The Beau and the Bluestocking: Romantic intrigue in Regency London

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  ‘A capital scheme,’ said Devenish, drily. ‘And I fancy you’ve already got someone in mind, by all the signs.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ demanded Calver, reddening, ‘Devil a word have I said to anyone!’

  Devenish looked at him pityingly. ‘My dear chap, haven’t you heard that actions speak louder than words? But never fear, a certain young lady’s name shall never cross my lips. You must tell me,’ he added, with a slightly curling lip, ‘When I may wish you joy.’

  Meanwhile, the gentlemen themselves were under discussion in the Manbury’s town coach.

  ‘Of the two, I declare I could almost prefer Calver,’ remarked Mrs Manbury, heaving a heartfelt sigh at the luxury of taking the weight off her feet. ‘He has not quite the dash of Devenish, of course —’

  ‘Oh, no! But then,’ said Lydia, ‘they do not call Sir James Devenish “the Beau” for nothing.’

  ‘The Beau? Do they so?’ asked Alethea. ‘You do mean the one with the arrogant countenance, I suppose? Introductions are always so confusing, but I believe I have it right,’ she added.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose you might say there was a trifle of height in his manner,’ allowed Mrs Manbury, judicially, ‘But, of course, taking into account his birth and fortune, that’s only to be expected. He’s known everywhere as Beau Devenish, for besides that he is a prodigiously handsome man, he’s always dressed in the first style of fashion.’

  ‘That would account for the striped waistcoat,’ said Alethea. ‘I’ve seen nothing like it in Somerset, but perhaps it’s quite usual in London?’

  ‘Usual?’ repeated Lydia, in mock horror. ‘He would hate to hear you say so! Beau Devenish sets the style, not follows it. I dare say every gentleman will be copying it before the month’s out, and then he’ll grow tired of it and start something quite different.’

  ‘Truly?’ There was contempt in Alethea’s tone. ‘To be in the fashion is one thing, but to be so over-concerned with such a trivial subject surely argues a trivial mind? Neither would I say, myself, that he is handsome. Certainly he has good features and rather fine eyes; but his expression is such that it robs his countenance of any charm it might otherwise possess.’

  ‘Hoity toity!’ exclaimed Lydia slightly offended. ‘Now who is arrogant, pray? It’s plain to see, cousin, as far as you’re concerned that Beau Devenish failed to make the impression he generally does on our sex! Not that he’ll care for that, I promise you — I dare say he didn’t so much as notice you.’

  Mrs Manbury felt bound to soften this comment. ‘Well, if he did not, Lydia, it was only because he has eyes for no one but you at present. I noticed that Calver glanced more than once at Alethea, and I must say she looks very becomingly in that blue gown.’

  ‘It is kind in you to say so, Aunt. Fortunately my whole happiness doesn’t depend upon being noticed by chance acquaintances. But am I to understand that Sir James Devenish and Lydia —?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ cut in Mrs Manbury, hurriedly, ‘you are not to be supposing that there is anything serious! The truth is, he’s a shocking flirt, and any girl who’s such a goose as to take his attentions seriously has only herself to thank if she gets hurt. Lydia has more sense than that, haven’t you, my love?’

  ‘You know very well that I have, Mama,’ replied Lydia, calmly.

  ‘He takes up with first one girl and then another in the most shameless way,’ continued Mrs Manbury. ‘But everyone knows by now that he means nothing by it — the most determined match-making Mamas have quite given up all hope of him!’

  ‘I see,’ said Alethea, thoughtfully. ‘It’s to be hoped that at some time or other he doesn’t find himself hoist with his own petard.’

  ‘Are you supposing you might be the one to do it, cousin?’ asked Lydia, with a hint of malice. ‘I dislike to disappoint you, but I must tell you that I don’t think you’re quite in Beau Devenish’s style.’

  ‘And I’m perfectly certain that he’s not in mine, so we are very well quit of each other,’ laughed Alethea. ‘I’m looking forward to visiting Vauxhall,’ she went on, thinking a change of subject might be a good idea. ‘My brothers have been there, and they say there’s a spectacle in the gardens that I must be sure not to miss — but they won’t tell me what it is, in that teasing way brothers have. Pray, Aunt, do enlighten me!’

