by M C Beaton
She was just about to go out when Mrs. Ricketts came to say that Mr. Fordyce had called.
“Tell him Felicity is resting and put him in the drawing room,” said Felicity, “but tell him I am about to go on a call and can only spare him a few moments.”
Mr. Fordyce got to his feet as the bent old lady came into the drawing room. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Miss Callow,” he said. “I was anxious to speak to Miss Waverley.”
Felicity walked forward leaning heavily on a stick and settled herself in the wing chair. “What do you wish to speak to my niece about?” she asked.
“I knew Miss Felicity when I lived in the house next door and was engaged to Lady Artemis Verity,” said Mr. Fordyce. “I wondered, perhaps, if Miss Felicity saw much of Lady Artemis these days.”
“As little as possible,” said Felicity.
“But they were great friends at one time!” exclaimed Mr. Fordyce.
“I believe at one time it amused Lady Artemis to pretend to share my niece’s views on the rights of women,” said Felicity, “but that was only a pretense.”
“You must not think ill of Lady Artemis,” said Mr. Fordyce. “She is a creature of nature.”
Felicity blinked. “Like a wasp?”
“No, Miss Callow, like a pretty fluttering bird.”
“Dear me, Mr. Fordyce. I would like to be of help to you, but your fluttering bird is not to be found here.”
“I do not understand what she is about,” said Mr. Fordyce wretchedly. “Why she must needs seek out the company of that youth, Bernard Anderson, I do not know.”
“We do know Mr. Anderson slightly,” said Felicity. She experienced a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Is Lady Artemis enamored of him?”
“She cannot be, ma’am!” cried Mr. Fordyce. “What has a youth of his years to offer her?”
“Youth and kindness and a good heart,” said Felicity wistfully.
“I beg you, Miss Callow, if your niece has any inkling of how Lady Artemis feels toward me, I would be most grateful if she would let me know.”
Felicity bowed her head. “Be assured, Mr. Fordyce, my niece is not intimate with Lady Artemis. Now I beg you to excuse me. I have calls to make.”
So that was that, thought Felicity, as she climbed into her carriage. Faithless Bernard! Or was it that his greedy mother saw better game? For one moment, she contemplated canceling the call and returning to the house. Her book was barely started.
But the day was gray and cheerless and threatening rain, and the large house looked dark and gloomy. She climbed into the carriage and told the coachman to take her to Lady Dexter’s.
***
“You have left the preparations for Felicity’s Season a little late, Miss Callow,” said Lady Dexter after her odd visitor had been given tea. Really, this Miss Callow was extraordinary, covered as she was with blazing jewels. It was hard to look at her face, for one’s eye kept being distracted by all those flashing rings and bracelets and brooches. Lady Dexter remembered the attempts to thieve the Waverley jewels and marveled at the old lady’s courage in being seen abroad with such a king’s ransom on her. “I will see what I can do, Miss Callow,” she went on. “Your visit is a great surprise, for Mrs. Waverley put it about that her girls were orphans and had not any relatives.”
“Maria Waverley told a great deal of lies,” said Felicity. “I do not like to see my Felicity suffer because of them.”
“Oh, I agree. Now, I am giving a musicale tomorrow night, Miss Callow. Not knowing of your existence, I did not send you a card, but I should be delighted if you and your niece would attend. Many eligibles will be coming. Who is new on the market? There is Darkwater. Then there is Mr. Johnson. There is the divine Colonel Macdonald, but lately come to town to set all our hearts aflutter.”
“We should be pleased to come,” said Felicity, although wondering how she was to manage to arrive as Felicity and explain the absence of her aunt.
“Splendid. Now do not run away, Miss Callow, for I am expecting several ladies for tea, some of whom might prove useful to you.”
***
Felicity passed inspection by the ladies of the ton very creditably. The jewels were passport enough. Society had very strict social laws to keep upstarts at bay. Breeding was all. Vulgar money could not buy entrée. Or so they claimed. But the older and more aristocratic the family, the more ruthless the determination to hold onto power and land. That was the reason so many weeping girls were led to the altars of London to marry old and diseased men. Girls might weep, but they, like their parents, knew what they owed their ancient names. Love could be found outside marriage. There was only one commandment there to obey—Thou Shalt Not Be Found Out. And so the bartering went on: my ancient name for your dowry. The ladies Felicity met that afternoon bowed down before her display of jewels and pronounced her a fascinating character.
