Loving Lucy

by Lynne Connolly

  Then she turned and saw Frances. She was heavenly, and Lucy saw that any headgear she chose couldn’t help but enhance her beauty. She also saw the bonnet she wore wasn’t worthy of her. The raw edges of the silk lining showed in places, and the trim wasn’t well thought out. She stood up and went over, untying the ribbons of her own headgear.

  “Thank you, I’ll take that one. I’ll wear it now. Pack the other away, if you please.” The assistant went away with Lucy’s choice. Without a backward glance, she moved on to her new friend. She looked at the bonnet. “No,” she said decidedly.

  The proprietress looked at her in some surprise. Lucy met her gaze steadily and stared her down. “Yes ma’am,” the lady said and took the offending item away. Christina looked at Lucy curiously. “It wasn’t good enough for her,” Lucy said simply. “Frances is lovely, she deserves something better.”

  The woman came back with an entirely different confection. This had a brim tilted back on one side, to display the profile. The ribbons were a heavenly blue; the trim prettily concocted silk bluebells and forget-me-nots. She looked at Lucy first. “Much better,” she said and stepped back so the bonnet could be fitted.

  This looked totally enchanting. The quality was better, and it enhanced Frances’ loveliness, rather than the hat taking its cue from her. Lucy examined it critically. “Yes,” she said. Surprised at the sudden silence she turned round. “What do the rest of you think?”

  Frances’ sisters surged forward to compliment her, but it was noticeable that Frances looked at Lucy for confirmation. “I think you should take it,” Lucy said firmly. “And perhaps, if Madame could look out for some more creations which she thinks might suit Miss Frances..?”

  Mrs. Griffiths looked at her sharply. This was a trick used by the ton to get valuable discounts. The cost of a wardrobe for the Season could be considerable, and they weren’t above using such subterfuges to obtain a reduction in the price. Quantity could mean discounts, as could the promise to wear it in a public place and then let it be known who the modiste was. Lucy met her look with equanimity. “It would be a pleasure,” the lady said slowly. “And may I ask, if I may be so bold, who will be admiring such a creation?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Lucy replied, “But we are to see Lord Royston and Lord Wenlock at dinner tonight.” Seeing the hesitation in Mrs. Griffiths’ face she added; “the Earl of Royston?”

  Mrs. Griffiths still looked dubious. Lucy said; “I should add my name is Fiona Moore. I am his lordship’s cousin.”

  The lady’s face cleared, to be replaced by a look of gratification and complacency. “I would be delighted to look for such items,” she said. “For such a lovely lady.” She smiled at Frances in a maternal way. If the hat was to be seen by the ton, and if Frances was to mention where she got it, she could afford to give it away. Lucy knew this too and smiled sweetly when the lady discreetly mentioned the price, much less than Frances had expected.

  The transaction was completed and they left the shop. Silence held until the third establishment on, then the sisters burst into loud laughter. “How on earth did you have the nerve?” Frances asked her.

  “Perhaps being a Moore counts for something,” Lucy said. “But I only have the name, not the riches and the social position. We have to use what we have.”

  “I suppose it never occurred to us before,” said Christina. “We can afford the prices, so we pay them. Do you think people play such tricks on Papa?”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Lucy calmly.

  She felt much better in this new bonnet. It seemed to protect her somehow. When she turned her head away her face was completely hidden. And she was pleased she could bring some benefit to her new friends. She guessed that Mrs. Griffiths together with most of her compatriots would play such tricks on customers who didn’t call regularly or produce a distinguished visiting card. She had been brought up to expect discounts and concessions merely because of who she was. Suddenly she realised what an offensive attitude this could seem to people, and she was ashamed, but at the same time she was pleased she could bring a benefit to someone she was in a fair way to liking very much.

  Half way up Oxford Street she hoped they would decide to turn back, but the indefatigable sisters continued until Frances complained she was thirsty. “Oh my dear, let’s go to the tea-rooms.” said Christina. “I’ve been dying to try them out.”

