Henrietta

by M C Beaton

  He slowly took out a small Sēvres box and delicately inhaled a pinch of snuff, keeping his light green eyes steadily fixed on her. “I shall explain. Mrs. Hester Tankerton was a distant relative of mine—very distant. I will not bore you with the genealogy but up till her death I was sure I was her only relative—with the exception of your so dear brother whom I discounted. Mrs. Tankerton had long ago taken a dislike to him. I expected no competition from that quarter.

  “I danced attendance on Mrs. Tankerton constantly on the understanding that I was to inherit her great fortune. Imagine my distress”—he waved a gossamer wisp of handkerchief in Henrietta’s direction—“when I was apprised that Henry Sandford had a sister and that that sister inherited all.”

  He held up a thin, white hand with polished nails as Henrietta would have spoken.

  “Now what did you do for the old lady? Nothing. While I ran and fetched and carried for her. So you must make restitution and that you can do by marrying me.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Henrietta roundly. “I am sorry that you have been disappointed in your expectations. Perhaps you are in need of immediate funds….”

  Mr. Ralston rose to his feet with a sinuous movement. “No. I am tolerably well in funds at present. I merely wish to claim that which is mine with the least possible fuss.” He moved to the looking glass to inspect his cravat. “I am not ill-looking, you will allow,” he said over his shoulder. “You should be flattered.”

  Henrietta felt an insane desire to giggle. Her practical common sense fortunately took over.

  “I must answer ‘no’ to your absurd proposal and”—she tugged the bell rope violently—“bid you good day.”

  “So be it,” said Mr. Ralston indifferently. “Obviously you are overwhelmed. I am, after all, something out of the common way.”

  He made a courtly bow and glided from the room, leaving both ladies to stare at each other in dismay.

  Miss Mattie put her hands to her mouth and stared wide-eyed at Henrietta. “He is a villain, I declare. You must be on the watch. He will snatch you up and bear you off to some remote abbey where he will have you in his power.”

  Henrietta sat down, hardly listening to her friend’s wild flight of fantasy. Her everyday world seemed to have slipped out of focus and everything in the room suddenly looked two dimensional. She felt as though she had just taken part in some bizarre play or that Mr. Ralston had been the figment of a laudenam-induced dream. Suddenly she brought the ordinary world back into focus with a determined blink.

  “Mattie, we must learn to deal with strange callers,” she said with a worried frown. “Until this morning, no one at all has called on us so I simply gave Hobbard instructions to admit everyone. Now, I feel, I should perhaps tell him that we are not at home to Mr. Ralston.”

  “He frightens me,” said Miss Mattie forthrightly. “He reminds me of a serpent.”

  Henrietta got to her feet. “Let us take the air, clear our brains and think of more cheerful topics. If Lady Courtney manages to arrange vouchers for Almack’s, we shall indeed begin our debut in style. I know, we shall go to Gunter’s for some splendid ices and forget about the whole confusing business.”

  “Including my Lord Reckford?” queried Miss Mattie with a sly look.

  “Especially Lord Reckford,” said Henrietta. “Perhaps he will forget to call. I do not mean to fret myself to flinders. I shall not trouble myself at all over his proposed visit.”

  But it was a very nervous and anxious Henrietta who woke the following morn. She had relegated the Beau to the back of her mind along with her other dream lovers. Now she was to see him again, and actually talk to him! Her heart beat fast as she removed her curl papers with trembling fingers and then realized with a sigh of relief that she had now a maid to cope with the tedious job of hairdressing. She could eat no breakfast and her nervousness communicated itself to Miss Mattie who trembled and twittered and knocked over the coffee pot.

  By eleven o’clock, both ladies were still seated in the drawingroom where they had been waiting a good two hours. Henrietta’s face was at its most expressionless, a sure sign of extreme nervousness. But Miss Mattie reflected that her friend had never looked better. Henrietta’s fair curls were confined by a pretty ribbon tied in a bow over her left ear. Her sky-blue dress of jonquil muslin trimmed with lace accentuated her excellent shoulders and bosom and flattered her plump figure.

  “Oh, Mattie, if only he would come,” Henrietta burst out. “If something would only happen to break the monotony of our existence, then I swear I would become as slim as a sylph.”

