that was enter the fray then we must all be on our guard, must we not?’

  It seemed Aunt Tattie, however, was not to be that easily sidetracked. Disregarding Augustine Medlar’s question entirely she brought the conversation back round to exactly where she wanted it to be, namely to discover the real reason for Lady Medlar’s visit. When she baldly demanded to know this, Augustine while obviously ruffled nevertheless still demurred, protesting that the reason for her visit was as declared, namely to discuss and exchange lists. But still Tatiana would not accept this as the truth and insisted equally vigorously that there was some other motive.

  ‘If you are for one moment thinking that you might be presenting Portia at court, Augustine, then you will have to think again,’ Aunt Tattie suddenly announced as if prescient, and the moment that she did the little colour which was in Augustine Medlar’s face was immediately augmented.

  ‘I made no mention of such a thing,’ Augustine protested, almost visibly bridling.

  ‘Perhaps not, Augustine,’ Aunt Tattie triumphed, ‘but none the less that is what you had in mind! Be truthful, Augustine, be honest with yourself – and confess!’

  By now Portia had clasped her hands together so tightly her knuckles had gone quite white. She leaned forward in her chair, enthralled by the battle that was raging.

  ‘What is there to confess, Tatiana?’ Augustine protested, but considerably more weakly. ‘You find such things as this tedious!’

  ‘As what precisely?’

  ‘This sort of life, for heaven’s sake! Society in general! I merely thought that since you found these rituals dull in the extreme then I would relieve you of the tedium of presenting our niece and chaperoning her through the endless balls and the Society events. And so on.’

  Aunt Tattie deliberately allowed her foe to remain sitting in an obviously embarrassed silence before breaking it with one short snort of derisive laughter.

  ‘Over my dead body, Augustine Medlar,’ she announced, filling Portia half with dread and half with pride for her ferocity. ‘You might have succeeded in taking Edward from me, but you shall never take Portia in the same way. She is as much my niece as she is yours, for I have brought her up almost from the cradle, and while you might consider me unorthodox in my ways and in my views, I am proud of our dearest Portia whom I consider to be the most unspoiled and unselfconscious and modest of young women. So I am certainly not going to see these happy years she and I have spent together needlessly sacrificed to satisfy one of your absurd social whims. Help her financially if you will, but I must tell you that if because you feel bested you decide to withdraw your patronage I have a small bequest of my own, one which my father bestowed on me to make provision for the day when I might need such a sum. But since I have not needed it, nor does it look as though I shall now, I would be more than happy to use what was to be my marriage dot to ensure that dearest Portia may continue to make her debut in Society in the necessary style. Is that quite clear?’

  Judging from the thunderstruck silence which once more followed Aunt Tattie’s startling announcement, she had made her intention all too clear, and although not understanding fully quite what her aunt had meant Portia wished she could face her so that Aunt Tattie would see her happy smile.

  Aunt Augustine was not quite done with yet, however. Even though more than astonished by Aunt Tattie’s totally uncharacteristic resolution she still could not resist one last attempt at humiliation.

  ‘This is all very fine in principle, Tatiana,’ she said, having this time herself taken a deep intake of breath in an attempt to recover her poise. ‘But consider it in reality, because if you seriously wish to present our niece at court you must remember that you are when all is said and done unmarried.’

  ‘And do you know what I say to that, Augustine?’ Aunt Tattie replied, the wind now full in her sails. ‘Poppycock.’ Aunt Augustine gasped and Portia stifled a laugh. ‘I do, I say poppycock,’ Aunt Tattie continued. ‘You know and I know unmarried women have been presenting gels at court since Queen Anne’s day, so that simply will not do.’

  ‘Of course I know that as a fact, Tatiana,’ Augustine returned. ‘But are you aware that because of your unmarried status you will have to wear a white dress? Please try to imagine that, Tatiana. You at your age having to parade yourself in a white dress before her Majesty, or worse the Prince of Wales, just like all the young gels.’

  ‘I shall have you know, Augustine, I would not care two hoots if because I am unmarried in order to present my niece at court I had to dress up as a pantomime horse! Is that understood? I would not give a fig should I have to wear a dowager’s cap and farmer’s boots to do so because the fact of the matter is that I present Portia at court, and nobody else!’

  ‘I see,’ Augustine replied, once she realized her hostess was finished and that she had meant what she had said. ‘Well. You leave one with very little choice, n’est ce pas?’

  ‘As I said, Augustine, you may withdraw your patronage should you so wish.’

  Augustine Medlar gave a slow look to Portia before returning to answer Aunt Tattie. ‘I do not feel that will be necessary,’ she said. ‘Besides, it would place me in a most unfavourable light as far as Portia is concerned. I shall help to chaperone Portia to the balls and the dinners and the races and so on, and you will present her at court, at a Drawing Room. What must be must be, I can see that. I can also see how ill both of you must think of me because of what I did for Edward. Which I did only for his good, I might add, and which everyone else recognizes as having been very much so, for his own good.’

