Miss Ridgeway's Privateer

by Michele McGrath

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 s
ay 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 be 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.

  “I trust you realise that there can be no refund for an early withdrawal,” Mrs. Simpson replied immediately, dashing her hopes.

  “Oh, but I thought...”

  “Lucy’s fees are paid up until the end of this half term as you know, so she may stay until October but no longer. I always make it perfectly clear when I accept a pupil that fees are to be paid in advance and no refunds can be given. Otherwise we would all be at sixes and sevens. Do you also wish to withdraw Caroline and Eleanor?”

  “No. My own circumstances are not changed. Caroline will finish at Christmas, as we agreed, to be ready for the start of the Season. Eleanor will remain for another full year in addition, but I want Lucy to finish today. Sadly Major Ridgeway’s estate can no longer support her or enable her to make her debut as we planned.”

  “I see.” Miss Simpson's face changed slightly and she peered at Lucy over the small spectacles on her nose. “I am truly sorry about your father, Lucy. This is very sudden. Was he ill?”

  “He died at the battle of Talavera.”

  “Yes, of course. He was a soldier, so he died a hero’s death,” Miss Simpson murmured. “He was a brave man, Lucy, you must be proud of him and seek to be worthy of his memory.”

  “I’ll try.” Lucy whispered and nerved herself to ask the question she had carefully prepared, before she lost what little courage she had. “Miss Simpson, I wonder whether it might be possible for me to stay here as one of your assistants? I’ve often helped with the younger pupils. I must support myself now and I thought that this way I could use some of the knowledge you have taught me.”

  Miss Simpson’s eyes seemed to bore into her and Lucy found it difficult to meet them. Miss Simpson’s narrow lips pursed in the manner she had when something displeased her. Lucy immediately knew that her plea had fallen on deaf ears; she had seen that look on her teacher’s face too often not to recognise it now.

  “You are not the easiest or the most biddable of pupils, Lucy, and your attainments are modest, despite the efforts of your teachers. I am sorry to disappoint you, but my assistants require more skills than you possess, so I must refuse your request. No doubt you will find another path more suited to your talents than the schoolroom. However I advise you for your own sake that, wherever you go, you must curb your tongue and your impatience. Then you should do better than you have done here. Now I suggest you collect your things from your classroom and say goodbye to the other girls. Tell Miss Reynolds that I gave you my permission to interrupt her class while you do so.”

  Anger at Miss Simpson kept Lucy’s head high as she emptied her desk and spoke to the others. Her friends, Amelia and Elizabeth were both in tears, once they realised she was leaving for good, but that horrible Susan Wilson had a very smug grin on her face. She bid Lucy an insincere goodbye asking her to keep in touch. As if I would, Lucy thought. The best thing about leaving school is that I won’t see her ever again!

  Caroline and Eleanor were upset when they saw her packing although they had known beforehand what was to happen. Their sympathy and support protected Lucy from the sharp tongues and avid curiosity of some of the other girls. It helped Lucy through the difficult time for which she was thankful. I never cared much about either Caroline or Eleanor before, Lucy thought ruefully. They were just there, living in the same house with me, but I heard Caroline tell Susan Wilson exactly what she thought of her today. I wouldn’t have done that for her if she was the one in trouble. What a beast I am, when she is so good.

  Walking down the road later, Lucy felt that she had never spent a more miserable day in her life, but worst was yet to come.

  Chapter Three

  “It is simply not possible,” Lady Westmore stated, in her clear ringing tones. “A London Season is an expensive undertaking for me as well as for the families of the young ladies I sponsor. While I am prepared to continue with our arrangements as regards your daughter, Caroline, I am afraid I must now decline to sponsor Lucy. I shall offer her opportunity to one of the other parents who have contacted me. It is most unfortunate because the time I have already invested in her debut has been wasted.”

  Lucy saw Mrs. Beckwith's cheeks redden, but her cousin clasped her lips firmly together, as if she was biting back an acid reply. Lucy wished her cousin would give this awful woman one of her blistering set-downs but she knew it would not happen. Caroline’s interests demanded discretion. Lucy did not want to blight Caroline’s chances, but a wave of jealousy and disappointment overwhelmed her. Her temper rose and she found herself standing on her feet.

  “Come, Cousin,” she said, her tone icily polite. “We’re wasting even more of Lady Westmore’s valuable time and I, for one, have
important things to do this morning.” Lucy bobbed a small bow towards her hostess and, without waiting for Lady Westmore’s butler to show her out, she stalked from the room. She heard Lady Westmore exclaim ‘Pon rep!’ in an outraged voice and the murmur of Mrs. Beckwith’s apology. Lucy’s eyes stung, but before she could embarrass herself by weeping, she hurried to the front door of the imposing house and ordered the footman to,

  “Open it, please! I’m leaving!”

  Startled, the servant swung it ajar without protest and Lucy ran down the steps. Blinded by tears, she did not wait for her cousin. She rushed along the pavement automatically turning right in the general direction of Mrs. Beckwith's house. She did not look where she was going, so she walked straight into the arms of a young man walking the opposite way.

  “Ouff!” She staggered backwards. He reached out and steadied her.

  “Now aren't I fortunate?” His voice said above her head. “’Tis not every day lovely young ladies throw themselves into my arms.” A finger went under her chin and tipped her face upwards. She saw his smile fade as he asked,

  “Why are you crying, Alannah?”

  She felt a sudden thrill as she looked into his eyes before she remembered where they were and reared backwards. “Leave me alone. Take your hands off me!”

  He promptly released her, causing her to stumble. Then he took hold of her again and this time she did not pull away.

  “Can’t have you falling over, now can we?” A kerchief was applied to her cheeks and then handed to her. “Blow your nose, there’s a good girl.”

  “I’m not a child!” She glared at him, taking in the laughing dark eyes framed by long sandy lashes. His hair was almost hidden by his hat but she thought it was a dark colour. He dressed more like a tradesman than a servant or someone of her own class yet he spoke confidently to her in his soft accent without any deference. She dropped her eyes to the hand that still held her and noticed a thin white scar running across the back of his hand and vanishing into his cuff.