Finessing Clarissa (7 page)

Treason doth never prosper; what’s the reason?
Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

Sir John Harrington

While the Earl of Greystone was busy about his affairs in the country, Clarissa Vevian had not done very well in Town. The trouble lay in the person of Mr George Randolph.

Mr Randolph was a bachelor friend of Mr Haddon’s, which put him in the same age bracket as the Tribbles and made him a source of excitement. He was small and slim and, unlike Mr Haddon, dressed in the very height of fashion. Like Mr Haddon, he was very rich, but he was also extravagant and liked to buy Amy and Effy expensive presents. Effy was charmed by him and Amy once more walked in flat shoes and with a slouch so as to suit his short height and wore those fussy, frilly girlish dresses which did not become her.

In the middle of all this, Clarissa felt like a neglected beanpole. She had already sent off one music teacher. He had tried to correct her playing by rapping her knuckles with a ruler. Clarissa had been too startled to think clearly and had snatched the ruler and brought it down with a crack on his head. The Italian tutor struggled on gamely, for he was poor and the wages were good. But ever since Clarissa had poured a cup of boiling-hot tea over his breeches, he had refused all refreshment and sat at the opposite end of the room from her to give her lessons. The dancing master, too, needed the money and so gave up dancing with her, but sat in a corner nursing his bandaged toes and calling out the figure of the dance while Clarissa leaped and pranced on her own. The curate, hired to give her religious instruction, was sorely alarmed that Clarissa refused point blank to believe in the existence of Hell. The curate was very fond of Hell and prided himself on his colourful descriptions.

The sisters were not totally unmindful of their duties. They examined her watercolours and her sewing in the evenings and took her out on calls during the day. Those calls were misery to Clarissa. She longed to find a friend among the other débutantes, but they huddled together and giggled and whispered, and most of them seemed to be barely over five feet in height.

Yvette, the French dressmaker, was her only comfort. Yvette, heavily pregnant, stitched away at a new wardrobe for Clarissa, encouraging the girl to draw sketches of what she would like. ‘You cannot change other people, miss,’ Yvette would say. ‘You must change yourself inside first. It is you who makes you clumsy.
Ma foi!
It is difficult being so tall among all the little ladies, but hold your head high. Now me, I am the disgrace,
non
? I am to have the baby and no papa by my side. The servants here talk about me in shocked whispers. But I must ignore them, must I not?’

And so her soft voice would go on and Clarissa would leave her room feeling comforted and determined to do better and go out on another call where some dowager would hiss, ‘Dear Miss Tribble, you’ve got your hands full with a great monster of a girl like that,’ and she would begin to feel miserable all over again and drop something or fall over something.

Clarissa’s maid, Hubbard, had sent all her jewellery off to be cleaned. She had seen the packet in the bottom of the box, had taken it out, scrubbed the box, and put it back again without looking inside. She assumed the packet contained love letters. All young ladies had love letters which they hid. It was none of Hubbard’s business. When the jewellery was returned, she therefore arranged all the pieces back in the box with the packet once more underneath.

The Earl of Greystone was settled in his town house at last and free to call on Miss Clarissa Vevian. But no sooner was he on the point of setting out that a messenger arrived with a letter summoning him to the War Office. Wondering whether he was going to be asked to take up his old command, he went along.

He was given orders, but not the orders he had expected. He was told that it was believed the government papers which had recently been stolen had been taken by one of a band of aristocrats.

‘I find that hard to believe,’ said the earl. ‘There was a lot of sympathy for Boney amongst the Whigs, but then when he made himself emperor, most got a disgust of him.’

‘No,’ said the tired old general facing him. ‘No, my lord. I believe a number of them find treason a game. They enjoy the hazards and risks, and the money they are paid settles their gambling debts. We want you to go about in society and keep your ears and eyes open. Watch the ones with heavy debts closely. There are certain ones, you know, with estates mortgaged to the hilt who may suddenly settle their debts, having recently received a mysterious source of income. You may hear something, anything, which will lead us to them.’

They then settled back and fought old battles and talked about old friends.

That evening, Clarissa felt low and homesick. She had gone out on a call with Miss Effy and the ladies had been talking of the Earl of Greystone and how he was in Town and what a vastly attractive man he was. Effy had said that the earl was a friend of Miss Vevian and Clarissa had been plied with eager questions. Not one lady present had looked on Clarissa as a rival.

