by Lynn Morris
Regina replied, “She says it’s because she loves the martial sound of it. She maintains that everything you say in German sounds like a colonel of the Hussars commanding his regiment.”
“Mm, so it does, even ‘Eight old ants ate pineapple in the evening,’ if you say it sternly enough,” Lady Hylton agreed.
“Actually, I think it’s merely something to occupy her mind,” Regina continued. “She has such an active intelligence that I think it’s hard for her to find something challenging enough to hold her interest. I thought, when she was so eager to take over St. John’s trusteeship, that her responsibilities might provide some fulfillment for her. But it seems that your son was right, Mr. Wheeler is so efficient that the estate needs very little hands-on management; Mr. Stanhope has all of the finances well in hand; and it seems that Valeria learned all she needed to know, and more, in a short period of time. She told me that she has very little day-to-day work. She seems restless. I worry about her.”
“She is excessively bright, and such people grow bored so easily,” Lady Hylton said thoughtfully. “You know, Regina, living on a fine country estate is all well and good for older, settled people. But when you’re young and clever and witty and need stimulation, living quietly in the country can be stultifying.”
“I know,” Regina replied regretfully. “Valeria should have gone to Town last year. This year she’s eighteen, she deserves to enter into society and have all the fun and excitement of London in the Season. But what can I do?”
“If you will allow me to again be a meddlesome old lady, Regina, I will tell you exactly what I think should be done…”
* * *
Three weeks later St. John and Valeria sat in the window seat in the drawing room, looking toward the village of Abbott’s Roding, watching the explosions in the night sky. In a conspiratorial voice Valeria intoned, “It was November fifth, 1605. Guy Fawkes, dressed all in black, made his way to Westminster Palace, with dark plans in his heart of assassinating His Majesty King James I. King James was a Protestant—” At the woebegone look on St. John’s face, Valeria broke off to ask him, “What’s the matter? I thought I was doing a fine job of dramatizing it.”
St. John sighed. “This isn’t going to be a story all about who said what in Parliament and who was the real king, is it? Like the Wars of the Roses? I never can get all of that straight in my head, except that the Lancasters were the red roses and the Yorks were the white roses.”
Valeria smiled. “No, dearest, this was really very simple. Guy Fawkes and his followers—he only had twelve—wanted to replace King James with a Catholic king, and they did a very shabby job of it. The conspirators got caught, the plot was foiled, the assassins were hanged. Ever since then, by Act of Parliament, November fifth is a day of thanksgiving for ‘the joyful day of deliverance.’ So now we celebrate Guy Fawkes Night with bonfires and fireworks and we burn an effigy of whoever we don’t like at the time.”
“Coo, that’s a much better story than those dumb wars over roses,” St. John said. “Lookit, lookit! Green fire!”
The village was two miles distant, but Valeria had seen to it that the best fireworks were supplied for the celebration, and the western sky was lit up with white, green, red, and blue explosions of sparkles. They could not attend, of course, since they were in mourning. Valeria had been proud of St. John, for he had been careful not to show too much disappointment to their mother.
When the spectacular displays were over, Regina said, “Come here, my darlings, I wish to tell you something. St. John, come sit with me.”
Mr. Chalmers said, “I’ll take my leave now, then, Lady Maledon.”
“No, do stay. This concerns you too, Mr. Chalmers.”
St. John sat between Regina and Lady Hylton on the sofa, while Valeria and Mr. Chalmers pulled two chairs up close.
Regina smiled at St. John. “You know, St. John, I loved your father. I mourn him.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know,” St. John said, puzzled. “Me too.”
Regina nodded. “I just want to make sure that you understand. You see, St. John, it is right and honorable to mourn for a period of time after one loses a family member. But there is not really a hard and fast rule for mourning. I have prayed long, and thought much, and I’ve made some decisions as to how we, as a family, will mourn your father.”
Kindly she continued to St. John, “You’ve been a dutiful and faithful son, and it’s time you stopped wearing your armband. We all know that you will always revere your father’s memory.”
In a subdued tone St. John said, “Yes, Mamma. I always will.” Slowly he took off his black armband.
