Jane and the Sins of Society

by Sarah Waldock

  “I’ve the passion for the common man, Jane-girl, being one, and I know that I should protect my people, and I do my best for all those who work for us. And if it were a question of just representing the people of a constituency, well, doubtless I’d make a reasonable job of it. But it isn’t just that. It’s about getting to know the right people, trading favours, laying on the lard to the correct high-ups and sneaking around doing deals. And I’m not cut out for it.”

  “I’m not displeased by that,” said Jane.

  It was necessary to have new gowns of course; if they were to pass in society, Jane must be fashionable, even if she did not need as many new gowns as a young girl embarking on her first Season. Waists were back up, after having descended slightly, and puffed sleeves were de rigeur, whether as short sleeves or topping an Andalusian sleeve, a sleeve with a puff at the top, and straight to the wrist, and the puff might, or might not be slashed to show a contrasting colour lining it. Ball gowns showed a lot of shoulder; indeed Jane regarded the January offering from Ackermann’s Repository with some disfavour, as the sleeves were so far off the shoulder she feared that she would feel that they were about to head south, and that she would want to keep hitching them up. Day dress, conversely, had high necks and small ruffs, more after the fashion of the Jacobean than copying the excesses of the Elizabethan age. The bottoms of gowns were heavily trimmed with flounces, ruches of net, with vandyked patterns and fabric flowers. The ball gown of February’s issue of the Repository declared that the trim was net roses and velvet leaves between two rings of ruching, which disappointed Jane, who felt that the illustration looked more like heavy embroidery or light quilting. An attractive effect might be made using Italian quilting, however, and the weight it would give would mean that the gown would sway pleasingly when dancing. Many of her gowns could be refurbished and made over, which was good. The addition of some extra trim, and the replacing of the sleeves would do very well. Feathers were still in fashion, and she would need to replace hers, as they were looking rather sad, for the most part. It was a shame as feathers did not come cheap, but that was life. At least the regent had decreed half-mourning for the Queen from January, a generous gesture over the death of his mother the previous November, especially in the light of the traitor’s attack, which could have been more of a tragedy.

  Jane did intend to have a new bonnet to display her new feathers; the French invention known, confusingly, as British Leghorn, which used fine cotton plaits made to resemble the straw of Leghorn. It would be delightfully cool in summer. She would also have new gloves, slippers and stockings. A Season, even before the main Season was underway, would be hard on such things. A few shawls would cheer the mourning up, as touches of colour were permitted.

  Jane had to admit that a bit of shopping would be exciting; although the money voted to Caleb did not match the amount of rent they were losing for having to occupy the town house, but they had at least put some rent away over the previous couple of years. It was unfortunate but a royal command was a royal command. It was a shame that a supposed honour led to having to perform more favours which would leave them out of pocket. Since the Prince of Wales was said to be continually in debt and never paid his bills, presumably he did not consider that other people would find this situation at all uncomfortable.

  Sometimes, Jane could feel a twinge of sympathy for France’s revolutionaries or Cromwell’s men.

  Chapter 3

  Jane was sure to buy her millinery from Mamzelle Claudette’s shop. Mamzelle Claudette, also known as Hepzibah Smith, had taken under her wing the pathetic waif, Dolly. That individual was rapidly becoming insistent on being known as Miss Dorothy, who had been Frank Churchill’s mistress.[3] Jane had feared that the town house would bring back unpleasant memories, but if she was honest with herself, she had to concentrate to even remember what Frank had looked like. Dolly, or Dorothy, rather, she corrected herself, might still have romantic visions of him; but then, they had not been together long enough for Frank to show Dolly his less pleasant side, or from what the young girl had let slip, had couched his wishes to dominate as games. Well, Dorothy was doing well, a partner in the business for having displayed a good eye and shrewd business sense, and she had half a dozen French emigrée women under her. Jane found it highly amusing that the waif from London’s east end was ordering about the daughter of a comte, amongst others.

  Dorothy herself came forward for a customer.

  “Ah, madame, bonjour, comment ca va?” she asked, with a beautiful Parisian accent. She was a good mimic. She spoiled it by going pale and positively squawking, “Lawks, Mrs. Jane, Ma’am!”

