Memoirs of a Hoyden (19 page)

Ronald lifted a knowing brow. “The fact that Nick is in Hythe has nothing to do with it, I suppose?”

“I’ll give him a last blast if we happen to run into him.” I waited to hear if Ronald had anything more to say on the subject of Kestrel.

“There’s the carriage. Let’s go.”

“Oh dear! We haven’t made any arrangement to return the horses Kestrel hired for us yesterday. We can’t leave them here, Ronald.”

“Nick’s going to look after them.”

I had run out of excuses. If we didn’t meet Kestrel in Hythe, I would never see the wretched man again, and I didn’t know whether I was happy or sad. The bank manager at Hythe knew precisely who I was. Word of our escapade had already begun circulating through the little seaside town. A house guest of Sir Herbert Longville’s was given fifteen pounds credit with no difficulty.

There wasn’t a sign of Kestrel in the town, and so we left. I peered over my shoulder till the carriage made the first bend, then decided to put this incident behind me.

We retraced yesterday’s journey, recovering Ronald’s watch, then on till we reached Chatham. A trip to the bookstall where he had discovered Cooke’s book of devotions saw me in possession of the first three chapters of Aurelia’s new adventures, and a pound out of pocket for the leather lap case, but I was happy to have it back. It was a constant companion on all my travels.

I opened it and pretended to read over my manuscript as we went on to Redden. It gave me privacy to think without interruption from Ronald. There is no secret what was in my thoughts—Lord Kestrel. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so hot in Nel’s defense last night, I would be with him now. Surely that kiss in the moonlight had been more than a caprice on his part.

My mind settled on that embrace, and I idly jotted down a few phrases that might be useful when Belvoir rescued Aurelia from the highwaymen. “The pressure of his lips on hers caused a fire to flame within her” came to mind. “She felt she had entered a celestial paradise of eternal bliss.” But this was mere verbiage. It hadn’t been like that at all. Euphemism and allegory and eternity had nothing to do with it. It was an immediate sensation, very much centered in the pit of the stomach, and the here and now. It was a wild beating of the heart, a raw hunger, more closely attuned to animal needs than some evanescent paradise. I hadn’t been so shaken and so vitally alive since the night Ronald and I faced Prince Nasar’s rebellion.

“What are you doing?” Ronald asked.

I crossed out those polite lies and uttered a new one. “Just thinking about the lecture tonight.”

“Do you miss Nick?” he asked.

My look was rebukeful, but I decided to answer. “I am delighted to be free of him. I never met such a pompous, egotistical man in my life.”

“He’s not so bad when you get to know him.”

“I believe I know him as well as you do, Ronald.”

He just smiled in his hateful, knowing way. “I miss Nel,” he said. “She was very pretty. One of those vulnerable girls a fellow would like to cherish.”

“Milksop!” I charged. Then we both fell silent. I got my gold necklace from the cobbler at Redden before we went to the inn. Mr. Monahan had our cases safely stowed away. We took lunch there, thanked him profusely, tipped him, and were off to Canterbury.

There was a moment of weakness when I thought of redeeming Kestrel’s emerald ring as an excuse to see him again, but I didn’t have enough money. Really, that is all that prevented me. I asked Monahan to keep it safely. To keep my mind from less useful matters, I regaled Ronald with my speech as we went to Canterbury. I playfully inserted an addition relating to his part in the Arab uprising in the desert. He smiled sheepishly.

“Well, it’s true, Marion. I was the one who confronted Prince Nasar.”

“It isn’t true that I’m ‘well over thirty,’ or that Mr. Lambert was a fish merchant. He had a whole fleet of fishing ships.”

“I only said that to discourage Nick. You don’t want someone like Kestrel dangling after you, complaining about your doings. I wondered when he mentioned that bit about your views on marriage. I believe he was becoming interested in you, but never fear, I nipped that in the bud.”

“Thank you,” I said. As the subject was in the air, I ventured a question; “He didn’t say anything this morning before he left? Anything about me, I mean?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you!”

“What?” I nearly jumped from my seat for joy.

“He said to thank you for your help, he hoped the lecture went well, and . . . what was the other?” I sat holding my breath till he continued. “Oh yes, he said to say good-bye.”

