She played for an hour and more, drugging herself on the music. The notes came to her fingers without stumbling or dragging as long as she did not consciously think about them. Then a sudden noise startled her, a coal falling in the grate, and she lost her place. It was like waking from a deep sleep. For a moment she sat confused. Unable to regain the almost trancelike state she had been in, she sighed and flipped through Lucy’s music books. A Mozart minuet caught her eye, and she played the piece with enjoyment; but her total submission to the music was gone and with it her total peace of mind
As she finished, she heard footsteps behind her and turned; Miss Carstairs was entering the room.
“My dear, that was delightful. What a pity that Lucy cannot play with such charm.”
Miss Fell smiled and rose to bob a curtsy. Suddenly she was exhausted, drained. Palefaced, she put a hand to the instrument to steady herself. Miss Carstairs moved swiftly to her side.
“Sit down, child. I daresay you have been playing too long. I shall ring for the servants and you shall go to bed.”
“Oh no, ma’am. A momentary dizziness; perhaps I should not have stood up so quickly.”
“Well, if you are certain you should not retire, Thomas had best help you into the drawing room and we shall have a cup of tea. That will revive you.”
The hot drink brought the color back to her pale cheeks, and she was able to dress for dinner without any unusual feeling of fatigue. That evening, as she sat at her daily task of sorting Miss Carstairs’ tangled silks, she looked back on the day with pleasure. She had found a new friend and a new occupation, both of which promised delight.
The days passed more quickly now. She spent a good deal of time at the piano, though she was unable to abandon herself completely to the music again.
Miss Carstairs often listened to her playing, which improved with constant practice, and complimented her on it.
“You must have had a superb master,” she pronounced. “I do not know when I have heard such excellence, though the Carstairs are a musical family. It is a pity that you do not sing.”
“Indeed, ma’am, I would be happy to sing in a family party, but I have a horror of standing up before strangers and facing their indifference or scorn. When I play the pianoforte I may turn my back on the audience.”
Now, how do I know that?
she wondered. She could not precisely remember such a situation and yet it seemed to her that was how she would feel.
After that exchange, the two ladies were occasionally to be heard singing duets, Miss Carstairs’ strong soprano mingling with the warm low voice of Miss Fell in ballads and folk songs.
“It do be a proper treat to hear ‘em,” declared Mary, “but my young lady do get tired a-singing, more nor playing.”
Miss Fell’s health was improving rapidly. She still tired very easily though, and more than once she had to retire before dinner, or Thomas had to carry her up in the evening.
Mrs. Denison visited her regularly, and she grew very fond of the unassuming young woman. When the doctor permitted at last, she repaid her visits and met her children, an adorable two-year-old boy as blond as his mother, and a baby girl whose lack of hair was more than compensated for by a pair of huge blue eyes that solemnly studied everything in sight.
On Sunday she went to church with Miss Carstairs. The villagers stared mightily, but in a friendly way, which owed much to the reports of the manor’s servants. The Reverend Crane preached a lengthy diatribe on the sin of pride, glaring at her the while. His own pride took a fall after the service when Miss Carstairs, pointedly ignoring him, invited the Denisons to join them for dinner that evening.
“Jeremy Denison,” she announced firmly in the carriage on the way home up the hill, “is a young man of culture and sense, and Susan is a pretty-behaved creature. I am happy to see you have made her acquaintance.”
Gladys was thrown into a panic at the thought of cooking for guests.
“More hair than wit, that one,” said Mary with acerbity. “Auntie says, would ‘ee speak to her, miss, or there won’t be no dinner,” she amended conscientiously.
Miss Carstairs could not approve of any other than sacred music on the Sabbath, or of the reading of novels or poetry. She presented Miss Fell with a copy of Miss Hannah More’s
An Estimate of the Religion of the Fashionable World
, with which she spent a long afternoon. Truth to tell, she spent more time gazing out of the window at the clouds scurrying past in the cold grey sky, wondering if it would snow and if that would prevent Richard’s return.
On Monday a letter from Mr. Carstairs was delivered to his Aunt Florence, announcing his intended arrival on the following Wednesday. He trusted Miss Fell was much recovered. There was no personal message for her.
Don’t be gooseish, Miss Fell told herself severely. Why should there be?
