A Regency Scandal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  The others laughed. It was well known that the Vicar, a frequent visitor to Mrs. Cassington’s dinner parties, always preferred to secure Miss Lydney as a partner at backgammon, one of the few games allowed on these occasions. This was not because her play was superior to that of the other young ladies, but on account of the secret delight he took in her way of indulging in the mildest and most discreet form of flirtation with him. It did not go unobserved by her preceptress; but Mrs. Cassington looked on with a tolerant eye, thinking that the Honourable Cynthia Lydney, daughter of Baron Lydney, could scarcely be judged to do anything improper.

  Cynthia gave a reluctant smile. “Well, the Vicar’s a male creature, after all, and as such, a rarity in these quarters. One must make shift with whatever offers.” She cast a malicious glance at Melissa. “Now, if only one had the same opportunities with Monsieur Falaise! What say you, Melissa?”

  The other girl blushed, trying in vain to conceal it by putting up her hand to pat her curls into place. Monsieur Falaise was the dancing master, an émigré from Revolutionary France whose Gallic charm, in spite of his forty-odd years, had produced a devastating effect on several of the senior girls at the Seminary. Mrs. Cassington was far too experienced in the ways of young ladies not to be very well aware of the hazards attendant upon employing a personable gentleman to instruct her pupils in the art of the dance. On the other hand, she was too good a businesswoman not to take advantage of the fact that Monsieur Falaise’s fees were as modest as his expertise in his subject was great. She continued to employ him, therefore, but took care that a responsible teacher should be present at all his lessons, and that at no time did any of the young ladies have an opportunity to be alone with him even for a second.

  Melissa Chetwode was at this stage of her life somewhat prone to attacks of hero worship, and she had early fallen a victim to the attractions of Monsieur Falaise. Unlike some of her schoolfellows, who suffered from the same malady and took a delight in languishing for him openly before their friends, she did her best to conceal her feelings. The attempt was abortive, however, as such things are in a close-knit community; and everyone knew poor Melissa’s secret, though few were unkind enough to tease her about it, respecting her reticence.

  “I suppose you’ll make your come-out in London next season?” Helen asked Cynthia.

  She was not really interested in the answer, which she could guess at already; she was merely making an attempt to distract Cynthia’s attention from Melissa.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” replied Cynthia, promptly relinquishing her prey. “Mama complains that it will be prodigiously fatiguing to give me a season, but she knows her duty. Nowadays she seldom goes to the town house in Berkeley Street, even though Papa spends most of his time there since he took his seat in the House of Lords. She doesn’t like the country, precisely, but I think she’s become accustomed to it now, and finds London too rackety. But that’s all one to me, so long as I may go there.” She broke off and looked enquiringly at her companions. “I daresay the rest of you will be having a London season, too? Certainly I’ll expect to see you there, Melissa, as your parents have a house in Cavendish Square.”

  Melissa, who had recovered by now, said that there had been some talk of it at home.

  “And Papa means to hire a house in Town to bring me out,” put in Catherine, adding with a laugh, “He says he has great hopes of getting me off his hands at last, for with three other girls in his household, he’ll soon be driven either mad or bankrupt, else! He’s so droll, is Papa, but he’s prodigiously fond of us all, really, you know.”

  “I’m sure he is,” said Melissa, warmly. “So we shall all meet again in London next Spring, it seems.”

  “All except perhaps Helen,” corrected Cynthia, with a sideways glance.

  She knew that Helen owed her place at the Seminary to the generosity of her grandparents, as the Reverend Theodore Somerby could scarcely have afforded to send her there. It seemed unlikely that she could expect to enjoy the same advantages as her friends in the future.

  Melissa and Catherine exclaimed in dismay, casting compassionate glances at their friend, but she only laughed in an unaffected, light-hearted way.

  “London’s not the only place where one may enjoy balls and parties,” she reminded them. “I dare say I shall contrive to have my share of entertainment in Buckinghamshire.”

  “Oh, as to that, if you like rural society!” scoffed Cynthia.

