Nessie and the dastardly doctor 1

Chapter 1

He picked her up, effortlessly, and laid her down on the day bed.  Her body was melting, unable to resist.  She gazed into his rich brown eyes, as warm and sweet as chocolate.

His lips brushed hers, and his hand caressed her breast, cupping it, before running down her belly.

Nessie Fanshawe woke up.

“Damn,” she said, slightly shocked at herself for the expletive. It was, however, the only way she could think of to relieve her pent up feelings for the moment at which her imagination always ran out for want of knowledge.

 She got up, and got dressed, without enthusiasm.  Another day filled with the joys of Bath.  She sighed.

She should not be so negative; it was a blessing, really, that Mr. Daventry Popham, alias ‘Beau’ Popham should be employing her as a chaperone for his young cousin, Emma Kemp since the Beau had inherited Amberfield Abbey from his uncle, Henry Popham.  And as Nessie had initially been employed by Henry Popham to teach his betrothed wife how to behave in society, it might have been supposed that Nessie would have been without any means of support when Henry Popham had been murdered by that betrothed wife, Jemima Harris, also known as Floradora D’Ambrose. [1]

Nessie knew that she was extremely lucky that the Beau had decided that enough was enough with Henry’s brother-in-law, the Reverend Egbert Kemp, and had withdrawn from that lightfingered vicar the living which was in his gift, and had declared that the children were under his guardianship.  Emma therefore needed a duenna, and Agnes Fanshawe was on hand.

There was a light tap on the door, and Emma Kemp came in.

“Oh, good, you are up, Aunt Nessie,” she said.  “I say do we have to go shopping today?”

“I thought you liked shopping,” said Nessie.

“Oh, no, not really. I like the results of shopping, and I like seeing all the fabrics, but does anyone actually like shopping itself?” said Emma, wrinkling up her nose. “It would be so much nicer if one might purchase a magazine with swatches of fabric big enough to see the pattern, or else a painted representation and a smaller swatch to feel it and see it for real, and choose from that. I should think it would be more pleasant for the shopkeepers too, for it cannot be pleasant for them to have to get out bolt after bolt for some silly creature who cannot make up her mind, and as like as not goes back to her first choice anyway.”

Nessie laughed.

“Oh, what a clever idea, but I fear it will not catch on.  People like to pull over whole bolts of cloth, and put shopkeepers to inconvenience, alas. Being able to make a choice from a remote location might suit you and me, but I doubt it would ever please the majority.”

“Possibly not,” sighed Emma. “But did we have to shop today?”

“No, it was merely to acquire some lengths of coloured ribbon now we are out of mourning for the queen.  If you will wait to be fully in colours again, it is not something which troubles me.  Did you have other plans?”

“Yes, if you approve them, dearest of aunts,” said Emma.

“Don’t cut a wheedle with me, young lady,” said Nessie.  “I didn’t cut my eye teeth yesterday, and I’m the only female in your life approximating an aunt.”

Emma giggled.

“I know, but I’m practising being ingenuous, the way you work on being rather vague and fluttery, and I know you are really quite shrewd.”

“Oh dear, I fear I can be rather fluttery, for I am not so clever and decisive as my dear friend Jane, but on the other hand, dear Emma, whilst one is fluttering, and being lost in half sentences, nesting sentences, and sentences which never quite end, one may be thinking.  And if it means the gentlemen think rather less of one, why, they are not intimidated by one.”

“And being ingenuous and asking silly questions gives one time to think while gentlemen are duly patronising and answering with exaggerated care not to trouble one’s pretty little head,” said Emma.

“So cynical so young!” mourned Nessie.

“Between you and Uncle Daventry, and knowing what my parents are like, is it any wonder?” asked Emma.  “I still love my Mama, but I am alive to her faults.”

“I am glad you still love her,” said Nessie.  “What was it that you wanted to do rather than go shopping?”

“I have been invited to go riding with a party to Wells to see the mechanical knights at the cathedral,” said Emma. “It is unexceptional, and there will be chaperones. They are coming by to collect me at ten, if I am going.”

Nessie nodded.

“I see no reason why you should not go if there are chaperones.  Who is to be chaperoning you?”

“It is Lady Prescott; she is escorting her grandchildren, and Miss Fenwick, and they have asked Lt Pencastle to go as a male escort,” said Emma.

“That sounds unexceptionable,” said Nessie.  “Lady Prescott will not permit Guy to get up to anything, and will keep Amelia in check.  I am surprised that Miss Fenwick wishes to go.”

