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“Look!” Rosie cried. “There is the lovely little dog we saw in the park, and it must be the same one we have seen in the gardens here.”
The young woman holding the dog turned, saw them and smiled, waggling her fingers at them. Then she followed her companion into the house.
“I wish I had a little dog like that,” Rosie said wistfully.
Will’s only wish was to be acquainted with the family, for how convenient it would be to know such close neighbours. But it was impossible. Without a mutual acquaintance they could never be introduced, and therefore could never do more than wave at each other from a distance. How awkward these social conventions were!
3: Calling Cards
The post chaise deposited Eloise and her meagre possessions in St James’s Square as a church clock not far away struck three. Marford House was excessively large and ostentatious, but she had expected that. The lack of symmetry surrounding it was distressing, however. She was used to Bath, with its sweeping crescents and circles, all the houses sharing a uniform façade, but London residents, seemingly, must each impose little distinctive touches on their houses, be it in the architecture or in sheer size. Not for the Marquess of Carrbridge the paltry town house of lesser mortals, for he must have something more imposing. The house was twice the width of most others, and somewhere at the back of the house were extra wings, gardens, a ballroom and an orangery, for they had been mentioned in Connie’s letters.
Connie! The Most Honourable the Marchioness of Carrbridge, to be precise, and Eloise — plain, untitled Miss Eloise Whittleton — was to spend the spring in town acting as Connie’s secretary and helper in the management of her crowded social diary. There was no salary attached to the position, only the prestige of mingling with the nobility, the pleasure of the season and a few new gowns to make her fit to be seen with a marchioness. Eloise was, not to put too fine a point on it, the poor relation.
The maid sent to Bath to accompany Eloise to London had dispatched the post chaise and directed two footmen to deal with the luggage.
“Well, Miss Whittleton, shall we go inside?” she said, in her brisk way. Were all London maids as energetic as this one? Eloise thought fondly of her aunt’s maid, a gentle soul with a country accent who worked at a country pace, too, yet everything got done, somehow. Connie’s maid had organized their journey with unswerving efficiency — the changes of horses, the meals, their overnight accommodation, all managed without fuss and with no more than one or two mentions of the marchioness at each posting inn to speed their progress. It left Eloise feeling breathless, and a little rustic.
The maid ushered her up the steps and through the door. Inside, the hall was a scene of chaos. The tiled floor was awash with boxes and bags and oddly shaped packages, one that looked as if it might be a chair, all bound up in brown paper. Eloise’s modest box looked tiny beside the great mounds of luggage. Several children raced around the heaps, while footmen weaved through the mêlée carrying items of luggage. Right in the middle, half hidden by a heap of travelling boxes, a kneeling figure, still bonneted, rummaged through a bag, muttering. The figure looked up, saw Eloise, smiled widely.
“You must be Eloise! Do come in, my dear. I am Connie.”
The marchioness rose from her hiding place, to reveal a pelisse of such breath-taking elegance that Eloise was rendered speechless. Her hostess was unperturbed, merely laughing, and saying, “Are you exhausted? Travelling is such a tiring business, is it not? You see us but newly arrived ourselves, and naturally there is something wanted from the boxes instantly. There always is. What a journey we have had, for we have been two days longer on the road than we should have been. Everything that could go wrong did, and Francis is in such a temper over it, you cannot imagine. He has shut himself away in his book room with Reggie and the brandy, and we must all hope he is in a better humour at dinner. Such a pity Humphrey is not here yet, for he always manages to cajole Francis out of his cross moods. Ah, Mrs Powell, there you are. Pray show Miss Whittleton to her room, and bring her to my sitting room in one hour.” Then, as two more children rampaged past, she added, “And if you can persuade the children up to the nursery, I am sure we would all be grateful.”
Eloise’s room turned out to be an apartment somewhat larger than her aunt’s drawing room in Bath. Besides the bed and the usual furnishings, there were comfortable chairs either side of the fire, a sofa and low tables in a cosy corner and a charming little rosewood desk in the window. The silk wall hangings were decorated with exotic flowers, with matching curtains and bed hangings, and Persian rugs covered the floor.
