The Affairs of Harriet Walters, Spinster

by Cathy Spencer

  Harriet turned away so that he would not see her watching him. She was dismayed that Mr. Bell had asked her to dance. Better to remain a wallflower than to be jeered at by this roguish man.

  A pause ensued as the music ended and the dancers strolled off the floor in search of their next partners. Bell caught up to Harriet and took her arm. “Please excuse my absence, Miss Walters. I was requesting something special for the next dance.”

  “Do you have a favourite, Mr. Bell?”

  “Yes. The next dance will be a waltz. Have you waltzed before, Miss Walters?” he asked, leading her toward the floor.

  Harriet stopped in her tracks. “No. Never.” Harriet had seen this daring new dance performed, and had marvelled at the gracefulness of the dancers as they whirled about in each others’ arms. She did not think that she could duplicate their gracefulness, nor did she want Mr. Bell to hold her so closely.

  The gentleman said, “It is not difficult. Waltzing has a gliding movement not unlike ice skating. You have skated before, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but not for years.”

  “I’m sure that it will all come back to you. Just follow my lead.” He pulled the reluctant lady onto the floor and turned to face her, waiting for the music to begin. When it did, he offered her his hand. Harriet reluctantly took it, and Bell pulled her in closer. He took her hand and placed it upon his shoulder, reaching his own hand around her waist to grasp the small of her back. Harriet shuddered, and Bell snorted.

  “This is a dance, Miss Walters, not an assault,” he said.

  Harriet jerked up her head to glare at him.

  “That’s better. You’re more attractive when you show a little spine. Now, the waltz steps form a square. You take a step forward, and I take one back. We step to the side, and then reverse. It’s not very hard. Let us give it a try.”

  “See, it’s not so difficult,” he said when they had successfully traced a square. Harriet glanced up at him, and they shared a brief smile before she gazed back down at her feet. “Now we’re going to do the same thing in reverse. Here we go.” Together they slowly traced another square.

  “Excellent. We have completed one circuit. Now, for a second.” They practised the steps over again until Bell began moving in time to the music and sped up. Harriet was able to follow him as she matched their steps to the rhythm of the music.

  “Very good, Miss Walters. You’re a natural. But now you must raise your head and look about the room. If we all watched our feet, we would crash into each other.”

  Harriet obeyed and began noticing the other dancers. Some of them were beginners, like herself, but others were cutting in and out of the other dancers and whirling about gracefully. “Oh, how elegantly they move!” she exclaimed.

  “Exactly. Now we shall try to duplicate them,” Bell said, launching them out into the middle of the floor. At first Harriet concentrated all of her attention on her feet, but after some practice, she began to relax and enjoy herself. Bell was a gifted dancer, guiding her with a light pressure upon the back. He did not call out greetings to his friends, as Steven had done, or even talk. He focused all of his attention upon her, his dark eyes sparkling with pleasure.

  Eventually, the dance came to an end, and Bell released her. Together, they turned to applaud the musicians. “There. Wasn’t that exhilarating?” he asked, lowering his mouth to her ear.

  “It was both frightening and wonderful. You are an excellent teacher, sir.”

  “Ah, at last there is something you approve of in me.” Surprised, Harriet looked at the gentleman, and he nodded. “Yes, I have spied disapproval in your eyes on more than one occasion. Just recently in the garden, for example. You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you, Miss Walters?”

  “I hardly know you.”

  “But you don’t like what you see, do you?”

  “Really, Mr. Bell, what can I say?”

  “The truth, you little hypocrite. Perhaps I will call you that from now on, since I have promised not to call you ‘Miss Prim.’” Nothing to say? Never mind. If you can be taught to waltz so beautifully, perhaps you can be taught not to be so correct all the time. Maybe I will make that my target this summer. To show you how to squeeze a little pleasure out of life.”

  Harriet was embarrassed by his forwardness and said nothing. Bell’s presence overwhelmed her. How had she ever thought this domineering man a clown?

  “Have you been looking after Harriet for me, sir?” Steven asked, suddenly appearing at her side.

  “Her friends have abandoned her, so I have snapped her up.”