  ‘Well, since you’re to see it for yourself in so short a while, we may as well keep up the mystery for a little longer, don’t you think, Lydia?’ asked Mrs Manbury, smiling.

  Lydia shrugged. ‘Just as you wish, but it’s no great matter, after all. Who is in our party, Mama? Have you asked anyone besides Caroline and Fothergill?’

  ‘Why, no. I thought we would make it quite a small family party on this occasion. I can’t ask Eleanor, of course, as she is increasing and the excitement would be bad for her, so I’m afraid,’ turning to Alethea, ‘you’ll have to wait for another occasion to meet Lydia’s eldest sister and her husband, Sir Roger Middleham.’

  Alethea made some civil reply, but Lydia cut into it.

  ‘Then we’re to have only Papa and George to escort us?’ she asked, pettishly. ‘Upon my word, it will be a dull party! Four females to two men, and both of them related to us!’

  ‘We shall meet with plenty of our acquaintances there I dare say,’ said her mother, soothingly. ‘One sees all the world at Vauxhall, you know.’

  Chapter IV

  The party that set out for Vauxhall that evening included Lydia’s father, as well as her elder sister Caroline, and Caroline’s husband, Lord Fothergill. The latter part of the journey was made by water, passing the Archbishop’s palace at Lambeth on the way. It was dusk and the last red streaks of the setting sun still lingered in the sky. Lights were springing up along the banks of the Thames; the lamps of the pleasure boats made golden ripples across the dark water. Always alive to atmosphere, Alethea sighed with deep content, and told Lydia that the scene put her in mind of some lines of Milton’s Paradise Lost. At home, a remark, such as this would have seemed normal enough; but both Mrs Manbury and Lord Fothergill stared at the speaker.

  ‘Oh, pooh, poetry!’ said Lydia, in a contemptuous tone.

  Alethea subsided with a sigh, retreating into her own thoughts, which echoed the calm beauty of the scene before her.

  Her first view of the gardens continued the enchantment. The pleasant, tree-lined walks were hung with coloured lanterns; sweet strains of music drifted through the air of what was an unusually balmy May evening. Moving among crowds of gaily dressed people, the Manburys made their way to the source of the music, a handsomely decorated stage set amid trees heavy with cherry blossom. Here Mr Manbury guided them to one of the ground floor supper boxes, where they would be able both to hear the concert and watch the passers-by.

  He paused briefly on the way to sketch a bow before a box occupied by a lady and three gentlemen. One of these was a lumpy, unkempt creature in a baggy coat and a bushy wig that was badly singed in front.

  ‘That,’ whispered Mrs Manbury to Alethea, ‘is Dr Johnson, my dear. Did ever you see such a fright? But one cannot altogether ignore him.’

  ‘Ignore the compiler of the Dictionary? I should think not,’ replied Alethea, indignantly. ‘It will be a sad day when we choose to overlook one of the country’s foremost scholars.’

  ‘Oh, to be sure — but such an odd looking creature, you must own.’

  Alethea might have replied to this, but just then they arrived at their own box and were busy settling themselves into chairs.

  ‘Mama, I believe that’s the Prince of Wales,’ said Caroline Fothergill, craning over the parapet of the box.

  ‘Where?’ asked Mrs Manbury, following suit. ‘Oh, yes, I see — with the female in the green and white striped gown, standing under that tree. Alethea, do but come here a moment.’

  Alethea obeyed, and was just in time to see the Prince disappear into the crowd with one arm fondly encircling the lady in the striped gown.

  ‘Now, I wonder who sh
e can be?’ mused Mrs Manbury. ‘He’s finished with Perdita Robinson, but I haven’t yet heard his name coupled with anyone else’s. What do you think, Caro?’

  She turned away to consult with her daughter, but Alethea remained leaning over the box, studying the crowd. A passing buck ogled her, and she drew back hastily. Her uncle raised his quizzing glass, quickly sending the offender about his business.

  ‘If you are not to expose yourselves to impertinent stares,’ said Mr Manbury, severely, ‘I advise you to keep your heads within the shelter of the box. There is always a smattering of riff-raff at such places as these.’

