Springtime Pleasures

by Sandra Schwab

  The elderly lady’s expression had turned decidedly misty during Lady Isabella’s speech. “My poor child.” She blinked a few tears away. “How I admire your fortitude.”

  A flare of colour appeared on Lady Isabella’s cheeks. “Oh… I…”

  “So we thought,” Charlie quickly cut in, “that coming into the card room would be less fraught with danger. And then there is that matter with commerce, of course. And we thought it would be quite proper if we sought out an acquaintance of Lady Isabella’s cousin, a Mr… uh… Whitstock, wasn’t it?”

  “Whitstock.” Lady Isabella nodded.

  “Young Whitstock?” The elderly lady, who now seemed to be determined to take the girls under her wings, knitted her brows. “He is a gambler, that one!”

  “Oh, but—”

  Fluttering her lashes, Lady Isabella interrupted Charlie. “But wouldn’t he be kind to two young ladies?”

  Charlie was impressed. Not only were those flutters masterly done, but the intonation was also suitably breathless.

  “We-hell…” The elderly lady heaved herself up. “I will make sure that he will. No, no, you remain seated, gentlemen. I will take care of these two lambs and will see to it that there is none of that oafish behaviour in here.” She wagged her finger at the other elderly lady sitting at the table. “Mrs Hall, I count on you to make sure that nobody will take a peek at my cards, or start another game without me. Not that I would ever dream that any of the gentlemen present would ever do such a thing—you are, after all, of the old school, not like those foppish youngsters.” With those words, she marched on to find Mr Whitstock.

  “I say, that went very well,” Charlie whispered to Lady Isabella as she pushed the wheeling chair after the helpful lady. “You were truly splendid.”

  The other girl shot her a blushing glance, accompanied by a shy smile. “Would it be very wicked of me to admit that–” The blush deepened. “—that I enjoyed myself?”

  Delighted by this admission, Charlie grinned. “Oh no, not wicked at all. It’s the spirit of St. Cuthbert’s, you see.”

  They caught up with their guide, who had led them across the room to a table where a group of young gentlemen lounged in their seats. Charlie surveyed them critically. So one of those was the fabled Mr Whitstock, owner of the most splendid phaeton in all of London. She only hoped that he didn’t turn out to be the chap who wore his hair combed up in a tuft on top of his head. His canary yellow waistcoat coupled with the violently purple jacket and the—good Lord!—cardinal red monstrosity of a cravat would spell horrors for the lovely phaeton. For no doubt, that man drove about in a vehicle painted in the most fantastic colours. Perhaps he dyed even his horses! That, Charlie knew, was not unheard of in London. Only the other day she had caught a glimpse of a green gentleman with a green poodle in the streets.

  The helpful lady cleared her throat. “Gentlemen…”

  One of the men looked up. “Lady Hazell,” he said surprised, and then they all scrambled to their feet and hastened to sketch a bow.

  “Are you quite finished with this game, then?” she asked.

  “Well, no, my lady,” Mr Canary Waistcoat trilled in a strange, nasal sing-song that made Charlie’s brows shoot up. “We’ve only just begun this rubber—”

  “Excellent! Then you can all take your fish back—” Lady Hazell indicated the small pieces of ivory that lay piled up in a smallish heap in the middle of the table. “— and you, Mr Darling, can go and fetch some ratafia for the young ladies.” She cast a look at his cards. “You should rejoice—you have the most atrocious hand here.” While he still gaped at her like a stranded carp, she shooed him away. “Go, man, go! Ratafia!”

  Aha! So Mr Canary Waistcoat wasn’t Mr Whitstock after all. Now that was a relief, indeed!

  Lady Hazell addressed the remaining three men, “These two young ladies wish to play commerce–”

  “Oh, it’ll only be me,” Charlie hastily interrupted. “Dear Lady Isabella means to watch—and to learn.”

  “Oh yes,” Lady Isabella said and gave the men a brilliant smile.

  “Very well,” Lady Hazell continued. “Mr Whitstock, I believe that Lady Isabella is the cousin of one of your acquaintances–”

  “Dear George,” Lady Isabella sighed. “Mr George Fenton Cole, that is.”

