Authors: Elsie Lee
Emily’s usually soft eyes flashed. “You
KNOW
I don’t encourage him,” she cried. “He’s just a boy we’ve always known. Please, mama...”
“Yes, my love. Charlotte, stop teasing!” Lady Stanwood said severely, but Sharlie was bubbling with mirth.
“How can I resist, mama? I know Emily never encourages improper advances—but she has only to sit still. That’s sufficient to
encourage
every male in the room!”
Lady Stanwood bit her lip to suppress a smile, and applied herself to soothing Emily’s agitation. This was easily done, her naturally sweet disposition could not long contain anger, and a hearty hug from Charlotte restored serenity. “Pea-goose!” Sharlie said affectionately. “You must accustom yourself to your effect on susceptible gentlemen ... and I wish I may be present to observe your first entrance at Almack’s.
“Now,
there
will be a moment, will it not, mama? All conversation will cease while the assembly feasts its eyes upon you, Emily. Dukes and earls will rush forward, elbowing each other aside and pleading for introductions. Your card will be filled in a trice, and Mrs. Burrell will have a spasm—after refusing permission to waltz.” Sharlie’s eyes danced. “How snifty she’ll be, won’t she, mama? You must know, Emily, she abominates feminine beauty, having none herself. She loathes all the Incomparables, her tongue is forked like a snake, she will shake her head sadly that anyone should have given you admission...”
“And blame Sally Jersey!” Lady Stanwood’s composure broke down before Sharlie’s dramatic description.
“More likely Lady Sefton because you’re close friends,” Sharlie swept on, “and all the time Princess Esterhazy will be giving Emily permission to waltz with the most eligible man in the room. Oh, mama, do say I may be there? It would compensate for being at my last prayers, if only I can see Mrs. Drummond Burrell’s face upon glimpsing Emily!”
Privately, Lady Stanwood concurred: it would be good to confound Mrs. Drummond Burrell, who held herself altogether too high. A short interview with Lord Stanwood confirmed the situation. “It won’t do, Nelly,” he said firmly. “For one thing, I’ll warrant Whipsnade don’t want his heir marrying aught but good County blood. Emily wouldn’t suit him at all, pleased as he is for friendly notice by the Hall. There’s no help for it, you’ll have to remove her before Algy fixes his mind.” “But what am I to do with her, Robert? If I present her, it’s death to any chance for Sharlie—and if I keep her in the schoolroom, she’ll be moped to death with no friends.”
“Phoo, she’d make plenty among the other younger sisters—not but what Sharlie mightn’t do better with Emily beside her,” his lordship observed. “She’d be easier, more herself in company. You’d have all the beaux flocking after Emily, they’ll see Sharlie at her best. She’ll catch a few eyes. Among them she may find something suitable.”
“Shall I take Emily into society, then—or merely to small home gatherings?”
“Lud, ma’am, how should I know?” Lord Stanwood said impatiently, tugging on riding gloves and reaching for his crop. “Send her to one of her aunts, if you like, but she can’t stay here with no more than a housekeeper and governess. I’ll be off to Leicestershire shortly, and I’ll not interrupt easy relations with Whipsnade by forbidding his son my house. Emily must
go
, until you are in residence again. That’s all. As for where, that’s up to you, Nelly. It’s agreed I’ll not interfere with what you think best for the girls.”
“Yes,” she remarked drily, “which is only to say I’m all to blame if I don’t settle ’em to your liking, Robert.”
His lordship grinned impenitently. “You will,” he prophesied. “You’ve never failed me yet, Nelly.”
Warmed as she was by his approval, Lady Stanwood was still considerably unsettled in mind, but Sharlie’s involuntary cry of pleasure when her mother suggested that Emily might come with them decided everything.
“Truly, mama? Oh, it would make all the difference—to have someone to talk with, to watch the faces...
“I hadn’t meant a formal presentation,” Lady Stanwood said weakly. “A few small gatherings, but not Almack’s or any of the major
ton
parties.”
