Yes well, I may look like Belinda of Whitehall dressed in sarcenet with my hair done à la chinoise, but everyone here will soon realize I’m only Lindy from Trippingham who stands outside the milliner’s shop to watch the empty high street.
Fortunately, this thought was followed by the memory of Mr Turner, lurking behind her there, and her resolve hardened.
I must act the part, even though it feels a sham.
“Most of the elderly women here will tire soon,” Rose was saying, “and seek the comfort of their beds, which means we must get right to it. Ah, there’s your quarry.”
She tipped her head subtly towards a withered dame sitting alone near the hearth. Drawing Belinda along behind her, she asked the woman brightly, “Might we sit with you a while?”
They were rewarded with an eager smile as they made their own introductions, then settled down beside one Mrs Lucinda Phylter.
“How lovely that your Christian name is ‘Rose’!” their new acquaintance hollered. “I love nothing in all the world as I do roses!”
Goodness! She thinks we are as deaf as she must be herself!Belinda realized.
“Then I must assume you have an extensive garden, Mrs Phylter?” Aunt Rose asked, almost as loudly.
“Indeed, I do. Every May, it is flush with blossoms of every colour. Painting them was my greatest pleasure before the palsy made it impossible.” She turned to Belinda. “Do you watercolour, Miss Everson?”
“No, I regret I have little talent for artistic pursuits.”
“Oh, how disappointing!” The elderly woman’s face fell, as did Lindy’s hopes that Mrs Phylter might want to employ her.
Suddenly, a woman in a bright orange turban poked her head into the room, glancing every which way. She ducked out again so quickly that Lindy was left staring at an empty doorway.
“Miss Everson? What has bedazzled you?” Mrs Phylter laughed, having missed the fleeting sight. Placing a gnarled hand on Belinda’s arm, she said in the loudest whisper imaginable, “You must learn to keep your eyes in your head, or you’ll be thought a hayseed who has just blown into town.”
I suppose I ought to expect such silly exhortations,Lindy thought, smiling graciously.In fact, as a companion, I may hear little else.
As Mrs Phylter took a breath, perhaps to expound further on her advice, a passing gentleman arrested her attention.
“Ah, Mr Vine!” she exclaimed.
The man stopped and regarded her through half-closed eyes. While his luxuriant coat proved his wealth, his haughty gaze proved his disdain.
“Why Mr Vine, I had no expectations of seeing you this evening! And your father, is he here as well?”
“Regrettably, no,” came the man’s nasally reply. “And if you’ll please excuse me, I am on my way to Brooks’s where I was expected well over an hour ago.”
“Oh yes, don’t let us keep you from your club.” The elderly woman smiled and he walked away.
But before he reached the door, Belinda saw him stop and engage a man in conversation.
“Mr Vine will be a baron someday,” Mrs Phylter said, not seeing that he was just behind her. “You’re pretty enough to turn his head, Miss Everson, but unless you’ve got a handsome dowry, you oughtn’t set your cap for him.”
I’ve set my cap for no one!Lindy almost cried out as Mr Vine turned to glower at her.
Casting Rose a knowing glance, Mrs Phylter went on. “I suspect that if his father was not a rosarian, no one in the family would pay me any mind at all.” She chortled as if she found no abasement in the notion.
Belinda exchanged a look with her aunt.
I’ll get us away from here,Rose’s eyes said.
Too late,Belinda’s replied.
Though soured on the evening, she knew she must make the most of it, so once Rose was able to extract them from Mrs Phylter’s company, they spent the next hour going from room to room, smiling through a haze of introductions, memorizing names and faces.
Lindy’s greatest consolation in remaining at the rout came when the woman in the orange turban reappeared, this time holding the arm of a fair-haired girl. As there were so few young people present, Belinda hoped she might meet them, but Rose touched her arm just then.