  Jane suffered herself to be thoroughly embraced.

  “You are doing well, Dorothy,” she said.

  “Gawd help us, Mrs. Jane ... I mean, how delightful to see you, are you spending much time in town?” Dorothy switched effortlessly to a refined accent.

  Jane laughed and embraced her back.

  “I’m here for a month or two; please feel free to drop in to drink tea,” she said.

  “I’ll do that, Mrs. Jane, I have a taste for it now, better nor blue ruin,” said Dorothy, seriously. “Better nor the coffee them Frenchies maudle their innards wiv as well ... my goodness, seeing you brought back the old language so to speak, I must be careful.”

  “It doesn’t trouble me, but it is a habit probably best forgotten,” agreed Jane. “I thought I’d let you talk me into spending too much on hats for the year.”

  “Well, now, Mrs. Jane .... you’re Milady now, aren’t you? I read it in the paper, and I thought, that’s Mrs. Jane that is, and Mr. Armitage, Sir Caleb I should say.”

  “Oh, I may be Lady Armitage, but I answer to Jane to old friends,” said Jane. “I’m thinking of a bonnet in this French mock Leghorn.”

  “Just what I was about to recommend!” said Dorothy, enthusiastically. “Eh bien, Suzelle, les nouveaux chapeaux s’il vous plait, toute-de- suite!”

  “Oui, Mademoiselle Dorothée,” a girl went running.

  “Thick as slurry but willing,” said Dorothy. Jane worked on not raising an eyebrow; but then, Dorothy might not be the sharpest knife in the box but she had her native shrewdness.

  “You have learned French well and quickly,” she said.

  “Had to,” sighed Dorothy. “Hep and I took on a few Frenchies and all they could manage was to gabble in their own tongue. Hep knows a bit, and we tossed for who was going to hire a French master, and I lost. But seemingly I pick things up quickly, so it paid off, and we have eight of them now, half of them actual aristos, and oh! Mrs. Jane, Jane I mean, I can see why their own people threw them out, they don’t even try to learn a Christian language.”

  “Ah, well, your facility with French will earn you business,” said Jane. “English aristos like to think they are fluent in French as well as English, which many are not, but they like the cachet, the high class, of a French milliner or modiste, and that you can speak English to them, and order around the workforce in their own tongue will impress them mightily. I hope I may send more business your way now the Captain and I have to move in higher circles.”

  “Yes, that’s why I shall be doing you a good deal on your hats, as well as because I owe you everything,” said Dorothy.

  Jane eventually left with an order for four hats, two more than she had intended. Fashion had moved away from the face-concealing coal-scuttle hats, to her relief, and Dorothy had picked some very fetching ones. The black mock-Leghorn would do nicely while they were still in mourning, and with contrasting trim when they were out of it. It was currently trimmed with three ostrich feathers, which graduated in colour from black to white, each feather itself graduated, and the whole caught with silver ribbons and rosettes. It had more trim than Jane would normally have chosen, but Dorothy had demonstrated that it was not too much. Jane had ordered clusters of feathers, one set dyed from purple through blue to turquoise, a very dashing mix of colours, and one set in coqueliquot in the anticipation of the en
ding of mourning. She might also wear the toque de Ninon as evening wear, trimmed as it was with a jet butterfly pin as its nod to mourning. Dorothy had not been able to talk her into any extremes with this, it was of modest size and the feathers that cascaded down the side were plain white ones, matching the toque. A bonnet of lavender gros de Naples would do for half-mourning and because Jane liked lavender in any case, and at the moment it was trimmed with black and lead-coloured feathers. Finally was a cap, for day wear, with a modest caul, trimmed with silk roses. Well, Caleb was happy for her to have new bonnets, being of the opinion that it was good for a woman’s sense of self-worth. Oh! How lucky she was to have Caleb, and how difficult it was not to be glad that Frank had got himself murdered.

  On returning home, Jane was presented, by Fowler, with correspondence.

  “Came by a finical type of footman, wafting clouds of flour from his ridiculous wig. Either his employer is too skinny to pay the tax on powder, or he has an allowance for it, and is cheating his boss.” Fowler considered. “On the whole, I’m inclined to the latter, as the rest of his appearance was quite impeccable.”

