“Ah well, Miss Fairweather, why don’t I show you to your rooms? I will tell you all about my grandfather and instruct you in our household rules and ways while you get ready for dinner. I am confident that you will stay. Therefore, it is best that you know all our quirks as soon as possible,” Lady Anne replied.
“Rules … quirks?” Penelope asked nervously.
“Come, Miss Fairweather, Lady Bathsheba. The instruction will take some time,” Lady Anne said, getting up and fluffing her skirts.
Penelope stood up and hastily curtsied to the dowager. She then raced after Lady Anne, who was already at the door.
“Wait, I want to know what rules. Why fake moustaches? Lady Anne … I may change my mind about staying … Lady Anne!”
Chapter 4
“Do you like your room?” Lady Anne asked.
“I have a canopy bed all to myself,” Penelope replied in awe.
“The bathing chamber is through here,” Lady Anne said, opening a beautifully painted French screen door.
Penelope poked her head in to stare wide-eyed at the claw-footed ivory tub.
“There are flowers in the bathroom too … fresh flowers.”
“I am fond of flowers, so my brother makes sure that the house is always full of blooms. He gets the housekeeper, Mrs Reed, to place them everywhere I may chance to look.”
Penelope didn’t want to remember the duke, so she quickly went towards the walnut wardrobe and opened it. Someone had unpacked her travelling case, and the few dresses she owned had been neatly folded and placed on the shelves. They looked pathetic amongst all the luxury. The curtains in the room would have made prettier dresses than the ones she had brought.
“Now, tell me, Lady Anne, what did the duke mean about the moustache?”
Lady Anne joined her and started inspecting the dresses as she spoke, “Sir Henry Woodville is my mother’s father. He joins us for dinner every evening. Other than that, he stays in his rooms on account of his delicate constitution and ailing health. He … he is a little traditional in his mindset. What I mean is that he holds peculiar notions about how a person should be.”
“I see,” said Penelope, not seeing at all.
Lady Anne pulled out a pink dress and eyed it critically as she continued, “Grandfather thinks that one should judge a man by his moustache. If a man has a respectable and by that he means a full, very large, well groomed moustache, then that man is of some consequence. He simply refuses to entertain anyone who does not have a moustache.”
Tilting her head to one side Penelope searched Lady Anne’s face … She found her deadly serious.
Lady Anne flung the dress on a chair, and then went and sat on the bed. She patted the place next to her and Penelope joined her.
“Let me explain. Grandfather holds very old fashioned notions. He believes that women and children should be seen and not heard. Women should not be educated. An ignorant woman is a good woman. We should basically behave like imbeciles, fluttering our lashes and following a man’s every wish. Men, on the other hand, should be manly. They should conduct themselves as such and wear appropriate clothing to reflect the same. Therefore, a man without a moustache is no man at all. A man, he says, should wear his moustache with pride, and the more glorious the moustache, the more powerful the man.”
“He sounds ghastly.”
Lady Anne sighed and said, “Yes, it is difficult, but you see he is so old that out of respect we try and keep him happy. We think he is going to die soon, but then I have been hearing about his impending demise since I was in frocks.”
“How old is he?”
“We guess around a hundred, though his exact age is difficult to determine. They didn’t keep records of birth in those days like we do now. Or if they did, then Grandfather’s mother wasn’t informed of the fact.”
“What happens when you have guests and they don’t have moustaches?”
“We keep a supply of fake moustaches. The butler, Perkins, comes along with the tray and everyone chooses one and sticks it on. We keep all varieties— grey, brown, black and auburn. Of which some are wispy, some are full and some are droopy, while some curl. The duke allows the guests to choose their own and they see it as a hearty joke. They don’t mind, and even if they did, no one would say so to the duke.”
“Hmm,” Penelope said, digesting this odd fact.
