Chapter 3
The allure of intriguing new friends.
“What got you looking all hot and bothered?” Mrs Fairway asked as Anne stalked into the room.
“Never mind, I’ll tell you later,” Anne replied tersely, letting out a breath as she looked around the room. “Well, this is more like it.”
“Isn’t it splendid!” Izzy Honeywell exclaimed, hurrying up to Anne and taking her hand, squeezing it with excitement. “There’s barely an empty seat. You’ve got to give it to the old buzzard, she was right.”
“Izzy, that’s her grace, to you, you dreadful girl,” Anne scolded. “But yes, her patronage and the chance to watch her granddaughter perform has certainly brought out everyone.”
“If she does perform, and the duke hasn’t locked her in her room,” Izzy murmured, lowering her voice.
Anne nodded. During their time at Haven House, where they had stayed to watch Izzy’s sister Bea marry the Marquess of Stonehaven, they had heard what the Duke of Hawkney had said about their club.
He had been furious with his grandmother for her intention to expose his sister to such a gathering, vowing he would not allow her to make a spectacle of herself.
“Well, we shall see who won that confrontation,” Mrs Fairway replied, nodding towards the dining room door.
Anne turned in time to see the dowager enter.
Dressed in a gown of purple so dark it was almost black, she was a striking figure, not least because of the turban that topped her snowy white hair, where a large diamond and amethyst brooch glittered.
More diamonds adorned her neck and ears and flashed upon her gloved hands.
“Well, she’s done us proud,” Mrs Fairway said with approval.
“Hasn’t she, though,” Anne agreed, grinning as she made her way through the crowd with Izzy and Mrs Fairway in her wake.
“Your grace,” she said, sinking into a low curtsey. “How delighted we are to welcome you for our little recital.”
“Delighted to come,” the dowager replied with a nod, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “And as promised, might I present my granddaughter? Come here, gel, don’t be shy.”
Anne watched, delighted, as an exquisitely dressed young woman hurried forward. Her hair was a deep auburn, so dark it appeared almost mahogany until the light caught it and the fiery glints shone ruby red.
“Lady Della, we are so very pleased and grateful that you felt able to attend,” Anne said carefully, but she need not have worried as Lady Della returned an impish smile.
“I would not have missed it for the world,” she confided. “Grandmother has told me so much about you, Mrs Adamson. And you are Miss Honeywell, I think?” she added, turning to Izzy.
“Yes, my lady,” Izzy said, for once remembering her manners and curtseying prettily.
“Oh, no. Please don’t be so formal. Indeed, I hope we shall be friends, for I intend to visit Hatherley Hall often now that Grandmama has settled here.”
“Well, that is wonderful news. We shall be delighted to get to know you better,” Anne replied with a smile that was entirely genuine, for the lovely creature seemed warm and friendly and not at all like her cold and disagreeable brother.
“And I believe there is another founder member I must meet. Miss Halfpenny?” Lady Della added. “Well, besides your lucky sisters, Miss Isabelle, for whom I send my congratulations upon their nuptials.”
Anne admitted herself surprised she was so well informed, especially about Clara, for the dowager had been rather rude to the poor girl. “Indeed,” Anne said, looking around the room. “Miss Halfpenny is a little shy, so she’s most likely—”
“There she is, hiding behind that potted palm as usual,” Izzy said frankly.
“Hmph,” the dowager said, sounding exasperated. “There’s shy and then there’s Clara Halfpenny. The child needs to find her spine, if you ask me.”
“Now, now, Grandmama, we cannot all be as forthright as you,” Della said, gently but firmly reproving, whilst giving Anne and Izzy a conspiratorial wink.
“Oh, isn’t she marvellous?” Izzy whispered, clearly struck by the young woman’s charm and warmth.
“You, gel, never mind that silly chit. Find me a seat. I’m too old to be gallivanting about the room.”
“Certainly, your grace,” Izzy said, offering the lady her arm. “But I take issue with your description of Clara. She’s not the least bit silly.”
“Silly enough to allow other people to frighten her when they’ve nothing to say worth listening to,” the dowager replied, giving Izzy a stern look. “Don’t contradict me, you troublesome creature.”
“I would not dream of doing so,” Izzy said with a sigh, leading the dowager away.
Lady Della laughed. “Oh, I am so glad for your group, Mrs Adamson. It has given the old dear something to focus her attention on and has done her the world of good. She’ll murder me for saying so, but Grandmama has been sorely out of spirits of late, but to see her so very revived and full of verve…
well, I am grateful, more than I can express. She is very dear to me, you see.”
