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SOON AFTER BREAKFAST on Monday morning, we four set out again for Town, this time to purchase new gloves, fans, and dancing slippers. Mid-week we would be attending another assembly at Almack’s, and on Sunday evening next, we were to attend a dinner and musicale hosted by Lady Cowper. Dancing slippers would not be needed on that occasion, of course, but both girls had danced holes in their only pairs at the Holland ball, so new slippers were sorely needed for the coming Wednesday night’s do.
“We shall purchase several pairs apiece,” I crisply told the girls as the Dandridge coach carried us up the toll road to London. The day was bright and sunny and although we were not headed for Sabbath services, as I had hoped to be on the day before, we were headed away from the house on Marsh Lane, so gratitude for a much-needed respite from my daily cares and concerns was, indeed, raising my spirits.
“Might we purchase dancing slippers with bows on the toes?” Hannah asked. “Alice’s shoes had bows on the toes and were quite pretty.”
“Bows on the toes and the heels; whichever you please,” I replied gaily. Ellie giggled, which pleased me. She had not been herself since the birthday party in honour of her counterfeit aunt. I, on the other hand, realized I was in a more uplifted frame than I’d been in a good long while. I was no longer worried over why Mr. Sheridan had abandoned me at the ball, and I was relieved that he was now aware of at least a few of the sinister happenings within the house on Marsh Lane.
“I, as well, need new dancing slippers,” I added. “How about you, Tilda? Do you require a new pair of dancing slippers?”
Tilda cast a quizzical gaze my way, then feigned a thoughtful pose. “Indeed. I believe I would like red slippers. My grandmama used to say red shoes run faster, so I would like a pair of red slippers, if you please!”
We all laughed at Tilda’s flippant reply. To be sure, I had not danced holes in my slippers at the Holland ball, but the slippers I wore that night were not the sort especially intended for dancing, and in order to be prepared for future events, where there would be dancing, I, too, felt a need to obtain proper footwear.
As we further discussed exactly what items we wished to purchase, Ellie declared that she’d like a green satin sash to wear in place of the pink one she’d worn to the Almack’s Assembly on Wednesday evening last.
“I would like the sash to match my new jade pendant,” she explained. “Do you think we might find satin slippers in that same shade of green, Miss Abbott?”
“We can certainly look for a pair, Ellie. What colour sash would you like to wear to Almack’s Assembly this week, Hannah?”
“Royal purple,” Hannah declared, her pert nose in the air, which provided no explanation for her unusual choice.
Once in Town, we four leisurely strolled from one shop to another in search of the items we wished to purchase. Today, I even remembered to request that a footman follow a few steps behind us, not only to carry our packages, but, hopefully to deter strangers from dogging our footsteps.
In a few hours time, after we had successfully purchased new kid gloves all around, and fans and sashes in several colours for the girls, I suggested we head to Gunter’s for luncheon. Though famous for their raspberry ices, the shop also served small meals and, of course, tea. Both girls were nigh on jubilant when I declared that to be where I’d like us to partake of our lunch today.
“Oh!” Hannah cried, “I have always wanted to go to Gunter’s! Have you been there before, Miss Abbott?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “On several occasions. I am hoping the shop will not be terribly overcrowded today. By mid-afternoon on a fine day, one is often hard-pressed to find a table. Perhaps we shall arrive early enough to not be obliged to wait to be served.” I recalled the few times that sweet Marianne Chalmers, who, as it turned out, was not so sweet after all, had insisted upon going to Gunter’s for an ice. I soon learned that to procure an ice or cherry tart was not all that was on her far-from-innocent mind.
At Gunter’s, located in fashionable Berkeley Square, we four were shown at once to a lovely table situated beneath a window, providing us with a clear view of Charles Street that ran in front of the famous eatery.
Gazing about within the shop, Hannah’s blue eyes sparkled. “I feel so very tonnish dining at Gunter’s!”
“You must be sure to write to your mother and tell her of our excursion,” I said. “Have you girls decided what you would like to have for luncheon today?”
As Hannah had now turned to peering from the shop window at the many carriages ranged along the curb on the opposite side of the cobbled street, and those that simply let out their occupants and then drove on, she made no reply. Ellie and Tilda and I had commenced to read the list of luncheon items prettily handwritten upon a chalkboard before the glass counter, beneath which an array of delicious looking treats were displayed.
