Ridiculous

by D. L. Carter

  With the light from the corridor blocked by the door, the bedchamber was plunged into a deep gloom, making it impossible to tell if the figure in the bed were male or female. Even so, Millicent took no chance. Covering her face with a large handkerchief, she sank further back under the many coverlets and quilts.

  “What do you want?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper.

  “I only wish to know about the funeral…”

  “Take the body away and put it in the ground,” snarled Millicent. “Do you not know your own business?”

  “Ah.” The vicar blushed and glanced across at Mildred, who put a suitably distressed expression on her face.

  “Mother would appreciate it if the body could rest here tonight,” said Mildred hesitantly, “so we may take leave of our sister.”

  “There is no need for that,” muttered Millicent around another faked sneeze.

  “Please, sir.” Mildred did a fair job of pretending to be meek and grieving. “I will never see my sister again.”

  “All right, damn you. Just keep it far from me,” said Millicent.

  “Do you have a particular preference for her placement in the cemetery?” pressed the vicar.

  “I shall not pay to have that worthless chit buried under the nave if that is what you are getting at,” growled Millicent. “Bury her with the paupers; it matters not at all to me, but she must be out of the house at first light.”

  Both Mr. Abram and the undertaker paled at that cruel dismissal. Mildred managed a choked sob that she covered when the figure in the bed turned to glare in her direction.

  “About the coffin. I have a fine…” began the undertaker.

  “Wrap her in newspaper. Put her in a sack like a drowned cat. I will give you one pound between you. Do what you will with her.”

  Wisely, neither man asked about grave markers.

  “Fetch my purse,” commanded Millicent, pointing to where it rested on a dressing table.

  Weeping softly, Mildred carried it, unopened, to the bed. Millicent muttered and grumbled as she searched vaguely through the contents. She knew Mr. North’s habits better than anyone. She made sure to caress each coin, rubbing it between thumb and finger before returning rejected coins to the purse. Eventually, she drew forth ten tarnished shillings that she counted one by one into Mildred’s hand to be carried to the vicar.

  “I shall not be well enough to attend the internment,” said Millicent, as the men retreated from the room, “and her sisters and mother, well, rather than allow them to cause a scene, I shall keep them home, as is proper; there will be no need for church prayers.”

  The two men bowed their way out of the bedchamber without meeting Mildred's eyes. With the aid of the gardener, and with Mildred watching from the shadows to be sure no one closely examined the body, Mr. North was encoffined in a thin pine box and carried down to the drawing room.

  “I will be back first thing tomorrow to collect her,” said the undertaker with a professional pretense of sympathy.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” said Mildred.

  As soon as the men departed, Millicent descended from where she had kept watch from the top of the stairs.

  “We did it,” cried Millicent. “They did not suspect a thing.”

  “You were everything that was miserly, mean, and unfeeling,” said Mildred, hugging her sister. “Of course they believed you were Mr. North.”

  “It will not work, you know,” said their mother, emerging from the servant’s stairs. “You cannot go into local society. Mr. North may not have gone about much, but he was well enough known hereabouts. One day, two at the most, is all we have. We should pack our bags, take as much as we can carry that can be sold, and leave tonight.”

  “Mother, you underestimate me,” said Millicent. “I have been giving the matter some thought while we waited and I know exactly what to do. Mr. North may have gone about in local society, but since he inherited he has not ventured further from this estate than twenty miles.” She paused and grinned at her sister. “In a few days, we are going to put the story about that Mr. North has recovered somewhat from his fever and he has decided to go to Bath, where no one knows him, to take the waters for his health.”

  “And taking us with him?” asked Mildred. “Why would he?”

  “But of course. Otherwise, he would have to hire servants in Bath, and you know how expensive city servants are. Far better to have us since we cost him no more than food and lodging. We will hire local people to clean and maintain this house, to scrub it from top to bottom, and drive out the disease while he is away.”

  “That is all very well to say,” said Felicity. “But we have no money to live in Bath.”

