A Useful Woman (20 page)

The girl looked up at her with pleading eyes. She was a talker, but she wasn't a fool. She knew as well as Mrs. Kendricks they'd ventured into dangerous territory. “You sure your Miss Thorne will help me?”

“She'll do her very best, I promise.”

“Well.” Becky moved closer, and started wrapping the funnel in a fresh length of cloth. “It was after Lady Edmund gets back
from Switzerland, with Miss Honoria looking like she's had a six-months bellyache instead of a trip to the Continent . . .”

“You don't mean she was in trouble, do you?” whispered Mrs. Kendricks.

Now Becky looked shocked. “Oh, no! Not her. She's got the very devil of a temper, but she's not careless like some of them so-called ladies. She was just sour from all that time with her mother. And she had reason, I'd wager. But soon as they's back, that Lady Edmund starts setting spies on her own son. What kind of mother does that, I ask you?”

“No! Really?”

“My hand to God.” Becky raised the hand in question. “She give me two shillings to watch the post and bring her any letters to or from Mr. Aimesworth before they went into the mail bag. An' I wasn't the only one she went to.”

“But young Mr. Aimesworth had his own rooms, didn't he? He can't have written very many from this house.”

“There was enough, I guess.”

Mrs. Kendricks nodded, and for a moment paid attention to pouring the golden cordial into its fresh bottle. “And you did as you were told?”

“What choice did I have? It was take what was offered, or lose me place.”

And incidentally, get accused of stealing that money, which would be why Lady Edmund paid it out in the first place. Mrs. Kendricks felt her jaw harden. She could probably add stealing the family letters to the charges as well.

“What on earth can she have wanted to know about so badly? Was he gambling? Or was it a woman?”

“Bound to be a woman, isn't it? With 'er ladyship so took up with everybody's marriages an' all. Strange, though, that they'd
worry about that now. Everybody knows Mr. Jasper had his share of ladies, even before he went to university. What would be so special about this one?”

What indeed?
Mrs. Kendricks corked the bottle. That was a question Miss Thorne would surely want answered.

A Disorderly Progression

It is our duty to announce a great change likely to take place in the administration of A-m—k's. It has already been hinted at in several of the public papers that discontents of a serious nature have long existed among the high executive authorities of that society.

—Marianne Spencer Stanhope Hudson,
Almack's

Society Notes

by A. E. Littlefield

FRESH SURPRISES AT ALMACK'S!

POWER TO CHANGE HANDS!

With the fashionable world still reeling from the recent, horrifying discovery of Mr. Jasper Aimesworth's tragic demise within the hallowed precincts of Almack's Assembly Rooms, there might not seem to be room for more surprise or scandal. But now the
haut ton
must prepare itself for a fresh shock. The
London Chronicle
has learned from a confidential source entirely informed of all details, that one of Almack's mighty
lady patronesses will be resigning her post before the end of the season.

Even now, while the famed runners of Bow Street, under the leadership of John Townsend and Adam “the Watchdog” Harkness, are still actively engaged in painstaking examination of each available clew in order to discover how Mr. Aimesworth met his ultimate fate in that place where so many of our finest young ladies hope to meet their matches, all of society turns its attention to the much grander and weightier question. Who will the new lady patroness be?

Readers of the
Chronicle
and “Society Notes” are of course familiar with the hallowed roll of the patronesses . . .

Rosalind lowered the paper. She sat in the comfortable violet parlor of Blanchard House, which had been set aside for her use when writing her letters, doing her fancy work, or receiving callers.

Or reading Alice's breathless journalistic prose in the Sunday
Chronicle
, and wishing she could feel more satisfied with her progress.

The days that followed Jasper's funeral and Rosalind's arrival at Blanchard House had been quiet ones. In fact, frustratingly so. Her letters and calls to her various friends yielded nothing more about Jasper's affairs than that vague gossip about money and women which she had already heard. Indeed, the only interesting news she had to add to her little store was Mrs. Kendricks's discovery that Lady Edmund had been worried enough about her son's recent
amours
that she'd set the servants to spying on him. But none of her housekeeper's careful inquiries had answered the pertinent question: What caused Lady Edmund to take this step? Was there really money involved, or was it strictly over an injudicious affair? If the latter, just who was the lady in question?

Rosalind did hear that Mrs. Tillman-Edwards had just let her parlor maid go and was able to recommend for her a girl of good character and experience named Becky Lewis. That, at least, was something. But the news she craved most so far had eluded her.

