Perfecting Fiona (2 page)

‘I must see Mamselle Yvette right away,’ said Effy, getting out of bed. ‘She must finish that scarlet merino gown for me directly.’ Mamselle Yvette was another of the sisters’ extravagances – a resident French dressmaker.

‘Mr Haddon is an old friend,’ said Amy sulkily. ‘No need to primp and fuss.’

‘There is always need,’ said Effy, pulling on a lacy wrapper. She then gently removed a confection of a nightcap to reveal a headful of curl papers. ‘My efforts have not been in vain in the past. To think I could have been married were it not for . . . Ah, well, no use crying over spilt milk.’

Amy flapped her large feet in embarrassment. Effy always claimed that her single state was due to her determination not to desert Amy. But it was Amy who had been nagged out of accepting two respectable proposals by Effy, a fact that Amy, who did not think much of herself, often forgot.

She wrapped her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, for her thin muslin gown was not adequate protection against the winter draughts which whistled under every door of the house in Holles Street. Yvette, the French dressmaker, had tried to persuade Amy to adopt the new military style of dress for ladies, feeling that a more mannish mode of dress would flatter Amy’s flat figure. But Amy, after reluctantly agreeing to the making of two gowns, became convinced that if she dressed in a young fashion, then she would
look
young, so her gown was of pink muslin with a low neckline and little puffed sleeves.

She sighed and went off to inspect the household books, and to see if any more extravagances could be pared from the budget.

And yet the expenditure of the Tribble sisters seemed downright parsimonious compared to that of other members of the
ton
.

The Prince Regent’s capacity for spending money was shared by the whole of society. A hostess who was in the grip of one of the latest crazes of interior design and wanted her whole house done over in the Egyptian mode thought nothing of piling all the old furniture – Sheraton, Chippendale, and Wyatt – onto the lawn and making a bonfire of it. To make a brave appearance riding in the Park was far more important to a gentleman than his bank balance, and aristocrats like the humpbacked Lord Sefton cheerfully paid a thousand guineas at Tattersall’s for a thoroughbred.

Amy, who enjoyed riding, hired a horse from John Tilbury of Mount Street for twelve guineas a month, and that did not cover the animal’s keep.

Clothes were another extravagance. A simple muslin evening gown could end up costing a fortune, for often the clasps on the bodice were made of gold and precious stones and the embroidery was of gold thread and seed pearls. Fine lace was so expensive that each lady’s maid had a lace box to guard as well as a jewel box.

Amy’s head was soon aching after studying the books. Mrs Lamont, the housekeeper, protested that Amy did not trust her and threw her apron over her head and burst into tears and had to be soothed down with gin and hot water.

Feeling frazzled, Amy decided to go out riding as soon as Mr Haddon’s visit was over. She changed into a smart bottle-green riding dress of mannish cut which became her better than anything else she had in her wardrobe. But Amy did not know that. In her mind, she had given up any hope of attracting Mr Haddon. Let Effy flutter and flirt and tease. Amy decided she would rise above it all.

She sat down at the toilet table and let Baxter, the lady’s maid, arrange her hair. Baxter was a tall, gaunt elderly woman, former lady’s maid to the aunt who had failed to leave the Tribbles any money in her will. She was a conscientious woman and felt Amy was a perpetual walking slur on her art.

She picked up Amy’s heavy iron-grey tresses. ‘Have you ever thought of a leetle dye, mum?’

‘No, I have not,’ snapped Amy, who often thought of dying her depressing locks but had not the courage to do so.

‘Or one of the new cuts? I would not do it myself, of course,’ said Baxter, lighting the spirit lamp to heat the curling tongs. ‘But I could get Monsieur André, who—’

‘Enough,’ said Amy crossly. She was a tall woman, but Baxter always left her feeling diminished in size and spirit. ‘Monsieur André is too expensive and that you know. Get on with it, Baxter.’

Baxter primped her lips in disapproval, and after combing a solution of sugar and water through Amy’s hair to stiffen it, began to curl it all over her head.

Yvette, the dressmaker, entered quietly and stood watching the operation.

‘What are you staring at, Frenchie?’ grumbled Baxter.

‘I do not think Miss Amy should have the curls,’ said Yvette. Baxter’s bosom swelled with outrage. She was jealous of Yvette, who was young and attractive in a sallow-skinned, black-eyed way.

‘Don’t you dare tell me how to do my job,’ she said.

