Chapter Seven
Beatrix was beginning to think London was rife with awkward situations.
The current awkward situation was being escorted to get a glass of wine by three gentlemen, with her parents trailing behind.
It almost felt as if she were being treated as incapable of reading a bottle ticket and choosing something.
Of course, she realized she was meant to be flattered. She hardly knew what to think about that. Lord Monroe was rather embarrassing in his talk about prayers. He sounded a bit hysterical, it was so odd.
Lord Chester had been clearly pushed forward by his dowager. What did that mean? He’d managed to leave her sitting out at Almack’s, though that might not be his fault. But now, she was not certain he’d even wished to approach.
Then there was Lord Harrelston. She could not ignore that he showed well, compared to the other two gentlemen.
He was his usual cheerful and confident self.
Though her mother and father might seem a bit taken aback by his attention, she did get the idea that they both liked and respected him.
She liked and respected him too. A lot, actually.
Just now, there was a debate between the three gentlemen regarding which wine would suit her best. She ignored it and read the bottle tickets. As they nattered on, she said, “The white Bordeaux from Chateau Margaux.”
This stopped all talking on the subject. Lord Harrelston poured her glass and handed it to her. “The lady has good taste.”
Beatrix was sure that she did. Her father had an extensive wine cellar and Miss Sprite had made her and Caroline memorize all the qualities of the various wines and which were the most sought after vineyards.
They had periodic taste tests where they would be given two sips of a bottle from her father’s cellar and then would identify it by its color, aroma, and taste.
Miss Sprite said a lady could not be a proper hostess without being able to advise the butler on which wines were needed for a dinner.
Beatrix did not know if that was entirely true, as Mr. Feldstaffer seemed to make all the decisions with no advice from anybody.
Miss Sprite also said that sips of wine would strengthen their blood against its effects, as a lady must never seem to be affected by anything she drank.
Beatrix was particularly dubious over that idea.
Nevertheless, she did think the information they’d been taught was valuable.
“I would have recommended the very same,” Lord Monroe said, “had I seen it. By the by, Lady Beatrix, I pray I was not too bold to send daisies?”
There he went praying about things again.
“They were very nice, thank you,” Beatrix said.
She hoped he did not wish her to say more about it.
Was it usual to inquire into it? She did not know.
Miss Sprite might have educated her on wine, but she’d said nothing about extended conversations about sent flowers.
Before she was pressed to it, Lady Burberry called from the front of the room. “Esteemed guests, please make your way to your boxes.”
“Ah, Lady Beatrix, I will lead you to your box,” Lord Monroe said. “It is directly next to my own.”
Beatrix nodded and allowed herself to be led. The entire situation was tinged with embarrassment. Lord Chester had not said one word directly to her other than his initial greeting.
As her mother and father had followed her to the sideboard to witness this strange situation, they now followed her back. Lord Monroe was obsequious in his compliments to them. The countess pushed Beatrix to the chair on the other side of the their box, away from Lord Monroe.
She was not sorry for it at all. She did not have much to say to Lord Monroe.
“That’s right, get settled,” Lady Burberry called.
The boxes filled and stragglers who did not know the location of their box found their place and got themselves situated.
Beatrix sipped her wine, which was really very good. She could see her mother glancing at her. No doubt wondering about why Lord Chester had not seemed very enthusiastic to see her.
“There we are, everyone is settled. Except for Lord Jeffries, always the last one in,” Lady Burberry said to laughter as Lord Jeffries hurried into his box.
“Welcome, one and all. I am so honored to be able to introduce our own Lady Thurston once again this season. Each year, our dear lady brings all her wide-ranging emotions and devotion to language to bear on this project. As you have come to expect, this evening is to be no different. Prepare to be in wonder and awe! I give you, our magnificent Lady Thurston’s poetical tableau. ”
Footmen snuffed the candles round the room, leaving only one chandelier lit over their heads. A ghostly gloom settled over the room.
There was a smattering of applause and the household staff struggled to open the curtains that shielded the stage.
The curtains were pulled back to reveal some sort of seaside scene.
The apron of the stage was edged in stiff blue painted paper, cut out in the shape of waves.
