Chapter 8
With a bit of pestering, Kitty persuaded her mother to put together a gathering of some of the quieter, shyer girls she had met, and with due consideration, Susanna Akenfield, and a few of Stephen’s friends to squire them. She hoped it would give Sophie some social life, and had arranged a quiet room just for her and her maid.
Sophie was quietly enthusiastic, if a bit nervous, but Kitty was to be disappointed when Hugo dropped Elvira at the party, and left immediately.
“Oh, Kitty! Sophie is on her courses, and she is crying and crying in disappointment, but she feels so ill with it,” said Elvira. “I have apologised to your mother, but she is so kind, she says it can be arranged again, apart from those young men who will be back for the summer at Oxford. Hugo has gone back to be with Sophie, for when she gets in a state, only Hugo will do to sooth her.”
“Oh, of course! He is a good brother, I am disappointed, of course, but you shall take some cake for her, our cook specially made an orange cake, for Sophie said she loves oranges.”
“Oh, I hope that will help,” said Elvira. “I hope you will not feel the evening too flat.”
“Not at all, for I deliberately invited all the ‘wallflowers’ and the young men who have trouble asking for dances, as they need the help too,” said Kitty. “All of those who have been put down by people like the Erinyes, and who appreciate an evening where they don’t have to feel insulted all the time.”
“Well, I am sure they will be nicer people than those who put themselves forward; or at least, some of them,” said Elvira. “Confidence is not a fault, but so many people let it become brashness.”
“It can be a mask for someone timid, but it does not create a good impression,” said Kitty. “Now! Come and pick a colour; girls are picking a shade painted and the gentlemen have to find the right colour by the name they have, and will refer to you as ‘Miss Scarlet’ for example. It’s to break the ice, and I am sure Mama has removed two matching tokens for Sophie and Mr. Bottringham.”
“I have,” said Mrs. Worthington. “Pray, take a token, Miss Bottringham.”
“Oh, I am brown,” said Elvira.
“Oh, no, you are not brown, you are ‘Dust of Ruins’,” said Kitty. “I am ‘Esterhazy,’ a pretty silver grey.”
“I wonder how many young men will know it, though,” said Elvira.
“At least I didn’t choose the fashion colours of Mama’s time; can you imagine having to look for ‘Stiflled Sigh?’” said Kitty.
“Whatever colour is that?” asked Elvira.
“A washed-out lavender which is barely off white,” said Kitty. “And Corbeau, which was so dark a green as to be almost black; now we have Rifle Green, which is not as dark, but is prettier.”
“Well, of course, the rifle regiments who wear it have not been formed long, I suppose,” said Elvira. “It would not be known in our parents’ time.”
“A Corbeau was very flattering to a redhead,” said Mrs. Worthington, “Which Rifle Green is not, always. It was such a subtle colour, looking black save where the light fell on it. I used to team it with sage green, or silver, or rose colour. Why, the gown I am wearing in the portrait in the parlour is in Corbeau, and my caracol jacket has lapels embroidered in all three colours, roses climbing all the way up the lapels, with sage-green and silver leaves.”
“Oh, Mama, that is a pretty effect,” said Kitty.
“Why, yes, I have admired it greatly,” agreed Elvira.
There was a slight contretemps when a gentleman with ‘Esterhazy’ and another with ‘Cerulean’ tried to claim the same lady, who giggled nervously, and said she had no idea which was correct. Kitty firmly rescued the one destined as her partner for the evening from the slightly pugnacious man who knew, he said, his blues, by Jove!
“I had no idea Esterhazy was grey,” said her partner, one Adam Prendergast. “I sort of thought it was a hazy Easter blue… don’t know why.”
“No worries, Mr. Prendergast,” said Kitty. “We have found each other, despite being colour-crossed partners.”
Mr. Prendergast was moved to laugh at this Shakespearian sally, even if Kitty doubted that he was aware of the source of the quote about ‘star-crossed lovers.’
The party games organised were of the nature of lottery tickets, fox and geese, and a game in which they were given the name of a Shakespearian character and had to indicate who, without mentioning the name. Elvira had ended up paired with Stephen, and Kitty suspected him of cheating, but they performed a funny sketch about breaking eggs for the somewhat forced pun of ‘omelette’ for ‘Hamlet.’ Kitty and Mr. Prendergast had drawn ‘Juliet.’
“We can’t really talk about not caring what roses are called, because that points to ‘Romeo,’ said Kitty.
“It does? Yes, by George, it does. I’ve seen that play, and I only slept through half of it,” said Mr. Prendergast, ingenuously. “Doesn’t that fellow, Romeo, say she is the sun, or something?”
“ʻSoft! What light from yonder window breaks? It is the dawn, and Juliet is the sun,’” quoted Kitty.
“Well, then, I shall say, ʻIt is the dawn and she is the sun,’ said Mr. Prendergast.
Kitty privately thought it was too easy, and changed her mind when one of the other young men frowned, and spoke up.
“Apollo is the sun, not a goddess, and I don’t recall if they spoke about the gods much in Troilus and Cressida,” he said, doubtfully.
This seemed to throw all the young men with a classical education into confusion, until Elvira put them out of their misery.
The confused young man, having given away which play he might know enough to discuss, managed to smile fatuously for his character.
“He’s unknown, you know!” he said.
“ʻHeavens, what a man is there! A very horse!’” said Kitty. “Thus, the Unknown, Ajax.”
