Sir Philip's Folly (The Poor Relation Series Book 4) (12 page)

“We must be sure to make a profit from this ball,” said Sir Philip, glaring at Mr. Davy’s head, “for it is not as if
all
of us are rich enough to powder our heads.”

Hair powder was first taxed in 1786, when a duty of a penny on all powders sold at under two shillings a pound was imposed, with higher rates for the more expensive varieties. Then, from 1795, all persons powdering their hair were required to take out an annual licence costing a guinea. There were special terms for fathers with more than two unmarried daughters, and for servants; but those who only wore powder occasionally complained that they were being as highly rated as those who were in constant practice of powdering. This tax, it is said, hit the hairdressers hard: even so, in its first year it yielded £210,136. A number of people were prosecuted for failing to possess licences. Among them was Lady Bessborough, who was examined by the Middlesex justices for some three hours in March of 1798. A snooping informer read a long list of occasions on which she and others of her household had used hair powder; and her ladyship added to the list by confessing to have worn powder when she went to divine services at St. Paul’s. Since she had, in fact, given her servant the money for taking out her licence, which he had not done, her fine was reduced from £240 to £60. Over 46,000 still paid the duty in 1812: thereafter the numbers gradually decreased. The distress caused by poor harvests and the war caused certain ladies to say they left off wearing hair powder out of patriotism. But as only poor-quality hair powder contained a small proportion of flour, the better variety being mostly of talc, it was assumed they just did not want to pay the tax.

Mr. Davy smiled sweetly on Sir Philip and refused to rise to the old man’s gibe. Although this annoyed Sir Philip greatly because he liked to think of himself as a Machiavellian type of person who never let his temper get the better of him, he had not quite worked out in his mind that his current jealousy of Mr. Davy was beginning to spring not from Mr. Davy’s courtship of Mrs. Mary Budge but because of the man’s looks and wealth and younger years. Also, that silly sheep of a woman, Miss Tonks, kept gazing on this Mr. Davy with adoring eyes. Sir Philip had just made love to Mrs. Budge, or rather what usually passed for making love among the gentlemen of the Regency; that is, the quickest, shortest intercourse possible. The lady’s feelings were never taken into account. Ladies were not supposed to have passions, even ladies such as Mrs. Budge. Only tarts enjoyed it. So the idea of actually “making love” to Mrs. Budge had never entered the old man’s head any more than it had entered it in the affairs of his youth. So with his lusts recently satisfied, Sir Philip felt that Mr. Davy no longer stood a chance with the widow and so he hated him for himself alone.

“I like a man with his hair powdered,” simpered Miss Tonks.

“Oh, what do you know about men, you old spinster?” jeered Sir Philip.

Miss Tonks gazed on Sir Philip’s pink scalp. “More than you know about hair, you old fool,” she said. “Doesn’t your scalp get
cold
lying about
bare
like that?”

“Children, children,” mocked Lady Fortescue. “Let us have harmony. Sir Philip, now that my Lord Denby has backed down, I am delighted and pleased that you have decided to tackle Lady Carruthers.”

“Yes, indeed,” seconded the colonel gruffly. “No one can handle a difficult situation like you, Philip.”

The rare use of his first name, the rare praise from a man he often regarded as his rival made Sir Philip glow. His mercurial spirits rose. He patted Miss Tonks’ hand and said, “We are always quarrelling, are we not? But we must not quarrel, not when you are looking so pretty.”

And so for the second time in her life, she had been called pretty, and Miss Tonks glowed with happiness.

The earl felt shut out from all the “family” bonhomie. They had each in their way silently damned him for refusing to help Arabella.

He rose and made his farewells to the company and was well aware that all were relieved to see him go.

Feeling strangely diminished, he made his way downstairs. He hesitated outside the door of Lady Carruthers’s apartment and then knocked loudly on it, knowing that Arabella could surely hear him, even from her bedroom. He waited and waited, but no Arabella came to answer the door.

But Arabella, with the pillows over her head and crying into the sheet, had not heard him.

Arabella awoke with a feeling that her young life was at an end. She had behaved in a way to give the earl a disgust of her. And in the clear light of day in a locked hotel bedroom, she had little hope that Sir Philip would achieve what Lady Fortescue and Colonel Sandhurst had failed to do. But she could not help hoping that Sir Philip would clean himself up a bit for the audience with her mother and not appear in his undress and wearing his second-best teeth, which were of wood.

