The Darcy Connection (9 page)

Her laugh was infectious, and several heads turned to see where the merriment was coming from.

Among them that of Mr. Bruton, who looked surprised.

Lady Desmond looked as well, then said to Lady Sarah, “Who is that girl talking to Pagoda Portal and Henrietta? I have never seen her before. What a very unbecoming dress, one would think she was the governess or some such thing.”

“Mama!” said Freddie indignantly.

“I know who she is,” said Lady Sarah. “The new beauty's sister. Their father is a bishop, a minor bishop, somewhere in the north. Perhaps she is into good works.”

Thoughtless words, that were repeated to Eliza a little later on, when she found herself standing beside Miss Chetwynd and her mother at the supper table.

Good God, was there a plan afoot to make her think ill of herself? “Good works?” she said with a lifted eyebrow. “There are worse things in this spiteful world than good works.”

“Damned Whig,” Lord Grandpoint muttered.

The noble marquis looked around the room with indifferent eyes. “You mean young Rosely.”

“I do, and I can't think why he's here.”

“That is obvious enough,” said Montblaine.

“Raking after Miss Collins, by God, her ladyship will put a stop to that.”

“Perhaps Miss Collins finds Frederick of interest to her.”

“She'll do as she's told. That's a connection that won't do, I tell you. What influence does Rosely have in the Church, pray, or Desmond, either?”

“None whatsoever, the whole family are irreligious like most of their fellow Whigs, and anticlerical to boot.”

“Exactly.”

“Tell me, why are you interested in the clergy?” Lord Grandpoint saw that although Montblaine was talking to him, his austere gaze was fastened on Charlotte.

“Miss Collins is the daughter of a bishop.”

“A particular bishop? Does he sit in the Lords? I have not encountered a Bishop Collins, to the best of my knowledge.”

“He is Bishop of Ripon.”

“An impoverished see, I dare say the cost of coming to London is beyond him. Is he an able man? Your nephew, did I hear?”

“Nothing of the kind,” said Grandpoint. “His wife is niece to my wife. Lady Grandpoint has a fondness for Charlotte, who is her goddaughter.”

“And a great beauty, her ladyship is to be congratulated on her goddaughter's looks. She is in town to find a husband, I suppose. One with influence in the Church. Has she any fortune?”

“Some few thousand.”

“A pity, for it will limit the field. However, with such an extraordinary degree of beauty, her face will be her fortune. Who is the dab of a girl in the green gown who was with her just now?”

“She is also my niece, Miss Eliza Collins.”

“Really. I had taken her for a companion. She has neither face nor fortune, I take it, and so is not on the lookout for a rich and influential husband.”

“To tell you the truth, there is some entanglement in Yorkshire, a squire's son, but the squire won't have it. Quite right, too, it's a tidy estate, and the young man is an only son, he can look higher for a daughter-in-law. So she is come to London to keep her out of mischief. We hope perhaps that she may find herself a more suitable husband among the clergy. She has been well brought up, knows how a parish is run—”

“A clergyman!” said the marquis, a chilly smile just touching his thin mouth. “Is her father a fool?”

“The bishop?” Truth struggled with family loyalty in Grandpoint's breast. “He is not perhaps a sensible man, rather a pompous prelate, you might say.”

“Ah, then it is surprising he has not already advanced further, most of the bishops in the Lords are nonentities. However, they have votes, and stupid men can be persuaded to do as they ought. Clever bishops are like clever generals—dangerous.”

Lady Grandpoint came up to them. “My dear,” Lord Grandpoint said, “pray tell me why that young rakehell Rosely is here?”

“It is vexing, is it not? He came with his mother.”

“And you felt obliged to ask Lady Desmond?” said the marquis, raising an eyebrow.

“Not obliged, but I wanted Lady Sarah to come.”

“Lady Sarah Bruton, the banker's wife. Yes. I have a great admiration for Bruton. He has a grasp of financial affairs way beyond that of most of our bankers. We need him in the House, Grandpoint.”

“If you came to London more often, you would know that is what we have been active about. However, he is a very independent-minded gentleman, he can't be bought or bribed, he's rich enough to buy up half the Lords and not notice.”

“And no marriageable daughter he wants to see ennobled, which is a pity. Only the son, Bartholomew Bruton. I see him over there.”

