The Incomparable Countess

by Mary Nichols

  ‘He is in no great hurry,’ the letter concluded. ‘You may do it at your convenience.’

  At any other time she would have been gratified by the commission, but when was she ever going to find time to do it? The orphanage, her commitment to Lady Lavinia and her classes took up almost every spare moment. She would have written to turn down the offer but for that last sentence and the fact that the new orphanage was going to cost a great deal more than had originally been budgeted for. Since the war, everything had gone up in price, including bread, which was the staple diet of the children in their care. She would find time for it, after she had completed the portrait of Lady Lavinia Stanmore.

  By the time the Duke brought Lavinia for her next lesson, the portrait was beginning to take shape and, while Lavinia did an exercise she had set her, Frances continued with it, but it was not easy, for the laughter which had occasioned the first sketch was more often absent than present and trying to paint what was not there was very difficult.

  ‘Lavinia, do smile,’ she said. ‘Why are you so Friday-faced?’

  ‘Oh, Papa is the outside of enough. I only wanted to be taken to the park in the phaeton, but he said he did not have the time; he was up in the boughs about it, as if I had asked for something quite out of the way. I cannot think what it is that engages him so much. He is never at home, except to convey me here and leave me.’

  ‘He did say he had business to conduct,’ Frances said mildly. ‘And it is to be supposed that is important.’

  ‘I do not believe it is. Mr Chapman, his man of business, called the other day when he was out and I received him…’

  ‘Should you have done that? Surely the butler could have told him the Duke was from home?’

  ‘So he could, but Papa had said just before he went out that he was going to visit his man of business and that was obviously a whisker and I was curious.’

  ‘Surely Mr Chapman did not reveal your father’s business to you?’

  ‘No, of course not, but he confirmed that he had not seen Papa in a se’nnight and had been waiting on him. Papa is up to something havey-cavey, I am certain of it. Either that or he is seeing a lady, though if he is, he spends an unconscionable time with her. I have heard him come home at breakfast time on more than one occasion.’

  ‘Lavinia, I am quite sure you should not be telling me this.’

  ‘But who am I to tell? I see no one else but servants and they are as close as wax…’

  ‘Lavinia! I beg you say no more. I do not want to know.’

  ‘Are you not also curious?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said firmly. She did not want to hear about Marcus’s nocturnal adventures, certainly not from the lips of his daughter. ‘Now, tell me what you thought of the Royal Academy.’

  ‘I thought there was little to admire.’

  ‘How can you say so? They are the best works of art to be collected together for public scrutiny.’

  ‘Those at Loscoe Court are better.’

  ‘Very likely. I own there are private collections that are its equal, but they are not open to the public.’

  ‘Grandpapa was an avid collector and Papa has added to it, though I do not think he has any of yours.’

  ‘That does not surprise me. I am not of the first water.’ She would have been astonished if the late Duchess would have allowed any of her work to be hung at Loscoe Court, even if they were considered to be good enough to hang beside the Great Masters, which she was sure they were not.

  ‘You have seen the collection?’

  ‘No, sadly I have not.’

  ‘Would you like to?’

  Lavinia had somehow twisted the conversation so that she was the one doing the quizzing and Frances was beginning to feel uncomfortable. ‘One day, perhaps.’

  ‘You know, my lady, I was wrong about you. You are not all you seem.’

  ‘Do you say so?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know what it is, but you are not my idea of a Society lady. You are so down to earth, unafraid to depict unpleasantness. I was looking at those sketches you did of those poor children. Do they really live that?’

  ‘Yes, they do, some far worse.’

  ‘I never knew that. I never knew such conditions existed…’

  ‘No reason why you should have. They are usually hidden away in stews and alleys where respectable people never go. They do not want to know about them, it pricks their consciences…’

  ‘But you think their consciences should be pricked.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Like Hogarth did?’

  ‘In a way, yes.’

  ‘Then why do you not have an exhibition? You could ask Papa to sponsor it…’

  ‘Oh, I do not think so, Lavinia. The Duke has a great many other calls on his purse and he has already been very generous to the orphanage.’

