A Lady's Point of View (2 page)

Lady Mary approached. “What have
I done?” Meg pleaded, near tears.

Her mother stared at her
reproachfully. “You have cut Mr. Brummell! He nodded to you and you swept by
without so much as a word.”

“But I didn’t see him!” Meg
protested. “I was too busy trying not to bump into anyone. I shall go back and
apologise.”

“Too late.” It was Helen, joining
them at risk of bringing scandal upon herself. “He has gone off in a temper.”

Nothing remained to be said or
done, save gathering their pelisses and walking with bowed heads through the
throng. Meg knew her disgrace was complete. Everyone would say she had always
been arrogant, slighting even her closest acquaintances, and finally she had
gone too far.

Meg and Lady Mary forced their
way through the crush of carriages until they reached their faded barouche,
taking refuge within on the velvet squabs.

“I don’t know what we shall do,”
cried Lady Mary once they were under way. “We are ruined. There will be no more
vouchers for you or for Angela.”

Her own shame Meg could bear well
enough, but it hurt her beyond measure to have done harm to her sister.
“Perhaps all is not lost,” she said. “I could send round a note of apology to
Mr. Brummell in the morning, explaining about my weak eyesight.”

“Then you will be the
laughingstock of the town!” lamented her parent. “That is scarcely better.”

“Well, I shall write a note to
say I did not see him,” Meg said without much hope, for she recognised that a
mere letter could never atone for creating a public spectacle.

“No one will believe it, for he
was directly in front of you, but perhaps he will spare us the worst of his
anger,” Lady Mary said. “Still, had I not already rented the cottage to the
Barkers, I should consider packing up the three of us posthaste
        
“ The older woman’s voice trailed off
with an unaccustomed tremor.

Leaving London would greatly
distress Angela, Meg knew, for the younger girl eagerly anticipated entering
society. And where was the guarantee, once they departed, that next year they
could afford to return?

The time had come to renew her
earlier suggestion, Meg decided as the carriage rattled through the dark
streets. “I shall go back to Derby alone, after penning my apologies to Mr.
Brummell and the patronesses. Under the circumstances, surely no one will
condemn Angela for my actions. We might even be spared the expense of a ball,
and Angela can come out quietly at a tea party. Everyone will think we are
acting with discretion.”

Lady Mary frowned as she
considered this notion. Meg hoped her mother would see it was by far the most
expeditious solution.

Angela was not so easily
persuaded when they arrived home and told her of the night’s catastrophe. On
hearing of their contemplated course of action, she cried out, “You cannot!
Meg, how can you go to live with our cousins? The Barkers are a pair of old
grumbletonians. They’ll stuff your ears with Fordyce’s Sermons until you run
screaming down the street.”

“I’ll never run screaming down
the street,” said Meg. “I would collide with a milk cart.”

“You’re not so bad as that!”
objected Angela loyally.

“To your beds,” said their weary
mother. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

Seeing the sleepiness of the
little maid, Karen, who attended them in addition to her other duties, the
girls sent her off with assurances that they could make their own toilet. As
she allowed her sister to brush out her hair, Meg reflected that what she would
miss most was not the balls or outings to Vauxhall Gardens, nor boxes at the
Opera, but her family’s companionship.

“Is it truly so difficult for you
to see?” Angela asked, gently untangling a knot in Meg’s curly locks.

“In spite of what Mother
believes, I can’t simply force my eyes to function properly.” Meg toyed with a
pink velvet ribbon on the dressing table. “If only she didn’t insist it’s so
shocking to be seen with a glass.”

“I can’t imagine what good it
would do,” said Angela. “I looked through Mrs. Pickney’s spectacles once and
they gave me the most frightful headache.”

Impossible to explain to someone
with good vision how a few tiny lenses could open up a new world of sharp edges
in place of fuzzy ones, where furniture and faces no longer faded to obscurity,
Meg mused as she climbed into bed. How she longed for the simple freedom of
movement that others took for granted.

Despite the silence that fell
over the premises, no one slept well that night in the Linley household.

