The Christmas Caper 7

 

VII Christmas and weddings

 

It may be supposed that Lady Frideswide had had a considerable say in the carols to be sung, and she knew what the congregation liked.  The midnight service was largely attended by the local gentry, since livestock still needed caring for a few short hours after its ending. The stars shone frosty and bright, and the hoar frost crunched underfoot, as Jeremy put blankets and quilted jackets on the horses, Frid being too frail to walk the half mile to the church, and the ladies not having suitable footwear. Beatrice was wearing one of the two gowns which had belonged to Annabelle whilst other gowns were made over, and Lily wore the other; and Cecily had brought decent gowns herself, but Lily and Beatrice were closer in size.

As it was not, generally speaking, the greater part of the congregation, they sang carols the country folk found harder, like ‘Adam lay Ybounden,’ ‘Adeste Fideles,’ and ‘In Dulci Jubilo.’ William spoke of the hopes of the gift of the Saviour, and gave prayers for the health of the king, which was poor.

Frid sang quietly to herself on the way home; she had managed to get through the service, but poor Moffatt was likely in for a bad night.

“Will she fret if we don’t take her to the service?” asked Beatrice. “She seems so frail.”

“She’ll sleep in, and if she regrets it later, perhaps you will all come and sing the carols she loves to her,” said Moffatt, touched that the flighty young men had chosen kindly girls who cared.

 

Christmas day showed no promise of a decently white Christmas, but instead produced that most unpleasant of compromises, a mix of rain and sleet. Frid slept in, and the younger people drove down to the church to a fuller congregation, and a somewhat individualistic interpretation of Grandsire triples being rung on what was an impressive ring for a village church of seven bells.

“Frid told me that one of the bells was donated by a Jacobite she helped escape,” said Simon. “Being Frid, I don’t even doubt it.”

“Oh, the one who served wine to the officer searching for him whilst dressed as her maid,” said Cecily.

“Stap me! I didn’t hear that one, but it doesn’t surprise me,” said Simon.

They sang ‘While Shepherds watched their flocks by night,’ ‘Hark! How all the Welkin rings,’ ‘Joy to the World,’ ‘The Cherry Tree Carol,’ and ‘Love Divine.’ William managed to squeeze in most of the traditional nine readings, without making his congregation work too hard on having to sing nine carols. Christmas dinner was cooking in the oven, and they returned to delicious smells.

First, they went to sing to Frid, who looked a tiny, forlorn figure in a dressing gown in her bed. She perked up with the singing, almost all carols she had been singing all her long life.

She made a good meal of goose and all the trimmings, and was sufficiently recovered on Sunday, which was a day off for the servants, to demand that the brides stay home during church to receive a very earthy set of instructions about the marriage bed.

The brides probably had a more enjoyable time than the bridesgrooms, even if frequently embarrassed.

 

Monday morning saw three young ladies arrayed in hastily altered gowns which had started life as chemises a la reine, and looked a picture as they stood to exchange their vows with their bridegrooms. William whisked through the prayer book three times, and the Viscountess Cecily Wrothling signed her new name, followed my Mrs. Nicholas Derwent, and Mrs. Simon Haveshall.

The wedding breakfast was short and disposed of efficiently for the married couples to retire to their respective chambers.

 

“You know,” said Cecily, a long time later, “I don’t see why Mama says that men are disgusting. I enjoyed that very much indeed. Can we do it again?”

“Only when I’ve had a long drink of water,” said Jeremy. “Be kind; if you want more than four goes, I have to have a good long drink.”

 

Beatrice sighed happily and snuggled at Nicky.

“I have read the medical treatises on the act of procreation, to help explain growing up to young girls, but I am glad to discover that they are all wrong.”

“They are?” said Nicholas, bemused.

“Indeed; they are all written in the third party, that the male part does this, and the female part does that, as though the personality attached to them has no say in it at all. How splendid it is to be involved in it all, not an adjunct to self-willed procreative organs.”

“My self-willed procreative organs think it’s time we tested this scientific hypothesis again,” said Nicky.

 

“I’m glad I lost my temper,” said Lily.  “I’ve had it drummed into me all my life that being red I have to fight against my temper as it is wild and animalistic.”

“I don’t know about your temper, but if red hair makes you so passionate, I’m very glad of it,” said Simon.

“I’m glad you don’t mind,” said Lily.

“Mind? I’m delighted,” said Simon. “And by the way, as your father tried to threaten me with being charged with abducting an heiress, I’ve written to my lawyer to sue him for being an unnatural parent, and the cost of the gowns, bonnets, music lessons and so on that you should have had. It’s very petty.”

“And I adore you for it,” said Lily. “Let’s go to the assemblies in the New Year and cut my family dead.”

“And nobody can say you’re abducted if you’re seen about town being happy,” said Simon. “Splendid idea! But I do want to come back to spend time with Aunt Frid.”

“Yes, she is suddenly very old,” said Lily.

