Cynthia Bailey Pratt (4 page)

“Are you my cousin Danita?” the girl asked. Her voice held the slightest hint of huskiness, adding a touch of the appealingly different to her exceptional beauty.

“I am. You are Berenice?”

The girl nodded and stepped into the room, bearing before her a collection of ragged wildflowers, milkwort, tormentil, and hearts’ ease all mingled together in a dulled pewter tankard. “These are for you,” she said, shoving them forward. “Grandmother doesn’t like flowers, but I don’t think she’ll come in here. Oh, you’ve opened the window.”

Putting the tankard down on the bureau, she went to the window and put her elbows on the sill. She inhaled the fresh summer breeze and seemed to wiggle with pleasure, like a puppy. “Was it pleasant, traveling today? I could never have wanted to get out of the coach, but travel on and on and on.”

“You’ll like going to Bath, then,” Danita said.

“I don’t know. Grandmother won’t have them spring the horses and she doesn’t ever want to travel more than a few hours together, because the motion makes her bilious. And when we do stop, she never lets me see anything, except the best parlor of the inn.” Berenice Clively turned a smile toward Danita. “But now that you’ll be with me, I’m sure she won’t mind if we go exploring together. That will be proper, won’t it?”

“I suppose I could act as chaperone, but only if your grandmother likes the scheme.”

“Oh, she won’t say no, if I ask her politely. She would have let me go before, but only if I took her maid, Simmins. Have you seen her maid? I couldn’t walk about a strange town with her; she’s too ugly.”

Danita realized for all Berenice’s ripened beauty, she was still a child. And a rather spoiled one at that. She went on with her unpacking, letting the girl chatter as she pleased, only putting a word in when it seemed expected.

“I’m eighteen,” Berenice said suddenly, after wandering in conversation through books (disliked), harp lessons (despised) and riding (adored).

“Eighteen?”

“Well, in two months’ time. But I put my hair up last year, to make me look older and taller. How I hate being such an insignificant thing. I’ve always wanted to be tall, like you, Cousin Danita.”

“You are precisely the right size, sweetheart,” said the cold voice of Mrs. Clively from the door.

Immediately, Berenice altered in her attitude. Though her conversation had marked her as possessing no very mature turn of mind, in the presence of her grandmother she seemed to revert at once to childhood. She practically skipped over to the older woman, holding the pointed train of her riding habit up. “Good afternoon. Grandmamma. Cousin Danita has come!”

“Did you bring those weeds into the house?”

“Yes, Grandmamma. I brought them for Cousin Danita.”

Mrs. Clively sniffed disapprovingly. “I imagine they may stay for this evening. They’ll have wilted by tomorrow. Be certain you dispose of them immediately, Danita. I won’t have them dropping their petals on the carpet”

Danita thought the dingy carpet, faded to a dirty mauve from a once bright red, would have been only improved by a few petals, but she said, “Of course. It was very good of Berenice to bring them to me.”

“Oh, Berenice has many sweet-natured instincts.” She patted the girl’s cheek. For a moment, Danita glimpsed some odd expression pass behind Mrs. Clively’s blue eyes. It might have been pain, hunger, or some other elemental emotion. “Faugh,” Mrs. Clively said. “You reek of horses, my lamb. Run and tell Simmins she must draw you a bath.”

“May I have some attar of roses in it. Grandmamma?”

“You know I don’t approve of young girls using scent.”

“Oh, mayn’t I please. Grandmamma?” The younger girl clasped her hands together and placed a pleading look upon her lovely face. Danita knew the wistfulness was feigned. She had not lived most of her life among young ladies without learning the more obvious tricks.

But Mrs. Clively softened. “Very well. But only a drop, mind me now!”

Berenice rushed away down the hall and they could hear her voice raised to the unseen maid. “Simmins! Grandmamma says I may have perfume in my bath. Simmins!”

Hoping to please her relation, Danita said, “Berenice is as lovely as you said.”

“She is just a young girl. Though from the number of proposals I have had for her, all unsuitable, she might as well be a decade older. If I were not here ... it will be much of your responsibility, Danita, to look after her when we are in Bath. I need not tell you what advantages can be taken of an innocent beauty unless strictly watched over. Men are beasts.”

