Marrying Harriet (5 page)

Lord Charles was bowling along Oxford Street when he saw an old army friend, Guy Sutherland. He reined in his horses and called down, ‘Just arrived in town?’

‘No, been here a few weeks,’ said Guy lazily. He was a large, formless sort of man with amiable, childlike eyes. ‘Coming to the club?’

‘I am making calls. I am going to the Tribbles in Holles Street.’

‘You’re too young to have a daughter of marriageable age,’ said Guy.

‘And not married either,’ rejoined Lord Charles. ‘Why should I have a daughter?’

‘It’s them Tribbles. That’s their business. They bring out girls who are a problem to their parents.’

‘Odso! Tell me more.’

‘Odd couple of eccentrics. Twins. Ought to be in their winding sheets by now. They’ve made a success of marrying off females. Advertise in
The Morning Post
. Charge a high amount, from all reports.’

‘Do you happen to know if a Miss Harriet Brown is their latest?’

‘Never heard of her. But rumour has it they’ve got a new victim.’

‘Let us meet later,’ said Lord Charles. ‘At White’s, say about five?’

‘Gladly. You can tell me all about the fabulous Tribbles. I say, you ain’t still got that fellow Perkins in tow?’

‘He is in Town, yes.’

‘Well, leave him behind when you come to White’s, there’s a good chap. Never could abide the fellow.’

Lord Charles smiled pleasantly, but there was an edge in his voice as he said, ‘Jack Perkins is a good friend of mine and I will not discuss him.’

‘As you will,’ said Guy mildly. ‘Still, I’d rather see you on your own.’ And, with an indolent wave of one massive arm, he strolled off, and Lord Charles continued on his way to Holles Street.

Now what had brought Harriet Brown to the Tribbles? mused Lord Charles. Perhaps she was not their charge but a hired companion or governess. But her clothes the evening before had been expensively cut. And why was he going out of his way to call on such a correct and dull female?

He had come this far, better get it over with.

He rolled to a stop in front of the Tribbles’ house in Holles Street and sat for a few moments, reluctant to go in. He was aware of his worth on the marriage market. If Miss Brown was being brought out by the Tribbles, would he not be raising false hopes by his call? A chill wind blew down the street and he shivered. He called to his tiger to go to the horses’ heads and climbed down, holding the cat in the large muff.

The door was answered by Harris, the butler. He departed with Lord Charles’s card and returned after some time to say Miss Effy Tribble was in the drawing room and would be pleased to receive him.

Lord Charles mounted the stairs behind the butler and then was ushered into the drawing room. Effy rose to meet him. Despite Amy’s forebodings about Lord Charles, Effy had begun to entertain high hopes of him after hearing of how he had pursued their carriage the evening before. But when she looked up at the tall Exquisite with the lazy green eyes and thin, white, dissipated face, her heart sank. Never had a man been more unsuitable for such a strict young lady as Harriet Brown.

But none of this showed on Effy’s face as she begged him to be seated and rang for cakes and wine. Lord Charles looked about him with pleasure. The room was a comfortable mixture of different pieces of furniture, flowers in vases, pretty pictures, a work-basket with silk threads spilling out of it, and the latest books and magazines. The fire crackled cheerfully behind its fender of Britannia metal and the air was delicately scented. He felt oddly at home. Effy Tribble was a charming lady with her cloud of silver hair under a lacy cap and her trim figure in a blue velvet gown.

‘Will you not let Harris take your muff, my lord?’ said Effy.

‘No, ma’am, I’ve got the cat in it.’

‘The
cat
?’

‘It’s a scruffy cat which Miss Brown asked me to rescue from a tree on her road south. I thought she might like to see it.

‘Of course,’ said Effy weakly. She rang the bell again and when a footman answered its summons, she told him to go and see what was keeping Miss Amy and Miss Brown.

What was keeping Miss Amy and Miss Brown was a massive row. Amy wanted Harriet to wear one of her new gowns. Harriet wanted to wear one of her old ones, pointing out that going to any unnecessary fuss might make Lord Charles think she was interested in him, and that she most certainly was not. Amy blustered and swore, and Harriet then proceeded to give her a lecture on the disgusting use of profanity. At last Amy realized that Harriet meant to sit there all day until she got what she wanted, and so allowed her to wear a gown that Amy told her was the colour of slurry and just about as interesting. It had a cotton lace collar and cuffs – cotton lace! thought Amy with a shudder – and the waistline was old-fashioned, being at the waist instead of up under the armpits. Harriet had had this gown for quite some years and it was a trifle short and showed her ankles. There was surely nothing much she could do to spoil the glory of her hair, thought Amy, until Harriet swept it up on top of her head in a hard knot.

