by M C Beaton
“Are you in love with her?” asked Frederica, looking at him with those large and strange eyes.
“Yes,” he said baldly, suddenly wishing himself elsewhere.
“It’s only natural,” she sighed. “I will help you if you will help me. I can tell you… oh… all sorts of useful things. For example, they are going to the opera tonight.”
“But Mrs. Sayers assured me…”
“To the opera,” she went on firmly. “Mama wants her to make a match with the Marquis of Blandhaven but Clarissa is a bit frightened of him because he’s said to be a roue and to keep a string of West End Comets.”
“Watch your tongue, miss,” said the Captain beginning to sympathize with Mrs. Sayers.
“And so if you were to go to the opera, say, around about the last act, I think you could be sure of a welcome from Clarissa.”
“Thank you for your information,” he said dryly, “but I am perfectly capable of carrying on a courtship without your help.”
Two tears began to form in Frederica’s eyes. “Oh, what’s the use,” she sobbed. “Now you won’t help me.”
The Captain levelled his quizzing glass at the woebegone figure and sighed. “How can I be of assistance, Miss Frederica?”
She looked at him pathetically through her tears. “I… I was hoping you could help bring me out. Mama is taking me with her on a shopping expedition to Bond Street at ten o’clock tomorrow. If you were to meet us by chance and demand an introduction and then say that you hope to see me at Mrs. Bannington’s party at Vauxhall then mama might be persuaded to take me. I do so long to see Vauxhall. Please. You have no idea what it is like to hear the sounds of all the music and parties and never, ever, be able to join in. Please.”
“Very well, then,” said the Captain, after a moment’s reflection. It would do no harm, he decided, to befriend Clarrisa’s little sister. Keeping the child in the schoolroom was surely entirely Mrs. Sayers’ idea. Clarissa on the other hand would be grateful to him for being kind to her sister.
She flew out of her chair and flung her arms around his neck and planted a resounding kiss on his cheek.
“Oh thank you,” she breathed. “Oh, how I wish…”
“What do you wish, my child?” he teased, tugging at a lock of her long hair.
“Why… I wish that the sun may shine tomorrow,” she laughed.
But after the tall figure of the Captain had descended the stairs, Miss Frederica Sayers whispered to the uncaring schoolroom walls, “Oh, Captain Henry Wright. How I wish you were in love with me.”
Chapter Two
“If you stop once more in the middle of the pavement, I shall take you home directly,” stormed Mrs. Sayers, pushing her youngest daughter in front of her along Bond Street and thanking her stars that the hour was too early to attract any fashionable shoppers.
Mrs. Sayers was out of sorts. Who would have thought that Captain Wright would attend the opera last night after all. And who would have thought that her usually biddable daughter would cold shoulder the Marquis at the second interval to flirt with the Captain. And now this ridiculous daughter of hers was mooning along like a widgeon looking for all the world as though she had lost something precious.
The sun shone down so brightly on the rainwashed street that at moments it seemed as if London was indeed paved with gold. Tiny wisps of clouds, the tattered stragglers from yesterday’s storm, chased each other across a sky of pure cerulean.
Mrs. Sayers stopped to admire a dashing bonnet of pleated lilac silk in a milliner’s window. She was often to remember that had it not been for the wretched bonnet, she could have been half way down Piccadilly before disaster befell.
A polite “Good morning, ma’am” brought her about and she stared upwards in dismay into the tanned and smiling face of Captain Wright. And as if that were not enough, hanging on his arm, her face alight with mischief was none other than that dashing society matron, Mrs. Bannington—she who had invited the Sayers to Vauxhall that very evening.
Her thoughts running like rats about her brain, Mrs. Sayers gushed “Good morning Mrs. Bannington… Captain Wright. Get behind me, girl!” The latter was hissed in an undertone to Frederica. If her daughter stood meekly and silently behind her, then Mrs. Sayers fervently hoped that Frederica might be taken for the maid. But that wretched child stayed exactly where she was, smiling at the Captain and Mrs. Bannington and patiently waiting for an introduction.
