by Issy Brooke
Adelia resumed her letter, finding it difficult to express in writing what she wanted to say in person. Allow her to mourn in her own way for she will be grieving... It is, perhaps, harder that he – I shall not write his name! – is still alive. But your father is confident that he will succumb to a range of unpleasant tropical diseases...and we pray that one day the law will catch him up.
She turned then to writing a little gossip. While I have been staying with Mary, Lady Beaconberg has sought my help in finding a husband for her daughter Elizabeth. I am sure you remember her; she is a beautiful young woman, but a little...
A little what? She struggled to find the right polite words. There was nothing wrong with Elizabeth. She was strong-willed, spoiled, an indulged only children, a “late gift” to her parents who had given up all hope of children by the time she appeared. She was amiable in company and perfectly refined, but there was an archness in her speech and a knowing look in her eye that made Adelia wonder if she were entirely innocent.
...a little too sophisticated for my humble circle, perhaps.
Adelia finished the letter quickly. She didn’t trust what else her pen would write.
She decided, as she was thinking about Elizabeth, that she would walk out and call upon Lady Beaconberg and her daughter later that day. Adelia folded up both letters and addressed them carefully, and she was just walking along the corridor to head downstairs when she bumped into Theodore’s mother. The elderly Dowager Countess was standing very close to an open door, but out of sight of the occupants within. She had a girlish look of naughtiness on her face, and she pressed her finger to her lips when she saw Adelia.
Adelia sidled up to her mother-in-law.
Grace flicked her eyes to the open doorway, and Adelia leaned to listen, feeling that it was a sinful act but as it was also condoned by Grace it could not be so very bad. She could hear two people talking: her daughter Mary, and Mary’s sister-in-law, the sullen Sibyl Ramsgreave.
There was a restrained tightness to both their voices.
“I quite see that, Sibyl,” Mary was saying with an exaggerated politeness. “I can understand your position very well and I have nothing but sympathy for your finer feelings. Yet I do wonder what will be best for your boys. After all, is that not the most pressing issue here?”
Adelia had never heard her daughter have to exert her authority as a mistress in her own right. She swelled with pride.
Sibyl was replying to Mary with snipped tones. “I think I understand what is best for my boys, Mary. A mother knows.”
That was a low blow to a woman who had not had children, and Adelia was interested to hear that in private, Sibyl called Mary by her first name. She had only ever been “Mrs Parker-Grey” in Adelia’s earshot.
“Of course,” Mary replied. “Perhaps you could speak to your brother about the matter and get his opinion? That is something that we both respect.”
“I personally would not wish to trouble the man of the house with such a trivial thing. He would not be happy to be bothered by our petty little queries.”
“It is not a query, Sibyl. I am merely suggesting that your sons will find it odd if you refuse to take meals with the rest of the family, especially if they themselves are present.”
Adelia met Grace’s eyes in surprise. Such an argument over such a thing? Even Grace was shaking her head in disbelief.
“Oh! Do you mean to say that you no longer wish my own children to be at the meals?”
“Sibyl, you know full well what I meant.” Exasperation made Mary speak sharply. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
There was movement from within and Grace hastily withdrew a few steps away from the door, pulling Adelia with her. Once they were a safe distance away, Grace started up a perfectly normal conversation as if they had been wandering along the corridor together. Before they got very far, Sibyl emerged from the room, saw them, scowled a churlish greeting and scurried away. Adelia and Grace continued into the room where Mary was sitting by the window, her shoulders drooping.
“She ought to stop wearing black, that Sibyl,” Grace said loudly, not caring if Sibyl was still in earshot. “It’s time for a spot of colour in that woman’s life. She can’t mope for the rest of her life. She’s not the Queen.”
Adelia, feeling sorry for Sibyl, pulled the door closed to prevent anyone from overhearing anything else.
Mary turned and smiled in warm surprise at them. “She’d be lost if she weren’t in perpetual mourning. It gives her an identity.”
