The Beau and the Bluestocking: Romantic intrigue in Regency London

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  Alethea thanked her aunt feelingly for this, but Lydia pulled a face.

  ‘That’s all very well, Mama, but need we start today? I am not at all in the mood for visiting. Where did you mean to go?’

  ‘Well, certainly to the Allertons. And they are such very old friends that you cannot possibly object to paying a short call on them, Lydia. Why, you practically grew up with Felicia and Clarinda, and I’m sure they are the most amiable girls in the world, and always delighted to see you.’

  ‘Oh, yes, they are amiable enough, like all the Allertons,’ answered Lydia, pettishly, ‘But I am too odiously fatigued this morning for polite chit-chat. I would far rather stay at home.’

  Mrs Manbury was a reasonably indulgent mother in matters which she judged unimportant, but she was inflexible when she had decided on a certain course.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, compressing her lips. ‘Alethea and I will go alone. And I trust we may find you in a better humour on our return.’

  Lydia made no reply to this, but yawned ostentatiously.

  ‘The child is a trifle fagged,’ allowed Mrs Manbury as they settled themselves in the smart town carriage. ‘It’s scarce to be wondered at after so much activity yesterday. I must confess to feeling a trifle done-up myself, but I am determined to exert myself for your sake.’

  Alethea did not believe that fatigue was the real cause of her cousin’s irritability, but she kept the thought to herself as she thanked her aunt.

  ‘You will like the Allertons,’ went on Mrs Manbury. ‘We have known them all our lives. They are a large family, mostly girls. Some are married and settled in establishments of their own, and some are away at school. There are two girls at home who have been out a year or so, but up to now there’s been no serious sign of either making a match. Felicia is the elder — she’s one and twenty — and the more elegant of the two. Poor Clarinda is rather plump, but as good-natured a girl as ever breathed. She’s the same age as you, nineteen. The eldest son, Vivyan, is a pleasant, agreeable young man, too, though you won’t be seeing him, as he doesn’t live at home. One wonders that he’s not yet married, for he’s turned seven and twenty; but I fancy myself that he’s more than a trifle smitten with Lydia. However, that could not come to anything. Lydia has other aspirations. He is one of Beau Devenish’s set,’ she added.

  That man again, thought Alethea. He seemed to have a way of creeping into the Manburys’ conversation. Perhaps, in spite of all they said about not taking his attentions to Lydia seriously, they were secretly nourishing a hope that this time he might mean matrimony. Could this be what her aunt meant by Lydia’s aspirations? However that might be, Alethea saw no signs of love in her cousin. If Lydia did wish to marry Sir James Devenish, it was for more worldly reasons.

  It was only a short distance to the Allertons’ house in South Audley Street. Mrs Allerton was at home, the butler told them, and would be happy to receive Mrs Manbury and her niece. They were shown into a comfortable parlour on the ground floor, and Mrs Allerton, a plump, fair woman with an amiable countenance, came forward to greet them.

  ‘Olivia, my dear, how very nice to see you!’ She kissed Mrs Manbury affectionately. ‘And this is your sister’s daughter? Clarinda, love, this is Miss Alethea Newnham, who’s staying with Mrs Manbury for a while. You must become better acquainted.’

  Clarinda, a pink and white blonde who was decidedly well covered, came forward to take Alethea’s hand and make her welcome. Alethea glanced towards the window; a boy of about fifteen had been sitting there reading a book when they entered. Now he rose, hastily putting the volume aside and looking round him like a cornered animal. Mrs Allerton turned towards him.

  ‘Simon, my love, come and make your bow to the ladies. He’s had the measles, you know,’ she explained to Mrs Manbury, ‘and once he was out of infection, they sent him home to recuperate for a week or two. He’s such a dreamer, and always has his nose in a book,’ she added fondly, oblivious of the quick flush that showed in her offspring’s otherwise pale cheeks. ‘I keep telling him it would do him far more good to take a walk in the Park. I think I shall pack him off to my sister at Weymouth — the sea air will soon pull him up again, don’t you agree?’

  Simon had obediently approached, making an awkward bow and speaking some words of greeting in a barely audible voice.

  ‘What are you reading?’ Alethea asked him with an encouraging smile.

