Loving Lucy (21 page)

She hadn’t asked the price, but when he told her, she was surprised. So cheap, she thought, I’ll come here again.

Potter was given the little parcel to hold and they continued on their way.

Lucy found this extremely pleasant. Most young ladies had particular friends, but she’d never had any above the level of acquaintance. Being an heiress had incited jealousies in some circles, and she was honest enough to admit that her selfishness, encouraged but not instigated by her mother had done the rest. These ladies seemed to like her well enough. Conversation was easy, and the simple pleasure of walking out with female friends pleased Lucy very much. She didn’t think they were just being kind, they seemed pleased to have her with them, but she hadn’t enough experience to know for sure.

They left and proceeded at a comfortable pace up the street. This was a main thoroughfare, so there were carriages passing up and down all the time, some with crests on the sides, others not. Lucy walked on the inside and kept her head down.

They went past the first hat shop, but
Frances
suddenly said, “You know my straw is getting positively shabby. May we look for a new one?” Lucy was delighted; this would give Lucy the chance to search out a suitable disguise.

The second milliners’ seemed far more suitable, with several pretty hats and bonnets displayed in the window. They went inside to receive a warm welcome from the owner, Mrs. Griffiths. At least, that was the name above the door.

Both Frances and Lucy sat down, and Lucy expressed her desire for a poke bonnet. She took off the one she wore and shook out her curls, straightened her cap.

“Surely you don’t want to hide that pretty face.” said Christina.

Lucy flushed. “But those long brims can be so coquettish.”

“Oho. We have a flirt, do we?”

Lucy shook her head. “But I would like to try. And everything I have seems so outmoded when I look at you and the other people on the street.” That at least was true.

“Nonsense.” said Christina roundly. “Fashion is to feed people like my father and to give some amusement. It doesn’t matter at all.”

Lucy had never thought of it like that before. Fashion had been part of her world, something she hardly thought about. She came to
London
and ordered her new gowns every season as a matter of course, as did everyone else she knew.

The lady came forward with a selection of bonnets, but Lucy was amused to see she attended to the lovely
Frances
and left her to an assistant. This was not something a wealthy heiress would expect, but perhaps Miss Fiona Moore was used to it, so she said nothing. With a blinding flash of self insight she saw how discourteous and arrogant that would be, and she resolved there and then never to do such a thing ever again.

The assistant fitted the first bonnet to Lucy head, but she could see the material was inferior and would look shabby in no time at all. In any case, it scratched. She shook her head and received the second offering. That was a little better, but the brim was no deeper than her own bonnet. The third was no better. The fourth was a distinct improvement. Perhaps the assistant had finally got her mettle. The brim was deep and shaded her face; the trim was a pretty and modest bunch of flowers, enhanced by blue ribbon. Lucy paused to consider, eyes half closed.

Then she turned and saw
Frances
. She was heavenly, and Lucy saw that any headgear she chose couldn’t help but enhance her beauty. She also saw the bonnet she wore wasn’t worthy of her. The raw edges of the silk lining showed in places, and the trim wasn’t well thought out. She stood up and went over, untying the ribbons of her own headgear.

“Thank you, I’ll take that one. I’ll wear it now. Pack the other away, if you please.” The assistant went away with Lucy’s choice. Without a backward glance, she moved on to her new friend. She looked at the bonnet. “No,” she said decidedly.

The proprietress looked at her in some surprise. Lucy met her gaze steadily and stared her down. “Yes ma’am,” the lady said and took the offending item away. Christina looked at Lucy curiously. “It wasn’t good enough for her,” Lucy said simply. “
Frances
is lovely, she deserves something better.”

The woman came back with an entirely different confection. This had a brim tilted back on one side, to display the profile. The ribbons were a heavenly blue; the trim prettily concocted silk bluebells and forget-me-nots. She looked at Lucy first. “Much better,” she said and stepped back so the bonnet could be fitted.

This looked totally enchanting. The quality was better, and it enhanced
Frances
’ loveliness, rather than the hat taking its cue from her. Lucy examined it critically. “Yes,” she said. Surprised at the sudden silence she turned round. “What do the rest of you think?”

Frances
’ sisters surged forward to compliment her, but it was noticeable that
Frances
looked at Lucy for confirmation. “I think you should take it,” Lucy said firmly. “And perhaps, if Madame could look out for some more creations which she thinks might suit Miss
Frances
..?”

Mrs. Griffiths looked at her sharply. This was a trick used by the ton to get valuable discounts. The cost of a wardrobe for the Season could be considerable, and they weren’t above using such subterfuges to obtain a reduction in the price. Quantity could mean discounts, as could the promise to wear it in a public place and then let it be known who the modiste was. Lucy met her look with equanimity. “It would be a pleasure,” the lady said slowly. “And may I ask, if I may be so bold, who will be admiring such a creation?”

“It’s hard to say,” Lucy replied, “But we are to see Lord Royston and Lord Wenlock at dinner tonight.” Seeing the hesitation in Mrs. Griffiths' face she added; “the Earl of Royston?”

Mrs. Griffiths still looked dubious. Lucy said; “I should add my name is Fiona Moore. I am his lordship’s cousin.”

The lady’s face cleared, to be replaced by a look of gratification and complacency. “I would be delighted to look for such items,” she said. “For such a lovely lady.” She smiled at
Frances
in a maternal way. If the hat was to be seen by the ton, and if
Frances
was to mention where she got it, she could afford to give it away. Lucy knew this too and smiled sweetly when the lady discreetly mentioned the price, much less than
Frances
had expected.

The transaction was completed and they left the shop. Silence held until the third establishment on, then the sisters burst into loud laughter. “How on earth did you have the nerve?”
Frances
asked her.