Waiters wearing long white aprons over their shirts and trousers scurried through the swinging doors from the kitchen into the parlour as they expertly balanced trays laden with sandwiches and tarts, frozen ices, and cups of tea or coffee. I wondered how they avoided colliding with one another as they skirted around and between the dozens of tiny tables squeezed into the rather smallish room.
A number of diners, mainly gentlemen, merely shouted out their orders as opposed to waiting for one of the man-servers to pause and ask what they, or their companions, would like to eat. Patrons laughing and talking with one another added to the din and confusion but also heightened the festive air, and, I suppose, also Hannah’s glee.
“Oh, look, Juliette! I mean, Miss Abbott,” the pretty black-haired girl cried. “I see two of the gentlemen I danced with at the Holland Ball! They are even now alighting from a carriage. I am certain they mean to come inside! Am I permitted to speak with them?”
I took Hannah’s exuberance over spotting a pair of gentlemen with whom she was only mildly acquainted as tantamount to courting mischief, so said, “A brief remark will do, Hannah, although to be entirely proper, you must wait for the gentlemen to first acknowledge you, then you may address them; but only if one of the young men has asked you a specific question. Otherwise a smile or a nod of recognition will suffice.”
“Only a nod? But, will they not think I am frightfully rude?”
“Better to be thought rude, than, dare I say it, Hannah? A hoyden?”
“Oh-h!” She pouted. “I wish I were back home in the country where there are no silly rules to fret over. If one spotted an acquaintance in the village, it was perfectly acceptable to simply call out a greeting, or approach the gentleman and gaily launch into a friendly chat.”
“Well, you are not in the country now, you are in London. And I am doing my best to insure that you and Ellie . . .”
At that instant, our waiter appeared, the young man’s pencil poised expectantly over his notepad. “What might you ladies desire for luncheon today? Might I suggest the . . .?”
“I would like a lobster and watercress sandwich,” Hannah declared importantly. To me, she said, “I have always wondered what lobster and watercress would taste like together. With it,” she turned back to our server, “I would like an asparagus salad and a glass of lemonade.”
“Very well,” said I. “What have you decided on, Ellie?”
“I will have the same, please.”
“As will I,” I told our waiter; then addressed Tilda. “And you?”
“Hmm. I believe I shall also have the lobster and watercress sandwich. The pairin’ sounds quite delicious to me,” she added solemnly.
Certain my little maid was attempting to appear a good bit more worldly than she truly was, despite having dined in a public eatery before, I could not suppress a grin. She and I, and Mr. Sheridan, had paused at a roadside inn to partake of a meal on our way home from Middlewych and more recently, from our fortnight spent in Maidstone.
Soon after our plates were placed before us and we were sampling the tasty offerings, the two gentlemen with whom Hannah was acquainted did pause at our table. A polite round of introductions ensued, after which pleasant remarks were exchanged amongst the young people. Thereafter, the gentlemen politely tipped their hats and departed the shop.
But, Hannah’s eyes continued to sparkle. “What did you think of Lord Hartley, Miss Abbott? I think he is simply divine. Do you think he fancies me?” Hannah daintily touched her lips with a linen napkin. “Hartley is a viscount, you know,” she added a trifle too loudly.
Before I had a chance to gently scold her for speaking in such an elevated tone, or to express my sentiments regarding the titled young man, Ellie, who was nearly finished with her meal, said, “His eyes never left your face, Hannah. I believe you have, indeed, made a conquest.”
“Oh, Ellie, no!” I shook my head. “Hannah has not made a conquest. My dears, do not ever, ever, use that vulgar expression in polite company. It is most certainly not a seemly thing for a young lady to say.”
Hannah huffed, her blue eyes darting skyward. “How ever do you keep all the silly rules straight? More and more I wish I were back home in the country. I am quite fond of the vicar’s son in our parish. At times, I would like to simply toss aside all this ton rubbish and marry him!”
