A London Season (9 page)

“Oh, I am so glad that you have come to us!” exclaimed Isabella impulsively, very much like Persephone herself. “And I must own that Edmund has been as good as his word. For he promised me, you know, that as my health is not strong, he would find me someone to help with Persephone
’
s come-out
—
and while I suppose it would be wrong of me to say it was
fortunate
for Cousin Sophronia to die just when she did, because it would be unfeeling to wish one
’
s relative dead, still, I cannot help but think that since she was bound to die at some time, it was remarkably obliging of her to do so now, and make it possible for you to come here. In fact, I call it
providential!
And certainly not what Cousin Sophronia would have liked, for she never obliged anybody on purpose.”

Elinor could not help smiling a little at this view of the workings of Providence, but she secretly agreed with her hostess
’
s assessment of Sophronia Emberley
’
s character. There could be little doubt that, given any choice in the matter, Lady Emberley would have died as she had lived, to disoblige her family. However, Elinor was spared the necessity of thinking of a suitable response to Isabella by the irruption into the saloon of the younger members of the family, shepherded by Miss Merriwether.

Elinor
’
s own childhood in her father
’
s country rectory had been a lonely one, and during her brief sojourn as governess at Royden Manor the little girls who were her charges had been kept strictly apart from the rest of their family, being produced in company only for half an hour after dinner, in their best frocks and on their best behaviour. It amazed her to find that, in this decidedly imposing house, Edward, the twins and little Maria were not only tolerated in the drawing room, but actually encouraged to romp and play there. Lord Yoxford and Sir Edmund even broke off their own conversation to swing Thomas and James up in the air, a performance which elicited shouts of glee from the little boys, and Isabella, quite forgetting to sustain a modishly languid air, showed an animated maternal interest in the storybook from which Edward was eager to read aloud to her.

Before long, the twins were engaged in a reasonably decorous game of hide-and-seek. Miss Radley (who suspected, correctly, that a much rowdier version was commonly played in the nursery) won their hearts by purposely failing to tell them apart. In point of fact it was not too difficult to do so, since although they were identical in feature, Thomas
’
s face was a little thinner than his twin
’
s and his figure not quite so chubby, but plainly it was a great object with the little boys to confuse strangers, and Elinor gratified them by pretending, to be entirely at a loss when one or the other popped out from behind a curtain or sofa, demanding, “Thomas or James?” and uttering crows of mirth when she guessed wrong.

Miss Merriwether, reminding Persephone of the pretty tunes she had been used to play for the twins two years ago, wondered if she would give them the same treat now? Persephone was very willing to go to the pianoforte standing in one corner of the saloon and lift its lid, but it soon became apparent that Thomas and James had now joined their brother Edward in professing utter scorn for such juvenile things as nursery rhymes. Little Maria, however, was very happy to be taken on her cousin
’
s lap and sung to, contributing her own mite to the performance by banging her plump fists upon the keyboard in a manner which Persephone tolerated with surprising good humour.

The little boys were all a good deal more interested in the contents of the box Elinor had brought with her. This item had come to light in the attic of the Royal Crescent house, and must have stood there for more years than
Mrs.
Howell and Elinor liked to think. Inside it they had found a collection of curiosities: sea-shells, a delicately carved fan, some ostrich feathers and a blown ostrich egg, a miniature cabinet containing long-dead butterflies, a chunk of quartz showing amethyst gleams, an old and ornately pictured pack of playing cards, a kaleidoscope. It was hard to connect such intriguing frivolities with Lady Emberley: could she ever, Elinor wondered, really have been a child and played with those cards or that kaleidoscope? Presumably it was so, and her ingrained reluctance to dispose of any of her possessions had led her to keep the things hidden away in the attic all this time. It had immediately occurred to Elinor that the contents of the box were just what would have delighted her as a child, and she thought perhaps the younger members of the Yoxford family might like to rummage in such a treasure chest too.

She proved to have been right. Edward, fascinated, pulled out all the drawers of the little cabinet of butterflies one by one; Maria took possession of the lump of quartz and hefted it in one small hand, looking as if she would like to hurl it somewhere but could not quite decide where; and the twins, unable to choose between all these splendid things, scrambled for one treasure after another. Isabella, exclaiming at the pretty shells and the ostrich feathers as happily as any of her children, cried,
“How clever of you, Cousin Elinor! And do you really mean to say that old Cousin Sophronia kept it in her attic for years and years
?
Quite forgotten, I suppose!” At the same time, she removed the gleaming stone from Maria, and had just forestalled the child
’
s threatened howl of vexation by substituting a harmlessly soft but exotically coloured shot silk scarf, when her eldest son entered the room.

