Chapter 62: The Stepdaughter
A week passed. The search for Nurse Watkins proved futile. Both the nurse and her sister in Cheapside were gone, no one knew where. The servants could give no information about Mrs. Venable, who had not mixed with them at all, and had never given any personal information that would aid in locating her. The house in Mortimer Square had been searched from cellar to attic, and nothing had been found. Old Mr. Protheroe, when applied to, was sorry to inform them that he had never had such a box given to him by Lady Cecily. John reported seeing Sir Edward Claypoole at the House of Commons, and Tavington met with him one afternoon at Lord Fanshawe's. The equerry gave them reserved, secretive smiles, but did not approach them again. The ball, so to speak, was entirely in the Tavingtons' court.
There was nothing to be done but continue to live their lives. Crape still fluttered from the door of Number Twelve, Mortimer Square. The inhabitants would be in deep mourning until late July, a prospect dull and dreary to Jane. Such a long time in black! She would be thoroughly sick of it before long, but there was no help for it.
William's mood was rather odd. He was worried about his mother's mysterious box and the secrets within. Jane suspected that he had not told her everything, for he was quite insistent that she and his sisters were not to go walking alone, and when they traveled by carriage, to have a stout footman in attendance. When John announced his intention of going into Kent to ask for Mrs. Martingale's hand, William insisted on traveling with him, not in the curricle, but in the chaise-and-four with their valets, and an armed footman riding beside the coachman, and another at the back of the coach.
Jane forced herself to ask him outright, "Are you expecting an attack, William?"
He smiled, cheerfully loading his pistols, "Not if we keep a sharp lookout on those lonely roads near the marshes. See here, Jane, there's nothing wrong with being a bit careful. To that end, if you must go out to your sister's on Wednesday, I want Caro and Pen to go with you. I'd feel better if the three of you were together. I'd rather you were home before dark, and I've spoken to Rivers about locking up early. By the way, where's your pistol?"
Wordlessly, she pointed to the wardrobe.
"Good. Take it with you when you are out. There shouldn't be any trouble, but it doesn't hurt to be a bit vigilant. By the way, John and I managed to scrape acquaintance at the Beefsteak Club with someone you ladies have all wanted to meet."
"Oh? Who?"
"Doctor Johnson! The man himself! It appears he's a friend of an acquaintance of a friend. John knows a publishing fellow he's had dealings with. We invited the both of them to dinner this Saturday after we're back from Kent. You might see if your sister wishes to come, too, though the Fanshawes are very engaged, I know."
"Doctor Johnson!" Jane cried. "Really! How exciting! Have you told Caroline? Oh, this is delightful!" She thought a little more. "I hope I can balance the table. I shall invite Lucy too! Let's see: Lucy and Edward, Caroline and Penelope, you and I, Letty and Lord Fanshawe, John, his publisher friend—what is his name?"
"Tregallon."
"—Mr. Tregallon, and Doctor Johnson. Just fancy! I cannot wait to tell Letty. We need another lady. I must think on it."
"Do. We shall be back in a few days, I pray successfully, but if the table lacks a lady, no matter. You and our sisters are sufficient to represent your sex!"
The brothers left early the following morning. Jane had a great deal to do. The Misses Tavington were delighted at the prospect of their dinner guest. Caroline was equally interested in meeting Mr. Tregallon. She disappeared into her room, and emerged for dinner that evening , looking triumphant.
"It's finished!"
"What is finished, dearest?" Penelope asked.
"The Stepdaughterr! My novel! It is finished, even to the fair copy!"
"Oh, how wonderful!" Jane exclaimed. "Caroline, won't you let us read it?"
"Or read it to us as soon as we're done here?" Penelope suggested. "What an entertainment!"
Caroline did not resist the idea, and hurried through her meal so she could run up to her room and retrieve the manuscript.
Settling down into a sofa, cup of tea in hand, Jane waited expectantly, while Caroline laid the pile of paper in her lap, and began reading:
The Stepdaughter: Or, The Domestic Tyrant Overthrown, by A Lady.
