Poetry and Perfection 19

 

Chapter `19

 

Hugo went to visit Sir James Ambleside, the local magistrate. He inhabited a fine Jacobean mansion built out of red brick, following the basic style of the ‘E’ shaped Elizabethan prodigy house, with a fine and showy porch topped with balustrades, but incorporating the later Jacobean Flemish gables on the two forward-pointing wings. A lawn lay between the two sweeps of the drive, with gateposts decorated with what Hugo thought were either rather chubby phoenixes or somewhat dissipated roosters.

 

 Sir James was an elderly gentleman who received Hugo in his darkly-panelled study.

“I have heard of your idea from Pringle, and I am inclined to agree,” he said. “Better to bring them to where we want them, rather than keep chasing them. Now, tell me what it is that Pringle is not telling me about this boy you have with you?”

 Hugo began to tell the official story about Kit.

“I didn’t cut my eye teeth yesterday,” said Sir James.

Hugo deflated.

“I see I cannot pull wool over your eyes,” he said. “In which case, I cast myself on your mercy.”

He told the truth.

“Dear me! Dear me! I can see why you don’t like to have your betrothed wife in a common inn, and in disguise,” said Sir James. “I have no chaperone for her in my household, however, my dear wife being gone this many a long year. Though, I do have a housekeeper.”

“If she is discreet, perhaps you will share poor Kitty’s predicament,” said Hugo. “She’s a very pretty whip, but she has the sense of direction of a butterfly, which is how she ended up here. Less, actually, I suspect. Though I have taught her to find south using a pocket-watch and the sun.”

“Well, well, in your care, she can hardly go astray,” said Sir James. “I tell you what, I can make a legal deposition that she is temporarily my ward, and I’ll hire a woman in genteel poverty as her companion until she is fit to drive south.  Dear me! What a bumble-broth!”

“I am deeply grateful to Kitty for having made sure my sister did not go off with that swine, for dear as my sister is to me, she has not the bottom to escape with such aplomb,” said Hugo.

“Leave it in my hands; I have a woman in mind, and I believe she is romantic enough to think the story prodigious affecting,” said Sir James.

Hugo took his leave of the magistrate, and awaited his word.

 

Sir James rapidly found a genteel companion and chaperone for Kitty, and had a servant of his carry word to the inn; and Hugo was impressed that he had done so by that same evening.

 

It was unfortunate that Kitty came down ahead of Hugo, and almost walked into the man who had assaulted her before.

He gave a bellow of rage.

“What, you still here, you little molly? I’ll fix you!” He advanced on Kitty.

Kitty swallowed and remembered what she had seen at the fight. She ran in, with her head down, butted him in the midriff, and slamming her fists as hard as possible onto his kidneys.

The big man went down, and the smell of urine arose.

Kitty kicked him in the crotch and he collapsed, vomiting.

“You can’t do that!” cried the ale-draper.

“I did it,” said Kitty. “I didn’t see you defending me from a bigger man, this time or last time. And now perhaps he’ll leave me alone, but oh dear!” she gasped, as the adrenaline left her, and she, also, vomited, as Hugo came in.

“Did you let that animal back in, you old fool?” Hugo asked the landlord, furiously. “Why was he let out of the lockup?”

The landlord shrugged.

“Just take your… whatever he is, and get out of my inn,” he said.

“I’ll be delighted,” said Hugo. “I’ll make sure all my friends know about how you permit assaults on your customers, and slander and lies from one of your maids. I will be writing to the coaching companies which use this inn, and you will be out of business inside a year. I am not pleased.”

He picked up Kitty and took her into a private parlour.

“My dear, how badly did he hurt you?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know. Oh, Hugo, he did not hit me at all, I rammed my head into his belly, and hit his kidneys, then I kicked him in the crotch, but I think I have strained my ribs and it hurts.”

“I’ve still got some laudanum,” said Hugo. “I want to get you out of here, and somewhere safer.”

“Yes, please,” said Kitty.