 

Lily and Simon danced in the assembly rooms, and the fashionable Mrs. Havershall would have nothing to do with the Hendrys; and Annabelle had hysterics so loudly that her parents were asked not to bring her again until she was old enough to behave.

“You mean, when she has learned, ‘sit!’ ‘stay!’ and ‘walk to heel!’” said Simon, who could be quite as cutting as Jeremy when he chose.

The implication that Annabelle was a female canine caused much mirth.  The winter season was cut short, however when the king died at the end of January, and it was the end of a long era; and Frid sighed for the more robust era of her youth.

There was no Amelia Spottiswode on the town, since there was no more any fortune to make her approximately tolerable to those who needed her father’s money. Once ruined, on Frid’s orders, they were no more problem.

 

Frid clung to life long enough to see Cecily brought to bed with twins, an heir, named Adam, for Frid’s favourite lover, and his sister, Frideswide; a daughter to Beatrice named Marion Frideswide; and a son to Lily, named Jeremy Nicholas. Frid caught a chill after going out in the rain to pick flowers, which turned to pneumonia, and carried her off quietly before winter fairly set in. She was buried in the local churchyard, and Simon completed his novelised version of her life, which was sufficiently frisky that it had to be published in France.

It was an immediate best seller. 

 

next up a story in need of a permanent title instead of ghosts, pirates and treasure, Oh my!  

 

The Christmas Caper 6

 

VI Dirty Laundry in Bath

 

“Ashdowne first?” suggested Nicholas.

“Why not?” said Jeremy.

 

Jeremy Wrothling, Viscount Wrothlington, heir of Jeremy Wrothling, Earl Wroth, quickly got to see St. John Ashdown, Baron Ashdown.

“What can I do for you, Wrothlington?” asked Ashdown.

“You can sell me all the vowels you hold from Edmund Dacres at fifty percent of their value,” said Jeremy.

“Excuse me? Are you trying to be funny?” spluttered Ashdown.

“Not in the least, old thing,” said Jeremy. “You see, apart from the fact that you did not spend out full price to acquire them, and accepted some as settlement for lesser debts against your own play, where, as I understand it your rules include marking the cards, I happen to hold further information, and I suggest you sit down. You’d hate it if you met me; I fence with Angelo and box with Jackson, and I have been known to shoot the wicks off a dozen candles in my club for a wager.”

“I can still refuse to sell,” said Ashdown.

“You can; but let me say two words,” said Jeremy. “Arthur Fitzalleyne.”

“What the hell do you know about that?”

“I can describe how you used a lockpick to let yourself into his apartment, with the aid of a thief you had coerced to do so, and shot him in cold blood with a pistol you had bought at a pawn broker’s, specifically for that purpose, and left it in Fitzalleyne’s hands, to get out of paying a gaming debt. You forgot two things.”

“Oh? What are they? Supposing there was any truth in that statement.”

“One; it was remarked at the time that Fitzalleyne held the pistol in his dead right hand; but Fitsalleyne was left-handed, which would be grounds for re-opening the case,” said Jeremy. “Two, there was a witness. A witness I could produce,” he added, mendaciously.

“I... those vowels will buy me Dacres’ daughter,” said Ashdowne. “She is important to me.”

“No, actually, they won’t,” said Jeremy. “Because Miss Dacres is in my possession, and possession is nine tenths of the law. You will never get to despoil her; you are too late.”

“Damn you!” said Ashdowne.

“Better men than you have cursed me, yet here I am,” said Jeremy.

“Very well.” Ashdowne opened a drawer in his desk.

“Slowly,” said Jeremy. “My friend has a pistol which he would prefer not to use.”

Ashdowne slowly removed a package tied with string, and laid it on the desk. Jeremy reached for it, and undid the string, opening the brown paper wrapper to check that it was, in fact, the vowels signed by Edmund Dacres.

“You have what you want, now get out,” said Ashdowne.

“Thank you,” said Jeremy. “The five thousand in return.”

“Keep it, I don’t care,” said Ashdowne. “Was she as delightful to train to the realities of the bedroom as I thought she would be?”

Jeremy smiled.

“Why do you think I would be prepared to spend money to get permission to wed her and keep her forever?” he said.

“Good G-d!” said Ashdowne.

“He is, and He will bless our union,” said Jeremy.

 

“What if her father cuts up rough about signing permission?” asked Simon.

“One of these IOUs is on a full sheet of notepaper,” said Jeremy, extracting it from all the others. “A round, secretary hand such as the hand you write stating above it, ‘I, the undersigned, Edmund Dacres, do hereby give my daughter permission to wed Jeremy, Viscount Wrothlington.’ Where it says ‘IOU’ you will add ‘one favour, for marrying my daughter.’

“Cunning,” said Simon.

 

“What can we do for you, my lord?” asked Edmund Dacres. He looked as if he had not slept.

Jeremy threw down the packet of vowels.

“These, I believe, are yours,” he said. Dacres stared, then scrambled the scraps of paper with his promissory notes written on them towards himself.

“But... but how? Why?”

