Enlightening Delilah (7 page)

‘I had these gowns made for me in London,’ said Delilah.

‘Ah, well, you wouldn’t know any better, miss,’ said Baxter. ‘Who made these?’

‘Mr Treadwell.’

‘No one uses Treadwell any more,’ said Baxter. ‘’Cept dowagers, that is. Better to have a woman design things for you anyway. Men are always behind the times.’

She selected a gown of blue tabinet and then set about preparing Delilah for the day ahead and arranging her hair in one of the new styles.

When Baxter considered she was ready, Delilah was conducted down to a morning room where Effy was sitting alone, having breakfast.

‘How beautiful you look, child!’ said Effy. ‘Pray be seated and tell Harris what you want.’

Delilah ordered cold ham, eggs and kidneys, toast and coffee.

‘How do you keep your figure?’ sighed Effy. ‘Dry toast is all I allow myself. But then I eat like a bird. I must apologize for my illness last night. I am not strong, you know. Now, if you consider yourself rested, we shall make some calls this afternoon to introduce you to various people.’

‘Will not my father be calling?’ asked Delilah.

‘He
did
call, but he has gone out driving with my sister. We shall no doubt see both of them later in the day. Now, let us check your accomplishments. Do you play the pianoforte?’

‘Yes, but not very well.’

To Delilah’s surprise, Effy drew out a small note-book and pencil and wrote ‘music teacher’ in it.

‘Italian and French?’ asked Effy.

‘A very little,’ said Delilah.

‘Dear, dear, dear. Italian and French tutors,’ said Effy, writing busily. ‘Needlework?’

‘I embroider well.’

‘That’s something, I suppose,’ said Effy. ‘Water-colours?’

‘I am accounted very good.’

‘Singing?’

‘Fair.’

Effy’s pencil hovered over the paper of the note-book. ‘Perhaps not,’ she murmured. ‘Unnecessary expense. Dancing?’

‘Yes, I dance,’ said Delilah.

‘Waltz?’

‘Yes.’

‘Quadrille?’

‘No.’

‘Dancing master,’ said Effy, writing it down. ‘Would you mind walking up and down the room for me, Miss Wraxall?’

Torn between amusement and exasperation, Delilah pushed away her plate, got up and walked slowly up and down.

‘Not bad, not bad,’ said Effy. ‘But bridle. You must bridle. You tuck your chin in and look down your nose . . . so.’

Delilah burst out laughing. ‘That looks silly.’

‘There is a great deal in London society which looks silly,’ said Effy repressively, ‘but one must strive to please. Harris,’ she said to the butler, ‘we shall need a dancing master, music teacher and French and Italian tutors. Deportment can be taught by ourselves.’

‘It is very kind of you, Miss Effy,’ said Delilah, ‘but why are you going to such an effort to school me? I am only here for a short time and then I shall return to the country.’

Effy remembered in time that they were supposed to be old friends of the squire. ‘It is always important to be good
ton
,’ she said.

‘On whom are we to call?’ asked Delilah.

‘I think we shall call on the Marchioness of Raby. She is very
comme it faut.
You must study her manners and aim to copy them. Harris, bring me the card rack from the drawing room.’ She waited until the butler returned and placed a little rack containing a great many gilt-edged invitations and began to look through them.

‘Now, here, next week is a ball and quite a grand one, too,’ said Effy thoughtfully. ‘Lady Burgoyne. I said we should not attend, but I am sure she will understand if we explain you are newly arrived from the country and we wish to puff you off and plan to come after all. And, let me see, there is a musicale on Wednesday . . . perhaps . . . and a turtle dinner. Yes, we shall go on very well. Harris, send for Ma’m’selle Yvette.’

Delilah sat feeling bewildered. Perhaps it was the London fashion to school young guests. The French dressmaker came in and Effy instructed her to look over Delilah’s wardrobe and alter anything that needed altering. ‘In fact,’ said Effy, ‘take her with you and pin her.’

‘May I finish my breakfast first?’ asked Delilah.

‘Yes, of course, child. But not too much heavy food. You will have spots all over your face in no time at all.’

The Marchioness of Raby lived in a pretty town house in Bolton Street. She was small and dumpy with a round head and a very large mouth. She had tried to reduce the size of her mouth by painting a small pair of lips in the centre of her own. This, combined with the amount of white lead she wore on the rest of her face, contrived to give her the appearance of a clown. She welcomed Effy with great enthusiasm and offered Delilah only the curtest of nods and two fingers to shake.

