The Affairs of Harriet Walters, Spinster

by Cathy Spencer

  The opera was sung in Italian, so Harriet was not able to decipher much of the libretto, but the singers’ florid acting enabled her to follow the story. She had never heard such singing before, and didn’t know what to make of all the flourishes and heroic high notes. When she was not watching the spectacle on the stage, however, Harriet found equal entertainment in watching her neighbours: the little flirtatious smiles from behind a lady’s fan, the nods of acknowledgement from one superior-looking person to another, and the snores of a patron sound asleep. She wondered if the stately-looking woman in the box above the stage saw any of the performance at all since she appeared to spend the entire evening looking through her lorgnette at the occupants of the other boxes.

  During the intermission, Harriet took the colonel’s arm and they ventured through the press of people strolling toward the lobby. A few people greeted Colonel York, and he introduced Harriet as a visiting friend of Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Harriet noticed her clothing and jewels being surreptitiously appraised by the other females. After the third such encounter, Colonel York whispered, “You see, Miss Walters, I told you that you would pass muster.” He winked, and she laughed, thinking that the colonel was right in equating her clothing to a uniform – the uniform of the ton.

  After the opera, the gentleman treated Harriet to a late supper at a nearby inn. As they were eating their meal, he asked the young woman how she had enjoyed her first opera.

  “To be honest, I am not sure,” she replied. “I have been to private musical soirées and a few concerts, but nothing to equal the grandeur of tonight’s performance. What did you think of the singing?”

  “My wife educated me a little in music, but I do not pretend to be a judge of vocal quality. That being said, I thought the tenor was fine.” The colonel hummed a piece from one of the arias. “What did you think of the soprano?”

  “She was very – loud.” Her friend guffawed, and Harriet smiled down at her plate, pleased that her companion had enjoyed her small joke. “I will be curious,” she continued, “to see if the audience at Romeo and Juliet is more inclined to watch the performance.”

  “But Miss Walters, you forget the purpose of going to such entertainments. The theatre and the opera are convenient places for the ton to meet and to pursue their affairs. Only the wealthy would pay these ticket prices and completely ignore the performance. Perhaps those who attend the cheaper theatres are the true devotees.”

  “I think I begin to comprehend, sir. It does not signify if one understands opera and theatre. Being seen at a performance is what is important. Appreciating the art form is not required.”

  Colonel York nodded and smiled. “Well done, Miss Walters. You are a quick learner.”

  Harriet shook her head and tucked into her food.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Diane’s carriage was at Harriet’s disposal and she was always willing to accompany Harriet into the city, but for every visit to places of cultural importance, Harriet paid the price in social calls and entertainments at home. Diane was the perfect helpmate to Fitzwilliam’s political ambitions; she wielded social functions to charm and influence people who could be useful to her husband, and she was vigilant in exploiting every opportunity. Of course, Diane expected her guest to participate in these entertainments as well.

  It was not that Harriet was reclusive by nature. On the contrary, she enjoyed the companionship of good friends and close relatives, but she was not comfortable with strangers. For Diane’s sake, however, she hid her discomfort behind a mask of affability and attempted to mix with her friend’s crowd. And she was successful because she posed no threat to anyone: she was well-dressed but not pretty, did not draw attention to herself, and was not in pursuit of a husband. She was also a patient listener, and spent many an evening trapped by a fond mother bent on recounting the admirable qualities of her offspring, or by one of Fitzwilliam’s political allies boasting of his accomplishments.

  Occasionally, Diane introduced Harriet to someone whose friendship she valued. One of these was Abigail Pope, the daughter of Dr. Richard Pope, a physician and second cousin to Fitzwilliam. At twenty-two, Abigail was unmarried and kept house for her widowed father and for her older brother, Rodney, who was studying to become a doctor. Abigail’s appearance was unremarkable. She was of middling height and a little stout, with freckles and sandy brown hair. The family was comfortable financially – Dr. Pope’s patients were drawn from the prosperous merchant class – but not wealthy enough to attract any suitors for Abigail.

