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LYING ABED THAT NIGHT, unanswered questions continued to swirl through my mind. I was convinced now that the attractive housekeeper was, indeed, behind the mysterious goings-on in the Dandridge household. Her attitude towards me, and others, told me she was not a properly trained woman in service. First off, servants were taught to be respectful. Something Norris was clearly not! Furthermore, I did not believe for a minute that she was a housekeeper, nor even a maid. So, what had brought her here? Moreover, why had she earlier forwarded the notion that Mrs. Dandridge’s grandson Conner had fled to the continent when it was fast becoming evident that he had not? In addition, who was the second Mr. Dandridge and why did Norris wish to consult with him? Could Norris and the grandson, or both grandsons, be working together to forward some nefarious scheme that only they were privy to?
Over the next several days, I was unable to push my persistent questions aside, nor was I able to figure a way to seek out the answers. I was aware when Miss Cordelia’s body was removed to a chapel within a century’s old church in the nearby village of Bedford Heath, and, I assume, later interred in the cemetery adjacent to the ancient building. However, I was not aware who amongst the household attended the memorial. Neither I, nor Ellie, or Tilda, were invited, or even told of it.
On into the week, I continued to steer clear of Norris. To avoid speaking directly with her in regard to where I might find the steward in order to have the front stairs repaired, I instead asked Jenkins to forward Mrs. Dandridge’s instructions to someone who could see to having the work completed. To my satisfaction, a pair of workmen soon appeared and in less than two days, the shaky stairs were rebuilt and the new wood polished. Which allowed me to dismiss the nagging concern that one of us, or another unsuspecting soul, would be injured, or fall to his or her death on the stairs.
Several times per day, my worrisome thoughts strayed to my dear friend Mr. Sheridan. I was especially eager to know of his whereabouts, and whether or not he or others from the Home Office had managed to ferret out the elusive Conner Dandridge. Was the father of the young man who Conner had slain still alive, or had his son’s killer also done away with him? I fervently hoped Mr. Sheridan was still in Town and that I would see or, at least, hear from him before too many more days passed.
On the Wednesday evening of our first excursion to the famed Almack’s Assembly Rooms, Tilda returned to my bedchamber after having assisted Hannah and Ellie to prepare for the festivities that night. I was seated before the dressing table awaiting Tilda to pin up my hair.
“The girls is a-twitter with excitement, miss,” Tilda declared as she entered the room. “They both looks pretty in their new finery, especially Miss Hannah. She’s a-wishin’ her mama was here to see her.”
“I expect Lady Medley wishes the same.” After a pause, during which Tilda began to brush the tangles from my long locks, I said, “Whilst we are away tonight, Tilda, I would like you to do something for me.”
“Very well, miss; what would ye’ like me to do?” She grinned at my image in the mirror. “You’s been so awful quiet these past few days, I figured there must be somethin’ a-churnin’ round in yer’ head.”
I returned her grin with a somewhat lopsided one of my own. “I am sorry to have seemed preoccupied, Tilda; several matters have, indeed, been churning around in my head.” I inhaled a breath before saying, “Since you will be here alone this evening, I would like you to go down to the servants’ hall and, in a . . . casual manner, see what you can learn about Miss Cordelia from Josie, or any one of the other housemaids.”
“What sorts o’ things are you a-wantin’ to know, miss?”
“Firstly, I would like to know how long Miss Cordelia served as Mrs. Dandridge’s lady’s maid? And, when did she enter service here? Plus, what precisely did happen to Mrs. Dandridge’s previous lady’s maid? I would also like you to attempt to uncover whether or not Miss Cordelia was ever wed. If so, inquire after her surname. Also, see what you can learn of the present housekeeper, Mrs. Norris. How long has she been here? And, is she a married woman?”
I knew that in upper class households, ‘Mrs’ generally always preceded the housekeeper’s name whether or not the woman had a husband, or had ever been wed. Therefore, Norris may, or may not, now be married, or ever possessed of a mate.
“Well, we already know what happened to the other housekeeper,” Tilda reminded me. “The one what tripped on the rug and dropped the tea tray. Doctor Morgan told us about the accident the day we come here.”
“Indeed. I do recall that both the doctor and Lady Jersey spoke of the woman’s unfortunate death. But . . . oft-times the account that is being bandied about is not the whole truth. The truth is what I am hoping you can glean from the servants. Many are the times you have declared,” I reminded her, “that servants know everything.”
“That’s ‘rot, miss.” Grinning, Tilda set down the hairbrush and reached for the hand mirror so I could have a look at her handiwork. “Servants does know everythin’ that goes on in the big house and the grounds, make no mistake. I’ll do me best to search out the truth for ye’.”
As I preened before the mirror, I added, “We have also not yet learned the relationship to the family of the second Mr. Dandridge. I am wondering if he might be Mrs. Dandridge’s other grandson, and if so, where does he reside? I do not believe he stays within the house, for we have never encountered him in the drawing room, or the dining hall. Nor have we heard mention of him until a scant few days ago.”
