The Battling Bluestocking

by Scott, Amanda

  Jessica loved the house and its setting. The square was beautiful, its central wrought-iron-railed garden lushly green and mellowed with age, and the view down George Street, boasting as it did the magnificent projection of the portico of St. George’s Church across the way, she thought particularly pleasant. She let out a little sigh of pleasure as a Gordon footman opened the carriage door, let down the steps, and assisted her to alight.

  Lord Gordon also expressed relief at the journey’s end. “Upon my word, here we are at last. You must be glad you will soon be able to refresh yourself, my dear. Not that it’s more than a skip and a jump to Duke Street from here. Though it is not my habit, I can tell you, I am looking forward to a bit of a catnap before dinner.”

  Looking up at the house as her maid and baggage were set down upon the flagway from two of the coaches following in their wake, Jessica realized that someone had been set to watch for her arrival, for a number of green-liveried servants emerged at once and hurried down the stone steps to deal with her boxes and trunks. Turning back to the carriage, she said her good-byes and thanked her sister and brother-in-law for their hospitality.

  “Well, but you must come to visit us in Duke Street, too, Jess,” her sister insisted.

  “Of course I shall. But I’ll give you and Cyril a day or so to find your feet before I do. No doubt Aunt Susan will have made a good many plans for my entertainment.”

  Lady Gordon wrinkled her little nose. “Not merely the Africa Institute and climbing boys this year, Jessica. Do try to take part in more of the Season’s activities. I’m sure I can get vouchers for Almack’s if you’d attend one of the subscription balls with me.”

  Laughing, Jessica shook her head. “Almack’s is much too staid and stuffy for Aunt Susan’s taste,” she said, thus dismissing that Olympus of the social world, “and I shouldn’t know how to behave at such an affair anymore, Georgie, so don’t expect to cozen me into going. We don’t live so completely out of the way as you seem to think, but I shan’t go to Almack’s.”

  A moment later she left them and ascended the front steps to the entrance of the house. It was not the porter but Bates himself, Lady Susan’s slim, elderly butler, who awaited her, his wrinkled countenance beaming beneath his shining white-fringed pate.

  “Miss Jessica, how good to see you again. I trust your journey was a pleasant one.”

  She agreed that the journey had been very pleasant, and he ushered her into the two-story entry hall, the floor of which was paved with Purbeck stone laid in squares with little diamonds of black Namur marble at the crossing of the joints. The hall boasted a gay rococo ceiling, and the cream-colored plaster walls were arrayed with a variety of wrought-iron lamp-holders, link extinguishers, and candle sconces. The woodwork had been fashionably painted to match the walls, but the sweeping mahogany handrailing and uncarpeted stairs at the left rear of the hall, as well as the first-floor gallery rail above, had been left their natural color and polished to a high gloss.

  “How is my aunt, Bates?” Jessica inquired as he waved a pair of footmen carrying one of her trunks toward the stairs.

  “In the pink, miss. Entertaining a guest at the moment, but she said to show you up directly you arrived.”

  “Oh, but I should change my dress first. I cannot go to her in all my dirt.”

  “Nonsense, Miss Jessica. Her ladyship won’t mind a bit of travel dust, but she said I was not to let you disappear upstairs without first stepping in to see her.”

  “Very well, then,” Jessica agreed smiling. “I daresay my poor Mellin won’t have my gowns unpacked or pressed for a good while yet. You may take me to her ladyship.”

  She paused to greet Mrs. Birdlip, Lady Susan’s plump and smiling housekeeper, then followed Bates up the wide stairs and around the right side of the gallery to the elegant green-and-gray drawing room. It hadn’t occurred to her amidst the bustling activity of the entry hall to ask who her aunt’s guest was, for she had merely assumed the person to be one of the ladies or gentlemen who pursued the same interests as Lady Susan. Therefore it came as a profound shock to her to see Sir Brian Gregory getting casually to his feet as Bates spoke her name and she stepped across the threshold.

