Springtime Pleasures

by Sandra Schwab

  “Hmm,” Charlie said. “Tricky things, triplets.”

  Isabella’s face fell a little. “Yes. Yes, you are right. Not suitable for a first performance.”

  “No.”

  “No.” Isabella took a deep breath. “What then do you think of the sonata in C major where the right hand starts with bllum-dam-dam-dam bllum-dam-dam-dam, and the left hand goes yabadaba yabadaba yabadaba yabadaba? It is quite lovely, and it is one of my favourites.”

  Charlie gave her a smile. “Well then. You have made your choice, haven’t you?”

  “It seems that I have.” With a relieved laugh, Isabella held out her hands to Charlie. “Dear Charlie, please promise me that you’ll turn the pages for me? With you at my side, I think I can do anything.” Her smile turned slightly misty as she pressed Charlie’s fingers. “I am so glad that we have met and become friends!”

  ~*~

  What to Mrs Burnell was a small, private gathering turned out to be a well sized party with nearly forty guests present. They had all assembled in the drawing room, where a fortepiano stood in one corner of the room, while the rest of the space was occupied by groups of chairs and sofas, all of them covered with bright, canary yellow fabric. Amidst the green silk wall hangings of the parlour, the seating arrangements looked like ever so many giant daffodils.

  The guest list was eclectic enough to please Aunt Dolmore and Cousin Caroline—until the door opened and Lord and Lady Holland were announced. At that, Aunt Dolmore’s face turned an interesting shade of red brick.

  “Oh dear,” Charlie whispered. “Whatever is the matter now?”

  At her side, Isabella gave a nervous chuckle. “Have you never heard of the notorious Lady Holland? She is a divorcée.”

  Charlie raised a brow.

  “I know. It is most shocking. My father will throw a fit when he finds out that Aunt Burnell is on speaking terms with Lady Holland. Look, there is Mr Luttrell, the famous wit, and Mr Smith. Oh, Charlie…” She turned a woebegone face towards her friend. “With such a sophisticated set of people present, I don’t think I can meet my aunt’s wishes and play the fortepiano. What if they don’t like it? What if they are very critical? I believe I shall die if one of the gentlemen utters some kind of witticism—”

  “Nonsense,” Charlie said briskly and patted Isabella’s hand. “If anybody should be critical of you, you will throw your teacup at their head.” She grinned. “Provided, of course, that you beat me to it.”

  Isabella broke into surprised laughter, her eyes sparkling with merriment. “It’s so good to have you with me,” she finally said, pressing her friend’s hand.

  In the course of the evening, Charlie found herself seated next to Chanderley’s aunt on one of the shockingly yellow sofas. Charlie, secretly pleased with herself that she had contrived to manoeuvre herself into this position, had little idea that Mrs Burnell had done exactly the same thing, for she wished to look over this girl her niece and nephew had evidently become attached to.

  Blithely unaware that she was being checked out and not at all intimidated by the fearsome fan, Charlie addressed the older woman, “I say, ma’am, you probably find this a most shocking imposition—and indeed, you must tell me if it is; I am so bad with these things—but is it true that you have travelled all around the world?”

  Mrs Burnell gave one of her curious, cackling laughs. “Not quite the whole world, alas.”

  “Oh, how famous for you!” Charlie beamed at her. “Have you travelled to Greece? I have heard they have houses with blue roofs there which seems rather fantastic—though, of course,” she quickly amended, “in Italy they have churches striped like… like… what do you call those animals? Ah, I know! Zebras. Have you ever seen a real, living zebra?”

  Mrs Burnell chuckled. “Will it make you very envious when I say that I have?”

  “Oh, it will make me turn all green with envy, I assure you.” Charlie sparkled, then sighed. “I would love to go to the Royal Menagerie at the Tower—or even Pidcock’s Museum, though I don’t know whether they have zebras there. But my aunt…” She leaned forward to whisper, “My aunt believes that close proximity to exotic animals constitutes a serious hazard to one’s health. So we haven’t visited any of the menageries.” With another sigh, she straightened and pushed her spectacles up her nose. “It is very sad. So yes, I do envy you the zebras—and not just that! You must have travelled through Africa. Have you been to Egypt, too?”