Mrs. Sayers made a supreme effort to extricate herself but Mrs. Bannington had already taken Frederica’s hand in her own. “And who have we here?” she demanded.
Frederica saw her golden chance and took it. Without waiting for her mother, she smiled at Mrs. Bannington, “I am Frederica Sayers.”
“Indeed!” cried Mrs. Bannington, her thin pencilled brows almost vanishing into her hair. “A cousin of Clarissa’s perhaps.”
“No ma’am, her younger sister,” said Frederica, nervously aware of the seething volcano that was her mother standing beside her.
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Bannington again. “You know Captain Wright perhaps?” And without waiting for a reply, she presented Frederica. His grey eyes held a mocking look but he bowed over her hand and then addressed himself to the angry Mrs. Sayers, “I was not aware that you had two beautiful daughters.”
“Tish. Frederica is but a schoolgirl. Now if you…”
“I am seventeen, mama,” Frederica reminded her with a sweet smile.
“Seventeen! Oh, you must not keep her hidden,” said Mrs. Bannington. “I insist that you bring Frederica to Vauxhall tonight.”
Mrs. Sayers’ face was a study. Mrs. Bannington was one of London’s foremost hostesses and her voice had held an undoubted steely note of command. To exclude Frederica from the outing would be to exclude Clarissa from any future Bannington entertainments. Mrs. Sayers’ thin mouth curved down to meet her massive jaw. She looked remarkably like an irritated bulldog. “Very well, then,” she said with bad grace. She had an obscure feeling that this was all the fault of Captain Wright. She suddenly saw a way in which she could make some use of this social disaster. Mrs. Sayers smiled sweetly on Mrs. Bannington. The bulldog had just found a juicy bone in unpromising ground. She said:
“Perhaps you could be of some service to me this evening, Captain Wright. You know how it is at these Vauxhall parties. Everyone swears to stick together and not get lost and then as soon as they’re through the gates, they start pairing off and one never sees anyone again until after the fireworks. Would you be so kind as to keep an eye on my little Frederica? A fatherly eye, of course. It is all right for Clarissa. She never wants for beaux but poor little Frederica will need some gentleman to take care of her.”
There was nothing Captain Wright could do but bow and say he would be delighted. It said a lot for his breeding and social charm that he managed to leave Mrs. Sayers with the impression that he was indeed as pleased as he said.
But as Mrs. Sayers and Frederica turned the corner, he looked ruefully down at Mrs. Bannington, “I fear I have underestimated Mrs. Sayers. What a horrible Friday-faced female she is. How she could contrive to produce so beautiful a daughter as Clarissa is beyond me.”
“Or Frederica for that matter,” said Mrs. Bannington. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ll swear that girl has more character in her little finger than your precious Clarissa any day. I know it is hard to judge when she is wearing a shapeless dress and that quiz of a bonnet, but I swear if the chit were dressed properly, she could set London by the ears.”
“She’s a child,” said the Captain, wearying of the subject. “But I am grateful to you, ma’am, for helping to ‘bring her out,’ as she put it. I must confess I like my beauties to be a little more mature.” His mocking smile glinted down at her, appraising her smart scarlet walking dress and dashing shako set saucily on her red curls. Mrs. Bannington was a widow in her middle thirties and very happy with her single state. But the handsome Captain was one of her favorites and as she smiled ba
ck, she wondered again why such a sophisticated man-about-town could lose his heart to a cardboard miss like Clarissa Sayers.
The cardboard miss was yawning over the breakfast table when Frederica and her mother came in—or rather when Frederica was propelled into the room by a series of pokes and pushes from the irate Mrs. Sayers.
“There will be no end of tittle-tattle when this gets around the town, miss!” cried Mrs. Sayers, thrusting her packages into the arms of a waiting footman. “Your young sister introduced herself as bold as brass to Mrs. Bannington. And Captain Wright. What is more the saucy minx has compelled Sally Bannington to invite her to Vauxhall tonight.”
“Why in such a pucker,” yawned Clarissa. Her glance flicked contemptuously over the tiny figure of her sister from her braided hair to her tiny feet. “You do not expect the shine to be taken out of me by Frederica.”
