A Bright Young Thing

by Brianne Moore

  “But not the roof I want. How can I find enough money to save Hensley when I don’t so much as know the cost of a hairpin?”

  “It’s less than a thousand pounds. You should be safe there.”

  “But what about everything else? It’s not the individual things—it’s all of it together. And just look at this! I’m hopeless.” I waved the budget in the air, then tossed it back onto the writing desk and began attacking the fire with the poker. Angry sparks shot upward and out, spattering and hissing on the hearth.

  Toby sat up and eased away before he got singed. “There, there,” he soothed. “No need to burn the house down over it. Why don’t you do as Edgry said and find a nice, rich young man to marry you? I’m sure you could find someone. You’re not so decrepit.”

  “Oh thank you very much. But I’ve reviewed my current offerings, and they aren’t promising. No, I’ll just have to get myself out of this mess.”

  “Well, you might be at risk of a matching, whether you want it or not,” he warned. “Mother’s got plans. She’s been after me to invite friends ’round to throw at you.”

  “Bachelors bouncing around like tennis balls,” I groaned.

  “And you joyfully swatting them away!” he chortled. “I think that might be rather entertaining. I may sell tickets!”

  “Ahh, we’ve found the way to make my fortune at last,” I declared. Then, more seriously, “How long before she starts serving in earnest?”

  “I give her fifteen minutes the next time she sees you.”

  “Goodness!” I sank back into the armchair. “She is desperate to get rid of me.”

  Toby waved his cigarette case. “No. She’s just of the generation that thinks the only thing for a girl to do is to marry well and quickly, before the bloom’s off the rose.”

  “If that’s how she feels, then why did she wait so long herself?”

  Toby struck a match and lit the cigarette. “She was waiting for the right man to sweep her off her feet.”

  We laughed, both at the idea of Aunt El being swept and of pliant, colorless Augustus Weyburn doing the sweeping. My uncle’s death had probably been the most dramatic thing to ever happen to him, and even then he went as quietly as he lived: choking to death on a grape. Poor man.

  Toby gave me the cigarette, and I puffed away for a moment, thinking.

  “There is Vandemark Rubber,” I mused. “That’s something. I spoke with Mr. Ponsonby-Lewis, and he said the business was going quite well. They make tires, he said, and they’ve got an exclusive contract with Mr. Porter to supply his automobile factory.”

  “Not sure I’d take P-L senior’s word for it,” Toby warned. “He’s a bit … off. A few years ago he got it into his head to create a line of green chickens, and when breeding them that way didn’t work, he just had his flock dyed.”

  I paused. “All right, he may be a bit eccentric,” I allowed. “But he seemed confident. Maybe I could work on Mr. Porter. Convince him to increase his order or something. I could charm him.”

  Toby chuckled. “Yes, I daresay you could.”

  I stood and examined myself in the spotty mirror over the fireplace, assessing my qualities. I was fortunate as far as looks went. Like both of my parents, I was tall and willowy, with Father’s dark eyes and heart-shaped face and Mother’s chestnut-colored hair. It fell to just below my ears, in carefully arranged waves and pin curls. My lips could, perhaps, be a little rounder, but lipstick could fix that.

  I sighed. Was this all I could do? Become someone’s decorative wife or simper to an old man?

  In disgust, I threw the remains of the cigarette into the fire, watching the coals eagerly consume the last of it. “It isn’t fair, Toby, that things should be so hard.” I turned and leaned against the mantelpiece, arms crossed, scowling. “You men can always go out and … I don’t know, discover something or build a railway somewhere.”

  He laughed. “Can we indeed?”

  “You can. And you do. You’re all usefully educated.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “No, my dear, you have it quite wrong: the more expensive the education, the more useless it is. I spent most of my schooldays on Latin verbs, and what good is that? I can assure you, very little has ever been accomplished purely by saying ‘veni vidi vici’ properly.”

  “That’s still more than I can do. The sum total of my education was curtseying, music, and penmanship. I know how to properly address a duchess but don’t know the price of a packet of tea.”

  “Surely that’s in the ledger somewhere?”

