Petticoat Rebellion Read online

After a few words of greeting and inquiry for various members of Susan’s family, Lady Penfel said, “Don’t let me detain you, ladies. I’m sure Miss Fairfield has plans for you. Sifton will show you to your rooms and give you anything you need. Hot water, a nice cup of tea ...”

  Her voice trailed off as she lifted the copy of The Ladies Magazine she held on her lap and stuck her nose into it. Lady Susan led the group away.

  “What a quiz!” Kate said, stifling a snicker.

  “Her ladyship must be feeling poorly,” Lady Susan explained. “No doubt that is why she mispronounced your name, Miss Fairchild.”

  “That’s odd,” Annabelle said. “My Aunt Esther has been dying forever, and she remembers everything.”

  “Your Aunt Esther, if I recall, is not a countess,” Susan replied.

  “No, she has no head for numbers at all.”

  Kate poked Abbie in the ribs. “I wonder how a duchess behaves when she is poorly,” she said in a low tone. “She probably forgets her own name. I noticed Lady Penfel didn’t forget to use her rouge pot.”

  “Personal remarks are never in good taste, Miss Fenwick,” Abbie replied as severely as she could, then spoiled the lesson by smiling.

  “Aren’t we going to have any luncheon?” Annabelle asked. “I am so hung—Oh, sorry, Lady Susan. I am feeling so peckish, I could eat a cow.”

  Abbie did not chastise her. She was hungry herself. What a strange visit it was going to be. But of one thing she felt confident. Without Lord Penfel to forbid it, she could easily convince that silly lady to show her the da Vinci cartoons.

  Chapter Three

  Sifton had the guests shown to the west wing, where they occupied four stately chambers, two on one side of the corridor, two across from them. Lady Susan’s and Annabelle’s rooms looked out on the front of the estate, Abbie’s and Kate’s on the rear. Abbie was gratified to see she was being treated as a real lady—a guest, rather than a sort of higher class of servant. Her room was charming, with dainty French furnishings and green damask hangings. The paintings in a room were always of particular interest to her, and she noticed that the Penfel love of art was not confined to the gallery. Her room held exquisite Flemish flower paintings. She would have preferred pictures of people, but she knew enough about art to appreciate what she saw.

  She strolled to one of a pair of tall windows and gazed out, hugging to herself how fortunate she was to be here. All views were unbounded, as befit an estate designed in the eighteenth century. Abbie’s view was of the walled home garden below, with espaliered fruit trees forming intricate designs against the golden stone. Neat rows of vegetables extended the length of the enclosure. Two gardeners worked over the rows.

  Beyond the walls was a meadow, with a forest forming a backdrop in the distance. Abbie wondered at the unwonted activity going forth in the meadow. It looked as if tents were being erected. Surely gypsies were not setting up camp this close to Penfel! With the three young ladies on the estate, this seemed dangerous. Yet she disliked to tell Lady Penfel her duty. Abbie decided to have a word with Sifton, and ran down the elegantly curved staircase, with the brass handrail worn smooth by generations of trailing fingers.

  Sifton had apparently heard her light footfalls, for his tall, stately figure appeared like a genie from a small room near the door.

  “May I help you—madam?” he inquired. The brief hesitation was due to deciding what title to confer on Miss Fairchild. The “madam” was not a slur on her age, but a compliment to her obviously genteel background. Not a mere governess, as he had feared, but a superior sort of impoverished lady.

  “I believe gypsies are setting up camp on the estate, Sifton,” she said. “Is her ladyship aware of it?”

  “It is not gypsies, madam. Her ladyship is aware of the campers. His lordship wrote her a note requesting her to make the folks welcome.”

  “But who are they?”

  His distaste was evident. “It is O’Leary’s Circus, madam. A traveling horse show with acrobats, music, dancing animals, and so on. Her ladyship was not aware of it when she invited Lady Susan and her friends.”

  “Oh, dear! How long are they staying?”

  “A week.”

  “Then, they will be here for our entire visit. I wonder what I ought to do.”

  “Perhaps inform Miss Slatkin—and meanwhile, we shall keep a tight watch on the young ladies.” His sympathetic eye reinforced the suggestion that he would aid her in this difficult task.

