As she watched, Miss Amy came out looking flushed and happy. She was followed by the marquess, wearing his dressing-gown.
‘Your price is above pearls, my dear Miss Amy,’ said the marquess. He raised Amy’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
Felicity began to tremble. Disgusting! She had heard whispers of the decadent behaviour of certain London gentlemen. He had been entertaining that old fright in his bedchamber, and Felicity was sure ‘entertaining’ was too polite a word.
Hot tears ran down her cheeks. The Tribbles deserved every shame she could bring on them.
On the remainder of the journey to London, the Marquess of Ravenswood’s interest in Lady Felicity Vane was at last aroused. He found her attitude to him most odd. When he took her hand to help her enter or alight from the carriage, her whole body seemed to shrink from him, and her wide startled eyes were always quickly veiled by her lashes, but not before he surprised a look of disgust in them. From treating her casually like a naughty and rather tiresome schoolgirl, he set himself to please. But she replied in monosyllables and then seemed to spend a great deal of time pretending to be asleep.
It was when they broke their journey for the last time outside London that Amy decided to take matters in hand. She and Effy had been alarmed at Felicity’s cringing air. Each nourished hopes of startling and amazing Lady Baronsheath by presenting the Marquess of Ravenswood as a son-in-law. Now the marquess was showing a very pretty interest in the girl, Felicity must needs spoil it by near-fainting with disgust every time she looked at him.
The sisters conferred in the room that had been reserved for them to wash and rest in before continuing on the last stage of the journey.
‘Perhaps I have the more delicate touch, Amy dear,’ said Effy. ‘You have too robust a manner to broach such a tender subject.’
‘And I think it should be left to me,’ said Amy, striding up and down and waving her arms like a windmill. ‘For I, too, am a subject of her disgust and I want to know why. You are not plain-spoken enough, Effy, and you will hint and hint and never get anywhere.’
Effy appeared to remain adamant, and it was only after Amy swore most terribly and said that if they could not agree, then she would have to ask Ravenswood himself to deal with the matter, that Effy caved in.
Effy went off to fetch Felicity, who at last entered and stood near the doorway, her eyes lowered.
‘Now, let’s have it,’ said Amy, after her sister had reluctantly left. ‘What is the reason for your scarcely veiled hatred of me?’
‘I am bound to dislike two strangers who have set themselves up as my mentors and are, in my opinion, ill-qualified for the job,’ said Felicity icily.
Amy’s temper broke. ‘Christ and slut on ye,’ she roared. ‘We were not so mealy-mouthed in my generation. It is not only I who suffer from your dumb insolence but Ravenswood, too. Speak out, or are you as gutless as you look at this moment?’
Colour flooded into Felicity’s white cheeks and she clenched her fists. ‘How dare you lecture me, you old trollop,’ she hissed. ‘I saw you with my own eyes, coming out of Ravenswood’s bedchamber and he in his undress and kissing your hand. Pah!’
Amy stared at her in amazement, and then she began to laugh. She roared with laughter and slapped her thigh. At last she choked out, ‘Bedamned. If that ain’t the biggest compliment I have ever had in my life. Me, Amy Tribble – a light-skirt! Fie, for shame. I went to ask Ravenswood a favour. Don’t you see, you goose, that only a lady of my looks and age can safely visit a man in his bedchamber? Ravenswood! He, who could have any female in the land. What does he want to bed an old warhorse like me for? Hey?’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Felicity, ludicrous in her dismay. She was furious with Amy for having made her feel like a fool, but her sense of the ridiculous got the better of her and she began to giggle helplessly.
‘That’s better,’ said Amy, surveying her with satisfaction. ‘I tell you, Lady Felicity, had I not been able to laugh at some of life’s problems, I would ha’ been in my grave this while since.’
Felicity felt a rush of affection for the odd Amy which she quickly stifled. The Tribbles must be punished for having taken her away from home. But somehow, the light, happy feeling persisted and the marquess later was rewarded with a blinding smile as he helped her into the carriage.
He raised his thin eyebrows in surprise. ‘If you go on smiling like that, Lady Felicity,’ he said, ‘then no gentleman in London will be safe from you.’
