Chapter 49: A Christmas in Bath
"Ma foi, comme elle est belle, Madame la Vicomtesse!" Véronique exclaimed to her sister Julie, as she stepped back to examining her handiwork.
French maids were an education in themselves, Letty decided. She did not yet know much French—not like her sister, who could read it and write it and speak it--but Letty could understand quite a bit now. Véronique and Julie Maupin chattered to each other all day, and "belle" was a word that figured large in their speech. Letty was learning all sorts of lovely words—"belle," "jolie," "magnifique," "glorieuse," "charmante," "delicieuse," "exquise."
They were generally applied to her, but her maids admired other ladies from time to time, and that gave Letty a better idea of what the words really meant. At the moment, "belle" seemed appropriate enough.
She was going to a masked ball tonight given by the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. Everyone was to wear white and gold. Letty's costume was very striking, with a kind of Grecian cloak sweeping back from her shoulders, and with a spray of white rosebuds dipped in gold in her hair. Lord Fanshawe wanted her to wear some family jewels for the occasion: an amazing necklace of diamond studs, and brilliant pendule earrings to match. It was all rather weighty. A study of her appearance in the looking-glass revealed something that looked less like a person than something made by a goldsmith. No doubt his lordship's dress for the occasion would match hers for style and expense.
She had had some wonderful times here in Bath, but she was feeling ready to leave. She missed her sister more each day. She thought longingly of the darling little sitting room in London, and how she would share secrets with Jane there. She was not certain, but soon she might be able to confirm some exciting news, and she hoped her sister would be happy for her.
She was looking forward to meeting the Duchess of Devonshire, a leading light among women of fashion. Other ladies told her that the Duchess (who was actually a few years younger than herself, though no one knew that but Jane), was not a great beauty, but a comely and charming woman: a maker of modes, an arbiter of taste. Letty had overheard enough to know that the Dukes of Devonshire was a leader among the Whigs and that the Duchess was a fierce advocate of their cause. No doubt the Tavingtons would be unimpressed with the company she was keeping. Her husband, indifferent to politics, did not care if an acquaintance was Whig or Tory, provided they showed breeding and taste.
The Duchess, at least, met his standards. Speaking privately to her, he told her that Her Grace was indeed a pleasant woman who knew how to dress, but that the Duke was almost an idiot. "He would be nothing without his title and fortune: too indolent to make his way as a soldier; too vicious for the clergy, too silent for the law. Stay: I am unjust. He does, in fact, have an estimable knowledge of the classics. Perhaps he would have made a don at one of our universities. Otherwise, he's useless."
They were great gamesters, he warned her. "The duchess thinks nothing of losing thousands in a night. If you play faro with her, be on your guard. Also, if you win, be prepared to wait indefinitely for payment."
"I suppose that's what makes her so easy about losing," Letty observed.
Fanshawe laughed, very amused. Letty confessed, "Cards are all right, but not my favorite amusement. My sister doesn't care for them at all. I was poor too long to want to throw money away recklessly. I don't mind playing whist, but I don't think I'd like losing a lot of money."
"Then don't. Set a certain amount you feel comfortable losing—two or three hundred pounds—and stop if you reach that point."
"Two or three hundred pounds! I'd rather spend it on anything else—jewels or telescopes or music boxes. Or pineapples," she smiled, remembering her first introduction to that fruit. "I love eating new foods."
"We really must go to Paris, my lady, when this wretched war is over. And Italy!"
"Yes!" she turned toward him eagerly. "How I would love to go! Signor Bellini told me about Florence. I want to go there and see the Pitti Palace and the Gates of Paradise."
"Soon, I hope, Madam. But for now, we must make do with London. There will be so much to entertain us there, and new people to meet… By the by, I hope you will not object to making the acquaintance of a ward of my mine, Miss James—Miss Harmonia James. She is in school in London, and with a Lady Fanshawe at home, it would be possible to give the poor child an outing—a dinner, a concert now and then—whatever you find agreeable."
