by M C Beaton
“In order to have someone plead my case, I asked an actress, Caroline James, to pretend to be Harriet and to visit the Waverleys.”
“Is this actress very beautiful?” asked his mother curiously.
“She was once. She is still, however, a fine-looking woman and very kind.”
“If I had an opinion,” said his mother cautiously, “I might think that you had made a stupid choice. Harriet does not come to town, but she still looks like a bad-tempered pig. Might it not have been clever to get someone like her?”
“Anyone like my sister, Harriet, would tell the Waverleys that I am a milksop. Come to think of it, Harriet would scream at the very idea of setting a foot inside their house.”
“Well, you must do as you please,” said the duchess, “just so long as I do not have to know anything further about it.”
“Will you come to my wedding?”
“Of course not,” said the duchess. “Michael and Harriet would be there, cursing everyone and at everything.”
“As you will. But if I can arrange a quiet wedding without anyone but yourself there, perhaps you will grace it.”
“I shouldn’t think so, dear. Weddings make me cry dreadfully. The bride always looks so sweet and I think what is going to happen to her and I cry my eyes out. Have you proposed to her?”
“No, I’ve only just met her. If I had proposed to her and been accepted, I should not have had to hire that dreary house or engage the services of an actress. Do you not wish to have some amusement, Mama? I could take you driving or to a play or something.”
“No, dear boy. I like to sit here and look at the park, and listen to all that beautiful silence. No raised voices, no shouting, no one throwing things at the servants. How odd that you should be the only child I had who did not turn out like the father.”
“Perhaps it was because you managed to get me sent away to school,” said Lord Harry, with a grin. “Do you not remember? You cleverly told Father that I was too delicate to go to school and must never, ever be sent away—and so he promptly did just that. It was the greatest day of my life.”
“And the worst day of mine,” said the duchess. “I did miss you and I did cry, and Harriet, who was then only twelve, berated me and accused me of having common blood. Only common people, she said, became mawkish over their children. Oh, I do hope your Frederica is very common.”
***
Lord Harry called later that day on Caroline James. He found her looking rather worried and flustered. “My colonel has returned sooner than I expected,” she said, “and I told him I had been to the Waverleys.”
“He no doubt warned you against such a pernicious influence?”
“Yes. I am to go driving with the two girls tomorrow.”
“If all this is going to make life difficult for you,” said Lord Harry, “we will forget about the whole thing. You are under no obligation to me, you know.”
“I can manage,” said Caroline. She, in fact, felt under a very heavy obligation to Lord Harry. He had saved her life, and yet he had never expected any return.
“Just be sure that the colonel does not hear of any subsequent visits,” said Lord Harry. “He may call on the Waverleys himself, and they would then discover that my so-called sister, Harriet, is none other than Caroline James.”
“And how dreadful that would be,” said Caroline, with her rippling laugh. “A common actress.”
“A very uncommon one. The colonel does not mind your having been an actress?”
“Yes, he hates it. As soon as we are married, he plans to bear me off to Shropshire—where no one has ever heard of Caroline James.”
Lord Harry looked at her curiously. “And how will you manage to bear that sort of life, year in and year out?”
“Very easily. You forget that I led a very isolated life in Switzerland and grew to like it.”
“But one cannot be isolated in the country, although one can be very alone in London,” pointed out Lord Harry. “People call the whole time, you know, and stay forever.”
“Oh, James will manage everything,” said Caroline, with a little sigh. “He is so sure and definite. I will have nothing to worry about but the ordering of the next meal. So wonderful to have someone to lean on.”
“I wish—” began Lord Harry awkwardly, but she quickly interrupted him.
“No, you fancied yourself in love with me once, but you were young and you were in love with the creature of the stage.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But you are welcome to be my pensioner. You do not need to marry for security.”
“I have already taken enough of your money. It must have been hard for you to keep me in Switzerland before you inherited your aunt’s money, for I know your father kept you short.”
“I became one of the few lucky gamblers in London,” said Lord Harry. “It is amazing how much you can win if you confine your refreshments to seltzer water.”
“Have you not considered,” said Caroline, “what will happen when you woo and win your Frederica and she meets your real sister Harriet? She will immediately demand to know the real identity of the fake Harriet. She will assume I was your mistress.”
“That is a gamble I am prepared to take. As soon as I have caught her interest, you may fade away, and then I shall tell her myself. But you shall dance at my wedding, Caroline James!”
Chapter Three
The colonel called on Caroline the next day, just before she was about to go to Hanover Square. She sent her maid, Betty, with a note to the livery stables to cancel the hire of the carriage. The colonel, who knew Caroline had very little money, would immediately have demanded to know what she was about to hire an expensive carriage and two bays.
She at last pleaded a headache and the colonel left. Caroline did not want to wait for Betty to go back to the livery stables and then wait for the arrival of the carriage. She hired a hack and told the driver to take her to the corner of Hanover Square.
Caroline told Mrs. Waverley that it was such a fine day she thought the girls might prefer a walk. Felicity and Frederica were only too anxious to agree to anything that would get them out of doors.
