Elisabeth Kidd (13 page)

The lady was a vivacious little beauty of eighteen, with sparkling green
eyes and small, perfect white teeth, which flashed when she laughed
(which was frequently). She wore an emerald-green pelisse trimmed with gold braid for a dashing military touch, and carried a huge muff trimmed with a gold tassel. When she had descended from the phaeton, it could be
observed that her stature was somewhat less than the average, her figure perhaps more ample than most women found desirable, and her hair a lamentably unfashionable scarlet. But she contrived nonetheless to turn these faults into assets by the simple expedient of flaunting them before
the world and daring anyone to criticise her for possessing them.

But Cloris Beecham’s greatest asset lay behind the smile and the
trilling laugh, in a genuine generosity of heart that made lifelong beaux
of all the young men she met, and fast friends of nearly as many young
ladies. She had known Isabel Fairfax at the Bath seminary they had both attended for a year before Isabel left from homesickness and Cloris
because she had wider worlds to conquer.

Baskcomb had scarcely climbed down from his perch to open the door
for Isabel before Cloris was embracing her heartily and demanding to
know why her dear Izzy had not written to say she was coming to
London.

“Why, I should have planned such
delicious
things for us to do
together! All sorts of parties—the theatre, Vauxhall, Astley’s—although
that won’t be open until after Easter—and Almack’s! Izzy, how many ball
gowns have you? Oh, not nearly enough, I’ll vow! But I know the most
exquisite
modiste in Bruton Street. We shall go everywhere together,
dearest, for we do make a stunning pair, do we not?”

Cloris rattled on in this italicised manner while Isabel attempted—
injecting “Oh, to be sure!” and “How lovely that sounds!” between—to
present her friend to her aunt and Mrs Curtiz. This was accomplished at
last, Cloris declaring that she had heard wondrous things of Isabel’s
Aunt Tonia, which made Antonia wince, but she claimed to be happy to meet Miss Beecham as well. Miss Beecham even remembered to
introduce—with a wave of her hand in his general direction—”Oh, my
brother Oliver.” Oliver rose slightly on his perch to manoeuvre a bow,
and Isabel took advantage of this check in the flow of his sister’s chatter
to ask the meaning of the festival decorations in the square.

“Oh, the most
famous
news!” Cloris exclaimed, on course again. “The
Ogre is beaten! Yesterday! I mean, the news came yesterday. I went out to
buy a dozen pair of silk stockings at Graf ton House—not that I generally
patronize Grafton House, my dear, but they were only twelve shillings
the pair—can you
imagine
? But there was Worthing—my steppapa,
you know—standing in the middle of the pavement reading from a newspaper and any number of old quizzes capering about and waving
their canes. I got it out of them what had happened, which was fortunate,
for as a rule, Grafton House is frightfully crowded in the afternoon, only
yesterday no one was there on account of the excitement, and besides the stockings, I purchased ells and ells of silks and muslins, for you will see,
Izzy dear, that this means there will be ever so many more routs and
parties and things this season, and—oh, I’m so
glad
you’re here!”

Cloris hugged Isabel again and demanded to know where they were stopping.

“Mount Street! Oh, that splendid! We are here in the square—that pink house in the corner—and so we are practically neighbours!” She
then addressed herself to Antonia, as the nominal head of the expedition,
to ask prettily if she and Oliver might call the next morning. Upon receiving that lady’s smiling consent, she climbed back up into the
phaeton and, with a last trill of laughter, was gone.

“Heavens!” said Mrs Curtiz into the deafening silence which reigned
inside the chaise upon their parting from the voluble Miss Beecham.
“What an exhausting experience!”

At that, all the ladies burst into gay laughter and arrived in Mount
Street a few moments later feeling as merry as grigs and quite up to taking the town by storm. No sooner had Baskcomb let down the steps of the
chaise than they were standing on the pavement waiting for fame to rush
up to them. But it was only Belding who did so, rubbing his hands
together in the nearest he would ever come to glee, as he called their
notice to the various features of their new house and, modestly, to the
improvements he himself had installed there.

Antonia was contemplating the graceful folds of the new blue silk
curtains covering the front windows when her reflexion in the glass of a
tall clock called her attention to the less than graceful folds of her
travel-crushed gown. Before any of the ladies was allowed to attend to her
appearance, however, they were all obliged to greet the other servants and
to hear Mrs Driscoll announce that nuncheon would be served at three
o’clock, and dinner—their cook having been thoroughly corrupted by city habits—at eight. Mrs Curtiz received this announcement with equa
nimity but, taking matters in her own hands, demanded that a pot of tea
be sent immediately to their rooms and shepherded the younger ladies
upstairs.

Antonia slipped out of her travelling dress and rang for hot water, but when Esme, still in her bonnet, answered the bell, she stopped in the midst of opening the bandbox containing her hairbrushes to laugh.

“Esme! Whatever are you about? Go to your room and take care of your own needs. One of the housemaids will attend me.”

“Oh, Miss Antonia!” Esme exclaimed breathlessly. “I just couldn’t! I
just couldn’t sit down.”

“Well, you might at least remove your bonnet.”

“Oh!” Esme reached up to feel her head. “Oh—yes, ma’am, I’ll do it now.” She backed out of the door again, but Antonia stopped her to tell
her to send one of the other maids up with some hot water.

“And I don’t want to see you again this afternoon, Esme.”

“Yes, ma’am! I mean, no, ma’am. Oh, dear.
...”

Antonia sympathised with the abigail’s restlessness. She could not sit
down either, and paced the room until her trunk was brought up. Then
she extracted a comfortable day dress from it and went to drink her tea in
the window seat while she contemplated the passing parade. It was a
pleasant vantage point, and now she came to look more closely at it, she saw that her room was a very handsome one indeed. She would have to make a point
of thanking Belding for the excellent job he had done of preparing the
house for them. It now remained only to unpack and settle themselves in
to begin their new life.

