by Joan Smith
“Isn’t it exciting, Miss Fenwick?” she exclaimed, as soon as I had inquired of her health. I knew it was not the chicken pox of which she spoke.
“It is a great to-do about nothing, if you want my opinion,” I said.
“Nothing? How can you say so?” Her brown puppy eyes held a trace of pity, that emotion so unappetizing to the recipient. I would rather be hated than pitied. “Mama says it is all Uncle Phil’s fault in having you stay with him,” she rattled on.
You may be sure I did not try to stop her.
“And of course his having got Lady Beaton’s carriage for you in the first place, for it looks as though he was setting you up as his mistress, giving you the same carriage. That is what has got Lady Beaton jealous as a green cow, Mama says. As though Uncle Phil would have his mistress stay at his own home. I think it more likely Lady Beaton was afraid he meant to marry you, and that is why she flew into the boughs. Is she terribly beautiful, Miss Fenwick?”
“Yes, very,” I said, while my head grappled with all the implications of her remarks.
“I wonder how much money he gives her. She is shockingly expensive, you must know.”
“Did your mother speak to you of all this, Dottie?” I asked, to be sure it was not just imaginings on the
child’s part.
“Oh, no! Pray do not tell her I know. I listened when she talked it over with Papa after the party. He says he will not have you back in his house, but you must not worry about him. Mama says he must, or your reputation will be ruined, and she won’t have it said she hired a lightskirt to teach her children. Besides, Philmot told Mama they must take you, and he can always talk them around. He said he has been at pains for a few days now to show the world you are not only respectable but above reproach. He expected trouble when Lady Beaton came right to his house. She sounds a brazen hussy.”
I sat, stunned into silence, considering the recent past in the light of her revelations. The public drive in the park, the invitation to Lady Varley’s musical evening, the intimate talk before his friends at his own party—all done to set my name well apart from the lightskirts of the world, where it would never have been had he not encouraged me to buy his mistress’s tilbury. He had never cared a jot for me, but was only doing his gentlemanly duty to protect my name.
Raised voices issued from behind the closed door of the saloon, with no words being intelligible. I sat listening, enjoying all the vivid discomfort of being unwanted in any of their houses. I was nothing but a nuisance to them, and an expensive nuisance at that.
Without giving the matter rational consideration, I determined I would not be billeted on any unwilling family. I would climb into my harlot’s carriage and go home to Bath. Oh, but first I must get my diamonds. Just before I despaired, it popped into my head that I had relatives in the city with whom I was on terms. I could go to the Danners, Papa’s relatives in Hans Town, stay with them a few days, till I could get to Squibbs. Indeed, the captain might very well be the means of retrieving my necklace. Oh but I would hate to ask him, such an old-fashioned, respectable man.
Dottie chattered on, very excitedly, while I did this mental figuring. When the door of the saloon opened, I had my speech ready. It was a triumphant Lady Synge who issued from the door. She had coerced the ostrich into accepting my presence, then.
“My dear Miss Fenwick,” she began, trying to smile a welcome.
“Lady Synge, before you say a word, you must allow me to speak,” I jumped in. Philmot looked wary, but I caught only a glimpse from the corner of my eye, for I did not deign to look right at him. “This predicament Philmot has landed me in by foisting his mistress’s old carriage off on to me is very vexing, is it not? I think the best thing for me to do is go to my relatives in town for the remainder of the season.”
“Excellent!” the ostrich squawked.
“Elderly cousins who live quietly at the edge of town,” I informed her, watching with amusement while a smile lit her face. “They will not have heard any disturbing rumors about me, or realize the infamy of my chariot,” I added with a certain relish.
“Couldn’t be better,” Synge said. “It is all settled.”
“No, it will be better if she stays here,” Philmot disagreed.
“Naturally your sister would not want it said a female of low morals had been instructing her children,” I said knowingly, “but it will perhaps be remembered as well that my father is the Dean of Bath, while the cousins to whom I go are also utterly respectable. As I have actually done nothing wrong except heed bad advice, let us hope the gossip will settle where it belongs, and not on me.”