Sharlie laughed. “Do, do be sensible, ma’am! You cannot keep her in the schoolroom. She must go to church, or walk in the park, or have the occasional treat of a play or Vauxhall, and you know that one glimpse will suffice to set every male in London on our doorstep.” She sobered slightly at Lady Stanwood’s troubled expression. “Oh, are you thinking she will take precedence over me? Well, of course she will, mama. That’s the fun of it. I expect a few crumbs will fall my way, the beaux who cannot escort Emily will escort me in order to be near her.”
“Wouldn’t you
mind
?”
“Not in the least! I’ve no taste for society, mama, but as Emily’s sister I could see all the things I missed last time, and let the beaux see her. Oh, please ask papa’s permission?”
“It was he who suggested it.”
Sharlie raised her eyebrows. “He wants Emily away before Algy Whipsnade makes a cake of himself—but why not, mama? I can tell Emily how to go on, we can companion each other in public, which will leave you more free to renew your acquaintances. Do admit you’d enjoy presenting an Incomparable only a year after a Tragedy!”
“You are
not
a Tragedy,” Lady Stanwood protested, but Sharlie laughed mischievously.
“No, I wasn’t even that,” she agreed. “I was just—nothing. I doubt anyone would recall my name, but you’ll see they will if’ I’m Emily’s sister. It’ll be the greatest fun, and,” her expression was thoughtful, “if Emily comes, perhaps papa will send our riding horses. We would need them, you know, for a party to Richmond and—and normal exercise in the park.”
Lady Stanwood suppressed a chuckle. Charlotte was not quite so full of self-abnegation as it sounded. On a horse, she easily outshone Emily. “Very well, my love, it is settled: Emily comes with us.”
Thus, in the last days of January, a fourgon containing such household furnishings of chairs, linen, silver and chests as Lady Stanwood found indispensable to her comfort rumbled ponderously away to the London road. Early in February a secondary coach went forth, bearing Lady Stanwood’s dresser (Tinsdale), her ladyship’s butler (Beamish), and a superficially meek Young Person (Maria) who was deemed worthy of being abigail to the Misses Stanwood—and if Tinsdale and Beamish had known her private thoughts, they would have left her at the first milestone. “A pair of twitty old barstards as don’t know a goose from a hen,” but since Miss Maria did know a goose from a hen, by the time London was reached, Beamish was murmuring “An excellent choice, Miss Tinsdale. A very pretty-behaved young female—wants more countenance, but you’ll be all she needs.”
To which Tinsdale inclined her head with dignity. “I’m happy you approve, Mr. Beamish. I fancy I know how to select good material.”
Five hours later, Lady Stanwood was being gallantly handed into her travelling chariot by her lord. The fact that his prized hunter waited impatiently with a groom at its head melted her heart with affection. That Lord Stanwood should stay from the hunt in order to hug and kiss her heartily—if only Charlotte and Emily could do as well in their husbands!
“Come, girls, into your places,” she commanded briskly. “Robert, enjoy your stay at Blandford. Send me word when to expect you, and take care not to break your neck. I should miss you.” One foot on the coach step, Lady Stanwood looked back at her husband and murmured, “My very dear...”
A blue gleam lit Lord Stanwood’s eyes, and he bent over her hand with a most unhusbandly pressure that made him look a bit roguish, although he said only, “Your servant, ma’am.” Clapping his hat over brown curls, he strode away to swing into the saddle and was gone with a final wave.
Lady Stanwood disposed herself comfortably in the middle of the coach seat, a daughter on either side. The hot bricks were tucked beneath their feet, a fur travelling rug laid tenderly over their laps, the steps were put up, and the door was closed. The postillions blew their horns lustily, the coachman cracked his whip,
and the carriage started forward with a slight jerk while the footmen sprang agilely to their step at the rear.
Faster and faster turned the wheels as they swept down the gentle gradient of the drive, past the modest gate-house and into the road for the London turnpike. The day was crisp but fair, superb hunting weather, in fact, although only Charlotte sighed. The coach was well-sprung, drawn by Lord Stanwood’s prized “fourteen mile an hour tits,” who hit their stride on the Turnpike. Traffic was not great in mid-week; Jem-coachman was expert. The ladies bowled along with only the slightest sway, preceded by the postillions to blow up for the toll-gates. If all went well, they would rest an hour at Melsham for a nuncheon, and could hope to reach Park Street by six—a wearisome journey, but Lady Stanwood had the greatest dislike of sleeping in even the finest public inns.