  “Yes, Mr Cole, who, I trust would wish you to look well after his fair cousin.”

  As if transfixed, the men stared at the girl in the wheeling chair.

  “Eh…” one said.

  “Should I…” another began.

  Charlie gritted her teeth. She could have hit them, especially when she saw delicate colour suffusing Lady Isabella’s cheeks. No doubt, the poor girl was embarrassed by this new display of oafishness.

  “So,” Lady Hazell continued, ignoring the interruptions, “my girls, these are Sir Ross, Mr Gregory, and Mr Whitstock, as you know. And these are Lady Isabella and…” She gave Charlie an enquiring look.

  “Miss Stanton,” Charlie promptly supplied.

  “Miss Stanton.”

  The man whom Lady Hazell had indicated as Mr Whitstock cleared his throat. “Pleasure,” eh said and sketched a bow.

  His friends followed suit, mumbling something unintelligible.

  “Oh, the pleasure is all ours, I assure you,” Charlie said sweetly while she did a quick curtsy.

  These preliminaries done with, Lady Hazell seemed satisfied, and thus, after patting Lady Isabella’s arm, she sailed back to her own table.

  Charlie gave the men her best smile. “Shall we start?” She surveyed the table in front of her. “But first of all, we need a new deck of cards. And more fish.” As Mr Gregory opened his mouth—no doubt to tell her that one didn’t play for high stakes at a ball—, Charlie arched her brows. “Or are you gentlemen making a habit of playing for measly pin money?”

  In the end, it was all much easier than Charlie could have dreamt of—probably because the gentlemen of London were, in general, unacquainted with the spirit of St. Cuthbert’s. Lady Isabella played the charming, simpering dunderhead to perfection, fainting from sheer excitement at the sight of the clean, sealed deck of cards that a footman brought on a silver platter, and almost knocking Sir Ross’s glass over in the process. The ensuing confusion gave Charlie ample time to switch the new deck, which had inexplicable fallen to the floor, with the deck in her reticule. Lady Isabella allowed herself to be revived by a bottle of smelling salts somebody from the next table was so obliging to provide. She then proceeded to ahh and ohh over each new card that was put on the table, while Charlie proceeded to fleece her fellow players. It was a subtle, yet very thorough fleecing to make sure that she could prick Mr Whitstock’s manly honour to set the use of his phaeton for one day against all her previous winnings. Hedged on by his friends, Mr Whitstock finally allowed himself to be persuaded to place the bid—and lost.

  Naturally.

  “Lud, how exciting!” Lady Isabella beamed. “And how much money have we won?”

  Woodenly, Sir Ross named a rather large sum.

  She clutched her bosom. “I believe I shall swoon. Truly, my heart is already palpitating—”

  “Oh dear,” Charlie said and stood hastily. “It seems our little game has overtaxed poor Lady Isabella. I must beg your pardon, gentlemen. Her mother most ardently entreated me not to overtire her daughter. It would be a keen pang indeed if I would disappoint her trust. So…” She gave them a benign smile. “It was such a pleasure to play with you.”

  “I am sure of it,” Mr Gregory muttered darkly.

  Mr Whitstock nudged his friend with his elbow, then enquired whether Charlie wanted the drafts due to her immediately. She condescended to receive them now and stowed the slips of paper in her reticule.

  “Gentlemen…” With a smile and a bow of her head, she took her leave and wheeled Lady Isabella, who was already sighing and shaking with the onset of strong palpitations, from the table. Once they were safely out of earshot, the “poor afflicted
girl” succumbed to a fit of the giggles. “Lud!” she finally gasped, wiping her eyes. “I believe I’ve never had that much fun in all my life.”

