Springtime Pleasures (20 page)

Aunt Dolmore glanced over the small piece of notestock. “Well… hm… hm…
Mortimer Street
, I say! Most extraordinary!”

“I believe Mr Burnell left his widow a very rich woman,” Uncle Dolmore offered. “So there is nothing quite extraordinary about the fact that she can afford a house in the best part of Town.” He winked at Charlie. “I have heard she has friends in the best circles.”

“Yes, yes. I daresay she has if she lives on
Mortimer Street
.” Aunt Dolmore squinted at the invitation. “Though the form of this is sadly lacking. One would have thought she would use her husband’s name, but no, bold as you please, she lists her own Christian names. Most unusual!”

Another wink from Uncle Dolmore. “I believe Mrs Burnell is what you might call an eccentric, my dear, but a very respectable eccentric. It is my understanding that she spent the past few years abroad, travelling the world.”

Travelling the world?

Charlie perked up.

Now didn’t
that
sound promising? She
loved
hearing about travels abroad!

“Hmph,” Aunt Dolmore said, then looked at Charlie. “I doubt you know what a great honour it is to be invited to an address on Mortimer Street, child. And I am sure that Mrs Burnell did not mean this invitation for you alone, but meant it to include the whole family. In the future I would appreciate it if you would give people proper directions.” She sniffed. “I will write to Mrs Burnell and thank her kindly for her invitation. Naturally, the family will be most pleased to accept it.”

Cousin Caroline clasped her hands together. “Mortimer Street! A mere stone throw from the Austro-Hungarian embassy! Do you think Prince Esterhazy will attend this function? How very exciting!”

~*~

The days until Mrs Burnell’s party passed in a blur—there was another party to attend on Tuesday, and, of course, Almack’s on Wednesday night, and drives with Isabella in the Park. Charlie was relieved to learn that Mrs Burnell had invited her nephew and niece to her party as well.

“Though not my parents,” Isabella confided. “I am explicitly to accompany my brother, which is most strange, don’t you think so? They agreed without demur, too!”

“What about Mr Cole?” Charlie cut in. Over the past weeks she had become fond of Chanderley’s big cousin. “Has he been invited as well?”

“No. You see, Boo is my cousin on my mother’s side, whereas Aunt Burnell is my father’s sister. Oh, and Charlie—” She gripped Charlie’s arm. “—when my aunt learnt that I enjoy playing the fortepiano, she specifically requested that I perform at her party. Whatever shall I do?” She bit her lip. “You must know that I wouldn’t at all feel comfortable to play in company. I haven’t done that… well… since the accident.”

Charlie smiled at her. “Then it is high time that you do. I haven’t yet heard you either, and I shall be looking forward to the occasion.”

With a groan, Isabella covered her eyes with her fingers. “Don’t
say
such things! It will be most awkward, I am sure!”

“Nonsense,” Charlie said briskly. “Didn’t you tell me yourself how much you enjoy music? Pick a simple, pleasing piece, and you cannot go wrong. That is what Mr Bernstone always said. It is fine and well to master technical difficulties, but on the whole, people at parties only seldom appreciate technically difficult pieces. They much prefer something light and breezy and joyous and
short
, for surely there will be other young ladies wishing to perform.”

Isabella let her hands fall into her lap. “Is that a St. Cuthbert’s truism?” She sighed. “Well, I
am
glad that I won’t be expected to play a full piano concerto or anything of the sort. But still, I do wish my aunt would not particularly desire me to play in front of her guests. I daresay they will all stare at my chair, and I will be most uncomfortable.”

“If they do, they will be the most enormous dunderheads alive,” Charlie retorted. “Now let us think what you could play.”

Isabella wrung her hands, clearly still horrified at the thought that she should play at all. But then, she took a deep breath, and said determinedly, “I will march boldly forward, just as your school song says. Now…” Another deep breath. “I was thinking of something more traditional. I am sure that many of Aunt Burnell’s acquaintances will be of her age, and something more modern, like Schubert—have you heard of him?—would perhaps not go down well with an older audience. Haydn would be an altogether better choice, I believe. What do you think?”

Charlie grinned at her. Hadn’t she always known that in the breast of her new friend beat the heart of a true St. Cuthbertian? “I think it is a most
excellent
idea.”