“You will write at my dictation,” said Jeremy. “‘I,  Edmund Dacres, the undersigned, do hereby give permission to Jeremy, Viscount Wrothlington, to marry my daughter, Cecily, at a time and place of his choosing. I accept the bride price given and will never contact my daughter or Lord Wrothlington again, nor expect any further favours.’ Is that clear?”

“I... yes, very clear. But she is my daughter, will you keep a family apart?”

“If Cecily asks to see you, or your wife, that is her business; but you will not approach her,” said Jeremy. “I will consider an approach by your wife to be an approach by you by proxy. If you have any information she needs, go through Palmer, Huntley, and Knightley of Gray’s Inn, London. Now, if you will write....”

Edmund Dacres took paper, quill, and ink from a writing slope and wrote as directed.  Jeremy countersigned, and Nicholas and Simon signed as witnesses.

Dacres looked years younger, and Jeremy realised that the disposition of his daughter was of less moment to him than being free of the debt held over him. Jeremy despised him.

They left.

 

There was no easy way to the back of the house from which Lily had escaped, so Simon went down the area steps, and knocked. The door was opened by the butler in his shirtsleeves.

“Miss Lily sent me to collect Ella to be her maid,” he said. He vailed the butler. “There’s a crown for whoever helps her pack her trunk and carries it down.”

“Certainly, sir,” said the butler, who knew a real swell when he saw one. “I trust Miss Lily is safe?”

“Indeed,” said Simon. “May I come in?”

He was tenderly installed in the butler’s pantry and shortly the butler himself ushered in Ella, looking frightened, and the butler carrying her trunk.

“I am to speak to you of the Lily flower and Cinderella,” said Simon. Ella’s face cleared.

“Oh! Miss is safe with you?”

“Yes, I’m going to marry her,” said Simon. “Thank you,” he passed two half-crowns to the butler, and took the trunk from him, swinging it effortlessly up onto his shoulder. The other men waited in the landaulet as he carried up the luggage,  and helped Ella into the carriage.

“There’s a quilt, and we’ll stop at an inn for a hot brick,” he said.

 

The landaulet had just started when a man ran out of the front door, and started pursuing it. 

“I’ll have you up for abducting an heiress!” he shouted. “Come back here and face me like a man!”

Simon turned and raised two fingers in the time-honoured way.

“Good luck persuading Bow Street that an adult lady leaving of her own accord to marry a man worth a thousand a year is abducting an heiress,” he called, jeeringly. “Just think how you lost out in mistreating my Tiger-Lily, you skirter!”

Lily’s father had had to stop running and was stood, hands on his knees, panting.  The look on his face was priceless.

Jeremy turned at the end of the street, and came back to him, by which time a young woman had joined him. Jeremy raised his hat, as Annabelle was female.

“I’m the Viscount Wrothlington,” he said. “That’s my cousin you are being stupid enough to threaten.  And Miss Hendry already tied up her little bit of inheritance with the bank before joining us for Christmas. But guess what? If she had been treated nicely by her sister, her sister would have been dancing with my cousin’s wife at Almack’s  after Easter, but now? Tough luck, Miss Hendry, you reap as you sow. Merry Christmas!” and then he drove on.

“But you should be marrying me! I’m the pretty one!” wailed Annabelle.

“No, you ain’t; you haven’t half the countenance of Tiger-Lily and your hair is dull and plain,” said Simon, who was never normally rude to a lady, but felt that Lily needed years of insults and disparagement being repaid.

Annabelle’s hysterics were loud.

And the whole street now knew exactly what had happened.

Another man waved the landaulet to a stop.

“Has the ginger chit managed to escape?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Jeremy.

“Well, wish her good luck from the Comyn family; I never believed she was feeble minded.”

“A girl who can do compound interest calculations? I should rather say not,” said Simon.

“Believe me, if any Bow Street Officers come around here, I’ll put them right about,” said Comyn.

“Much obliged!” said Jeremy, raising his hat.

He would have his agents find out about the family and do them a good turn, if he could.

 

 

A hot brick having been procured for Ella, they  bowled back to the hunting lodge.  Jeremy stopped off at the church of the nearest village and called at the vicarage.

“Hello, Face-ache!” he said to the vicar.

“Hello, yourself, Angel,” said the vicar, who was another cousin of sorts, and who had outgrown the crop of acne which had earned him the unlovely soubriquet. His name was William Derwent, and he was related more closely to Nicholas than to Jeremy and Simon.

“I’ve got three special licences,” said Jeremy. “I want to book a triple wedding for Monday twenty-seventh.”

“What, you found three ladies prepared to put up with you three?” said William.  “I confess, I’m delighted. I expect Frid is, too.”

“She is,” said Jeremy.  “We might well move in, actually, or work out a rota to stay here, she’s getting frail.”

William nodded.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “We’ll see you for the midnight and morning services?”

“Most certainly,” said Jeremy.

 

 

“Ella! Cried Lily, when her maid came into the house. She embraced her warmly.

“Tut, child, show some decorum,” said Frid.