"A ward? Hasn't she any family?"
"She has no one but me," Lord Fanshawe declared gravely.
"The poor little girl! How old is she?"
"She will be, I believe, sixteen in March. Not yet old enough for society, but old enough to desire something beyond the schoolroom. She is a beautiful child, and has manners of particular refinement—I insisted on that, when seeking out a preceptress for her."
"What a shame she must be at school for Christmas! We must invite her very soon. You said we would leave after Twelfth Night."
"—And by the fifteenth we should arrive in London. I am gratified by your generous sentiments. Perhaps, when Miss James is older, you might find her acceptable as a companion. Otherwise, I fear, she is doomed to be sent out amongst strangers—"
"How sad. I hope I shall like her very much!" Fanshawe bowed his satisfaction, consulted his watch, and saw that it was time to leave. Her cloak was white satin, trimmed in ermine. One of the infinite number of handsome footmen lifted her into the carriage, to prevent any possibility of her costly garments touching the ground. It was only a few minutes before he lifted her out again, and Letty entered into a world of light.
Altogether, the color scheme made a tremendous impact. Hundreds of candles shone gold on gold, and the satin and jewels reflected the illumination into every corner of the rooms. Letty heard her husband and herself announced, and shortly thereafter she was greeted by the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire.
"So chawmin'. Isn't she, Your Gwace?"
"Chawmin.' Chawmed to meet oo, milady."
Letty was unable to make any sense of what the Devonshires were saying to her. To be sure, the Duke said almost nothing—though he eyed her up and down. Letty thought the Duchess rather pretty—and with the professional eye of a former lady's maid, she assessed the woman before her as one who knew how to choose clothes, and how to wear them. She smiled and curtseyed, and was happy to escape.
She whispered to Fanshawe. "I can't understand a word they say. Is there something wrong with them?"
Fanshawe chuckled discreetly, "Merely the 'Devonshire House Drawl," Madam. A ridiculous affectation of their set. They and their intimates never speak any other way, feeling that the violence they do our mother tongue sets them apart from the common herd."
"It sounds like—baby talk!"
"Here," he said, trying to keep his debonair countenance, "let us find our friends the Carterets! They, at least, do not indulge in 'baby-talk!"
Letty liked young Lady Carteret, and spent a long night in her company admiring wonderful clothes, dancing, listening to splendid music, and eating a remarkably lavish supper. It was not much like any Christmas Eve she had ever known. After midnight, she found herself getting tired, and began to wonder what Mama would have made of it all.
"You are growing weary of amusements, Lady Fanshawe?" asked Maria Basingstoke, Lady Carteret, setting her own mask aside. "I am a little, myself. Perhaps it is only my condition, however." Lady Carteret was five months gone with child, and feeling rather bloated.
"I was just thinking about how I spent Christmas a year ago. I was in South Carolina last year, in the middle of a war. It was very different from this!"
"My poor friend! At least now it seems that the horrid war is ending. Do you miss the Colonies?"
"Not at all! That is, I knew some fine people—but," she gave a quick smile, "I love my life here in England."
"You do not miss your family?"
"My mother is dead, and my father—certainly does not miss me. He was never kind either to me or my sister."
"Ah yes! I long to meet the formidable Mrs. Tavington! She sounds like such an Amazon!"
"She's really not like that at all—only when someone threatens her. She's really very gentle and accomplished. She is the one I miss right now."
"Well, I hope you shall meet again soon. I hear you make for London after the holidays?"
"Yes—after a few more days at Salton Park. Do you go to town soon?"
"We shall be there around the tenth, I think. Harry is anxious to hear the latest news. Do let's meet as soon as we are both in town. I shall have a dinner, and invite you and your sister and brother. I hope I can persuade you to sing."
"I shall sing for you with pleasure, as soon as I have learned something new."
Her friend patted her hand. "Delightful creature! It shall be such an evening! And I cannot delay. Too soon I shall be confined, and how dull that will be!"
