“Perhaps they will not, but you are gently born and a female. Your relatives may not want the shame of people knowing that they abandoned you and left you to make your own way in the world.”
“How would anyone find out?”
“These things rarely remain secret for long.” Mr. Soames smiled a faint smile. “Society gossip is a force to be reckoned with and General Sir Walter Ridgeway is a respected man who has never had a breath of scandal attached to his name. Such a consideration may well make him decide to accept you into his family.”
“It’s an excellent suggestion,” Mrs. Beckwith said catching Lucy’s eye and frowning her down.
“Papa would never have agreed to that,” Lucy protested, defying her disapproval. “He never forgave them for rejecting my mother.”
“Your father is not here, so his opinion cannot be considered at this moment of need,” Mrs. Beckwith replied sharply. “If you are to be provided for, then we must at least ask them. Major Ridgeway told me that his father spent some time in India and I believe he returned a wealthy man. He bought an extensive estate in County Cork in Ireland. If Lucy’s grandparents choose to interest themselves in her, they are in an excellent position to sponsor her come out. I remember reading about Lady Mary Ridgeway when she presented her daughters many years ago. She was an earl’s daughter and many said that she married beneath her. If they do not recognise Lucy, we are little the worse for trying.”
“Ireland. I’ve never been there. What would I do in Ireland?” Lucy cried.
“Whatever your grandparents ask you to do. They don’t know you or anything about how you conduct yourself. Let us be thankful for that.” Mrs. Beckwith turned to the solicitor. “Go ahead, Mr Soames. Write to General and Lady Mary Ridgeway. In the meanwhile, I will conjure my brains to think of other solutions, in the event they refuse to acknowledge Lucy.”
Chapter Two
In the hackney coach driving home, Lucy slammed her fists into the cushions and cried out,
“Why, oh why did Papa die now when he could so easily have waited until next year? I might have made my debut and even been married by then. It’s just not fair!”
“Lucy for Heaven’s sake control yourself. Your dear Papa didn’t intend to die. Remember, he gave his life for his country and he’s a hero.”
“He didn’t consider me, did he? Why should he care more about his country than his only daughter?”
Mrs. Beckwith stared at the tear-stained face in front of her. Despite her annoyance with her charge’s behaviour, she could not help admitting to a certain sympathy with Lucy’s point of view. It was extremely tiresome of Charles to get himself killed at just that precise moment in time. However, she said,
“Don’t let people hear you talking like that. Anyone would say you didn’t care a jot for your father!”
“How could I care for him?” Lucy demanded. “I hardly knew him. He was always in camp whether he was in England or in Spain. I’ve never spent as much as a sennight in his company since Mama died.”
Mrs. Beckwith held the opinion that Major Ridgeway, once he placed Lucy’s future into her hands, avoided the child because she was far too like her mother. Yet she felt it her duty to try to correct this point of view before the outspoken Lucy expressed it in public. She reposed little confidence in her charge’s discretion and had no wish to encourage a scandal which would reflect badly on herself and her daughters.
“You must remember him before that,” she protested. “He doted on your Mama.”
“I was only seven when she died! He was tall with a big moustache which tickled. One day he danced with me around the drawing room and another time he took me to feed the ducks in Hyde Park. That’s all I can remember about him, except that he used to scare me a little, he was so big.”
Mrs Beckwith clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You must pretend to mourn for your father, nevertheless. Not to do so would be frowned upon by everyone. Let me tell you now that I won’t tolerate any more of your scenes in public or in my house. Until your grandparents write or we decide on another future for you, you must conduct yourself with propriety and discretion. I won’t keep a hoyden living under my roof any longer.”
“You’ve never minded before.”
“Hold your tongue! I’ve put up with you for your father’s sake and for the memory of your poor mother. You’re no longer a child but a young lady, and from now on, I expect you to behave like one. Do you understand me?”
