A Taste for Scandal

by Brenda Hiatt

“Good evening, Aunt. I am sorry to be so late, but the roads—”

  “Yes, well, never mind that, I’m just happy you got here before I went to my bed, as I was just about to do. I daresay I’d not have slept a wink, worrying your carriage had overturned in a ditch on some lonely stretch of road along the way. Come in, come in, do.”

  Violet stepped through the doorway into the chamber, where Aunt Philomena lay ensconced on a pale pink chaise longue, one foot swathed in bandages.

  “And this must be the new Mrs. Turpin?” she queried before Violet could ask about her apparent injury. “Your mother wrote me that she was small and redheaded when I pressed her for a description, but she did not mention the freckles. Still, I daresay a bit of powder will cover them nicely, so no need to fret about that. Is Grant not with you?”

  “No, he—” Violet began, but her aunt did not wait for her answer.

  “Ah, still in the Shires hunting foxes, is he? I should have guessed it would be the case. Likely he also wished to avoid being dragged about to the shops while you and Mrs. Turpin outfit yourselves for the upcoming Season. By the bye, I mentioned to Madame Fanchot only last week that you would be coming, and your new sister-in-law as well. She remembered you well from last year but I took the liberty of informing her of your unusual coloring—” This with a nod at Brigid— “as I knew she would wish to lay by a supply of fabrics suitable for a redheaded married lady.”

  Though Violet opened her mouth to disabuse Aunt Philomena of both misconceptions, she talked on, scarcely even pausing to draw breath.

  “’Tis as well I spoke with her when I did, for it was but the following day that I turned my ankle tripping over that stuffed elephant’s foot I used to have in the front hall. The silly thing has been banished to the attics now. Mr. Franklin proclaimed it a nasty sprain that will likely to take some time to heal. He’s forbidden me to climb stairs without assistance, or to walk about unless I use a cane, which I refuse to do. ’Tis a mercy Mrs. Turpin is here to bear you company. Otherwise you would be trapped in the house as well, Violet, for I should be completely remiss in my duties if I allowed you to go about with only your maid, particularly after last year. But there! I promised myself I’d not bring that up. We will start this Season with a fresh slate, so to speak.”

  Violet’s heart sank, her worst fears realized. Aunt Philomena’s chaperonage would have been confining enough between her early hours and antiquated ideas about activities appropriate for young ladies. Without Dina here to play propriety, she apparently would not be allowed to leave the house at all!

  “Aunt, I—” she began, determined to get the worst over at once, but Lady Puttercroft again cut her off.

  “Now, where was I? Oh, yes! The very day before I suffered this infernal sprain, I accepted dear Letitia’s kind invitation to spend a fortnight in Brighton taking the sea air, knowing you would have your sister-in-law here as chaperone. ’Twill be just the thing to set me up for the busy part of the Season, for I always feel better after visiting the seaside. Just now is the perfect time, too, while Town is still thin of company. I’d originally planned to leave two days hence, but now I must convince Mr. Franklin that I am fit to travel.”

  She directed a glare at her wrapped foot as she continued. “If he allows it, I daresay you two will scarcely miss me, what with shopping and sorting through the invitations that are bound to begin arriving once ’tis known you are here. Still, I shall endeavor to return in time for Lady Bellerby’s ball a fortnight hence, for I promised to introduce you to her son. She is one of the few who generally begins her entertainments at a decent hour. If I am somehow delayed in returning home, you two must attend anyway, for she will be most disappointed otherwise.”

  Violet merely nodded, the beginnings of a delightfully outrageous idea darting through her brain.

  “You must take advantage of this lull before the Season truly gets underway to get most of your shopping out of the way.” Aunt Philomena cast a critical eye over both Violet and Brigid, still in their traveling cloaks. “Even with your outer things on, I can see you are both sadly in need of refurbishment before venturing into Society. I suggest you visit Madame Fanchot directly—tomorrow, if you feel rested enough after your journey. Your mother’s last letter mentioned that this is Mrs. Turpin’s first real visit to London, so I doubt she has ever seen anything the likes of that establishment. You must know, my dear, that Madame Fanchot is considered the absolute pinnacle of fashion in Town,” she told Brigid. “She’ll see to it that you both do credit to the Turpin name.”

