by Carola Dunn
They went down to the drawing room, where the colonel awaited them. Realizing that it was her responsibility to see that all was in order to welcome their guests, Mimi looked around the room with its blue and white striped wallpaper and elegant furniture. A cheerful fire flickered in the grate; the woodwork shone; no speck of fluff marred the pattern of the gray and blue Axminster broadloom. On a side table gleamed an elaborately chased brass tray from Benares with cut-glass decanters of sherry, madeira, and canary wine.
Her father was watching her, smiling. “Satisfied?” he queried. “Or shall I dismiss housekeeper, butler, and all?”
“Oh no, Papa, everything is just right, but I must check the dining room, too.” She went across to the connecting door and surveyed the long table with its spotless napery and sparkling glass. The butler, stout and stately, was giving a final polish to a silver spoon.
“All ready, miss. Now don't you worry, everything's going to go just fine.”
Mrs. Forbes would have been shocked had she known on what friendly terms her charge stood with the servants. Mimi smiled at him as she adjusted the position of one of the narcissi in a faience bowl in the center of the table.
“Thank you, Waring. With you in charge, I know it will. Did you memorize the seating plan? I have a copy in my sleeve.”
“No need, miss, I'll steer 'em right, never fear.”
“Good. Oh, there goes the door knocker!”
The butler sailed majestically toward the door to the hall as she slipped back into the drawing room. Moments later, she stepped forward with a gracious greeting for the first guests.
Lady Marbury's puce velvet gown, lavishly embellished with rouleaux and rosettes, clearly indicated whence had come her son's love of finery. Sir Wilfred decked out for an evening party was a sight to behold. Between hugely padded shoulders, his starch-stiffened shirt points threatened to commit mayhem at the slightest movement of his head. How fortunate, Mimi thought, that his chin receded. She could not imagine how he expected to enjoy his dinner when his coat was pinched in at the waist so tightly as to make breathing difficult.
His sister, Sophia, had also inherited the family weakness. Her gown was so extravagantly sewn with spangles that its color was barely discernible.
Dazzled by candlelight reflecting from the spangles and from Sir Wilfred's huge brass buttons, Mimi turned in relief to welcome the next arrival, Mr. Blake, the lawyer from Nantwich. He was followed by the Reverend Lloyd, vicar of Highbury, then Lady Thompson bustled in and kissed her young friend's cheek. In comparison with the Marburys, her inevitable violet satin, a lace-trimmed version for evening, was positively modest.
Over her ladyship's plump shoulder, Mimi caught sight of the impudent face of the young man who had rescued her bracelet.
“Oh no!”
His grin widened at her involuntary exclamation.
“Mimi, dear,” said Lady Thompson, “I knew you would not mind my bringing my young relative, Simon Hurst, who is staying with me at present.”
Mr. Simon Hurst bowed, all polite gravity now. After a brief struggle, Mrs. Forbes's training won and Mimi curtsied. With a curious air of guilty satisfaction, Lady Thompson moved on to speak to the colonel and to her arch-rival, Lady Marbury.
“You must be glad, Miss Lassiter,” Mr. Hurst opened, “to be able to redeem your promise so soon, and without effort on your part. It is unpleasant to have a debt hanging over one, is it not?”
Baffled, Mimi glared at the wretched man. Honesty forbade denying the promise or the debt. While she was wrestling with her inclination to accuse him of taking advantage of his relative's eccentricity, he continued.
“Or rather, the first part of your promise.”
She would not give in! “Pray excuse me, Mr. Hurst,” she said, attempting to convey haughty disdain. “I must have a word with my father.”
As she deserted him, Sir Wilfred approached and introduced himself to the newcomer. His manner was condescending, yet Mimi observed that Mr. Hurst's response was by no means humbly grateful for the baronet's notice. She was struck by the contrast between them. Until that moment her attention had been on Mr. Hurst's expression, not his appearance. Beside the fop's splendor, his evening clothes looked disgracefully casual.
Of course, one could not expect a bailiff to be well dressed, she admitted, but nor could a bailiff expect to be seated at the dinner table with genteel company.
“Papa!” She drew him aside. “He will have to dine in the kitchen.”
“I agree that those buttons are distressing,” her father said, a twinkle in his eye, “but I cannot think it proper to relegate one of our guests to the servants' quarters.”