Sir Edmund had withdrawn again with his brother-in-law to one of the large bay windows overlooking the street, and resumed his conversation with him. “Yes, I fancy I shall have to go up to Westmorland in the near future, to see for myself how things stand there. Canning will give me leave of absence, and so
—
” But here he broke off to greet the newcomer. “Hallo, Charley! Down for the vacation? It
’
s good to see you.”

“Speak for yourself, Edmund,” remarked Lord Yoxford, visibly blenching as he surveyed his heir. “Good God, Charley, what the devil is
that
you
’
re wearing?”

As it happened, the Honourable Charles Hargrave was wearing quite a number of striking garments, whose high fashion served mainly to accentuate his youth, although he optimistically fancied they made him look quite the man about town. His blue pantaloons fitted very tightly and were ornamented with much braiding, while his coat, of a deeper shade of blue bordering on violet, boasted rolled lapels and a collar standing up extremely high behind, as well as gigot sleeves which bade fair to rival in width those of his mama
’
s very fashionable gown. However, it was his fancy marcella waistcoat, composed of broad stripes of alternating crimson and salmon pink, which immediately caught the eye, and it was to this item that his father more specifically referred. Lord Yoxford was a tolerant man, but as one whose own sartorial tastes had been much influenced in his younger days by the quiet elegance of that famous arbiter of fashion George Bryan Brummell, he could not but deplore the decline in popularity of the Beau
’
s restrained style of dressing and the current tendency of today
’
s young fops (his son included) to sport waistcoats of violent and often contrasting hues.

“It
’
s a waistcoat, ain
’
t it?” replied Charley defensively, flushing slightly. “Very latest thing
—
bang up to the echo, sir, I can tell you!” he assured his uncle, lest Sir Edmund, having been out of the country, should require information as to the current mode.

“Very fine indeed, Charley,” said Sir Edmund, perfectly straightfaced. “Take no notice of your father; it
is
good to see you. I had forgotten that you
’
d be down from Cambridge this month.”

Until Charley
’
s arrival the previous day, the circumstance had slipped Isabella
’
s mind too. Had it not done so, it would have figured high among her objections to receiving Persephone into her household. She entertained the liveliest fear that her eldest son, who had recently become very vulnerable to feminine charms, might fall an instant victim to Persephone
’
s undeniable beauty. The thought caused her to get up off the floor, where she had been playing in the most animated manner with her younger children, and subside on her sofa again, murmuring, “Pray forgive me if I lie down for a moment, Cousin Elinor, for my health is
not
strong!”

She closed her eyes, but opened them again almost directly, glancing anxiously from susceptible young man to lovely young woman. However, her face quickly cleared when, after being introduced to Miss Radley and murmuring something civil, her son turned to his cousin and said only, “Let you loose from Bath, have they, young Persephone?” It was obvious that the passage of two years, though it had wrought considerable changes in Miss Grafton, left her still a child in Charley
’
s eyes, to be regarded as just another member of his large family, since he added with kind condescension, “Tell you what
—
I
’
m taking these brats to Exeter “Change tomorrow, to see the lions and tigers.” For Charley, notwithstanding the affectations of fashion, was a good brother to the younger boys. “You can come too, if you like.”

But Persephone declined this treat, explaining that her very first errand in London must be to buy a pianoforte.

“A pianoforte?” protested Lady Yoxford. “Why, you may play this one, my dear!” She indicated the piano at which Persephone had been picking out nursery rhymes for little Maria.

“Yes, but not
all
the time; I should disturb you,” said Persephone, and then rather spoiled the effect of her thoughtfulness by trying out the instrument again, and pronouncing, “Besides, I need one of better quality than either this or the schoolroom piano, and Cousin Edmund says
that
is one thing he will not grudge me!”

“I shan
’
t grudge you anything in the nature of a reasonable request, I hope,” said Sir Edmund mildly. “And this, my dear Bella, is a very reasonable request, as I think you
’
ll agree when you have heard Persephone play and sing.”