  Lucy looked questioningly at her. This innovation hadn’t reached her yet, but she had read about it. A place where ladies could drink tea and chat in perfect propriety struck her as long overdue, but it was unlikely her mother would have consented to allow her daughter to visit a place where she might be in danger of meeting Ordinary People. Many innkeepers put a room aside for the exclusive use of ladies, but this idea was new, an establishment meant for ladies to drink tea and converse. Many would say it was long overdue, after all, coffee houses had been a part of London for a hundred and fifty years now, but only men were welcome in them.

  Lucy felt strangely reticent as they went inside the tea-room. The sign above the door said “Tea Garden,” but inside it was a room, albeit with arrangements of fresh flowers in abundance.

  The place was full, but with a sigh of relief, Lucy realised she couldn’t see anyone she knew. The room was divided into smaller alcoves; seats set facing each other either side of a table. Lucy sat silently and watched.

  Christina ordered tea and bread and butter and it was brought to them very quickly. The room was full, filled with the light, feminine chatter more familiar in the drawing rooms of London. Lucy enjoyed her tea, and wondered why this wasn’t introduced before. So much more convenient than going to one’s home or someone else’s to take tea. Of course, this made for longer shopping expeditions, which made it better for the shopkeepers. Most offered refreshments as a matter of course, but the pressure to buy was there, and that in itself could be tiring. Lucy much preferred to drink her tea in peace and listen to the chatter going on around her.

  They talked, as most people she knew did, of the latest on-dits and scandal. She was perturbed to find she was amongst them. The girls talked more freely without the restraining presence of their mother, and when Lucy heard her name, she listened avidly. “It seems the Lady Lucy Moore has gone into the country to prepare for her wedding,” said Janet. “That’s Royston’s cousin, you know.”

  “Who’s she marrying?” Frances asked. “You did tell me but I’ve forgotten.”

  “Sir Geoffrey Sanders,” said Christina. “You never remember anything, Frances.” but she was smiling when she said it. “We saw him at the opera that time, you remember. Tall and dark. No wonder she jumped at his offer.”

  There was a general laugh, but Lucy smiled wanly instead of joining in. Christina noticed and turned to her. “Have you met either of them, Fiona?”

  Lucy thought rapidly. This was supposed to be her first visit to London, so she could safely deny it. “No, I have not,” she said. “The only reason I’ve met Lord Royston is that he used to come and visit us. He has been so kind. And so have you.” she added, for Christina had turned, heavy eyebrow raised, to exchange a glance with Janet. They smiled at her in a knowing way. “You like his lordship?” Janet said.

  “Why yes, he is very kind.” she replied. She wasn’t to know that her voice had lowered slightly when she spoke of him, and her eyes had softened in their expression. “But of course,” she added quickly, “I couldn’t think of him like that. My name might be Moore but we come from a very inferior branch of the family. He’s the head of our branch.”

  “I’ve never been able to work it out,” said Christina. “There seem to be Moores everywhere in the aristocracy and gentry. Are you all related?”

  “I believe so, in one way or another,” said Lucy. “But the relationship is very distant, a bit like my relationship to you.”

  They thought about it for a moment. “Was Lady Jane Moore related to you in some way?”

  “The poor lady who was executed? Yes, in a wa
y,” Lucy said. “My Mama has an engraving of her in her powder closet.” That was true enough. Since Lady Royston saw herself as a martyr, an image of a long dead ancestor who had been one was perfect for her. The fact that she was a Moore by marriage alone didn’t stop her.

  Christina smiled at her. “So you’re as much on the edge as we are?”

  “More so,” said Lucy, smiling. “As we live in Scotland.” She marvelled at her ability to lie so convincingly and at the same time, felt sorry for the necessity of doing so. She liked the Carmichaels, and the hospitality they offered her was worthy of more than lies.

  They got up and left the tea-garden, continuing on their way up Oxford Street. The girls seemed indefatigable, explaining to Lucy that this would be good exercise for her. They promised to take her to one of the parks London boasted another day. Lucy prayed it wouldn’t be Hyde Park. Most of her London acquaintances chose to exercise there, and it would be a miracle if she went unnoticed.

