The Dashing Miss Fairchild (3 page)

"I believe we shall quite like this house, Bennison. Please show us in, for we are all quite fatigued.” Turning to Jenny, she added, “See to Willy's things, and tell the if you think anything is needed."

"Yes, Miss Fairchild,” replied the wet nurse with a happy glow about her. She had landed on her feet, she had. The lady was kind and gentle, not the least condemning. There was nothing Jenny would not do for the patient and plucky lady who had hired her from the kitchen.

Along the street, the woman who had lingered to overhear the identity of the newcomer to the crescent raised her delicate eyebrows. A single lady with an infant? Here? Disgraceful. Mrs. Robottom huffed off to spread the latest tittle-tattle to her neighbors. Why, she might dine off this news for a week, at least.

Clare and Venetia wandered up Milsom Street, pausing frequently to gaze in the shop windows. Venetia possessed the intent mien of the dedicated shopper. Mind you, she was not one who purchased much, but she adored looking, trying on bonnets, and examining trimmings as though she intended to spend prodigious amounts of money. Amazingly enough, she was one that shopkeepers fawned over, apparently deciding that while she might not buy, she could have influence over others.

Clare stared at the contents of the windows with an abstracted air. She was not a vain miss, nor given to pretensions, but she had rather expected to meet with more politeness than so far experienced. Their foray to the Pump Room had been dismal. Not one person had sought to make their acquaintance. Had Clare not known it to be impossible, she would have said everyone present already knew her identity and did not care to become better known.

In a way it was fortunate that she had the matter of Baby William to worry about. Why had no one come forward to claim him? She felt in her bones that there was a hidden significance to the appearance of the baby in her coach. But she had cudgeled her brain time and again for the solution, and come up with nothing tangible. She needed another head, one wiser than her own, and certainly more concerned than Venetia, who felt it an affront to have the baby in the household.

Of course, the baby was housed in the room two doors down from Venetia on the top floor, right next to Priddy. There were three bedrooms there, with only one on the floor below across from the drawing room. After the much larger home in London, it was a change to fit into the more modest abode in Bath. It bothered Clare not one whit, but then, she had taken the slightly larger bedroom. She knew that the servants would expect it of her and that, while she might complain in her genteel way, Venetia did as well.

"Just look, Clare, dear. Is that not the dearest bonnet in the world? I rather fancy those primrose ribands would match my favorite gown. Do you not agree?"

Venetia turned to bestow an impatient glance on the quiet young woman at her side. “I declare, you are most annoying today. You wished to come to Bath. Now that you are here, you act most peculiarly. The house is quite satisfactory. We have settled in with no problems at all—in spite of that infant.” She spared Clare another darting look, then returned her attention to the bonnet which, with the clusters of fine primrose silk ribands, she was certain would match the gown she hoped to improve by purchasing something new and becoming to go with it. “I shall try it on."

Clare and Venetia entered the shop where several ladies sought the attention of the owner. When that imposing woman observed Clare's quiet elegance, most assuredly gained from London and the best modiste, she deserted the others to attend her.

"I wish to see the bonnet with the primrose ribands that is in the window,” declared Venetia in a sweet but commanding way.

Possibly disappointed to serve the other, less chic young lady, but never revealing it, the shop owner reached for the bonnet and assisted Venetia in trying it on.

Standing behind and off to one side, her thoughts now dwelling on her imagined slights, Clare was soon aware that the other ladies in the shop were raking her with haughty glances, then whispering in a most ill-bred manner. Shortly they murmured vague excuses to the owner, and filed from the shop. Clare firmed her lips and tried to concentrate on Venetia's demands for attention.

"I believe it is just the thing, dear Clare.” Venetia turned from the looking glass to face Clare. “You do think it looks well on the, do you not?"

Rebuking herself for being distracted from her friend's dilemma, for choosing a bonnet was no small matter to Venetia, Clare smiled. “Indeed, I cannot think of one we have seen that becomes you half so well."

Sighing with satisfaction, Venetia turned back to the shopkeeper to conclude a sharp bit of bargaining.