  Jessica stopped just inside the doorway as a myriad of emotions threatened to make her dizzy. Sir Brian, having shot a speaking glance at the chinchilla muff, which she carried on her left arm, was now smiling at her in a knowing way, and it occurred to her that he seemed very much at home in her aunt’s house. But she was too stunned to return the smile and not by any means certain that she wanted to do so. Not, at least, until she sorted out the feelings warring through her body. The smile and the odd light in his eyes seemed to indicate that he had quite forgotten the difficulties attending their last meeting, but she had not. On the other hand, she was sincerely delighted to see him and none the less so that he no longer seemed to be angry with her. But what on earth was he doing in Lady Susan’s drawing room?

  As these thoughts passed through Jessica’s head, her aunt stood up, speaking rapidly in her musical voice and moving to greet her. “Jessica, dear child, how perfectly enchanting you look. That shade of gray matches your eyes and is particularly becoming to you, and how well the chinchilla trim sets off your hair. Oh, my dear, how delighted I am to see you again.”

  Presently enjoying her later middle years, Lady Susan was nearly as tall as her niece, but willowy, and she moved with elegant grace. Her graying blond hair was piled atop her head in a style that might have looked haphazard had she not carried it off with such an air of dignity. Golden tendrils caressed her ears and the back of her long neck, softening her expression. She wore a cream-colored afternoon gown that was high of neck and long of sleeve but which showed every sign of having been designed by a modiste of the very first stare. Lady Susan spent her considerable wealth on many worthy causes, but she did not stint herself. Though her house was more than a hundred years old, it was generally in an excellent state of repair, furnished with taste and elegance, and it boasted a number of modern conveniences, not the least of which was the valve closet in the basement near the kitchen. And Lady Susan herself was always dressed in the first style of elegance.

  Jessica kissed her aunt’s sweet-smelling powdered cheek. “I’m very glad to be here, ma’am. You’ve even managed nice weather for me. The square looked perfectly lovely when we arrived, being so green and so full of flowers this year.”

  “Yes, and only wait until you see my gardens,” her aunt agreed, regarding her fondly. But then she recollected herself with a little gesture of dismay. “But we are neglecting my guest. I understand you have previously made Sir Brian’s acquaintance, my dear.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Jessica replied, moving forward to greet him properly. “How do you do, sir?”

  “Very well, Miss Jessica. London agrees with me.” Unthinkingly, she had held out her right hand, and he promptly took it between his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. She was very conscious of the warmth of his touch, even through her glove, and as she looked up, his eyes met hers, and he smiled the intimate little smile she remembered so well. A lock of the dark blond hair had fallen across his brow, and Jessica’s hand twitched in his as she experienced a strong desire to smooth it back into place.

  Determined not to fall victim to his ready charm at least until she had some definition of his present intentions, she straightened, withdrawing her hand and trying to gather her customary dignity around her. Her gray eyes narrowed slightly, challenging him. “And your nephew, sir?” she asked. “Does London agree with him, as well?”

  “I’m thankful to say it does, ma’am. By the greatest gift of providence, Lady St. Erth and her charming daughter arrived in town not two days after we did.” He smiled at her, and this time Jessica responded without hesitation.

  “Then he has recovered his—”

  “His balance?” His eyes quizzed her, and she could feel warmth invading her cheeks when she realized her aunt probably didn’t have the slightest notio
n what they were talking about. “It would be better, perhaps, to say that he emerged from the sulks with quite satisfactory speed and is presently enjoying his customary sunny temperament.”

  “I suppose that is the way you would describe matters, sir,” she said tartly before turning to Lady Susan with an apologetic smile. “Sir Brian’s nephew suffered a disturbance of the heart before they left Cornwall,” she explained.

  “Oh, yes, Sir Brian has told me all about that scandalous business,” Lady Susan said as she took her seat again, her expressive blue eyes positively sparkling with indignation. “Dreadful the way some folks take to deception as a way of life. And such a shame that young men must always be so vulnerable to the charms of that sort of woman. But sit down, my dear, sit down.”

  Realizing that she had underestimated Sir Brian, Jessica turned toward him once she had taken a seat upon one of the comfortable settees that littered the pleasant drawing room. Laying her muff beside her, she removed her gloves as she spoke. “Have you known my aunt long, sir? I do not believe you mentioned the acquaintance when we were in Cornwall.”

