by Gayle Buck
“I have thought about it,” admitted Megan. She threw a glinting glance at her companion as a small smile touched her lips. “I have discounted it, though, Gwyneth. I am spending far less than what a Season would have cost my mother and I am being gotten out of the way, as well. So there cannot really be an objection, can there?”
“Oh, my dear!” said Mrs. Tyler. She felt sorry for the younger woman. No matter how well Megan had disguised her feelings over the years, Mrs. Tyler was still aware that there was a well of hurt hidden inside the younger woman’s breast. As the youngest, and quite unexpected, child, Megan had been shunted aside again and again. She had rarely been the recipient of either consideration or approval. It went against all that was natural for the daughter of a rich, established family to be relegated to the same sort of shadowy existence that was usually the realm of the indigent relation.
A sudden, unusual anger surged through Mrs. Tyler. If it was at all in her power, she meant to see that Megan was situated where she would be well and truly happy. That meant, of course, finding her a husband. In that moment, Mrs. Tyler discovered within herself a quite passionate desire to launch her protégée in style. “I quite agree with you, Megan! You must be perfectly outfitted for this extraordinary adventure. We do not know what we will find in St. Petersburg. Certainly we will not find a modiste such as Madame Rochet, nor attractive English goods for the buying. Pray do let us get whatever strikes your fancy!”
The only thing that Megan did not order was riding habits. She had brought all of her own, quite confident that nothing could outshine the outfits that had been done up at Lord O’Connell’s express order. Of course, the old practice habits that she had worn on a daily basis had been consigned to the trash bin before she had left. However, she did urge her companion to order two habits.
“But you know that I do not ride,” objected Mrs. Tyler. “Lord O’Connell told me once that I bounce about like a sack of flour in the saddle.”
“His lordship will not be watching you in Russia. You certainly will not send me off on riding parties without proper chaperonage, so I insist that you have suitable attire for those events,” said Megan.
“Oui, Mademoiselle O’Connell is correct, madame,” the modiste quickly concurred. “It is one thing to be an ill-dressed sack of flour and quite another to be a sack of flour in the best mode!”
“Well!” Mrs. Tyler uttered, unable to keep back a laugh. “I suppose that I must, then!”
Megan informed the modiste that she and Mrs. Tyler were due to leave London shortly for an extended visit to Russia. “I trust that we shall be able to pack most of these to take with us. Any of the others can be sent along behind and I shall send payment back to you after their arrival in St. Petersburg,” said Megan.
Madame Rochet promised that the orders would be ready in a week. She would personally see to it that all of her seamstresses worked around the clock to meet the obligation, for it was not often that such a large and lucrative order was placed so far in advance of the Season. She had no intention of allowing even a pence of the promised largesse to fall into delayed payment.
It was not all shopping, of course. Megan met with her mother’s agent Mr. Henry for a lengthy interview, from which she emerged very well satisfied. Among other things discussed, Mr. Henry promised to procure outriders for the travelers so that Megan’s last concern was laid to rest. Her journey to St. Petersburg would be attended with all the safety and comfort that one could wish.
In addition to attending to these weighty matters, Megan and Mrs. Tyler set themselves to enjoy some of the most popular destinations for sightseers, such as Astley’s Circus, the zoo, and the museum. These were harmless entertainments and perhaps would be considered mundane by others’ standards. However, Megan and her companion had neither one had the advantage of ever sampling the delights of London and they immensely enjoyed their excursions.
Their evenings were spent quietly at the town house. Though there were undoubtedly acquaintances of the O’Connell family in residence that the ladies could have called upon, they did not do so, preferring to keep to their own company for the short time that they would be in London.
Megan and Mrs. Tyler were thus surprised when one evening the butler came into the drawing room to inquire if they were at home to a visitor. “Why, I suppose that we are, Digby. Pray show them in,” said Megan, knowing that the butler would not act without being confident that the visitor was indeed welcome.
