The Beau and the Bluestocking: Romantic intrigue in Regency London Read online

  He had a nervous manner of speech, which caused him to preface almost every remark with ‘um’ or ‘er’ and a trick of giving a little self-deprecating laugh after every statement of his opinion, as if to remove any possible offence which it might have caused. At first, she found these mannerisms so distracting that she could scarcely concentrate on what he was saying; but when she became a little more used to them, she began to enjoy his conversation.

  He talked of poetry, and he talked well. Alethea, accustomed for some years to hearing the poets read aloud by her father in the evenings at home, was able to take her fair share in the conversation until mention was made of a more recent poet, Crabbe. Here she admitted her ignorance.

  ‘Um — er — you have not read The Village?’ asked Mr Tracy, with his nervous laugh.

  Alethea shook her head. ‘No, I must confess I haven’t, sir. I suppose it is a pastoral poem?’

  ‘Um — one can’t truly say that he’s a pastoral poet, though he certainly deals in rural subjects. But he doesn’t write of Nature as Gray or Thomson do, Miss Newnham. He turns the light of reality on his subject, writing without the sentimentality which all too often pervades the work of others.’ He broke off, looking earnestly at her through his myopic blue eyes. ‘But you must read him and judge for yourself — um, er — yes. Perhaps you will permit me to lend you the book?’

  Alethea thanked him, and he undertook to bring it round to her aunt’s house for her on the following day.

  ‘You are most kind, and I shall be very glad to borrow it,’ said Alethea. ‘The only thing is that I’m not perfectly certain what plans my aunt may have made for me tomorrow, so that I can’t be sure of being at home to receive you.’

  ‘Er — that doesn’t matter, Miss Newnham. That is to say —’ he gave an apologetic laugh — ‘of course, I should be sorry to miss you and to forego the opportunity of meeting your aunt, Mrs Manbury. But I can easily leave the book, if you should not be at home.’

  They had just settled this when Miss More turned towards them to join in their conversation.

  ‘So you have been discussing poetry,’ she said. ‘I dare say you may not know, Alethea, that Mr Tracy himself is a poet.’

  The gentleman hastily disclaimed the title. ‘I am — um — the merest scribbler,’ he said, in some embarrassment. ‘But I am flattered that my little verses have come to your notice, ma’am.’

  Shortly afterwards, the grouping in the room changed, as it was doing constantly throughout the evening, and Mr Tracy became detached from the two ladies. They passed on to a group discussing drama, and Alethea heard much praise of the superb acting of Mrs Siddons, who had recently taken the town by storm.

  ‘Oh, how I would like to see her!’ Alethea exclaimed. ‘I wonder if my aunt will take me to the play while I am here?’

  Miss More looked grave. ‘Doubtless she will. But I am not at all sure —’ She broke off for a moment, then continued in a lowered tone — ‘While you were a pupil at my sister’s school, you may perhaps have taken part in a performance of a play of my own called A Search after Happiness? In all modesty I think I may say it enjoyed some small success, in its own way.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I did.’

  ‘I was very young, of course, when I wrote that play, but I did so out of the conviction that the general run of plays acted by girls at boarding schools are not always of the purest kind, and quite unfit for females of such tender years. Since then, my dear child, the conviction has been growing upon me that play-going is not at all a proper pursuit for young people.’

  ‘Oh, but why, ma’am? Surely there can be no harm in watching talented actors perform a work of merit? Only think what a loss to the world if no one were ever to see the works of Shakespeare performed! For I am sure you must agree that reading them is not at all the same — so much is lost which only an actor can supply.’

  She spoke in a clear voice which was readily heard by the group nearest them.

  ‘I am entirely of your opinion, ma’am,’ said one gentleman, ‘Plays must be acted. Reading — pshaw! Such was never the author’s intention.’

  This sparked off a lively discussion in which Alethea took a leading part. Miss More listened in silence, presently suggesting that they ought to be taking their leave.

  ‘I don’t know when I’ve had such an interesting evening!’ exclaimed Alethea in the carriage on their way home. ‘Certainly I enjoyed it more than anything I’ve attended since coming to London.’