Yvette sighed and tried again, appealing to Amy directly. ‘The curls are not for you, ma’am. Perhaps one of the new Roman styles with the hair swept back from the forehead and perhaps ringlets falling from the crown, but not curls.’

‘Leave me alone, both of you,’ cried Amy, starting up so suddenly that the curling tongs went flying.

She marched down to the drawing room, a high colour on her cheeks, to find that Mr Haddon was already there and being entertained by Effy, who was wearing her new gown of scarlet merino. Looks like a tart, thought Amy viciously.

Mr Haddon rose courteously at Amy’s entrance. He was a tall, thin, slightly stooped man with pepper-and-salt hair tied back at the nape of his neck with a ribbon. He had gone out to India a relatively poor young man and had come back a rich nabob. He bowed over Amy’s hand, and when she was seated, went back to his own chair beside the tea-tray.

‘So,’ said Effy, ‘you can see we are all of a dither. I am afraid our new task must be this Fiona, although I had thought, after our last success, that we would have been able to take our pick.’

‘It takes time to build up a reputation,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘Does this young lady have a good dowry?’

‘She is an heiress,’ said Amy gruffly.

Effy raised plucked eyebrows. ‘You did not tell me that, Amy.’

Amy gave a gauche shrug and stared at the fire as if it were the most interesting fire she had ever seen.

‘Then you should have no difficulty,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘It is a sadly materialistic world. Everyone talks of love, but no one marries for it.’

‘Our last charge did,’ said Effy.

‘Ah, well, there is always the exception to prove the rule.’

Effy batted her lamp-blackened eyelashes at Mr Haddon over the edge of her fan. ‘Would
you
marry for money, Mr Haddon?’

‘I am a confirmed bachelor, but were I not, then I would not marry for money.’

There was a little silence. Amy looked sideways and caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a long looking-glass. An angry middle-aged woman with a ridiculously girlish head of curls stared back.

‘I have just passed my half century,’ thought Amy bitterly. ‘I look it. Effy and I have been dreaming of marriage for so long that we have not noticed the passing of the years. A lot of our contemporaries are dead. We should be studying the latest patterns in shrouds instead of the latest fashions in gowns.’ Her eyes glittered with tears.

‘I see you are dressed for riding, Miss Amy,’ said Mr Haddon gently.

‘Yes,’ said Amy hoarsely. She cleared her throat. ‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘My horse is being brought round from Tilbury’s.’

‘And I have
my
mount,’ said Mr Haddon, ‘so we may ride together.’

Amy’s sudden surge of elation was short-lived. Effy got to her feet and rang the bell. ‘Then I shall come too,’ she cried gaily. When the footman answered, she told him to run to Tilbury’s and find her a horse.

‘But you don’t ride!’ cried Amy furiously. ‘You hate it. You said so.’

‘La, sis, what nonsense you do talk. I quite dote on it.’

While Effy went off to change into a riding dress, Mr Haddon tried to engage Amy in conversation. But the miserable Amy only answered him in gruff monosyllables.

Effy at last appeared in a dainty blue velvet riding dress trimmed with silver.

She chattered on gaily as they left, hanging on to Mr Haddon’s arm as Amy slouched behind them. ‘I am a veritable Diana, Mr Haddon,’ trilled Effy. She stopped short on the doorstep, her mouth fell open and her cheeks blanched. ‘Such very
tall
horses,’ she murmured.

Amy’s spirits rallied. She felt Effy deserved to be punished. It was balm to her soul to see how terrified Effy was as they rode along Oxford Street. But when they reached the Park and Amy wanted to gallop, Effy screamed that she could not be left alone, and so the horses moved slowly on at an amble.

‘You must think me a sad case, Mr Haddon,’ cooed Effy. ‘Now Amy is not afraid. She is quite an Amazon, and does not suffer from any frailties of our gentler sex.’

Amy let her horse fall behind Effy’s. ‘Only look over there, Mr Haddon,’ cried Amy. ‘One of the deer has escaped from the enclosure.’

As Mr Haddon looked away, Amy leaned forward and struck Effy’s mount across the rump with her whip. Effy’s horse went off like the wind, with Effy hanging on for dear life and screaming like a banshee. Mr Haddon rode in pursuit and Amy rode as well, determined to get to her sister before Mr Haddon could effect any sort of romantic rescue. But Mr Haddon had the better horse. He caught up with Effy and seized her horse’s reins and brought it to a halt. Effy was sobbing with fright as Mr Haddon dismounted and lifted her down from the saddle.

‘Now, Miss Effy,’ said Mr Haddon soothingly. ‘You are perfectly safe. I do not know what caused that ridiculous animal to bolt like that.’

