by Ann Barker
Although she paid off what she could of her debt to Isobel, her allowance was small, and the total seemed to go down with agonizing slowness. And always, Isobel kept saying that it didn’t matter; that she could pay in other ways. The trouble with these kinds of ‘other ways’ was that one never knew when the paying would be finished!
Relief had come when, on her next birthday, she had received a most generous gift of £20 from Lady Thurlby. Together with £10 from Mr and Mrs Stancross, another gift from her parents and her quarterly allowance, she had found herself the possessor of exactly £100. She had thought regretfully of a shawl that she had seen in a shop window in Milsom Street. She had coveted it quite desperately; but the longing to be free of Isobel’s demands had been much stronger than her desire for the shawl. Before she could change her mind, she had gone to Isobel with the money in her hands, together with a note which she had carefully composed. ‘The bank may not let me have all this quarter’s allowance at once,’ she had said. ‘But I have written a note of promise to you, to say that it is yours, as payment of my debt.’
‘You’ve just been sent this money for your birthday?’ said Isobel curiously, taking the note and glancing down at it. The money was still in Lavinia’s outstretched hand.
‘That’s right.’
‘And you want to give it all to me?’
‘To pay off my debt.’
Isobel looked at her in silence for a long moment before slowly tearing up the paper in her hand. ‘Keep your money,’ she said, ‘and consider the debt now paid.’
‘Isobel, I won’t keep watch or take notes or … or do any of those other things any more,’ said Lavinia anxiously, still holding out the money.
‘No, no, it’s all right,’ the other girl had replied, hugging her. ‘Call it a birthday present from me. How much do you have now? Over fifty pounds? Shall we go and look at that shawl that you were admiring the other day?’
They had remained friends, but Lavinia had not made the mistake of thinking that Isobel had changed her ways. Later, when she had seen a new girl going on an errand for Isobel, she knew that the other girl had found another lookout.
Now, meeting Isobel again in London, memories of school, happy for the most part, had come flooding back. Mr and Mrs Stancross knew very few fashionable people and life in their house could be very lonely. It was rather agreeable to meet up again with a friend of her own age.
When they were about halfway down the street, Isobel said ‘This is it.’ They walked up the steps to the front door and she rang the bell. She was just saying ‘You won’t tell, will you, Lavvy? Promise me …’ when the door was opened by the butler.
No sooner were they inside than a woman’s voice was heard coming powerfully from the back of the hall. As its owner came into view, Lavinia saw a stout female of between forty and fifty, dressed fashionably, if not becomingly, in a pale-pink gown, with her light brown hair frizzed and caught up with a ribbon. ‘So there you are, miss. I warned you about sneaking off, did I not? I would like to know—’ She stopped speaking abruptly, as she caught sight of Lavinia. ‘Oh,’ she added blankly, looking at her visitor.
‘Good morning,’ said Lavinia politely, curtsying.
‘Oh Mrs Wilbraham, this is my schoolfriend, Lavinia Muir,’ said Isobel. There was a slight note of tension in her voice. ‘Lavinia, this is my kind guardian, Mrs Wilbraham.’
‘Good day, Miss Muir,’ said Mrs Wilbraham, eyeing the newcomer in a measuring way. Lavinia was dressed fashionably and with modesty. Her demeanour, more restrained than Isobel’s, which sometimes had a tendency towards ebullience, earned Mrs Wilbraham’s approval. This newcomer did not appear to be the kind of young woman who would tempt her charge into wrongdoing.
‘Lavinia has been telling me all about the visit that she will be paying to her godmother, the Countess of Thurlby,’ Lavinia went on. ‘Such a lovely morning we have had, have we not, Lavinia?’
‘Yes; yes, we have,’ Lavinia agreed. It was not a lie after all, even if Isobel had made it sound as though they had spent far more time together than had actually been the case.
‘A friend of mine called upon me just half an hour ago and told me that she had caught a glimpse of you with Riseholm,’ said Mrs Wilbraham suspiciously.