Regina said to Valeria. “Dearest, you’ve been wearing widow’s weeds for two months, and that is quite long enough. You can put aside the bombazine, and put pretty ribbons and flowers in your hair again.”
“Thank you, Mamma,” Valeria said gratefully. “I was definitely regretting my red pelisse.”
“You do look stunning in it, and you should wear it tomorrow,” Regina said. “As for me, I have decided that I will remain in full mourning for four more months. In the middle of February, I shall go into half mourning, for a very good reason.” She smiled, and for the first time since Maledon had died, Regina truly looked happy. “We are going to London for the Season. If we go in February, we will have ample time to order your wardrobe, Valeria, and have it on hand when the Season comes into full swing in April. Also in April, my dear, you will be presented to the Queen.”
Valeria was so stunned that she couldn’t speak. But St. John wasn’t. He wiggled impatiently, then demanded, “And me too, Mamma? Am I going to London with you?”
“Certainly, my dear. Mr. Chalmers is coming too, as you must continue your lessons,” Regina said firmly.
“And Niall too?”
“Oh, yes, and Craigie and Platt.”
St. John could contain himself no longer. He jumped up and shouted “Huzzah! Did you hear that, Mr. Chalmers? We get to go to London!”
“I did,” the tutor answered with pleasure. “Thank you very much, Lady Maledon.”
“You’re certainly welcome, sir; I cannot fathom how I would manage St. John and Niall without you,” Regina said. “Valeria, you look slightly dazed. Don’t you have anything to say?”
Valeria laughed, then jumped up out of her seat, joined hands with St. John, and danced with him in a circle. “I certainly do, Mamma,” she said merrily. “Huzzah!”
PART III
Chapter Fifteen
VALERIA WAS FILLED WITH EXCITEMENT to finally be going to London for her first Season, but her animation was slight compared to St. John’s ceaseless hopping about in the coach. For the fourth time he opened the window and stuck his head out. Regina said, “St. John, I declare I’m going to signal Platt to stop the carriage so that he can nail that window shut. Again, it’s entirely too cold, you’ll catch your death.”
Reluctantly St. John closed the window. “But Mamma, Platt and Ned and Royce and Timothy are out in the cold, and they won’t catch their death.”
“They’re accustomed to it, because it is their job,” Regina said. “You, however, are not suited to flapping about in an icy breeze.”
“That thin blue blood,” Valeria teased.
“Oh, really, Valeria,” Regina reproved her. “As if you have anything to say about it.”
“Who has blue blood?” St. John asked, puzzled. “That’s silly.”
“Yes, it is,” Regina agreed.
The day, though frightfully cold, was bright and clear. They knew when they were approaching Town because suddenly the light was dimmed. London always had a coal-pall looming over it. They were just coming into the East End; they would go through the City of London and on to the fashionable West End. All of the haut ton owned houses in Mayfair. The Maledon town house was located at one of the most prized addresses, Berkeley Square.
Valeria had been to London during the Season three times. The first was when she was ten years old, and Lady Hylton had
persuaded Regina to rejoin society. They had stayed at the Hylton town house, just across from the Maledon town house in Berkeley Square. That Season was when Regina had become engaged to the Earl of Maledon.
Then, in 1807, when Valeria was fourteen and St. John was two years old, the family had come to London for April, May, and June, the height of the Season, and they had returned the next year for the same three months. But both of these visits had been rather a bore for Valeria. She was still “in the schoolroom,” and her only companion was Miss Howells, her mousy, timid governess. Miss Howells was terrified of London, and wouldn’t accompany Valeria anywhere unless Craigie took Niall and St. John for an outing, and Miss Howells would venture to go with them. But this year, Valeria thought, was going to be the most exciting adventure she had ever had!
As they labored through the muddy, narrow, tortuous streets in the East End, Valeria wondered that her mother had decided to travel in such style. It was thirty miles from Bellegarde to London, and although it was only about a three-hour drive with their four magnificent Maledon horses, generally when one traveled that far to another city the footmen didn’t ride standing on the back. Ned and Royce, with their blue-and-silver livery, and full-length gray capes with blue satin lining, were stalwartly attending on this trip.
And then there was Timothy, the groom, riding postilion on the near front horse.
