by Laura Parker
“It is drivel,” Hyacinthe murmured.
“I don’t care. I want to know about the t-t-tigers,” Peony exclaimed as she addressed a scalp itch. “Tell me, oh please, do.”
Japonica met Hyacinthe’s sour-milk expression. “As my tale is of little interest to you, you are free to concentrate on your needlepoint.”
Thus dismissed, Hyacinthe had no choice. “Drivel!” she declared again under her breath as she reapplied her needle to her linen square.
“So then, where were we?”
Peony leaned forward in anticipation. “The part where the tiger drank up all the tea!”
“Ah yes. It is a story my mother told me when I was half your age. Whenever the weather permitted, our neighbor always had her tea in her garden. But one afternoon she was interrupted by a great fracas. A servant came running to tell her that her pet mongoose, brought with her from India, had cornered a rat in the pantry.”
“What’s a moon goose?”
“Mongoose. I’m told it’s like the English ferret.”
“Vermin,” Cynara pronounced in a worldly tone.
“Really? In India the mongoose is often kept as a house pet, much like a cat. But they are fiercer. They can even kill poisonous snakes.”
“Snakes?” Laurel cried. “What a very horrid conversation you are having!”
“W-w-what about the tiger?” Peony insisted.
“Ah yes, the uninvited guest.” Japonica tapped the end of Peony’s nose with her fingertip. “When the lady of the house had seen to the disposal of the rat and returned to the garden, she found her cakes eaten and her teacup empty. As she bent to pick up the teapot, she noticed a trail of crumbs leading from the table into the nearby foliage.” Japonica pretended to sprinkle crumbs with her fingers, aware that she had an audience of five, although three would not admit to it. “Curious, she followed that crumb trail to the edge of yard where she stared into the jungle leaf. And what do you know? A pair of golden eyes peered right back at her!”
“Oh my!” Peony gasped. “What then?”
“Why, before the lady could move a muscle or even cry out in alarm the eyes disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Peony echoed in disappointment.
“Only the eyes,” Japonica assured her. “For just then the lady saw the telltale black stripes on the golden coat of a tiger gliding among the tall reeds near her pond. When he reached the clearing, she noticed one of her best linen napkins tucked about his neck. Upon it was a jam smear from her very own jam pot. She could come to only one conclusion, the tiger had come into her garden and helped himself to tea!”
“I don’t believe it.” Cynara sat back and crossed her arms.
“I do not blame you.” Japonica nodded. “As no one had ever seen a tiger so far south, her friends did not at first believe the lady either. Yet as the days went by, several other neighbors reported seeing the tiger at teatime near their own homes. Not long after, the news reached Bushire that a local tea merchant, lost in the wild of India some weeks before, had been eaten by a tiger. Rumor soon began that the unfortunate man’s spirit, now residing in the tiger, had journeyed all the way from the India so that he might still take tea with his friends. After that, every afternoon his friends set out a cup and a biscuit with jam in hopes that he would feel welcome.”
“I think that is a lovely tale,” Alyssum said with a shy smile.
“I think it is very silly,” scoffed Laurel.
Peony leaned in close with an upturned face. “Are there many such m-m-monsters lurking about in P-P-Persian gardens?”
“Tigers aren’t monsters. They are magnificent wild creatures.”
“Magnificent wild creatures who eat people!” Laurel rejoined.
“And people eat creatures in return.”
“I’d never eat a creature!” Peony declared.
Japonica gave her a gentle smile. “Oh but you do, dear. Where do you suppose the kidneys and ham and sausage you ate for breakfast come from?”
Hyacinthe sniffed and looked away.
“There are many animals in Persia that are quite wonderful and not dangerous at all,” Japonica continued. “There are antelope. And camels, which are not dangerous but very rude.” She could not keep from glancing at Hyacinthe. “Near the rivers you will find egrets with fine white plumes which English ladies buy to wear at Court. Also peacocks, with such wonderful feathers you cannot count all the colors contained in them.”
“Laurel has a fan of peacock f-f-feathers,” Peony said. “She won’t allow us to touch it.”