“I expect she thought that it would be educational,” giggled Emma. “Really, she is the oddest girl!  And she might be right, that if you abolished all social class it could be possible for all the work to be done with everyone putting in two hours a day on cooking, cleaning, mending and so on, but she doesn’t have the first idea how to do any housework,” she added scornfully.

“I take it you asked her,” said Nessie, mildly.

“Yes, I invited her to give the servants the day off when she invited me over for the day,” said Emma. “I said we might cook dinner and deal with the household chores, and you never saw such a helpless creature! Fortunately the housekeeper did not take me at my word, or I should never have managed it all on my own, especially turning and beating the mattresses.”

“Perhaps such a demonstration will be a salutary lesson to the silly girl,” said Nessie.

“Indeed, she was quite appalled at the amount of work which goes into running a house, and shocked that my mama and I expected to do most of it when I was living at home.”

“And the servants have remarked to me what a good, helpful girl you are, causing them no trouble,” said Emma.

“Well, anyone could do that, and I pointed out to Cordelia that she might air and make her own bed, and clear her own grate in the morning,  and care for her own clothes, but I fear she is all theory and cannot practice as she preaches,” said Emma.  “And she has no idea how her ideal society would work when one bully recruits a few lazy people as other bullies to make the rest work while they idle, for that is what would happen.”

Nessie could see Emma’s father preaching exemption from labour for clergymen, and smiled a cynical smile.

“And there would be others who would manage ways round it,” she said.

“Like Lady Leticia Dane,” nodded Emma.  “Rosalie assures me that she is genuinely ill, but she milks it for all it’s worth, and that’s why Lady Prescott has to see to Rosalie, Amelia and Guy.”

“Lady Leticia is indeed genuinely ill, I have seen the pain on her face,” said Nessie. “But you would think that with Guy the youngest at ten they should not need looking after as such.”

“Oh, they are all babies, even Rosalie, who is my age, and who tries to look after her Mama,” said Emma. “You don’t object to Lt Pencastle, do you?  I think he is a brave man.”

“Why should I object to him?” asked Nessie, mildly.  “I would object to him as a suitor to you, on grounds of his age,  but for no other reason.”

“Well, he is quite ancient, so obviously he’s not a suitor.  A lot of people shriek at his ugly scars,” said Emma. “I think he is tremendously lucky; it’s not many people who are struck in the face by a musket ball who get away with a broken jaw and some scarring.  Of course it looks a little odd to see him chew all on one side of the face, but it is not his fault.”

“No, indeed; it is hard to credit it, that a ball should skip down one side of the face, go through the mouth and exit in the neck without causing worse damage,” said Nessie.  “He does take it very well, though.  And he is not ancient, he is eight-and-twenty years old, and is older than I am by only four years.”

Emma giggled.

“I always forget how young you are, because you act in that spinsterish way,” she said. “I suppose he is not ancient, but he is too old for me.”

“I am not especially pretty, my dear, nor am I clever nor accomplished,” said Nessie.  “I am a poor relation with no prospects, and I discovered at school that someone who fluttered and acted like a bumbling spinster was usually treated kindly by men, even if it did not encourage them in courtship.  Having friends who were much prettier and more accomplished than I am showed me that I was no competition to other women my age.”

Emma embraced Nessie fiercely.

“Best of all possible aunts, you are clever,” she said. “It was you who realised that poor Uncle Henry had to have been murdered by someone in the house, as his window was locked, and you locked the study door so that nobody could hide the evidence.  Just because you are not trained to follow all the clews like your friend, Mrs. Armitage, was able to do, doesn’t mean you are not clever. She has learned from her husband!”

“You are sweet to say so, but I suppose I am not stupid. Not like that horrid  Rosalind Vaughan, or rather Liddel, she now is.  She was one of those prettier and more accomplished than I, when we were at school.”

Emma giggled.

“She wasn’t pretty when we met her here,” she said.  “You have the sort of face which doesn’t spoil when you stop being a young girl.  And I don’t think you will ever get fat.”

“No, merely remain dumpy and without any kind of figure, for a short waist is an affliction to be born, alas, as there is nothing to do about it, and extreme corseting merely looks ridiculous,” sighed Nessie.

“Why, Aunt Nessie, are you interested in Lt Pencastle for yourself that you are in such a brown study over your looks?” asked Emma.

Nessie flushed.

“No, not at all; indeed, I am sure he would be a suitable beau to cultivate, were I not sincerely attached to ... another.  One who is out of my reach.”

“Oh, Aunt Nessie!  You are not in love with a married man, are you?”

“How you do take me up!  No, I am not in love with a married man.”

