Jane and the Sins of Society

by Sarah Waldock

  Jane blinked.

  “Dear me,” she said, raising one eyebrow.

  Christopher flushed, and dug one toe into the carpet, for all the world like a little boy being told off by his governess.

  “Well, he’s a bully and an unnatural brother, and he won’t let me have a curricle and three to drive unicorn, says it’s too much and that I wouldn’t be safe, but it doesn’t stop him having his Draisine and that’s not safe.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Montgomery feels you should reach your majority before you need such things,” said Caleb.

  “Quite so, Sir Caleb!” said Alexander Montgomery, coming into the room. “Kit isn’t a good enough driver to drive unicorn, and in a year he shall have a curricle and pair and drive tandem for a while first, but I am not buying a curricle for a boy not yet eighteen years old.”

  Christopher scowled.

  “I am quite capable of handling the ribbons,” he said.

  “In the country,” said Montgomery. “You are untried in town traffic, and I am your guardian. Enough of your foolishness! Sir Caleb, pray come outside, my man is bringing my Draisine round. My lady, did you wish to see it, or shall I have tea brought for you?”

  “Oh, I wish to see it; if my husband is wishful to have one, I want to gauge what injuries he is likely to have to know how much arnica to purchase,” said Jane.

  Caleb chuckled, ruefully.

  A crowd of urchins followed Montgomery’s man as he wheeled the Draisine round. Some of them were jeering and catcalling, but some were plainly just curious. A red-haired tyke dressed in disreputable baggy rags sidled up towards Jane. Jane regarded the child thoughtfully.

  “Far be it for me to take away your character, but if your lay happens to be as a file, I strongly suggest you take it elsewhere. I may be a swell mort but I know how to guard myself from having my cly filed. If I wrong you, my apologies.”

  Caleb was chuckling in the background to hear Jane come out with cant regarding having her purse picked in the most ladylike tones.

  The urchin gave her a grin.

  “Well, if I didn’t practise filing lore I’d go hungry, but I weren’t goin’ to steal off of you, lady, ain’t you the swell mort who took in Simmy?”

  “My goodness! You remember me? Yes, my husband adopted him before we were married, so he is now my stepson. I’m afraid he is not in town with us or I’d send him to play with old comrades, but he is in school with his friends and said he preferred to stay.”

  The child grinned again.

  “He’s a good kiddy is Simmy. You tell him Ginger was askin’ arter him.”

  “I shall, Ginger, and I am sure he would be wishful that I give you enough not to need to pick any pockets for a while, which I’m going to slip to you with one hand while I give you a small coin with the other, so nobody tries to take it off you.”

  “Cuh, missus, you are a peevy mort,” said Ginger, in admiration. “A really peevy mort,” the young pickpocket added as Jane parted with a heap of small change rather than a larger denomination coin.

  “I’ll give my housekeeper standing orders to provide you with a meal every day as well,” said Jane. “Do you know where we live?”

  “Yes’m, it’s on the south side of Pembridge Square,” said Ginger. “Cuh, fanks, missus!”

  “I’ll probably have some jobs for you and any friends you trust as well,” said Jane. “Now let us watch the gentlemen play with this new toy of theirs.”

  Ginger giggled, and Jane raised an eyebrow.

  That might change matters.

  She could not take in every able-bodied urchin whom Simmy knew but ...

  Montgomery mounted his Draisine, with the concerned aid of his man. It was made entirely from wood, the wheels like those on a curricle, and the bar between them not unlike the shaft of a carriage, save that instead of having a horse each side, a man’s legs would be each side, and one wheel ahead of him. The forward wheel was able to pivot, so that it might be steered, by means of a serpentine metal bar. This ran from the hub of the wheel, over the top of the wheel and culminated in a carven wooden handle. It was attached to the top of the forked metal shaft which held the front wheel by some manner of swivel. Jane thought it looked more like the pintle holding the oars of a rowing boat than anything else, and about as manoeuvrable. Still, a demonstration would give a better idea. Montgomery set off down the street at a run, slowly at first, but picking up momentum.

  “Ain’t the laws of Sir Isaac Newton wonderful,” said Caleb, with some irony.