“Is it?” Pleasure turned Isabella’s cheeks pink. “I’m so glad you think so. I have already narrowed it down to two options. One—” She gave Charlie an expectant look. “—the sonata in A major that starts with dlummM-tadatadada-tidabambah,” she sang, her fingers playing on an invisible fortepiano on her lap. “You know, the one with all the triplets?”

“Hmm,” Charlie said. “Tricky things, triplets.”

Isabella’s face fell a little. “Yes. Yes, you are right. Not suitable for a first performance.”

“No.”

“No.” Isabella took a deep breath. “What then do you think of the sonata in C major where the right hand starts with bllum-dam-dam-dam bllum-dam-dam-dam, and the left hand goes yabadaba yabadaba yabadaba yabadaba? It is quite lovely, and it is one of my favourites.”

Charlie gave her a smile. “Well then. You have made your choice, haven’t you?”

“It seems that I have.” With a relieved laugh, Isabella held out her hands to Charlie. “Dear Charlie, please promise me that you’ll turn the pages for me? With you at my side, I think I can do anything.” Her smile turned slightly misty as she pressed Charlie’s fingers. “I am so glad that we have met and become friends!”

~*~

What to Mrs Burnell was a small, private gathering turned out to be a well sized party with nearly forty guests present. They had all assembled in the drawing room, where a fortepiano stood in one corner of the room, while the rest of the space was occupied by groups of chairs and sofas, all of them covered with bright, canary yellow fabric. Amidst the green silk wall hangings of the parlour, the seating arrangements looked like ever so many giant daffodils.

The guest list was eclectic enough to please Aunt Dolmore and Cousin Caroline—until the door opened and Lord and Lady Holland were announced. At that, Aunt Dolmore’s face turned an interesting shade of red brick.

“Oh dear,” Charlie whispered. “Whatever is the matter now?”

At her side, Isabella gave a nervous chuckle. “Have you never heard of the notorious Lady Holland? She is a divorcée.”

Charlie raised a brow.

“I
know
. It is most shocking. My father will throw a fit when he finds out that Aunt Burnell is on speaking terms with Lady Holland. Look, there is Mr Luttrell, the famous wit,
and
Mr Smith. Oh, Charlie…” She turned a woebegone face towards her friend. “With such a sophisticated set of people present, I don’t think I can meet my aunt’s wishes and play the fortepiano. What if they don’t like it? What if they are very critical? I believe I shall
die
if one of the gentlemen utters some kind of witticism—”

“Nonsense,” Charlie said briskly and patted Isabella’s hand. “If anybody should be critical of you, you will throw your teacup at their head.” She grinned. “Provided, of course, that you beat me to it.”

Isabella broke into surprised laughter, her eyes sparkling with merriment. “It’s so good to have you with me,” she finally said, pressing her friend’s hand.

In the course of the evening, Charlie found herself seated next to Chanderley’s aunt on one of the shockingly yellow sofas. Charlie, secretly pleased with herself that she had contrived to manoeuvre herself into this position, had little idea that Mrs Burnell had done exactly the same thing, for she wished to look over this girl her niece and nephew had evidently become attached to.

Blithely unaware that she was being checked out and not at all intimidated by the fearsome fan, Charlie addressed the older woman, “I say, ma’am, you probably find this a most shocking imposition—and indeed, you must tell me if it is; I am so bad with these things—but is it
true
that you have travelled
all
around the world?”

Mrs Burnell gave one of her curious, cackling laughs. “Not quite the
whole
world, alas.”

“Oh, how famous for you!” Charlie beamed at her. “Have you travelled to Greece? I have heard they have houses with blue roofs there which seems rather fantastic—though, of course,” she quickly amended, “in Italy they have churches striped like… like… what do you call those animals? Ah, I know! Zebras. Have you ever seen a real, living zebra?”

Mrs Burnell chuckled. “Will it make you very envious when I say that I have?”

“Oh, it will make me turn all
green
with envy, I assure you.” Charlie sparkled, then sighed. “I would love to go to the Royal Menagerie at the Tower—or even Pidcock’s Museum, though I don’t know whether they have zebras there. But my aunt…” She leaned forward to whisper, “My aunt believes that close proximity to exotic animals constitutes a serious hazard to one’s health. So we haven’t visited
any
of the menageries.” With another sigh, she straightened and pushed her spectacles up her nose. “It is very sad. So yes, I do envy you the zebras—and not just that! You must have travelled through Africa. Have you been to Egypt, too?”

