A Beguiling Intrigue

by Jane Toombs

  After an inordinately long wait, the door was opened by an aged servant in old-fashioned, wrinkled livery. Blinking in the sunlight—the entryway behind him, dark and musty, reminded Justine of a cavern—he mumbled words they were unable to understand. Turning, he led Prudence and Justine, unsteady step by unsteady step, slouching through the gloom to a candlelit drawing room where a tall, exceedingly thin elderly gentleman hurried forward to greet them.

  "My dear, dear Prudence!” Gerard Kinsdale cried, bowing stiffly and smiling crookedly, as though his social graces had grown rusty from lack of use. “After all these years I find you every bit as lovely as on the day we met."

  "Nor have you changed, Gerard,” Prudence said softly.

  If Prudence was referring to his garb, Justine told herself, she was most certainly being faithful to the truth, since Gerard Kinsdale wore what she suspected had been the height of fashion forty years before—shoes fastened by enormous silver buckles, white stockings with their tops tucked beneath blue breeches, a knee-length coat of a darker shade of blue adorned with over-sized white buttons and, as his crowning splendor, a powdered wig.

  After greeting Justine, Gerard proceeded to fuss over Prudence, holding a chair for her, offering her refreshments, inquiring after her comfort and the state of her health. Justine had heard of gentlemen dancing attendance on ladies, but had never witnessed the phenomenon before. Was it possible, she wondered, that her rather acerbic reaction resulted from envy? No one had ever treated her in such a solicitous manner.

  Gerard's rapt gaze, she noted, never left Prudence's face nor did his attention flag for as long as an instant while he listened to a lengthy catalog of her latest ailments. In fact, he nodded with obvious concern at the mention of each and every symptom.

  "Are we the first guests to arrive?” Justine asked during a lull in the litany of maladies.

  "You are,” Gerard said, “and you deserve an explanation as to why I invited Prudence and yourself for today and the others for tomorrow.” He nodded toward Prudence. “I must beg you to assist me,” he said. “By now you realize that the Manor and its staff are not what they were in those wonderful days of our youth. When your eminent young gentleman friend requested me to host this party, I at first declined with great vehemence. Until I learned you, my dear Prudence, would be among the guests."

  Eminent young gentleman friend? Justine repeated to herself. She had been under the impression that Prudence, with Rodgers’ assistance, had made the arrangements for the Eclipse Party. Was it possible that Gerard was referring to Lord Devon? she wondered with a flutter of hope. If it had been Lord Devon, why had he seen fit to involve himself?

  "Will you help me, Prudence?” Gerard pleaded. “You and Miss Riggs? I have not the slightest notion as to what pleases the ladies and gentlemen of the ton these days; I long ago turned my back on the frivolity of society. I will do everything in my power to assist you, now and always, as will each and every member of my staff, though I fear we have all grown old together. Will you, Prudence?"

  Prudence raised her hand to her bosom; her breathing quickened. “I feel quite faint,” she gasped.

  Gerard stared in surprise before kneeling at her side, wincing when he was forced to bend his knees. He took her hand in his while at the same time glancing over his shoulder in search of help.

  Justine, accustomed by now to Prudence's spells, calmly removed the vinaigrette containing smelling salts from her reticule and wafted it back and forth under Prudence's nose.

  Prudence blinked. “Whatever happened?"

  "Mr. Kinsdale asked for our help in planning the Eclipse Party,” Justine said briskly. “We should help him; in fact it appears we must help him if the Party is to be anything other than a dismal failure."

  "I know absolutely nothing of Eclipse Parties,” Prudence said helplessly.

  "The guests arrive tomorrow?” Justine asked when it became obvious she would have to fill the breach.

  Gerard nodded.

  Justine frowned in thought. “And the eclipse is the day after, a few minutes before midnight. We can best view it from a nearby hill?"

  "South Hill is less than a mile from the Manor."