Lord Charles rose as Harriet and Amy entered the drawing room, and made a magnificent bow.

Harriet curtsied beautifully, the sisters noticed, trying to gain comfort from little things to make up for the awful spectacle Harriet was making of herself in that gown.

They would have been relieved had they known that Harriet was deeply regretting wearing such an old dress. Lord Charles’s appearance was so exquisite that she felt dowdy and intimidated. His green eyes flicked a glance at her ankles and she coloured slightly and ineffectually tried to pull her skirt down to conceal them.

‘So this, Miss Brown,’ said Lord Charles when they were all seated, ‘is the cat.’ He fished in his muff and brought out the cat.

All these green eyes, thought Amy. It’s like being in the jungle. Lord Charles’s eyes were grass-green, and the cat looked from one to the other with an unblinking green stare.

It settled itself down on Lord Charles’s lap, yawned delicately, closed its eyes and went to sleep.

‘It seems very contented, my lord,’ volunteered Amy, ‘and in good coat. You obviously look after it very well.’

‘Very well,’ said Harriet coldly. She had thought that affection for the stray cat showed a sign of good in Lord Charles. Now it appeared his soul was as cold and manicured as his appearance. Effy and Amy exchanged looks of dismay.

‘So what will you call it?’ asked Lord Charles.

‘I do not believe in giving animals elaborate names,’ said Harriet. ‘I shall call it Tom. It is a tom-cat, after all.’

‘Are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Brown?’

‘Yes, very much. But there is so much to learn.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh.’ Harriet sighed and wrinkled her brow. ‘Water-colour painting and dancing and manners and etiquette and “Don’t do this and don’t do that.”’

‘I thought those were all things any young miss learned in her cradle.’

‘Not my cradle, my lord. I was brought up to do more important things.’

‘And what is more important?’

‘Caring for the sick and poor of my father’s parish, learning to read the classics in the original, studying my Bible.’

And if that catalogue don’t put him off, nothing will, thought Amy grimly.

‘Then why do you attend such a worldly and frivolous event as the Little Season?’

‘My parents are both dead,’ said Harriet candidly. ‘My father died recently and left me nigh penniless. My aunt, Lady Owen, decided to give me a small dowry and send me to London to these ladies for schooling.’

‘So you hope to marry?’

‘Let me rather say that I am obliged to marry. I have no alternative.’

‘You could find work.’

‘I do not have the necessary qualifications to be a governess,’ said Harriet. ‘I have not had experience of running a large establishment and so I am not trained as a housekeeper.’

‘There are other jobs,’ pointed out Lord Charles.

‘Yes, I could be a chambermaid or washerwoman. There are very few jobs open to women. Doctors and lawyers are all men. Preachers are men. Even our stay-makers are men.’

Effy let out a faint scream.

He leaned back in his chair and idly stroked the cat and studied her. ‘I made my money by gambling on the Stock Exchange,’ he said. ‘You say you have a small dowry. I could show you how to put that to use.’

‘That small dowry, my lord, is in my aunt’s possession and will not be released by her or her lawyers until the marriage settlements are signed.’

‘So you have no assets?’

‘Only myself, my lord, and that is already on the market.’

This was going too far. Amy glared at Harriet. ‘Miss Brown,’ she said severely. ‘I do not like correcting you in front of a guest, but I must point out that your speech is too free. You will give Lord Charles a disgust of you.’

‘But my only interest in Lord Charles is the welfare of the cat; you know that,’ pointed out Harriet. ‘And
his
only interest in me is to get shot of the cat.’

Effy let out a faint bleating noise.

‘On the contrary,’ said Lord Charles with easy gallantry. ‘I came to renew my acquaintance with a lady whose face and charm of manner so attracted me on our first meeting.’

Harriet’s eyes lit up with amusement. ‘How prettily you do it,’ she said. ‘But such fustian!’

‘How true,’ said Lord Charles with a wicked smile. ‘But as I shall still want to know how the cat fares, I shall beg permission to take you driving on the morrow.’