‘How odd,’ replied Isobel, achieving an airy tone. ‘She must have been mistaken, because I was with Lavvy. Perhaps your friend does not know me very well.’
‘It was Mrs Craig and I think she knows you well enough,’ answered Mrs Wilbraham. ‘But she did say it was only a glimpse after all, and in any case we must not argue in front of a guest.’ She ushered them into the drawing room and invited Lavinia to be seated. ‘Where are you residing in London, Miss Muir? Is it near here?’
‘I have been residing in Harley Street with my uncle and aunt,’ Lavinia replied, ‘but—’
‘But they are to go to Lyme Regis quite soon, for Mrs Stancross’s health, and Lavinia is to go to her godmother in Lincolnshire,’ Isobel put in hastily. ‘Just fancy, she has suggested that I might go with her. What do you think? May I?’
Fortunately, their hostess was turning to give an instruction to her butler to bring refreshments, so she did not see Lavinia’s dumbfounded expression. ‘Go to Thurlby?’ said Mrs Wilbraham, the order for ratafia having been given.
‘I have been there before,’ said Isobel. ‘The dowager countess and her son, the earl, were very welcoming.’ This was true enough. The fact that they were also very heartily glad to see her go was not something that Isobel chose to mention.
It was now that Mrs Wilbraham turned her gaze upon Lavinia. ‘Hmm. Harley Street, you say.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ A really truthful person would now say that Mr and Mrs Stancross had already gone to Lyme, and that the invitation from Thurlby was only for one, but Lavinia could not bring herself to expose her friend in this way. Besides, there was something about Mrs Wilbraham that Lavinia could not like. She looked as if she could almost be brutal, given sufficient cause. Suddenly, Lavinia remembered the air of tension in her friend’s voice. Mrs Wilbraham might deem Isobel’s deceit to be cause enough.
Mrs Wilbraham looked carefully at Lavinia again. The Harley Street address, although unfashionable, and sometimes despised by members of the ton, suggested respectability. There was also her connection with the earldom of Thurlby to be considered.
Although Thurlby and his mother might seldom come to London, eschewing the fashionable scene, their name was an old and honourable one, and their coffers were very well able to afford the luxury of regular visits to the capital. Lady Thurlby might never choose to go to Almack’s, but she could have obtained vouchers without difficulty; and although Lord Thurlby was rarely seen at White’s, he was certainly a member. What was more, he was young, unmarried and, as far as anyone knew, unattached. This was a connection worth cultivating.
Miss Macclesfield’s father was paying her a handsome sum to sponsor her in London and make sure that she made suitable connections. An alliance with Lord Thurlby would certainly meet with his approval and doubtless earn a very welcome bonus for the young lady’s diligent chaperon.
‘Well, we shall see,’ said Mrs Wilbraham, not allowing her face to betray any of these thoughts. She gave a small smile. ‘Do you have time to stay for nuncheon, Miss Muir? We should be more than happy to entertain you.’
Lavinia thanked her and accepted. She had been a little concerned as to how to feed herself whilst she was still in London. She would not have that to worry about, for today at least.
Chapter Three
Lavinia decided to stay on at Harley Street for the time being. She could not think what else to do. The caretaker was very kind, but he made the situation plain. ‘I’m to close the house at the end of the week, miss,’ he said. ‘You can stay until then if you like, but I haven’t the means to keep it open for longer. Master didn’t leave me any extra, or you could have it and welcome. Would you like me to make enquiries at the market to see if there’s a cart
going to Lincolnshire? There’s all sorts of fruit and vegetables comes down from there, I believe. Someone might be going back and be able to give you a ride.’
Lavinia thanked him gratefully. She did not really want to appear at Thurlby Hall on the back of a vegetable cart, but at least it would be a solution to her problem.
Before she had left Mrs Wilbraham’s, Isobel had whispered to her not to leave London. Chance would be a fine thing, she had thought to herself. She did not have the means to get beyond Barnet. It was true that Isobel had offered to help her with funds, but she had not mentioned the matter again, and Lavinia had not found a moment to remind her, as Mrs Wilbraham had not left them alone. To her relief, the chaperon had not questioned her further about her meeting with Isobel, but she had asked her about Lord and Lady Thurlby. Lavinia had welcomed this topic because she had been able to talk about the earl and his mother without any deceit whatsoever.