Danita nodded and tried to look wise. As a schoolmistress, she had not felt it right that she be entirely ignorant of the congress between men and women, lest in her innocence she make a catastrophe from a kiss, as had happened in her own school-days to friends. Therefore she had consulted various
Materia Medica
and slowly came to a limited understanding of marital affection, uncomfortable and ludicrous though it had seemed when described. She herself had no firsthand knowledge, save a single kiss long ago from a young man she could not now easily recall. The image of Sir Carleton’s face rose once more before her eyes. But their meeting had been one of conversation only, and thus could have no place when discussing love.

Mrs. Clively continued, “After my morning visit to the Pump Room, I sleep until lunch and keep to my rooms until tea.”

“You have often visited Bath?”

“No, not for years. But that shall be my daily schedule. You shall accompany Berenice to her calls, teas, afternoon routs, and jaunts of similar nature.” Her appraising eyes went to the scanty wardrobe Danita had arranged. “I will see to it that you have proper ensembles for such duties as fall your way. I shall take Berenice about for the first week or so, introducing her to such old acquaintance as will be there this early in the Season and, of course, to the evening entertainments.”

Danita was not at all displeased with these plans sketched out by Mrs. Clively. Taking some part in Bath society, even if only by daylight, was a pleasanter prospect than attending an aunt in her rooms. And the thought of new clothes was ever intriguing.

Two weeks later, Danita was not so certain. Though she told herself she had no hopes beyond neatness and cleanliness in her attire, some foolish remnant of adolescence had longed for pretty things. She knew, of course, that a woman of her height could never carry off the dainty frilliness that her great-aunt favored for Berenice. Still, it was hard to look upon her new clothes without wishing for lace or ribbons. And why must brown be so depressingly dominant in the color scheme?

At least she had been given the means to do something about her millinery. The coach for their departure was already loaded and waiting in the drive at Roselands. Danita tried to make herself useful, but Simmins, who was not to travel with them, drove her out with fierce looks, and Berenice was gone out to bid adieu to her horse. Going downstairs to see if the luncheon basket was ready, Danita found herself drawn aside by her great-uncle Lemuel. His small eyes shifting, the elderly gentleman pressed two coins into her hand.

“You may see something you like in Bath, my dear.” He crossed his arms across his chest, his fingers digging into the flesh of his upper arms. “Buy yourself something foolish, for my sake. A pretty veil, or do you like books?”

Remembering a certain gentleman’s comments on the subject of secret novels, Danita blushed as she said, “Yes, I like them very much.”

“Then buy one, something amusing. When you come back, in the fall, perhaps you’ll read it to me.” Once more the hunted eyes looked left and right. “Don’t tell your aunt,” Uncle Lemuel murmured. “It is useless for her to know.” The little man in the dark suit scurried away, leaving Danita to look at the two sovereigns he’d given her.

Berenice and Mrs. Clively took her along when purchasing fashionable hats and bonnets upon their arrival in Bath. As might be expected of one who dressed with such care, Mrs. Clively did not require Danita’s advice. Berenice, however, did listen to her cousin.

“Oh, this is dashing!” Berenice exclaimed, holding up an abbreviated Huntley bonnet. She placed it on her disarranged blond hair and peered enraptured into a mirror.

“It’s charming, Berenice, but do you think orange plaid is a good color for you? It makes your cheeks quite sallow.”

“Do you think so?” She gazed at herself a moment longer, running her fingers over the cock’s feather standing straight up from a green sarcenet rosette. “What do you think. Grandmamma?”

“Hmmm, lamb? Whatever you want, you know that.”

“Oh, I don’t think it will do,” Berenice said, plucking off the bonnet and tossing it onto a table already covered with discarded hats. The milliner hurried forward with another.

“No,
not
a turban! Whatever is the woman thinking of?” Mrs. Clively exclaimed.

Danita exchanged glances with the shop owner over Berenice’s head. “Perhaps something else,” Danita suggested.

“Mayn’t I try it on, at least. Grandmamma? I want to see how I shall look when I am old.”

Berenice’s youthful face did look piquant beneath the enfolded satin but Danita shook her head. “Oh, very well.” Away the turban skimmed.