She drank the bitter dose and Hugo watched until her breathing became shallower and she seemed more comfortable. Then he picked her up and carried her carefully out to his phaeton.

 

 

Hugo drove carefully to bring Kitty to Sir James’s fine Jacobean mansion. She was somewhat grey with pain and fatigue by the time they arrived, and Hugo carried her up to the chamber which was to be hers.  In a night gown, which was moderately sexually anonymous, she might get to know Miss Louisa Tippet when she had rested.  Hugo went to explain to Sir James what had happened.

“It’s common assault, but the blasted constable never took your deposition, or Miss Worthington’s,” said Sir James.

“Well, I don’t want to involve her as Miss Worthington, and one can hardly now involve her as a boy, since you know,” said Hugo. “But she hurt him badly, and he is going to be a laughing stock. Several serving men saw it, and it will go around.”

“That might be more meet than imprisonment,” said Sir James.

 

Miss Tippet was profoundly grateful for the chance to live in a nice house, and have a rest from making bonnets for the gentry which paid enough for her to struggle to aspire to genteel penury with a girl in three times a week to clean and cook, rather than total penury. She was not about to spoil this chance of luxury unknown by asking too many questions. She tutted over the girl, half-swooning, half-drugged brought into her domain, and cried out in horror when Hugo explained, as euphemistically as possible about the anger and despite of the man who had now attacked Kitty twice.

“Oh! I am so glad she hurt him!” she cried, flushing in excitement at the thought. “But the poor child! I will look after her for you, Mr. Bottringham.”

 

Kit woke up to see a gentle-faced, middle-aged lady, sat in a chair knitting.

“Hello?” said Kitty.

“Hello, Kitty; or would you prefer to be Miss Worthington?” said Miss Tippet. “I am Louisa Tippet, and if you want to call me Louisa, I have no objection.”

“Oh, I am Kitty,” said Kitty. “Thank you, that is obliging of you, Louisa. I am a bit muddled, I think Hugo dosed me well with Laudanum. I think I am at Sir James Ambleside’s house, because that was the plan, and I am certainly not in that horrid inn.”

“You are correct,” said Louisa Tippet. “Such a nice man, Mr. Bottringham is, and so difficult for you to be forced into such an improprietous situation, but of course, he has explained it all, and I cannot see that anyone can blame you, other than for going off with that dreadful man in the first place. But that is all past, and anyone can mistake which way a road is going. And you need not worry that Mr. Bottringham only offered for you out of necessity, for he’s plainly head over heels in love with you.”

“Oh, do you think so, Miss… Louisa? I think I am falling in love with him,” said Kitty. “But he has yet to teach me about metaphysical poetry.”

“Dear me! How very improper!” said Miss Tippet. “I… I used to read such things when I was younger and hoped for beaux, so perhaps it would be better if I explained.”

“Oh, you know about it? That’s famous!” said Kitty, managing to sit up properly. “My governess knows nothing of such things, and I fear it would shock her.”

“I may blush,” said Miss Tippet, with dignity, “But I will not flinch. And Sir James has a few volumes of seventeenth century poetry in quite well-thumbed volumes.  Now, my dear, do you feel able to rise for dinner? Mr. Bottringham had me purchase a few ready-made gowns for you, which I have trimmed a little, and I was knitting you a spencer for the cool evenings.”

“Why, how kind you are,” said Kitty, half falling out of bed to embrace her. “And a nice, serviceable colour, too, fawn goes with anything and doesn’t show the dirt like white.”

“Oh! I am glad you approve,” said Louisa. “I was afraid you would think it dull.”

“No, for it is most versatile,” said Kitty. “Oh! Is this dress for me? How pretty!”

“When I saw your hair, I knew you needed autumn colours,” said Louisa. “The beading on the bodice is but simple, quick work, but it looks quite pretty, I think.”

“It’s charming!” said Kitty. “I like the bold use of autumn colours over the tradition of blues and greens. But you have put one or two olive beads in with the browns, golds and tans, which is delightful.”