  “Well, if it is from someone I like or respect, I shall warn the party concerned,” said Jane, calmly. “Ah, it is from Lady Lieven; I will most certainly apprise her of the solecism. Dishonesty in one thing can be an indicator of a generally dishonest nature. Any decent footman with a sudden burden on him, like a sick relative, would surely apply to his immediate superior for relief.”

  “He wouldn’t have got it off of Mr. Frankie,” said Fowler, dryly. “But if I’d had a problem, I’d have come to you.”

  “Lady Lieven is not known as a skinflint,” said Jane. “And the appearance of her footmen reflect on the whole Russian Embassy.”

  The letter included both vouchers for Almack’s, apparently paid for by someone else, and a short letter inviting Sir Caleb and his lady to an informal musicale, to meet people in pleasant surroundings.

  “I am asking my guests to perform if possible, perhaps you can let me know in advance what you might be able to manage,” Lady Lieven had written.

  Jane wrote her reply.

  “Dear Lady Lieven,

  Many thanks for the vouchers for Almack’s and for the invitation, Sir Caleb and I look forward to attending your musical soirée.

  Sir Caleb begs to be excused from performing, being more accomplished at a military kind of percussion with musket than with any instrument. I am tolerably well accomplished with the pianoforte, however, and will be happy to volunteer to accompany any singer, being able to play music sight unseen. For myself I would prefer to play Bach, but will be guided by any choice of yours if that does not suit the mood of the evening.

  I should point out that I have every reason to suppose that the footman who delivered your letter may be using flour rather than hair powder. There may be a good and rational explanation for this but I felt I should mention it so you may undertake your own investigations.

  Your ob’t servant,

  Jane, Lady Armitage.”

  “I like the way you describe my musical endeavours, or lack of them,” said Caleb. “I can beat the advance and the retreat, but any drummer-boy would laugh at me. I’ve had to do it when our drummer was shot, and me as the Colonel’s batman being something of a supernumerary, as you might say, being there to stand around to defend his person and stop any damned Frenchman from spoiling the set of his coat.”

  “And standing around is of course how you got wounded at Corunna,” said Jane with a straight face.

  “No, that was following Sir Henry into the breach, and discovering that the Frogs aren’t egalitarian at all in who they shoot at, preferring people who look like officers. I copped a bullet in the knee and another in the thigh, dragging him back out again.”

  “It took a lot of courage, and I’m not surprised Sir Henry Wilton awarded you a field commission,” said Jane, softly. “It also took a lot of courage not to believe the sawbones that you would not walk again.”

  “It’s more stubbornness than courage,” said Caleb. “The knee is stiff, still, but it works, which is the main thing, and the other wound healed well enough. I wager if you’d have the healing of me though, I’d be as good as new.”

  “Oh, I am no miracle worker,” said Jane. “Just stubborn about my patients. A trait we share.”

  Caleb smiled at her, remembering that when he had first known her, he had known no better than to grin. At least his teeth were good, but it must have been a shock. And yet she had still loved him, despite his many social solecisms!

  Jane did not relish the idea of going out, but one could not really refuse such an invitation. It had been sunny when she went out to the milliner’s shop, but the wind had been rising, driving before it clouds whose leaden bottoms looked to be weighted down with snow or sleet, dodging jeeringly in front of the cold, but welcome, sun. They might have hot bricks, however, and Jackie would see to having the same reheated at the house Lady Lieven was using, as it was not an official Embassy function.

  She dressed carefully, with Ella’s aid, in a gown of Esterhazy grey silk, trimmed with three rows of lead-grey ruched net with two ruches of black net between, and a bodice beaded with jet and silver beads. Over it she wore a lead grey gros de Naples spencer with Spanish sleeves slashed with silver tissue. The ensemble was completed with a grey lace veil after the Spanish fashion, held with the hair ornaments from the diamond parure. It might as well make itself useful.

  “You look good enough to eat, Jane-girl,” said Caleb.

