The Bachelor List (8 page)

“I most strongly advise you to do so, Lady Graham. Waste not a moment.” Lady Bainbridge snapped her fan against her hand. “One cannot entrust one's precious children to such women. They will corrupt those young and unformed minds. I wouldn't permit Martha or Mary to listen to such sacrilege.”

“What sacrilege is this, Letitia?” Constance inquired, grateful for the opportunity to withdraw from battle and regroup.

“Oh, my dear, you won't believe it. But I was going through Miss Westcott's bedroom this morning—Miss Westcott is Pammy's governess, you know. One must keep an eye on things. I consider it my maternal duty to inspect her room periodically.” Letitia nodded her head virtuously. “But what should I find?” She paused for dramatic effect and now had the attention of all within earshot.

“I can't guess,” Prudence said.

“One of those pamphlets from that organization, the Women's Union, or something.”

“The Women's Social and Political Union,” Constance said without expression.

“Whatever it's called. She'd hidden it away in a drawer. Of course she knows perfectly well that I won't have such scandalous nonsense in my house. I mean, what is the world coming to when you can't trust your own daughter's governess.”

“What indeed?” Constance murmured. “Your vigilance does you credit, Letitia. I'm sure that the right to privacy is well sacrificed on its altar.” She glanced at Max Ensor, and the light in her eye would have given a sensible man pause. “Are you of your sister's opinion, Mr. Ensor?”

It hadn't taken her long to renew the attack, he thought. But since he was extremely interested in what she might be persuaded or provoked to reveal about her own views of the WSPU he chose to disregard the warning flash in her eyes. “I haven't given it much thought,” he said, then added deliberately, “There's some logic, of course, in saying that women who pay taxes should have a vote.” He thought he detected a flicker of surprise cross her countenance. Watching her carefully, he continued with a dismissive gesture, “But it's such a small share of the female population that it hardly matters.”

He had hoped to provoke a response but he was disappointed. Constance turned aside to pick up the teapot, offering it to Martha.

“Men can vote perfectly well for us,” Letitia said. “I'm sure dear Bertie knows exactly the right things to vote for. But I don't know what to do about Miss Westcott . . . Pammy is so fond of her, and we've had so many difficulties with governesses. They so often don't suit Pammy.”

“I doubt Miss Westcott's political opinions could mean much to a six-year-old, Letitia,” Prudence pointed out.

“Oh, you'd be surprised, Prudence. The tricks these females use to corrupt the young,” Lady Bainbridge said with a direful nod.

“No, well, I'm sure I don't know what to do,” Letitia said. “I can't talk to her about it because then she'd know I'd searched her room.” Letitia pouted in a manner that Constance thought would look more appropriate on her daughter.

“Yes, that is inconvenient,” she murmured, catching sight of Chastity's outraged expression. Chastity's views on snooping and prying were akin to her views on theft and murder.

“I would think,” Chastity said, “that you might remember the adage:
What the eye don't see the heart don't grieve over,
Letitia. How much more comfortable you would be if you hadn't discovered Miss Westcott's political interests.”

“I have my daughter's welfare to consider,” Letitia announced a shade stiffly, setting down her teacup. “Well, I must be on my way. I promised to take Pammy to call upon her great-aunt Cecily.” She rose from her chair. “There's no need for you to escort me, Max, if you'd prefer to stay. Johnson is in the square with the barouche. He can very well convey me home.”

Max gave the matter barely a second's consideration. He had come to see Constance Duncan and test the waters a little. It had been for the most part an amusing and enlightening engagement, once he'd recovered from the initial ambush, but he sensed that nothing further would be gained this afternoon. It was time to retreat and regroup.

“My dear Letitia, I escorted you here, I will escort you home,” he said with a smooth smile. “Miss Duncan, ladies . . .” He bowed to the sisters in turn. “Delightful afternoon.”

Constance gave him her hand. “I was afraid you were bored, Mr. Ensor. I'm so glad I was wrong.”

“I cannot imagine how I gave such an unfortunate impression,” he returned. His hand closed over hers, applying a faint but definite pressure. If she noticed it she gave no sign, merely offering him a purely social smile.

“Perhaps I may call upon you again and correct any wrong impressions,” he continued, increasing the pressure of his fingers infinitesimally.

Constance, to her chagrin, was disarmed by this sudden change . . . the frank smile, the glow in the blue eyes, and the humorous tilt to his mouth. There was nothing bored, indifferent, or arrogant about Max Ensor at this moment. “If you think it's possible,” she found herself saying.

“Oh, I think it is,” he responded, his confident smile growing. “I think I deserve the chance at least.” He raised her hand to his lips with old-fashioned courtesy, then offered his sister his arm as he escorted her from the drawing room.

Chastity and Prudence exchanged significant glances and Constance felt herself blushing slightly, something she never did. She shot her sisters what she hoped was a dampening look.

