An Independent Miss

by Becca St. John

  “Well then, you should be all the more sorry, because she recognized me and wondered where you were.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. I fixed her hem when she came to visit. Remember, her mother stepped on it and it tore?” Jesse skipped forward a bit, to catch up with Felicity’s pace. “She asked me to be her abigail. Claims she will marry better than you.”

  “You never told me this.” The sides of the poke bonnet were so deep Felicity turned wide, left and right, before crossing the road.

  “She said it, my lady, but I wouldn’t go. Not with her. Half expected her tongue to dart out of her mouth, all forked and all. She was that wicked in the way she said it.”

  “An asp is an apt comparison,” Lady Felicity admitted. “Best to stay far enough away that you don’t feel her bite when she spits her venom.”

  “She’s a misery, that one.”

  They walked swiftly along a park closed in by an iron fence. Felicity, always on the lookout, even in town, spotted a plant on the other side of the fence. Five-finger leaves. Masses of it. Perfect antidote for boils in the mouth. She knew of one such case at the convalescent home.

  “Lady Jane enjoys making others’ lives a misery,” Felicity answered, her mind on the plant. She could make a wash with it, or a tincture. She looked about for the entrance to the little park. “But Lady Jane wouldn’t have any power if society wasn’t so eager to hear her comments.”

  “My lady,” Jesse tugged at her arm. “We need to be going.”

  Felicity sighed, “It’s too late for that.” She’d already missed tea. Her mother would be in a state. “Just one moment.”

  A fruitless walk to the gate proved it locked. “Oh, blast!” She looked at her challenge, as dew-like rain hit her face. The fence was not terribly tall. Absolutely climbable.

  Jesse stayed her. “No, you mustn’t, someone will see you and call for help.”

  “Don’t be so missish,” Felicity argued, pointing. “Look, there.” Around the corner from where they stood, a bush grew close to the fence, shadowing the walk. “I’ll go over there, no one will notice.”

  “They will, and you’re already late!”

  “This won’t take long.”

  There were more than bushes at that end. There was a large oak that had grown into the iron fence. Felicity grabbed a branch, hefted herself up, used that to get to another branch, and then another, until she was over the fence. She jumped down and hurried over to the five-fingered cinquefoil.

  Jesse ran back and forth on the other side of the fence. “You need to be home.”

  “This won’t take long.” Felicity spun around.

  “There’s a ball, hosted by your mother’s friend, she wants you to go tonight.”

  “She never told me.”

  “She sent word around to me last night. Said I wasn’t to say anything.”

  “Oh drat!” Felicity stood, her hands full of plants. “A ball is the pettiest sort of activity after today.” No matter the hostess, people would stare, turn their backs when she drew near. She was not socially adept enough to handle that with grace.

  She would not go.

  She searched for the tree she’d climbed. “I’ve been busy all day, Jess. It’s been wonderful and awful and so different than just working with the plants. So different from having a patient here and a patient there.”

  Looking from plants in her hand to the tree, she thrust her fist through the fence, handing her newly gathered horde to Jessie. “As if there wasn’t enough I could do, there were pages and pages of sad letters the men needed written and if someone would just read to them, to distract them…” Again, she fought tears. “How horrid to go out now and pretend that people are really pleased to see me for anything other than gossip fodder.”

  “You’ve not been out in an age. It will do you good.”

  “Blast my mother for even thinking of it.” She would go to her workroom. Her comfortable, safe workroom.

  “Lady Felicity!” Jessie warned. “You may clean up from the work you do, but you haven’t cleaned your mouth any. It’s a dead giveaway you are not spending your days in the shops with gentlepeople.”

  Felicity looked down at the gown she wore, one which had been turned, patched, mended, and was covered with stains. A dress she saved for working in the stillroom.

  Not only did she look like a hoyden, she was now sounding like one.

  Contrite, she tried to climb the fence gracefully, remembering her governess’ recitation, A lady is as a lady does. And, she amended, as she says.

  She hoped to God that no one would see her.