The thieves who had originally tried to steal the Waverley jewels had been transported, the highwayman who had in turn tried to get them had been shot, and the underworld of London still buzzed with occasional rumors, but no one dared try where others had so disastrously failed.
But there was a new breed of villain on the London scene: the confidence trickster. The wicked lord in the novels Felicity and other ladies read who seduced and betrayed and left some innocent weeping in the snow with a baby in her arms existed in real life, but he was not an aristocrat but a clever and ruthless man masquerading as one. Society prided itself so much on the great wall of strict taboos and shibboleths it had built around itself to keep the unfashionables at bay, that smug and secure, it was often betrayed by its own greed. So as Felicity was able to masquerade as an old lady by dint of attracting all eyes to her fabulous jewelry, so Colonel Macdonald was able to gain entrée to the best houses because of his handsome face, charm of manner, and reputation of having gained a fortune from an Indian prince while commanding a sepoy regiment.
It was fashionable for military men to forget about wars and campaigns in civilian life. The bravest of soldiers often appeared as a dandy only interested in the cut of his coat or the folds of his cravat. Of course, they discussed serious matters together in their clubs, but Colonel Macdonald made sure he performed only in the company of the ladies, where such serious subjects were forbidden.
He had been born Angus Mackay, son of a Scottish weaver. He had served as a private in a Highland regiment in India and had deserted as soon as he saw that his regiment was to be posted to the Peninsular Wars. Before he deserted, he stole several items of regimental plate, which he sold in Glasgow. He had studied the manners and bearing of his senior officers. In Glasgow, he had become Mr. Guy Flint, a Virginian tea merchant, and there had courted and married the daughter of a wealthy Scottish merchant. He had managed to spend her dowry very quickly on luxurious living and had taken himself off to fresh pastures right after his young bride had presented him with a son. He moved to the lake district the poets had made fashionable and had begun to court the daughter of a local landowner. Again, his suit was successful. He married her, but, again, her dowry, although generous, was not enough to keep him in the luxuries to which he had rapidly become accustomed. He deserted her and moved south. He was after bigger game. He took on the name and character of Colonel James Macdonald, Member of Parliament for Linlithgowshire. One would think that the very claim of being an M.P. would have exposed him, but Linlithgowshire was believed to be in Scotland, and Scotland was a world away, and society was used to Members of Parliament who represented odd and barbaric constituencies and who never put in an appearance at the House of Commons, and so he was socially accepted.
He was a fine-looking man with silver-blond hair, a Greek god profile, blue eyes, and a slight Irish accent, which fell most seductively on listening ears. He made a great joke of his accent, saying he belonged to the Irish branch of the Earl of Hopetoun’s family and, sure, wasn’t it a plague to have a good Scottish name and be cursed with an Irish brogue?
When he was not mas
querading as Colonel Macdonald, he liked to escape to low taverns and thieves’ kitchens, where he could be himself, and it was in one of these low dives that he first heard about the Waverley jewels. He was used to thieves’ stories being either downright lies or wild exaggeration, and so he all but dismissed the story of the jewels from his mind.
That was until he met Lady Dexter in the street on the day of her musicale and heard about Miss Callow.
“I was never more surprised,” said Lady Dexter, “for all the talk was that the girls were taken by Maria Waverley from an orphanage and had no relatives at all. In fact, she told me so herself. Then this Miss Callow came to call. There is one Waverley girl left unmarried, Felicity, and this Miss Callow, who is the girl’s aunt, wishes to bring her out. I had met Felicity Waverley, a glorious creature, so I told Miss Callow to bring her to my musicale this evening. But, I tell you, Colonel Macdonald, I was quite blinded by Miss Callow’s jewels—if they are her jewels, for the Waverley jewels are famous, you know. Such fine stones! She must be quite a strong old lady, since the weight of all those gems must have been considerable.”
