Jane and the Sins of Society

by Sarah Waldock

  “And what if one fell in with a lady? One could hardly take her up on a two-wheeled hobby horse.”

  “Ah, you are losing the argument so you pick derogatory terms for my lovely pedestrian curricle. If you fell in with a lady, you would dismount and walk with her, pushing the Draisine, for after all, you could scarcely take her up in a curricle or gig without a chaperone, could you? Or do you risk your lady-love’s reputation by ignoring the proprieties?”

  “Trust you to turn it into a regular pi-jaw! A turn around the park in view of any chaperone is not about to ruin reputations! I’m inclined to agree with your brother that you are dicked in the nob!”

  Jane turned to Caleb and asked quietly,

  “What is a Draisine, my dear?”

  “It’s an invention by an Austrian gentleman named Drais, I believe,” said Caleb. “It has two wheels arranged in line, not side by side, and a bar between them with a seat on it, and the front wheel may be steered somewhat by handles. A man straddles it and walks.”

  “What is the point?”

  “Ah, the point, Jane-girl, is that the man’s walking gets the wheels going, and then he needs only the odd step to keep him going as the machine barrels along at a considerable speed, on a good surface, a speed comparable to a light carriage. A man may push with both feet at once for greater impetus.”

  “I knew you would know. Is this something you want?”

  “I’m not sure, my love. I have considered that it might prove useful to the average Bow Street officer whilst in town, for considerably greater mobility, and yet an ability to dodge traffic. The mounted officers wouldn’t like it, though, as it would reduce the advantage they have over men on foot, so I suspect it would be hard fought if it were mooted. The problem is that over cobbles the shuddering would be ... remarkably painful for a man’s, er, equipment, and on uneven ground or mud they are slower than a man walking. And downhill, the speeds are positively frightening.”

  “Caleb, you have used one.”

  Caleb looked sheepish.

  “Sir Nathanial has a friend who was trying to interest him in it, and he asked me to take it round the city to see what I thought,” he said. “I told him it had potential but only when all the streets are properly macadamed and moreover kept clean of soil. If they became popular, as that gentleman said, the soil from horses would be reduced, but in the meantime it remains impractical. I scared myself with the speed when free-wheeling and did not dare do as I believe some do, hooking their feet up onto special platforms to hold them, straight out in front of them. That is why I had such a considerable cobbler’s bill last month when I was in London. I used my feet as brakes.”

  “And you did not confess to me? If you want one of these things, I will not complain, though I will beg you to be careful.”

  “Well, it was good fun,” said Caleb. “If you aren’t opposed, I’ll certainly think about it.”[4]

  “Excuse me,” the Draisine enthusiast turned to Caleb, “Did I hear you say you are interested in getting a Draisine?”

  “Yes, I’ve certainly thought about it,” said Caleb. “My name’s Armitage, Caleb Armitage, my wife, Jane.”

  “Ma’am, your servant; I’m Alexander Montgomery. Mr. Armitage, would you care to visit me and look at my machine? And please bring your good lady,” he added, hastily.

  “I thank you for including me, I should like to see what it is that has so enthused my husband,” said Jane. “It sounds fascinating, and what a shame it is built in such a way that it sounds as though a lady cannot use one, for if I have it correctly, it would be most healthful exercise.”

  “Oh, it is,” said Montgomery. “Well, then, perhaps we might agree about noon tomorrow? My card ...” he handed it to Caleb, “And you will stay and sup tea? We are a bachelor household, I fear, my brother and I, but if you will not mind that, our housekeeper-cook makes the most excellent macaroons.”

  “Oh, you have won my heart already, Mr. Montgomery,” laughed Jane.

  He bowed to her, and then froze as Caleb passed his own card.

  “Sir Caleb! I apologise for miscalling you,” he said.

  “Think nothing of it; I did not give you my title, so how would you know?” said Caleb. “I’m as happy to be Armitage to a fellow enthusiast, you know; catching a traitor and getting knighted was almost accidental.”

