“I…I…” Charity pulled herself together firmly. There were enough ladies in the Sisterhood to mean that she was not obliged to speak more than occasionally to Miss Musgrove. And if Isobelle wanted her and the others were happy to welcome her… That was all that mattered. “I’m overwhelmed,” she said, avoiding Isobelle’s question. “Wh-when is the next meeting, did you say?”
“Saturday. Of course, you have not met everyone in the Sisterhood yet, you know,” Isobelle said seriously. “It was not possible for us all to attend at such short notice. But you must not mind that. You know enough of us now that Saturday will not be too much of a trauma to you.” She clapped her hands suddenly, in a burst of pleasure. “Saturday! I can hardly wait!”
Charity was not sure whether she could hardly wait for Saturday or hardly wait for Saturday to be over. Rebecca had shown no concern about Charity attending another meeting so soon after the first. Six months into her marriage, Rebecca seemed to have settled down a little more. Fotheringay was often out, and Rebecca seemed happier for it.
“In truth, Charity,” she said, “it will be quite useful. I have a few friends coming around myself—Mrs Hollings, Mrs Davison and Miss Clay—and it is just the sort of event that you would hate, you know. Gossip and embroidery, I’m afraid! But if you’re safely somewhere else, none of the ladies can take offence at you not appearing.”
“Do they take offence?” Charity asked guiltily, aware of several previous meetings which she had avoided with much less excuse.
Rebecca put her hand to her mouth in dismay. “Oh dear! I ought not to have said that. Well, you know what they are for talking about everything, and I’ll admit that I found it hard to keep my countenance when they were asking whether you were deliberately avoiding them!”
“Because I was.” Charity sighed. “Becca, I’m sorry. I will try and come to another one, but if you really think that it is all right for me to go with Isobelle instead, I’ll be very grateful to you!”
Rebecca smiled. “Dearest, you are mixing with the elite. Mrs Hollings would never dare object, and Miss Clay will be quite overcome by her close brush with the top echelons of society! You know that she is the daughter of one of Mr Fotheringay’s friends, do you not? A nice girl, but not used to the ton. It will take the rest of us to keep her feet on the floor when she discovers whom you are with!”
The sisters laughed, and Charity went up to her room, with one more reason to be grateful to Isobelle and the Sisterhood before the meeting ever had started.
The time for the meeting came soon enough, though, and Charity realised with relief that it really and truly wasn’t as frightening this time. She had met several of the Sisterhood; had talked to them and had had confirmation from Isobelle that they liked her and wanted her as one of themselves. And, as an added advantage, she had every excuse for avoiding Rebecca’s dreary social gathering. All in all, she thought, looking out of the window and seeing the sun pouring down its rays onto the world, life was fairly wonderful.
As she was driven over to Isobelle’s house for this second meeting, hot on the heels of the first, she wondered who would be there. Would it be all the same people? Or, as Isobelle had suggested, might there be more new people to meet? But at least this time she would know some of the others apart from Isobelle; and the meeting itself would not be so strange. She wondered if Mrs Seacombe would be there again and if there would be more kissing. She had felt embarrassed and uncomfortable about the public display of such deep affection, but it had also been exciting, in its way. She was not sure whether she hoped that it would or would not happen again; it made her feel funny all over, and gave rise to a strange throbbing between her legs when she remembered it.
Isobelle met her in the hall once more, and escorted her through into the drawing room, which had sprigs of holly and mistletoe around it in festive fashion. Charity saw on a quick sweep of the room with her eyes that many of the same ladies as last time were indeed there. Miss Garland—Louisa; Mrs Seacombe—Lydia; Lady Caroline; Nan Musgrove. But there were a couple of new ladies also, sitting quietly together by the back window. Isobelle caught the direction of Charity’s gaze and then took her over to the pair.
“These are our lovebirds, Emily and Jane,” she said, by way of introduction. “I don’t think they were there at our last meeting. They scorn my little events, you understand! They are the Sisterhood’s first married couple, you know.”