“Will you wear this pink for dinner tonight? It is perfect and Grandfather will approve of it. We can attend to your wardrobe and visit the modiste tomorrow. The first ball is in a little over a week, and I am sure Mademoiselle Bellafraunde will have something suitable for you in time.”
Penelope eyed the frothy dress in distaste. It had layers and layers of underskirts, and it was a tad long on her. The bodice was low but not embarrassingly so. Artificial pearls were scattered all over it.
It had been a present from her well intentioned neighbour, Mrs Biddy, and she had packed it out of sentiment and not with any intention of wearing it. But she didn’t want to offend Lady Anne, so she nodded reluctantly.
“Wonderful. Now that’s decided, I can get on with the rules.”
“Rules?”
“House rules that everyone must follow including guests. No exceptions.”
“I see.”
“Now, rule number one. Everyone must be on time for meals. Dinner is at seven, breakfast at nine, nuncheon at twelve and tea is at four. If you are late by even a second, then you will have to miss your meal. You may not start eating before the allotted time either. Not a second earlier or you will be asked to leave the table. Wait for one of us to pick up the fork so you don’t make a mistake,” Lady Anne rattled off the well-rehearsed speech.
“But how do you know if we are a second early or late?”
“Grandfather keeps his eye trained on his pocket watch and gives us the signal to start. At other times, the duke tells us the time. The only respite we have from this schedule is when the duke and Grandfather are not present. Then we can eat when we like.”
“What else?” Penelope asked, disliking the duke even more. No one had been so strict in her household. This sounded dreadful.
“You cannot eat anything in your room. Not even a biscuit, although you are allowed to have an occasional hot drink brought to you. Mother and I have our tea in our rooms every morning. I also recommend leaving for each meal a little earlier then you would normally, since the house is large and you may lose your way.”
Penelope scrambled to look for a pen and paper to write it all down.
“I have it all written up. I keep one for all guests. It should be in your dressing table drawer.”
Penelope nodded faintly and went to fetch it.
“Now, this bit here means that you cannot go anywhere without a chaperone. You may not entertain anyone in the house without the duke’s prior permission. You cannot go into certain parts of the house like the servants’ quarters, kitchens and the back garden.”
“Why can’t I invite anyone?”
“The duke takes his responsibilities very seriously. He is very particular about our safety.”
“I am hardly going to invite a ruffian to dine,” Penelope said offended, forgetting the fact that just a few hours earlier she had issued an invitation to an infamous highwayman, robber and deer stealer.
“Yes, well, now the next rule,” said Lady Anne hurriedly. “You must on no account enter his study.”
Penelope wouldn’t have a problem following that rule. She would avoid the man like the plague.
“The rest are simple enough, outlining consequences if you are unwed and visit a gentleman in his chambers while living under this roof. No roaming the hallways at night in your dressing gown and a few more. Read it tonight when you have time. Other than that, you may do as you please.”
“Huh,” said Penelope, turning the page. Twenty one rules to be adhered to or you would be asked to leave. She wondered how long she would last.
“Well, I think I will leave you to rest and
get ready for dinner. I will come and fetch you myself just so you know the way. Now, I need to see my brother in his study and shed those tears. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Penelope muttered absently, her eyes feverishly scanning The Standard Decree on the Principles of Behaviour within the Blackthorne Household and trying to memorise it at the same time. She didn’t hear the door click shut as Lady Anne left.
***
Mary jammed a comb in Penelope’s hair and attempted to run it through. It stuck fast.
“Your hair, Miss Pea, is like a curly tailed chimpanzee’s.”
“Have you ever seen a chimpanzee, Mary?”
“No, but the stablehand was telling me all about it. He saw one in a circus.”
“Flirting already? I take it the stablehand is a strapping young man.”
“Lor, Miss Pea, go on with you and your teasing.”
Penelope smiled at her maid and Mary grinned back.
“It is good to see you happy, Miss. I was worried after what Madam Gertrude said to you this morning. You looked dreadfully unhappy.”
