The Bachelor List (12 page)

Amelia lay back on her bed, still in her damp coat and hat. When she'd seen the advertisement in
The Mayfair Lady
it had seemed like the answer to a prayer. Her situation was impossible; it had no feasible solution; and yet it would inevitably be resolved one way or the other. She had no one to turn to. And then the advertisement. The service had to be offered by women; no man would advertise in
The Mayfair Lady.
For the first time she saw a smidgeon of hope on the bleak horizon. And now, as she read the response a second time and her eyes dwelled on each feminine stroke of the pen, she felt a strange but sure comfort. The only women friends she had known had been in her school in Bath. When she left there, sufficiently educated for a life as a governess, she had known only her employers, and there were no cozy female relationships to be developed there. Letitia Graham was about the worst Amelia had encountered.

“Miss Westcott? Your lunch is getting cold.”

“I'm coming right away,” she called back to the nursemaid, who'd accompanied her call with an imperative rap at the door. She discarded coat and hat, combed her hair, and returned to the day nursery to eat macaroni pudding with her charge.

Three o'clock came at last. Pamela went off with her mother and Amelia left the house. She walked quickly to Marble Arch. Gusty showers swept leaves from the trees and dampened the pavements and pedestrians scurried under umbrellas, sheltering in doorways or under awnings whenever they became particularly threatening. Amelia was unperturbed.

The Lyons Corner House was on the corner of Marble Arch, its glass windows steamed up with the rain outside and the warmth within. She went in, glancing at her watch. She was half an hour early. She selected a table in the window and took a seat facing the door so that she would have a clear view. She set her copy of
The Mayfair Lady
on the table in plain view and ordered tea. The letter had said that the Go-Between would be carrying a copy of the newspaper; it made sense to Amelia that she should do the same.

Her tea arrived, with a hot buttered crumpet. She took her time, enjoying every bite. Apart from her late-night supper, which was always cold meat of some description and sliced tomato or beetroot, she ate every meal with her charge, and Pamela's tastes were monotonous. She kept her eye on the door and precisely at four o'clock, three women walked in. They wore hats with delicate little veils that covered only their eyes—neat hats—and subdued clothes that nevertheless shouted both money and elegance. Amelia felt her optimism fade. Then she saw the distinctive badge—purple, white, and green—that the tallest of the women wore; and she saw the copy of
The Mayfair Lady
that she carried. Her spirits lifted. This woman was a member of the WSPU.

The three women paused, looked around the restaurant, and Amelia hesitantly lifted her copy of the newspaper. They came towards her, putting back their veils as they did so.

“Miss Westcott.” The woman wearing the WSPU badge held out her hand. “I'm Constance. Let me introduce my sisters. This is Prudence . . . and Chastity.” She indicated her companions, who shook Amelia's hand and sat down.

“So how can we help you, Miss Westcott?”

Chapter 7

I
need to find a husband,” Amelia Westcott stated.

“Well, that's to the point,” Constance observed, taking off her gloves and putting them in her handbag.

“It is what your service offers?” Amelia said, her heart fluttering, her gray eyes expressing uncertainty and anxiety.

“Certainly it is,” Prudence said. “Let us order tea.”

“Those crumpets look delicious,” Chastity declared. “We shall have a plate of those and four cream slices.” She smiled at the elderly waitress in her starched cap and apron.

The waitress made a note on her pad and went away with the weary flat-footed tread of one who spent far too many hours on her feet.

“So what kind of husband did you have in mind?” Constance asked.

“Well, I don't know exactly. I assumed you'd have a list . . . a register or something . . . of men looking for wives.”

The sisters glanced at one another and Amelia's anxiety increased. The return of the waitress with tea prevented further discussion but once she had gone and the thick china cups were filled, crumpets passed, Prudence took off her glasses, rubbed them with her handkerchief, and carefully replaced them on her nose.

“That is what we hope to achieve, Miss Westcott,” she said. “But as of this moment we don't exactly have a register.” She blinked once behind her glasses. “You see, you happen to be our first client.”

“Oh.” Amelia looked as confused as she felt. “How . . . how could that be?”

“Well, there has to be a first,” Chastity pointed out, spooning sugar into her tea.

“Yes, we've . . . or rather,
The Mayfair Lady
has just started offering the Go-Between service,” Constance explained, cutting a crumpet into neat quarters. “But I'm certain we can help you. You said something about a delicate situation. If you could tell us something about yourself and your position, we could make a start.”

Amelia regarded the three sisters doubtfully. She had nerved herself to confide her wretched situation with a businesslike and efficient agency. She had not expected to take tea with three society ladies and discuss the matter as if it were mere social chitchat.

Constance saw her hesitation and said, “Miss Westcott, we understand something of your situation. It can't be pleasant to be subject to Lady Graham.”