  “Indeed, I have.”

  “Then have you seen the Sphinx? Is it as elegant as it appears in the prints?”

  Mrs Burnell smiled her strangely crooked smile. “Most elegant, even if parts of its nose are missing and the poor thing is still mostly buried in the sand. Not much to see except for the head and the ridge of its spine.”

  “It sounds most wonderful!” In her eagerness, Charlie leaned towards the older woman. “I have read that there is currently an excavation of the Sphinx underway. Isn’t it marvellous? After centuries and centuries, the body will finally emerge again in all its splendour!”

  At her candour, the other woman cackled once again. “Miss Stanton, I believe you are a romantic at heart. I must own, the Sphinx is a most impressive creature, yet what impressed me even more was to climb up the Great Pyramid and see the whole land stretched before me in all its glory.”

  Charlie’s eyes widened. “You have stood on the Great Pyramid?” she whispered reverently. Then, with a laugh, she clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is too famous! I have never met anybody before who has stood on a pyramid!”

  Mrs Burnell gave her an indulgent smile. “Are you fond of travelling yourself, child?”

  “I can think of nothing more thrilling,” Charlie confessed, “though perhaps things often turn out to be not quite as wonderful as we have expected them to be.”

  “They seldom do,” the older woman said gently.

  Charlie nodded vigorously. “Just like London. Would you believe that I once thought it the most wondrous thing to go to London? It is very nice,” she hastened to add, “and I do like the parties and the balls even though I am too tall.” She frowned, pausing for a moment. “Or perhaps the gentlemen are simply too short, whatever it is. I could live with that, I assure you, but the footmen!” On a sigh, she shook her head.

  “The footmen?” Mrs Burnell echoed, her brows raised.

  “Yes. In London, one cannot go out on one’s own, but is obliged to take one of them along. Truly, for the life of me I cannot see what for as they are not even armed!”

  “Armed?” Mrs Burnell’s brows climbed even higher.

  Charlie eyed her speculatively.

  Perhaps, having been out of the country for so long, Mrs Burnell didn’t yet know the extent of the moral depravity to be found in England. Confidently, Charlie leaned towards her. “On account of the highwaymen.” She sighed. “England seems to be so infested with such unsavoury persons. Why, already on our journey to London, our stagecoach was accosted by one of these gentlemen. And then it happened again in the Park, when I was out driving with your niece.” She shook her head. “I have never encountered any highwaymen in Scotland. Wild boars, yes. But highwaymen, no.” Charlie threw a sideways glance at Chanderley’s aunt. “I hope my mentioning of wild boars does not distress you.”

  Mrs Burnell’s lips twitched. “Not at all, I assure you.”

  “Ah, I am so relieved. It did shock your poor niece,” Charlie confessed. “Most distressingly so.” She looked to where Isabella and her brother sat talking, and her heart melted at the sight of both of them.

  “And… eh… what happened to the highwaymen?”

  “The highwaymen?” Charlie’s attention was brought back to Chanderley’s aunt, who regarded her blandly. Suddenly, Charlie grinned. “It must be owned that they were not very capable highwaymen. The first one was felled by Dr Johnson and the second fell off his horse when one of Isabella’s crutches hit him.”

  “A crutch.”

  “I threw it at him,�
� Charlie admitted. “It is all about getting one’s blow in first. Besides, men always seem to think that women are generally helpless creatures.”

  A shadow crossed Mrs Burnell’s face. “We very often are,” she said, almost absentmindedly.

  This, however, was a topic Charlie was well versed in. “That I know. Your niece—” She bit her lip and again looked at Chanderley and his sister. This time, he caught her eyes and raised his brows in silent question. When his gaze fell on his aunt sitting next to Charlie, his countenance darkened. With that impressive frown drawing his brows together, he stood abruptly, said something to his sister, and then strode purposefully across the room.

  Charlie turned back to his aunt and smiled. “I believe your nephew is about to interrupt us. No doubt he fears that I have committed another dreadful faux pas and have scandalised you most horribly. But I haven’t, have I?”

