Nell Gwynne's On Land and At Sea (8 page)

Jane and Dora stifled giggles in the sofa cushions.

“—but I’m sure the Austrian group can be pulled out, and of course they won’t be needed in Rome until November…”

Mrs. Corvey interrupted gently: “Mr. Felmouth, I rather think we’ve heard quite enough. Just send us what you can, and we’ll do our best with Mr. Pickett.”

With garbled assurances and apologies, and a complete disregard of the usual protocols, Mr. Felmouth finally signed off; or, as it sounded, was forcibly signed off by Harvey. Jane and Dora finally burst out laughing over the revolting Slavs, and Mrs. Corvey leaned back in her chair, massaging her temples round the brass rims of her ocular implants.

“Yes, yes, get your jollies now, my girls. God only knows what we’ll find ourselves doing before this all ends,” she said.

“I wonder what he’s sending?” mused Herbertina.

“Well, at least we’re still on holiday, until Mr. Felmouth’s toys arrive or Mr. Pickett goes a-pirating across the Channel,” said Miss Rendlesham practically. “And the evening is still young. Who’d like a few hands of whist?”

The mysteries and mischief of Treadway Pickett did not manage to rule their holiday time. There were the long, casual days to enjoy, the warm nights, and hours untrammeled by any vestige of professional duties. There was shopping, there were books, there were long walks—while Mrs. Otley had vigorous physical hobbies that took her outdoors, all the Ladies enjoyed the opportunity to simply go strolling in the sunlight. Herbertina and the Deveres were on the beach every day, so enthused with sea-bathing that Mrs. Corvey was obliged to warn them about spoiling their complexions.

On 14 July, a freight dray came laboring up the street to the boarding house where the Ladies of Nell Gwynne’s were staying. Wagons full of cargo and luggage were not an unfamiliar sight in the streets of Torbay, of course; but they rarely had respectable ladies perched on the driver’s seat. This one did, although she did not handle the reins herself, but sedately directed the driver (who resembled a tidily-dressed satyr) with her furled parasol. When they reached the boarding house, she dismounted and sent the dray on into the paved inner courtyard. She herself entered the building and sent the parlor maid to announce that Mrs. Sarah Goodman had arrived to meet with Master Herbert Corvey.

The maid found Master Herbert alone on the third-story smoking porch, cigar in hand, peering over the railing to where the drayman was unloading a coffin sized (and shaped) crate.

“What d’you suppose that is, Jenny?” Herbertina inquired casually as the maid curtsied.

“Don’t know, sir, but the lady who came on the drayer’s cart is in the front hall asking to see you. A Mrs. Sarah Goodman,” replied Jenny a little stiffly.

She thought young Master Herbert very handsome, with a sweet mouth and lovely bronze curls; it was such a shame, about the cigars and hair pomade—and now older ladies come a-calling! She sniffed disapprovingly but waited for Master Herbert’s response.

Herbertina had no idea who Mrs. Sarah Goodman was. However, behind Jenny Mrs. Corvey had appeared in their sitting room: her eyebrows arched in surprise above her smoked glasses, but she smiled and nodded at the name, signaling that it was well. She promptly vanished back into the rooms, but Herbertina was accustomed to improvising relationships on the fly.

“Ah, dear Aunt Goodman! Arrived on the luggage cart, did she?” Herbertina extinguished her cigar in the brass sand urn on the rail. “She’s an original, is Auntie. Thank you, Jenny.”

She pressed a farthing into Jenny’s hand, then turned and strode down the stairs to the front parlor.

Mrs. Goodman was seated in the front parlor, just tucking her gloves into her bonnet. Herbertina hurried up and reached for her hands, exclaiming “Aunt Goodman! I say, what a surprise to see you here. Mamma said nothing of your visiting.”

Mrs. Goodman smiled, a small cat-like smile. Indeed, her entire face—though round and rather plain at first glance—was enlivened with an air of felinity: a smiling triangular mouth, pointed little nose, and a general air of knowing amusement. Her eyes were a bright pale blue; her curly hair an unremarkable brown that showed hints (to Herbertina’s professional eyes) of having being hennaed in the not-too-distant past. Her clothes were very good and very respectable, but did not altogether hide the fact that her form, too, had the easy voluptuousness of a relaxed tabby.

She let her hand lie properly unresisting in Herbertina’s own for a moment before drawing it back. Patting Herbertina’s smooth cheek, Mrs. Goodman motioned for her to join her on the couch.

“I was passing through on an errand for a
Gentleman
of our acquaintance,” said Mrs. Goodman, with a sidelong look and slight emphasis, “and I thought how nice it would be to see dear Elizabeth. And since she had told me how you were suddenly shooting up into a proper young man, I thought I would deliver a little gift you might find amusing. I understand you are quite athletic?”

“I take a bit of sport, of course,” agreed Herbert cautiously. Mrs. Goodman’s general air of a cat at a mousehole made her uncertain as to which of her professions was being referenced.

“Yes, I thought so,” said Mrs. Goodman. “Now, come into the yard with me, dear boy, and see what I have brought for you.

The drayman had levered the lid off the mysterious box when Mrs. Goodman and Herbertina came into the courtyard. Packing straw was scattered on the cobblestones. He saluted with a wave of pry bar to forelock, and gestured down into the box.

“Have it out in just a moment, mum. Sorry for the delay—it took a bit to get it free, it’s that awkward.”

With that, he dropped the pry and reached into the box with both arms. With obvious effort, he lifted out a vaguely pony-shaped thing, hauling it out with about the ease a man would exhibit trying to decant a real pony from a wooden box. He set it on the ground, leaning it against the box, where it stood stiffly tilted.