  ‘There are few delights equal to those of rational discourse among well-informed minds,’ agreed Miss More.

  Alethea laughed. ‘I can scarcely claim that my mind is well-informed, ma’am. After tonight, I realise how ignorant I am on many subjects. But it was truly a stimulating experience to meet and listen to so many interesting people.’

  Miss More coughed. ‘I am pleased that you should have made the acquaintance of Mr Tracy. He is a gentleman of whom I am sure your parents would thoroughly approve. Besides being a man of intellect, he has a blameless character and — though one should not refine too much upon worldly considerations — he is also of good birth and fortune.’

  Alethea looked a little uncomfortable at these remarks, as she could hardly fail to grasp their implications. Mr Tracy had certainly not raised any other than an intellectual interest in her; after all, he was almost twenty years her senior. She returned a slight answer to her companion, and her thoughts drifted to a conversation between herself and her elder brother Henry just before she had left home.

  ‘So you’re to go racketing in London,’ he had teased her. ‘I suppose you’ll come back too much of the fine lady to take old Mrs Brown her broth, or teach the parish brats their letters. That’s to say if you come back at all, for no doubt you’ll catch yourself a husband while you’re there.’

  ‘I’m flattered, of course, by your confidence in my talents, Harry, but I feel bound to tell you that I’ve never considered husband-catching among them.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know — you’re not so bad, as girls go. Besides, Mama will be disappointed in you if you fail to get yourself a man.’

  ‘How can you say such things! I’m sure she has no such improper notion.’

  He cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her. ‘No? Then why do you suppose she’s sending you to London? And to our Aunt Manbury, who moves in fashionable circles where eligible beaux are ten a penny?’

  ‘Odious creature! It’s no such thing! Mama says it’s time I learned to mix in more varied society than can be found here in the country —’

  ‘Exactly so, dear simpleton. And what can that possibly mean but that she plans a very different future for you than that of a country clergyman’s wife?’

  Alethea had dismissed the subject with a laugh, and thought no more of it until Miss More’s remark brought it again to mind. She felt vaguely uneasy. Although she was nineteen, so far her thoughts had never turned towards marriage as a reality. True, marriage seemed the inevitable lot of a young woman, unless she wished to spend her whole life as a dependant in her father’s household. Although she was happy enough at home for the present, she realised that some day she would wish for wider horizons, so presumably this would entail marriage. What else was there for a female to do?

  No one she had so far met had given her the least inclination towards matrimony. She had not been entirely free, however, from a young girl’s dreams of love, built chiefly upon what she had found in books. There seemed no connection at all between such vague dreams and the calculated husband-catching mentioned — though in a very different manner — by both her brother Henry and Miss Hannah More. Such manoeuvres seemed despicable to her. If by chance she should meet in London someone resembling her Knights of poesie, someone to arouse those feelings which at present lay dormant, then things would be different. It would be wonderful, she acknowledged; but her common sense told her that it was extremely unlikely. And if she did not meet such a person, then she would return home as she had left, an unattac
hed girl who was quite content to be so. There could be no compromise, nothing less for her than a realisation of the dreams which she knew quite well to be wildly improbable.

  Chapter III

  ‘Well, my dear,’ said Mrs Manbury to Alethea on the following morning, ‘it is quite time we began to show you the Town. Now, where would you like to go first? Don’t tell me, I’m sure I can hazard a guess!’

  ‘Why, yes, ma’am, I expect you can,’ replied Alethea, smiling. ‘As I’ve never been before to London, I shall naturally wish to see the same places as every other visitor — St Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and the like.’

  Lydia had been gazing at her reflection in the mirror above the mantelshelf, but she was sufficiently diverted by this reply to turn and stare at her cousin.

  ‘St Paul’s — Westminster Abbey!’ repeated Mrs Manbury in accents of surprise. ‘But, my dear child, how very odd! Pray, what should you wish to see in such places?’