  Since neither Portia nor Aunt Tattie made any attempt to contradict this observation a short silence followed this speech.

  ‘Very well,’ Augustine said. ‘Since that is agreed, let us turn to the lists once more if we may.’

  ‘Why certainly,’ Tatiana agreed. ‘After all, you must achieve something from your visit. You begin, read yours first because after all you take precedence. Because, again after all, as it seems you would not want us to forget, you are married.’

  Aunt Tattie sat back and once more produced her list from her porte à lettres which she now held out to study through her lorgnettes at half an arm’s length. As Augustine read out the list of names from her own sheets of carefully unfolded paper Aunt Tattie nodded and murmured her agreement as she did so, not disputing one name Lady Medlar suggested to her throughout.

  ‘Good,’ she announced when Augustine had finished reading. ‘Excellent. We are as one mind, I am glad to say. I agree with your list completely. Is that not a happy coincidence, Porti
a? See.’

  Aunt Tattie half turned to Portia and leaning over to her allowed her sight of her own list. It was completely blank.

  ‘Thank you, Aunt Tattie,’ Portia said after her other aunt had departed finally, more in sorrow than in anger, resignation to the fore. ‘That was simply wonderful.’

  ‘Oh, dearest, I am not altogether so sure that it was really,’ Aunt Tattie replied, but this time not with a sigh but with a smile in her suddenly rejuvenated eye. ‘After all you will now have to be thoroughly embarrassed by the sight of me absurdly dressed in white presenting you, instead of your highly fashionable, extremely beautiful and socially famous other aunt. Still, as they say, why should the devil have all the best tunes, as it were?’

  Portia allowed Henry who was staring at her as mournfully as he could possibly manage to jump up on her knee as she and her aunt sat down to enjoy a glass of sherry, now that Augustine was safely removed and the sound of her magnificent entourage had retreated from below the half-open window.

  ‘Of course you do not have to agree,’ Aunt Tattie said. ‘Your hand was somewhat forced, after all, and so if you would rather not, dearest, which I am quite sure you possibly would, then I should quite understand, really I should.’

  ‘If I should rather what, Aunt Tattie?’ Portia laughed, delighting as she did so in stroking the pug’s velvet ears. ‘You mean if I would rather have Aunt Augustine present me? Because I assure you I would not. If I am to be presented then I would have no-one else do it but you.’

  ‘That is so sweet of you, dearest girl,’ Aunt Tattie said. ‘After all you do not really owe it to me despite all that nonsense I said, for in truth I was not that much of a surrogate mother to you, particularly after that unfortunate episode with Edward’s tutor and the subsequent departure of your dear brother.’

  ‘You have always been the kindest and most understanding of people, Aunt,’ Portia reassured her. ‘I would not have had you one whit different. And as for Edward, while we may have missed him sorely, knowing him as I do, I think perhaps that he will have benefited by his experiences. You still see him even now as a long-haired angelic little boy, as indeed I did too for a very long time. But he really is a sporting boy, and not at all suited to artistic pursuits.’

  ‘No, of course not, I see that now,’ Aunt Tattie agreed. ‘But after all I am human like everyone else and so I greatly resented the feelings that, alas, Augustine removing him quite so peremptorily from us brought about.’

  ‘I know,’ Portia agreed. ‘But I too have given this a great deal of thought, and have often supposed that had our father been here with us in England he would have done the very same thing with Edward, that is sent him away to school. I know it hurt you and me both, but you know I really do think it was for the best. Just as I think that Edward will very soon rejoin us and become a full member of our family once again, one of these days.’

  ‘Yes,’ Aunt Tattie said when she had given the matter some thought. ‘I believe you are completely right, Portia. You have a very old head sometimes on very young shoulders. So. So now here we are the two of us, after all these years, with you now a young woman about to be launched into Society. This is quite a moment really, whether one likes it or not.’

  ‘Oddly enough, Aunt Tattie, in spite of my initial reservations I have to confess I am quite enjoying it.’

  ‘Then I am glad,’ her aunt returned. ‘Why shouldn’t you enjoy it? Much the best thing to do rather than take the whole nonsense seriously. So let us drink a little toast to your success. And a success you most certainly will be, a girl of your great character, provided that you never forget two cardinal rules which Augustine for all her worldly ways quite failed to mention.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘One. Never comment on a likeness in Society. For instance one never says but how like Lord so-and-so is such-and-such a girl or a boy. Never, ever, dearest, it is just not done. And two – one must never be alone with a man who is not one’s husband unless one is on or near a horse. Observe these two rules and you cannot go wrong.’

