Olivia Read online

  “The mornings have been reserved for serious work,” I pointed out. Dottie’s puppy eyes were on the verge of tears. To settle the unpleasant matter, I went on, “However, as you have set your cook to prepare a picnic without first ascertaining whether your guests are available, Lord Philmot, let them by all means go with you this time."

  “My cook and other servants are not the people of prime concern in my household,” he answered, as much as though to say they (meaning I) were in this household.

  A servant was precisely what I did not consider myself, nor intend anyone else to consider me either. While I thought of the most cutting reply I could decently make, I was prevented from any speech by the violent vocal outpourings of the girls, and a very relieved “Then it is all settled!” from their mama.

  Lord Philmot did not long remain with us. It was back to the library with the students, where we remained, they ascertaining various authors, countries and historical personages, while I scrutinized the test for further inaccuracies, without finding one! I was extremely vexed that my two vaguely worded questions should have been the very ones brought to his attention. After lunch, I took the girls to the museum to study Sir Hans Sloan’s collection of artworks. The natural history section must wait for another day.

  Chapter Four

  We lost a whole day while my girls dawdled along to Richmond Hill, and an evening in their relating to me the fine time they had enjoyed, the pleasure in no small part being due to the amusing sayings of Uncle Philmot and his friend, a Miss Peters. Dottie informed me, with no prodding and very little display of interest on my part, that this Miss Peters was an Incomparable in the class of Venus at least. She was said to be the latest in a long line of Incomparables who had enjoyed the uncle’s favor.

  A second day was not to be similarly wasted. We discussed French drama in the morning, with a few scenes from Racine read aloud by us, each taking a character. Andromaque it was, a favorite of mine, though many prefer Phèdre. There is nothing like the pure, classical lines of Racine and Corneille to improve one’s French pronunciation. Delightful, but the girls found it a little heavy going, and in the afternoon I agreed to take them to Somerset House in my tilbury to see the display of French paintings on view, which were a sort of peace offering from the French government after the havoc created by that upstart, Bonaparte.

  David, the Guillotine artist, enjoyed a considerable vogue with the ladies. I preferred the work of the more modern Ingres myself—beautiful the skin tones he does, and with less of the cold formality of David. We spent the next week studying French culture—literature, art, a dab of history of the recent past. I cured Dottie of the habit of calling the French Revolution the French Resolution, and accustomed them both to the roles of Robespierre, Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, and the rabble in that unfortunate squabble.

  They displayed a shocking ignorance. The depths of it could still astound me after a week’s exposure. But what can one expect? Their mama's only comment on the era—an era she had lived through (and not as a child either) was that the English fashions had been very dull at the time, with no Gallic style to copy.

  I managed to curtail social visits rather effectively that week. No morning callers, though Alice generally left us in the afternoon to attend some function or other. Dottie also escaped on a few afternoons. Once she went to Hyde Park with Miss Peters and Alice. They insisted on telling me all about it.

  “I suppose your uncle was along?” was all I asked, then was obliged to hear not only that he was there, but every word that left his mouth.

  "He asked us how the Latin and Greek lessons were coming along,” Dottie finished up.

  “I hope you told him it is French we are studying!”

  “I did, and he thinks you are very brave to tackle Racine with us. When are we going to finish Andromaque, Miss Fenwick?”

  “Finish it? You cannot mean we did not finish it! I have read it so often I have it by heart. I forgot we had not done so.”

  “No, we only read the first act, then you said we were tired.”

  "We shall finish it tomorrow. What else had Lord Philmot to find a fault with?”

  "He was mostly flirting with Miss Peters. She is very pretty,” Alice told me.

  Let me assure you I am not so shallow as to think one can learn anything useful about a foreign country in a week, but after one week on France, I decided it was time to vary our studies. We turned next to the English arts. My own preference must arise here. Literature and painting were the main areas we dealt with, though history was by no means neglected. We studied Romeo and Juliet, which I thought might be a light introduction to the works of Shakespeare. I intended following it up later with something more demanding—Hamlet or Lear perhaps. From Shakespeare we proceeded to more modem times, omitting, alas, those interesting Restoration Comedies that are unfit for young ears. A pity, really.