“No, ma’am I will not,” said Lily. “Ella was my only friend. She smuggled food to me, she helped me sew and mend the rags I was given to wear. She is my companion, not my maid.”

“Well done,” said Frid. “I respect a lass who will stand up to me. We’ll have to dress her more suitably too, then.”

“Oh, madam, I am just so pleased Miss Lily got away, and to be able to be with her,” said Ella.

“Well! You’re a good girl, and I am glad to meet you,” said Frid.

 

 

The Christmas Caper 5

 Sorry all! I sat up late finishing formatting Simon's book of thoughts and poems on the cold war 

V A Hunting Lodge Meeting

 

“I have a confession to make,” said Jeremy to Cecily.  “My cousins and I had all found that the ladies we were courting were false in one way or another. And we determined to seek out poor but honest ladies who have not learned to be greedy and selfish, and kidnap them a little bit, and see if we wanted to marry them.”

“Oh!” said Cecily. “I quite understand; you have been given a disgust of me by my wearing breeches, and by having some idea of what Lord Ashdowne intended; but please, do not feel you have to let me down gently. It has been a splendid adventure, and perhaps I can work for your aunt, and if not, find some other gainful employment...”

She broke off as Jeremy took her into his arms.

“But I don’t have any disgust of you, my precious darling,” he said. “I want to marry you very much indeed, and I have a special licence to that end. I hope Nicky and Simon are even half as lucky as I have been to find you.”

“Oh! J... Jeremy, you really want to marry me? I... I was a bit spoilt before my brother died – it’s his clothes I’m wearing, and he died of being tipped into a ditch on his way back from school, so I am so glad you punished that horrid man. Only... only, may I put on a gown to meet your aunt?”

“Nip up into the hay loft,” said Jeremy.  “There won’t be anyone there at the moment.”

Cecily ran up the ladder to change, and came down perforce more sedately. Jeremy lifted her down from the ladder, and kissed her tenderly.

“And if I can, I will do Ashdowne an ill turn,” he said.

“He is a powerful man...”

“So am I, my dear, so am I,” said Jeremy. “Certainly powerful enough to deal with the likes of Ashdowne. I have a grandsire I can ask to handle him. Frid’s brother has all his faculties.”

 

oOoOo

 

Nicholas and Beatrice had arrived first at the hunting lodge, and received the scrutiny of Lady Frideswide, who was having a lucid day, which scared Nicholas more than when she was rambling. She fixed them with a glare through an ornate quizzing-glass, the outrageously magnified eye boring into Beatrice, who tried not to quail.

“You’ll do, girl,” said Lady Frid. “You’ve got bottom, and you show with gaiety.”

“Here, I say, Aunt Frid, those are canting boxing terms,” protested Nicholas.

“And what if they are? I’ve attended a few matches with whatever protector I had at the time,” said Frid. “Burn that child’s clothes, though, if they are all as terrible as that; Moffatt will alter a couple of my chemises a la reine to fit the modern idea of decent clothing, though I’d call it indecent clothing myself, nothing much left to the imagination, and how can you entice a man if he doesn’t have to work at finding out what’s underneath? But I can’t talk, for I once took a bet from... well, let’s just say it was a royal duke and leave it at that... to ride through St. James’s Park in my chemise and nothing else. He paid up, though I had to wait until he could raise a loan. Always out of pocket, royal dukes, but then, they gamble too much and are very susceptible to the female company. I did well out of them, so my stuffy old brother can say what he likes. You three boys will find out, when I stick my spoon in the wall, because you come and visit me and entertain me. And now you’re all getting married, I hear?”

“It’s the general idea,” said Nicholas.

“You’re much wiser to pick girls who aren’t after what you can do for them,” said Frid. “I know; I was frankly totally mercenary. Our father was a rake, a gamester, and a profligate fool, and when he shot himself, Gherkin and I knew we had to make our own way in the world.”

“Gherkin, ma’am?” asked Beatrice.

“My brother, also Jeremy,” said Frid. “His friends called him Jer, so I called him Jerkin, and it became Gherkin. I expect I’m the only person left to call him that; so few people of our generation left, my lovers have all succumbed to obesity or the clap, and my closest personal enemies have died of an excess of prurient hypocrisy. And I’m losing my wits a few at a time. I’m glad to meet you, my dear, when I’m being myself. Moffatt! Find something suitable for the child.”

“Yes, my lady,” said the faithful Moffatt, an iron grey lady of indeterminate age.

Frid smiled on her with affection.

“Margaret Moffat is named in my will, too, and I know you boys won’t throw her out into the cold,” she said.

“I trust you are not expecting your demise to be imminent?” asked Nicholas, alarmed.

“No, my dear boy, I want to see you all respectably established. I might even hang on for children; but I’m not well. And I don’t want to become a complete gager and drag it out. You wouldn’t want that for me, would you?”

“Er, no,” said Nicholas.

“I understand,” said Beatrice. “I hope you can hold on long enough to get to know you; I’m sure you have a wonderful fund of stories.”