Antonia contemplated the mountain of baggage that had been brought
into her room and thought that at the very least she would be so
exhausted by the night that she would sleep quite well in her new surroundings.

However, the parade outside scarcely thinned at all during the night,
and Antonia, accustomed to the stillness of the country, woke several
times to the cries of the watchman and the rattle of creaky wooden carts over the cobbles; by the next morning, she felt as fatigued as if she had already been in London for weeks.

Cloris Beecham kept her promise to call—not precisely that morning,
for her day did not normally begin until well after noon—and spirited
Isabel away with her on a shopping expedition. Alone with Mrs Curtiz,
who seemed to have suffered no ill effects from her first night in town, Antonia set out soon after Isabel to visit Mr Quigley’s offices to sign the lease for the house and to hear from him that neither of the Kenyons was
in town at present. Antonia was conscious of both annoyance and a
certain relief that she would not be obliged to face Charles until...well,
at least until she had become more comfortable in her new surroundings
than she felt that morning.

In Charles’s stead, she received a letter which he had left for her,
welcoming her to London and trusting that she would not object to his
offering some little hints as to where she might go for such household
necessities and so forth as his father might have neglected to provide for
her comfort.

For my father, as you know, however kind and generous, is apt to
wander from his intentions,
went Charles’s note,
so that I must make
myself responsible for seeing that your new life is as pleasant and homelike as possible....

“What does he say?” enquired Mrs Curtiz, after they had been some way on their return from the solicitor’s office and Antonia still had her
eyes fastened on the letter.

“That Layton and Shear’s have some excellent poplin at six shillings
the yard,” was the rather dry reply. A few minutes later, Antonia folded
the letter and remarked only, “I wonder if we ought to take a box at Drury
Lane? I should very much like to see this Mr Kean who is all the rage,
but Isabel may prefer the ballet.”

If Mrs Curtiz was deceived by Antonia’s bland tone into thinking there
was no more to Charles Kenyon’s letter than that, she nevertheless
confined herself to pointing out that a box at the King’s Theatre, where
the ballet was given, could cost as much as two thousand guineas for the season. Furthermore, although the Regent himself, the Royal Dukes, and
any number of ladies of the highest rank often attended the ballet or the
opera, the audience was more usually composed of fops and dandies who
made great nuisances of themselves, particularly if one were young and pretty and on clear display in a rented box. If a young lady of quality
chose to disregard this rudeness and attend to the performance, it was equally inevitable that she would be labelled an ignorant provincial. On
the whole, Imogen thought, the Theatre Royal at Drury Lane might
better enjoy their patronage.

They returned to Mount Street after this first venture to find Lord
Kedrington’s card resting on the hall table; the viscount himself, within twenty-four hours, was to be found resting on a chair in what they had,
due to its elegantly gilded wainscoting, dubbed the “gold drawing room.”

“Why are you sequestering yourself indoors on such a fine day?” his
lordship asked Miss Fairfax, coming directly to the point of his visit.

“Isabel’s friend Miss Beecham has taken her for a drive,” she said,
feeling herself unaccountably on the defensive. He was, after all, behaving precisely as she would have wished.

“That must be a non sequitur,” he said.

“Not at all. I only meant that since Clory’s brother Oliver is driving,
and Clory’s governess Miss Blaine is acting as chaperone, there was no
necessity for my presence.”

“You were never so obtuse in the country, Miss Fairfax. It must be the
closed air of your parlour that has turned you so. My point is that you, too, should be out disporting yourself among the gentry.”

Antonia gave him a comprehensive look. “Why, when the leaders of
fashion come to call on me?”

His lordship was indeed looking very à la mode in pearl-grey panta
loons and a dark grey coat, elegantly simple and set off by a wine-coloured
waistcoat. But when Antonia explained that she had not yet purchased
any suitable clothing—Miss Jensen’s talents having been dedicated
exclusively to Isabel’s wardrobe—and dared not appear in public before
ordering a few new gowns that would not cause his lordship to blush to
be seen with her, he abandoned his scolding.

“Alas, Miss Fairfax, I see that you still regard me as a mere fribble of fashion. But perhaps you will allow me to advise you at least on such matters, in which case my first recommendation is that you look in your
mirror. It will show you that you are in blooming looks—if somewhat
dimmer of wit than usual—and that anyone who appears in your com
pany will be considered to have the most exquisite taste for so doing.

“Indeed, I challenge you to see this for yourself by riding in the park with
me tomorrow.”

Antonia began to decline, protesting that they were not yet settled in
and that once they were, the first order of business would be to make
plans for Isabel’s coming-out ball. Kedrington countered that they would
have no acquaintance to invite to the ball if they did not begin cultivating them immediately, and they compromised in the end by agreeing to make
a party of the outing—to include Isabel, Mrs Curtiz, and Mr Gary—two
days hence, when Antonia’s first new gowns were to be delivered.

The viscount took his leave on this conciliatory note, and after she had
seen him out, Antonia watched through the window as he sauntered
away down the street. She smiled to herself and reflected that, despite
Kedrington’s often too acute perceptions, she had to be grateful for the interest he took in paving their way in this new adventure. Furthermore, he knew precisely when to cease pressing his advice on her, turning the
subject deftly to a jest or his mocking accusations that she did not take
him sufficiently seriously. This was no longer true, for she was even
more grateful to him for restoring the friendly laughter and ease of mind
she had feared left behind at Wyckham. It seemed, however, that
Kedrington too preferred to go on as they had begun. She only hoped it
would continue to be possible.