The Swynden Necklace

by Mira Stables

  Aunt Thomasine, who was inclined to talk much more freely to Honor than propriety dictated, roundly declared that she had spoken nothing but the truth. If twelve years of blatant favouritism had not succeeded in spoiling Percy’s cheerful candour or the sunny good humour with which he accepted the mild deprivations inflicted by a limited purse, then a few more months of it would do him no harm. While not sharing her cousin’s foolish partiality for her only son, Miss Thomasine was inclined to detect in him a marked resemblance to her dear brother Charles, who had been just such a hey-go-mad young scamp and had died gallantly, serving his country in distant Canada. Percy was of the same breed. Spoiling rolled off them. She proceeded to domestic details.

  The house in Beaufort Square had been left in charge of an elderly couple, servants of the late Marquess, who had reached pensionable age and were really past regular work. It was a condition of the bequest that they were to be left undisturbed but allowed to volunteer such services as they felt able to give. Miss Thomasine felt that under these circumstances, with no masculine head of the household to take order with the servants, it would be better to engage only females. A butler, or foot-men, even if they could afford reliable ones, would be rather above her touch. She would scarcely know how to deal with them. Honor agreed that she certainly wouldn’t know either and heartily endorsed her aunt’s view. Luckily there was no need to think of setting up a stable. Expense would have ruled it out of court any way, but, Aunt Thomasine explained, in Bath there was nothing derogatory about using hired hacks and vehicles. The streets were so steep that sedan chairs were the most sensible and popular form of transport and only if an excursion to some more distant beauty spot were planned was it considered necessary to use horses and carriages. In fact to think of keeping one’s own carriage would be unbecomingly ostentatious.

  After much anxious thought it was decided that most of the new dresses that the ladies would require should be purchased in the city itself. They might cost a little more but one could be sure that they were in the high kick of fashion. Moreover such free spending was likely to be productive of general good will, a useful asset when taking up residence in a new neighbourhood. This being settled there was no need for long delay. March was already well advanced, the days growing longer and milder. It was a fortunate circumstance that Miss Helmore’s home in Trowbridge was so conveniently placed. It was a simple matter for her to spend two or three days in the house in Beaufort Square, hiring servants and seeing that all was in order for a protracted stay. Honor, who had spent all her short life in distant Lincolnshire until her father’s death had cast the family on Cousin Thomasine’s hospitality, begged hard to go with her on this voyage of exploration, but was refused. Such matters should not be approached in a scrambling haphazard fashion, said her aunt severely. When all was in train they would arrive in the city with an air of leisured dignity. She tried to explain to the neophyte just how a new arrival in Bath was heralded; how coaches were noted as they approached the outskirts of the city and their arrival welcomed with the pealing of bells. Presently the Master of Ceremonies himself would arrive to call on the newcomers. It was essential to have one’s name inscribed in his book. All one’s social comfort depended on his approval. She waxed almost sentimental recalling the days of her youth when she and Honoria had made their come-out in Bath. The great Beau Nash had already been in his decline though his rule was still absolute in the city that he had brought to fame. “Honoria had a great many beaux and made a splendid match,” she said reminiscently. “A happy one, too. I never took.” And as though this lowering thought brought her down to earth again added more prosaically, “Of course all this nonsense had to be paid for. A guinea here, a half a guinea there, according to one’s rank. And then there are fees to join the subscription libraries. I expect it is just the same today—possibly even more expensive. You can see why I said that five hundred pounds was not so vast a sum.”

  So Honor stayed at home and busied herself with laundering and ironing such of her belongings as had passed Aunt Thomasine’s stringent examination while her aunt went off to lay the foundations for a campaign that should provide for her future.

  She was by no means sure that she wished to be provided for in such a fashion. A season in Bath—yes. Pretty dresses? Oh! Yes, please! She had never owned a single gown that had not been chosen on grounds of durability and her position as a clergyman’s daughter. To choose a gown just because it was becoming even if expensive would be delightful. But a husband? That was different. It was the usual practice, she knew, for a girl to be displayed at balls and breakfasts, at soirées and drums, so that the eligible gentlemen might look her over and decide, if she were pretty and well dowered, if they would like to keep her. It must be something amiss in Honor herself—perhaps her age, for soon she would be twenty four and quite on the shelf—that made her dubious about settling the whole of her future life in this fashion. Party manners were one thing. Daily living was quite different. And Honor was not convinced that the qualities which made for success at parties would be a good basis for domestic comfort. She was not even sure what qualities she would seek in a husband, though she was quite certain that she did not possess the meekness that, if Mama was to be believed, was the first essential in a wife. But after twenty three years spent in docile subjection to her parents, the prospect of tasting all the delights of society was intoxicating. If spinsterhood was to be her portion she would accept it all the more contentedly if first she might be granted a taste from that heady cup. Her heart was set on enjoying the unexpected treat to the full and since she had nothing by way of dowry to recommend her she felt it was highly unlikely that any marriageable gentleman would succumb to her attractions. Certainly she need not bother her head with such doubts and speculations at this stage.

