My Sweet Folly (20 page)

Cambourne House was a mansion suited to a nabob, three times as large as its neighbors, with beautiful arched windows two stories high set across the drawing room façade, and twelve bedrooms arranged on three upper floors. But the shouts and squeals of the Dingley girls echoed in gilded rooms that were almost empty of furnishings. Lander introduced her to the grim-faced housekeeper of his choosing, Mrs. Cap, who immediately began to complain of the poor condition that the previous tenants had left.

Lander might be an adequate butler, although Folie would sooner have cast him as a pugilist, but he was perfectly hopeless at providing for the Babbling Tribe. They had arrived at dusk after two days of maddeningly slow travel, hungry and cranky, to find an empty larder, no cook, six strapping footmen standing idle, and one harried charwoman hanging out sheets that were still soaking wet.

“I must find a cookshop directly,” Folie said to Lander. “Melinda, you and the girls make sure that all the feather beds are turned over and shaken out. Sally, we shall need plenty of water. Mrs. Cap, see to it that the men get fires started in every room. The place is like a grave! I pray there is coal. The good Lord only knows what we shall sleep upon tonight.” She gathered up her shawl and purse and started for the door.

“Madam,” Lander said sharply. “You are not to go out alone.”

Folie stopped. She had completely forgotten Robert’s orders. In Toot, there had never been any reason to hesitate to go out alone at any hour. But this was London, of course.

“Well, come along then,” she said, pulling her shawl about her. “Perhaps I can stuff a little common management into your head on the way.”

He pursed his lips, but only bowed and followed her out into the darkening street. On the front step, Folie paused and took a deep breath. London smelled of horses, smoke, and a cold spring. There was still a bustle of traffic in some large thoroughfare nearby. To her delight, a lamplighter was just illuminating the street. She paused for a moment, watching the pools of light grow upon the pavement.

“How pretty it is!” she murmured.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lander said at her shoulder.

Folie started, unused to having a servant at her heels for simple errands. “We must have milk,” she said. “Where will we find it?”

“In the Shepherd’s Market at this hour, I think, ma’am.” He looked at her dubiously. “I am not certain a lady ought to be seen there so late in the day—”

“Perhaps she ought not,” Folie said briskly, “but you have left me no choice in the matter. Food before footmen, Lander. Food before footmen! If I can but convince you of that single truth, I shall increase your administrative merit immeasurably.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly. “I have not been able to locate a suitable cook.”

“Hmmm!” Folie replied. “But six footmen quite fell into your hands!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

The market was only a few steps below Curzon Street. Lander at least appeared to be well acquainted with the neighborhood, and led her there without delay. Folie felt instantly at home among the close streets and half-timbered buildings, as if she had wandered into market day at Toot— but tucked behind the elegant houses of Society and showing no signs of closing for dark. Light from fires in barrels and tubs gave the milkmaids and shop stalls an exotic air, and the accents of the people were so thick as to be almost a foreign language. The Punch and Judy booth was curtained, but there was a silent juggler spinning his multicolored balls in the flickering light, his painted eyes following Folie with an intent, unnerving smile.

She located a cookshop easily enough, by the smell of baked pudding. She placed an order that made the proprietor’s eyebrows go up, but after a little negotiation and an appeal to his wife, who laughed at the story of Lander’s six footmen and no cook until she could hardly breathe for sputtering, arrangements were made to have fifteen pork pies, a cold roast, an assortment of cheeses, ten loaves of bread with butter, five gallons of fresh milk, a kettle of vegetable soup, and a block of ice delivered within the hour.

“That will do to break our fast in the morning, too,” Folie said as they walked back into the narrow market alley. “What a wonderful place London is, that one can get fresh milk at seven in the evening! And a block of ice! It’s almost April!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lander said.

She was about to make a comment upon his vast range of conversation when she looked up at the juggler. The mummer had followed her and Lander, apparently considering them his best hope of any profit tonight. He pulled a paisley scarf from his sleeve, wadded it into his hand until nothing could be seen in his fist, then reached out toward Folie, opening his fingers.

She laughed in spite of herself at the bright peering eyes and black mask of a small ferret that stood up amid the unfolding scarf on his palm. Folie clapped. The mime cupped the ferret between his hands and set it upon her shoulder. She felt the creature nuzzle at her bonnet. The juggler’s painted face smiled, weirdly expansive in the unsteady light. With a magician’s flourish, he made a circle about his head and then held up four fingers.

She hesitated. “Four crowns?”

The juggler nodded with enthusiasm. His ferret put one paw on her cheek, patting it gently.

“Well! I think Mr. Cambourne will buy us a pet,” she said, giving Lander an arch look.

“As you wish, madam,” the butler said.

Folie had meant the ferret as a diversion for the younger girls, to occupy them while she and Lander and Mrs. Cap got the house in some sort of order, but when she attempted to leave it with them in the back drawing room, it slipped from twelve-year-old Letty’s hands and scampered up Folie’s skirt. From then on, the little creature made it clear that Folie was its mistress. As long as she was in the room, the animal would play with the girls; but where Folie went, the ferret went, too.

There were a few moments of tearful protest, but to Folie’s relief, Melinda and Cynth seemed to have taken upon themselves the responsibility for keeping the younger ones happy. Melinda appeared entranced by all the hectic chatter, proposing games and mediating arguments with the glad grace of a girl who had longed for sisters all her life. Miss Jane, proving as practical and forthright as her father, had already found out from the charwoman the name and direction of a seamstress from whom more bed linens might be obtained straightaway, and sent a footman out for them. When the food arrived, she joined in laying out the table. In a system that Folie considered masterful, Miss Jane called in three at a time to the dining room, each pair of young ones escorted by an older girl who supervised the filling of their plates. By ten o’clock, everyone had eaten, including Folie. The rooms were warm and the new linens installed.

