felicity's fashions 12

 

Chapter 12

 

Hartley House

A Square in London I forgot its name

Somewhere between Friday and Satterday

 

Dear Sarah,

I am staying here for the weekend acoss I fell asleep at the party. It was a right nice party with good food on a booffee as well as supper, but I was asleep before supper. I woke up in a bed and there was a tray with cold meat and pie and some cold stuff with cream in a glass, coo that was loverly! So as I am awake I will write to you while I eat what is here, coo there are cheesecakes as well, I wouldn’t never of eaten one if I’d known what it was called before but I liked them before Felicity [I know how to spell her now] told me.

I danced with a duke who called me ‘Miss Hartley’ and it was very swell, and he said he didn’t mind my accent as long as I didn’t mind his. He was very old though, at least 30, so he was not angling to be my boo to get his hands on Uncle Victor’s money.

I was announced as the daughter of Vincent Hartley, who is dead, so I can’t kick him in the bits and nut him as he comes down, like Cleo taught us to do with bad men.  And Felicity is going to marry Uncle Victor, so that’s good.

There are a heap of maids here so I expect one of them will take this for me.

Your friend,

Trinity

 

 

 

22 Henrietta Street

April 15^th

 

Dear Philippa,

Well, I have had my presentation to society at a betrothal ball, and most people have been very nice, and declared they never believed the rumours. How much of that was truth and how much was polite fiction I will never know, but at least officially it is now recognised as lies. I hope you will be able to come to the wedding, though we are not getting married until the end of summer.  Long enough before the end of the Summer Term to have some time alone, but close enough to it so that Trinity can spend the holiday with us, and whichever friends she wants to invite, as a family.

Victor gave me a ring as a love-token, it is a sapphire with sapphires set round half of it, and diamonds around the other half, very singular, and he had it made especially to represent the crescent moon.

“Why, you have eaten the rest of it,” I said.

“Of course; you may fill me with delight, but I do have man-sized appetites,” he replied.

Helen was busy apologising to everyone that we speak incomprehensible nonsense at times.

I am glad I am not Helen. How dull to be so prosaic!

And I confess, I am looking forward to a moonlight picnic next week. The weather can scarcely be worse than it was today, with sleet of all things.

Your loving sister,

Felicity

 

oOoOo

 

22 Henrietta St

24^th April.

 

Dearest Philippa,

 

I don’t know if your weather was as bad as ours, but as it was stormy all day yesterday, I had little expectation that we should have our moonlight picnic.

Victor collected me, however, and we drove off to Richmond, and I was hoping to be warm enough in the folly, where I anticipated that we might be trying to picnic, as it has some shelter from strong winds. But no, we went inside, into the ballroom, and it seems that Victor and Dr. Mac had put their heads together, and Victor had paid the children to paint sheets to be forests with some greenery added from the shrubbery. I wonder how Finch, the gardener, took that; though possibly Victor charmed him. Finch is very unobliging to people he takes against and will do anything for anyone he likes, after all. Anyway, one gas lamp was lit, and it had as a shade a parchment globe painted to resemble the moon.  Victor spread a rug on the ground, and oh, Philippa!  He had got, as part of the picnic, a whole wheel of cheese for us to break into to represent the moon.

We talked nonsense, and fed each other, and then we discussed the sordid practicalities of money, and the practical practicalities of spending a honeymoon in his country seat, and then having Trinity and sundry other young girls to stay.

And then, Victor kissed me. And it was even better than last time, and do not tut about pickled onions because there is nothing wrong with kissing people who are pickled onion flavoured if you are also pickled onion flavoured yourself.

I confess that our hands wandered considerably, until a very Scots voice informed us that the moon was aye setting, forebye, and high jeenks shuid come to a mare seemly end wi’oot tae mony havers.

So we meekly packed up and came away. I am looking forward to marrying Victor, and it will probably be as well that I will be very busy getting Hermione and Hannah settled in and trained up to it. Phoebe is to marry a nice Jewish boy her foster parents have found for her, so she will not be joining us, but she seems contented with her Reuben.

Your loving sister,

Felicity.

 

oOoOo

A couple of months later

 

“Goodness, it seems such a long time since our moonlight picnic,” said Felicity, as Victor drove her away from their wedding feast and out towards his country seat by the light of the full moon, rising whilst the sun set.