She had no word of any kind from Lord Blanchard regarding the contents of White's betting book. Although a fortnight had passed since Jasper's death, Lord Blanchard had not broached the subject with her. He had not answered her first letter, nor her second, written while she was still resident at Little Russell Street. And in the two nights since Rosalind had arrived to begin her stay at Blanchard House, he had not been home to dinner.

Rosalind had been avoided before. She knew what it looked like. But this was incomprehensible. Who had better reason to wish the entire matter laid to rest than Lord Blanchard?

So far, it seemed the only two points on which Rosalind had succeeded was in distracting the attention of the popular press and in arranging a shopping trip with Devon's cousin, Louisa Winterbourne. Even these minute successes had taken far longer than she'd hoped. The murder had driven news of a patroness's departure out of the society columns until this issue, and Louisa had come down with a cold that kept her in bed for a solid week. All other avenues being blocked, Rosalind was now reduced to hoping that Devon at least would be willing to talk about Jasper, instead of being distracted by any remnants of their former relationship that still lay scattered about.

She had to hope the same about herself.

As Rosalind contemplated this uncomfortable point, the door opened to admit Collins, the footman, who carried a silver salver with not one, but three, visiting cards on it.

“Mrs. Nottingham is asking if you are at home, Miss Thorne,” he informed her, holding out the tray. “Mrs. Fortnum and Miss Hall are with her.”

Rosalind glanced at the mantelpiece clock. It was exactly eleven, the earliest possible moment for paying polite calls.

“Certainly I am at home,” she said. “Please show them up, and ask Cook to send up a pot of tea.”

Collins bowed and left, only to return a moment later with the three ladies tailing behind him, looking very much like a cluster of colorful and nervous goslings.

“Mrs. Nottingham, Mrs. Fortnum, Miss Hall,” Rosalind greeted them all. “How very good to see you.”

“Miss Thorne, good morning!” said Mrs. Nottingham as Rosalind invited them all to take a chair. “When I heard you were staying with Lady Blanchard, I felt I had to come 'round to thank you for all you've done so far to help my little gathering. I've just had my reply from Mr. Sanderson Faulks. Maxwell will be so pleased!”

Rosalind bowed her head modestly. “Mr. Faulks is always interested in the work of promising new artists. He was delighted when he heard Maxwell had returned to us.” Which was stretching the truth, but Mr. Faulks would understand it was all in service of necessary
politesse
.

“I was saying to Mrs. Nottingham how very much we are looking forward to her party.” Mrs. Fortnum was a small, plump woman. Her natal family was one of the oldest in Shropshire, and she had caused a minor scandal in marrying a returning Indiaman five years her junior. However, his fortune, combined with her dinner parties, had tidied all that away. “Hers are always such delightful entertainments, not at all too stuffy or crowded like some. And when she said you were assisting her, I of course said it could not fail to be anything but a delightful evening.”

“So kind,” Rosalind murmured. Collins and a maid arrived with the tea, and Rosalind busied herself with inquiring as to her guests' preferences and pouring out. According to the rules
of such conversations, it would be Miss Hall's turn for flattery next, and Miss Hall did not disappoint.

“Have you seen the new fans at Harper and Grant's, Miss Thorne? I am very much hoping you'll consent to a shopping trip with me. You have the best taste and I'm sure I won't know which to choose.”

“I would love to.” Rosalind smiled. “We shall set a date.”

The talk flowed, as did the flattery. Rosalind answered and inquired and exclaimed by turns. They chatted about Mrs. Nottingham's party and the guest list, but the whole while she saw how Mrs. Fortnum and Miss Hall kept glancing toward Mrs. Nottingham, waiting for her to get to the point that had brought them all here. Rosalind was sure she knew what it was, but etiquette forbade her from bringing it up herself.

At last, Mrs. Nottingham deemed the proper amount of casual conversation had been completed and set her half-empty teacup on the table. “Miss Thorne, I must confess, I've come to you because I'm very worried.”

“I'm sorry to hear it. How can I help?”

The three ladies exchanged a glance, and several brief nods. “I'm sure you already have some idea,” said Mrs. Nottingham. “It is this dreadful business with Almack's. The news has been so shocking and it simply won't stop! Of course we are all very sorry about young Mr. Aimesworth . . .”

Of course we are.
Rosalind nodded solemnly.

“But, you know, Megan, my eldest girl, is to make her debut this season, and we have very high hopes for her. It is so important to be seen to do the thing properly, you know. And of course we want the very best.”