  “Some of our rural society is most exalted, you may recall, Cynthia. There’s the Earl of Alvington, not to mention your own family, for instance.”

  “Alvington — oh, you must know you can have no hope of balls there! The Earl has become practically a recluse, so Mama says, and suffers much from the gout. As for Shaldon, he lives in Town and rarely visits the Hall. I haven’t set eyes on him myself since I was a child. Henry says that he’s become a regular dasher, much sought after by the Town belles, but it seems” — she lowered her voice mysteriously — “he has other interests than matrimony.”

  “What kind of other interests?” asked Melissa, innocently.

  “Oh, aren’t you a Bath Miss!” scoffed Cynthia. “Do you really not know what I mean?”

  “And if she does not, I hope you’ll have too much delicacy of mind to inform her!” said Helen.

  “I shouldn’t depend upon that,” put in Catherine.

  “Naturally, you two are always such models of propriety,” retorted Cynthia.

  “Catherine, perhaps, but as for me — well, I try, though Old Catty doesn’t appear to think so,” laughed Helen, determined not to allow the conversation to develop into a schoolgirl squabble. “Only yesterday she reproved me for an improper display of my ankle as I sat down at the pianoforte!”

  “That’s because you will skip about so,” explained Catherine, “instead of walking in the decorous manner suited to a young lady of Quality.”

  They all laughed over this, and harmony was restored as each girl recalled occasions when her conduct had fallen short of their Principal’s required standard. The incidents they related were harmless enough, but the recollection of Mrs. Cassington’s shocked reactions caused so much general merriment that soon Catherine, with tears in her eyes, was begging them to stop before she quite went into hysterics.

  “Yes, and if we’re not more careful we’ll be heard from the house, and then the fat would be in the fire!” gasped Melissa, herself helpless with laughter.

  This sobering thought produced a lull in which it was possible to hear that some kind of commotion was taking place in the street on the other side of the high wall enclosing the gardens. They stood still and listened. Excited shouts came to their ears, the sounds of running feet, the constant blowing of a post horn which gradually drew nearer, and finally the clatter of fast galloping horses.

  “What in the world can it be?” they asked, looking in amazement at one another.

  “Well, there’s only one way to discover,” said Helen, running over to the wall at a spot covered by a thick creeper. “We must take a look over into the street!”

  “Oh, no, Helen, think of your dress!” warned Catherine. “There’ll be no end of trouble if you should get it soiled!”

  This went unheeded. Helen grasped a thick branch of the creeper, found a foothold on a lower one, and succeeded in hoisting herself up so that her head was just above the wall and she could see down into the street. Melissa, not to be outdone, found herself another spot where the ascent was so easy that she was soon sitting triumphantly right on top of the wall.

  The other two girls made no attempt to follow suit, but contented themselves with uttering scandalised exclamations interspersed with impatient demands to be told what was happening in the street.

  “There’s a tremendous crowd!” Helen cried back to the others. “Yes, and there’s a Mail coach coming along the street, all decked out in greenery! They’re all shouting something. I can’t quite hear what—”

  Her voice was completely drow
ned then by a loud fanfare blown on the yard of tin by the guard of the Mail coach as the vehicle reached the point where the two girls were stationed. As the sound died away, a great shout went up from the crowd.

  “A famous victory! The Duke has routed Boney! The archfiend’s conquered. The war’s over! Victory! A battle won on the plains of Waterloo! Victory! God bless Wellington!”

  At the same moment, the church bells rang out in a wild carillon of joy. The coach swept past, the crowd running after it, shouting, laughing, dancing, breaking out into the National Anthem.

  “Did you hear that?” cried Helen. “Did you hear that the war is ended — that the Duke of Wellington has defeated Napoleon?”

  Melissa turned excitedly to corroborate this, forgetting her precarious perch. She wobbled, lost her balance, grabbed frantically at the wall to try to support herself, then tumbled ignominiously over into the street.