“At least this one is genuine,” said Victor. “I ordered a lovely day for our wedding on purpose, ahead of time.”

Felicity giggled.

“I enjoyed the previous moonlight night very well,” she said. “And this time we shall not have Dr. Mac to break us apart.”

“I confess, I am relieved that the weather is clement, the idea of driving twenty miles in the pouring rain of a summer storm would be daunting,” said Victor.  “However, are you feeling decadent?”

“I always feel decadent close to you and with the moon shining,” said Felicity.

“There’s a loggia along the wall of the house at the side of the master bedchamber, built by my grandsire, who had Italianate pretensions,” said Victor.

“Were they catching?” asked Felicity, with a straight face.

“Were... no, wench, or I’d have caught Italianate from him, and I haven’t.”

“Oh, I am glad; I’m not sure if it’s curable.”

“It wasn’t for my grandsire, anyway,” said Victor. “He collected as many old masters as he could.”

Felicity giggled.

“I’d rather have one young one,” she said.

“Oh, they’re a stubbornly silent lot,” said Victor.

“Good,” said Felicity. “Now what had the loggia to do with anything?”

“It has a flat roof, and with a bit of chicanery, one can climb out of the window onto it.  I was thinking we might manhandle a mattress out there between us and make love in the moonlight.”

“So long as you don’t suddenly sprout hair all over and grow big teeth like that fellow in the Latin story,” said Felicity. “What? I’m no great scholar, but I know a good story when I read it.”

 “I solemnly declare that I am not a werewolf,” said Victor. “I don’t even have a very hairy chest.”

“You have little curls above your trouser waistband where your shirt tucks in,” said Felicity.

“Oh, my dear, I’m not sure I’m going to last twenty miles.”

“You are, and so will I,” said Felicity. “Make the nags go faster.”

“They’ll go quicker if they go steady so they don’t need resting; didn’t your horsy twin teach you that?”

“Well, yes.  How fast are we going?”

“A good steady ten miles an hour. And we will be there by dinner time, and dinner is bespoken.”

“And we will sit at each end of a huge table requiring the telegraph to converse,” said Felicity.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then, when we are in there, I am going to take off my stockings and give them to you to keep warm throughout dinner,” said Felicity, recklessly. “And see how decadent you can feel.”

“I feel as decadent as a despot already,” said Victor.  “Sorry we have to travel to get there; perhaps we should have had our wedding night in Grosvenor Square.”

“Not at all; Helen would have been hearty at us early in the morning, and I can handle early in the morning but not after I have been up all night. And I hope we will be up all night?” asked Felicity.

“Up, and down, and up, and down... and so on,” said Victor, occasioning a blush from Felicity. “What a pretty blush!”

“So’s yours,” retorted Felicity. “As bright as the sunset. The sunset is going to be spectacular to drive into; we could almost be driving up a sunbeam into its fiery realms.”

“Careful; the moon will be jealous,” said Victor.

“Oh, we cannot have that,” said Felicity. “Your seat is in the wrong direction.”

“I’m sorry about that,” said Victor. “I didn’t have a choice about it.”

“Oh, well, it is a minor fault in a husband, and I forgive it,” said Felicity, gaily. They bowled on as the sky darkened behind them and the last vestiges of the sun sank below the horizon in a display of splendid colours.

 “I ordered that for you, as well,” said Victor.

“What a glorious dress it would be,” said Felicity, dreamily. “I’m not sure whether to make it a bright darkish blue with applique from the hem up, giving weight, and with the colours added there, or whether to have a golden bodice on the blue, and partial skirts of the different bright colours at one side descending randomly down over the gown.”

“Do both,” said Victor. “But after our honeymoon.”

“I can remember the colours,” said Felicity.

“Good,” said Victor. “I’m not sharing  you with your talent.” 

 

 

The country seat was something of an ordeal, as Felicity must meet and greet the servants, and find something nice to say, and to be ensconced at the foot of the table, with Victor at its head, and a well-wrought, but intrusive epergne between them.

Felicity firmly moved her cutlery beside him.

“I am not sharing you with anyone, even the cheekiest satyr in the world and his nymphs,” she said, firmly.

