Gift Of the Gods

by Barbara Cartland

  Alisa knew that was true.

  The Prince Regent, who had waited so long to become King, and was now at fifty-eight an old man, was to be crowned in July.

  If the newspapers were to be believed, already London was filling up not only with the English Nobility coming in from the country for the festivities but with foreigners from all over Europe.

  “If we make quite a number of Mama’s creams,” Penelope was saying, “and think up wonderful names for them so that they will sound attractive, it will make people eager to buy them.”

  “Are you really suggesting, Alisa asked, “that we should take them to London to Mrs. Lulworth and sell them as if we were pedlars?”

  “I am prepared to sell anything so that we can buy gowns and what does it matter what Mrs. Lulworth thinks? She has never seen us before and, unless we have money, she is never likely to see us again!”

  This was unanswerable and, as Penelope went on pleading and persuading, Alisa found herself weakening. There was no doubt that her mother’s herbal products, which she had made from the flowers, herbs and plants in their garden, had been a success locally.

  People with sores and abrasions of every sort had begged her help and they also found that the tisanes she made could soothe and reduce a fever and remove a cough far more effectively than anything the doctors could prescribe.

  Her two daughters had always helped her in the still room, but not until this moment had Alisa thought that anything they might make could be saleable.

  “If we sell twenty pots at ten shillings each,” Penelope said in a practical way, “which Mrs. Lulworth could then sell for a pound, that would be enough for one gown.”

  “We are not even certain that this Mrs. Lulworth will take them.”

  “At least we can try and I am not going to London dressed as I am now. I refuse! I shall stay here all by myself until Papa returns.”

  “What does it matter what we look like in Islington?” Alisa asked almost beneath her breath.

  This was undoubtedly true and it made Penelope more determined than ever that they would have to make some money by hook or by crook so that, like the Gunning sisters, they could dazzle Society.

  “In any case,” Alisa went on, “even if we do make a little money, that will not get us invitations to the balls or even to the Receptions of anybody of importance.

  “I have thought of that too,” Penelope said.

  Alisa waited apprehensively. The ideas that Penelope had already expressed were frightening her.

  “Do you remember how Mama used to talk about a friend of hers she used to stay with when she was young, a woman by the name of Elizabeth Denison?” Penelope asked.

  She did not wait for Alisa to answer, but went on,

  “I realised only the other day that she is now the Marchioness of Conyngham, whose name often appears in the newspapers.”

  “The Marchioness did not pay much attention to Mama after she married,” Alisa commented.

  “How could she, when Mama was buried down here with Papa? And Elizabeth Denison, who was older than Mama, was very rich.”

  Alisa was silent, knowing that her mother had been far too proud ever to ask favours of anybody.

  If her friend had drifted away into a higher social circle, she would never have tried to cling to her for old times’ sake.

  “What we are going to do,” Penelope went on, “and I thought this out last night, is to write to the Marchioness of Conyngham when we reach London, telling her that Mama is dead and that we have a little memento of her when she was a girl which we are sure she would like to have.”

  “How could we do such a thing?” Alisa asked indignantly.

  “It is something I have every intention of doing,” Penelope declared. “Oh, Alisa, do stop being stuffy and realise that the one thing Mama would have hated would be for us to be incarcerated here as if we were shut up in a tomb, seeing nobody, going nowhere and just wasting our beauty!”

  Penelope spoke so passionately that Alisa was silent.

  She knew it was true that her mother, who had been completely happy living in the country because she loved her husband, would have wanted them to enjoy the life she had known when she was a girl.

  Her parents had been important in Hampshire, where her father had a large estate and they had always gone to London for the Season.

  When their two daughters grew up, she had been presented at Court to the King and Queen and had a Season whose gaieties had been described over and over again to her daughters when they were old enough to understand.

  However, three months after their mother had made her debut, she became engaged to Sir Hadrian and they had been married in the autumn, to live, as Alisa had often said with a smile, ‘happily ever after’.

  Unfortunately during the long war Sir Hadrian’s fortune had dwindled year by year and, when his wife’s father died, he left everything he possessed to his son.

  Then, soon after he came into his inheritance, their uncle had been killed fighting with Wellington’s Armies and the estate went not to his sister but to a distant cousin of the same name.

  Alisa knew that Penelope was speaking the truth when she said that it would have upset her mother if she had known how dull it was for them these days and how seldom her father entertained, with the consequence that they were rarely invited to other houses in the neighbourhood.

  Another reason for this was obvious.

  “We are too pretty and attractive, that is what is wrong with us,” Penelope had said last week. “I heard from Mrs. Kingston that the Hartmans are giving a small dance next month, but there will be no invitation for us.”

  “I think it is rather unkind of them not to invite us.” Alisa agreed.

  ‘“Unkind? They are just taking precautions against our taking away any young man who might be interested in that plain tongue-tied Alice or that spotty-faced Charlotte!”

  “You should not say such unkind things!”

