A Lady's Point of View

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  In the servants’ quarters, the coachman spread the gossip he had overheard about the evening’s mishap. In addition to their distress at Miss Linley’s fall from grace, the staff worried that Lady Mary might retreat from London, leaving most of them to seek out new positions.

  The maid, Karen, lay awake for a different reason, one sufficient to overcome her exhaustion. She was concerned not so much for her mistresses—what real harm could befall members of the nobility?—but for how she might reach her childhood sweetheart, Peter, a valet who worked in Liverpool. His master intended journeying to Canada, and Peter had written to beg that she come and marry him so that they might go together. But how was she to get north by herself?

  One storey below, Angela also lay sleepless, hurting for her sister and trying not to dwell on her own disappointment. How her young heart had swelled, the times she was allowed to accompany her family to Vauxhall or Hyde Park, where handsome men doffed their hats to her. Would she never dance in the arms of a beloved suitor?

  Lying beside Angela—for the sisters shared a bed—Meg longed heartily to be done with the whole business. She could bear even the Barkers’ endless sermonizing; at least she need not fear that the least misstep would lead to disgrace. Perhaps in Derby she might even acquire a pair of spectacles.

  As for Lady Mary, she had a difficult decision to make. Since her husband’s death, she had been forced into a situation for which her gentle birth and upbringing had never prepared her. At each turning point, she discovered with amazement new sources of strength within herself.

  So it must be now. Only she knew the truly threadbare state of the family finances. She had refrained from baring the whole sad situation even to her elder daughter, but there would be no season the next year, for either of the girls, unless one of them found a wealthy husband this summer.

  It was only sensible that Angela be given a chance. As Meg said, after a written apology and the offender’s retirement from London, the ton would soon forget this tempest in a teacup. And within a few weeks, Angela might take her place in society.

  Meg would rub on well enough with the Barkers, Lady Mary reflected, and if Angela made a good match, it would pave the way for Meg’s return to society next year. It was the best one could hope for under the circumstances.

  Chapter Two

  The following afternoon, there was no question of making calls, for the Linleys knew that no one would be at home to them.

  “It’s monstrous!” cried Angela as the three of them sat in the parlour in funereal gloom. “I don’t want to be accepted by the ton if they’re so cruel and petty, Mother. Why don’t we all leave?”

  “That wouldn’t serve,” her parent responded coldly. “We’ll hear no more talk of that sort, miss.”

  Angela turned to Meg for help, but her older sister shook her head. “It’s for the best,” she said. “I shall be just as happy in Derby as here, save that I’ll miss my family. One and a half seasons of Venetian breakfasts and card parties are enough for me.”

  At that moment, the three were surprised to hear a carriage stopping outside in the street. Angela would have run to the window but for her mother’s restraining hand. “You might be seen, dear,” cautioned Lady Mary.

  When the butler entered a moment later to announce Helen Cockerell, the sisters were delighted.

  “Oh, Helen, I knew you wouldn’t desert us!” Angela sprang up to greet the older girl.

  After the usual fuss of settling into place and pouring tea, the Linleys took turns informing Miss Cockerell of Meg’s impending departure from London. “I sent round the note to Mr. Brummell this morning,” Meg concluded. “I received no response, but I hardly expected one.”

  “Oh, that fop!” With a wave of the hand, Helen dismissed the second most powerful man in London, at least so far as the social lives of its younger set were concerned. “There’s talk that he’s given offence to Prinny more than once, and there’ll be a falling-out before this time next year, you mark my words.’’

  Everyone knew that Brummell’s success depended on his close friendship with the Prince of Wales, who had become Regent in February. That Brummell might fall from grace hadn’t occurred to Meg, but in any event it was sure to come too late to help her.

  Angela was more optimistic, her blue eyes widening. “Then perhaps Meg might stay—”

  “I think not,” said Lady Mary.

  Reluctantly Helen concurred. “For myself, I shall miss her terribly, and write every day. But even my own brother, Edward, professes himself horrified at Meg’s conduct—you know what a stiff cheese he is! I’ve no doubt he’d have forbidden even my coming today if he’d known of it.”