Clare and Venetia left the shop and strolled along in the direction of the Royal Crescent, intending to cross through the Circus on their way. At the corner of Milsom and George Street, they encountered one of the ladies who had been in the millinery shop. The woman gave them a pointed look, her nose in the air, then sharply turned her back, rather than politely nod as might be expected.

"Well, I never,'’ exclaimed Venetia at the slight she managed to observe.

"I do not suppose you have,” Clare replied with her usual self-possession still intact, though somewhat frayed about the edges.

They turned away, heading up George Street toward the Circus. Venetia chattered about the cut direct that had been given them until Clare was ready to scream.

"I do wish,” murmured Clare, “that I knew what was going on here. It is a mystery to the.” She had her suspicions, but could scarcely credit she might be right.

"What are you doing about the identity of Baby William? Have any of your inquiries proved of help?” The mention of a mystery had brought the baby to mind, a subject Venetia usually tried to avoid if possible.

"None,” Clare replied with chagrin. She could not imagine how a baby might be “lost” without someone being greatly concerned. “I suppose we ought to have remained at the Castle Inn at Marlborough a bit longer so that whoever it was could come to their senses, and we might restore Willy to them. However, I left my direction so that any inquiries would come here."

"I say it was deliberate,” Venetia stated with more firmness than was her wont.

Clare sighed yet again and nodded her head in agreement. “I fear you have the right of it. But why? becomes the question. I have racked my brain ever and anon, and cannot supply the answer. He is such a fetching little fellow. I should think it would break a mother's heart to part with him."

At this point Clare caught sight of a young woman coming toward them that she had met in London, one she felt she had known fairly well. She approached Miss Oliver with some trepidation. She need not have feared, for her casual friend did not fail her.

"How lovely to see you, Miss Fairchild and Miss Godwin. You come to Bath to escape the summer doldrums of London? I am surprised you are not with your handsome family, Miss Fairchild. Did you not say that you usually visit one or the other of them during July and August?"

"I sought to do something different.'’ They chatted on about the weather and visiting a new town. Then Clare dared to ask, “Pray, would you join us for tea this afternoon?” Clare found herself awaiting the reply with more than customary suspense.

"That would be delightful.” Miss Oliver beamed a pleased look on them both. “I am visiting my aunt. She is in the habit of frequent naps, and it gets rather dull just sitting by the window without making a sound. One can embroider only so long.” She gave Clare a winsome smile.

"Goodness,” Venetia ventured to say. “How glad I am that Clare is not given to naps as yet. Although William is,” she added in an annoyed afterthought.

Clare studied Miss Oliver to see if there would be a change of expression on her face at these heedless words from Venetia. There was, but not the freezing sort.

"I shall be there, you may rely on that,” Miss Oliver stated, avoiding comment on Venetia's remark. Her eyes sought Clare's with a glimpse of warm understanding in them.

Susan Oliver knew about whatever was going on in Bath with regard to the “cuts” given Clare. She knew, and she did not let it prevent her from coming to tea. Clare extended her hand in a warm clasp, for this young woman she suddenly appreciated far more than before.

"I shall be looking forward to a comfortable coze with you,'’ Clare said with a wealth of meaning in her voice after imparting their direction to Miss Oliver.

"How nice to find an acquaintance in Bath,” Venetia commented as they turned to walk up Gay Street. “She is the sort one always welcomes at parties, for she knows how to make herself agreeable without being encroaching."

"I hope she will be able to tell us what is causing this uncomfortable business going on.” Clare studied the attractive houses along the street, thinking Bath would be a charming city if only the occupants were more accepting.

"You refer to that cut direct from a stranger? How foolish. I should not allow it to bother the in the least.'’ Venetia ignored the fact that she had droned on and on about that very cut not so long before. She shifted the bandbox that held the new bonnet from one hand to the other. She had taken it with her, not wishing to part with it for even a moment.

"That is easy for you to say,'’ Clare retorted in an even tone. “We have not endeavored to attend any of the assemblies or other entertainments found here as yet. There is a concert at the Octagon soon. Should you like to hazard a try for tickets?"