  As they spoke, an echo of drumbeats came wafting through the grand hall. “That will be the performers arriving now,” he said. “I believe they march through town to incite interest for the show. Her ladyship has been eagerly awaiting them.” He bowed and left.

  Abbie stood a moment with her head whirling. She must notify Miss Slatkin at once! The visit would be terminated. She would not get to see the da Vinci cartoons. Severely as she felt the loss, she could not face a week of trying to control the girls—Kate in particular—with a bunch of rowdy circus folks less than a mile away. But could the girls return to school? The staff were all away on holiday. Miss Slatkin had spoken of painting the bedchambers. Oh, dear!

  As she stood, thinking, Lady Penfel came bustling into the hall. “What fun!” she cried, and hastened to the front door, her bronze head bobbing in excitement. Over her shoulder she called to Abbie, “Call the girls, Miss Fairly. They will not want to miss this.”

  It was not necessary to call them. Kate and Annabelle had heard the drum and had come running, with Lady Susan following at a more sedate gait. Her haughty face was in contrast to the other girls’ excitement.

  “What luck!” Kate exclaimed. “I feared we would be dull as ditch water in the country, but a circus! That is something like!”

  It was hard to deny them a look at the parade when their hostess stood at the doorway, urging them out. Truth to tell, Abbie felt a surge of excitement herself at the insistent beat of the drum. A brown mongrel of no identifiable breed appeared at her skirt tails, barking furiously. They went in a troupe across the sun-dappled lawn to a lane leading to the meadow where the tents were already under construction. Servants ran out to join them as the motley parade passed, accompanied by the ragtag and bobtail of village youngsters.

  A covered wagon led the way, with “O’Leary’s Traveling Circus” painted on the canvas side in glaring red, enlivened with details of the show. “Dancing girls, tumblers, elephants, performing horses, monkeys.” In the driver’s seat sat a handsome young fellow with a bold smile and flashing eyes. His outfit resembled the scarlet regimentals of an army officer, liberally trimmed with brass buttons and gold braid. In place of a shako, he wore a red-peaked cap trimmed in gilt. He lifted his cap to the ladies, revealing a head of glossy black hair, and called a greeting as he passed.

  Abbie noticed with a sinking heart that Kate waved back frantically, Annabelle stared in fascination, and even Lady Susan evinced some interest, which was unusual for her. But the most excited of them all was Lady Penfel.

  “What fun!” she cried. “I wish Algie were here. How he would love it. Oh, look, Cuddles! A mama elephant and her baby.”

  Abbie looked to see if Lady Penfel was addressing her stately butler in this familiar fashion, and realized it was to the mutt that she spoke. Cuddles barked his agreement and went running after the parade, tail wagging in delight.

  Lady Penfel turned to Sifton and asked, “Where is Algie? I wonder why he is not here for this show.”

  “His lordship is at Lewes, your ladyship.”

  “So he is. I had forgotten. Wretched how things slip out of your mind when you are old. He went to offer for Lady Eleanor. Surely, she will not have him, do you think?” Before Sifton could reply, she turned her attention back to the parade. A flat-bottomed carriage came into view. On its floor three young ladies in immodest outfits of vaguely Egyptian style undulated to raucous music provided by the marching band.

  “How do they do it?” Lady Penfel asked. “Only look how they
swing their rumps. Their bones must be made of rubber.” She tried to imitate them, gave a wince of pain, and grabbed at her back.

  The dancing girls were followed by donkeys decked out in bells and ribbons and hats, and by tumblers and jugglers in motley suits. These bold fellows leered at the female servants and called out, urging them to attend the grand opening that night.

  Lady Penfel turned to Abbie. “I have free tickets for us all. Algie sent them,” she said, with the air of conferring a great treat.

  “Oh, I am not at all sure Miss Slatkin would—”

  “Deuce take Miss Slatkin. The ladies are under my care!” In the twinkling of a bedpost, the foolish-looking woman turned into a grande dame. “I would not dream of depriving them of such a rare treat. Where else will they see dancing dogs and such sights? Marvelous. I can hardly wait.”

  Abbie stood, disliking what she was hearing, but forbidden by both etiquette and orders from disagreeing with her hostess. Miss Slatkin had made perfectly clear she was to defer to Lady Penfel’s decisions, but Miss Slatkin was not personally acquainted with the dowager. Until that moment, Abbie had not realized the full difficulty of her position. She had no real authority over the girls, but if they came to grief, she would certainly be held responsible.