  “Not abandoned her. Unfortunately, my other duties have interfered with our evening, but I have returned to take Miss Walters to supper. Look, here comes Abigail and Harold.” Harriet looked across the room and saw her friend, looking happy and excited, returning upon Mr. Gwinn’s arm. Steven turned back to Bell.

  “Will you join us for some supper, sir?”

  “I’m afraid not. My presence is expected in the card room. But thank you for the invitation.” He nodded and turned to Harriet. “And for the waltz, Miss Walters.” He took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I hope to see you again very soon,” he said, staring into her eyes. Glancing back at Steven, he added, “Give my regards to your mother, Fitzwilliam,” before walking away.

  Harold said, “Fitzwilliam, ladies, I’m starving. Let’s get some food.” He turned on his heel and left with Abigail before giving the other two a chance to join them.

  Steven laid his hand upon Harriet’s shoulder. “Is all well with you? Did Bell say anything to upset you?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I’ve known him for years, now. Mother finds him amusing, but I know that others find him arrogant and erratic. He can talk a lot of nonsense. I hope that he hasn’t made you uncomfortable?”

  “A little, I admit.”

  The young man took her hand and placed it on his arm, covering it with his own. “Don’t worry, Harriet. If his attentions are unwelcome, I shall talk to Mother about him. She knows best how to handle him.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, Steven. I’m just not very good at talking nonsense to people.”

  “That is one of your many admirable qualities, Harriet.” He smiled at her before they left the ballroom in search of supper.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Harriet did not see Abigail in the week following the Warners’ ball, but they met again at the dressmaker’s shop on the ensuing Saturday. Harriet was accompanying Diane for a fitting, while Abigail wanted to purchase another dress. Harriet noticed that her friend wore her hair in the more becoming style she had adopted on the night of the ball.

  “Why, Abigail, two new dresses in as many weeks! That does show promise,” Diane said. “Let’s see what they have ready-made.” She and the shop owner began discussing two possibilities, giving Harriet and Abigail time to talk.

  “I expected to see you at the lending library last Thursday, Miss Pope, but you didn’t come,” Harriet said.

  “I do apologize – I was at the taxidermist’s with Harold.”

  “The taxidermist’s?” Harriet answered, taken aback. “Whatever were you doing there? Is Mr. Gwinn having a pet stuffed?”

  “No. The taxidermist is a friend of Harold’s, and he promised him the heart of the bird he is preserving. Harold was eager to show it to me.”

  “How astonishing. Why should you want to look at a bird’s heart?”

  “Not just look at it. Dissect it, Miss Walters. It was fascinating to see its construction. Studying the hearts of animals helps us to understand the workings of the human heart. Of course, Harold attended the dissection of a human body at the university as part of his studies. He said that it was one of the formative moments of his life.”

  “I’m sure that it must have been very interesting.”

  “Truly. I told Harold how disappointed I was that I shall never see a human dissection, and h
e promised to dissect a pig for me at the first opportunity.” Abigail smiled. “He’s a very generous person – and brilliant.”

  Harriet smiled back at her besotted friend. “Yes, he seems a remarkable man.”

  “Who’s a remarkable man?” Diane asked, joining them.

  Harriet glanced at Abigail, wondering what to say, but the young woman’s blank expression gave her no hint. “I was talking about Harold Gwinn, Diane. Steven introduced us to him at the ball last Saturday. Mr. Gwinn is studying medicine at Oxford.”

  “Really?” Diane said. “I don’t believe that Steven has introduced him to us.”

  Abigail said, “They met just last term when Harold moved into the rooms next to Steven’s.”

  “Hmm,” Diane said, studying Abigail as the young woman gazed impassively back at her. “Well, to change the subject, I was talking to Fitzwilliam earlier this morning about renting a boat for a river picnic tomorrow afternoon. Now that Parliament has adjourned, we should take advantage of this fine weather. Would you care to join us, Abigail? Perhaps we could invite Mr. Gwinn to come along, too?”

  “That would be agreeable.”

  “I’m so glad. You’ll come, won’t you, Harriet?”