  The ebbing flush returned to his cheeks at being directly addressed. ‘Oh, nothing much,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s — that’s to say — it’s poetry.’

  Obviously conversation with adults was a torment to him, and if the others had been listening, Alethea would have let this remark go; but Clarinda had turned away to ring the bell for some refreshment, and the two older ladies were absorbed in their own conversation.

  ‘I’m very fond of poetry myself,’ she said. ‘May I see your book?’

  ‘Of — of course, ma’am.’

  He turned to fetch it and Alethea, following close behind, was able to take it from his nerveless grasp before it fell to the floor.

  ‘Oh, Gray’s Elegy,’ she said. ‘I know it well, and love it. Pray, what do you think of it?’

  ‘As to that, ma’am,’ he replied, shakily, ‘I fear my opinion can scarce be of any interest to you — I’m not in any way qualified to judge —’

  ‘But of course you are! Every reader is entitled to an opinion, whether he be scholar or student. Don’t you agree?’

  The genuine interest in her voice and the kindliness of her quiet grey eyes steadied him a little.

  ‘Entitled — yes, I suppose so,’ he said, with more confidence. ‘But whether that makes his opinion any more interesting, I would take leave to doubt, ma’am.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, you have the best of that argument! Tell me, do you read much poetry?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, and —’ he paused, looking furtively round at his family — ‘I beg you won’t mention this, Miss Newnham, but I try to write it, too.’

  ‘Do you? I used to try when I was younger, but I fear I never succeeded in producing anything other than very bad verse, so I decided for the sake of mankind in general to give it up,’ said Alethea, with a laugh.

  ‘I dare say no one minded that you should write poetry,’ he said wistfully. ‘As you’re a female, I mean.’

  ‘What should it matter which sex one is, in that regard?’ asked Alethea, in surprise.

  ‘A good deal, I may tell you, ma’am. If I were to let them know I do it, they would think me a rare namby-pamby!’

  ‘You mean the other boys at school?’ He nodded. ‘Well, that may be, at present,’ said Alethea encouragingly, ‘but soon you will be at the University, and then you may write what you choose. Meanwhile, I will keep your secret, and you mustn’t betray mine. For,’ she added, with one of her most charming smiles, ‘no one wishes to be known as a failed poet, female or not.’

  His answering grin told her that he felt quite at his ease again.

  ‘Simon, my love, what can you be thinking of?’ demanded his mother, suddenly looking up from her conversation. ‘Aren’t you going to offer Miss Newnham a chair? You mustn’t bore her with talk of your books, you know.’

  This had the effect of making him colour up again. He mumbled an apology, set a chair for Alethea and retreated to his window seat. Clarinda now claimed Alethea’s attention, and presently Simon made some excuse and went out of the room, leaving Alethea to reflect how clumsy the most loving of mothers can be at times.

  ‘Poor darling, I fear we’ve frightened him off,’ laughed Mrs Allerton. ‘But it’s too much to expect a boy to remain closeted in a room full of female company! Why did not Lydia come with you, Olivia? The girls are always pleased to see her here. I trust she isn’t indisposed?’

  ‘Oh, nothing but the headache. We were at Vauxhall yesterday evening, and I think we were all feeling a trifle jaded. She sent her apologies, and was sure you’d understand.’

  �
�Oh, these young people lead a very rackety existence, to be sure,’ agreed her friend. ‘It’s a wonder to me that they can keep it up and still retain their looks — but there, we were just as bad when we were young! Felicia, by the way, is with the dressmaker at present, but she should be finished presently, and then she will join us. And that reminds me, you may see Vivyan, too, for he said he would be calling on us some time this morning. He has something to discuss with his father — but I fancy it concerns horses, not marriage,’ she added laughing. ‘I have quite given up hope in that direction, though with so many lovely girls in Town every season, one feels the young men must be harder to please than when we were young. There is Devenish, too, and his friends Calver and Horam, to name only a few who are well into their twenties and still in the bachelor state. I don’t know what the world’s coming to, I’m sure.’