"Lord Fanshawe wants to present his ward to me—a Miss James. The poor girl is at school, which sounds so sad this time of year."
"Stay—Miss James? Is not James his lordship's Christian name?"
"Yes, it is."
"My dear—" the young woman hesitated. Letty had gravitated to her because she was pretty and pleasant-spoken, and they were both young wives of older peers, and she seemed to have no ulterior motive in courting Letty's friendship. She was an agreeable companion, and she also knew much more than Letty about life in England, and from time to time had made some useful observations. Letty waited, curious about what Lady Carteret had to say. "My dear," the young woman continued, "I may be in error, knowing nothing of the girl. However, I think I ought to tell you that natural children often take their surname from the Christian name of their father."
Letty thought this over. It was not particularly shocking. "You are saying that this girl might be Lord Fanshawe's daughter."
"I merely suggest that you have a good look at her when you meet. If she is a young lady of good manners and education, there is no harm in noticing her. She might be useful when you travel. It is very fatiguing sometimes having no other lady with whom to converse."
"That is certainly true," Letty sighed.
"Perhaps she will be good company. I wish Harry had a ward. Will I see you at church tomorrow for the Christmas service?"
"Yes—I love the Octagon Chapel. I do not plan to stay until the end tonight. My costume is so heavy."
"Heigh-ho! Mine, too. I feel like the Duchess in the old play--smothered in cassia and shot to death with pearls!"
In fact, Fanshawe was ready to leave a little after two, and Letty was glad of it. Her head was echoing with all the noise of the evening, but she remembered to ask, "My lord, what is the play in which a Duchess is shot to death with pearls?"
He was puzzled for a moment, and then his face cleared. "I believe you are speaking of The Duchess of Malfi. The beautiful young Duchess is not actually killed in that way. When about to be strangled by assassins hired by her greedy relatives, she points out that whether the murder weapon is crude or costly, she will be equally dead in the end. It is a play"-- he smiled briefly--"that you would not like at all!"
Letty shuddered. "No. I would not want to see a woman murdered. What kind of person could find entertainment in that?"
He made no demands of her that night, seeing that she was tired. He looked rather fatigued himself. She told him she would be attending Christmas services the following day, and he smiled indulgently. It was quite useless to ask him to accompany her. Letty suspected that he was an utter infidel.
While he did not rise until she was already returned from church, preparations were already afoot from the earliest hours for a Christmas dinner they were hosting for a few friends. The servants left little for Letty to do: the food was exquisite, the card room arranged elegantly with unbroken packs and new candles. Letty had yet another new gown: one of golden taffeta trimmed in foamy lace. Her Christmas present, a large pear-shaped pearl on a golden chain, hung about her neck, and gleamed between her breasts.
"Is it true that it was once part of the Spanish Crown jewels?" one guest asked, staring rather fixedly at the bosom on which said jewel was displayed. Letty really did not know, but Fanshawe answered for her breezily.
"Indeed it was, sir. The Virgin's Tear once belonged to Isabella of Castile, and passed eventually to the Medicis, and then from hand to hand—or throat to throat—until it appeared in a box before Lady Fanshawe today."
"And I am sure it has never appeared to greater advantage than tonight," declared another gentleman.
Letty thanked them sweetly. She did like the pearl, but she already had so much jewelry. She was more excited by the new telescope that was being set up at Salton. These parties were very nice, but she was growing tired of being shown off constantly.
The evening was not bad, really. She played whist with some pleasant people, she won a little money, and she gossiped with Lady Carteret. She sang, accompanied by the same lady, and enjoyed the applause very much. She looked forward to Friday, when they were to go to the theatre to see The Rivals, which Lord Fanshawe had assured her she would enjoy.
The guests departed a little after midnight. At his lordship's command, she went up to her bedchamber to find a pair of white feathered wings lying on her bed, along with an exquisite jeweler's box. Inside was a hair ornament—a delicate wreath of pearls and tiny diamonds. Letty could not imagine its value. A note in her husband's hand commanded her to wear the items provided, her new pearl drop, "and nothing else."