  No matter, Sheridan retains something of the light touch and wit of Wycherley and Etherington in his School for Scandal and The Rivals, and despite the naughty name of the former, it is not at all objectionable. The latter has a good lesson on the matter of deception. It was of particular interest to me as it was set in my home town of Bath.

  We read The Rivals together, doing some vocabulary study to explain painstakingly each joke to issue from that wonderful harpy, Mrs. Malaprop. A second reason for choosing that particular play was that it was to be put on at Covent Garden that season, one of their first showings.

  My understanding with Lady Synge was that I was to be treated quite as family, attending the large social functions, though I retained the option of dining alone when she held intimate parties of a family nature. Her family (and I do not exclude her brother) were all as dull as herself. Once a week she invited cousins, aunts, uncles and so on to her table. I was better entertained with a book and a tray in my room.

  What had not been worked out was whether I was to make any use of her box at the theater. She had invited me once, but I declined that time, and went to spend an evening with an old friend from Bath, Miss Lacey. If one stayed home every evening, she would sooner or later become responsible for the girls’ evenings as well as their days. We were all to attend The Rivals together at least.

  I had been at Russell Square for two weeks when Lord Philmot made his second intrusion upon my time. As he came in the afternoon, I had no objection to giving his nieces a half hour to visit with him. As I had not been asked to join them in the saloon, I did not do so. I remained behind, continuing my own study and enjoyment of The Rivals, which still retained, after more than forty years, the bright luster of a great work. R. B. Sheridan was just recently dead too—how young he must have been when he wrote it. Twenty minutes had elapsed before I heard the sound of feet and voices outside the door, the voices those of the girls, but the tread including a heavier step as well.

  “Miss Fenwick, may we go, please?” Dottie chirped, before she was halfway into the room. Miss Crowell came along at a statelier pace beside her uncle. Now that she was out, she was more eager to improve her manners.

  “Yes, certainly you may leave, as your uncle has delayed his outing till the afternoon,” I answered, with a civil nod to Philmot, who bowed with equal civility (and not a jot more).

  “It’s not today. It’s tonight,” Miss Crowell told me.

  “My uncle wishes to take us to the play, The Rivals, that we have been studying all week.”

  “Two days!” I corrected her swiftly. “But you were to attend The Rivals with me, girls,” I reminded them, seeing my excuse to go along with Lady Synge and her party vanish before my eyes. “Tomorrow night we are to go.” I felt such a surge of annoyance with their uncle I could hardly control it. He might give a little more notice of his parties!

  “I would not dream of intruding a second time on Miss Fenwick’s plans,” he said at once. The nieces both showed long faces at this delay in their outing.

  “I’d rather go tonight,” Dottie said at once. She always said what was in h
er mind. It was at one time her charm and her fault.

  “Your mama has already arranged a party,” I pointed out. “Young ladies do not alter their social commitments without a good reason.”

  “It’s only Papa and Cousin Rachel who make up the party,” Alice reminded me.

  “Uncle Phil hardly ever takes us out in the evening,” Dottie proffered as a good reason. “In fact, he never took me before at night. He has had a tiff with Miss Peters, and so has offered to escort us. We are not doing anything tonight.”

  “As you are free, I shall take you somewhere else,” he said.

  There turned out to be nowhere else in the whole city he could take them both but to a theater. Dottie was not allowed at routs or balls, but like any young lady-in-training for her debut, she was occasionally allowed at the theater with a relative. Drury Lane popped into my head.

  “We could try the Haymarket,” Philmot suggested.

  “The Haymarket!” I exclaimed with interest, thinking he meant the Opera House. I envisaged something by Handel as suitable for my charges.

  “The Provok’d Wife is playing at the Haymarket Theater,” he went on.