“No, by Jove, they are frisky but very much in the way,” said Victor. “I will sit opposite you this way round, where your wickedly bare feet can reach me under the table.”

The young couple did not do justice to the repast, though Felicity thanked the cook very prettily and suffered herself to be led to the Mistress suite, also decorated in the Italianate style with trompe l’oielle paintings of Tuscan countryside seen through painted window frames and trellis work. Felicity had to admit she had seen more over-decorated houses. 

 

A little later, Felicity had washed, brushed her teeth, put on a nightgown of the sort which was supposed to be taken off, and joined her husband in manhandling a feather mattress out of the big window, followed by sheets and pillows and a light comforter in case it turned chilly.

The young couple were both giggling when they jumped into bed and started exploring new territory under the moonlight.

Both managed to howl at the moon as creditably as if they had, indeed been werewolves.

 

A long time later, Felicity snuggled up to her husband.

“It’s a bit chilly,” she said.

“Do you want me to go and look for another blanket?” asked Victor.

“Don’t be silly, Victor, I want to check that exercise warms one up,” said Felicity.

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry I was stupid,” said Victor. “But fair’s fair, I did all the work up to now, it’s time you took a turn driving.”

“Can you still see the moon?”

“Very clearly.”

“Well, then, you must stay very still whilst I drive because you don’t want to curdle it by moving too much.”

“I’ll show you curdle!”

 

 

 I just wrapped 'The Purloined Parure' for Alex and Ida; I was considering taking the weekend off before posting, but I can probably have my arm bent.

felicity's fashions 11

 

Chapter 11

 

22 Henrietta Street,

13^th April

 

Dearest Twin,

I am exhausted!

Dear me, what a day this has been; indeed, what a week this has been. That wretched woman – Victor’s former mistress, the one who tore my gown – has been spreading rumours that I have been Victor’s kept woman for years and that Trinity is our daughter.

Well, you can see all the logical inconsistencies in that, but a man in Victor’s position can’t afford the old aphorism ‘no smoke without fire’ to attach itself to him, and though the idea of two children in an adult situation is absurd, you know how people are.

So, after she refused to retract, we went to court, fortunately something Victor was able to arrange quickly since it has cost me five good customers already, and the stupid woman decided not to show up.

In the light of those sensible customers who heard her scandalmongering, and who were prepared to testify, the case was readily proven in absentia, and the magistrate decided that the damages were worth  five thousand guineas each to us, for my loss of business, and Victor’s loss of name, which might have affected his marriage chances were we not already betrothed, and hence his ability to pass on his name and title. The bailiffs have been sent in to collect, and if necessary take her to the Marshalsea until she has discharged her debt. She might have a sufficiency of jewellery and fine costumes to cover it, just.  I have intimated that I am prepared to accept clothing in lieu, because I can re-use a lot, and it is the principle of the matter as much as the loss of income. Daisy was there to give evidence, and she agreed with me on this.

Oh my!

The bailiff was very busy, and I now have a pile of tawdry costumes, for which I have signed as being worth the sum of  two thousand guineas pro rata, secondhand. I can do a very great deal by taking them apart, and after steaming the original to get rid of the marks of the excess flounces, since many of them I doubt she has worn more than once, I can probably get back what I have lost. I have my new apprentice soaking the armpits in warm white vinegar at the moment since she did not always launder them before putting them back in the closet. Ugh!  I may have to cut new bodices for some, but it is of no account. And I shall be making Victor a random patchwork banyan with those pieces left after having to cut out anything I cannot save.

My new apprentice is a child called Nellie, and I pointed out in court that if my lord’s niece was slandered this also rebounded on my new apprentice, and Nellie is Florence’s niece. She is thirteen years old, eager, over-awed, and sadly covered in acne. I have whipped her up a skin preparation, which I fancy awed her almost as much as the fabrics she has never even dreamed of seeing, and thank Libby and Elinor once again for their very solid basis for us all. I might put Nellie through school for a year, she is unquestionably a lady, and a year with Miss Joliffe would do her embroidery the world of good.  What I need is an in-house lace-maker, to make motifs to go on Urling’s lace, for my bobbin-lace making is indifferent, and much more than paisley shapes with a ‘spider’ inside and picot edges is outside my capabilities, and as I can do better white work, I am wasted on it. I would have loved to have seen Rosabelle’s face when the bailiff turned up. Oh! Here is Victor, come to visit.