“No, indeed,” cried her fond mother. “But she looks so young.”
“You refine too much on it, mama,” said Clarissa in a bored voice. “Nothing troubles me because I am beautiful. There is no one in the whole of London as beautiful as I. Nor will there be.” She delivered herself of this piece of self-praise with a calm vanity quite awful to behold. “Put the chit’s hair up and lend her one of my gowns. She’ll look old enough then I warrant you.”
“Well, I declare I am glad you are taking it so well,” declared Mrs. Sayers. “But I made sure that you should enjoy the company of the Marquis tonight without interruption. I requested that Captain Wright should devote his time to Frederica.”
“What a ninnyhammer you are,” laughed Clarissa. “Nothing will keep the gallant Captain from my side, especially not my dear sister.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” cried the much-goaded Frederica.
“Listen to the little girl,” teased Clarissa with maddening good nature. She rose lazily to her feet and pinched her little sister painfully on the cheek.
“You are so shy, Frederica, you know you will blush and stammer everytime a gentleman so much as looks at you. But be warned. Stick by mama. The Captain will not give you above a minute of his time.”
But as the carriages rattled over Westminster Bridge that evening on the road to the Royal Gardens, Clarissa eyed her little sister with something approaching dislike. Mrs. Sayers’ attempt to age Frederica had only succeeded in turning the chit into a pretty young woman. Her masses of jet black hair had been dressed high on her small head in a fashion that was all her own. Instead of attiring her in any of the pastels considered suitable for a young debutante, colors which would have made Frederica’s olive skin look sallow, she had found her an old rose crepe gown of Clarissa’s which made her skin the color of light gold. Simple gold jewelery brought out the gold flecks in her large eyes and the only small comfort Clarissa had was that the child was too short for beauty.
Captain Wright smiled at the animated little face opposite him in the carriage. He had been regretting his generous impulse since the very sight of Frederica seemed to put his beloved out of sorts, but he had to admit that Frederica’s happiness was infectious.
Even the languid and elegant Marquis of Blandhaven seemed to be charmed by the girl. He was paying her extravagant compliments while Frederica laughed with delight, seemingly oblivious to her mother’s warning frowns or her elder sister’s displeasure.
They arrived at the gate to the gardens and the Captain prepared to gallantly offer Frederica his escort but the Marquis was already there before him, proferring his arm and leading her along the walk. The Captain gladly offered his arm to the fair Clarissa but he watched the pair ahead of him with a worried frown.
Lord Percival, Marquis of Blandhaven, was not a gentleman that any mama should trust. A notorious member of the Dandy Set from his padded shoulders to his high heeled shoes, he was considered to be of the first stare by a certain section of society who considered the Corinthians too sober and austere in their dress. He was a man of five-and-thirty and his hard, thin features under their delicate layer of paint were considered handsome enough. But there were too many unsavory rumors attached to his name. He was reputed to have a passion for very young girls.
“I feel that your sister should not be left alone with Blandhaven,” he confided to Clarissa as he escorted her to Mrs. Bannington’s box.
She gave a rippling laugh and rapped him playfully with her fan. “I declare you are jealous, sir!” she cried. “But do not waste your time worrying about Frederica. Lord Percival is only devoting his time to her to please me.”
The Captain turned to look down at her, slightly astonished at the arrogance of her remark, but as they had just come into the lights of hundreds of lanterns, and Clarissa’s perfect face turned up to his was such a vision of beauty, he felt his breath catch in his throat and completely forgot what she had just said.
Frederica was unheeding of her escort’s compliments. For Vauxhall was like a fairytale come true—the myriads of lamps, the musicians in their cocked hats who played in a golden cockleshell in the center of the gardens, the servants in shabby liveries carrying pots of stout, the bouncing dances of the cockneys, and above all the twinkling boxes where one could dine on almost invisible wafers of ham and perhaps exchange a few commonplaces with the handsome Captain.