The morning after their meeting, Lavinia was just getting up from the kitchen table after a modest breakfast of toast and marmalade, which she had prepared herself, when the caretaker came in with a note. ‘P’raps it’ll be better news, miss,’ he said. He had already been to the market but had not yet had any luck in finding a cart to take her to Lincolnshire.
‘Lets hope so,’ she replied, opening the note. It was from Isobel.
Dearest Lavvy,
Absolute disaster! Mrs Craig, damn her, was not the only one to see me with Riseholm, and the game’s up! At least I managed to convince Willy that you had no notion of what I was about, having met me later, and Willy’s crony swore that I was alone with him.(My dear, he’s so gorgeous, it was worth every minute of the risk!)
Willy has threatened me with bread and water, followed by immediate despatch to my grandmother in Harrogate, and I just couldn’t bear it! I managed to persuade her to consider allowing me to travel to Thurlby with you, and she is coming to your house, to speak to your aunt and uncle! Help me – please! I’ll be so good, I promise!
Your devoted Isobel
Lavinia’s first instinct was to go round to Mrs Wilbraham’s house and wring Isobel’s neck. How dare she involve another in her machinations in this way? She thought ruefully of how her friend had embroiled her in schemes in the past. Maddening though her behaviour might be, it was certainly consistent.
Slowly, she began to grasp the implications of what was said in the letter. Mrs Wilbraham was coming to Harley Street to consult with Mr and Mrs Stancross. Those good people were no longer there. What was she to do? What could she say that would not embroil Isobel and herself in more trouble? Quickly, she hurried to find the caretaker.
‘A Mrs Wilbraham will be calling today,’ she said. ‘She will ask for my uncle or aunt.’
‘They’re not here, miss,’ he said, as if speaking to one who was not aware of the fact.
Nobly forbearing from criticizing him for stating the obvious, she said, ‘Yes, that’s right. But do you think you could refrain from saying that? When Mrs Wilbraham is here, I mean.’
‘I can’t tell lies, miss,’ said the caretaker, straightening. ‘Couldn’t face the others in my class meeting if I did.’
Knowing that the man was a devout Methodist who never missed his midweek meeting, Lavinia said, ‘Yes, I understand. Do you think you could just not reply when she asks? Say “This way, madam”, or something like that. I’ll tell her that you’re deaf.’
‘All right, miss,’ he said, with some reluctance. ‘As long as I don’t have to lie.’
One room – the morning room – had been left for her occupation, whilst the rest of the public rooms had been shrouded with Holland covers. It was to this room, therefore, that she went, in order to make her preparations. Some cards had been left with compliments, and these she placed on the mantelpiece in full view. A copy of The Gentleman’s Magazine had arrived just before her uncle had left for Lyme, and this she placed folded open on an inside page on a small table, with an old pair of her uncle’s spectacles on the top. Then she opened her aunt’s workbox and took out some sewing, a piece of embroidery of which her aunt had been very proud. Poor Aunt, she thought to herself. She will not be completing it now. Suddenly, the tears that she had held back, first of all not to distress her uncle, and then not to embarrass the caretaker who could do nothing to help, would not be denied any more. So it was that when Mrs Wilbraham was announced, it was to discover her hostess quite genuinely dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.
‘This is a fine welcome,’ Mrs Wilbraham declared, distracted by Lavinia’s tears from the speech that she had planned to make. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
Unable to think of anything but the truth, Lavinia said simply, ‘Aunt is ill.’
In common with some other robust-looking people, Mrs Wilbraham had a dread of illness. She took an involuntary step back. ‘Nothing infectious, I hope.’
‘I hope not, indeed,’ replied Lavinia, beginning to see a way forward.
‘What is to be done?’ asked the visitor in an agitated tone.