  Alethea looked equally surprised. ‘Only what everyone goes to see, I imagine — the memorials to our great writers, artists and men of action. Miss More tells me that I must be sure and see the recent memorial to David Garrick in Westminster Abbey. She is staying with Mrs Garrick at Hampton, as I believe I mentioned to you.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Mrs Manbury, impatiently. ‘And if Miss More chooses to escort you to the Abbey, I shall make no objection. But pray don’t ask me to visit those draughty old churches, I beg! I’m sure I was never in them unless it was to some religious service or other which I was obliged to attend; and then I was sure to take a chill, for strong currents of air do not agree with my constitution. I am not delicate, precisely, but I must have warmth.’

  Alethea said that she understood perfectly, and would not dream of putting her aunt to any inconvenience. ‘But perhaps Lydia may like to accompany me,’ she suggested.

  Lydia started. ‘I? Oh, dear, no, I fear it’s scarcely the kind of thing I would find agreeable! Tombs and memorials are so odiously depressing to any one of a sensitive disposition. But most likely your friend Miss More will take you there, if you’re really so set on it. No, I think what Mama had in mind was to take you shopping.’

  ‘That will be very pleasant,’ said Alethea, trying to look as though she meant it, ‘but at present I’ve no need of making any purchases —’

  ‘La, my dear, a female always has need of something or other, and it’s not until one looks around the shops that one knows just what it is,’ replied Mrs Manbury, with an air of profound wisdom. She moved over to the bell rope. ‘Now, I’ll order the carriage, and you two girls make yourselves ready as soon as may be.’

  Although Alethea was a little disappointed at not being conducted on a tour of the historic sights of London, she threw herself with characteristic zest into the shopping expedition. She was used to very good shops in both Bristol and Bath, the nearest towns to her home in Somerset, but before long she had to admit that the London shopping centres eclipsed them both. In spite of what she had said, she did eventually purchase a hat in pale blue silk. It had a large brim and was ornamented with ostrich feathers.

  ‘There, you see, my dear!’ exclaimed Mrs Manbury, triumphantly. ‘I told you how it would be! And I must say it becomes you extremely, besides being quite in the latest mode. For my part, I am thankful that hair is beginning to be worn dressed with less height, for I always did find those monstrous, towering erections gave me the headache, besides taking such an age to arrange. After spending almost the whole day with the hairdresser, one was so afraid of spoiling the result that it was impossible to move freely, or enter a sedan chair without taking the utmost caution. But we poor females are always called upon to suffer prodigiously in order to achieve an air of fashion, are we not?’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ replied Alethea, laughing, ‘But I don’t propose to suffer too acutely in the cause.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t wish to be a dowd,’ objected her aunt. ‘Not that you are one in the slightest — if I may say so, Alethea, I think your taste very good.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ replied Alethea, appreciating this compliment from one who was obviously a judge of such matters. ‘No, I certainly wouldn’t wish to be dowdy, for I do enjoy wearing pretty clothes. But there must be a limit to the rigours one’s prepared to endure for vanity. Don’t you agree, Lydia?’

  Lydia assented without much conviction, as her attention had been claimed by a bonnet trimmed with coquelicot ribbons which she was thinking of purchasing. After trying on several others she found herself quite unable to decide upon any single one, so ended by taking three. The smiling milliner did not trust any of her minions to show the ladies out, but herself accompanied them to the door, bowing profoundly as an indication of her great pleasure in their visit.

  ‘Well, girls,’ said Mrs Manbury as they made their way to the carriage. ‘I hope you’re satisfied, for I am so fatigued I declare I could not step into another shop this day if my wardrobe depended on it! And no wonder, for it’s past three o’clock already. We must go home this minute — we are to visit Vauxhall this evening, recollect, so there’s little enough time to dine and make ourselves ready. I mean to take a rest in my boudoir before I attempt anything more, and if you take my advice, you’ll do likewise. I must warn you that there’s nothing like fatigue for bringing on wrinkles and crows feet.’

  The two girls exchanged pitying glances at this remark, for the first time feeling some affinity for each other. They refused to be daunted by such bogies at their age.

  They had almost reached their carriage when Lydia noticed two gentlemen who were approaching among the strollers on the pavement. She pinched her mother’s arm, making Mrs Manbury start.