“There is certainly something in that,” Synge pointed out to his recalcitrant relatives.
“Is there any trusting Kate Beaton to hold her tongue, and not pretend she is Miss Fenwick’s bosom bow, as she was certainly trying to let on at your party?” Lady Synge asked her brother.
"If she is recalcitrant, Philmot can always give her another cheque,” I suggested.
“Phil, you greenhead! You didn’t give her more money!” his sister charged angrily. I glanced for the first time at him. He looked as though he would happily murder his sister. I could not but wonder what sums had been passed prior to the thousand pounds. And he had bypassed my accounting books, too, the sly one.
“We’ll be lucky to get a commoner for Alice, with all this scandal surrounding the family,” Synge declared impatiently. “It is all settled. Miss Fenwick goes to her cousins.”
“All settled but for Philmot to send me my tilbury,” I agreed.
“You cannot be seen in that rig!” Philmot disagreed, very loudly.
“A pity you had not thought so when you arranged for me to buy it! I cannot afford to squander large sums of money on useless items. I have not so generous a patron as Lady Beaton.”
“You must not be angry at Philmot,” Lady Synge began in a conciliating way. "There would have been no harm in your having the carriage when you were working for me, Miss Fenwick. None of us thought, when you went to Philmot, how it would look. But now with Kate barging in at the party showing everyone she was jealous... Well, you see how it looks. Folks will take the notion you have replaced her.”
“They will not think anything of the sort,” Philmot insisted.
“Why do you not want me seen in the carriage then?” I asked.
He was stymied, for of course he knew perfectly well his sister was right. My reputation was so ruined I did not see how it could ever be repaired. Strangely enough, I did not care much. Of greater importance to me was to get away. “You will send my carriage right over, please,” I said, directing a command to Philmot.
“Very well, but I trust you will have the wisdom not to be seen in town in it.”
“You will find me more discreet than Lady Beaton,” I assured him. “I do not relish having it said I was ever your mistress. Good day.”
I turned and walked, stiff as a poker, up to my old room. Once there, I could not think why I had bothered to climb the stairs. Nothing of mine remained but the memories. I had once actually been happy in this room. Happy and naive, to think a lady of no importance could palm herself off as anything but a governess. I would have fared better had I behaved as what I was, hired help. I could not afford this double life. I had lost not only my diamonds, but quite possibly my reputation as well.
Later, Lady Synge came up to tell me Philmot had left, and would send my carriage right over. “You cannot be thinking of landing in on your cousins unannounced at night,” she pointed out. “Write them a note, and go in the morning, Miss Fenwick. Stay here tonight. No one will know you are here.” I expect that last sentence was one she had said to her husband, and repeated unthinkingly to me.
It told me how low I had sunk. I wrote to the Danners, who had the human charity to reply in the affirmative, and the grace to do it that same night, with enthusiasm. I remained in my room all night. Alice was at a rout, but Dottie bore me company for an hour, during which I urged her to con
tinue her studies when she felt more stout. She wanted to come and see me, but I discouraged this, saying I would not be there long, and she could not go out yet.
I left early in the morning, never bothered to unpack my bags at all. They were sent over the night before, and taken to the Danners in Synge’s carriage. I prevaricated a little in my story to them. I said Miss Dorothy had the chicken pox, but did not tell them when she had contracted the disease. I did not wish to scandalize them with the whole truth.
Chapter Nineteen
Life in Hans Town was very different from life in the west end of London. It was much better. I made myself useful around the house, for they had three children and little hired help. I also took Mrs. Danner for local rides in my infamous carriage. In the evenings, I read stories to the children, played cards with the parents after the youngsters were tucked into bed, and enjoyed such provincial company as came to call.
“Miss Fenwick has been staying with the aristocracy,” Mrs. Danner announced to the first set of callers.
“A governess for the Synges,” I said quickly.