Véronique, trained to never say anything or show surprise, helped Letty out of her splendid apparel, and then took apart her elaborate hairdressing. She set the pearl wreath on Letty's long black hair. The wings were some theatrical prop, and were supported by thin flesh-colored ribbons over her shoulders. Letty put them on, and Véronique secured them in the back with hooks and eyes. It was done. The maid curtseyed, and glided out of the room in silence.
Letty studied herself in the mirror. It was all very pretty in a strange sort of way. She did not think she looked anything like an angel ought to look. An angel, as she understood from pictures she had seen, should not have long black hair, and certainly should not have a triangle of black hair drawing attention to that particular spot. An angel should not have full breasts with nipples of such a dark rosy brown. And angel's face should not be—surely—so white and red with cosmetics. Really, it was not quite right. Letty could not think what to call her appearance, but had she asked her sister, Jane would have suggested the word "perverse."
But his lordship found it delightfully stimulating. He entered, in an elegant dressing gown, and admired Letty from every side.
"Yes, Madam, turn a little to the—left. Put your hand—there. Perfection! What a pity we cannot have Sir Joshua paint you thus!"
He smiled and settled into a wing-backed chair and beckoned to her. Letty obediently approached and dropped to her knees. Lord Fanshawe watched the play of candlelight in her wreath with the eye of an artist. "A Happy Christmas indeed."
------
Each day had its pleasures, but the endless pleasures made them all alike. Two days after Christmas saw Letty once again standing on a dais, being fitted into a new gown.
"Lift your chin, Madame," Julie instructed her mistress, trying to achieve an interesting shape to the shoulders.
Letty sighed. "I'm feeling," she muttered, "Just a little tired of changing clothes every few hours."
"Madame?"
"Nothing." She put her hand on her stomach. "Wait. I need to sit down."
"But, Madame, I must pin—"
"I need to sit down—now!"
"Madame!"
Letty pressed her other hand over her mouth, and ran frantically for a basin, trailing satin ribbons and pale blue moiré. Her stomach heaved violently, and she spewed out her morning's breakfast of brioche and marmalade and hot chocolate. The sick tasted so vile that she choked and heaved again, while her maids fluttered anxiously. Véronique put a gentle arm about her shoulders, and Julie dampened a handkerchief to wipe her mouth.
"Oh," Letty moaned, as the floor and walls rippled before her eyes in a sickening way. "Please, get me out of this gown. The pins are pricking me. Please! I want to lie down!"
The bits of unfinished gown were unpinned, and Letty raced to her blessedly soft day bed, hardly giving the Maupin sisters time to untie her petticoat. Letty closed her eyes, shutting out the whirling ceiling, and whimpered. "My corset is hurting me. Unfasten it! Unfasten everything!" The corset was unlaced, the curtains were drawn, and lavender water was applied to her forehead.
"This is horrible," Letty whimpered. "I'm never ill."
Véronique exchanged a knowing look with her sister. "Madame is enceinte," she said calmly. "Plein comme un oeuf. We noticed that you had swelled a little—here," she added, carefully prodding Letty's breasts.
"Yes, I know I'm with child. I'm sure his lordship has noticed. I thought I would not get sick, though. I'm never sick, except that awful time on the ship."
"Will Madame not be going out this afternoon?"
"Oh, I hope not. Véronique, tell his lordship that I am very unwell, and must rest."
Another look between this sisters: this one more uneasy. Véronique took a deep breath, "Oui, Madame. I shall go, and I shall return immediatement."
Fanshawe had been out with friends, but was given the message on his return. Shortly thereafter, he was knocking softly at the door, and slipped inside, studying Letty with resigned compassion.
"I am most sorry to hear that you are unwell, my lady," he told her gravely. "I had hoped you would not suffer the more disagreeable aspects of child-bearing. Do you require the attendance of a physician?"
