Finessing Clarissa (18 page)

Amy looked at the ground. ‘But a man would take her – and George – away from us.’

‘But it would be better for little George in the long run,’ said Clarissa.

‘We love her and George,’ said Effy, ‘which is more than some fellow who merely married her for money would do.’

‘Then make sure she meets suitable men and then someone might fall in love with her.’

‘We’ll try,’ said Amy reluctantly.

Clarissa hugged them again and climbed into the carriage. She pulled down the window and leaned out. ‘Thank you for everything,’ she said, gratitude making her eyes fill with tears so that the two sisters were a blurred image. The carriage began to move. ‘Thank you for saving my life,’ called Clarissa. The carriage reached the corner of the street. ‘I love you!’ called Clarissa, and then subsided back in her seat, took out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

‘I shall become jealous of the Tribbles if you go on like that,’ said the earl, putting an arm around her.

A cough like a dog’s bark came from Hubbard, sitting opposite. The earl sighed and removed his arm. Like Clarissa, he had forgotten they would be chaperoned by Hubbard on the road to Bath. They were to be married in a month’s time, but right at that moment, it seemed like a lifetime away to the Earl of Greystone.

‘Well, that’s that,’ said Amy, drying her eyes. ‘I wish God would send us another like Clarissa Vevian.’

‘A splendid girl,’ said Effy, ‘but I hope the next one will be someone a leetle smaller.’

‘If there is a next one,’ said Amy gloomily.

Clarissa’s fame had spread to Bath. Everyone wanted to know all about her adventures and she became weary of telling the same story over and over again. Each time, she praised the Tribble sisters to the skies, but the disappointing response was usually that Clarissa was terribly brave but
their
little Mary, or Beth or Dorothy, would simply have died of fright in such a household. Clarissa began to despair of ever finding anyone for the Tribbles.

But her praises of them had not fallen on totally deaf ears. Clarissa was walking in the pump room with her mother when a certain Mrs Kendall approached them, smiling broadly.

‘Mushroom,’ whispered the Lady Clarendon, giving Clarissa’s arm a pinch. ‘Cut her!’

But soft-hearted Clarissa found it impossible to cut anyone who looked so genial, and to her mother’s fury she stopped and gave the lady a brief curtsy.

‘I am Mrs Kendall, Lady Clarendon, Miss Vevian,’ said the stout woman. Lady Clarendon stared straight ahead. Clarissa smiled encouragingly.

‘The truth is,’ said Mrs Kendall, ‘I’m that worried about my Maria. I’m not a one for pushing my way in and I never speak to my betters without an introduction . . .’

‘Quite right too,’ said Lady Clarendon firmly.

‘But,’ went on Mrs Kendall, pretending not to hear, ‘when I heard you was brought out in London by them Tribbles and how good they were, I wondered if they might do anything with my Maria. My husband says to me, he says, you don’t want to send her off to that household where they have more murders than we have had hot dinners, but things is desperate, that’s what I said.’

‘They are coming here to my wedding,’ said Clarissa, ignoring her mother’s glare, ‘and, if you would like it, they could call on you before they leave Bath.’

‘That would be fine,’ said Mrs Kendall. She took out a card. ‘That’s my address. Are they very dear?’

‘Very,’ said Clarissa coolly, ‘but worth every penny. If you cannot afford much, I would not trouble them.’

‘Money’s no problem,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘Why, Mr Kendall could buy up the most of Bath if he wanted. Thank you, my lady, Miss Vevian, thanks ever so.’

‘Did those Tribbles not train you how to depress the attentions of the vulgar?’ demanded Lady Clarendon as she and Clarissa walked on.

‘They taught me to be kind and polite to all,’ said Clarissa. ‘I do wish Greystone would come to Bath earlier, but he is preparing things for us at his home.’

‘Well, I must confess the Tribbles did sterling work with you, Clarissa,’ said Lady Clarendon in a mollified voice. ‘I do not suppose, however, as they are spinsters, that they had an opportunity to talk to you about the . . . er . . . more delicate side of marriage.’

‘No, Mama.’

Lady Clarendon sighed. ‘I suppose I had better warn you . . .’

‘Warn me about what, Mama?’ demanded Clarissa sharply.

‘Not here. Let us take a stroll in the Parade Gardens.’

Clarissa waited impatiently until the viscountess obviously considered no one could overhear what she was about to say. She sat down on a bench and drew Clarissa down beside her.

