The Regency (59 page)

The house seemed dark and over-furnished to her; every
thing was richly coloured and elaborately decorated, and
every available surface was covered with clocks and statues
and ornaments and bowls and vases, many of them Chinese
or Indian or otherwise fantastic, and all, to Fanny, quite
hideous. Her bedroom, however, was very comfortable, larger
than her room at home, and with a vast quantity of mirrors,
of which Miss Rosedale would have disapproved. Every
comfort had been supplied for her, and little as she trusted
Mrs Murray already, Fanny had to admit that she was a good
housekeeper, and that everything was very clean and well
cared for.

Dinner that day was served at five, in recognition of the
fact that Fanny had been travelling and must be weary. She
sat at one end of the table, and her grandfather sat at the
other, and Bowles and the footman, Peter, served them.
There was only one course, and the food was plain and
nourishing rather than elegant: a soup, a cold joint, a hot joint, a currant pudding, and a raised pie in cut. It was much the sort
of food she had had in the schoolroom, and she was disap
pointed that her first day here was not offering her more in
the way of elegancies. Mr Hobsbawn looked down the table at
her, and guessed her feelings.

‘I'm afraid our dinner is rather plain for you, Fanny,' he
said apologetically. 'I'm used to dining alone, you see, and when I come back hungry from the mills, I don't care much about sauces and kickshaws. But you must tell Bowles and
Mrs Murray what you like, and you shall have it. I want you
to be happy here, love.’

Fanny smiled at him. 'I
am
happy, Grandpapa. And any
thing that you like must be good enough for me.’

He beamed. 'Nay, love, you're a young lady, and you're
used to dainty meats, I know that. I shall like it too, if I have
your pretty, smiling face to look at. You tell Mrs Murray what
things you fancy, and we'll eat like fashionable folk. Now,
what do you like to drink? Bowles here has brought up some
claret for
me —
do you drink claret? Or will you want lemonade
or something of that class?’

Fanny's eyes gleamed. She did not have wine at home, but
evidently Grandpapa didn't know that. 'Oh, I'll drink what
ever you're having. Claret will do very well, if you please.'
Mr Hobsbawn gestured Bowles to fill Fanny's glass, and
then lifted his own to her. 'A toast to you, Fanny. It's grand
to have you here at last! I hope we can make you so happy,
you don't want to go away again!'

‘
I'm sure you will, Grandpapa,' Fanny said, and tasted her
first wine. It was exceedingly nasty, and she wondered if
perhaps this particular bottle had gone off. It looked so pretty
and red in the glass, like raspberry syrup, and she had
expected it to taste sweet and fruity. However, Grandpapa
was drinking it with every sign of relish, so she concealed her
distaste and sipped again, and smiled as though it were what she was used to. After a few more attempts, it began to taste
better, and she thought she might get used to it quite soon.
After all, she had got used to Uncle Ned's brandy.

‘
Your mother always shared a bottle of claret with me
when she sat at the head of my table,' Hobsbawn said,
pleased. 'She was a rare one for knowing a good wine. I'm
glad to see you've inherited her taste, Fanny.'

‘
Oh yes,' Fanny said, swallowing bravely. 'I'm excessively
fond of a good claret.’

After dinner, Mr Hobsbawn outlined his plans.

‘
Tomorrow I shall take you out calling, and introduce you
to some of my old friends, the ladies who lead our society
here. Some of them have young ones of about your age, and I
daresay you will soon make enough friends to keep you
happy. I shall have to spend some time at the mills, though I'll
try to be with you as much as possible. But when I can't —
well, you can order the carriage just as you like, and go
driving, and visiting, and there are shops here in Manchester
as good as anywhere in England. Has your father given you
money for your necessaries?'

‘
Yes, Grandpapa — twenty guineas in a purse, and I'm to
ask for more when I need it.’

Hobsbawn squared his shoulders. ‘Twenty guineas won't last you long, if I know anything about young ladies. Once
you see the shops, you'll have spent it in no time. But no need
to trouble your father, love — you just have what you want,
and tell them to send the bills to me. I'll see that the principal
traders all know my granddaughter is in town.’

Fanny lowered her eyelashes modestly. 'Thank you,
Grandpapa, but I don't know if I ought —'

‘
If you ought?' Hobsbawn growled with mock severity. ‘If I
can't spend my own money on my own granddaughter,
what's the world coming to?’

*

The next day, Fanny dressed for morning calls, and went
with her grandfather in his shabby old chariot to visit the senior
matrons about the town. They called first on Mrs Pendlebury,
widow of an old business partner of Hobsbawn's, who con
sidered herself the leader of Manchester society.

