by D. L. Carter
With that the annoying man detoured toward a publisher’s shop just two doors away from the tailor.
“Oh, no,” cried Shoffer, seizing his friend by the upper arm. “Books are for later. A reward for good behavior.” He dragged North forcibly through the door of the tailor’s establishment, bundles and all. “Lord above, you are worse than a litter of untrained puppies.”
Mr. Nestor was a tailor so exclusive, so proud and disdainful, that he routinely effected to be offended when approached to sell his wares. More than one presumptive ton buck crept out of his store empty-handed, ashamed for having suggested Mr. Nestor engaged in something as demeaning as “trade.”
It could, therefore, be assumed that Mr. Nestor had never met anyone resembling Mr. North.
Shoffer watched in amazement as North pushed aside the fabrics delicately arranged on a table and began undoing the knots of his parcels.
“There you are,” he cried, as Mr. Nestor emerged through a curtain. North opened the package revealing a neatly folded coat of uncertain provenance. “My friend the duke here informs me you are a dab hand with the needle. Excellent. As you can probably tell even across a crowded room, I am in dire need of new clothes.” He paused and smiled at the shocked Mr. Nestor. “I do not expect you to make me over in the duke's image. I know I lack in many respects, the necessary … ah … style? Gravitas? Shoulders? However, I do know what I want.”
North pulled out the coat and held it up for the tailor's inspection.
“This style suits me, well enough I think, or close to it. Be a good fellow and do me a couple like this, the size is close enough, in a good blue and black.” He pulled trousers and satin pantaloons out of another package. “And these, they are my length. Waistcoats, I suppose I shall need. Maybe I should leave the colors to you, assured as I am of your superior judgment.”
By this time the tailor was gasping for air – for many reasons, including the stale stench rising from the secondhand clothing.
Next, North reached into his coat pocket and drew out his purse, counting out, as the tailor's eyes grew round as saucers, a pile of gold sovereigns, which he tossed onto the pile of clothing.
“I expect I have to go elsewhere for silk stockings and linens,” said North.
The tailor raised a trembling hand and pointed in the opposite direction of the bookstore.
“Excellent. Such a helpful fellow. Goodness, it is a relief to lessen the weight of that purse. It was beginning to make me walk lopsided. Well, now. I do not need anything immediately for day wear, but I shall need something for a ball on Saturday. Make me all that you think necessary, suitable for ton events. Have it sent around when you are finished. My card.” North dropped a card, so newly printed that the ink was still scented, onto the pile of clothing and money and granted the tailor a bow. “I know we shall get along famously. Your good health, sir.” And with that Mr. North swept from the store, a gasping duke trailing in his wake.
A few steps past the tailor’s, Mr. North stopped and turned to face Shoffer, such an entirely innocent expression on his face that the duke collapsed laughing.
“One thing I must say about you, Mr. North,” said Shoffer, when he had regained his composure. “Life is never dull.”
“Your servant,” said North with a grin.
“Although, you do yourself no good at all by paying so much in advance. The shopkeepers will never accept your account when it gets out.”
“I shall survive.”
“But the others of the ton. The ones who live on credit from quarter day to quarter day, they will hunt you down for paying cash!”
“Shoffer,” came the cry from a nearby open carriage. “Back in town, are you?”
Shoffer recognized the voice and took his time turning. Not so quickly as to indicate an interest in the person who hailed him so familiarly, and not so slowly that offense could lead to insult.
The carriage contained three men past their prime years, but not yet in the dotage. All were dressed in the first stare of foppish fashion, which was a shame since the brilliant red, blue, and purple hues of their waistcoats only enhanced the similar colors of their noses.
“Ah,” said North, in a voice so soft only Shoffer could hear. “So that is what dissipated looks like.”
“Degenerate, also,” muttered the duke and took only one step closer to the carriage. “Mickleton, Benson, and De Clerk. Yes, as you see, I am back for the opening of Parliament.”
