The Beau and the Bluestocking: Romantic intrigue in Regency London

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  ‘If Mama fancies that Jane Mervyn will make a good chaperone,’ laughed Lydia, once the two girls were alone, ‘she could not be more mistaken! Why, Jane’s but nine and twenty, and more giddy by half than my sister Caroline! Though to do Caro justice, she’s never a spoilsport, and knows well enough how to look the other way when needful. Nor does she go carrying tales to Mama afterwards.’

  ‘I should hope not!’ exclaimed Alethea in horror. Having been brought up in an all-male household, she had been taught from a very early age to view tale-bearing with disgust.

  ‘Well, lots of sisters do,’ rejoined Lydia. ‘My sister Eleanor was a perfect cat when she was at home! It was for ever “Mama, Lydia’s done this” and “Mama, Lydia’s done that”, until there was no bearing it! We used to have some rare set-to’s at times, I can tell you!’

  ‘Well, families usually quarrel among themselves, but they close the ranks when an outsider joins in, don’t they?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘The Allertons don’t, though — quarrel, I mean. They’re prodigiously good tempered people — I doubt if even the most cross grained person could force one of them to a quarrel!’

  ‘Not even Mr Allerton?’ asked Alethea. ‘Men are often more quick to anger than females.’

  ‘Vivyan, do you mean?’ Alethea nodded. ‘Why, Vivyan is the kindest, sweetest tempered soul alive!’ continued Lydia, in a rush. ‘He’s so different from every other man I’ve met — I do believe I could twist him around my little finger!’

  ‘You seem to be able to do that with most men, as far as I can see,’ said Alethea.

  ‘Oh, yes, if you mean that most of them like to flirt with me, and such like nonsense,’ agreed Lydia, in a straightforward acceptance of fact which did not sound at all conceited. ‘But it’s altogether different with Viv. He —’

  She broke off and an unusually gentle look came into her eyes, so that for the first time Alethea found herself warming towards this spoilt child who was her cousin.

  ‘Vivyan really means it, you see,’ Lydia went on in a wondering tone. ‘It isn’t just that he’s dazzled by me, or wishes to own me as a desirable piece of property, or to cut someone else out for the sport of the thing. He really and truly cares for me, Alethea — I believe he would even if I were as plain as — as Melissa Woodthorpe! And although you haven’t met her yet, Alethea, I assure you she has a face and figure like a pudding, not to mention a slight squint!’

  Alethea nodded. ‘And what of you, Lydia? How do you feel towards Mr Allerton?’

  Lydia started to speak, coloured a little, then choked back the words and bounced out of her chair.

  ‘Oh, pray come along, Cousin! We can’t dawdle here all day talking, you know! We have to visit Madame Delice to see about our ball gowns, for one thing. By the way, do you think we should go to the Masquerade in costume, or in dominoes and masks? I have a fancy to go attired as a Turkish dancing girl — what do you think? Would Mama allow it, do you suppose?’

  Alethea knew quite well that her Aunt would instantly veto such a scheme, but she did not trouble herself to say so. Lydia’s mind was obviously not at all on what she was saying; she was talking to drown her own thoughts. She continued to be vague and abstracted during their visit to the modiste’s, actually answering ‘Yes’ when asked whether she would prefer a ruched frill or lace as an edging to the sleeves of her gown. Mrs Manbury called her sharply to order, and eventually all the details were settled. The gowns were promised for three days before the date of Alethea’s ball, which had been fixed for Thursday of the week following.

  ‘Everybody has accepted,’ Mrs Manbury informed them as the carriage rattled homewards over the cobbles. ‘I’ve heard from Bedwyn, too, Lydia, and he will be present.’

  There was a sudden silence in the carriage. Alethea stole a look at her cousin, and saw a strained expression on her face.

  ‘Well?’ Mrs Manbury’s tone was sharp. ‘Haven’t you anything to say?’

  Lydia passed a hand across her forehead. ‘Oh, yes, Mama, of course — but I’ve such a headache come on, I can’t think properly.’

