“Fellingham!” Liza exclaimed in outrage. “To come out with it like that!” She stole a peek at her daughter. “He makes it sound so sordid, Catherine, and really it wasn’t anything of the sort. These boys wanted to advance their careers, and my dear friend Arabella wanted to help them and me. You know what it’s like.…” Lady Fellingham trailed off as she watched her daughter leave the room. “Catherine, dear, where are you going? Frederick, where can your sister be going?”
Catherine wasn’t going anywhere, although she was not inclined to tell her mother that, for she was far too angry to speak. After she shut the drawing room door behind her, she escaped into one of the large leather wingback chairs in her father’s study. Since none of her relations involved themselves much in the more serious pursuits of life, Catherine often spent many hours alone in the quiet room, hiding from her family and reading the latest novel from the lending library.
Safely ensconced in the comfortable chair, Catherine told herself to calm down. A small part of her wondered why she was so upset. Her mother was always getting into scrapes, and this one was probably no worse. But that kind of cool logic didn’t fly with her this morning, for she knew better. Even if her family didn’t understand the ramifications of her mother’s most recent transgression, she, at least, did. Something like this was worse than a scandal; it was a crime. Imagine! Meddling with commissions! My God, she thought, her head pounding as the reality of the situation set in, her mother was a national security risk. Surely the 10th Hussars would march in there at any second in their sparkling blue uniforms and take her away. And where would they take her? Where do prisoners of the Crown go? Newgate? Certainly that was worse than the debtors’ prison her father seemed determined to send them all to.
Her mother was right, of course: The true cause of the problem was Sir Vincent and his careless ways. Even if they squeaked through this jam with only a few scratches, there would always be another one, for her father could not be stopped from depleting the family’s coffers and her mother could not be stopped from trying to avert the coffers’ depletion. What was she to do? Things could not go on like this for very much longer. Either her mother would do something even more extraordinary to put them beyond the pale or her father would have them rusticating permanently in Dorset.
Or would he? The truth of the matter was that Catherine had no idea of the true state of the family’s finances. She knew they were fixed well enough but just how well was a mystery. Her mother refused to speak of money with her, claiming the discussion of all things material other than clothes and hats was unbred. She herself had never made a push to understand the nature of things. She knew they had enough money to send Freddy to Oxford and to buy Evelyn crepe dresses. Beyond that, she never gave it much thought. Were they dangerously close to Dun territory or was it all in her mother’s head?
The only thing to do, she realized, in the absence of complete information was to gather more. To do that, she would have to convince her mother to share the ledgers. Then, when she had a proper understanding of how matters actually stood, she could settle on the best way to proceed. If the situation wasn’t as dire as Lady Fellingham thought, she would ease her anxieties by calmly showing her the tallies. If her predictions were on the mark, she would suggest simple economies to slim the budget. Catherine absolutely refused to believe there was nothing she could do. If there were no corners left to cut or no reasoning with her mother, then she would learn how to play faro herself and instruct her father on how to improve his game. Imagining herself in a gaming hell taking lessons from the dealer on how to wager so amused her that she began to laugh. After a few minutes, her mirth slowed to a giggle, and she stood up from the familiar leather chair. Before she could implement any plan, she had to extract her family from their current debacle, a task she hoped wouldn’t be impossible.
When Catherine returned to the drawing room, Hawkins was clearing the tea, placing cups on the serving tray next to the silver teapot.
“Well, there you are, girl,” her mother exclaimed, waving her handkerchief at her. “Where have you been? Has anyone told you that it is rude to walk out of a room like that? Have I not raised you with more manners than that ridiculous display demonstrated?”
Catherine didn’t think that given the circumstances her conduct was a subject worthy of critique and ignored her mother’s comments. She waited until Hawkins had left the room before proceeding. “Where has my father gone?” she asked upon seeing that he was the only one who was not still in the room.
“Gone,” said her mother.
“Gone where?” Catherine ignored the way her mother had thrown herself onto the divan in the simulation of a faint.