  “Oh! You’re the famous chap who caught the even younger pretender, if one may designate him thus, and from what I heard it was by some considerable effort that you contrived to be in time to save the whole royal family. I do admit you’d not have made it from darkest Essex to Richmond with a Draisine.”

  “No, and fortunately I’m a competent enough horseman, though I’ve not the enthusiasm some men have,” said Caleb. “I like your designation of the young idiot; more a bedlamite than a villain, perhaps, but you can’t go around designing infernal devices to kill people, it’s deucedly uncivil, and he was dangerous.”

  “Yes, most distressing. But thank you for your indulgence over my failure to recognise you, there’s an engraving in the Morning Post but frankly it could have been almost anyone.”

  “They didn’t get me to sit, so it probably was almost anyone,” said Caleb.

  “I expect they had a space to fill,” said Mongomery, sagely. “Excuse me, may I ask a question? Pray tell me, who was the lady with Lady Caroline with whom you were speaking a short while ago?” he asked as Caleb nodded his permission to ask a question.

  “Her name is Mrs. Fielding, Lady Caroline introduced her as a connexion of her late husband,” said Caleb.

  “Well, she reminds me strongly of someone who might well have been a connexion of Sir Hubert, but not in a way he’d want his wife to know about,” said Montgomery. “But of course I am probably wrong. I’ll go and have a chat with her at some point.”

  “And I have to retire to the pianoforte; I see Lady Lieven beckoning,” said Jane. That was interesting; and she and Caleb exchanged a brief, speaking look.

  Jane sat herself down and began to play, as people sorted themselves into seats for the evening’s entertainment. The knowledgeable rapidly finished conversation and slid quietly into seats to listen, but Jane was under no illusions that she would have the full attention of all, since few people were aware just how good she was. Lady Lieven, however, looked thunderstruck that she was permitting someone so good to play the company in. Her face apologised to Jane, who smiled warmly, and continued with a selection of Mozart as light enough to get people in the mood. Mr. Montague and Mrs. Fielding were engaged in a passionate-looking exchange of words, but they, too, finally sat down. At a nod from Lady Lieven, Jane moved to Bach, and then left the pianoforte when everyone might be supposed to be stunned into sufficient silence to permit the rest of the company to perform without interruption.

  “My dear Lady Armitage, you are much more than tolerably accomplished,” murmured Lady Lieven, after introducing a young man with a trumpet. “I will not make that mistake again, I assure you! Why, I’d pay to hear you play.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind playing people in,” said Jane, quietly. “It relaxes me.”

  “Well, if you are sure you do not mind, it has settled them down wonderfully. Mr. Radcliffe is no virtuoso but I thought he would follow nicely to drown out any final conversations.”

  “Well, at least he can mostly, er, Handel his trumpet voluntary,” said Jane, wincing at a sour note.

  “Now, my dear, a pun that bad is very naughty,” said Lady Lieven, smirking.

  “My nephew tried the cornet and swore he would play Handel’s Water Music, the little wretch having previously filled the instrument with water, and sprayed us all royally, which was taking a pun too far,” said Jane. “Mr. Radcliffe has room for improvement but at least you can hear what it is that he is playing.”

  She had to make herself available for Miss Fielding shortly, singing ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill,’ in a rather breathy voice; Mrs. Fielding had kept the girl to plain white muslin, with modest r
uffles as trims, and permitted her pretty complexion, blue eyes and golden hair to speak for themselves. The picture was pretty enough to make up for any deficiencies in her singing, and Jane did her best to use the music to help the girl.

  Jane was also happy to serve as accompanist next to a Miss Laura Evans. Miss Evans was a plain child, with a round, amiable face and rather lank brown hair. She was sensibly clad in a white round gown of muslin woven with a satin stripe, which showed prettily against an under-gown of jonquil, and trimmed with small jonquil-coloured silk roses. Jane thought she looked charming, and it was good that a girl with high colour should avoid the pink so often assigned to girls with brown hair. As a private musicale, dress code as it related to the half mourning was relaxed.