  “The thing is practically written in code.” My eyes moved toward it. “You don’t know what ‘Rosedale’ or ‘Dr. H’ are, do you?”

  Toby shrugged and shook his head.

  “Well, I think they have the Davieses to thank for their holiday in Cannes.”

  I turned back to the fire, clutched the mantelpiece, closed my eyes, and silently counted to ten. It was a soothing technique my mother had taught me.

  “And if that doesn’t calm you, imagine a flower slowly unfurling,” she’d said.

  I heard the flutter of paper as Toby picked up the budget. A moment after, he said, “Perhaps you could do without the lady’s maid.”

  I shook my head. “No, I can’t. It’s not respectable for me to travel alone, now I don’t have Mother to accompany me. And every heiress I know got one as soon as she was able. It’ll be a dead giveaway if I don’t have one.”

  “Would it? No one cares if a man doesn’t have a valet.” He shrugged and lit another cigarette.

  “Of course they do; they just don’t make quite as much of a thing of it. If I don’t have a maid, everyone will start to wonder why, and then they’ll guess I’m hard up.”

  Only those with titles and great names to hide behind could be poor and still receive invitations to everything. Others who fell on hard times quietly slipped out of the social circle and were forgotten. A family I knew had once owned three mills near Leicester, but they’d shut down, one by one, and then the family had simply disappeared. Sold up and went somewhere without so much as a goodbye. I’d heard the eldest daughter was working as a waitress, but I was sure that couldn’t be true, because Effie was as clumsy as she was stupid. At the time, I hadn’t felt much pity for them—they were a brash and spendthrift lot—but now I was thinking of them a little more kindly. But that was really the best one could hope for: pity. And I would not be an object of pity.

  “Suit yourself.” Toby examined me critically. “Probably for the best: you’re starting to look like a woman who does her own hair.” He shuddered.

  “Beastly creature!” I lobbed a needlepoint cushion at him. “Make it up to me by helping me persuade your mother this is a good idea. We’ll need to do it soon too. I’ve already placed the advertisement for the post and need to have someone hired by the time I go to Gryden Hall in two weeks.”

  “Gryden!” He flinched. “Bit of a mixed blessing, that.”

  “I know. But I need to start getting out, and Cecilia’s just dyyyying to see me! That’s how she put it in the letter, too—lots of extra ‘y’s’.”

  He chuckled. “Sounds like her. She probably can’t wait to see a friendly face after having been trapped out in the godforsaken countryside with that sister of hers.” Toby gave me a warning look. “Tread carefully, my dear.”

  “I can manage Millicent. She’s the least of my worries.”

  “It’s not just her you have to worry about. They’ll all be staring you down, all weekend long. Couldn’t you have found a more relaxed event for your return to public life? Weren’t there any drawing rooms at Buckingham Palace?”

  “Not a single one. Everyone’s off hunting, the king included.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course. They’ve all run off to stand around in the damp and deliver England from the scourge of grouse.” He shuddered again.

  “Well, anyway, Cee says that Joyce and David will be there too. It feels like years since I last saw Joyce.” />
  “Ahh, still married, then? There’s a wager I’ve lost.”

  I had run out of cushions to throw, so I just settled for a glare. “Yes, still married, and enjoying it. At least, I haven’t heard any complaints from Joyce, and you know I would have if she had any.”

  “She does speak her mind,” he agreed. “Must be the American in her.” The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. “Ahh, teatime. Gird your loins, Mums will be here any moment. But perhaps talk of this lady’s maid will distract her from the bachelors.” He stretched back out on the sofa, grinning.

  With a sharp cough and a terse: “Hasn’t Jeffries brought the tea yet?” Aunt Elinor announced her arrival.

  “Ahh,” Toby crowed. “Speak of the devil!”

  His mother paused in the doorway, the very picture of Severe: spear-straight posture, tightly scraped back dark hair, high-necked, floor-length black dress.

  My spine stiffened as soon as I saw her, but Toby drawled: “Afternoon, Mums.”

  “Tobias!” his mother gasped. “You’re smoking!” Her hand reflexively clutched the cross she wore around her neck.