“Personable enough gentleman,” pronounced Lady Bainbridge, rising to her feet with a creaking of whalebone. “Nothing to cause a stir about, though. Can't think what that dreadful paper could have meant.”

“Harmless gossip, Lady Bainbridge,” Chastity said with a soothing smile. “It was lovely to see you . . . and, of course, Martha and Mary.” She smiled warmly at them as they gathered up gloves and fans. “We must walk in the park one afternoon.”

“I trust you'll walk with me one day, Miss Chastity.” Lord Lucan, a late arrival, hovered beside her, reluctant to take his leave with everyone else.

“We're going into the country this weekend. We would love it if you would join us. Just a small house party,” Chastity said. “We're going to have a tennis tournament and I know how good you are at the game.”

Lucan blushed and stammered his thanks, murmuring something about having to ask his mother since she made all such arrangements and he didn't know if she had made other plans for him.

Chastity mercifully interrupted his stumblings. “Well, let us know. We should like to see you if you can make it.”

“It's to be a Friday to Monday,” Prudence said. “If Lady Lucan would care to accompany you, we should be happy to see her.” The invitation was pure form since the Dowager Lady Lucan rarely left her bedchamber, although she kept a fearsome eye on her only son's activities and allowed only those of which she approved.

Lord Lucan made his farewells in some disarray. Finally Jenkins closed the front door and the sisters were alone again.

“That went well,” Constance said, piling dirty plates and cups on the tray.

“The ambush of the Right Honorable Member for Southwold or the party in general?” Chastity inquired through a mouthful of sponge cake.

“Both,” Constance said, handing the tray to Jenkins. “I would like to think we'd seen the last of the gentleman.”

“Oh, that I doubt,” Prudence said with a shrewd glance at Constance. “I think he's picked up your glove.”

“We
all
ambushed him,” Constance said, catching the glance and not liking it.

“Only to get things started. You carried on solo,” Prudence pointed out.

“And I can tell you that you definitely piqued his interest. I could feel it from across the room,” Chastity said with a chuckle. “I'm very good at sensing such things.”

Constance shrugged with apparent carelessness. “If I did, then I shall put it to good use. If he really has the Prime Minister's ear, then who knows what little whispers can be planted.”

“You might find it an amusing exercise,” Prudence observed with an exaggerated wink.

Constance gave up the battle. She could never fool her sisters. “I might at that.” She walked to the open doors to the terrace. “Let's walk outside for a little and read our letters.”

“Oh, did you bring them down?” Chastity set down the teapot she had been carrying to the sideboard.

“In my pocket.” Constance drew the envelopes from the deep pocket of her skirt and flourished them.

They went outside into the tranquil garden where the early evening air was perfumed with the heavy scent of roses. The clatter of iron wheels and the clop of horses' hooves reached them from over the wall. They sat on the low parapet and Constance slit the first envelope with her fingernail.

Chapter 5

To the Go-Between:
The Mayfair Lady, July 14, 1906

I am interested in using the above named service advertised in the June edition of your newspaper. My situation is both delicate and complicated and I am reluctant to set down the details in writing since I suspect that my employer is in the habit of searching my room and personal papers. If it would be possible to meet with whoever provides the above service I would explain the full nature of my requirements at that time.

I am presently employed as a governess in Mayfair and am able to take time from my duties on Thursday afternoons between the hours of three and six, when my charge pays calls with her mother. If a meeting could be arranged at that time it would be most convenient. I must stress the urgency of my situation and of course I rely upon your utmost discretion. Please send the favor of a reply to Miss Amelia Westcott, care of the Park Lane Post Office. I am able to collect my post most mornings when I walk in the park after breakfast with my pupil. You didn't mention in the advertisement what charge you levy for this service. I should state at this point that that would be a consideration for me, but I am of course prepared to pay an initial consultation fee. I trust this will be satisfactory and I look forward to our meeting.

A
melia Westcott,” Constance murmured, regarding the sloping signature from every angle. “It's too much of a coincidence, surely?”

“Not necessarily,” Prudence said. “May I see?” She took the letter from Constance and read it again silently before handing it to Chastity. “It has to be the Grahams' governess. Her employer searches her room; she has these niggardly hours off. It fits to a tee.”

“Well, I feel a great need to help that poor put-upon woman,” Chastity declared, folding the letter.

“Her situation is hardly unusual,” Constance pointed out. “You might even say she's fortunate. Think of the cook-generals, the maids-of-all-work, who rise at six and don't see their beds until midnight. Ill-fed, overworked, underpaid, with two hours off a week . . .”

“Con, get off your hobbyhorse,” Prudence protested. “We know the facts as well as you do, and you know we sympathize, so we don't need a lecture.”