  The refreshments arrived and were handed round. Alethea, deprived of what had promised to be quite an interesting conversation with young Simon, settled down to talk to Clarinda Allerton. It did not take long to discover that she had very different interests from those of her younger brother. She prattled away gaily on topics such as social events, fashion, her family and friends, as though these were the mainspring of her life. Alethea was not surprised to hear her say with evident sincerity that Lydia was one of her dearest friends. Clarinda Allerton, like her Mama, was clearly a warm-hearted, uncritical girl ready to believe the best of everybody. Indeed, it was doubtful if she had the wit to see beyond what appeared on the surface.

  For a moment, the more perceptive Alethea almost envied Clarinda. It must be so much more comfortable, she reflected, to be possessed of this easy temperament than of her own analytical, questioning cast of mind. Almost as a matter of habit, she was for ever studying people; she could never help noticing the word or action that betrayed a hidden motive or emotion. Sometimes, of course, she would be mistaken; but too often people unwittingly revealed themselves to her, giving her either amusement or pain. It was fortunate that the strong sense of humour she had inherited from her father usually enabled her to keep a sense of proportion about these revelations, otherwise she might have been in some danger of taking herself too seriously.

  Chapter VI

  They had been sitting for some time with the Allertons and were thinking of taking their leave when Felicia Allerton, accompanied by two gentlemen, burst into the room.

  ‘Mama,’ she began, ‘here’s Viv come to see us, and he’s brought Sir James with him — oh, I beg your pardon I didn’t realise you had company.’

  She came over to Mrs Manbury with hand outstretched. ‘How do you do, ma’am? Is not Lydia with you?’

  Mrs Manbury offered her cheek to be kissed and explained about Lydia, afterwards introducing Alethea. Felicia Allerton was taller and more slender than her sister, with the same blonde hair and fair complexion. She was wearing a very pretty yellow gown with a white sash, which gave her a fresh, Spring-like look. Her brother Vivyan, who was dressed for riding, had the same colouring as his sisters and looked, thought Alethea as she made her curtsy, a very pleasant young man.

  Beau Devenish looked as immaculate as ever as he watched the introductions with a faintly cynical eye, before bowing to the ladies and apologising in his languid way for coming straight from the stables to Mrs Allerton’s parlour.

  ‘Yes, we’re sorry to burst in upon you like this, Mama, but we thought you’d be alone. Anyway, Devenish and I have come to see father about that horse he wanted, so we’ll remove ourselves at once, and leave you in peace.’

  ‘Oh, no, pray do stay and talk to us for just a few moments!’ pleaded Mrs Allerton — ‘I see you so seldom, though I don’t know quite how that is!’ She turned to Devenish. ‘You’ll take a glass of wine, Sir James? Ring the bell, Vivyan — there’s nothing here suitable for gentlemen.’

  The two men allowed themselves to be persuaded, Vivyan sitting down on the sofa between Mrs Manbury and his mother, while Devenish, having first placed a chair for Felicia, took a seat close to the three girls. Felicia, who seemed to be something of a rattle, was soon talking away at a great rate to Devenish, who answered her in the same drawling, slightly bored tone that Alethea had noticed at her first meeting with him. Clarinda, obviously a little in awe of such a noted Beau, contented herself with an occasional comment whenever it was called for by her sister, otherwise keeping up a desultory conversation with Alethea.

  Presently Alethea found herself being addressed by Devenish. ‘And how do you like London, Miss Newnham?’ he asked.

  ‘I scarce know, sir. I haven’t seen much of the town as yet.’

  ‘I suppose not. Still it’s a question that one must ask, you know,’ he drawled.

  ‘Even if one is tolerably certain of the answer?’ she parried, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘To be sure. Most of our conversation consists of questions to which we know the answers. Don’t you agree, ma’am?’

  ‘I think it depends,’ she said, judicially, ‘what exactly one means by conversation.’

  ‘And what exactly do you mean by it, Miss Newnham?’ he asked, with a languid smile.

  ‘You mean to quiz me, sir, but I shall not play,’ she said, in mock severity.

  ‘Not at all — I am in deadly earnest. This is one question to which I cannot anticipate an answer.’

  She looked incredulous. ‘I can’t believe that. I think my meaning was clear enough.’