The Marquis had ordered a bowl of rack punch. Mrs. Bannington was drinking champagne and advised Frederica in an undertone to do the same “for that nasty aniseed-flavored punch can really make one feel quite unwell.”
The rack punch, however, seemed to have quite an enervating effect on Clarissa so that when the bell rang for the fireworks display, she merely shrugged when she heard the Marquis asking her mother’s permission to take Frederica to the show. Mrs. Sayers bit her lip in vexation but was still too overawed by anyone who held a title to demure. Frederica was so excited that she would not have cared who escorted her.
Oblivious of the Marquis, she oohed and aaahed with the best of them as the myriads of stars exploded and cascaded over the gardens. The final fiery tableau of “God Bless The Prince of Wales” brought the exhibition to a close and with a tremulous sigh of satisfaction, she turned to her aristocratic companion.
He was looking down at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Come, Miss Frederica, and I shall take you back to our box,” he said, holding her arm in an unnecessarily tight grip.
He led her along a dark walk away from the lights and slid an arm around her waist. Frederica came to an abrupt halt. “My Lord Marquis,” she said firmly. “Please remove your arm. It is not at all proper.”
An insolent laugh greeted her words and he drew her into an arbor. “My prim schoolroom miss,” he whispered. “The most exciting things in life are not at all proper.” And before she could break away, he had forced his mouth down on hers, enveloping her in a suffocating halitosis of rack punch and decaying teeth.
Unaware of how Miss Frederica Sayers was being brought out, Captain Wright walked slowly along an adjoining walk with Clarissa. She leaned heavily on his arm and her eyes were like stars. Clarissa had never drunk anything as heady as the rack punch before and she was toying with the idea of letting the Captain steal a kiss. Vauxhall was practically the only place where one could walk with a gentleman without a maid or one’s mama in constant attendance. She stole a look at her companion. After the disastrous purchase of the coat which the Captain had bestowed upon his valet, he had resolved that he could never aspire to the Dandy Set and was dressed in severe black and white evening dress. He really was so handsome, sighed Clarissa to herself. Such a pity he did not have a title. But one little kiss did not make a marriage. She leaned more heavily on his arm and then let out a mock squeal of alarm.
“What is the matter?” asked the Captain, coming to a halt.
“It is nothing,” said Clarissa, placing her hands on his chest and staring up into his face. To her disappointment, Captain Wright made as if to move on. He needed more encouragement. She slid her arms round his neck.
He looked
down at her in surprise. Her beautiful face was turned upwards to his in the faint moonlight. Very slowly, he bent his head and kissed her. Her lips were warm and clinging but, somewhere in the back of his brain, he was just beginning to register with surprise that absolutely nothing seemed to be happening to his senses, when he clearly and distinctly heard his name being called.
A high, thin, childish wail of fright penetrated the night air. “Oh, help! Captain Wright… somebody… help!”
He put Clarissa from him and looked around wildly. The sound had come from the adjoining walk. “Your sister!” he cried. Fortunately for Clarissa, he was too worried to see his fair partner’s shrug or hear her indifferent comment of “So?” Dragging Clarissa with him, he ran headlong through the bushes.
There in the shadowy light, he could just make out the small figure of Frederica struggling in the Marquis of Blandhaven’s arms. With an oath, he strode forward and sent the Marquis flying backwards into the bushes with a well-placed hit.
“A mill! A mill!” cried several voices and suddenly the walk seemed to be alive with people.
Clarissa stamped her foot. She had never been so angry in her life. “Take me back to Mrs. Bannington’s box immediately, sir!” she cried to Captain Wright. “How dare you subject me to the vulgar gaze of these common people.”
The Marquis had disappeared. Frederica was trembling and gazing up at the Captain with adoring eyes. “A flush hit,” she breathed. “Oh, what a facer you landed him, Captain Wright!”
Clarissa’s voice dripped ice. “If you have finished talking cant, Freddie, perhaps someone may pay attention to me. My dress is in ruins. I have unceremoniously been dragged through the bushes without so much as a by-your-leave and all because my little sister has been encouraging the advances of poor Lord Percival. This is what becomes of introducing provincial hoydens to society.”