There was an almost festive air about the party now as they rolled towards London.
A light snow had begun to fall, decorating the sooty black buildings with a sparkling frosting of white. A man standing on his roof was brushing off the snow and it spiralled down in a white column in front of the brightly lit windows of a haberdasher’s.
The glowing Aladdin’s cave of a confectioner’s shone through the darkness: pineapples and plums, peaches and pears, and other exotic hothouse fruit; chocolates and comfits and sugarplums. Then a jeweller’s with the soft gleam of silver and sparkling prisms of light from diamonds and rubies.
Two guards in scarlet uniforms rode past the carriage, their mounts curvetting and prancing.
To Felicity, it was all part of an exciting overture. The curtain was about to go up on that most dramatic set piece of all – London Town.
For a little while, she even forgot her plans to run away at the first opportunity.
4
So Mary got me to bed, and covered me up warm. However, she stole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm.
Jonathan Swift
Mr Haddon cautiously approached the Tribbles’ home in Holles Street. He had called a few days before but had been intimidated by the sight of so many liveried servants coming and going. He was frightened to ask if the sisters had returned, for he feared to learn they had sold the house and had gone out of his life.
London was still a strange and bewildering place to him. Even accents and modes of speech had changed. The gentlemen drawled out their words, looking down their noses with their eyes half shut, and the ladies interlarded their conversation with bad French.
His bloodline had always, in the past, been much better than his fortune. Now that he had returned a wealthy nabob, all doors were open to him. But he knew society regarded him as an odd old stick.
Taking a deep breath, he mounted the shallow steps to the door and hammered firmly on the knocker.
The door was answered by the very epitome of the English butler. His heavy-lidded eyes surveyed Mr Haddon out of a fat white face shadowed by an enormous white wig. His striped waistcoat was stretched over a generous paunch and his green silk coat had gold shoulder knots. His knee breeches were tied with gold ribbons and his white silk stockings ended in flat black pumps. His feet were placed in the fifth position and his white-gloved hands held an imaginary tray.
‘I am called to see the Misses Tribble,’ said Mr Haddon, handing over his card.
The butler inclined his head, took the card by one corner in a gloved hand, and stood aside.
Mr Haddon stepped into the square hall with its black-and-white-tiled floor. He noticed an elaborate bouquet of hothouse flowers in a vase on a console table. He waited uneasily as the butler slowly mounted the stairs. What had happened? Perhaps Lady Baronsheath had employed them, but no fee could account for this sudden air of luxury emanating from the house. He noticed the wall of the staircase now boasted portraits and yet he was sure they were not of the Tribble family.
The butler returned, slowly and pompously, down the stairs.
‘If you will follow me, sir,’ he said.
Mr Haddon followed his fat back up the stairs.
The butler held open the door of the drawing room. ‘Mr Benjamin Haddon,’ he shouted.
Mr Haddon entered. Effy rose to meet him, both hands held out in welcome.
‘Tea, Humphrey,’ she said to the butler.
She waited eagerly until the butler had left, giggli
ng at the surprise on Mr Haddon’s face. He looked about him wonderingly, at the pictures on the walls, at the flowers, at some new and fine pieces of furniture.
‘Do come and sit by the fire,’ said Effy, plumping herself down on a backless sofa in a swirl of shawls. ‘Your wonderful idea worked, and we are employed to bring out Lady Felicity Vane.’
‘But the servants!’ exclaimed Mr Haddon.
‘I see I must begin at the beginning and tell you all,’ said Effy. She recounted their adventures, wildly exaggerated – the marquess had rescued them from a herd of savage charging bulls – ending with, ‘And so here we are, in luxury and comfort. Dear Lord Ravenswood said there was no point in recalling his servants. He said he would use a room here when he was in Town and let his Town house for the Season and that way we would not have to pay anything for his servants until the next Season is over. Most generous.’
‘But the pictures?’
‘Lord Ravenswood’s secretary is a most efficient man. He had orders to make our dear home look attractive to Lady Felicity and so he removed furniture, paintings, and ornaments from the marquess’s home to here!’
