Your mother and her cousin regale me with the tedious
details of their enterprise, and it was thus that I learned of
a most interesting occurrence concerning Louisa’s presenta
tion at court.
Here Lydia’s attention was well and truly caught. Even
her own investigations were put aside as she read the tale
recounted by her father. He had managed to catch a
glimpse of his eldest daughter in her hoop and feathers
before she departed for this auspicious event. The sight
almost cast him into whoops, for he surely had never
beheld anything so delightfully absurd. Nevertheless, he
kissed her and told her how pretty she was. This, despite
her attire, was nothing more than the truth. It was only later that he learned what had happened that evening in
his absence.
‘Is it very dreadful?’ Aunt Camilla asked, making Lydia
aware that she had been staring at the page before her
with her mouth hanging open in astonishment.
‘Absolute disaster,’ she pronounced for her aunt’s benefit.
‘Is my sister no more?’ Camilla asked faintly, her handkerchief covering her quivering lips.
‘No, no,’ her niece reassured her. ‘It is merely my own
sister’s social standing which appears to be ruined.’
‘What!’ Camilla leaned forward, her megrims forgotten
as she scented delicious scandal. ‘Whatever has happened,
child?’
‘It seems,’ Lydia said, her eyes taking in the words before
her for the second time so that she did not misrepresent
what her father had written. ‘It seems,’ she said again, ‘that
Louisa was to be presented at court.’
‘How delightful!’
‘Not so delightful,’ Lydia corrected, with more than a
tinge of satisfaction.
From what papa wrote, she gathered that all had gone
quite well at first. Louisa was in very good looks and was
admired by several persons of the first stare. However, it
transpired that she had been too nervous to partake of food that day. The magnificence of the occasion, the heat of the
candles in the brightly lit room, and the giddiness brought
on by an empty stomach, proved to be too much for her.
Upon meeting the Regent, she promptly smiled and
swooned away in an inelegant heap at his feet.
‘How mortifying!’ Camilla cried, genuinely distressed.
‘Listen to this!’ Lydia could scarcely contain her mirth as
she read aloud from papa’s letter:
‘The Prince, it appears, was much disconcerted by this
performance and even though Mama produced her
hartshorn, which instantly revived the poor girl, he avoided
her pointedly for the rest of the evening. There were more
than a few smiles hidden behind fans, and Louisa actually
burst into tears after overhearing a witticism directed at
her. They soon departed, and indeed have not left the house
for the past two days.’
‘It would have been better for her if she
had
died,’
Camilla pronounced with a shudder.
‘I fear she must give up her ambition to marry an earl,’ Lydia agreed, trying to sound sympathetic.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Camilla was more mystified than
ever.
‘Never mind, aunt.’ Lydia poured herself a cup of tea, her
spirits miraculously revived despite her lack of sleep. ‘No
doubt she will make a reasonable match in spite of
her faux
pas.’
‘I do hope so.’ She did not sound at all hopeful, however.
‘If she can but appear to advantage at some public func
tion - at the theater, or a private ball, perhaps - she may
yet redeem herself.’
‘Oh!’ Camilla cried, instantly diverted from their discussion, ‘I had almost forgotten: we, too, are invited to a ball,
my dear.’
Mr Thomas Savidge had decided that he was risen to a
high enough place of prominence in society that it was
incumbent upon him to host a ball at the Golden Cockerel.
He could not proceed, of course, without the express authority of Mrs Wardle-Penfield. Nor was that lady
persuaded to sanction such an event without a good deal of
cajoling and a subtle suggestion that the idea had been
entirely her own from the beginning. In the end, she
insisted upon planning the affair herself. It could not be
denied that this was the simplest solution, which would do
away with the inevitable criticisms she would have levelled
at every aspect of the occasion had anyone else been permitted to make the arrangements.
All Diddlington was swept up in a whirl of frenzied
activity in preparation for what promised to be the most
dazzling function the inhabitants had seen for many a
year. Everyone was invited, it seemed. Everywhere that
Lydia and her aunt went, the talk was of nothing else. The
murder in Wickham Wood was all but forgotten, which
certainly was a boon to Camilla. Her spirits, so much
oppressed by the shadow of death, revived miraculously.
‘In truth,’ Mrs Wardle-Penfield told them when they met in the mercer’s, ‘I thought it a welcome distraction from the
gloom into which everyone has been cast. Mr Savidge is a
worthy man - and indecently wealthy, even if his manners leave
something yet to be desired. It is quite unexceptionable and will do us all the world of good.’
Even Lydia could not help but be infected by the festive
spirit. She submitted patiently to her aunt’s scathing
assessment of her small wardrobe, and agreed to have one of Camilla’s old ball gowns made over to fit her smaller
frame. After an interminable session with the local dress
maker, all seemed in good train. However, as they left that
good lady’s establishment, they were surprised to be hailed
by a passing pedestrian.
‘It is Monsieur d’Almain!’ Camilla was suddenly all a-
flutter.
‘So it is.’ Lydia smiled in spite of herself.
The Frenchman doffed his hat as he approached and bid them a polite ‘good-afternoon’.
‘My niece is being fitted for a new gown,’ Aunt Camilla
stammered not entirely truthfully.
‘Ah!’ Monsieur d’Almain smiled knowingly. ‘The famous
ball.’
‘Indeed.’