“Young people help to keep me lucid,” said Frid. Beatrice ran to her and embraced her; she had seen the fear in the old woman’s eyes as she spoke of losing her mind in such light terms.

“Thank you for receiving me so warmly,” said Beatrice, and burst into tears. For the second time that day she poured out her story, and found herself being sat down next to the ample figure of Lady Frid, who eschewed stays, and given a cup of tea and sundry exotic biscuits.

“Moffatt,  write a letter for me,” said Frid.  “My knuckles have arthritis these days, my dear, so Margaret Moffatt is my fingers. “Do all the proper terms of address for my brother, the old fool feels better for having his ego stroked. And I need to let him know in case I forget who you are, my dear. Which is what I hate.”

“We will keep reminding you,” said Nicholas.

“Yes, that does help,” said Frid. “Write this: Gherkin! There is a deplorable man trying to force himself on the ton whose name is Spottiswode, who has a daughter called Amelia, who is not above putting a frame on those she dislikes for theft of her tawdry geegaws. Ruin him. Then bring it over here so I can sign it.”

“Just like that?” gasped Beatrice.

“Gherkin made his way in the world with clever dealing; Simon has inherited that talent, though Jeremy is no slouch. My Nicky is a dreamer and enriches the world with pretty thoughts,” she smiled fondly on Nicholas, who felt ashamed of his fear of her declining faculties, remembering how she had encouraged his poetry when he was younger. “Gherkin is quite aggressive in dealing in shares; I took the route of cynically using my beauty rather than making an advantageous marriage. I would not marry a rich industrialist. Though I came close, once, but keeping him as a lover meant I kept my freedom. And now I’m paying for those wild days; one pays for one’s pleasure, and one’s profit. Gherkin has gout; I... well, I contracted a disease which is eating my mind. It’s life. There, I like being hugged by young things, it makes me feel wanted.”

 

oOoOo

 

Frideswide welcomed Cecily so warmly that Cecily found herself explaining her escape in her brother’s clothes.

“It don’t signify,” said Frid. “Jeremy will tell you, I dressed as a highwayman and held up a swain of mine on Hampstead Heath for getting married without telling me, and I demanded three kisses before I let him and his lady go on, and I hope she bent his ear well about it. No manners.”

“That does seem impolite,” said Cecily.

“It was! And as for cross-dressing the other way, why, I was entertaining a colonel who was set to wipe out Jacobites, who had no idea that the maid who served him wine was a Jacobite on the way to France, and such a clever tongue that man had!”

“He was very persuasive?” asked Jeremy.

“That, too,” said Frid, with a gurgle of mirth. Jeremy stared, then blushed, deeply.

“I don’t perfectly understand,” said Cecily.

“Oh, I’m sure Jeremy will explain when you are married,” said Frid. “I never had any sympathy for the cause; the Stuarts never were any good, for all that I’ve a Royalist name, but it attracted romantics, and I’ve always been susceptible to a man with romance in his soul.”

 

oOoOo

 

“You’ve blood coming through your gloves, Simon, my boy, who have you been fighting?” asked Frid severely when Simon introduced Lily to her.

“Oh, it seems this jackadandy tried to hunt the squirrel with Jeremy, who forced him off the road; and we stopped to see what had occurred and discovered that the jackadandy had a foul mouth, so I damaged it for him,” said Simon. “His teeth cut my knuckles up a bit, but it seemed a good place to hit him. Nasty fellow. How was it you described his excessive moustaches, my Tiger-Lily?”

Lily giggled.

“As if he had a Pekinese up each nostril.”

“Men with moustaches are sometimes very silly about them,” said Frid. “Though a good pair can be fun at times, even if kissing is not as good.”

“Er, yes,” said Simon. “Anyway, this is Elizabeth, known as Lily, whose family want her to give her legacy to her sister as she’s of no account to them.”

“It was the last straw,” said Lily. “And I just left, and Mr. Havershall was the first person to be kind to me besides Ella, the maid; but I would not take her with me as she’d lose her post and I did not know I would be so lucky.” She looked adoringly at Simon, blushing.

“Well, well, Simon will drive back tomorrow and fetch her,” said Frid.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Simon. He took a pot of salve from the silent Moffat, and smiled thanks as he spread it on his cut knuckles.

“Well, you and Beatrice are of age,” said Frid. “You can marry as soon as Christmas is over. Cecily, you’re another matter.”

“Jeremy offered to pay my parents’ debts off in exchange for permission, but I wouldn’t let him, because they would only demand more,” said Cecily. “And I don’t want that.”

Jeremy smiled.

“If you will excuse me for a few days, I will go and see Ashdowne,” he said. “I fancy I can induce him to give up all your father’s vowels.”

“Ashdowne, Ashdowne... St. John, Baron Ashdowne?” asked Frid.

“Yes,” said Cecily. “He likes to be called ‘Sin,’ because he revels in his debauchery.”

Frid sniffed.

“Moffatt! My book!”

The grey-haired companion handed over a black-bound notebook, and Frid shuffled through it.