  ‘I thought you were quiet at Madame Delice’s. I dare say it’s all that racketing about in Vivyan’s carriage. It will have to stop when Bedwyn returns to town, Lydia, if he isn’t to take the wrong notion. Of course, everyone else knows that you and Vivyan are practically brother and sister, and for him to drive you around is a deal less likely to cause tongues to wag than when you used to go with Devenish. Not that,’ she finished, ‘anyone is fool enough to take his attentions seriously; only as I’ve said to you before, it does tend to keep others away. A girl needs to weigh all these considerations very carefully if she’s to make a good match.’

  ‘Oh, Mama, pray don’t nag! You’ve said all this before a dozen times, until I am quite tired of it!’ snapped Lydia.

  Mrs Manbury subsided, making allowance for her daughter’s headache, and peace was preserved for the rest of the journey.

  When they reached home, they found that Mr Tracy had called in their absence, leaving a book for Alethea. She examined the fly leaf and saw that it was a volume of his own poems. A slip of paper fluttered from its pages to the floor. She picked it up and read the few lines it contained.

  It is with some reluctance that I leave this for your perusal, conscious as I am of its many faults. It is yours, if perchance you should wish to own it once you have read my poor verses.

  Do you go to Mrs Montagu’s soiree tomorrow se’ennight? In the hope of meeting you there –

  I am, dear madam,

  Your very obliged servant,

  Paul Tracy.

  ‘Another book!’ exclaimed Lydia. ‘’Pon rep, Alethea, you have as little need as anyone to depend upon the Circulating Library! I collect from its size that this is a volume of poetry?’

  Alethea nodded. ‘Mr Tracy’s own poems. I was asking him about his own work when we were at Drury Lane together.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Mrs Manbury, doubtfully, ‘that there is nothing in it that a young girl should not — but no, I am convinced that Mr Tracy is not the man to offer you anything that is not perfectly proper for you to read.’

  Alethea could not resist rising to this. ‘And what precisely would you say is improper for one to read, Aunt?’

  ‘You must know perfectly well what I mean, child. I have never been a great reader of poetry, but from what little I recall, it seems to me that too often poets treat of sordid subjects, or else couch their verse in language that can only be considered too — too outspoken for a delicate female mind.’

  ‘Well, mercifully mine is not a delicate female mind — or, at least, not to that extent,’ retorted Alethea, with energy. ‘One must surely not expect a literary work always to keep to the elegant language of the drawing room! If so, then no schoolgirl could ever be trusted with the classics, many parts of Shakespeare’s works, or, indeed, even the Bible.’

  Mrs Manbury compressed her lips. ‘You have had an unusual upbringing, Alethea, and therefore you may see matters differently from some of us. It may be all very well to air such opinions among your own family; but if you will heed a word of advice from me — and, after all, your Mama placed you in my charge — you will not be as free with them before strangers.’

  Alethea choked back the reply which hovered on her lips, and said instead ‘Very well, Aunt Olivia. I am sorry if I should have said anything to vex you. Such was not my intention.’

  Mrs Manbury inclined her head in acknowledgement of the apology, feeling thankful that Lydia, at any rate, did not entertain such odd notions as her cousin’s. How in the world was she ever to find a husband for the girl? Certainly this Mr Tracy must be given every possible encouragement, for who else was likely to consider such an arrant bluestocking for a wife? All the same, it was a pity; a girl with Alethea’s looks (though not to be compared to Lydia’s, of course) and her more than respectable fortune, might have easily set her sights higher than an insignificant, somewhat dowdy minor poet
. There was some consolation, reflected Mrs Manbury, in the fact that so far Alethea had met very few people at all. Things might improve after the ball in her honour had brought her a wider acquaintance. Neither had she passed completely unnoticed by the few eligible gentlemen whom she had met up to the present time. Even Beau Devenish had thought it worth his while to take her out in his phaeton on one occasion, even if it had obviously been in substitution for Lydia. True, he had not repeated the experiment; and no wonder, thought Mrs Manbury indignantly, if Alethea had played off some of her airs against him. But he had called in with Vivyan Allerton a few days later, and shown a mild disposition to try and get up a tentative flirtation with Alethea while Lydia was being so very charming to Vivyan.