In the servants’ quarters, the
coachman spread the gossip he had overheard about the evening’s mishap. In
addition to their distress at Miss Linley’s fall from grace, the staff worried
that Lady Mary might retreat from London, leaving most of them to seek out new
positions.

The maid, Karen, lay awake for a
different reason, one sufficient to overcome her exhaustion. She was concerned
not so much for her mistresses—what real harm could befall members of the
nobility?—but for how she might reach her childhood sweetheart, Peter, a valet
who worked in Liverpool. His master intended journeying to Canada, and Peter
had written to beg that she come and marry him so that they might go together.
But how was she to get north by herself?

One storey below, Angela also lay
sleepless, hurting for her sister and trying not to dwell on her own
disappointment. How her young heart had swelled, the times she was allowed to
accompany her family to Vauxhall or Hyde Park, where handsome men doffed their
hats to her. Would she never dance in the arms of a beloved suitor?

Lying beside Angela—for the
sisters shared a bed—Meg longed heartily to be done with the whole business.
She could bear even the Barkers’ endless sermonizing; at least she need not
fear that the least misstep would lead to disgrace. Perhaps in Derby she might
even acquire a pair of spectacles.

As for Lady Mary, she had a
difficult decision to make. Since her husband’s death, she had been forced into
a situation for which her gentle birth and upbringing had never prepared her.
At each turning point, she discovered with amazement new sources of strength
within herself.

So it must be now. Only she knew
the truly threadbare state of the family finances. She had refrained from
baring the whole sad situation even to her elder daughter, but there would be
no season the next year, for either of the girls, unless one of them found a
wealthy husband this summer.

It was only sensible that Angela
be given a chance. As Meg said, after a written apology and the offender’s
retirement from London, the
ton
would soon forget this tempest in a
teacup. And within a few weeks, Angela might take her place in society.

Meg would rub on well enough with the Barkers, Lady
Mary reflected, and if Angela made a good match, it would pave the way for
Meg’s return to society next year. It was the best one could hope for under the
circumstances.

The following afternoon, there
was no question of making calls, for the Linleys knew that no one would be at
home to them.

“It’s monstrous!” cried Angela as
the three of them sat in the parlour in funereal gloom. “I don’t want to be
accepted by the
ton
if they’re so cruel and petty, Mother. Why don’t we
all leave?”

“That wouldn’t serve,” her parent
responded coldly. “We’ll hear no more talk of that sort, miss.”

Angela turned to Meg for help,
but her older sister shook her head. “It’s for the best,” she said. “I shall be
just as happy in Derby as here, save that I’ll miss my family. One and a half
seasons of Venetian breakfasts and card parties are enough for me.”

At that moment, the three were
surprised to hear a carriage stopping outside in the street. Angela would have
run to the window but for her mother’s restraining hand. “You might be seen,
dear,” cautioned Lady Mary.

When the butler entered a moment
later to announce Helen Cockerell, the sisters were delighted.

“Oh, Helen, I knew you wouldn’t
desert us!” Angela sprang up to greet the older girl.

After the usual fuss of settling
into place and pouring tea, the Linleys took turns informing Miss Cockerell of
Meg’s impending departure from London. “I sent round the note to Mr. Brummell
this morning,” Meg concluded. “I received no response, but I hardly expected
one.”

“Oh, that fop!” With a wave of
the hand, Helen dismissed the second most powerful man in London, at least so
far as the social lives of its younger set were concerned. “There’s talk that
he’s given offence to Prinny more than once, and there’ll be a falling-out
before this time next year, you mark my words.’’

Everyone knew that Brummell’s
success depended on his close friendship with the Prince of Wales, who had
become Regent in February. That Brummell might fall from grace hadn’t occurred
to Meg, but in any event it was sure to come too late to help her.

Angela was more optimistic, her
blue eyes widening. “Then perhaps Meg might stay—”

“I think not,” said Lady Mary.

Reluctantly Helen concurred. “For
myself, I shall miss her terribly, and write every day. But even my own
brother, Edward, professes himself horrified at Meg’s conduct—you know what a
stiff cheese he is! I’ve no doubt he’d have forbidden even my coming today if
he’d known of it.”