“I beg your pardon?” Charity said, very much disconcerted.
Isobelle pealed with laughter. “Oh, Harry, your expression! Ask them yourself. I’m sure they will be happy to explain.”
Charity looked expectantly at the two ladies. Emily was fair-haired: not golden like Isobelle, but with a riot of almost-white curls surrounding her face. It was clear that her hair had once been pulled back in an elegant style, but little strands had escaped, giving an almost halo-like effect to her appearance. But she was clearly shy—shyer, even, than Rebecca at her most uncertain. She looked terribly young and in need of protection, grasping Jane’s hand tightly, and staring down at the floor. Jane was very different: her straight brown hair was parted at the middle and pulled back in a very severe fashion, which reminded Charity of the governess she and Rebecca had had for a couple of years, before their father had declared that educating girls was a shocking waste of time and money and sent her away. It was Jane who explained.
“Emmy and I have been friends for some years now. Closer than sisters, closer than most gentlemen and their wives,” Jane said. “We thought for a long time that we were the only ones. I suppose most people do, so finding the Sisterhood was a great joy to us.”
Charity wondered how they had discovered the Sisterhood, but did not quite like to ask. “But you had each other,” she said instead.
Jane smiled, and there was a sudden warm glow in her looks. Charity had been wondering how someone as young and shy as Emily seemed could have dared even to speak to Jane, let alone to become so close to her. However, looking at Jane’s face as she smiled, it made more sense.
“We did. We are the lucky ones. Of course, Isobelle was teasing to call us married, but a few months back we plighted our troth in front of the rest of the Sisterhood.” Jane laid her other hand protectively over her own and Emily’s clasped ones, and Emily almost unconsciously moved an inch or two closer to her ‘wife’s’ side. “We can’t have rings, as you can understand, but we have these keepsake necklaces to remind us.”
Charity saw the matching chains around the two ladies’ necks. It was a beautiful idea, and the necklaces were equally beautiful. Perhaps one day… But she refused to follow that train of thought. It was much too early, and anyway, Isobelle was much too beautiful and important to… She smiled back at Jane.
“That’s lovely,” she said sincerely. “Congratulations to you both.”
Emily just dared to raise her gaze and gave Charity a happy glance. Jane looked embarrassed.
“Of course, we can’t tell anyone, nor live together officially like man and wife. But we’re lucky to have the Sisterhood, where we can be ourselves, and luckier still to have each other.”
Charity would never have considered herself a romantic. Rebecca had always been much more inclined in that direction, devouring the few three-volume novels which had come her way, and reading them over and over again, but Jane’s simple love story touched Charity deeply.
“I hope you will be very happy.”
“They will!” called Isobelle, whose flitterings from lady to lady in the room had brought her back close enough to overhear Charity’s remark. “If they are not, the rest of the Sisterhood will join together to demand the reason why!”
Unexpectedly, Emily giggled at this. Charity had begun to wonder if the girl could make a sound, so silent had she been. Jane caught Charity’s surprise and responded to it.
“Emmy does talk, don’t you, my dear?”
“Sometimes,” the girl said shyly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be
rude,” Charity apologised.
“I don’t mean to be shy. It just happens.”
Jane ruffled her hair affectionately. “She didn’t have the best of times in society when she first came out, and—”
“Too many people?” Charity asked sympathetically.
“No, it wasn’t that. It…” Emily looked appealingly at Jane.
“They didn’t understand her,” Jane said. “She’s very intelligent, you see”—Emily blushed, but did not deny the statement—“and her conversation about Sophocles and others of the Ancient Greeks somewhat baffled the ton. It was not quite what they expected from her!”
Charity tried to suppress a smile. She could imagine only too well the reaction of the society belles, and the vast majority of the gentlemen, to a pretty young girl attempting to draw them into a serious discussion about Greek philosophy. Jane and Emily both laughed, easily able to read her mind.
“You see?” Jane asked.
“I certainly do!”