  Millicent rolled her eyes and glanced across at her grinning sister. “Mother, you forget. I shall be traveling as Mr. North. We have his money!”

  Felicity waved a hand around the gloomy hallway. “Look at the way he lived. He had little. We must be careful to husband every penny.”

  “He may have given you and everyone hereabouts the impression that was the case, but it is not true. I have been managing Mr. North's accounts and correspondence for three years, Mother. He has an annual income of nearly twenty thousand pounds. He lived like this because he was a mean, unimaginative miser.”

  “Why did you not say?” demanded Felicity.

  “Would it make any difference? He made it clear to me he had no intention of paying us a salary no matter what his income was. I did not want to torment you with the knowledge.”

  “We are rich! Rich!” Mildred laughed and clapped her hands. “Excellent. Then we can afford to hire staff. I so look forward to having a bath I have not had to heat and haul the water for myself. Dresses. Hats. Oh, I do long to wear gloves without holes again. My hands are so cold!”

  “And so you shall,” Millicent assured her.

  “But, you are not looking to the future,” Felicity's teeth worried at her lower lip. “This masquerade cannot hope to succeed.”

  “That is because you have only seen me in my night cap and powdering gown. Come, Mildred. Let us garb Mr. North in his Sunday best, such as it is.” Holding hands, the two women ran upstairs to plunder Mr. North's dressing room.

  The late Mr. North was so much a miser that most of his clothes had been obtained secondhand, and, therefore, not tailored to his form. Likewise, he was not much concerned with fashion and content for his clothing to hang loosely on his skinny body; he did not bother with the expense of a valet, or fancy cravats and such.

  It felt quite peculiar, Millicent found, to put off her chemise and stays and wrap layer upon layer of Mr. North's cravats about her torso to bind down her breasts. None of his collars were particularly high, but the cravat Mildred tied was good enough to conceal Millicent's lack of an Adam's apple. Millicent was quite shocked to discover how close in size and form she and her cousin were. Even his shoes fit, after a fashion, once she had layered on two pairs of knitted stockings. Mr. North’s one and only walking stick and hat were fetched from the hall closet to complete the ensemble.

  At last Mildred led the way downstairs and halted just inside the drawing room where Felicity waited with the closed coffin.

  “May I present Mr. North of Yorkshire,” declared Mildred waving her hand toward the door; Millicent entered, swinging Mr. North's cane, then made an elegant leg toward her mother.

  Felicity came to her feet with an astonished cry.

  “Dear God,” cried Felicity. “I never realized how masculine your features are, Millicent!”

  “Why, thank you, Mother,” replied Millicent dryly, straightening up from her bow.

  “No, my dearest.” Felicity fluttered her hands in the air. “I do not mean to say that you are not handsome as a girl, but you quite surprise me as a man.”

  Felicity cast her eyes over Millicent's form as the girl bowed her acknowledgment of the compliment, then turned to bow to her sister.

  “Millicent, you should be more careful. Do not bow so deeply,�
� cried Felicity. “It pulls the fabric too tight across your … sitting area. Perhaps you would do better in knee breeches. Or with a longer frock coat.”

  “With knee breeches she would have only silk stockings from knee to ankles,” replied Mildred with a laugh.

  “Something must be done.” Felicity blushed for her daughter. “No. No, I cannot permit it, Millicent. You must go upstairs and dress properly at once. We shall write and take our chances with Cousin Perceval.”

  “Mother.” Millicent paused, coughed, and continued in a lower tone. Only she of her sisters did not possess a soprano voice and had been content with contralto. Now she concentrated on speaking from the bottom of her vocal range. “Cousin Felicity. This will never work if you are forever fussing about my limbs being exposed, or my way of walking and talking. You should begin now, and forever after, to address me as Mr. North.”

  “Millicent…” began Felicity.

  “Cousin Felicity, please remember your daughter Millicent died today. There is her coffin,” said Millicent, pointing at the sad pine box. “I am Mr. North.”

  “This will never work,” moaned Felicity.

