‘Well, don’t let Ellen know that we had a second glass of wine, or we shall never hear the end of it,’ Perdita warned.
Miss Langrishe had foreseen the difficulty. At her express request, Ellen had retired to recover from the rigours of the journey, and it was her own personal maid who attended to the girls.
‘Back to the prison-camp tomorrow,’ Amy groaned as she climbed into bed. ‘How shall I bear it for these next few months?’
‘It may not be so bad,’ Perdita comforted. ‘Let us speak to Aunt tomorrow. We can explain about Louise and she may have some ideas as to how we can win her friendship. She may not be too happy with the idea of being ordered to live with a family of strangers.’
‘Ordered?’ Amy said blankly.
‘Oh, yes! I don’t suppose that the Earl has used much tact. Most probably he sent her a couple of lines making his wishes clear. As far as I know he hasn’t even met her yet.’
‘That’s hardly his fault,’ Amy protested. ‘The Duke would not release him—’
‘Stuff! He might have asked for leave of absence upon compassionate grounds.’
Amy sighed. ‘Oh dear! Let’s hope that Louise does not take him in the same dislike as you do.’
‘He may be sent away again,’ Perdita said hopefully. ‘There must be trouble somewhere in the world where his obnoxious character would be useful.’
Privately, Amy thought it unlikely, but Perdita was asleep before she could pursue the subject.
Miss Langrishe was not an early riser. She was in the habit of receiving favoured guests in the comfort of her bedchamber as she sipped her morning chocolate.
There, resplendent in an embroidered silk robe and a matching cap of fetching design, she smiled at the girls as they came to wish her a good morning.
‘Now, my dears, how do you go on? You slept well, I trust? I confess that I can’t wait to hear your news of London and the family.’
She was an excellent listener, with the rare gift of giving each speaker her full attention without feeling the need to interrupt with comments of her own.
Perdita realised that this was part of the secret of her great-aunt’s charm. She brought out the best in her companions, making them feel that their own opinions were of value and worthy of serious consideration. In her presence even the most stupid of creatures felt themselves cleverer and wittier than in fact they were.
She and Amy related all the family gossip, and as much as they knew of the topics uppermost in the minds of polite society during the Season. Miss Langrishe knew of all the latest scandals, thanks to her very efficient grapevine, but she didn’t betray that fact. She exclaimed over the meeting with the Duke of Wellington, and teased Amy over her evident devotion to her hero, wondering as she did so if her nieces would trust her enough to discuss a matter that was clearly troubling them.
When they hesitated, she decided to offer a little encouragement. Her approach was gentle.
‘Perdita, I won’t insult you by pretending that I don’t know why you are here,’ she said. ‘Your mother explained matters when she wrote to me. She mentioned the Earl of Rushmore… Now, my love, may I beg you never to look back? We cannot change the past, but we can look to the future. You must put that episode behind you.’
Perdita was silent. It was Amy who spoke.
‘We should like nothing better, Aunt. If only we might be sure that we should never see him again. He’s a hateful creature.’
Miss Langrishe looked at the mutinous faces. ‘I know the name,’ she observed. ‘I think I met his father long ago. An arrogant rakehell, if I ever saw one…killed on the hunting field, I believe, but with more charm than any man I ever met.’
‘His son has not inherited that quality,’ Perdita said stiffly.
‘But why let it worry you, my dear? I doubt if you will see him again. From all I hear, it is highly unlikely that he will come to Bath for the waters.’
‘He will come for another reason, Aunt. His ward is at school with me. She is to come to live with us next year to share my Season.’ Amy was unenthusiastic.
‘But why? Has she no relatives?’
Both girls began to explain the situation.
‘Of course, we are sorry for her, Aunt. We can’t begin to imagine the pain of losing her father, but if only someone else had been her guardian!’
‘Don’t dwell upon it, my dears. Louise must be our first concern. Amy, do you know her well?’
‘No! That is another worry. She is so very quiet…not exactly unfriendly, but not the life and soul of any gathering.’