“Buttons? Oh, Sir Wilfred.” Mimi giggled. “Are they not amazingly horrid? I didn't mean him, though. It's Mr. Hurst. He was not invited and he will spoil all my arrangements.”
“How now! Lady Thompson has just been expressing her appreciation of your inviting her nephew at such short notice. I was surprised, but I made sure you must have adjusted your numbers somehow. There is some misunderstanding. You say he was not invited?”
“Well, not precisely.”
“Not precisely?” The colonel's look was shrewd. “What are you up to, Mimi?”
“Nothing! Well, I did sort of promise to ask him to dinner sometime. You see, I dropped Mama's bracelet in the mere and he fished it out for me. But I didn't mean for him to come today. You know I have spent hours arranging the seating.”
“Now you know, love, that honoring a promise is far more important than correct seating plans! Besides, I'd not dream of asking a relative of Lady Thompson to eat in the kitchen, be he bailiff or baron.”
“But, Papa...”
He was adamant. “You'll have to make the best of it, I fear. Tell Waring to set another place.”
“Yes, Papa.” When her father spoke in what she called his “colonel” voice, there was nothing to do but obey. Mr. Hurst would think he had won the battle, but he'd better not suppose that she was ever going to dance with him, let alone kiss him! Mimi drifted unwillingly toward the door to speak to the butler.
At that moment, Waring announced the Reverend and Miss Cooper.
“Harriet, where is your mother?” Mimi seized both her friend's hands.
“She has taken Judith's cold. I'm so sorry, Mimi, I know how hard you worked to arrange your table.”
“That's nothing. Your mama is not seriously ill, I hope?”
“No, or we'd not have left her, but she is coughing and sneezing and quite unfit to dine out.”
“Of course. She will be much more comfortable in bed with a hot brick and a bowl of soup.” Turning to the vicar, she bade him welcome and commiserated on his wife's indisposition, then returned to Harriet. “Come and help me work out how to seat everyone, quick before the Pells arrive.”
The two young ladies went to sit on a nearby loveseat, ignoring the hopeful glances of Sir Wilfred, Mr. Lloyd, and Mr. Blake.
“What can you do?” Harriet asked. “It's by far too late to invite someone else to fill Mama's place, so your numbers cannot be set right.”
“There's nothing wrong with the numbers. Lady Thompson brought Mr. Simon Hurst with her.”
“Oh Mimi, not the young man you met by the mere?”
“Yes, and without the least warning. So you see, the overall numbers are all right, but I cannot put him in your mother's place between Mr. Blake and Squire Pell. Three gentlemen in a row will never do. And I cannot simply move everyone up one place, for if Mr. Blake and Squire Pell are next to each other they will come to cuffs. Look, here's the plan.” She pulled it from her tight-wristed sleeve.
Harriet pored over it. “How complicated! Can you not move Lady Marbury between them?”
“No, Lady Thompson and Lady Marbury must each be seated by Papa, with a clergyman each besides, otherwise one of them is bound to feel slighted. And you must sit between Albert Pell and Sir Wilfred, I insist. Oh dear, it wouldn't even help to send Mr. Hurst to eat in the kitchen.”
>
“How can you even consider such a thing!” Harriet was scandalized.
“Papa would not let me,” said Mimi regretfully. She looked across the room at the subject of their conversation. Mr. Hurst was watching her and he smiled as he caught her eye. He really did have rather a nice smile, however disgraceful his behavior. She was glad he had not toad-eaten Sir Wilfred.
“You will have to move Mrs. Forbes,” suggested Harriet.
“Squire Pell makes her nervous. I have it! Sophia shall change sides and Mr. Hurst shall go between me and Sir Wilfred.”
“But I thought you had taken Mr. Hurst in dislike!”
“To be sure I have, but I need not talk to him. Only think how disconcerted he will be, first to be seated beside me and then when I don't speak to him. And Sir Wilfred is bound to be vexed yet he cannot complain since I am simply being polite to Lady Thompson's relative!”
Leaving Harriet looking thoroughly confused, Mimi went to greet the Pells.