  “Sir Brian has expressed an interest in the Africa Institute,” her ladyship informed her. “He came to see me about a week ago to discover more about our work, and he has been a frequent visitor since.” She smiled at him. “As I told him, what with Mr. Hatchard’s troubles, as well as all the other little projects we constantly have in train, we need all the assistance we can find.”

  “Mr. Hatchard? He is the bookseller you wrote to me about, is he not? Owns that delightful shop in Piccadilly.”

  “Indeed, my dear. The same. It is a most unfortunate circumstance. All on account of the Institute’s wretched annual report. He published it, you see, at the end of the year. And now there is such a furor, you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Gracious, but what could he have published that was so dreadful? I vow, ma’am, your letters were never very clear on the subject.”

  “It was not Hatchard’s doing, precisely,” Sir Brian put in. “He merely printed what had been submitted to him by the directors of the Institute. Unfortunately, the report included an account from Antigua describing the case of an aide-de-camp to the governor, Sir James Leith. Briefly, the aide is said to have flogged a female slave who was with child. The woman then complained to the governor, who reprimanded his aide, who, in turn, is said to have flogged the woman again. The governor then very properly dismissed the aide-de-camp from his service, whereupon the insolent fellow returned his uniform by dressing up one of his slave boys in it and sending him, mounted upon a donkey, to Sir James.”

  “Not the most tactful thing to have done under the circumstances, certainly,” put in Lady Susan. “Naturally, Sir James was prodigiously displeased. He ordered an indictment of the aide-de-camp to be presented to the grand jury of the island, but they refused to sanction prosecution. Typical of them, I’m afraid.”

  “Indeed, you may be right about that, my lady,” Sir Brian said quietly.

  “But what had Mr. Hatchard to do with any of this?” Jessica wanted to know.

  “Well,” said Sir Brian, “unfortunately, the island’s judicial records make no reference to the matter. Therefore, the island’s legislature has brought an action against Hatchard for libel. They say they will drop the matter only if the Institute reveals the identity of its informant.”

  “Which, of course, we have refused to do,” said Lady Susan matter-of-factly.

  “But if Mr. Hatchard is in trouble through no particular fault of his own—”

  “Mr. Hatchard is in no extreme danger,” her ladyship said firmly, “whereas our informant would be in danger of his very life.”

  “That is true, you know,” said Sir Brian gently.

  They discussed the matter for some moments longer before Sir Brian took his leave of them and Jessica found herself alone with her aunt.

  “I do hope you are not fatigued,” Lady Susan said, hugging her. “I want to hear all about the family and everything you have been doing since I last saw you.”

  “Goodness, ma’am, that will take weeks!”

  “Then so be it. I particularly wish to hear about that charming young man who just left us. He may choose to think I believe he has a sincere interest in the Institute—for that matter, he may very well be sincere—but he has talked of little other than your beautiful self throughout most of his frequent visits to this house, my dear. You have certainly made a conquest there. And not the sort you usually attract, either. A far superior specimen this time. I congratulate you. What do you think of him?”

  “I am not at all certain what I think, to be perfectly frank,” Jessica informed her with a rueful smile. “He told me only the second time we met that I was the exact sort of woman for whom he had been searching all his life. It smacked a bit of Cheltenham dramatics, ma’am. I could hardly believe he was sincere. But I must admit his visits to Gordon Hall before he left Cornwall were frequent enough to make me believe he was actually attempting to fix my interest. Then, after that unfortunate business with the fake princess, he left rather abruptly and in a temper. I believed he would want nothing further to do with me.”

  “Well, he has clearly recovered his good humor,” her ladyship pointed out dryly. “I think he is perfectly charming.”

  “He has certainly shown that he does not hold a grudge,” Jessica agreed, “but I cannot think his interest in the Institute is anything more than a possible attempt to impress me. I accused him of being an exploiter of human flesh, you see, and I think the charge rankled. But it is true, ma’am. Sir Brian is not only a mine owner who employs women and children in those dreadful holes, he is also the owner of vast sugar plantations in the West Indies—a slave owner, in fact. For him to join the Institute must be a contradiction to all he believes. We know well that such men think only of profit and nothing of the sad condition to which they reduce the people they exploit. He may be charming, but he is also the embodiment of all we most abhor, ma’am.”