  ‘Mama, look!’ she whispered in an aside that only just reached Alethea’s ear. ‘Beau Devenish and Lord Calver — they haven’t seen us yet. Don’t walk on too fast, or they won’t catch up with us before we reach the carriage.’

  Mrs Manbury had begun to step out more briskly with the carriage in sight, but now she obediently slackened her pace. Lydia turned to her cousin and began an animated conversation designed to give any onlooker the impression that she was quite oblivious of the passers-by. Alethea good naturedly played up to her cousin, but she was hard put to it not to burst out laughing. She wondered if Lydia always conducted this kind of charade whenever she encountered gentlemen of her acquaintance in the street, or if this was a special performance for the exclusive benefit of this particular pair. She remembered having heard Devenish’s name mentioned previously by both her aunt and cousin. She had paid little heed at the time, because there is rarely much interest in gossip about people whom one does not know; but now Lydia’s antics had aroused her curiosity. She took the opportunity, therefore, of scrutinising the two gentlemen carefully when presently they halted to speak to Mrs Manbury and her daughter. It was easy for her to concentrate on studying them, as she had little part to play in the conversation after being formally introduced.

  Both men were in their late twenties and dressed in the height of fashion. Lord Calver, in a well fitting brown coat, was slightly the shorter of the two, with a square, good humoured face and a ready laugh that never seemed forced. His companion’s coat was blue but Alethea’s eye was irresistibly drawn to his waistcoat. It was quite unlike anything she had seen in Somerset even though her brother Henry, now in his second year at Oxford, did set up to be a bit of a dandy. It was square cut, shorter than the more usual style, and patterned in stripes of white and pale blue.

  When she finally removed her gaze from this garment to its owner’s face, she surprised an ironical twinkle in his eye. She coloured and looked hastily away, realising that she had been caught looking him over. But in a few moments all his attention was again on Lydia, to whom he was chatting in a languid manner very different from Lord Calver’s animation. Alethea ventured to continue her scrutiny. Haughty, she decided — yes, that was the word for his expression.

  A long, thin countenance with a cla
ssical nose, finely arched brows and a pair of mocking hazel eyes. Not always mocking, either, she amended, as for a moment she caught a flash of some more disturbing emotion when his gaze dwelt on Lydia’s charming face. She did not feel disposed to like him very much.

  The conversation was only desultory and soon came to an end. The gentlemen handed the ladies into their carriage, then stood for a moment watching it move along into the press of traffic before they resumed their stroll.

  ‘A winsome girl, Miss Manbury,’ remarked Lord Calver, ‘But I think you don’t need me to tell you that,’ he added, with a grin. ‘What think you of the little cousin?’

  Devenish grimaced. ‘Pretty enough, but not in my style, Will. I fancy that shrewd eye of hers don’t miss much, and I prefer my females to be beautiful and witless — a more comfortable arrangement, you’ll agree.’

  ‘Miss Manbury is not precisely witless,’ objected his companion.

  ‘As near as makes no matter,’ said Beau Devenish, with a shrug.

  ‘Devil take it, James, you’re an odd fellow! I thought you admired her — you’re always dancing attendance on her.’

  ‘Lud, yes, but what has that to say to anything? Besides, my dear chap, next month I may think otherwise — who can tell? It’s lamentable,’ he added, with a yawn, ‘but one is so demmed fickle.’

  ‘You most certainly are, old fellow. You’re a cold fish — can none of them touch your heart, I wonder?’

  Devenish raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘My heart, did you say? That organ which, according to the findings of one Dr Harvey, is primarily responsible for circulating the blood? In that sense I grant its importance, but in any other, I refuse to allow it to dominate my conduct.’

  ‘Ah, well, it takes all sorts to make a world,’ laughed Calver. ‘For my part, I’m not at all of your mind. My father tells me it’s high time I settled down and produced an heir, and I dare say the old man’s in the right of it, so I’m looking about me for some eligible female who ain’t too plain, and then I shall make her a present of my hand and heart, too — that’s if she’ll have ’em.’