  “It is your decision, ma’am,” she said, loud and clear.

  “Of course it is, Miss Fairheart.”

  As the last of the parade disappeared behind the house, Lady Penfel turned a severe eye on Miss Fairchild. “I do hope you are not one of those schoolmistressy sort of schoolmistresses, Miss Fairwell. You are much too young to be so stiff-rumped. Algie would not like it. His papa, now, that was a different kettle of fish. I was never allowed to have any fun when he was alive. I was too busy giving him three daughters before I finally had a brace of sons—an heir and a spare. Then my job was over. But now that I have got the girls bounced off and buried Penfel,” she said with relish, “I can do just as I like. Algie does not mind what I do, so long as I do not wear red shoes or go to the cent-per-centers. Ladies do not wear red shoes.”

  Miss Fairchild was only half listening. The other half of her interest was on the raddled face of Lady Penfel. What an intriguing character for a portrait! Like something out of the Rake’s Progress, but in lieu of decrepit, penurious, defeated old age, it was imperious old age in a silken gown, with all the fire and spirit of youth still burning brightly.

  A hand spotted with liver marks and flashing two large diamond rings clutched her arm. “I believe I threw my hip out with that wiggling,” she said, laughing. “Give me a hand into the house, will you, dear?” They began the walk to the door. “So how are you going on? Sifton is taking care of you? Good,” she said, before any reply could be made.

  “We’ll have tea, then we can take the girls down to watch the performers set up their show before dinner. They don’t get to see such sights as that in London, eh?”

  “Actually, Miss Slatkin’s Academy is at Maidstone.” Abbie felt a pronounced compulsion to object to something, and she had already learned that her hostess would not be talked out of any opportunity for impropriety.

  “So it is. One forgets things in old age. Not that I am old!” she added hastily. “How old do you think I am? The truth, now.”

  Abbie did some hasty calculations. Three daughters, then two sons. Susan had mentioned Lord Penfel was thirty. “It is difficult to say. In your—er, early sixties, perhaps?” she said, wanting to flatter the old lady. She looked eighty.

  “Ha! I am seventy years old! But young at heart. Still young at heart.” She inclined her head to Abbie and said, “I color my hair. Don’t tell anyone! Not that it is white, but its red has faded. Just a little tint, for I cannot abide to wear a cap, and I like to look nice for Algie.”

  Abbie’s poor opinion of Algie, otherwise known as Lord Penfel, lowered another notch. Bad enough that he refused a serious artist permission to view his precious treasures, but what sort of son encouraged his aged mama to make a spectacle of herself? What sort of gentleman invited a load of circus performers to his estate when schoolgirls were visiting?

  Tea was served in the saloon. Lady Penfel was so invigorated by the arrival of the circus that she chattered like a monkey to the girls.

  “Which of you is the brewer’s gel?” she asked.

  “That would be Miss Kirby,” Lady Susan informed her, indicating Annabelle.

  “Nettie tells me she hopes to land her for Sylvester. There is a match made in heaven. The brewer’s gel will like to have a sort of handle to her name, and Sylvester likes his ale. But he has not gone to fat yet. Mind you, it won’t be long the way he soaks it up.”

  “Nettie is my mama, the duchess,” Lady Susan

  explained to the others.

  “Aye, Nettie Carr did pretty well for herself, nabbing a duke, and she was nothing to look at, either. Looked quite like yourself, Susan. Mind you, Charles was downright ugly. No getting around it, he had a face like a bulldog. So fortunate you children favored Nettie in looks, Susan.”

  “Charles is my papa, the duke,” Lady Susan added, ignoring the rest of the speech.

  While Lady Penfel gorged herself on macaroons and tea, Lady Susan encouraged the others to try the bread and butter. When the tea was over, Lady Penfel rose and said, “And now we shall take a stroll down to the meadow to watch the performers.” She winced when she tried to take a step.