  Harriet first met Abigail when the young woman called to express her condolences on the death of Diane’s mother. Later, when all three members of the Pope family came to dine, Harriet discovered that Abigail did not bother to join in conversation in which she had no interest. After dinner, Harriet found herself sitting alone with the bored young woman while the other four played cards.

  Abigail must have found Harriet worthy of conversation, for she said, “I understand that you study history, Miss Walters. Are you interested in any particular era?”

  “I would have to say in English history in general, although lately a friend has piqued my interest in the Roman occupation of England.”

  “I know very little about the subject myself. My interest lies in science – in medicine, in particular. Hardly surprising considering what my father and brother do. The human body is endlessly fascinating. I have been reading Father’s medical books to learn more about it.”

  Harriet was startled. She had a vague notion that it was somehow improper for a female to read medical books. “Does your father know that you read his books, Miss Pope?”

  “Of course. I ask him or my brother for explanations whenever I do not understand something. My father did not like me reading them at first, I admit, but he no longer objects. A friend of my mother’s once tried to break me of the pursuit, but she was unsuccessful. My mother died when I was twelve, you see, and this friend undertook my education in the traditional female pursuits. She was distressed to learn of my medical reading, but could not prevent me from doing what I liked when father was not at home. She supervised my London season when I was eighteen, and then gave over trying to prod me down the path to marriage and motherhood. What could she do, after all? I had no offers.” Abigail made this bald statement without any sign of embarrassment, which Harriet found incredible.

  “Do you have no intention of marrying then, Miss Pope?”

  “Yes I do, when I have found the right situation. I am healthy and strong, and my knowledge of medicine, plus my own personal inclination, compel me to a life of service. My ambition is to marry a missionary so that I can put my medical knowledge to use in some uncivilized country – perhaps China or Africa – while he spreads the gospel.”

  Harriet’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Miss Pope, won’t you be afraid to live in a foreign land where you will know no one but your husband and will not even speak the language? I could not undertake such a plan.”

  Abigail shrugged with the indifference of youth. “I am not a conventional woman, Miss Walters. But then, neither are you, from what I gather. You are a spinster with an independent income that allows you to live as you please. You are interested in history – an uncommon interest in a woman – and you’re staying in London with the only person you know, a friend of very brief acquaintance. Your actions indicate an adventurous nature, a characteristic that I share with you, but on a grander scale." Harriet had nothing to say to this.

  “You still look at me askance, Miss Walters. Come now, men undertake professions in foreign locales all the time. They generally do so to conduct business, or to soldier. Is my motive not more worthy? And yet, I will not deceive you that my ambition is altruistic. What is my alternative? To be smothered in a marriage where my husband will do my thinking for me? To have child after child to increase the likelihood of a male heir? To fashion a little life for myself, when I can use my love of medicine to accomplish great things? Certainly mine is the better way.”
Abigail’s eyes shone, and her voice grew louder as she rhapsodized on her subject. Her father heard her and looked up from the card table.

  “I hope that Abigail is not boring you, Miss Walters?” the gentleman said. “She can chatter exhaustively on a favourite topic. One would not think so to see her sitting in a room full of people without a word of conversation passing her lips, but she can.” He smiled indulgently at his child.

  “No, Dr. Pope, I’m quite enjoying our conversation.”

  “How nice,” Diane said, smiling at Harriet. No doubt she had witnessed just such behaviour from her husband’s cousin, and was thankful that Abigail had found a sympathetic listener.

  Abigail said, “Go back to your cards, Father. All is well.”

  When the card game had resumed play, Harriet leaned toward her new friend and said in a lower tone, “Do your father and brother know of your intentions?”

