Loving Lucy

by Lynne Connolly

  Potter brought a tray and put it on the bed. It contained Lucy’s usual cup of hot chocolate and a slice of bread and butter, her invariable first meal at home. She smiled to see it, and looked up at the maid. She stood by the bed; hands folded in front of her. “I was turned off, my lady.”

  “Because of me?” now fear gripped Lucy.

  “No, not directly my lady. It was the next day, when I took a pan of hot water up to her ladyship’s bedchamber. I dropped the jug, broke it, and woke her ladyship up. She dismissed me on the spot.”

  “Oh Potter, how unfair.” Lucy cried. “What happened after - after I left?”

  “Your absence wasn’t discovered until the next morning, my lady. Then all hell broke loose. It was easy for me to slip back in all that chaos. They called Sir Geoffrey, and he was as angry as they were, blaming everybody he was.” she smiled slightly. Lucy watched her and sipped her chocolate. “He says he’ll find you, you can’t have gone far. Your mother went out - I heard she’d visited Lord Royston - and she came back worse than ever. They were supposed to go out that evening, and that seemed to help her pull herself together, because she wrote a letter to the papers saying you were taken ill and gone into the country to recover - “ she looked at Lucy who said briefly; “We saw that.”

  Then the maid continued. “People are curious, my lady. If you’re ill, why hasn’t she gone with you, and why is Sir Geoffrey still in town? But she’s told them it’s only a slight chill and exhaustion, so she’s sent you away for a rest.”

  “That won’t hold for long,” Lucy commented. “So she was looking for a victim?”

  “It’s not my place to say, my lady,” Potter said stoically, but it was easy to see what she thought. “But when I broke that jug she was on me like a ton of bricks. She ordered me out of the house that very day. His lordship was kind enough to say I could go to him so I went. He asked me if I would look after you while you were here and keep my own counsel. I reckon I can do that.” She looked quite smug, pleased with herself.

  Lucy looked at her. “You should know I remember very little of that night after - after I was assaulted. I don’t remember much until I woke up at that inn. But I understand you got me out of that house, and I have cause to be very grateful to you. I know Lord Royston paid you to look after me, but you needn’t have taken a risk like that.”

  “I couldn’t leave anyone in that state,” the maid said simply. “And he might have come back. He could have killed you.”

  Lucy nodded. “He could have done. That’s why I’m here. I must hide until the contract is voided. That’s the day after the wedding day set in the contract. Then I can face them with impunity.”

  Potter nodded.

  “Can you perform the duties of an abigail?”

  Potter nodded. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, my lady. I can do most things, but not up to the standards of a good French maid of course. I know what’s expected of a lady’s maid, and I’ll do my best for you.”

  “That’s fair enough. I won’t need the elaborate toilettes of a lady of fashion. And you’d better not call me ‘my lady’ even in private. I think it’s ‘miss’ or ‘madam’ here.”

  “Miss Fiona, I think, would be the proper form of address,” Potter said.

  “I’ll be guided by you,” Lucy said. “You’re supposed to be my mother’s maid, but she’s sent you to look after me. Did Lord Royston tell you the story we concocted?”

  “Yes ma’am. You’re Miss Fiona Moore, the daughter of a clergyman from Scotland on her first visit to London. Your mother was called back to Scotland when her sister fell ill, but she asked Lord Royston to help when she saw how upset you were. Being a single gentleman he couldn’t put you up himself but brought you here, to stay with his cousins.”

  “Very good.” Lucy was impressed at the succinct response that had taken them all afternoon to concoct. But they’d had distractions. “What do you think of this house?”

  “It’s very well run, ma’am. Nothing is wasted. But everything is the best money can buy. The crockery is the finest, the furniture from the best makers. I think the mistress here knows what she’s about.”

  Lucy nodded. That confirmed her first opinion. “I like them. But I think I need a poke bonnet for when we go out. And they want to take me to the opera, places like that. I need a way of not looking too much like myself.” They grinned at each other. Now the immediate shock was over, it seemed more like a fantastic adventure to Lucy, whose upbringing had been sheltered in the extreme. She was only just beginning to realise how sheltered.