  The ladies obediently sat down again, contenting themselves for the moment with what could be readily seen from their vantage point. There was plenty to interest and amuse them in the passing crowd, composed of people from all walks of life. The fashionable rubbed shoulders with more ordinary folk whom Mr Manbury referred to contemptuously as ‘Cits’, while here and there could be seen the painted faces of females who came yet lower in the social scale. Alethea soon gave up all attempts to pay close attention to the concert which continued as a pleasing background to the chatter and movement of the crowd. Only when a favourite singer was performing would the noise abate a little.

  When the concert came to an end, supper was served. This was a cold collation of ham, chicken and beef, with fruit tarts, cheesecakes, syllabubs laced with wine and fresh fruit.

  ‘Let me recommend you to try the special Vauxhall Nectar,’ suggested Mr Manbury to Alethea, offering her a small glass. ‘An evening at the Gardens is not complete without it.’

  ‘What is it, sir?’ she asked, taking up the glass and sipping cautiously at its contents.

  ‘It’s a mixture of rum and syrup with some herbs added,’ he replied. ‘But I must warn you, my dear, that it’s more potent than you might suppose.’

  Alethea, who had never before tasted rum and did not care very much for her experience of it, took one more sip before setting down the glass and saying diffidently that she thought perhaps she would prefer some lemonade. She hoped this would not give offence to her uncle; but she need not have worried, for he only laughed, saying that it was not in general a favourite beverage with females.

  ‘You’re quite wrong, Papa, for I like it of all things!’ exclaimed Caroline Fothergill, draining her glass and passing it over to be refilled. ‘But I can’t bear that odious Arrack punch which they give one here.’

  ‘Demmit, Caro, I should think not,’ remarked her husband, reproachfully. ‘Punch ain’t a proper drink for females, mean to say.’

  She threw him a glance of withering scorn. ‘Oh, if one is only to do what is proper!’

  Alethea had been studying the pair covertly from time to time, and had come to the conclusion that no one could possibly think them a happily married couple.

  Caroline was not unlike her sister Lydia in looks. She had the same round, dimpled face with a creamy skin and masses of soft, dark hair; but when she was not laughing, her mouth set too often into discontented lines, and her eyes lacked the vivacity of Lydia’s. Her husband, was a rabbity-faced man in his early thirties. His dress was fashionable to the point of dandyism, but the air of distinction which had been so marked in both Beau Devenish and Lord Calver was somehow lacking. Alethea, who always derived a quiet pleasure from studying her fellow creatures, decided that this was partly due to a lack of intelligence in his expression. He spoke seldom, and when he did it was always of trivialities. His wife treated him with barely concealed contempt, and never addressed him unless it was to say something disagreeable.

  Once supper was over, Caroline became restless. ‘Why don’t we walk about a little?’ she demanded. ‘I declare I’m tired of sitting still! We’re almost sure to meet someone interesting among all these people — besides, there are to be fireworks later on, and one wants to secure a good place, not too far back in the crowd.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, I couldn’t walk another step!’ exclaimed her mother, pushing back her chair from the table and sliding down into a more relaxed attitude. ‘But I dare say Fothergill will accompany you and the girls, if you wish to go, won’t you, George? Then Papa and I will just rest here for a while. Fireworks are no great matter at our time of life, you know.’

  ‘Greatest pleasure in the world,’ replied Fothergill, affably. ‘Miss Newnham may like to see the Waterfall, too. Plenty of time to go there first, before taking up places for the firework display.’

  Accordingly they left the box to join the constant stream of passing people.

  ‘Regret I haven’t three arms,’ said Fothergill, with one of his inane laughs. ‘Shall I take you, Caro, my dear, or one of the others? Wouldn’t do for one of you to be walking on her own in this crush.’

  ‘Oh, take our cousin!’ snapped Caroline, catching Lydia’s arm. ‘Lydia and I haven’t had a gossip together for an age. Anyway, it’s a slow thing to be walking with one’s husband, and not at all the fashion.’

  ‘As you say, m’dear,’ he answered mildly, offering Alethea his arm.

  As they strolled along in pairs keeping close together, Alethea did her best to maintain a conversation with her companion, but soon found that he had nothing to volunteer and little to reply to her remarks. Lydia and her sister, on the other hand, were chatting away at a great rate. Presently they heard a rumbling like that of thunder ahead of them. Alethea looked in the direction of the noise and saw that it came from a huge waterfall cascading over a high rock.

