‘Bessie? Oh yes. I daresay she can have a word with her close friend James, the second footman. Can’t I just write to you like a normal person, though?’
Max raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, Miss Bainbridge, but a lady does not openly write to a gentleman. And your letters will most likely go to your brother to be franked before leaving the house.’
Etta sighed. ‘Ugh, okay. I’ll talk to Bessie. You’re right. I hate using the bloody feathers to write though. My mother says I’m terrible at it. She won’t let me write any invitations. So I hope you’re all right with pencil.’
Their time was up. Miss Marley was approaching with the awful, arch Mr Smythe. He’d refused to so much as touch her hand when they’d been introduced at the door, so she’d taken special care to remember the toad’s name.
‘Why, Lord Stanhope, how lovely to see you. We were just remarking on your kindness to Miss Bainbridge,’ said Miss Marley, who slowed her voice to a patronising crawl. ‘How are you, Hetty? Enjoying your first dance?’
Max didn’t react. ‘Miss Bainbridge was just telling me about her interest in … Calligraphy.’
Etta knew she had a dangerous look on her face, butbefore she could say anything they heard the odious Mr Smythe’s smarmy, patronising tones. ‘How delightful. Youcanread and write, then, Miss Bainbridge?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Etta. ‘Can you?’
It seemed Mr Smythe wasn’t accustomed to quick retorts. His face blank, he sputtered, struggling to know what to say.
Max cut in. ‘As a matter of fact we used to call you Wobbly in school, didn’t we, Smythe? Wobbly was never all that strong in Composition class. Or Comprehension, come to that.’
Smythe looked burningly angry. ‘Oh, very amusing, Stanhope.’
Etta screwed up her face mock-thoughtfully. ‘I think it’sLordStanhope, isn’t it?’
A burst of laughter surprised itself out of Max. He cleared his throat, signalling it was time for an entente.
‘Miss Marley,’ he addressed her graciously. ‘I believe a dance is about to begin. Is there room for me on your dance card?’
He led Miss Marley to the dance floor, while Smythe pointedly strolled away from Etta, leaving her on her own. Etta didn’t care. She watched Max make polite conversation with Miss Marley for a moment, who despite her acid tongue to her was certainly being pleasant enough to him, and then went off to find the food. Hopefully there’d be eclairs, because she could do with more than a little bit of comfort eating right now. Miss Marley might be more than a little tart, but – much like Lady Bainbridge’s little lemon curd-filled pastries – she was also beautiful.
Chapter 21
2023
Hetty hadn’t done as much theoretical physics as she would have liked yet, but at least her computer classes were progressing well. She’d started writing a daily diary on Substack and had even managed to open something called an Instagram account, thanks to Stella and her favourite classmate Elsie, a former photographer.
Hetty had never been able to get to grips with painting, despite it being de rigueur amongst all fashionable young ladies in 1817. Photography, however, was a different matter. All it had taken was a pointed comment from Elsie to Stella about getting some practice in ‘out of this horrendous lighting with someone who doesn’t need new knees’ and here she was at London Zoo staring at a real-life tiger.
More unnervingly, it was staring right back.
Stella chuckled. ‘You’d almost think you’d never seen a tiger in your life before, Hetty. Not even in a book.’
Hetty bit her lip. Oh, how little she knew of the truth. She tore her eyes away from the tiger and into the even more entrancing gaze of Stella, who was holding two sticks of—
‘What … what’s this?’
Stella’s face twisted into utter disbelief, before she turned her head and took a huge bite out of one of the pink clouds next to her. ‘Candy floss, silly.’
Hetty was still exploring the mysterious qualities of the candyfloss – what little there was left of it – when they reached the zebra enclosure.
‘They’re … stripey. Stripey horses? How completely bizarre.’
She’d given up hiding her astonishment now, and to her immense relief Stella had likewise seemingly given up on astonishment at Hetty’s constant astonishment.
‘You’re hilarious, Hetty. It’s like you’re some posh old Tudor lady in the body of a cute brunette.’
‘Tudor?! And … you think I’m cute?’
Stella laughed and nudged Hetty in the side. ‘Obviously you’re cute. Especially when you let me steal your candyfloss.’