  I stared in dismay. The Haymarket Theater was a step down from Covent Garden or Drury Lane, and a Vanbrugh comedy several steps down from Sheridan.

  “I cannot think that a suitable play for young ladies,” I said.

  “Are you familiar with it?” he asked.

  “I have not read it. Vanbrugh, however, is not generally considered to have such merit.”

  “My friends who have attended found it to have considerable merit,” he informed me, in a very toplofty manner. He had a face one wished to slap, with no provocation whatsoever.

  “You would know what your friends’ opinion is worth,” I answered. The only friends of Lord Philmot’s I had ever heard of were Miss Peters and his relatives, and what I had heard of the former did not incline me to credit her with any more discrimination than the Synges.

  “Society usually considers the opinion of Mrs. Burney and Mr. Coleridge worth listening to, particularly on literary matters,” he told me, with a dismissing look. “You have heard of Miss Burney, I assume?”

  It is impossible to live in England without having heard of our foremost female novelist. Coleridge, of course, was widely known as well to anyone who reads, though he is not my own favorite poet. “When I wish to pass an idle hour, I have often dipped into the works of Miss Burney,” I admitted. “Not so edifying as Hannah More, of course, but perfectly harmless.”

  “With such lukewarm enthusiasm on your part, I hesitate to ask you to join us, Ma'am."

  You could have knocked me over with a breath. I had no notion I was to be included in the outing. I had come to the city to broaden my circle of friends, and while Philmot was not and never would make a compatible or sympathetic friend for me, he was of all those I knew the most likely to introduce me to a select crowd.

  Fanny Burney even! I had said little in praise of her, but she was indeed one of my most favored writers. He regarded me closely while all this was considered. Some aspect on that sardonic face gave me the idea he was reading my mind. This being the case, I expressed a polite disinterest in joining him.

  “Pity,” was all he said. I was disproportionately let down, to have my refusal accepted so readily.

  “What will you do instead?” Dottie asked me.

  “I shall find something,” I assured her, showing none of the turmoil, the bitter recrimination that was already nagging at me. “Read a book, or write some letters..."

  “If it is only getting in the evening you intend doing, I suggest you would be better amused at the play,” Philmot was kind enough to urge.

  I didn’t think he would press harder. “Perhaps you’re right,” I said with no eagerness, but a fine careless lack of interest. “It might be of interest to see what others enjoy.”

  “Others than whom?” he enquired.

  “Others than myself.”

  “I had not realized Miss Fenwick was a breed apart,” he replied, in a tone not far removed from a jeer. I was too relieved to call him to account. “I shall call for you at 8:00.”

  As soon as we had expressed our approval, he was off. The girls were too excited to return to work after the visit. As their interest was to select the most attractive gown for the outing, I let them go to it. I did not plan to appear as a dowd myself, but as my attendance was in the nature of a chaperone for the girls, I could not don quite what I wished either.

  I had not attended any London do’s for over five years, and was not sure what degree of extravagance the Haymarket Theater called for. Not so grand as Drury Lane or Covent Garden, I thought. Dottie was still wearing gowns cut high to the neck, and the very simplest of jewelry. It was only from Alice’s outfit I could hope for a clue. She had selected a very plain white gown, and her hair too she wore simply dressed. Fancy frills then would be out of place, I thought.

  After dinner, I went to my room to prepare myself, wearing a perfectly simple but well designed dark green gown, cut a little low at the neck, but with my shoulders covered. My hair I wore in its customary fashion. A real party would be time enough to alter it to a more stylish mode.

  It was clear when Philmot called for us he was surprised at my appearance. Why this should be was not immediately clear. Were the pair of plumes in my hair too ornate for a chaperone? They were short and simple, not towering plumes by any means, but a discreet set of white ostrich feathers that more closely resembled puffs for applying powder than plumes. I then took the notion it was Alice’s toilette that displeased him. The surprise, you see, was not of the pleasant sort. The chiseled nose turned down in distaste. I don’t know why folks say anyone turned his nose up at anything. In displeasure, the nose generally turns down.