  “Indeed, and one cannot help thinking that when a body is in motion, it will remain in motion until such time as it finds a wall to crash into,” said Jane.

  Montgomery came to grief shortly thereafter, though not by crashing into anything. He attempted to u-turn in the street, and the turning circle, being too small, he began to lean and teeter until he crashed over onto his side. Jane and Caleb, who had something of the appreciation of the laws of motion, had already started running down the street as the pedestrian curricle started to lean at a dangerous angle. His man, too, ran, worry on his face.

  Montgomery bit off the obscenities which were falling from his lips as he saw Jane.

  “Lady Armitage! My apologies!”

  “Not to worry; I am sure that swearing helped,” said Jane. “That was a nasty tumble.”

  “I misjudged; made the turn too tight,” said Montgomery.

  “Yes, I noticed,” said Jane.

  “Have you room to turn in this street?” asked Caleb.

  “Yes, I’ve done it before, but I was going a bit faster than I liked, I should have moved to the left so I would have had plenty of room to swing to the right. Practice makes perfect!” Montgomery said cheerfully as Caleb helped him up, and his man, with almost a scowl at Caleb for performing the service to his master, lifted the vehicle.

  “Still interested, my dear?” asked Jane.

  “Yes, but if I do get one, I shall be enrolling in the Draisine school which I saw advertised in the paper,” said Caleb. “And what’s more, I’m getting one with metal wheels, which I have seen, I think they are more manoeuvrable.”

  “By Jove, not a half bad idea,” said Montgomery, who was limping slightly. He reached for his man to lean on him, with a reassuring smile that he was not badly hurt. “But I have a race on Friday; you’ll come and support me, won’t you?”

  “Certainly, where is it to be held?” asked Jane.

  “We’re going round Hampstead Heath, all the tolls from the toll gate at the ‘Spaniard Inn’ to be taken care of in advance,” said Montgomery.

  Jane shuddered.

  Her memories of the ‘Spaniard’ were not good ones;[5] but it would not do to spoil this young man’s enjoyment by crying off. It was time for her to face up to the terrors of being tortured in the inn before Caleb had rescued her.

  Caleb took Jane’s hand into his and squeezed it gently.

  “They won’t ever get back to see the ‘Spaniard’,” he whispered. “Nubbing cheat had them, remember.”

  Jane nodded. Knowing the violent, wicked men who had murdered her husband, and who stopped at nothing, had been hanged did help.

  When Jane and Caleb returned home to Pembridge Square, it was to find that there had been a number of invitations dropped in.

  “I sorted them into stacks of which ones clashed, for you, madam, and left them on the desk in the book room,” said Fowler. “I thought you’d be wishful to pick and choose. That dratted pug helped me by chasing some of them, growling, until he got bored, but he hasn’t put more than the odd tooth mark in ‘em, I’ll say that for him, he ain’t destructive.”

  “Well, I’m relieved to be included in any invitations, never mind having enough that they clash,” said Jane. “I wondered if I had destroyed any social pretensions before I had begun by putting that little hussy down.”

  “I suspect she had already made herself sufficiently obnoxious that you amused more than you offended,” said Caleb. “We cannot expect
invitations from the mothers of those young men who were her court. Having said that, on the other hand, I might well think otherwise, were I the parent of a lad who was worshipping at the feet of a spoilt little madam like that. I’d likely be grateful to someone showing her up in her true colours in public. I wager she never showed her rag-manners to her suitors; only to those she saw as servants. Having a very public temper might well open a few eyes.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Jane. “And I do not think Lady Lieven was very put out, though she is a stickler.”

  “That’s why she weren’t put out, Jane-girl. The insult that girl gave you was not something she would stand for. And though you would have been perfectly within your rights to call the chit to book for it, your solution was more elegant. I thought so, anyway.”

  Jane laughed, and sighed.

  “Well, I do not decry my temper, for it is better to be able to stand up for myself than to be the doormat Frank made of me for a while,” she said. “Will you help me sort these invitations?”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Caleb. “However, the comments you are likely to get are more likely to sound like a thief’s character written up in an occurrence book than socially accurate.”

