by M C Beaton
Jilly thought a lot about Lord Ranger, about the way their eyes had met. She did not want to end up as worried and longing as Mandy and kept trying to turn her mind to other things. But he seemed to have become stamped on her mind: his eyes, his smile, the light tan of his skin and the strength of his hands.
If only something would happen to Harriet and Lucinda to stop them from going to that ball. Jilly was in no doubt that the ruin of the ball gowns had been deliberate. At least they had shot their bolt. After such a dreadful thing, they would not dare try anything else.
But Harriet and Lucinda had a powerful ally in their hostess. Mrs. Tenby could not believe that her normally biddable and meek husband had defied her by staying at the Harringtons’. Such a thing had never happened before. Mrs. Tenby blamed those Davenport girls for having introduced vulgarity into her well-ordered life. Neither Harriet nor Lucinda had any intention of telling Mrs. Tenby that they had set those gowns on fire deliberately. They had explained it was a sad accident and Lady Harrington had not been at all sympathetic.
“I think we must put our cards on the table,” said Mrs. Tenby firmly. “You seem to fear that these dowdy little misses are taking up the attention of Lord Paul and Lord Ranger.”
Harriet sighed. “Gentlemen can be such fools.”
“And who knows that better than I?” said Mrs. Tenby waspishly. “But surely with your looks and elegance, you will eclipse such as the Davenport girls.”
“They are become very popular,” admitted Lucinda, “in the way that little children and puppies are popular. Nothing too serious, mark you, but enough to give our lords the impression that they are highly favored. If only we could stop them from coming.”
“Our Mr. Nash, who organizes the assemblies at the White Hart, is a friend of mine,” said Mrs. Tenby thoughtfully.
“Can hardly be Beau Nash,” drawled Harriet. “He’s been in his grave this age.”
“No, it was not the famous master of ceremonies of Bath,” said Mrs. Tenby. “Perhaps I could persuade him to send a message to the Davenport household that the ball is canceled.”
Lucinda’s eyes gleamed, but then she gave a little sigh. “Travers and Jensen would give the lie to that.”
“Wait a bit.” Mrs. Tenby sat for a few moments in silence. “I have it,” she said. “I will organize an entertainment for the day of the ball to keep everyone here. On the very day of the ball, Mr. Nash will send word to the Davenport household that the ball has been canceled owing to damage to the floor or something.”
“But news travels fast in a country district,” Harriet pointed out. “The Harringtons will hear the next day that the ball took place.”
“Deepest apologies from Mr. Nash. He will say he thought he told them at the last minute as he had told everyone else that the ball was to go ahead after all.”
“They won’t believe that for a moment!”
“They’ll have to believe it,” said Mrs. Tenby. “Mr. Nash is a highly respected member of the community, and why should he lie? I will go and see him now.”
Mr. Nash was the self-appointed king of fashion of Moreton-in-Marsh and the area around it. He was a bachelor of forty, small and fussy, and used his considerable fortune in slavishly following every vagary of fashion. His hair was frizzed up on top of his head, giving him a perpetual air of surprise, his waist was nipped in, his coattails reached to his ankles, and his shirt points were so high and so cruelly starched, it was easy to see why such a fashion had earned the nickname of Patricides.
Like most weak and effeminate men who have been brought up by domineering and bullying mothers, he gravitated to such as Mrs. Tenby. He thought her “very maternal,” although the childless Mrs. Tenby was anything but.
But he fairly goggled at her when he heard her request. “But my deah Mrs. Tenby,” he cried. “I would lose my reputation! Only think when it gets out that the ball has taken place after all.”
“It is quite easy,” said Mrs. Tenby impatiently. “All you do is tell Sir John when you next meet him that the servant you dispatched with the news that the ball was to take place after all got drunk and fell in the snow.”
“Lady Harrington won’t believe that for a moment,” he said huffily. “Very downy one is Lady Harrington.”
“Look here, the Harringtons are a careless, slipshod couple. After a momentary spasm of irritation, they will forget about it. I see you need further convincing. Do you know that K’ang Hsi famille verte plate I have in the Yellow Saloon?”