"Olivia, I am sure a governess does not go to plays and parties,” she laughed.
“They were lenient,” I agreed. “Most governesses are not so fortunate, but I was employed by the Synge family, not a house guest.”
"Miss Fenwick is related to the Monternes—a marchioness is her cousin,” was the next proud boast. “She has stayed with them, too.”
“Only second cousins to my mama,” I said scrupulously, remarking how the connection impressed these simple folk. Just as it had impressed me in the old, days, when I thought a title conferred some extraordinary qualities of chivalry, or worth. I knew better now. They were no better than the rest of us. Some of them were a good deal worse, as they came heavily encumbered with pride. They also had money, which allowed them to indulge their every whim.
I found I could not tell the Danners how foolish I had been, and therefore could not seek their help in retrieving my necklace. They were too decent—would be shocked at my dreadful carrying on. My salvation came in the form of a new acquaintance. A Mr. Teasdale called on my cousins, and the next day came to call on me, to ask me to a lecture that evening. I presumed most outrageously on his good nature to ask him to take my thirty pounds and go to Squibbs. When he came back, he still carried the pawn ticket and the money.
“There was some error. This pawn ticket is for a watch fob. A little golden shell with a pearl in it.”
That particular watch fob was known to me. It belonged to Harmsworth. A week or two ago, I would have assumed it to have been an honest error. With the scales removed from my eyes, I thought it more likely Harmsworth had pulled this stunt purposely. It hardly seemed worth while trying to be in touch with him. I was sure he had sold my diamonds, pocketing the bulk of the money himself.
Yes, how had he afforded a horse running in the Oaks, when he was as broke as I? It was possible he thought to repay me with his winnings, if he won. As the matter was of such importance to me, I once again imposed on my new acquaintance to take a note to Harmsworth asking about the ticket. He came back to tell me Lord Harmsworth was out of town, adding that this might be a ruse on his lordship’s part, as there were bailiffs in the house looking for him. Obviously his horse had not come in first.
There was really no excuse to remain in London. I wrote Harmsworth a letter requesting him to write to me at Bath when he returned, on the off chance I might yet get my necklace back. Hints about reporting the matter to Bow Street were added to encourage him to act properly in the matter, though I doubted very much he could get them back if he wanted to. It weighed heavy on my heart that I had urged Alice to marry this scoundrel, but at least she had not followed my bad advice.
Planning to leave the next day, I also dropped a note of farewell to Lady Synge and the Strathaconas. I purposely withheld my address. I was in no mood to receive either of them, should they, by some odd chance, take into their heads to bid me a personal farewell. The arrangement for my transport, as I could not go alone, was for the eldest daughter to accompany me home, with her return to her parents to be arranged by my father. There were frequently friends of ours coming up to London, who could see her home.
I put the whole thing from my mind the minute the notes were posted. My opinion of my old aristocratic companions was so low I hesitated before even bothering to write. As a farewell gesture, I took the two younger girls out for a spin in my tilbury that last afternoon. Their little noses were sadly out of joint that they were not going to Bath with me. It was a beautiful day, with summer practically upon us. We stayed out later than we should have done, rushing home close to five for dinner. They kept country hours at the Danners. The girls clung to my hands when I entered the house, all of us chattering and laughing.
“Lettie, we’re home!” I called, and strode into her parlor, to see Lord Philmot comfortably ensconced in a chair, holding a tea cup in his hand. He was conversing with Mrs. Danner, seeming very much at home.
“Olivia, nice to see you,” he said, rising up to make his bow. “We had your note. I have just been telling Mrs. Danner how remiss you were in not having given us your address here. I have been not less than three times to Hans Town trying to find you. One might even be forgiven for thinking she did not wish to see us,” he added in a jocular way to his hostess, who laughed merrily.
“That is not like Olivia, to forget anything,” she said.
“Hello, Philmot. It was not necessary for you to come in person to pay your adieux.”