  “Oh, I pray you, ma’am, may I ask if you will play for me, also?” asked Miss Evans. “I can play for myself, but when I do I either forget the words, or manage to lose my fingers,”

  “I’d be delighted, it is quite a skill to learn to do both at once, and one I am not fond of myself,” said Jane. She smiled at the child, who gave her a shy smile in return.

  The girl managed a startlingly sweet contralto to sing ‘Greensleeves’. Jane knew the song very well indeed, having insisted on singing it whenever Frank wanted her to play, to drive home how she felt betrayed by him. Nowadays it was just a song, but one she played with great feeling, which lifted Miss Evans’ performance. The girl thanked Jane prettily, and skipped off looking happier than when she had stood up. The happiness dissolved rather when a beautiful dark haired girl said something to Miss Evans, who wilted; this young lady, or, thought Jane, little madam might fit her better, was introduced as Miss Jenny Welbeloved and a harp was being brought out for her. Jane thought the girl might have done well to have learned from the restrained elegance of Miss Evans, being dressed in a way better suited to a young matron. Her gown was a deep rose, flattering enough for her colouring, but it was embroidered in gold thread in stripes of leaves and flowers running down the skirt, which was trimmed with three, heavily embroidered, flounces. The bodice was embroidered and beaded, the sleeves slashed with gold tissue. Jane reflected that some women might be able to wear such excess, and still not look as though they were dressed up for the wrong side of the footlights at the opera, but it was not a suitable dress for a young girl, making her first appearance in society. What could the girl’s mother have been thinking about! Jane buried her disapproval, after all, she did not know who had chosen the girl’s clothing, and just because this young person had upset Miss Evans was no reason to assume anything about her. She looked quizzically at the girl, in case Miss Welbeloved needed an accompanist.

  Miss Welbeloved smirked at Jane.

  “I can accompany myself, you can go now,” she said.

  Jane raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t generally appreciate naughty little chits ordering me about, you know,” she said. “I suggest you apologise.”

  The dark beauty tossed her hair.

  “I have no intention of apologising; pray fulfil your function and do as you are told,” she said, turning to her harp.

  She had engaged to play a pretty, inconsequential piece, and as she ignored Jane entirely, Jane quite lost her temper, and as the girl was sitting herself down, Jane engaged the loud pedal, and struck a chord..

  It got the harpist’s attention.

  Miss Welbeloved leaped up and ran over.

  “How dare you!” she screeched.

  “I will not be spoken to like that, young lady, and if you do not apologise, I will speak to your mother, and I will advise her not to bring you into public until you are old enough to behave better than a moppet of three or four summers,” said Jane, quietly.

  The girl slapped Jane hard.

  Lady Lieven came forward.

  “Lady Armitage, would you mind explaining what is going on?” she asked, icily.

  “Not at all, my lady. I found myself addressed rudely by this chit, who ordered me off the pianoforte as though I were the cat’s mother putting pawmarks on the keys. I ventured to give her a hint that I expected an apology and she refused. I wished her to understand the depth of my disapprobation. I will not, however, stand to be slapped by a little girl with no discipline. Were there not gentlemen present, I must have surely put her over my knee to administer the spanking such a nasty little girl plainly deserves. I suggest you might hint to her mother that if she is not old enough to behave in company, she should be left in the nursery.”

  Jane’s voice carried.

  Miss Welbeloved, who had been winding up to have a tantrum, screeched,

  “Well, how was I to know you were a Lady anything? It’s governesses and menials who do the accompanying!” she yowled.

  “Enough!” snapped Lady Lieven. “Miss Welbeloved, I see that Lady Armitage is quite correct, and you are not old enough to appear in public; your mother will do well to keep you in the nursery for another year.”

  A tremulous looking woman had come forward and Miss Wellbeloved cast herself on her.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Lieven,” the older woman said.

  “Yes, I am sorry that you cannot teach your stepdaughter better manners,” said Lady Lieven. They withdrew, and the countess murmured, “an unconventional public set-down to play a chord, and I do not wholly approve, but on the other hand I concede that the provocation was very great, and it was a novel solution. Pray play something frivolous to settle people down.”