  “Am I?” He glanced at the cigarette in his hand. “Why, yes, I believe you’re right.”

  “You know I abhor smoking, Tobias! The smell never leaves the furniture. Put it out this very moment.” Aunt Elinor sailed over to an armchair and settled on its edge, coughing once more as soon as she had landed.

  “Terribly sorry, Mums,” Toby said. “But since the damage has probably already been done, may I finish my ciggie?”

  “You may not, and don’t use slang. And sit up straight!”

  Toby sighed, handed the cigarette off to me, and hauled himself into a sitting position. I smiled sympathetically as I tossed the cigarette into the fire, resisting the urge to sneak a final drag.

  “I’ll be hungry now,” Toby fretted. “Hope Jeffries brings the tea soon.”

  Right on cue, the door opened and the butler entered, magisterially wheeling a cumbersome tea cart laden with the teapot and a single plate of bread and butter sandwiches. He eased awkwardly around my piano, which had been jammed into the overstuffed room and was already proving a trial for anyone expecting a clear path through the door.

  Toby groaned, “Bread and butter! Can’t we have cake or something, Mother?”

  “I don’t see why we should eat extravagantly when it’s only the three of us. Plain food is good for the soul, don’t you agree, Astra?”

  “I’m sure it is, Aunt Elinor. Nothing like a penitent’s diet to consider one’s sins.”

  She pulled out a handkerchief and coughed into it as I began pouring the tea.

  “You really should see someone about that cough,” I commented, handing her a cup.

  She waved a hand at me even as she coughed again. “Never mind that. Come and sit by me, dear, we need to have a talk.”

  Toby raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the clock as I took a seat next to his mother. “She’s quick off the mark: that was under five minutes,” he murmured.

  Aunt El set her teacup aside, took both my hands, and smiled in a way she probably meant to seem kind, but which actually felt slightly menacing. Smiles did not come naturally to her.

  “Now, Astra, it’s been some months since your tragedy, and of course it’s entirely proper that you took plenty of time to mourn your parents. But now you must start considering practical matters. I don’t need to remind you how dire your situation is … ”

  No, she certainly did not.

  “And while I’m content for you to be here, you can’t expect to stay indefinitely.”

  “Don’t you feel welcome, my dear?” Toby asked with a half smile.

  Aunt El continued: “The best thing for a girl in your position is to secure herself a husband.”

  “Ah! You see, Astra, what did I tell you?” Toby crowed.

  “What are you going on about?” Aunt El asked sharply.

  “Nothing at all.” He winked at me and smirked into his teacup.

  “Well, there it is, dear,” she said, turning back to me. “Now, since you show no urgency in the matter, despite having been introduced to any number of excellent young men, it seems to have fallen to me to find someone suitable.” She sighed, as though put out by this inconvenience.

  I tried not to look too horrified, but dear lord, what sort of man would Aunt Elinor consider an appropriate life partner? Probably someone like—God help me—her.

  She scowled. “Don’t look at me like that, young lady! You children nowadays think you have all the time in the world to do what you want, but you simply don’t. You must start thinking seriously about this; you’re leaving things rather late.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, Mums,” Toby piped up. “Either Astra’s a child or she’s socially ancient. You have to choose one.”

  “It’s foolish of you to sit by and expect suitable men to keep appearing,” Aunt El told me, ignoring her son. “All of your friends are starting to snap them up. Why not Lord Beckworth? His mother’s gone off to France, and now I hear the poor man’s quite lonely.”

  “He can get a Labrador, then,” I suggested tersely. “What does he need me for?”

  “I wouldn’t subject an animal as intelligent as a Labrador to life with Ducky,” said Toby. “I think they have laws now against animal cruelty.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Lord Beckworth, Tobias!” his mother snapped.

  “Nothing at all, Mums. But mark my words: when we were at school he definitely wasn’t one of the finest minds of his generation, and, like this sofa, he hasn’t improved with age. No, Mums, keep your desperate bachelors: nobody’s good enough for our Astra.” Toby made a gallant half bow, twirling a sandwich in the air. I giggled.