  Edward, being a good ten years older than his sister, had become her guardian after their parents’ death. Despite his fair colouring and generally admired appearance, Meg regarded him as little warmer than a block of ice. Stiff cheese indeed!

  The sisters bade a tearful farewell to Helen, who embraced Meg lovingly and renewed her promise to correspond faithfully.

  Welcome though the visit had been, it left behind an even gloomier atmosphere than before, as if the last hope were removed.

  It was decided that Meg should take the mail coach to Manchester. Although that meant journeying a bit beyond her destination and paying a stiff fee, the journey could be accomplished in eighteen hours instead of several days, thus saving the expense of rooms in posting houses. From there, she and Karen, who was to accompany her, would hire a post chaise to Derby.

  On Friday, Meg sorted carefully through her gowns, choosing those of darker colours and more severe styles. She selected practical fabrics—kerseymere and chintz, bombazine and calico.

  “You’ve no need to go about looking like a spinster,” Angela protested when she entered and saw the dresses her sister had laid out.

  “Don’t be nonsensical,” said Meg, returning a gown of pink crepe to the wardrobe. “What would I do with these fripperies in Derby? The Barkers would prate of sinful dress until my head ached.” As fashion decreed, the gowns displayed an unseemly amount of bosom and clung to the figure, even when not dampened.

  Angela laughed. “Well, I certainly can’t wear them. I’m half a stone lighter than you and two inches shorter.”

  But they would have to be made over to fit Angela, though Meg saw no point in telling her sister that now. Perhaps Lady Mary could find the funds for a few new dresses; otherwise Angela would certainly be disappointed.

  “I believe I’ve picked out the appropriate clothing,” Meg said as she selected matching gloves, shoes, shawls, ribbons, reticules, cloaks and pelisses.

  After Angela departed, Meg ticked off on her fingers the tasks that had been accomplished. She had written her apology to Mr. Brummell, Lady Mary had dashed off a note to the Barkers regarding the impending arrival, the clothes had been selected …Ah, yes, her books!

  A short while later, Meg was returning to her chamber with an armload of her favourite novels and poetry, when she encountered Karen in the hall. “Please, miss, may I speak with you privately?” the girl asked.

  “Why, yes, of course.” Puzzled, Meg entered the room. Could it be that Karen objected to travelling back with her? Possibly the girl had acquired a suitor here in London. But Meg vaguely recalled that Karen was betrothed to a young man in Derby. Or had he moved from there with his employer?

  The maid cleared her throat and stood with her hands in back, clearly trying to work up the courage to speak.

  “Come now, Karen, we’ve known each other for years,” said Meg. “You’ve no need to be afraid.”

  “Well, miss”--the girl peered at her anxiously--”It’s this way. My beau, Peter, he’s been working in Liverpool.”

  “Yes?’’ Meg tried to sound encouraging.

  “His master sails for Canada in two weeks’ time, and Peter must go with him, for he can find no other work.” Karen uttered the words in one gusty breath. “He wants to marry me and take me along.”

  “I see.
” Meg sank into a chair. “You’ve waited until the last minute to take your leave of us, Karen.”

  “I didn’t see how I was to get there,” the maid pressed on, her tongue loosened at last. “I haven’t enough blunt, and neither has he. So I thought all was lost, but now I’ve enough to get from Manchester to Liverpool, begging your pardon, miss.”

  Meg began to understand. “So you want to leave me in Manchester to make the last stage of my journey alone?”

  “Oh, please, miss.” Karen looked as if she might kneel to make her plea, an alarming prospect to Meg. “I know it’s a disloyal notion. A young lady like yourself mustn’t travel alone. But I thought, well, if I hired the post chaise in Manchester for you, what harm could befall you twixt there and Derby?”

  What harm indeed, Meg reflected. Society would be scandalized by such goings-on, but they need never know of it. As for the Barkers, they would object to almost anything she did; it was impossible to please folk with such starched-up notions.