‘I don’t . . .’ began Amy but fell silent as Harriet held up one hand.

‘Let me think,’ Harriet said severely.

Her eyes assessed Lord Charles and Lord Charles smiled sweetly at her and wondered what on earth she was thinking.

Harriet was turning over in her mind the problem of how best to help the Tribbles with their love life. Lord Charles was a man, a man who went to clubs and talked to other men and who might be persuaded to drop an encouraging word in Mr Haddon’s ear, or Mr Randolph’s, for that matter. He appeared amiable enough.

‘Yes, I should like that very much,’ said Harriet. ‘Shall we say three o’clock?’

‘Five o’clock is the fashionable hour, Miss Brown.’

‘But my desire for your company is not fashionable,’ said Harriet.

For one mad moment, he wondered whether Miss Brown was flirting with him.

‘May I hope it is a flattering interest?’

‘No, you may not, my lord. I am ever practical.’

‘Then I look forward to tomorrow.’ He lifted the cat, which protested sleepily, and set it down on the floor. ‘Stay there, Tom,’ he said. ‘Your new home.’

He rose and bowed, first to the Tribbles and then to Harriet.

He strolled down the stairs. The cat shot after him and, with a flying leap, landed on his shoulder and clung on like grim death.

Harriet leaned over the banister on the landing as Lord Charles tried to prize the cat loose.

‘Tom appears very attached to you, my lord.’

Lord Charles got the cat free and set it on the stair. It began to tremble and let out a pathetic wail.

He sighed and scooped it up and put it in his muff.

‘I had better take it, Miss Brown,’ he said ruefully. ‘It might have a seizure.’

‘Which all goes to show,’ said Harriet triumphantly after the street door had closed behind him, ‘that there is good in everyone.’

‘I have never heard such a load of soiled garters,’ shouted Amy. ‘You sat there as cool as cucumbers, telling that fribble you were on the market and you hadn’t much money. No one will want you if you go around making speeches like that, not even a minister, particularly not a minister. And why waste time going out driving with a rake?’

‘He appears very fashionable to me,’ said Harriet, unruffled. ‘It will do my consequence no harm to be seen with him.’

‘And,’ said Effy Tribble consolingly to her furious sister when they were alone, ‘you can’t really argue with that.’

Miss Spiggs and ‘Dr’ Frank had taken up residence in a small apartment in Bloomsbury. Frank had not told Miss Spiggs he was married to Bertha, whom he had left behind in Bath. Although they were masquerading as man and wife, Frank had not even kissed Miss Spiggs or held her hand. He told her his love for her was so pure and his intentions so honourable that he had no intention of ‘making things warmer’ until he felt free to marry her. Miss Spiggs was enjoying the feeling of appearing to be a married lady. She sat in the evenings and told Frank everything she knew about the Tribbles, although there was not much to add to Frank’s knowledge, Frank already having worked for the Tribbles himself. Miss Spiggs herself had recently been employed as companion to the Tribbles’ previous charge, a Miss Maria Kendall, and had lost that job and the subsequent job of companion to Maria’s mother all because of the Tribble sisters’ spite – or so she persuaded herself. But together, Frank and Miss Spiggs finally arrived at the Tribbles’ greatest weakness, their pride in their success. If, said Frank, they could kidnap the Tribbles’ latest ‘client’ and hold her for ransom, then the Tribbles would probably pay a large sum to get her back.

Miss Spiggs looked at him doubtfully. ‘I do not think, you know, that they have very much money,’ she said.

‘But that nabob, Haddon, has,’ said Frank gleefully. ‘They’ll go weeping to him and he’ll pay up.’

Mr Desmond Callaghan was back in London. He, too, wished nothing but ill on the Tribbles. Although he had tricked their aunt into leaving him everything in her will and cutting out the Tribbles, that everything had proved to be nothing but debt. Convinced the Tribbles had money, he had courted Effy, only to insult her when he learned she was virtually penniless. That was when Mr Haddon had challenged him to a duel and he had had to flee the country. He wished revenge not only on the Tribbles, whom he blamed for all his discomfort, but also on that footman, Frank, who had left the Tribbles’ employ to aid him, only to thieve all his valuables.

He decided to lie low for a little and study how best he could hurt the Tribbles and perhaps make a profit for himself.