  ‘But he admires your work, I know he does, or he would not ask you to paint me.’

  ‘And he expects results, Lavinia, so shall we go on with our work?’

  Lavinia fell silent, but the scowl had returned to her face and after a few minutes, she began to fidget. ‘Lavinia,’ Frances said in exasperation, ‘do sit still. I cannot paint you if you are continually moving about.’

  ‘I cannot sit still. I have had no exercise today at all—not even a ride, if you can call it riding when one is obliged to walk one’s horse like some new mounted toddler. He would not take me out in the phaeton and there was no one to accompany me on a walk, not that there is anywhere interesting to go to even if there were.’

  ‘Oh, dear, you are in the dismals.’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you be, in my shoes? Papa promised me when we came to London he would take me out and about and all he has done is bring me here and take me to the Royal Academy, and he would not have done that if you had not suggested it.’

  ‘You had tea with Lady Willoughby.’

  ‘So I did—how could I have forgot such a diverting afternoon?’ she said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Oh, I am bored beyond redemption.’

  ‘Put on your pelisse and bonnet,’ Frances said, suddenly making up her mind. ‘We will ride in the park in my tilbury.’

  She did not pause to ask herself what the Duke might say to that or she might have reconsidered; she was simply thinking of Lavinia and how she would treat her if she were her own daughter. It was the work of a few minutes to order up the carriage, pack up the paints and don outdoor clothes and only a few minutes more had passed before they were bowling along Brook Street towards Brook Gate where they turned into the park and joined the parade.

  Here were carriages of every description, from stately barouches, old-fashioned landaulets, curricles, tilburys, gigs, park phaetons and those of the high-perch variety such as the Duke of Loscoe owned, all being driven in stately convoy. Frances joined them and the horses were soon neatly trotting along the carriageway. They pulled up every now and again to speak to acquaintances of the Countess, passing the time of day and comparing notes about the various entertainments they meant to attend and who had invited whom to what.

  In the course of this, Frances presented Lavinia to a great many people who had not yet met her. As soon as the ladies discovered who she was, they preened themselves like peacocks and asked her to convey their respects to the Duke, promising to send him invitations to this, that and the other.

  ‘Toadeaters, all of them,’ Lavinia said, when they reached the end of the carriageway and were turning round to go back. ‘As if Papa would be the least interested in their little entertainments.’

  ‘How can you tell? Besides, some of them are very influential, especially Lady Jersey,’ Frances explained after they had parted and were proceeding on their way again. ‘If she is seen to stop and speak to you, then you are in favour, and more invitations are like to come your way.’

  ‘You are gammoning me.’

  ‘Not at all. Her ladyship is one of the committee of ladies who hold sway over the weekly balls held at Almack’s Assembly Rooms. A vo
ucher for one of those is almost as much prized as an invitation to one of the Queen’s drawing rooms. Next year, when you have your come-out, you will undoubtedly receive one.’

  ‘And if she decides she does not like you?’

  ‘Then beware, for you are about to be ostracised by all.’

  Lavinia laughed. ‘Then you must hold yourself in readiness for a veritable barrage of invitations, my lady, for everyone stopped for you. Except that strange woman in the huge black bonnet; you could hardly see her face.’

  ‘I think it may have been the bonnet at fault,’ Frances said mildly. ‘For how she can see anything not immediately in front of her I cannot imagine.’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Yes, I am acquainted with her. Her name is Mrs Harcourt.’

  ‘Goodness, I did not recognise her. She was always coming to Loscoe Court and she and Mama would sit together in Mama’s day room and coze away for hours. I think she thought Papa might ask her to take Mama’s place after she died. She came to stay after the funeral and began toadying up to him, telling him that she understood just how he felt and she would help him to get over his loss by having everything in the house exactly as he liked it. He was very rude to her. He told her if she truly was sincere in wanting to make everything as he liked it, she would take herself off and leave him alone.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘She climbed on to her high ropes and said he was ungrateful and a great many other things I did not understand. He simply agreed with everything she said in the politest fashion and then had Clayton, the butler, show her the door.’