“I look forward to making her acquaintance,” said Colonel Macdonald.
“Don’t let young Miss Waverley steal your heart away,” teased Lady Dexter, “or we shall all be most terribly jealous.”
He kissed her hand. “Now, who could tear me from your side?” he said in his soft, lazy brogue. “You know I adore you.”
“Go on with you,” laughed Lady Dexter, but secretly she was delighted. She was nearly fifty, and Colonel Macdonald made her feel like a young girl.
The colonel sauntered on his way, his mind racing. This could be it. If he could charm this Waverley girl into marriage and get those jewels, he could flee the country and set himself up for life.
***
Felicity decided she could not stand the strain of arriving on her own and then lying about her “aunt’s” supposed indisposition, so she decided to gamble and see if she could make her explanations before she arrived. She accordingly sent a pathetic little note to Lady Dexter, saying her aunt was ill and had begged her to go on her own but she feared to do so as it was a very shocking thing to do. A note from Lady Dexter was delivered back by one of her footmen. Miss Waverley must come alone. Her maid could escort her to the door, and Lady Dexter herself would introduce her to the company.
Colonel Macdonald’s first feeling on beholding Felicity Waverley was one of dismay. He was used to hearing wealthy girls described as “beautiful,” meaning the girl’s fortune lent her an allure. But Felicity Waverley was beautiful. When he first saw her, she was standing with Lady Dexter, being introduced to some people at the doorway of the music room. She was wearing a slip of a gown of white satin covered with an overdress of white French net decorated with a tiny blue spot. She had white silk roses in her hair, the center of each rose being formed of seed pearls and tiny sapphires. But she wore no other gems. Her white throat was bare and her gloved arms free of bracelets. He found himself daunted by her beauty and wishing she had worn some of the famous Waverley jewels to give him courage to woo her.
For the first time, his usual confidence deserted him. His previous victims had both been on the plain side. He squared his shoulders as if going into one of the battles he had so neatly avoided by deserting and bowed low before Lady Dexter. “Introduce me to this enchantress, I command you!” he cried.
Lady Dexter looked amused and Miss Felicity Waverley decidedly annoyed. Lady Dexter performed the introductions and then, being hailed by a party of new arrivals, left Felicity with Colonel Macdonald.
“Your beauty leaves me dumbfounded,” said the gallant colonel. He heard his voice sounding in his own ears and realized with some irritation that his carefully cultivated Irish brogue was slipping into a decidedly Scottish burr.
“On the contrary, you appear to have plenty to say, sir,” said Felicity, fanning herself and looking over his shoulder. Bernard Anderson, his mother, and Lady Artemis were just entering the room. Lady Artemis said something to Bernard, who blushed. Felicity looked up at the colonel with new eyes. He was handsome and personable. Bernard must not see that she cared about his neglect one bit.
“You do not appreciate my compliments, I can see,” the colonel was saying.
“It is rather hard to know how to receive them,” said Felicity with a smile. “I can either simper, hit you playfully with my fan, or walk away.”
“Then I had better try to be sensible,” he said. “Oh, that my poor Irish tongue could find the magic to charm you.”
“Is that your way of trying to be sensible?” asked Felicity, beginning to be amused.
“Sure, it’s the best I can do,” he said with a grin. “Will you be after letting me fetch you a glass of something?”
“Delighted, sir. Ratafia will do.”
He bowed and left to find a glass of ratafia for her. His place was taken by the Marquess of Darkwater. “Where is Miss Callow?” he asked. “Not still indisposed.”
“Alas, yes, my lord.”
“You and your aunt are like those cunning little figures on a curiosity clock. You know, the clock chimes and little figures appear, one for rain and the other for sunshine, but never the two together.”
“We are both unfortunate in that we have suffered from bad health, but I am glad our misfortune provides you with amusement.”
“Your ill health does not amuse me, only the strange way it seems impossible to see the two of you together at the one time.”
Felicity affected a yawn and stared around the room as if seeking distraction. Bernard caught her eye and gave her a look like a whipped dog. His mother saw that look and stepped in front of him to block his view of Felicity.