Chapter One
One passes down any street in wealthy Westminster: in a carriage, in a chair, even, more humbly, on foot. One passes each door, not knowing the family behind this one or that. The doors themselves say nothing, save whether the dweller within is scrupulous as to the upkeep of the lantern above it prescribed by law. With the houses so same, and the doors so same, one is tempted to imagine the dwellers as equally uniform. But the door that separates the street from the happy newlywed couple could be mistaken for the door of the secret murderer, his hands newly washed of innocent blood. Every household behind those similar doors is unique, for every individual has his own story, and when those individuals combine, their household must be perforce a new story in the world.
Some, one confesses, are more lively than other. For years our own family story had been pleasantly humdrum: a widowed father, a young daughter in his care— both very fond of one another. The reader hoping for sensation sighs, seeing nothing that will satisfy a craving for dark deeds and violent conflict. Another reader groans, fearing a sugary dose of homely philosophy, full of family affection and thread-bare moral lessons. Indeed for many years, we lived some such existence, knowing only the small rubs of common life. There were, indeed, disappointments when my father's affairs took him from me when I desired to display a new accomplishment; the occasional vexations of headaches or toothaches, which by natural law, must always take hold at inconvenient times. Having a good income, however, I knew no worse troubles, and thought our lives must continue in this same generally agreeable strain.
Change, however, is the law of life. I had not turned fifteen when I perceived a restlessness in my father...
After an hour, Caro pleaded a sore throat, and received the compliments and applause of her listeners. Penelope was first with her praises.
"Oh, Caro! This is really excellent! I long to read the rest."
Jane agreed. "It's very good and interesting, Caroline, even allowing for family partiality. I especially like the characters of the old servants. The comic touches are very sure. You must get it published!"
With a blush, Caroline shrugged off their admiration. "We shall have to see what John's publisher friend says. I do confess that I really, really, long for publication, even anonymously. Writing has given me such pleasure."
"Do I have your permission to tell Letty—in confidence—about your writing?" Jane asked. "I may have a quiet word with her tomorrow. For that matter, William wants you to come with me. He is uneasy about leaving us all alone while he and Sir John are gone to Kent. It will be very pleasant, and I promise to say no more than you wish."
"I cannot object to you telling Lady Fanshawe. Indeed, she knows something about it, as she knew I was writing when she lived here. I hope she sings tomorrow."
"Oh!" cried Penelope. "So do I. I did like that aria from Orpheus and Eurydice she sings. Her voice is so well-suited to the melancholy and pathetic. Dear Mr. Bellini told me that if she were not a lady, she could have sung professionally."
Jane tried to imagine Letty as an opera singer, living the rather disreputable life of a stage performer. She shrank from it, thinking how men might have taken advantage of her. Then she sighed, considering Lord Fanshawe, and how he took advantage himself of her sister's gentle, submissive nature. Beauty attracted all sorts of admirers, some of them very unpleasant. Lord Fanshawe, she knew, did not like her much. Sometimes she could glimpse, behind his old-fashioned courtliness, a desire for Jane to be gone from his presence.
Caroline was speaking to her.
"I am sorry, Caroline. I was miles away."
"I said, how is Lady Fanshawe? Do you think we shall find her well?"
Jane wished she could tell them about Letty's love letter from the Prince of Wales. Her sister had confided receiving a heated missive praying her to meet him in secret. Letty, very sensibly, had not replied, but had given the Prince's epistle to Lord Fanshawe at once. He had found it very funny.
"She was well enough on Monday. The worst seems to be over. She tells me she is well, but when does Letty ever complain?"
-----
Letty did not complain of illness when they saw her. Instead she was happy to greet them, looking quite radiant: complexion crystal clear, eyes liquid and shining. Jane could never tire of looking at her. The room was as crowded as usual, but she was still reserved the place by her sister, as was their custom. Jane passed by Harmonia James, and spoke a greeting. She was surprised at the girl's angry, sulky expression.
"I thought Colonel Tavington was coming today." The girl said without preamble.