“Oh.”

Conversation dwindled to silence, till Ronald decided I should run once more through the part about Prince Nasar and the revolt, to make sure his heroics got full play.

Evening was falling by the time we reached Canterbury. We drove along Westgate Street, passing many fine churches along the way. The whole city was quite impressive, with a library, museum, and guildhall. We hadn’t time to visit the famous cathedral, but after a short sight-seeing tour of the place, went straight to our hotel. Our reservations were at the Rose, in High Street.

We went directly to our rooms, where I sent my gown down to be pressed for the evening; also my oriental costume. My publisher; Mr. Oates, had urged me to wear the oriental outfit, but I thought the illustration in my book gave a good idea of how it looked on. As Ronald and I ate dinner in my room, however, I decided I would wear it that night after all. Many members of the London audience had expressed regret that they couldn’t see it in action.

“That’s a trifle farouche, isn’t it?” Ronald objected when I told him my decision.

“I’m a farouche creature. It seems I’m already an oddity. I might as well be a truly outrageous one.” What difference did it make? I had set myself beyond the pale of marriage. Why not go whole hog and really give the provincials something to gape at? As Oates so genteelly put it, “It’ll get you ink in the journals, and sell books.”

Ronald left after dinner, and I dressed myself before the mirror. The long scarlet satin vest had broad sleeves open to the elbow. Over it went my silk jacket embroidered in gold. The trousers of yellow were loose, falling in folds and tight at the ankles. A pair of embroidered Moroccan leather shoes without heels, turned up at the toe, were slipped on, and last came the turban. It was a large, ceremonial affair, held together in the front by a bright brooch.

If one could overlook the strangeness of the outfit, I think one would admit it was strikingly attractive. Not for everyone, of course, but my height and proud carriage could wear it. I hung my abba loosely over my shoulders, planning to remove it for the lecture. When riding through the desert, I was used to wearing a sash to hold my dagger and pistol, but I would not mar the splendor of my outfit with those accoutrements tonight. Those and other paraphernalia were fastened up in my case, which Ronald would carry for me.

Ronald, who had seen me attired as I was that night any number of times, was strangely loath to go down into the lobby with me. “I’ll have the carriage pick us up in the alley,” he offered. “That way, you won’t have to be seen in the hotel.”

“I am not averse to being seen. The outfit might cause some of the hotel clients to attend the lecture.”

“Yes but—but everyone will stare, Marion! You won’t be at all comfortable.”

“By which you mean
you
will not be comfortable. If you’ve developed a set of sensitivities since coming home, by all means slink out the kitchen door like a scullery maid. I shall depart through the lobby.”

He sighed, fastened the abba tightly around me to conceal as much as possible of my outfit, and we left. There was no shortage of stares as we strode grandly out to our carriage. A pair of spinsters jumped back as though I might pull out a brace of pistols and shoot them. “I didn’t know there was a traveling fair in town!” I heard one exclaim. One bold rogue enquired where I kept my elephant. “Why, I thought you were it!” I answered sharply. He was a large man, which made the retort less pointless than it sounds.

On the street a crowd appeared from nowhere, pointing and gaping as though I were a freak from Bartholomew Fair. It was a relief to climb into the carriage and close the door behind us.

“I’ll go to the room and get your gown if you want to change before the lecture,” Ronald offered. “If you’re having second thoughts about wearing the trousers, I mean.”

“I have not changed my mind. There is nothing improper in this outfit. It covers more of my anatomy than half the gowns you may see at any polite party anywhere, including Canterbury. You sound like the veriest hick, Ronald. One would not think you have been halfway round the world.”

“But we’re home now. These are English people we’ll be meeting tonight. You know how . . . traditional they are.”

“Narrow-minded is the word you’re looking for. Part of the reason I wrote my book is to show Englishmen how other people live. Well, other people, other human beings, dress like this.”

“Even in the desert, those are men’s clothes,” he insisted.

“Men, women—what’s the difference? We’re all people. You remember the men at Palmyra wore those funny petticoats, trimmed up with leather and beads and blackamoors’ teeth and I don’t know what all. They jingled like tinkermen when they walked.”

“We’re back in civilization now.”