“There appears to be a good many things we don’t know about these folks,” Tilda agreed. “I assume ye’ don’t wont me askin’ Norris anything.”
“Indeed, I do not.” Setting aside the mirror, I rose to retrieve my gloves and reticule. “The housekeeper has not spoken to me since the night she falsely accused me of over-medicating Miss Cordelia. I am quite content to leave the status of our relationship in the estranged state where it now stands. I find Norris quite disagreeable and I have no desire to converse with her ever again on any topic whatsoever.”
* * * *
THAT NIGHT, AS WE THREE set out for London in the high-sprung Dandridge coach, I thought both Hannah and Ellie looked as sweet and pure as young girls making their debuts into Polite Society ought to look. The colour in Hannah’s cheeks was high as she talked non-stop throughout the journey into Town, which was quite a long ride. Ellie, seated next to her on the coach bench, bore the appearance of a frightened kitten, who wished only to take cover beneath the bed and remain hidden there until it was safe to venture out again.
The moment I was able, I cautioned Hannah to remember to allow the gentleman to initiate any sort of conversation that might take place between them rather than nattering on and on about things only she found absorbing.
“Even if he should ask a question of you, which he might, or might not do, you must answer his query in a pleasing, well-modulated, tone. The truth is, most gentlemen prefer the company of a modest, soft-spoken young lady to one whose manners border on . . . hoydenish.”
I was unprepared for the hurt look that instantly transformed Hannah’s pretty features. Since the interior lamps on both sides of the coach were lit, I was, as well, startled to see the glimmer of a tear well up in the girl’s periwinkle blue eyes.
“Do you truly believe me to be a . . . a hoyden, Miss Abbott?” A gloved hand flew to muffle the stricken gasp that escaped her.
“No, dear, I do not believe you to be a hoyden! I understand you are merely a-tremor with excitement and that the expectation of all the new and delightful experiences awaiting you has loosened your tongue. You are not now and never could be, a hoyden, sweeting.”
Hannah sniffed back her tears, but to my chagrin, the hurt look that had so altered her countenance a moment ago remained fixed in place.
I reached to clasp her hand. “Dry your tears now. Any young man will be thrilled to partner you for a dance. I simply do not wish your high excitement to obscure your usual charming self.”
As Hannah continued to blink away her injured feelings, Ellie said, quite matter-of-factly, “You have been talking a very great deal tonight, Hannah. I confess your high spirits have had the effect of making me feel quite agitated. I rather wish you would be silent for a spell so that I might collect myself before we arrive.”
Ellie expressing her thoughts in so earnest a fashion caused an amused smile to twitch at my lips, but I managed to keep the measure of mirth bubbling up within me at bay. I knew both girls, in their own way, were a-tremor with anticipation. Truth be told, I was a trifle anxious myself tonight. I had never before attended an assembly at Almack’s, but, as had every young lady in all of England, I had certainly wondered what sort of magic took place within those hallowed halls.
Since tonight’s gathering was the first assembly of the Season, upon reaching King Street we all remarked upon the crush of people waiting outdoors to enter the unassuming red brick building. At length, we joined the throng and when we began to inch our way through the arched portals, I was surprised to note small shops lining the ground floor, although for now the shop doors were locked up tight. However, that did not prevent curious patrons from pausing to gaze in the windows for a peek at the merchandise on display there.
Once we crossed the threshold into the foyer, we were obliged to wait yet another long stretch before presenting our vouchers at the window, that being the only acceptable manner in which to prove that we were, indeed, permitted to enter the ballroom. After the attendant spent a good five, or more, minutes searching out my name from the lengthy list of approved guests, a seemingly interminable length that gave us all additional concern, it was finally determined that we three had, indeed, been duly sanctioned by the required number of patronesses and were therefore entitled to enter the Rooms. However, a few feet further on, we encountered yet another press of people waiting their turn to carefully ascend the tightly wound staircase that led up to the ballroom itself.
Once we finally stepped from the stairwell, I overheard Hannah say to Ellie, “I had begun to fear we might never make it up here.”
Within the glittering chamber, I gazed about with as much awe and curiosity as that of my eager young charges. I confess the quantity of crystal chandeliers hanging low overhead, all ablaze with hundreds of lit candles, quite impressed me. However, the flickering lights served not only to light the spacious room but also to increase the oppressive heat being generated by hundreds of bodies standing shoulder to shoulder, most all talking at once. At the far end of the room, a dozen or so musicians were seated on a raised platform, intent upon tuning their instruments, the mismatched notes adding to the raucous clamor. Glancing at Ellie, I wondered if she found the noisy din in the assembly room as obtrusive as I. Perhaps so, for the girl’s lips were pressed together in quite a put-upon expression, which matched my feelings on the matter.
Turning my attention back to the musicians, I saw that to one side of them, several servants were busily arranging empty cups onto two long tables where a half-dozen crystal pitchers sat. Nearby, a dozen or more platters were piled high with some sort of cakes or biscuits, I assumed. Already a few guests were milling about the refreshment tables, cups and napkins in hand as they helped themselves to the treats.
