“It’s perfect,” Adele said. “Absolutely perfect.”
“I don’t know,” Helene said. “It might be too daring for our matrons.”
“Lady Helene, please let me assure you that we have hosted the land’s finest and most respected persons in the Tapswell Gardens.”
The Tapswell Gardens were a magnificent green space of lawns and gardens on the edge of London. Mr. Tapswell, a slim, fussy little man with salt-and-pepper hair and shirt points so tall they threatened his eyes, led them across the flat expanse of lawn where the outdoor dance floor would be laid, and he described how the tables would be set for the supper. He extolled the discretion and experience of his staff and listed the number of parties they had hosted and would host. He lingered over these last for rather a long time, making sure the girls understood that there were only very few dates left this season when the gardens would be free.
Not every person who wished to host a grand entertainment during the London season had the luxury of a house with a ballroom of any sort, let alone one large enough to host an entertainment that could be considered significant. Therefore there were any number of persons who made it their business to supply such space. Public assembly rooms of all classes and kinds existed across the length and breadth of England. Almack’s was only the brightest jewel in that particular crown.
Madelene was beginning to feel she had toured most of the available rooms with Adele and Helene. Helene had filled three whole notebooks with the details. They had even considered Almack’s itself, although only briefly.
“There’s no hope at all of us being able to hire Almack’s,” Madelene said. “The cost . . . even with what I can raise, is too much.”
“And the lady patronesses are unwilling,” Miss Sewell said. “Or at least highly dubious.”
“Well, perhaps we should hold our event on a Wednesday,” Adele said tartly. The famed Almack’s balls were always held on Wednesdays.
“No,” Helene said. “That will only annoy them further, and the enterprise is not about making enemies; it is about making friends.”
“It’s strange to hear you worrying about making people angry. You’ve done it for a very long time,” Adele said.
“So you may believe me to be an expert at it. We will not schedule our event for a Wednesday.”
And that was that. Now here they were, walking across the lovely grass, listening to this thin and obsequious man extol the virtues of his gardens, the illuminations, the refreshments, the possibility of boats on the pond . . .
“No. That would be too expensive,” Helene said, flatly.
“Prudence of course is a most desirable attribute,” agreed Mr. Tapswell. “However, if her ladyship will consider . . .” Helene glowered at him, and Mr. Tapswell decided against finishing that sentence.
“What if it rains?” Helene asked, making another tick mark in her book. “This is the English summer, after all.”
“The canopies will prevent the least discomfort or inconvenience.” Mr. Tapswell watched her moving pencil nervously. Madelene and Adele shared a smile behind the little man’s back. “Perhaps her ladyship would care to see the rooms for retiring and dressing?”
“Her ladyship would,” Helene said.
Madelene trailed behind. She was tired. She had been tired for two days, since she left Lord Benedict’s studio. What on earth had possessed her to talk as she did? Where had that audacity come from? Benedict must hate her now. She’d gotten angry with him. People were disgusted by angry women. Mother had said so. Her stepmother had said so. Girls must be quiet. They must be properly bred. If one must say something unpleasant, or even truthful, one must say it calmly and in a disinterested fashion.
One did not challenge. Although, of course, no one seemed to have told Helene that.
“Are you all right?” Adele had fallen back to walk beside her.
“Yes, yes,” murmured Madelene. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” Adele shot back, although softly. “Helene will hear, and then we’ll waste another ten minutes arguing about it.”
“You’re right, of course. And I couldn’t deal with another argument right now.”
“Did you argue with Benedict? Is that why you’re so out of sorts?”
“I’m not sure,” Madelene said.
“You’re not sure you’re out of sorts?”
“I’m not sure we argued. It wasn’t like any argument I’ve ever had. We said . . . some harsh things, but in the end, it was as if we agreed with each other whether we wanted to or not.” She frowned. “I don’t understand it. And why are you smiling at me?”
“Because it’s a lovely day and these are lovely gardens and I think we should take them for our party. When is your next session?” Adele asked.
“I don’t think there will be one.”
“Yes, there will. You will not let us down, Madelene.”
“If you two are quite finished back there?” Helene called from her post beside Mr. Tapswell. “We are here on business.”
Adele rolled her eyes. “Yes, Matron,” she sighed.
So, they toured the dressing rooms and the retiring rooms, and the refreshment rooms. But each new sight and smooth description from Mr. Tapswell just made Helene press her lips more tightly together, until at last, even his flow of words trickled to a halt.
“I don’t know,” Helene said, as they returned to the hall’s airy foyer. “It’s very expensive, and it’s out of doors. We run a risk.”
“But it will be spectacular with all the illuminations and the boats on the pond,” Adele reminded her.
“We cannot afford the boats,” Helene said. “Not with all the canopies and extra staff we’ll have to have in case it rains.”
“I must beg Lady Helene’s pardon.” Mr. Tapswell bowed. “I forgot to mention that when the extra staff are taken on, we quite naturally are sensitive to the needs of our patrons and their guests. In these cases, the boats are supplied at no extra charge.”
Helene scribbled furiously into her book. She paused and sucked on the end of her pencil. “Well, Madelene? With what Adele and I can raise, we have exactly half. What’s left is here.” She underlined the sum and passed Madelene the book. “What will your banker say?”
Madelene looked across the lawns and the beds of flowers and the topiary sculptures. She imagined them lit up like a fairyland at night with the music floating through the pretty groves of trees. She imagined dancing under the stars and retiring for supper into the beautiful folly that was a cross between a hunting lodge and a German castle with its blue roof and arched windows.
It would be beautiful. It would be grander than she’d ever considered.
She looked at the number in the book, and she looked at anxious Adele and grim Helene. She looked across the grand foyer toward the lovely gardens. The mess she’d made of her time with Benedict lay like a black cloud over what could have been happy anticipation. And as she became aware of this, she also became aware of another emotion. Anger. It was not fair that his unfeeling and changeable conduct should have damaged this moment and her ability to help her friends. Well, she would not let that go any further.
“We’ll do it,” she said. “I’ll speak to Mister Thorpe.”
And I will speak to Lord Benedict as well, she promised herself. And next time I will not let him confuse me or oppress me with his humors.
I hope.