  ‘Lavinia, I am quite sure you should not be telling me this.’

  ‘Then who am I to tell?’

  ‘Why, no one. People twist things, you know, they make a Canterbury tale from the smallest thing and puff it up until it becomes a prodigious scandal.’

  ‘Would you do that?’

  ‘No, of course I would not, but others might.’ The girl was making her feel uneasy again and something had to be done to bring the confidences to an end. She pulled the horses to a stop. ‘I collect you have often driven your papa’s curricle in the country.’

  ‘Yes. I am considered a nonpareil with the ribbons.’

  ‘Lavinia, how absurd you are! Nonpareil, indeed!’

  ‘Oh, well, I would be if I were a man.’ She laughed. ‘Papa has said I am every bit as good as Duncan and easier on the horses than he is. I should like, above everything, to drive his high-perch phaeton, but he will not allow it.’

  ‘I should just think not!’ She paused. ‘Would you like to drive now?’

  ‘May I? Oh, I should just think I would!’

  ‘Then you may, but go easy on the horses. And do not try to overtake anyone.’

  She relinquished the reins to a bright-eyed Lavinia and the next minute the horses were trotting sedately along the carriageway, back to the entrance. Frances would have taken over at the gate but Lavinia was doing so well, she allowed her to tool them all the way back to Corringham House, where a groom came forward to take the equipage back to the stables. Frances began to think it might be the beginning of a better understanding between them. All the girl needed was a little attention and affection.

  Even before Creeley opened the door, Frances knew she had a visitor; her stepdaughter’s carriage was waiting in the street, the horses being led up and down by her coachman. ‘Lady Harnham is here with the children, my lady,’ the butler told her. ‘I did not think you would be long and I was sure you would want them to wait. I have shown them into the small salon.’

  ‘You did right, Creeley,’ She took off her hat and handed it to him. ‘Come, Lavinia, I will introduce you to my stepdaughter and her children.’ She led the way past the main reception rooms at the front of the house and down a corridor to a smaller room that looked out on the back garden.

  As soon as she opened the door, she was besieged. Two little pairs of plump legs ran helter-skelter to meet her and two pairs of equally plump arms hugged her knees, nearly bowling her over. She knelt to put her arms about the children. ‘Oh, my little loves, it is so good to see you are well.’

  ‘I’s been sick, Gra’ma,’ Beth said.

  ‘So’s I,’ Andrew chimed in.

  ‘But you are better now, I see.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Andrew said solemnly. ‘In plump currant.’

  Frances laughed. ‘Where did you learn that phrase?’

  ‘Oh, his papa said it to him and he’s been repeating it ever since,’ his fond mama said. ‘I told Richard he would have to be more careful of his tongue, Andrew seems to pick up everything so quickly nowadays.’

  Frances stood up and took the children by the hand. ‘Now, you two imps, there is someone here I should like you to meet.’ She turned to Lavinia, who was smiling for the first time that morning. ‘Lady Lavinia, may I present my step-grandchildren. This is Andrew. He has recently had his fourth birthday, so he is becoming quite the little gentleman.’ And to Andrew, ‘Make your bow, love.’

  He had obviously been taught his manners for he stood to attention and, laying his arm across his waist, bowed towards Lavinia.

  ‘And this little scrap is Elizabeth, known to all as Beth.’

  ‘Beth,’ her mother said. ‘Show Lady Lavinia how well you curtsy.’

  The tiny child made an attempt at it, but promptly sat on her bottom. Lavinia scooped her up before either her mother or Frances could reach her. ‘Oh, what a clever puss you are. I am Vinny. Can you say that?’

  ‘Course she can,’ Andrew said. ‘Vinny is easy to say. Go on, Beth, you say it.’

  ‘You are big enough to address Lady Lavinia properly, Andrew,’ his mother said.

  ‘Oh, do not let him be stiff with me, Lady Harnham,’ Lavinia said. ‘I prefer Vinny when I am with friends.’ She turned to Andrew. ‘Shall you and I take Beth into the garden and see what we can find?’

