The Battling Bluestocking (12 page)

“Indeed, you may be right about that, my lady,” Sir Brian said quietly.

“But what had Mr. Hatchard to do with any of this?” Jessica wanted to know.

“Well,” said Sir Brian, “unfortunately, the island’s judicial records make no reference to the matter. Therefore, the island’s legislature has brought an action against Hatchard for libel. They say they will drop the matter only if the Institute reveals the identity of its informant.”

“Which, of course, we have refused to do,” said Lady Susan matter-of-factly.

“But if Mr. Hatchard is in trouble through no particular fault of his own—”

“Mr. Hatchard is in no extreme danger,” her ladyship said firmly, “whereas our informant would be in danger of his very life.”

“That is true, you know,” said Sir Brian gently.

They discussed the matter for some moments longer before Sir Brian took his leave of them and Jessica found herself alone with her aunt.

“I do hope you are not fatigued,” Lady Susan said, hugging her. “I want to hear all about the family and everything you have been doing since I last saw you.”

“Goodness, ma’am, that will take weeks!”

“Then so be it. I particularly wish to hear about that charming young man who just left us. He may choose to think I believe he has a sincere interest in the Institute—for that matter, he may very well be sincere—but he has talked of little other than your beautiful self throughout most of his frequent visits to this house, my dear. You have certainly made a conquest there. And not the sort you usually attract, either. A far superior specimen this time. I congratulate you. What do you think of him?”

“I am not at all certain what I think, to be perfectly frank,” Jessica informed her with a rueful smile. “He told me only the second time we met that I was the exact sort of woman for whom he had been searching all his life. It smacked a bit of Cheltenham dramatics, ma’am. I could hardly believe he was sincere. But I must admit his visits to Gordon Hall before he left Cornwall were frequent enough to make me believe he was actually attempting to fix my interest. Then, after that unfortunate business with the fake princess, he left rather abruptly and in a temper. I believed he would want nothing further to do with me.”

“Well, he has clearly recovered his good humor,” her ladyship pointed out dryly. “I think he is perfectly charming.”

“He has certainly shown that he does not hold a grudge,” Jessica agreed, “but I cannot think his interest in the Institute is anything more than a possible attempt to impress me. I accused him of being an exploiter of human flesh, you see, and I think the charge rankled. But it is true, ma’am. Sir Brian is not only a mine owner who employs women and children in those dreadful holes, he is also the owner of vast sugar plantations in the West Indies—a slave owner, in fact. For him to join the Institute must be a contradiction to all he believes. We know well that such men think only of profit and nothing of the sad condition to which they reduce the people they exploit. He may be charming, but he is also the embodiment of all we most abhor, ma’am.”

“Oh, not of
all
we abhor, Jessica, my love. And with the Institute’s constant need for both money and influence—particularly at the moment, when both are needed to assist poor Mr. Hatchard with his defense—I think we must do all in our power not to alienate Sir Brian, who is willing to provide both. I have accepted his offer to help us, and I hope you will not object to the fact that I also accepted his offer to escort us to Lady Jersey’s drum tomorrow evening.”

“Lady Jersey!” Jessica exclaimed, astonished. She remembered her ladyship well, for Lady Jersey was one of the leaders of London’s social world, an incurable gossip who had earned the sobriquet of “Silence,” onetime mistress of the Regent himself, if what Jessica had heard during her come-out was true, and certainly a most formidable dame. “Why, ma’am, I thought you had eschewed such entertainments as hers for all time.”

“Well, you are quite out then, for I should never be so foolish as to say I will
never
do something,” announced her ladyship, looking virtuously down her slender nose. “Besides, it has occurred to me that perhaps it would be wise to get back into the social way of things, and fortunately I had not yet remembered to send my regrets when Sir Brian chanced to suggest the outing. The people of the
beau monde
,” she added hastily, “have a great deal of money, my dear and most spend it foolishly. Sir Brian is quite right in that I ought to be using what influence I still have in that world to convince them to spend it where it is most needed.”