“Rome was civilized, wouldn’t you say? The Roman senators wore skirts. I can wear trousers.”

“Hail Caesar,” Ronald said weakly, then pulled his head back from the window so he wouldn’t be seen driving with me as we began the trip to the lecture hall.

Chapter Thirteen

The opening we had found most impressive was for Ronald to go onto the stage first and give me a buildup. When the hall was quiet and the audience eager to hear me, I walked onto the stage. You would have thought I was naked as the day I was born to hear the gasp of astonishment at my trousers. The gasp was followed by a thrilling ripple of high-pitched chatter. I had expected some reaction, but hardly this degree of shock. I held my breath, afraid that someone would start jeering or throwing vegetables at me. There was something dreadfully like a snicker starting up in the rear section, where the less costly seats are. I kept my head high, my shoulders erect, and stared boldly into the featureless sea of faces.

The hall was full to the doors. I took a deep breath and made a salaam, an Oriental sign of welcome which consists of touching the palm of the right hand against the forehead while bowing deeply. It means “Peace be upon you.” I began speaking immediately while I could be heard over the snickers. The most dreadful foreboding took hold of me that I would be hooted off the stage.

“Can you do the Indian rope trick?” one ignoramus shouted, to a scattered burst of laugh.

“Do you ride a horse or a magic carpet, lady?” soon was hurled at me.

I stood still, appalled, wondering if I should leave the stage. Fortunately, some gentleman in the audience came to my rescue. Over the headlights I dimly perceived a black jacket rise from his seat and go to that troublesome rear section. He bodily lifted one lout from his seat and kicked him out the door. This had the salutary effect of quieting the others. I rushed into my lecture at once.

“Thank you for coming to hear me this evening, ladies and gentlemen. Before I begin my talk, I would like to point out to you the names of the various vestments I am wearing, and explain how it comes that I, an English lady, stand before you in an abba and a pair of shalwars.”

So saying, I removed the abba and handed it to Ronald, who continued sharing the stage with me. I was thankful for his dignified presence. I thought calling the trousers by their foreign name might mitigate the offense of wearing them, and obviously some explanation for the clothing was required, before I was faced with a riot.

I believe I did the right thing to confront the matter of the trousers head-on. The snickerers were hushed by the more intelligent members of the audience, which gave me time to win the others over. From the clothes I proceeded quickly to display some of the more interesting objects. This had the double advantage of occupying the less educated patrons with something they could understand, and keeping Ronald close by me. We showed them pistols, various swords and daggers, the nargileh—a long-stemmed oriental pipe. I had planned to smoke it myself, but it seemed wise to let Ronald do the honors.

By this time, the snickerers had fallen silent, and I was able to get into the gist of it. Before long, I had them all in the palm of my hand. I spoke of the various climates and seasons, the desert and mountains, giving some idea of the vegetation. There was a ripple of surprise when I described the oaks and firs encountered in the mountains. I was a little surprised myself upon first seeing them. It was the more exotic plants that I dwelt on, of course. The pomegranates and figs and watermelons.

My trip to Palmyra in a Tartavan proved a great success. How the ladies smiled to hear I had been put inside a wire cage like an enormous bird cage for my own safety! Our shipwreck off Rhodes and Ronald’s handling of the Prince Nasar rebellion were other highlights. Through it all, there wasn’t a peep out of the snickerers in the back row. You know when an audience is with you, and I knew that this lot were entranced. I felt secure that the books would be snapped up in good numbers.

After an hour’s talk, I mentioned my book was available at the local bookstores, and threw the meeting open for questions. Oates wanted the books at the lecture, but I felt it would be infra dig to peddle my wares myself.

It was extremely interesting to notice the different questions put forward by the two sexes, and to observe that the gentlemen preferred to address themselves to my secretary. With the gentlemen, it was all a discussion of land and wars, religion and politics and farming, whereas the ladies wanted to know how food was prepared, and how the ladies were treated, and where I bathed. I made short shrift of that last subject, but raised an unintentional laugh when I mentioned having to hide my toothbrush from the Mohammedans because of its hog bristles. Eventually it was over. The audience clapped loud and long. I curtsied, Ronald bowed, and we repaired to a little room set aside for our private use.