‘Would there be room for two of you, Amy?’ Her aunt’s lips twitched. ‘We must all get to know her better, I think. Now, what do you say to bringing her to see me? I shall procure tickets for the next concert at the Assembly Rooms. I believe we shall all enjoy it.’
‘Miss Bedlington may not approve, Aunt Trixie.’
‘You may safely leave Miss Bedlington to me. Perdita and I will accompany you when you return to school this afternoon. I shall speak to the lady then.’
‘But, Aunt, I can’t! She said that I was never to darken her doors again.’ Perdita had the grace to blush.
Miss Langrishe gave her a grim smile. ‘How dramatic! That sounds like a remark from a bad play. There will be no difficulty, I assure you.’
She spoke no more than the truth. When she walked into the Academy later that afternoon Perdita was reminded forcibly of the description of her aunt as a galleon under full sail.
Miss Langrishe had chosen her toilette with care. Her flowing garments owed nothing to the present fashions, but they became her imposing figure well. The most casual observer would have been aware of the cost of the fabulous silk brocade of her voluminous cloak and of the jewels nestling in her towering turban.
She winked at the girls. ‘Nothing like full fig for intimidating the opposition,’ she announced. ‘I believe we shall have no problems with Miss Bedlington.’
She was right. Beside the tall figure of their aunt, Miss Bedlington looked insignificant, and the girls were surprised to see that she looked a little nervous. Amy she welcomed with as much warmth as it was in her nature to show and even Perdita was greeted with a stiff bow. However, it was the formidable Miss Langrishe for whom the owner of the Academy reserved her most fulsome welcome.
Miss Bedlington was no fool, and in the imposing figure of the woman before her she could see unlimited opportunities. Her Academy was her livelihood, and Miss Langrishe had the entrée to the highest circles in Bath. Her elderly friends might not have daughters of their own, but they had granddaughters and nieces, and a word of recommendation would go far.
She exerted herself to be accommodating, agreeing that young ladies on the verge of their come-out must be exposed by degrees to the pleasures of the adult world.
Miss Langrishe settled herself in the largest chair in the room. To Perdita it seemed as if she were seated upon a throne, graciously accepting a glass of ratafia.
‘I have never believed it wise to take young girls from the schoolroom and throw them into Society untrained,’ Miss Langrishe announced. ‘They must appear gauche. It can do their prospects no service.’
‘Quite, ma’am, quite…although they do receive some training here.’
‘I’m sure you do your best, Miss Bedlington.’ Miss Langrishe was at her grandest. ‘I cannot fault your academic standards, but among the ton, you know…?’
Miss Bedlington understood her visitor perfectly. Miss Langrishe intended to have her way. If it wasn’t blackmail, it came close.
‘What do you suggest, ma’am?’ she asked politely.
‘Why, with your permission, of course, I think that the girls must be allowed to come to me as much as possible. Louise Bryant, I understand, is to share her Season with my niece. I plan a programme of concerts for them…nothing too extreme, of course.’
‘A splendid idea!’ Miss Bedlington’s voice lacked conviction, but Beatrice Langrishe did not appear to notice.
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br /> ‘Then, of course, there will be small dinner-parties… I plan one for tomorrow evening. Shall we say that the carriage will collect the girls at six?’
Miss Bedlington felt unable to disagree, and Perdita looked at her aunt with awe as she left the Academy for Laura Place.
‘How do you do it, Aunt?’ she asked. ‘Miss Bedlington agreed to everything.’
Her aunt looked a little conscious. ‘Perhaps I should not tell you this, but I look for the Achilles’ heel, my dear. Miss Bedlington is aware that my recommendation can help her. She won’t set up her will against me.’
Perdita smiled. ‘What a dangerous creature you are, Aunt Trixie! I am not tempted to enter the lists against you.’
‘Why should you, my love? After all, I am on your side.’