“Sorry,” Constance said with a ready smile. “It's just that after this morning's meeting I'm full of fire and brimstone.”

Her sisters laughed tolerantly. “Save it for Max Ensor,” Chastity advised.

“I feel a bit guilty actually,” Constance said with a frown. “I was rather acerbic about Miss Westcott, before I knew how grim her situation is, of course. And actually Max . . . Mr. Ensor . . . defended her.”

“How so?”

“I made a rather hasty judgment when Letitia was saying how her daughter was always bored and her governess was at her wits' end to keep her amused.” Constance shrugged. “I commented to Max Ensor that the governess obviously didn't know her job. Either she didn't know how to interest a child in her lessons, or she had no influence over the girl. He said it was Letitia's fault. She wouldn't allow anyone to impose discipline or structure on her dearest Pammy.”

“Well, that's a promising piece of insight,” Prudence observed. “Perhaps he's not as black as he paints himself.”

“Then why would he give that impression?”

“Perhaps he has some ulterior motive,” Chastity suggested thoughtfully. “I mean, you have one in cultivating him, so why shouldn't he have?”

Sometimes Chastity's intuitive observations only served to complicate matters, Constance reflected. Although her sister was frequently and uncannily on the ball. “I'll think about that later,” she said, and hauled the subject back on course. “Let's see what the other letters are about. You open the next one, Prue.”

Prudence took the envelope and slit it, then removed the sheet of paper and unfolded it. “Oh, look at this. Our first finder's fee.” She held up a crisp banknote that had been enclosed in the fold of the letter.

“Another Go-Between letter?” Chastity leaned forward to look over her sister's shoulder.

“Yes, from a gentleman who prefers to remain anonymous,” Prudence said. “He writes that he's looking for a young lady of good family but not necessarily possessed of an
inheritance . . . or even of beauty.” She looked up from the letter and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Interesting. What does he want her for?” Constance inquired.

“Marriage, of course.”

“Then what's wrong with him?”

“You're such a cynic, Con,” Chastity declared. “Why shouldn't he simply want to find a soul mate without fussing about money and looks?”

“No reason, really. But he's a very unusual man, in that case.”

Prudence impatiently waved her sisters into silence. “He says here that he's a bachelor of reasonable fortune, doesn't like living in Town, so he's looking for a quiet young lady who likes country pursuits.”

“But he wants to remain anonymous?” Constance frowned. “I wouldn't like to recommend some unsuspecting young woman to someone we haven't had a chance to vet in person.”

“We'll suggest he meet us somewhere. At Jenkins's sister's post office, for instance. It makes sense to meet at the poste restante address. We'll be veiled just in case he might know us,” Prudence suggested.

“I think just one of us should go in this instance,” Constance said. “Chastity. She has the ability to analyze people. She'll know at once if there's anything suspect about him.”

“I think you two should be there, even if you stay out of sight,” Chastity said. “I'll be more comfortable.”

“Yes, of course,” Constance agreed instantly. “We'll make an
appointment for . . . oh, it'll have to be after the weekend. Wednesday morning, let's say. We can fit it in easily before the At Home. We need to meet with Amelia Westcott tomorrow since that's her afternoon off and we don't want to wait another week, and Friday we have to go into the country.”

Her sisters nodded their agreement and Chastity opened the third envelope. “It's for Aunt Mabel,” she said with a chuckle. “Oh, this lady really liked my response to the woman with two lovers. We have to publish this letter. Listen . . .” She adopted a tone of syrupy flattery.
“‘Such an intelligent understanding response. Such wisdom and
sagacity . . .' ”
She looked up. “I thought they were the same thing.”

“They are,” Constance said. “Go on.”

“Well, she says she had a similar problem and if only someone had been able to advise her in such fashion she wouldn't be in the situation she's in now.”

“Which is?”

“Stuck with the wrong one,” Chastity said succinctly. “I'd better write a response and we'll publish it underneath her letter.”

“This one's another Aunt Mabel.” Constance waved the fourth letter. “A married lady is having terrible problems with her mother-in-law, who dictates her every move, controls her son by keeping a close hand on the purse strings, and is now threatening to move from the dower house back up to London because the daughter-in-law doesn't seem to be managing the household adequately.”

“Any signature?”

Constance shook her head. “It just says, ‘Desperate in Knightsbridge.' ”

“Well, I can think of several women that might apply to,” Prudence observed.

Chastity leaned forward and took the letter from Constance. “I'll think of some creative solution, but I think it's probably best if we don't speculate over any of the letters. We'll soon be looking at all our acquaintances suspiciously.”

Constance laughed. “You're right, Chas. But it seems that Aunt Mabel is a definite draw.” She became serious again. “But how shall we respond to our first client?”

“Oh, yes, first things first. Amelia Westcott is top priority,” Prudence stated. “We must write an answer at once. Jenkins will take it to the post when he has his evening constitutional.”

