Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (21 page)

She managed a crooked
smile. “Thanks to my brothers, I could regard with equanimity hairs
in the washing basin and boots to trip over in the dark.” She
reached out and grabbed hold of Larinda’s sleeve for a touch. “No
matter how large the enterprise, how grand the design, my dear,
love does become a bit mundane, eventually, for nobodies and for
the great of our society. Indeed, I suspect that is part of its
charm.”

It seemed to Jeannie
that Larinda’s expression softened for just a moment. She hesitated
in the doorway, and then the moment passed and she was gone,
running up the stairs, sobbing.

Captain Summers looked
at her with an expression bordering on pride. “An admirable bit of
plain-speaking, Jeannie my light,” he said, “if I may quote the
estimable Captain MacGregor?”

She said nothing.

Captain Summers stood
by the door, a look on his face halfway between amusement and
irritation. “Ah, now, quick steps on the floor above, and then bang
goes the door. I begin to understand my niece, Mrs. McVinnie.
Wretched child. It will be a wonder that anybody marries her. ” He
turned to his sister. “We may have to up the ante and increase her
marriage portion. A desperate measure, but what can one do?”

“
Hush,
Captain,” Jeannie said. “These are trying times. Now if you will
excuse me—”

“
Not
yet,” Lady Smeath declared in round tones. “I have only just come
from my poor nephew’s bed of pain, Mrs. McVinnie. It wrenches my
heart to see him lying there, so still and white.”

‘‘
He
will be recovered admirably by morning, Lady Smeath,” Jeannie
assured her. “And then, if I know anything about little boys, he
will strut about and contend that it was forty thieves that set
upon him in the dark alley.”

Lady Smeath raised her
lace handkerchief to her eyes. “You are perfectly heartless to
tease me with this.”

“
Agatha,” said Captain Summers in a threatening
voice.

She ignored him and
sobbed into her handkerchief. “And his heart is so feeble.”

“
There
is nothing wrong with his heart,” Jeannie said calmly. “Or his
digestion. He is neither consumptive, nor feverish, nor given to
choler. He is brave and forthright, and a valuable friend of mine
already. If he is allowed to have his way, he will likely join the
navy and serve His Majesty with distinction and verve, possibly
like his uncle.”

“
My
blushes, Mrs. McVinnie,” said the uncle.

“
Before I leave this house tomorrow, Lady Smeath, Edward and I
will probably take ourselves one more lark, provided the captain
will return the guidebook.”

“
Only
if I am allowed to accompany this expedition.”

“
Very
well, sir, if that is the condition,” she replied, her chin up.
“And now if you two will excuse me.”

She went to the door
and remembered the packages. She found the comb for Lady Smeath and
handed it to her. “I wanted to give you some little something as a
parting gift.” She gave the green scarf to the captain. He accepted
it with a smile.

“
This
is for those cold nights on the blockade, sir, when you are sitting
in the foretop roost and humming your little waltzes from
Almack’s,” she explained, her face, all but her lively eyes,
absolutely serious.

“
I
will wear it next to my heart,” he said, glancing at his sister. “I
do have one, Agatha, despite popular rumor in this
household.”

She took the remaining
packages and walked slowly upstairs. She paused at the door of her
room, changed her mind, and went to Edward’s room, knocking
softly.

Pringle opened it. He
motioned her in and Jeannie came on tiptoe. Edward was sleeping
soundly, a damp cloth over his eye.

“
Poor
laddie,” she said. “Pringle, you should have seen him take out
after that cutpurse.”

“
I can
well imagine, Mrs. McVinnie. He reminds me more and more of his
uncle.”

Jeannie nodded. “I have
the feeling that you have refurbished other black eyes.”

“
Among
other things. It’s all part of my job,” he allowed. “A cold cloth
does wonders, although we would be better served to wring it out
with saltwater. But one cannot have everything in
London.”

“
One
cannot,” Jeannie replied, her tone as serious as
Pringle’s.