  Although she didn’t recall Peter clearly, she could see how Karen’s face shone when she spoke of him. Why should a girl be deprived of a lifetime of happiness merely because she lacked coach fare between London and Liverpool?

  “Very well,” Meg said. “But you must say nothing of this to anyone. Not to anyone, do you hear? If Mother learns of it, she’ll send another maid with me.”

  “Oh, thank you, miss.” Karen caught up Meg’s hands and, to the older girl’s embarrassment, kissed them eagerly. “I don’t know how to thank you!”

  “Just be sure you hire the post chaise before you depart,” Meg said. “With my weak eyes, I could never manage for myself.”

  “Indeed I shall!”

  Footsteps approached in the hall, and Karen busied herself with the ribbons on the dressing table as Angela entered.

  So the days passed until Monday, when Meg was to depart.

  Chapter Three

  Meg hugged her sister and her mother twice each, ignoring the indifferent jostling of the crowd in the inn’s yard. “I shall write as soon as I arrive,” she promised. “You must answer at once, and tell me about Angela’s come-out. I am certain she’ll have a great success!”

  “We would be happy with a modest one,” said Lady Mary. “At least we may count on the support of Miss Cockerell, and her family is well placed.”

  “We’re to go to Vauxhall tomorrow night, have I told you?” cried Angela, who had informed her sister of that fact no less than three times. “Perhaps I’ll meet a handsome stranger.”

  “You must speak to no one unless you’ve been introduced.” Meg hoped her high-spirited sister wouldn’t create her own scandal. “Don’t go wandering away from Mother. Vauxhall’s full of footpads and murderers, and worse.”

  “What could be worse?” asked Angela as their groom handed a trunk to the coachman.

  “Never mind,” replied Meg with the condescension of one who has been out in the world, although in truth she knew little of what “ravishment” meant save that it ruined one’s reputation permanently.

  Their conversation was interrupted as the mail guard, splendid in a coat of scarlet with blue lapels and white ruffles, lifted a curved bugle to his lips and sounded forth a stream of notes the like of which Meg had never heard before. She suspected he had composed the music himself.

  “We’re off, then,” she said, giving Angela’s hand a final squeeze and trying to ignore the lump in her own throat. “It won’t be so many months before we’re together again. By then I hope we shall be planning your wedding, dearest.”

  Aided by the many-caped coachman, she stepped into the smart maroon-and-black coach. She ignored the half-dozen riders who gazed down from their perches on the roof, except to wonder how they would keep from being thrown off when the carriage hit a pothole.

  Karen was already within, awaiting her mistress. Their companions for the journey were a solidly built merchant and his wife, and a middle-aged woman huddling within a brown cloak, as if she feared someone would order her off the coach.

  A companion or an abigail, Meg speculated. At any rate, the creature sat apart from the couple and appeared to be travelling on her own, a situation that apparently contributed to her nervous state.

  As the coachman cried, “All right behind?” and set his horses into motion, she waved through the window a last farewell to the two people she loved most on earth.

  What sort of match would Angela make? Meg wondered as she settled into her seat. She was young and sometimes overeager, but she had enough sense, her sister hoped, to avoid any serious difficulty.

  Much as she loved Angela, Meg was honest enough to admit the girl was not of such surpassing beauty as to rise to great heights. She would not be declared an Incomparable or a Diamond of the First Water by the gentlemen who spent their time at such exclusive clubs as White’s and Watier’s.

  But Angela had charming blue eyes a shade darker than Meg’s own, and pale blonde hair that never failed to please gentlemen. With her lively manner and sweetness of disposition, Angela would surely find a loving husband.

  And I? Meg wondered.

  She had no expectation of meeting anyone eligible in Derby. The country squire near her home was of middle age and comfortably wed, and she knew of no young men of good breeding in that vicinity. She would most likely never marry or have children.

  Never marry. Would that be so terrible? Meg had heard of women beaten by drunken husbands, and death in childbirth was not uncommon.