  “Say it,” cried Millicent. “Say ‘Good morning, Mr. North.’”

  “Oh, dear. I cannot.”

  “Say it,” shouted both her daughters.

  “Millicent…”

  “Millicent is dead,” cried Mildred. “I grieve for her, but it is for the best. Mother, I do not wish to go to the work house. I do not wish to get a job as a maid, or a governess or heaven spare us, sell myself on the street for bread. You saw it, did you not, while we were there in the workhouse. Those poor women giving themselves to strangers in the back alley for a few pennies. Is that what you want for yourself? For me? For Millicent and Maude?”

  Felicity rocked back and forth with both hands pressed to her face.

  “Say it,” said Millicent in a gentler voice, resting one hand on her mother's bent shoulder. “Call me Mr. North and I promise you, you will have servants tending you for the rest of your life. Hot chocolate in bed. Beautiful clothes. You will never have to worry again. I shall put Mr. North's wealth to work providing you with a good and safe home!”

  After a long pause, Felicity raised a pale face and regarded her daughters. She glanced upstairs toward the place where her youngest lay sleeping off a fever, her body weakened by the ravages of three years of hard work and privation. Then she looked Millicent directly in the eye, rose to her feet, and gave a curtsy worthy of the Queen’s drawing room.

  “Mr. North, how good to see you looking so well.”

  * * *

  Later as the women took supper at the kitchen table, Felicity returned, reluctantly, to practical matters.

  “I suppose if you stay indoors and avoid society no one will see you and find you out,” said Felicity, staring at her eldest daughter as if she had never seen her before. “Be honest, Millicent. You are tall for a woman, but you are not manly. Your form is thin, not muscular. You have no aggression in your features. No one who meets you will believe you are any sort of man at all!”

  “Muscles would matter if I were doing manual labor,” said Millicent, “but I'm not replacing the blacksmith. I am a man of property. Of leisure. Of money. I may be as weak as I wish.”

  Felicity shook her head. “If you were attempting to be a lad of sixteen or so, perhaps. But Mr. North is what? Thirty?”

  “Mother, please,” said Mildred. “There are as many types of men as there are flowers in the garden. Only compare in your mind the figure of the vicar to that of Father, for example. Or that fellow we saw in church last summer who was on repairing lease visiting his family. You know, the one who wore green pantaloons, a red and blue-striped waistcoat, and those silly buttons! Stockings with padded calves? Would you say he was the same type of man as Mr. North? What do you think, Millicent? Perhaps you should dress like him.”

  “Good God, no,” said Millicent. “I do not think I could be that sort of man. Can you truly see me as a fop?”

  “You will make mistakes; I know you will,” cried Felicity.

  “Your faith in my acting abilities is touching,” said Millicent dryly. “The more I think on it the easier I expect it to be.'”

  “What do you mean?” asked Felicity.

  “I mean that trying to be a Corinthian would be a waste of time and I could never carry it off. Neither could I mince about like that fop! Mildred's point is a good one. There are many types of men in society. If I set out to be deliberately silly, inconsequential, and foolish, then if I should do something odd, people will say, ‘Oh, that is just that odd Mr. North. Think nothing of it.’”

  “But not a fop?” Mildred frowned. “That sounds like a fop.”

  “No, dear. A fop dresses in the extreme of fashion. I shall be a fribble! A rattle. A fool.”

  Felicity groaned and dropped her face into her hands. Over her head her daughters continued the debate.

  “Even if we stay in Bath for a year's mourning, it will not be long enough for people hereabouts to forget what Mr. North looks like,” said Mildred.

  “Yes, exactly,” said Felicity.

  “Why would we return?” asked Millicent. “Are you so very fond of this county? This house? Personally, I find both rather dull. You forget, both of you, that this is not Mr. North's only property. It is merely the one in which he chose to live. While we are in Bath, I shall write to all his, that is to say my tenants and look over the list of available properties. Then we shall choose someplace where Mr. N … where I am not previously known. I believe you will be surprised by the range of choice available to us. Or we could stay in Bath. I have read that a respectable number of the ton visit there and the entertainment is on par with London.”