  The boy slipped his hand in hers and she took the children away, watched by the two ladies who had been so taken by surprise, they could find nothing to say.

  ‘Well, the tattlers are way off the mark with her,’ Augusta said at last. ‘I had heard she was surly and downpin all the time, but she is a delightful young lady.’

  ‘You would say that of anyone who praised your little darlings, Gussie.’

  ‘Not if I thought they were doing it to curry favour with me, but she cannot be at all concerned what I might think of her and she seemed to take to the children so naturally.’

  ‘Perhaps there is hope for her yet, though if you had seen her earlier this afternoon…’ She stopped herself and went on. ‘No, I must not decry the girl; she has yet to learn to conduct herself that is all.’

  ‘Why did you take on the commission?’

  Frances laughed. ‘It was a challenge, I suppose, and you know me, I have never learned to say no when appealed to.’

  They were interrupted by Creeley throwing open the door and announcing the Duke of Loscoe. ‘Come for his daughter,’ Frances murmured.

  He strode into the room, swept off his hat and bowed. ‘Ladies, your obedient.’

  ‘Your Grace,’ they said in unison, bending slightly at the knee.

  ‘Creeley,’ Frances said, as that worthy retreated. ‘Ask for refreshments to be sent, if you please.’ Then, to Marcus, ‘Please be seated, my lord.’

  ‘Where is Lavinia?’ he asked, looking about him as he threw up the skirt of his buff coat and folded his length into one of her chairs.

  ‘She has taken the children into the garden,’ Augusta told him, leaving Frances to examine her hands in her lap and note that her fingers were covered in paint. What would he think of her? She tried to hide them in the folds of her gown, but imagined she saw a smile flit across his face.

  ‘We had, in any case, finished our lesson,’ she said primly.

  ‘And have you examined her on our visit to the Royal Academy, my lady?’

  ‘We discussed it, certainly.’

  A footman
arrived with the tea tray and put an end to the questions, to Frances’s immense relief. She did not want to have to relay the discussion she had had with Lavinia; he would undoubtedly think her wanting and might ring a peal over his daughter. If she were ever to make headway with Lavinia, she had to do it in her own way by gaining her trust.

  Lavinia returned with the children while Frances was pouring the tea. Her muslin gown was grubby, her hands dirty and her hair was tangled.

  ‘Vinny, what have you been doing?’ Marcus asked, as the children ran to their mother. ‘You look as if you have fallen into the shrubbery.’

  ‘We found a rabbit,’ Andrew said, so eager to tell his story he forgot to be shy with the new arrival. ‘A poor little rabbit not in plump currant at all.’

  ‘It has a broken leg,’ Lavinia said, as the adults fought to hide their smiles. ‘I expect it was chased into the garden by a dog. I heard one yapping only a few minutes before.’

  ‘Vinny put a stick on it, so, and bound it up with her handkerchief,’ the boy went on, winding an imaginary bandage about his own arm. ‘Then Simpson put it in a box.’

  ‘Did he, love?’ Frances asked. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘Who is Simpson?’ the Duke demanded.

  ‘The gardener, your Grace,’ Frances answered.

  ‘We left it in the potting shed until it is time to go home,’ Lavinia said. ‘I promised the children I would look after it until it mends…’

  ‘No, Vinny,’ Marcus said with a heavy sigh. ‘We are not having sick animals at Stanmore House. It is bad enough having a menagerie at Loscoe Court, but in town…’

  ‘But, Papa…’

  ‘No, Vinny.’ He turned to Frances. ‘I am afraid my daughter thinks she can cure every injured and sick animal she comes across. At Loscoe Court she has dogs, cats, rabbits, owls, blackbirds, foxes and heaven knows what else.’

  ‘You cannot let them die,’ Lavinia said.

  ‘That is nature’s way,’ he said. ‘They become well again or they die and it is not for humans to interfere.’

  ‘Why not? Just because you have no feelings—’

  ‘Lavinia!’ he commanded. ‘That is enough.’