“You heard?”
“I was putting out the washing, Miss. I heard enough.”
“I am sure she did not mean it,” Penelope replied, avoiding Mary’s eye.
“Will you find a man, Miss?”
“The dowager will help me, I am sure. If nothing happens, then you can always go back to the village. Or stay on here.” She quickly changed the subject. “Is your accommodation alright, and how are you handling things downstairs?”
“I am alright. It is you I am worried about, Miss. As for the servants’ quarters, we actually have windows. I can see right into the back garden and can toss Lady Bathsheba down for her business from the window.”
“So the duke provides well for his servants?”
“Lady Anne is in charge of the kitchens and the servants. We are not begrudged some extra tea money now and then, and we can eat all we like. Even the scullery maid is a plump thing. It seems too good to be true for the likes of us.”
“That’s wonderful,” Penelope said quietly. After a moment she added, “That will be all, Mary, thank you.”
Mary hesitated, but a silent appeal from Penelope had her bobbing a curtsy and leaving the room, albeit reluctantly.
Mary had always wanted a room with a window, Penelope thought fondly. The servants’ rooms in Finnshire had been dark and damp with barely a glimmer of light. She glanced at the soft, inviting bed and smiled ruefully. She, too, had been given a room fit for a princess, a far cry from her small but comfortable room at her father’s house.
Restless, she got up and went to look out of the window. The scenery was gloomy. The sun was hiding again, and the black smog sat comfortably overhead. The rose garden, which her room faced, looked damp, chilly and miserable. The wind, she noted, was the only thing happy, running through the trees and bushes like an overexcited kitten. If she strained, she could vaguely make out the outline of a fountain in the distance. She focused on the structure atop the fountain and finally figured that it was a marble statue of a cherubic, curly-haired baby angel piddling into the lily pond below. She sighed mournfully and turned away.
She fetched her mother’s portrait from the cupboard and set it up on the red sandalwood writing desk. She plonked herself down on the chair and rested her chin on her hands. Cocking her head from side to side, she scrutinised the portrait.
The oil portrait was as big as her hand, perhaps a little larger. It depicted her mother at the age of twenty one. She peered at it for a few minutes and then spoke, “Good evening, Mother. You are looking well. How are things up in heaven? Good, good … Well, I am in a bit of a bind, and could I beg you to please petition God on my behalf. It seems my guardian angel has either fled or is on sabbatical, and the substitute has not yet arrived.”
She paused, wondering if words took time travelling all the way from earth to heaven. She let a moment go by just in case, and then looking into brown eyes that were identical to her own she continued, “I think you look just like me, though Father disagrees. He always points out that your chin is sweet, while mine is stubborn. My nose is round right at the tip, while yours is pointy, and while I have sixteen freckles, you have none. He used to tell me that you were so good that God decided to call you up for himself. I am not so good as you well know, Mamma. Does that mean I shall go to hell? Or that I will be stuck on earth for eternity? The priest in the village church seems to think my place next to Mephistopheles is booked… But I digress. I wanted to tell you all about my day and about that bit of trouble I am in. The one that needs a guardian angel’s intervention, or perhaps if you can manage it, a few guardian angels fluttering down to help me out of this predicament.”
She looked around abstractedly, wondering how she could best explain matters. Her eyes fell on the window once again and she said mistily, “Mamma, do you recall the cramped window ledge in my room that I used to sit on as a child? I stayed up late into the night letting the curtains hide me and my candle while I stared out at the dark green forest at the back. I was convinced that the fay folk would come out and play, and that one day I would catch them dancing in the vegetable patch. I sat still barely breathing for hours it seemed, and the only exciting thing I ever saw was a naughty fox on its way to the chicken coop.”
She scowled at the memory, letting her chin fall back onto her hands.