  “You look moderately splendid yourself,” said Jane. Caleb was dressed in black satin small clothes with black silk stockings, and a coat of black superfine made by Scott. His waistcoat was silver grey, of the same silk as Jane’s gown. He had stuck to the Mathematical for his cravat, since a musicale was not a sufficient occasion to feel the need to torture himself into the Trone d’Amour. It was, however, more formal than the Four in Hand which Caleb had recently discovered as a fast, easy knot to tie.

  “Ah, Sir Caleb, Lady Armitage! Delighted to see you,” said Lady Lieven. “Permit me to introduce you to Lady Caroline Hale; and of course, her friend, Mrs. Fielding, and Miss Fielding too.”

  “Delighted,” said Jane, curtseying just as she ought, as Caleb bowed.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Lady Caroline. “Are you newly in Town?”

  “To be honest, we are happier in the country,” said Jane. “We were in London for a while after our marriage, but we had family bereavements, and did not socialise. We have a nice little place in Essex, which we are very fond of.”

  “Indeed? I don’t know Essex,” said Lady Caroline. “I am from Devon, and my husband’s people from Wiltshire. Jane Fielding is a connexion of my husband, of course.”

  “Oh, what part of Wiltshire are you from? I know some people from Avebury,” said Jane. “Such a lovely part of the country, all those chalk hills and most inappropriate carvings as the local folk made in the chalk, must be quite embarrassing to live somewhere that overlooks such things.” She smiled brightly, blessing the example of dear Aunt Hetty that she might indulge in such bibble-babble.

  Mrs. Fielding gave an austere smile.

  “I prefer not to notice them,” she said. “The family comes from around Devizes. What is the name of these people you know?”

  “Pargeter,” said Jane, who had known a Miss Pargeter from Avebury, a young lady whose father had been a vicar, so it was unlikely that she would have moved in the same circles as Lady Caroline and any connexion she might legitimately be supposed to have.

  Mrs. Fielding shook her head.

  “I do not know the name,” she said.

  “Oh, it is of no consequence,” said Jane. It was of no consequence; it had been a tool to elicit information. “Are you enjoying town, Miss Fielding?” she addressed the younger woman. The girl was beautiful, there was no denying it, with golden locks which were dressed to tumble artlessly from a Greek filet, and had pro
bably taken hours to arrange. Her eyes were big, blue, and quite vacant of any kind of thought.

  “Oh, it is very busy,” said Miss Fielding. “And there are so many people, I am quite overwhelmed.”

  Mrs. Fielding laughed.

  “Silly puss, why there are hardly any people in Town yet,” she said. Miss Fielding cringed slightly. Jane felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor girl, who put her forcibly in mind of Dorothy when the girl had still been Dolly, a child in a world she did not understand. Dolly, however, took what life handed out and learned as she went. This young girl had an air of sweet helplessness which was entirely unfeigned and Jane strongly suspected that her understanding was severely limited.

  And that could, indeed, be the whole answer to the problem of why it seemed havey cavey to Lady Lieven; that this was a plot to get a girl of dubious intellect married as quickly as possible while she was still blooming with youth’s dewy freshness, to keep her protected in marriage.

  “Lady Lieven says you will play for me to sing,” said Miss Fielding. “I know ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill’, for Mama has made me learn it, so I will not get it wrong. Do you know it?”

  “I know it very well,” said Jane, keeping her voice neutral. It had been one of Frank’s favourites, but there was no need to frighten the girl with her negative reactions. It was not her fault, nor even the fault of the ballad.

  Jane made her excuses, to hope to meet others; it would not do to spend more time than she had to with Mrs. Fielding and her daughter.

  Chapter 4

  “I hope it doesn’t snow, it’ll spoil my race with Grey,” the tall, well-set gentleman was saying to another.

  “You and your Draisine races,” the other said scornfully. “Give me a curricle any day; it’s a fad, it will never last.”

  “It will revolutionise travel in the metropolis, and relieve the congestion. You, a curricle and two horses take up an excessive amount of room. Of course, the tradesfolk need their drays and horses, but if the single gentleman were to take up using a Draisine instead of a curricle or gig, it would significantly reduce the amount of horses in the city, thereby reducing the amount of filth and stench, and being more healthful.”