Finessing Clarissa

by Beaton, M. C.

‘Mushroom,’ whispered the Lady Clarendon, giving Clarissa’s arm a pinch. ‘Cut her!’

  But soft-hearted Clarissa found it impossible to cut anyone who looked so genial, and to her mother’s fury she stopped and gave the lady a brief curtsy.

  ‘I am Mrs Kendall, Lady Clarendon, Miss Vevian,’ said the stout woman. Lady Clarendon stared straight ahead. Clarissa smiled encouragingly.

  ‘The truth is,’ said Mrs Kendall, ‘I’m that worried about my Maria. I’m not a one for pushing my way in and I never speak to my betters without an introduction . . .’

  ‘Quite right too,’ said Lady Clarendon firmly.

  ‘But,’ went on Mrs Kendall, pretending not to hear, ‘when I heard you was brought out in London by them Tribbles and how good they were, I wondered if they might do anything with my Maria. My husband says to me, he says, you don’t want to send her off to that household where they have more murders than we have had hot dinners, but things is desperate, that’s what I said.’

  ‘They are coming here to my wedding,’ said Clarissa, ignoring her mother’s glare, ‘and, if you would like it, they could call on you before they leave Bath.’

  ‘That would be fine,’ said Mrs Kendall. She took out a card. ‘That’s my address. Are they very dear?’

  ‘Very,’ said Clarissa coolly, ‘but worth every penny. If you cannot afford much, I would not trouble them.’

  ‘Money’s no problem,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘Why, Mr Kendall could buy up the most of Bath if he wanted. Thank you, my lady, Miss Vevian, thanks ever so.’

  ‘Did those Tribbles not train you how to depress the attentions of the vulgar?’ demanded Lady Clarendon as she and Clarissa walked on.

  ‘They taught me to be kind and polite to all,’ said Clarissa. ‘I do wish Greystone would come to Bath earlier, but he is preparing things for us at his home.’

  ‘Well, I must confess the Tribbles did sterling work with you, Clarissa,’ said Lady Clarendon in a mollified voice. ‘I do not suppose, however, as they are spinsters, that they had an opportunity to talk to you about the . . . er . . . more delicate side of marriage.’

  ‘No, Mama.’

  Lady Clarendon sighed. ‘I suppose I had better warn you . . .’

  ‘Warn me about what, Mama?’ demanded Clarissa sharply.

  ‘Not here. Let us take a stroll in the Parade Gardens.’

  Clarissa waited impatiently until the viscountess obviously considered no one could overhear what she was about to say. She sat down on a bench and drew Clarissa down beside her.

  ‘Do you know, Clarissa, what a man does to a woman in the marriage bed?’

  Clarissa was dreadfully embarrassed. ‘He hugs and kisses – I mean, the husband.’

  ‘There is more to it than hugs and kisses. You will lose your virginity and must be prepared for the pain and suffering of that.’

  ‘Pain and suffering?’ repeated Clarissa, aghast.

  ‘After the initial experience, it becomes easier. But you will have demands made on your body which will seem very odd and shocking to you. Remember at all times, it is your duty to obey your husband. Some nights, it might seem nigh unbearable and you will wish you could simply go to bed and sleep, but take a stiff drink of brandy and lie back and think of something else until it is all over.’

  ‘But what of love and romance? Do they not exist? What am I saying? I know they exist!’

  Lady Clarendon patted her daughter’s hand. ‘They are part of courtship, not marriage. Enjoy yourself while you may.’

  And glad to have done her duty, she rose to her feet to indicate the lecture was over. Clarissa fell up the steps leaving the garden. She opened her parasol with such force that the spokes went clean through the silk, then threw the ruined parasol away without looking so that it struck a flower seller in the face and the irritated Lady Clarendon had to buy great armfuls of flowers to calm the outraged vendor.

  * * *

  Mrs Kendall, her husband and daughter lived in a house in Milsom Street. Mr Kendall had made a great deal of money out of coal-mines in the north, sold out and moved to Bath. Their daughter, Maria, had been born when they were both forty. Maria was the reason for the move to Bath. Both Mr and Mrs Kendall were small, fat, and plain. As Maria grew, so she increased in beauty, and the more beautiful she became, the more rampant grew the Kendalls’ social ambitions. With Maria’s looks and her father’s money, surely she could secure a lord at the very least!