“Father sent it to her,” Alyssum offered by way of explanation. “He always sent each of us such nice gifts.”
“He was the best most wonderful father in all of England,” Hyacinthe added, then looked quickly away for she was not supposed to be listening.
Japonica fell into thoughtful silence. Wonderful father? Lord Abbott had neglected to give her the proper ages of his children. Or, perhaps, he still thought of them as little girls. “When was the last time you saw your father, Peony?”
“Five years ago.”
“So long?”
“Little nodcock!” Cynara admonished. “Papa was home two years ago.”
Peony’s expression drooped. “But I had the measles and Papa did not wish to be exposed to it.”
“He refused to see you?” Japonica could not contain her astonishment.
“He was never long at home but we were never far from his thoughts.” Hyacinthe answered this time. “We received packages monthly.”
“You mean the gardener received packages,” Cynara said sourly.
“Father’s gardens were his prized possession,” Hyacinthe said in defense. “They are the result of his life’s work.” She glanced disdainfully at Japonica. “I doubt you are aware of his renown as a horticulturist. I am familiar with his entire collection. Every plant!”
“I am a little familiar with plants myself and should be interested in a tour of Lord Abbott’s garden … at some point” Yet if the reason for her trip to London were successful, she would have no opportunity to take such a tour.
“Papa loved all of us equally,” Laurel said, for she did not like to be long out of the conversation. “He named us after his flowers.”
“Only sometimes he forgot our b-b-birthdays.” The youngest member of their party could not have looked more dejected. “I wish Papa had stayed home with us.”
Japonica reached out and patted the twelve-year-old’s shoulder. “You are fortunate to have so many sisters.”
Hyacinthe must have read pity in her expression for she lifted her chin in challenge. “Aristocratic households do not coddle children. We are bred to different standards. Maudlin expressions of affection produce weak minds.”
“It seems a lonely standard for a child,” Japonica replied mildly. “I have lived quite differently in every way from you.”
“Where did you live?” Cynara asked in frank curiosity.
“In a hut of s-s-straw and m-m-mud?” Peony suggested. “Hyacinthe says that’s the only kind of shelter foreigners can afford. Or they s-s-sleep on the ground,” she finished with a faltering conviction that matched her stutter.
Hyacinthe did not meet Japonica’s eye. Smiling to herself she said, “Hyacinthe is right about one thing. Some of the richest people in Persia have houses without doors and they do sleep on pallets on the floor.”
“And do the wild animals roam about drinking the owner’s tea?”
“Oh no. Only the most civilized people live there.” Yet even as she spoke, the painted visage of the Hind Div came to mind. She felt her cheeks suffuse with anger and another emotion less easily named.
“What’s wrong? You look odd,” Peony said with childish candor.
Belatedly Japonica realized five pairs of eyes watched her intently. “I was just reminded of one owner of a house in Baghdad who was a cheetah.”
“You will insist upon nonsense,” Lau
rel said disparagingly.
“Ah, but I met the owner myself. His name was the Hind Div. His house was very beautiful and very grand, with marble floors and many fountains. Instead of doors the rooms were hung with the most beautiful curtains. Some were made of glass beads, others of silk, the colors of the sunset. No matter how hot the day, the air beneath his roof was cool and fragrant. Most amazing of all, a guest had only think of a desire, like a wish for a cool drink, and it would appear without so much as the whisper of a servant’s slippers.”
“Where did the cheetah sleep?” Peony asked, fully caught up in the tale.
“His bed was a low wooden platform upon which dozens of scarlet and sapphire and gold pillows were piled.”
“It sounds like a fairy castle!” breathed Alyssum. “Except for the cheetah.”
“What fairy tale doesn’t have its troll or ogre or serpent lurking?” Japonica answered thoughtfully, for she knew only too well the price of enchantment.
“Tell us more about Persia,” Peony coaxed.
Feeling that she had at last made progress with at least one of the Shrewsbury Posy, Japonica resisted the urge to press the point. Instead, she reached into the portmanteau at her feet and retrieved four hand-painted tins. “Who would like some Turkish Delight? I was certain I had five tins but one seems to have disappeared.” From the corner of her eye she saw Laurel’s mouth become prim.