In the afternoon, she heard her mother and servants go out. She sat moodily in a chair by the window, too depressed to take out that precious key and allow herself some freedom.

Then she heard an urgent scratching at the door and Miss Tonks’ voice whispering, “Let me in, Arabella.”

Arabella went and unlocked the door.

“He doesn’t care a rap for me,” she said passionately.

Miss Tonks looked sympathetic but she said, “You did bring it on yourself, Arabella. What prompted you to flirt in that bold way with Mr. Davy?”

“He did not sit next to me,” muttered Arabella.

“But how could he, my dear? You already had Mr. Davy on one side and me on the other.”

“I suppose that is that.” Arabella shrugged, preferring not to answer the question. “Mama will never agree to my going to that ball anyway.”

“That is why I am come. Now you are to do exactly as Sir Philip orders. I know it will sound most odd, but he has never failed us yet.”

A look of hope gleamed in Arabella’s large eyes.

“What must I do?”

“You must brush down your hair and be sure to wear a white dress. You must stand by your window and look down into Bond Street and you must look wistful. You are occasionally to dab at your eyes with a handkerchief.”

“What on earth is that man about?”

“I know it sounds mad. It does so to me,” said Miss Tonks earnestly. “But please do it. I have brought the first volume of the latest novel from the circulating library and I will read to you to pass the time.”

“It seems so silly…”

“Please do as he says.”

Arabella began to laugh. “Very well. Do you think he wants me to look like the princess in the ivory tower so as to melt Mama’s heart?”

“Possibly. Now sit down at the toilet-table and I will help to brush your hair.”

***

To Sir Philip’s delight, the coffee room at Limmer’s was full of bucks and Corinthians, Fops, and Pinks of the Fancy. He ordered wine, sat down at a table, and heaved a great theatrical sigh.

Mr. Fotheringay and Mr. Dessel stopped at his table and stared down. “What’s up, Sommerville?” drawled Mr. Fotheringay. “Got the blue devils?”

“It’s a tragedy,” said Sir Philip, shaking his head. “Breaks my heart.”

“You ain’t got a heart to break,” commented Mr. Dessel with a loud guffaw. “I say.” He addressed the room at large. “Sommerville has had his heart broken.”

The men lounged up to the table, grinning, picking their teeth, flicking their snuff-boxes and waving their handkerchiefs. Amused voices called on Sir Philip to elaborate.

“It’s like something out of a Haymarket tragedy,” said Sir Philip, privately and gleefully noticing that he now had a large audience. “Lady Carruthers is resident at my hotel. She has a beautiful daughter.”

Cries of “You old rake!”

Sir Philip held up his small white hands for silence. “Silence, gentlemen. Arabella Carruthers is only nineteen. She is so beautiful, Lady Carruthers is frightened that if she exposes this treasure to the world, then no one will look at
her
.”

“Painted trollop,” commented Mr. Fotheringay. “Wouldn’t look at her anyway.”

“Such is her great vanity,
she
don’t know that. So she keeps this diamond of the first water locked up day and night in a hotel bedroom. So me and my partners decided on a plan to bring the girl out ourselves. We are holding a grand subscription ball—tickets fifty guineas, only the cream invited—and the Prince Regent is to attend. But has this melted Lady Carruthers’s flinty heart? Not a bit of it.”

“You’re bamming us,” jeered Mr. Dessel.

“Go along Bond Street,” urged Sir Philip, “and stand opposite the hotel and look up. She stands there by the window, day in and day out.”

There were cries to the effect that they would all go and have a look at Sir Philip’s charmer.

Gleefully, Sir Philip followed the crowd of men along Bond Street. He looked up at the hotel windows and heaved a sigh of relief.

Arabella could be quite clearly seen. Her shining hair fell about her shoulders, and even from the distance of across the road, it could be seen that her beautiful face was sad and wistful.

Most of the men who watched in startled silence were brutal products of an age of hard drinking, wenching and fighting. But this was also the age of sentimentality when men prided themselves on the soft hearts that so few of them really had. “It is so tragic,” cried Mr. Dessel and began to sob. Mr. Fotheringay, not to be outdone, took out a cambric handkerchief the size of a bed sheet and blew his nose loudly.