“He's going to be as obstinate as his father by the look of him. They say he's clever, very clever. Speaks several languages, just got back from Paris.”

“I hear he is to be married.”

“He is not yet engaged,” said Lady Grandpoint. “However, it is understood that he is to marry Miss Grainger, who would bring both the aristocratic connection to please Lady Sarah, one of her own kind, you know, and an alliance to satisfy Mr. Bruton, for she will inherit from her grandfather.”

“The great banking families like to intermarry,” said Lord Grandpoint. “Or young Bruton may choose to look further afield, for a foreign wife. Now that the war is well behind us, these bankers are spreading their tentacles across the globe.”

“Which is why such men are useful,” the marquis said. “One should not underestimate the importance of the Brutons, father and son.”

Lady Grandpoint wasn't listening. “Drat the man,” she said. “It is too bad of Charlotte. I dare say young Rosely is a handsome fellow, but she must not encourage him, it will not do.”

“I should not concern yourself, ma'am,” said the marquis. “Miss Collins does not appear to regard him with any particular favour, and going together into the supper room hardly constitutes a declaration.”

Lady Grandpoint shook her head. “You are quite right, however, one thing leads to another. And as to Charlotte's liking or not liking him, it would be a strange young woman not to be pleased to find herself in the company of so very handsome and dashing a young man. She is a reserved creature, it is impossible to know what she thinks or feels.”

The marquis took Lady Grandpoint's hand and bowed over it. “Thank you for a most interesting evening, Lady Grandpoint, and now I must take my leave. I am sure I shall see more of you while I am in London. A word of advice, do not disregard the dowdy sister. You should keep an eye on her.”

Lady Grandpoint looked at him in astonishment. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Grandpoint has told me a little of her history.”

“Oh, that. A boy-and-girl affair. Do you think she may go bolting back to Yorkshire? It is not very likely, she is a sensible girl, at heart.”

“Sensible? My dear Lady Grandpoint, did you not hear her laugh? Take care, or she will set the town by the ears, and that, you know, would do Miss Collins's chances in the matrimonial line no good at all.”

“Really,” said Lady Grandpoint as the marquis exited the room, with not more than a slight bow, and a brief word to other acquaintances as he made his way through what was by now a very crowded room. “How tiresome he is with his enigmatic comments. Eliza set the town by the ears indeed. Look at her.”

Grandpoint flipped open his snuffbox and took a pinch. “Did her wretched father give her any money?”

“I believe not, he was severely annoyed with her.”

“Then I think we should fund her to the tune of a few guineas, my dear, so that she may get herself rigged out in somewhat better style.”

“I have offered, indeed I have, but she says, perfectly politely, that she cares little for appearances, and is not in London to cut a dash.”

“She does Charlotte's chances no good by appearing at such gatherings as this looking like the poorest of relations. She cannot stay locked away, she needs to make a good impression or she will harm Charlotte's chances. She is fond of her sister, is she not?”

“I believe so.”

“Then put it to her that she must smarten herself up for Charlotte's sake, if not for her own.”

Which was how it came about that Lady Grandpoint was in Eliza's bedchamber first thing the next morning, while Eliza was still drinking her chocolate and looking out of the window at the swooping swallows.

She rose at once as her great-aunt came into the room. “Good morning, ma'am.”

“Sit down, Eliza. Now, we have to have a talk about your clothes.”

Eliza had dark circles under her eyes, she had not slept well. She could not have imagined that she would find the casual judgements of others on her appearance so wounding, and her strong common sense told her that she could blame no one for the remarks that had been passed except herself. It was petty and wilful to behave in such a way, a kind of act of anger against her parents, and a foolish one. This was not her small country circle, where wearing the unsuitable clothes could be regarded as a prank; in Yorkshire she had often caused merriment among her friends by choosing an outrageous or nonsensical ornament to wear in her hair, or even, on one daring occasion, borrowing her brother's breeches, so that she might try riding astride—in that she had been aided and abetted by Maria, who thought it a great joke.

It was different here in London. And, as her great-aunt told her with some asperity what Lord Grandpoint had said, how she might injure Charlotte's chances by making herself noticeable in this way. “For you may think you are making yourself less noticeable by dressing so dowdy, but I assure you, in London, it is quite otherwise. You do not have to dress fine, you simply have to dress in such a way as you do not draw attention to yourself.”