Chapter 6
Lucy had sent all sorts of messages to her dear Clara, but Richard had refused to add them to his note.
“You will see Miss Fell in a few days,” he said, “and besides I would not inflict such twaddle on my aunt. You may write yourself if you wish.”
Lucy had just sat down to do so when the knocker below announced a visitor, and Lord Denham appeared to take her driving in the park.
Life had been hectic since the Carstairs’ arrival in Cavendish Square a week earlier. After enduring for three days Lucy’s grumbling every time a faster vehicle overtook the old traveling carriage, Richard had insisted on taking her to the coach-builder at the first opportunity.
“The mantua-makers will have to wait, mama,” he told Lady Annabel. “If Lucy decides the coach is to be upholstered in purple velvet, it will take some time; and if I am to buy a new carriage, I would wish to use it on my return to Toblethorpe next week.”
His sister moderately chose a cotton plush in royal blue. “I am sure the old coach must be fifty years old,” she explained, “and if we are to have this one as long, it had better be fitted to last well.”
The mantua-makers’ turn came: muslins and jaconets, sarcenets, silks and satins; walking dresses, riding dresses, morning gowns, ball gowns; laces, ribbons and spangles; gloves, slippers, boots and bonnets. Lucy emerged dazed from fitting after fitting.
“I am sure I shall never wear the half of them,” she confided to Richard. “At Toblethorpe such a quantity of clothes would last for years. It seems a wicked waste.”
“I agree absolutely,” he replied gravely. “We will send everything back and return to Toblethorpe at once.”
“Oh no, Richard,” she exclaimed, “I did not mean… Oh, you are bamming me, you odious wretch! I did not mean to be ungrateful, and, of course, I do not wish to miss my coming out. Only it is such a bore standing still while mama and Vane cluck around me, and I shall never have time to see the wild beasts at the Exeter Exchange.”
“We shall go this afternoon,” was the prompt reply. “If you have no engagements?”
“Oh, mama will not take me visiting until I have suitable clothes. I have seen no one but Aunt Blanche and Cousin Jennifer in three days.”
“Did I not see Tony here this morning?”
“Yes, but he is your friend, and I have known him forever. You know, Richard, Cousin Jennifer talks of nothing but clothes, and I daresay you may not believe me, Cousin Edward is the same! Jenny says he spends hours tying his cravat, and when he is done, his collar is so high he cannot turn his head. He wears such strange waistcoats, too. Yesterday he had one with pink and orange birds embroidered on it!” She giggled.
“I am not surprised, then, that you should hold elegant dress in such scorn. Come, go fetch a wrap while I order the curricle, and we’ll be off to see the animals.”
Lucy was enthralled by the strange beasts on view at the Exchange. It was a damp, chilly Tuesday, and few people were there, so they had an excellent view. They were studying a huge tiger huddled miserably in the back of its cage when someone tapped Richard on the shoulder. He turned.
“Harry!” he exclaimed. “When did you return home? I thought you were in India or some such godforsaken hole. Let me present you to my sister. Lucy, this is Captain Lord Harry Graham, Tony’s brother, and he seems to have some of the younger ones with him. Colin, is it not, and Edwin?”
Lord Harry bowed over Lucy’s hand, and the boys followed suit.
“Beg leave, ma’am,” he said, “to introduce my friend. Richard, don’t think you know him, either. Major Charles Bowen. Charles, this is Richard Carstairs and Miss Carstairs.”
How-do-you-do’s were exchanged.
“We are just returned from India,” Lord Harry explained. “I merely went there and back with dispatches. Charles had been there three years and was sent home by Richard Wellesley with news of a victory. He has been telling the children such tales of tiger hunts that we had to bring ‘em to see for themselves.”
Major Bowen bowed to Lucy. He was a fair man of medium height and solid build. Where Lord Harry’s face had been reddened by the glare of southern climes, the major’s had been exposed long enough to develop a deep tan, which made a startling contrast with his sun-bleached hair and white teeth. Lucy thought he looked as exotic as the wild beasts.
“How do you do, Miss Carstairs,” he said, smiling. “I fear these sorry creatures bear little resemblance to the cats one sees in the jungle.”