Megan and Mrs. Tyler were astonished when Simpkins, Lady O’Connell’s dresser, was ushered in. The dresser was buttoned up to the throat in a serviceable pelisse cut from excellent material and wore a plain bonnet. She clutched her reticule in tight gloved fingers. There was a heightened color to her normally pallid face that puzzled Megan until she realized that it came from embarrassment.
Tactfully, Megan dismissed the butler and waited until the door was closed before she turned to the dresser. With a smile, she said, “Pray be seated, Simpkins. I must say this is a surprise. Is my mother coming up to London so soon before the Season?”
The dresser seated herself stiffly on the settee. “I do not know what her ladyship’s plans might be,” she said.
“But surely—” Mrs. Tyler stopped, then looked at Megan.
“Miss O’Connell, I have followed you and Mrs. Tyler to London in hopes of entering your service,” said Simpkins baldly.
Megan blinked. She exchanged a glance of open astonishment and bewilderment with Mrs. Tyler. “But, Simpkins, you are already in service to my mother, Lady O’Connell.”
“That I am not, miss,” said Simpkins bitterly. “Her ladyship has turned me off without even so much as a character.”
Mrs. Tyler gasped. “I cannot believe it! Why, you are far too valuable to her ladyship.”
Simpkins regarded Mrs. Tyler with grim agreement. “One would have supposed so, ma’am. However, her ladyship was that put out over miss wearing her old gown, and appearing better in it than her ladyship ever did. And hearing so from several personages, I might add! Her ladyship flew up into the boughs and rang a rare peal over my head. It ended with my saying a few hasty words of my own, which I do not regret, never mind that her ladyship did order me off.”
Megan was appalled. “I am so very sorry, Simpkins. I would never have worn the gown if I had known it would be the cause of such trouble.”
The dresser nodded. “That I know, miss. But the gown was mine to do with as I saw fit and it suited me to see that you were properly attired. I was quite within my rights, which I reminded her ladyship.”
“But this is dreadful,” exclaimed Mrs. Tyler. “Whatever shall you do, Simpkins?”
The dresser’s face paled slightly. She cleared her throat. “As I said at the outset, I hope to enter Miss O’Connell’s service.”
“But I am going to Russia,” began Megan.
“So I had heard, miss,” said Simpkins, nodding. “I thought to myself that you would be needing a proper lady’s maid as would understand your requirements. Your maid Betty does very well in her own way, of course, but she might perhaps gain in skill with a little guidance. Russia is a barbaric land, so I understand, and you will not wish your dress to be overly influenced by their queer customs.”
Megan thoughtfully regarded the dresser. The woman held herself with all of her customary pride, her posture erect. But Megan saw the underlying tension in the tiring-woman’s eyes and face. It was patently obvious that the woman had had no other place to go. Megan felt that she could not turn her away.
“Very well, Simpkins. If you feel that you are able to make the sacrifice and leave England, than I shall be most happy indeed to engage your services,” said Megan.
“Thank you, miss. You shall not regret it.” The dresser’s words were formal, but there was an edge of relief in her voice.
Megan put up her hand in warning. “But I must tell you that we shall be gone for an undetermined time. It might be months or
even a year or more before we return to England. So pray think it over carefully, Simpkins. I would not hold it against you if you chose instead to remain in London. In which case, I will gladly pen you a reference if that is indeed what you would prefer.”
“No, miss, I am quite settled in my mind. I see my duty plain. You and Mrs. Tyler need one of my talents to accompany you to these foreign parts,” said Simpkins.
Megan smiled at the dresser. “I am very happy that you join us, Simpkins. You may direct Digby to see to your requirements. Tomorrow I shall advance you a year’s salary so that you may purchase those things that you shall require for the journey. I understand that it is very cold in Russia, so be certain that you have a good woolen coat and boots.”
Simpkins rose, her hauteur once more intact. “Yes, miss. I shall do just as you say.” The dresser curtsied and left the room.
