The Miser's Sister (11 page)

“Oh, very well,” sighed Mrs Pardoe, apparently worn down by an argument of long standing. “No more than two, mind.”

“Thank you, Mama. We have won at last, Rosie. Lady Ruth, may I solicit your hand for the first waltz?”

“We do not know any dances!” revealed Letty, near to tears. “We shall have to watch all evening.

“Nonsense!” Rose exclaimed bracingly. “Oliver and I can easily teach you most of them in a few hours, can we not, Oliver? We’ll start right after dinner. I expect Papa will help. He is a great dancer, and Mama will play the piano, will you not, dearest Mama?”

Ruth retired that night with her head a buzzing confusion of “Gay Gordons,” “Dashing White Sergeant,” and “Sir Roger de Coverley.” But in her dreams she waltzed with Oliver through caves hung with mistletoe, his strong arm about her waist swinging her to the music till she thought she was flying and the cave turned into a hot air balloon.

In the morning, “The Lancers” and “Strip the Willow” were added to their repertoire before Mrs Pardoe called a halt. Mr Pardoe's counting houses and copying rooms were all to shut down at noon, and guests were expected to begin arriving at four o’clock, so she sent the girls to rest before donning their new finery.

Ruth and Letty were too excited to relax. They plied Rose with questions until she told them good-naturedly that they must wait and see.

“I hope you are not expecting too much,” she added. “It is always fun, but it is not a grand ball such as your aunt will doubtless take you to when the Season starts.”

“Have you ever been to a society ball?” asked Letty.

“Yes, indeed, for when Papa was Lord Mayor of London we received several invitations. However, I had no better luck there than in our own circle: I’ve never met a young man I liked half as well as Oliver.”

“I’m sure you will not get the old boot this year,” Letty consoled her. “I hope I do not!”

It was not high society, but it was a fine party, from the
ooh
’s and
ah
's of the children as they caught their first glimpse of the ballroom, to the carols of the wassailers as the little ones were bundled sleepily into coats and mittens to walk home through the lamp-lit streets.

And in between came sizzling, golden-roasted geese, holly-sprigged puddings flaming blue with brandy, mulled ale and mince pies by the dozen, barons of beef, whole hams studded with cloves, mountains of potatoes and rivers of gravy, an orange for every pocket and a barley sugar for every sticky hand.

The band fiddled away and holiday-dressed clerks swung their wives and sweethearts from arm to arm. The ladies spread their favours equally and not one of them sat out a dance, but Ruth saved the first waltz for Oliver. The floor cleared magically to leave them floating round the room before an admiring audience they scarcely noticed, until applause at the end woke them from their daze and a blushing Ruth hurried to rejoin Mrs Pardoe.

An interval while the musicians whetted their whistles, and in came a troupe of mummers in fantastic costumes. They performed the tale of St George and the Dragon, and if the dragon’s mask looked not unlike the Prince Regent, no one was in a mood to complain.

At last came the moment seventy-six little souls had been anticipating. Each waited breathless as Mr Pardoe called out names, one by one. The room filled with the rustle of paper, and dolls emerged, bright-painted spinning tops, wooden horses, penny whistles, drums, and bead necklaces.

“Nothing sensible!” Mr Pardoe had ordered. “I give them their Christmas bonuses for that. Children need a bit of frivolity now and then.”

Parents might groan and cover their ears as Johnny appeared with a whistle and Sue with a tambourine, but Johnny and Sue were certainly satisfied.

The dancing continued. Ruth found it did not matter if she did not quite remember the steps of the Eightsome Reel or which direction to go in the Barn Dance. Her admiring partners were blind to all faults and steered her kindly and tactfully to the right spot.

“This way now, m’lady!”

“That’s right, dearie, keep going!”

Gradually all but the most energetic dancers dropped out. One by one the musicians gravitated toward the huge bowls of mulled ale, until a lone fiddler remained. Then he, too, put down his instrument, and the carollers paraded in.

“Mary and the Cherry Tree,” “Three Ships a-Sailing.” “The Wassail Song,” “Past Three O’Clock,” and “The Coventry Carol,” all the old favourites were as new to Ruth as the old dances. As she helped to wrap the little ones against the cold, she wondered how she could have lived so many years in ignorance of all the traditions and customs of her country. With a shiver she dismissed memories of bleak Christmases at Penderric and joined the Pardoes in wishing the departing guests a very merry holiday.