 

Later

Victor had none of my compunction in going to see Rosabelle visited by the bailiff, and he told me that her look of horror made up for many a slight she had given him before she even met and started on me. The girl with whom she shares the apartment was apparently crying, ‘I ain’t gwine to tear up no more things from law, I ain’t, I aint!’ and had to identify what things were hers so as not to lose her goods as well [and I am glad to say that Victor intervened on her behalf, as the bailiff wasn’t particular.]

Well, with all her gowns from several lovers, and jewellery likewise, Rosabelle found herself with her underlinen and three gowns, and a couple of strings of fake pearls made with glass and fish scales. She was apparently cursing our names, and Victor asked her if she wanted to go to law again over her slanderous utterances, and she went very white, and shut her big mouth at last.

Victor has applied to Almack’s for a voucher for me; imagine that! But if the patronesses accept, it is an immediate social redemption, even though I should not need one.

I have had to leave the sewing to my girls, but at least Lady B’s dress was close to completion so I shall have that to wear tomorrow evening, and I will have all day in which to catch up. I understand that a Viennese gentleman has taken out a patent on a sewing machine, but there are, as yet, no models for sale. I thought I might write to him, or ask Daisy to do so as I am sure she speaks Viennaese or whatever people in Vienna speak.  I can’t remember if that is the V-place in Italy or the V-place somewhere the Ottomans tried to conquer, in Transylslovakia or wherever.  I have a vague feeling it is somewhere near where Emmie Hasely’s mother came from, Emmuska, her full name, sounds sufficiently exotic to come from that sort of far away foreign. It might be somewhere in Russia, they have a lot of V-places and things, like Vodka, which I think is a city on a river emptying into the Black Sea, but I may be wrong. You know that I and geography are not friends but I expect Daisy knows. Even if a sewing machine is only good for basting, it would save a lot of time.

Nellie is now engaged gleefully with a fine knife which used to be a surgical scalpel which Dr. Mac procured for me.  She is taking off all decoration and it will teach her a lot about how garments are put together [not always very well as she has just shown me a gown which fell apart once the decoration is off. She can wet a cloth and steam iron all the seams, and we will decide what to do with it.]

The steam will open up her pores and help with the acne too.

 

Later

I just had to rescue Nellie from where she cut herself on over-enthusiastic plying of the scalpel and explained in short words that as its main purpose is cutting people open, being sharp is a given.  She has been learning, at least, that blood may be removed from fabric with a salt water solution, and is banned from helping until she is healed. I am going to finish unfurbishing that gown. Is there such a word as unfurbishing?  Not that I care, you know what I mean, dearest Phip.

 

Love, Felicity.

 

 

22 Henrietta Street

14^th April

 

Dear Lady B------

Thank you for your letter of the 13^th inst. If I understand it correctly you simultaneously offered me some form of excuse in mitigation for your execrable and unladylike behaviour which stopped short of being anything which might reasonably, and in a court of law, be described as an apology, whilst complaining that my reputation should not be worth as much as you have had to pay out, and demanding the dress you repudiated.

Permit me to take each of these points one at a time in a spirit of clarity and logic which you are plainly too ill-educated to manage, in a missive so short of literary endeavour as to leave one wondering if you received any education at all.

Firstly, I cannot, and do not, accept something which is not an apology but merely a rambling discourse about why I should not consider your passing on of risibly inaccurate gossip as your fault. Excuse me for asking, but when passing this on, was someone else somehow operating your mouth, vocal chords and lungs that it was not your fault in so doing? Plainly you were not exercising your brain, if you have one, in working out the logical inconsistency in an eighteen-year-old girl as I am in having a twelve-year-old daughter.

Secondly, my reputation is my livelihood as a modiste, and the amount I was owed by those women who cancelled their orders through your agency in persuading them that I was a child prostitute is only just covered by that five thousand pounds. Your insistence on Dhaka muslin leaves the cost of the gown you repudiated at something over twelve hundred guineas alone,  before taking into account either the time to make it up, or my skill in designing it.  Moreover, as the betrothed wife of a viscount, it is imperative that the reputation of a new young viscountess should be as one with that of Caesar’s wife. In case you were not educated highly enough to understand that, this is a classical allusion, to the alleged seduction of Pompeia, whom Caesar divorced as her innocence, unlike mine, could not be demonstrably proven. My virginity at the time of my marriage [and which, incidentally I will have to go through the embarrassing situation of having certified, because of people like you] is of utmost importance to prove the succession of my betrothed husband’s offspring, something which perhaps you do not understand, being married to a knight, who cannot pass on his title.