After another moment of
looking down at Edward, she went to the door, which Pringle held
open for her. “As to the other matter, madam, it has been carried
out—not without, I might add, the stiff objections of Lady Smeath’s
French cook. He does not understand, but then, what are we to
expect of the French?”

“
What,
indeed?” Jeannie murmured.

In thoughtful silence
she went to her room, kicked off her shoes, and spread out the
toweling she had purchased for Clare. She found the little sewing
kit she always carried with her, reminding herself that she should
repack everything as soon as possible.

She hung up the shawl
she had purchased at the Pantheon Bazaar, noting as she did so that
Mary must have sponged and pressed her gray dress. Oh, dear, she
thought, this dress will do nothing but announce to the world that
I am everything Larinda claims, a dowdy Scottish nursemaid who can
only be understood one word in ten.

“
And
how could anyone say such things about you, Tom?” she asked herself
out loud. “She never even knew you. Poor child.”

But time was passing.
She gave the dress a pat. “And I would gladly trip over your boots
in the dark again, Tom,” she said, and then closed the
dressing-room door.

A few swift slips of
her scissors turned the toweling into strips. Several neat rows of
hand over hand stitches transformed the strips into a doll with
arms and legs. Jeannie held it against her cheek. It would be a
softer treasure than the captain’s glove.

She had not thought to
purchase buttons. Jeannie went to the dressing room again and took
two buttons off a dark-blue morning dress she had no plans to wear
between now and her certain departure in the morning. The buttons
were blue, and quite the right size for eyes. Humming to herself,
Jeannie sewed them on firmly and snipped the thread.

A proper doll should
have a bit of plaid about her, Jeannie thought. She had none except
her cloak, and that was too dear to cut. Except … this was for
Clare.

Jeannie went into the
dressing room again and took a good look at the cloak, deciding
after some thought that a little strip of plaid facing near the
bottom of the hem would not be missed. In a moment she was hemming
it carefully, and then draping it over the shoulder and under the
arm of the towel dolly. She had no gold button to serve as a
brooch, so she secured it at the shoulder with a pin. “Well, she is
a doll a long way from home, and a pin will do in this foreign
territory,” Jeannie said under her breath.

She went quickly into
the hall, hoping that no one was about, wishing to speak to no one.
The upstairs maid dusting the painting by the stairs paid her no
mind. She went to Clare’s room and quietly opened the door.

Mary Bow sat by the
fire, holding her hands out to it. She looked around when Jeannie
came in and bobbed to her feet, remembering in time to put a finger
to her lips.

“
She’s
fair worn out, the little one is, Mrs. McVinnie,” Mary whispered.
“However that is, the captain said she was as good as gold at Lady
Jersey’s.”

After a peek at the
sleeping Clare, Mary closed the door to the nursery. “I was going
to drink some tea,” she said, indicating the pot by the fireplace.
“Will you join me, Mrs. McVinnie?”

“
With
pleasure,” Jeannie looked about her. “And has that dreadful nursery
maid been turned off?”

“
Oh,
indeed,” said Mary, her eyes widening. “And do you know, Captain
Summers has put me in her place. I never dreamed of such a good
thing, but there it is.”

“
An
excellent choice,” Jeannie said as she took the cup from Mary. “And
the other one is gone.”

Mary sat down next to
Jeannie. “She thought to fuss a bit, but the captain just looked at
her. You may have seen that stare.”

“
I
have,” Jeannie said, taking a slow, careful sip. “Mary, you will be
such an improvement.”

“
I
will strive in earnest,” Mary said seriously, but her eyes
twinkled. “Clare and I have an understanding already. And do you
know, she said my name?”

“
Bravo,” Jeannie said. She touched Mary’s arm. “How nice to
know she will be left in good hands.”

Mary searched her face,
frowning. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?” she asked.

Jeannie took another
sip and then cradled the cup in her hands, enjoying the warmth.
“Well, let us say I will likely be returning to Scotland quite
soon.”

“
Homesickness,” Mary asked.