  As might have been expected, Alethea had not given him the smallest encouragement, so that presently he had recollected another engagement, and taken his leave. At this stage in her thoughts, Mrs Manbury recollected in time that she did not wish Alethea — or either of the girls, for that matter — to encourage Beau Devenish in a flirtation; indeed, she had specifically warned them against that very thing. Illogically, she still felt annoyed with her niece, and more than ever determined that she would see the girl engaged to someone before the season was ended, if it should be the last thing she was able to accomplish.

  With her usual perception, Alethea guessed most of what was passing in her Aunt’s mind, but it did not disturb her unduly. She had come to accept the fact that their ideas were poles apart, and she had more important claims on her attention at that moment — Paul Tracy’s reference to the soiree at Mrs Montagu’s, for instance. It would be splendid to go there again, but how was this to be accomplished? After a pause for thought, she asked her aunt if it might be possible for them to pay a call on Miss More at Hampton.

  Mrs Manbury assented a trifle grudgingly. ‘When do you wish to go?’

  ‘Oh, as soon as may be. Would tomorrow be convenient?’ asked Alethea, diffidently.

  After a little discussion, it was decided that the following morning would do very well. ‘A short drive into the country may be no bad thing in this lovely weather,’ said Mrs Manbury, warming to the plan. ‘But, mind, Alethea, I don’t intend to make it a lengthy visit — half an hour at the most. Longer I cannot engage for, as I find Miss More one of the most difficult creatures in the world to converse with, I assure you!’

  Glad to have gained her Aunt’s consent, Alethea let this criticism pass.

  ‘We will start immediately after breakfast, should the day be fine,’ started Mrs Manbury. ‘And on our way back, Lydia, we might find time to buy some gloves to match your new ball gown.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mama, I shan’t be coming with you. I have a score of other things I must do.’

  ‘What other things?’ demanded her mother.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know — letter to write, and — and — oh, a multitude of things!’

  Mrs Manbury capitulated. She could not blame Lydia in the slightest for evading a visit to Miss Hannah More. Only Alethea detected a false note in her cousin’s voice, and wondered what exactly Lydia had in mind for tomorrow. Still, it was no concern of hers.

  The visit was paid, and Alethea returned from it in high spirits. Miss More had undertaken to accompany her to the soiree on Tuesday. It seemed that Mrs Montagu had mentioned particularly how pleased she would be to see Miss Newnham again at her house in Portman Square. Mrs Manbury gave her consent, but Alethea could see that her Aunt thought she must be mad to take pleasure in an evening without music, cards or dancing to while away the hours.

  ‘I declare it would soon set me nodding,’ Mrs Manbury said with a laugh. ‘However, you’ll have dancing enough at your ball a few days afterwards. I have asked Mr Tracy, you know, and he has accepted. I fear it may be a sad crush, but that’s better than being too thin of company, after all.’

  Alethea nodded, her spirits temporarily overcast. She did not find as much pleasure in the prospect of this ball as she felt she ought, considering the trouble her Aunt was taking over it. Her experience of such affairs was small, being limited to impromptu dances held in neighbouring houses at home in Somerset; apart from one Assembly ball in Bristol to which she had been escorted by her brother Harry and a group of family friends. She would know so few people at her Aunt’s ball, and those few were only recent acquaintances. Not that she found it at all difficult to make new acquaintances; but one always enjoyed oneself best among old friends.

  They reached home somewhat earlier than might have been expected, and went straight to the parlour to tell Lydia that they were back. Mrs Manbury was smiling as she opened the door, but the smile froze on her lips when she saw the two occupants of the room.

  It was Lydia and Vivyan Allerton, sitting quite alone and very close together.

  Chapter XIII

  Allerton rose at once to make his bow, but there was no mistaking the coldness of Mrs Manbury’s greeting, in marked contrast to her usual way of speaking to him. Her face was like a thundercloud. After a few polite attempts at conversation which were icily repulsed, he took his leave with a slightly hangdog air.

  No sooner had the door closed upon him than the storm burst.