"The Colonel is with his brother in Kent," Jane replied, a trifle repressively. The girl scowled and threw herself into a chair, muttering about wastes of time. Jane ignored her bad manners, and decided to twit William about his adoring admirer when he returned home on Friday. In a moment she was at her sister's side.
"You look wonderful, dearest." Jane smiled teasingly, "You must be excited at the prospect of leaving off full mourning in another few weeks!"
"Is it terrible to admit that I am? I am so tired of black. I'm sorry that you must keep wearing it so long, but it does look nice on you. That's something."
"I suppose so. No doubt Lord Fanshawe is eager to order new half-mourning wardrobes for the both of you."
"Oh, yes! We are going leave off full mourning for Harmonia's ball the fifteenth of next month. We can wear half-mourning then, and Lord Fanshawe has decided that Harmonia's ball will be all silver and white: silver for his lordship and for me, and Harmonia all in snowy white. She should look very lovely in it. He has such plans for the ballroom, too. It will look like a fairy palace. He showed me some drawings he made. Lord Fanshawe is so talented."
Jane passed that by with a forced smile. It was so difficult to be polite about someone she disliked as much as her sister's husband. "I can well picture you in silver satin. Silver satin and diamonds. You will look mysterious and ethereal. Is the girl behaving herself?"
"She is better with Lord Fanshawe. I think she understands now that she must show him obedience and respect."
"And what about the obedience and respect she owes you?"
"Oh, sister!" Letty lowered her voice. "She does make an effort in Lord Fanshawe's presence. It makes meals much, much better, but I can see that it is hard for her. I try not to spend much time with her alone. I can't say anything to her without making her angry or sullen. If I compliment her, she thinks I'm mocking her, and if I ask her to do something, I'm being cruel. And she hates it if I come into her room. She's so secretive. I think she keeps a journal and writes down everything horrible she thinks I do to her. She really does regard me as a wicked stepmother. Anyway, she's writing something she doesn't want me to see!"
"Probably silly rubbish! Look at her, sulking because William isn't here! She's such a child! Enough of her--Letty, I hope you can dine with us this coming Saturday. Doctor Johnson himself will be there!"
Her sister looked quite blank for a moment, and then remembered. "The man who wrote that pretty book?" Jane had urged Letty to read Rasselas, and Letty had enjoyed it very much, especially the exotic African setting. "Is he alive? It seems like so many famous authors are dead. But he is dining with you?"
"Yes! Caroline has always wanted to meet him properly. She admires his work so much." Jane lowered her voice, "She has finished the novel she was working on, and is going to have it published—anonymously, of course."
"But why anonymously? I'm so glad Miss Burney has admitted she wrote Evelina. I met her last week. She has written another novel, which will be published later this year. I hope Caroline's is a great success!"
"You did not tell me you met Miss Burney."
"Didn't I? I thought I had, but we were so busy on Monday with our lessons that it must have slipped my mind. She is very nice, and very clever. She has a very pleasant face. Mr. Bellini knows her father, Doctor Burney. He writes about the history of music and is very learned. But I liked Miss Burney. She could not come today, but I will invite her next week, and you shall meet her too. You are both clever, and I hope you will be friends. You need to be more known, and Caroline and Penelope, too. I am so happy to see them today."
Jane whispered, "William insisted that we go everywhere together. He is a little uneasy about us all, which is why he did not let his brother go to Kent alone."
"Why?" Letty wondered. "What is wrong?"
"I think it is that box Lady Cecily went on about. I told you—that box of 'ivory and ebony.' Apparently it must have contained important papers. Someone--we do not know whom-- is trying to lay his hands on them. William told me that Mr. Grimsby, Lady Cecily's lawyer, had his chambers searched, and of course you know about that Mrs. Venable."
"How frightening! But really, no one knows where these papers may be?"
"Sir John and William don't know, certainly. Now and then I feel that someone is watching me when I leave the house. William insisted I carry my pistol—"
"Do you have it—now?" Letty's eyes opened very wide.
"Oh, yes—William told me to take it everywhere."
"Please don't let anyone see—they might be startled."
"No, certainly not! But--dinner on Saturday?"