"It sounds rather interesting, although I would like to know what is to be played. I will not go if there is to be a soprano."

For once, Clare was in agreement with Venetia. She had no love for the often distressing sounds of a soloist ill chosen. Why they usually seemed to be sopranos, she didn't know.

"Fine, I shall make inquiries and purchases—provided that this silly business does not interfere with such."

Clare hurried Venetia across the Circus and into Brock Street. There were ladies abroad, but evidently it made no difference to them as to Clare's identity. Or perhaps Clare was indulging in a fit of self-importance. They were most likely intent on their own business, and not paying Clare and Venetia the least heed.

As they marched up the steps of their Bath house, Clare commented, “I am undoubtedly filled with windmills in my head, and there is nothing amiss but my own sense of worth. I am most likely missing the attention of Londoners and must earn my way in the local Society."

Venetia gave her friend a puzzled look, nodding absently at Bennison as he held open the door for his temporary ladies.

"The post, Miss Fairchild,” he said, offering Clare a neat pile of letters. She flipped through them, finding them to be from her sister and sisters-in-law. They were good to write, and she felt she might be comforted from reading their news. There was nothing for Venetia, and that young lady strolled to the window with a miffed expression on her face.

"Would you excuse the that I might read the news?"

"Never say I kept you from learning all about your family,'’ replied Venetia with a pettish sigh. “I shall go upstairs to try on my new bonnet again. And,” she added softly, with a worried frown, “I had best see that it matches.” She scurried from the room with an intent look in her eyes.

Later on that afternoon, Clare was pleased to welcome Miss Oliver to the neat little drawing room. This room, as well as her bedroom, had a lovely view of the green beyond the crescent. She had been standing by one of the windows when she saw Miss Oliver approach the house. Since Bennison had been apprised of the expected guest, she was brought up to Clare immediately. Venetia still remained up in her second-floor bedroom.

Eager to explore the confusing circumstances before Venetia might insert her opinions, Clare drew Miss Oliver to the comfortable chairs. “Tea shall be brought up shortly. May I perhaps call you Susan? I feel our both being in Bath brings us closer, somehow."

"It would be nice, I own,” Susan replied, studying her hostess with a kindly gaze.

"I shan't bother with any roundaboutation but come straight to the point while we are yet alone. Since my arrival here a few days ago, I find the climate distinctly frigid. Would you by any chance know anything about this?"

Susan shifted as though suddenly uncomfortable. After studying her nicely gloved hands for a moment, she gave Clare a direct look. “You have always been most amiable to the, Miss Fairchild, that is, Clare. I hesitate to reveal the source of the chill in Bath, for it seems so preposterous. They say that you, a single lady, have arrived to reside here with your infant."

From the doorway Venetia exclaimed, “I knew that male would bring trouble!"

Susan gasped, then turned troubled eyes to Clare, seeking an explanation without being censorious.

"I must explain, I see. There truly is a baby here in the house.” Clare was pleased to note that her new friend did not blink an eye at this horrendous bit of news. “Actually he found us, for when we went to depart the Castle Inn in Marlborough, I discovered him inside a basket in my coach. Poor little babe abandoned to a stranger! I have been trying to locate his family, but with no success in the least."

"How romantic!'’ Susan declared, thus earning a warm smile from Clare.

"You would not have been so charitable had you been required to remain over an additional day when you were longing to see Bath,” Venetia stated somewhat bitterly. “But Clare would see if she could find a relative. Without success, I might add."

"So I gathered,” murmured Susan, sharing a look of sympathy with Clare. “What shall you do about him? And how might we counteract the gossip floating about Bath? For I must tell you that every quidnunc in town is flapping her tongue nineteen to the dozen."

"I have thought and thought, and come to no sensible conclusion. I fear it may be to your detriment should our acquaintance be known, Susan,” Clare cautioned.

"Oh, pooh!” Susan said with a nice contempt in her voice. “I am not dependent upon those tabbies for my well-being. They do nothing for the, I assure you."