“Very true, but my letter was not clever enough to find its way without me.”
I presented the girls to him before sitting down. I was determined to be no more than coolly polite, and would have been less than that had it not been for Mrs. Danner’s presence. I enquired for the Synges, particularly Dottie. I was told she was hale and hearty and as ill-mannered as ever. Debbie was complaining of nausea. Jack was taking her home to Dawlish.
“They will be away for my ball,” he added. “I have your invitation here, by the by.” He extracted a white square and handed it to me.
I did not bother to take it. “I am leaving tomorrow, Philmot,” I told him, stiff as starch.
“My ball is tonight, Ma’am,” he replied, with a triumphant smile. “Fairly well snatched your excuse away, did I not? Tell her she must go, Mrs. Danner.”
Mrs. Danner sat regarding us in some confusion. She apparently found it odd I had never so much as mentioned Lord Philmot’s name once in all the days I had been with them. “That sounds lovely, Olivia,” she said, smiling at my good fortune in rounding off my visit in this high fashion.
"We plan to leave early in the morning. We can make it with only one night at an inn if we do.”
“It seems a shame to miss the ball,” she went on, with a look of planning to push me into acceptance.
“I packed my trunks this afternoon. My gowns would be a mass of wrinkles.”
"There's plenty of time to press one.”
“No really, I do not wish to attend. Thank you very much, Philmot.”
Mrs. Danner was fairly astute, but had she been as dull as tarnished silver she would have realized Philmot wished for privacy. He glanced first at me, with impatience and suppressed passion (angry, you understand), then at herself and the girls, in the way of one who is restraining himself because of the company. The signs were unmistakable.
“Time to get you two cleaned up for dinner,” Mrs. Danner said, arising and taking each girl by one hand to drag them unwillingly from the room.
She could not have been a yard from the doorway before he broke into a very different sort of speech from that he had been using. “I suppose this is your idea of a clever trick, hiding yourself out here and telling no one where you are. Have you any idea the shifts I have been put to to find you? I hired the Bow Street Runners!”
“You didn’t!” I gasped.
“Yes, in desperation I did after I learned you had not sneaked off home
to Bath, as I first suspected you meant to do.”
“You mean you have written to my father! How dare you! He will be worried sick.”
"You mean you haven’t let him know you’re here?”
"I wrote a day ago to tell him I was coming home. He will have received it by now I hope. When did you...?”
"Two days after you left. Before I called in Bow Street.”
“You incorrigible busybody! What business is it of yours where I go?”
“It is because of me you are in this fix. You made that perfectly clear before you left us.”
“I am not in a fix. If the ton wish to have a few titters because they think you took on a new flirt before dumping the old, it is nothing to me.”
"After dumping the old. I had already rid myself of Kate Beaton before you came to me.”
“You gave her money long after I was there.”
"You're the one gave her cash from my strong box!”
“And how dare you include my name in the same breath as that woman anyway!”
“That was a misunderstanding. Kate would not have come landing in on us if she had still been under my protection. She knew she had nothing to lose.”
“A great deal to gain. A thousand pounds, was it not?”
“I had already paid her. Unbeknownst to me she had another lot of bills unpaid. She threatened to go into the saloon and make a scene.”
“You were kissing her. No doubt she forced that on you too.”
“Kissing her goodbye. At the time, nothing and no price seemed too high to pay to be rid of her once for
all.”
“You can get her back now, if you haven’t already. Just as well you parted on such amicable terms."
“Look,” he said, splaying out his hands. “I know it is all my fault you were put in an untenable position. It was unfortunate, the business of my having got her tilbury for you. Lady Synge explained that to you.
“After all the fuss, however, you can imagine what people think. You were seen driving her carriage, you were seen in my company. Kate comes storming into the party and singles you out for attention. You were already known as a very modern thinker. The Fowlers delighted in spreading their story. The conclusion is nearly inevitable. Folks think you are my mistress. I have come to make reparation. Your only salvation is marriage. I am going to marry you.”