There were only five beds, but the Dingley girls, accustomed to sharing their rooms, had already haggled out their distribution. Even the littlest, who had wept tragically when she discovered her nurse was not there to tuck her in, finally found a cozy spot in bed between Melinda and Cynth and drifted off to sleep.

“What good girls you are,” Folie said warmly to Miss Jane, as they stood in the dim passage after seeing the eight-to-twelve-year-old contingent put in bed. “I believe you could have installed yourselves quite handily, without a bit of help!”

Miss Jane grinned. “Oh, we often do for ourselves, Mrs. Hamilton. Perhaps we aren’t as elegant as our mother could wish, but we sleep on clean sheets!”

“You are treasures. The gentlemen will want to snap you up in a trice,” Folie said.

“Do you think so?” Her round face lit with pleasure. “We’re none of us very beautiful, you know,” she added humbly.

Folie felt a little twinge at the base of her throat. “Piffle,” she said. “A woman’s beauty is in her soul.”

“Oh, yes, certainly.” Miss Jane nodded, with a wry purse of her lips.

Folie smiled. “A gentleman told me so.” She lifted the ferret from her shoulder, wrinkling her nose at it. “Of course, he had never laid eyes on me,” she added cheerfully. “But naturally I have held to it buckle and thong ever since!”

Jane laughed and dropped a curtsy. “Then I shall, also! Good night, ma’am.”

Folie turned away, carrying the ferret with her to the formal drawing room. This chamber held most of the furniture left in the house; the light of a single candelabra glinted on gold frames and mirrors, the smooth curves of chairs and sofas. Lady Dingley looked up from a graceful mahogany secretary, the desk before her covered with sheets of stationery. If she noticed the furry animal perched on Folie’s shoulder, she did not mention it.

“Mrs. Hamilton!” she said, with more animation than Folie had ever seen her exhibit. “I have been searching my memory. I believe you and I may call upon Lady de Marley and Mrs. Whitehurst. Not with the girls, of course, until they have been presented at court. But I went to school with Catherine de Marley, and she begs me to visit every time she writes, so we need not stand upon ceremony there. And I am thinking...I don’t know...Lady Melbourne...” She pursed her lips. “I am afraid...Sir Howard might not quite like it, but...” She looked hopefully at Folie, as if she might have the answer to a difficult conundrum.

“Lady Melbourne?” Folie said.

“Yes, I—” She lowered her eyes. “She is my godmother.”

“Oh, my Lord!” Folie put her hand over her breast, making no attempt to hide her awe. “Lady Melbourne! Oh, my dear! What famous news!”

“Yes, it is an honor,” Lady Dingley said honestly. “I love her dearly; she is my mother’s cousin, and we were used to be great friends when I was a girl, but Sir Howard does not like me to write to her.”
 

“But—”

“She is a Whig, you know.” Lady Dingley dropped her voice to a whisper, as if Sir Howard might be hiding behind the door.

“Oh,” Folie said. “Sir Howard dislikes her politics so much?”

“He becomes livid on the subject. But!” Lady Dingley drew a deep breath. She clenched her fists. “Her daughter is Emily Cowper. One of the patronesses of Almack’s.”

“Ahhhh.” Folie watched with intense interest as Lady Dingley’s face took on a look of militant determination. Tickets to the exclusive assemblies at Almack’s would be tickets into the highest society. It was something Folie had not even dreamed of for Melinda, having no acquaintance in such circles who might provide the precious vouchers.

“I shall call upon her,” Lady Dingley announced. “She is my godmother.’’

“Certainly you must,” Folie said firmly. “It would be the height of disrespect to come to town without seeing your godmother.”

“Yes!” Lady Dingley exclaimed. “Precisely!” She sat up. “And any girl without a ticket to Almack’s may as well turn about and go home.”

“Put on her spinster’s cap directly,” Folie agreed with emphasis, hiding a smile. “Her case beyond hope!”

“Indeed, yes!” She looked at Folie excitedly. “You explain it all so well, Mrs. Hamilton—perhaps you will speak to Sir Howard.”

“I!” Folie laughed. “No, no. It is not my place!”

“Oh, but I can never seem to make him understand anything.” Lady Dingley stood up in agitation. “He is so—he does not listen.”

Folie looked at her sympathetically. “I know a little of what that is like. But I am already too much in your husband’s debt. I shan’t impose more on him with requests that won’t please him.”

Lady Dingley sank down again with a look of despair.

“Oh, it is hopeless. He will never see.” Her mouth quivered a little. “Whatever I say, he must have it be silly and unreasoned, just because it was I and not he who thought of it!”

A depressed silence descended on the room. Lady Dingley rustled her papers together listlessly.

“Perhaps...” Folie strolled along the row of exquisite arched windows, watching her own reflection pass in the panes. “Perhaps you need not decide what to do right away,” she said casually. “La, things are so topsy-turvy here, I daresay you’ve not a moment to think of Lady Melbourne.”

“I can think of nothing but!”

“Sir Howard has said he must return to Dingley Court tomorrow, has he not?”

“Of course he will go. He can’t abide female—” She stopped suddenly. Her body was still, but her eyes flickered and grew wide. She turned a look on Folie.

They began to smile at one another.