The actress had no fear of being recognized. She knew she had changed a great deal from the slim beauty of the stage. But Felicity and Frederica were surprised that Lady Harriet did not appear to know anyone at all in the park.
“You must find Mrs. Waverley’s views difficult to live with,” ventured Caroline.
“Not in the slightest,” said Frederica. “The only thing about Mrs. Waverley which irritates me is the fact that she confines us at home.”
“It is odd you do not call Mrs. Waverley mother.”
“Because, as I told you, she is not our mother,” said Felicity. “We are both adopted.”
“How sad! Did you lose your parents at an early age?”
“We do not know,” said Frederica. “We were taken out of an orphanage. Before the orphanage, we were at a foundling hospital in Greenwich. We are probably bastards.”
I don’t suppose Lord Harry knows that, thought Caroline. I thought my colonel was exaggerating. I am sure this masquerade must soon be over.
Aloud, she said, “How difficult for you. Perhaps, you know, it would not be wise to talk about such a thing. After all, Mrs. Waverley has adopted you. It is better society should think you her daughters.”
“Mrs. Waverley disabused society of that fact herself,” said Frederica bitterly. “But it should not stop us accepting invitations, for everyone knows Mrs. Waverley to be immensely rich. Mind you, since neither of us plans to marry, I suppose it does not matter all that much.”
“But what other ambition is there for a young lady?” cried Caroline. “Should Mrs. Waverley die, then what would become of you without a strong husband to support you?”
“I should trust,” said Frederica cynically, “that Mrs. Waverley would have the good sense to leave us both her money in her will. That would ensure our independence. I would make a very good spinst
er, you know.”
“But the loneliness of it all,” pointed out Caroline. “Would you not like children?”
“At my age, one does not think about having children,” said Frederica, “or so I believe. I do not think women actually want children. That is something that is surely thrust upon them.”
“I would love to have children,” said Caroline wistfully. “Lots and lots of little boys and girls, but I cannot.”
“How do you know you cannot?” asked Felicity curiously. “You are not married.”
Caroline bit her lip. How could she possibly explain how she had come to know such a fact? She could hardly say to these two innocents, “If you have had as many lovers as I and have never become pregnant, then the odds are you cannot have children.”
She said, “I had—er—surgery for a delicate complaint. My life was saved, but the treatment left me barren.”
Frederica’s piercingly intelligent blue eyes searched Caroline’s own. “What kind of surgery?” she asked. “Removal of the womb is not possible without killing the patient.”
“Miss Frederica!” exclaimed Caroline, turning as red as fire. “You should not know such things!”
“Why not? I read a great deal of medical literature. I know how babies are conceived and how they are born. Is it not better that I should have such knowledge?”
“Women do not need to know about such things,” said Caroline.
“Well, I think that is a monstrous silly thing to say. It’s their body. Why should they not know what is happening to it?”
“Perhaps you have the right of it,” said Caroline, sweating with embarrassment, “but I pray you, do not talk so freely. It is most shocking.”
“I thought you shared Mrs. Waverley’s views.”
“Oh, I do,” said Caroline desperately, praying inwardly for help. Suddenly her face lit up. “Look!” she cried with relief. “There is my brother.”
Sauntering toward them at an easy pace came Lord Harry Danger. Both girls looked at their rescuer curiously. It was the first time either of them had an opportunity to see him clearly.
Frederica experienced a certain pang of disappointment, but did not quite know why. Here was no storybook hero, but an Exquisite, tailored and barbered and manicured to perfection. He bowed low in front of them, sweeping off his curly brimmed beaver to reveal his gold and burnished curls.
“Are you enjoying your walk, my sister?” he asked.
“Very much,” said Caroline politely, but looking the very picture of shock and distress. Lord Harry fell into step beside them. The path was narrow, so Caroline moved ahead with Felicity and Lord Harry and Frederica walked behind.
“Now what were you saying, I wonder,” murmured Lord Harry, “to give my sister such a fright?”
“Perhaps I was too bold,” said Frederica ruefully, “but Lady Harriet did claim to share Mrs. Waverley’s views. I was explaining to Lady Harriet that I know how children are conceived and how they are born. She seemed to think I should not have such knowledge.”
“I am about to have the vapors myself,” said Lord Harry. “My dear Miss Frederica, in a society which blushes at the mention of the words legs or breeches, you cannot go about talking about the functions of the human body with such carefree abandon. Also, as I remember, the very mention of the word babies frightened Mrs. Waverley to flinders. Have pity on us. You shock her and you shock me.”
“Of course, I would expect a man to be shocked,” said Frederica, “but I would have expected a freethinker like your sister to have better sense.”
“Be kind to her,” said Lord Harry. “You cannot drag us all into this new nineteenth century by the hair. Also, freedom for women is one thing, hatred of men is another. The two do not necessarily go together, you know.”
“And yet it is only natural for the slave to hate the master.”
“Acceptance of one’s role in life is a beautiful thing,” said Lord Harry airily. “What if one’s servants started to wonder why they should wait hand and foot on such idle creatures as ourselves and started throwing things at us? Most uncomfortable.”
“Servants can be a nuisance,” replied Frederica.
