turning leaves

Clorinda, Dowager Marchioness of Bexbury, was visiting her old friend Mrs Dalrymple, ostensibly to discuss a new proposition concerning the philanthropic enterprize in which they both took an interest that had set up a number of optical dispensaries providing spectacles for the weak-sighted poor, or letters to hospitals providing operations were those necessary. Mrs Dalrymple, that was no longer young, had been having some little problems of health keeping her from recent meetings of the committee.

As Clorinda entered the parlour an elderly pug came up to sniff about her skirts, for had never abandoned the hope that, one day, a visitor would arrive that had happily concealed a rabbit or some such there. It snuffled around for a little while, sighed, and returned to snooze at its mistress’ feet.

No, cried Clorinda, do not put yourself to the trouble of rising, sure we are quite antient friends and need not stand upon ceremony!

They shook hands and Clorinda was waved into the one comfortable chair that was not already occupied by a pug.

The maid came with tea whilst they exchanged comments upon the weather and general matters – they say this government cannot last and there will be an election very shortly – the health of one another’s family and friends –

La, Mrs D had had a letter from her grandson Orlando in Sydney, where he was entirely thriving with his theatre company –

One was relieved to hear that, for not so very long ago Orlando Richardson had gone in some peril on account of the vengeful feelings of the husbands and other lovers of the ladies who had found the young actor most magnetic. Sure he was not the handsomest of men – nothing like dear Hywel Jenkins had been in his heyday – but had a charm that made up for any plainness.

And there was her grand-daughter, naughty Rosalind, that had run away from school to go on the stage under the name of Dalrymple, so that there would not be odious comparisons with her mother, that bright star of the London stage, Clara Richardson, doing exceeding well –

Of course, said Mrs Dalrymple, it gives one great confidence that she is in one of Lady Ollifaunt’s companies –

Oh, indeed, no vagabond player matter! Clorinda smiled. She had known Bess Ollifaunt since childhood, when she had presented the offspring of her dear loves Josiah and Eliza Ferraby with a fine superior toy theatre. And here was Bess now with some several provincial theatres that were agreed quite crack companies.

But, went on Mrs D, sure I might talk of the children for hours, let us to business.

So Clorinda took the papers out of her reticule, and opened the notion that Aggie – Lady Agatha – Lucas had had in her husband’s parish in the East End, that until one might get up enough interest to set up a dispensary, one might arrange for a visiting oculist, once or twice in a month.

One can tell she is Dumpling Dora – I mean, Lady Pockinford’s! – daughter! What a very apt notion. Or, she looked considering, there might be some local oculist that could be persuaded to give some gratuitous time to the work.

They discussed this, and various other matters to do with the charity, until there was a particularly loud burst of girlish laughter from the next room.

Clorinda raised her eyebrows.

La, said Mrs Dalrymple, as I daresay you know, since I apprehend Miss Allard is a connexion of your Sophy –

Clorinda nodded.

– here is that child Binnie that she gives refuge, the mother being most undesirable, comes shelter here a while and keep Clary company, as there is some fear that the mother may go kidnap her so that she can put her to earning her keep. And there she is, already has quite a little business in Covent Garden a-walking dogs and brushing 'em and teaching 'em manners, while being cared for by that excellent woman –

Clorinda fancied that Mrs Dalrymple did not know the precise nature of Marie Allard’s own business, providing special pleasures for gentlemen. Kept quite separate from her dwelling!

– and I daresay the mother wants to put her to making artificial flowers or some such trade, does she not have worse intentions. An agreeable child that has quite the nicest hand with dogs – the pugs doat upon her –

And Clary has not took that fever that had smitten her school?

Not in the least, in quite bouncing good health I am relieved to say.

At this moment the door opened as the maid ushered in Mrs Dalrymple’s son Danvers. That was still pointed to as a fine example of the style of the Regent’s day, when he had been one of the set around Clorinda’s dear friend Gervase, Viscount Raxdell. Had been living in a quite devoted unhallowed union with Clara Richardson for these many years, for the actress had had no inclination to dwindle into a wife and abandon the stage.

And Mrs Dalrymple was too delighted to welcome the grandchildren she had begun to despair of to cavil about the manner of their begetting!

Lady Bexbury! – servant – he bowed over her hand in the old courtly style – hoped he saw her well – how was MacDonald – here was Abertyldd went acquire a son-in-law that would be a great asset to his cricket-parties!

Further pleasantries were cut off by the bursting forth from the adjacent room of Clary, hurling herself at him crying Dada!

Followed more discreetly by Binnie, that dipped a very acceptable curtsey to the visitors. Looked in good health – clad in what Clorinda fancied to be an outgrown dress of Clary’s – one might convey reassuring report to be communicated to Marie Allard –

She exchanged glances with Mrs Dalrymple and they agreed that their business was concluded for the present.