“Down the pub,” Chastity said in a passable cockney accent. “Very partial to his pint of mild-and-bitter is Mr. Jenkins.”

“So we'll say we'll meet her tomorrow afternoon.” Prudence was already moving back into the house. “The letter will go by the first post tomorrow morning and be at her post office by breakfast time. Where should we rendezvous?”

“Not Fortnum's. She'd be uncomfortable there,” Chastity said swiftly, following her sister.

“Yes, of course she would.” Constance nodded. “Oh, I know, what about the Lyons Corner House at Marble Arch? No one we know would be seen dead there. But it's perfectly respectable, very middle-class.”

“With the added advantage of being relatively inexpensive,” Prudence added. “I don't know what the etiquette is when it comes to having tea with clients, but if she's going to pay her way it's considerate to keep it reasonable, and if we're paying for clients then the same thing applies.”

“Don't tell me a cream tea at Fortnum's would break the bank. Don't forget we're getting paid for this service,” Constance pointed out.

“Something we haven't discussed at all,” Prudence said over her shoulder. “Should it be a sliding scale? The rich pay more to subsidize the less well off?”

“Definitely,” Constance said with emphasis, following them up the stairs. “Of course, it's easier when someone sends in his fee with his request, but they're not all going to do that.”

“Also,” Prudence said, opening the door to their parlor, “the nature of the services themselves could require different payments. Expenses, for instance . . . supposing we have to take trains, or hackney cabs?”

“Since we have no idea exactly what kinds of services are going to be required, I don't see how we can anticipate.” Constance went over to the secretaire. “I think we have to charge a sliding scale hourly rate with expenses on top, and have a provision for extra cost if the job needs something extraspecial.” She took a sheet of writing paper from a pigeonhole. “This has Father's crest on it. We need plain paper.” She rummaged at the back of the secretaire.

Prudence considered. “I think we can all meet with Miss Westcott. We know who she is and she has no idea who we are, and even if she did she has to be as interested in discretion as we are.”

“With other clients we're going to have to do this cloak-and-dagger business,” Constance said. “Heavy veils and disguised voices.” She sat down at the secretaire and dipped her pen in the inkwell. “Stop laughing and concentrate. I'm being very serious. Now, what shall I write?”

They had just tucked the letter into its addressed envelope when a knock brought in Jenkins with a letter of his own. “This was just brought for you, Miss Con. The boy's waiting for an answer.”

Constance turned in her chair, hand extended. “Thank you, Jenkins. And we have a letter that needs to go to the post this evening. Would you be able to take it?”

“Of course.” They exchanged envelopes.

Constance looked at the handwriting on hers. It was unfamiliar but definitely masculine. Dark ink, strong downward strokes, no curls or flourishes. She knew immediately, instinctively, who it was from. The handwriting proclaimed the man as clearly as did his voice. Out of the blue she felt a jolt in the pit of her belly. She tried to ignore it and with an assumption of calm slit the envelope with the silver paper knife on the desktop and unfolded the single sheet. The bold signature was as she had expected.

“Well?” her sisters demanded.

“It's from Max Ensor. An invitation for dinner tonight.” Constance reread the short letter, relieved to find that her voice was as steady as ever and that novel sensation in her belly had disappeared. “If I have no other pressing engagements . . .”

“Which you don't.”

“No, I don't.” She tapped the sheet against her mouth. “To go or not to go.”

“That is indeed the question.” Prudence took a fresh sheet of paper, this one engraved with Lord Duncan's crest, and laid it in front of Constance. “The boy's waiting for an answer.”

“Why would he want to have dinner with me?” Constance questioned. “An intimate tête-à-tête so soon is rushing things rather, don't you think? Particularly after we did our level best to make him uncomfortable this afternoon.”

“If you don't go you won't find out,” Prudence pointed out, in her practical fashion.

“I suppose so. And it might be useful to prod him a little about the governess,” Constance said with the same considering frown. “He must know something about her.”

Prudence regarded her sister with a half smile. “It will be very useful,” she agreed. “So write your acceptance and then we'll go upstairs and dress you.”

“I wonder if he'll take you to the Savoy Grill or the Café Royal?” mused Chastity.

“Café Royal,” Prudence stated, shaking the ink dry on Constance's message as she took it from her before she could change her mind. “I'll lay odds. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “he is a Savoy kind of a man. Something about his dress and the way he carries himself just shouts it out. But then, the Café Royal is more suited to a quiet, intimate dinner. The Grill, on the other hand, is best for lunch.”

Her sisters allowed her to consider the issue without interruption. Prudence was always right about such things.

Prudence made up her mind. “We'll dress you for the Café.” She folded the sheet and handed it to Jenkins, patiently waiting for the second letter. “There, Jenkins. Make sure the right one goes to the messenger.”