"I must ask Lord Fanshawe. I don't know—sometimes I think he feels I spend too much time with you. It sounds silly, but I think he is jealous."
No sooner was he mentioned, then Lord Fanshawe called Letty away, desiring her to sing for them. Bellini tore himself from a group of admiring ladies, and sat down to accompany Letty, with a discreet smile and nod for Jane.
Jane knew the song, of course, since they had all practiced it together the Monday before. She liked it very much, and thought Letty did the restrained anguish of the song full justice.
Lascia ch'io pianga
mia cruda sorte,
e che sospiri la libertà.
Il duolo infranga queste ritorte
de' miei martiri sol per pietà.
(Let me weep
my cruel fate,
and let me sigh for liberty.
May sorrow break these chains
of my sufferings, for pity's sake.)
There was great applause, and Letty was introduced to a new set of Fanshawe's acquaintances, just come from the country. Jane enjoyed watching her sister's charm conquer yet more of the ton. Lady Carteret sat down heavily beside Jane. Her skin was unhealthily transparent. Jane thought she gave the impression of having no blood left at all. Lady Carteret, however, was trying to be cheerful company.
"Your sister improves every time I hear her."
"I think so, too," Jane agreed. "How are you? I am very happy to see you."
"Oh, my dear Mrs. Tavington, I feel like a cow. I am dreadfully tired, and my arms are sore from all the bleedings. One wishes that this might be over soon. I am afraid that this is the last week I can be out in public." She whispered, "Lord Fanshawe always provides such glorious refreshments. I wish I might be permitted to partake of them."
"Do come to see me tomorrow. I promise that you will always be able to eat what you like under my roof."
"I'm not so sure. The Dowager has decided to move back in with us for my confinement. She goes everywhere with us now, and she is more and more influenced by Doctor Malahyde every day. She is quite unreasonable on the subject. Look, that is my mother-in-law, over there, talking with Sir Edward. That is Doctor Malahyde with her. He is quite her shadow."
The woman in question had a fierce face like an ancient, dewlapped bulldog. Her companion's features, in contrast, were delicate. Doctor Malahyde might be thirty, but no more. Some people might think him handsome, but Jane thought he looked both smug and predatory. His eyes were fixed the elderly Lady Carteret's flabby countenance, his expression shifting like wheat in the breeze, mirroring and flattering the moods of his patroness. Jane loathed him on sight, and could not think of anything better to say than, "Ah." The fact that the two of them were gobbling cake and sweetmeats in a particularly greedy way made Jane indignant on their victim's behalf.
"I shall introduce you, of course," said Lady Carteret. "I'm afraid that if I come tomorrow, she will come with me, and Doctor Malahyde, too"
"I shall have Caroline and Penelope distract them while you eat. It's ridiculous that that wretched doctor should starve you. Why doesn't he go back to Bath and prey on the invalids there?"
"Why should he, when Harry is giving him free food and lodgings, and a generous retainer as well? I hate him. The things he does to me—well--I've tried to make Harry send him away, but he just nods indulgently and tells me the doctor says that my whims are a symptom of my condition, and must not be indulged "for my own good. Of course," Lady Carteret added, with a touch of bitterness, "he would never disagree with his mother."
There was nothing for it, but to accept the introductions. Young Lady Carteret made them briefly, and then escaped to speak to someone else.
Jane had had years of practice, when living with her father, in the art of hiding her true feelings. Given a moment to prepare herself, she was certain her expression was as bland and neutral as she could wish, even when the doctor glanced at Jane's abdomen, obviously hoping for a new source of income. She tried not to look at the crumbs clinging to the dowager's mouth and expansive, painted bosom. The older Lady Carteret's words were civil enough, but she gave her condolences at Lady Cecily's death in a way that suggested that the two women had not been friends. Ordinarily, this would have been something of a recommendation to Jane's mind, but the old woman's subsequent fulsome praise of Doctor Malahyde's "genius" made it hard to Jane to find anything amiable about her. There was something else, too, in the woman's eye that suggested that she expected no good of Jane.