  “No, and I would gain nothing in trying to enlist their help. Father would not approve, and my brother, while kind, does not have any imagination. They will miss me when I am gone, but Father can afford to hire a housekeeper. Father recently applauded my joining a missionary fund-raising committee at the church ‒ he thinks that I am assuming my proper duties at last. Little does he know that my true purpose in joining the committee is to meet male missionaries. I am patient, Miss Walters. One day I will find a man who will appreciate my medical knowledge, and will treat me as a partner in our marriage. Meanwhile, I educate myself in the areas that I think will be most useful in my new life.”

  Harriet sank back into her seat. “Well, it is an ambitious plan. I wish you all the luck in fulfilling your dream, Miss Pope. And I thank you for confiding in me.”

  Abigail smiled. “Not at all. You appear trustworthy, and sometimes I just long to talk to someone about my scheme. By the way, I understand that you visit the British Museum on occasion. I would be pleased to accompany you on your next outing. The museum is an excellent place to study other cultures.”

  Harriet was happy to agree, and Abigail began accompanying Harriet on outings that they found mutually educational. Dr. Pope and Diane encouraged their friendship, thinking that Harriet might have a gentling effect on Abigail, while the opposite was true. Harriet did not share Abigail’s pragmatic approach to marriage, but the idea that marriage could be used to promote one’s talents and inclinations was revolutionary to Harriet. She was not so naive as to doubt that both men and women married for financial and social gain, so it seemed reasonable that Abigail should marry a missionary to put her medical knowledge to use. That Abigail was actively working toward her own happiness was admirable.

  While Harriet and Abigail’s friendship blossomed, Diane’s son, Steven, came home from Oxford for the summer holidays. He popped into the morning room one day with a, “Well, Mother, here I am.” Diane sprang up from her chair with an exclamation and rushed to embrace her son.

  “You silly child, why didn’t you write to tell me that you were coming home today?” she scolded, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  “Because I like to see your face when I surprise you,” he replied, beaming down at her. “It’s gratifying to know that I am missed.”

  Diane smiled happily at him. “Imp,” she said.

  “You look as beautiful as ever, Mother, although it’s sad to see you in mourning.”

  “I know, darling,” Diane replied, patting his cheek, “but it must be endured. Now, let me introduce you to our guest, Miss Harriet Walters. I’ve written to you about Harriet’s friendship with Grandmother.” Stephen turned to Harriet with a bow, and she observed that he had inherited his mother’s blond good looks.

  “Miss Walters, I am delighted to know you,” he said with a welcoming smile. “Grandmother wrote to me of you, too.”

  “Your grandmother spoke of you with both pride and fondness, Mr. Fitzwilliam. She said that you were a scholar, and that you planned to follow your father into Parliament one day.”

  Steven grinned. “‘Scholar’ might be straining the meaning of the word. I enjoy literature and the classics, and I have a good memory for poetry, but I have to work hard for my grades.”

  “Don’t be modest, Steven. You’ve always been a clever child,” Diane said. “In that you take after your father – I was never of a studious bent. Speaking of your father, I shall send him a message to be on time for dinner tonight.”

  When the family and their guest sat down to dine that evening, they were in a festive mood.

  “Well, my boy, how did you get on this term?” Edward asked.

  “Not too badly, Father,” Steven replied around a mouthful of beef.

  “Did you meet the Warners’ son?” his mother asked. “Mrs. Warner and her daughter dropped by for a visit just last week, and Meredith was asking after you. She came out this season, you know.”

  “Did she really, Mother? Last time I saw Meredith, she was a little girl with ribbons trailing down her back.”

  “Yes, she has. By the way, Mrs. Warner is planning a private dance for this Friday night. She hoped that you would come if you were home by then. Her invitation extended to Harriet.”

  Harriet fumbled her fork, and it clattered onto her plate. “I think that she was just being polite, Diane. She does not really expect me to come.”

  “Nonsense, Mrs. Warner thinks highly of you, Harriet. You mustn’t hang about the house just because I’m in mourning. Wait, I have a wonderful idea.” Harriet waited, dreading to hear any idea of Diane’s that involved socializing. “Steven, why not take Harriet to the ball? I’m sure that she will feel more comfortable with a member of the family there.”