“And for the season,” said the tallest, leaning across to speak in a confidential manner to his fellows, but without lowering his voice in the slightest. “He has a sister to fire off. Such a sweet little morsel. All pink and creamy softness.”
“Oh? Really?” A pale, balding gentleman with watery blue eyes replied. “Perhaps we should call? When is her at-home?”
“Do not exercise yourselves,” said Shoffer, allowing just enough coldness to enter his voice to make the polite words a threat. It would do Beth no good at all to have that clowder of old cats cluttering up her drawing room.
“Shall you present your new friend to us?” inquired the last, and eldest. “He has a fresh country face. I can see you have taken over the dressing of him. That can only be to his benefit.”
“Tell Nestor not to waste too much fabric on his unmentionables,” said the first and all three broke into giggles.
Shoffer found himself feeling almost as protective of Mr. North as he was of his sister. Despite all his clowning, North was an innocent. There was no malice in his jests. No harm at all. He would not for the world expose North to such degenerates, but there was nothing for it; the forms must be observed and introductions performed.
“Mr. North of Yorkshire, the Earls of Wallingford and Trentonlie and the Comte of Le Forhend.”
The men exchanged head bobs and bows. To Shoffer's complete surprise his friend did not begin his usual clowning. In fact, beyond the neat bow, he made no move to acknowledge the existence of the other three. After a pause containing no conversation the Earl of Wallingford affected to check his fob watch.
“We must be going, Your Grace. We are expected at … well. We must not be stingy. There are any number of at-homes that we must honor with our bachelor presence.”
“Do not let me delay you,” said Shoffer and stepped back out of the range of the splatter from the wheels.
“Those three should be beyond the pale,” continued Shoffer, when the carriage was well away. “Warn your cousins to stay clear of them.”
“Do not worry for my cousins.” North's eyes were uncharacteristically shadowed and grave. “They know very well how to keep their shoes clear of horse droppings. They seemed pleased to see you … in the same manner as a fox regards a chicken. Why is that?”
“I know not and care less. They are not of my set, being older and more degenerate than any in London. Avoid them, insult them as you please. I will not be offended.” Shoffer paused and added. “Attelweir travels with them when he is in London.”
“That is information enough,” said Mr. North, folding his hands neatly. “But we should not let them put a damper on the day. Silk stockings, I believe, are next on my list. And I have a whim to put silver buckles on my garters.”
“Dear God,” sighed Shoffer.
“’Twas your idea to change my dress.” North reminded him, maliciously, Shoffer thought.
“And here I receive my just punishment.”
* * *
The formal dinner at Lady Englethorpes’ residence was the first foray into London society for the ladies of the Boarder family. Beyond the immediate Englethorpes family, there would be few guests at the pre-ball dinner. Shoffer and Beth were the guests of honor and would have been placed at the head of the table except for Shoffer's particular request that the girls of the Boarder family be placed near Beth. Mildred's and Maude's manners were genteel enough to show their earlier upbringing was good, but lacking in a few finer points which Lady Beth gave softly to them between the courses. Altogether
, Shoffer was confident he could present the Boarder ladies without being ashamed of their acquaintance.
It was a shame Shoffer did not feel the same enthusiasm for Mr. North's clothing. Poor Mr. Nestor had done his best considering he was unable to take measurements or have a fitting and perform adjustments. No. He was forced to take Mr. North's word for the fit of the clothing. Consequently, Mr. North was preparing to parade before the highest levels of society in unfashionably loose clothing. Worse, he had chosen the style of older, more dignified persons – pantaloons, silk stockings, silver buckled shoes, and a frock coat of deep blue velvet. He appeared more like someone's undernourished child dressed up for an adult party than the intelligent gentleman Shoffer knew him to be.
North's reaction to Shoffer's pained expression and critique was to bow and laugh. Silly man.
Dinner went well, Mr. North having been placed at the undistinguished end of the table and having been threatened by his cousins with terrible punishments if one toe was put out of place, spent the meal in near silence.