  Brigid sucked in a breath as though to protest but Violet silenced her with a quick shake of her head—not that Aunt Philomena had hesitated anyway. Still talking away, she picked up a bell from the small table at her elbow and rang it.

  “Now, I dare swear you are both fagged to death after two or three days’ travel. I presume you stopped at an inn for your dinner before reaching Town? No? Then you must be famished! I’ll just have Cook send trays up to your rooms, as you’ll wish to get to your beds as soon as may be. She’s sure to have something on hand, as I advised her earlier that you might arrive in time for a late dinner or early supper.

  “Ah, Florence, there you are,” she said as her abigail appeared in the doorway. “Send down to the kitchen to have two very, very late suppers sent up, along with a little hot negus to ward off the chill, for I observe it is still quite wintry outdoors for all it is March. Then come back to help me into my bed, for I find myself excessively fatigued. And no wonder, for I see by the clock on the mantel that it is nearly ten, well past my usual bedtime.”

  Lady Puttercroft turned back to Violet and Brigid as the maid hurried off. “Mrs. Turpin, I had Mrs. Humphrey put you in the front corner bedroom, as you’ll need the extra wardrobe space once your husband arrives. Violet, you are in the same room as last year, the next one along. You will no doubt want a bit of a wash before your suppers arrive, so I shall bid you both goodnight. We can chat more when we are all fresh in the morning. Now run along, both of you, and get you to your rooms!”

  Thus dismissed, Violet murmured a quick good night and hurried Brigid out into the hallway, before her maid could say a word. Pulling the door closed behind her, she blessed the silence as she retreated to her room to gather her thoughts—and to plan.

  Chapter Six

  “Miss?” Brigid whispered uncertainly, following Violet into her bedchamber. “Where am I really to sleep? Surely not in that grand room next to yours? I’m feared Lady Puttercroft will be terrible put out when she kens the truth. We should have told her she made a mistake.”

  “She didn’t exactly give us a chance,” Violet pointed out, motioning Brigid to shut the door. “Besides, I’ve just had the most delicious idea! It’s why I shook my head at you before—not that she let you say anything anyway. Help me off with my cloak while I explain.”

  Brigid regarded her mistress suspiciously. “Delicious idea?”

  “Positively scrumptious,” Violet affirmed. “Tell me, how should you like to be a lady of the quality while Aunt Philomena is away?”

  “Me?” Brigid was clearly aghast. “Why, I wouldn’t know how, Miss! I’d say or do something wrong the first five minutes and be found out. I’ve no wish to be turned out of the house or…or thrown into prison.”

  Violet laughed. “Oh, pooh. Pretending is not a crime, unless done for some nefarious purpose. I only wish for a bit of freedom and fun—for both of us. Aunt Philomena already believes you to be Dina, so we needn’t lie, precisely. We simply won’t correct her misapprehension.”

  “She’ll figure it out in the morning, surely, when the light is better.”

  “I doubt it. She is quite nearsighted, you know, and too vain to wear spectacles, just as she is too vain to use a cane. The only thing apt to give you away is your accent—assuming she allows you to speak at all, which is doubtful.”

  Brigid still looked dubious. “Supposing she asks me a question, though? Me mum has tried and tried to get me t
o talk more refined like, for she says most ladies’ maids do, but I can’t seem to master it. She says if you was ever to turn me off, I’d never find a post near so good unless I learn proper talking.”

  “Turn you off! You know I’d never do that,” Violet protested, for she and Brigid had practically grown up together.

  Daughter to the Plumrose Cook, Brigid had progressed from under-kitchen-maid to upstairs maid and finally to Violet’s personal abigail. Because of their long acquaintance, Violet allowed Brigid far more freedom than most mistresses would, often treating her more as friend than servant. It helped that the girl was an excellent keeper of secrets…and occasionally a valuable dispenser of advice. Her warnings against Mr. Plunkett had certainly been sound.