  It was while Aunt Thomasine was away in Bath that the second letter arrived. Percy carried it to his sister and presented it with a flourish and the amiable hope that someone was sending her some more money. Honor looked at it doubtfully. Two letters within the month. How dreadful it would be if this one were to say that it was all a mistake! She was almost afraid to open it and weighed it tentatively in her hand, studying the thick, expensive looking paper and the heavy seals that had been used to fasten it rather than the more usual wafer. But Percy’s eager curiosity would not permit her to dally over long. Under his urging she finally broke the seals and unfolded the crackling sheet, frowning in serious concentration over the brief contents.

  The Marquess of Melborne presented his compliments to Miss Honoria Fenton. Should that lady be desirous of disposing of the diamond necklace bequeathed to her by the late Marchioness, the Marquess was prepared to offer the sum of thirty thousand pounds for it. This, continued the letter, was considerably more than its actual value. The offer was made because the necklace had historic associations for the Swynden family and Miss Fenton was unlikely to find any other purchaser who would outmatch it. An agent of his lordship’s would call upon her shortly to learn her decision.

  Honor stared disbelievingly at the clearly written words. Thirty thousand pounds! It was a fortune. It would keep them all in comfort—greater comfort than they had ever known. But if she accepted the offer there would be no season in Bath. Or at least not the kind that she had dreamed of ever since the arrival of Aunt Honoria’s letter. No doubt she might still visit the city—there would be money enough for such an excursion for all of them. But there would be no magical glimmering necklace to turn an undistinguished female into a fairy princess at her first ball. She drew a deep sigh. There could be no doubt which way duty pointed. Shaking her head at Percy’s eager questions she went to find her mother.

  But for once she had miscalculated that lady’s reactions. Having mastered the contents of the letter and, with the aid of her vinaigrette, recovered from an onset of dizziness at the very thought of such an enormous sum of money, Mrs. Fenton remained deep in thought for several minutes. Then she gave it as her considered opinion that if the
Marquess wanted the necklace so badly he might be prepared to offer even more for it. It would be downright improvident to snatch at the first offer without at least waiting to hear what the agent had to say. In the meanwhile Honor might just as well have the pleasure of wearing the necklace, once at least. It was not every girl who could go to her first ball wearing thirty thousand pounds worth of diamonds round her neck. To Honor’s protestations that she would be afraid to wear it if it was worth so much, she offered the suggestion that it would certainly be wise to have the fastening looked to, to make sure that it was secure. Apart from that, and seeing that it was safely locked away when not in use, there could be no harm in wearing it.

  The advice sorted so well with Honor’s own wishes that she bestowed a warm hug upon Mama and went off to brood lovingly over her treasure, while Mama spent a happy hour planning just what one could do with thirty thousand pounds—or even more!

  Two days later Miss Helmore returned from her foray, tired but triumphant. The house in Beaufort Square was faintly shabby but still elegant and perfectly comfortable. She had got on very well with the Goodborns. The old man was frail but eager to be of service. He would deal with callers and see to the ordering of wine and the polishing of glass and silver. His presence would add a dignified note to the establishment, for who was to know that he had not grown old in Miss Helmore’s service? His wife was younger and more energetic. As soon as Miss Helmore had agreed to leave to her the hiring of maid servants to do the heavy work, she had volunteered to act as housekeeper. She was even willing to do a little simple cooking, since two ladies would not be hard to please, only stipulating that extra help would have to be hired if there was to be much entertaining. She had also proved very knowledgeable as to which tradesfolk should be honoured with Miss Helmore’s patronage and, to crown all, she was possessed of a daughter who had been dresser to the late Marchioness. Since Jennet Goodborn had been staying with her parents during Miss Helmore’s visit she had been presented to her late employer’s sister. No, she was not seeking another situation in a private family. With her legacy from Lady Honoria she was proposing to set up a dressmaking establishment in Bath. But the premises on which she had settled would not fall vacant for another six months. Because of the connection with Lady Honoria, to whom she had been quite devoted, and because she had time on her hands, she was prepared to advise the younger Honoria on the choice of her wardrobe and even to help with a little light sewing. She said, quite frankly, that she would be well paid for her troubles by the merchants and milliners to whom she introduced Miss Fenton. Miss Helmore had found this refreshing honesty attractive and a bargain had been struck between them. Jennet would reside in Beaufort Square and would devote her skill to enhancing Miss Fenton’s appearance by the use of all the arts of an experienced lady’s maid.

  “You are more than fortunate, my love,” Aunt Thomasine assured Honor. “I was quite shocked to discover how rustic and antiquated was my own appearance by Bath standards. Jennet will give us both a new touch. And she is a pleasant creature who seems to have been truly fond of my sister.”