  CHAPTER 16 ~ THE TREE CLIMBER

  “I dare say, she had no way of knowing I would be present this afternoon.” The dowager marchioness guessed, as Andover passed her up into the carriage.

  “No, she did not.”

  Felicity did not know he meant for his mother to join him on the visit. He dared not plan too far in advance with his mother, although she’d certainly risen to the occasion for this one.

  Still, Felicity did know he was expected.

  His mother continued speaking. “The girl has spirit then, gumption. She won’t let you walk all over her.”

  Settled on the facing seat, pleased for the snatch of common conversation, he teased, “I rather thought you would be embarrassed for me, not that this should please you?”

  Or ashamed, that his boorish behavior scared her away. Except his mother didn’t know about the argument, the ultimatum, he had made to Felicity on his departure. Or that he had left, when she expected him to wait.

  Remorse would not change his conviction, but it would alter his actions.

  “Of course it pleases me.” She pulled the shade down. Light bothered her more of late. “Your missives spoke of a quiet, sensible girl. I feared she would be dull, no challenge to you. You need to be challenged.” She chafed her arms.

  “Do you want a blanket, mother? There is one under the seat.

  “No.”

  Restlessness again. He needed to get her home, for the afternoon tonic but he wanted to get one last question in, before she was lost to him. “You mentioned Grandmama saw the Redmond women as peculiar?”

  She swept away his concern with a flick of her wrist. “Silly business, silly nonsense.”

  She smiled. He wanted to cry. Not in sorrow. Those tears dried months ago. No, in stunned disbelief that his mother, the only person to still have a place in his heart, should smile and laugh and allow him to tease her. She exceeded all expectations this afternoon, proved she could function socially in an intimate, friendly group.

  He’d not press her for more. Left her to dive deep inside herself as he mulled over the visit. The changes in his mother. Could the problem be isolation? Should he orchestrate a return to normal life? Would that carry her beyond the anguish of mourning?

  A flash of skirt at eye level snagged his attention. Intrigued, he looked out the window and smiled. A young girl, in a rag of a dress, climbing across a tree limb and over an iron fence. She managed to display an attractive length of ankle in the process. No doubt searching for some park owner’s discarded scrap, the poor thing.

  About to stop the coachman, to give him some coins for the unfortunate wretch, his eyes skimmed up the figure. To his surprise, he saw not a thin rail of a girl, but the ripe full figure of a young woman. His gaze jerked to her face. Wide brown eyes stared straight at him, her mouth a perfect O of alarm.

  Just as quickly, she ducked her head and scrambled away, a maid following smartly behind her.

  Good God!

  “Is that Mrs. Comfrey?”

  “What?” Rigid with shock, Andover swung around to find his mother looking over his shoulder. “Mrs. Comfrey?” he asked, confused. “Who is Mrs. Comfrey?”

  “You know perfectly well who she is. The lady who makes my tonics. Sweet woman.”

  The day started so well. He’d forgotten her delusions. “We discussed this mother. Mrs. Comfrey is not a real person.
She did not visit you in the night.”

  His mother’s sigh filled the coach as she pulled back, away from him, lifted the curtain of the opposite window enough to peer out. “No, dear,” she whispered, a sad lament. “Of course she didn’t, and that wasn’t her.”

  He wanted to help, to make her better, but all he seemed to do was hurt her. “This Mrs. Comfrey,” he tried, “why do I not know of her, coming into our household?”

  Her hand, frail and thin, patted his wrist. “Don’t worry, darling. No doubt I imagined it.”

  “I don’t mean to doubt you, Mother,” he admitted.

  “I know,” she whispered and changed the subject, much as she’d done before everything had gone wrong. “I would like to go shopping on Bond Street,” she announced.

  “Shopping? Now?” To see the imagined Mrs. Comfrey in every stranger’s face? She could not go shopping.

  “We’ve only just arrived in town. I have things to do,” he argued.

  Like chase Felicity down to see just what she was up to.