  They got nearer to the Bond Street end and Lucy’s heart began to quail inside her. It was nearly noon and there would be many people in the shopping area. But there were also other people.

  Looking at Bond Street through the eyes of Fiona Moore, Lucy saw it anew. Not only were there carriages with crests emblazoned on their sides drawn by fine bloodstock, there were other, unmarked vehicles, public hackney carriages and more modest private ones. The inevitable street vendors stood shouting and singing their wares, and other people, not just the fashionable haut monde thronged the thoroughfare.

  Lucy couldn’t imagine why she had never noticed this before. Her feet were throbbing gently within their little kid boots, and she dearly longed to sit down, but her companions seemed as fresh as when they started out. Lucy supposed she would have to get used to long walks on hard pavements.

  “They all come here,” said Christina to her. She linked her arm with Lucy’s. “Look - Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. She’s one of the Patronesses of Almack’s you know.”

  Lucy knew only too well. She had helped her mother entertain the lady last week. Quailing, she lowered her head, hoped the bonnet would be enough of a disguise, but inside she knew her masquerade was over. There was no possibility she wouldn’t be recognised.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lucy let the brim of her new bonnet cast its shadow over her face. To her horror Mrs. Drummond-Burrell was heading straight for them, her steely eyes fixed on an imaginary spot in front of her. She would be bound to notice Lucy, and then it would all have been for nothing. Oh how could she bear it, the shame, what could she say? Frantically she began to think of a lie that would cover this contingency. The best she could think of was to pretend to be Fiona Moore and hope that Mrs. Drummond-Burrell would accept a remarkable family likeness.

  She glanced up and could hardly believe her eyes. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, her gaze fixed, walked straight past them. Lucy thought she had stared directly at her for a brief moment, but couldn’t be sure. She felt so dazed it overwhelmed her for a moment and she put one hand up to her forehead. “Are you all right my dear?” asked Christina solicitously.

  “Perfectly,” Lucy assured her, looked at her and beamed with such a joyful expression Christina stared back at her in surprise. The relief was wonderful, and in a moment Lucy realised the reason for her narrow escape.

  She wasn’t dressed in the kind of garments Mrs. Drummond-Burrell would expect. Her mind must be so attuned to the fashionable world she didn’t notice anyone outside it. The signs she would be expecting - the modish gowns, the fine materials, the maid and liveried footman in attendance - none of them were present, therefore Lucy was nothing to do with her.

  “Will we go to Almack’s?” she asked disingenuous in her naïveté.

  Janet heard her and laughed. “Us? No, I’m sorry, Fiona, we’re not Almack’s material. You only get vouchers at the discretion of the Patronesses, and their rules are very strict. It’s the centre of the Marriage Market, the crème de la crème.”

  “What are the criteria? Surely you are good enough?” Lucy sincerely believed this. She knew their wealth would be approved of. “We’re Trade,” said Christina shortly. She smiled at Lucy. “Don’t worry - it’s very boring, and we have our own places to go which are much more fun.”

  Lucy could believe it. The only point of Almack’s was to see and be seen. The rooms could be draughty, the refreshments offered paltry and inadequate. Only fashion kept the place current. There must be more amusing places than that for girls who nobody wanted to see and assess as the future Brides of England.

  They sauntered up the street. Lucy let Frances and Janet go ahead of them, protecting her from recognition. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell wasn’t the only fashionable face on the street, and others might be more observant

  “Where does Lord Royston live?” she asked. “I mean I know he lives in Grosvenor Square, but whereabouts is that?”

  “Not far from here,” her new friend told her. “But we can’t call on him. He lives alone, with no female to act as his hostess.”

  “Oh, I see.” She paused. “Is he interested in anyone?”

  “He’s never shown any preference,” said Janet carelessly, but when Lucy looked at her face, she fancied she saw a light blush on her features. She guessed that Janet blushed easily; her face had the florid cast which suggested it. Christina had gone quiet, but the sudden silence between them was broken when Millicent said; “Oh look. There it is.”