Chapter 10

Christmas was over all too soon for Ruth. She and Letty had each received a fur muff from Mr and Mrs Pardoe, a luxury she had not even dreamed of possessing.

“I am quite overwhelmed by your parents’ kindness,” she said to Rose. “It was generous of them to offer their hospitality, but they have gone far beyond that and made me feel one of your family.”

“Because you seem to us one of our family. I could not ask for a dearer sister.”

“I hope I shall be able to repay the debt a little when my uncle and aunt return. You must come with us to all the tonnish parties, and we’ll soon find you a congenial husband.”

“Oh, Ruth, I so long to fall in love and marry and have a family of my own! I daresay I am too choosy, for it is not as if I have had no offers.”

“With a wider circle of acquaintances, anything may happen. Though if I were in your situation, with a loving family, plenty of pin money, few responsibilities, I do not think I should be in such a hurry to leave it!”

“There is no romance in your soul,” protested Rose, laughing.

Letty bounced into the room. “Are you two whispering secrets again?” she enquired.

Ruth looked guilty. She was sorry that Letty did not share her close friendship with Rose, though Letty did not seem to notice the lack. Now she was too interested in the news she had to resent the intimacy from which she was excluded.

“Oliver says he’ll take us to see the Tower of London. I suppose it’s just more history, like those stupid Roman walls, but if we cannot go shopping, it’s better than doing nothing all day.”

“I expect you’ll enjoy the Tower,” Rose told her. “The menagerie is worth a visit, and perhaps we will be able to see the Crown Jewels.”

In the days that followed, Oliver escorted the young ladies on a number of excursions to see the sights of the City. Letty was most impressed by a tour of the Mansion House, which had been Mr Pardoe’s official residence during his term as Lord Mayor. She listened open-mouthed as Rose and Oliver described the magnificent processions and banquets celebrating his inauguration.

St. Paul’s, being just around the corner from home, was left for a miserable wet and windy day when they did not wish to venture any farther afield. When they did go, Ruth was as impressed by the interior of the huge dome as by its exterior, which dominated London’s skyline. Oliver explained how the two were actually not the same, the outer one being supported by a hidden cone of brick.

“Don’t spoil my illusions, Mr Pardoe!” she retorted with a smile. “Which reminds me, I have not yet seen the workshop you mentioned to me in Cornwall.”

“Do you truly wish to? I must warn you that I am liable to grow excessively talkative on the subject of inventions.”

“I should like it of all things, and I must warn you that I have some questions to pose about inflammable gas and why it is produced when water passes through hot iron filings.”

“I can see you have been talking to Bob Polgarth,” said Oliver, considerably startled by her clear recollection of the details and her sincere curiosity. “I’ll take you to my laboratory this afternoon, if we can tear Letty away from the Whispering Gallery now.”

So that afternoon, leaving Rose and Letty with novels, which were the favourite reading of both, Ruth followed Oliver along corridors hitherto unvisited, down stairs and through doors, until they came to a large room with a skylight.

 “It is an addition constructed especially for me when one of the adjoining buildings was torn down,” Oliver told her. “Pray excuse the disorder and the dust. The maids used to tidy up in here, but those who were not terrified always managed to break something, so I banished them.”

Ruth gazed in awe at tables loaded with strange machines and apparatus. Books and pamphlets lay everywhere in apparent confusion.

“How do you ever find anything?” she asked.

“Oh, I know exactly where to lay my hands on everything. No one else ever comes in here. Father is interested only in results, and Mama and Rosie are curious only about when I am going to blow them up. I sometimes bring scientific friends here, but they know better than to touch things.”

He demonstrated a miniature steam engine, a copy of one of Trevithick’s with improvements suggested by George Stephenson. Ruth was fascinated to see the tiny pistons move up and down and the gears rotate.

“I had a slightly larger one,” said Oliver, “but I added my own improvements, and it exploded. Only a very small explosion,” he added quickly. “Do not tell Mama, I beg of you!”

“I shan’t,” Ruth promised. “What is this?”

Oliver was explaining the purpose of a series of retorts linked by rather crooked glass tubing, when a knock sounded at an exterior door that Ruth had not noticed. Oliver opened it and admitted a good-looking young man.