She then drew Effy down beside her on the sofa and began to chatter, leaving Delilah completely ignored. Then a Mrs Busby and her married daughter, Mrs Tomlinson, were announced. Mrs Busby, like the marchioness and Miss Effy, looked to have reached her half-century, but she was dressed in damped muslin which revealed she was wearing the latest in corsets, called The Divorce, because it was the first piece of corsetry ever invented that separated the breasts, rather than presenting them as one solid front.

Mrs Tomlinson was heavily pregnant and made no attempt to hide that fact. Delilah saw that these newcomers were about to ignore her as well and was determined to enter the conversation. She smiled at Mrs Tomlinson and said, ‘When is your baby expected?’

There was a shocked hush. The marchioness turned red with embarrassment under her paint, and then Effy, throwing a warning glance at Delilah, said, ‘The weather is beautiful now, is it not? But such fog yesterday. Filthy stuff. All the curtains will need to be taken down and washed.’

All the ladies, except Delilah, began to talk about the fog. Delilah felt miserable. She knew she had made a dreadful social gaffe in mentioning Mrs Tomlinson’s pregnancy.

‘Lord Andrew Bergrave,’ announced the marchioness’s butler. The gentleman who entered the room was not precisely handsome. But he was well-tailored, slim, and had a clever face and a pair of merry brown eyes. Those eyes lit on Delilah and he promptly demanded an introduction.

He pulled a chair up next to Delilah’s and said, ‘Now you must just have arrived in Town, Miss Wraxall, otherwise I would have heard all talk of your beauty.’

Effy, watching closely, noticed the caressing smile Delilah gave him and how she prettily raised her fan to her face as if to cover her confusion.

‘You tease me, my lord,’ said Delilah. ‘There must be a great number of very beautiful ladies in London.’

‘None as beautiful as you, I swear,’ said Lord Andrew. ‘Do you plan to stay in Town for long?’

‘I do not know, my lord,’ said Delilah. ‘I am staying with Miss Effy and Miss Amy Tribble.’

A slight look of shock registered in Lord Andrew’s eyes. ‘They are old friends of my father,’ added Delilah.

‘Well, of course they are,’ he said with a little laugh. ‘Someone as perfect as you could hardly—’

He broke off and said instead, ‘You must allow me to take you driving in the Park, Miss Wraxall.’

‘I should like that above all things,’ said Delilah, giving him a blinding smile.

‘And how is your mother, Lord Andrew?’ interrupted the marchioness.

‘Very well, ma’am. She sends her regards.’

‘The duchess must be relieved to have you back from the wars safe and sound. I remember staying with her on a visit when you were a very young man, Lord Andrew. But you had a superb pair of legs even then.’

‘You flatter me,’ said Lord Andrew.

‘Not at all,’ said the marchioness. ‘I, too, have still a good leg. What are your legs like, Miss Effy?’

‘Fair, I think,’ said Effy.

‘Let us all show our legs!’ cried the marchioness.

She hitched up her skirts, revealing thick legs like posts and a pair of scarlet garters. Miss Effy had quite a shapely pair, Mrs Busby had a powerful pair of muscular ones, and Mrs Tomlinson had varicose veins.

‘Am I not to have the delight of seeing yours, Miss Wraxall?’ asked Lord Andrew.

‘Certainly not,’ said Delilah. She was deeply shocked.

Effy then announced she was taking her leave. Lord Andrew whispered to Delilah that he would call as soon as possible.

As soon as they were seated in the carriage, Delilah burst out, ‘What odd behaviour! What peculiar standards! I ask that Mrs Tomlinson about her baby and everyone looks as shocked as if I had mouthed an obscenity. And yet they all start to show their legs, exactly like a group of demi-reps.’

‘There are some things you must not do or say,’ said Effy. ‘You must never mention that a lady is with child. It is different in the country, where you have people and farm animals breeding in such an undisciplined way. But here in Town, it is considered vulgar to remark on a lady’s condition. The marchioness is very good
ton
and therefore can be allowed a few eccentricities like showing her legs. You, Miss Wraxall, on the other hand, must behave with modesty at all times. Now, I noticed you flirting with Lord Andrew. You must be careful not to appear too forward. You may have given him a disgust of you.’

Delilah tossed her head. ‘He is to call to ask your permission to take me driving.’

