Chapter 8
“Trinity,” said Felicity, “As you know, we are visiting Swanley Court School on Wednesday. Do you want a trunk packed, to be able to stay if you wish?”
“I ain’t got enough for a trunk,” said Trinity.
“I’ve been making over and making up some dresses suitable for a schoolgirl for you, between other work,” said Felicity. “I’d have made all new, but for having to make a living as well. You will have all new art supplies, which I asked Mr. Bailey to purchase yesterday, and you have day dresses, a Sunday dress, and an evening gown, as well as underwear. These are yours whether you decide to go to school or not, and you had better start calling me ‘Felicity’ as more friendly than ‘Miss Goyder.’
“Cor, can I see vem?” asked Trinity.
“You may indeed see them,” said Felicity. “This is your trunk; I’ve made you two hard-wearing dresses to play outside in, one printed in this ferny pattern of drab, I found a richer amber drab, which will suit you well, and another from nankeen, because you can wear that shade of yellow, and I have made it up to be worn, if you will, as a riding habit, with matching spencer with black frogging, and I made you a matching shako with black feathers to wear to ride. You have a plain straw bonnet, and I made you a pretty and frivolous lace cap to wear indoors which I think is not in the least like the caps of the asylum.”
“Coo, no, that ain’t a bit like them ugly things,” said Trinity. “So, do I have to learn to ride?”
“No, but it is a handy accomplishment to have,” said Felicity. “I made you nankeen trousers to wear under your dress as well, and for playing outside in the woods, where sometimes pantalettes are a little inadequate.”
Trinity sniggered.
“I’m going to look silly in pantalettes,” she said.
“Not when everyone else is looking just as silly,” said Felicity. “Your other day gowns are yellow muslin, striped pink and yellow poplin, and for a change, a print of brown stripes with red poppies between. Your Sunday best, white muslin with yellow ribbons, and your evening dress, Urling’s lace over a sateen petticoat with motifs of blonde lace. Your new uncle can afford very expensive gowns, but you won’t want to look overdressed compared to the majority, will you?”
“No,” said Trinity. “I like pretty things but they don’t have to be swell.”
“There’s a good girl,” said Felicity. “I’ve put in pieces of muslin for you to embroider to make collars or whatever.”
Trinity hugged her.
“He seems nice, and he can buy things, but you rescued me, and you do things for me,” she said, obscurely.
Felicity hugged her back.
22 Henrietta Street
6th April
Dearest Phip,
Well, Lord Hartley picked us up in his extremely comfortable coach and we went out to Swanley Court.
Lord Hartley was much surprised that we had arranged a trunk for Trinity already, in case she wanted to stay. I think he was a little put out, having expected to purchase clothing for her. However, he complimented her on the day gown she was wearing, which pleased Trinity.
“Felicity makes things for me and she rescued me,” she said. “I think I would have died in the asylum.”
He looked as if he was going to pooh-pooh this comment, and was startled when I agreed.
“They cut her hair off, called her ‘Abishag’ and I’ve heard how girls there are punished by being beaten and deprived food, and the food is awful,” I told him. “Girls who do not comply are quite likely to die. It’s like the awful charity school in Oxford which our preceptresses stole a little bit, and it took a long time for some of the girls to regain their health. Some of them are still sickly from harsh punishments. I don’t think she is exaggerating at all.”
“Thank God you found her,” said Hartley. He was, I think, really upset.
He asked her to call him ‘Uncle Victor,’ which I think Trinity will accept well enough. She was regarding him thoughtfully, and I can’t help wondering what was going on in her complex little head.
Anyway, it does not take long to get to Swanlea from in town, and Trinity was somewhat impressed by the amount of grounds.
“How much are the girls allowed?” she asked.
“The girls are allowed to go anywhere in the grounds,” I told her. “In the wet, you are expected to stay to the paths, and stay in the covered swing house or in the folly on the other side of the river. Playing in the marsh near the river is forbidden without two other girls with you, because the boggy bits might be dangerous if you fall.”
“Seems fair,” said Trinity.
Well, Phip, we visited the school so that Trinity could meet people and make up her mind whether she wanted to go there or not rather than just to look at the grounds; and we went in, and Elinor led us to look in at the class which Trinity would be joining . It has little Sarah Ryland there as another artist, but it also has Eva O’Toole.
We arrived as Libby was asking the class if they could tell her what ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ was about, and up pipes Eva, “It’s about Bedlam, Mrs. Belvoir.”
“And what leads you to that conclusion, Eva?” asked Libby, with some asperity and no little confusion.
“Sure, and isn’t it just mad f’ some fella t’be thinkin’ that he’d loike t’sit in a cowslip and suck bees, or put a girdle about the earth, bedad! And then there’s the woman who thinks she’s a queen, and wants to marry a donkey, wirra! It’s out av her head she is t’be sure, and all of them away wi’ the fairies.”
So, there was Libby, who had dropped her head into her hands, and I’m not sure if she was more moved by despair or mirth, or both, and then up pipes your pet protégé, Phoebe, “I thought the Irish were supposed to have poetry in their souls, Eva O’ Toole! It’s a pretty fancy and the main characters are fairies, and there’s magic involved and the donkey is really a man. For shame, you didn’t even read Charles and Mary Lamb’s prose version!”
“I don’t like reading,” said Eva. “And why would anyone suck bees?”
“The line is ‘where the bee sucks, there suck I,’ which isn’t even in ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ but ‘The Tempest,’” said Libby, with great restraint. “Puck placed dewdrops in cowslips.”
“Oh, well, it’s all one, so it is,” said Eva, airily.