“Oh good; then your beloved is not totally out of reach.  I was afraid you were in love with Captain ... or rather, Sir Caleb Armitage.”

“No, he is rather too vigorous and military for my tastes,” said Nessie.  “I pray you, do not try to guess, for you will fall far wide!  You should be putting on your riding habit, and eating breakfast, if you have not done so already.”

“Goodness, yes!  But don’t think I will forget it,” said Emma.

Nessie did not think that her charge would manage to forget it, which is why she had hastily disclaimed a yearning for the gallant lieutenant.  Emma was quite capable of finding ways of throwing two hapless and unwary people together if she thought them eminently suited.  It would be embarrassing for both of them!

Nessie walked down to the Pump Room while Emma was out, only to be accosted by one of her least favourite quidnuncs there, Mrs. Ann Weatherbridge.  Nessie always thought of maggots when she saw Mrs. Weatherbridge. The woman was white and flaccid and sucked the juices of the lives of others.

“Miss Fanshawe, have you heard the news?” she demanded.

“What, the king is dead?  Prinny has reconciled with the Princess of Wales? We are at war with ... with Timbuctoo?”

“Silly girl! I don’t mean men’s news, I mean real news.”

“I was afraid you might,” muttered Nessie, resigning herself to being subjected to gossip.

“What was that?  But of course you don’t know, Miss Cunningham has committed suicide.”

“Oh?” said Nessie.  “Poor young thing, so difficult for her, suffering as she has done from nervous prostration.”

“Yes, I hear Dr. Jefferson, who has been using the latest treatments, has said she was the most difficult case he has ever known.”

“Oh, isn’t he the fashionable new doctor who believes in using enough laudanum to make his patients lose their inhibitions?” said Nessie, mildly interested in the doctor.  “I can’t see that it would help much, myself, and I believe the patients get quite bruised thrashing about.”

“Oh, but it is good scientific theory; if they lose their inhibitions, they may get all the reason behind their hysteria out into the open by shouting and fighting against whatever it is which drives them to hysteria in the first place.”

“I always thought that hysterical outbursts were an excess of lost inhibition,” said Nessie. “For if people controlled their emotions, they would not be hysterical, would they?”

“Oh, you are rudely healthy; you are only here for your niece. Where is she?”

“Riding with a party.  Why, Mrs. Weatherbridge, I never knew you were hysterical.”

“I’m not;  I wouldn’t permit such a thing to happen to me.  But I am delicate.”

Like a prize cow is delicate thought Nessie.

“You won’t be taking the treatment, then?” she said out loud.

“No, but I hear Mrs. Fenwick is considering it as a last resort for her daughter.”

“Really? I must see Mrs. Fenwick and advise against it, I cannot think it proper to use laudanum on a young girl who is otherwise fit and healthy.  There is nothing hysterical or even deranged about young Cordelia, merely an excess of belief in her idiotic father’s idiotic beliefs.  And young Emma persuaded Cordelia to take on some housekeeping jobs, and when the wretched girl could not manage two minutes, let alone two hours, it is to be hoped that the lesson sinks in that she isn’t capable of being egalitarian.”

“Really?  That child Emma is a most capable girl.  We must introduce her to Rupert.”

Nessie suppressed a shudder.  Rupert Weatherbridge was as much of a maggot as his mother, only his vice was all night gambling, and his pallid complexion owing to an aversion to outdoor exercise.

“Oh, but Mrs. Weatherbridge,  you cannot have thought this through.  Emma is barely seventeen, half the age of your son. It would not be eligible, you know,” Nessie fluttered, pulling a kerchief to dab delicately at her nose.

“Oh, plenty of marriages have turned out quite well, despite age differences,”

“But not when both have no fortune,” said Nessie.

Mrs. Weatherbridge paled.

“I understood that Emma was an heiress?”

“Oh, my dear Mrs. Weatherbridge! I cannot think where you obtained that idea!  So unfortunate!” Nessie fanned herself unnecessarily with her kerchief. “What an terrible thing if anyone else thought so!  Why, poor child, she has not a penny to her name, but dear cousin Daventry is so generous, you know, that he is giving her a season in Bath, and one in London too, next year.  He may even advance her a dowry, if he likes her choice of husband. But the girl is quite impecunious, I assure you!”

“I see,” Mrs. Weatherbridge spoke with what was almost a snap.  She had cultivated Nessie solely to obtain Emma’s supposed fortune for her son, and all that effort was in vain!

Nessie hid a smile.  The Beau would provide a suitable dowry, whatever Emma’s choice, but there was no need to advertise that.

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[1] See ‘Jane and the Opera Dancer’