  ‘What can you mean, Miss, by receiving a gentleman when you are alone in the house, and sitting with him in that intimate way?’ demanded Mrs Manbury, in a towering passion. ‘Are you quite lost to all sense of propriety and prudence? Only wait until your father learns of this — as he shall do, I give you my word, the moment he sets foot in the house!’

  Alethea could not help thinking that her poor uncle was in for a wretched homecoming, and that could he but know of it, he would most likely go to his Club instead.

  Lydia for once looked both contrite and frightened. ‘It was nothing, Mama, truly — the merest accident! He hadn’t been here much above ten minutes — I swear it!’

  ‘Then that was ten minutes too long! But I don’t need to tell you that! What could you be thinking of to have him admitted to the house at all in my absence, or unless your cousin had been here, at least, to preserve the proprieties? You know better than this, my girl, and we’ll see if your father can improve the lesson you seem to have forgot! Never in all my life —’

  ‘Mama, it was not either of our faults, truly it wasn’t.’ Lydia was sobbing now. ‘The footman didn’t say you were from home, he just showed him in — Vivyan was as surprised as I was — he stood there for a moment — then — then — he had something to tell me about the arrangements for — for — the Masquerade —’ she produced the word with a gulp — ‘and it seemed s-silly not to say it, since — since he was there —’

  Mrs Manbury’s unnaturally high colour subsided a little. ‘I’ll speak to Dawkins,’ she said, ominously. ‘Anyway, you should have told Vivyan to come back later, and had him shown out at once. Don’t you realise how servants gossip, foolish girl? Suppose this should come to Bedwyn’s ears, especially if he should also learn how much you and Allerton have been seeing of each other lately! It should well put him off!’

  ‘I don’t care if it does,’ muttered Lydia mutinously, drying her eyes with the handkerchief which Alethea had passed to her after she had failed to find her own. ‘I’m sick of hearing Bedwyn’s name — sick, I tell you!’

  She threw back her head, prepared to go into a fit of hysterics, but Mrs Manbury was too quick for her. A sharp slap on the face brought Lydia to her senses. With one hand nursing the rapidly reddening cheek, she sat still, glowering at her mother.

  ‘You will go to your room,’ ordered Mrs Manbury, in icy accents, ‘and you will remain there until you have come to a more sensible frame of mind. As for this Masquerade at the Pantheon,’ she continued, as Lydia rose sullenly to do her bidding, ‘you can put that scheme entirely out of your head. I shall not allow you to go, now.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mama, you couldn’t be so unjust!’ Lydia burst into tears again. ‘It’s all settled — and — and — Alethea was so looking forward to it —’

  Mrs Manbury
switched her eyes from daughter to niece. ‘I certainly am surprised to hear that,’ she said coldly. ‘I had the impression that your cousin did not mind very much whether she went or not. But there’s no reason why she should not, if indeed she’s set her heart on it.’

  Alethea shook her head. She was embarrassed by the scene between mother and daughter, which she felt was none of her business. She had been wanting for some time to leave them alone, but feared that if she walked out, it might give offence to her Aunt and only make things worse for Lydia.

  ‘I wouldn’t wish to go without Lydia,’ she said, in a mild tone.

  ‘Then that is settled!’ snapped Mrs Manbury. ‘Lydia — upstairs, out of my sight, until you’ve come to your senses! And pray control yourself, as we don’t want the servants nosing it abroad that you and I have quarrelled on account of this morning’s work. Their tongues will be busy enough already, I’ll warrant!’

  Lydia wiped her eyes furiously with Alethea’s handkerchief and rushed from the room, choking down her sobs. After a moment, Alethea excused herself to her Aunt and followed her cousin upstairs. She reached the head of the staircase in time to hear the slam of Lydia’s door. She hesitated a moment before going into her own room. It would do no good to go to Lydia yet. She took up the volume of Paul Tracy’s poetry, and tried to concentrate on it.

  About a quarter of an hour later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. Opening it she saw Lydia on the threshold. She was looking more like herself, but still distressed. Alethea drew her gently inside, closing the door quietly behind her.