Hoping to avoid any unpleasantness, Jane asked, "Did you know Lady Cecily well?"
"Not very well, and not for some time. We saw one another at court years ago, when we both served the late Princess of Wales."
"I understood that Lady Cecily's service was comparatively brief."
"True." The dowager's mouth tightened with what Jane guess was disapproval. "With her husband's illness, of course—court life can be strenuous, far more work than anyone realizes—and one's time is hardly one's own. Then, too, one must know when to step back and give the royal family a moment of privacy—" Evidently feeling she had said too much, the woman stopped, and then said, "But of course, it was all a long time ago, and poor Lady Cecily is no more. Miss Penelope I know well, of course, from her work with the little foundlings. How young she and her sister look! I am very glad of it. One would never guess their true age."
"They are lovely, accomplished women, and I am so happy to find them delightful sisters," Jane agreed, irritated by such a very left-handed compliment.
"So you are the younger brother's wife?" the dowager considered, squinting at Jane. "I heard that he turned out very wild, but you know how rumor exaggerates! You were the one out in Essex at Wargrave Hall. I heard the place is entirely gone to wrack and ruin!"
"Hardly," Jane answered stiffly. "It is quite a splendid house, and I enjoyed helping Sir John refurbish it. The estate is quite in order—from the dairy to the schoolhouse to the drawing room!"
Here Doctor Malahyde felt it was a time for a compliment. "There is nothing more vital to the proper running of an estate than a lady's hand," he said, smirking at the elder Lady Carteret, to make certain she would understand whom he meant to praise. The woman preened a little, and then returned to the subject at hand.
"The school—isn't your schoolmaster that Strakes fellow?"
Warily, Jane replied, "Yes, Lady Carteret. Oliver Strakes is the schoolmaster at Wargrave."
"I hope you do not allow him to dine with the family. He has been a scandal since the day he was born!"
"Indeed," agreed her faithful shadow. "A dreadful blot on an honorable family."
"I know nothing of Mr. Strakes' family," Jane replied calmly, thinking that he was worth ten of this mean-spirited woman and her toady. The Dowager Lady Carteret, however, felt that Jane must be told all.
"I am sure you know—or perhaps you do not?—that he is the son of Lady Eleanor Ellesmere and a footman! Yes! It was not bad enough that a Duke's daughter formed a connection with a servant, but she actually married the creature! Of course, it all ended badly—just as one would expect. The manservant vanished, the young lady fell into a decline and perished, and her father supported the misbegotten boy through university. Then the Duke died and that was the end of pretensions of gentility for the child of such a misalliance. He is a village schoolteacher, and hardly deserves that!"
Jane could not understand why the dowager was so exercised about someone who could have no connection to her. Calmly, she said, "I hardly know Mr. Strakes. He is a very good teacher. My husband and Sir John think well of him."
This answer was obviously not the one Lady Carteret was hoping for. "I have little knowledge of the Colonies," the lady sneered, "but in England, we cherish good blood!"
Any number of things were on the tip of Jane's tongue: a wish that the woman would cherish her daughter-in-law's blood so as not to keep depriving her of it; a remark that Mr. Strakes apparently had ducal blood, and so was perhaps better bred than many in the room. Jane forced herself to simply raise her brows with an interested expression. What would these people say if they knew the genealogy of the Rutledges? Only Cousin Louisa, now deceased, had ever told Jane a believable story: believable because it was so very sordid. Like many other South Carolina planters, the Rutledges had come from Barbados. Red Tom Rutledge, the founder of the family, her great-great grandfather, had made his fortune as a pirate, and his "lady" had been an Irish girl sold into slavery to work the sugar fields. Jane had never told anyone—even William or Letty—the story. To anyone else it would sound degrading, but Jane was secretly proud of it, whenever she was reminded to think of it.
She was certainly not going to tell it to the Dowager Lady Carteret. She gave the woman a polite smirk, and then pretended she heard someone calling her. With a brief excuse, she slid through the mob and found the odious dowager's daughter-in-law. Lady Carteret was looking longingly at a plate of sandwiches. Jane told her briefly that she had been taken to task for insufficient attention to matters of blood. "Poor Mr. Strakes!"