“I wish I could sit at one of my favourite spots again, especially the smooth rock by the stream … the babbling stream that runs by the house and disappears into the forest, where Mr Duck and Mrs Duck leisurely dance on the water followed by the frantically paddling little ducklings. ” She paused, and then continued still lost and dreamy. “And do you recall that time when I was ten and I had tied all my clothes in a bundle, wore my nicest frock, and in neat pigtails decided to set off on an adventure? What I find odd now that I look back is that instead of following the stream into the dark forest where I had been so passionately convinced that the fairy folk dwelled, I wanted to follow the sparkling white path that ran along the forest away from the village. The path that led to an unknown land … I wanted to set forth and reach heaven to find you, Mamma … or perhaps find a home.”
A tear trickled down her cheek and she dashed it away angrily.
“That horrible harridan … Alright, alright, Mother, don’t get your wings in a twist.” She continued in a more respectful tone, “My stepmother, Gertrude, as you well know, has always abhorred the sight of me. As a child I was filled with constant dread, a dread that only a child can feel, because of her. I tried my best to stay away from her, and I tried to please … You know I did. Sitting up in heaven you probably have a good view of all that goes on down here. Well, the usurper has now demanded, I will let you know in case you missed this bit of information, demanded that I never return. That wily witch, good for nothing… Oh, let my tongue run, Mamma. Don’t prick your wand in my conscience. She deserves it. She told me to never come back to my father’s house. Notice how I never call it a home. It is always Father’s house. Well, she never made it a home, and now my prior abode has also been snatched away from me. I didn’t even get a chance to bid everyone a proper goodbye.” She wailed at the last bit.
Sniffing, she wiped her runny nose. Anguish did not wait for handkerchiefs to be found and used.
“She told me that I must never return to Father’s house. She said that Father has squandered away all his wealth. He can no longer afford to clothe or keep me. I knew he was terrible with his accounts, but … but I didn’t realise that things had become so dreadful. She said that since I had no fortune, accomplishments, looks or marriage prospects in the offing, that I should grab this opportunity that the dowager has given me and attach myself to a man … any man who will have me, even if it means becoming his mistress, or I should find some suitable work. Mother, I am no longer that weak, helpless child. I refused to be bullied. And I told her as much… and then she changed her tactics. She reminded me
of my younger stepsisters; Janet, still in her frocks and Celine, only a year younger than me and not yet out. She asked me how I could be so heartless and continue to be a burden on my father who had to care for five young girls. I admit I dithered a little, but she could see that I was still undecided, and that was when she pulled out her trump card.”
Penelope straightened her back and clenched the chair in a deathly grip.
“Mother, Gertrude informed me that she knew of Lord Weevil’s proposal. The same ancient Lord Weevil who looks like an enormous, sleazy rat with buck teeth and a single eye that constantly leers at anything in skirts. He has accosted me on several occasions and I have always rebuffed his propositions. It appears that he approached Gertrude after learning of my impending season in London and spurred on by circumstances asked her for my hand. Perhaps he knew that Father would refuse. Well, she did not refuse but asked him for time in the hope, I think, that the dowager may help matters and find a better catch for me. If I marry someone well situated, then she can hang her daughters’ responsibilities around my neck. She told me that if I dared to return unwed or unemployed, she will take matters into her own hand and make sure that I marry that awful, awful Lord Weevil.”
She stopped here to take deep calming breaths.
“So you see, Mamma, I am desperate. I have to marry or else find employment. I cannot return. That Lord Weevil makes my skin crawl. When I left for London this morning, he stopped the carriage just outside the village and ordered me to climb down. He was convinced that with Gertrude’s permission, I was now his betrothed. I popped my head out and politely asked him to let me depart. He refused and got ready to pull the door of the carriage open. Oh, Mamma, I truly didn’t mean to, but you see, I had no choice. I had to sock him in the good eye.”
She paused respectfully, thinking perhaps that her mother, perched atop a fluffy cloud, was having a mini apoplectic fit at this last bit of news.
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