“Fortunately,” Emily said, encouraged into speaking, “I met Lady Caroline. She understood about philosophy. And then,” she looked adoringly at Jane, “we learned of the Sisterhood. It had never seemed so wrong to me, our relationship—Sappho, you know—but I never thought we would find other people who understood.”
“I didn’t understand myself until lately,” Charity admitted, amazed by the transformation in Emily now she felt comfortable enough to speak.
“Have you been to any of Cara’s Greek evenings?” Jane asked.
“Goodness, no!”
“Would you be bored?” Emily’s tone was wistful, as if Charity had let her down.
“No, not bored.” Charity flushed. “I am not,” she began with difficulty, unsure how to explain, “of the same…well, circles as Isobelle or Lady Caroline. Isobelle has been kind enough to take pity on me, but I don’t think…”
“Oh, if that is all!”
Isobelle had stayed to listen to the conversation. “Emily is unimpressed with titles and great names,” she said gaily. “I fear I am far too ill-educated for her.”
“You know that is not true,” Jane retorted, in her ‘wife’s’ defence. “Don’t tease her so.”
“All the same,” Isobelle said, “Emily is correct about one thing. If you care about such things, Cara will be delighted to invite you. It is one of her pet projects, you know. That and slavery. Both Nan and Cara are keen on slavery.”
“I don’t understand.” Charity felt totally confused by this statement. The conversation had veered off in an incomprehensible direction. Philosophy and slavery? What was the link? And why on earth were Lady Caroline and that awful Miss Musgrove so enthused about the latter?
Fortunately, Lady Caroline had caught her own name. “Neither would you with an explanation like that!” she exclaimed in her usual forthright fashion. “Honestly, Isobelle, sometimes I think you don’t have the sense you were born with. Nan and I are ‘keen on slavery’, for goodness sake. Come here, child,” she said to Charity, “and I will tell you about the Abolitionist movement.”
Rather as she had in their first meeting, Charity found herself sitting by Lady Caroline. Unlike last time, however, it was Cara who did the speaking, a change for which Charity was most grateful. Miss Musgrove—whom Charity still felt too uncomfortable to think of as ‘Nan’—was sitting there too, however, and Charity regretted it somewhat. She still felt awkward around her, remembering the feeling of betrayal she had experienced when she discovered that Miss Musgrove had been gossiping about her behind her back. At the last meeting, they had done little more than exchange polite greetings; to sit and talk with her, even in Lady Caroline’s company, was an uncomfortable thought. It was evident that Lady Caroline valued Nan highly. Whilst Charity could not in her wildest imaginings think that Cara would take part in malicious gossip, Nan’s presence made Charity feel on edge, as if she were a cat whose fur had been stroked in the wrong direction.
“Please do tell me,” Charity said, attempting a lightness of tone she did not feel. “I know a little, a very little, about Ancient Greece, but I fear I am ignorant indeed about slavery. It feels so very detached from my own experiences.”
“Hmph,” said Lady Caroline. “Well, that is precisely what it is not. Granted, since Somersett’s case in 1772, slavery in England itself has been unknown, but out in the colonies—Jamaica, for example—it is rife. Shocking conditions, some of them too.”
“The traders are the worst,” Miss Musgrove put in. “They haunt the shores of Africa, I believe, taking the natives and shipping them across the Atlantic in the most awful conditions. If one of the slaves dies, or even just gets badly sick, they throw him overboard. There are plenty more to replace them, you see.”
“It is a terrible thought.” Charity knew that her words sounded stilted, but for the life of her she could not feign naturalness when speaking directly to Miss Musgrove. She looked at the other lady with bewilderment. Here she was talking with such sympathy about slaves on the other side of the world, yet she could deliberately hurt someone she had actually met. It didn’t make sense.
“Most people in England don’t want to know,” Cara said. “Too much money involved, and most of the cruelty taking place too far away. But even if it is not on our homeland soil, there are English slavers sailing the seas, and plenty of English gentlemen have fortunes which have been built through slavery. You may have noticed I don’t take sugar in my tea?” She looked enquiringly at Charity.