At last, Berenice settled on several headpieces, most of which would not retain their native ornaments long. “That Conversation bonnet might do if you change the ribbons to blue corded silk to match my new walking dress, and the Leghorn straw, if you can take off those nasty straw-flowers and put on silk roses, and I might as well take that Cantab hat although I already own one, and I suppose, that bluish sort of poke bonnet, if I can find the lace I want for the front, you know, for over my eyes?”

That first week, Danita’s time was devoted to retrimming, remaking, or refitting articles the Clivelys had purchased in the hopes of eventually changing into what they’d wanted. She had little time to put to her own attire, but made over the two hats she already owned and the one she’d purchased.

She also acquired an edition
of Pride and Prejudice,
as she’d read a good review of it some years ago. Uncle Lemuel might enjoy it too, she thought. Though she did not expect to see Sir Carleton Blacklock ever again, some instinct kept her from spending more than eighteen shillings out of her first sovereign. The second coin she tucked away between the cushion and back of the somewhat threadbare chair in her room.

Her life was not all drudgery, a thought she hugged to herself. True to Mrs. Clively’s word, Danita took her place as Berenice’s attendant during the second week at Bath. Her instructions had been precise.

“You are not to leave Berenice alone for any time whatsoever. She’s a silly, thoughtless child with no idea of how to comport herself in good society. You must watch over her as I would do. You have some elements of sense, Danita; make use of them. Don’t allow young men who are unknown to me introduce themselves to Berenice. You must protect her from the consequences of her beauty. Already, some encroaching coxcombs have tried to thrust their society upon her. No doubt they have heard of the wealth my son acquired in the Islands. Be wary. If, however, you should see someone she has met already, such as Lady Jane Clarkson or Mrs. Rivington, I see no harm in Berenice becoming part of their conversation.”

“Yes, Mrs. Clively.” Danita had been asked, with the utmost politeness, to refrain from the more familiar “Aunt.”

Berenice’s notions of society, as Danita soon discovered, were vastly different from her grandmother’s. They had taken rooms in a narrow house in New Bond Street, a lively street of shops near to the Pump Room. Mrs. Clively preferred to be carried everywhere in the sedan chairs that still flourished in the city, but Berenice loved to walk.

Unfortunately for Danita’s peace of mind, Berenice also loved to talk. The first inkling Danita had of the horrifying future that lay before her occurred when she and Berenice were walking together to join Mrs. Clively at the Pump Room. Danita paused for one instant to glance over book titles exposed for sale, when she realized Berenice was no longer beside her.

Stretching upward, Danita tried to glimpse Berenice’s blue bonnet over the heads of the smartly dressed ladies and gentlemen thronging Stall Street. When at last she spotted it, it was surrounded by feathered hats of the most questionable sort for daytime wear.

Danita saw that hers was not the only scandalized glance drawn hither. She walked swiftly, wishing she dared run, to where they stood. Once there, Danita found great difficulty in attracting Berenice’s attention. Though she made fierce faces, she dared not make a public scene by forcibly dragging Berenice away. What she heard of the conversation was not alarming, though the very fact it was taking place was dreadful enough.

“Oh, yes, the waters do wonders for the complexion, dearie. Not that you need any help,” kindly said one young female, whose eyelash and brow color could not have been natural, or perhaps it was her hair that had not originally been blond.

“And my mother, Lottie, don’t forget my mother. The fattest woman in Bath, she was, until she started in to drinking it. Likes it hot, right out of the well. She’s slimmer than me, now.” The painted redhead ran her hand over a contour that was perhaps marginally less well-padded than her counterpart’s.

“And it’s truly good for gout?” Berenice asked. “I’m so worried Grandmamma won’t get any better.”

“The tales I’ve heard about gout cures, my dear, no book is big enough to hold. Do you remember Mr. Brown, Lottie? Oh, you know, that sweet old gentleman who used to give me ginger-nuts after...well, he had the gout something fierce and it never troubled him again after the treatments he took here. Spry as a young goat.”

After some desperate eyebrow waggling, Danita managed at last to catch Berenice’s eye. All the same, the girl took an unconscionable time saying good-bye to her new-found friends.

Once out of their earshot, Danita said, “Are you mad? You can’t talk to women like that on the open street.”

“Why not?”

Despite her experience in talking to young girls, Danita had no notion how to answer without despoiling Berenice’s innocence. “You simply should not. That sort of woman isn’t spoken to by girls like you. I don’t even know what they were doing down here.”