Megan and Mrs. Tyler looked at one another. “What an extraordinary thing,” said Mrs. Tyler.
“Yes, and most fortunate, too, don’t you think? I really do not see how we could go on better than to have Simpkins with us,” said Megan.
“Nor I,” agreed Mrs. Tyler. “But, my dear, how shall you afford her? She comes very dear. And Lady O’Connell is not likely to endorse her dresser’s change of allegiance. Indeed, I think quite otherwise.”
Megan’s eyes danced. “But we are leaving England, Gwyneth. Once we are gone, no one here will give much thought to the fact that Simpkins is with me. They will assume that my mother sent her. As for funds, I shall simply inform Mr. Henry that I have acquired the services of a highly recommended lady’s maid. There will be no objection, I assure you, for Mr. Henry thoroughly disapproves of this undertaking. He especially did so when he learned that you were to be my only companion. He discounted Betty, whom he stigmatized as a wilted dandelion. You will recall that he insisted upon interviewing her when I informed him that she would be accompanying us. Mr. Henry will greet the news of a staunch, loyal tiring-woman with relief.”
“But the household will still know that Simpkins accompanied us,” said Mrs. Tyler. “Lady O’Connell is certain to hear of it some time and then where will we be? She will likely cut off the funds that you require for Simpkins’s salary.”
“We will be beyond my mother’s influence, Gwyneth. Once I have transferred funds to St. Petersburg, there will not be a thing to be anxious about,” said Megan cheerfully.
Mrs. Tyler eyed her with open astonishment. “Transfer funds, my dear? Whatever are you talking about? That will require Lord O’Connell’s signature.”
“Which I possess, Gwyneth. My father was magnanimous enough to write a letter in his own hand to his banker. I have an appointment on the morrow at that establishment,” said Megan.
She burst out laughing at her companion’s expression. “No, I have not forged it, my dear foolish friend! My father has long desired to acquire an Orlov carriage horse or Kabardian trotter and he views my journey to St. Petersburg as the opportunity of a lifetime. He has entrusted me with his desire to acquire some of these breeds, if at all possible. I could not be expected to do so without adequate funds. His lordship also ordered me to use certain of the funds for my own needs so that I could present an excellent appearance while conducting business.”
“My goodness. How things do work out for the best,” said Mrs. Tyler.
“I begin to think so, indeed,” agreed Megan. “Betty has been in the doldrums ever since we left, so much so that I am quite out of patience with her. We shall send her home, which ought to cheer her no end, while Simpkins makes a more than adequate replacement.”
“I was thinking more of Lord O’Connell’s largesse, actually. That was fortuitous in the extreme,” said Mrs. Tyler. She paused, then remarked, “We shall be quite independent of anyone.”
There was such immense satisfaction in her voice that Megan laughed again. “Why, Gwyneth, I suspect that you are beginning to enjoy this foray into the world.”
“Why should I not? We have been kept too close, Megan. I am your companion and responsible for your well-being. Very well! I think it is high time that we kick up our heels a bit,” declared Mrs. Tyler.
“I am very willing to abide by your wishes, my dearest of friends,” said Megan. “But first let us get to St. Petersburg. Then we may be as flighty as we wish.”
Mrs. Tyler’s flare of independent spirit faltered slightly. “Remaining within the proprieties, of course.”
“Gwyneth, whenever have you had cause to be anxious on my behalf?” wondered Megan.
“Not once,” said Mrs. Tyler. A smile curled her mouth, however, as she affectionately regarded her companion. “That does not rule out the possibility that I shall not be made anxious in the future, however. For I know how I feel at the thought of being on our own, quite free of all the restraints of our former lives. I can scarcely credit that you are any less anticipatory, my dear!”
Megan chuckled. Her eyes danced even as she nodded in agreement. “Quite, quite true! Oh, Gwyneth, isn’t it simply splendid! We shall have a wardrobe worthy of the name and go to parties and routs and do all the things that I have positively longed to do. We shall have such fun, I just know it!”