  “Oh, not of all we abhor, Jessica, my love. And with the Institute’s constant need for both money and influence—particularly at the moment, when both are needed to assist poor Mr. Hatchard with his defense—I think we must do all in our power not to alienate Sir Brian, who is willing to provide both. I have accepted his offer to help us, and I hope you will not object to the fact that I also accepted his offer to escort us to Lady Jersey’s drum tomorrow evening.”

  “Lady Jersey!” Jessica exclaimed, astonished. She remembered her ladyship well, for Lady Jersey was one of the leaders of London’s social world, an incurable gossip who had earned the sobriquet of “Silence,” onetime mistress of the Regent himself, if what Jessica had heard during her come-out was true, and certainly a most formidable dame. “Why, ma’am, I thought you had eschewed such entertainments as hers for all time.”

  “Well, you are quite out then, for I should never be so foolish as to say I will never do something,” announced her ladyship, looking virtuously down her slender nose. “Besides, it has occurred to me that perhaps it would be wise to get back into the social way of things, and fortunately I had not yet remembered to send my regrets when Sir Brian chanced to suggest the outing. The people of the beau monde,” she added hastily, “have a great deal of money, my dear and most spend it foolishly. Sir Brian is quite right in that I ought to be using what influence I still have in that world to convince them to spend it where it is most needed.”

  There was little to be said in opposition to such logical reasoning, and Jessica made no further attempt to dissuade her, despite the fact that she suggested Sir Brian might have other motives for suggesting the outing. The two ladies spent the evening comfortably at home, enjoying each other’s company and conversation. The only thing to mar their comfort was the fact that the drawing-room chimney smoked dreadfully, but once Jessica had convinced Lady Susan that she was quite warm enough without a fire, the difficulty was soon remedied by causing the fire to be extinguished and the windows flung ope
n long enough to air out the room. In her own bedchamber, later, however, Jessica was dismayed to be told by her maid that it had also been necessary to extinguish the fire in that room.

  “Chimney smokes something fierce, Miss Jessica,” said the wiry Mellin in a disgusted tone, wiping her hands on her frilly apron. “Seems such a well-run house, too, but that chimney’s a disgrace, and not at all what we’re accustomed to.”

  At breakfast the following morning, Jessica brought the subject up again. “Really, Aunt Susan, you cannot leave these chimneys as they are. Why, the one in my bedchamber, according to Mellin, is in even more wretched condition than the one in the drawing room. No doubt you’ve been too busy to attend to the matter yourself, but Bates or Mrs. Birdlip should certainly have seen to it. I’ll arrange with one of them to hire a sweep at once.”

  “No, Jessica,” her aunt said firmly. “I won’t have one in my house. Awful men who terrorize children to make them climb up into the chimneys to clean them. The chimneys can stay as they are. Summer is nearly upon us, and heaven knows we won’t need the fires then. We can simply wrap up a little warmer if we need to in the meantime.”

  Jessica dropped the subject, knowing that what her aunt said about the harsh methods employed by the chimney sweeps was perfectly true. She had heard enough horror stories to know that they made life miserable for their so-called apprentices, starving and beating them in the name of service to the community.

  The two ladies spent that afternoon receiving callers, and after the last of these had departed, repaired to their bedchambers to prepare for the evening ahead. Sir Brian called for them at nine o’clock, and though he greeted Lady Susan with his usual charm, he seemed to have eyes only for Jessica.

  She had dressed carefully and was looking particularly magnificent in an evening gown of magenta silk, trimmed with silver lace, her hair arranged in an intricate array of plaits and coils piled atop her head to give her added height. It was a style she rarely affected, for the simple reason that it generally gave her the appearance of towering over most of the men of her acquaintance. But it was a becoming style, and she knew she would be safe in allowing Mellin to create the effect on this particular occasion.