More gentlemen stopped and joined the crowd. It was all very exciting to the Bond Street loungers, better than a play.

“Miss Tonks, it is very embarrassing,” said Arabella over her shoulder. “All these men are staring up at me and some of them are crying.”

“Is Sir Philip among them?”

“Yes, he keeps stopping more gentlemen and pointing up at me.”

“Oh, I know what he is doing,” cried Miss Tonks. “Here is a pretty little handkerchief. Now you must slowly raise it to your eyes and dab them.”

“How long do I have to do this?”

“I should think until your mama returns.”

***

Lady Carruthers was feeling somewhat pleased with herself. She had made several calls and she knew a new dinner-gown would be waiting for her at the hotel. She had heard of the earl’s return and planned to dazzle him in the dining-room that evening. She was just reflecting that she had been too hard on Arabella—she would send the girl back to the country—when her carriage arrived outside the Poor Relation. It was an open carriage, so the men on the other side of the road had a good view of her, as did Arabella, who cried to Miss Tonks, “Here’s Mama.”

Miss Tonks ruthlessly pulled her away from the window, and a loud cry of “Shame!” went up from the watchers.

“Here is Lady Carruthers now,” said Sir Philip. “Boo!”

Bewildered, Lady Carruthers descended from the carriage and stared across the road at the angry faces, heard the loud hisses and boos, and then turned and ran into the hotel.

By the time she reached her apartment, Miss Tonks had gone and Arabella was once more locked in her room.

Lady Carruthers succumbed to a strong fit of hysterics while her maid tried to soothe her. At the end of half an hour, she relapsed into a morose silence.

“Sir Philip Sommerville,” announced her footman from the doorway.

“We are not at home,” said Lady Carruthers despite the fact that Sir Philip was standing in the open doorway and could hear every word.

Unfazed, Sir Philip walked in, flipped up his coat-tails and sat down.

“This is an outrage,” cried Lady Carruthers.

“I come to help you, my lady,” said Sir Philip, not budging an inch. “Do you not want to know why all the gentlemen in Bond Street were hissing you and booing you?”

“The behaviour of louts does not concern me.”

“They were not louts, and by tonight,” pursued Sir Philip, “the story will be all over London.”

She looked at him uneasily. “What story?” she asked.

“How you keep your beautiful daughter locked in her room, how you never take her anywhere, how you dress her in a child’s clothes… need I go on?”

“Who has been spreading such scurrilous lies?”

“Hotel servants will talk. We all know Miss Carruthers is not ill, as you claim.”

“Pray leave. You are impertinent.”

He shook his head sadly. “You could have had my help. Now how are you to face the world when you next go out? No more cards will arrive for you and you will be as isolated as your daughter. Furthermore, the Prince Regent is to attend our ball. Unless you repair your reputation and do it quickly, then, for the sake of the good name of our hotel, we cannot invite you, even though the main purpose of the ball was to bring your daughter out.”

Lady Carruthers went pale under her rouge. She could think of no worse fate than being socially ostracized. The full impact of his words finally sank in.

“What am I to do?” she asked weakly.

“You have an engagement for this evening?”

“Yes. The Macleans’ rout.”

“Then take your daughter, dress her well, put her hair up, show every evidence of being the doting mother and maintain the fiction that she has just got over an illness.”

Arabella, listening on the other side of the door, pressed her ear harder against the panels.

And then she heard her mother say with an obvious effort, “Very well. I will follow your advice.”

Sir Philip’s heart softened as it always did when he got his own way. He stood up. “You know,” he said, putting his head on one side and surveying her, “you’d be a fine figure of a woman if you dressed your age.”

***

The earl was not in the dining-room and so missed the splendid sight of Miss Arabella Carruthers in a dainty white gown ornamented with silk rose-buds and with a coronet of roses in her shining hair. Arabella felt quite cast down. She had been so excited at the thought of seeing him.

But it was exciting later to be out in the wicked London streets joining all the other Fashionables who were going out for the evening. Arabella had never been to a rout. For a brief while she forgot about the earl and her yearnings for him and looked forward to her first London social engagement.