Eliza had to hide a laugh at the look of surprise on her great-aunt's face when she said, in the meekest tones, “You are quite right. It was kind of you to offer to pay for some clothes for me, and uncivil in me to refuse to accept the offer. I need not put you to any great expense, for I have some money put by. I shall ask Annie to make me one or two dresses.”

“That is being sensible!” Lady Grandpoint hesitated before going on, “There is another matter that I wished to speak to you about. Charlotte spent quite some time yesterday evening with Lord Rosely. Perhaps you may hint to her that it will not do to take his attentions seriously.”

“Not do? Is an earl's son looking too high for Charlotte?”

“He is a Whig, and a rake, and his parents want him to marry an heiress,” said Lady Grandpoint. “And it is not for you to be questioning my judgement, you will agree that I know a great deal better than you what match might or might not be suitable for your sister.”

“You had better mention it yourself, ma'am, for I am sure she will not listen to me. Besides, I like Lord Rosely.”

“Whom or what you like is not an issue. Do not encourage your sister to think well of him, that is all. I tell you, it will not do.”

Eliza let out her breath in a whistle as her aunt left, a vulgar and unfeminine habit she had acquired from a much younger Anthony. Warn Charlotte off Lord Rosely? She would do no such thing. Not, she had to admit to herself, merely because she liked him, but more because she knew that Charlotte would pay no attention to anything she said on such a subject.

Annie was delighted. “Make up some dresses for you, Miss? I will indeed. I've had your pattern gown apart already, I can't think who made it up, it can never have fitted you.”

“It is three years old.”

“Three years old, good gracious. My mother says that the secret of being well-dressed is to have gowns that fit. She makes for Madam Lablanche, who has her own establishment in Bond Street, and dresses some of the finest ladies in London. Oh, I'll turn you out in prime style, don't you worry.” She paused. “If you was to get dressed quickly now, you might like to go out and look for some dress lengths.”

Eliza put down her dish of chocolate. Suddenly, to be out and about on this sunny day seemed an excellent notion. “Where do we go?”

Annie looked at her doubtfully. “There are the fashionable warehouses, but…”

“I have only a few guineas to spend, and I dare say my money will not go far there.”

“No, so if you don't mind coming with me to another part of town, we can go to Spitalfields, where my mother knows all the merchants. We can find some bargains there, I promise you.”

“Spitalfields! Where is that?”

“Oh, it's in the east of London, not the kind of place the gentry go, it is not genteel at all. It is where all the silk weavers set up shop, long ago, although now they are having a hard time of it, for French silk is smuggled in and it is cheaper and the women are all wild for the French patterns.”

“I will be ready in a trice.” Then, looking at Annie, Eliza asked, “Is there some difficulty, after all? Can you not be spared from your duties?”

“Oh, no, I'm done for this morning, except to wait on you, it is just that I wasn't thinking when I suggested we go to the warehouses I know. I'm sure her ladyship wouldn't like you to go to Spitalfields.”

“Because it is not genteel?”

“It is not the kind of place a young lady goes to, and that's the truth. Perhaps you can trust me to buy for you…”

“No, that does not suit me at all. I shall like to choose for myself, and as for Lady Grandpoint not caring for me to go into such a part of London, why, I shall not tell her.”

“She will want to know where you are going, she likes to know the movements of everyone in the house.”

“Then I shall simply say I am going to warehouses to look at lengths for new gowns, which is true enough. She will assume I am going to some fashionable establishments and will be perfectly happy.”

Lady Grandpoint approved Eliza's plan. “Go to Dodds and Minton and mention my name. Only plain materials, naturally, you are not to be looking at fine silks and satins, they would not be suitable at all. Annie will know what is best, I am sure.”

Annie bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lady,” she said demurely.

Before they went out of the house, Annie relieved Eliza of her purse. “Where we are going, with you so much the lady, you should not have this in your reticule.”

“What, you think I will be robbed, in my shabby gown?”

“It isn't the gown, Miss, it's the look you have. Some skunker will have your reticule off your wrist or your purse out of it in a flash. Let me take it for you.”