  Dressed in her sprig muslin she went down to breakfast. It was as she expected, a sideboard groaning with good food. Her host and his son had left for their day’s work, but she found Frances and Janet enjoying their meal. They smiled when they saw her and asked how she had slept. “Wonderfully well,” said Lucy realising that this was true. She hadn’t known such refreshing sleep in a long time. She hadn’t got much sleep with Philip.

  “We thought you might like to see a little of the city today,” said Frances. “We can take you for a walk, show you where you are and where the best shops are. Should you like that?”

  Lucy knew it would be thought strange for her to refuse such a treat, so, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could, she said, “Yes please.”

  She filled her plate and sat down at the table again. The dining room was on the ground floor, so it should be near to the kitchen, fronting on to the square. She looked out of the window and saw the garden. “Can we walk in the gardens?” she asked. That should keep her out of harm’s way for a while. “Yes of course,” said Frances. “We often do that.” She paused while she buttered a slice of toast.

  Her sister took up the burden of conversation. “And you will really be moving in society tonight. Lord Royston has agreed to join us again, and he will bring his friend Lord Wenlock. Have you heard of him before?”

  “I know they’re friends,” said Lucy, “But I’ve never met Lord Wenlock. Is he a pleasant man?”

  “Most pleasant.” said Janet. She cast a roguish look at her sister, brim full of amusement, and Lucy saw Frances blush. She waited for an explanation, which wasn’t long in coming. “Lord Wenlock seems to be showing a decided partiality for Frances here,” Janet explained. “We might see her a baroness before the year’s out.”

  Lucy was amused and surprised at the remark. She hoped Janet was right; that Lord Wenlock’ intentions were honourable. Somehow she couldn’t see him seducing a respectable girl, whatever her family background. But he might be amusing himself with a harmless dalliance. She knew Lord Wenlock could be an incorrigible flirt. She would have to wait and see.

  When she went back to her room to collect her hat, pelisse and gloves, she had thought of something else. “Won’t someone recognise you as from the Royston household, Potter? Should you come out with me?”

  “Lord Royston was most insistent that I accompany you, Miss Fiona,” Potter replied firmly. Lucy thought of her erstwhile protector. “I’d rather have you than Greene,” she said with a smile.

  Potter grimaced. “That monkey. You would have been a laughing-stock if you had continued to have him about you, Miss Fiona, and that’s a fact.”

  “I have a feeling he was there as a spy as much as a bodyguard,” said Lucy. “Since I suffered nothing but physical discomfort since he was assigned to look after me.”

  “I’m fairly sure you’re right, Miss,” said Potter. “I might not be able to fight assassins, but you can be sure if anything happens, I’ll be running to his lordship.”

  Lucy smiled. “And you look much more the part, Potter.”

  She was helped into her outdoor things, making sure her bonnet was pulled about her face. The brim wasn’t as deep as Lucy would have liked, but with her new, modest clothes and her hair pulled back severely off her face she felt she wouldn’t attract too much attention. For the first time in her life she was grateful for not being a raving beauty.

  When she went
down to the hall she felt a knot of anticipation in her stomach, which loosened somewhat when she saw the sorority of Carmichaels who were to accompany her. They all smiled and she smiled back. They were amused to see Potter, assuring Lucy that they would take care of her, but Lucy replied; “My Mama wishes for her to accompany me. I’m not used to being in a large family. It must be very pleasant.”

  This evinced a general shout of laughter from the four Carmichael sisters. “If you knew how many times Janet has borrowed my flowered hat.” Christina said, “Or Frances’ eau-de-cologne has disappeared from her dressing table. And nobody has seen it, nobody, but it magically reappears later, a little lighter than when it went.”

  “But I would have liked someone to talk to,” Lucy persisted. “And share my troubles with.”

  The footman waiting there for the purpose opened the front door, but Lucy doubted that was his only duty. Her mother kept a footman purely to wait in the hall and open the door to visitors. It suddenly occurred to her how boring that must be for the man.