“Sibyl, or our dear monarch?” Grace asked. “Oh, don’t answer that. I don’t wish to lead you into the morass of sly comments and gossip that I so willingly inhabit.”
Mary smiled.
Adelia decided not to be drawn into it all. She said, “I intend to call on Lady Beaconberg later. Would either of you care to join me?”
Mary shook her head instantly, having little care for the snobbish lady and her quest to find a suitor for Elizabeth. Grace considered the offer, but sniffed. “I am feeling a little under the weather, if I am honest. I am inclined to spend the day reading and drinking fortified wines for the good of my health.”
“As you wish.”
They passed a few more moments in polite conversation that didn’t go anywhere at all, and Adelia took her leave as soon as she was able to. She walked away briskly, reflecting on the obvious frictions between her daughter – the mistress of the house – and Sibyl Ramsgreave, the master of the household’s sister.
It was a decidedly uncomfortable situation and one that Adelia did not care for at all. She felt a prickling sense of foreboding creep along her spine. Something in the household needed to change; and in spite of her sympathetic feelings for Sibyl’s position, she was rather ready to blame Sibyl for being the root of the problems.
ADELIA WAS DRESSED for walking, intending only to pay a brief informal visit to Lady Beaconberg rather than the more courteous and formally structured morning call which would be happening later on. Those calls were open to all the right sort of people, and Adelia wanted to avoid company and instead speak with Lady Beaconberg privately. She had a short list of eligible men in mind for Elizabeth but she wanted to ascertain who the girl might already have met during the season in London.
Although Adelia had readily agreed to help Lady Beaconberg, she was now feeling somewhat daunted by the task. There were a complicated raft of reasons. One was her own self-doubt that maybe she wasn’t as good at finding suitable husbands as she’d thought; her fame had been celebrated as a mother who’d made seven excellent matches for her seven daughters, but now one of those matches had turned out to be problematic and her daughter Dido’s marriage was rocked, Adelia’s judgment must surely be called into question. Furthermore, there was the matter of Elizabeth herself. She was a knowing and flighty girl with her own rather strong opinions. And finally, Lady Beaconberg’s standards were so impossibly high that any man less than a continental prince would surely be rejected as unsuitable.
It was not far to the Beaconberg’s grand house and Adelia took her time. A half mile along a good road would take fifteen minutes even if one didn’t stride briskly. Her walking boots were comfortable but the warm air made breathing strangely difficult, even though she’d urged Smith to leave her corsets loosely laced that morning. As she rambled along the dusty road, she pondered the potential suitors she’d added to her list.
Sir Jacob Fanshawe was her top pick. He was a little older than Elizabeth, making him sensibly mature, but still young enough to have the energy and inclination to take a fresh and vibrant lady like Elizabeth around the social whirl of London. He was rich and well-connected and apparently had a fine collection of clocks. On the negative side, he’d been linked with a few unfortunate dalliances while he’d been a commissioned officer and before he’d come into his inheritance. Still, Adelia felt they would make a good match as their attitudes to life seemed to be similar. For her, matchmaking was more than a case of totting up wealth and status.
One had to imagine how the couple would approach their future together.
Second on the list was an extraordinarily wealthy viscount, though Adelia already knew that his slightly tarnished familial connections would lower him substantially in Lady Beaconberg’s eyes. His almost sickening wealth might make up for his unfortunate relatives. Third was a younger son of an Earl from the West Country, who would inherit a smattering of titles at the very least although not the Earldom, but he was suave and sophisticated and could charm a nun. Hopefully he never had actually done so. Again, such charm was both positive and negative, depending on how one looked at it.
Adelia turned the corner and set out on the approach to Dovewood Park. It was a grand house and very pleasing to the eye with its symmetrical layout and regular squares. The wide driveway was raked with gravel and Adelia found it more comfortable to walk on the clipped grass to one side. Alongside the lawn was a row of privet hedges, screening the more private grounds from the gaze of the casual observer and directing one’s attention firmly ahead to the house.