"Oh! My dear Mrs. Tavington! You may wonder indeed why my Mamma-in-law would care, but—" she smiled naughtily and lowered her voice, "Mr. Strakes is her cousin! Yes! His mother and hers were sisters! Harry has told her time and again that it would be better never to speak of the matter, but she cannot help herself. She has always felt humiliated by his very existence!"
"That's ridiculous!"
"Oh, I know, but she does so hate the thought of him! Her mother had a very bitter quarrel with Lady Eleanor over the elopement, and after the duke died, I believe she and her husband did everything possible to see that Mr. Strakes never received what his grandfather intended for him. Of course, the quarrel was passed on to my mother-in-law. Harry's father used to tease her about her relations 'below stairs.' She won't like you the better for being his patroness."
"I don't even think I could call myself that. Sir John is his employer, not I."
"Nonetheless—Oh, look! Mr. Bellini has caught their attention! Would you consider interposing yourself between their line of sight and the sandwiches?"
With a laugh, Jane rose and positioned herself so as to screen her friend from her mother-in-law's spying eyes.
"Delicious! I haven't had anything but gruel since Sunday. Doctor Malahyde allowed me butter on my toast for the Sabbath. I wish I could take the cress sandwiches home. I am so starved for anything green."
Jane's eyes were on young Lady Carteret, and her artless pleasure in some forbidden food. Lady Carteret's, eyes, unfortunately, were on the food itself. Neither was prepared for the squawk of outrage when their conspiracy was unmasked.
"Doctor! Come at once! Mary has been eating chicken!"
The dowager's piercing shriek cut through the noise of talk, and drew every eye to them. There was a hush. Necks craned to see what the matter was. Lady Carteret paused, caught red-handed with a bite half-way to her lips. Jane nearly jumped, so startled was she by the dowager's shrill anger.
"Mary! You wicked girl! You will have to be purged! Purged most rigorously! Is that not right, Doctor? Will she not require purging?"
"Indeed," the smug little man nodded in satisfaction. "A complete purge to balance her humors, and a bleeding as well. Lady Carteret, I am grieved that you would endanger yourself by forgetting your condition."
"—I didn't forget my condition! I simply had a sandwich!"
"—And you!" The dowager whirled on Jane. "Mary is such a good, obedient girl. I am certain you tempted her—forced her to eat! Come, Mary! We must leave. You are not safe with friends such as Mrs. Tavington!"
Jane felt her face grow hot. She had been utterly unprepared for such an attack. "If Lady Carteret wishes to eat, it is hardly my place to deny her! I tempt her? You might as well blame Lord Fanshawe's cook!"
Lord Fanshawe's amused smile faded, and was replaced with an expression of great offence. The Dowager Lady Carteret, however, was not done castigating Jane.
"I thank God Miss James had the decency to tell me what was going on! She says that at your home you stuff Mary with all sort of unwholesome things—fruits and sandwiches and even milk in her tea! If Mary dies in childbirth it will be upon your head!"
Doctor Malahyde nods were so fervent, Jane wondered if his head would roll off.
"You never said a truer word, Madam. Young Lady Carteret's blood will be full of choler after such rich, heavy foods. She must be bled directly, and put on the strictest diet of water gruel!"
Lady Carteret groaned aloud in despair, and threw a look of apology to Jane. "I am so sorry! None of this is your fault. Mamma, you are unjust to Mrs. Tavington! It is I who took the wretched sandwich! I wish I had never seen it!"
"Don't worry, my dear," answered her mother-in-law, "I shall take good care that you do not see one again!"
They left then, in unseemly haste, only bowing to Lord and Lady Fanshawe. Letty was completely stunned by the outburst. Lord Fanshawe bowed coldly in return, clearly angry that his pleasant salon had been disrupted by such a vulgar scene. His expression smoothed in a moment, however, and he began talking to a group of friends about another matter. Letty would have gone to Jane, but her husband drew her to his side, and place her hand firmly on his arm. Caroline and Penelope came to Jane's rescue instead.