Mr. Nash licked his thin lips and nodded. Fine porcelain was his passion.
“Do this little thing for me and it is yours.”
He hesitated only a moment. “Very well.”
“Now,” said Mrs. Tenby, almost half to herself, “all that is left is for me to find a way of keeping the house party at home on the day of the ball.”
Unaware of the plot that had been hatched to stop them going, Jilly and Mandy felt the fates were smiling on them as the day of the ball dawned bright and fair with a hard frost. The days of sunshine had melted the snow from the roads but kept the fields still glittering white. Everything sparkled like their eyes and their hearts.
The fact that they had not seen anyone from Colonel Tenby’s heightened rather than diminished the anticipation.
Lady Harrington, kind and amused, said that it was only a little country ball. James and his wife, Betty, said they would not be going. But nothing could damp the girls’ spirits.
“I am getting worried,” Lady Harrington confided to her husband. “You know what these Moreton balls are like—Nash posturing and mincing about, pretending to be Beau Brummell. Bad refreshments and a lumpy floor. Our girls have done well at their dancing lessons, but mark my words, those two cats will be out to outdance them, and they will!”
“It will be all right,” said Sir John in his usual lazy way. “They haven’t been to a ball before. It will all seem wonderful to them.”
“I am beginning to wish Paul and Ranger at the devil,” said his wife. “Travers and Jensen are more our girls’ weight, and they’re young. Paul and Ranger are in their early thirties and, if you will forgive the crudity, my heart, have probably had more women between them than I have had hot dinners, and I must be mad to be trying to throw my ewe lambs at their feet.”
“Not your daughters,” said the colonel placidly.
“Wish they were,” muttered his unrepentant wife. “Dear God, I wish it would snow. I wish something would happen to stop them going to this ball.”
“Beg pardon, my lady,” said a maid, bobbing a curtsy, “but there’s a messenger here from Mr. Nash.”
“Send him in.”
A tall, thin footman wearing Mr. Nash’s livery-pink plush heavily laced with gold braid—minced in, bowed so low, his nose nearly touched the floor, and then handed over a sealed letter with many flourishes. In fact, Lady Harrington, trying to take the letter from him, thought at one moment that he was playing a game with her and that she was expected to leap up in the air and snatch it like getting the ball in a child’s game.
She broke open the seal and scanned the contents. “Dear me,” she said to her husband. “How very odd. The ball has been canceled. Part of the floor has caved in with dry rot.”
But she felt like some great sort of candle snuffer when she went later to break the news to Jilly and Mandy. What glowing faces they turned to her as she walked into Jilly’s room. What dismay and depression looked out of their eyes when she told them her news. She felt guilty because she had wished only such a short time ago that something would happen to stop them going to the ball, and now it had.
“There will be other parties,” said Lady Harrington. “We will have a dance here on Christmas day, and I will ask Belinda and Margaret to let you have the dresses until then.” Jilly and Mandy looked sadly at the gowns spread out on the bed in all their wonderful prettiness.
After Lady Harrington had left with many assurances that they would have a relaxed family evening, Jilly went to the win
dow and drew back the curtains and looked out. The red setting sun was shining on the snow, making it glitter like rubies. In the shadowy hollows where the sun did not reach, the snow looked dark blue. Lady Harrington had been going to lend them jewels for the ball, real jewels, sapphires for Mandy, emeralds for Jilly. Lady Harrington had laughed as she had explained that young misses normally did not wear anything fancier than coral or pearls but that their very first ball was such an occasion, they should celebrate it with some glitter.
What were they doing, Lord Ranger and Lord Paul? Dances and parties were everyday events in their lives. A country hop was probably just another boring occasion they were glad to be free from. To her horror, she felt her eyes filling with tears and brushed them angrily away before turning around.
“It is the first really big disappointment we have had since coming here,” said Mandy. “I had begun to think this a magic place where no matter what happened, everything would come right in the end. Now I am tortured with thoughts that Mrs. Tenby will hold her own impromptu dance and Lord Paul will dance with Lucinda and smile at Lucinda and… Oh, it is all past bearing!”