“Perhaps being a
Moore
counts for something,” Lucy said. “But I only have the name, not the riches and the social position. We have to use what we have.”

“I suppose it never occurred to us before,” said Christina. “We can afford the prices, so we pay them. Do you think people play such tricks on Papa?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Lucy calmly.

She felt much better in this new bonnet. It seemed to protect her somehow. When she turned her head away her face was completely hidden. And she was pleased she could bring some benefit to her new friends. She guessed that Mrs. Griffiths together with most of her compatriots would play such tricks on customers who didn’t call regularly or produce a distinguished visiting card. She had been brought up to expect discounts and concessions merely because of who she was. Suddenly she realised what an offensive attitude this could seem to people, and she was ashamed, but at the same time she was pleased she could bring a benefit to someone she was in a fair way to liking very much.

Half way up
Oxford Street
she hoped they would decide to turn back, but the indefatigable sisters continued until
Frances
complained she was thirsty. “Oh my dear, let’s go to the tea-rooms.” said Christina. “I’ve been dying to try them out.”

Lucy looked questioningly at her. This innovation hadn’t reached her yet, but she had read about it. A place where ladies could drink tea and chat in perfect propriety struck her as long overdue, but it was unlikely her mother would have consented to allow her daughter to visit a place where she might be in danger of meeting Ordinary People. Many innkeepers put a room aside for the exclusive use of ladies, but this idea was new, an establishment meant for ladies to drink tea and converse. Many would say it was long overdue, after all, coffee houses had been a part of
London
for a hundred and fifty years now, but only men were welcome in them.

Lucy felt strangely reticent as they went inside the tea-room. The sign above the door said “Tea Garden,” but inside it was a room, albeit with arrangements of fresh flowers in abundance.

The place was full, but with a sigh of relief, Lucy realised she couldn’t see anyone she knew. The room was divided into smaller alcoves; seats set facing each other either side of a table. Lucy sat silently and watched.

Christina ordered tea and bread and butter and it was brought to them very quickly. The room was full, filled with the light, feminine chatter more familiar in the drawing rooms of
London
. Lucy enjoyed her tea, and wondered why this wasn’t introduced before. So much more convenient than going to one’s home or someone else’s to take tea. Of course, this made for longer shopping expeditions, which made it better for the shopkeepers. Most offered refreshments as a matter of course, but the pressure to buy was there, and that in itself could be tiring. Lucy much preferred to drink her tea in peace and listen to the chatter going on around her.

They talked, as most people she knew did, of the latest on-dits and scandal. She was perturbed to find she was amongst them. The girls talked more freely without the restraining presence of their mother, and when Lucy heard her name, she listened avidly. “It seems the Lady Lucy Moore has gone into the country to prepare for her wedding,” said Janet. “That’s Royston’s cousin, you know.”

“Who’s she marrying?”
Frances
asked. “You did tell me but I’ve forgotten.”

“Sir Geoffrey Sanders,” said Christina. “You never remember anything, Frances.” but she was smiling when she said it. “We saw him at the opera that time, you remember. Tall and dark. No wonder she jumped at his offer.”

There was a general laugh, but Lucy smiled wanly instead of joining in. Christina noticed and turned to her. “Have you met either of them, Fiona?”

Lucy thought rapidly. This was supposed to be her first visit to
London
, so she could safely deny it. “No, I have not,” she said. “The only reason I’ve met Lord Royston is that he used to come and visit us. He has been so kind. And so have you.” she added, for Christina had turned, heavy eyebrow raised, to exchange a glance with Janet. They smiled at her in a knowing way. “You like his lordship?” Janet said.

“Why yes, he is very kind.” she replied. She wasn’t to know that her voice had lowered slightly when she spoke of him, and her eyes had softened in their expression. “But of course,” she added quickly, “I couldn’t think of him like that. My name might be
Moore
but we come from a very inferior branch of the family. He’s the head of our branch.”

“I’ve never been able to work it out,” said Christina. “There seem to be
Moores
everywhere in the aristocracy and gentry. Are you all related?”

“I believe so, in one way or another,” said Lucy. “But the relationship is very distant, a bit like my relationship to you.”

They thought about it for a moment. “Was Lady Jane Moore related to you in some way?”

“The poor lady who was executed? Yes, in a way,” Lucy said. “My Mama has an engraving of her in her powder closet.” That was true enough. Since Lady Royston saw herself as a martyr, an image of a long dead ancestor who had been one was perfect for her. The fact that she was a
Moore
by marriage alone didn’t stop her.

Christina smiled at her. “So you’re as much on the edge as we are?”

“More so,” said Lucy, smiling. “As we live in
Scotland
.” She marvelled at her ability to lie so convincingly and at the same time, felt sorry for the necessity of doing so. She liked the
Carmichaels
, and the hospitality they offered her was worthy of more than lies.

They got up and left the tea-garden, continuing on their way up
Oxford Street
. The girls seemed indefatigable, explaining to Lucy that this would be good exercise for her. They promised to take her to one of the parks
London
boasted another day. Lucy prayed it wouldn’t be
Hyde Park
. Most of her
London
acquaintances chose to exercise there, and it would be a miracle if she went unnoticed.

They got nearer to the
Bond Street
end and Lucy’s heart began to quail inside her. It was nearly
noon
and there would be many people in the shopping area. But there were also other people.

Looking at
Bond Street
through the eyes of Fiona Moore, Lucy saw it anew. Not only were there carriages with crests emblazoned on their sides drawn by fine bloodstock, there were other, unmarked vehicles, public hackney carriages and more modest private ones. The inevitable street vendors stood shouting and singing their wares, and other people, not just the fashionable haut monde thronged the thoroughfare.