  “It is true! You know it is true!” Penelope insisted. “What man, if he could dance with you or me, would want to trundle round a dance floor with them? They are both as heavy as a sack of coal!”

  Alisa laughed as if she could not help it.

  Although she hesitated to agree with Penelope, she had seen the expression on Mrs. Hartman’s face the last time they had been there, when Colonel Hartman had told them how pretty they were and made them sit one on either side of him at luncheon.

  Because she felt agitated, Alisa went to the window. The lawn was unkempt, but there was a carpet of golden daffodils under the trees and the almond blossoms were pink and white against the sky.

  “It is so lovely here!” she said. “We ought to be content.”

  “Well, I am not!” Penelope replied positively. “So please, please, Alisa, help me! I have nobody else to turn to but you.”

  It was a cry that went straight to Alisa’s soft heart and it was impossible for her to refuse.

  Ten minutes later she agreed to what she thought was the wildest most ridiculous scheme Penelope had ever suggested.

  “We will try to sell Mama s face creams,” she agreed, “but I will take them to London alone.”

  “You will never sell them as well as I could,” Penelope said.

  “Yes, I will, if they are saleable,” Alisa answered, “and you have convinced me that they are. What I think would be a mistake, dearest, would be for you to be seen selling in the shops in Bond Street where, if we are successful, we shall have to buy our clothes.”

  She saw that she had made a point and, as Penelope was silent, she went on,

  “As you well know, I am not half as striking as you are and I think the wise thing to do would be to take just two or three pots to Mrs. Lulworth and ask if she thinks they are saleable. If she says ‘yes’, then we can go ahead and make her many more.”

  She hesitated a moment, then she said,

  “Perhaps we could then swear her to secrecy, and instead of giving us money she might let u
s have the gowns now and pay for them month by month as the demand for the creams increases.”

  Penelope clapped her hands together, then flung her arms round Alisa.

  “Dearest, you are so clever!” she said. “I knew you would he sensible about my idea, once I had convinced you that it was necessary.”

  “Of course it is necessary,” Alisa agreed. “It is just that I am not certain that this method will obtain the gowns we need.”

  “Right or wrong, there is no alternative even if we wanted to sell a picture or a mirror off the walls, we would not know how to go about it.”

  “We could not do that!” Alisa exclaimed in horror. “That would be stealing from Papa!”

  Penelope smiled.

  “I was sure that was what you would feel. But if you ask me, I don’t believe that Papa, if he had his nose in one of his books, would notice if we took down half the house.”

  This was indisputable, but Alisa was not prepared to go further in that direction.

  “We will sell only what is ours,” she said firmly, “and the first thing is to prove that face creams are saleable.”

  *

  Two days later, Penelope saw Alisa off on the stagecoach that stopped at the crossroads in the centre of the village.

  They had been hurrying about since dawn, for it was important that Alisa should have time to sell the creams and return on the coach that passed through the village at six o’clock in the evening.

  “If you miss it,” Penelope said warningly, “you will have to stay the night with Aunt Harriet and she will think it very strange that you should go to London by yourself.”

  “I shall have masses of time.” Alisa answered. “In fact I shall find it rather frightening to be alone in London unless I go to the waiting room at The Two-Headed Swan and just sit there until the stagecoach arrives.”

  “That would be a sensible thing to do,” Penelope approved, “but I think really I should come with you.”

  “No, no,” Alisa answered.

  She knew only too well that whatever Penelope wore she would attract attention. Although she knew it was wrong for either of them to go to London alone, it was impossible to ask Mrs. Brigstock to accompany her, because she was too old.

  Emily, the girl who came in to scrub the floors, was too uncouth and what was more she was certain to talk of what happened to everybody in the village.

  ‘I must go alone,’ she told herself, ‘and, as I shall be dressed quietly, nobody will notice me.’

  Because she was not only nervous but more than a little frightened, she picked out a very plain dark-blue gown and a plain straight cape that had belonged to her mother to wear over it.

  Although her bonnet was cheap, it had been trimmed skilfully with flowers. These Alisa removed, leaving only the ribbons round the crown and those under her chin.

  “You look like a Puritan,” Penelope said as they walked up to the crossroads.

  “Perhaps I should hold one of Aunt Harriet’s tracts in my hand,” Alisa said with a note of laughter in her voice. “Then I would be quite certain that nobody will pay any attention to me!”

  “If I have to sit night after night in that gloomy house in Islington,” Penelope argued, “listening to Aunt Harriet talking about ‘the poor blacks in Africa’, I shall throw myself into the Serpentine!”

  “Then I hope some dashing young gentleman would dive in and save you!” Alisa laughed.

  “I expect I would simply be fished out by some old man with a boathook!” Penelope retorted. “So save me by selling those creams.”

  They had both taken the greatest trouble in mixing the creams exactly as their mother had done.

  One contained fresh cucumbers from the garden, herbs and a number of other ingredients of which fortunately they had quite a large supply.

  Before Sir Hadrian had left, he had given Alisa ten pounds.