Thirdly, you repudiated the gown after I had gone to considerable expense to procure its materials, and therefore, you have no claim on it. Your capacity for venal rapacity in even asking is extraordinary.

I hope we will never meet or correspond again. If you wish to tender me a more suitable apology, you may either do so through my solicitor, Mr. Embury, of 111 The Strand, or make a public apology in the Morning Post. In either case, I would expect the words ‘I apologise unreservedly for spreading lies about you,’ to appear as the very least of such an apology.

Yours sincerely,

F. Goyder.

 

“There’s a song in there somewhere,” said Victor. “Your own venal rapacity is unique in its capacity, along with your stupidity, equalled but by your cupidity.”

Felicity giggled.

“What clever lyrics,” she said. “If she makes trouble, you should write a bit more and publish it in the Morning Post.”

“I might, at that,” said Victor. “Why were you showing me this, by the way? I’m not going to be the sort of husband who demands to see your mail.”

“I wanted you to look it over and tell me if I overdid any of the sarcasm,” said Felicity. “Daisy gets away with it, and though I learned my sarcasm at her knee, so to speak, she’s Daisy, and that’s enough said.”

“I think it a very measured response to the rambling and discursive missive she sent you, which is, as you so rightly point out, not only not an apology, but a veiled accusation that it is your fault she got caught slandering you, and an equally veiled note of blackmail over giving her the dress.”

“Oh, I did not misread that, then? Well, I am glad to have replied forcefully, then.”

“It’s masterly,” said Victor.

“I’ll send it then,” said Felicity. “Will Peter like to be vailed to go?”

“Probably, he likes to run,” said Victor. “And in livery with letters, it’s an excuse to do so, and no watchman tries to stop him as a thief, which he confided in me was something he has had problems with, since the family moved into town.”

“His mother is a silly woman, but at least Peter has some freedom,” said Felicity.

“And a measure of his life that he considers being the boy who is at the beck and call of all to be freedom,” said Victor.  “He’ll train up to be a very good valet one day, if he works up through footman, by the time we have a son who needs one, he’ll be well trained.”

“Now that is thinking ahead,” said Felicity. “The furthest I got was that I was going to take on Hermione Driscoll as a partner, and possibly Hannah Loring.  Both are the daughters of parsons, as unalike as you might find, but both are responsible girls, and Hermione is a talented needlewoman. Hannah does well enough, but I think she would make a good buyer. They will rely on my designs, however, as Hermione has very little in the way of imagination. Hannah... my twin and I did not get on well with Hannah at first, but she has become a dear friend, and she has the entrée to the Jewish rag trade community, as she has been fostered by a Jewish family.”

“I have to admire your ecumenism,” said Victor.

“It’s a school requirement,” said Felicity. “We embrace those of other faiths, even outlandish ones like Presbyterians.” She dissolved into giggles. “Oh, Victor, poor Hannah had some dreadful ideas from her father, who was no sort of father at all, and she did not want to share a dormitory with Phoebe, who is Jewish,  and didn’t Oi put on an Oirish accent so Oi did, and pretended that twin and Oi were Catholic, just to see how much we could put her on, and we made a mess of ragging her, and dropped a bag of flour on the head of a new girl, who was a great sport about it, but we had to go without cakes for tea for two long and miserable weeks, since we had wasted our share of flour for goodies. But, anyway, I said that perhaps we should have pretended to be something really outlandish like Hindoo or Presbyterian, the joke being that Dr. Mac is Presbyterian.”

“I shall worry if we have twins,” said Victor.

“Believe me, I shall worry if we have twins,” said Felicity.