“You shock me again, but in a different way. If a man had said—and in that same dismissive tone of voice—‘Women are a nuisance,’ you would be furious, would you not? Are servants not equally deserving of our consideration and pity? If you think God puts us in our appointed stations, then you should be as content with your role as a woman, as servants have to be content with theirs.”
“There is no comparison. Servants labor and are paid accordingly. They are not forced by society to be parasites!”
“How fierce you look, Miss Frederica! And yet it could be argued that servants are parasites, living off the rich. We could all look after ourselves and open our own front doors and cook our own meals very well. Idleness causes discontent. A woman who has to do most of the housework herself has little time to fret or be angry.”
“So you think a woman should really be a cross between a prostitute and scullion?”
“You debase both duties. Good housekeeping is a noble art, and it is possible to have as much love and respect between the sheets as out of them.”
“Women should have a choice,” said Frederica stubbornly. “They should be able to work at all sorts of trades and professions. Why not have women lawyers and doctors, for example?”
“We already have women coal miners,” he said dryly, “who would give their back teeth, if they had any left, to be able to wear pretty clothes and stroll in Hyde Park on a sunny day, sorting out the world at their leisure.”
“I am really talking about women being treated as intellectual equals, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “I am listening to you indulgently because you are a vastly pretty girl and because that is what I am expected to do. If you wish me to consider you as an intellectual equal, then try to talk like one and not moan on about the servants like your peers.”
Frederica was so angry she thought she could strike him. “How dare you sneer and patronize me?”
“It’s better out than in, Miss Frederica. Now you are despising me inside. ‘What a useless fribble,’ you are thinking. ‘What can this elegant, dandified creature know of life?’ I should look Byronic and smolder at you, and then you would take me seriously.”
“I thought no such thing!” lied Frederica. “I thought nothing.”
“Liar. You have quite dismissed me in your mind, you know.”
“Come then,” said Frederica, with a reluctant smile, “we will begin at the beginning. You must agree that women do have a hard time of it. Nothing, once they marry, is their own. They are expected to share their husband’s views, give him all their money, and bear him as many children as he chooses to demand.”
“And how would you change that?”
“By talking to other women, by encouraging them to educate their minds, to lay the groundwork for future generations of women.”
“There are men who would grant you freedom of thought and would shudder at the idea of bedding an unwilling wife.”
“Show me just one!”
Lord Harry stopped and struck his breast. “Before you, ma’am, stands such a paragon.”
Frederica giggled. “I don’t believe a word of it. You twist my words quite deliberately. You accused me of talking about servants, but it was you who introduced the subject.”
“Perhaps.” He smiled. “But London is a cruel world, and you will one day long for a strong man to protect you, Miss Frederica.”
“I had forgotten your rescue,” said Frederica. “That was brave of you.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Only too glad to be of service. You had better marry me, you know.”
“Why?”
“Your concern is womankind. I have to protect my own sex from you. You would lead any other man a quite miserable life.”
Frederica, who had been momentarily taken aback by his p
roposal, began to laugh.
“I was not joking,” he said seriously. “Do marry me, Miss Frederica. You see, I am leaving you to make up your own mind—otherwise I would call on Mrs. Waverley.”
Frederica stopped and looked up at him curiously. His green eyes were lazy and mocking.
“You are an eccentric,” she said finally. “Let me pretend to take you seriously. No, I will not marry you.”
He tucked her arm in his and led her forward. “I think you will, Frederica Waverley. Just make sure you do not cast those beautiful blue and wanton eyes in the direction of any other gentleman.”
Frederica felt nervous and exhilarated. She was conscious of the pressure of his arm, of the hidden strength in that slim and well-tailored body. She then wondered what he would look like naked, and immediately felt as burning hot as if she had been plunged into boiling water.
“That’s better,” came the light, mocking voice of Lord Harry. “Now I am getting some sort of reaction.”
Frederica pulled her arm away and called, “Felicity!”
Felicity and Caroline stopped and turned about. “We must go back, Felicity,” pleaded Frederica. “We have been away long enough.”
Lord Harry stood with Caroline and watched the girls as they hurried away across the park. “She is as beautiful as I thought,” said Lord Harry, half to himself. “All that hair… and those glorious eyes and a skin like honey.”
“I should have returned with them,” said Caroline, “but the jig is up.”
“You mean you disclosed your true identity?”
“No, not that. Miss Frederica is unmarriageable. She is a foundling and a bastard.”
“I know,” said Lord Harry, his eyes still on the receding figures, “and it does not make a whit of difference.”
***
It was the custom in the Waverley household for each inmate to drink a glass of fresh milk before bedtime. A housemaid was sent each evening to St. James’s Park, where there was a small herd of cows, to buy the milk. Annie Souter knew of this custom. She lurked in the bushes of the park and waited until the maid collected the milk in the milk pail and set out for home. She followed her closely, waiting for her opportunity. When the housemaid went up through the Green Park and then waited outside the lodge gates at Piccadilly for a break in the long moving line of carriages in order to cross, Annie crept close and poured a bottle of strong sleeping draft into the milk.