The door opened and the butler came in, followed by two footmen carrying a tea-tray. ‘Tell Miss Amy that Mr Haddon is here, and tell Lady Felicity to join us as well as soon as her fittings are over,’ said Effy grandly.
‘Such a fuss,’ she said to Mr Haddon. ‘We are furnishing our charge with a really modish wardrobe, and I must say Amy has been most enterprising. She said Lady Felicity must cut a dash since her looks are not of the kind which are commonly admired. We have been returned but three days, and yet Amy insisted, almost as soon as we had arrived, that we go to King’s Cross to look for some undiscovered French dressmaker, that being where the poorer of the French emigrées live. It was all so squalid and I said, “How shall we find one?” and Amy said, “Look at the clothes they are wearing.” Most odd. For one would never think poor Amy had an eye for fashion. And yet she saw this young and modish female and asked her where she got her gowns – just like that! You know how outspoken Amy is. And the dear creature said she made them herself. So Amy employed her and brought her back here to stay in residence, for the seamstress did not look strong and Amy said King’s Cross was enough to give anyone consumption, the buildings being so damp and rickety.’ She paused for breath.
‘Such a change in your fortunes,’ marvelled Mr Haddon. He gave a discreet cough. ‘How old is this Marquess of Ravenswood?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Effy. ‘Quite mature.’ Mr Haddon scowled. ‘Well, I shall take a guess. About thirty-one, I would say.’
Mr Haddon smiled and helped himself to a caraway cake.
‘But such a fuss and bustle,’ went on Effy. ‘Amy is like a creature possessed, I can assure you. You are lucky to find us quiet. She has been interviewing dancing masters, and water-colourists, and music teachers, for, she said, don’t you see, that were Lady Felicity allowed to be too quiet, then she might get into mischief. I said, “Amy,” I said, “can you not wait until we get our breath?” But she will go on. Lord Ravenswood is all that is helpful, dear man, and if only he might be smitten with Felicity, then what a success we should be. But she is a leetle spoilt. Well, in truth, very, and I put it all down to this rights-for-women nonsense. Lady Felicity was in the way of wearing men’s clothes. And with her papa’s blessing! Unnatural. And—’
She broke off as the door opened and Amy slouched in. She looked tired.
‘That little bitch is wearing me out,’ she said, pouring a cup of tea. She gulped some of the hot liquid and then slumped down in a wing-chair and grinned at Mr Haddon. ‘Good to see you,’ said Amy. ‘You must hear all the news.’
Amy proceeded to try to tell him their adventures only to find to her fury that Effy had been before her with the story.
‘You might have waited,’ said Amy crossly. ‘It’s not fair, Effy. It’s my adventure as much as yours, damme.’
‘Votre mode de parler est un peu de trop,’ said Effy.
‘Speak English,’ snapped Amy. ‘We are at war with the Frogs, and I ain’t going to have their precious lingo polluting these walls.’ She glared at Effy.
‘Is Lady Felicity being difficult?’ asked Mr Haddon sympathetically.
‘Very,’ groaned Amy. ‘Mamselle Yvette – that’s the new French dressmaker of whom, I have no doubt, my dear sister has already told you all – is trying to do her work patiently and well, and the wretched Felicity will sigh and fidget in such a way that the pins rain down like the leaves in that place Milton was chuntering on about.’
‘I am very glad to see you both so well and so successful,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘When I called a few days ago and saw all the grand servants and all the bustle, I feared you had sold up and I would never see you again – my last contact with the old world.’
‘You wasn’t very surprised to find we were still both unwed,’ said Amy. That was something that had rankled in her bosom. She thought it rather unflattering in a way that Mr Haddon had not even expected either of them to have secured a husband.
‘But I was!’ lied Mr Haddon stoutly. He felt he could not quite explain why he had expected them still to be the same, and still unattached, the only people unchanged in a bewildering new world.
‘We are both anxious to have new wardrobes for ourselves,’ said Effy, with a frown at Amy. Effy maintained the fiction that her unwed state was through choice. ‘But Yvette is not strong and we do not want to overtax her.’
‘Where is Ravenswood at the moment?’ asked Mr Haddon.
