"Evil power?" her father raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair.
"What else would you call it, when one woman sits, like a big, ugly spider in the midst of a web, and waits to catch any helpless fly that lands near her, and a man as shamelessly repugnant as Fairbanks continually receives invites to every ball and party?"
He shook his head. "So what can be Mrs. Lightbody's connection to Viscount Fairbanks? They seem an unlikely pair."
"I do not know all his part in this." Georgiana took the book back from his hands. "Since he claims that His Lordship's Trousers bears some resemblance to his private life, he must be one of the men written about in this book. I suspect he was one of this courtesan's customers and Mrs. Lightbody recognized him in the book when it came into her possession. Perhaps he was once her lover too and so there were details she found familiar. When the column came out, he saw himself in it and accused her of spilling his secrets. That's why she came to get the book back from me."
Her father got up. "Lovers, seductions, courtesans, scandals...I never thought to see the day I must discuss such matters with my daughter."
She sighed. "I am a female, father, not a fool, and I have long known how the world turns. It is the year of our Lord, eighteen seventeen, papa. You should move with the times."
"Should I, indeed?" he grumbled.
"I never intended my character to be a complete reflection of Viscount Fairbanks— only to lampoon the figure of the aristocratic rake in general. It just so happened that it struck a nerve and he recognized himself in that buffoon. It seems they share certain... amorous tastes."
"Yes, yes, daughter," he scowled, "I think I understand that much, despite this being eighteen seventeen and myself stuck in the last century."
Georgiana searched through the thin book with quick fingers. "And there is more, papa. This may be the most important reason why he wanted her to get the book back." Having found the short passage, she turned it to show him.
He read it, and his face became tense. Snapping the book shut he dropped it into a drawer in his desk.
"You had better leave this to me now."
"But you will continue to print His Lordship's Trousers?"
"I must decide. In the meantime, for your sake, Georgiana, find something else to do with your imagination and your pen."
"But papa—"
"Enough, Georgiana! Go now and see to the little ones. That is the work a woman should enjoy. That is what should bring a gleam of pleasure to her eye, not this unwholesome business."
As she left his office, it occurred to her that at least now he remembered her name. She might even miss being called "Esmerelda".
* * * *
The sweating horses clattered down the street at speed and came to a snorting halt, the carriage creaking and heaving behind them. Harry Thrasher leapt down from his carriage without waiting for the step to be lowered. Head down, he charged his way through a crowd of people passing along the pavement and rushed into the building. Inside, he demanded of the first man he saw, "Hathaway's office!"
The bewildered fellow hesitated, until Harry bellowed again, "I am Commander Sir Henry Thrasher, and I am here to call upon Mr. Frederick Hathaway."
Almost dropping the papers he'd been carrying, the man hurriedly took Harry down a short, bustling corridor, knocked upon a door and then opened it. "Mr.—"
Harry did not wait to be introduced, but shoved his escort aside and strode in. "Mr. Hathaway, I have come to see you about His Lordship's Trousers."
Fortunately Hathaway knew him by sight and immediately gestured for him to take a seat, but Harry chose to stand.
"I insist that you do not cease publishing that column, sir."
"Really? I ...in truth I had not yet decided—"
"The author deserves the chance to bring her story to an end. If it must end."
"Her?" Hathaway looked worried as he pushed a pair of spectacles up his nose.
"I know it is your daughter's handiwork. Let us not waste time debating that." He had come all the way into London to speak his piece and he did not like being here, where the streets were so crowded that he could not walk at his usual stride without tripping over some idle fool who did not get out of his way fast enough. "The foul air of this town makes me short-tempered and very disinclined to brook any argument. So kindly keep the column running. If you have problems and pressures from any other quarter, let me deal with them."
"That is...most—"
"In fact, I want you to hire Miss Georgiana Hathaway as one of your permanent writers. If you need further enticement to do so, in addition to her obvious talent and the readership she already brings to your paper, I will offer you an exclusive to my own personal story of life as a castaway. A story of which she, and she alone, will be the author."
The other man looked as if he might topple backward. "Commander, that is a tremendous offer. I thought your story would never be told. I know you to be a gentleman of great natural reserve and a desire to remain private."
"I am many things, sir. Not the least of which is this," —he finally remembered to remove his hat and in his fumbling haste almost dropped it— "I am a man in desperate and quite unaccountable love with your daughter."
Mr. Hathaway now tilted sharply forward, making recompense for his backward sway, but the adjustment was so severe that he had to save himself with one hand on the wall. "My...my daughter? Are you sure?"
"That's right." Harry held his hand horizontal to his chest. "About so high. Dark hair, freckles. Talks a lot."
"Good heavens."
Harry growled, "I'm sure it'll do nobody any good and Heaven has absolutely nothing to do with it."
* * * *
The invitation came almost two weeks after she left Woodbyne. Since she doubted her father would approve of her spending an evening away from the children for something so frivolous as a ball, Georgiana simply put the invitation away in her writing box and said nothing about it. Besides what did she want with balls, pretty dresses and dancing? She was a serious writer now, with a job to do.