  Miss Mattie looked down complacently at her own bony figure. “You must avoid eating potatoes,” she advised. “They are served with everything, I declare, and not just with the roast as we had in Nethercote. I heard a lady at Gunter’s yesterday holding forth on the matter. She declared that the potato made one swell.”

  “I’m not swelling, Mattie,” said Henrietta. “I’m just the same round person I was in Nethercote.”

  Both heard the sound of a carriage coming to a stop outside the house. Although both had spent all morning running to the window at the least sound, by an unspoken consent, they remained seated, staring at each other anxiously.

  There was a murmur of voices in the hall, Hobbard’s familiar tread followed by a firm step. “Lord Reckford,” announced Hobbard with the suspicion of a twinkle in his august eye. He was fond of his young mistress and had often confided below-stairs that it was a crying shame that a lady as amiable as Miss Henrietta should have no beaux.

  Henrietta rose to meet Lord Reckford with a social smile fixed on her round face. He appeared even taller than before and very remote and elegant. He made a very correct bow.

  “Pup-p-lease sit down,” stammered Henrietta.

  “I beg your pardon?” remarked the Beau politely.

  “I said, ‘Sit down,’” shouted Henrietta and then blushed miserably.

  He still stood.

  “Is anything the matter?” faltered Henrietta.

  “You are supposed to sit down first you know,” he said kindly, drawing forward a chair. Henrietta perched primly on the very edge and stared at her smart kid half boots as if they were her only consolation in a wicked world.

  “My sister tells me she is to procure vouchers for Almack’s for you,” remarked Lord Reckford in his pleasant husky voice.

  “Oh, so kind,” bubbled Miss Mattie. “We are indeed saved from social ruin.”

  “Please, Mattie,” begged Henrietta. “Do not be so dramatic.”

  “Oh, I think Miss Scattersworth has the right of it,” said the Beau languidly but with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “You must give credit where credit is due, Miss Sandford. Had I not ridden to the rescue, you would have been socially spurned.”

  “Sneered at by all and ground to social dust,” breathed Miss Mattie, her curls bobbing energetically.

  “Every elegant back in London turned against you,” agreed Lord Reckford.

  “We may have had to resort to the demi-monde,” whispered Miss Mattie.

  “And we would wear a lot of paint and talk in terribly loud voices to show that we did not mind in the least,” said Henrietta with a laugh, beginning to enjoy the joke.

  Lord Reckford began to believe that the rumor that Henrietta wished to marry him was part of her companion’s imaginings and prepared to enjoy himself.

  “You are looking very tonnish since I saw you last, Miss Sandford,” he commented, admiring her dress appreciatively.

  “I am glad I complement your lordship’s elegance,” said Henrietta with the mischievous twinkle in her eye that he remembered.

  “And I notice your wrists are so clean. Alas! My heart is broken. You were only funning when you said you would never wash it again.”

  “Ah!” teased Henrietta with a boldness that amazed herself, “I had faith, you see, that I might perhaps soon have another.”

  He rose to his feet to bend over her hand, looking mockingl
y into her eyes. “Then such faith shall be rewarded,” he teased.

  Miss Mattie suddenly wagged a roguish finger at the pair of them. “Young love,” she sighed. “Will it be a social wedding do you think? Or will you ride madly to Gretna Green one dark moonless night?”

  Both stared at her in consternation.

  “Lady Belding and Miss Belding,” announced Hobbard.

  Alice drifted up to Henrietta and kissed her sorrowfully on the cheek. “My poor dear friend,” she sighed. “Oh! Lord Reckford!” All fluttering eyelashes and swirling skirts, she dropped Lord Reckford her best curtsy.

  “I am surprised to see you here, Reckford,” snapped Lady Belding. Her high patrician nose turned in Henrietta’s direction. “As for you, miss, you are to cease this nonsense and return to Nethercote immediately. Your brother agrees with me that you have proved yourself unable to handle your fortune.”

  “I am not a child, Lady Belding,” retorted Henrietta. “You may tell my brother from me that I shall visit him when the Season is over.”

  “Season! What Season?” snorted Lady Belding. “There will be no Season for you, my presumptuous miss. No lady of the ton would be seen in your company.”