Colonel Tenby’s party arrived at the ball. “Be glad when this is over,” muttered Lord Paul as they went through the red-leather-covered doors and into the assembly rooms.
“Remember that it is the Davenport girls’ first ball,” replied Lord Ranger. “Let us make sure they enjoy themselves.”
Both men looked around the room. “How odd!” exclaimed Lord Paul. “I would have sworn Lady Harrington would have been here with the girls before us. It was late when Mrs. Tenby decided to call a halt to that silly treasure hunt. I don’t really believe there was any treasure to be found.”
“Maybe Lady Harrington is teaching the Davenport girls how to make an entrance,” remarked his friend.
“Lady Harrington is not like that, and neither are the Davenport girls. You do not think they have had an accident?”
“No, but I must admit I feel something is wrong.” Lord Ranger strolled over to Mr. Nash. “What’s happened to the Harrington party?” he asked.
“I do not know, my lords,” said Mr. Nash. “They are bound to be here soon.” He scuttled off and shortly afterwards could be seen talking to Mrs. Tenby and throwing anguished little looks in their direction.
“I’m going to the Harringtons’,” said Lord Ranger suddenly.
Lord Paul looked relieved. “Coming with you. Let’s not wait for them to get the carriage poled up again. Take horses and ride. Won’t do our evening dress much good, but who cares? I confess it’s going to be a deuced dull evening without the Misses Davenport.”
Lucinda and Harriet watched them go. Then Harriet found what she privately damned as a country lout bowing before her and requesting the pleasure of the next dance. She was about to refuse, but she remembered with anguish that Mrs. Tenby had warned her that to refuse any gentleman would mean she would have to refuse them all, and so she accepted with very bad grace and therefore had the doubtful honor of being led into the first country dance by the local butcher.
“Now, who can that be?” asked Sir John, hearing the thudding at the door knocker. “Hope no one in the village is ill.”
The parlor maid came in with Lord Ranger and Lord Paul hard on her heels. Both men stopped short in surprise at the sight of Mandy and Jilly in two of their oldest and as-yet-unconverted gowns, sitting by the fire, playing with the baby.
“Why aren’t you at the ball?” asked Lord Ranger.
“What ball?” asked Lady Harrington. “That creature, Nash’s servant, arrived late this afternoon with a message to say that the floor had fallen in with dry rot.”
“Fustian!” said Lord Paul. “We have just left the assembly rooms, and the floor is perfect and the ball goes ahead. Have you got that letter from Nash? No, later, later. There has been some error. There is still time to get dressed.”
“Come, girls,” commanded Lady Harrington. Jilly and Mandy leapt to their feet. “Husband, dear, you are going to have to bustle into your evening clothes. We will not be long, my lords. In fact, our speed will amaze you.” She swept out of the room with Jilly and Mandy.
So there was no leisurely, dreamy toilet. All the maids in the house rushed about to help. There were no elaborate hairstyles for them. Hair was pinned up on top of their heads, and Lady Harrington added tiaras of emeralds and sapphires to go with the necklaces she had promised them, and the final result was more dazzling than anything she could have hoped to achieve had they not had to rush.
Lord Ranger felt his heart lurch as Jilly walked into the room. Her eyes shone as bright as the emeralds round her neck and in her hair. The soft green muslin of her high-waisted gown appeared to have been molded to her body. Mandy was a delightful contrast in blue, but Lord Ranger only spared her a glance before his eyes went back to Jilly.
Lady Harrington’s maid helped the girls into warm cloaks. Lord Ranger held out his arm to Jilly; Lord Paul, his to Mandy. Lady Harrington flashed a triumphant look at her husband. “Shall we go?” she said.
When Mrs. Tenby saw the party walking into the ballroom, her heart sank. The normally amiable Lady Harrington had a militant glint in her eye. A country dance was in progress. Mr. Nash, as master of ceremonies, was in front of the orchestra, calling out the figures of the dance—“Cross hands and down the middle”—and then his voice rose to a squeak as he saw the Harringtons’ party.