Dolphins were painted on the back wall. Six ladies were dressed similar to what Lady Thurston had been at the door, in billowing seafoam chiffon.
Lady Thurston, herself, was not to be seen.
In the center of all of it, there was what appeared to be a replica of a bathing machine.
Beatrix had no idea the stage would be so elaborate. She’d had the idea that Lady Thurston would read a poem and that would be that. It was not expected to be Wordsworth, but what a matron could be expected to produce. This, however, seemed more like a play. At the seaside, she supposed.
The door to that bathing machine was flung open and Lady Thurston appeared. “It all began in Brighton on a sunny afternoon!”
“Sunny! Afternoon!” her chorus cried so loudly that Beatrix was startled by it and almost spilled her wine.
“The courtship begins,” Lady Thurston said, shielding her eyes and looking to one side as if she were looking down the paths of her history. She stepped down to the stage. “The proposal is made, the vicar is called, the dowry is delivered.”
“Made. Vicar. Dowry,” her companions whispered.
“Then the dark times,” Lady Thurston said, flinging herself to the floor. She gently laid her head down, as if defeated.
“Dark! Times!” her ladies shouted defiantly.
Beatrix sipped her wine, lest it spill from her glass over all this shouting. It really did not seem like a poem or a play. She did not know what it was.
Lady Thurston leapt to her feet. Beatrix thought she was surprisingly agile for a lady of middle years.
“The rebirth!”
“Rebirth!” her chorus cried. They circled the stage, fluttering their chiffon dresses around them, which Beatrix supposed was meant to illustrate a coming back to life.
“Winter to spring! Night to dawn!” she shouted.
“Winter. Spring. Night. Dawn,” the ladies surrounding her whispered.
“The long and winding journey has come to an end.”
“End,” the ladies whispered.
“What in the world,” Beatrix’s mother muttered. Beatrix pressed her lips together to stop from laughing. She really did not know what she was watching but she was watching through her quizzing glass and she was quite sure Miss Sprite would demand she forget every bit of it.
“When a woman is pushed to the brink, she must choose,” Lady Thurston cried, throwing up her hands dramatically.
“The brink!” the ladies echoed.
“Does she throw herself into the abyss?”
“Abyss!”
“Or does she turn and fight her way back to happiness?”
“Fight!”
“This lady has fought and won.” Lady Thurston threw her arms up in what Beatrix imagined must be a sign of victory. Over something. She was not certain what had constituted the brink in the first place.
“Won!” he friends cried.
“This lady has got her extra pin money. This lady has heard the last of that actress who was not even a leading actress!”
“Not even leading!”
“What actress?” the countess whispered.
Beatrix did not answer, as she had no better idea where the actress came from than her mother did.
“I have gained my point,” Lady Thurston said, hands on hips.
“Gained. Her point,” her lady collaborators whispered.
Lady Thurston’s took that moment to sit on the bathing machine’s steps and take on a conversational tone. “As I am gracious, I have given him back his favorite chair, which I never sold in the first place. It was in the attics the whole time!”
“The whole time!”
“Victory is mine, and I now lay down my sword.”
“Down. Her sword,” the ladies said, all moving to lay down the swords they did not have in their hands.
A silence then descended over the ballroom. Lady Burberry stepped forward and began the applause.
Beatrix sat back and sipped her wine. So that was a poetical tableau. Extraordinary.
Afterward, the countess and earl had debated staying on to congratulate Lady Thurston.
As neither of them had the first idea of what to say, they decided they would go.
The countess would send a note of congratulations on the morrow.
As soon as she could think of something complimentary to say about it.
The dowager practically dragged Lord Chester to Beatrix’s side as they were leaving. All he had to say for himself was that he hoped she had enjoyed the performance.
Lord Monroe, on the other hand, had a dozen questions all centered round whether Beatrix had found the program too nerve-inducing and had she brought her vinaigrette.
Did she feel faint at all? Did she require a chair?
The earl finally drove him off by saying, “If my daughter requires a chair over a…whatever this was…then I have not done my duty by her.”
Lord Harrelston was a bit more practical. When he was apprised that they would be leaving, he went out to arrange for their carriage to be called while they said their goodbyes. Beatrix thought he was rather a man of action. She admired it.