  “If you take the coach to London,” he had said, “it will leave you enough to tip your aunt’s servants and to pay for anything that is absolutely necessary. I have given the Brigstocks their wages for two months and I cannot afford any more.”

  “No, I understand, Papa,” Alisa had said.

  She knew that, although he was being driven to Scotland with his friend, he would still have quite a number of expenses when he was there.

  Leaving so early in the morning, the stagecoach contained inside only two farmers’ wives journeying as far as the next market town.

  The men, who were mostly farmers, preferred to sit on the box, but Alisa noticed that young or old they all turned to stare at Penelope as she kissed her goodbye.

  ‘It’s a good thing she is not coming with me,’ she thought.

  As soon as the stagecoach started off, she waved to her sister, then sat comfortably in a corner seat and was soon into conversation with the farmers’ wives.

  All they wanted to talk about was the coming Coronation and the village festivities that would take place to celebrate the occasion.

  “Well, all I can say is ’e’s ’ad a good time, one way or another,” one woman said, “and at least ’e’s given us all somethin’ to talk about!”

  “Not the sort of talk I cares for,” another answered. “Debts and women are a bad example, that’s what I says to me lads. You pays your way as you goes, I tells ’em or I’ll have somethin’ to say about it.”

  ‘That is what we will have to do,’ Alisa thought to herself and she felt despondently that the sale of a few pots of cream could not possibly pay for all the things that Penelope wanted.

  It was still early in the morning when she reached London and, because she had plenty of time, she started to walk from Islington to Bond Street.

  It was no hardship, because Alisa was used to walking long distances, since, although she preferred to ride, they had been too hard-up these last years to afford more than two horses. This meant that she and Penelope had been forced to take it in turns to go out hunting with their father or to ride wherever they wished to go.

  ‘It has been rather like sharing a gown!’ she told herself now.

  She found herself thinking of the huge success that the Gunning sisters had achieved entirely because they were stunningly beautiful.

  She was not sure that she herself was beautiful, although she was not so foolish as not to acknowledge that she was pretty. But she thought that nobody could be lovelier than Penelope.

  She now decided that she had been remiss in not speaking to her father, before he left for Scotland, about Penelope having a chance to meet the type of young man she should eventually marry.

  ‘After all, it was my duty to do that,’ Alisa chided herself. ‘I am the elder.’

  She was actually eighteen months older than Penelope, who had just celebrated her seventeenth birthday.

  Alisa knew that things would not have come to such a pass if her father had not gone away or Eloise Kingston had not made Penelope envious by talking so much about her own prospects.

  ‘What chance have we,’ Alisa asked herself, ‘of meeting, as Maina did, somebody like Papa?’

  She knew that her father must have looked very handsome in his uniform.

  He had been in the Grenadier Guards and in his red coat, white breeches and bearskin, she could understand that her mother had found him irresistible.

  ‘And Papa loved her,’ Alisa thought. It was the sort of marriage she herself would like to make, for while Penelope wanted to have an important social position and wear a tiara and glittering jewels at Carlton House and the Royal Pavilion at Brighton, she would be quite content to be anywhere as long as she was with the man she loved and who loved her.

  ‘I suppose I am not ambitious,’ she thought with a sigh.

  Then she told herself, although it was something she would not say to anybody, not even to Penelope, that love if one found it would be so wonderful and so glorious, that there was nothing else to compare it with.

  Walking through the streets, she found herself fascinated by the pedlar
s who were already crying their wares.

  There were men carrying pails of milk fresh from the cow, women with baskets of primroses and daffodils and others with country produce like butter and new-laid eggs.

  Having been in London before, she knew the way to Bond Street and, when she finally reached that most fascinating shopping street in the City, she could not help staring in the shop windows and finding them extremely inviting after having been in the country for so long.

  She saw at once, as Penelope had said, that the clothes they were wearing were out of fashion. The new bonnets had crowns that were raised in front and were covered with ostrich feathers or a profusion of silk flowers.

  Alisa stood for some time outside one window, trying to see if it was possible to transform their outdated headgear into something that at least reflected, if indecisively, the current vogue.

  She decided it was just possible that she might be able to do something with what they already possessed, when a man stopped beside her and she knew in a sudden panic that he was about to speak to her.

  Quickly she walked away, just as his lips began to move and she told herself that it was entirely her own fault for loitering.

  With her heart beating rather quickly, she hurried down the street to where she thought that Mrs. Lulworth’s shop would be situated.

  It was a large emporium that sold quite a number of items besides gowns and already there were a few customers fingering some very attractive and doubtless extremely expensive silks at a counter near the door.

  Not daring to stop and stare into the window, she had, however, noted at a quick glance that elegantly displayed on a silk cushion were several glass bottles and what looked like a pot of face cream.

  “Can I assist you, madam?”

  It was a supercilious shop assistant who spoke and for a moment Alisa thought that it was impossible to tell him the reason why she was there. Then she forced herself to say,

  “Could I – please see – Mrs. Lulworth?”

  She thought that the shop assistant looked her up and down and took in her shabby appearance before he replied,