There was some laughter. At first Jane felt it was directed at her, but it was soon clear that the other guests had found Lady Carteret's antics absurd.
One lady, fighting a fit of giggles, told Jane that it was noised abroad that the Doctor Malahyde was more that the dowager's physician. "One gathers that his attentions are most assiduous both day and night, my dear Mrs. Tavington!"
Jane managed a smile, but she was nonetheless embarrassed and shocked. In reply, she said, "I care nothing for myself, but such a fraud can do young Lady Carteret great harm. I am very fond of her, and his prescribed treatment defies all sense and reason!"
Caroline agreed, "I am entirely of Mrs. Tavington's opinion. One of these days we will no doubt hear that Doctor Malahyde is before the magistrates as a charlatan."
"I hope that day is soon," Jane replied tartly, "or it may be too late for Lady Carteret!"
Her eyes sought out Harmonia James, who was looking very satisfied with herself.
"That spiteful little tell-tale!" Jane hissed.
"Oh, Jane!" Penelope said sorrowfully, "She is so young. She does not understand the mischief she may have done."
"She is nearly seventeen! She ought to understand! When I was seventeen I was managing my father's household, not mincing about, gossiping like a schoolgirl! That was cruel and malicious!"
Harmonia heard Jane's indignant words. She tossed her head when Jane's eyes met hers. Jane glared at her until the girl turned red and looked away. Of more moment to Jane was Letty. Her sister appeared very distressed. Jane excused herself and began to move to join her.
Before she could reach her, she found her path blocked by Lord Fanshawe, who detached himself from Letty and demanded Jane's attention with the smoothest of bows.
"Mrs. Tavington, if I might have the honor of a private word?"
Mystified, Jane accompanied her brother-in-law to an adjoining room. Once there, Lord Fanshawe turned on her with smiling menace.
"Do you imagine that I invite the cream of the London ton in order to be made a fool of in my own house?"
Jane caught her breath, "No one thinks—"
"It was clear you did not. You will be so good as not to insult my guests or provoke them into acts of rank disobedience. Perhaps it is time for you to wend your way home."
"Are you asking me to leave?" Jane faltered, horror-struck.
"Indeed, Madam," Fanshawe bowed again, with a satisfied smile. "I pray your pardon, but it is clear that your presence is disruptive, your manners unequal to the level of the ton. I do not wish you to adversely influence Lady Fanshawe, who is devoted to you, however incomprehensible I find the idea of you evoking that sentiment in anyone. Perhaps it is best if you depart and remain separate from Lady Fanshawe in future. She has my ward as companion, so there is no reason at all for you to intrude yourself in her affairs. Do go, I pray you." He bowed again. "I would not want to distress you with the companionship of my footmen on the way out."
"How dare you!" Jane hissed, furious. "I have never been so insulted! You think your manners very grand, but I do not. You have been looking for a pretext to separate me from Letty ever since you tricked and deceived your way to marrying her."
Fanshawe smiled down at her with contempt. "I do not need a pretext to command what is mine. Today was simply the last straw."
"You will regret this," Jane told him flatly.
"What are you going to do, Mrs. Tavington?" he asked with polite incredulity. "Shoot me?"
Jane stared at him and thought about the pistol in her pocket. She stared just long enough that Fanshawe's smiled turned faintly uneasy.
"No," she finally answered. "but you are making a grave mistake. Do you think that that spiteful little schoolgirl is a satisfactory companion for my sweet and gentle sister? You are a fool—" she said, savoring the insult and enjoying the twitch in the painted wrinkles about the peer's mouth—"you are a fool if you so deceive yourself. Letty will be lonely and wretched, and you will find that if you make you captive bird unhappy enough, she may no longer sing at your command. You are a cruel and selfish old man, and I pray you do not harm my sister while she is in a condition to need all those who truly love her."
Fanshawe smiled again. "If that is all you have to say, perhaps you would do me the honor of leaving without delay. My footmen can be impatient. I believe the Misses Tavington would benefit from an early departure as well."