  “After I’ve had my medicine,” his mother amended, like a chastised child.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to argue. Of course we can go to Bond Street, if that’s what you want.”

  “Your Lady Felicity might be there.” Eyes closed, she managed a small, mischievous smile, so like the mother he remembered. “Ladies do lose track of time at the shops.”

  He patted her knee. “Let’s get your medicine and see. Does that suit you?”

  The medicine put her in a stupor, and then to sleep. She failed to make it to Bond Street, but he didn’t. Her theory made sense. What he saw by that park was as much an illusion as Mrs. Comfrey. He had been thinking of Felicity and conjured her face to that of some washerwoman. The real Felicity, his Felicity, might be shopping.

  Unfortunately, as he walked down the street, the only people he found were Rupert, Lady Jane, and a footman loaded with boxes, headed for their carriage.

  “Lady Jane.” He tipped his hat.

  “Lord Andover!” She directed their footman to carry on. “How curious we should see you here.”

  “Andover.” Rupert stepped up. “So you made it to town. What brings you to the shops?”

  “My mother sent me on an errand.” He offered a rueful a smile.

  Upton frowned. “Doing better then, is she?”

  “Yes.” It was the truth. There were small changes, but she appeared to improve daily.

  “Thoughtful of you, to accompany her.” Lady Jane smiled. “Have you been in town long? Visited with Lady Felicity?”

  “We only arrived late yesterday, and have been busy getting Mother settled,” he deflected.

  “Ah, well,” Rupert dipped his head toward his sister. “You gave Jane an errand and she has run it to ground. She can be a bloodhound to things like that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, well, I’ve called on Lady Felicity every day…”

  “Wait,” Upton frowned. “Just wondering, your mother really is improving?”

  Andover nodded. “Yes, Upton, she is, thank you for asking.”

  “He already told us as much,” Lady Jane snapped, obviously peeved that she had been cut off. “And I don’t mean to spread tattles, but I think you should be aware of this.” She didn’t look in the least reluctant to speak. “Something untoward happened today. Perhaps you will understand it, but I do not.”

  “Jane, if you don’t want to gossip, then don’t.”

  With a glare for her brother, Lady Jane took Andover’s arm and pulled him close as they walked. “This is not gossip, it is information. Lord Andover needs support in these matters.”

  Pulling away just far enough to avoid scandal, Andover lifted his hat to Lady Parlimer who walked by, her ear cocked to hear whatever she could hear of their discussion.

  “Shall we keep this private?” He raised his eyebrow.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” They watched people bustle past until Upton’s coach pulled alongside, the beleaguered footman, now free of packages, balanced on the back step.

  “Let me help you,” Andover offered, as the footman jumped from his perch to open the door and lower the step.

  “You see, Lord Andover,” she rushed on a hushed whisper. “On our way to the shops, we called on Lady Felicity.”

  They navigated a rather nasty mess, as they stepped down onto the cobblestones. “I thought she might want to join us.” More stubborn than she looked, she stopped him from helping her up into the carriage. “So it was most odd to find her abigail at the first shop purchasing ribbon. Felicity was nowhere to be seen. And I can tell you, the prices in that shop were not for the likes of an abigail.”

  “Might her abigail purchase ribbon for her while she attended another errand?”

  Lady Jane shook her head. “Ribbons are important business, Lord Andover. A lady does not leave it to an inferior to make the proper choice.”

  “I see.” He did not see, but used the moment to help Lady Jane into the conveyance. He couldn’t tell if it was a gleam of wickedness in her eye or one of mysterious intent. “Did you ask the girl where her mistress was?”

  “Yes,” Lady Jane leaned out, keeping Rupert from getting in. “Why yes, of course I know the girl, would love to steal her away. I have seen what a beautiful job she does with Lady Felicity’s hair, which is difficult hair to work with.” Rupert shoved past her, so she leaned out the window instead of the doorway.

  “She does an admirable job,” Andover allowed, picturing Felicity’s thick, lustrous mane that conjured dreams, much to his discomfort.