Mrs. Beckwith expected her unruly ward to answer her back but, for once, Lucy did not. Although she gripped her hands tight, she nodded and did not say anything more. Her brain was churning with the shocking changes in her circumstances. Everything had altered last Thursday when Mrs. Beckwith received the letter telling them that her father was dead. She experienced a vague sadness at the news, but she had been truthful when she said she did not really remember him and could not grieve. He had been absent so often that he was only a shadowy figure in her mind. It never occurred to her that his death would affect her life so drastically. Even Becky, who seemed fond of her before, had changed. She had spoken to her so sharply. Certainly she used to scold when Lucy transgressed, but not with the sharp note in her voice that Lucy heard today. It was as if she no longer cared. At that moment, Lucy realised how much she relied upon her cousin to grant her wishes and to smooth away any difficulties. Now Mrs. Beckwith sounded as if she almost hated her. Lucy gave an involuntary sniff.
At the same moment, Mrs. Beckwith was experiencing a pang of compunction. She did not really regret her words; certainly the girl needed correcting and perhaps now, she would listen and obey. Her behaviour when thwarted had always been the outside of enough. It might easily get her into serious trouble in future when no one would be there to prevent her making an exhibition of herself. Mrs. Beckwith was uneasily aware that she must shoulder much of the blame for not having trained her better when she was younger. Lucy would be alone either in Ireland or elsewhere among total strangers. She has to learn to exercise self restraint, Mrs. Beckwith thought. There are times when I like her very much, other times when she can be so naughty. I’m afraid for her now but perhaps today was not the best time to make my point after she has received such a terrible shock. Mrs. Beckwith spoke into the ringing silence, picking a topic she knew would interest Lucy and divert her mind for a short time.
“By the bye, I must contrive proper mourning clothes for you which fit you better than that dress you have on. It is still too short, even though Sally has tried to fit it to you properly.”
Lucy turned to look at her. She hated the prickly black frock which made her fair skin look sallow. “Why can’t I wear my own dresses with black gloves instead of this hateful old thing?” she asked. The dress was one of her cousin’s, hurriedly cobbled to her for this meeting with her father’s solicitor. What a figure of fun she must cut in it! Mrs. Beckwith was both shorter and stouter than Lucy and the maid had only one evening to make the alterations. Lucy just hoped that nobody she knew had seen her during this journey. How they would laugh at her appearance.
“No indeed you can’t. Neither black gloves nor a black sash are sufficient to mark the death of a parent. You must dress in black for a few months at least. We will see what we can do, now that there is more time. Sally can alter my black gabardine, which would be more respectable for you to wear when you go to Miss Sinclair’s to say your goodbyes.”
“Must I really leave school?” Lucy groaned.
“Didn’t you understand me when I said that the money Mr. Soames gave me will only cover your clothing and board until January? Paying your school fees in addition is out of the question, I’m afraid.”
“Can’t I stay at school until Christmas at least, Becky? Please?” Lucy asked, a look of horror on her face. “I’ll miss the concert and all the parties we planned.”
“No, it’s not to be thought of. I shall ask Miss Sinclair to refund some of your fees, if you leave now, although I doubt she will. She’s not
a very generous woman. There won’t be any money left over for costumes or Christmas gifts or vails to the servants. You would not want to receive presents from your friends when you can’t reciprocate, would you? If you leave now, neither of us will be embarrassed.” Mrs. Beckwith replied rather more sharply than she intended. Lucy heard the tone and for once, instead of arguing, she said no more.
“What happened?” Miss Caroline Beckwith followed Lucy into the bedroom they shared. Miss Eleanor trailed after her sister, determined not to be left out of anything. The two older girls often tried to keep secrets, claiming that she was too young to understand.
“Leave me alone, Caro, please!” Lucy dropped nervelessly onto her bed and buried her face in the pillows.