‘He has returned to the country. He says he will drop in on us from time to time. It is most fortunate he has taken us under his wing, for he is all that is fashionable, and his generous and clever handling of our affairs has secured our eternal gratitude,’ said Effy.
‘Did you tell Mr Haddon that it was I who asked Ravenswood to help in the matter of servants?’ asked Amy.
‘Er . . . no,’ said Effy.
‘No, you wouldn’t, would you?’ declared Amy. ‘You was always a one for taking credit for everything.’
There was an uncomfortable silence.
The door opened and Lady Felicity came in. Her face was flushed with bad temper and her eyes were sparkling.
Mr Haddon rose to his feet and made a low bow. He privately thought Lady Felicity was one of the most attractive young ladies he had ever seen, and wondered at Amy for having damned the girl’s looks as unfashionable.
‘Are your fittings completed?’ asked Amy.
‘For the moment,’ said Felicity. ‘I have had just about as much for one day as I can bear.’
‘You must not tax Mamselle so much,’ said Effy quietly. ‘She is a good girl and works hard.’
‘She is being paid well, no doubt,’ said Felicity, and then lowered her eyes before Mr Haddon’s look of shock.
Felicity had been thrown by the apparent magnificence of the Tribble residence. She had fully expected to arrive at some poky house in an undistinguished area. But the house in Holles Street had been quickly restored to some of its former magnificence by the marquess’s clever secretary. It was a fairly large house, considering it was not a noble mansion, boasting two reception rooms on the ground floor, a drawing room, dining room, morning room, and saloon on the first, and six bedrooms on the third and fourth, as well as the servants’ rooms in the attics.
Her plans to run away had not faded. She was biding her time, sure that young Lord Bremmer would put in an appearance again. She planned to upset the Tribbles’ plans by using the young man in some way to shame them.
She was slightly intimidated by Amy’s authoritarian manner, and as she sipped tea and listened to the sisters making polite conversation with Mr Haddon, she wondered how best to start upsetting Amy. She thought of all the tricks she had played in the past to rid herself of unwanted governesses. Suddenly she smiled. The campaign against Amy should start that very evening.
Amy noticed that smile, and her heart sank.
She felt sure that some plotted piece of mischief could be the only reason why her young charge was looking happy.
When Mr Haddon had left, she suggested to Effy that they should exert themselves to train Felicity in more ladylike behaviour, but Effy promptly pleaded the headache and retired to bed. Gloomily, Amy decided to set about the task herself.
‘Now, Felicity,’ said Amy. ‘Let me see you walk across the room and sit down in that chair over by the fireplace.’
Felicity haughtily raised her eyebrows, strode across the room and plumped herself down in the chair.
‘No, no,’ said Amy, exasperated. ‘You must walk with your head held high and never look at your feet. You must never look at the chair you are about to sit on. You must always subside gracefully into it as if a footman is always there to push it under your bottom.’
‘“Bottom” is rude,’ pointed out Felicity with a grin.
‘Enough of your childish nonsense,’ said Amy. She went over to a glass-fronted bookcase and took out a heavy volume, Boswell’s Life of Samuel Johnson. ‘Come here,’ ordered Amy, ‘and let me put this on your head.’
‘Oh, really,’ said Felicity. ‘How ridiculous.’
‘DO AS YOU ARE TOLD!’ howled Amy with all the ferocity of a dragoon sergeant-major.
‘Oh, very well,’ said Felicity sulkily. She walked back to the door and Amy placed the book on her head. ‘Now, walk,’ ordered Amy.
Felicity walked ramrod-straight across the room and lowered herself gingerly into the chair.
‘Better,’ said Amy. ‘Now, again, and this time you must bridle.’
‘Bridle?’
‘You know very well what I mean. All society ladies must know how to bridle. Tuck in your chin and look as if you have just seen something nasty, but being a lady, you are not going to say anything about it.’
Felicity looked at her tormentor mulishly. Amy stared back, hard-eyed. Felicity decided after some moments that revenge on Amy could wait until that evening. It would be easier all round to do as she was bid for the present.
Refining Felicity Page 5