“Indeed, I have.”

“Then have you seen the Sphinx? Is it as elegant as it appears in the prints?”

Mrs Burnell smiled her strangely crooked smile. “Most elegant, even if parts of its nose are missing and the poor thing is still mostly buried in the sand. Not much to see except for the head and the ridge of its spine.”

“It sounds most wonderful!” In her eagerness, Charlie leaned towards the older woman. “I have read that there is currently an
excavation
of the Sphinx underway. Isn’t it marvellous? After centuries and centuries, the body will finally emerge again in all its splendour!”

At her candour, the other woman cackled once again. “Miss Stanton, I believe you are a romantic at heart. I must own, the Sphinx is a most impressive creature, yet what impressed me even more was to climb up the Great Pyramid and see the whole land stretched before me in all its glory.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “You have stood on the Great Pyramid?” she whispered reverently. Then, with a laugh, she clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is too famous! I have never met anybody before who has stood on a pyramid!”

Mrs Burnell gave her an indulgent smile. “Are you fond of travelling yourself, child?”

“I can think of nothing more thrilling,” Charlie confessed, “though perhaps things often turn out to be not quite as wonderful as we have expected them to be.”

“They seldom do,” the older woman said gently.

Charlie nodded vigorously. “Just like London. Would you believe that I once thought it the most wondrous thing to go to London? It is very
nice
,” she hastened to add, “and I
do
like the parties and the balls even though I am too tall.” She frowned, pausing for a moment. “Or perhaps the gentlemen are simply too short, whatever it is. I could live with that, I assure you, but the footmen!” On a sigh, she shook her head.

“The footmen?” Mrs Burnell echoed, her brows raised.

“Yes. In London, one cannot go out on one’s own, but is obliged to take one of them along. Truly, for the life of me I cannot see what for as they are not even armed!”

“Armed?” Mrs Burnell’s brows climbed even higher.

Charlie eyed her speculatively.

Perhaps, having been out of the country for so long, Mrs Burnell didn’t yet know the extent of the moral depravity to be found in England. Confidently, Charlie leaned towards her. “On account of the highwaymen.” She sighed. “England seems to be so
infested
with such unsavoury persons. Why, already on our journey to London, our stagecoach was accosted by one of these gentlemen. And then it happened
again
in the Park, when I was out driving with your niece.” She shook her head. “I have never encountered any highwaymen in Scotland. Wild boars, yes. But highwaymen, no.” Charlie threw a sideways glance at Chanderley’s aunt. “I hope my mentioning of wild boars does not distress you.”

Mrs Burnell’s lips twitched. “Not at all, I assure you.”

“Ah, I am so relieved. It
did
shock your poor niece,” Charlie confessed. “Most distressingly so.” She looked to where Isabella and her brother sat talking, and her heart melted at the sight of both of them.

“And… eh… what happened to the highwaymen?”

“The highwaymen?” Charlie’s attention was brought back to Chanderley’s aunt, who regarded her blandly. Suddenly, Charlie grinned. “It must be owned that they were not very
capable
highwaymen. The first one was felled by Dr Johnson and the second fell off his horse when one of Isabella’s crutches hit him.”

“A crutch.”

“I threw it at him,” Charlie admitted. “It is all about getting one’s blow in first. Besides, men always seem to think that women are generally helpless creatures.”

A shadow crossed Mrs Burnell’s face. “We very often
are
,” she said, almost absentmindedly.

This, however, was a topic Charlie was well versed in. “That I know. Your niece—” She bit her lip and again looked at Chanderley and his sister. This time, he caught her eyes and raised his brows in silent question. When his gaze fell on his aunt sitting next to Charlie, his countenance darkened. With that impressive frown drawing his brows together, he stood abruptly, said something to his sister, and then strode purposefully across the room.

Charlie turned back to his aunt and smiled. “I believe your nephew is about to interrupt us. No doubt he fears that I have committed another dreadful
faux pas
and have scandalised you most horribly. But I haven’t, have I?”

The older woman’s features softened. “Indeed, you haven’t, my dear.” She patted Charlie’s knee.

“Oh, I
am
relieved. My aunt keeps telling me that I have a propensity to shock people. Personally, I believe it is all because of London.”