by M C Beaton
“I am she,” said Mrs. Waverley stiffly.
Pansy brown eyes gazed worshipfully at Mrs. Waverley as Lady Artemis breathed, “The famous Rights for Women Mrs. Waverley?”
Mrs. Waverley visibly unbent. “I have that modest reputation,” she said.
“Oh, that I could sit at your feet and hear your words of wisdom,” cried Lady Artemis. “I am a widow, too. Allow me to present myself—Lady Artemis Verity. So we widows know more than anyone the pain of being under the cruel domination of a man.”
“Quite so,” said Mrs. Waverley. “We must teach our sisters that it is possible for women to live free of the shackles of bondage. Men! Pah! We spurn them. We can exist in the sunlight, away from their shadow.”
“If only we could talk longer,” breathed Lady Artemis. At that moment a handsome guard’s officer rode past and raised his hat. With a stern effort Lady Artemis prevented herself from smiling at him.
“I am having a little soirée for like-minded ladies on Saturday,” said Mrs. Waverley. “You are more than welcome to attend. Eight o’clock.”
Lady Artemis thought of the Cordeys’ ball, which was to be held at the same time. Then she thought of the Earl of Tredair and smiled bewitchingly on Mrs. Waverley. “And if it is not too much to ask, Mrs. Waverley, I would like to bring a friend who has like-minded views but is starved for intellectual conversation.”
By now Mrs. Waverley was almost purring. “Bring your friend by all means, Lady Artemis.”
Lady Artemis decided to take her leave quickly before Mrs. Waverley asked the identity of this friend. “Thank you! Thank you!” cried Lady Artemis, sweeping a court curtsy. “Goodbye. A bientôt!”
The procession moved on.
When they entered the house, Mrs. Waverley summoned her housekeeper, Mrs. Ricketts, a formidable lady who acted as a sort of female butler. “We have just met a certain Lady Artemis Verity,” said Mrs. Waverley, “who is desirous to attend my soirée on Saturday. Find out about her and make sure she is not a fortune hunter.”
“I’ll send Martha,” said Mrs. Ricketts. “She’ll soon find out.”
Lady Artemis was sure that Mrs. Waverley would send some servant across the square to question her own servants. So she summoned her most handsome footman, Frank, and told him to loiter outside the house and tell anyone who asked that his mistress was a bluestocking, a man-hater, and a terrifying intellectual. After half an hour she had the satisfaction of seeing a dowdy maid leaving Mrs. Waverley’s, coming around the square, and falling into conversation with Frank.
Frederica had not told Mrs. Waverley about Felicity’s romance, and so the sisters were in one of their rare, friendly moods when they gathered in the drawing room with their sewing. For a long while the afternoon passed pleasantly enough, until Fanny said, “I don’t think that Lady Artemis is interested in women’s rights or anything other than how to entrap a man.”
“You’re jealous,” said Frederica, but without rancor. “Did you mark her gown? I could have ripped it off her back.”
“We have very pretty gowns of our own,” pointed out Felicity, “and heaps of jewels.”
“But we’re not allowed to wear them when anyone can see them,” pointed out Fanny.
“Oh, yes we are,” said Felicity. “We get to wear them at Mrs. Waverley’s soirées. You mean that men never get to see them.”
Mrs. Waverley glided majestically into the room. “Fanny was just saying that men never get to see our pretty clothes,” said Felicity maliciously.
“I did not!” retorted Fanny hotly.
“You said that no one ever got to see us in our pretty clothes,” said Felicity gleefully, “and since dear Mrs. Waverley’s friends always see us in our pretty clothes, who else can you mean but men!”
Fanny reddened. “Come with me, Fanny,” said Mrs. Waverley severely, “and we shall have a little talk.”
When she had left the room with Fanny, Frederica said, “You little cat. I shall tell her about that romance you are reading, damned if I don’t.”
“You said a bad word,” yelled Felicity. “I shall tell on you.”