‘So this is Mary Ann's daughter?' she said. ‘How do you do,
Fanny? You don't look very much like your poor mother,
though you have her eyes. How old are you, child? Fifteen?
And when do you have your come-out?'

‘
Next Season, I hope, ma'am,' Fanny said unwillingly. She
disliked being asked questions as though she were a child.

Mrs Pendlebury sniffed. 'Don't scowl at me, child, you'll
mark your brow. Well, sixteen is young to be coming out these
days, but I suppose in your case, it is just as well. And after
all, many of the girls of my generation were married at six
teen. Well, these are my daughters at home, Prudence and Agnes — their sister is married, of course. Come forward,
girls, and say how do you do to Miss Morland.’

Prudence, a tall, thin, colourless girl a year or so older than
Fanny, stepped forward and curtseyed and murmured a
polite how-do-you-do. Agnes was a snub-nosed, merry-looking
girl of about fourteen, who greeted her cheerfully, and with a
look of frank curiosity.

‘
Can you ride? Do you have your own pony?' she asked,
giving Fanny no time to answer. 'Prudence don't care for
horses. She thinks about clothes
all the time!'

‘
I can see you girls will be great friends,' Mrs Pendlebury
said determinedly. 'And now, Fanny, this is my son
Frederick.'

‘
How do you do, Miss Morland,' he said sullenly. Frederick
was nineteen, also tall and pale, but stoutish, with moist
hands and a great deal of self-importance. He had resented his mother's obliging him to remain in the house that morn
ing, simply to do the pretty to a chit of a girl not yet out. His
mother had retorted sharply that Fanny Morland was the
richest heiress ever likely to come in Frederick's way, and that
it was never too early to make a good impression on such a
valuable acquaintance.

Having made his leg, he now moved away and half-
lounged, half-sulked against the sopha's end, while Mrs
Pendlebury chatted to Mr Hobsbawn, and occasionally interrupted the half-hearted conversation which began
between Fanny and her daughters.

‘
What do you mean to do in Manchester?' Agnes asked. 'If
I were you, I'd have stayed at home. I'm sure York must be
vastly smart. We hear about it for ever from Miss Imber —
she's our governess, or she was, only we're too old for a
governess now. She don't teach us, but she goes about with us
when Mama's busy. Have you got a governess?'

‘
More a sort of chaperone,' Fanny said grandly, 'only she's
not with me at present. I have a maid to attend to me
instead.'

‘
What, a real lady's maid?' Agnes said, wide-eyed with
wonder. Fanny began rather to like her. 'You are lucky! But
what do you mean to do here? If you're not out, you can't go to balls and assemblies. I wish I were out! I shall die having to wait another three whole years. Even Pru isn't coming out
until next year. Mama thinks it ain't smart for girls to come
out too young, but you told her, didn't you, Miss Morland? I
wish she may change her mind, now you've said that.'

‘Don't rattle on so, Annie,' Prudence reproved faintly.

‘
Still, there are always at-homes, and suppers, and so on,
and there's usually dancing of some sort. We're allowed to
dance, if it ain't formal, though it's only with
boys,
of course.
Still, I expect the young men will want to dance with you,
Miss Morland, for you look quite eighteen, and everyone
knows you're an heiress.'

‘Annie!' Prudence whispered.

‘
Oh hush, calling me and calling me! Miss Morland don't
mind, do you, Miss Morland?'

‘
Not at all,' Fanny said, thinking that anyone who thought
she looked eighteen must be a very good sort of girl.

‘
There, you see? And you only had to hear how Mama went
on at Freddy this morning, telling him he must come and be
polite to her, only he's such a stick, he made a mull of it! Do
you like round games, Miss Morland?’

Mrs Pendlebury caught the last words. 'Round games I
think a very innocent sort of amusement for young girls. You
play, I dare say, Miss Morland? Speculation, and Lottery
Tickets, and the like? We must arrange for you to meet some
other girls of your age, here in my drawing-room, and play. A
little supper-party, perhaps.’

That'd be right nice of you, ma'am, to introduce my little
Fanny to some other nice girls,' said Mr Hobsbawn, beaming.
‘I shouldn't want her to be lonely, stopping with an old man
like me.'

‘
Do you care for clothes, Miss Morland?' Prudence asked
faintly, when the adults had turned their attention away.

Agnes snorted, but Fanny didn't wish to be classed entirely
with the children, so she said rather loftily, 'Oh yes, we have
all the principal ladies' journals at home. I'm told the shops in Manchester are very good — almost as good as at home.’

Prudence, unnerved by mention of ladies' journals, had
_n
othing to say, so Agnes answered for her. 'We think the
shops very good, but I don't know what you will think
of them, Miss Morland. What did you want to buy, in
particular?'