Nearer to where we stood, I overheard a woman exclaiming to her companion that she hoped the refreshments this season were more palatable than the watery lemonade and stale bread of seasons past.
“I rather expect nothing has changed, my dear,” came the disinterested reply. “I wonder why we continue to attend year after year.”
“We attend because it is the done thing and one simply must.”
Glancing elsewhere, I noted a row of plain ladder-backed chairs lining the walls below a bank of windows. If the windows had not already been flung open, I expected they soon would be. The spacious room was quickly becoming oppressively warm.
“Miss Abbott . . .?” I felt Ellie’s gloved hand touch my arm. “It is so dreadfully close in here, I find I can . . . scarcely draw breath.”
“Oh, dear.” I reached to clasp the girl’s hand. “Perhaps we might make our way to the chairs beneath the windows. Hannah . . .” I reached to touch her arm. “Ellie is feeling faint. We must go and sit by the windows.”
“No! We mustn’t! No one will be able to see us there! Mrs. Montgomery’s protégée Alice told us that if one wishes to dance, one must remain standing near the dance floor. Alice said gentlemen do not seek partners from girls seated upon the chairs, for that is where the old ladies, and those who do not wish to dance, sit. I wish to dance!”
“Well, we must at least accompany Ellie to a chair; she is feeling faint. After which, you and I will take up a position near the dance floor. Come, now. I’ll not leave you standing here alone.”
Although Hannah’s pink lips pursed, she dutifully complied.
Once we had elbowed our way through the squeeze and Ellie was seated upon one of the chairs lining the wall, a good many already occupied by elderly women who had begun to fan themselves with small painted fans, I realized that not a single one of us was carrying a fan. Oh, dear. Yet one more item I had overlooked when fitting out the girls.
Somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, I recalled my former employer Lady Carstairs mentioning something about the ‘Language of The Fan’ and it being an integral part of a young lady’s education. Assuming at the time that the information was something I would never have a need for, I paid her instruction no mind. Now, I wish I had.
“Shall I try to find something you might use as a fan, Ellie?”
She looked up. “I would like a cup of water, please, Miss Abbott.”
“Of course.” I turned back to where I’d left Hannah standing, mere steps away from me. But, of course, by now she was nowhere in sight. “Hannah? Hannah, where are you?”
“She’s just there,” Ellie said, “talking to Mrs. Drummond-Burrell and Mrs. Montgomery.” She directed my attention some distance away to where Hannah indeed stood, speaking with the older women and several of their friends, including the pair of young girls I recognized from Lady Oreland’s breakfast the week prior. One of whom, I assume, was the aforementioned Alice.
“Will you be all right if I leave you here a moment, Ellie? I shall just go and greet Mrs. Drummond-Burrell and then fetch a cup of water.”
Ellie nodded tightly before ducking her head.
By the time I reached Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, I found she had already presented Hannah to several young gentlemen of her acquaintance. Hannah, a pleased smile upon her pretty face, was even then latching onto the arm of a young man as they both headed onto the dance floor for the first set. A relieved sigh escaped me even as I realized again that with no connections whatsoever within London’s upper reaches, I was essentially useless so far as introducing my young hopefuls to prominent members of Polite Society.
Mrs. Drummond-Burrell greeted me in her customary warm manner, told me how pretty I looked, and said that she thought Hannah looked adorable. When she asked after Ellie, I told her I’d left her sitting beneath the windows since the girl declared she felt near to fainting.
“Her cheeks are quite flushed and I haven’t a fan with me.”
“Here, do take this one.” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell dove into her reticule and withdrew a folded-up object that when unfurled became a full-sized fan. “I always carry an extra. Young ladies are notorious for forgetting their fans and then suddenly finding themselves in dire need of one.” Her tone sounded both indulgent and wise.
“Thank you, ma’am. I shall just take it to her. Might you know where I could obtain a cup of water? Ellie has requested a cool drink.”
“It is quite close in here,” the older woman agreed. “You’ll find lemonade just there.” She pointed toward the refreshment tables. “I shall keep an eye on Hannah for you. My, I am so sorry her mother could not be here tonight. Hannah is such a precious child, I predict she will soon become the darling of the ton!”
I rather hoped that would not become the case, although as the evening wore on, it did appear likely. Hannah danced very nearly every set whilst Ellie sat out every single one. Since I felt I should keep a watchful eye on both girls, I spent the bulk of my time hurrying from Ellie to where Mrs. Drummond-Burrell stood, keeping a watchful eye on Hannah for me.
With Mr. Sheridan not in attendance, I felt no desire to dance with any other young man and when asked, I pleaded a megrim and refused the offer. By the end of what seemed an exhausting evening to me, I began to hope that neither of the girls would wish to pass another Wednesday evening at Almack’s Assembly Rooms. Whatever enchantment compelled young ladies to vie for permission to be included year after year had totally eluded me. However, an unexpected revelation that surfaced at the end of that long, tedious night did somewhat alarm me.