  “Thank you, it would be a great pleasure.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have Steven make the arrangements. We’ll send the carriage to pick you up at one o’clock, Abigail. You could wear your new dress. Let’s choose a parasol to go with it, shall we? We don’t want any more freckles on that sweet nose of yours.” The young woman sighed, but let the remark go by unchallenged.

  In the end, Abigail purchased a white parasol and both of the dresses. Diane had her fitting, and the three ladies were back on the street when a familiar figure came sauntering toward them.

  “Look, it’s Augustus,” Diane said as the gentleman caught up with them and bowed.

  “I must be going. I have another appointment. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Abigail said, leaving before Bell had time to straighten.

  “Adieu, sweet lady,” he shouted after her, kissing his fingers and waving. Heads turned and passersby stared. Turning back to Diane and Harriet, he said, “Well, people are not usually so blunt in avoiding me.”

  “You mustn’t let Abigail’s bad manners offend you, Augustus,” Diane said. “She treats us all the same way.”

  He nodded and looked to Harriet. “You look well today, Miss Walters.”

  “Thank you, sir, as do you,” she said, striving to sound more composed than she felt. Harriet was unsure how she felt about the gentleman; one moment he was mocking her, and the next, teaching her to waltz.

  “Ah, a second compliment. I think I shall swoon,” he said, applying the back of his hand to his temple and rolling his eyes. Harriet couldn’t resist smiling at him.

  Diane looked from one friend to the other before saying, “Augustus, we’re having a picnic upon the river tomorrow afternoon. Abigail and Mr. Gwinn are invited, and Steven and Fitzwilliam are coming, too. Would you care to join us?”

  “A pleasure outing, eh? Will Miss Walters be coming?” he asked, gazing at the lady.

  “Harriet? Of course,” Diane replied.

  With his eyes still upon Harriet, the gentleman said, “Then I will come. Thank you for the invitation, kind lady.” He kissed Diane’s hand and attempted to do the same with Harriet’s, but she snatched it back before he could.

  Bell shook his head at her and bowed. “Adieu, ladies. I shall meet you at the dock.”

  “Be there by two o’clock,” Diane called as he strolled away. She turned to Harriet. “My, my, what was that all about?”

  “Shall I call the carriage?” Harriet asked, waving at the driver before Diane had a chance to respond. The driver handed them in, and they settled themselves for the ride home.

  “I assume you saw Augustus at the Warners’ last Saturday,” Diane remarked.

  “Yes, for a little while. We had one dance together. It was of no consequence.”

  Diane smiled. “He’s very handsome,” she said.

  “Yes, but that characteristic smirk of his is not very attractive.”

  “Harriet, such harsh words!” Diane said with mock surprise. Harriet shrugged and looked away. “Of course he doesn’t have any money,” Diane continued. “He loses at cards too often. But then, you have money. I wonder if it will be enough?” Harriet remained silent. “There have been plenty of women in his life, you know. No doubt there will be many more. But when a man has such large appetites, mistresses can be a blessing.”

  “Diane!” Harriet exclaimed, open-mouthed.

  Diane shrugged. “I have heard rumours. He could be a pleasant flirtation for you, Harriet. I suppose that you have not had many flirtations in your life?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No? Well, you never know. He might be willing to settle down if he thinks you have enough money. You cannot afford to be too particular at your age, you know. Let me give you a little advice, dear. Don’t discount him out of hand. You might come to a very comfortable arrangement between you.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Diane laughed. “This is a new outspoken side of you that I’ve not seen before. I like it, Harriet. Very well. Just think on it. See how you like Augustus after the picnic tomorrow.”

  Sunday dawned with an early morning fog that burned off in time to reveal a sunny sky. Abigail arrived at the appointed hour, and rode in the carriage with Harriet and the Fitzwilliams. Symonds and one of the maids followed behind them in a hired carriage with the copious picnic supplies.

  When they reached the docks, the servants quickly descended to prepare the pleasure barge that had been secured for the afternoon, two deckhands assisting them. It was furnished with tables and chairs, and had an awning to protect its guests from the sun. Harold Gwinn was already on board, and the captain welcomed the others. There was no sign of Mr. Bell, however.