  In the bustle of last minute preparations and in welcoming the old schoolfriend who was coming to bear Mama company during their absence the letter from Lord Melborne was almost forgotten. Aunt Thomasine was inclined to agree with Mama that there was no need for a hasty decision. Truth to tell she was becoming daily more enamoured of the Bath scheme and would have been almost as disappointed as Honor if anything had arisen to change their plans. She waited only for the completion of the neat travelling dresses which had been put in hand before she enlisted the services of Jennet Goodborn and announced that whatever else they needed should be bought in Bath. A post chaise and four was ordered. Two horses would have been quite adequate for so short a journey, but that would have given quite the wrong impression. There must be nothing mean or shabby about their arrival. Nor would ostentation suit their book. An air of well-bred luxury was the thing. And as she studied Honor’s trim figure in the dove grey cambric with its tight fitting sleeves and the snowy ruffles that drew the eye to slender hands and prettily turned wrists, she was well content. It was quite a pity that such elegance must be wrapped in an enshrouding travelling mantle.

  Briskly she bade her cousin farewell, bestowed parting admonitions upon Percy and Tamsin as to their behaviour during her absence, promising them the treat of a visit to Bath when the summer holiday permitted them to neglect their studies and mounted into the chaise, acknowledging critically that for a hired vehicle it was extremely comfortable and even clean. Only Mrs. Fenton felt it necessary to shed a few proper tears and murmur something sentimental about her precious ewe lamb going out into the wicked world. The ewe lamb bestowed a consoling kiss upon her lachrymose parent and mounted into the chaise with bright eager eyes and fast beating heart. The steps were put up and the great adventure had begun.

  Chapter Three

  A week passed swiftly. To one who had never before dwelt in a city the days were full of incident. Though no formal appearance could be made until the wardrobes of both ladies had been fully replenished there was much to be done and time had no chance to hang heavily. What with shopping amid the delights of Milsom Street, strolling in the Spring Gardens, visiting the bookseller’s shops and the pastry cook’s to partake of a jelly or a tart and study the fashions displayed by the feminine patrons and admiring the antiquities of the Abbey and the elegance of the Parades, Honor felt that the reality far surpassed her imagining. The evening gowns and pelisses, the walking dresses and demitoilets that were being fashioned for her under the guidance of Jennet Goodborn seemed, to her dazzled eyes, to be transforming her into a stranger. Though they were but half done and she found the long hours of standing to be fitted more tiring than she had thought possible, she could already perceive an air of distinction that was born of excellent cut and line expressed in costly fabrics. Jennet was a strict task mistress as the sewing maid had early discovered and would brook no interference with her taste. It was well that Honor had no fancy for frills and braidings and meretricious ornaments. She would certainly have been denied them. Even her own expressed desire for a gown of blue velvet to set off the necklace had been ruthlessly rejected.

  “Not with your colouring, miss,” the arbiter had said firmly, “And not velvet, for a gown. That’s for dowagers. A velvet pelisse, now, that would be pretty and quite suitable. But it must be green, not blue.” And she studied Honor’s hazel eyes and sherry-gold hair with impersonal admiration as she mentally selected the exact shade of green that would bring out the lights in both.

  On one point Honor was adamant. Her inexperience might force her to yield to Jennet’s knowledge of fashionable dressing but nothing would persuade her either to wear a wig or to have her hair dressed high in a fantastic creation of puffs and curls that were, Jennet assured her, quite the dernier cri.

  “I could not be comfortable with my head so stiff and heavy,” she explained in apology and Jennet yielded reluctantly and allowed her to wear her hair simply dressed in a chignon with one or two careless curls to soften a high forehead and a fillet of green or bronze to match her dress, a style that was just beginning to find favour with some of the younger members of the ‘ton’.

  All this was new and absorbing to the country bred Honor, but it was tiring, too, with so much to be learned, so many things that one must not do or say, so many people and so much noise. Aunt Thomasine embarked on a round of visits to such friends of her youth as were still resident in the city. Sometimes Honor accompanied her and was presented to a series of intimidating females who greeted her with greater or lesser amiability according as to whether or no they had marriageable daughters of their own to dispose of. Aunt Thomasine displayed an unexpected skill in parrying questions designed to discover the extent of Honor’s expectations and Honor had little to do but listen meekly and return civil answers to such occasional remarks as were addressed to her. This soon palled. It was very dull, not at all what she had expect
ed. Aunt Thomasine assured her that there were better things in store and pointed out that many of these ladies had sons or nephews who might be depended upon as dancing partners or escorts to the concerts which she would attend as soon as her wardrobe was completed. It was much better to begin one’s social career by winning the approval of the dowagers with a display of modest good manners than to flash like a meteor across the scene, startling all beholders. No one knew better than Aunt Thomasine just how much damage the ‘Bath Quizzes’ could do to a girl’s chances if once they took her in dislike.

  Nevertheless Honor was thankful to be excused attendance when her aunt was invited to a Thursday gathering at Lady Miller’s famous villa at Batheaston. The thought of having to compose a poem on some given topic and then perhaps to hear it read aloud to the assembled guests was quite horrifying. She listened with awed respect when Aunt Thomasine explained just how great an honour the invitation was and how it was extended only to persons of unblemished reputation but was more than content that the privilege should go solely to her aunt. She herself would be much happier undergoing the final fittings for her dresses.