  “This Jessie—where did she say Lady Felicity was?”

  “At home, which could not be the truth, as we had just called there and they informed me she was out shopping.”

  Not shopping, but climbing trees, wearing a raggedy dress.

  The depths of her were as peculiar as Thomas implied.

  “Will you accompany us home, Lord Andover?” Lady Jane offered. “For a spot of tea?”

  “No, thank you.” He bowed, tipped his hat. “I still have one more errand to run.”

  “You are such a bore.”

  “Stop it, Jane.” Upton saluted Andover. “Glad to hear your mother is improving.” And sat back, signaling for the driver to carry on.

  Now more determined than ever, Andover headed for that last errand, as abhorrent as it was. He found his mount, still with the street lad. He flicked him a coin and headed off, following a course that took him down narrower streets, past storefronts offering more practical goods than fancy fabrics and expensive bonnets, until he found the street where many of the stores held similar shingles out front.

  He stood, facing the doorway, bracing to enter. He owed this to his mother, to step into a place such as this. A bell rang above his head as he stepped inside, his senses assaulted by the stench of dried herbs.

  He moved deep into the dusky room.

  “May I help you, sir?” The apothecary, an older man with half glasses perched on his nose and wild grey hair that circled a bald spot, stepped from behind the counter.

  “Do you have any of Lady Comfrey’s tonics?”

  The man took his glasses off, cleaned them with the edge of his apron. “Lady Comfrey’s tonics, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are you familiar with these?” He shot Andover a sideways glance, his head still tilted to his task.

  “My mother takes them.”

  “Ah.” The man’s head snapped up, eyes fixed on Andover. “And just who provides these tonics?”

  Andover’s heart froze. “Is there something wrong with the mixes?” Of course there was something wrong with the mixes. There always was.

  “I have never heard of an actual tonic by Lady Comfrey.”

  “But you’ve heard of Lady Comfrey.”

  “Oh, yes, we all have. Everyone in the guild is familiar with that name, and we would like to know who, exactly, he is.”

  “He?”

 
“Definitely a man.”

  “The name would imply a woman.”

  The apothecary brushed that aside and strode back behind his counter, in search of something. “Too astute for a woman. Too learned, too complex, too intelligent.”

  “I see.”

  He grunted in answer as he shuffled papers about. “So, you see, I am intrigued by your question. Have been searching for years, would be delighted to know where your mother obtains these tonics.” He looked up sharply. “What was it you said she took them for?”

  “I don’t see where that is relevant.”

  “But it is, I can assure you.”

  Caught by the man’s penetrating stare, Andover moved closer, lest he seem timid. The man continued. “You see, Lady Comfrey posts arguments, contradictions to many patent medicines. That’s how we all know about him. Not at all the thing. No room for discourse when you don’t know who the bloody person is.”

  He rapped his fingers on the glass case that held jars of herbs and roots. “This is new, though, and not the least comforting. Lady Comfrey has never produced the medicines before, only published ideas for mixtures.”

  “What do you mean, published ideas?”

  The man sniffed, rummaged through a pile of papers on the back bureau. “That’s what I was telling you. Lady Comfrey publishes leaflets… Here!” He brandished a sheet of paper. “Here is one example.” And he handed it over.

  “On the Treatment of Hysteria.” Andover frowned.

  “Do you see? We have all been treating hysteria for decades and this Lady Comfrey argues against standard mixes. And just before that, she claimed that childbirth madness was a matter of physical humors and not a weakness of the brain. Lunatic!”

  “May I keep this?”

  “No. They are not easy to come by.”

  The apothecary snapped it from Andover’s fingers.

  CHAPTER 17 ~ A PARENT’S COUNSEL

  The tirade began before Felicity could step into her room.

  “Felicity! Where have you been all day?”

  “Mama.” Felicity crossed the threshold, quietly closed the door behind her. Controlled calm always helped ease the drama. “I was lost,” she lied. “Not surprising in a city such as London.”