There was little to be said in opposition to such logical reasoning, and Jessica made no further attempt to dissuade her, despite the fact that she suggested Sir Brian might have other motives for suggesting the outing. The two ladies spent the evening comfortably at home, enjoying each other’s company and conversation. The only thing to mar their comfort was the fact that the drawing-room chimney smoked dreadfully, but once Jessica had convinced Lady Susan that she was quite warm enough without a fire, the difficulty was soon remedied by causing the fire to be extinguished and the windows flung open long enough to air out the room. In her own bedchamber, later, however, Jessica was dismayed to be told by her maid that it had also been necessary to extinguish the fire in that room.

“Chimney smokes something fierce, Miss Jessica,” said the wiry Mellin in a disgusted tone, wiping her hands on her frilly apron. “Seems such a well-run house, too, but that chimney’s a disgrace, and not at all what we’re accustomed to.”

At breakfast the following morning, Jessica brought the subject up again. “Really, Aunt Susan, you cannot leave these chimneys as they are. Why, the one in my bedchamber, according to Mellin, is in even more wretched condition than the one in the drawing room. No doubt you’ve been too busy to attend to the matter yourself, but Bates or Mrs. Birdlip should certainly have seen to it. I’ll arrange with one of them to hire a sweep at once.”

“No, Jessica,” her aunt said firmly. “I won’t have one in my house. Awful men who terrorize children to make them climb up into the chimneys to clean them. The chimneys can stay as they are. Summer is nearly upon us, and heaven knows we won’t need the fires then. We can simply wrap up a little warmer if we need to in the meantime.”

Jessica dropped the subject, knowing that what her aunt said about the harsh methods employed by the chimney sweeps was perfectly true. She had heard enough horror stories to know that they made life miserable for their so-called apprentices, starving and beating them in the name of service to the community.

The two ladies spent that afternoon receiving callers, and after the last of these had departed, repaired to their bedchambers to prepare for the evening ahead. Sir Brian called for them at nine o’clock, and though he greeted Lady Susan with his usual charm, he seemed to have eyes only for Jessica.

She had dressed carefully and was looking particularly magnificent in an evening gown of magenta silk, trimmed with silver lace, her hair arranged in an intricate array of plaits and coils piled atop her head to give her added height. It was a style she rarely affected, for the simple reason that it generally gave her the appearance of towering over most of the men of her acquaintance. But it was a becoming style, and she knew she would be safe in allowing Mellin to create the effect on this particular occasion.

The drum was only the first of many such activities, however, for once Lady Susan made up her mind to do anything, she did it with a will. Jessica soon found herself involved in such a whirlwind of activities that even her sister laughingly predicted that she was overdoing it.

“I find it most entertaining,” Lady Gordon said as they enjoyed a dish of bohea together one drizzly afternoon in Duke Street, “that you and Aunt Susan of all people are hobnobbing with the
beau monde
instead of sitting through stuffy dinners with the likes of Mr. Grey-Bennett or Mr. Wilberforce and their reformers. I look to see you both at the next assembly at Almack’s, dear Jess.”

Jessica had laughingly denied the likelihood of such a thing coming to pass, but though she did not go to Almack’s, she attended a good many entertainments that her busy aunt had hitherto stigmatized as frivolous wastes of one’s valuable time. Instead of the dinners with politicians, and meetings of the Institute or the Society to End the Employment of Climbing Boys or any of the other similar societies of which her aunt was an avid and active member, Jessica found herself enjoying routs and balls, masquerades, Venetian breakfasts, and dinner parties with such people as Lady Jersey, the Cowpers, the Princess Esterhazy, or Lady Prodmore, the latter being a wealthy social climber with a number of annoying affectations, not the least of which in Jessica’s opinion was a small black page named Albert. It rather shocked Jessica that her aunt would encourage the notice of a woman like Lady Prodmore, particularly when she discovered that the woman had informed Lady Susan that Albert was not merely a servant but was, in fact, her personal property, a slave purchased two years before in France. However, Lady Susan informed her niece bluntly that if the woman wanted to cut a dash, she ought at least to be encouraged to put her money to good use, since she so clearly never put her mind to any use at all.