Mr. Pell, Justice of the Peace and Master of Fox Hounds, was a large, red-faced, loud-voiced widower whose wife, when alive, had always come a poor third to his horses and hounds. He invariably pestered Colonel Lassiter for information about hunting tigers on elephant-back. Bharadupatam being a good hundred leagues from tiger country, the colonel obligingly invented marvellous adventures to keep him happy.
His son, Albert, at twenty-three bid fair to follow in his father's footsteps. Large, clumsy except on horseback, he pursued Mimi with the same persistence he devoted to the pursuit of foxes, hares, and pheasants in their due seasons.
Those seasons now being past, he began to describe to Mimi how he had set his terriers on the rats in the barn. Hurriedly excusing herself, she escaped to have a word with Waring.
“Right, miss,” said the butler when she had explained the changes. “Miss Marbury's to sit atween the squire and Lawyer Blake, and this Mr. Hurst goes by you.”
Mimi glanced back at Simon Hurst, to find that he was still watching her, looking quizzical now. Perhaps seating him at her side was not such a clever notion after all, she thought. He might get ideas above his station.
She turned back to Waring, too late to stop his announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”
Chapter 5
Though Colonel Lassiter's frequent dinner parties were not noted for formal etiquette, Mimi's attention was monopolized for some time by the gentleman on her right. Mr. Pell was eager to tell her all about his “best bitch's” new litter, “demmed fine pups,” he averred, “all but the runt.”
Despite the squire's shocking language, as a subject of conversation puppies were infinitely preferable to his son's earlier choice of ratting. Mimi listened with apparent interest to his dissertation on deep chests, long shoulders, and well-let-down elbows, whatever those might be, but she was constantly conscious of the gentleman on her left.
On Simon Hurst's other side, Sir Wilfred, piqued at being displaced from the position beside his hostess to which his rank entitled him, was describing to Harriet the latest London modes. Mimi congratulated herself. There, at least, all was going just as she had planned it. Mr. Hurst, however, seemed undisturbed by his isolation. Far from showing any uneasiness, he disposed of consommé and sole with a good appetite—and impeccable table manners, Mimi noted with a sidelong glance. Lady Thompson's relative might be a bailiff but he was no uncouth yokel.
Mrs. Forbes caught Mimi's eye, reminding her of her duty. She signaled for the second course to be brought in, a baron of beef, a loin of pork with golden-crisp crackling, and various dishes of vegetables. Mr. Pell, who had little use for soup and fish, was unlikely to say anything other than “pass the salt” for the next twenty minutes or more. Mimi had no excuse not to speak to Mr. Hurst—and she could think of nothing to say.
He came to her rescue. “I am surprised not to find mulligatawny soup and curry served at your table, Miss Lassiter. Most of those who live in India develop a taste for spicy food, I believe.”
“I sometimes miss the curries,” she confessed, “but not as much as my father missed beef and pork for twenty years. Neither could be eaten in Bharadupatam because some of the people were Hindoos and some Mussulmen.”
To her surprise, he knew exactly what she was talking about.
“Cows being sacred to one, and pigs unclean to the other,” he said.
“And Papa used to complain bitterly about the mutton. Now I am accustomed to English lamb, I understand why.”
Mr. Hurst laughed. “Sheep don't care for the Indian climate, I daresay, any better than most Europeans do. You, however, were born there, I understand? Tell me about Bharadupatam.”
Chatting with him about her native country, Mimi quite forgot that he was an impudent, infuriating intruder. He was amazingly knowledgeable, yet eager to learn from her, and she was flattered by his interest.
She realized she was ignoring her duties when the footmen, under Waring's direction, began to serve pastries, pies, and custards. After that she kept a careful eye on her guests and was ready to lead the ladies from the dining room at the proper moment. As they crossed the hall to the drawing room, she heard Sophia whisper to Lady Marbury.
“I wonder that anyone with so dark a complexion should wear pale yellow. Poor Miss Lassiter looks positively sallow, does she not, Mama?”
Mrs. Forbes cast Mimi an agonized “I told you so” glance. Harriet squeezed her hand encouragingly. Lady Thompson took the offensive.
“I have always thought spangles quite unsuited to a country dinner party,” she announced in a loud voice. “Indeed, even for a ball gown, one can have too much of a good thing. And puce is such an aging color, do you not agree, ma'am?” she asked Mrs. Forbes.