  Chapter 7

  in which our heroine collects her winnings

  & kidnaps a viscount

  Miss Carlotta Stanton to Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin, by Two-penny Post

  My dear Emma-Lee,

  that beau of yours sounds truly aggravating. How you have so far abstained from shooting That Man is beyond me. I do not think Miss P. w’d consider a man with a Curious Habit such as producing Bubbling Sounds very proper. How can any man think it handsome to cultivate such a habit, I ask you? This just goes to show that men are Strange Creatures. Still, I feel for you. – As I have assured you previously, there was no reason for you to overfret yourself on my account. Everything went swimmingly at Lady T.’s ball once I had initiated Lady I. into the Proper Spirit of St. Cuthbert’s. I must say, she put on a dashing good show—& she can flutter her eyelashes in the most enviable way. She was so overcome by emotion by our little adventure that she insisted we proceed to the Intimacy of calling each other by our Christian names. I c’sider this a great Honour. It is most gratifying to know that I have finally made a True Friend in this city. Don’t you sometimes miss dear, old St. Cuthbert’s?—As you can see, everything is coming along famously. It is to be hoped that we can soon cure Lord Ch. of his Sad Melancholia.

  Your loving friend,

  Ch. Stanton

  ~*~

  Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin to Miss Carlotta Stanton, by Two-penny Post

  Dear Charlie, the most dreadful thing has happened: I have acquired another beau, who is just as aggravating as the first one. He is a medical man (which has thrown mother into near raptures) of the most enormous proportions (which has thrown me into despair). I am not at all prejudiced against a hint of stoutness, but that man waddles. He is not yet 30 & has not seen his feet in years. More annoyingly, he insists on informing me that, being not of the medical profession myself, I cannot possibly understand his many humorous medical anecdotes. Truly, I shall not be sorry to hear he has succumbed to a spell of whooping cough or scarlet fever! I fear I am fast becoming what Miss P. w’d have called ‘uncharitable’. – Though p’haps I am not all lost to hope yet bec. I will still warn you to take heed in your dealings with Lord Ch. I fear most sincerely you may overreach yourself in this case. He might not like it that you take such a decided interest in hi affairs – indeed, the whole business might be terribly misconstrued. I therefore beg you, Charlie, to pay heed, & not open y’rself up to censure.

  Ever your friend, Emma-Louise Brockwin

  ~*~

  Miss Carlotta Stanton to Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin, by Two-penny Post, returned the same evening

  You are a true friend, dear Em. But please be assured that there is no reason to worry on my account. I will be most careful in the execution of our plan. Isabella & I have contrived to meet Mr W. in the Park today & have settled a date when I can collect my winnings. I am v. excited, for I call it a truly shocking State of Affairs if a Gentleman like Lord Ch. is allowed to wallow in Melancholia. Somebody has to take action, Em, & for now it seems that this task has fallen onto y’r friend. I shall rise to the occasion like a true St. Cuthbertian, & given the infestation of England by People of the Criminal Persuasion, I will take my Blunderbuss. (Was it not a most fortuitous accident that we met with those Highwaymen on our way south?) – If your beaux vex you too much, we can always run away to Paris together. With my winnings from that game of cards we can set up a very Comfortable Establishment. & we ought to take Isabella, too – I know she w’d profit the world from your influence, Em. You w’d be much better at cheering her up than I bec. you have a much better grasp of what constitutes Suitable Topics for Polite Conversation. She is in desperate need of some cheering up, I assure you. If you c’d see how shabbily she is treated by Polite Society! It w’d make y’r blood boil! I have found that the Polite World is far less polite than we have been led to believe.

  Always yours, Carlotta

  ~*~

  When the knock sounded on the front door, Charlie came already bouncing down the stairs.

  “Lady Isabella’s carriage is waiting in the street outside,” James the footman announced.

  “I know, I know!” Charlie chanted, almost breathless with excitement. She had been pressing her nose against her upstairs window for the past quarter hour and had thus seen the landau drawing up in front of the house. “My spencer, please!”

  Today was the day! Today was the day! Dancing from foot to foot, she waited while James Footman fetched the garment. “I wonder what he will say,” she murmured to herself. “I wonder—”

  “Charlotte!” her aunt called. “Is that the Lymfort carriage waiting outside?” She came into the entrance hall, Cousin Caroline in tow.

  “It is most elegant,” Caroline whispered.

  Aunt Dolmore sniffed. “That may be so, but still, this is a most unfashionable hour for a turn around the Park. I do wonder at the countess letting her daughter out at this time of the day!”