  Justine nodded. “Tomorrow we might have an informal excursion of some sort, a picnic perhaps; yes, I believe a picnic in a glade in the park would be delightful if we have more of this wonderful weather, with outdoor games for both the gentlemen and ladies to follow. Archery? Is an archery contest possible? And on the day of the eclipse we should have a formal dinner in the evening followed by dancing—there must surely be a large enough room in the Manor for dancing—and after the dancing we must all drive to South Hill to view the eclipse. Or perhaps the dancing should take place on our return."

  Immediately after Justine began to make her suggestions, Gerard began shaking his head. As soon as she finished he raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Quite impossible,” he said regretfully. “What you suggest would require at least a week of preparation."

  "In that event,” Justine said, “we must devise a simpler program."

  "I refuse to hear of any changes.” Prudence seized command, apparently completely recovered from her attack of the vapors. “We must do every last thing you proposed, Justine. I see you shaking your head, Gerard, but it is possible."

  "And yet,” Justine said, “I have not the slightest notion where or how to begin."

  "Being of a certain age, as I am,” Prudence declared, “does offer compensations. It gives me the benefit of many years of experience in solving similar dilemmas."

  Justine must have showed her skepticism for Prudence went on, “Yes, I have surmounted even more difficult obstacles, I most certainly have. Not in the of giving parties or the arranging of balls or the holding of dinners, perhaps, but in accomplishing what at first blush seemed altogether impossibly difficult."

  "If you say all this is feasible, my dear Prudence,” Gerard said, “it is as good as accomplished. How you shall work this miracle, I do not know, but I have every confidence in you."

  "How kind you are, Gerard."

  They seemed more interested in one another than in making plans for the entertainment of Gerard's guests. Though she felt pleased they took such pleasure in each other's company, it did not bode well for the Party.

  "If you would summon Rodgers,” Prudence said, “we will begin our preparations."

  When Rodgers came to her, Prudence described the activities suggested by Justine and related Gerard's offer to make his servants available to help with any and all of the necessary work. “Do you understand what we require, Rodgers?"

  "Perfectly, madam, your explanation is eminently clear. As always."

  "Excellent. I shall therefore leave the matter entirely in your capable hands."

  With a slight though deferential bow, Rodgers left the room.

  Gerard looked from the empty doorway to Prudence. “And this Rodgers of yours will perform the required miracle?” When she nodded, he shook his head in wonderment.

  So this was the way the gentry were able to survive and prosper. At this moment, throughout the length and breadth of England, counterparts of Rodgers were assuring the smooth functioning of the town houses of the wealthy, managing their country estates and overseeing their vast landholdings. Justine felt it was a stratagem she must always have vaguely suspected; it was a truth she would remember.

  She came from her reverie to hear Gerard urging Prudence and herself to join him in an hour's time for an early “country” dinner.

  "Afterwards, my dear Prudence,” he said with the hesitancy of a shy young man asking the belle of the ball to favor him with a dance, “I have a surprise for you. And for you as well, Miss Riggs."

  When they finished eating, Gerard eagerly escorted his two guests to the library where he seated them in front of a table holding three objects covered with green velvet cloths. Carefully lifting the first of the cloths, he said with pride, “Behold."

  Puzzled, Justine stared at a c
andleholder containing a tall yellow candle whose exposed wick was shielded by a green shade.

  "This,” Gerard told them with a mixture of pride and diffidence, “is one of my latest inventions, a candle shade. As you see, the shade is attached to the candle by this metal loop so as the candle burns and melts the shade lowers itself."

  "How ingenious!” Prudence exclaimed. “I never would have believed it possible."

  Gerard smiled. “What other men view as difficulties, I see as opportunities,” he said as he stepped to one side so he stood behind the second cloaked object. “Here,” he told them as he whisked away the cloth to reveal a rounded metal post whose top had been painted a bright orange, “is my model of an improved bollard. You both have undoubtedly seen the black bollards placed at the four corners of the intersections of busy London streets to prevent carriages from mounting the walkways. My bollard is distinctive because of its color. My experiments have demonstrated that this particular shade of orange is much more visible than the black which is customarily used."