  “Here, try repeating after me,” she told Brigid now. “‘How do you do, my lady? The weather is unusually cold for March, is it not?’”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Brigid said, “’Ow d’ye do, m’lidy? T’weather be…is…what was the rest?”

  “No, no. You must enunciate. ‘How do you do?’ With an H at the start. And try not to run the words together.”

  “Huh…huh…hoo do yoo doo?”

  Violet sighed. “I suppose we can’t expect you to get it right without practice, and just now we are both fatigued. Never mind. We’d best unpack, as our suppers will be here soon.”

  Clearly relieved, Brigid turned to open Violet’s trunk. “I knowed it wouldn’t work, Miss. Once I’ve put your things away I’ll just nip down to the kitchens and explain the mistake to the housekeeper. Like as not they have a bed for me in the attics already, and one for Mrs. Turpin’s maid, too. I can tell her that one won’t be needed.”

  “You’ll do no such thing! I’m not giving up my lovely plan so easily as that. If you should be called upon to speak at breakfast, I shall tell Aunt Philomena you have lost your voice—that you’ve only just got over a frightful cold and have been directed by the doctor to remain mute for the next week or two to avoid a relapse. If she indeed goes to Brighton, we need only fool her for a day or two. Which of my gowns will be easiest to take up so that you can wear it tomorrow?”

  “I brung along that light blue cambric you gave me last spring. It’s already hemmed and all,” Brigid reluctantly admitted. “But I don’t—”

  “Perfect!” Violet frequently passed her cast-off gowns to Brigid or one of the other maids, but had completely forgotten that one. “It’s rather out of fashion, of course, but that is no matter. Aunt Philomena will not expect Dina to have anything in the current style. Wear that until you have time to alter something else of mine.”

  While Brigid hung and folded the contents of Violet’s trunk in the clothespress, Violet chattered excitedly about the Royal Amphitheatre and balloon ascensions and various other amusements the two of them could attend together.

  She then installed Brigid in the corner room that had been designated for Dina. The meager contents of Brigid’s valise looked rather lonely inside the double wardrobe, but Violet told her not to worry.

  “My father has given me a generous shopping allowance, quite enough to outfit both of us in style. Tomorrow we’ll visit Madame Fanchot, as my aunt suggested, and in a few days you’ll be as beautifully turned out as any titled dame, mark my words.”

  When Jenny, Aunt Philomena’s maid-of-all-work, arrived with their suppers, Violet had her set them out in Brigid’s room, which boasted a larger table and an extra chair. Over the meal, Violet addressed a few more details of her daring plan.

  The more she considered it, the more certain she felt that everything had worked out even better than if Dina and Grant had come with her to London. Why, with only Brigid as a companion, the possibilities were endless. She could go anywhere, do anything—to include seeking out the Saint of Seven Dials!

  Nothing could be more perfect.

  The next morning, Violet fastened Brigid into her old blue cambric and arranged her hair, a shade or two closer to orange than Dina’s, into some semblance of a fashionable style. When she finished, she stepped back to survey her work.

  “Very passable,” she declared. “If I did not know better, I should never guess you were not a highborn lady. Just remember to pretend you cannot speak if Aunt Philomena should ask you a direct question.”

  Brigid still looked nervous when they returned to her sitting room a few minutes after nine o’clock—an absurdly early hour for breakfast by fashionable London standards.

  “Ah, here you both are at last,” Lady Puttercroft exclaimed on their entrance. “I daresay you needed the lie-in after all that traveling. Were you able to stay awake long enough to eat the supper I had Cook send up?”

  Motioning the reluctant Brigid to join her, Violet seated herself at the small table. “Yes, Aunt, thank you.”

  “Happy I am to hear it. Her soup was particularly good, I thought, and the cold tongue.”

  Violet started to murmur something complimentary in agreement but her aunt hurried on into more speech.

  “You will never guess what Mr. Franklin had to say when he visited me an hour since! I was ready to argue him into allowing me to travel but as soon as I brought it up, he said there should be no difficulty at all. He claimed to have informed me already that I was not obliged to remain in these rooms, or even in the house, so long as I had assistance on the stairs and used a crutch elsewhere, but I declare I cannot recall him saying any such thing.”