  “Fetch the dogcart, Sifton,” she bellowed into the hallway. “This demmed hip is cutting up on me. Dance while you can, girls. Old age creeps up on you swiftly. I don’t regret a single thing I ever did in my life, except perhaps marrying Penfel. What I regret is all the things I didn’t do. You get your bonnet and come with me, Susan. The cart only holds two. The others can walk. They are young and supple. Miss Fairchild will see no harm comes to them.” She inclined her head to Susan and said in a perfectly audible aside, “She is one of those schoolmistressy gels. Pity, for she ain’t at all bad-looking. Not so pretty as the brewer’s gel, but she has countenance.”

  As they went to fetch their bonnets, Kate lifted an eyebrow and said, “How do you like that assessment, Miss Fairchild?”

  “At least she got my name right this time.”

  She studied her image as she adjusted her bonnet before her mirror. She did not think she looked so very schoolmistressy. Her high-poke bonnet of glazed straw was quite dashing, with a cluster of silk posies on the side. Her coiffure, perhaps, was a trifle quaint. She wore her chestnut hair pulled severely back from her face to appear older than her twenty years. Some of the senior girls were nearly seventeen. One wanted to look as old as possible, and with a clear, unlined face, a healthy complexion, and hazel eyes undimmed by age, it was not easy. Wearing dark colors of a severe cut helped. The suit she wore at the moment was a well-tailored navy serge. But schoolmistressy? None of Miss Slatkin’s other mistresses wore such stylish gowns or carried such expensive reticules, or had such good gloves.

  Perhaps it was her height that Lady Penfel found intimidating. Lady Penfel was not much over five feet, whereas Abbie was five feet and a half.

  “Come along, Miss Fairchild. You look marvelous, as usual,” Kate called from the doorway.

  Annabelle gave a sweet, childish smile. “At the academy, we all think you are the prettiest mistress, Miss Fairchild,” she said. “Kate was saying just last week that if you curled your hair and wore nice gowns, you might still find a husband. Weren’t you, Kate?”

  Kate lowered her brow at her friend. “What would Miss Fairchild want with a husband?” she said. “She is an artist. They are unconventional. I expect she has a lover,” she added daringly. “Eh, Miss Fairchild?”

  “Certainly not!” Abbie said. She picked up a silk foulard, and tucked it into the neck of her suit to lessen its severity. Then she led them out the door, smiling softly to herself. A lover indeed! They would not have said anything so dashing about any of the other mistresses!

  Chapter Four

  Other than h
aving to worry about the young ladies, Abbie thoroughly enjoyed the visit to the meadow. It felt good to stretch her legs in the fresh air and sunshine, with the unbounded view of greenery all around. Lady Susan was her least favorite of the girls, and she remained with Lady Penfel. Using Cuddles as an excuse, this noble pair roamed amid the tents, calling the dog’s name and peering about, ogling the performers who ogled them.

  Abbie kept Kate and Annabelle a few yards back

  from where the show was being prepared. It was a

  lively, noisy scene. Workmen in shirtsleeves were

  hammering the stage together. The air was punctuated with hammer blows, loud talking, laughter, and more than a little profanity. In one tent, women were making their toilette with the flap

  door wide open. Anyone could look in and see them

  in their chemises. Several village youngsters were

  doing so.

  From the sidelines, Abbie and her charges watched jugglers practicing their art with orange balls, watched a man lead a huge black bear to a trough of water, and played with a white monkey who hopped right onto Kate’s shoulder. It tried to pull a feather off her bonnet, until a young man came and led the animal away.

  “There is the handsome one!” Kate exclaimed, clutching Annabelle’s elbow.

  Peering through the moving crowd, Abbie discerned the man who had been driving the wagon. The dark-haired, flashing-eyed man had changed out of his scarlet uniform into skintight buckskins and a white shirt, open at the throat, to show a triangle of tanned chest. She reluctantly admitted that he was indeed a handsome specimen of young manhood, though not the style she favored herself. There was too much of the strutting-cock walk to him. He was too aware of his own charms as he swaggered through the crowd of workers, giving orders, joking and patting the female performers here and there in a very familiar way.

  Lady Penfel approached him and spoke to him in her friendly manner for a minute or two, probably asking if he had seen Cuddles. The charmer assumed a whole new expression when with ladies. Abbie watched him bow in deference to the countess and the duke’s daughter. When they walked away, the man spoke to a few of his workmen and began looking about, presumably for the dog.