‘Do you know, Clarissa, what a man does to a woman in the marriage bed?’

Clarissa was dreadfully embarrassed. ‘He hugs and kisses – I mean, the husband.’

‘There is more to it than hugs and kisses. You will lose your virginity and must be prepared for the pain and suffering of that.’

‘Pain and suffering?’ repeated Clarissa, aghast.

‘After the initial experience, it becomes easier. But you will have demands made on your body which will seem
very
odd and shocking to you. Remember at all times, it is your duty to obey your husband. Some nights, it might seem nigh unbearable and you will wish you could simply go to bed and sleep, but take a stiff drink of brandy and lie back and think of something else until it is all over.’

‘But what of love and romance? Do they not exist? What am I saying? I
know
they exist!’

Lady Clarendon patted her daughter’s hand. ‘They are part of courtship, not marriage. Enjoy yourself while you may.’

And glad to have done her duty, she rose to her feet to indicate the lecture was over. Clarissa fell up the steps leaving the garden. She opened her parasol with such force that the spokes went clean through the silk, then threw the ruined parasol away without looking so that it struck a flower seller in the face and the irritated Lady Clarendon had to buy great armfuls of flowers to calm the outraged vendor.

*   *   *

Mrs Kendall, her husband and daughter lived in a house in Milsom Street. Mr Kendall had made a great deal of money out of coal-mines in the north, sold out and moved to Bath. Their daughter, Maria, had been born when they were both forty. Maria was the reason for the move to Bath. Both Mr and Mrs Kendall were small, fat, and plain. As Maria grew, so she increased in beauty, and the more beautiful she became, the more rampant grew the Kendalls’ social ambitions. With Maria’s looks and her father’s money, surely she could secure a lord at the very least!

But as Maria reached her nineteenth year, her doting parents found that she was . . . not there. She lived in a dream world that seemed to run like a perpetual play in her head, with ogres and villains, heroes and heroines. She lived inside her private world and paid no heed to the line of suitors attracted by her father’s wealth and her great beauty.

Maria Kendall
was
beautiful. She was small and dainty with a small head, luxuriant chestnut-brown hair, large green eyes, a small pink mouth, and a straight nose. Her movements were graceful, and just occasionally, when she was paying attention to someone or something, she showed great charm.

To Mr and Mrs Kendall, with their gross appetites and their love of showy finery, dreamy Maria was a great disappointment. Despite her vagueness and dreaminess, she did show a stubborn streak when asked, pleaded,
begged
to accept some gentleman’s hand in marriage. The Kendalls had thought up various punishments to try to bring her to a sense of her own folly, but nothing seemed to work. Long sessions of incarceration in her room and a diet of bread and water did nothing else but make her thin and pale and alarm them into releasing her and putting her back on proper meals. The birch rod only marked her fair skin. The burning of all her favourite books caused tears but no improvement in her manner.

‘I am at my wit’s end, Mr Kendall,’ said Mrs Kendall, returning from the pump room after speaking to Clarissa. ‘So you know what I did?’

‘No, my love,’ said Mr Kendall, easing his gouty foot.

‘I went up to that there Miss Clarissa Vevian, her what was brought out by those Tribble sisters in London and got herself the Earl of Greystone, and I asked her about them Tribbles. A very nice young lady she is, too, not like that cold pudding-faced mother of hers. She told me the Tribbles was coming to her wedding and she would tell them about our Maria and send them round. There!’

Mr Kendall straightened up. ‘You mean – send her away to strangers? In London? Here, them Tribbles was in all the newspapers. Killed a man, they did. Not ladylike.’

‘Do we care?’ snorted Mrs Kendall. ‘This Clarissa Vevian is a great giant of a girl with red hair.
Red
hair, mark you, and yet she’s to be the Countess of Greystone. If they can get an earl for her, think what they could get for Maria.’

‘They could get the Prince Regent for Maria and Maria would say no,’ said Mr Kendall cynically.

‘And quite right, too,’ retorted Mrs Kendall. ‘Him a married man and all. We’ve tried everything. Them Tribbles are our last hope.’

‘What if they don’t take her?’

‘Course they’ll take her. They’re doing it for money.’

‘Well,’ said Mr Kendall. He broke off as Maria came into the room. She looked a picture in pink-sprigged muslin. She gave them a sweet unfocused smile, picked up a book from the sofa, and walked out again.