“I can see,” Anne replied with a smile. “And, to be frank, that is the purpose of our club: to give women interests outside of the home, to give them support when required, and a voice, when others might not listen.”
“I am all admiration,” Lady Della replied, looking entirely sincere, but then Clara was before them, wide-eyed as a deer caught in a snare.
“Clara, don’t look so terrified,” Anne said reassuringly. “I have brought this charming young woman with me, who was determined to have an introduction. Lady Della Seymour, might I present my friend and cofounder of the Venturesome Ladies, Miss Clara Halfpenny. Clara, dear, this is Lady Della.”
For a moment Clara only gaped, before dipping a haphazard curtsey that had her lurching sideways into the potted palm. She righted herself, pushing a large frond from her face before discovering it had tangled in her hair.
“Oh,” she fretted, turning pink. “Oh, drat the thing. I—”
“Here,” Lady Della said easily, moving before Anne could do likewise, and reaching for the troublesome leaf and disentangling it with deft fingers. “There we are. No damage done.”
“Th-Thank you,” Clara said miserably, looking as though she wished she might sprout fronds too, and disappear behind a canopy of foliage.
“Do you play, Miss Halfpenny?” Lady Della asked gently, giving Anne an anxious glance as she tried her best to put the girl at ease.
“M-Me?” Clara squeaked, turning pale as parchment at the idea. She shook her head, panic hopelessly garbling her words. “Oh, play n-no, n-no-no, I should… w-would… nev-nev—”
“A pity. I should have liked to know what the other ladies are playing too, for I shall be mortified to discover I have stolen a favourite piece from someone else,” Lady Della said, smiling kindly at Clara and looking honestly crestfallen at how agitated the young woman was at meeting her.
“Perhaps we all should sit down. I believe everyone is here now, so we are ready to begin,” Anne said, taking a firm hold of Clara’s arm and towing her to the front row so she had no chance of escaping.
She settled Clara beside Izzy as Della took her place beside the dowager.
Giving Izzy an unspoken glare that ensured she would not allow Clara to flee the moment she turned her back, Anne walked up the steps to the temporary stage they had erected for the recital and turned to address the assembled ladies.
As she looked around, she felt a sudden swell of pride.
It was early days yet, but there was Mrs Doomsday, and Mrs Bagot from the butcher’s.
Madame Auguste, looking exceptionally elegant in grey silk, sat in the same row as Mrs Adie and Polly from the vicarage.
And there was Mrs Jenkins—a dreadfully snooty woman who had never deigned to address Anne once over the past six years—who had even brought her daughter, a pretty girl of perhaps twenty years.
There was Miss Edith and Miss Dorothea Brumley and even Mrs Chesson from The Ship Inn, as well as dozens of other women, many of whom Anne had only ever nodded to in passing.
As she looked around, Miss Marwick caught her eye and the young woman grinned at her, such a look of approval in her eyes that Anne felt buoyed by it. She took a deep breath.
“Ladies, thank you all for coming….”
“Oh, she’s wonderful,” Clara breathed, closing her eyes as the music swelled around her.
Though she still wanted to sink into the ground every time she thought about the stupidity of her behaviour when she had met Lady Della, even that embarrassing spectacle could not make her regret having come. Not when she might listen to such divine playing.
“She is,” Izzy whispered, reaching for Clara’s hand and holding on tight. “Our club is going to be such a marvellous success. How fortunate we are to have her play for us.”
Indeed, the young woman held the entire room utterly spellbound, and Clara, loyal as she was to her friends, had to admit that even Izzy’s splendid recital lacked some of the finesse of this remarkable performance.
Her choices were perfect for the setting, being light-hearted and merry, and yet so complex that it was clear she took the performance and her audience seriously.
She did not require anyone to turn the music for her, for she played the complex pieces from memory, and Clara wondered at the mind, at the exceptional talent, that could accomplish such a feat.
As the last note of Mozart’s piano sonata number twelve faded away, there was a hush cast over the audience, as if no one wished to breathe, for fear of breaking the spell Lady Della had woven around them.
Then the applause began, quietly at first but rising to a crescendo as Lady Della turned becomingly pink and stood, dipping an elegant curtsey as she smiled and made her way from the stage.
“Clever girl!” the dowager said, getting to her feet and holding out her hands to Della, who took them but leaned in and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Did me proud. Not that I ever doubted it.”