Conversation might then have ended, had not Lydia
taken it upon herself to learn a little more about this inter
esting gentleman. She had only glimpsed him upon
occasion since the night of Mrs Wardle-Penfield’s card
party, and scarcely exchanged five words with him.
‘Will you also be attending the ball, sir?’ she enquired
artlessly.
‘Yes indeed.’
‘Mr Savidge tells me that you are an artist of some kind,
monsieur,’ Lydia pressed him. ‘Do you paint portraits?’
He laughed, a surprisingly youthful sound. ‘No indeed,
Miss Bramwell. I am a designer of furniture, jewellery and assorted pieces. I do not make the pieces myself, you see,
but only supply the designs for the artisans to produce the
final product.’
‘How fascinating!’ Aunt Camilla’s eyes glowed with such
adoration that Lydia was hard put to it not to dissolve into
a fit of giggles. Her aunt obviously thought everything about the man fascinating.
‘I would have thought,’ Lydia said honestly, ‘that you
would have done better to work in London, sir.’
‘I do not find London to my taste,’ he explained. ‘There
are many
émigrés
there. Most of them look back to France with longing. I wish only to forget the past and make a new
life for myself here in England:
La vie Anglais,’
he added, his smile widening.
‘I think you are very wise.’ She was actually somewhat
surprised at his attitude.
‘I have a great admiration for the English,’ he told her.
‘This is my home now, and I do not miss the other. As for
my work, Mr Bridge cares not where I live so long as my
work is satisfactory.’
‘Mr Bridge?’ she queried, startled. ‘Of Rundell, Bridge
and Rundell?’
‘The very same.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘I work for the
finest, you see - although some of my work has been for
Green, Ward and Green, who are also on Ludgate Hill. But
for Mr Bridge I have designed the snuffboxes, medals and more than one diadem for the Royal Family.’
Even with her limited experience, Lydia was aware that
this unassuming gentleman dealt with the premier gold
and silversmiths of England, who produced nothing but the
best quality for their wealthy and titled patrons. While she
did not share the awe felt by her lovesick aunt, she was
impressed in spite of herself.
‘You must be paid handsomely for such work, sir,’ she
exclaimed.
‘Lydia!’ Camilla was scandalized by the vulgarity of mentioning money so freely, turning apologetically to the
Frenchman. ‘Please forgive her, sir.’
‘I am not in the least offended,’ he reassured them both.
‘I am indeed well paid. Well enough, at least, to hire a
chaise to convey me to the ball on Friday. I wonder ...’ His
pause was too enticing to resist.
‘Wonder what, sir?’ Camilla asked breathlessly.
‘Would it be too forward of me ...’ he coughed slightly,
as though he found it difficult to utter the words ‘Would
you do me the honor of allowing me to convey you to the ball?’
For a moment, Camilla Denton was quite bereft of
speech. Had she seen Christ descending from Heaven with
his angels, she could not have looked more rapturously amazed. It was left to Lydia to voice their acceptance.
‘That would be wonderful, would it not, Aunt?’ she said
eagerly.
‘Indeed.’ Camilla swallowed and recovered herself
enough to add, ‘But we would not wish to impose upon your
good nature, sir....’
‘I would consider it a pleasure - and a privilege - to
escort two such charming ladies.’
So it was settled, and the two charming ladies made
their way home. Camilla was in a state of euphoria quite
out of proportion to the event, while Lydia was very
pleased with herself for having discovered more about her
aunt’s suitor and having done more than her aunt had ever
done to encourage his attentions.
They had almost arrived at the cottage when they were
accosted by the Digweed sisters, who had their own
confused speculation about the promised ball.
‘Just a select company,’ the eldest nodded sagely.
‘Everyone in town will be there,’ her sister insisted.
‘Such a charming man.’
‘Dreadful mushroom.’
‘The weather sure to be fine.’
‘Bound to rain.’
‘Must have a bottle green domino made.’
‘Russet the only color for a cloak.’
‘Is that not Mrs Wardle-Penfield?’
‘Surely not, Honoria.’
‘Must speak with her a moment.’
‘Adieu!’
* * * *
On the evening of the ball, Camilla herself arranged
Lydia’s coiffure in a much more simple style without the
profusion of curls and ringlets too often favored by
damsels fresh from the schoolroom.
‘I think it much more becoming,’ she said, eyeing the
results in a mirror.
Upon consideration, Lydia found herself in agreement.
Her aunt might not be the brightest candle on the branch,
but she had an unerring eye for fashion which her niece
was coming to appreciate. The dress, too, was quite
fetching. Of a pale golden color, rather than the usual
virginal white, with sleeves rather over-puffed, it made her
look far less insipid than the gowns mama had made for
her.
‘Thank you so much, dearest aunt.’ She gave Camilla a
kiss of real gratitude. ‘I have never looked half as pleasing before. Monsieur d’Almain will have eyes for no one but
you, of course.’
‘Hush, Lydia!’ Camilla colored and smiled in spite of her rebuke.
But Lydia could not deny that her aunt was especially
lovely tonight. Her gown of blue and green taffeta set off
her eyes and made her look like Venus rising from the
waves. The look in the Frenchman’s eyes when he arrived proved Lydia’s prophecy to be correct. He could scarcely
tear his gaze away from the vision of Miss Denton in all
her finery. He was looking quite dashing himself, and even
Lydia could understand her aunt’s fascination, however
ill-timed it might be.