  They went outside into the bright, thin spring sunshine. Lucy shivered. She felt lonely, alone this morning, even in the midst of such chattering company. She missed Philip. Throwing off her sudden melancholy she smiled at Christina, who was asking her; “Have you no special friends? No one you can talk to?”

  “No,” replied Lucy, suddenly realising this was true. She had never found a friend to share confidences with, although she knew many girls had bosom companions. There were certain young ladies who seemed to find her company congenial, but none had gone so far as to share their secrets. Perhaps it was because her mother preferred to keep everyone at arms’ length, discouraging excessive familiarity. The only person Lucy had ever shared secrets with before the occurrences of this week was Aunt Honoria, and she was much older than Lucy, so she couldn’t share the little day to day problems she had and understand them.

  They went out of the house and through the square, going down Procter Street. This part of London was almost completely new to Lucy. She supposed she might have driven through it but she couldn’t recall any of the houses or shops they passed. She turned to Christina, walking by her side. “Haven’t you got a carriage?” she asked.

  Christina smiled. “Yes, but we prefer to walk. It’s very good for you, you know, and the roads get very congested. We don’t usually use the carriage very much unless we’re visiting, and then it’s just for show.” Lucy smiled and walked on.

  Turning into High Holborn she saw some sights she recognised. This was a major thoroughfare in the City, and she could remember driving along it from time to time. They slowed their steps and stopped to look in the windows of some of the shops they passed. “Do you have shops like this in Scotland?” Christina asked Lucy.

  “Yes - that is there are some in Edinburgh,” she replied. She knew that much from what she’d read of the place, although she fervently hoped they wouldn’t ask her any detailed questions. Looking about her, she began to relax. It would be very strange if she was spotted by anyone who knew her here, at the unfashionable end of Oxford Street. London was very territorial.

  A long row of half timbered houses stood leaning against each other on one side of the road. They walked along, and Lucy couldn’t help wondering; “I wonder how many people have lived here, shopped here? They would look strange to us, wouldn’t they?”

  “Indeed they would.” said Janet warmly. “I love history, old things. The men dressed in very strange clothes indeed; breeches that puffed out above the knee. And the ladies wore hooped skirts; but not domes as our grandmothers did, but sticking straight out from the waist like a wheel.”

  Lucy laughed. She remembered seeing portraits of people dressed like that at the Grange. She had wondered then how they managed, but the fashions of the last century were, to her eyes, just as outrageous.

  There was a tobacconist’s in the range of shops. They paused to look in the window at the jars of snuff, the clay pipes spread out like a hand of playing cards, the pretty snuff boxes. “A strange habit,” Lucy said. “But it can look very elegant, done in the right way.”

  “I’m glad my Papa and Rodney don’t do it,” said Christina. “Snuff can get everywhere, you know, and the stains are so difficult to get out.”

  That had never come into Lucy’s calculations before, although she had seen snuff stains on expensive, hard to launder waistcoats. Philip didn’t take snuff, she recalled. She wondered if he had ever smoked a clay pipe, and smiled at the picture it conjured up. Most boys tried such things.

  They moved on. A slow stroll like this was new to Lucy. These ladies were out to take the air, and to see what was happening in their corner of the world, not to be seen, like most of Lucy’s acquaintances. They reached the end of High Holborn and moved on to Oxford Street. Lucy still felt comfortable. It was a long walk to Bond Street, ‘her’ end, and they would probably give up long before that, especially at this sauntering pace.

  Oxford Street was crammed with delights. Lucy had never studied the shops at this end of the mile-long street, but she found plenty to amuse her. Thanks to Philip she had money to spend, although she needed very little. She was surprised to find how reasonable the prices were. She stared in at the delights offered by a toyshop, the trinket seller’s shop replete with tiny boxes encrusted with glass and semiprecious stones, pretty fans and vinaigrettes. She knew she only had one fan, and timidly suggested they might go inside and investigate.

  “Yes of course,” Christina said, and the five of them plus Potter went inside.