“I did guess at what colour your eyes would be when awake,” said Louisa. “Your eyes are sage green, but it works well enough.” She blushed. “And I could think of a metaphysical suggestion a man might make in poetry,” she said.

“Oh! Do tell,” said Kitty.

“‘Upon the bodice of thy dress, sweet beads there lie, and on it press.

Oh! That I might gentle caress upon them there, to thus possess.’ Meaning the nipples, of course,” she added, blushing further.

“Louisa! Can it be that you find Sir James attractive?” asked Kitty. “I have not met him yet.”

“He is an older man, but most distinguished,” murmured Louisa.

“Well now! Have you beading on any of your gowns?” asked Kitty.

“I do… my best, it is grey, but I have soft pink, peach, pale gold, and lavender beads on the bodice between the grey ones,” said Louisa.

“I will do your hair for you for dinner,” said Kitty firmly. “And you must write it out in your own hand and written as yourself and slip it into one of his books.”

“Kitty! But he might read it!”

“Naturally; and he will either be furious, in which case you say it was merely an exercise when teaching me, or he will be excited that a lady shares his interest,” said Kitty. “Let me see, we can work on that.”

Adorned to catch the eye, upon my dress

Sweet beads are found which on the fabric press;

Rounded they stretch the muslin where they lie

Advanced to hope to catch discerning eye

And draw the eye and hand to then possess

Each bead which begs for ardent sweet caress.

 

“I don’t think you need a lot of teaching, Kitty,” said Louisa, scarlet.

She wrote out the lines, though.

 

They went down to dinner arm in arm.

“Miss Tippet! Miss Worthington! Delighted you feel able to join us, Miss Worthington. And I know it is improper nowadays, Miss Tippet, but I do not think I have ever seen you in finer looks.”

“Kitty has kindly done my hair for me,” said Louisa, flushing.

“And the colour in your face is charming; you have become too pale leaning over straw bonnets for other women,” said Sir James. “A bit of air, and company, does wonders.”

“I wondered if I might entreat the use of your library?” asked Louisa. “Kitty has expressed an interest in learning about poetry, and I may not have been well enough educated to be a governess, but I am well versed in poetry.”

“Of course, of course!” said Sir James. “Much of it is perhaps a little over Miss Worthington’s head….”

“I have been wanting to understand the metaphysical poets for a long while,” said Kitty. “And Hugo is prudish about it.”

“It’s not proper while you are in this invidious position,” said Hugo. “But if Miss Tippet can instruct you, I don’t mind exchanging poems.”

“Famous!” said Kitty.

“So long as they are not too improper whilst I am her chaperone,” said Louisa.

“You are quite correct,” said Hugo, with a bow. “But being relieved of being a guardian, I feel that perhaps I may address Kitty as a man, not forced into the position of older brother; and allow myself feelings that must otherwise be denied.”

Kitty blushed prettily.

“Splendid, splendid,” said Sir James. “A new lease of life to me to see a young couple billing and cooing.” He glanced at Louisa. “And, Miss Tippet, you are familiar with seventeenth century poetry?”

“I have long found the metaphysical poets quite… captivating,” said Louisa, with a blush.

“Why, then, I hope you will make yourself free with my collection,” said Sir James.  “I have the modern romantics as well, and the nonsense that fellow Byron writes, but I feel them poor shadows of the earlier poets.”

“Oh! Lord Byron has some splendid imagery, but do you not feel that he is trying too hard to be shocking, and succeeding only in making a showing like a small boy unbreeched who uses words of… of bodily function that he has heard, or words he has misunderstood to be rude, to make an impression?” said Louisa.

“Dear me! I had not thought of it, but I do not dispute the suggestion,” said Sir James. “I remember, when I was very small, and you know how nursemaids are, and say ‘Do not say that word!’ without specifying which one, and I was convinced for years that ‘Stallion’ was a naughty word, because I had used it in a sentence.”

“There is a lot of mealy-mouthed silliness,” agreed Hugo. “And I confess, I had not considered that about Byron, but I think it is true!”