After, as they awaited the beginning of the ball, Mr. North spent a few moments with the new chaperone. Lady Edith Englethorpes’s only besetting sin was a tendency to regard people as devices whose only purpose was to carry around adornments and her conversation was therefore filled with commentary about feathers and flounces, diamonds and rubies. She was good natured, kind, and uniformly cheerful, which gave Mr. North hope for the season.
The Boarder family passed early down the receiving line – for the sake of practice – and went into the ballroom. They found a good corner with several chairs and a long couch where Beth, Mildred, and Maude arranged themselves to their best advantage with Lady Edith and Felicity seated nearby, and prepared to be admired. Mr. North and Shoffer prowled the outer edges of the ballroom as it slowly filled with guests.
“When does the dancing start?” asked Mr. North, as they circled the room for the fifth time. “If it is not soon, I am convinced I shall be exhausted from the promenade and never have the strength to waltz.”
“In half an hour or so. Ah,” Shoffer turned and headed toward the stairs leading down from the main hall. “I know those names just announced. They are members of my club and are not complete cabbage heads. Let us take them over and introduce them to the ladies. I do not want to be in the position of leading Beth out for the first dance. It does not do for a young lady to be dancing always with her brother and last year, I suspect I was her only partner.”
Shaking his head Mr. North trailed along behind the duke to collect two young aspiring Corinthians. The taller, Nigel Wentworth, second son of the Earl of Brigham, had skinny legs not shown to advantage in his tight trousers and the other, the Honorable Mr. Micheal Offen, square faced and pimply, wheezed when he made his bow to the ladies. Shoffer presented them to his sister as acquaintances of his with a smile upon his face. A smile that withered away as the minutes passed. Mildred and Maude fluttered and flattered and received invitations to dance, but Beth was struck dumb and sat unmoving on her couch. Mr. North waited for Lady Edith to move or speak on her charge’s behalf, but no, that Lady's attention was caught by the complicated decorations on a nearby turban and she did not notice Beth's withdrawal.
“Do something,” demanded Shoffer, digging his elbow into North's ribs.
Mr. North tried to catch the chaperone's eyes and was ignored. “I think we need to replace Lady Edith with someone interested in people more than sparkly things.”
“Mr. North!” hissed Shoffer and repeated his nudge.
* * *
Millicent sympathized with Shoffer. The man had no way of understanding a shy sister and poor Beth, wanting so to please, was sitting watching the conversation going on before her and completely unable to find her part in it.
By this time there were significant clusters of women, both old and young, arranged along the walls, and gentlemen slowly promenading. The ladies nearest were casting hungry glances toward the tall figure of the Duke of Trolenfield, of which he was entirely unaware. No doubt they were hoping to catch his eye since every time he glanced around the room there was a wave of curtsies. Unfortunately for his admirers, Shoffer's attention was entirely upon his sister. Millicent's eye, however, was caught by a small group of débutantes fanning themselves idly who stood just beyond her sisters’ chairs; and an idea struck her.
“Lady Beth,” cried Millicent. “Have I told you my most recent observations on the subject of cats?”
“Mr. North, I do not think this is the right time for a discussion of cats,” growled Shoffer. “This is a ballroom!”
“How can you say that, Your Grace? The cat is the most honest of God's creatures, and our best guide for society.”
Since Beth immediately sat up and paid attention, as she did whenever Mr. North began one of his entertainments, Shoffer raised his eyes and hands to heaven and yielded.
“Oh, very well, Mr. North. Teach us about cats.”
“How can cats guide us in society?” asked Beth, always willing in her role as foil for Mr. North's nonsense.
Mr. North leaned conspiratorially toward the watching débutantes and with a bow, drew a befeathered fan out of one of their hands. “My thanks, Lady. Cats, as you know, communicate with their tails, as ladies do with their fans.”
The ladies tittered and a few idling gentlemen drew closer.