Fright made her cry out in protest. "Oh, no! No doctors!" Seeing her husband's eyebrows raise in disapproval, she apologized. "I beg your pardon, my lord. I did not mean to shout. I do not need a doctor. My maids are looking after me. I'm sure I shall be better later. I shall have some tea and dry toast and that will help a great deal, surely."
Fanshawe studied her with some concern. Of course, it would quite amusing to spread this piece of news. Not every seventy-year-old man could get a beautiful young wife with child. He stood a little straighter, feeling quite pleased with himself. A pity the lady was unwell, but that was not unusual. All that money could do would be done to assure her comfort.
"If the thought of a physician displeases you, perhaps an experienced mid-wife should be engaged to attend you. Or one of the fashionable man-midwives?"
"A mid-wife would be welcome, if she were nice," Letty agreed. "A woman, not a man. A nice older woman would see to everything, I'm sure."
She could not have the one person she really wanted, but she knew she did not want a strange man touching her, telling her how she ought to feel according to some book he had read.
Fanshawe considered the matter. "I shall see to it. Perhaps, my lady, you will grace the table at dinner?"
"I shall try, my lord. I shall do my best to feel better."
"I ask no more than that." He bowed, and left her.
Julie brought her a cup of tea, but halted, bewildered, when Letty burst into tears.
"What is it, Madame?" she asked softly, unsure what to do.
"I want Mama!" Letty cried helplessly. "I want my mother! It's so unfair that she can't be here!"
A torrent of tears followed. Letty had never been so miserable, or felt so alone. It would be weeks before she could hope to see Jane, and even Jane was no substitute for Mama. Jane had had Mama all through her pregnancy, and Mama's last act in life was to deliver Jane's baby. If they hadn't gone chasing after Colonel Tavington, Mama might still be alive.
But if they hadn't, Colonel Tavington would be dead, and they would still be slaves. Letty tried to make everything come out right in her imagination, but every train of thought ran up against the stone walls of reality. She was married, and a rich noblewoman, and going to have a baby. She could not have those things—and they were good things--and still have Mama. She could not have Mama and still be free. The thoughts circled around inside her, a dog chasing its tail. She glanced at the folded remains of the blue moiré. The watered patterns in the cloth made her queasy. She shut her eyes again, exhausted, and knew there were some things that couldn't be made to make sense. She wanted Mama, and no one else would do.
That first bout of morning sickness was the worst. Letty paced herself carefully, staying in bed later, eating less for breakfast. A Nurse Gloake was hired, a well-known midwife and sick nurse. She came every day to see to Letty, full of old-fashioned remedies and good sense. Letty did not think she was as wise as Mama, but she was not full of useless philosophy, and she never talked about bleeding or purging or starving her.
Lady Carteret was with child, too, and her doctor had as of the day after Christmas prescribed a "low diet," which was plain oatmeal porridge and tea and toast, and no meat or fruit and not much in the way of vegetables, other than stewed turnips. "I'd do anything for a mutton chop or a piece of cake or an apple," she confided to Letty in their box at the theatre, "but Dr. Malahyde says no, and my husband trusts him implicitly. I am so tired all the time. The doctor says my blood is choleric and that I must be bled regularly to balance my humours."
"My mother didn't hold with doctors and bleedings," Letty confided in her turn, feeling bold without the fear of men overhearing her. "My mother thought all doctors were quacks. She thought women who were with child should be eating like hard-working men. Men always think they're the only ones who need meat, but Mama thought that it takes a lot of different foods to make a healthy baby!"
"I wish she were here," sighed Lady Carteret. "Harry's mother, the Dowager, thinks Dr. Malahyde is a genius, and Harry won't hear a word against him."
Letty whispered, "Come have tea with me tomorrow. I'll have ham sandwiches and fruit cake, and I won't tell a soul!"
Lord Carteret turned to speak to his wife, and so Lady Carteret did nothing more than smile and squeeze her friend's hand.
-----
Letty spoke to the butler, and made clear that she wanted no gossip about what Lady Carteret ate or did not eat while she was a guest in their house. When they dined together, it made her sad to see Lady Carteret looking longingly at all the good food, while a basin of thin gruel was placed before her.