  The Beau got lazily to his feet. “I really must protest, Lady Belding, but it is the first time that anyone has suggested that my sister does not belong to the first circles. Ann has already called on Miss Sandford and will be seeing a good deal of her in the coming weeks.”

  Lady Belding bit back the angry remark that rose to her lips. The Reckfords were socially powerful and she must be careful to do nothing to thwart her daughter’s ambitions.

  Alice Belding narrowed her pretty eyes. If the Beau and his sister meant to bring the dreary Henrietta into fashion, they were probably doing it out of sheer kindness. After all, Henrietta was positively old. But perhaps she had better establish her friendship with Henrietta if it meant that she could thereby see more of the Reckfords. Accordingly, she tripped forward and hugged the surprised Henrietta with great warmth.

  “Why, mama, you are too severe on my dear friend! It is not as if Henrietta has had our social advantages,” cried Alice, admiring her reflection in the looking glass over Henrietta’s shoulder. “Henrietta shall stay in London and I will not let any of you say her nay!”

  Henrietta started to mutter ungratefully that she was not in need of a champion but the Beau gave Alice a warm smile of appreciation. He must have been mistaken in her. She was a thoughtful and kind girl after all… and extremely beautiful.

  Catching his admiring look at Alice, Henrietta felt all the warmth and light go out of her day. Then Lord Reckford bowed his handsome head over her hand. “I should be honored if you would drive with me in the park tomorrow afternoon, Miss Sandford.” The sun shone out again behind Henrietta’s clouds and she raised her head to accept when Alice rushed forward. “Why, we would be delighted! Would not we, my dear.”

  The Beau looked down at Henrietta’s face and wondered why he had ever considered it expressionless.

  One minute she had looked radiant and the next as if the world had come to an end. “My apologies to you Miss Belding,” said Lord Reckford, “but there is only room in my curricle for one passenger.”

  “Oh, I am sure Henrietta will not mind us going without her,” said Alice blithely, bringing her long eyelashes into play.

  Lord Reckford rapidly revised his recent favorable opinion of Alice. Why, the girl was as pushing and forward as a Cit.

  “You misunderstood me, Miss Belding,” he said with a steely note creeping into his voice. “The invitation was issued to Miss Sandford.”

  Alice flushed and her eyes began to glitter dangerously. Lady Belding realized that her daughter was about to throw one of her well-known temper tantrums and they hurriedly made their goodbyes.

  “Until tomorrow then,” said the Beau, bending to kiss Henrietta’s hand. He raised his head and tawny eyes met hazel for a long moment. A thin tenuous thread of emotion seemed to momentarily join the pair. Then with another bow to Miss Scattersworth, the Beau was gone, leaving Henrietta to place the hand he had kissed against her cheek.

  Miss Mattie looked at her anxiously. “Do not be overcome with passion, my dear. Passion is a very dangerous animal.”

  Henrietta gave her infectious giggle. “Really, Mattie, what will you say next? What a morning! Now, no one else can possibly call.”

  Suddenly the door was flung open and brother Henry bustled into the room in great haste followed by his curate, Mr. John Symes. Henry’s elaborate garb made the drab clericals of Mr. Symes look positively poverty-stricken. He swept past the astonished Henrietta and ran about the room, picking up objets d’art one after the other and carrying them to the light.

  Mr. Symes, an elderly white haired man with a stoop which betokened years of servitude, gave his vicar an embarrassed look and went to sit down beside Miss Mattie.

  “What on earth are you doing, Henry,” asked Henrietta at last.

  “I am looking at all this waste of money on trivia… all this sheer extravagance,” spluttered Henry.

  “All this ‘sheer extravagance’ as you call it, is part of the estate left me by Mrs. Tankerton,” said Henrietta, eyeing the silver buttons on her brother’s coat with disdain.

  He gave her a look of relieved surprise. Thoroughly annoyed, Henrietta went on, “But do remember, dear brother, it is my fortune and I shall dissipate it in any way I please.”

  “Of course, my dear, of course,” said Henry soothingly. “But I am sure, for all your wealth, you will not forget the poor of your old parish. They are always in sore need of money.”