They flew at each other and were soon rolling around on the floor, punching and pummeling. In truth, all the girls were dreadfully spoiled by boredom and by the unnaturally cloistered life they led and by the machinations of their protectress, who had brought them up to spy and tell tales on each other.
Downstairs in the library, Fanny sat with head bowed as a lecture on the iniquities of the male sex was poured into her ears.
Fanny tried to remember the horrors of the orphanage, she tried to remember how grateful to Mrs. Waverley she must always be, but that day she felt the beginnings of hot rebellion starting somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She, Fanny, wanted to wear pink silk shoes with gold roses and drive in the park in a pink silk-lined chariot drawn by four milk-white horses and have men look at her, lots and lots of men.
That feeling of rebellion grew and grew as Saturday approached. On Friday evening she felt restless and on fire. She took her bed candle and crept along the corridor to Felicity’s room and searched under the bed, finding nothing more interesting than the chamber pot. Then she slid her hand gently under Felicity’s pillow and felt the sharp edges of a book. She drew it out and crept back to her room and started to read her first romance.
In later years she was to smile at her folly and think what a really stupid book it had been. But that night it seemed the most wonderful love story in the world. She read and read until the red dawn crept into the room and the sooty birds began to chirp on the eaves outside.
She managed to catch some much needed sleep that day by pretending to be bent over her sewing while, in fact, being fast asleep. When the dressing bell rang, she felt gritty and tired and almost ill with all the new emotions surging through her body.
Less than ever did there seem to be any point in getting all dressed up for a crowd of women, but Fanny knew that if she did not wear her best, then Mrs. Waverley would send her back upstairs to put it on.
She donned a dress of spotted India muslin with puckered sleeves and the front richly ornamented with silver trimming and lace. Over the dress she wore a Persian robe of rich-figured amber sarcenet, made without sleeves and loose from the shoulder. Then she put on a girdle and armlets of gold studded with rubies. White shoes and gloves completed the ensemble. There was a turban encircled with a rouleau of silver muslin to go with the dress, but Fanny put it to one side, dressing her blond hair in one of the Grecian styles and ornamenting it with a gold circlet.
Fanny went slowly down the steps. How wonderful it would be if one of those despised and terrible men were waiting in the hall for her. But when she entered the drawing room, there was only the usual collection. Apart from her sisters, there was Miss Pursy, faded and genteel, Miss Baxter, fat and ferociously jolly, and wispy little Miss. Dunbar.
Mrs. Waverley was standing in front of the fireplace. “Now that Fanny has deigned to join us,” she said coldly, “I shall commence our soirée with a reading from the poem, “The Rights of Women” by Anna Laetitia Barbauld. Ahem.”
“Are we not to wait for Lady Artemis?” asked Fanny.
“It is now two minutes past eight o’clock,” said Mrs. Waverley. “If she is not here now, she is not one of us. Procrastination is the thief of time. I shall begin. Ahem!
“Yes, injured Woman! rise, assert thy right!
Woman! too long degraded, scorned, oppressed;
O born to rule in partial Law’s despite,
Resume thy native empire o’er the breast!
“Go forth arrayed in panoply divine,
That angel pureness which admits no stain;
Go, bid proud Man his boasted rule resign
And kiss the golden sceptre of thy reign.
“What is it, Ricketts?”
“Beg parding, mum,” said the flustered housekeeper. “But that Lady Artemis is come.”
“Then send her in.”
“Ple
ase, mum, she’s brought a friend with her.”
“What ails you, Ricketts. Send them both in.”
“But, mum …”
“Don’t stand there, mopping and mowing like an idiot, send them in.”
“Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,” said Mrs. Ricketts.
A few moments later the double doors to the drawing room were thrown open.
Chapter Two
The Earl of Tredair was highly amused by the atmosphere of shock among the women servants. “I fear I am about to get my marching orders,” he murmured to Lady Artemis as they stood in the hall.