 

Felicity's Fashions 10

 

Chapter 10

 

Hartley House

Grosvenor Square

 

8^th April

 

My dear Dempsey,

I need you to draw up a betrothal agreement for my bride-to-be, Miss Felicity Goyder. I want the agreement to include her business as a modiste to remain in her control after our marriage  as well as an allowance commensurate with her position. I’ll be having a betrothal ball on  the 14^th inst, to which you are, of course, invited. I also want adoption papers for my niece, Trinity known as Smith, and a change to my will to cover her dowry, and an allowance for her, and a trust, and all that sort of thing. Clauses which will need to be reiterated in my post marital will. You know the sort of thing.

Hartley.

 

Hartley House

Grosvenor Square

 

9^th April

 

My dear Felicity,

What a felicity it is to thus address Felicity!  But to be serious, I have Helen arranging a betrothal ball for us on the 14^th of this month, I hope that is not too soon? I would like you to come early, and have an early dinner, so that we may go over the details boring but necessary with my lawyer, to separate your earnings from my estate. Dear me, should I also have asked Mrs. Belvoir and her husband [I do sometimes get the impression that this is the way of things for your school preceptresses] for permission to marry you? You are not twenty-one for some while, I think?

I will trot off to Richmond and let them know, and Trinity too. Do you want to come?  If so, be ready in half an hour.

Victor.

 

“You are outrageous, Victor,” laughed Felicity as she jumped into his phaeton.

“It’s one of my charms?” he said.

“If there had not been a question in your voice, that would have been insufferable,” said Felicity. “I expect Trinity will squeal with delight.”

“I am glad we shall both have her as a niece; I suspect she would go with you, even if it meant falling into poverty over Rosabelle’s lies, if she had to choose,” said Victor. “Which, to be honest, is quite right; she gave you her loyalty when you rescued her. I am glad to be added to the family she considers hers, I’ve become fond of her.”

“Remember that during the holidays when she has been tiresome all day and caught several different people in pranks and booby traps,” said Felicity. “I try to think of my twin and me, and do not give in to my first impulse to shake the child.  Usually she has very good reasons – from her point of view.”

“I will bear that in mind,” said Victor.

“I will have to wear the rose gown again,” said Felicity. “Still, if I put it over a white petticoat, and add two pink roses, it will be different enough.”

 

 

22 Henrietta Street

10^th April

 

My dear Lady B----,

I am sorry that you have been so gullible as to have been misled by the lies of a demimondaine and wish to cancel your order. By this total negation of it, without any payment for work, I take this to mean that I own utterly the gown on which I have been working, and its design, and if you take the design to another modiste, I will sue.

Do not think that I will accept you back as a customer when you have realised that you are being foolish; I do not want to be known as a dresser of those with no manners or integrity. How you think I could have had a child at the age of six years old is quite ridiculous; the child in question is, and provably so, the child of the former Viscount, and your slandering of Viscount Hartley for having improper relations with a little girl of six [and I can prove my age too] will doubtless occasion a law suit from his solicitors as well as mine if you spread such nonsense. I hope for your sake that you have not passed on a blatant lie.

Yours sincerely,

F. Goyder

 

“That’s the third, Florence,” said Felicity. “Well, I know who the sensible ones are. And Lady B is a similar size to me, and the apple green and apple-blossom pink suit me very well indeed, so this is now my gown for my betrothal party; and Lady H’s gown will do for yours. That severe dark blue is very becoming on you, and the silver-shot gauze overskirt lifts it very nicely.”

“Oh, my dear, but you could sell it to someone else....”

“Or I could choose to give it to my friend,” said Felicity. “We may have more clients pulling out, for the spite of Rosabelle, but it’s too laughable that she claims Trinity to be my daughter.”

“Rosabelle did not think it through,” said Florence.

 

22 Henrietta Street

9^th April

 

Victor;

It has started. However, one of the lies is most certainly actionable and I suggest that you set your solicitor on to it; I will ask Mr. Embury to call on you to consult with your own solicitor.  The rumour abroad is that I have been your secret mistress long enough for us to rear a daughter between us, which is to say, Trinity. I would have been six when she was born, which I can demonstrate, and I suggest you have that quashed as soon as possible for Trinity’s sake.  Will you ask Libby if Trinity can come to the betrothal ball, and have it as a joint acknowledgement of her as your niece.

Your Felicity has the felicity to love you.