"My lord, can't you speak to Lord Carteret?" Letty pleaded one evening. It was Monday, New Year's Eve, and they were to go to a ball at the Upper Rooms. "It cannot be right for Lady Carteret never to have a good meal. I don't believe the doctor has a bit of sense!"
"It is none of our affair," Fanshawe told her repressively. "A man has the right to order his family life as he sees fit. Lady Carteret is right to obey her husband. I do not wish to hear more about this matter."
Letty subsided, glad she had not told Lord Fanshawe what she was giving her friend at tea time or slipping her when they rode in the carriage together. Poor Maria was growing thin and pale. Surely something so manifestly ridiculous could not be right. Only rich people who had always had all the food they wanted could imagine that it could be healthy to starve. No one who had been a slave was likely to make that mistake, but it was useless to argue the matter. Lord Fanshawe did not tolerate disobedience: not from his servants, not from his family, and certainly not from Letty. He was kind and generous to her, but she now understood that there was a price to be paid. In exchange for her elevation to the nobility, her husband expected her to obey his will as if it were that of a god.
She sat musing over this, when the butler entered with a letter on a tray.
"Pardon me, my lord," he murmured to Fanshawe, "but her ladyship has an express."
"An express?" Letty stood, knees trembling, wondering what terrible news required the expense of quick delivery. Perhaps Lady Cecily had died! She was given the letter, and saw Jane's handwriting. At least her sister was safe! She excused herself to Lord Fanshawe and broke the seal.
She stood staring at the contents so long, that Fanshawe asked, "My lady? What news? Are you quite well?" He curtly dismissed the butler, and looked at Letty in concern. In answer, Letty read the letter aloud.
"December 24, 1781
Wargrave Hall
My dearest sister,
First of all, we are all well here, and Lady Cecily is no worse, but I asked Colonel Tavington to send this to you express, for I have news you ought to know at once. Another time I shall write of pleasant things, but I cannot put off the grave purpose of this letter.
My dearest, today the party from London arrived: my husband and his brother, the Protheroes and their little child. With them were Captain Bordon and his wife. They arrived in London only a few days ago, and sought out the Colonel directly, for they had not come alone. They brought our brothers, Ashbury and Thomas Rutledge.
Letty, my dear, our father is dead. He died of an apoplectic stroke on the twelfth of September. I shall not burden you with the details, but tell you simply that he played both sides in the war, and the rebels found it out and confiscated all his property that lay within their grasp. The shock killed him. Selina snatched up what she could of Papa's ready money and the valuables at the house in town, and fled to her rebel Pinckney relations, leaving the boys with Cousin Mary Laurens without a word of explanation. The slaves, other than poor old Davus, all ran away. Cousin Mary did not know what to do: she was afraid for the boys' future if they stayed in South Carolina, and so the lawyers sold the looted town house for what they could get quickly. Six hundred pounds apiece to the boys is all that remains of the great Rutledge rice fortune.
Captain Bordon took the boys with him—first to New York, to be reunited with his own wife and two young children. Then they journeyed with them to England, to their closest living relatives after their unnatural mother. You will be relieved to know that Cousin Mary is keeping Davus, so he has a roof over his head and is in no danger of being sold to strangers.
You cannot imagine my shock when Colonel Tavington lifted my dear Little Ash from the carriage. Both boys had a very hard journey. Ash did not remember me, and cried for Mrs. Bordon, whom he calls "Mamma." Thomas has never known me, and seems sad and underfed. They will need a great deal of loving care to recover. They are both such dear little boys.