Perdita felt comforted. It was such a boon to be surrounded by uncritical affection. Her parents loved her dearly, but the relationship with her aunt was different. With Beatrice Langrishe she could speak of things which she could never mention to them. She wondered why that was. Possibly because they were not so closely bound by ties of blood? Possibly not. She was unable to decide, but in the meantime she could bask in the loving affection of the older woman.
She had had to confess that she was curious about Louise, and when the two girls arrived on the following evening, she realised that Amy’s assessment of the girl’s character had been correct.
Tall and fair, Louise was no beauty, but there was intelligence in the fine grey eyes and a pleasing regularity in her features. Her manners were beyond reproach, but there was an air of reserve…a barrier…which discouraged intimacy.
Miss Langrishe appeared to be unaware of it. Before the arrival of her guests she appealed to the girls for help.
‘My guests are new arrivals here,’ she told them innocently. ‘I wonder… They are bound to feel a little ill-at-ease. Could you possibly help them out…ask them about themselves…their families…their interests? It is so daunting to be forced to dine with strangers, and Miss Murray, in particular, is very shy.’
It was enough to enlist their help and even Louise felt enabled to play her part. In thinking of others, she had forgotten her own shyness. Miss Langrishe had nothing but praise for her co-hostesses.
‘Well done!’ she smiled. ‘We shall have you leading your own salons before next year is out… It isn’t difficult, is it, if one remembers that a favourite topic of conversation with most people is themselves?’
Three beaming faces agreed with her. The girls had done well, encouraged by the compliments and the old-fashioned courtesies which they had received from the other guests. Elderly shoulders had been straightened and moustaches twirled at the sight of these fresh young creatures.
Miss Langrishe too came in for her share of praise.
‘Well, m’dear, I can’t say when I’ve enjoyed an evening more,’ Captain Merton told his hostess. Then he turned to his friends, but recently arrived in Bath. ‘Did I not say that you would find the town far from dull?’ he said. ‘All this nonsense about it being a dead-and-alive hole! How can that be so when we are invited to enjoy the company of such charming ladies?’
They were quick to agree with him, and departed expressing the hope that they might be allowed to return such delightful hospitality, and enquiring if Miss Langrishe meant to bring her party to the next concert in the Assembly Rooms.
‘Indeed! We should not miss it for the world,’ she smiled.
It was enough to send Amy and Louise back to the Academy quite reconciled to another week of study before their next outing.
Miss Langrishe rang for her tea-tray before she and Perdita retired for the night.
‘No need to ask if you enjoyed your evening, my dear,’ she said warmly. ‘I was proud of you. You made my guests feel welcome.’
‘They were interesting people, Aunt. It was a pleasure to speak to them.’
‘Most people are, if one takes the trouble to draw them out. Shall you be able to make a friend of Louise, do you suppose?’
‘I hope so, though it may be difficult to get to know her…she is so quiet and shy.’
‘She is more reserved than shy, I fancy, though she did well enough tonight.’
‘She must be feeling the loss of her father, Aunt. I’d like to have spoken of him to her, but it is difficult to know what to say that could possibly be of any comfort. Don’t you find it so?’
Miss Langrishe considered for several moments. ‘We human beings have a curious attitude to death,’ she said at last. ‘I have never understood why it should be found embarrassing. I suppose it is thought an unwelcome reminder of one’s own mortality, but the subject should not be avoided with the bereaved. Above anything, they need to be encouraged to remember their loved ones and to speak of them.’
‘But surely that is distressing?’
‘It helps, my dear, and as to words of comfort, well, I have my own philosophy.’
‘Which is?’
‘A simple one, Perdita. I believe that our loved ones never die as long as we remember them. They live on in our hearts.’
‘That is beautiful!’ Perdita raised her aunt’s hand and held it against her cheek. ‘I shall remember it all my life.’
Beatrice Langrishe patted the dark curls. ‘Have you any plans for this week?’ she asked.
‘I am at your disposal, Aunt. Shall you wish me to attend you to the Pump Room?’
Miss Langrishe gave a hearty laugh. ‘Never think that I take the waters, my love! Nasty-tasting stuff! In my opinion a good burgundy is much better for one’s health.’
