Harriet poked her. ‘They were quite oozy actually, but he seems to be with Knatchbull. And Doctor Herbert who he’s apprenticed to. Awful man.’
Thea glanced at her. ‘You let an apprentice at your boils?’
‘I did,’ said Harriet, almost proudly. ‘He’s far better than Herbert but wants to see out his training. Can’t stop learning and is always at some talk or other. Cleared them right up with a needle and a cream made from….’
Harriet went on, but Thea’s attention was snapped away as soon as she realised where she recognised this young doctor from. As he answered the queen’s questions, she recognisedthe face of intent that she usually saw in flickering candlelight, frantically scribbling or picking Martin up off the floor. He was the friendly person that sat on the front row at every one of Doctor Hunter’s anatomy lectures.
A cold chill swept through her. She couldn’t risk George finding out about her illicit intellectual expeditions. Whilst he had promised to support her learning and purportedly still did, over the five years of their marriage he had managed to ensure it was kept tightly bounded. She almost hadn’t seen it coming, but he had artfully steered her towards subjects deemed appropriate for a lady like theatre, art and botany, and away from her first loves of geology, physics and natural history. She suspected that he only tolerated any of it as it kept her happy and out of his hair. It was her role to be appropriate as a duchess and carry out the wifely duties he deemed paramount. These involved playing the accomplished hostess, having an impeccable societal presence, bearing him children, running the house and most often running the estate too, when he was off shooting, fishing, drinking or doing whatever else he did with his mistress. It was her place in life, and whilst she struggled, there was nothing else to do.
The study of anatomy would definitely not be an activity he deemed appropriate. Despite the consequences she feared if he found out, she attended them out of curiosity, defiance and an insatiable desire to escape the monotony of her life through learning. Part of the reason she chose the subject was because she knew George would hate her seeing naked bodies and engaging in a world so traditionally male. He didn’t have to know she was attending for her to take some pleasure in her defiance.
Now that her experimental friend Edgar Pickles was dead and the fact that her father and sister Ursula were rarely in society, she had precious few outlets for intellectual stimulation. That and the fact that Martha was… well… she couldn’t think aboutthat now. The space she went to in her head when she attended lectures – that exquisite domain of new knowledge – when familiar but unapprehended elements of life came into focus and new understanding stretched the canvas of possibilities – was one of the only freedoms she had left.
She felt an elbow poke in her corset. ‘You alright?’ She turned to find Harriet peering at her, a concerned rumple in her forehead.
‘Yes, sorry, I just…’
‘Went into your head.’
‘Yes.’
‘Nicer place to be, I expect.’ Harriet understood.
Thea nodded but said nothing. She looked back at the queen who had, by now, moved on three people and was smiling in front of an animated Cecily Knatchbull. Although Cecily had the misfortune of being married to the odious Neville and his extravagant outfits, she made the best of every situation where she was out of his company and struggled to contain her chatter. Now it was clearly gushing out all over the queen, who didn’t seem to mind a bit.
‘Maybe I need to be more like Cecily?’ mumbled Thea. After all she talked to anyone and didn’t care what they thought. A little of that freedom would be welcome. But Harriet spun her head sideways in horror.
‘No.’ she said simply.
Thea allowed herself a small smile. ‘George would prefer it.’ But as she looked up at Harriet, she saw her attention was taken by something else. She looked back to the queen in the direction of Harriet’s rapt stare.
The consort was now talking to Emma Fairclough; Monty’s wife, the richest and most popular lady in the capital and, Thea suspected, the holder of Harriet’s heart.
Six years ago, Harriet had been married off to a boxer and musician – Hugh Henry – in circumstances Thea still didn’t quite understand. They seemed to have a nice enough time together, spending months at a time travelling around Europe while Hugh fought and played, supported by Harriet’s fortune. Three months ago, however, Harriet had returned alone, saying that Hugh had run off with an Italian woman and was nowhere to be found.
Harriet made a good show of it, but everyone had heard the rumours about why she and Hugh had been hastily married off in the first place. Thea and Harriet had once been inseparable and Harriet was one of those people who picked up a friendship exactly where it had ended, but despite their closeness, the subject of her errant husband was strategically avoided.
‘You alright?’ Thea asked, returning the question. Harriet started.
‘Yes,’ she said quickly, diverting her eyes from the ongoing conversation. ‘Just considering our looming interaction with the improvement club.’
Thea’s gaze returned to the queen and her subjects. Harriet was right. The ladies who surrounded the rich Emma, who included Thea’s sister-in-law Helena, simpered to the queen. The ladies improvement club met regularly to discuss art, plays and porcelain, and other things Thea found inescapably dull. What was worse, was that polite society dictated that Thea and Harriet were often engaged in their frequent and protracted discourse. Despite her best efforts, she had failed to get them excited about either natural philosophy or plants.
‘George will want me with him until he withdraws,’ Thea muttered. ‘You might be on your own.’
‘Hmm,’ mused Harriet, looking between George on one side of the room, and Emma on the other. ‘What’s better, being disregarded by the men or patronised by the women?’
‘Neither,’ said Thea, and meant it with vigour.
‘So charming and so interested,’ gushed Knatchbull to an outwardly interested circle. Thea tried to keep her eyes on him and a polite smile on her face, even if her mind was wandering. ‘I am so pleased I could connect Her Majesty with Doctors Herbert and Speckle after they were introduced to the King at the levee this week past.’ Despite Thea’s hopes that she could avoid Harriet’s apprentice doctor for the remainder of the evening, here he was, also smiling politely as George and Knatchbull verbally duelled. Now she could only hope that her lecture-going disguise was good enough. So far, thankfully, Speckle had paid due attention to all in the circle and none more to her than to any other. That was promising, but she was still none-the-wiser as to why two doctors were permitted at the King’s Drawing Room.
‘Most impressive,’ said George, clapping Knatchbull on the back just hard enough that his eyes bulged a little.
‘So pleased to see you in the chamber today, Your Grace,’ said Knatchbull, deferring slightly and referencing George’s foray into the political sphere. ‘The proposed bill on enclosure of land is quite a personal interest, you will understand.’
George nodded sharply. ‘I appreciate the urgency,’ he said, ‘when one has recently acquired an estate.’
Barbed, thought Thea. Neville had clawed his way into parliament and society through the acquisition of land, whilst George was landed by birth. Knatchbull looked with jealousy-fuelled disdain on George’s familial wealth, and George despised merchant made money. Whilst politics dictated their geniality, they maintained a constant and tedious quest to one-up the other. Thea and Monty Fairclough shared a knowing, weary look, having witnessed this skirmish a hundred times before.