“Michael! I am very glad to see you,” he greeted him. “I have a guest who would be interested to see what you can do with my Voltaic Pile. Lady Ruth, this is Michael Faraday, who assists Sir Humphrey Davy at the Royal Society. Michael, Lady Ruth Penderric is staying with my mother while her uncle is abroad.”

Mr Faraday made a clumsy bow.

“Pray excuse me, my lady,” he stammered. “I was just passing. No business of importance. I’ll be on my way
...
”

“Do stay, sir,” Ruth urged. “I have discovered that Sir Humphrey is Mr Pardoe’s hero, and some of his glory must transfer to you. Will you not show me your experiments?”

“Nothing Oliver can’t do,” the young man muttered, looking harassed, but he was soon put at ease when he found Ruth’s interest was genuine. He demonstrated an Electric Arc, and described the huge battery at the Royal Society and what he and his mentor were discovering with its aid.

“They expect daily to produce a twitch in an elephant’s leg,” said Oliver with the solemn face that Ruth had come to associate with his teasing.

“Nonsense! We have better things to do.”

Ruth requested an explanation and was told a great deal more than she wished to hear about Signor Galvani’s experiments with frogs’ legs.

“It sounds excessively nasty,” she commented, “but if electric current can make frogs’ legs move, can it not make other things move, as steam does in Mr Trevithick’s engine?”

Mr Faraday looked thoughtful.

“That is worth thinking about,” he said. “My lady, may I one day have the pleasure of demonstrating the huge arc we can produce at the Society?”

“I should like it of all things, Mr Faraday,” Ruth assured him warmly.

He bowed and took his leave.

“Michael becomes quite civilised,” said Oliver. “He was a bookbinder’s apprentice when Davy took him up, you know, and his mind is too full of electricity to concentrate on learning polite behaviour. He is a genius, though, I am quite certain, and Davy expects a great future for him. You made a strong impression on him, Lady Ruth.”

“I fear it is very unladylike in me to be interested in such things,” Ruth apologised shyly. “I expect he was shocked because I asked so many questions.”

“Not shocked at all, but delighted. As am I. It is rare enough to find a man with such a curiosity about science. I hope you will visit my humble laboratory again soon.”

“May I, please? Perhaps if I get to know more about what you are doing here, you will allow me to dust and tidy for you.”

“Ah, who is the tease now? I’m afraid I am teaching you bad habits, Lady Ruth.”

Ruth laughed but did not answer, and, carefully locking the door, Oliver led her back to the main part of the house.

They found the place in turmoil. Maids were scurrying here and there with beaming faces, the housekeeper was sitting on the stairs with her apron over her head, weeping, and as they entered the entrance hall they heard Bartlett giving orders to a trio of grinning footmen.

“Of course Mr Oliver is in the house,” he scolded with uncharacteristic vivacity. “If he’s not in his room, nor the library, one of you run quickly to the laborority and see if he’s there.” The butler turned and saw Ruth and Oliver standing amazed. “Oh sir!” he cried, “your Pa
...
no, I mustn’t tell you, he’ll want to himself. They’re in the drawing room, Mr Oliver. Hurry now!”

Totally bewildered, they obeyed.

The scene in the drawing room was no more restrained. Mrs Pardoe did not have an apron, and was seated in a chair, but otherwise her posture was indistinguishable from the housekeeper’s. Only the smiling face she raised to her son persuaded him that some tragedy understood only by the two of them had not overtaken the household. Rose and Letty were holding both hands and swinging around in a wild dance. Mr Pardoe, grinning as widely as any of his servants, rushed to Oliver and attempted to embrace him upon both cheeks, no easy matter as he was a good foot shorter.

“I’ve done it!” he crowed. “At last I’ve done it, my boy. You are now looking at Sir Edward Pardoe, Baronet!”

“Father! A baronet! That is magnificent! And you were hoping for a mere knighthood.”

“Did I not tell you that a large loan to the Prince Regent would wipe out his memory of years of contributions to Whig coffers, hey, Oliver? And the joke of it is that as a baronet I’ll have far more influence for Whig causes.”

“Oh, Prinny cannot see beyond the end of his nose, Sir Edward. Mama—Lady Pardoe, I mean—you always knew he would do it.” Oliver bent to kiss his mother, and Rose stopped dancing long enough to give him a hug.