  “And that will amuse me more, and will doubtless be the more revealing,” said Jane. “And when in doubt, we will discard any which Nat has disapproved of enough to leave a toothmark. Well, this one is from Mrs. Fielding and we have no choice but to accept that; after all, we are investigating her for Lady Lieven. Nat appears to suspect her motives too, for the corner is missing. Had you sent Jackie to look for parish records?”

  “Yes, he’s to take notes of anyone about the right age as well.” Caleb scratched Nat’s head as the dog came over to see if they had approved his efforts in dealing with things.

  “I have a feeling we should be investigating through Cora,” said Jane. “It’s such a ... well, it’s a name I’d expect to find used by a novelist. From the Greek, meaning a maiden. Corinne and Corinna have both been used by novelists, but real people rarely give girls names that outlandish.”

  “May I remind you of your friend Euphelia and her sisters,”[6] said Caleb. “As I recall they were all named after characters from that Helen Maria Williams’ poems, and one of them was Cora if I remember rightly.”

  “Yes, and the rest were Zilia, Aciloe and Alzira, mercifully shortened to Cilly and Zira,” said Jane. “How could I have forgotten Cora Redmayne?”

  “Maybe because she was tolerably forgettable,” said Caleb. “Euphelia had the sense she was born with, but I think that all the brains of the family went to her, and any to spare trickled out of her mother via her nose.”

  “Unkind, but sadly fair enough,” said Jane. “However, in a way, it does prove my point, that Julia Redmayne was an idiot.”

  “I’m not disputing that for an instant, but then we have Mrs. Fielding, who strikes me as being as shrewd as a banker, and not given to flights of fancy.”

  “Indeed, and that’s a discrepancy, and discrepancies are clues.”

  “I taught you that when we first met. I suppose it could be because she finds her own name, Jane, to be too ordinary? Now, I think it’s the most beautiful name in the world, but like Elizabeth and Anne, Mary and Catherine it is moderately common. If she were at school with several other girls called Jane, might she want to have a daughter with a different name?”

  “That is a possibility,” admitted Jane. “Oh, Caleb, I must be a most uncharitable person.”

  “Why so, my dear?” Caleb considered Jane to be one of the most charitable people he knew.

  “Well, the first thing I thought when I heard the name ‘Cora’ was not of the Redmayne girls, who were, as you might say, a matched set. I thought of Floradora and her friend, Esmeralda[7], which were assumed stage names.”

  “Well now! It’s not that big a leap, really,” said Caleb. “Lady Lieven already intimated that she thought there was something dashed smokey about Mrs. Fielding, and in looking for something false, it’s not wonderful that you would have the assumed names of those actresses in mind.”

  “Oh, do you think that is it? I was feeling a bit guilty.”

  “I don’t say your instincts in seeing something false are wrong, mind,” said Caleb. “And it might be that shrewd Jane Fielding named her daughter ‘Mary’, and is regretting that now she has the opportunity to enter society.”

  “Plenty of Marys in society,” said Jane. “Besides, the girl wouldn’t remember a name change if it hadn’t been shouted at her for several years on end. But a middle class girl hoping to better herself and her family in the future might give her daughter a literary name.”

  Caleb nodded.

  “We shall see what Jackie finds,” he said.

  Chapter 6

  The Soirée was very much for the benefit of the younger people. Being made up of a wider number of people, half-mourning was technically in force, but in practice this meant that the younger ladies dressed in white muslin, with trims and shawls in darker, sober colours, and the men were limited to grey or black waistcoats, and black satin smallclothes.

  “I hope you will not think it presumptuous of me, Lady Armitage, but I’d be terribly grateful if you would play for dancing later, just country measures, of course,” said Mrs. Fielding. “La! You’re good enough to play on stage, you reelly are.”

  Jane kept her expression immobile at the lapse of refined speech. That was not the tones of Wiltshire, but more those of the parish of Bow.

  “I’d be delighted to play; and I don’t mind that your invitation was with my skills in mind,” said Jane. “Or was it that Sir Caleb can be relied upon to be civil and kind to any poor girl left without a partner?”