“Just gone.”
Catherine turned to Freddy. “Where did he go?”
“To his club, I imagine. He spends most mornings there.”
“What does it matter?” whined Evelyn, who stood up in a fit of anger. “I want to go shopping. Mama, you promised we could go to the milliner on Bond Street today so I could buy one of Madame Claude’s dashing bonnets.”
“I’m afraid, Evelyn, that you don’t quite understand the severity of the situation. Your mother was selling commissions in the king’s army.” Catherine said this slowly and distinctly as if clear articulation were all that stood between her selfish sister and comprehension.
Evelyn laid her head on her palm and looked very bored. “Yes, yes, I know all that. I still don’t see why you have to be such a sad Sadie about it. It was a bad thing to do and she won’t do it anymore, will you, Mama. Now, why can’t we go buy hats?”
Catherine closed her eyes and counted silently to ten. “Mayhap it hasn’t occurred to you yet that you can’t go to balls if your mother is in Newgate.”
“Really, Catherine, doing it a bit brown,” Freddy ejaculated. “I mean, we’re not completely sunk, are we?”
“I don’t know, Freddy, but we can’t run the risk. We have to scotch this immediately.”
“Not go to balls?” Evelyn squeaked, all appearance of ennui chased from her countenance. “That can’t be right, Mama. I’ll still be able to go to balls no matter what happens, no?”
But Lady Fellingham was in no condition to give her daughter the assurances she sought. “Oh, Cathy, you don’t think it’s as bad as all that, do you?” Visibly pale, she stood up and walked across the room to her daughter. “What would I do in jail? Will they make me wear chains?”
When she saw how distressed her mother was, Catherine regretted her strong words. She did want to teach her mother a lesson, of course, but not at the expense of her peace of mind. As misguided as she was, her mother had only been trying to help. As soon as Catherine got her hands on the household accounts, she would make sure that there would be no more Cheltenham tragedies enacted in the Oriental drawing room. “We must do our best never to find out.”
“Oh, dearest Mama.” Evelyn rushed to her mother and held out her hands, the horror of it all finally sinking in. “Will they let you bring a maid?”
Lady Fellingham rested her daughter’s blond curls on her bosom. “I don’t know, dear child, I simply do not know.”
Catherine turned away from the scene and caught Freddy’s eye. They both started laughing at the affecting nonsense.
“I don’t see what is so funny,” Evelyn said. “Your mother is going to Newgate and I”—here her voice broke—“I will never be able to go to a ball ever again. Surely this is the darkest hour ever.”
“Don’t throw your dancing slippers away yet, brat,” Freddy said, trying to control his laughter. “I’m sure everything will be all right.”
Catherine’s amusement soon abated as well, although her eyes continued to sparkle. “Right, let’s all sit down and talk about this reasonably.”
Evelyn led her mother to the settee and gently sat down next to her, keeping her hands tightly clasped in hers.
“All right then, Mama, tell me how this was done,” Catherine ordered.
“How what was done
, dear?”
Closing her eyes for a moment, Catherine prayed for patience. “How did you and Lady Courtland succeed in meddling with the lists?”
“Oh. Lady Courtland is very clever, and she came up with the scheme. It was quite simple, my dear. Surely you know how all those dear boys—mostly second sons, of course—want to be majors in the foot guards. But there are so few openings, especially now in peacetime, and some of those dear boys have to wait for years on those horrid lists. Arabella’s scheme allowed them to bypass the queue, in exchange for a small fee.” Having confessed all, she leaned her head back against the cushions and sighed.
Her eldest daughter looked on in wonder. “You took bribes.”
Lady Fellingham lifted her head. “Bribes?” She considered it for several seconds before saying, “No, I don’t think they were bribes. Bribe is such a harsh word, and Arabella and I were only providing a public-spirited service.”
Catherine didn’t have the wherewithal to debate the issue. “And?”
Blue eyes stared out blankly. “And what, dear?”
“What happened after you received your compensation for your public-spirited service?”