‘Be warned,’ said Effy severely. ‘There are a great many rakey-hell gentlemen in London who think that when a lady flirts too openly, it means her morals are not of the purest.’

‘At least I do not go around showing my legs,’ said Delilah huffily.

‘Now we make a few more calls,’ said Effy, and Delilah just stopped herself from groaning aloud.

There were to be no more eligible men that day. Delilah met only elderly gentlemen and various ladies, all of whom went on as if she were not in the room.

She thought she heard one lady, after looking at her in surprise, whisper, ‘Another of the Tribbles’ difficult ones. I wonder what is up with
her.
’ But the whisper was so faint, she thought she must have misheard it.

When they returned to Holles Street, it was to find the squire and Amy sharing the tea tray in high good humour. Delilah took her father aside. ‘Take me with you when you leave, Papa,’ she whispered. ‘I do not think I like London.’

‘Give it a chance,’ said her father. ‘I shall call again in a month’s time, and if you are still of the same mind, then I shall take you away.’ And with that, Delilah had to be content.

Sir Charles Digby arrived in town a few days later. Lord Andrew was just about to leave to go out for the day. ‘Charles!’ he cried. ‘Are you come to stay?’

‘If you’ll have me.’

‘For as long as you want. You must excuse me. I am off to drive an angel around the Park, but I shall be back very soon.’

‘What angel is that?’

‘I am not telling you,’ said Lord Andrew. ‘She is but lately come to Town and I mean to keep her to myself for as long as possible.’

Sir Charles oversaw the unpacking of his trunks, changed, and decided to go out and walk to White’s in St James’s and renew his membership of that famous club. The sun was shining and everything looked fresh and glittering. The striped blinds were still down in front of the house windows and buff canopies protected the goods in the shop windows from the sun’s glare. The ladies were in their prettiest muslins and the men were even better-tailored than he had remembered.

He was strolling along Piccadilly when he met Mr Peter Macdonald, an old friend from a Scottish regiment. They hailed each other with delight and Mr Macdonald fell into step beside him, saying he would go to the club as well. ‘And what brings you to Town?’ asked Mr Macdonald.

‘I plan to enjoy myself,’ said Sir Charles. ‘My time is my own. I have only one duty to perform. Have you heard of a couple of ladies called Tribble?’

Mr Macdonald laughed. ‘I have only been in Town a month, but I heard about them almost as soon as I arrived. A great pair of quizzes.’

‘In what way?’

‘They are very good
ton
, but had fallen on hard times. So they began to advertise their services. That is, they swear they can take any difficult and unmarriageable miss and reform her. They have had two notable successes and the latest rumour is that they have just started off with a new charge.’

‘And where are they to be found?’

‘Holles Street.’

Sir Charles changed the conversation and began to talk of the war. They spent a pleasant time in White’s, fighting old battles, and the matter of the Tribbles was forgotten.

Sir Charles finally returned to Brook Street to find that Lord Andrew had left again, leaving a note to say he had gone to dinner and would be back late, but Sir Charles was to summon the chef and order anything he wanted.

Sir Charles thought of the Tribbles again. They seemed an odd couple of friends for the squire to have. But he had promised Mrs Cavendish to learn about this Miss Amy. He had an early dinner and decided to go to Holles Street and find out for himself.

Effy was sitting in the drawing room, sewing, while Delilah inexpertly murdered a piece of Mozart on the piano. Delilah’s playing was not normally so bad. She was puzzling over in her mind various things Lord Andrew had said that afternoon. He would start to ask her why she had been sent to the Tribbles and then hurriedly say it did not matter. Again she had said the Tribbles were old friends of her father.

The butler entered and handed Effy a card. ‘Don’t know him,’ said Effy. ‘Tell him we are not at home.’

‘He says he’s a friend of Mr Wraxall,’ said Harris.

‘Oh, in that case, you’d best send him up,’ sighed Effy. ‘I do wish Amy would stop jauntering about to every unfashionable place in Town.’ She raised her voice. ‘Do stop playing, Miss Wraxall. We have company.’

Delilah swung round on the piano stool. She glanced at the clock. ‘Does one usually receive callers in London at eight in the evening?’

‘No,’ said Effy, ‘but this is some friend of your father’s.’

Delilah’s face lit up. It would be nice to see someone from the village.

‘Sir Charles Digby,’ announced Harris.

‘Oh, lor’,’ said Effy, suddenly remembering the name of the man who had broken Delilah’s heart. Delilah’s face was quite stiff and set.