So Clorinda went to where her carriage was waiting, and informed Nick Jupp that they might go straight home, and occupied the journey in making notes upon her convocation with Mrs Dalrymple in her little memorandum book.

Arriving home, Hector, her major-domo, informed her as he took her cloak and bonnet that Mr MacDonald was working in the library but would doubtless be grateful for some interruption.

Why, I will go interrupt him! Do you desire tea to be sent there rather than my parlour.

She passed through to what had become known as the library wing of the establishment. Sure it had been delightful to have been presented with the deeds of a pretty little house in Mayfair in her courtesan days! But when her life and circles expanded following her brief marriage to the ailing Marquess of Bexbury, that had required a widow to take care of certain discreet matters that he did not wish to entrust to the heir he loathed, it had become a little confining. But then the next-door house had fallen vacant, and, most fortunate, was part of prudent investments in Town estate made by an ancestor of her dear friend Biffle – Beaufoyle Beaufoyle, Duke of Mulcaster – that had been happy to make it over to her for a peppercorn rent.

So she had a fine library and a dining room for giving dinner parties, and had had room enough to provide lodging for her dearest friend Sandy – Alexander MacDonald, MA (Edinburgh) – following the death of his lover, and her friend, Gervase Reveley, Lord Raxdell. And also to provide refuge for Belinda, that had been married to the – supposed – Marquess of Bexbury that succeeded her husband, but had left him – set up training race-horses with her friend Captain Penkarding – returned to prevent a bigamous marriage – obliged to manage the estate when the Marquess was declared lunatic – and now, following Penkarding’s death, in business with Sam Jupp’s livery stables in the mews. Also widely consulted for her skills in horse-doctoring.

When Clorinda entered the library she found Sandy seated at the table with some several boxes piled on the floor about him, and stacks of paper before him. He was scowling at 'em.

La, my dear, have you found yet more bigamous marriages of that scoundrel O’Neill?

He looked up. Not yet, he conceded, but a good deal of evidence of debts and exceedingly dubious financial dealings. But what I am at here is trying to disentangle the matter of this lawsuit over Lady Wauderkell’s property in Cork. Occurred to me the notion that did it come about to be resolved in her favour, mayhap she might even go live there –

Clorinda grinned and said sure she would rather go live in Cork, that she understood to be a pleasant small city – healthful airs &C – rather than marry that dreary Evangelical bore Lord Fendersham, that still seemed so ardent to wed Lady W even after her elopement with O’Neill.

Sandy grinned back and said sure that might be exceeding amuzing – he fancied Lady Anonyma might get a novel or so out of the experience –

Alas that I do not have a fan about me to flap you with for impudence!

 –  But what I discover is very interesting. Her cousins brought the suit almost simultaneous upon her marriage to Sir Barnabas Wauderkell –

O! cried Clorinda, that puts a very interesting complexion upon it indeed – that perchance they did not want it to fall into his hands – one may well fancy that there was considerable family feeling against that match – and that tying it up in court proceedings, especial as I daresay he was reluctant to spend time in – I suppose 'twould be the Dublin courts? – pursuing it was one way to keep it safe for her.

Quite – he dies, and there is some compounding of the matter come to, as between family – and here is the widow with this comfortable share in a brewery to sustain her in her grief –

Clorinda snorted and said, that she might quaff the product of and mayhap distribute to the populace while she danced upon Sir Barnabas’ grave, the nasty fellow.

But here, she said, glancing at the table-top, I see Hector has brought in the post, and I should see is there aught of urgency – fie, an epistle from Naples! – I doubt 'tis anything imperative, but I long to hear how all goes on there –

She broke the seal, and sat down to peruse the letter – 'tis Alf goes write – Oh! Oh! Oh! Would you believe it! Who do you suppose has lately turned up in the vicinity of Naples?

Dearest Lady Anonyma, this is not one of your tales and you are not required to create suspense.

Basil Linsleigh!

Sandy swore in Scots. That mediocre artist had quit the realm somewhat precipitate a few years previous after his involvement in an illicit blackbirding scheme was like to be revealed, though rumour gave out that 'twas in fear of prosecution for sodomy.

Hmmm – hmmm – they go put in his way a very handsome confederate of theirs that he will doubtless desire as a model – so that is all under hand, and Marcello has refrained from employing his stiletto, the dear fellow, and we may anticipate to learn does he intend a return to these shores.

I might, however, said Sandy, inform Maurice that the wretch has not been murdered by Albanian bandits or kidnapped by Corsairs. For his lover had had an unhappy history with Linsleigh.