“Why are you so upset?” Caroline persisted. Lucy moaned and burrowed deeper. She was desperate to cry but did not want Caroline, of all people, to see her. Caroline waited a few moments longer, but, when Lucy did not speak, she realised that she would get no answers from her cousin at the moment. She would try again later. Caroline departed, sweeping Eleanor out of the room in front of her. As soon as the door shut behind them, Lucy cried until she ran out of tears. Never in her life had she felt so lonely, not since her mother died when she was almost too young to remember. A certain loving sweetness and a pale face with lots of dark hair was all she recalled. Remembering back to the terrible day when she died, Lucy felt her father’s strong arms holding her as she wept. She had not thought of that moment for years but she remembered it now. Perhaps her father loved her after all, though he never showed any of his feelings to her again. Now he was gone too and she would not be able to see him ever again.
Becky had taken her into her home as a motherless child and been kind in her own way. Unfortunately, they did not understand each other and often quarrelled about silly things. Becky would call Lucy disobedient and reckless. Lucy thought that Becky was dull and far too concerned with propriety, especially as she grew older but at least she had seemed interested.
Lucy glanced around her room. It was quite large, with the two white beds and the press that held their clothes. A little bit shabby, the curtains and covers were frayed and the rug was threadbare in patches. Yet it was theirs, hers and Caroline’s. It was where they had exchanged their secrets, made their plans and played their games. It would soon be hers no longer. She would have to leave and go somewhere else, a place where she had never been before. All at once Lucy started to cry again.
Exhausted at last, she lay back on the bed and indulged in a useless fit of might-have-beens. She had dreamed such wonderful dreams, here in this room. Was it only the day before yesterday that her life had changed so dramatically and made them impossible? A glittering London Season, followed by a splendid marriage to a handsome man who was wildly in love with her. This daydream had occupied her time when she was falling asleep or when she should have been attending to her lessons. And why shouldn’t it have happened? She thought resentfully. She was pretty enough, since the current fashion was for dark beauties rather than fair ones, so she had been confident of making a hit. Already she had been paid several delicious compliments and attracted admiration from the brothers of her school friends. Other young men, met at the small select gatherings that had been permitted to a girl who was not yet out, had said they hoped to meet her again. The awful misery came over her again.
For the last month, preparations have been going forward for her debut and Caroline’s on the exacting instructions of Lady Westmore. They had been measured by a fashionable modiste for all the outfits they would need: day dresses, walking dresses, riding habits and ball gowns. There had been visits to milliners and glove makers, riding lessons and dance drills. All that would change now, Lucy thought wretchedly. Mrs. Beckwith would cancel her clothes or have them altered to fit Caroline if they were almost ready. Lucy sighed. There had been a particular ball gown in a delicate shade of pale pink which she knew would look ravishing on her. She had gone to the first fitting on the day before she learned of her father’s death. The dressmaker would not even have completed the toile yet, never mind cutting out the dress itself. No doubt, the material would easily be sold to some other debutante, it was so lovely. Another tear fell.
At least Caroline won’t have my amber walking dress, Lucy thought. Thank heavens it was delivered yesterday. Caroline’s too plump and Eleanor’s too little. So I may be able to keep it, I hope. Perhaps it is the last fashionable dress I will ever have.
Oh what is going to happen to me? Becky only just manages to hold household as it is. If I liked a trinket, I bought it, because my father had enough money. If Caroline wanted the same thing, Becky would almost always say no. How horrid I was to have crowed over her because I thought I was rich and she was poor. Now she will laugh at me. Lucy sat upright on the bed. No she won’t, Caroline never crows over anyone. That’s why people like her better than me. I called her silly but she has more friends than I do. Now I wish I was her. No I don’t, I wish I were dead!
Lucy must have slept for a short while for when she awoke another thought was in her mind. If I don't have a Season and get married, what can I do? Panic sharpened her wits until a notion came to her. Perhaps Miss Simpson will allow me to stay at school as one of her assistants. Even as she considered it, Lucy knew that this was unlikely. She had never been a model pupil, far too fond of the sound of her own voice, as her teachers had often told her. I’ll have to ask in any case, she decided. I would hate it, but what else is there for someone like me?