I reached for my glass of lemonade. “In my estimation, Hannah, you are far too young to be thinking of marriage. Your Season will serve to provide you with a bit of . . . Town Bronze.” After taking a sip, I set down my glass. “My advice to both you girls is to put aside your lofty expectations and simply enjoy your days and weeks here in London. You are both quite young. You’ve plenty of time to consider marriage; a state that, as you know, will last forever. England will always be full of young men in want of wives. You are both free now to enjoy your holiday.”
“Is that why you have never married?” Hannah impertinently inquired. “Is that why you refused my brother’s offer? I recall you saying at Medley Park that your heart belonged to another. Did you mean Mr. Sheridan?” When I did not answer at once, she added, “Ellie and I are certain he is sweet on you. Do you wish to marry him?”
My lips firmed. “What I wish at present is to finish our luncheon and then, to resume our shopping. As yet, not a one of us is in possession of a new pair of dancing slippers.” I turned away from Hannah. “Did you enjoy your luncheon today, Tilda?”
* * * *
AFTER EXITING GUNTER’S Tea Shop, we, quite by accident, encountered Hannah’s cousin Mr. Edmund Wells, also out and about in Town that day. In the past sen’night, I had wished for something frivolous to read, meaning a penny novel, so suggested we duck into Hatchard’s Bookstore before returning to Marsh Lane so I might search out one. I made my selection and as we were on queue to make my purchase, who should walk in but Mr. Wells? A bright smile lit up his fine features and widened as he briskly approached us.
After greetings were exchanged, I was shocked when the young man expressed a desire to pay for my purchase! When I would have none of it, he suggested we all accompany him to Gunter’s where he would like nothing better than to treat us all to a raspberry ice. Once more, we refused, saying we had only just come from there. The young man appeared so very crestfallen, I felt sorry for him. Mr. Wells is a kindly sort and to my mind would make a wonderful suitor for either Hannah, or Ellie. Instead, he seems determined to settle his affections upon me.
Later, before heading away from the City, the girls and I did, indeed, each obtain new satin slippers. I paid for Tilda’s red shoes from my own funds. Though it was unlikely she would ever attend a real ball, I could not bear to single her out by not acquiring new slippers for her and was vastly pleased when we did, indeed, find a pretty scarlet pair.
That night before bed, she put them on. I helped her to lace the ribbons part way up her limbs and tie the ends of the ribbons into a bow at the back. I have never seen Tilda look so happy as she gaily danced about our bedchamber whilst holding up the skirt of her new beribboned nightrail in order to properly show off her fancy new footwear.
Lying in bed that night, Tilda sound asleep beside me, it occurred to me that throughout the overlong day, neither I, nor Ellie, had even once spotted the unknown fellow following us about Town, which I own added immeasurably to the pleasantness of our day.
Still ruminating on our lovely outing, a wistful sigh escaped me as my idle thoughts eventually fastened on Mr. Sheridan. And prompted me to think of Hannah’s bold inquiry as to whether or not I wished to marry him. Truth to say, I would not mind spending every day and night of my life with that gentleman. But . . . as of yet, the subject of matrimony had not arisen between us. At length, my thoughts turned to wondering if he had yet made significant headway in his investigation of the burglaries in Town? When next I saw him, I fully intended to alert him to the costly baubles David Dandridge had recently distributed amongst the ladies here, and also apprise him of my suspicions in that quarter.
Although I sincerely hoped to be wrong, I could not help but wonder if David might be assisting his brother Conner to burgle aristocratic homes in Town. Whereupon they then pawned the spoils of their midnight escapades, brought their ill-gotten gain to the old lady lying on the chaise above stairs and stashed the funds in the hatbox beneath her bed. But, perhaps, Oh! I did so wish not to think ill of David! they did not pawn all of the jewelry they nicked from their victims.
The bald truth was this estate did not appear to be a thriving enterprise with tenant farmers bringing in rents and profits from their labours. I had spotted no herds of sheep, or cattle grazing in the fields. So, how did the Dandridge family procure their wealth? I recall Mrs. Drummond-Burrell saying that Mr. Dandridge’s passing had left his wife mired in debt. If that were the case, how had she managed to climb out of it on her own? And when, and why, had poor old Miss Cordelia been shunted aside? I sighed. So many questions, and thus far, not so much as a hint of an answer.