  He turned his gaze to Alice. “Determined not to be taken for a lady of fashion, I see,” was his compliment to her. I felt it might equally apply to myself. I had not realized Alice planned to enliven her appearance with an extremely elegant cape, lined in sable. She looked very fashionable indeed to me.

  “I think she looks particularly well,” I was impelled to defend, as she had consulted with me on the gown.

  “Well enough for a deb, I suppose,” he admitted, his eyes flickering from her to me. I had not the excuse of being a deb, and was made to feel it.

  We left, with already a little pall over the party, which was quickly driven away by the effervescent Dottie. The two girls sat on one banquette, with Philmot, the last to enter, sitting beside me, but I attached no importance to his having told Dottie to sit with her sister.

  He attempted a few remarks bordering on the flirtatious, which I was at pains to misunderstand. As soon as we entered the theater, I saw how far I had misjudged in the matter of toilette. The Haymarket’s not being one of the licensed theaters led me to believe it was a sort of second-rate place. Its offerings were not of the first jet, but in the elegance, the positive grandeur of the patrons, there was nothing second-rate about it.

  There was the glitter of diamonds and precious stones everywhere. My little pair of ostrich plumes shrank to insignificance in the midst of so much finery. No fear of being overdressed! Au contraire. I never felt so very like a country bumpkin. I wished I had worn Mama’s diamond necklace.

  When the asceticism of one’s outfit puts her at a disadvantage, the only recourse is to be above such paltry considerations. I must take high ground, adopt a lofty, intellectual tone. In short, I was determined to look down my nose at the play, that I might similarly denigrate those present who took any pleasure in it. I think I might have succeeded, too, had it not been for Dottie.

  I managed a pretty quelling stare on the first guffaw Lord Philmot emitted. Though he pretended to ignore it, his second outburst was less raucous, while the rest of the audience greeted the joke more loudly.

  Throughout the first act, I evinced not the least amusement. I kept my control while Sir John Brute was revealed as a cowardly churl,
and the actor playing the role was extremely comical too. It was during the next act, when Sir John entered disguised in a lady’s gown, that I had some trouble controlling my mirth. I cannot think why it struck me as funny, for in general I find it not at all amusing to see men wearing ladies’ wigs and skirts, and mincing about the stage in a manner that is supposed to imitate a lady, though it is without exception grossly overdone.

  There seemed to be some contagion in the air that night. Between Philmot’s enthusiastic male belly laugh, the girlish giggles of the sisters, the whole audience fairly bellowing, it was too hard to remain indifferent. By the end of the second act, I was in stitches, like everyone else.

  It was a heady taste of social life such as I had not had since my own abbreviated season, so long ago. Several pairs of opera glasses were turned toward our box, and at intermission, several of the users of those glasses came in person to meet us. Philmot introduced me only as Miss Fenwick, a friend, but I was quick enough to add my true role in the party.

  Many of the playgoers were off to dinners and routs after the performance, but with Dottie along to curb our style, we had to go straight home. The Synges were out, which led me to believe Philmot would leave us at the door. It was not the case. He said, “It is early yet. We oldsters shall have a nightcap, shall we, Miss Fenwick, while the youngsters retire? I am curious to hear your opinion of Vanbrugh, now that you have seen his work performed.”

  Dorothy stifled a yawn and went toward the stairs, while Alice, feeling herself an oldster, walked toward the saloon. “Goodnight, Alice. I hope you enjoyed the play,” Philmot said. She took the hint and went after her sister.

  I disliked to impose on Lady Synge’s hospitality to entertain a gentleman during her absence, but her own brother after all, and at his insistence, not mine. “Sis will not mind,” he said, correctly interpreting my hesitation. “I run tame here, and it is not as though you were entertaining a suitor after all.”

  "No, certainly not!” I answered swiftly, causing a fleeting smile to cross his lips, which looked always on the verge of smiling that evening.