The chaperon muttered something incoherent and fled to the corner where her workbox awaited. Lady Marbury, seating herself by the fire and smoothing her puce velvet skirts, addressed Lady Thompson in an admiring tone.
“Your lace is remarkable fine for Honiton, ma'am. I'm sure I've noticed it any time these ten years. It simply never wears out, as Brussels and Valenciennes are so apt to do, being more delicate.”
“Our English manufactures are of excellent quality, ma'am,” Lady Thompson riposted, “and I consider it my patriotic duty to support them, especially since we are at war with the Continent.”
“Sophia, go and play upon the harpsichord, pray,” directed Lady Marbury, settling down to an exhilarating exchange of civilities with her adversary.
Knowing from experience that the two baronets' relicts would soon wear themselves out and snooze until the gentlemen appeared, Mimi tugged Harriet to a distant sofa.
“Sophia is a cat,” said the vicar's daughter indignantly. “You mustn't mind what she says.”
“She learned it from her mama, but she is quite right, this gown does not suit me. I wore it as part of my plan, but I must say, Harriet, that even for your sake I shall never put it on again. Besides, that was just an opening salvo. I shall bring up the big guns as soon as Papa has talked the gentlemen into supporting his orphanage.”
“My father is helping him to persuade them. Only, how much money does the colonel need? The Pells spend all their income on horses, and the Marburys on finery, and I doubt Mr. Blake and Mr. Lloyd have much to spare.”
“Oh, Papa has all the money he needs. He feels that if the local landowners give their approval beforehand, they and their tenants will be less likely to object later to having swarms of destitute children introduced into the neighborhood. And Mr. Lloyd's approval will be useful in the parish of Highbury, since Papa has found a house there he thinks may be suitable. He has already written to Lord Daumier, as he's the biggest landowner in that area.”
“A house in Highbury? Not Highbury Manor?”
“Yes, do you know it?”
“It's huge, but no one has lived there this age,” said Harriet doubtfully. “It must be shockingly dilapidated.”
“Papa hopes to buy it cheaply, which is why he wants Lawyer Blake'
s advice. Of all the gentlemen who came to dinner, only Mr. Hurst is useless to him, for Lady Thompson is already enthusiastic.”
“Do you list Mr. Hurst among the gentlemen for convenience, or have you changed your mind about him? You told me very firmly that he was not a gentleman.”
“That was because of how he behaved when first I met him,” Mimi pointed out. “He has perfectly gentlemanlike manners when he chooses to use them.”
“You were talking to him in the most friendly way at dinner.”
“He is interested in India. None of my other beaux has ever expressed more than a momentary curiosity. Indeed, at times they seem embarrassed that I'm half Indian.” Mimi's black eyes began to sparkle. “Ha, that gives me a splendid notion. But it's too late for tonight. The tadpoles will have to suffice for tonight.”
“What do you mean? Tell me, Mimi,” begged Harriet, but it was too late. Lady Marbury's slumber released her daughter from the harpsichord. Sophia spent the next quarter hour treating Mimi and Harriet to a detailed description of the gown she was having made for the annual First of June assembly in Chester.
By the time her father led the gentlemen in, Mimi was absolutely determined that one way or another she was going to outshine Sophia Marbury at the assembly.
Colonel Lassiter had an air of quiet satisfaction. His success was confirmed when the five young gentlemen clustered around the three young ladies.
“Your father's is a noble project, Miss Lassiter,” exclaimed the Reverend Lloyd, his round face shining with inspiration. “To save so many young souls from a life of vice, and to lead them in the way of duty and religion.”
Mr. Blake coughed dryly, his usual prelude to speech, which gave him time to review his words and make sure he was not about to commit himself irrevocably to anything expensive or actionable. “It is indeed a praiseworthy goal to remove beggars, vagrants, and thieves from the streets and byways and to apprentice them to honest trades and professions.”
“Train the boys as valets, and the girls as abigails,” proposed Sir Wilfred, taking up an elegant pose behind his sister's chair. Mimi suspected his tight clothes made it difficult to sit down, though his huge brass coat-buttons had been undone to reveal an orange and turquoise striped waistcoat. “Daresay I could persuade my man and m'sister's maid to give 'em a few tips,” he went on.