  Mildred rose and spooned broth into a dish and arranged it on a tea tray.

  “We shall have to wait for Maude to be well enough to travel,” she said.

  “Agreed,” said Millicent. “Although, we shall tell everyone that it is Mr. North's comfort we wait upon. If anyone calls before we leave we shall tell them that Mr. North is still indisposed and unwilling to leave his room while contagion is about in the neighborhood. Tomorrow, Mildred will follow the coffin to make sure it is buried without incident.”

  “You told the vicar you would keep her at home,” said Felicity.

  “Would anyone be surprised that the girl disobeyed me and slipped out, since she loved her sister so much?” asked Millicent. “You may be assured I shall punish her appropriately upon her return. After the internment she can visit the baker’s and such and start spreading the story that we will need servants to watch the house while we are in Bath. We will give the impression that Mr. N … that I will be coming back. But, so what if I chose to go elsewhere? I am the master of the house, after all. I may go where I will.”

  “Where shall we go?” asked Felicity. “Where will we live?”

  “Cousin Felicity, we shall have the whole winter to decide.”

  * * *

  It took three weeks for the removal to Bath to be arranged. Felicity spent every waking moment of those weeks expecting the next knock on the door, the next letter delivered would be the one that revealed the deception, but all went well.

  Mildred followed the cart containing Mr. North's earthly remains to the cemetery. Felicity went back every morning for the next week to put flowers on the grave. This far from London there were no grave robbers so the body was permitted to rest undisturbed. Since it also gave the impression that a mother was grieving deeply for a lost daughter, no one attempted to prevent Felicity’s visits.

  The servants who had been supplanted by the arrival of the Boarder family were contacted and persuaded to return. The old housekeeper expressed relief that Mr. North would be absent “for some time.”

  Mr. North's old carriage was hauled out and cleaned, horses rented, driver and outriders hired, and on the arranged day, an ailing Mr. North cursed and grumbled his way downstairs – a blanket over his head as she
lter from the elements. A still weak Maude was aided into the carriage by her devoted mother and remaining sister and all four quit the neighborhood.

  Chapter Two

  Millicent did not even glance up from her luncheon when the knock came on the door of their rented Bath house. There was a shuffle of footsteps as their housekeeper, Mrs. Hall, emerged from the rear of the building to answer the door. Their residence in Bath, so far of three months duration, had been an inspired idea. At Maude's suggestion, they put around the story that they had already spent six months mourning their departed sister back in Yorkshire, which permitted them to appear in public in half mourning and participate in some social events.

  Aside from joking once how sad she was at being so quickly forgotten, Millicent made no other comment since she was delighted to see how well her family had settled into their new lives. Back in Yorkshire, under the influence of the late Mr. North, all four of them had withered. Not so much in their physical forms, since Maude had grown inches and gained curves and now was a well-favored girl of eighteen. No, it was a starvation of the mind and spirit they had suffered from most. Mr. North had permitted no calls to be paid upon him, and as they were used as servants in his house, the women were reluctant to encourage the ladies of Yorkshire society to visit.

  But once they had settled into a rented house on a good, fashionable street in Bath and Millicent had arranged for subscriptions to the local assemblies, memberships to lending libraries, and had sent the others out shopping for new, fashionable clothing, she had the pleasure of seeing the light return to her sisters’ and mother's eyes. Instead of creeping around a dull and empty house in fear of Mr. North's blows and shouts, they walked, heads held high, confident and happy.

  No one questioned her appearance as Mr. North, either. Although she made a thin figure of a young man, Millicent successfully appeared at public locations in masculine clothing and introduced herself about as Mr. North without raising a single eyebrow. She presented herself at the local branch of the Mercantile Bank, and as she was in possession of the account numbers and evidences she had taken from the late Mr. North's lockbox, money was issued to her and notes of hand honored without the slightest comment.