  With that Aunt Tattie smiled and raising her glass of sherry wished her niece might enjoy every good fortune.

  PICTURE SUNDAY

  It was not nearly as difficult as they both had feared. Herbert Forrester had prepared the ground thoroughly in advance, and although as he confessed he was an ignoramus as far as the customs of Society went, being a good businessman he had at least learned what was called covering all the angles. Consequently before the Danbys left for London they felt they had prepared for all eventualities. Herbert Forrester had confessed that this venture asked a great deal of the three of them, but by the same token assured them that should anything go awry it would be he who would stand accused by the beau monde, not the Danbys and their newly adopted daughter. To all intents and purposes they were completely innocent. They had lost a daughter to the church, and adopted another in her place. It was no crime to pretend that their newly adopted daughter was their real and only one. On the contrary, given the circumstances of the family history and the sudden decision of their only child to become a nun, many mothers would act in exactly the same way as Alice Danby would be deemed to have acted and that is to turn their entire attentions to their adopted daughter in order to try to mitigate the pain of losing their real one.

  ‘Besides,’ as Herbert had assured them, ‘adoption is a tricky subject and one I’ll be bound not many parents know as how to handle. As far as my experience in the matter goes, most folks keep pretending they are the adopted child’s real parents in order to save the child any pain. There’s nowt to be lost that way and much to be gained. Any road, to all intents May is your daughter and there’s an end on it. From what you tell me no-one you’re likely to meet will be any the wiser, and if they are – so what? Like I said, your motives will be considered blameless by any fair-minded person, and if anyone digs further and my name comes to light, then it is entirely my loss and no-one else’s.’

  Apart from the Danbys’ natural anxieties concerning their forthcoming adventure there was also a sense of considerable excitement. They were being lent if not given, should all turn out well, a fine town house on Park Lane, and a handsome allowance was being paid monthly into their bank account which would allow them to go through the Season in high style, the sort of style befitting the parents of a beautiful and apparently highly eligible daughter. Again, if the whole venture proved a success and Herbert Forrester gained his revenge on a Society which had taken such a delight in snubbing him and all but ruining his family life by slipping in a ringer as he put it, then everyone on the Forresters’ side would stand to gain. The Forresters themselves would be vindicated, May would make a splendid marriage, and in turn Captain Charles and the Honourable Mrs Danby with their own fortunes considerably enhanced both by their adopted daughter’s marriage and Herbert Forrester’s generosity would be able to take what would be considered their proper place in Society.

  As it was, the Danbys’ impoverishment acted as a positive advantage. Although Alice Danby was from an excellent family and had herself been presented at court, the match she had made with her dashing captain had been purely and simply a love one. Neither of them had stood to inherit any wealth from their families, Charles being the youngest son and Alice being a daughter, and any hopes they may have nursed for Charles’s career were dashed when injury disabled him and he was invalided out of his regiment. Thus Alice, rather than spending most of her social life in London, had been forced to live modestly in the Lake District and in rented houses in various regional towns and cities where her husband found employment, living on a fluctuating income supplemented by the small allowance her family had settled on her. As a consequence they were not at all known to London Society which suited the present circumstances perfectly. Alice could use her old family connections to gain certain introductions while being able to move freely around the capital with little known about herself and her husband and nothing at all about their daughter.
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  ‘Even so, I think we shall let you be known by your real Christian name, May,’ Alice told her new daughter as they prepared to leave for London. ‘Your father and I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and if we try to pass you off with Charmion’s name there is always a very real danger that in the heat of the moment you will not respond to it and who knows what the consequence of such a slip might be? Even though my experience of London Society is a little distant now, I feel sure the people are just the same. Suspicious and nosey types most of them, I’ll be bound, May. So we shall simply say that you have always preferred to be known in the bosom of the family by your second name, which in fact is very often the case.’

  ‘I’m so very glad that is your choice, Mamma,’ May said. ‘It’s just the sort of thing I would forget, I’m absolutely sure of it. Although I’m glad to say I haven’t found it one bit difficult remembering to call you Mamma.’

  Alice Danby smiled affectionately at the girl whom she had grown to love. As she had already confided several times to her husband, had she in reality set out to adopt a daughter she could never in the history of time have expected to find such an utterly enchanting, characterful and beautiful girl as this one.

  ‘I think I shall most probably find it all very different once we actually get to London though,’ May confessed, pulling a wonderfully comic face. ‘It’s all very well rehearsing everything I think I’m going to have to say and do up here but of course I don’t know what they’re all going to say and do really, do I? So while I can curtsey away and practise my how-d’you-dos? until I’m blue in the face heaven alone knows what I shall actually say when Lady Godiva says Heavens, gel, what a simply ghastly hat!’