Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Eight weeks and one pair of parasol pirates until the wedding
A unt and Uncle Higglestone lived in a bourgeois villa, in a bourgeois street, in the most bourgeois part of Bath, and Phoebe couldn’t love them more for it if she tried.
Every part of Wood Lodge with its small, gated gardens, breakfast terrace and musty, well-stocked library warmed her soul, and she could have spent a very pleasant few weeks traversing between the Abbey, the Baths and all the classical colonnades and neat squares, were it not for the fact that her impending nuptials were drawing closer every minute of every day. And while it was no secret that there was to be a wedding in the family, her aunt seemed far more preoccupied with the itinerary of their stay than taxing Phoebe with questions she couldn’t answer.
‘I thought we might try a different walk after our visit to the Pump Room today,’ their aunt chattered brightly, over a generous portion of kippers and eggs.
Phoebe speed-buttered her toast, trying not to meet Sophie’s gaze. They’d started every day of their visit so far with a dutiful trip to the Pump Room, and while she wasn’t about to challenge anyone who believed the waters to be healing, their sour taste suggested quite the opposite.
‘Do we need to go to the Pump Room today, Aunt?’ she appealed. ‘They were quite busy yesterday, and I do wonder if a crowded room is altogether good for Josephine?’
Josephine flashed her an indignant look, while Matilda snorted into her hot chocolate.
‘Nonsense, child! The benefits of the waters far exceed a little crowding, and I do believe they’re putting some colour in your cheeks, as well as Josephine’s…’ Her aunt frowned anxiously. ‘Both of you were as pale as ghosts when you arrived! I said to your uncle: I can’t wait to see what the waters do for those girls… Didn’t I say that, Uncle Higglestone?’
She prodded her studious husband with her elbow, who grunted his support from behind a leatherbound copy of John Galpine’s British Botany .
Phoebe ignored a kick beneath the table, and bit into her toast. She had yet to hold a full conversation with her uncle, beyond good morning or would you please pass the butter , and was quite tempted to see if cutting a pair of eyeholes in his morning newspaper, or the latest periodical on British plant life, would help. Sophie was aghast when she suggested it and made her promise to do no such thing.
‘Phoebe says the water tastes like mud!’ Matilda offered mischievously.
Phoebe glared at her younger sister, and made a mental note to withdraw the offer of a trip to North Parade to buy sherbert lemons.
‘It does,’ Uncle Higglestone concurred unhelpfully, from behind his periodical.
‘Indeed? Well, how young ladies of quality would know such a thing is a great mystery to me!’ their aunt remonstrated with a twinkle in her eye. ‘All the same, it is Thomas’s dearest wish that both of you benefit daily from the waters, and exert yourself as little as possible.’
She smiled mistily.
‘He does so care about you all, and we mustn’t misplace the trust he has shown in me since your dearest mother…’ She tailed off to fumble for a lace kerchief she always kept for moments such as this.
‘Mother would be so happy we are here with you!’ Phoebe rushed, alarmed her aunt was about to weep all over the breakfast table. ‘And I believe the waters have worked wonders already, I feel much fitter and quite well!’
She smiled brightly. It wasn’t a complete lie, her shoulder had knitted very well, and she was certain fresh air and time would do the rest.
‘In fact, I was wondering whether, in celebration of my swift recovery thanks to your care, Aunt, my sisters and I might enjoy a short ride one day next week?’
At this, her aunt forgot all about their dearest mother, and inhaled sharply.
‘A ride? On a horse, dear? So soon after your accident?! Oh… Now that I am sure Thomas would not allow!’
She paused to fan herself rapidly.
‘However…’ She smiled conspiratorially at the cover of Uncle Higglestone’s periodical. ‘Your uncle and I are not against small pleasurable diversions, and may know of something that will delight you young ladies very much indeed, don’t we, dearest?’
There was another grunt, which could have meant any number of things, but clearly satisfied their aunt.
‘An evening picnic at the Sydney Gardens, next weekend!’
She paused to glance around with a look of real triumph.
‘There will be fireworks and lanterns and music and more fireworks! We attended one last year and were quite taken by the whole event, weren’t we, Uncle Higglestone? We’re positive it will be just the thing to entertain you young ladies!’
She ploughed on without waiting for an answer.