  “Yes, my lady. I apologise to you for disrupting proceedings, but I do not regret my actions,” said Jane.

  Lady Lieven nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “Heaven help the governesses of that revolting child!”

  “You lost your temper,” said Caleb.

  “I did lose my temper. I would have censured her had I been but a governess, for those kind of manners can never please. Caleb, I was tempted to wait for her to start, and then launch into Beethoven’s Fifth symphony with the loud pedal firmly engaged and drown her right out.”

  Caleb winced. There were few pieces louder than Beethoven’s fifth symphony, but he could quite see the temptation. He suddenly remembered a long-winded young ensign, who had been drowned out by the trumpeter hinting that he’d been at it all day by playing taps. He’d had to put the trumpeter on a charge, but had managed to tell the colonel the story in such a way as to make him laugh before the boy was sent up to see his officer, and the youth was sentenced to play for a dance. He shared the story with Jane, and then sighed.

  “Apparently her stepmother has spoiled her, wanting to make up for a child who had lost her mother when she was six or seven years old,” said Caleb. “Some of the old biddies are shocked at your loud rebuke, but the general consensus was that it served her right. Especially from mothers of daughters her age. Mrs. Fielding bid me say a thanks to you; the unfortunate Cora has been the subject of sneers from a fashionable brunette, and I wager she positively bullies that roly-poly babe with the golden voice. I murmured that as the mother of a lively eleven year old boy, you were not accustomed to be spoken to in so rude a fashion by naughty children. There was some laughter at that, and you are considered ‘formidable’, I fear.” He chuckled. “I did point out that it was you who trapped and captured the even younger pretender.”

  Jane laughed.

  “I was spiritless when Frank was alive; I think I would rather be formidable. Somehow it evokes visions of indomitable old ladies like old Miss Abercrombie whom we met before Christmas, dressed in uncompromising brocades, clearing a ruthless path through the crowds with their panniers.”

  “Lud, when you put it that way ... still, I fancy nobody will be displeased to see Miss Welbeloved withdraw from the season.”

  And as if to prove that, Jane was accosted, and embraced by Miss Evans.

  “Oh, thank you so much for not giving in to the gazetted beauty,” she said.

  “There, Miss Evans, I had the first hint that she was an unpleasant creature in her manner towards you,” said Jan
e, unaware that having noticed the exchange raised her onto a pedestal on the part of Miss Evans.

  On the whole she was glad to escape from the soirée.

  Chapter 5

  A manservant let Jane and Caleb in, when they went to visit Mr. Montgomery. A young man who bore a passing resemblance to their host looked up from a newspaper as they were shown into a parlour to await Alexander Montgomery. He started to sneer, then caught sight of Jane, and leaped to his feet.

  “Ma’am! Sir, I beg your pardon, I thought you were just another Draisine lover. Christopher Montgomery at your service.”

  “Happy to make your acquaintance,” said Caleb. “Name’s Armitage, Sir Caleb Armitage, and I embarrassed your brother last night by not admitting to the ‘sir’ so I learned my lesson there. My good lady,” and Jane curtseyed appropriately.

  “Oh, please, take a seat,” said the younger Montgomery. Jane disposed her skirts and sat, gracefully, meaning that Christopher Montgomery could resume his seat. He waited for Caleb to sit first, of course.

  “I’m interested in Draisines, professionally, as you might say,” said Caleb. “I was talking about them to Sir Nathanial Conant, and I’m of the opinion that they might be of some use to Bow Street Officers, at least in the metropolis.”

  “I suppose they would make responding to trouble faster, but I’d advise against it,” said Christopher. “Nasty, dangerous machines, no way to stop them once you get going except falling off, I expect daily to hear that my brother has been taken up dead. Not that it would be any great loss, he’s dicked in the nob, if you ask me, wasting our inheritance on lunacies like Draisines. I hope he breaks his neck,” he added, viciously.