Amelia flushed. “How could you possibly know . . . ?”

“This is awkward,” Prudence said. “We know Letitia. And we happened to discover that her daughter's governess was a Miss Westcott.” She shrugged a little defensively. “It's inevitable in our position.” She shrugged again.

Amelia reached for her gloves on the table beside her. “I cannot see how you could help me. I had assumed this would be a businesslike arrangement; I could not possibly confide my situation to people who would be in a position to betray my trust.” Her hands shook as she struggled with her buttoned gloves.

There was a moment of silence, then Chastity leaned forward and laid a hand over Amelia's quivering fingers. “Listen for a minute, Amelia. We would not under any circumstances betray your confidence to
anyone.
We have a pledge of utter discretion. What we know of Letitia simply makes us all the more anxious to help you. You need a husband to escape her service. Is that the situation?”

There was such sincerity and sympathy in her voice that Amelia felt some of her earlier hope trickle back. She looked at the three women and read the compassion in their eyes. There was compassion but there was also strength and determination in all three faces that somehow imparted confidence.

Amelia made up her mind.
What did she have to lose, after all?

“It's not as simple as that,” she said, a dull flush creeping over her cheeks. “If it were, I would simply find another situation.”

She had their complete attention. Tea cooled in cups, butter pooled beneath crumpets. “Two months ago I was in the country with Pamela. Lord and Lady Graham wanted her to spend the summer out of London in their country house in Kent.”

The three sisters nodded. Amelia toyed with the spoon in her saucer, her eyes on the white linen tablecloth. “There were to be no formal lessons since it was a holiday, but I was to take her for instructional walks, supervise her riding lessons . . .” She paused and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “And supervise her music lessons. Pamela is always very reluctant to practice on the pianoforte. She is, I'm afraid, an impatient pupil in most areas.”

“Her mother is not an advocate of education for women,” Constance said.

Amelia gave a short laugh. “Indeed not. But it's hard to blame Lady Graham since her own education was so sadly lacking. Indeed, I believe she considers it to be a disadvantage in a woman.”

“I'm sure she does,” Prudence said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a forefinger. Her eyes were shrewd as they rested upon Amelia Westcott. “The music
teacher . . .” she prompted.

Amelia took a deep breath. “Henry Franklin,” she stated on a swift exhalation. “The youngest son of Justice Franklin, the local magistrate and owner of the local brickworks. Henry's a musician; his father does not approve. He wants him to do the accounting at the brickworks. His two brothers work there and Mr. Franklin expects Henry to join them.”

“And Henry refuses.” Chastity took a cream slice from the plate and thoughtfully licked a dab of raspberry jam from her finger.

“Not exactly . . . he . . .” Amelia shrugged helplessly. “He goes into the office and tries to do what his father wants but it's killing his soul. His father said that if he could make a living at teaching music then he would cease his objections, but Mr. Franklin knows perfectly well that Henry couldn't survive as a musician without his support, and in exchange for that support he must do as his father says.”

Constance thought that this Henry Franklin lacked strength of character if not conviction but she kept her mouth shut. She had the sense that this was only the beginning of Amelia Westcott's problem.

“I'm getting the impression that you and Henry Franklin developed an understanding while you were in Kent,” Chastity said delicately, breaking off a piece of flaky pastry from her cake.

Amelia finally raised her eyes from the tablecloth. “Yes,” she said bluntly. “Rather more than an understanding.” She met their gaze without flinching. “As a result I now find myself in a delicate situation.”

“Oh,” Prudence said. “That's very awkward.”

“A husband is the only solution,” Amelia said. “Once my condition is known to Lady Graham she'll cast me out without a reference, and I'll never be able to find another situation. No self-respecting house would employ a fallen woman.” She met their eyes again. “Would they?”

“No,” Constance agreed. “You'd be blackballed.”

“And besides, you'll have a baby to care for,” Chastity said, frowning. “Even if you boarded the baby—”

“Which I would never do!”

“No, of course not,” Chastity said quickly. “I wasn't really suggesting it as a possibility.”

“So I need a compliant husband,” Amelia stated. “I was hoping you might have one on your books. A widower, perhaps . . . someone who'd be willing to give me the protection of his name in exchange for everything else. Child care, housekeeping . . . whatever was necessary.”

“That seems like exchanging one form of servitude for another,” Constance said.

“What choice do I have?” Amelia laid her hands palms open on the tablecloth. “I am not a woman of independent means.” There was a bitter note in her voice that drew the comparison between an impoverished governess and her present companions.

“Oddly, neither are we,” Prudence said. “We're trying to keep our father out of debtors' prison and ourselves off the streets.”