  But as Maria reached her nineteenth year, her doting parents found that she was . . . not there. She lived in a dream world that seemed to run like a perpetual play in her head, with ogres and villains, heroes and heroines. She lived inside her private world and paid no heed to the line of suitors attracted by her father’s wealth and her great beauty.

  Maria Kendall was beautiful. She was small and dainty with a small head, luxuriant chestnut-brown hair, large green eyes, a small pink mouth, and a straight nose. Her movements were graceful, and just occasionally, when she was paying attention to someone or something, she showed great charm.

  To Mr and Mrs Kendall, with their gross appetites and their love of showy finery, dreamy Maria was a great disappointment. Despite her vagueness and dreaminess, she did show a stubborn streak when asked, pleaded, begged to accept some gentleman’s hand in marriage. The Kendalls had thought up various punishments to try to bring her to a sense of her own folly, but nothing seemed to work. Long sessions of incarceration in her room and a diet of bread and water did nothing else but make her thin and pale and alarm them into releasing her and putting her back on proper meals. The birch rod only marked her fair skin. The burning of all her favourite books caused tears but no improvement in her manner.

  ‘I am at my wit’s end, Mr Kendall,’ said Mrs Kendall, returning from the pump room after speaking to Clarissa. ‘So you know what I did?’

  ‘No, my love,’ said Mr Kendall, easing his gouty foot.

  ‘I went up to that there Miss Clarissa Vevian, her what was brought out by those Tribble sisters in London and got herself the Earl of Greystone, and I asked her about them Tribbles. A very nice young lady she is, too, not like that cold pudding-faced mother of hers. She told me the Tribbles was coming to her wedding and she would tell them about our Maria and send them round. There!’

  Mr Kendall straightened up. ‘You mean – send her away to strangers? In London? Here, them Tribbles was in all the newspapers. Killed a man, they did. Not ladylike.’

  ‘Do we care?’ snorted Mrs Kendall. ‘This Clarissa Vevian is a great giant of a girl with red hair. Red hair, mark you, and yet she’s to be the Countess of Greystone. If they can get an earl for her, think what they could get for Maria.’

  ‘They could get the Prince Regent for Maria and Maria would say no,’ said Mr Kendall cynically.

  ‘And quite right, too,’ retorted Mrs Kendall. ‘Him a married man and all. We’ve tried everything. Them Tribbles are our last hope.’

  ‘What if they don’t take her?’

  ‘Course they’ll take her. They’re doing it for money.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Kendall. He broke off as Maria came into the room. She looked a picture in pink-sprigged muslin. She gave them a sweet unfocused smile, picked up a book from the sofa, and walked out again.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Mr Kendall heavily. ‘We’ll pay them Tribble women what they want, just so long as they guarantee to get her a husband!’

  Amy and Effy, escorted by Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph, arrived in Bath. Amy and Effy were prepared to accept modestly all the compliments that would surely be showered on them by Clarissa’s grateful parents. But although their reception was warm, although they were formally thanked and given a generous present of money as a bonus from the viscount, they could not help noticing a certain frost in the air.

  Clarissa was delighted to see them, but she looked wan and pale and had shadows under her eyes. They soon found out the reason why her parents were not so enthusiastic as they might have been.

  Po
or Clarissa was clumsy once more. She slouched, she dropped things, she made sudden ungainly movements and swiped ornaments from tables and shelves.

  After a week of seeing Clarissa becoming more awkward and wretched, the sisters, Mr Haddon, and Mr Randolph met in the coffee room of the hotel in which the gentlemen had been billeted – the sisters themselves staying with Clarissa and her parents – to discuss the problem.

  ‘I don’t like Lady Clarendon, and that’s a fact,’ said Amy crossly. ‘Clarissa adores her mother, but Lady Clarendon does nothing but complain about the girl and criticize her.’

  ‘Perhaps she has had a row with Greystone,’ suggested Mr Haddon. ‘I mean, I am sure if he still loved her and she knew it, then she would not be so sad and worried.’

  Effy shook her head. ‘I took it upon myself to question Clarissa’s maid, Hubbard. Hubbard said that Greystone took a most affectionate leave of her.’

  ‘Why can’t he come to Bath?’ asked Amy. ‘He is due to arrive on the day of the wedding rehearsal, but we need him here now.’

