Page 39 of The Undaunted
Caroline had very sensibly retreated to her bedchamber and took up some sewing. As a usual thing, Lady Easton would be perturbed that her charge was not on time for tea, but she was certain that was not the case now. She would be far too taken up with whatever emergency her friends had arrived with, probably to do with the dinner.
She could not entirely ignore her disappointment. Lord Bertridge would be in the drawing room too. Caroline was certain she’d heard his footsteps on the stairs a few minutes ago. She did not wish to be drawn to that scolding person but somehow, she was. He had been magnificent at the boxing practice. Lord Alvanley may have been running round his house and lifting statues, but it seemed Lord Bertridge had no need of it. He fought with some sort of ease, as if he never tired, though it was clear enough he wore out his opponents.
Bemmy burst into the room like a gust of wind.
“I was just in the servants’ quarters and it’s abuzz with the exhibition on the morrow. Bets are being laid in town and Lord Bertridge is favored.”
Caroline sighed. “How I wish we could view it, though Lady Easton would never allow it.”
“She can’t disallow what she ain’t been asked about,” Bemmy said.
“Certainly, she would find it out. People would talk, Bemmy. A lady is not meant to view such things.”
“Right you are,” Bemmy said. “But the rest of us can view just fine and if you were to look like the rest of us…”
“Are you saying I should go disguised?” Caroline said. It was an outrageous idea, and yet a very interesting idea.
“Easy as rollin’ dough,” Bemmy said nodding. “Tomorrow, we nip out for our walk and go straight to my pa’s house and get an old cloak I got there. It’s drab as anything, and I’ll set you up with a threadbare bonnet too. Then, we take ourselves down toward The Ship Inn. I heard they’ve leveled the beach and laid boards down to make a proper ring. Nobody will give you a second look.”
Caroline set down her sewing. On the one hand, it would be glorious to watch the result of all the practicing the gentlemen had done and she was sure the gamblers were right—Lord Bertridge was bound to do well. And of course, she would be interested to see how Mr. Landon fared.
On the other hand, she had not even heard from Lady Easton on the subject of Mrs. Jordan yet and now it seemed Lady Featherstone and Lady Redfield had arrived looking harried. She could not be sure why they had come, but it did not seem likely to put Lady Easton in a very happy frame of mind.
If she were to be caught going to the exhibition, Lady Easton might very well pack her up and send her home. She suspected her father would not be pleased either. He might not be as tightly wound as Lady Easton, but he still had limits.
But then, how could she bear to miss it? Why was it so wrong for a lady to view a match? She’d already viewed all the practices and seen all the men shirtless. Anyway, was a lady not to know what a man looked like without his shirt?
Of course, she knew perfectly well why society did not think a lady should view men shirtless or cheer on what was a violent sport. She was just not certain society was right.
And after all, there was no reason anybody would note her if she were dressed as a servant of some sort. She had noticed that people often looked through or past a servant, but not directly at them. Surely, she would not be recognized.
As she mulled over the idea, or rather talked herself into the idea, she heard Lady Easton bellow her husband’s name such as she’d never heard before.
Bemmy folded her arms and said, “I’m surprised that didn’t shake the house. I wouldn’t be in the master’s shoes just now for anything in the world.”
“I wonder what has happened?” Caroline said. “It must be to do with whatever Lady Featherstone and Lady Redfield have come for. Goodness, I’ll never get tea now.”
“Don’t you worry ’bout that,” Bemmy said. “I’ll nip down to the kitchens and tell cook you need a tray on account of a headache and while he’s at it he can add a cup for me too.”
Caroline nodded, always admiring of Bemmy’s practicality and ability to get a thing done. As her maid left the room, she saw Lord Easton sauntering down the hall, looking entirely unconcerned over the alarming summons from his wife that had just echoed throughout the house.
As the minutes ticked by, Caroline did not hear anything further from the drawing room. Lord Easton, regardless of why he’d been called to his wife’s side, did not stay by her side long, as she heard him in the front hall telling Bramley he was off to the pavilion to see the Prince.
Bemmy came back as good as her word, with a tea tray and a mountain of biscuits. Caroline poured and Bemmy said, “Lord knows what’s gone on in the drawing room, but Mr. Bramley is wound tighter than a cat with a bell tied to its tail.”
“As long as it doesn’t have to do with me, I will just hide up here until dinner. In any case, you’ve brought enough food that I could probably forgo dinner too if things seem dire.”
Bemmy chewed on a biscuit and said, “I never did see the likes of this house. Not a day goes by where somebody isn’t up in arms ’bout something. It’s a miracle they all don’t fall over from the apoplexy.”
Caroline giggled and admitted her thoughts were not dissimilar. It was a good reminder that not all the world was forever outraged.
They drank their tea in companionable silence, only occasionally broken by Bemmy as she related some interesting thing about her family or the townspeople or the town itself.
It turned out her father was skilled with a knife and was forever carving forest animals and sea creatures from bits of wood. He’d hide them round the house and whoever found one could keep it. Bemmy had an extensive collection of them, her favorites being a delicate little octopus and a pod of whales.
Somehow, from there, Bemmy explained the ins and outs of buying flour from Mr. Smith’s shop. The fellow always put the new flour he’d brought in on top of what he already had so everybody knew if the bin was getting too low they were getting close to flour that had been there for years and so they went further afield for their purchase. Poor Mr. Smith could not work out why he could never move more than half a bin in a month.
Though Caroline could not have said how, Mr. Smith’s poor inventory management led Bemmy to think of The Ship Inn, the place they might go on the morrow to see the exhibition.