‘Now, there is the spring weather to consider but so long as we take warm pelisses, we really can’t complain about the temperature. There is also the Sydney Hotel itself, of course, should we require shelter for one of you more delicate souls.
‘But, on the whole, we believe you will all enjoy it, and it’s low enough on the seasonal agenda for your brother to be content, too. Actually, I was rather wondering if we might pop into the modiste on the way back from the Pump Room this morning, as I suspect you might not have anything quite suitable for a spring picnic, have you?’
Aunt Higglestone finally paused to beam round the table.
Sophie was the first to find her voice.
‘A spring picnic? And a real modiste?’ she whispered in a hallowed voice, as though all her Christmases had come at once. ‘I think we’d all be thrilled, Aunt!’
‘There’s a picnic in the book I’m reading…’
‘Will there be meringues and candy floss…?’
‘Who will be there, exactly ?’ Phoebe’s voice rose above the clamour of the others, as she skewered her last piece of buttered toast.
‘Why, most of our acquaintances, dear! The Sydney Gardens social picnics are public and very popular, but so long as you avoid any undesirable s, they are entirely suited to respectable families.’
She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘Bath is a little more relaxed than London you see, so you don’t need to fret too much about not being officially out yet.’
Phoebe suppressed another smile, certain she couldn’t fret anywhere as much as her aunt, who fretted enough for the entire world.
‘Anyway, I’ve already taken the liberty of writing to your dear brother, and asking if your uncle and I could take you to a few respectable social gatherings for some gentle diversion. He was reluctant, such is his care for you all, but after I explained we’d be chaperoning you closely and the picnic hardly ranked on the Bath social calendar, he really was quite content.’ She beamed.
Phoebe could well imagine Thomas had only made it through the first couple of sentences of Aunt Higglestone’s very proper letter, before consigning it to the fire – but could have hugged her all the same. She’d begun to think their daily trip to the Pump Room, followed by a bracing walk along the canal tow path, was going to represent the peak excitement of their stay, and even she was struggling to see how she could turn one of those excursions into a remotely heroic adventure.
‘Isn’t the modiste next to a bookshop?’ Josephine enquired.
‘I don’t need a new dress, I need a bandana and pantaloons!’ Matilda announced, stabbing her poached egg.
‘I’ve always dreamed of attending a society picnic with a Prussian-blue parasol––’ Sophie began dreamily.
‘I do hope you won’t be put to any terrible great expense on our behalf, Aunt!’ Phoebe overrode, glaring at all her sisters.
‘We have brought our best dresses with us, and you and Uncle Higglestone are already looking after us, after all.’
‘Oh, hush now, dear! It will be our pleasure, and exactly what your dear mama would wish, too! Now, as I understand it, Thomas has the special attire for your forthcoming announcement well in hand…’
Phoebe glanced up sharply. It was the first she’d heard of the betrothal plans for a while, and her aunt’s reference suddenly felt too real. A small, hard lump formed in her throat.
‘… but I can’t imagine you’ve had the chance for too many frivolous shopping trips these past few months,’ Aunt Higglestone continued brightly, ‘and this will give me the opportunity to spoil my lovely nieces.’
‘None! We’ve had none!’ Sophie rushed, glaring at Phoebe.
‘I mean, dearest Harriet has no match when it comes to hems and frills, but Thomas considers hand-me-downs suitable for every occasion and, well, none of us have had the stomach to ask for anything new since…’
There was a poignant silence.
‘Since Papa had the poisoned toe,’ Josephine filled.
Uncle Higglestone grunted behind his periodical, as their aunt stretched a conciliatory hand over her favourite harebell butter dish.
‘Well, then, that settles it! We’ll each have a new muslin before the week is out, and I’ll wager we can even find something in Prussian blue at Madame Paragon’s! Oh this is going to be such fun!’
* * *
‘This is not fun!’ Matilda scowled, slumping in the back room of Madame Paragon’s boutique dressmakers for gentility .
‘Shh!’ Phoebe frowned, peeping through a jade velvet curtain separating them from the dressing space.
Sophie was parading in her fourth shade of blue muslin, while the rest of the Fairfax clan awaited their turn with significantly less enthusiasm.
‘Aunt Higglestone will hear you.’
‘But they all look so extremely the same!’ Matilda moaned. ‘Why can’t Sophie just pick one? I had a choice of two, so chose the one I could cut up for a bandana and pantaloons when I tire of it!’