  ‘Have you asked Miss Vevian herself what is wrong?’ demanded Mr Randolph, adjusting the lace at his cuffs. Like Mr Haddon, Mr Randolph had firmly attached himself to the Tribble sisters and considered himself ‘one of the family’. He would have been dismayed and startled had he known that both sisters viewed him in the light of a prospective husband. He enjoyed their admiration of his fine clothes and their warm appreciation of his lavish presents, but although the sisters were the same age as he, he was not worldy-wise enough to know that a lady’s romantic heart never grows old.

  ‘I asked her,’ said Amy. ‘She said the most odd thing. She said, “Have you ever been married, Miss Amy?” When I said no, she said that in that case I could not help. I was about to press further when her mother came into the room and started fussing about, you know the way she does. “Sit up straight, Clarissa. Don’t slouch. Really, Miss Tribble, I had begun to hope you had cured her of her clumsiness.”’

  There was a long silence.

  Then Mr Haddon said suddenly, ‘Bride nerves.’

  ‘Eh?’ demanded Amy.

  He coughed delicately. ‘Bride nerves. It is quite common, you know.’

  ‘But if she loves him and he loves her, what has she got to be nervous about?’ said Effy. ‘I would have thought she would have been in high alt at the prospect of soon being with her husband and mistress of her own household. What can you mean, Mr Haddon?’

  ‘How shall I put it?’ Mr Haddon looked at the smoke-blackened beams of the ceiling as if seeking inspiration in them. ‘The prospect of the physical side of marriage is sometimes frightening to a young girl.’

  All immediately could not help thinking of what the physical side of marriage entailed and the Tribble sisters shared a communal blush.

  ‘Surely her mother has spoken to her about that,’ suggested Mr Randolph.

  There was another meditative silence and then Amy said slowly, ‘Do you know, the countess probably has spoken to her and terrified her out of her wits. I’ll talk to her myself.’

  Three pairs of eyes looked at Amy Tribble. Three racing minds wondered what Miss Amy knew about the subject, but Effy dared not mention anything for fear of Amy’s delivering herself of some terribly crude remark.

  It was finally agreed that Amy should try to talk to Clarissa further, but Amy soon found that this was a hard thing to do. Clarissa was receiving the last fittings for her wedding gown and trousseau. Relatives were arriving in droves. There was no space left in the house and so Hubbard, who had had to surrender her room to house three visiting servants, slept on a bed placed in Clarissa’s room and was always present.

  When the Earl of Greystone arrived on the day of the wedding rehearsal, things were no better. The rehearsal was a disaster. Clarissa literally tripped up the aisle and nearly cannoned into the earl.

  ‘For goodness’ sake!’ shouted her mother, ‘cannot you contrive to behave yourself like a lady for this one all-important occasion?’

  When they filed out of the church after that disastrous rehearsal, Amy felt like killing first the viscountess and then the viscount, and then all the sniggering relatives.

  Summoning up her courage, Amy drew the earl aside. ‘I must talk to you in private,’ she said. ‘It is about Clarissa.’

  He nodded. ‘Get into my carriage, Miss Amy, and I will drive you back.’

  Amy waited impatiently until he climbed in and took the reins.

  ‘Now,’ he said as his horses clopped through the sedate streets of Bath and then began the long climb up the Royal Crescent, ‘what is the matter?’

  ‘This is awfully difficult,’ said Amy miserably. ‘You may have remarked, my lord, that Clarissa is not herself. I have noticed she is only clumsy when she is unhappy and she is very unhappy.’

  ‘Her mother is enough to make any girl unhappy,’ he said. ‘She is a silly thoughtless woman who has never quite forgiven Clarissa for not turning out a pattern of herself.’

  ‘I think she may have had a talk with Clarissa about . . . er, hum . . . what to expect on her wedding night,’ said Amy.

  He looked at Amy’s embarrassed face with affection. ‘Your concern does you credit, Miss Amy, but my Clarissa is not a simpering Bath miss.’

  ‘Your Clarissa is a young Bath virgin,’ said Amy roundly. ‘Please, my lord, could you meet her tonight after they have all gone to bed? I beg of you to ask her what is wrong or she will contrive to break her neck or someone else’s at the wedding tomorrow out of sheer nerves.’