Eliza watched as Annie took her money and folded it into a little pouch attached to a drawstring on the inside of her dress. “There,” she said. “It's how we all carry any coins we have, and beside, no one in Spitalfields will lay a finger on me. If they did, they'd know they'd have my pa to answer to, and he's a bruiser of a man, even if not so young as he was.”

Lady Grandpoint, with great condescension, had offered the use of her carriage. “Charlotte may go with you,” she suggested.

“Charlotte has letters to write,” Eliza said quickly. It was probably true, Charlotte was an avid correspondent, sending long letters to her mother and to various friends; Eliza always marvelled at her letter writing, for her missives were as dull as they were long. “And we shall walk, it is not a great distance, and I shall benefit from the exercise.”

“Very well,” said Lady Grandpoint, “although I do not like to see you skipping about London too much. A walk in the park is one thing, striding about the streets quite another.”

“Can we in fact walk all the way?” said Eliza as they set off from Aubrey Square. “Is it not quite a long way?”

“Much too far too walk, or too far for you, in those shoes. It will be best to take a hackney cab.”

“Why, then, Fermer could have called one for us.”

“Yes, but he'd have summoned one of his cronies, and wanted to know where we were going, and I could hardly say Spitalfields, could I? If we walk a little way, we shall find one standing at the rank in Godmer Street.”

They duly took a hackney cab at Godmer Street, which threaded its way through the busy streets. As they left the fashionable quarter behind, Eliza was fascinated by the very different appearance of the city. “This must be where the bankers are, and the great merchants, this is where business is done,” she said.

“Yes, but it isn't at all smart.”

“I wish I had been born a man,” said Eliza with a sigh. “How much I should like to be able to walk up and down freely and go where I wanted, and have a profession, like these men here.”

“I expect they would envy you your life of leisure, Miss, and one has to be content with the station the Good Lord has set us in.”

“You sound like my father in one of his sermons,” said Eliza. “Don't you preach at me, Annie, or I'll get a fit of the dismals. As to a life of leisure, well, I doubt it. Oh, you see me leading an idle life here in London, but I assure you, my days are quite full in Yorkshire, with household duties and visiting the poor and needy. Not so hard as yours, of course, although I do believe there was not a harder-working woman in England than my mama when we were little, and Papa was rector of a large parish.”

And that would be her lot, if she did what was expected of her by her father, and married a suitable clergyman. Life as Lady Diggory would be very different, busy, of course. How odd, she hadn't thought of Anthony for quite three hours, that was the effect the prospect of new clothes had on the female mind. She would tell him when she next wrote about this trip to Spitalfields. No, perhaps she wouldn't. He might not know where Spitalfields was, but if he did, he would probably disapprove, just as Lady Grandpoint and the butler would.

The streets had changed again, gone were the broad, prosperous streets of Holborn and the City; now the streets were narrower, the buildings on either side higher and gloomier. The children playing in the street looked hungry and ragged, and they went barefoot. “Here am I, going to spend money on finery,” she exclaimed, “when only think what my guineas would do for those children!”

“Those children would never see a penny of the money were you to give them your purse. Some trembler would have it off them in a second, or it'd go back to a drunken mother or a feckless father who'd drink it away in a day. What keeps people respectable and off the streets is work, and you can spend your money in Spitalfields without fretting about it, for it all finds its way back in wages and keeping other folk in business. That's the way the world works, least it does where I come from. The market's just here.”

Eliza looked out with interest as the cab turned the corner and came out into a bustling market. Stalls piled with vegetables and fruit lined the square and the streets all around, as far as the eye could see.

“Potatoes is what most of them sell,” said Annie, which Eliza could see for herself; sacks of potatoes were stacked high on stalls, against walls, were loaded on to carts, and, set out loose on the stalls, were the subject of much brisk trade. “Greens and spuds,” said Annie. “The market's really busy first thing in the morning, long before you're up. That's when the carts come in from the West End to take back all the fresh stuff there.”

“Are the warehouses here?” asked Eliza, as the cab made its way at a snail's pace through the market area. Good heavens, if this was quiet, what must it be like at dawn?

Now they were away from the market. The houses here were not modern, but large and many of them very fine. “Built by the silk merchants, way back, like I told you,” said Annie.

Eliza strived to remember the scraps of knowledge she had learned from her governess. “Was it not the Huguenots who came over from France and set up the silk industry in this part of London?”