Perdita was tempted to giggle. ‘So you don’t visit the Pump Room? I thought that everyone did so.’
‘They do, my dear. I would not miss the morning gathering for the world. How else would one learn the latest gossip?’ Miss Langrishe gave Perdita a sly look. ‘The waters have their uses. They encourage the potted plants to flourish.’
Perdita could not keep her countenance. The thought of her aunt disposing of the medicinal offerings into the nearest plant pot was too much for her, and her shoulders shook with laughter. Her stay with aunt Trixie promised to be much more entertaining than she had at first imagined.
That lady’s dry sense of humour was a source of great joy to her, and she had the ready ability to convulse Perdita at unexpected moments. It was difficult to keep a straight face on the following morning when Miss Langrishe surveyed the decrepit occupants of the Pump Room. ‘As you see, Perdita, we are gay to dissipation!’ she announced, as she turned to greet an aged gentleman who came to them with all the speed he could muster.
Miss Langrishe engaged him in conversation, using him as a shield as she tossed the contents of her glass over the roots of the nearest plant. In spite of her ironic remarks, she enquired most kindly about his health and appeared to be enthralled as he related the most intimate details of his digestive processes. It was enough to put Perdita off her nuncheon until she managed to thrust the conversation from her mind.
‘Aunt, will you tell me something?’ she asked as she helped herself to a plate of cold meats and sallets.
‘Certainly, my dear, if I can. What is it you wish to know?’
‘Don’t think me forward, but, well…I wondered why you choose to live here…in Bath, I mean?’
‘You think it unsuitable for me?’
‘Not exactly, I suppose, but there are so many old people.’
Miss Langrishe smiled at her. ‘What a delightful compliment, my love. You forget that I am not in the first bloom of youth myself.’
‘But you don’t behave like an older person, and you don’t think in an elderly way… Would you not prefer to live in London?’
‘Not in the least, Perdita. I have always loved this city and the surrounding countryside. For me there is as much to interest here as in the capital. It is possible to study a smaller canvas with as much enjoyment as a larger one.’
‘You mean the people?’
‘I do. It is the most absorb
ing subject in the world. One learns as much about oneself as one does of others.’
‘I wish I could feel the same,’ Perdita said slowly.
‘Look outwards, my love! That way it is possible to forget oneself and one’s own troubles.’
‘I haven’t any troubles, Aunt,’ Perdita said impulsively. ‘I am so happy here with you.’
‘That’s my girl!’ Miss Langrishe patted her head. ‘Now, what do you say to some shopping in Milsom Street? I must not disgrace you at the concert.’
Perdita thought this highly unlikely, and that opinion was confirmed as the days passed and her aunt added to her already vast collection of jewels, scarves and headgear. She also bought gifts for the girls, dismissing their protests with a smile.
‘Now you won’t rob me of the pleasure of giving you these trifles?’ she asked. ‘I have no children of my own, so this is an unexpected joy for me.’
It was as they were preparing for the concert in the Assembly Rooms that Amy took Perdita aside.
‘Can we talk?’ she asked.
‘Now? We haven’t much time, you know.’
‘This is important!’ Amy looked troubled.
‘Then tell me…’
‘It’s Louise. I don’t want to betray a confidence, but…well…she has an admirer.’
‘What!’
‘Oh, don’t fly into the boughs, Perdita. She hopes to marry him.’
‘She must be mad!’ Perdita said with conviction. ‘How on earth did she meet him? She’s still at school.’
‘It was after she heard the news about her father. She was sitting in the park and, well…she was distressed. He asked if he could be of service to her.’
‘Oh, Amy, does she know anything about him? It can’t be right that he would offer for her in this way. Rushmore will go mad!’
‘He isn’t here!’ Amy said stubbornly. ‘I, for one, don’t blame her. Who else has offered her sympathy and comfort?’
‘I’m sure he meant it kindly, but this can’t be right. Does Miss Bedlington know?’
The Rebellious Debutante Page 9