  “Oh Mama,” Cousin Caroline said somewhat impatiently, while James arrived with Charlie’s spencer jacket, holding it up so she could slip easily into it. “What else should the poor girl do, crippled as she is?” She gave an artful little shudder. “Seeing that chair always makes me feel most peculiar. I must say I find it most selfish of her to go to balls and parties and such events where that thing might give people the most shocking turn.” She shook her head. “Very selfish!”

  Slack-jawed, Charlie stared at her aunt and cousin. Of all the—

  “Yes, yes.” Aunt Dolmore patted her daughter’s hand. “That might as it be, but I would wish you could befriend the girl, Caroline. It might prove a most useful connexion, after all. I know you have made your opinion on Lord Chanderley quite clear, and I shan’t press you on that point, but one never frowns on aristocratic acquaintances, my dear.” She turned her gaze on Charlie. “You should have invited Caroline to accompany you, Charlotte.”

  “Accompany—” Caroline gasped.

  “Not today, naturally,” her mother cut in. “You are not suitably dressed after all, my dear. But in the future–” Turning her attention back on Charlie, Aunt Dolmore narrowed her eyes. “—I pray you will remember what you owe this family, Charlotte. You are being given food and a roof over your head, not to speak of all the opportunities! So it would behove you to show a little gratitude and not put yourself forward in this unbecoming fashion!”

  Outraged, Charlie opened her mouth. “I am not—”

  “Do not contradict your elders and betters, child.” The older woman eyed her up and down, her mouth pinched with displeasure. “Well, what are you waiting for? Lady Isabella will surely wonder where you are.” With a wave of her hand she indicated for James to open the front door.

  Inwardly seething, Charlie picked up her new, enlarged reticule and stepped outside, where Isabella’s groom was already holding the door of the landau for her. Isabella herself awaited her with a beaming smile on her face. This, however, slowly dimmed as she caught sight of Charlie’s stormy expression. “Miss Stanton—Carlotta!” she exclaimed. “Whatever is amiss?”

  Charlie climbed into the carriage and flopped down on the seat opposite Isabella’s. She grimaced as she marked the other girl’s worried frown. “Nothing, I assure you. Merely…” She sighed.

  The groom, meanwhile, had climbed back on the box seat and the landau jerked in motion.

  “A domestic disagreement,” Charlie finished. “A difference of opinion. An annoying difference of opinion, but still…” She shrugged, then forced herself to smile. What good would it do to burden her new friend with Aunt Dolmore’s and Cousin Caroline’s petty schemings and sayings? And what did Aunt Dolmore mean when she said that Cousin Caroline had made her opinion on Lord Chanderley known?

  Lud! How Cousin Caroline had talked about him after his visit! It made Charlie’s blood boil just to think o
f it! Poor Chanderley! Oh, it was high time somebody did something about this whole ghastly situation. She would not let him down, Charlie swore to herself. No, she wouldn’t.

  She took a deep breath. “It is alright, I assure you.”

  “Oh, for a moment I believed you might have changed your mind.” Anxiously, Isabella searched Charlie’s eyes. “It would be utterly understandable, of course.”

  “Changed my mind?” Charlie cut in with a laugh, shaking off her dismal mood. “Not for all the world! I understand that Mr Whitstock’s is considered the most dashing vehicle in town. If you must know, I’m positively burning to try it out!”

  Despite her reassurance, a shadow remained on Isabella’s face. “But a high-perch phaeton… I don’t know whether it was such a good idea after all. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, yet with such a vehicle being so difficult to drive…” She leaned forward to take Charlie’s hand. “Dear Carlotta, are you really, really sure?”

  An affectionate smile curved Charlie’s lips. “Truly, you mustn’t fret yourself in such a manner. I assure you, I can drive most of anything that has two wheels or four and a horse or two or three or four…” She grinned. “I have to admit, I have never attempted to drive six-in-hand like the Prince Regent, but I should say six-in-hand is somewhat excessive, don’t you think so?” Impish mischief made her add, “Yet I can do a handstand—even a handspring, if called for—on the back of a shire horse. How is that?”

  “Carlotta!” Isabella clapped her hand over her mouth and gaped at her, half in shock, half in amusement. After a moment, the amusement obviously having won, she started to giggle behind her hand. “I pray you will not perform such feats today! My poor brother would probably die of shock!”