Edward, being a good ten years older
than his sister, had become her guardian after their parents’ death. Despite
his fair colouring and generally admired appearance, Meg regarded him as little
warmer than a block of ice. Stiff cheese indeed!

The sisters bade a tearful
farewell to Helen, who embraced Meg lovingly and renewed her promise to
correspond faithfully.

Welcome though the visit had
been, it left behind an even gloomier atmosphere than before, as if the last
hope were removed.

It was decided that Meg should
take the mail coach to Manchester. Although that meant journeying a bit beyond
her destination and paying a stiff fee, the journey could be accomplished in
eighteen hours instead of several days, thus saving the expense of rooms in
posting houses. From there, she and Karen, who was to accompany her, would hire
a post chaise to Derby.

On Friday, Meg sorted carefully
through her gowns, choosing those of darker colours and more severe styles. She
selected practical fabrics—kerseymere and chintz, bombazine and calico.

“You’ve no need to go about
looking like a spinster,” Angela protested when she entered and saw the dresses
her sister had laid out.

“Don’t be nonsensical,” said Meg,
returning a gown of pink crepe to the wardrobe. “What would I do with these
fripperies in Derby? The Barkers would prate of sinful dress until my head
ached.” As fashion decreed, the gowns displayed an unseemly amount of bosom and
clung to the figure, even when not dampened.

Angela laughed. “Well, I
certainly can’t wear them. I’m half a stone lighter than you and two inches
shorter.”

But they would have to be made over to fit Angela,
though Meg saw no point in telling her sister that now. Perhaps Lady Mary could
find the funds for a few new dresses; otherwise Angela would certainly be
disappointed.

“I believe I’ve picked out the
appropriate clothing,” Meg said as she selected matching gloves, shoes, shawls,
ribbons, reticules, cloaks and pelisses.

After Angela departed, Meg ticked
off on her fingers the tasks that had been accomplished. She had written her
apology to Mr. Brummell, Lady Mary had dashed off a note to the Barkers
regarding the impending arrival, the clothes had been selected …Ah, yes, her
books!

A short while later, Meg was
returning to her chamber with an armload of her favourite novels and poetry,
when she encountered Karen in the hall. “Please, miss, may I speak with you
privately?” the girl asked.

“Why, yes, of course.” Puzzled, Meg entered the
room. Could it be that Karen objected to travelling back with her? Possibly the
girl had acquired a suitor here in London. But Meg vaguely recalled that Karen
was betrothed to a young man in Derby. Or had he moved from there with his
employer?

The maid cleared her throat and
stood with her hands in back, clearly trying to work up the courage to speak.

“Come now, Karen, we’ve known
each other for years,” said Meg. “You’ve no need to be afraid.”

“Well, miss”--the girl peered at
her anxiously--”It’s this way. My beau, Peter, he’s been working in Liverpool.”

“Yes?’’ Meg tried to sound
encouraging.

“His master sails for Canada in
two weeks’ time, and Peter must go with him, for he can find no other work.”
Karen uttered the words in one gusty breath. “He wants to marry me and take me
along.”

“I see.” Meg sank into a chair.
“You’ve waited until the last minute to take your leave of us, Karen.”

“I didn’t see how I was to get there,” the maid
pressed on, her tongue loosened at last. “I haven’t enough blunt, and neither
has he. So I thought all was lost, but now I’ve enough to get from Manchester
to Liverpool, begging your pardon, miss.”

Meg began to understand. “So you
want to leave me in Manchester to make the last stage of my journey alone?”

“Oh, please, miss.” Karen looked
as if she might kneel to make her plea, an alarming prospect to Meg. “I know
it’s a disloyal notion. A young lady like yourself mustn’t travel alone. But I
thought, well, if I hired the post chaise in Manchester for you, what harm
could befall you twixt there and Derby?”

What harm indeed, Meg reflected.
Society would be scandalized by such goings-on, but they need never know of it.
As for the Barkers, they would object to almost anything she did; it was
impossible to please folk with such starched-up notions.