“Very likely,” said Lady Yoxford, vaguely; she was not herself musical. “Well, of course she shall have a pianoforte, then
—
it can stand in the Yellow Parlour; yes, that would be the very place! But you will have a great many more purchases to make too, my dear: gowns, and hats, and
—
oh, all manner of things! So you will hardly be playing music
all the time
!”
Persephone looked as if she might contradict this, but thought better of it as Isabella, her kind heart warming to the beautiful and unexpectedly pretty-behaved girl before her, and beginning to enjoy the prospect of bringing her out, went on, “There will be routs, you know, and balls and masquerades and assemblies! Breakfasts, and all sorts of evening parties! So we must lose no time in getting you a wardrobe. George,
we
should hold a ball for Persephone,
don
’
t you think? Yes, I am persuaded we should! I shall not mind the exertion a bit, not now I have Cousin Elinor to help me. How delightful it will all be!”

6

H
ow delightful indeed, thought Elinor, waking in London that first morning to see a dappling of spring sunshine on the prettily patterned bedroom wallpaper; to hear the voices of knife-grinder and seller of cresses in the alley down the side of the house, offering their services and touting their wares to the staff below stairs; to catch the occasional sound of horses
’
hooves ringing out in the clear morning air as a carriage drove down Upper Brook Street. In Persephone
’
s place, she thought, she could have wished for nothing better in the world. If it came to that, she herself had very little left to wish for!

She was slightly disconcerted, however, when her charge joined her in the sunny breakfast parlour and remarked ingenuously that it was not so bad here after all. “At any rate,” announced Miss Grafton, “I am determined to make the best of it, and one Season is not such a
very
long time!” What, Miss Radley wondered, did Persephone suppose lay beyond that first Season? She could only conclude that the child
’
s mind was still running on the unknown suitor who, she surmised, had been left behind in Bath
—
or no, not in Bath: on a walking tour in Wales! For Elinor had not for an instant been led astray by the use of the plural when Persephone spoke of her absent friends.
A walking tour in Wales
, and in changeable spring weather too, was hardly a diversion commonly undertaken by young ladies, or even by an entire family. If there were more than one friend in question, no doubt Persephone
’
s swain was accompanied by some other young man.

Well, if her fancy were engaged, it was very natural that she should regret the suitor from Bath for a while, but Elinor trusted that her thoughts would soon be given a new direction. Her guardian might hope that the prospect of parties and new gowns would serve that purpose, but for her own part, Elinor was tolerably sure that music was the best way to distract Persephone
’
s mind. So she drank her tea, ate her bread and butter, and proposed that they go and put on their pelisses, to be ready for Sir Edmund whenever he arrived in Upper Brook Street to escort them in search of the very necessary pianoforte, as he had promised to do.

And really, thought Elinor some three weeks later, so much had happened in that space of time that the mind of the most lovelorn
ought
to have been distracted! The piano was duly procured. Sir Edmund, while willing and able to guide the ladies around town, was hardly required for any other purpose, since it transpired that Persephone herself was fully conversant with the names of the best emporiums to visit, and the makes and qualities of all the instruments they had to offer. Elinor wondered where she got her knowledge. It took her a long time to make her choice, and by the time she had tried almost every pianoforte in the establishment where her fancy finally came to rest, most of the staff of the place and quite a number of prospective customers had gathered round to listen to her. “Why, we are having quite a concert!” she exclaimed gaily, looking up and becoming aware of her audience for the first time. “Cousin Edmund, my mind is made up: I will take this one.”

The handsome instrument she had chosen, made by the firm of Clementi, Collard and Collard, was delivered to Upper Brook Street that same day and installed in the Yellow Parlour, a pleasant apartment which was to be given over entirely to Persephone and Miss Radley as music room and private sitting room. She had followed up this purchase by the acquisition of a great deal of sheet music and several books of songs, lingering with greedy pleasure over the wealth of such material on offer, and eagerly scanning the bills posted up in the shop which advertised the forthcoming
attractions of various Concerts and Musical Recitals.

A music master was also quickly found. The Yoxfords gave a small dinner party a couple of days after Persephone
’
s arrival in London
—
“Just the Barleighs and Mellises and the Derwents who are all very dear friends of mine,” Isabella explained. Persephone did not look as if she thought the prospect of meeting these people was particularly enticing, but brightened a little when told that Miss Kitty Derwent, who would be with her parents, was very musical. And Miss Kitty, called upon to entertain the company after dinner, could certainly play prettily, although when Persephone duly took her place at the piano and began to execute a Haydn sonata, her performance was so very superior in every way that Elinor wondered, a little uneasily, how Kitty and her mother would like it.