“There you are,” said Mrs. Goodman. She beamed as if she had just presented Herbertina with her heart’s desire. Herbertina stared.

The thing had two wheels—not sensibly side by side, as in a cart, but one in front of the other. They were wooden and spoked, with iron tires. The rear wheel was twice the size of the front one, and connected to it by a jointed linkage armature framing the front wheel. The front also bore two treadles on long rods, by which the armature was apparently moved. Between the two wheels was a long, curving body bearing a small saddle with a high back; at the front, overhanging the wheel, it was carved into the semblance of a spirited horse’s head. A crescent-shaped tiller handle framed the horse’s neck, attached to the front wheel and clearly meant to be accessible to whomsoever was seated on the saddle. The entire contrivance gleamed in the sun, being made of polished oak and brass.

“Why, Aunt, it’s…what is it, precisely?” asked Herbertina.

“It’s a sort of dandy horse,” said Mrs. Goodman. “There was quite a fad some time before you were born, just before the 1820s. The Germans called them Laufmaschines, and they were a sort of rolling hobby-horse: the riders straddled them and pushed along with their feet. They were so hard to steer, you know, and so fast—up to eight miles per hour, imagine!—that they were finally banned in most places. The riders kept running over people on the pavements. This particular machine has been much improved by a Scottish
Gentleman
”—again, the sidelong glance from under her lashes “—named Kirkpatrick Macmillan. The addition of treadles and the linkage arm allow it to be propelled by the rider, and since the tiller handles turn the front wheel, it is much more easily steered!”

“I see,” said Herbertina, who actually could not imagine the acrobatics required.

“Of course, one could not fall off the old hobby-horses very easily, whereas one must balance on this model, and stay upright by the use of momentum. Or so I am told,” said Mrs. Goodman. She looked at Herbertina’s legs critically. “You have a good length of limb, nephew, so I should think you can handle this quite well.”

Herbertina stared helplessly at the dandy horse, and finally summoned up an inquiry: “Are there instructions?”

“No. Not really.” Mrs. Goodman appeared to be suppressing a smile. “But I have seen the device in operation, and I will stay here for an hour or two and see how you get on. I am certain you will master it in no time, Herbert—you have ridden much more difficult mounts, I am sure!”

That may have been true, but Herbertina had ample time that afternoon to consider that her previous mounts, no matter how wild, had actually wanted to be ridden. The dandy horse was not so inclined.

The next hour or two gave Herbertina a great intimacy with the operation of the dandy horse. The greatest trick appeared to be the crucial moment when one lifted one’s feet off the ground and onto the treadles, and then pedaled like a desperate sailor on the pumps of a sinking hulk. Unfortunately, this also gave her an increasing familiarity with the cobbled floor of the courtyard, especially as Mrs. Goodman’s instructions ran heavily to: “Faster, faster! Now
steer
! Left, left—your
other
left! Oh, dear…”

Fortunately, the sounds of Mrs. Goodman’s cries and Herbertina’s curses, mingled with the drayman’s laughter, soon fetched down Dora, Maude and Jane. They were both appalled and fascinated, and with their aid as a sort of living mounting frame, Herbertina began to make real progress in getting on and staying on long enough to propel the cunning machine forward. The next step was the actual steering—with Maude and Dora running alongside and hauling with her on the curving handle, Herbertina finally began to grasp how to coordinate the diverse acrobatics the machine demanded. Braking—which required removing one’s feet from the treadles and dragging one’s boot heels—proved must simpler than driving forward, at least once Herbertina stopped falling over when her momentum was absorbed.

At length, however, she rode triumphantly and alone round the yard, sole commander of her now-biddable dandy horse, whooping with delight. The Devere sisters jumped up and down and applauded wildly; and as Herbertina finally slowed to a perfect stop before Mrs. Goodman, yet more applause sounded from the third-floor balcony of the boarding house. The other Ladies stood there clapping their hands, and Miss Rendlesham threw down a rose, calling “Bravo! Bravo! Bravissimo!”

Mrs. Goodman declined the offer of lunch with Mrs. Corvey, as she had to catch an afternoon train back to some carefully unspecified destination. She did consent to a refreshing cup of tea and a quiet chat before she left; the Ladies, gathering that Mrs. Goodman was a successful alumna of Nell Gwynne’s, left the two older women alone in their suite’s sitting room. Mrs. Corvey was most uncharacteristically giggling with their visitor as the younger Ladies sought other occupation for a while.

Mrs. Otley took her calipers, measuring tape, lap desk and the bones from Kent’s Cavern and retired to the bedchamber she shared with Miss Rendlesham to answer a letter from her correspondent, Mr. Darwin. (He had responded with some enthusiasm to her original description a few days previously.) Miss Rendlesham rather objecting to Mrs. Otley’s hollow-eyed visitor, she took her ubiquitous book and joined everyone else in the inner courtyard to watch Herbertina practice on the dandy horse.

This provided considerable amusement for an hour or so, with Herbertina growing steadily more confident and daring on the machine. The Devere sisters were wild to try it themselves, and Dora lamented not bringing any of her schoolgirl costumes: but Lady Beatrice tactfully pointed out that they were hoping to avoid notice, which would be quite impossible if Dora were to proceed down Market Street or Babbacombe Road with her knees flashing free.

“I suppose that means we may not try it in our bathing costumes on the beach, either,” sighed Maude. “I suppose it is best to keep it secret.”

“In fact, we should probably go indoors with it now,” said Lady Beatrice. “Our fellow lodgers have missed this demonstration, but they will be coming back for lunch now, I think. Time to put away Herbertina’s fascinating toy.”