“Um, no, no, I didn’t,” Charity stammered, yet again taken aback by the sudden change of conversation. Her head, she was sure, would hurt from all the subjects which had been thrown at her this afternoon.
“Perfectly reasonable. No reason why you should,” Lady Caroline said. “But all the sugar in this country comes from slavery. Sugar-beet plantations, you know.” Charity nodded. It all sounded vaguely familiar, and Cara clearly knew precisely what she was talking about. “There’s a movement,” Cara continued, “a very small movement, a shamefully small movement,” she added severely, “to boycott sugar to demonstrate one’s opposition to the use of slaves. That’s why.”
“Cara was one of the first female subscribers to the Committee for the Abolition of the Slave Trade,” Miss Musgrove said. “Being a lady, she could not, of course, take part in public meetings, but she has set up her own female-only meetings here in London.”
“With a lot of help from Nan,” Cara added. “Incidentally, I couldn’t help hearing a bit of what Isobelle was saying to you. Think you should know that the Sisterhood is just that. We’re close as sisters, and some of us,” she added with a nod at Emily and Jane, “closer than that. But any Sister is welcome at any gathering organised by another. Some don’t want to, of course. Try inviting Isobelle to talk about Ancient Greece and see how keen she looks, while Emily and Jane don’t come to a great many of Isobelle’s tea parties. Not really a great talker, Emily, until you get her on her own subjects.”
“I thought she was shy.”
“So she is. Doesn’t know how to talk to many people, poor lamb. Her father believes in educating girls as much as boys, which is just as it should be, of course. But if you’re going to let a girl loose in society, she needs some other knowledge too. I take it you had a governess?”
“For a couple of years. My father baulked at the cost at that point. He did not share Emily’s father’s opinion. What is her surname, incidentally? I know my sister will ask.”
“Summercourt. Jane’s a Blackthorne. The Norfolk branch originally.”
“Well, my father decided that it was more sensible to save the money rather than spend it on teaching us, given that the house would be entailed away. And I’m not sure he was wrong,” she admitted fairly.
“See your point. Anyhow, the thing is, whatever your status of birth or education, a Sister is a Sister. Got my eye on another young thing, incidentally. Miss Kate Smyth. Gossip has it she’s on the catch for a husband, but I’m not so sure. Mind, the ton a
lso seem to think she’s a commoner, but I have a feeling that her grandfather…But never mind that. Give me your address, and if you’re interested, I’ll ensure you get cards for the next Abolitionist meeting. We’re always looking for new members and would be very glad to put you down as another. None of this ‘not good enough’ nonsense.”
“Thank you. I’d like that,” Charity said. She was wise enough to see the kindness behind Lady Caroline’s gruff comments. “I know very little, but I’m anxious to learn more, if you would not mind my attendance.”
Cara gave a quick nod. “And I’ll let you know about the Greek group. We will be discussing Lord Elgin’s marbles. There are mixed views within our members as to whether they should be on display in London, or even whether they should be in London at all. Hope you don’t mind heated discussions. Strange that something related to a time so long ago can cause more controversy than modern events of our time, but so it is.”
Chapter Fifteen
Christmas had come and gone before Charity heard anything further from Lady Caroline Farrell about her various meetings. But in the first week of January, Charity received an invitation to an Abolitionist meeting taking place a few days later. Half-excited, but with no idea of what to expect, Charity was keen to attend. Rebecca had expressed concerns about her attending alone, so Isobelle had arranged that she and Charity would be chaperoned by Mrs Seacombe for this occasion. Isobelle’s mother, Lady Greenaway, rarely left the house thanks to her ill health, so it was not unusual for Isobelle to be accompanied by one member or another of the Sisterhood. Lydia Seacombe, as a married lady, had the privilege of attending places alone, though she freely admitted that she was rarely to be seen at Lady Caroline’s more serious events.
“But for you and your little protégé,” she had told Isobelle in front of Charity, “I will do so this once. Though honestly, Cara would be perfectly happy to do the honours herself, you know.”
The Sisterhood Page 14