Normally this was necessary only when the team had at least six horses. But when Regina had explained to Valeria that she needed to pick a groom to accompany her as she rode in Hyde Park, Valeria had immediately picked Timothy. She had suggested to her mother that he would be thrilled to ride postilion, and somewhat to Valeria’s surprise, Regina had agreed, and had personally designed a special livery, a slate-blue skirted riding coat trimmed with silver cord and piping on the sleeves.
Timothy had been almost beside himself with excitement and pride. Valeria had thought that traveling to London, with the footmen and postilion rider, would be what her mother considered ostentatious. Now she reflected that her mother had really been indulging her, in many ways, since Valeria was so excited about London and the Season. She thought, I just turned nineteen two weeks ago. So many girls have already had two Seasons by the time they’re nineteen…and after three or four Seasons, if they haven’t managed to get themselves married off, they’re considered past their prime. Imagine being thought a spinster at twenty-one years old! It’s absurd! Oh, well, at least I’ll have one or two years of fun!
They entered into the wider, quieter streets of the West End, and then the carriage stopped in front of Number 23 Berkeley Square. The Maledon town house was one of a long row of gracious four-story houses, built of white stucco with black wrought iron fencing and trim.
Ned and Royce stood on either side of the carriage steps to hand down Regina and Valeria. St. John burst out of the carriage and ran to the iron railing that surrounded what was known as the area, the steps and landing leading down to the servants’ and tradesmen’s entrance. The basement was sunk only partly below street level, so that the kitchens and workrooms could have windows for good lighting. St. John jumped up to rest on his stomach on the railing, looking down the eight feet to the stone entryway.
“Oh, Ned, go fetch him,” Regina said faintly. “That boy is going to give me an apoplexy. How happy I’ll be to see Mr. Chalmers.”
Ned went to St. John, who was hallooing down into the area. Clasping one muscular arm about his waist, Ned lifted him up bodily. “Begging your pardon, my lord,” he said sternly. He carried him back and set him down in front of Regina, brushed him off lightly, and stood back at attention.
“St. John, that entrance is for the servants and tradesmen. You will go into and out of the house by the front entrance,” Regina said.
“Yes, ma’am,” St. John said unconcernedly. “But you know the servants don’t mind me. They don’t like grown-ups coming down there, but they don’t pay much attention to me.”
Amused, Valeria said, “Yes, St. John, we all understand that, thank you. Still, don’t go climbing around on the fence like a wild monkey.” What he had said was perfectly true. The servants very much regarded the kitchen and servants’ hall as their own personal and private spaces. Valeria had learned that Regina made definite appointments on the rare occasions that she wished to tour them. And even though St. John was that august personage, the fifth Earl of Maledon, they were unconcerned when he went into the servants’ areas. They tolerated any children invading the servants’ hall.
The town house had a full-time housekeeper, Mrs. Durbin. Valeria remembered her well as a bony, severe woman with iron-gray hair. Valeria secretly thought that she made a much better business partner for Trueman than did the motherly, warm Mrs. Lees. The other servants had come ahead so that the house would be fully prepared and ready for the family to simply walk in and be at home. They were all assembled in the entrance hall to greet them: Trueman, Mrs. Durbin, Mrs. Banyard, Craigie, Joan, the two housemaids Sophie and Amelia, and the little scullery maid that Valeria had had such a memorable experience with, Mary Louise. Mr. Chalmers stood a little to the side, smiling. Regina, Valeria, and St. John came in, and while Trueman was taking their pelisses and bonnets, Regina asked, “Trueman, is everything in order?”
“Yes, my lady,” he answered.
“We shall tour the house,” Regina said, “and then tea in the drawing room, please, Mrs. Durbin. And Mr. Chalmers, would you join us, please?” Turning to Valeria and St. John, she said, “Come with me, we’ll go through the house so you’ll know just how everyone is situated.”
Valeria liked the atmosphere of the town house much better than the cold grandeur of Bellegarde Hall. It was built and furnished in the graceful, airy Palladian style, the rooms painted pastel colors, the furnishings mostly French. Even though the town house was much smaller than Bellegarde, Valeria found it more comfortable. Everywhere were enormous vases of fresh flowers; the sweet scents pervaded the entire house. At Bellegarde during the winter the arrangements were limited to dried flowers, but in London flowers and greenery were available year-round from the hothouses.