As he summarized the document before him, Mr. Simmons, the Shrewsbury solicitor, took pains to frequently glance over his pince-nez to offer his little audience brief reassuring smiles. At the behest of his wife, he took particular notice of the new viscountess each time he did so. Nothing less than a full accounting of the day’s events would satisfy Mrs. Simmons, who prided herself on being an encyclopedia of information on the ton for her friends. But he did not need her directive on this particular occasion.
Though an unexpected and unpleasant previous visitor had left him flustered and distracted, his attention was riveted from the moment the dowager viscountess entered his offices.
The late Lord Shrewsbury had married a girl younger than his eldest child!
Then there was her peculiar accent that, although cultivated, spoke distinctly of the colonial class. Sallow of complexion and on the slight side, he was satisfied at once of his own error in speculating that the new viscountess’s pulchritude had played a greater role in the viscount’s decision to wed her than the considerations the peer had set forth in his last letter to him. To be sure, reddish lashes and brows were a mere hint of the red tresses that lay beneath her weathered bonnet. Still and all, “ordinary” was the only word that fit her.
He would also report to his wife that, as usual, the Shrewsbury Posy were overdressed, overscented, and underimpressed by the niceties of the fashionably new toilette that demonstrated the virtues of soap and water. A disciple of Beau Brummell, he periodically lifted a vetiver-scented handkerchief to his nose to disperse the odors in the overheated room. “There you have it, my ladies, the short and simple truth.”
“I cannot believe it!” For once, Hyacinthe’s face had lost its hauteur. In its place was alarm. “There is no mention of our settlement.”
“ ’Tis an easy matter to explain.” Mr. Simmons’s hearty chuckle failed to infect his clients. Truth to be told, he had begun to sweat under his neck cloth as he met the eldest daughter’s Medusa-like stare. Miss Hyacinthe would unnerve a bulldog. “You are provided for through the dowager’s portion.”
“Dowager’s portion?” Hyacinthe’s gaze swiveled sharply toward her stepmother and Mr. Simmons could only admire the aplomb of the receiver of that withering stare. “Is there to be no continuance of our allowance? No separate settlement? We are disinherited, Mr. Simmons?”
Feeling the sting of her stare once more, he hurried into speech buttered by a groveling tone. “Never so harsh an expedience, my lady. There was nothing for you to inherit.”
“What of Father’s personal funds?”
“Ahem.” Mr. Simmons adjusted his lens. “I’m afraid there is nothing left. His lordship’s personal finances went to fund his horticultural pursuits. Still, there’s no cause for alarm. Lady Abbott is now your legal guardian.”
“But that is what we’ve come to prevent.” Laurel rose from her chair and flung one end of her long boa over her shoulder. “We wish to appeal to the new Viscount Shrewsbury to be our benefactor.”
“I, too, believe it is the best solution,” Japonica put in, much to the astonishment of the five girls surrounding her.
“Now, now! Let us not be hasty, my ladies.” Mr. Simmons applied his scented handkerchief this time to mopping his brow. He was most definitely sweating! He well knew that the very last person any of them was likely to receive relief from was the new viscount.
Full of threats and bluster, an earlier visitor had been none other than the new viscount himself. The nobleman had said first he did not want the title. Moments later he owned that if he did accept, he would refuse all the usual encumbrances of inheritance.
Mr. Simmons muttered to himself. He would never forget his chill at the sight of Lord Sinclair’s wicked hook! Lord! If the Abbott sisters poked that rabid dog, they would no doubt all be devoured in retaliation.
Out of habit, he reached for the decanter on his desk, only to pause in mid-action as he spied Hyacinthe’s sharply arched brow of disapproval. Bitterly regretting the lack of fortification, he cleared his throat while searching for the words to skirt disaster.
“The entailment is quite clear.” He cast a nervous glance at Hyacinthe. “The viscount is under no legal obligation to his female relations.”
“But that’s unfeeling!” said Hyacinthe.