“So I hope,” said Mrs. Tyler, still smiling. She kept to herself her private fears—her trepidation at the thought of stepping so thoroughly into the unknown and her utter conviction that Megan’s life was about to undergo a singular change, whether for better or worse, she could not yet tell. But certainly it was all worth the risk if only to enable Megan to engage in glad hopes.
Megan unconsciously voiced something of her companion’s reflections. “It is a bit frightening to think about going off somewhere, where we do not know a single person and the country might be strange to us. But I have wanted for so long to do something different, Gwyneth, that I am very ready to throw myself into any adventure!”
“Pray allow me to insert a word of caution, my dear. There are adventures and then there are adventures,” said Mrs. Tyler.
“Always the cautious chaperone, Gwyneth?” quizzed Megan.
“I trust that I shall always be cognizant of my duty,” said Mrs. Tyler gravely, but with a gleam of humor in her fine eyes. “I do not think that responsibility shall change overmuch, whether in London or in St. Petersburg. However, I hope that I am not so stuffy as to smother you with strictures and homilies and bind you about so tightly that you cannot breathe. I only ask that you preserve your good sense, my dear.”
“Never fear. I do not allow anything to undermine my rational thoughts,” said Megan cheerfully. “I have seen rather too much that passes for affection but which is not. So you need not worry. I am far too levelheaded to be taken in by some man-milliner.”
“Megan! What a turn of phrase! Man-milliner, indeed,” said Mrs. Tyler, shaking her head. Though she deplored the younger woman’s choice of words, she was comforted by them, for she knew well enough that Megan was a sensible young woman.
* * *
Chapter 6
Megan looked around her. Slowly, she waved a fantastically painted fan in front of her face. She was standing beside a massive fluted marble column at the edge of the dance floor. The ballroom was incredibly hot, but that was characteristic of a Russian function. It was one of the things that she had had to adjust to during the months she had been in the glittering city of St. Petersburg.
“Megan, my dear sister, you do not dance?” came a light teasing voice.
Megan turned with a smile to her friend, Countess Irena Annensky. One of the things she liked best about the Russians was their warmth and their astonishing habit of addressing even near strangers as a member of their family. “No, it is too hot to dance. So I am hiding, as you see.”
“What, and not one of your admirers have sought you out?” asked Countess Annensky.
“Oh, I was found only a moment before you came up. I have sent the gallant gentleman to fetch me an ice,” said Megan. “I told him that dan
cing makes one very warm and that I would be ever so grateful for an ice.”
“And so he has run off very happily to execute his important errand,” concluded Countess Annensky.
Megan laughed. Her eyes sparkled. “Yes, isn’t it bad of me?”
“But you are always too warm,” said Countess Annensky. “It is your warmth that excites such devotion. The fire flickers in your eyes and your smile and draws the men to you. You are like a Russian firebird.”
Megan laughed and shook her head. Countess Irena Annensky was a budding poetess and sometimes her extravagancies of speech were rather fanciful. “You mistake. It is not my personality, but my coloring that is so admired. I am a rarity in St. Petersburg. That is the full sum of my allure.”
“Ah! But your hair is not a mere red, dear Megan. It is flickering flames of red and gold. It is no wonder that the poor moths are drawn to you,” said Countess Annensky.
Megan shook her head again. She knew that her flaming tresses, pale skin, and smoke-gray eyes had excited immediate notice from the moment of her arrival in St. Petersburg and she still marveled at it. “At home in Ireland, I am considered to be very ordinary.”
“Impossible!” stated Countess Annensky firmly. “You are beautiful. Everyone says so. You have turned down eleven proposals of marriage and almost had a duel fought over you. That is not ordinary.”
“You have forgotten the Turkish pasha who wished to add me to his harem,” reminded Megan with a quiver of laughter in her voice.
“Yes! And all of this in six months. It is enough to rouse envy in the breasts of even your closest friends,” said Countess Annensky with a huge sigh and a sidelong look.