“’Midsummer Night’s dream’ is an allegory to demonstrate that even a supposedly idyllic world like fairyland is full of mischief and wickedness,” said Libby. “By using fictional beings like fairies, Shakespeare was able to demonstrate a few pieces of bad behaviour, like the widespread belief in love philtres, without being too offensive.”
So up pipes my Imp, Trinity! “I likes Macbeth,” she said. “And it’s fun offending actors by quoting it.”
“Ah, a healthy disbelief in superstition; how delightful, Trinity, my dear,” said Libby. “Have you read ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream?’”
“No, but I have read ‘The Tempest,’ said Trinity, with great aplomb. “It’s famous! But Prospero’s a neejit, because he’s awful powerful but daft-like with it.”
“Well, that’s accurate enough,” said Libby. “Would you like to read through the abridged version of the ‘Dream’ in Charles and Mary Lamb’s book, so you may be up with the rest of the class?”
So there we left her, Trinity being every ready to sink into any story given to her.
“I am sure you will be able to give Lord Hartley a tour of the rest of the school, Felicity, my dear,” said Elinor. “Bring him for tea in the staff sitting room when you have exhausted the poor man. I have some senior Latin scholars waiting for me.”
The Latin scholars are Hermione Driscoll and Kitty Walker, of course, and Himself would look in on them.
He retired bested.
He smiled wisely and said nothing in the mathematics class we visited. The junior class, consisting solely of Amelia Walker and the O’Toole twins, and consequently feeling like a class of thirty middle-schoolers, were doing botany, which meant that Kathleen was surreptitiously saving the sticky spring stems of cleavers to... well, to be honest, I have no idea what she planned to do, but she gave me a blinding smile whilst Deirdre distracted Miss Tissot, who presumably had drawn the short straw to be lumbered with the O’Tooles.
“The O’Toole twins are small hellions,” I told Hartley. “It’s as well Trinity is old enough to feel her dignity in being above them, or they might well manage to cause trouble with anything breakable around, like London.” I regaled him with a few of their escapades.
“My goodness,” he said, faintly. “No wonder Samms wanted a twin to set a twin to catch a twin. I gather his niece and nephew are a handful.”
“I haven’t heard anything beyond the incident of the frog,” I told him. I suspect they keep you on your toes, though.
Anyway, we discovered Trinity on her way to art lessons, talking nineteen to the dozen with Sarah, and I showed Lord Hartley the swing house, and the badminton court, and where we play rounders, and the soft balls for indoor games, by which time he was ready for a cup of tea.
Miss Joliffe brought Trinity to us in the staff sitting room, and she was so exhausted, she climbed on my lap, big girl though she is, and fell asleep after giving me a picture she had drawn of me and Lord Hartley, labelled ‘Uncle Victor marrying Felicity.’
Was my face red!
Hartley looked at it and blushed.
“The bairns do like a muckle piece o’ stabeelity,” said Dr. Mac.
Anyway, Trinity elected to stay so long as she could come home if she was unhappy, which I gladly consented to. And we drove back in a rather uncomfortable silence.
“It’s a good picture,” said Hartley.
“I can see why she doesn’t want to feel that she has to choose,” I said. “I wondered if you would marry Helen.”
“Helen! No, she is too much like a sister,” said Hartley. “And she has a beau, who is prepared to wait until Vivienne does not need Helen as a chaperone, however long that may me. Of course, if I were married, Helen would be free to wed.”
“I’m not going to marry someone just to give them a chaperone for their sister,” I said, with asperity. “If I get married I want to marry a man who would ride Ventre à terre for me, declares that I move him to such a passion that he cannot live without me, and who cherishes me like precious china, but allows that I am also very capable.”
“Does he have to provide the moon, cut into eighths and covered in cream?” he asked.
“No, that would be foolish,” I said. “The moon, being made of cheese, needs to be served in eighths with redcurrant jelly, walnuts, celery, and pickles.”
“Of course,” he said. “Well, I am glad you are not too practical to dash down my visitations into the absurd.”
“I like absurd well enough,” I said. Oh, Phip! I felt suddenly very shy. And then he took my hand.
“Felicity,” he said, “I don’t know you well enough as a person, only through my female relatives and... and.....”
“And your mistress,” I said. “I would like to know you better. I had wondered if you would take buying my dress as a way to ask me to be your mistress.”
“I would not do such a thing to a lady,” said Hartley... Victor. “Rosabelle comes from a class where marriage arrangements are lax to non-existent. The demi-monde have their own rules. And I’ve been generous to her.”
“So long as she hasn’t generously shared any diseases with you,” I said.
“I am very careful,” said Victor [it is easier to write the second time.] “And that sounds as if I intended to continue to have mistresses, which if I married, of course, I would not. Especially if I felt a passion such that I could not live without a wife whom I might cherish and who is also very capable. With or without pickles to go with the moon.”
“And we need to find out if you could feel that and if I could too,”, I said.
Phip, my heart was pounding so much, I felt sure he could hear it!
“I won’t kiss you,” he said. “You are essentially in my power and it would be indefensible. However, I will take you for a drive on Saturday, in my phaeton, if the weather is not too inclement.”
“What if it is?” I asked.
“We could look at the museum, or go to an art gallery,” he suggested.
“We can decide on the day,” I said.
And then we were back in Henrietta Street, and he handed me out of the coach, and kissed my hand whilst all the neighbours gawped. And I blushed again, and ran indoors, like a gawky child.
And there was Florence, giving me a knowing look, so I poured it all out to her over a cup of tea.
“Well, it will be quiet around here without that child,” she said, which wasn’t the non-sequiteur it sounds, but a way of saying that things will never be quite the same again.
But I have a heap of commissions, so I will not think about it again until Saturday.
Your loving sister,
Felicity.