  ‘Mind your purses! Mind your purses!’ These warning shouts came from some of the Garden’s custodians.

  ‘Pickpockets?’ queried Alethea, as they pressed closer to the Waterfall.

  ‘Plenty of ’em about everywhere,’ assented Fothergill. ‘But worse where the crowd’s thick, like this.’

  Alethea took a firmer grip on her reticule, although there was little in it of value at present. She gazed wonderingly at the sheet of water which was falling from a great height in such a remarkably regular flow.

  ‘But surely it’s not a genuine waterfall!’ she exclaimed after watching for a moment. ‘It’s an enormous painting of one, and the cloth is being agitated in such a way that it stimulates an actual fall of water! The sound, too — that’s manufactured by some machinery. How very ingenious!’

  ‘Quite right,’ agreed Fothergill. ‘Very sharp of you, ma’am, to spot it so quickly. It takes people in for quite a time, as a rule.’

  ‘Well, now I know why Henry — that’s one of my brothers, you know — wouldn’t describe the Spectacle to me. He said he didn’t wish to spoil my enjoyment of it.’

  They stood looking at it for a little while, then by common consent made their way to that part of the Gardens where the firework display was to take place. Here some benches were set out which were already well filled. They all began to look about them to try and find four vacant seats. Suddenly Lydia gave a start and nudged her sister.

  ‘Look over there!’ she exclaimed. ‘No, there, stupid! Over to our left. Do you see who it is?’

  The other obediently followed her gaze and saw that it was directed at a group of three gentlemen, each with his arm entwined about the waist of a personable young female.

  ‘Devenish, Horam and Calver,’ pronounced Caroline in instant recognition. ‘As for the females, some ladybirds or other, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘No, really, m’dear,’ protested her husband, with an uneasy glance at Lydia and Alethea.

  ‘Don’t be so odiously stuffy, George! Lydia knows well enough what a ladybird is, and as for Alethea — well, girls are not near so innocent as they would have the men think, I assure you! She really is prodigiously attractive, don’t you think?’ she went on, staring at the girl in Beau Devenish’s embrace. ‘Who is she, George? Do you know?’

  He coughed. ‘Rather fancy — name of Travers, Kitty Travers, an Opera dancer,’ he mumbled. ‘Much sought after — hm! — by all accounts.’ He looked uneasily at his wife, then touched her on the arm. ‘Four seat
s over there, m’dear. Shall we take them?’

  They allowed themselves to be settled on the bench, but Lydia’s eyes were still on the amorous couple, who had not yet sat down.

  ‘What’s amiss, Lydia?’ Caroline sounded amused. ‘Don’t you care to see your gallant cavorting with someone else? The more fool you, my dear — you know his reputation well enough.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ replied Lydia, in an angry tone. ‘But to be in such company and — and so shamelessly familiar in public —’

  ‘Stuff! A Vauxhall romp — I’ll wager George here has taken part in many a one, haven’t you, George?’

  Fothergill looked taken aback, and stammered that he had put by such diversions on his marriage.

  Caroline shrugged. ‘Much I care if you have not,’ she said, in a tone of indifference. ‘A female’s nothing but a fool if she expects men to be other than they are. Cheer up, Lydia, Devenish will wait on you tomorrow with flowers, and be as attentive as ever, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Then he can spare himself the trouble, for I’ll not receive him!’ snapped Lydia. ‘And I do think, Caroline, that you have by far too free a way of talking — you will give our cousin a disgust of you.’

  Fothergill, greatly daring, was about to concur with this view, but Alethea diplomatically broke in to say that she thought the fireworks were about to start, as she had seen some officials appear on the platform. The others stopped talking at once, and in a few minutes the first rockets soared skywards, leaving a trail of brightly coloured stars.

  Chapter V

  The ladies put in a late appearance at breakfast on the following morning, and it soon became evident that Lydia, at any rate, was sadly out of humour.

  ‘I thought perhaps we might make a few calls this morning,’ said Mrs Manbury, as she rose from the table. ‘Of course, I shall arrange a ball for Alethea in a week or two, when she may meet everyone. But it can scarcely be thought pleasant to encounter a room full of strangers, so in the meantime we must introduce her to some of our oldest friends.’