‘You must do no such thing!’ Phoebe chided, though her lips were twitching. ‘Sophie, for one, will never forgive you, but you must also consider that Aunt Higglestone is paying a small fortune for these dresses.’
‘But you always do exactly as you please! You didn’t take a single dress with you when you ran away, I checked your armoire! You wore Fred’s clothes and drank devil’s brew and then you had a duel with some pretend sword and?—’
‘It was Miss Sarah Siddon’s theatrical épée!’ Phoebe objected. ‘Plus, I never ran away! And what have I said about mentioning devil’s brew?!’
Matilda crossed her arms and scowled.
‘Anyway, you’re not the only one who likes adventures!’
Phoebe considered her headstrong younger sister in exasperation, before snatching up a gentleman’s cravat from a colourful pile on the sideboard.
‘Did you know, I also fought a dastardly pirate once?’ she murmured, tying the red cloth, bandana style, around her forehead.
Matilda stifled a shriek of laughter and snatched up another, while Josephine smirked and let her book slide to rest.
‘Which one?’ Matilda demanded breathlessly.
‘Why Captain Blackbeard – or was it Bluebeard? The one with the best beard!’ Phoebe pulled a face. ‘Now, choose your weapon! Pistols or swords?’
‘The sword – every time!’ Matilda squeaked, grabbing a parasol from a holder in the corner.
‘My favourite, too! Now en garde , me heartie!’ Phoebe challenged, pulling out another parasol, while her younger sister lunged with something resembling a banshee’s shriek.
‘Of course, Marchioness Carlisle, and dear Lady Carlisle,’ Madama Paragon’s voice rang out. ‘I was only thinking this morning that the rose silk became Miss Aurelia’s graceful figure so beautifully. Do excuse me while…’
Which became the precise moment that the jade curtain was pulled aside, revealing Phoebe and Matilda mid-battle.
‘Oh … my!’ Madame Paragon gasped, her eyes dancing.
‘Really, Phoebe and Matilda! What on earth are you doing?’ Aunt Higglestone exclaimed, goggle-eyed, while Sophie dissolved into a fit of silent giggles.
Phoebe dragged her eyes from her stricken aunt to two highly fashionable ladies of the ton, eyeballing her with something between horror and delighted amusement.
‘I… Please accept my apologies… We didn’t realise there were more customers in the shop,’ Phoebe garbled, trying not to look at Sophie.
‘Not at all, Miss Fairfax!’ Madame Paragon returned valiantly. ‘We have been some time with Sophie’s fitting, have we not, Mrs Higglestone? It is only natural young ladies would wish to … entertain themselves.’
‘Indeed! But one would hope they would do so in a rather less hoydenish way!’ the Marchioness of Carlisle pronounced, the feather on her elaborate hat nodding in violent agreement. ‘When my daughter is in need of entertainment she reaches for her paintbox or harp – you might try them! Our order please, Madame Paragon…’
‘Of course, Marchioness Carlisle,’ Madame Paragon returned, stepping past Phoebe to retrieve a pale yellow silk gown, trimmed with lace.
It looked expensive, and as Madame Paragon sealed the box, Phoebe stole another look at Madame Paragon’s customers. She’d listened to Sophie long enough to know both were dressed in the very latest fashion, with wide-brimmed bonnets trimmed with fluttering ribbons, and day dresses finished in shimmering gauzes and blonde lace. She also recognised the younger lady’s hair was dressed à la chinois e, thanks to Sophie’s regular attempts to achieve the same. She inhaled deeply. They clearly hadn’t had so much as one heroic adventure their whole lives long, and she disliked them on principle. Yet they were also the type of well-connected persons her aunt, Thomas, and the Earl of Cumberland would wish to impress – which meant she had no choice but to wish it, too.
She forced a smile at the haughty marchioness, while pulling the cravat from her head.
‘I’m not convinced it does cure the headache tied thus around the forehead,’ she chattered brightly, ‘but I do declare your presence has proven a tonic – I cannot thank you enough, Marchioness … Lady Carlisle.’
Then she sank into a deep and dramatic curtsey which prompted the younger Lady Carlisle to snort into a delicate lace handkerchief, while the marchioness stared suspiciously at Phoebe.
‘Indeed! I favour bedrest and lemon tea myself,’ she returned through pursed lips.
‘A safe choice, though perhaps bandanas are a new fashion among the young ladies this season,’ the modiste placated, with a twinkle.