  Why then did she feel this unexpected pain? Strange how she longed to feel a pair of masculine arms about her, and to hear a deep voice speaking to her tenderly. How arid the future appeared to one who must journey through it alone.

  After a time, as the mail continued its relentless passage northward, Meg’s musings strayed to her companions. The woman in the brown cloak was attempting to nap, twitching awake every few minutes and adjusting herself in an agitated manner. She muttered inaudible phrases as if conducting some form of debate. Poor thing, she had the air of one who needed a warm hearth, a nice cup of tea, and a sympathetic shoulder, not a journey to some unknown situation. It was a relief when the woman dozed off at last.

  The coach made few stops, and those only long enough to change horses and driver. Toward evening, Meg herself nodded off to sleep.

  She napped fitfully through the night, from time to time sharing with Karen food and drink from the hamper Cook had sent along. The sun was well up on Tuesday morning when they arrived in Manchester.

  Although she had been raised not too many miles from here, Meg had never before visited the city of weavers, and wished she owned a set of spectacles so that she might see it now. The only landmark she could define, by squinting mightily, was the fifteenth-century Gothic cathedral built of red stone.

  Beside her, Karen’s hands clenched tightly in her lap. The girl hadn’t seen Peter in more than a year, and she couldn’t be sure the message she’d sent had been received in time for him to meet her.

  The coach entered the courtyard amid the shouts of welcome and the barking of dogs. With the coachman’s assistance, the passengers descended. Karen, displaying an unaccustomed authority, instructed that her mistress’s trunk and her own valise be transferred to a private parlour. But despite her weariness from the uncomfortable night, Meg was in no hurry to retreat. She wanted to absorb whatever she could of the bustle of the great coaching inn and inhale the faint sea tang in the air.

  She and Karen had proceeded only halfway across the yard when a great commotion erupted behind them. Turning, Meg saw the large form of the merchant who had travelled with them, arms waving in the air as he shouted something about a missing purse.

  “What’s happened?” she asked of no one in particular.

  The brown-cloaked woman stopped beside them. “I don’t know. No need to make such a fuss.”

  “Did you see it?” Karen asked. “Was there a footpad? He’s yelling that someone pinched his purse.”

  “Most
likely dropped it down his waistcoat,” their companion muttered. “I do wish he’d stop carrying on so. Shouting gives me the megrim.” She clutched a worn valise tightly in her hands.

  “There. There she be!” To Meg’s astonishment, the merchant pointed directly at them. In a trice, the trio found themselves surrounded by a constable, the innkeeper, and assorted spectators.

  This could not be happening, Meg thought wildly. She experienced the same sensation of unreality as on that dreadful night. less than a week ago. when she cut Beau Brummell. But this time she had far more at stake, though she could not previously have imagined such a thing possible. The penalty for stealing was hanging, or transportation to Australia.

  “What? This ‘un ‘ere?” demanded the constable, pointing at Karen.

  “That, sir, is my abigail!” Meg protested.

  “And who be you?” cried a lad who stood at the constable’s elbow.

  “Hush, Eddie, anyone can see she’s a lady.” The constable turned to the woman in brown. “Is this person with your party?”

  “She did travel down with us from London, but I’ve only just made her acquaintance,” Meg admitted. It occurred to her that she might have saved the woman a spot of trouble by claiming a relationship, but surely the creature’s innocence could be quickly established.

  “That must be the one.” The infuriated merchant singled out the nervous woman. “Sitting right by me. I had my purse last time we stopped, and now it’s gone. Ten pounds in gold coin!”

  An appreciative murmur rose from the crowd.

  “Hand it over, then,” the constable demanded, fixing the woman with a keen stare.

  “I don’t... I haven’t...” To Meg’s alarm, the woman began trembling violently. “I haven’t touched his purse! You don’t even know for certain that he ever had such a thing. Why me? I knew no good would come of leaving London! My charges begged me to stay, but the doctor said I needed fresh air. Now look what they’re trying to do!” Her thin frame shook with sobs.