“A word of warning in your ear, Miss Waverley,” Felicity heard the marquess say. “Colonel Macdonald claims to be a Member of Parliament for Linlithgowshire, but there is no such place. I fear he is an impostor.”
“How interesting,” said Felicity languidly. “Thank you for telling me, my lord. It adds a certain luster to his charm and looks, and adds spice to this dull evening. Ah, Colonel Macdonald. We were just talking about you.”
“Evening, Darkwater,” said the colonel cheerfully. The marquess ignored him completely, gave Felicity a stiff bow, and strode away.
“His spleen must be mortal bad,” declared the colonel.
“You are a Member of Parliament, I believe,” said Felicity.
“For my sins. Linlithgowshire—in Scotland.”
“I have heard of the town of Linlithgow in Lothian, but not of Linlithgowshire.”
“Oh, ‘tis a small county,” said the colonel airily. “The musicale is about to begin. May I have the honor of escorting you?”
Felicity’s glance flicked over the guests, from the marquess’s cold eyes to Bernard’s sheepish ones, to Lady Artemis’s mocking ones, and then she gave the colonel a radiant smile. “With pleasure,” she said, placing her hand on his arm.
The musicale was unfortunately composed of amateur performers. Usually hostesses tried to secure the latest diva, but Lady Dexter considered such a practice a waste of money when there were so many ladies in society eager to perform for no fee whatsoever. Although she herself was a flirtatious and mondaine lady, she had a weakness for the company of middle-aged bluestockings, not the genuine ones, but the affected ones who considered that the way to compete with the masculine intellect was to roar out ballads in as deep a voice as possible.
Felicity felt the colonel pressing something into her hand. She looked down. Two little pieces of candle wax lay there. “Earplugs,” whispered the colonel. Felicity gratefully popped the pieces of wax into her ears and endured the rest of the concert in an uncomfortable state of unease. It was not the muffled roar of the singers’ voices nor yet the presence of the handsome colonel that was causing Felicity discomfort but an acute awareness that the Marquess of Darkwater was sitting behind her. She could sense his physical presence, and that presence seemed t
o be upsetting her body. She realized with a little shock that she was physically afraid of him, yet could not make sense of her feelings.
She could only be glad when the last red-faced lady had roared off into silence. She deftly removed the earplugs. “Thank goodness that is over,” said the colonel cheerfully. “Supper, I think, and let’s hope the supper is good enough to make up for the ordeal we have just endured.”
The supper proved to be as good as he had hoped. He had a hard time enjoying the food, however, for Felicity kept asking him searching questions about the abolition of slavery and the Corn Laws, two subjects he knew little about and cared less.
He privately thought slavery was a great idea and the law that declared any black man setting foot anywhere in Britain was automatically a free citizen absolutely ridiculous. But it was fortunate he kept such views to himself. Felicity was now sure he was an impostor and adventurer and was amused by him, but she would never have forgiven him had she known he held such callous and unnatural views. Felicity regarded herself as an impostor, and that made her feel drawn to the colonel. She then asked him about his home in Ireland. The colonel, glad to be free from political questions, waxed eloquent over his family home. The fact that he had never been to Ireland and had never had a home since he had left the weaver’s cottage he had been born in did not faze him. He described the old square building set among the gentle green hills of County Down and the fine stables he had and the splendid fishing on one of his own private lakes. He went on to describe the splendid alfresco meals he had had on the grounds of his estate when his cousin the Earl of Hopetoun and his family had come to stay. He conjured up mythical cousins and aunts and soon had Felicity in tears of laughter over their fictitious eccentricities. There was Aunt Jane who rode to hounds just like a man and swore like a trooper. There was gentle Aunt Phyllis who knitted garters for the peasantry, blind to the fact that the poor souls had no stockings to hold up. And there was roistering Uncle John, the terror of the neighborhood when he was in his cups. He told story after story, and Felicity listened to him, wide-eyed, delighted with his handsome face, soft voice, and his hilarious stories about the members of his family. By the end of supper, she was beginning to believe there might even be a place called Linlithgowshire.