“I believe it was. Frenchies, they were, there are still lots of churches here with French names from those days. Now these houses are mostly let out as apartments, the rich folk have moved west.” She called up to the cab driver. “Draw up at the corner, if you please.”

They climbed out, and Annie handed over a coin, after a spirited bout of haggling with the driver—“He knows the fare's a shilling, same as I do, does he take me for a country bumpkin, new to the town?”

Eliza had gone once with her mother to some of the warehouses in Leeds, but that was nothing in comparison to these. Behind long, polished wooden counters were stacked bolts and bolts of fabric, some in sombre hues, others in myriad shades from peacock blue to rich amber, from glowing crimson to lilac and silver.

A man dressed in a drab coat came hurrying forward to greet them. “Good morning, Annie, what a pleasure to see you. Your ma was in here only yesterday, did she forget something?”

“No, I've come on my own account, or rather on behalf of my young lady here. Have you forgotten I live up west now, Mr. Jessamy? I'm in service in Aubrey Square, with Lady Grandpoint. This is Miss Eliza, who's her relative staying in the house, and we've come to look over what you've got, for she wants several dress lengths.” Annie gave him a beaming smile. “Of course, I brought her here first off, Mr. Jessamy, knowing as how you'd give a fair price.”

Eliza's taste was all for the rich colours, but she knew as well as Annie or her great-aunt that only the lightest colours would be considered suitable for a single young woman of twenty. Even so, the muslins made her stretch her eyes, silk muslins, figured muslins, and for evening dress, Annie said, “Netting is all the rage just now, see how pretty this is with the leaf pattern, in silver. Was you to have that made up over an underskirt in—Fetch that bolt there down for me, Mr. Jessamy. The shot silk, in the silver, if you please.” And when it was brought down and the bolt unwound with astonishing speed, and the foamy material billowed over the counter, Eliza could only exclaim at how gorgeous it was.

“For my way of thinking, your colouring is good with white,” said Annie. “Miss Charlotte now, being fair, those pale blues and oysters are all right, but for you, since you can't wear darker or more vivid colours, white and silvers are best. That one there, that muslin with the berry sprig, that would do well for a day dress. With Marie sleeves, and a ruff…”

Eliza was impressed by Annie's expertise. She could judge the weight and quality of material almost at a glance, and certainly after running it through her fingers. “I grew up with it, Miss,” she said. “So it comes natural to me. And my sisters know far more than I do, let alone Ma.”

Eliza had in mind perhaps two or three gowns, which, if Annie made over what she had brought with her, would do, surely, for the time she was in London.

“You will need a ball dress,” Annie insisted. “That gauze would look well, although it depends on the trimming. A thick coil of braid around the foot of the dress, and lots of detail about the bodice. You need a good few yards for that, with the fullness there is at the back now, almost a train, you could say, coming out from a yoke.” She fell into technical talk with Mr. Jessamy.

Eliza, revelling in the colours, and indeed in the smell of the silks and muslins and linens, had to make herself pay attention. “I don't need a ball dress, I am sure I shan't be going to any balls.”

“You will, all the young ladies go to balls in the season, and once you have a dress, then her ladyship will be happy to take you. Besides,” Annie said, with a quick, sideways look at her mistress, “haven't you got some fine relations of your own? I heard you was connected to the Darcys; well, Mrs. Wytton, Miss Camilla Darcy she was before she married, she's a fashionable lady who often gives balls.”

“Mrs. Wytton is indeed my cousin, but she is away, she is visiting her sister in Italy.”

“Yes, but she's due back next week.”

“However do you know that?”

“I'm friends with one of the maids at the Wytton house,” Annie said simply.

Eliza made her selection, although, as she noticed, it was rather more Annie's selection than her own, Annie firmly rejecting the purchase of a soft crape with a pattern that she rather liked, saying it was unbalanced and wouldn't make up well, and ignoring Eliza's continued assertion that money spent for a ball dress was money wasted.

The lengths were cut, the bill paid; now Eliza could see why Annie had been so insistent that she bring money with her. “Those warehouses my lady talks about, they'd send the stuff round and the bill with it, but it would cost you three times as much, they've got to cover themselves, and pay higher costs for rents and all that. Besides, nobs like to pay fancy prices for the most part. Here it's cash down, and far better quality and prices than the Pantheon, if it comes to that.”