‘It is imperative that I should leave this house as soon as possible,’ said Lavinia, priding herself on being able to speak with perfect truth.
‘Have … have you been in contact with your aunt since the illness began?’
‘Yes, I fear that I have,’ answered Lavinia, feeling a little ashamed of making use of her aunt’s misfortune in this way.
Now, her visitor was thrown onto the horns of a dilemma. Common courtesy, as well as the laws of hospitality, dictated that she should invite this unfortunate young woman to stay. In welcoming her, however, she might also be opening her home to some unknown, perhaps virulent, possibly even fatal disease.
After a moment or two, her eyes brightened. ‘I have a solution,’ she said. ‘Isobel shall come round to bear you company, then she may go with you to Thurlby as you both wished.’ Her face became serious as she recalled the reason for her visit. ‘There are reasons why it is necessary for her to leave London at this time,’ she said. ‘I fear that she has not behaved well. You, on the other hand, are clearly a well-behaved, sensitive, compassionate young lady and, I am sure that she will benefit extremely from your example. How are you to travel? By hired vehicle?’
Lavinia, knowing that to say ‘by carrier’s cart on top of a sack of potatoes’ would not make the right impression, murmured something inaudible.
‘I shall send half the cost with Isobel. It is only fair that she should pay for her own share.’
Lavinia nodded. It was one of the few things that Mrs Wilbraham had said with which she felt able to agree wholeheartedly.
‘Is this not fun?’ said Isobel, her eyes sparkling, her dark curls bouncing. ‘Far better than going on your own.’
‘Far more possible than going on my own,’ Lavinia corrected, as they waited for the York-bound stage. ‘I did not even have enough money for my own fare.’
‘Instead of which, we will be travelling together! What an adventure!’
Isobel had arrived the previous day, full of verve and vigour, and clearly delighted at having escaped retribution at the hands of Mrs Wilbraham. ‘I dare say you may not believe it, because she was exceedingly agreeable to you, but she can be the most fearful woman,’ she had declared after they had greeted one another. ‘She really has put me on bread and water before now, you know – I was not making that up. And she thinks that she can withhold my allowance from me; my money, notice, not hers at all, but mine from my father! She has even kept all my jewels in London under lock and key; all, that is, except for the pearls which belonged to Mama. The last straw was when she threatened to write to Papa, and then send me to my grandmother in Harrogate. Grandmother doesn’t like to be bothered with me and she would have been furious at having all her plans spoiled.’
This had seemed to Lavinia to be the saddest thing that she had ever heard. She could not remember her father’s mother, but her grandmother on her mother’s side had been kindly and affectionate, and had spoiled her at every o
pportunity until her death when Lavinia was seven.
She had heard about Isobel’s grandmother before, and what she had heard she did not like. She well remembered an occasion when Isobel had come back from Harrogate having paid a visit to her father’s mother. As they had sat talking in the room they had shared with four other girls, Isobel had adjusted her shawl, and Lavinia had been convinced that she had caught a glimpse of bruises on her friend’s upper arms. Isobel had said nothing about being beaten, but Lavinia could not think of any other explanation.
Isobel had brought her share of the money for the hiring of a vehicle, but it soon became clear that Lavinia could not find sufficient to cover the rest. It was then that Isobel had had yet another splendid idea. ‘We could go on the stage,’ she had said. ‘I could easily pay for both of our tickets with my share, then you would have all of your money for something else, and I would have something to keep me going until my allowance comes next month.’
‘The stage,’ Lavinia had murmured. ‘Would it not be very shocking?’ She had tried and failed to imagine what the earl and the countess would think of her travelling cheek by jowl with any chance met person.
‘Not so shocking as sitting in the back of a vegetable cart with cabbages and potatoes,’ Isobel had pointed out, Lavinia having told her to what straits she had almost been driven. ‘Besides, no one need know. In any case, we will be chaperoning each other. Stay, though,’ she had continued, looking even more excited, were that possible. ‘Do you still have your mourning things left over from when … when … you know?’