  The older woman’s features softened. “Indeed, you haven’t, my dear.” She patted Charlie’s knee.

  “Oh, I am relieved. My aunt keeps telling me that I have a propensity to shock people. Personally, I believe it is all because of London.”

  “Miss Stanton,” Chanderley said next to her, his voice deliciously stern.

  With a smile, Charlie looked up.

  “I am to remind you that you promised my sister to turn the pages for her at the fortepiano.”

  “That I did,” she agreed complacently, and rose from the sofa. “It was such a pleasure to talk to you, Mrs Burnell, and I do hope you will one day tell me more about your travels.” She took the gloved hand that was held out to her. “And we don’t need to be so helpless, you know,” she added softly. “That is what Miss Pinkerton taught us.”

  ~*~

  Griff was acutely aware that his aunt watched Charlie with eagle eyes as she made her way to Izzie. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tightness there.

  Abruptly, the Crocodile’s head swivelled around. “Why are you still standing there in this stupid fashion, Chanderley?” She poked her fan between his ribs. “Come and sit down. I detest having to crane my neck when I talk to people.”

  “Yes, aunt,” Griff muttered, wincing, and gingerly sat down on the place Charlie had vacated mere moments ago.

  Heck, his aunt was lethal with that damned fan! He still sported a few bruises from his encounters with that dratted thing at the Tollham ball. And the people she had invited! He was on good terms with the Holland House set, but if Lady Lymfort ever found out that her daughter had attended a party at which Lady Holland had been present, there would be hell to pay!

  Aunt Burnell had meanwhile turned her attention back on the two girls. Charlie was talking earnestly to Izzie, while she was wheeling her to the fortepiano. Once there, she took the music album Izzie had been clutching all evening and set it on the stand.

  “Ah,” Aunt Burnell said, and smiled one of her toothy crocodile smiles. “I have specifically desired Isabella to play for us this evening.”

  Griff smiled grimly. So that was the reason Izzie had been so nervous! How typical of the Crocodile! She so enjoyed making other people squirm. “If you did, ma’am, it was a cruel thing to do,” he gritted out. “You knew that as your godchild, my sister would feel obliged to comply with your wishes even though she is most uncomfortable in the company of strangers.”

  His aunt threw him a glittering glance. “You wish to cosset her because she sits in that chair? She is not a china doll, Chanderley, but a girl of flesh and blood. Look—” She inclined her head towards the fortepiano. “—Isabella is neither swooning nor wilting like a hothouse flower.”

  Charlie had positioned herself next to the instrument so she could easily read the music and turn the pages. She gave Izzie an encouraging nod.

  Griff could only see his sister from the back, but he clearly perceived her hands trembling as she raised them to the keyboard. The sight made him want to spring up and stride across the room to wrench her away from the instrument.

  His aunt put her hand on his arm and gripped it with surprising strength. “Don’t be such a dunderhead, Chanderley,” she said crisply. “A short performance is not going to harm Isabella. She will do splendidly; you will see.” In an undertone, she added, “I do hope she finds the fortepiano to her liking. I have been assured it is a very nice instrument.”

  Surprised, Griff looked at her. Did she mean to say that she had bought it specifically for his sister? Well, surely she couldn’t have, could she? Not Aunt Burnell, who seemed to find fault with everything and everybody!

  And then Izzie began to play.

  Trilling, jubilant music flowed from the piano, and around the room the conversations died down.

  “See?” Aunt Burnell said quietly, satisfaction ringing in her voice. “Your sister is strong enough.” A smile played around her mouth. “And she has chosen a very staunch supporter, too.”

  They watched as Izzie played and Charlie, at the slightest sign from her, dutifully turned the pages.

  When the last note had died away, the room erupted into applause. Izzie half-turned in her chair, blushing, but smiling, and the look on her face…

  Griff inhaled sharply.

  Charlie beamed at him and Aunt Burnell, before Izzie tugged at her hand and the two of them got into a whispered discussion.

  “A very peculiar young woman, Miss Stanton,” his aunt remarked. “Isabella seems to be much taken with her. Where did she meet the girl?”