Effy buried her sobbing face in his coat.

Amy sat on her horse and surveyed the scene. Instead of humiliating Effy as she had planned to do, she had succeeded in turning her twin into a maiden in distress. She felt old and gawky and tired. Amy decided there and then to behave herself in future. She had never had any chance of attracting Mr Benjamin Haddon, and it was folly to think otherwise.

She dismounted and helped Mr Haddon to soothe Effy. It was a long time before they could persuade Effy to remount and then, riding one on either side, they escorted her back to Holles Street.

Effy promptly retired to her bedchamber. Mr Haddon stayed to talk to Amy, relieved that his old friend had become easy to chat to again. He did not know that Amy had given up any hope of attracting him for the simple reason he did not for a minute suspect she had ever harboured such hopes. He was only glad that his old friend appeared once more herself and it was with great reluctance that he finally took his leave.

Amy avoided Effy for the rest of the day, hoping to put off the dreaded moment. But it came at last when Effy appeared at the dinner table. ‘Did you see how he held me to his bosom, Amy?’ cried Effy as soon as they were both seated.

‘Turtle soup,’ said Amy, putting down her spoon. ‘I really must speak sternly to Mrs Lamont. We cannot afford turtle soup.’

‘And the speaking look in his eye,’ said Effy dreamily. ‘It was the most romantical thing imaginable. I thought my last moment had come. I could see the trees hurtling past. I could feel myself slipping from the saddle to be pounded under the horse’s hooves. And then
he
was there, holding me in his strong arms . . .’

‘Drink your soup, in the name of a whore’s bum,’ shouted Amy suddenly. ‘It cost a fortune!’

‘So remember at all times that the Tribble sisters are
ladies
!’ said Mrs Burgess two weeks later as their carriage entered the outskirts of London.

‘Of course, Aunt,’ said Fiona Macleod.

‘And if they find you a suitable gentleman, you are to become engaged to him and not cause myself or Mr Burgess any more trouble.’

‘Yes, Aunt.’

Mrs Burgess looked suspiciously at her niece, but Fiona’s face was hidden by the brim of her bonnet.

Mrs Burgess had not met either of the Tribble sisters. But Lady Baronsheath’s wild daughter had fared well at their hands, and Lady Baronsheath had told Mrs Toddy who lived in Tunbridge Wells, and Mrs Toddy had told Lady Fremley, and Lady Fremley had told Mrs Burgess, which was just about the same as Lady Baronsheath confiding in Mrs Burgess direct. The Tribble sisters must be ladies of high rank and impeccable manners or Lady Baronsheath would not have engaged their services in the first place.

Perhaps the Tribbles might find out what it was about Fiona that brought suitors up to the mark, only to have them fleeing the house after they had spoken to her. Perhaps it was the Scottish in her, thought Mrs Burgess disapprovingly. She no longer considered herself Scottish, having married at a young age and moved to England. Fiona was her late sister’s daughter. Fiona had been brought up in Aberdeen, a savage and remote place. Lord Byron hailed from there and he had no morals to speak of. It must be something to do with the climate. Mrs Burgess herself came from Ayrshire. Her sister Alice had married George Macleod, who was in trade, and had moved north to Aberdeen, while Mrs Burgess had married a gentleman of leisure and had gone south to Tunbridge Wells. But it was the Macleods who had made a fortune out of their jute manufactories in Aberdeen. Both had died of influenza, leaving Fiona, then fourteen and a wealthy heiress, in the care of the Burgesses. She was now nineteen and should have been married and off the Burgesses’ hands two years ago, which was when she had received her first proposal of marriage. Mr and Mrs Burgess were strict and staid and dull, but they were not mercenary. They were allowed to draw as much money as they wished from Fiona’s lawyers until her marriage, but they felt uneasy with the girl in their quiet, dull establishment. They never knew what she was thinking, but they sensed wickedness and slyness in her. All their rages and rows did not seem to ruffle her in the slightest. She was brazen.

Mrs Burgess’s gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rapidly approaching hooves. Despite the noise made by their carriage rattling over the cobbles, she could hear the fast-approaching thunder, punctuated by wild cries and halloos.

Mr Burgess, who had been asleep, woke up with a cry of alarm as two light curricles, each with a team of four horses, dashed past their travelling coach, one on either side, leaving only an inch to spare. The Burgesses’ horses reared and plunged, the carriage swayed dangerously and then came to a halt. Mrs Burgess let out a faint scream.