‘To be sure!’ Aunt Higglestone chimed in nervously. ‘And it is such a fortuitous pleasure to see you, Your Ladyship! Mr Higglestone and I were rather hoping the girls would make Lady Aurelia’s better acquaintance at the Sydney Gardens picnic this weekend. We hear there are to be fireworks, and a Merlin Swing for the young people…’
Aunt Higglestone beamed encouragingly, while Lady Aurelia glanced at her mama.
‘So I understand!’ the marchioness returned.
‘Yet even if the circus is in town, Mrs…’
‘Higglestone,’ their aunt supplied obligingly.
‘Aurelia is used to rather more sophisticated diversions than the jugglers and swings of Sydney Gardens…’
‘Indeed! Though the Sydney Gardens picnic is commonly agreed to be one of the more entertaining events of the Bath season, Marchioness,’ a low tone interjected, ‘my brother and I certainly look forward to it.’
There was a moment’s silence while everyone looked across at the two new visitors standing just inside the open shop door, and Phoebe felt her every thought grind to a halt. It was so unlikely as to be impossible, and yet there was no denying the perfectly-tied cravat, the immaculate Hessian boots, or the same supercilious stare that took her right back to the roadside in a breath. And beside him, there was a younger gentleman in army regimentals, with dancing chestnut eyes and a mischievous smile, which Phoebe would have liked in any other circumstance.
‘Oh! Viscount Damerel, Captain Damerel!’ the marchioness gushed, the peacock feather dangerously out of control. ‘How fortuitous to see you here, for Aurelia has been quite disappointed not to see you both at the Assembly Rooms of late, have you not, Aurelia?’
Aurelia managed to simultaneously simper and look entirely unconcerned, while Phoebe stared, feeling as though she had slipped into some ridiculous parallel universe where all the most awkward people of her small acquaintance had suddenly decided to become the best of friends.
How long had they been standing there? How much had they seen? The door had been open for some time…
Swiftly, she hid the incriminating parasol behind her back and side-stepped behind a nearby mannequin.
‘It is kind of Lady Carlisle to notice my absence, when she herself has so many admirers,’ the viscount returned smoothly, ‘as I’m sure all the ladies here must – including Miss Fairfax?’
Phoebe re-emerged nonchalantly.
‘Viscount Damerel, Captain…’ she forced, sinking into a curtsey and ignoring her sisters’ glances.
‘I trust you are fully recovered Miss Fairfax, and finding Bath to your liking?’ the viscount asked.
Phoebe raised her eyes as far as the topmost shiniest button of his elegantly cut morning coat of dark olive green. Quite how one human being managed to achieve so much perfection on a daily basis, was beyond her understanding. No doubt he’d read all the books in his perfect library, too.
Without warning, a memory of his silhouette in the library firelight reached through her crowded thoughts. Her eyes flickered to his to find the same curious gleam reaching across the room between them now. She caught her breath and dropped her gaze, though she was aware of a dull flush creeping across her face.
‘I am, thank you, my lord … thanks to the generosity of my aunt and uncle,’ she mumbled, noticing her aunt turn pink with pleasure, while the marchioness just glowered.
‘That is most pleasing to hear,’ the viscount returned in a mellow tone. ‘I trust you and your sisters will make the most of your stay. I find Bath can be pleasing when it comes to light diversions, if a little lacking in … heroic adventures.’
Phoebe glanced up sharply while the captain grinned, yet there was no time to respond.
‘Oh, Viscount, you really are so droll!’ the marchioness crowed, securing his attention once more. ‘We find Bath the perfect antidote to the crush of the Ballrooms in London – not that Aurelia didn’t enjoy those, too.’
She paused to trill unpleasantly.
‘I’m sure she would be happy to share some of her favourite diversions with you, if you’d care to accompany us? Captain Damerel?’
‘It would be a pleasure,’ the viscount returned, just as Madame Paragon caught a parcel from the countertop and pressed it into his hands.
‘Here is your order, Viscount, thank you for your custom, as always!’
‘Excellent timing, thank you, Madame Paragon. Good day to you, Mrs Higglestaff,’ the marchioness closed with a triumphant, feathery nod.
‘Ladies,’ the viscount bowed, before turning to follow.
‘Higgle stone ,’ their aunt corrected, faintly, as the door closed with a thud.