“Hence our venture with
The Mayfair Lady
and the Go-Between,” Chastity said.

Amelia was silent for a minute. Then she said in a flat voice, “But none of you is pregnant.”

“That is certainly true,” Constance agreed. “So let's look at your options here. Have one of these before Chas eats them all.” She offered the plate of cakes to Amelia.

“I've developed the most dreadful passion for sugary food,” Amelia confided, taking one of the creamy confections. “Fortunately Pammy is kept well supplied with such things.” She took a healthy bite, aware that she was feeling stronger, almost lighthearted. These three women had somehow managed to take the desperation out of her situation. She had no idea how, since they didn't appear to offer the salvation she had hoped for.

“It seems to me that Henry would be the best candidate,” Chastity suggested somewhat tentatively. It was such an obvious solution she assumed there was a problem that Amelia had not divulged.

“Unless he's already married?” Prudence ventured.

Amelia shook her head and dabbed pastry crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “No, he's not. He can't afford to marry without his father's consent, and Justice Franklin would not consent to his marrying an impoverished governess. Even though my family is every bit as good as the Franklins,” she added with a flash of fire.

“But what if Henry earned his living independently of his father,” Constance mused. “Could he get a job in a school as a music teacher? I believe some of the better prep schools even provide housing for their teaching staff.”

“I could suggest it if I could get in touch with him,” Amelia said, and now her voice lost its vibrancy. “I've written to him several times, although I couldn't tell him the situation. I couldn't risk writing something like that. Lady Graham probably reads my blotter in a mirror.”

“I doubt she's clever enough,” Constance said acidly.

A wryly appreciative smile touched Amelia's lips but her expression instantly returned to gloom. “I haven't heard a word from Henry. He's not answered a single one of my letters. He must have received them; the post is perfectly reliable. I can only assume he doesn't want to hear from me.”

“There could be other explanations,” Chastity said. “Perhaps he's not at the address anymore.”

“In that case why wouldn't he write and give me his new address?”

“There you have me.” Constance drummed her fingers on the table. “I suggest we find out.”

“How?”

“Pay him a visit.”

“But I could never get even a day's free time.”

“Not you, Amelia, us.”

“Yes, we'll go and make a reconnaissance,” Prudence said. “We won't necessarily tell him anything specific; we'll just see what the situation is.”

“It's a start, at any rate.” Chastity touched Amelia's hand again. “Don't worry. We have plenty of time to sort this out. When do you think the baby's due?”

“Oh, not for another seven months.” Amelia smiled, clearly making an effort to respond to Chastity's optimism.

“Then you won't start to show for another two or three months,” Prudence stated. “And you can always loosen your gowns. You'll be able to cover it for quite a while.”

Amelia nodded. “But I must make provision. I can't wait until the last minute.”

“No, and we won't,” Constance said firmly. “We'll start with Henry, and if that proves a dead end, then we'll find another solution.”

Amelia glanced at the clock on the wall and gave a little cry of alarm. “I must get back, it's almost five-thirty. I must be back by six when Pammy gets back with her mother.” She began to fumble in her handbag. “What do I owe you for the consultation?”

“Nothing,” the sisters said in unison.

“And you won't owe us anything ever,” Chastity declared, ignoring a slight twitch from Prudence.

“Oh, but I must pay you. You're providing a service for hire. It says so.” Amelia tapped the copy of the newspaper on the table.

“It's all right,” Constance said with blithe exaggeration. “We have the possibility of paying clients already. They can afford to pay a little extra.”

Amelia couldn't help a wan smile. She laid a shilling on the table. “At least let me pay for my tea.”

“If you insist.” Prudence laid their own share on the table beside Amelia's. Her sisters' reckless generosity was all very well, but a shilling was a shilling.

“I see you're a member of the WSPU.” Amelia gestured to the badge Constance wore on her lapel.

“Yes, but I don't make it public.” Constance unpinned the badge. “Because of
The Mayfair Lady.
I write a lot of political articles and we're lobbying for women's suffrage. I don't want people to guess that I might have anything to do with the newspaper. I wore the badge this afternoon to reassure you, since I'm guessing you sympathize with the Union.”

“It did reassure me,” Amelia declared, getting to her feet. “I have to keep my affiliation a secret too. I can rarely get to meetings.”

“That will change,” Constance stated. “One of these days that will change.”

“Yes, Con's working on a Member of Parliament,” Chastity said mischievously. “We have high hopes that the Right Honorable—” She broke off in confusion as Prudence trod hard on her foot and she realized what she had been about to reveal.

Fortunately, Amelia was too anxious to be on her way to pay much attention. She scribbled the address she had for Henry Franklin in the margin of
The Mayfair Lady
and Constance promised that they would pay their visit to Kent at the beginning of the following week.