“Naturally. She's a lovely girl.” Rosalind knew Megan Nottingham only slightly, and found her a nervous little creature who stood in awe of her energetic mother and her voluble and
artistic brother. Rosalind personally thought what would be best for the girl would be to find a dignified civil servant, the sort who collected first editions and preferred to dine at home. She'd already adjusted Mrs. Nottingham's guest list with this in mind.

Mrs. Nottingham leaned forward. “Miss Thorne, as you are such very good friends with Lady Blanchard, we knew you would be able to give us a true account of . . . matters.” She stopped. “There are rumors that the voucher lists are going to be altered. That Lady Jersey is going to strike off those who haven't, perhaps, been quite as supportive as she might like.”

And there it was. All these women had applied for Almack's vouchers. In a normal season, they would have received their answers long before now.

“I have indeed heard those rumors, Mrs. Nottingham,” Rosalind admitted. In fact, she'd been sitting beside Lady Blanchard in several of the drawing rooms where they'd begun. Mr. Faulks made himself useful by ensuring they reached the clubs so the gentlemen could bear them home.

Mrs. Nottingham would have been utterly appalled to find out that the delay in the issuing of the voucher lists had initially been Rosalind's idea. Lady Jersey seized upon it as an opportunity to hear all the extended gossip and thus find out who the truly faithful among the subscribers might be.

“And they . . . are just rumors, aren't they?” Mrs. Nottingham had clearly been selected to speak for the trio. “We are good friends, and if you'd heard . . . well . . . anything about us in particular, you would let me know? It would be such a shame for us to have to cancel Megan's debut . . .” Not to mention socially disastrous.

Rosalind nodded sympathetically. “You may be sure, Mrs. Nottingham, if there was any such a change, I would let you know the moment word reached me.” She made sure to glance at the others to let them know they were included in this.

The three ladies looked to one another, relief shining on all their faces, but of course, Rosalind could not remark on that. They chatted awhile longer about families and the upcoming seasons at the Opera and the Ancient Music. They talked about the Blanchards, and Rosalind made sure to mention the importance of the Konigsberg post and how vital Lord Blanchard's efforts there would be to the current government's plans for securing stability and British interests on the Continent. Mrs. Nottingham nodded and agreed easily, which was a relief. It meant she had not yet heard anything to the contrary.

The rules of visiting dictated that social calls could last only a quarter of an hour, and exactly on time, Mrs. Nottingham and the others rose to their feet to take their collective leave.

“So lovely to see you, Miss Thorne,” Mrs. Nottingham said as they made their curtsies. “I do so look forward to seeing you at our little party. And perhaps you'd be so kind as to come dine with us next week?”

“And you mustn't forget our shopping trip!” beamed Miss Hall. “I'll write to you.”

Nor was Mrs. Fortnum to be left out. “I'm having a small evening gathering, Miss Thorne. Just supper and cards, of course, nothing formal. But I may count on you, mayn't I?”

Rosalind accepted, with pleasure, said she would wait for their cards and letters, and summoned the footman to show Mrs. Nottingham and her party to the door.

She waited a moment, the compliments and the social worries still ringing through her mind. Then she took up her hems and went in search of Lady Blanchard.

She found her hostess still in her private apartment. In fact, she was still at her dressing table with her maid, Lacey, finishing her hair.

“No, not that one,” Lady Blanchard said as Lacey lifted a
silver comb decorated with garnets and seed pearls out of its drawer in the jewel cabinet. “I'll have the tortoiseshell today. Good morning, Rosalind.” She waved Rosalind in. “I understand you've already had callers today? I must seem so slothful to you!”

“Of course not,” said Rosalind. “It was Mrs. Nottingham and some friends. They were most anxious to talk about the current state of the voucher lists.”

“Your scheme is working then.” As Lacey was arranging the last of her waves and curls, Lady Blanchard could not turn her head, but she did glance sideways and smile. “Sarah will be pleased.”

“It's hardly a scheme,” said Rosalind. “The funeral is over, the scandal has failed to break, and now everyone can return to worrying about being left out. It only made sense to hold back the voucher lists until they could become the focus of speculation, instead of . . . instead of Jasper. It's really just an extension of Lady Jersey's own game of exclusivity.”

“Which is exactly why Sarah will be so pleased.” Lady Blanchard touched the combs her maid set in place. “And we had better fly if we are to be on time for her. She does so hate it when other people are late. This will do very well, Lacey, thank you,” she added to her maid, who curtsied, and began gathering up reticule, gloves, shawl, and other necessities for embarking on a social call.