Of course we must put on mourning. I am sorry for your disappointment, dearest sister, when you have just got such beautiful new garments, but so it must be. I had other plans myself, but there is no help for it. Full mourning it must be until early March, and then half-mourning for another six months. At least then the white and silver gown you described can be worn again! It is an eerie coincidence that when in Chelmsford, not long ago, I spied some black bombazine, and knowing that the end is near for Lady Cecily, I bought it and had Pullen make it up for me. She warned me that it was an unlucky thing to do, but I would not heed such superstitious croaking. I am still not superstitious, but the coincidence is odd. I shall have to order all sorts of new things—and all in black: new cloak, new traveling habit, new visiting dress, new hats—even new handkerchiefs! Mourning is certainly an expensive business.
The Colonel too, is resigned to wearing mourning for his father-in-law, though he told me that what he had ordered would be very handsome! He has a grey suit of clothes that he will wear for now, and of course when in uniform needs nothing more than a black armband. At least with our pearls we have acceptable mourning jewelry.
I thought long and hard about other signs of mourning. Some might criticize my behavior, but I have resolved that I will not be prevented from dancing or going to entertainments. I will wear proper mourning and that is enough. Of course, nothing is more vulgar than a woman in deep mourning behaving in a loud and boisterous way, but as neither of us behaves like that in any case, it does not apply. Certainly, I will not immure myself in the house, bowed under the weight of my grief. I do feel sad that Papa is gone, but I have always felt worse to realize that he had no affection for either of us.
After writing such a tale, I find I have not the heart to continue the letter. I shall write again soon, telling you of our Christmas here. I long to know of yours.
Your loving sister,
Jane"
"How horrible," Letty breathed.
"Certainly rather inconvenient," Fanshawe observed, very annoyed. He rang for the butler, who entered immediately. "Say nothing of the arrival of this letter to anyone," he commanded the servant. "This letter arrived tomorrow. Do you understand?"
"Very good, sir."
"Then you may go." The door shut behind the butler.
Letty was still bewildered. "I don't understand, my lord. I fear I cannot go to the ball tonight."
"Of course you can. I desire to see you in your blue gown. It becomes you very well, and I hardly think the death of a tyrannical father thousands of miles away should prevent you. I cannot imagine what was in your sister's head to trouble an express rider with such a letter. It could hardly matter if it arrived by ordinary post in another week. She takes much upon herself, with her instructions and her prosings! Say nothing of the letter to anyone. We shall go and enjoy ourselves, and tomorrow we can see to ordering some very splendid mourning. I will not have my Christmas holidays spoiled by the death of someone so entirely unknown to me!"
"I don't want to --do wrong, my lord," Letty objected timidly.
"You cannot do wrong if you are obedient to me," Fanshawe replied, with breathtaking self-assurance. "Your duty to is to me, first of all. Tavington is quite right—mourning ought to be as handsome as possible. Anything less is poor-spirited. I thank the gods of fashion we need not wear black more than three months! Mrs. Tavington and her bombazine! I trust I shall never see you in such stuff!" He paused, thinking of something else. "These brothers of yours. Does Mrs. Tavington imagine that we should take them in?"
"I—don't know, my lord. My sister is very fond of Little Ash. I'm sure she will want to keep him by her. I have never even seen the other boy, for he was born after we left Charlestown for the back country."
"Very well. Do not make any such offer, Madam. I have already a sufficiency of loathsome little boys in my own family. A good present now would be appropriate, of course, and there is no harm in the occasional gift-giving, if it leads to nothing else. I certainly did not ask this Captain Bordon fellow to bring us indigent children from South Carolina! Now go and prepare yourself for the ball. Unquestionably, you shall be the fairest creature there."
There was nothing more to say. Letty bowed her head and went to change her clothing yet again.
Note: "Man-midwives" were all the fashion in the late 18th century, part of a trend to push women out of any role whatever in medicine. The fashionable term was "accoucheur." George IV's daughter, Princess Charlotte, who might have otherwise inherited the throne of England, seems to have been killed in childbirth by her doctors' combination of frequent bleedings with a "low" diet. Bombazine, by the way, is a cloth blending silk and wool. It has no sheen to it, which is what made it appropriate for mourning dress.
Plein comme un oeuf: Full as an egg. An expression for pregnancy
Next: Christmas at Wargrave