  "Wonderful,” Prudence said. “Yours is a distinct improvement over any bollard I have ever seen."

  "Thank you, my dear Prudence.” He removed the cloth from the third and final display of the fruit of his creative imagination.

  "Miss Riggs, what would you say we have here?"

  "A duck,” she told him, pleasantly surprised by the decoy's life-like appearance, “a blue-winged teal."

  "Exactly,” Gerard said, evidently surprised in turn by her knowledge of waterfowl. Taking a key from the pocket of his coat, he inserted it beneath the wing of the duck. “I have been toiling on this creation for the past six months,” he said as he began turning the key, “and still the result is less than satisfactory."

  Removing the key, Gerard stepped back from the table. The duck—constructed, Justine realized, of metal—emitted a whirring sound as both wings slowly rose and then fell, rose and then fell once more. The whirring continued as the duck lurched up onto its short legs, waddled toward them, hesitated, and, with a plaintive screech, collapsed sideways to lay unmoving on the table.

  Prudence clapped her hands in appreciation. Justine smiled uncertainly. Gerard shook his head ruefully.

  "Soon,” he promised them, “I expect to create a mechanical duck so real in its behavior that no one will be able to decide whether it is alive or not."

  "Have you attempted to sell any of your inventions?” Justine asked.

  Gerard gave her a scornful look. “You would have me enter the marketplace? You suggest that a gentleman should engage in trade? Certainly not. I invent for my own amusement, not for the enrichment of some merchant."

  "Quite right. Oh, Gerard.” Prudence sighed. “I only wish I possessed but one-fifth of your genius."

  Gerard beamed with pleasure.

  Much later, as Justine and Prudence climbed the curving stairway to their chambers, Justine said, “I admit Gerard is clever, but his inventions are rather impractical. Are they not?"

  "Of course they are,” Prudence agreed. “As a young man, Gerard was always impractical. Fortunately for him, he entered his more mature years without what my mother always described as the greatest burden an elderly man or woman can be forced to carry."

  "And that is?"

  "An empty purse. Gerard's purse has always been full to overflowing."

  Justine smiled and nodded.

  "I gather,” Prudence went on, “you considered my praise for his inventions overly enthusiastic."

  "A wee bit,” Justine admitted.

  Prudence paused at the top of the stairs. “If I have learned anything at all in my sixty-three years, it is that we women must always remember one important fact—men are like children and we should treat them as such. They thrive on praise, the more extravagant the better; rebukes of any sort tend to destroy what little self-confidence they possess. When a man asks me for my opinion about some supposedly marvelous feat of his, he seeks my favorable opinion. To give him my honest opinion would be decidedly bad form."

  Justine considered her friend's words. “Yet men must recognize insincerity when they hear it,” she protested mildly.

  "Oh me, oh my, how blissfully ignorant of life you seem at times. As I said, men are akin to children. When we entertain children with tales of fairies and elves and Saint Nicholas, they may very well realize that these are mere fables yet they bring themselves to believe us because they have such a monstrous need to believe. Men will accept as sincere whatever confirms their high opinion of themselves."

  "But surely not all men are so vain."

  "No, not all. If you gathered one hundred gentlemen at random, perhaps the rule would apply to only ninety-six or ninety-seven.” Prudence started toward her bed chamber only to hesitate. “No matter how much it goes against your grain, you must school yourself to defer to men. If you wish to avoid awkward situations, you must learn to listen to their notions, no matter how hare-brained they may be, and agree with them. Most importantly, Justine, you must never again challenge a man as you did by racing Lord Devon in the park."

  The memory of the race still had the power to cause Justine to sigh ruefully. Not because she had accepted the challenge, but because she had neglected to question her mount's pedigree.

  "But I wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “if I could ever respect such a man as you describe."

  "You have the habit, Justine, of butting me too many times. The alternative to following my suggestions is plain—you will be doomed to the life of a spinster.” Prudence nodded emphatically, bade Justine goodnight, and walked away along the corridor only to look back when she reached the door to her bed chamber. “And, if you believe Lord Devon is an exception to what I say, you are fated to suffer a rude awakening."