“They look very unhappy, do they not, sir? I am sure they should be left at peace in their own country. It is supposed to be educational to display them so,” Lucy explained wisely. “I daresay it is more enlightening to see them in their natural state, but one cannot travel to India as easily as to the Exeter Exchange.”
The major laughed. “Irrefutable, ma’am,” he agreed.
Lord Harry and Richard were talking politics, and the boys had wandered off, so Major Bowen went on to tell Lucy about the excitement of tiger hunts on elephant back and the sadness of seeing such a noble creature shot.
“Though indeed it is sometimes necessary,” he added. “In general, tigers do not attack people, but when they turn man-eater, they are extremely cunning and dangerous.”
They passed on to other subjects, and half an hour went by without their noticing it. Major Bowen thought Lucy charming, and refreshingly ready to announce her own opinions. He had, before he went to India, met many young ladies as pretty, but none as delightfully free from vanity, missishness, insipidity or flirtatiousness. When they parted, he asked her permission to call on her, and she agreed with alacrity.
Lucy was fascinated by the major’s thrilling stories and flattered that he had taken her opinions seriously, even when he disagreed. Richard, and even Lord Denham, so often laughed at her. And yet he has a sense of humour, too, she thought. He laughed when she was funning. She hoped he would call soon. Her first London beau!
Richard had not observed his sister’s long conversation with Major Bowen. His discussion had turned into a heated debate on the Spanish declaration of war, now three months old. After that, Lord Harry had set aside argument to relay a juicy on-dit he had just heard.
“You know the king opened Parliament last month?” he began in a low voice. “It seems that after the ceremonies he went home, threw the Princess of Wales on a sofa and tried to rape her. She escaped only because the sofa had no back and she rolled off.”
“Where did you hear that?” asked Richard skeptically. “King George has always been a faithful husband, unlike his son.”
“The story came from Princess Caroline herself. She is a strange one, but even she would hardly invent such a thing. Mark my words, we’ll have a regency soon.”
As they chatted about their distaste for Prinny as a prospective ruler, Richard suddenly remembered his sister and was relieved to see her some way off, apparently chatting to Lord Harry’s friend and examining a hippopotamus. He listened with one ear to an apocryphal tale he had heard before and then excused himself.
“My mother will be wondering where Lucy has got to,” he explained. “I had not intended to be gone so long and I suppose the chit must see all the rest of the animals. Shall I see you at Almack’s tomorrow?”
“Lord no,” said Harry frankly. “Too prim and proper for my taste. Cribb’s Parlour is more my line. Daresay m’brother will be at the Marriage Mart. Seems to have taken quite a fancy to Miss Carstairs, though he’s not in the petticoat line in the regular way.” He winked.
“I’d as soon not be there myself,” Richard disclaimed, “only I promised to escort my mother and Lucy. It will be her first time there.”
“Nervous, is she? M’sister was terrified of those old biddies.”
“Lucy nervous? Good God, no. I don’t believe she knows what the word means!”
Dressing the next evening in her new ball gown of primrose yellow gauze over white silk, Lucy was indeed not at all dismayed at the prospect before her. Her mother’s old friend, Lady Cowper, had sent vouchers for Almack’s without being asked. Lord Denham had driven her in the park that morning and reminded her to save him her first waltz, and the second, too. Major Bowen had called with Lord Harry and engaged her hand for the cotillion and the supper dance. Her Cousin Jennifer would be there, and if she did not quite expect, as a newcomer, to dance every dance, she was sure she would enjoy herself.
“I know it is usual to begin the Season with rather more intimate parties,” said Lady Annabel apologetically to Richard. “However, our first engagement is tomorrow, and Lord Denham insisted he could not wait another week to waltz with your sister. I thought it best to acquiesce. Lucy does not know many people yet; but she is not precisely shy, you know, and it will not hurt her to sit down for a part of the evening.”
“Devil a chance of that, mama! Tony and this major of Harry’s have taken two dances each, and the minx has engaged me for two more. With only one or two new acquaintances she will be busy all night.”
“Major Bowen seems an unexceptionable young man. I suppose Lord Harry has known him for some time?”
“Oh, forever, I believe, though that means nothing. Harry has some mighty strange friends. You had best keep an eye on the major, mama.”