Chapter 11
‘And the Gorteria, of course,’ said Knatchbull, puffing out his chest so the fur on his lapels wavered.
‘That makes nineteen new species cultivated in my glasshouses this year. I had hoped for twenty but unless we manage it in the next–’ he checked his diamond-encrusted pocket watch with a flourish ‘–twenty-three minutes I shall have to make do with nineteen.’ He guffawed, and the other gentlemen in the circle guffawed.
Lord Emmingham slapped him on the back. Thea tried to stop her eyes rolling so far back into her head she could see her optic channels.
They’d learned about those at Doctor Hunter’s last week.
‘If anyone can do it, I am certain it is you, Neville.’ Neville beamed at Lord Emmingham.
‘You are too kind, My Lord. If ever I could rival your collection, I should be the happiest of men.’ Lord Emmingham looked like he was about to burst with pride. Thea thought she might vomit.
‘And Herbert has had the Cassia seed this year and the Iris susiana flowering,’ said Knatchbull.
Still trying to keep the Doctor on side without Speckle or Frankie remaining at his garden, Thea noticed.
She wondered if Herbert had told them. He almost looked coy, Thea thought.
How would he maintain his place at these gatherings if his expertise had left?
‘I am pleased with it, but my successes are moderate compared to others in this room,’ he said.
Thea stopped herself mentioning that it was Frankie who had cultivated both the Cassia and Iris.
She wondered again what Frankie was up to.
There had been no word from Speckle on the matter despite her writing to offer to fund more of a search.
‘However,’ said Neville, leaning in and bringing the circle closer. ‘Our successes are not moderate compared to anyone else.’
‘Too true,’ said Lord Emmingham. And next year, Knatchbull, I am certain one of us will get the Protea.’
Knatchbull’s eyes narrowed. ‘I shall,’ he said, ‘by any means necessary.’
Thea wondered if they had forgotten she was there.
George had insisted she join them so she could understand how she compared to ‘real’ growers, and she had now listened to this mutual backslapping for above half an hour.
Her social options were limited though, she had to admit.
She and George were hosting this years’ New Year’s Ball at their house in Whitehall, and the whole place was overrun.
They had done up the house with wreaths and garlands and ordered in an extra one thousand candles.
The house was alive and noisy, and she must be the perfect hostess.
She had the choice of dancing in the ballroom, gossiping in the parlour, cards in the drawing room or this.
Ursula had returned to Milford after Christmas, Speckle had ‘extended his apologies’ through Doctor Herbert and Harriet was braving the Ladies to be near to Emma.
Thea had rarely felt more lost and out of place – and she was in her own house.
‘I am thinking of trying Hepatica,’ said Lord Emmingham. ‘I hear His Majesty is partial.’
‘I’ve never managed to get them to bulk up,’ said Neville. ‘Get too crowded.’
‘You need to divide them,’ said Thea without thinking. ‘In the spring.’ The gentlemen glanced at her as one and then looked away.
‘I’m sure Miller has something to say about Hepatica,’ said Herbert. ‘I’ll look it up for you when I’m home, Knatchbull.’
Thea grasped the back of Harriet’s dress and tugged sharply. ‘I do beg your pardon ladies,’ she said to the scowling group, apparently deeply engaged in a discourse on a China sauceboat. ‘I must speak to Mrs Henry.’ You could interrupt when you were a duchess, however distasteful people found it.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Harriet as Thea dragged her up the stairs.
‘My brain is about to fold up like a piece of parchment,’ said Thea, marching Harriet down the gallery, through her cabinet corridor and closing the bedroom door behind them.
‘I am in my own house, I have spent three hundred pounds doing it up, and I must decide whether to be dismissed by men or scorned by women.’ She turned to Harriet.
‘I am about to shrivel up with boredom like an extricated appendix. If I stay down there, I will actually try to prize off Knatchbull’s toenails. Slowly and one by one.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ said Harriet, taking a swig of whatever amber liquid was in her glass and then holding it up to Thea in a ‘cheers’ motion.
‘Good lord,’ said Thea as a wave of Harriet’s breath washed over her. She feared for her wallpaper. ‘Is that whisky?’
‘Probably,’ said Harriet. ‘I found it in that credenza under the parlour window.’
‘Do you think you should cut down?’ asked Thea, as Harriet swayed towards her.
‘Probably. But not tonight.’ Harriet made a sweeping gesture towards the door.
‘It’s new year and I get to spend it with the woman I love who has spent four hours talking to six other women about sauce boats.
’ She took another swig from the glass. ‘Thing is, I really don’t care if it has a fucking shouting lion for a handle, I just want her to be married to him and not to me.