  Violet could well imagine the poor man had attempted to tell her aunt many things that she had never stopped talking long enough to hear.

  “The moment he left, I penned my letter to Letitia and had Robert post it for me. But then it occurred to me, as this is Mrs. Turpin’s first visit, that she might prefer that I remain long enough to get her well settled in?”

  At Aunt Philomena’s inquiring glance Brigid mutely shook her head. Violet opened her mouth to explain about the fictitious cold but never had the chance.

  “Very kind of you, my dear, very kind indeed, and I’m sure dear Violet will have a few acquaintances she can introduce you to. Oh! That reminds me. Yesterday I had a note from Lady Simpson. She and her daughter are in Town and mean to call upon you soon. You and Miss Simpson attended Miss Gebhart’s Seminary together, did you not? Such a highly regarded school for young ladies! ’Twill be nice for you to have a friend so close by, for as I recall, the Simpson house is just down the street on Cavendish Square.”

  “Mary is in Town?” Violet’s spirits rose at the news. She and Mary Simpson had renewed their acquaintance last Season and Violet had found her every bit as sweet and unassuming as she’d been at school.

  “Yes, it will ease my mind to know that Lady Simpson will be by to keep an eye on you while I am away, and to introduce you around. I daresay a morning dress or two can be delivered not many days after you visit Madame Fanchot, and then you may begin making calls yourselves. After that, invitations will begin pouring in—though, as I told Violet last year, there is no need to accept any that begin late, for I cannot stress enough the importance of a good ten hours’ sleep every night. Indeed, that is what I credit for my own youthful appearance. All my acquaintances protest I look not a day over forty for all I am a full score past it.”

  She patted her closely-coiffed graying hair complacently.

  “I told Letitia to expect me by midday tomorrow, which will mean leaving at first light. She has invited me numerous times, you know, for she is still exceedingly grateful for my assistance in finding husbands for both of her daughters during their respective Seasons. Only Hettie snagged a title, of course, but Madeline’s Mr. Worthington is from a very old family and quite wealthy, so no one can say she did not do nearly as well as her sister.”

  While she nattered on, Violet poured out coffee for herself and Brigid.

  “Your mother was quite adamant that you are not to stint on your wardrobe, for she means you to be launched in proper style this time around. Speaking of which, if you can by any means convince one of the Patronesses
of Almack’s to recommend you for a voucher, it would go a long way toward making everyone forget your little indiscretion with that red gown last Season.”

  Violet doubted anyone remembered that incident, but had no opportunity to say so before her aunt resumed.

  “Madame Fanchot is growing exceedingly busy with the height of the Season approaching, but promised to make the time to lay out all her best for you. I recommend you visit her as soon as you have breakfasted, if you feel rested enough, for she is more likely to be at liberty this early in the day. I have observed that a great many members of the ton—all of her customers are members of the ton, you know—lie abed till noon. So silly that their so-called morning calls rarely occur before one o’clock in the afternoon, for by then the day is half over.”

  Violet knew that to point out morning calls were late because most people in upper Society entertained until the wee hours of the morning would only invite another homily about the foolishness of keeping late hours. Not that she was allowed time to speak anyway.

  “Speaking of morning, or rather afternoon calls,” her aunt continued, “that puts me in mind of a particularly amusing thing that happened three or four Seasons ago…”

  “Thought I’d never get you out the door this morning,” Killer complained as he and Rush bent their steps toward Mortimer Street. “Can’t believe you had that much to attend to on your first day back in Town.”

  Rush regarded his friend with mingled amusement and annoyance. “My staff were less than prepared for my arrival last night as I’d told them to expect me next week. Then there was the pile of correspondence awaiting my attention. I’ve barely dealt with a tithe of it yet.”

  Lord Killerby shrugged. “I’ve a stack of letters to go through as well, but surely our promise to Thor takes precedence? I am also eager to see Miss Turpin again, for I find her high spirits quite refreshing.”

  “Refreshing. Yes,” Rush blandly agreed.