 

“Oh, that besom!” declared Victor. “Dempsey, a Mr. Embury is on his way, to consult on behalf of Miss Goyder about gossip concerning our supposed mutual child, Trinity.”

“Surely Miss Goyder is not old enough? And you would have been quite a prodigy yourself,” said Dempsey.

“Quite,” said Victor.

 

 

Dempsey, Cagney & Lacey

Solicitors at Law

Gray’s Inn Road

London

In conjunction with

Embury & Embury

Solicitors at Law

111 Strand

 

10^th April 1815

 

To: Miss Rose Green, alias Rosabelle deVere

 

Dear Miss Green,

It has come to our notice that you have made public accusations that our senior client, Viscount Victor Hartley, hereafter referred to as the first party of the first part, and our junior client, Miss Felicity Goyder, hereafter referred to as the second party of the first part, had carnal relations at the ages of eleven [11] years old and six [6] years old respectively, thus accusing the first party of the first part, being of the age of mens rea, guilty of child spoiling.

The supposed offspring of this fictitious union, being the daughter of the former viscount, Viscount Vincent Hartley, being the first party of the second part being slandered by this miscalling of her parentage is also represented jointly by Dempsey, Cagney, & Lacey and Embury & Embury.

You are hereby served notice that unless you make a full retraction of your slander in public and before the same audience to which you spread the initial lies, the joint firms will prosecute your slander with the full rigour of the law.

Chas. Dempsey

And^w. Embery

 

“I don’t understand a word of this,” complained Rosabelle.

“Tear it up, then, that’s what I always does wiv legal dokkiments,” said her house-mate, one Jane Brown, alias Jenny LeBrun.

“I’m going to go and complain to Victor about that hussy putting the law on me,” said Rosabelle.

 

oOoOo

 

“My dear Miss Green, if you wish to apologise to the Viscount and explain how you plan to make reparations, I will permit you to see him, but otherwise, he is not at home to you,” said Charles Dempsey.

“What for would I want to apologise? I haven’t done nothing to apologise for,” said Rosabelle. Her voice was beautifully modulated but the grammar made Dempsey wince.

“Well, if you don’t think calling Viscount Hartley a child spoiler is nothing for which to apologise, I have to say I find your understanding to be severely limited,” said Dempsey.

“Oh, you liar! I never did!” cried Rosabelle.

“Indeed? You contradict several witnesses who declare that you said, and I believe I quote, ‘He’s been keeping that trollop Felicity in Henrietta street for years, and that girl with her is his get on the bitch.’”

“Well, yes, stands to reason, don’t it? The girl is the dead spit of him.”

“And so you accuse him of child spoiling.”

“Huh? I didn’t say he slept with his own brat, that would be peculiar,” said Rosabelle.

“You said she was Miss Goyder’s  and the Viscount’s daughter.”

“Stand to reason, don’t it?”

“Hardly,” said Dempsey. “As Miss Goyder is eighteen years old, which can be proven by her parish entrance of birth and by her school records, where she was a border for the past six years, she would have had to have been six years old at the time Trinity Hartley, daughter of the former Viscount, was born.  And as the current Viscount was over the age of criminal understanding, you have therefore accused him of carnal knowledge with a little girl of five years old. And accusing a man of position of such a filthy and loathsome crime is disgusting. Can you wonder he does not want to see you?”

“But I... well, he’s been carrying on with her, anyway,” said Rosabelle. “You can’t do nothing to me, anyway.”

“My dear young woman, unless you retract your slander and in public, and in front of the same audience to which you made such accusations in the first place, you will be summonsed. And the trial could take place in the House of Lords, because he is a peer of the realm. I imagine that the fines will be swingeing, and you will fetch up in debtor’s prison.”

“I don’t believes you, you’re tryin’ to put the frighteners on me.”

“Well, if you choose to disregard this warning, it is your problem,” said Charles Dempsey. “I advise you to invest in an advertisement in the Morning Post retracting all comments regarding the viscount and his betrothed wife. He will accept that as your public retraction.”

“Betrothed? That bitch has managed to entrap him into marriage when he never even hinted of it to me? The HELL will he have any kind of retraction!”

Rosabelle stormed out.

Charles Dempsey shrugged.

She had made her bed. He had tried to explain it to her. He might have thrown in the betrothal in the expectation of such a tantrum.