“I brought the money home and paid the servants’ wages.”
Catherine told herself to remain patient. “No, I mean what happened with the names?”
Lady Fellingham giggled nervously. “Oh, that. Arabella got hold of her husband’s lists of pending commissions and added a few names before he submitted them to the Duke of York for his signature.”
“Devil it,” exclaimed Freddy, who had been listening intently, “you mean Lord Courtland knew nothing of this? What sort of bufflehead is he?”
“Freddy, you will not talk like that in my drawing room,” his mother said. “Save that vulgar cant for your club.”
To Catherine’s amusement, Freddy both blushed and scowled. “Really, Mama, my brother makes a good point. How could Lord Courtland not know of this scheme?”
“I would never be so unbred as to presume what Lord Courtland does or doesn’t know,” she said without a hint of irony. “He didn’t interfere, and I respected him for that.”
“Very well,” Catherine said. She knew that answer was the best she would get. “Who else knows about this?”
“Only the men who paid our mother for their commissions,” Freddy answered.
“How many are we talking about?”
“Oh, dear, how do I know?” quivered her mother. “It all happened so quickly, and dear Arabella kept track of the minor details.”
“How many, Mama?”
Lady Fellingham removed her fingers from Evelyn’s grasp and ran a pale hand over her brow. “Oh, maybe ten, fifteen on the outside. We’ve only just hit upon the scheme.” Then she added with a spark of rebellion in her. “And, really, I don’t see why it shouldn’t have continued to work. It is a very good idea.”
Several rejoinders flew through Catherine’s mind, but it was beginning to dawn on her that nothing she could say would convince her mother of how greatly she’d sinned. “How did we find out?”
“One of Freddy’s friends—Pershing, Parsnip or something,” her ladyship said bitterly. “The damn fool told him all.”
“I think we have much to thank this friend for,” Catherine said. “It isn’t often that something good happens as a result of Freddy.”
“I say, Catherine, cut line,” insisted her brother, much offended. “I haven’t gotten us into this fix.”
“You’re right, Freddy,” she conceded. “I apologize for the injustice I do you.”
“What fix is that?” her mother asked. “Arabella and I shall stop immediately, and nobody need be any the wiser. There, I have solved the problem. I’ll simply send a note to that effect to my friend, and we will consider the matter closed.”
Catherine, who knew that anything pertaining to her mother was rarely simple, did not think this was the best remedy and insisted that they go visit Arabella, Lady Courtland at once to make sure the message was not only delivered but received.
“At this hour?” Lady Fellingham asked, appalled. “Selling commissions in the king’s army might not be up to your standards, but I assure you, my dear, making indecently early house calls isn’t up to mine! We will not be so shabby.”
“I find your scruples admirable, Mama, if a little misaligned. We shall go presently, for the confidential nature of our business is best served if we visit before proper calling hours,” Catherine said.
Just then the doors to the drawing room opened to admit Sir Vincent, who was in the act of placing his beaver on his head. “Well, I’m off to my club. Ah, Catherine has returned. I hope, m’dear, that you’ve come up with a suitable solution to this mess, as I feel it has already wasted enough of my time. Please be advised, though, that I am here if you need any guidance.” With that promise, he tipped his hat and turned to leave the room as quickly as possible.
“Rest assured, Papa, my mother and I will visit Arabella immediately to put a stop to this nonsense,” Catherine announced coolly, with a sideways glance at her mother, who had yet to accept her fate and was even then marshaling another argument as to why they shouldn’t leave just yet.
“Very good,” he said, happy that a course had been decided on and that it didn’t involve him.
“I thank you for your kind offer to go with me, Catherine,” her mother said in a tone that conveyed much annoyance and very little gratitude. “But having gotten us into this ‘mess,’ as your father so inelegantly puts it, I think it’s only right that I go to Arabella’s on my own.”
Catherine could easily imagine her mother doing exactly that: She would go to Arabella’s town house and leave as soon as she arrived—without even knocking on the door. “And it’s very kind of you to want to spare me, Mama, but I must insist on seeing this matter through to ensure that it’s properly resolved.”