Adelia spotted Elizabeth straight away. The young woman was also heading to the house but she was sliding along right in the very shadow of the hedge, and hurrying with such purpose that she had not seen Adelia come up behind her; Adelia would not have caught her up but she was crossing the grass at an angle. Adelia coughed politely and Elizabeth whirled around with panic on her face.
When she saw it was Adelia, she relaxed, and her already-flushed cheeks darkened further. She took a moment to swallow and compose herself – and to concoct a story, Adelia thought.
“My dear Lady Calaway,” Elizabeth said, smiling in a way that had been clearly practised in front of a looking-glass. Not too wide, only one slight dimple, and certainly no teeth on display. “How delightful to meet you here as I return home after my morning constitutional.”
“Indeed. Allow me to walk with you. I am calling on your mother, and I am sure that you know why. I do want to say to you, dear girl, that I shall do nothing without your express consent.”
“My consent? Do you believe I have a choice in this matter?”
“Yes, you do, as all modern women do.”
Elizabeth laughed. “None of us really do, and you know that, or you wouldn’t be here at all, pulling strings and all of that. Oh – don’t worry – I know you’re not acting out of spite. You’re just doing what mamma has asked you to do, because you don’t know any better.”
Adelia was shocked. She had never heard Elizabeth speak so openly, and so brazenly. “Miss Parr...”
“Yes, yes, I know. I suppose I ought to bow my head and do my duty and all of that. But you know, I must tell you that I don’t think you ought to put too much effort into this matchmaking quest of yours. Everything will be sorted soon.”
Adelia knew instantly what she meant. The young lady had clearly been meeting a lover, and she was telling Adelia quite plainly that her heart was set elsewhere. And that might not be such a problem – except for one thing.
Adelia said, in her most matronly voice, “You must tell your parents about this.”
“About what, dear Lady Calaway?”
“About – you know what about. You have as good as admitted it to me.”
“I have admitted nothing.”
“They will be furious with you, Miss Parr. Think carefully.”
They had reached the front steps. Elizabeth skipped ahead and spun around at the top. “Oh, mamma will rant and rave but papa is on my side.” Then she turned and ran inside.
Adelia felt quite ill, and she remained on the driveway, and after a moment she decided she could not face Lady Beaconberg that day after all. She headed back to the Grey House.
On the way, she was overtaken by a carriage driven by Lord Beaconberg himself. He scooped her up, and called in at the Grey House to press Theodore to join him that night.
Four
Theodore was surprised to see Adelia return so quickly and even more surprised to see her step down from Lord Beaconberg’s gig. But he was happy to see them both, and had a quick conversation out on the driveway.
Lord Beaconberg urged Theodore to join him at his club in York that evening, and seemed that he would not take no for an answer. After a nod from Adelia, Theodore was glad to accept, and Lord Beaconberg drove away on his business of the day.
Anyway, it would not be a hardship. Theodore enjoyed the uncomplicated company of men. You could always find someone to share your particular obsessions in a gentleman’s club, if it were the right sort. When at formal mixed gatherings such as dinner parties, Theodore felt awkward if he were expected to make small talk about inconsequential things, but that wasn’t to say he was anti-social or impolite. He had learned, by dint of education and self-improvement, how to behave properly. The popularity of etiquette manuals and advice columns were a great boon to him. He often reflected that such behaviours were not likely to be an innate skill for many people; he was not alone.
Most people, at parties and dinners, were acting a part to some extent. But at the gentleman’s club, he would be able to talk about horses and science and all manner of things that Adelia would give him hard stares about if he tried it at home.
So at the appointed hour, Lord Beaconberg’s carriage rolled up again outside the Grey House. Theodore bid his wife and the rest of the household good night, and ran outside to accept his lift. He was surprised to find that Lord Beaconberg himself was driving once again, perched up on the seat with a bare head, no doubt afraid the wind would take his tall hat. A gentleman driving his own carriage in the day was one thing; engaged on formal business at night was quite another. It seemed the viscount enjoyed challenging convention. Theodore didn’t mind. In a strange way, he found such disdain for social niceties almost reassuring.