But Kitty, a friendly soul, was open in her admiration, and exclaimed, “Oh, how beautiful! I only wish
I
could play like that
—
but then, one must practise for so many hours, and after a while that becomes such a bore, doesn
’
t it?”

Persephone looked at the other girl with as much wonder as if she had been a freak on show at a fairground, but to Elinor
’
s relief said only that she always liked to play. Elinor herself hastened to ask the name of Miss Derwent
’
s music master. He was, it seemed, most particular in the pupils he would agree to take, but
Mrs.
Derwent (graciously) had no doubt that once he had heard dear Miss Grafton, he would not demur at adding her to their number.

Such indeed was the case: the rather pernickety elderly musician, who unenthusiastically presented himself in Upper Brook Street to hear yet another well-born young woman show off her mediocre accomplishments, came away frankly astonished by his good fortune, and more than ready, in addition, to furnish Lady Yoxford with the name of an acquaintance of his who gave voice lessons. This acquaintance, an Italian of excitable disposition who had been a notable singer himself in his prime, was heard by Beale the butler muttering in his native tongue as he left the
Yellow Parlour after his second visit to Miss Grafton. Stopping short as he reached the front door, he appeared, though still speaking Italian, to be expecting some comment from the butler.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” inquired Beale.

“A thousand pities
—
I say, a thousand pities,
n
o?” translated Signor Pascali, apparently addressing himself rather than Beale, after all. “Yes, a thousand pities!
Che voce
! With such a voice, to be born to rank!
E un disastro
!
” And with this he hurried out, falling into indistinct but plainly ferocious Italian once again.

Alfred, the new footman, goggling after him, so far forgot himself as to ask, “What maggot
‘
ad
‘
e
got in
‘
is
‘
ead, then,
Mr.
Beale? Lor
’
! Was it Miss Grafton
‘
e meant?”

“Foreigners, as is well known, are apt to be Peculiar in their conduct,” pronounced Beale austerely. “But that, young Alfred, is no reason for
you
to overstep the line and pass remarks about the Family!”

“No,
Mr.
Beale,” agreed Alfred, meekly accepting rebuke.

Persephone seemed very well pleased with both her musical mentors, so
that,
Elinor considered, was all very comfortably settled. She had been a little afraid at first that her charge might become mulish when required to tear herself from the piano to spend time in the choosing and fitting of new gowns, but luckily Persephone was not quite so single-minded as to despise pretty things. And no girl could have failed to be enchanted by the lavish display of gauzes, muslins, cambrics, silks and organdies and aerophanes laid before her. Mademoiselle Hortense, the dressmaker patronized by Lady Yoxford, was delighted by the prospect of dressing Miss Grafton, who, she saw at a glance, would do the greatest credit to her own skill in cutting and the industry of her busy seamstresses
’
fingers. Persephone and Elinor spent many a happy hour poring over fashion plates with Lady Yoxford and the dressmaker, choosing the patterns and fabrics for morning and evening gowns, carriage dresses, walking dresses, pelisses, redingotes. Miss Downing of New Bond Street, to whose millinery establishment Isabella directed her cousins, was enthusiastic too: the higher-crowned hats and broader
-
brimmed bonnets now coming into the mode would set off Miss Grafton
’
s delicately rosy cheeks and soft dark curls to perfection. And then there were visits to warehouses which seemed to both Elinor and Persephone a riot of colour and luxury, and where they purchased ribbons, laces and trimmings, gloves and handkerchiefs, stockings, tuckers, fichus, reticules and fans
—
there was apparently no end to the things a young lady of fashion and fortune needed in her first Season!

Without knowing just how it had come about, Elinor too found herself the possessor of a number of new garments. Her objections had been overborne when she protested that she must,
indeed
she must pay for them herself, out of what seemed to her the amazingly lavish sum upon which Sir Edmund had insisted as her salary. She fancied that his sister must share some of his talent for diplomacy, since without actually saying so, Isabella conveyed the general impression that it was a mere matter of course for Elinor to be provided with a new wardrobe, implying that Sir Edmund would find it tiresome if she mentioned the matter to him, and moreover that it would be quite improper for her to go about town in the outmoded dresses she had brought from Cheltenham.