  Henrietta shrewdly decided that Henry’s tailor was in sore need of money but wisely held her tongue. Instead she turned to Mr. Symes. “Since you have more to do with the poor of the parish than my brother, Mr. Symes, I shall give you a draft on my bank and you may use the money as you think fit.”

  Henry gave an almost audible moan. Once his curate had his hands on the money then he, Henry, would most assuredly never see a penny of it. Mr. Symes cheerfully did far more than his share of work but helping the poor was his one great enthusiasm. “If I take any of it, he would probably report me to the Bishop,” thought Henry, giving his meek curate a venomous look.

  “Of course, dear brother, I am quite prepared to keep you in funds. I realize you have certain pressing bills,” said his sister.

  Henry stared at her in amazement and gratitude. “Well, now, I call that very generous of you, Henrietta. Very generous indeed!”

  “In return,” she went on as if he had not spoken. “I expect you to leave me to enjoy my Season. I think your friends, the Beldings, will be formidable enough opposition as it is.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Henry placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. “In fact I shall visit you often in order to escort you on occasion. I am said to be a very pretty dancer,” he added complacently.

  His sister thanked him in a faint voice and patiently waited for him to take his leave. But to her surprise, her brother sat down and began to regale her with tales of various parish events. To her even greater surprise, these were often very witty. She felt more in charity with him than she had ever felt before and after a pleasant half an hour, it was with a certain reluctance that she watched him leave.

  She turned to Miss Mattie to discuss the astonishing visit but found that her friend was sitting bolt upright on the sofa with a rapt expression on her face. “Do attend to me Mattie. Was not Henry in surprising good form?”

  Miss Mattie came slowly back from some faraway country of the mind and focused on Henrietta. “He is a saint. I can see him riding to some Crusade on his charger. I shall wait and weep of course, but how proud I shall be.”

  Henrietta patiently took her friend’s hand in her own. “What has come over you, Mattie? Henry was surprising cordial but he is always too much of this world of society to ever be considered a saint.”

  “I was talking of Mr. Symes,” sighed Miss Ma
ttie. “Did you notice his noble forehead? Did you note the tinge of passion in his voice when he was conveying to me Mrs. Church’s recipe for tansey-pudding?”

  “I am afraid I was not attending. Why, Mattie! You are in love with the curate!”

  Miss Mattie nodded and trailed from the room with her hand to her brow. Then she swept round on the threshold with a gesture worthy of Mrs. Siddons and declaimed, “I shall carry my secret to the grave and should they cut open my heart, engraved on it will be…. ‘John Symes.’”

  After she had gone, Henrietta sat down at a pretty escritoire, sharpened her quill and prepared to go over the household accounts. She could only hope that Miss Mattie’s passion for the curate would modify her style of dress.

  Mattie’s behavior had been embarrassing and infuriating. Henrietta bit her lip in vexation. She really must tell Mattie not to behave so. But… but Mattie would cry and would really be crushed. “I will just have to make the best of things,” sighed Henrietta.

  But Henrietta wished heartily with a certain guilt that she did not “have to make this best of things…”

  By evening, Henrietta felt exhausted with the emotional strain of waiting for the next day to arrive and bring Lord Reckford. She had also spent a frenetic afternoon searching for the exact bonnet to charm the Beau. At last she had settled on a dashing shako—if it rained—and a charming chip straw—if the sun shone. Her neck quite ached from watching the sky, trying to foretell tomorrow’s weather. She had considered everything but the wind. By the time her maid undressed her for bed, an unseasonal gale was reminding fashionable London of wilder, more unsheltered country. It shrieked through the canyons of the old buildings in the City and then raced in a hurly-burly, vulgar fashion up the reaches of the Strand to shriek and moan and form violent whirlwinds in the elegant squares and tree-lined streets of the West End.

  Henrietta climbed into bed, blew out her candle and then tossed and turned sleeplessly as she listened to the tumult outside. Somewhere in the house a loose shutter banged and the whole building heaved and shook like a ship riding out a stormy sea. Suddenly, the wind dropped abruptly and in the ensuing silence, a disembodied whisper sounded in the room. “You are going mad, Henrietta. Mad! Mad! Ma…a…a…d!”