“Calaway! Good man!” Lord Beaconberg boomed. “Get yourself up here and let me show you the smartness of this nag’s trot! Or you can sit inside if you like,” he added.
“I am happy to pretend to be a footman if you are pretending to be a driver,” Theodore said, flinging his own hat into the covered back of the carriage. It was a square and boxy Brougham, and it bounced on its four wheels with a liveliness that could make one feel quite sick at speed. Beaconberg flicked the long whip over the horse’s hindquarters but his shout was enough to set the mare pulling away.
“I love this freedom,” Beaconberg told him as they barrelled along the road into York. “Oh, country house life is all very well but isn’t it grand to just let rip and pretend to be young again? Can’t stand all the servants, you know, littering the place. She engages them. Nothing to do with me. She does as she pleases, says it’s all to maintain standards, and don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am. But a man has to just – well, kick over the traces from time to time, don’t you think? You do think! Yes, I can see it in your eyes. You’re like me. You know what I’m talking about! Go on, lass, go on! Yes! What a fine mare – by Gadding Archer, you know, and out of Blue Smithereen. Fine bloodlines both. Look at that action. Clean hocks, you know. Always a giveaway. You like your horse flesh, don’t you? Yes, you’re a cultured man...”
This rambling endless tirade was delivered without Beaconberg ever once turning to actually look at Theodore, in spite of claiming to see this kindred feeling in his eyes. At first Theodore tried to answer and engage in conversation but it soon became obvious that there were no gaps for that. So Theodore sat back, clinging surreptitiously to the seat, and let Beaconberg spout on.
The sky was darkening but there was enough light still to get them into town safely. Beaconberg handed the horse over to an ostler and led Theodore into a large building all lit up with warm orange light. “Gas, everywhere,” Beaconberg said, waving his hands at the wall-mounted mantles. “You’d hardly think we were so far from London with all these new inventions! Come along. I must introduce you to Galletly. He’s awfully into marine creatures.”
“I would be delighted. Oh, there’s Sir Arthur, look! Should we...” Theodore
began to say.
But he was dragged along the brown and red corridor and past Sir Arthur, who merely smiled and shrugged, and mouthed something which might have been “Later”.
THE FOOD WAS GOOD AND the conversation excellent, surpassing even the high quality of the wine and spirits which flowed as freely as the rivers Ouse and Foss, York’s main central waterways. Talk ranged from the dangers of flooding – the previous year had been bad, apparently, and there were worries about what winter might bring – to even a little politics, which was kept relatively civil and mild. Generally, clubs operated to the same standards as an officers’ mess which frowned upon potentially divisive topics: women, politics and religion were all generally off-limits. But of course, wherever small circles of businessmen gathered, talk would naturally touch upon political matters. Deals would be made. Allegiances were formed. Information was carefully shared, and obligations undertaken.
As much as Theodore really was thoroughly enjoying himself, by eleven that night he was feeling tired. He had not overindulged but he was aware that the drive back to the Grey House would take at least half an hour, and he was now thinking longingly of his own bed. He was sitting by a fire in a deep armchair, with Beaconberg to his left. The chair on his right had just been vacated by an old magistrate, and it was suddenly filled by a more familiar figure.
“Sir Arthur! How good to see you,” Theodore exclaimed.
Beaconberg was quite drunk. “Oh, it’s you! Huh. Well, you might as well join us.”
Sir Arthur had already sat down. He raised a glass to them both.
“So, Arthur, what are we to do with the lower pasture?” Beaconberg asked, knocking back another glass. He was already very drunk and his words were slurred.
“What, indeed?” Sir Arthur said. He nodded towards Theodore. “Let us not bore others with talk of business.”
Theodore seized his chance. “As it happens, I was just about to take my leave; it has been a splendid evening but I am old and need my rest. I can leave you two to discuss matters in peace.” He got to his feet.