“Ah, come, of course you know this. When a lady wishes a gentleman to attend her she does thus with her fan.” And Mr. North barely opened the feathered fan, put it on his shoulder and beckoned with it so that only the very tips of the feathers waved in the air. There were a few giggles as another man came from that corner of the room, a puzzled look on his face, to find out what was going on. “And when a cat is angry, she moves her tail thusly,” and he whipped the fan rapidly from side to side, to another ripple of giggles. “Any man seeing a fan moving that way would be wise to be cautious.”
Indeed, the man who had been approaching paused and walked away in another direction.
In a few moments there was a fascinated crowd listening to Mr. North demonstrate the many waves of a cat's tail. With each move, each flutter of feathers, came an increasing chorus of laughter. Shoffer was entertained by it, but could not tell if it was doing any good. Under the concealment of another move, Shoffer saw Mr. North gesturing to Beth to stand and dropped her a wink.
“And when you are to be punished, the tail strikes you thusly,” said Mr. North, and Shoffer jumped when his forearm was smartly struck. “Then there are the gentle movements. Come, Lady Beth, you demonstrate. How does a little golden kitten signal that it wishes to be petted and made much of?”
Lady Beth raised her embroidered silk fan to her eyes, opened it just a little and moved it sinuously through the air; the audience laughed and a pretty blush rose in Beth's cheeks. Mr. North turned to his young cousins. “And when the cat has been offended?”
The crowd roared as two closed fans rose fast and stiff before Mildred's and Maude's faces and whipped away slicing through the air – at neck level to the watching men.
“Exactly so,” declared Mr. North, clapping his hands as the first strains of the orchestra were heard. “Oh, dear. I am so very sorry. Here are these gentlemen waiting to beg for dances and I am being silly.” Mr. North returned the fan to the giggling débutante, stepped back, and waved the young men in. “I do apologize.”
Those who had crossed the room to find out the reason for the noise suddenly found themselves facing rows of expectant faces. Good manners could not provide an escape. Each gentleman bowed to one of the ladies and begged an introduction. The pairing off took a little time and at the end Shoffer was pleased to see his sister pausing to write one gentleman's name on her dance card before being led onto the floor by yet another for the opening set.
Shoffer turned to face the dance floor, prepared to watch his sister dance with paternal pride, but he had not counted on Mr. North.
“Here he is,” he heard Mr. North say
from a few feet away. “He will vouch for me. Come, Your Grace, admit that you know me.” Shoffer glanced over to see Mr. North with a young lady on each arm, facing off with a determined appearing mother. “His Grace will tell you I am a fribble and a wastrel who cannot be trusted with a bent penny. However, I do enjoy dancing.”
Shoffer sighed and bowed. “Madam, I am the Duke of Trolenfield. Mr. North is my particular friend. I can assure you that he is indeed a fool and a clown, but as I trust him with my own sister, I believe you may trust him with your daughters for the measure of a dance.”
The lady's expression cleared when she heard the word “duke” and she gave her permission with a smile.
“Here, Your Grace. This one is Miss Mary and this one is Miss Joy. I will pass Miss Mary to you, as tonight, I wish to dance with Joy.” And with the giggling girl hanging off his arm, Mr. North found a place in the lines forming for a country dance. Shaking his head, the duke followed.
Later in the evening Shoffer and North were commanded by a brilliantly smiling Lady Beth to fetch refreshments. North muttered and mumbled to himself while a footman poured lemonade into tiny cups. Shoffer, pleased to see the bright glow in Beth’s eyes, the animation of her conversation, obeyed with a light heart.
“Tell me,” demanded North, “How is one to carry these perishing little cups while wearing gloves?”
“It is a gift.” Shoffer regarded the dance floor with satisfaction. His sister had not sat out a single dance, and while Shoffer had claimed her for the supper dance, she stood up with complete strangers for the rest of the evening and chatted with them all.
“Of your kindness, Your Grace, it is what you may give me for Christmas.”
Eventually, North persuaded a footman to hook each little cup onto his fingers and then pour in a measure of lemonade. His concentration was completely on the task. Shoffer watched, amused, and wondered if he should bother to offer advice.