“One never knows who one may encounter, to say nothing of
what
may have been left behind by a previous lodger,” she stated oracularly, “and one has no wish to afford transportation to London for bugs.”
Accordingly, when Lady Stanwood journeyed to town, it was understood she would go straight through the seventy miles and sleep in her own home if it killed everybody. Charlotte’s wiry energy could match her mother; Emily proved more susceptible. Hitherto, she had travelled in the nursery carriage at a pace suited to Georgie, Edmond and Louisa. There were frequent stops for rest and refreshment, an overnight stay with one or another family relative. It was altogether comfortable, playing games or telling stories to amuse the youngsters. Nothing had prepared Emily for the bruising pace set by Lady Stanwood. She grew, first, monosyllabic—then white-faced, clinging desperately to the strap and braced rigidly against the tilt of the coach. Long before Melsham, she was pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, interspersed with deep sniffs of her vinaigrette, and Lady Stanwood had ordered the horses slowed to a sedate walk.
“I’m so
sorry,
mama,” Emily apologized faintly.
“Never mind, my love,” Lady Stanwood patted her hand. “I should have recalled you are afflicted by motion. Sharlie, let down the window. Perhaps a little fresh air will revive her. Try to be calm, dear, very soon we’ll reach the inn, and you’ll feel better.”
“She’d be better sooner if she were dog-sick,” Charlotte said, loosening the window strap. “I told you not to have jam on your muffin, Emily. Mama, if you could move away, and let me come next to her? Lean forward and breathe deeply, Emily.”
With a moan, Emily thrust her nose to the coach window while Charlotte braced her—and precisely at that moment a curricle swept past, grazing the coach wheels. Lady Stanwood uttered a faint scream. The coachman shouted hoarsely and struggled to control the plunging horses. The footmen leaped to the road, racing forward to calm the beasts, and Emily gave up the ghost. “Uh, open
door
!” she wailed. Sharlie managed it just in time, and for a few minutes all was confusion, complicated by the more sedate passage of several other vehicles. At last Emily could be withdrawn to sit limply in her corner.
Lady Stanwood’s strictures on the driver of the curricle were matched by the anathema floating back dimly from Jem-coachman, while the carriage slowly started forward. “Young jackanapes! I’ve no patience with these whipsters and their wagers endangering lives, frightening the horses, thinking it a lark to smash themselves to pieces and calling it ‘bang up to the knocker, driving to an inch’!”
“I know, mama, but they all do it,” Charlotte said resignedly. “Even Geoffrey, although I’m bound to admit he
did
do it, and for all papa gave him a severe scold, he was boasting insufferably that his son not only grazed the wheels of seven carriages—which was the wager—but managed an eighth for good measure.” She looked from the carriage window and added, “Melsham! Nearly there, Emily. You’ll soon feel better.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever feel anything again except sick,” Emily murmured tearfully, as they drew into the inn yard.
Lady Stanwood descended. “Do stay with her, Sharlie, while I send for the landlady. Move slowly, Emily, and come into our private parlor when you can. Ah, good day, landlord—we are slightly delayed, Miss Emily became unwell with the motion. Is your good woman about? I should like a place for my daughter to lie down. Is there a sofa in our parlor? And hot water, if you please, with tea as quickly as may be...”
“Yes, milady ... a pleasure to see your ladyship again ... Mr. Beamish left your instructions when he passed through earlier, and all’s prepared. Please to step this way. Sukey, send for Mrs. Belknap ... bring hot water ... bring tea ...” In a spate of deep bows the landlord bustled away, followed by Lady Stanwood.
Assisting Emily to the ground, Sharlie could see a curricle drawn into the stable yard. “Is that...?”
“Ar, that’s the cove,” Jem-coachman nodded grimly. “A crest on the panel, and old enough to know better than to be going that gait on a public highway. I’ll have a word to say to that groom, strutting about, giving orders to ostler. A foreigner he is, by the sound of him.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake don’t get into a brawl,” Charlotte warned. “It’s not the groom’s fault, and we’re behind time already.”
“Yes, miss,” Jem sighed. “Of course, there is nothing he can do against his master—but what sort of master can’t be satisfied with a good English groom? We’m main against these Frenchies and such.”