He was regretting having come. He did not want to establish any intimacy with Lady Artemis. Yet, he had made a bet with her and he was honor bound to stand by it, and the one way he could judge whether Mrs. Waverley was the genuine article or not was by meeting her in person.
That Mrs. Waverley was very rich could be judged by the expensive tiling on the floor of the hall, by the thick red carpet on the stairs, and by the fine portraits and landscapes decorating the walls. There were bowls of hyacinths scenting the air, and he was surrounded by all the hush of a well-run home.
Ricketts, the housekeeper, descended the stairs. “My lord, my lady, follow me,” she said, and led the way up to the drawing room on the first floor.
Throwing open the double doors, she announced with relish, “The most noble Earl of Tredair and Lady Artemis Verity.”
Lord Tredair bowed and looked curiously at the assembled females. A heavy matron was standing in front of the fireplace, a book of poetry in her hands. Three faded spinsters sat looking at him as if Satan himself had descended among them. Then his eyebrows rose as he took in the presence of three young and beautiful girls. Where were the schoolgirls Lady Artemis had described to him earlier that evening when he had called for her?
There was an exquisite blonde with deep blue eyes and a delicate rose leaf complexion, a black-haired beauty with hazel eyes and an oval face, and then, obviously the youngest of the three, one with chestnut hair and wide gray eyes. All were wearing the latest and most expensive of fashions, and all, even the youngest, had an air of good breeding.
Mrs. Waverley took a deep breath and summoned up her courage to ban this … this man from her house when little Miss Dunbar, her faded eyes sparkling and wisps of hair escaping from her pins, said. “You must make the introductions, Mrs. Waverley. What will his dear lordship think of us all?”
There was a general fluttering of agreement from the other females, with the exception of the cool blonde.
“I think Lord Tredair has made a mistake,” said Mrs. Waverley awfully. “We meet here in my little salon to discuss the rights of women …”
“A subject very close to my heart, which is why I am come,” said the earl with a bow.
“Our hostess is quite overcome,” said Miss Baxter with a jolly laugh. To Mrs. Waverley’s fury, she made the introductions. Fanny was bitterly amused. What had happened to all their beliefs and principles? Frederica and Felicity were stifling giggles, Miss Pursy was fluttering about repeating all the introductions, and Miss Dunbar was tripping over chairs in her excitement.
Mrs. Waverley moved forward to take over. His lordship would soon find he had come to the wrong house. Lady Artemis had turned out to be a snake in the grass. She noticed that Fanny was not at all impressed and her heart overflowed with love. Dear Fanny. Better than any other girl. Beautiful Fanny.
“If you will be seated here, Lady Artemis,” said Mrs. Waverley, all but pushing that lady into a seat by the fireplace, “and my lord, here, I think, by little Fanny.”
Lady Artemis was still recovering from the shock presented by this barrage of beauty. “Are the three other girls in the schoolroom?” she asked.
“I have no other girls,” said Mrs. Waverley.
“But I met you with three schoolgirls in the square!”
“You met my daughters,” said Mrs. Waverley. “The only ones I have. Now, if you are all ready, I will begin reading again.”
The earl stole a glance at Fanny, who was sitting demurely next to him, her gloved hands resting on her lap. He found it an effort not to stare openly at so much golden beauty. Her hair was so fair, it was almost silver, and curled naturally with that springiness that no amount of curl papers or heated clay rollers could produce. It was free of pomatum, unlike Lady Artemis’s hair, which gleamed with oil. Her nose was small and straight, and her startlingly deep blue eyes were fringed with sooty lashes. He wondered if she darkened them and immediately decided she did not. There was nothing artificial about Fanny’s beauty. Her gown, as was the fashion, was low cut, revealing the top halves of two excellent white and rounded breasts. Her mouth was soft and pink and well shaped.
Mrs. Waverley finished her poetry reading and there was a spattering of applause. “Now,” said Mrs. Waverley, “our topic for discussion is the education of women.”