  “She befriended her at the ball Mrs Featheringham gave a few weeks ago,” Griff answered, his eyes still trained on the two girls, particularly on the tall, slender one.

  As he watched, Charlie straightened, pushing her spectacles up her nose.

  Was it only a mere few weeks ago that he had first met her?

  “Ahh,” the ever-observant Crocodile murmured. “I see Isabella is not the only one who is much taken with Miss Stanton.”

  His head whipped around.

  Aunt Burnell observed him with smug satisfaction. “I quite like your Miss Stanton, if you must know.”

  At this surprising announcement, Griff nearly fell of the sofa. Surely he must have misheard!

  Yet in a way, it made sense that the Crocodile liked Charlie—after all, both women were misfits of sorts in London society.

  “Miss Stanton’s vibrant nature is very good for your sister,” she continued, “and for you, too, Chanderley.”

  Snorting, Griff shook his head and looked back to the fortepiano.

  That his aunt actually liked Charlie was ultimately not very heartening, for, in Griff’s experience, the earl and his sister never saw eye to eye in anything. Indeed, he had often suspected that she delighted in provoking Lord Lymfort at every turn. The earl certainly disapproved of her travels, and in the past had frequently pointed out to her how shocked her late husband would be at her behaviour.

  These days, Aunt Burnell never stayed in Town long, but seemed to prefer to travel to goodness knew where. In contrast to her, Griff didn’t have the luxury of escaping abroad.

  If he thought this an option…

  No, he needed the earl and the countess’s approval. The awareness how much he needed their approval burnt like acid in his stomach. He had done enough to make them miserable. Upon his honour, he could not disappoint them again.

  But, oh…

  His eyes were drawn to Charlie. Long, loose-limbed Charlie with her sweet, understated figure, and the ugly glasses, and the oh-so kissable mouth. Charlie, who had brought sunshine into his life, whose mad scrapes had made him angry and had made him laugh and had made him feel so alive…

  Dear, sweet Charlie, who had given him back the sister he had deemed lost forever.

  His heart clenched.

  At the fortepiano, the two girls seemed to have finally come to a decision. Izzie leafed through the album, nodded at Charlie, who had again taken up her position next to the instrument. Charlie rolled her eyes at Izzie, but, unperturbed, his sister started to play—a song, this time.
<
br />   And it was Charlie’s clear voice which filled the room.

  “O waly, waly up the bank,

  And waly, waly, down the brae,

  And waly, waly, yon burn-side,

  Where I and my Love wont to gae.”

  Isabella joined her for the chorus, and their voices rose and mingled.

  “O waly, waly, love is bonnie

  A little time when it is new;

  But it grows auld, an waxed cauld,

  And fades away like morning dew.”

  “A most peculiar young woman, indeed,” Aunt Burnell said.

  ~*~

  The Rt Hon the Earl of Lymfort to Mrs John Edward Burnell, by special messenger

  Dear sister,

  I trust that this letter finds you well. It has come to my attention that you have decided to stay in London for the remaining Season. Moreover, I have been told that by your own account, you visited foreign, barbarous places that are not commonly considered suitable for a lady of your standing. I therefore deem it necessary to remind you—yet again—of what you owe the name and honour of this family, lest you forget your station in life as you were so often wont to do in the past.

  Lymfort

  Chapter 12

  in which our hero comes to a decision

  Early the next morning, Griff went to see his cousin, whom he found at breakfast, wearing a green silk banyan with yellow and pink flowers over a rosy pink waistcoat.

  “Good Lord, Boo,” Griff exclaimed in lieu of greeting. “What are you wearing? Have you decided to join the company of Macaronis?”

  Boo looked up from his slice of toast and raised his brows. “I felt flamboyant this morning.” He waved to the butler hovering behind Griff. “Crowling, bring a cup and a plate for Lord Chanderley.—Now, do tell, what brings you here at this hour, Griff, old boy?”

  Too agitated to sit, Griff walked up and down the small breakfast parlour. “I need your advice, Boo. I have struggled—goodness knows how much I have struggled!”

  His cousin watched him, a piece of toast frozen halfway to his mouth.