  “Well, I don’t deny that a gentleman who is willing to do his duty by the odd wallflower is much appreciated,” said Mrs. Fielding. “And at that, you may be sure that a handsome, gentlemanly man who is already taken is a more welcome man to most fond mamas than a handsome fribble with more hair than wit, and more snot than cabbage.”

  “Dear me! I must say so pithy a description intrigues me,” said Jane.

  Mrs. Fielding laughed.

  “Oh, we have a poet present, and I find it difficult not to invite him, since he has the ear of a number of people in the Russian Embassy. His name is Alexei Ivanovitch Kiasov, and I fear he is quite beautiful.”

  “A dangerous young man, then. Does he break hearts?”

  “No, he’d be less dangerous if he did, though all the young ladies sigh about him, even my Cora, who ought to have more sense, even if her understanding is ... limited.” Mrs. Fielding frowned. “He has chosen as his muse a Miss Elizabeth Elliot, who is flattered and who is outspoken in her intent to marry him, despite her mother’s wishes, and my idiot daughter is egging her on. I doubt Mr. Kiasov has any intention of marriage, because that would involve things like the realities of life, but Miss Elliot is as silly as any young girl, and has said some quite disturbing things to Cora, that she quite wished her mother out of the way.”

  “Dear me, indeed a very foolish young girl,” agreed Jane. “I dare say we have, at times, all wished our guardians to be a little more lenient, but to wish her mother out of the way does not argue for a very good relationship.”

  “Indeed, and though Barbara Elliot is a stern woman, she is not cold or unkind towards her daughter,” said Mrs. Fielding.

  “One may hope that Miss Elliot soon gets over her infatuation,” said Jane. “I was half inclined to bring out my aunt’s ward, but Araminta declares she prefers provincial assemblies, which my aunt and uncle find less taxing.”

  Leaving Mrs. Fielding, Jane made her way towards the pianoforte, noting a pile of light, inconsequential music on the top, of the sort usually used for parlour games of the kind of musical magic, as well as for country dances. Musical magic was a good game to break the ice without too much in the way of rambunctious forfeits or tomfoolery, the loudness at which the music was played giving a clue to how close the
victim sent outside the room might be to performing some simple task. Jane preferred to play by ear for such things, and segue into music which was quiet or loud by nature rather than use one piece of music, but it was good of Mrs. Fielding to find something.

  She sighed to overhear a group of young gentlemen, too loud, as young men often are, making a rather tasteless wager about the tedious great aunt of one of them living into her eighties; and another answering that he would bet that the good lady would survive no more than a week with the inclement weather. The amount wagered was shocking to Jane, who considered that bets in the thousands of pounds were profligate in the extreme. Why, even Frank had not been so reckless! She sat down to play, calming herself with a little Mozart as background music for the soirée, which seemed to be a successful way to start the evening.

  Jane played while people arrived, and stopped when Mrs. Fielding nodded to her. The young people were called to order fairly ruthlessly to play parlour games, and Jane smiled to see Miss Evans helping out Miss Fielding, and managing to bloom somewhat in the absence of Miss Welbeloved. Never, thought Jane, had a girl been so badly named! Hopefully the shock of being sent back to the nursery would have the child appear next season with a better attitude.

  Jane was pleased to see that Mrs. Fielding rejected a request for a game of Blind Man’s Buff; such a game often engendered a lot of horse play, and could be very embarrassing for the shyer girls involved. Indeed, the reason she had first found herself favourably inclined towards Frank Churchill had been over such a game. It had been at a party at Mr. Weston’s house, in Highbury, and another young man under the blindfold had caught a painfully shy Jane, and was busy touching her most inappropriately in order, he said, to guess whom he had caught. Frank had come over and demanded that the fellow should unhand the lady, and Jane suddenly realised that he had done so deliberately in order to make a favourable impression on a young woman who was so shy, she might readily be moulded to his purpose. She groaned at the stupidity of her former self. She frowned. The other young man had given up willingly enough, surely Frank could not have arranged with him that he should do so? The amount of cheating that usually went on during such a game would allow for peeping. Or maybe she wronged Frank, and he had merely been opportunistic.