“
Oh,
something like that,” Jeannie replied. She hated to be evasive with
Mary, but there was no point in letting the servants know of
Larinda’s malicious tongue and her own foolishness.

Mary nodded. “I have
never had to worry about being homesick,” she confided. “When you
come from a workhouse, you don’t long to be back in it.”

Jeannie smiled and
finished her tea in silence, watching the flames licking at the
logs and grateful for the warmth. The afternoon had turned chilly.
Or perhaps I am feeling less sanguine than usual. And here I was so
relieved at the thought of going back to Kirkcudbright.

She set down the cup
and picked up the towel doll. “Just a little something for Clare. I
noticed that she did not have a doll, Mary, and every little girl
should have one, I think.”

“
I
never had a doll,” Mary said, and there was something wistful in
her voice that gave Jeannie’s heart a twist. “But I did want
one.”

Jeannie went into the
room. Clare still slept, her hair tangled about her face. How long
her lashes are, Jeannie thought as she bent over the little bed,
the doll in her hand. No, I suppose she does not look like the
captain. She kissed Clare’s cheek, and the little one stirred but
did not waken. Close to tears, Jeannie tucked the doll in the crook
of Clare’s arm, arranging the little plaid and pushing in the pin
firmly.

She straightened up and
watched Clare another moment. “I wish,” she said quietly. “Oh, I
wish ….”

Her thoughts were
unprofitable, and she dismissed them. Galen would say that little
in the world is served by dwelling upon it, she thought. It only
leads to megrims of the worst sort.

“
And I
have had enough of those for a regiment,” she said out
loud.

Mary was unpacking her
few belongings when she came into the sitting room again. Jeannie
whispered good day and hurried out the door, mindful only of
getting back to her own room. She was still absurdly close to tears
and she didn’t really know why.

The upstairs maid was
coming out of her room. She closed the door behind her and came to
Jeannie, barely able to contain her excitement.

“
Mrs.
McVinnie! Mrs. McVinnie! It is beautiful! Oh, it just
came.”

“
Whatever are you talking about?” Jeannie said as she opened
the door to her room and gasped out loud.

Lying on the bed was
another dress, a dress for the theater, a dress of deepest emerald,
cut scandalously low across the bodice. On legs that felt rubbery,
she came closer and touched the beautiful garment, admiring the
long, tight sleeves, the deep flounce, and the almost sinful
softness of the velvet. She ran her hand along the grain of the
fabric, knowing in her heart of hearts that even if there were
other dresses like this in her life, there would never be one this
magnificent.

There was nothing
ostentatious about it, nothing showy that would embarrass her. It
was a dress of impeccable quality, and something more. She sat down
beside it on the bed. The woman wearing this dress would know
without any doubt that she was loved.

Jeannie blinked. Never
before had such an odd notion flitted through her practical brain.
She waved her hand in front of her eyes, as if to brush away some
silliness. She giggled and closed her eyes, covered her face with
her hands, and counted slowly to ten. She opened one eye and then
the other and laughed out loud. The dress was still there. Next you
will pinch yourself, she thought.

As she sat there,
scarcely daring to breathe, a second thought washed over her like a
wave over a figurehead. I can’t possibly accept this dress. I
daren’t. She looked through the open door and into the dressing
room, where her gray dress hung and suffered dreadfully by
comparison.

Jeannie sighed and
fingered the green velvet again. In this dress, she thought, I
would have a little more heart tonight. She put her hand to her
mouth to smother a laugh. My goodness, my heart will be bared for
everyone to see in this dress.

But it would never do,
and she knew it. “I must find the captain,” she told herself in the
mirror, wondering for only a moment at her heightened color and the
unmistakable sparkle in her eyes. He will simply have to understand
that I couldn’t possibly accept this. Oh, dear, I hope he doesn’t
give me that stare.

She went into the hall
after one last look back at the dress. She tiptoed down the hall,
wondering, as she did so, why she did so, and tapped on the
captain’s door. He opened it, and she burst into tears.

‘‘
Good
God, Jeannie, whatever is the matter?”