‘You’re right,’ said Mr Kendall heavily. ‘We’ll pay them Tribble women what they want, just so long as they guarantee to get her a husband!’

Amy and Effy, escorted by Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph, arrived in Bath. Amy and Effy were prepared to accept modestly all the compliments that would surely be showered on them by Clarissa’s grateful parents. But although their reception was warm, although they were formally thanked and given a generous present of money as a bonus from the viscount, they could not help noticing a certain frost in the air.

Clarissa was delighted to see them, but she looked wan and pale and had shadows under her eyes. They soon found out the reason why her parents were not so enthusiastic as they might have been.

Poor Clarissa was clumsy once more. She slouched, she dropped things, she made sudden ungainly movements and swiped ornaments from tables and shelves.

After a week of seeing Clarissa becoming more awkward and wretched, the sisters, Mr Haddon, and Mr Randolph met in the coffee room of the hotel in which the gentlemen had been billeted – the sisters themselves staying with Clarissa and her parents – to discuss the problem.

‘I don’t like Lady Clarendon, and that’s a fact,’ said Amy crossly. ‘Clarissa adores her mother, but Lady Clarendon does nothing but complain about the girl and criticize her.’

‘Perhaps she has had a row with Greystone,’ suggested Mr Haddon. ‘I mean, I am sure if he still loved her and she knew it, then she would not be so sad and worried.’

Effy shook her head. ‘I took it upon myself to question Clarissa’s maid, Hubbard. Hubbard said that Greystone took a most affectionate leave of her.’

‘Why can’t he come to Bath?’ asked Amy. ‘He is due to arrive on the day of the wedding rehearsal, but we need him here now.’

‘Have you asked Miss Vevian herself what is wrong?’ demanded Mr Randolph, adjusting the lace at his cuffs. Like Mr Haddon, Mr Randolph had firmly attached himself to the Tribble sisters and considered himself ‘one of the family’. He would have been dismayed and startled had he known that both sisters viewed him in the light of a prospective husband. He enjoyed their admiration of his fine clothes and their warm appreciation of his lavish presents, but although the sisters were the same age as he, he was not worldy-wise enough to know that a lady’s romantic heart never grows old.

‘I asked her,’ said Amy. ‘She said the most odd thing. She said, “Have you ever been married, Miss Amy?” When I said no, she said that in that case I could not help. I was about to press further when her mother came into the room and started fussing about, you know the way she does. “Sit up straight, Clarissa. Don’t slouch. Really, Miss Tribble, I had begun to hope you had cured her of her clumsiness.”’

There was a long silence.

Then Mr Haddon said suddenly, ‘Bride nerves.’

‘Eh?’ demanded Amy.

He coughed delicately. ‘Bride nerves. It is quite common, you know.’

‘But if she loves him and he loves her, what has she got to be nervous about?’ said Effy. ‘I would have thought she would have been in high alt at the prospect of soon being with her husband and mistress of her own household. What can you mean, Mr Haddon?’

‘How shall I put it?’ Mr Haddon looked at the smoke-blackened beams of the ceiling as if seeking inspiration in them. ‘The prospect of the physical side of marriage is sometimes frightening to a young girl.’

All immediately could not help thinking of what the physical side of marriage entailed and the Tribble sisters shared a communal blush.

‘Surely her mother has spoken to her about that,’ suggested Mr Randolph.

There was another meditative silence and then Amy said slowly, ‘Do you know, the countess probably
has
spoken to her and terrified her out of her wits. I’ll talk to her myself.’

Three pairs of eyes looked at Amy Tribble. Three racing minds wondered what Miss Amy knew about the subject, but Effy dared not mention anything for fear of Amy’s delivering herself of some terribly crude remark.

It was finally agreed that Amy should try to talk to Clarissa further, but Amy soon found that this was a hard thing to do. Clarissa was receiving the last fittings for her wedding gown and trousseau. Relatives were arriving in droves. There was no space left in the house and so Hubbard, who had had to surrender her room to house three visiting servants, slept on a bed placed in Clarissa’s room and was always present.

When the Earl of Greystone arrived on the day of the wedding rehearsal, things were no better. The rehearsal was a disaster. Clarissa literally tripped up the aisle and nearly cannoned into the earl.

‘For goodness’ sake!’ shouted her mother, ‘cannot you contrive to behave yourself like a lady for this one all-important occasion?’