  Steven and Harriet gazed at each other across the table, Harriet frowning at this turn of events. The young man raised his eyebrows.

  “I would be happy to escort you, Miss Walters, if you would care to come with me.”

  Edward added, “What a good idea, Diane. No doubt some of the parliamentary crowd will be there as well. It will be an opportunity for Steven to make some worthwhile connections. You can never start building a political career too soon.”

  “But Diane,” Harriet said, “I’m sure that your son would have a more successful evening unencumbered by my presence. I will know so few people there. I will be of no use to him.”

  “I know dear, but that is why one goes to balls – to meet people.”

  Harriet gazed forlornly at the table.

  “Don’t look so wretched, Harriet,” Diane said with a laugh. “You funny thing, most people enjoy going to dances. What if you were to bring Abigail with you? Then you would have someone to sit with while Steven is dancing. It wouldn’t do Abigail any harm to socialize more, too. I’ll send Mrs. Warner a note first thing tomorrow morning. You wouldn’t mind escorting both ladies to the ball, would you Steven?”

  “Of course not. I would be happy to.” Steven smiled at Harriet, who couldn’t help grimacing back at him. “Escorting two such admirable ladies will make me the envy of all of my friends.” Harriet searched his face for any hint of irony, but his expression was innocent. “What an enjoyable evening we shall have together, Miss Walters,” he added.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Harriet hurried over to Abigail’s home as soon as she was free the following afternoon, but she was too late; Abigail had already received the invitation.

  “I understand that I have you to thank for this invitation, Miss Walters?” Abigail said when Harriet was shown into the library. Abigail had been reading a book at the desk. She pulled out the opened invitation from under a stack of papers and pushed it across the desk toward Harriet.

  “I’m afraid so, Miss Pope. Diane thinks we shall keep each other company while Steven dances with all of his admirers. I do hope that you don’t mind going?”

  Abigail stiffened. “While Steven is dancing?”

  “Yes, he is to escort us. I imagine that he will be popular with the girls making their debut this season – he is handsome, charming, and wealthy.”
/>   Abigail visibly deflated in her chair.

  “Is something wrong, Miss Pope?”

  “Wrong? No,” Abigail said, sitting up again. “I’m just never sure what to wear on these occasions. With all the young girls trying so hard to make an impression, it seems pointless to dress up.”

  Harriet brightened, relieved that her friend was not upset with her. “I know just what you mean. I usually end up sitting in a corner of the ballroom with some of the mothers, although I suppose we can count on a dance apiece with Steven Fitzwilliam. Maybe we’ll surprise Diane and be the bells of the ball after all.”

  “Maybe . . . ,” Abigail said with a frown.

  Harriet was puzzled. What was troubling Abigail? “Excuse me for prying, Miss Pope, but is it the prospect of going with Steven Fitzwilliam that disturbs you? Are you and he not on friendly terms?”

  “Steven? Oh yes, we get along fine. I’ve known him since we were both infants. My mother was fond of Diane, and our families were constantly together while we were children. We still see each other regularly.”

  “I see. Well, at least you and Mr. Fitzwilliam are old friends. Your presence will smooth away any awkwardness I would have felt with him. You have accepted, haven’t you, Miss Pope?”

  “Yes, the footman was told to await my response, so I was forced to accept right away.”

  “Good.” Harriet settled more comfortably in her chair and looked about the room. She had visited Abigail at home before, but had never been shown into the library. She saw a comfortable, well-used room equipped with a table and chair, a desk, and two armchairs. Impressive quantities of books overflowed two large bookcases, and were stacked upon every available surface. Harriet smiled, imagining all three Popes working together in the library.

  “I wonder, Miss Walters, if you would do me a favour?” Abigail asked. “Will you come upstairs and help me to find something suitable to wear? It’s been four years since I dressed for such an occasion, and I’m not very good at it. You, on the other hand, are always fashionably dressed.”