’ Then she frowned and blinked. ‘I mean to me and not to him.’ She screwed up her eyes and peered at Thea.
‘Imagine if two ladies could ever get married, how fabulous that would be. Is there still only one of you?’
‘Come and lie down,’ said Thea, gently guiding Harriet towards the bed before she fell over. They lay down on it, next to one another, staring at the drapes above the four posts. Thea dangled one leg off the side.
‘We’re doing badly at moving on.’
‘Yes,’ said Harriet. ‘She’s just – always there.’
Thea was silent.
‘Sorry,’ said Harriet. ‘I know yours isn’t.’
Thea slapped her on the thigh. ‘I’m really sorry you have to talk about crap porcelain just to be around her,’ she said.
Harriet snorted. ‘I can think of better things to do.’
‘Not in my ballroom, thank you,’ said Thea.
‘Not anywhere with her anymore,’ said Harriet wistfully. ‘Hasn’t given me a kind word or any touch at all since that night in the stagecoach. Between us there’s now only theatre, porcelain and simmering want.’
‘We have to try harder,’ said Thea. ‘There must be something.’
Harriet leaned up on an elbow, looked at Thea with slightly glazed eyes, and all of a sudden lunged forward and kissed her full on the lips.
Shocked, Thea grasped her arm and kissed her back a bit because she was her friend and it seemed impolite not to.
Harriet tasted of whisky and – well – just whisky.
Then the door flew open. Thea froze, and so did Harriet. Mrs Phibbs was backing into the room. Why was their timing always this awful?
‘The duchess will likely be up first so if we get her’s stoked now–’ Mrs Phibbs’ back stopped as Joan’s form came into view and faltered.
They were carrying a coal scuttle between them which hovered, stationary.
‘–What are you?’ Thea saw Mrs Phibbs look up into Joan’s horrified face and then turn into the room.
Harriet was still lying half on top of Thea and there really was no chance of explaining it away with boils this time.
‘Hello,’ said Thea, there being no noble protocol for this kind of interaction.
‘Oh, Your Grace, we are so sorry,’ said Joan, trying to back out of the room, but Mrs Phibbs still held one side of the coal scuttle handle, arresting Joan’s movement. She put the other hand on her hip.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘This I did not expect.’
‘Me neither,’ said Thea, still slightly muffled by Harriet’s weight on her.
‘We were trying to move on,’ said Harriet, shifting her weight to the side and lying back on the bed. Thea was glad of the respite.
‘Good idea, for both of you,’ said Mrs Phibbs, putting down her side of the scuttle and turning around. She looked between them. ‘Did it work?’
Thea and Harriet looked at one another. ‘No,’ they said in unison.
‘I see,’ said Mrs Phibbs, and then looked at the fire. ‘In that case do you want us to stoke the fire with more coal? The girl is off with flu so we’re trying to get round all the rooms before you all come up. Or were,’ she clarified.
‘Please carry on,’ said Thea, waving a hand at the fire.
She smiled awkwardly at Joan as they passed, who had now returned to her calm, professional self.
Thea and Harriet lay motionless, staring at the drapes.
It was awkward. ‘Thank you,’ Thea said, as the fire was finished, and Joan and Mrs Phibbs headed for the door.
‘Tea for you both?’ asked Joan.
‘Please,’ said Thea, thinking they could both do with it. Joan bobbed, and the door closed behind them.
‘They were calm about that,’ said Harriet.
‘Mrs Phibbs had it with her last employment,’ said Thea. ‘And then with me. Joan seems accepting too. We’re very lucky.’
‘You are,’ said Harriet. ‘Sorry about kissing you,’ she mumbled.
‘Good to check,’ said Thea.
‘But nothing doing.’
‘Absolutely not.’
Thea slumped back again, feeling utterly defeated. ‘I have to find something else,’ she said. ‘Anything that will prevent me going mad with boredom.’
‘I have been trying,’ said Harriet. ‘To move on, like we said.’
Thea scooted onto her side to look at Harriet. ‘You have?’ She waved a hand between them. ‘Other than whatever this was?’
Harriet nodded once. ‘I have. I found this little place in the Haymarket. Not too far from here actually. It’s a house exclusively for females.’
‘What sort of house?’ asked Thea. ‘A poor house? I didn’t have you as one for charity work?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Harriet. ‘One that has ladies and where you can go and…’ She trailed off.
‘And?’
Harriet tutted. ‘Come on, T. Where you can go and receive the services of ladies and a little relief for a modest fee.’
Thea felt her mouth drop open. ‘You mean a brothel?’
‘Absolutely not!’ Harriet managed to sound indignant even in her inebriated state. ‘It is a bordello.’
‘That is the same thing,’ hissed Thea.