Indeed, once her father announced that he would hire her properly to write for his paper, she had quickly discovered that a career was not nearly as adventurous and exciting as she'd always imagined. It was hard work and her father told her that he would have no fewer expectations of her than he had for any other writer who sold their stories to The Gentleman's Weekly. She must impress him. Finally she had a chance to earn his approval and she meant to seize her opportunity, as she would any other, with both hands. It may be considerably more taxing now that it was not merely an amusing hobby, but she loved every moment of it and each time she dipped her nib in the inkpot that thrill remained undiminished.
So why would she want to go to a silly ball and dance?
Her father, however, came to find her in the parlor where she was bent over her writing.
"Did you not receive an invitation to a ball at Woodbyne Abbey, daughter?"
She hesitated, poised in the action of mending her pen. "I did, father. I suppose the maid told you. She is remarkably nosy."
"You will go, of course."
"I had thought not to. I have so much to do here, with stepmother confined to her bed. You need me."
He reached over and took the pen from her fingers. "Did I not go to the expense of sending you to that school so that you might one day catch a husband of consequence? This ball sounds to be an ideal venue."
"But now I am a writer, papa. I have no need for a husband."
"You cannot be a writer and still dance? And here was I, certain you would shout at me for suggesting you might only be capable of one thing at once."
Georgiana thought of that time when she almost danced with Harry. A minuet. It was a chance stolen away by the arrival of his cousin. Max Bramley had spoiled several things for her and that was the first.
"You spent these last few weeks as a guest of Lady Bramley and her nephew. It would be rude now to decline the invitation," he
r father added. "I'm sure I can manage for one evening." He did not look too sure of that, but, for some reason he was determined that she should go to this ball. "You have a frock to wear? Something... suitable? Something that the fashionable folks wear?"
"Yes, indeed, I have an evening gown, papa." She chuckled, for he was never one to be interested in fashion, particularly not in anything she wore. As they grew up, her sister Maria was the one with all the good looks and so the money and effort was spent upon her.
"Then you must go to the ball, my dear. I insist. I will hear no argument." He laid an awkward hand on her shoulder, muttered a soft, "Well there we are," and left her alone.
Georgiana picked up the cat, which had been curled up on her desk beside her paper, and cuddled him gently. "What do you suppose that was all about, Foster?" The animal mewled into her shoulder, and she kissed the top of his head. "I daresay he is hoping I will change my mind about writing for his paper and become somebody's docile wife instead. That would save him a lot of bother."
Foster, knowing from whence his favorite treat of boiled fish heads came, agreed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Since it was a three hour ride to Woodbyne and no young lady wanted to sit in a carriage for that long, getting her gown wrinkled, Mr. Hathaway arranged for his daughter to travel, on the morning of the great day, to an inn just a little more than half the distance between. Once there she could change, eat a light supper and then go on to the ball. Afterwards she could spend that night at the same inn and return to London the next day.
"But papa, would it proper for me to spend the night at an inn alone?"
"Alone? Who said anything about you traveling alone?"
She was utterly confused and he let her be for a while, because he did love his mischief at times, but eventually he added, "I understand your young friends, Miss Chance and Miss Goodheart, have also been invited, so the three of you can travel together."
"Papa!" She was so thrilled by the idea that she leapt out of her chair and startled the cat. "Are you sure they are invited?" After all neither girl had mentioned it to her in their last letters.
"Oh yes, I have it on very good authority."
Furthermore, the ladies were to be escorted on their trip by Captain Guy Hathaway, who she discovered next, was coming home on leave and had already been applied to for his services.
There was now so much happiness to be anticipated in this event, that Georgiana could barely sleep for the next few nights.
She had not seen her eldest brother in five years and their reunion was emotional on both sides— although only one would let it show.
"My darling brother! How wonderful it is that you are home."
He stood before her, very proud in his uniform blue coat. "Of course I must come home if my little sister needs an escort to a ball. I cannot have her going alone into the fray, can I?" Grinning, he stepped back to admire her full length. "You have grown so tall, sister. But I would still know that naughty face— even now it is clean and not covered in mud."
"You are taller now too, Captain Hathaway. And as handsome as ever."
"Nonsense. This is a face, sister, that halts ships and makes babe's cry."
She laughed. Her brother loved to make sport of himself, and of her, which had always given them a special bond. Maria was always too vain and thin-skinned, and Edward too easily offended for playful mockery.
"Now, are we sure you have all the weaponry you need, Georgie?"
"It's all packed." She motioned to the small trunk that was about to be lifted onto the back of the barouche their father had hired for the event.
But Guy, being a man of detail, insisted on opening her trunk and assuring himself that nothing had been left behind. "I know you, little sister, and we could turn up at Woodbyne Abbey with you in an ink-stained pinafore and a straw hat."
"Gracious such a lot of fuss about nothing!"