  Providentially, her fall was broken by a young gentleman who had not rushed away after the rest of the crowd, but was still standing almost beneath the spot where Melissa had been perched a moment before. He had not until then noticed the watchers on the wall, being too taken up, like everyone else, with the spectacle in the street; but he was alerted by the scream she gave as she felt herself falling, and with great presence of mind rushed forward to grab her.

  He succeeded in breaking her fall, although the impetus of it sent them both sprawling on the ground with Melissa uppermost. The crowd was now so intent on racing after the coach that no one took any notice of the incident, so they were left alone to scramble to their feet.

  “Are you hurt, Miss?” asked the gentleman, curtly. “Here, let me see. Walk about a little. Come, come, do as I bid you! That’s right. No, there’s no injury — perhaps a bruise or two later. What of your arms and wrists? Move them about, will you?”

  Melissa, breathless and dishevelled, obeyed.

  “Nothing hurting?” She shook her head. “Good, good. And now, young lady, what the devil d’you mean by jumping off that wall? It would have served you right if you’d broken every bone in your body.”

  “I did not jump off!” cried Melissa, indignantly. “I lost my balance and fell — and I think you are vastly uncivil, sir, even if you did save me!”

  At this moment the gentleman heard a strangled sound from above his head and looked up to catch sight of Helen.

  “Well, of all things!” he exclaimed, in disgust. “Nell! I might have known this would be one of your freakish starts! And what do you think you’re doing up there?”

  “Oh, Melissa, you’re really not hurt, are you?” asked Helen, anxiously. “It gave me such a fright when I saw you fall! You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Only a trifle shaken up,” answered Melissa, beginning to regain her composure. “I was saved from the worst by this — this gentleman here,” she added, in a frigid tone. “He appears to know you.”

  “It’s my brother — oh, dear, it’s not a very propitious moment for making introductions! Miss Melissa Chetwode, Mr. James Somerby. But what in the world are you doing here, James?”

  From force of habit, Melissa gave a curtsey, though she could not help feeling it was a slightly ridiculous gesture in the circumstances. Mr. Somerby answered it with an inclination of his head, then stooped to recover his hat from the ground. He dusted it over with a handkerchief, afterwards performing the same office for his blue coat and riding breeches. He looked up at his sister again, and they both burst into laughter.

  “Impossible girl!” he said, severely, when he had recovered. “Why the deuce did you have to clamber up there?”

  “Because we wanted to see what was going forward in the street, of course! We heard all the commotion, and it was so frustrating not to be able to see the cause of it.”

  “But, my dear sister, why not step out into the street to look in a civilised manner?”

  “Because we can’t. The garden gate is kept locked, and we would need to go through the house and leave by the front door. In any case, we’re not allowed on the street without an escort.”

  “Very proper, of course. But since matters stand as you say, there will be a certain difficulty in restoring this young lady to your side of the wall,” he pointed out. “That is, unless she would not object to my escorting her to the front entrance?”

  “Oh, no!” chorused both girls, in dismay.

  “You can’t have thought, James!” added Helen. “Mrs. Cassington will learn of it if Melissa enters the house by the front door, and how can she excuse herself for breaking the rules? She can scarcely say that she climbed on the wall and fell off!”

  “Mm,” said the young man, thoughtfully, rumpling his blond hair in a way he had when wrestling with a knotty problem. “Yes, I do see it might be awkward. There’s no other way in, is there? What about the stable entrance?”

  “It’s completely shut off from the gardens,” Helen informed him. “We might as well be in a nunnery cloister! But, I say, James,” as a sudden idea struck her, “if you could procure a ladder from somewhere…”

  “Nothing easier, assure you. I always travel with a stock of ’em,” he replied, sardonically. “No, I see only one thing for it. If I should hoist you back on to the top of the wall, Miss — er—”

  “Chetwode,” supplied Melissa, in a small voice.

  “Quite. Well, do you think you could then contrive to climb down on the other side with my abominable sister’s assistance, and without injury to either of you?”