“Here we are,” said Frid. “St. John Ashdowne, reneged on a debt of honour, but before he was disgraced, the man he lost it to supposedly shot himself, but his valet knew that Ashdowne had killed him. He fled, before Ashdowne could shoot him, too. His master was the son of an old lover of mine, and he came to me. I paid him enough to go abroad. But you can use it.”

“I will,” said Jeremy.  “Simon and I might as well drive into Bath together and share the drive.”

“I never ever dreamed of finding such a practical husband,” said Cecily.

“We’re all of us practical,” said Nicholas. “Why don’t we all go, and back each other up?”

“Jolly good idea,” said Jeremy. “We’ll take the landaulet.”

 

the Christmas Caper 4

 

 

IV on the road

 

“So, miss, why are you masquerading as a boy?” asked Jeremy, once they were on the open road.

“What gives you the right to leap to such conclusions and question me?” demanded Cecily.

“The right of doing you a favour, I should think, and getting you out of Bath as fast as this old rattletrap will go,” said Jeremy.  “What, you didn’t really think I was just a coachman dressed like this, did you?”

“Well, yes?” said Cecily. “I... I thought your clothes too fine for a common coachman, but you are wearing that neckcloth, which isn’t what a gentleman wears....”

“Apparently, my mother is right,” sighed Jeremy. “I only wear it to annoy her. And she demanded my services to drive her and her attendant nymphs.”

Cecily gave a gurgle of mirth.

“Not, I hope, clad as one sees them in classical illustrations,” she said.

“Thank goodness, no; the idea of her dresser in a whisp of muslin in strategic places would be too much to take,” said Jeremy. “Prudish, are you?”

“I was thinking that they’d take cold, actually,” said Cecily. “I can hear another team behind us.”

Jeremy looked round.

“You have acute ears,” he said. “Some scrub in a phaeton, and not my friend, Nicholas, either. I suspect someone who sees an old fashioned carriage and plans to ‘hunt the squirrel,’ or in other words, tip us in the ditch.

“Oh! Isn’t that illegal?” asked Cecily.

“Yes, but it doesn’t stop the so-called sport,” sneered Jeremy. “Fortunately, I am a competent whip, and I fancy the chub will get a surprise. I’ll be damned if I pull over and give him the advantage of the camber; he can come out round me on the wrong side of the road, and if I slow the nags slightly... yes, here he comes, hear the hoofs speed up, and that will put him on the inside of a curve to the right, and a phaeton is not the most stable of vehicles, and... here he comes, hold tight, he’s going to try to nudge a wheel... idiot. He should have waited for a bend in the road going the other way. I’m going to swerve so he misses, and then crowd him back.”

It was a consummate piece of driving, which Cecily appreciated as Jeremy suddenly speeded the horses with a shake of the reins, cracked his whip over the interloper’s four, as they started to draw level, and then drew his leaders over so that the heavier coach nudged the phaeton at the steepest point of the curve, and as they passed, it could be seen to be toppling inexorably. Jeremy wore a look of grim satisfaction.

“Hoist by his own petard,” said Cecily.

“Shakespeare has a saying for most things,” agreed Jeremy. “If he hadn’t tried to nudge us, I would just have let him go, but I object to those of us who account ourselves whips being tarred with the same brush as people like him, who think it funny to tip over people, without caring whether there are elderly, frail folks, or children within.”

“I am glad you are a good whip,” said Cecily. “But with moral scruples. I don’t think Lord Ashdowne has any moral scruples.”

“Him! He’s a loose fish,” said Jeremy. “Oh, I beg pardon, ought not to use such phrases in front of a girl. Is that why you’re dressed as a boy, trying to avoid him?”

“Yes, well, actually it’s worse than that,” said Cecily. “You see, he saw me and he wants me, and he bought up all of Papa’s gaming  IOUs, what they call ‘vowels,’ and told papa he would forgive them all if only I will go to spend a week with him to what he calls a ‘love nest’ and then...”

“Surely your father told him to be damned and mortgaged the house or something, rather than cave in to such an infamous demand?” asked Jeremy, incredulously.

“No! Mama and Papa said it was my d...duty to rescue them from a predicament, because it w...would not be for long, and that I c...could marry if I wanted and cut myself to look as if I bleed on my wedding night... and.... and how could I face a husband when I had been debauched?”

“You poor child!” said Jeremy. “Er, how old are you?”

“Nineteen,” said Cecily. “Not really a child.”

“You’re a child in that you’ve been thrown into the cold hard world without the proper parental support,” said Jeremy. “Also, not legal to wed without permission. Tell me, little girl, would your father take a loan to settle his debts and then eschew gaming?”

“No, and it wouldn’t stop him selling me if he could,” said Cecily. “And my name is Cecy, or Cecily. Cecily Dacres.”

“I feared not,” said Jeremy.  “I wondered whether to leave you with my aunt, and go back to help your parents, but if they are as foolish and venal as you think, it would be a waste of my time and my blunt. I’ll take you to my aunt, and we can plot from there. ”

“Thank you for even considering it, sir,” said Cecily, earnestly. “Your aunt will stare to see me clad so.”