She sat by the fire, her sewing lying unheeded on her lap. The sisters, Mr Haddon, and Mr Randolph were playing bridge. They now played bridge most evenings. But for once, Mr Haddon’s attention was not fully on the game. He kept glancing over at Clarissa. Why, the girl was miserable! Did Amy know? But Miss Amy appeared totally taken up with Mr Randolph. She was wearing a very fine Norfolk shawl which Mr Randolph had given her. Mr Haddon reflected sourly that the Kashmir shawl
he
had given Amy was much finer. Amy had her grey-streaked hair dressed in pomaded girlish curls. It made her face look longer, and the jaunty, glossy curls looked like a wig.

He knew the attempted girlishness of Amy’s appearance did not become her. Flat, heel-less shoes, for example, were all the rage, but before the advent of Mr Randolph, Amy had taken to wearing a low heel because she found it helped her posture. Now she shuffled about and stooped and did everything she could to diminish her height.

Effy was wearing a very pretty sapphire necklace. Mr Haddon hoped Mr Randolph had not bought it for her. It would be wicked if he had bought something so very expensive for Effy and not bought Amy a piece of jewellery as well. ‘Your mind is wandering, Mr Haddon,’ chided Amy.

‘I am sorry,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I was worrying about Miss Vevian.’

‘Nothing to worry about there,’ whispered Amy. ‘A trifle clumsy, but a thoroughly good girl.’

‘She is unhappy.’

Amy put down her cards and stared at Mr Haddon. Effy made clucking noises of annoyance.

‘But . . . but . . . are you
sure
?’ asked Amy. ‘I had not noticed.’

‘No, you have eyes only for someone else,’ said Mr Haddon coolly. ‘And you are setting Miss Vevian a bad example.’

‘Step outside,’ said Amy sharply. ‘My apologies, Mr Randolph.’

‘Do not trouble to apologize to
me
,’ said Effy, but the couple had risen and were already leaving the room.

‘Kindly explain yourself,’ said Amy when she and Mr Haddon were outside on the landing.

‘I cannot help noticing that every evening Randolph and I call here to play bridge, Miss Vevian is always left out of things. You take her on calls, but you never take her to balls or parties. Why?’

Well, the answer to that one was that in all the glory of having
two
gentlemen for company, the Tribble sisters had all but forgotten about their responsibility to Clarissa, but Amy had no intention of telling him so.

‘We have hired all the best tutors for her,’ she said defensively.

‘I am sure you have.’

‘Then what did you mean when you said I was a bad example?’

‘That was silly of me. Pray forget it.’

‘I insist on knowing. You most certainly meant it.’

‘Don’t fly out at me then. The fact is that you are tall and Miss Vevian is tall. You, Miss Amy, had begun to adopt a dress and posture which suited your height and gave you a regal air. Since the arrival on the scene of my friend Randolph, you have started stooping again and wearing girlish clothes. He is the same age as you, you know.’

Amy’s eyes filled with tears. ‘What a cruel thing to say.’

‘Prompted by affection for you and worry for Miss Vevian.’

Amy’s heart melted. All she really heard was the ‘affection for you’ bit. ‘I suppose we
have
neglected her,’ she said slowly.

‘What of Greystone? He is in Town. Has he called? Or, what is more to the point, have you sent cards and encouraged him to call?’

‘No,’ said Amy. ‘You see, everyone’s in a flutter about this earl and he is said to be devilishly handsome and Clarissa is not . . . well . . . precisely . . . well, she does not exactly have the type of looks to take the Town by storm.’

‘She could have dignity and presence and a great deal of charm if perhaps someone would wish her to be exactly what she is and not keep trying to turn her into a simpering miss. Nothing,’ said Mr Haddon severely, ‘is worse than to see a large dignified woman stooping to ogle and simper.’

‘Are you jealous of Mr Randolph, by any chance?’

‘Of course I am,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘I am used to having your and Miss Effy’s attention and do not like to take second place to my friend.’

He
would
have to mention Effy, thought Amy sourly.

‘I’ll try to do something about Miss Vevian tomorrow,’ said Amy. ‘Why! I’ll even snap my fingers and conjure up the Earl of Greystone.’

There came a knocking on the street door.

Harris went to open it.

Amy and Mr Haddon leaned over the banisters.