  Before Justine could collect enough of her wits to reply, Prudence shut the door of her bed chamber.

  * * * *

  The guests began arriving late the following morning. Shortly before five in the afternoon, the party set off in a caravan of carriages to picnic in the park a short distance from the Manor.

  On arriving at the glade, they found Rodgers and the Kinsdale servants standing guard over food and wine tastefully arranged on Holland cloths spread over the grass. The young people sat on folded blankets, the older guests, as well as the fastidious Lord Alton, on chairs. Justine, seated beside John Willoughby and half-listening to his amiable prattle, denied to herself that she was sorely disappointed by Lord Devon's failure to attend the Eclipse Party. She was, or so she told herself, content to listen to John—who was, after all, quite charming in his way—as she watched the other guests.

  Lord Alton, bored and unhappy, took every possible occasion to declare all picnics uncivilized abominations, sat by himself, from time to time raising his quizzing glass to stare balefully at anyone courageous enough to address a remark to him.

  Their host, the bewigged and perspiring Gerard Kinsdale, hurried about fetching choice morsels to tempt Prudence's appetite. To Justine's surprise, she had yet to hear Prudence complain about the danger to her health posed by this excursion into the wilderness.

  Stewart Ogden was regaling an unenthusiastic cluster of young people with a rambling anecdote about his walking tour in the Lake Country in the ‘90's. Emeline, sitting at his side, nodded and smiled as she listened, but Justine had the impression she had heard the story many times before.

  Emeline had a kind heart, much kinder than her own. Justine set herself the goal of emulating her friend.

  Mademoiselle Gauthier, garbed in a flowing red and green gypsy costume, was telling the fortune of a Miss Violet Holme, an amiable though shy young lady whose father, an admiral, happened to be a distant relative of the Willoughbys. Justine hoped she and Violet might have the chance to become better acquainted.

  As they finished eating, Rodgers approached Prudence and whispered in her ear. Prudence, in turn, spoke a few words to Gerard who stood, raised one hand aloft and cleared his throat several times to ask for quiet.<
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  "The targets for the archery competition are in place in the east meadow."

  As the guests walked along a shaded path on their way to the meadow, Prudence left Gerard's side to wait for Justine. “I hope you took what I told you yesterday to heart,” she said. “You must do nothing to wound a man's pride. And,” she added with emphasis, “Mr. Willoughby, I am informed, considers himself an excellent marksman with bow and arrow."

  Justine nodded, but all she said was, “I remember your advice, Prudence."

  Arriving at the site of the contest, they found two targets, each with five alternating white and black concentric circles, placed in the meadow some fifty paces distant.

  After consulting briefly with Rodgers, Gerard announced, “Each archer will be permitted two practice shots followed by six shots for score."

  Eight of the guests had entered the competition, three of the ladies and five of the men.

  "The ladies have the honor of shooting first,” Gerard told them. “Miss Willoughby?"

  Emeline walked uncertainly to the post marking the shooting station, decided not to take any practice shots, notched an arrow and drew her bow. Her arrows waffled erratically on their way to the target, first to the right and then to the left.

  "Two hits,” Gerard declared after she shot her last arrow, “for twelve points.” A hit in the center circle counted 9, the others 7, 5, 3, and 1, a scoring system introduced by the Prince Regent, a devotee of the sport, many years before when he was the Prince of Wales.

  Justine followed Emeline. Her father had taught her to use a bow and arrow, but two years had passed since she had practiced and the bow felt heavy and awkward in her hands. She sighted at the crotch of a tree far beyond the target, knowing her arrow would arc downward on its long flight, and released her first practice arrow, watching it fly high and to the right. Resighting lower on the same tree, she shot again and saw her arrow strike the top of the target's outer circle.

  She decided that if John Willoughby was an expert archer, as Prudence had said he was, he had little to fear from her. No harm would ensue, therefore, if she did her best. Making slight adjustments before each shot, she released her six arrows in rapid succession.