  “For heaven’s sake, Tobias, be serious!” Aunt Elinor snapped. “There must be some friend of yours Astra hasn’t been introduced to yet.”

  “If she hasn’t been introduced to him, there’s probably a very good reason.”

  “Oh, come now, they can’t all be idiots,” she huffed.

  “Of course they are, Mother. But they’re the finest idiots in Britain. One must have standards.”

  “You’re being deliberately difficult,” she snarled.

  Toby shrugged. “Maybe Astra doesn’t want to be married.”

  “Of course she wants to be married. What else is there for her to do?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “I’m trying to work some things out, just …” I went and picked up the ledger. “You don’t know what Rosedale is? Or Dr. H?”

  Somehow, she managed to stiffen further. “Never mind about any of that,” she said in a tone so chilly I actually shivered. “We have important matters to settle. My friend Mrs. Jeffries has a box at that new Noel Coward play next weekend. I’ll ask her to invite you and Lord Beckworth along. And you’ve accepted Lady Cecilia’s invitation to Gryden Hall?”

  “I have,” I confirmed warily.

  “Good. I’m sure there’ll be some worthwhile young men there. Lord Hampton wouldn’t miss out on that shooting. He was so solicitous after your parents’ funeral. I’m sure you could make some inroads if you just tried.”

  Toby shook his head. “Mustard’s spoken for, mother,” he informed her. “Jossie Bfyddlye told me all about it last week.”

  “What?” she cried, aghast. “Lord Hampton engaged? That can’t be correct, I would have heard.”

  “It only just happened, Jossie said. But he had it right from the horse’s mouth after Mustard had one drink too many. He never could keep secrets, old Mustard. Not when he’s spifflicated, anyway.”

  “Who’s the lucky girl?” I asked, pleased for Hampton.

  “Belinda Avery.”

  “What? Lord and Lady Crayle’s girl?” Aunt El exploded. “That plain little bit of nothing! What an absolute waste of a coronet!” She bit a sandwich in half with such rage I was sure she imagined it was Belinda’s head.

  “I say good for him,”
I declared. “She’s a nice girl, and that’s just what he needs.” I didn’t want Hampton anyway, despite his future dukedom. He was sweet, but he wasn’t for me.

  Aunt El sighed and raised her eyes skyward, clenching the cross once again. Having evidently prayed for patience, she released the cross and leveled her eyes at me. “Now, Astra, about Lord Beckworth … ”

  “I promise I’ll give him some serious thought if you agree to just one thing.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s that?”

  “Allow me to hire a lady’s maid.”

  I braced for her reaction. Unsurprisingly, she looked at me as though I’d just proposed something utterly outrageous.

  “A lady’s maid! You must be joking!”

  “Not a bit. Even the most hard-up people keep personal servants. No man wants to marry a pauper,” I added slyly. “And anyway, the expense won’t be too great. I could probably get one quite cheaply with things the way they are right now.”

  “Don’t talk about money, Astra—it’s common,” said Aunt El.

  “Astra must have a maid, there’s no question about it,” Toby piped up.

  “Of course you’d say that,” Aunt El huffed. “You’ve always taken her side.”

  “Well, she’s always right. It seems a good policy to back the person who’s always correct. Let her have the maid, Mother. She’s right about it being a dead giveaway if she doesn’t have one—see how frumpy she’s looking lately! No man wants a frump either.”

  “I’ll contribute to the cost of her upkeep, of course,” I added. “Shall we say”—I grappled for what seemed a reasonable amount—“two pounds two shillings a month?”

  She turned to me in horror. “Two pounds two shillings? What do you intend to feed this person, caviar and Montrachet? One and one should be more than sufficient.”

  “One and one it is, then.”

  At least now I knew the cost of a bread-and-butter diet. Not much, but certainly a start.

  Chapter Two

  “You have a whisky-and-soda look about you,” Toby observed, wandering into the drawing room the following week and finding me drooping amid piles of neatly penned and lightly perfumed reference letters. He cocked his head and scrutinized me. “But I can’t quite tell if you need one or you’ve already had five.”