  He sighed. ‘It does seem an age since I have seen her alone. Everyone will retire early tonight. Where should I meet her?’

  ‘Away from the house,’ said Amy urgently. ‘Outside. You could meet outside on the pavement and take a little walk and talk about things. Her maid sleeps in her room but I think I know how to put her out of action.’

  ‘Do that for me,’ he said. ‘I shall be waiting at midnight.’

  After dinner, Amy summoned Hubbard to her room. ‘You are a good and loyal servant, Hubbard,’ said Amy, ‘and I called you here so that we could both drink a toast to the happy couple.’

  Hubbard was most gratified. Amy Tribble might be odd, but she was good ton and here she was, prepared to chat and drink on equal terms with a lady’s maid.

  Later that evening, Clarissa looked up in surprise as Amy Tribble entered, half dragging Hubbard.

  ‘Help me get her to bed,’ urged Amy. ‘Yes, I know she’s drunk. Don’t ask questions. Do as you are told. You are to meet Greystone outside in the street at midnight. Do not let anyone see you leaving.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Clarissa, struggling to help Hubbard out of her clothes.

  ‘Just do as I say,’ said Amy fiercely.

  At midnight, Clarissa wrapped herself in a long cloak and slipped quietly from the house. She hesitated outside the house and then saw a tall figure striding towards her.

  ‘Good evening, Greystone,’ she whispered.

  ‘Clarissa, although it is correct to call me Greystone when we are in company, I would like to hear you call me Crispin.’

  ‘Yes, Crispin,’ said Clarissa miserably.

  He tucked her arm in his. ‘Walk a little with me,’ he urged. ‘We have not had a chance to be alone like this for a long time. Still, after tomorrow, we can be together all the time.’

  ‘Yes, Grey—, I mean, Crispin.’

  ‘The redoubtable Miss Amy Tribble arranged this meeting. Do you know why?’

  ‘No, Crispin.’

  ‘It is because she thinks you have bride nerves. She fears your mother talked to you about the mysteries of the marriage bed and frightened you out of your wits.’

  Clarissa stopped and turned to face him. ‘I am such a goose to be so afraid,’ she murmured, hanging her head. ‘It is something, I believe, all ladies must endure.’

  ‘I sometimes find it in me to wonder if that mother of yours is jealous of you. Walk across the grass with me, away from the hous
es.’

  They walked together across the large expanse of cropped grass and stood on the edge of the ha-ha. ‘Why have we come here?’ asked Clarissa with a tremor in her voice.

  ‘This, my love, is by way of being a wedding rehearsal.’ He took her face between his long fingers and kissed her cold lips, his powerful arms crushing her against him. He kissed her until he felt her body begin to respond. He kissed her hair, her lips, and the tops of her breasts and then returned to her mouth again, kissing and kissing with single-minded passion until her body began to throb and pulsate.

  ‘It will be like this,’ he said softly. ‘It will be like this except we will both be naked. Your skin will feel my skin, your body will belong to mine. Can you understand? For such as us who crave fulfillment, the nights will never be long enough. Only couples who enter into a marriage of convenience suffer from lust on the one side and endurance and distaste on the other.’

  ‘I have been so afraid, Crispin,’ said Clarissa softly. ‘I know what you mean. I . . . I . . . want you.’

  ‘And you will have all of me for the rest of your life. Not just my body, but my heart and head. Now kiss me again and let the world of gossips and troubles go away.’

  ‘Where have they gone?’ demanded Effy Tribble, shivering with cold. She and Amy were standing out on the narrow balcony in front of the drawing room in their nightdresses and nightcaps.

  ‘They just vanished into the blackness,’ said Amy. ‘Oh, Effy, what will become of us if she tells him she can’t go through with it?’

  ‘Such a powerful man,’ sighed Effy. ‘I am sure he will have calmed her fears. Did you ever see such shoulders on a man, Amy, or such legs?’

  ‘Shhh!’ said Amy, leaning over the balcony. ‘I think they are returning. They must not see us.’ The sisters stood back.

  In the light above the door, they saw the two figures approaching. The earl had his arm about Clarissa’s shoulders. They were moving like sleepwalkers. They paused outside the door. The earl drew Clarissa into his arms and kissed her long and passionately. Amy and Effy hung over the balcony and watched with interest.

  At last, they heard him say good night.