“Devil a bit,” said Jeremy. “Used to be a famous courtesan; has worn breeches herself, to hold up a swain of hers to demand kisses as plunder. She’s lived life, has the old lady.”

“Oh!” said Cecily, unable to think of anything more coherent to say.

oOoOo

 

“Why Cheltenham?” asked Nicholas. “Family?”

“No; a position, of sorts,” said Beatrice, forlornly.

“That doesn’t sound very promising,” said Nicholas. “M’name’s Derwent; Nicholas Derwent, by the way, so you can address me if you want.”

Beatrice flushed.

“My name is Beatrice Lockwood,” she said.

“Now, that’s a lovely name and sounds like it ought to belong to a lady of one of Robin Hood’s merry men,” said Nicholas.

“You’re conflating Robert of Locksley, being Robin Hood’s possible real name, and Bettris, the lady of George, the Pinner of Wakefield,” said Beatrice, severely.

Nicholas brightened.

“An aficionada of the Robin Hood tales? By Jove, what luck! But of course, if you are a governess, you’d be learned.”

“I believe I am well-read,” said Beatrice, “But I cannot claim to be a bluestocking; there was enough in my trust fund to educate me to be a governess in the school I attended, but no more.”

“You’ve had a rough time of it, by the sound of it,” said Nicholas. “I ain’t much of a conversationalist, so why don’t you tell me about it, and get it off your chest, so to speak?”

Beatrice took a long, shuddering breath, which released as a cloud about her.

“I am afraid that if I once talk about it, I might dissolve into tears,” she said.

“Might do you the world of good,” said Nicholas. “But it might be a few miles on from that before I could procure you a cup of tea.”

“Oh! Well, they say a trouble shared is a trouble halved,” said Beatrice. “It isn’t, but it seems lighter if someone else knows.  I did not really resent having to teach, I was glad to have somewhere to go, and it was not onerous, not really, not until Amelia Spottiswode started.”

She explained about the spoilt girl, and about being accused of theft, with the hiding of a bracelet in her room.

“Mrs. Spenlowe believes that Amelia will settle down with the influence of nice girls, but she won’t; and the time will come when she demands the expulsion of girls who will not bow down to her demands, and I don’t believe for one moment that she would not accuse Mrs. Spenlowe of theft, as it has worked once in getting me fired.  I think we should have called in Bow Street on behalf of the school and let an officer find out what Amelia is like and warn her about laws of laying false witness,” said Beatrice.

“I agree with you.  Some officers are very limited, but as you had been there three years without a stain on your character, and are suddenly accused by some brat who has discipline problems, the stupidest Bow Street Runner would realise what was up.”

“Unless Amelia’s father bribed him.”

“I think your Mrs. Spenlowe would have grounds to threaten Bow Street with going to the newspaper for that,” said Nicholas. “In any event, a true lady should have stood by you. Spottiswode, eh? It’s a cit’s name. And if she’s like that, I expect her father is, too. I will put the word out to blackball him.”

“Thank you; that does make me feel better, if it can be done. He’s a horrid man with a big red face which goes purple if people gainsay him.”

“He’ll find out what it’s like to be gainsaid by those who count,” said Nicholas, grimly.

“I appreciate it. And yes, I do feel lighter to take up my position as minder of a pack of spoilt brats.”

“What’s this?”

“Mrs. Spenlowe felt she had to give me a congé, but I have the choice of a preceptress she let go who set up her own school and can’t keep junior mistresses, or a former pupil a little older than me who was self-indulgent and who cannot manage her children, which means they will be spoilt too,” said Beatrice. “I had decided that was the better option of two evils, since not being able to keep governesses usually also means feeding them badly and not paying them until lawsuits are threatened. At least Amy Fenchurch will be too indolent to take much notice.”

“You are not going there,” said Nicholas. “You’re coming with me to Aunt Frid, who may be in her second childhood, but she counts as a chaperone. And then, Beatrice of Sherwood, you can marry me, but don’t expect me to split a willow-wand at fifty paces with a longbow; I can take down a pigeon with a fowling piece, but archery, I have never tried.”

“You aren’t serious!” laughed Beatrice.

“Oh, but I am,” said Nicholas. “I want to marry someone I can have a sensible conversation with.”

“I am sure there are plenty....”

“Of vapid females who think they know what I’m talking about but actually do not? Yes, they come a penny a dozen. I like you, and I think you have spirit. And besides, when that Amelia is being shunned in town, wouldn’t you like to walk past her on my arm, and ignore her?”

“Yes, I would,” said Beatrice.

“Good girl! I thought you had spirit,” said Nicholas, approvingly. He removed his tie pin. “It’s not much of a betrothal token, but it will have to do; here, pin your shawl up with it,” he said.

“Mr. Derwent! Is that a diamond?”

“Yes, but it ain’t above three or four carats, I don’t like too showy a tie pin,” said Nicholas. “It’s brilliant cut, not rose cut, to show inside my cravat, but I’ll get you a proper sort of betrothal token when we have time.”