That beautiful famille verte plate could go unclaimed. He was not going to stay and face Lady Harrington or Sir John. When the dance finished, he scuttled out by the back door and off into the night. Let Mrs. Tenby do any explaining. He was sure if he stayed hidden for a few days, then the Harringtons would forget all about it.
Lucinda and Harriet watched as Lord Ranger led Jilly to the floor for the next dance, which was the quadrille. Mandy was partnered by Lord Paul. There was no chance for them to compete. No one asked them to dance. Their haughty manners had frightened off the locals, and their pursuit of Lord Ranger and Lord Paul had made the other young men at the house party look elsewhere.
Lady Harrington went and sat down next to Mrs. Tenby. She opened her reticule and took out Mr. Nash’s letter. “What was all this about, I wonder?” said Lady Harrington.
“Oh, about the floor. Tiresome man,” said Mrs. Tenby. “First the ball was off, then on.”
“I am determined to get to the bottom of this.” Lady Harrington scanned the letter again and then put it back in her reticule. “I see Mr. Nash has escaped. I shall call on him tomorrow.”
“He is a trifle eccentric, as you know.” Mrs. Tenby began to feel frightened. Everything was changing. Her husband had gone off to the card room, a thing he would never have dreamed of doing before. It was all the fault of those wretched Davenport girls! She had to get to Mr. Nash before Lady Harrington did. For Lady Harrington had turned to the dowager on her other side and was describing the odd letter she had received about the ballroom floor, and the dowager was exclaiming in surprise and asking the lady next to her, and it was being borne in on Lady Harrington that, with the exception of Mrs. Tenby, who claimed to have had a similar letter, no one else had received one.
Although she often prided herself on having to deal with all matters herself, Mrs. Tenby felt her husband ought to be by her side to help her, and then remembered in the next moment that he knew nothing about it, and then the moment after that, that the famille verte plate was his and that he was proud of it. For the first time in years, she felt weak and inclined to weep.
She muttered some excuse and then rose and went out of the ballroom. She looked this way and that. All the guests had arrived. The entrance hall was quiet. Mr. Nash lived in a large mansion a few yards behind the White Hart on the Oxford Road. She collected her cloak and swung it about her shoulders and made her way there, only remembering when she got outside that she was not wearing pattens and that she could feel the cold of the snow through her thin dancing pumps before she had gone a few steps.
But worry made her ignore the discomfort. She would probably need to promise him that dish in order to make him lie low for a few days. Then… oh, then she would say it had been broken… or something.
Back in the ballroom the dancers were flying about the floor. Lord Ranger could not help thinking that the arrival of the Davenport girls had lightened the atmosphere. They enthusiastically accepted dances with everyone who asked them, and he thought cynically that most of the burghers of Moreton must be half in love with them already.
Manners prompted him to dance with Harriet, and then he found to his chagrin that it was the supper dance, so instead of taking Jilly in to her first ball supper, which he had been looking forward to immensely, he found he had to sit and talk flirtatious nonsense with Harriet. It was small consolation that Lord Paul had found himself similarly trapped with Lucinda. Mandy was partnered by that Jensen, and Jilly was laughing and talking to that young fool, Travers.
No one looking at the sparkling Davenport girls could realize that their every thought was concentrated on those two lords sitting so far away from them at the other end of one of the long tables.
Worse was to follow. For when the interminable supper dragged to an end, Lord Ranger and Lord Paul found that the girls’ dance cards were full. It seemed only polite for them to dance once more with Harriet and Lucinda. The dance was the one waltz on the program. Jilly, being swung round in the arms of the baker, thought wistfully of all her dreams of dancing with Lord Ranger, and Mandy, being partnered again by Mr. Jensen, felt her smile becoming stiffer and stiffer with the effort to appear cheerful.
The ball finished at one o’clock. With sore feet and sore hearts, the Davenport girls were driven back to Greenbanks, where son James and his wife, Betty, were waiting up to ask them eager questions about how they had enjoyed it.
Mandy answered that it had all been so wonderful while privately thinking that when this holiday was over, when they had to go back to Yorkshire, the separation might actually come as a relief.