He sternly surveyed the inside of her trunk. "Evening gloves? Yes, good. Not too dirty yet at the fingertips. Petticoat? Yes. Dancing slippers? Ah, for once not grass stained." Then he straightened up and gave her person a similar assessment. "Teeth? Yes, all of a correct number. Curls? Suitably arranged. I declare myself shocked to find you so organized for once and traveling without your bow and arrows." He licked his thumb and ran it across her left eyebrow. "There, everything is now in place. Try to keep it thus and I think you might well make a conquest tonight, sister."
Again her mind went directly to Harry. The thought of dancing with him at last made her very anxious. Her palms were already damp. But there was no time to worry about herself for too long. Within half an hour the hired carriage was at the steps of the school and there they collected her friends.
"Emma! Melinda! The Ladies Most Unlikely are together again."
There was much crying and embracing, while her brother waited outside the carriage, clearly uncomfortable with such a display and impatient to be on the road. Really, it was very good of him to volunteer as their escort, she mused fondly, for she knew how little he enjoyed balls. And the chatter of excited young ladies always gave him a sore head.
Once she had introduced him to her friends, the carriage set off at last for Surrey, and the three friends set about catching up on all the news they had not yet had a chance to write about.
Georgiana soon learned that much had changed at The Pearl since the departure of Mrs. Lightbody.
"Lady Bramley has taken on much of the work overseeing the school," said Melinda. "She is a great manager."
Georgiana laughed. "Yes, I know this."
"And Emma has been appointed her assistant."
"Miss Emma Chance," she turned to accuse her other friend, "you never wrote to tell me!"
Emma blushed. "It has not long happened, and I have been very busy. Lady Bramley is a hard taskmaster." She was, as always, shy to beat her own drum. "I may still be sent away to be a governess, but for now I am reprieved." The idea of leaving the place she had known all her life and being all alone among strangers quite terrified the girl, a fact the old headmistress had well known, and used to hold it over her head.
Georgiana smiled and squeezed her hand. "You look very pretty with your hair in that new style."
"As do you. There is something different in your eyes, Georgie."
She supposed it must be maturity and all that she'd been through that summer. Although she longed to tell her friends about the proposal of marriage, she knew it was something she could never speak of. It rested in her heart. Another secret.
So many, lately, had fallen into her hands.
She stole another glance at Emma— the girl who was once left, as an illegitimate babe, to the "care" of Mrs. Lightbody, by a father who wanted nothing to do with the child, but paid her expenses. Probably paid too for Mrs. Lightbody's silence. That pact they had formed about the babe was perhaps only one of many other secrets Mrs. Lightbody had uncovered, and used, about the people she knew.
It sickened Georgiana that anybody would leave a baby in that woman's custody.
She thought of that small entry in the little book— WF will not claim the child. He cruelly wanted Y to be rid of it, but she would not oblige. He has already found another lover.
And a little later on the same page.
Y gave up the child when it was born. WF took it from her and said he knew of a woman who would raise it out of sight. He wants no mention made of it or he will silence her forever.
Eight or nine pages further on, a scribbled note along the very bottom, marked with the sketch of a tiny lily.
Y was buried today, taken by the pleurisy. Too delicate and good for this life.
In that house in Bethnal Green, where Mrs. Swanley once worked alongside "Salome Flambeau" there must have been many unfortunate young women, without family or fortune, struggling to survive in that hard world. No doubt many illegitimate children were born of such places, sired by men who, for one reason or another, would not publicly acknowledge their responsibi
lity.
Emma could be that child mentioned in the book. Her age was right and her father never showed any concern about her upbringing once he left her with Julia Lightbody.
She heard her father whispering in her head, You have a great imagination, daughter, but this is all conjecture. One cannot make such an accusation without certain proof.
They might never know the identity of Emma's father. But that did not change the fact that "WF" had a child out there, somewhere in the world, that nobody else knew about. A child he had callously wanted rid of.
* * * *
Harry took the box from his pocket and sat in his study, waiting. Sunlight drifted lazily through the window. At this time of the year it was burning itself out, mellowing to a rusty gold, lingering until it turned everything into the same color, just before it cooled and fogged to grey, then black. Harry may not know exactly which day it was, but he could tell the time of day to within five minutes, just by the color of the air. Yes, air had color; most people couldn't see it, but he could, having studied it for so long.
"You ought to be upstairs getting dressed for the ball," Parkes exclaimed, standing at his open door. "Your lady aunt has gone to all this fuss and bother. While all you do is sit here staring into space. I've said it before and I'll say it again, that lady has the patience of a saint."
"As you do too, to put up with me. All these years."
"Yes, well, somebody has to when she can't."
The light swung slowly around the room and she came with it, gliding. Her feet used to make a sound— that brisk clip he remembered from his childhood— but that memory was fading now, as were various parts of her form whenever she appeared.
"I have something I wanted to give you, Parkes," he said. "I wanted to give it to you many years ago, but I did not have the chance, of course."
She was at his desk now, looking annoyed. "Something for me? Why would you get anything for me? I'm sure I never—"
The Trouble with His Lordship’s Trousers Page 27