Beatrice was quite struck dumb for a moment.

“I want it bent into a ring to wear,” she said. “Unless it is of sentimental value that you do not want to lose it as a tie pin?”

“Lud, I’d expect you to keep it anyway. Are you sure? It’s not really set as a ring.”

“It’s a beautiful stone and sparkles the way you do,” said Beatrice, blushing.

“Now that’s real poetry, not the rubbish I write,” said Nicholas.

“In my experience, those who disparage their own poetry write better poetry than those who claim talent,” said Beatrice. “We will go through your poetry, if you like”

“Yes, ma’am!” said Nicholas, who never showed his poetry to anyone.

 

oOoOo

 

“All set for the open road, Tiger-Lily?” asked Simon. They were somewhat behind Nicholas, who had set off first, and Jeremy, but Simon did not mind.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Mr. Havershall,” said Lily. “And I like your nick-name for me, it is not a way to diminish me, as Lily is.”

“How can a beautiful flower like a lily diminish you?” asked Simon.

“Oh, I was named for an aunt, to curry favour, but Elizabeth is the name of a queen or a princess, and to use it in full would give me too much consequence; but one cannot use the pet forms the lower orders use.  And that is nonsence, for in Miss Austen’s book, ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ Elizabeth Bennett is called ‘Lizzie’ by her sisters, and there is no question that they are ladies, however awful their mother may be.”

“Do you prefer ‘Lizzie?’ I cannot say I find it attractive,” said Simon.

“Oh! No, but it is a measure of how my parents think,” said Lily. “I like being a flower, and I like being your Tiger Lily. I wouldn’t mind being your mistress, if you were thinking about it.”

“Stap me! I was considering proposing to you, a woman who firmly goes and tells her bank manager how things are going to be is a ruby!” said Simon. “Like Susannah, in the Bible, her name means ‘A Lily,’ and she was a judge, which means she had to have had a clear head.”

“I do the household accounts, too, and I can do compound interest calculations,” said Lily.

“A definite jewel beyond price,” said Simon. “I say! Is that an accident ahead?”

“His phaeton is facing the same way as we’re going. If  he had been spun around, I doubt his team would have escaped unscathed,” said Lily. “So, he must have been on the wrong side of the road.”

“Overtaking carelessly,” said Simon, coming to a stop. “Hello! What happened?”

The young man was blond, with yellow curly moustaches, and Lily suppressed a giggle.

“He has a Pekinese up each nostril,” she murmured low enough that only Simon could hear.

“By Jove, yes,” murmured Simon.

The young man spoke up.

“That damned misbegotten coachman put me in the ditch!” he said. “He avoided me tipping him, and then he damn well barged me!” His comment was filled with far more qualifications and words Lily did not know.

Simon passed her the reins, and got down.

“Now, Mr. Whoever-you-are, you are going to apologise to the lady for swearing so foully in front of her,” he said.

The young man gave him to understand that he was no qualified choir boy, and saw no need to guard his further qualified tongue for some qualified female.

Simon hit him.

He went down. Simon waited for him to get up and bunch up his fists, and knocked him down again.

Then he heaved him up and knocked him down a third time.

Simon shook the young man until he was conscious.

“Now, listen cherub, and listen well,” he said. “I hit you the first time for your language in front of my fiancée. I hit you a second time for coming out with even worse language. And I hit you a third time for trying to tip my friend into the ditch when driving his mother’s carriage.  If I ever find you have been hunting the squirrel again, I will find you, and kill you. Do you understand?”

“Do you have any idea who I am?” managed the young man through a bloody mouth.

“Apart from being an idiot with two Pekineses up his nostrils? Not a clue,” said Simon. “But you ain’t the sort of fellow who associates with my set, so you don’t have the sort of position that I actually care about. You’re a damned skirter, sirrah, and I hope you get blisters walking to the next village. Have a nasty day.”

He got back into the curricle.

“You were splendid,” said Lily.

“I’m not an athlete like Jeremy is, but I show to advantage against people of that fellow’s stamp,” said Simon.

“Do you really want to marry me?”

“Oh yes!  You haven’t swooned at me hitting him, you thought I was splendid, and you understand compound interest,” said Simon.  “I may not be as well blunted as Jeremy and Nicky, but I do have a way with trading stocks and bonds, and I find finance fascinating.”

“So, would you advise me to leave my inheritance in the funds, or to use some to gamble on the ‘Change?” said Lily.

“My Tiger-Lily, if you let me play with half your money, and give my your opinions too, I wager we could double it by Easter,” said Simon.

“Do you know, I would like to grow it enough to visit Bath and cut my parents dead when they bring out Annabelle,” said Lily.

“What fun!” said Simon. “I’m sure we can manage to do that. In the meantime, we’ll spend Christmas with Frid, and listen to the scandalous things she got up to in her youth, and you shall help me write my novel about a fictional courtesan based on her.”

“It sounds delightful,” said Lily.