  “I — I think so,” said Melissa, dubiously, for she felt all the impropriety of being hoisted up, as the gentleman put it. At the same time, she could see no other way of returning to the premises without alerting the Principal.

  “Oh, yes, she could do that easily,” put in Helen, “as there’s a sturdy creeper growing this side and three of us to help her climb down by it. It’s a capital notion, James! But can you put her safely up, do you think?”

  “I wouldn’t have suggested it, else. This wall’s barely a foot over my own height, after all.” This was true enough, for he was a little over six feet. “Now, Miss, if you’re ready.”

  He turned purposefully towards Melissa. She shrank back, her modesty outraged for a moment at the thought of what was to come.

  “For Heaven’s sake, don’t be missish!” he recommended her, sharply. “I promise to turn my eyes away once you’re safely seated atop. It won’t take a minute, you know, and should prove far less of an ordeal than facing your schoolmistress.”

  She could not help but acknowledge the truth of this. She blushed a fiery red as he grasped her firmly in his strong arms and swung her up so that she found herself sitting securely on top of the wall, but facing away from him with her feet dangling over the other side. They were now within easy reach of the creeper by which she had clambered up; and with a host of garbled instructions and a certain amount of giggling, her friends soon assisted her to find a footing and climb safely down to join them.

  Apart from a few scratches and a snag or two in her white stockings, Melissa seemed none the worse.

  “You’d best go and change your stockings, though, Mel,” recommended Helen. “Old Catty has the most uncanny knack of noticing such things, even though your skirts should conceal the damage.”

  “Besides which,” remarked Cynthia, scornfully, “she looks a complete fright.”

  Thus adjured, Melissa went off at once, hoping that she might manage to reach her dormitory unobserved. She was fortunate in this, and hurriedly set about making herself tidy again. As she dragged a comb through her hair before the mirror, her cheeks burned at the recollection of what had just passed. It was the first time she had ever been clasped in a male embrace, if one discounted those permitted by close relations; and she felt all the impropriety of it, even if the gentleman’s manner had been far from amatory. Indeed, when she considered the matter calmly, he had shown no more interest in her than if she had been a sack of coals She was a little ashamed to discover in her maide
nly bosom a certain measure of regret for this. To be sure, he was a most personable gentleman…

  Meanwhile, Helen had reported Melissa’s safe landing to her brother; and she discovered that he had in fact been on his way to the Seminary to pay her a visit.

  “I’m hoping to persuade your Principal to allow you the indulgence of dining out with me this evening at the Red Lion,” he said. “I’ve already engaged a private parlour.”

  “Oh, I do hope she will!” exclaimed Helen.

  “Not if she gets wind of this, so you’d best follow your friend indoors and freshen up a trifle,” he replied, giving her a critical glance. “There’s a smut on your face and your hair’s all anyhow. I’ll continue round to effect an entrance by the more conventional method, and hope to see you later.”

  “Oh, but, James, isn’t it splendid news about the victory in Brussels? No wonder the whole village was in such an uproar!”

  “Famous! Wellington’s a brilliant man in the field. Only he could have brought this off! I’d give much to have a full account of the battle.”

  She waved her hand airily at him before vanishing from sight behind the wall. James duly presented himself at the front entrance of the Seminary and was shown into the visitors’ parlour, where he was graciously received by Mrs. Cassington.

  The Principal made no difficulty about giving permission for Helen to dine at the nearby inn with her brother, provided he would undertake to return her pupil to her care by nine o’clock; this he readily promised to do.

  Later, when they were seated together in the private parlour at the Red Lion, they exchanged their news. He had just returned from a visit to the Rectory, so was able to fill in details which had been sketchily dealt with in the frequent letters Helen received from her parents. He told her, too, about his plans for the future. For the past five years, ever since he had left school at eighteen, he had been serving as an apprentice to a Dr. Gillies who had a thriving practice in Paddington, a rapidly expanding village on the outskirts of London. Now he was to go in the autumn to walk the wards at Guy’s Hospital in Southwark, where Dr. Gillies himself had trained as a medical man.