The entrance hall was floored with blue and white marble squares, and the walls were painted a light blue. White marble pillars were evenly spaced on either side. On the right was a graceful curved marble staircase with a black wrought iron railing. Down the hall and on the left was the wide arched entrance to the long, elegant dining room with oak flooring that had an intricate parquetry border. The walls were spaced with pilasters with finely carved cornices, painted blue with white trim. Crystal wall sconces were mounted between the pilasters. The long mahogany dining table was surrounded by twelve Louis XIV chairs. Above it, hung from a ceiling medallion, was an elaborate crystal chandelier. Regina told Trueman, “Since we won’t be entertaining, I don’t want that great chandelier lit every night. The wall sconces will be lit, and the table will be set with the six-candle candelabras.”
“Yes, madam.”
Regina turned to St. John. “Now let’s go to the library, where I think you’ll have a great surprise, St. John.”
“In the library?” he asked dubiously.
They went down the central passage to the single room that occupied the back of the long narrow house. The library also served as the earl’s study and office. The walls were lined with bookcases that displayed Grecian busts, ormolu urns, and other objets d’art. On one wall was the desk, a Hepplewhite of satinwood with rosewood inlay. But what astonished Valeria, and instantly enchanted St. John, was the addition of a large rectangular dining table, set somewhat incongruously in the center of the room. The top was covered with an immense map, and on the map were toy soldiers.
Mr. Chalmers was grinning like a young boy. “Now we shall be able to learn all about the Peninsular War in style, my lord.” The set was intricately detailed, and comprehensive. There were infantry: foot guards, fusiliers, and grenadiers. The cavalry regiments—dragoons and Hussars—had their distinctive uniforms and we
re on horseback. There were even artillerymen with cannons. And to add to this magnificence, on the oceans were small models of Royal Navy ships.
“Coo-eee!” St. John breathed. “Is this—was this my father’s?”
Mr. Chalmers answered, “The maps are, yes, sir. But the toy soldiers are a gift to you from your cousin, Lord Hylton. He said that his father gave them to him when he was your age.”
“Lord Hylton!” Valeria exclaimed. “But surely he should give it—”
Utterly uncharacteristically, Regina interrupted in a soft voice of warning, “Valeria, it was a very thoughtful and generous gift to St. John. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to diminish it in any way.”
“No, ma’am,” Valeria sighed. All she was thinking was that surely the set should go to Alastair’s own son, but she did realize that if she said something to that effect it would cause St. John concern. He was sensitive in that way. And then again, Valeria realized ruefully, her instant reaction to anything that Alastair Hylton did or said was to object. That’s so silly and childish, I must stop resenting him…at least, when there is no good reason…
Valeria was relieved to see that St. John had paid no attention to her outburst, as he and Mr. Chalmers were already positioning pieces on the map, and Mr. Chalmers was pointing out such famous battle sites as Coruna and Talavera.
Regina said, “I think St. John will be content to see his bedchamber later. Trueman, go find Niall and tell him he may come to the library.”
Stiff with disapproval, Trueman said, “Yes, my lady.”
As Regina and Valeria went up the grand staircase, Valeria whispered, “You are in serious breach of etiquette, madam, and Trueman knows it.”
Regina sighed and whispered back, “He’s very vexed with me, and not just because of Niall. Let’s go on up to the bedchamber floors and I’ll show you why.”
Because the street-level floor was always called the ground floor, the upper stories were somewhat mis-numbered. Through the family bedchambers were located on the third story, it was called the second floor. There were four of them: on one side were the earl’s and countess’s bedrooms, connected by a dressing room, and the other two rooms on the opposite side were the same size, but unconnected. Regina explained, “I’m keeping my bedroom, because it’s in the back of the house and much quieter. Although now, in February, the street isn’t busy at night, later in the Season it will be noisy. But I was wondering, Valeria, if you wouldn’t like to have this front bedchamber, and we can both use the dressing room.”