  The proprietor must have seen their interest, for he came forward immediately. He was marked out as the owner by his superior dress, and the fact that the assistants stood behind the three large counters which stood around the sides and back of the shop. The air was perfumed, the walls panelled in oak. Chairs stood by the counters, but the ladies refused to sit. They ranged around the shop, looking at the wares on offer while Lucy asked about the fan in the window.

  “A pretty item,” said the man. He gestured to one of his assistants who immediately came forward and opened the back of the window display. Christina and Janet came over to see the fan when he spread it and gave it to Lucy.

  Without thinking Lucy took it and put it to the test. She cracked it shut in the approved society manner. Then she flicked it open and tried a few passes, watching the spangles on the sticks glitter when she did so, and then shut it quietly with hardly a movement from her hand, so it looked as though it was closing of its own accord.

  “Goodness me.” cried Janet. “Where did you learn to do all that?”

  Lucy had been taught by her dancing master, but she replied, “Oh, I just picked it up, I suppose,” blushing furiously at the thought she had nearly been caught out. She would have to be more careful.

  “Can you teach me to do the last trick?”

  “This?” Lucy opened the fan and closed it again, using the same technique. “Yes of course.” She turned to the proprietor. “I’ll take it,” she told him.

  She hadn’t asked the price, but when he told her, she was surprised. So cheap, she thought, I’ll come here again.

  Potter was given the little parcel to hold and they continued on their way.

  Lucy found this extremely pleasant. Most young ladies had particular friends, but she’d never had any above the level of acquaintance. Being an heiress had incited jealousies in some circles, and she was honest enough to admit that her selfishness, encouraged but not instigated by her mother had done the rest. These ladies seemed to like her well enough. Conversation was easy, and the simple pleasure of walking out with female friends pleased Lucy very much. She didn’t think they were just being kind, they seemed pleased to have her with them, but she hadn’t enough experience to know for sure.

  They left and proceeded at a comfortable pace up the street. This was a main thoroughfare, so there were carriages passing up and down all the time, some with crests on the sides, others not. Lucy walked on the inside and kept her
head down.

  They went past the first hat shop, but Frances suddenly said, “You know my straw is getting positively shabby. May we look for a new one?” Lucy was delighted; this would give Lucy the chance to search out a suitable disguise.

  The second milliners’ seemed far more suitable, with several pretty hats and bonnets displayed in the window. They went inside to receive a warm welcome from the owner, Mrs. Griffiths. At least, that was the name above the door.

  Both Frances and Lucy sat down, and Lucy expressed her desire for a poke bonnet. She took off the one she wore and shook out her curls, straightened her cap.

  “Surely you don’t want to hide that pretty face.” said Christina.

  Lucy flushed. “But those long brims can be so coquettish.”

  “Oho. We have a flirt, do we?”

  Lucy shook her head. “But I would like to try. And everything I have seems so outmoded when I look at you and the other people on the street.” That at least was true.

  “Nonsense.” said Christina roundly. “Fashion is to feed people like my father and to give some amusement. It doesn’t matter at all.”

  Lucy had never thought of it like that before. Fashion had been part of her world, something she hardly thought about. She came to London and ordered her new gowns every season as a matter of course, as did everyone else she knew.

  The lady came forward with a selection of bonnets, but Lucy was amused to see she attended to the lovely Frances and left her to an assistant. This was not something a wealthy heiress would expect, but perhaps Miss Fiona Moore was used to it, so she said nothing. With a blinding flash of self insight she saw how discourteous and arrogant that would be, and she resolved there and then never to do such a thing ever again.

  The assistant fitted the first bonnet to Lucy head, but she could see the material was inferior and would look shabby in no time at all. In any case, it scratched. She shook her head and received the second offering. That was a little better, but the brim was no deeper than her own bonnet. The third was no better. The fourth was a distinct improvement. Perhaps the assistant had finally got her mettle. The brim was deep and shaded her face; the trim was a pretty and modest bunch of flowers, enhanced by blue ribbon. Lucy paused to consider, eyes half closed.