Lucy spent the next hour imagining all the things she could do if she was forced to make her own way in the world. There were not many. Being an assistant teacher at a school would be dreadful, but she had helped with the young children before as all the senior girls did at times. Mrs. Beckwith had never trained Lucy or any of her cousins in housekeeping skills.
“Time enough for learning about running a house when you are engaged to be married,” Mrs. Beckwith told them. “Perhaps you might even attend to me then, since you don’t do so now.”
I can’t be a housekeeper or a servant. Lucy shuddered at the thought. I might be a companion to an old lady, I suppose, but Caroline’s great aunt Eliza with her smelly overfed pug is disgusting. If they are all like that, I’d run away, she despaired. I could go on the stage. Even as she thought it, Lucy knew it was impossible. Only a certain kind of person went on the stage. She continued to think hard. I love hats, I can sew and I have natural good taste, even Becky says so. Perhaps I might train as a milliner. That’s possible, I suppose. I wonder what Becky would say to that idea.
Lucy dried her eyes, tidied her hair and went downstairs to tell her cousin about her new resolution. If she expected praise for finding her own way out of her difficulties, she was disappointed.
“Pooh!” Mrs. Beckwith said, repressing a smile. “Someone like Madame Rosalie won’t train you. You must have windmills in your head to think so. It takes many years to learn to make even the simplest hat and the pay while you are training is poor. Apprentices get up early and work hard. You have never been known to do that in all your life. As for being a governess, you can ask if you want to, but Miss Simpson does not comment favourably on your Italian or your water colours and as for your pianoforte! Indeed I don’t know why I bothered to send you to school for all the good it has done you!”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy hung her head, knowing full well the reproof was valid. She had not tried hard at any of those things. Why should she? She would never need to use any of them again once she had left school. “Perhaps, I might teach very young children to read and write and figure,” she said in a small voice.
“Perhaps you could, but there are many other girls with far more accomplishments than you and...” Mrs Beckwith trailed off.
“Yes?”
“I suppose I shouldn’t say this to you, since it will make you even more vain than you are already. Yet a glance in your mirror would tell you it’s the truth whether I do so or not. You're far too pretty to b
e a governess. That is why I had such hopes for your success this Season. Any mothers with growing sons would be extremely imprudent to bring you into their homes...”
“But I would never dream of doing anything wrong if they employed me,” Lucy gasped and looked horrified.
“You might not, but any young man with eyes in his head couldn’t help but be attracted to you. In your present circumstances, no sensible mother would take that chance. Without a dowry, only a wealthy man can afford to marry you. No, the best thing for us to do is to wait until Mr. Soames has received an answer from your grandparents. If they don't wish to acknowledge you, that is the time to decide about your future. In the meanwhile, we must call on Miss Simpson, tell her what has happened and withdraw you from the school.”
“Must we?” Lucy asked trying to keep her voice steady. Quite a number of the girls would only be too pleased to find out she was leaving.
“Of course we must. You will want to say goodbye to your friends and collect your possessions. Mind you behave with propriety. If Miss Simpson forgives the fees for the rest of the term, we may even have the money to pay for your mourning clothes.”
The following day, Lucy and Mrs Beckwith called on Miss Simpson. Lucy was wearing Mrs Beckwith’s gabardine dress which fitted her better than the one she wore to the solicitor’s. She still thought she looked a fright and squirmed at the idea of presenting herself in such a garb. It proved impossible to ignore the glances of the other girls as she entered the school and she could feel herself blushing with mortification. She kept a firm hold on her temper though, determined to do nothing whatever that might jeopardise her chances of finding employment.
Mrs. Beckwith found it difficult to explain to the austere Miss Simpson the reason for her visit and her dilemma. Withdrawing Lucy several months earlier than planned was something unprecedented and the reason was embarrassing.
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