  When Lucy followed Millicent’s gaze she saw a shop she couldn’t recall seeing there before. Thinking back she couldn’t recall what had been there but now, in the middle of one of the most fashionable shopping streets in London was a shop with “Carmichael’s” blazoned above the door.

  Everything looked right. The shop was new, as evidenced by the smell of new paint as they crossed the road to reach it. Christina threw the crossing sweeper a coin and they went inside.

  They were recognised instantly. A young man came forward, bowed and said; “the Misses Carmichael. How pleasant to see you all.”

  “We had to come and see.” said Christina. “I told Papa we might.” She turned triumphantly to Lucy. “There. Isn’t this a wonderful surprise?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said faintly, wondering how Philip felt about it.

  “Mr. Carmichael will be delighted to see you,” said the assistant.

  Lucy looked around the shop and realised this was a place she might well give her patronage to, in the usual way of things. Likely looking young men were quietly and efficiently attending to several customers, though thank goodness, no one she knew. She thought it unlikely anyone who hadn’t met her would recognise her in this get-up, so she felt relatively safe compared to how she had felt outside in the street.

  The young man led the group of ladies to a door at the back of the shop. Lucy realised she was about to see something she had never seen before; what goes on behind the orderly exterior.

  If she had expected chaos, she was to be disappointed. Behind the orderly shop with its bolts of shining silk and crisp cottons was an orderly office. A large double sided desk stood in the centre of a small room which looked out on to a bleak area, piled high with boxes and odds and ends of wood, probably left over from fitting out the shop. The two Mr. Carmichaels sat at either side, and both stood when they saw who had come in.

  “Why what a pleasant surprise.” Mr. Carmichael said, and came forward.

  “We knew you and Rodney would be here today, Papa, so we thought we’d come and see you.”

  The room was now full of feminine chatter and cries, very full indeed. Lucy noted with passing regret there weren’t enough chairs for everyone but she was forgetting the Carmichael’s hospitality. After the younger Mr. Carmichael had taken her hand in greeting he took her to his own chair at the desk and bade her sit down in it. Lucy couldn’t repress the sigh of contentment. “Why I believe you have quite worn Miss Moore out.” he said to his sisters. Christina looked at her in concern. “I had no idea. You should have said, we c
ould easily have stopped.”

  “No really,” Lucy protested, blushing. “It’s quite all right, there’s no need to be worried. It will do me good.” she smiled at them and Christina smiled back. She had a wide, generous mouth so her smile was particularly friendly. Janet’s eyes fined into slits when she smiled, the gleaming life only just showing through. Lucy thought how pretty she was, even with the pock marks, but it could have been her good nature showing through. Frances and Millicent were different shades of adorable.

  Rodney Carmichael clapped his hands together. “Tea.” he said.

  Lucy realised she would welcome another cup and smiled up at the one who had suggested it. He beamed down at her, his round face illuminated by his smile. But there was something more definite about his features, something Lucy warmed to.

  The orders were given, and from a room beyond came a pot of tea and several cups inelegantly stacked together, borne by a superior personage who was introduced at the principal salesman here. “I repose every confidence in Mr. Cheveny,” Mr. Carmichael explained. “I cannot always be here, so I need someone I can rely on completely.” Unsmilingly Mr. Cheveny bowed, and left the room to rejoin his minions in the shop.

  “I think he wanted to see our interesting new guest,” he added.

  Lucy felt alarmed. The last thing she wanted to do was evoke interest in anyone, especially in this part of the world. It was extremely unlikely that anyone would hear of the Carmichael’s new guest, and even more unlikely they would link this with the disappearance of Lady Lucy Moore, but Lucy felt unease all the same. More than anything else she dreaded being taken home and harangued by her dominating mother. She might give in out of exhaustion, give up everything she had found in a moment’s desperation. Her mother had always succeeded in having her will obeyed. Lucy had never gone against it before, and it terrified her when she thought of it.