“Now, now,” he continued in his most calming voice. “That is why the provision was made for a dowager. With Lady Abbott in residence you may continue at Croesus Hall in a quite comfortable situation.”
Japonica felt the hair lift on her arms as five pairs of eyes shot daggers at her.
“How could such a horrid document be allowed to stand?”
That teary voice, coming as it did from Alyssum, the loveliest of countenances, deeply moved Mr. Simmons. To bask in her grateful gaze he would have found a loophole or exception, even bent the rules. Yet his hands were tied in the matter. All he could offer was solace.
“ ’Tis not a reflection upon you, gentle lady. The entailment was drawn up a long time ago by the first viscount Shrewsbury. He came into the title through his aid to Charles the Second. Unfortunately, he was made to marry for it. The King’s choice of his bride, a widow named Abbot saddled the first viscount with half a dozen young females from his wife’s first marriage. I’m told such circumstance moved him to pen the codicil concerning dependents.”
Japonica smiled into her lap. Though she could not approve of his recourse, had the codicil-maker acquired stepdaughters with Hyacinthe’s coldness, Cynara’s querulous temper, and Laurel’s sly methods, she could find a bit of sympathy for the cause behind it.
“I can see we’ll get no satisfaction here,” Hyacinthe said frostily. “In any case, I have reached my majority and wish to collect my wedding portion.”
To hide from her baleful gaze, Mr. Simmons looked down quickly at the document before him. “ ’Fraid it’s not that simple. According to the entailment you will come into a sum of money if and only if you wed.” He ran his finger down a number of clauses before beginning to read. “ ‘Upon the occasion of a daughter’s marriage, she shall receive twenty thousand pounds, to be paid to her husband in recompense for ….” He paused as his cheeks pinkened. “… his unfortunate choice of bride.’ ”
“That’s outrageous!” Japonica’s forceful tone startled the solicitor as she came to her feet “I am appalled you would read such tripe to young ladies!”
“We do not need you to vouch for us,” Hyacinthe snapped. “ ’Tis clear where your interests lie. May whatever Judas gold you receive bring you only ill fortune. We ar
e going home. If you have any finer feelings you will be good enough to stay away.” Her sisters followed behind her like so many goslings in the wake of a goose.
When they had departed, Japonica turned back to the solicitor. “You made a right hash of that!”
Relieved to be out of sight of Hyacinthe, he allowed himself the luxury of a shrug. “My dear lady …”
“Lady Shrewsbury,” Japonica said with a lift of one eyebrow.
“Quite! Lady Shrewsbury,” he amended as he came hastily to his feet “I—I beg your pardon … your ladyship,” he added, noticing that her dark eyes were quite brilliant when moved by emotion.
“So then, what is to be done?”
“Why, very little, Lady Shrewsbury. The documents that accompanied your original correspondence uphold your claim that you are, indeed, the wife of the late Lord Alfred Abbott. That much his children will find indisputable.”
“I very much doubt that.” Japonica resumed her seat with hands folded. “If my stepchildren are an example of London nobility, I believe I shall be at the point of challenge again and again while I remain in this wretched country.”
Mr. Simmons smiled. “You have a singular way of expressing yourself, viscountess.”
“You mean plainly?” It occurred to her that Mr. Simmons had made the mistake that many people made upon first making her acquaintance. They took her silence to mean she had nothing to say, rather than as a nascent shyness. “Yes, I see that very little in London is said straightforwardly.” Japonica took a deep breath and resumed her chair. “I do not intend to be taken by surprise by circumstance again. Explain in detail, please, exactly my situation.”
Mr. Simmons lifted his arms in an expansive gesture. “No need to bother your head about such matters, my lady. That is my role. I shall be happy to serve your interests as I have served those of the Shrewsbury estate the last numbers of years.”
Japonica eyed him impassively. Something in the solicitor’s manner rankled. Perhaps it was his assumption that she wanted each and every matter cared for by him. Or that he did not believe her fully capable of understanding finance. He did not know that as a merchant’s daughter, she had learned to keep records and balance books before her first menses and that she meant to keep a very strict account of the dispersal of her dowager’s portion.