 

 

Morning Post

12^th April 1815

Private Advertisement

To whom it may concern

The slander uttered concerning my betrothed wife, Miss Felicity Goyder and of myself, in accusing me of sleeping with her when I was ten or eleven and she was six, giving rise to the birth of the child who is, in fact, my dead brother’s child, is hereby refuted, and the full rigour of the law will be enacted on anyone who spreads such filthy calumnies.

Victor, Viscount Hartley

 

“You’ve been served, Miss,” said the messenger, when Rosabelle took the legal letter from him. “Court for you termorra.”

“Garn,” said Rosabelle, and tore it in half.

The messenger shrugged.

“Your problem,” he said.

 

22 Henrietta Street

12^th April

 

Oh, Libby!

That awful woman is determined to drag things through court; she should have been summonsed by now. It is absolutely horrid. I have lost five customers over her slander; honestly, how can anyone think that I have a daughter Trinity’s age? And if you look at that as a blatant falsehood then the rest scarcely stands up as well.  I’ve only been renting the shop for a couple of months, after all, so the idea that Victor set it up as a love-nest for me years ago is risible. As Florence can testify, and moreover there is the bill of sale to Daisy. Oh! I must write to Daisy.

Felicity.

 

22 Henrietta Street

12^th April

 

Dear Daisy,

I am in a bit of a pickle, and we might need your testimony in court tomorrow....

A long and rambling letter explained the whole to Daisy, who read it out to her husband. She had happily paid for a second page, hating to read letters crossed and re-crossed and making it a standing instruction to just send more paper.

“What a piece of ridiculous spite,” said Julian Nettleby.

“I did wonder, when I saw the piece in the Morning Post, and started reading, if Felicity had made a mull of things,” said Daisy. “She’s been known to do so. But she seems to have acted properly enough. What a wicked and spiteful woman; I will have to be in court, you know, my dear, we Swanley girls close ranks.”

“Absolutely,” said Mr. Nettleby. “I will be there to support you, and to watch the faces of those you verbally excoriate. Far too entertaining to miss, wot!”

“I love you, Julian,” said Daisy.

 

 

 

Grillon’s Hotel

London

Thirteenth April.

Dear Mr. Embury,

That was a very nice job you did today. I especially liked the way you touched on the reflection on anyone who worked for Felicity, including her partner from whom she had bought the majority share of the business and any apprentice.  Mr. Dempsey did a nice job as well in demonstrating how this piece of spite might impinge on the betrothal of a peer of the realm, threatening the betrothal itself through potential recriminations, and threatening the marriage chances, and therefore ability to procreate of a young man of impeccable reputation, whose need for an heir is imperative.  I liked too your touch about whether the defendant was aware that she further accused a school of good reputation, sponsored by no less than the Bishop of Norchester, of pimping out its pupils; bringing the good Bishop’s name into disrepute as well. [poor Uncle George, he would have conniptions!]. Poor Felicity, how wild she looked when Mrs. Marguerite Nettleby was called, and her relief to find it was just me, Daisy.

I am glad, too, that awful Lady B, named as secondary defendant, will be forced to cough up as much as Rosybelowa [oh, Mr. Embury, I heard you wince, when will you remember that I was raised by a vicar and therefore understand coarseness on a level no poor naive solicitor can hope to do] because Lady B has gone out of her way to make trouble for Felicity, the moment she realised she was not going to get a gown for free out of it. I had a go at her myself at Lady H’s dinner party [now that lady is a total fool and believes the last thing she heard, but at least is not malicious] and pointed out that as I was at school with Felicity, I would have noticed if she had been abnormally precocious.  Those fool ladies had not even made a guess at Felicity’s age; all they saw was ‘the Modiste.’ They make me sick. I am going to order a gown from Fee tomorrow, and tonight, I am going to go to Almack’s and point fingers.

So far I have reduced seven society ladies to tears, and another three will have to work hard to pacify their husbands who take a dim view of a fellow peer being slandered, so it has been quite a successful few days on my part so far. I believe Almack’s should prove very amusing tonight, and I plan to attend Felicity’s betrothal ball as well, so I shall be in London until Monday as it would be improper to travel on a Sunday, and I do have the mores of my vicar well instilled  in me.

Yours,

Marguerite Nettleby