There was a good deal of truth in this: she did need new gowns, and could not disgrace her cousins by wearing dowdy old-fashioned ones in the kind of circles where they moved. Though more than a little bewildered to find herself the owner of so much finery, she came to the sensible conclusion that there was nothing she could do but accept it with a good grace, and enjoy the wearing of it.

She had been quite surprised to learn that, in early April, the Season was not yet in full swing, since it seemed to her that she and Persephone had attended a staggering number of parties during their first two weeks in London. They had already crossed the sacred threshold of Almack
’
s, that decorous but most exclusive club, to whose balls admission could be obtained only by vouchers from one of the Lady Patronesses. But as Sir Edmund had promised, there had been no difficulty here. Isabella Yoxford
’
s cousins were sure of admission, and Emily Cowper herself, calling in Upper Brook Street, professed to be charmed by Sir Edmund
’
s ward.

Once again, Elinor felt a little nervous when Lady Cowper asked if Persephone would not play something, saying she had heard from Sir Edmund of his young cousin
’
s musical gifts. But Persephone
’
s conduct was admirable. She executed a short piece on the instrument in the Grey Saloon beautifully but not showily, and accepted the visitor
’
s praise with composure (if not with the blushing protests that some might have thought becoming in so young a girl). Lady Cowper only wished her own Minny could play the pianoforte half so well! She happily sponsored Persephone and her companion on their first visit to Almack
’
s, where Miss Grafton wore a very pretty gown of white organdy with an overdress of pink gauze embroidered with knots and flowers, while Elinor could scarcely believe her own elegance in an evening dress of apple-green silk trimmed with velvet ribbons, its full sleeves stiffened with book
-
muslin. With an impish thrill of excitement, she allowed a quite wickedly improper thought to cross her mind:
If only Samuel Spalding could see me now
!
Then she sternly put such notions from her mind. She was here only to take care of Persephone
—
though it was certainly gratifying to feel she looked so little like a chaperon that several gentlemen had asked her to dance. Of course she had refused them all, since chaperons did not dance, but all the same it was very pleasant! Her own private regret was that Sir Edmund was not present: he had gone up to Westmorland a few days after their arrival in London, and so did not make up one of the party. But of course, it was for just such reasons that
she
had been engaged, and it would be ridiculous to repine at it!

She knew that she did fulfil a useful purpose, for it was very soon apparent that, as the Miss Maddens had foreseen, Persephone
’
s beauty allied to her fortune had all the attractive powers of a magnet on the young gentlemen who came thronging round her. But it might have surprised the sisters to see that Persephone, who to their certain knowledge had already dabbled extensively in the game of breaking hearts, seemed indifferent to the members of her little court. Elinor thought that, while pleasant in her manner to them all, she favoured none above the rest: not even young Viscount Conington, heir to the wealthy Earl of Wintringham and a great catch on the Marriage Mart, who had quickly become most particular in his attentions. One of Persephone
’
s charms was that, though she could not help being aware of her own looks and their devastating effect on susceptible young men, she seemed to set little store by them herself, although she did display what could be justified as a very proper pride in her musical talents. This, of course, served to attach her suitors further, especially those like Conington who were so eligible as to be generally pursued rather than pursuing.

Any alarm still lingering in Lady Yoxford
’
s breast concerning her young cousin
’
s behaviour in London was thus soon stilled; since that Unfortunate Business of the tutor, she thought, Persephone had learnt conduct. Plainly she no longer thought it
good fun
to break hearts. Elinor fancied that the energy she might, at sixteen, have put into that occupation now went into her music instead.

“I own myself very pleasantly surprised in Persephone,” Isabella confided to Miss Radley. “I believe she will make a very good match! To own the truth, Elinor, I
’
d as lief not have her for
my
daughter-in-law, because I don
’
t think she would make Charley comfortable, and besides his being still very young, he has no need to marry a fortune, although
...
where was I? Oh yes
—
I
was
a little afraid she might throw out lures for Charley, but I don
’
t think he feels for her in that way, do you?”

“Not in the least,” Elinor was very ready to agree, since it was obvious that young
Mr.
Hargrave and his cousin were still upon the cheerful terms of childhood. “I think they regard one another quite as brother and sister. And when Charley can be induced to attend an assembly or ball with us, I have noticed that he will make himself useful to Persephone in a kind but
not
an amorous way. Taking her into supper, or dancing with her when she doesn
’
t wish to show favour to some other young man, I mean. It is an admirable arrangement: sensible of her, and very good
-
natured of him.”