Jane turned her back on him in disgust, and swept back into the drawing room. She shouldered guests aside, a step ahead of Fanshawe. Letty was a few yards away, looking at her in confusion and dismay. Jane seized her hands in her own.
"Lord Fanshawe has ordered me to leave, Letty, I must go, but know that I love you. Never doubt it!"
Clad in superb livery, a pack of muscular servants were striding into the room. Jane flung her arms about Letty and kissed her. "Never doubt it, my dearest, dearest sister!"
There was a swirl of confusion. Jane felt her arms seized with confident strength as she was spirited out the door and manhandled to the top of the stairs. Penelope cried out with fright, and there were exclamations and raised, bewildered voices. Suddenly, Jane felt her arm released, and looked up to see Bellini, eyes bulging with indignation, give a tall footman a shove that made the servant stumble back.
"Enough!" he shouted. "Go back to your master, all of you! I shall escort these ladies from the premises. Come, ladies, come," he said, his bass voice softening to a comforting rumble. "I will have a carriage called, and see that you are placed safely within. Do not be alarmed."
"What is going on?" Caroline cried. "Has Lord Fanshawe gone mad?"
"It is because of me," Jane told her, putting her arm around her waist, as Bellini walked them downstairs. "Lord Fanshawe is tired of my influence on Letty and seized the altercation as an excuse to be rid of me. I am sorry that he chose to be rude to you as well!"
"What a horrible man," Penelope managed, unable to believe she had been just thrown out of a tea party. "Whatever will William and John say?"
Jane wondered herself. They reached the hall. The butler at the door did not look at them, his face as if carved from living stone.
Bellini told him, "These ladies require a carriage. Have one called for them."
Stolidly, the handsome butler answered, "Got no orders to call for any carriage. His lordship will have my ears if I leave the house."
"Buffone!" Bellini snarled. The women were hustled into cloaks and hats with awkward speed. Penelope's hat was backwards, until Bellini himself righted it. The door was opened, and they were outside in the stiff wind of February. Bellini stepped out into the street and whistled down a hack carriage. It was small, and the three ladies had to crowd together, but it was a means of escape. Penelope had started to cry with embarrassment. Caroline was white and shaky. Jane felt sick herself, and longed to be alone in her own room. Before Bellini could shut the carriage door, however, she leaned out to speak to him.
"Thank you with all my heart, Signor," she said, pressing his hand. "You are a true gentleman- un vero gentiluomo!"
He smiled at her faulty accent, but affectionately. "It is my honor to serve you."
"I fear that this is the end of my Italian lessons here. I hope it is not to be the end of our friendship. I beg you to come tomorrow, if you can. However," she said, cutting off his assurances, "if you are made to choose between Lady Fanshawe and myself, choose her, I beg you! She will need a loyal friend so badly!"
He bowed, very grandly, hand on heart. "Signora, no one chooses Orazio Bellini's friends but Orazio Bellini himself! Fear nothing!" To the driver he shouted, "Number Twelve, Mortimer Square, and quickly!"
He stood waving at them, as they drove away, a gallant wave, fit for an opera stage. Jane smiled at his bravado, and then remembered that she had just lost her sister. Shockingly, crushingly, grief overwhelmed her, and she cried aloud in pain. "Oh, Letty! What will become of you?"
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Notes: Fanny Burney's second novel, Cecilia, was published in 1782. It's my favorite of her works. Fanny Burney may have influenced Jane Austen, but I think her novels are much more like Dickens'. She includes characters from all classes, and the books themselves are very dark in places. The heroine invariably faces a hostile and judgmental world with little or no support. Some people like to sneer at "lady novelists" of the period, but Fanny Burney had a great deal to say about the problems women faced in her time, and often she said it well.
The aria is from Rinaldo, by George Frederick Handel. I love it. Try to find the recording by Cecilia Bartoli. It's also sung in the movie Farinelli.
The story of the Irish slaves on the island of Barbados is a very interesting one, but not one I have time to go into here. Many of their descendants remain on the island.
Next: "And Let Me Sigh for Liberty—"