“Most important,” said Lady Artemis, flashing a wicked look at Lord Tredair, a look which Fanny intercepted. “An unaccomplished female is a bore. One should be able to play the pianoforte and to sing.”
“I think,” said the earl, “that Mrs. Waverley means education in Greek and Latin and the sciences.”
“But woman’s sole purpose in life is to get married!” cried Lady Artemis.
“And to have children,” pointed out Frederica.
“Exactly,” said Lady Artemis, giving her a warm smile.
“So,” said Frederica, “it surely follows that an intelligent and well-educated mother will be a better example to her children than an ill-educated and ill-informed one.”
“I disagree,” said Lady Artemis, glancing at the earl for approval. “Of what use is Greek and Latin when there is a household to run? I would have thought a sound education in housewifery of more importance.”
“Very important,” agreed Felicity, “but a certain housewifery of the mind is essential or the woman, when her children have grown, may find she has no intellectual reserves for her old age. Come, Lady Artemis, you have seen them in society—the faded lilies of the field who lie on their sofas all day long, vainly trying to amuse themselves with pug dogs and romances.” This was a fair description of Lady Artemis’s afternoons, and she looked at Felicity in high irritation as if thinking the girl had been spying on her.
“Aren’t you too young to wear your hair up?” snapped Lady Artemis. “And it is not the thing for young misses to wear jewels.” Felicity had a very fine collar of emeralds about her slim neck.
“It is not at all the thing for young ladies to be educated either,” said Felicity, delighted that their beautiful and worldly guest was behaving so badly. “But it is time these unwritten and stupid laws were broken.”
Miss Pursy gave a genteel cough. “I think we are forgetting the gentlemen’s point of view,” she said, flashing a flirtatious glance at the earl and earning herself scowls from all around the room. “They surely are only attracted to ladies who are pretty and fluttery and say babyish things.”
“Not at all,” countered Lady Artemis. “It is possible to talk well and wittily about plays and operas and Lord Byron’s latest poem without having to addle one’s brain with a lot of useless science and dead languages.”
“‘Qui finem quaerus amoris, cedet amor rebus; res age, tutus eris,’” said the earl. “Is that what you ladies mean, Miss Fanny?”
There was a little silence. The earl wondered whether this blond goddess was going to ignore him. He wanted to hear her speak. He had maliciously quoted Ovid, feeling perfectly sure that she would not know what he was talking about.
“What did his lordship say?” asked Felicity. “I did not catch it.”
“My lord was quoting Ovid,” said Fanny. “Translated, it means, ‘You who seek an end of love, love yields to business; be busy, and you will be safe.’ And by that you have betrayed yourself, my lord. Because we support the movement which demands more freedom for women and more education for women, you assume that w
e must have banished romance and marriage from our minds. You suggest then that we should be busy about our household chores and our sewing to keep softer and feminine thoughts at bay. That is not so. We would be happy were there more gentlemen to share our views, but as there are not, we shun their company. We merely try to instruct other females so that we may bring about a bloodless revolution. It takes a great deal of courage and often leaves us open to ridicule.”
“Dear me,” said the earl acidly—for he had never been put down before, “you paint a frightening picture of an Almack’s full of young misses haranguing us on world affairs.”
Fanny turned and smiled at him, an imp of mischief dancing in her blue eyes. “It is natural, my lord, that men who are ignorant themselves should view with some degree of jealousy and alarm any proposal for improving the education of women. But such men may depend upon it: however the system of female education may be exalted, that there never will be wanting a due proportion of failure. After parents, guardians, and preceptors have done everything in their power to make everybody wise, there will still be a plentiful supply of women who have taken special care to remain otherwise.” Her blue glance flicked in the direction of Lady Artemis. “If the great extinction of ignorance and folly is the evil they dread, they should be comforted by the thought that there will always be women who will protect their interests and share their medieval views despite all exertions to the contrary.”
“My dear Miss Fanny,” exclaimed Lady Artemis, “what a tedious bore you make it all sound. Is there no room for frivolity, dances, masquerades?”