During her come-out Jessica had often found the social scene boring and unappealing, but somehow it didn’t seem so any longer, except upon those rare occasions when Sir Brian failed to escort them. Her popularity had by no means diminished over the years, and she never lacked for a partner or just someone to talk with, but whenever Sir Brian was present, the evenings seemed to pass especially quickly; whereas, when he was not, the time passed with maddening slowness. It did not seem to matter whether he was engaging her attention himself or merely watching her; Jessica found that, in his presence, she enjoyed herself considerably more than she might have expected to do before having made his acquaintance. He made no mystery of his interest in her, but neither did he declare himself, seeming content enough, for the moment at least, merely to enjoy her company. Consequently, she began to relax her guard. He was someone to talk to who entered into her thoughts and seemed to understand them, and he was someone with whom she might exchange a speaking glance whenever someone like the detestable Lady Prodmore did or said something quite ridiculous. Jessica never looked his way in vain. The smiling eyes were always waiting to meet hers, and that fact alone gave her a sense of being looked after that she had never enjoyed before. And she did enjoy it. So much so that the thought of his West Indian estates and his mines didn’t so much as enter her head for days at a time.

“I
DON’T KNOW WHAT’S
come over my uncle of late,” Andrew Liskeard said as he helped himself to a glass of Malaga from a tray that Bates held out to him.

Jessica poured herself a cup of tea. “Do let Bates give you some of these delicious sandwiches, as well, Andrew,” she said. They were seated opposite each other in Lady Susan’s drawing room, awaiting that lady’s return from the Court of King’s Bench, where Mr. Hatchard’s trial was going forward. When Bates had departed, Jessica lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “What were you saying about Sir Brian?”

“That he isn’t himself these days,” Andrew replied promptly, helping himself from the tray of crabmeat and cucumber sandwiches resting upon the table between their two chairs. He had renewed his habit of visiting her frequently, and though he never referred to the bogus princess, he seemed to have recovered his spirits entirely. He grinned at her now. “If anyone had suggested that he would spend his days at the King’s Bench instead of at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, or his evenings at routs and balls rather than at the Daffy Club, I dashed well wouldn’t have believed it.”

“But he hasn’t been spending his days at court,” Jessica protested. “My aunt has certainly done so, and she has scarcely mentioned him.”

Andrew wiped his hands upon a napkin and sipped Malaga. “Perhaps not whole days, ma’am, but I know he is there today, and he has kept a close watch on all the proceedings. That is not the way he generally spends his time in London.”

“No, Georgie said he customarily spends a good many hours with the Corinthian set.”

“I don’t know about that. I daresay he don’t belong to any particular set, you know. But in other years he has gone almost daily to Angelo’s for fencing practice and Jackson’s for sparring, and evenings he is often to be found at the Daffy or in Cribb’s Parlor with the backroom set. This year, besides this business with Hatchard, he’s been spending an inordinate amount of time just doing the fancy.”

Jessica grinned at him. “Paying too much attention to his nephew’s activities?”

Chuckling, Andrew shook his head. “I don’t mind. It just seems odd and very unlike him. He actually chatted with that devilish Lady Prodmore for quite ten minutes at Mrs. Drummond-Burrell’s soiree last night. And he allowed her to send Albert—her young page, you know—to fetch his wine for him.”

“But he must be accustomed to that sort of thing,” Jessica pointed out.

“Good Lord, ma’am, why?”

“Well, he has slaves of his own, after all.”

“Dash it, Miss Jessica, young Albert can’t like making such a cake of himself, but he’s no slave.”

“Indeed, he is,” she told him. “Lady Prodmore took great delight in informing Aunt Susan of the fact only the second or third time we met her.”

“But slavery is illegal in this country,” Andrew protested.

“Oh, no, it is not,” retorted the well-informed Miss Sutton-Drew. “England has seen fit to outlaw the trading of slaves, but not their ownership. And Lady Prodmore purchased Albert in Paris.”

“Well, but dash it, ma’am, you still oughtn’t to make it sound as if she and Uncle Brian are cut from the same bolt,” Andrew said roundly. “He may own slaves, though he never sees them, of course, let alone has them about to wait upon him. And he dashed well don’t keep them all tarted up like miniature sultans and use them to puff off his consequence,” he added in a disgusted tone.