  ‘And so do I,’ put in Felicia, not wishing to be excluded. ‘You meant that there is polite conversation, where everyone says what is expected, and — and the other kind.’

  ‘Where everyone says what is not expected, I collect?’ asked Devenish, his smile widening.

  ‘Oh, you are quizzing me now, Sir James, and it’s too bad of you! But you know very well what I’m trying to say — besides polite talk, one can have friendly, informal conversations, or — or serious ones, such as my brother Simon delights in.’

  ‘Your brother started a most interesting conversation with me when Aunt Olivia and I first arrived,’ remarked Alethea. ‘Unfortunately, it was interrupted.’

  ‘May one be permitted to ask the subject?’ drawled Devenish.

  ‘Oh, of course, for it was nothing of a private nature. We were speaking of poetry.’

  Devenish nodded mockingly. ‘Poetry — I see. Do you read much in that way, ma’am?’

  ‘Not near as much as I should like,’ replied Alethea somewhat nettled by his tone. ‘But there are so many books one wishes to read.’

  ‘Oh, if you talked of books to Simon, he will like you prodigiously!’ said Felicia. ‘I fear Clarinda and I are not at all bookish. Neither is Viv — though I don’t think any the worse of him for that,’ she added, with an affectionate glance at her brother. ‘But Simon’s the clever one of the family. As Papa says, he’ll be far better suited to Oxford than my brother Jack, who is for ever in some kind of scrape or another.’

  Devenish now looked distinctly bored. He turned to Alethea again.

  ‘I see Miss Manbury is not with you.’

  ‘No. We were all at Vauxhall yesterday evening, and Lydia felt too fatigued to come out with us.’

  ‘Vauxhall? I trust you found it tolerably amusing?’

  Alethea was not normally a touchy girl, but she found herself becoming increasingly irritated by Beau Devenish’s manner. She told herself fair-mindedly that no doubt it was natural to him, and he could no more help it than another man — Mr Tracy, for instance — could help a stammer, or possibly a harsh voice. But the fact remained that his habitual air of indifference, amounting at times to boredom, and the supercilious tone which his drawling voice managed to impart to all his remarks, did arouse a certain animosity in her. She could not resist the impulse to try and shake him out of his detachment.

  ‘Prodigiously,’ she replied. ‘Oh, by the way, we caught sight of you in the distance, Sir James, while we were there. You were with a party of friends at the place where the firework display was held
. We were looking for seats at the time, and so, I believe, were you.’

  ‘Indeed?’ If anything, the drawl was more pronounced, but there was no sign that Alethea’s shaft had gone home. ‘I am very sorry that we should not have encountered your party during the course of the evening. But at least you can say now that you’ve seen something of London, ma’am.’

  ‘I suppose I can,’ replied Alethea, abandoning for the moment her attempt to rouse him from his habitual languor. ‘I certainly found it a most entertaining visit. But I still haven’t seen any of the places I was most looking forward to visiting when I came here.’

  ‘May I ask which places you mean?’

  ‘Oh, Westminster Abbey, St Paul’s Cathedral, and the like.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘So that was what you most hoped to do here? Well, ma’am, I imagine there is still time enough.’

  Alethea agreed dubiously.

  ‘You seem uncertain, Miss Newnham. Perhaps you are soon to leave London?’

  ‘Oh, no, I am fixed here for a month or so — that is, if it should suit my Aunt’s convenience. But Mrs Manbury and Lydia tell me that they are not at all disposed to go to such places,’ she added, with a guilty glance in Mrs Manbury’s direction, ‘and I don’t well know how it can be managed otherwise. However,’ she went on, with more energy, ‘I dare say I shall hit on some scheme.’

  ‘Oh, what a pity!’ exclaimed Clarinda. ‘But I will gladly go with you, Miss Newnham, rather than you should be disappointed.’ This was generous, for she herself had no interest whatever in historic buildings. ‘I wonder if we could persuade Viv to escort us?’

  Hearing the last part of this speech, Allerton looked up from his conversation with the two older ladies. ‘You wonder if I would escort you where, Clarry?’ he asked, suspiciously. ‘Let me tell you I don’t aim to squire my sisters around Town — plenty of other men in line for that kind of thing, surely?’