The Earl of Greystone walked into the hall. His servant announced him and presented his master’s card.

‘Well, I’ll be blowed,’ said Amy. ‘Back inside. Don’t tell anyone. Let it be a surprise.’

‘You’re a sly dog,’ said Mr Randolph to Mr Haddon. ‘Whispering outside the door. What is going on?’

‘Miss Amy has been performing magic,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘She has conjured up a beau for Miss Vevian.’

Harris entered with a card on a tray. ‘Show him up,’ said Amy without looking at the card.

Effy rose in a flutter. ‘Who is it? Is it really someone to see Miss Vevian? Don’t be a tease, Amy. No one who is anyone calls at this hour.’

Harris flung open the door. ‘The Earl of Greystone,’ he announced.

Clarissa leaped to her feet and knocked her work-basket into the fire. With an exclamation of distress, she snatched at it and the burning work-basket rolled across the carpet. The earl seized a pair of tongs from the hearth, picked up the blazing work-basket and placed it on the fire.

‘I am so very sorry,’ said Clarissa wretchedly. ‘I will buy you a new carpet. I insist.’

‘Happens easily,’ said Amy. ‘Stupid things, work-baskets. Always rolling all over the place.’ There were then introductions all round.

Amy looked curiously at the earl. He certainly was a magnificent creature. He was taller than Clarissa, with a lean figure, slim hips, and broad shoulders. Amy squinted down at his legs and heaved a sigh of pleasure. Perfect! He was wearing evening dress, midnight-blue coat with silver buttons, black silk knee breeches, white clocked stockings, and buckled shoes. He exuded an air of arrogance, wealth, and authority.

Not at all the sort of man, reflected Amy dismally, who would relish a clumsy wife. Poor Clarissa.

Wine was served and the company gathered around the fire.

‘I am only just arrived in Town,’ said the earl pleasantly, ‘and meant to call this afternoon, but I had some urgent business to attend to. I really should have waited until tomorrow, but I was anxious to see Miss Vevian again.’

Watching Clarissa was like watching a drooping flower being put into water, thought Mr Haddon. At that last remark, Clarissa sat up straight and gave the earl a smile of singular sweetness. She seemed to come alive, her fine grey eyes sparkling and her tall slim figure, set off to advantage in a green velvet gown of somewhat old-fashioned cut, becoming almost pliant and willowy.

‘I have some business to transact with Miss Vevian,’ went on the earl. ‘Would it be possible to have a few moments in private with her?’

‘Of course,’ said Amy hurriedly. ‘We were playing bridge, you know.’ The four resumed their places at the card table and the earl pulled his chair next to Clarissa’s in front of the fire. He drew a paper from his pocket. ‘If you will look at these figures, Miss Vevian,’ he said, ‘you will see I have put down a round sum to cover the cost of a new carriage and the clothes lost in the fire.’

‘I should really not accept this, my lord,’ said Clarissa. ‘After all, it was I who set fire to the carriage, not your half-brother.’

‘But you would not have done so had he not alarmed you with his silly tricks,’ said the earl.

‘I am very clumsy,’ said Clarissa, ‘as you have just witnessed.’

‘Nonetheless, I am determined to pay.’

‘Well, that is very good of you,’ said Clarissa. ‘If, perhaps, you could send the money for the carriage to my father, and give the money for my clothes to the Misses Tribble . . . ?’

‘Gladly. What is your father’s direction?’

‘Six hundred, Royal Crescent, Bath. We have a place in Wiltshire, but Papa is always in Bath.’

‘I have news for you, Miss Vevian. I took your good advice, with the result that Peregrine is now at Eton and Tom is on the Grand Tour. Now all you have to do is tell me how to find a husband for Bella and perhaps one for my stepmother as well.’

‘They are both so very pretty,’ said Clarissa. ‘I am sure they do not need any help at all.’

‘I think they do. You see, Bella is fickle. She enjoys breaking hearts, and Angela would disaffect any man with her humours and scenes. Bella does have a beau, but I fear he is not suitable. Well, perhaps he is but I confess there is something about the man I cannot like. Firstly, he is the same age as I, and Bella is only nineteen.’

‘I . . . I am nineteen,’ said Clarissa, ‘and . . .’ She broke off in confusion. She had been about to say that anyone of his age was not too old, but then felt that a remark like that might appear a trifle fast. ‘What is his name?’ she asked.