“Are you sure that’s a name?” asked one damsel, timidly. “It sounds more like a patent cleaning product.”
“It does sound as if it ought to be,” said Kitty. “No, don’t scowl at me, Stephen, I don’t know any Greek, so parsing it and discussing the etymology will get you nowhere, and Emmy will be on at you again about improper plays like she was about Metaphysical poetry.”
“Which was singularly unfair, and there may be some unsavoury parts in a lot of Shakespeare, but Mama chose them all,” said Stephen.
“You shouldn’t mention or quote the Scottish Play, it’s bad luck!” cried one of the girls.
“Bad luck! I should say,” said the same boy. “We were taken to see it performed, and Lady M was played by a woman who was… well, all woman, and spilling out of the top of her bodice. And when there’s the scene with the doctor we all burst out laughing, because when the doctor says ‘Oh, what a sigh is there,’ all we heard was ‘Oh, what a size they are,’ and… demme, sorry, that was indelicate.” He retired into the background, flushing scarlet.[1]
“I am sure that if all her goods were on display, so to speak, it must have intruded on the action,” said Kitty, gravely, not meeting either Stephen’s or Elvira’s eyes.
Elvira was keeping careful notes, including of the more fatuous comments, to tell Sophie, who would want to guess the characters as well as to know what was said.
They broke for supper, after which there was to be some very informal country dancing. This was the run-up to supper, and was only to last three-quarters of an hour, since Sophie had been the intended main guest, and though dancing was expected for most of the young people, Kitty had not wanted her to become bored. It had been intended that her maid might take her to a private room set aside for her, to enable her to make herself comfortable, and to change her diaper cloths as well, if needed, whilst the rest frolicked and would not miss her.
Kitty sighed; it was a shame Sophie was missing out. She was also aware that she would, herself, have liked to have had Hugo Bottringham present, in the hopes of dancing with him. Well, it could not be helped, and the evening was still pleasurable, and dancing with a selection of young men, not all of whom stood on her feet, was fun. They must all start the first dance with the partner who was paired with them at the beginning of the evening, and each gentleman moved down a place as the dance ended, so that each lady ended up dancing with each gentleman. It would have left Hugo as a wallflower, in actuality, thought Kitty, something he was not used to; but as she also knew that many of the shyer young ladies found him intimidating, this was doubtless a very sensible arrangement of her mother’s.
They had a break for lemonade and sundry biscuits to keep them going until supper time. Kitty and Elvira were drinking lemonade procured by their dance partners of the moment, and taking a breather, when one of the footmen approached Kitty.
“Please, Miss Kitty, the gentleman said to give this to the red young lady; I suppose he meant you?”
“Thanks, Turvey, which gentleman was that?” asked Kitty.
“It was a gentleman in the street, Miss Kitty, and he called me over, after I had been in the street.”
“Oho, Emily from next door, eh?” said Kitty. “Her mistress is a Tartar, don’t go letting her be caught.”
“No, Miss Kitty,” said Turvey, overwhelmed that Miss Kitty knew his best girl’s name and that her mistress did not hold with followers.
Kitty opened the note.
“Oh! It is not for me at all, Elvira, it says, ‘Dear Miss Bottringham,’ as an opening.”
She handed the note to Elvira.
“Oh, no!” cried Elvira. “It says that Hugo is injured and calling for me, and not likely to live long!”
“How on earth is he to have been injured two streets from your own home?” asked Kitty.
“I… yes, indeed, and he says I must make myself comfortable and bring my wrap ready for a journey by coach to where he was injured… I hate coach travel, it makes me feel quite ill, since….” She had gone very pale.
“May I see?” asked Kitty. Elvira passed her the letter, and Kitty read it.
Dear Miss Bottringham,
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but your brother has been injured, and is asking for you. It is not certain if he will survive, so I urge you to hurry, and make yourself comfortable for a journey, with your wrap, and come out to my carriage to travel to him. Burn this if you can, or dispose of it where nobody will find it, or your brother’s reputation will be quite destroyed.
A friend.
“Well, that’s so much poppycock,” said Kitty. “We know it’s no journey at all to your house where he went to be with Sophie. I tell you what! Let’s trap whoever it is, because this stinks of an abduction for your fortune. I don’t have a fortune, so he’ll let me go, and if I dress in Stephen’s clothes under a gown, in a cloak, I’ll decoy him away and find out who he is for your brother to thrash, and if I take plenty of money, I can take a stage coach home dressed as a boy from wherever he dumps me. But I’ll keep him going as long as possible. You’d better ask Stephen to take you home as soon as I’ve gone off to let Mr. Bottringham know, and then Stephen can let Papa and Mama know.”
“Oh, Kitty! Are you sure we shouldn’t just tell your parents?” said Elvira.
“Well, then he’s likely to laugh it off and say we read into it too much and would get away with it,” said Kitty. “Don’t worry; I won’t let him hurt me.”
“But what if he overpowers you and ruins you?” asked Elvira.
“I’ll take my muff pistol; Papa made sure I am a tolerable shot, because he says that I’m a sad romp but at least if I’m a sad romp who knows how to take care of herself, I should be less of a worry to him. And I’ll take Stephen’s clasp knife too, and put it down my boot in case of being tied up.”
[1] True story. My husband’s class went to see the Roman Polanski film age 13. Guess who was the idiot who explained to the master.