Lady Fellingham scrunched up her nose, as if smelling something particularly unpleasant. “I really don’t think—”
“Damnation, Liza,” said Sir Vincent with some heat, “let the chit go if she wants to. We need someone to keep tabs on you and if she’s volunteering for the task, I say let her.”
“Really, Sir Vincent, you talk such nonsense,” Lady Fellingham tittered, her anxious fingers at risk of rubbing a hole in the brocade. “Fine, dear, if you would like to come. But I shall need to change first, as shall you.”
Catherine knew well her mother’s penchant for putting off distasteful things and had no intention of indulging it. “Of course. But I must warn you that if you linger too long over your toilette, I shall be forced to go without you.”
“Right, then,” interjected Sir Vincent before he could be drawn back into the conversation with a look or a question. “As I said, must be going. Meeting Beaufort at the club, so I will take my leave of you now. M’dear.” He bowed to his wife, turned on his heels and was gone before anyone could bid him adieu.
“Mama, I would like to come with you to lend you my support,” said Evelyn, who had been sitting on the settee quietly contemplating a future without balls, “but I think it is best if I go upstairs and lie down. I am feeling quite fatigued.”
“I understand, my dear,” assured her mother. “You are of a delicate disposition just like your mama. Go rest.” She leaned down and kissed her daughter on her cheek. “A little rest will revive you. You need to be beautiful for Lady Sefton’s ball tonight.”
“Lady Sefton’s ball?” Catherine wondered aloud. “Are we still going to that?”
“What can she mean?” asked Evelyn nervously, the pitch of her voice unpleasantly high. “Why shouldn’t we go? If Mama is going to Newgate prison and I won’t be able to go to any more balls, then shouldn’t we go to all the ones we can while we are still eligible?”
“Your mama is not going to Newgate,” Lady Fellingham insisted with little conviction and a forced smile. “And of course we are going to Lady Sefton’s ball. We bought that lovely ivory muslin for just this
occasion. Now, dear, you go have a rest, and your sister and I will sort this whole thing out. Don’t tease yourself about it one more minute.”
Evelyn sent Catherine a smug look and kissed her mother on the cheek before quitting the drawing room.
“Freddy,” Catherine instructed, “please tell Caruthers to have the carriage brought around immediately. Mother and I shall be changed presently, and it’s best that we get this unpleasantness out of the way as quickly as possible.”
“Really, Catherine, if that’s the attitude you are going to take, then I think it’s best that you stay right here. Arabella doesn’t need you upsetting her so on the morning of Lady Sefton’s ball,” she announced, calling for her maid to help her dress.
Feeling drained, Catherine watched her mother leave the drawing room after Freddy, wondering what nonsense they would get up to next. Her family’s proclivity for histrionics was why she didn’t get involved in their day-to-day dramas. It was so much easier to read the paper as if nobody else was there and to simply walk out of the room when pretending became too difficult.
CHAPTER TWO
Getting Lady Fellingham to Arabella Courtland’s residence in Mount Street was not nearly as challenging as getting her out of the carriage once she arrived there.
“Come, Mama, you can’t sit in that curricle all day with your back stiff and straight like that. The neighbors are going to start talking,” Catherine said, as her mother continued to refuse Higgins’s offer of help. “Why, look, there’s the Duke of Trent. Shall I wave hello to him? Perhaps he and I could have a little talk while you are deciding whether to come out.” In truth, she had no idea who the gentleman across the street was—she mentioned the duke only because he had recently made a scandalous marriage and his was the name on everyone’s lips—but she raised her hand in enthusiastic greeting.
“Don’t you dare,” exclaimed her mother, who turned pink at the very thought of her daughter embarrassing her like that in front of such an esteemed personage. “I was merely gathering my wits. I am ready now. Please, Higgins, I’m ready to accept your hand.”
Miss Fellingham's Rebellion Page 2