“This is beautiful!” Eloise cried.
“Her ladyship’s work, madam. This room was redone a couple of years ago to her specification.” A maid came in with a ewer of steaming water. “Now, this is Maisie, who will look after you while you’re here. She’s been trained by Miss Fosbrook, her ladyship’s own maid, so you’ll find no deficiency, I’m sure. There’s hot water for the washstand, but should you care for your bath now or before dinner?”
“Before dinner, I think.” She eyed the desk with longing. “If I write a letter, how does it get to the post?”
“You leave it on the table at the bottom of the main stairs, madam, the one with the very ugly clock on it. There is a basket there for letters. It will go to his lordship to be franked, and then someone will take it to the post office.”
“Franked… even my letters to my aunt in Bath?”
“Lord Carrbridge franks everything that leaves this house, madam,” the housekeeper said with a smile. “He would not wish your aunt to pay for the postage, not when you’re here to help her ladyship.”
Two footmen brought her small box, and Eloise helped Maisie unpack her few belongings, and then changed into a dark blue day gown. Dismissing Maisie, she settled down with a sigh of satisfaction at the desk, running her hands appreciatively over the smooth surface before pulling out paper, pen and ink to write to Aunt Beth.
Only when that was done dared she take out her music book and jot down some of the melodies which had wormed their way into her brain on the journey from Bath. The long hours of travelling with nothing to do but watch the endless scenery rolling past set her mind free to wander, and as always she found it filled with music. She could not remember a time when it had not been so.
Maisie knocked on the door long before she was ready, to take her to Lady Carrbridge. There was no keeping a marchioness waiting, naturally, so Eloise obediently put away her music book, smoothed down her skirts and followed the maid.
Lady Carrbridge’s sitting room was charmingly elegant, like its owner, who rose from her chair with a welcoming smile as Eloise entered. The housekeeper and another woman, who had been sitting with the marchioness around a small cloth-covered table, rose also, and curtsied to her.
“My dear! Do come in. Thank you, Mrs Powell, we will finish this another time.” When the housekeeper had left, she brought forward the other woman. “Eloise, this is Fosbrook, my lady’s maid in the eyes of the world, but also my most trusted adviser in all sartorial matters. We must decide how best to present you to the discerning eye of London society. Turn around, my dear, and let us see what we have here. Well, what a lovely figure you have! We can certainly do something with that, and you are old enough to display your charms to great advantage. The gown… well, I dare say it is very well for Bath, but it will not do for town, and certainly not that shade of blue, I think. Warm colours, would you not agree, Fosbrook?”
“Aye, my lady, but not too dark. Soft blues and greens. Pale yellow, perhaps. Some pinks, but we’ll need to be careful with the shade. Brown, of course.”
Alarmed, Eloise said, “You sound as if you are planning a whole new wardrobe for me, my lady.‘One or two new gowns’, you said, I believe.”
The marchioness chuckled. “Now where would be the pleasure in that? I have a reputation to maintain, my dear, and if you are to accompany me you must look the part. Imagine the humiliation of wearing the same ball gown more than three times in a season. I am going to outfit you from head to toe, but you need not worry about the expense. I have more gowns than I know what to do with, so Fosbrook will do a great deal simply by looking through my wardrobe from last year, and making a few adjustments. Bonnets, slippers and gloves, too. I have already had stockings and nightgowns and such like put in your room.”
“You are very good, my lady.”
“Nonsense, it is pure self-interest, I assure you,” the marchioness said. “I simply adore having someone to dress from top to toe. It is one of my greatest pleasures, so I am afraid you will just have to put up with a great many new gowns, to satisfy me. I am going to titivate you a little, parade you all over town and make you all the crack, and if I do not have you married off at the end of the season, it will not be my fault. And if you can possibly bear to call me Connie, my dear, we shall get along famously, I make no doubt. Now, Fosbrook can disappear to the nether regions, and we shall settle down to begin work on the letters and calling cards.”
~~~~~