  Edward checked his pocket watch. “What time did you tell him to be here, Diane?” he asked, frowning and snapping the case shut.

  Diane leaned against the rail, shading her face from the sun with a black lace parasol. “Don’t worry, dear. You know Augustus. Time doesn’t matter to him. Give him a few more minutes, and if he still hasn’t come, set off without him.” Edward nodded and left to talk with the captain.

  Steven made himself comfortable in a deck chair. “That’s odd,” he said.

  “What is, dear?” his mother asked.

  “Do you hear music? Hey there, Harold, have a look. Is someone playing music out on the dock?” Harold, who was standing in the stern with Abigail, turned to check.

  “Someone certainly is, Fitzwilliam,” he called. “Here comes the tardy Mr. Bell with the entertainment.”

  Harriet, who had been watching another barge pull away from the dock, bent over the rail to see, and laughed at the spectacle before her. Bell, dressed in a straw hat, open-necked shirt, and white pantaloons, was prancing down the dock in time to a jig being played by a fiddler who followed him. Diane laughed and waved her parasol in greeting.

  “What’s your little fop doodle up to now, Diane?” Edward asked, rejoining her at the rail.

  Diane turned and covered his mouth with her gloved hand. “Hush, dear, he might hear you.”

  “Ahoy, shipmates,” Bell shouted. He doffed his hat and waved it over his head.

  “Who have you got there with you, Augustus?” Diane called.

  “This is my new friend, Mr. O’Malley,” he shouted. “He’s consented to provide some musical entertainment for the afternoon.” Mr. O’Malley made a short bow.

  Harold and Abigail came forward to join the rest as Bell and his fiddler climbed aboard. Edward turned to the captain, who had come to see what all the commotion was about, and said, “We’re all here now, Captain. You can cast off.”

  “Very good, Mr. Fitzwilliam. We’ll be underway in a minute.”

  The two deckhands scrambled to untie the ropes, and soon the barge was pulling out onto the
river. The sun peeked out from behind a fat, white cloud to sparkle upon the water, and a pleasant breeze rippled the ladies’ dresses. If the river’s odour was unpleasant, the breeze helped to dispel it. The guests made themselves comfortable upon chairs and cushions while the butler served wine and fruit.

  “Here, Mr. O’Malley, do you know any popular tunes?” Harold asked. “I wish to thank my hosts for their hospitality with a song.”

  “Really, Harold, I didn’t know that you sang,” Abigail said, her eyes large.

  “We haven’t known each other long, Abigail. There’s a lot you’ve yet to learn about me.”

  “Yes indeed, Abigail,” Steven said. “Harold is always singing at the university, even though people beg him to stop. He’s known as ‘Harold the Horrible Troubadour’ at Oxford.”

  “Ach, you’re wrong there, Fitzwilliam. People love my singing,” Harold said.

  “Why not let your audience judge?” Steven countered. “What do you say, everyone? Shall we have a song from Harold?”

  “Please do, Mr. Gwinn,” Diane said.

  “Here, Abigail. You better cover your ears,” Steven warned.

  “Enough of that,” Harold said, climbing to his feet. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. O’Malley.”

  The fiddler nodded and launched into a popular Scottish air. Harold took off his hat, folded his hands behind his back, and began singing in a clear, strong tenor. The song was about a heart-broken swain and the sweetheart who had jilted him, and the young medical student sang it most effectively, wringing a sigh from Harriet at the end. The picnickers broke into applause, Abigail the most enthusiastic of all, while Steven stamped his feet upon the deck. Harold bowed, and sank upon a cushion at Abigail’s feet.

  “You have an artist’s soul, Mr. Gwinn,” Bell said. “Now, who’s next?”

  “What about you, Steven?” Harold asked, accepting some grapes from Abigail. “I’ve heard you sing a ditty or two in the Students’ Hall, although nothing you’d want to perform in front of the ladies.” Steven grinned and looked at his mother, who was instructing Symonds to serve the rest of the food.