Page 18 of Henrietta

Arthur turned his head. ‘Did you introduce Edgewood to Trixie?’

Lady Allerton looked at him in some surprise. ‘No, Arthur, I certainly did not – but it was the chanciest of things! Trixie took quite a tumble in the hallway! She would have fallen entirely were it not for the Captain’s quick reactions, for he was exiting his box at just that moment.’

Arthur surveyed his sister with great cynicism. ‘What a remarkable coincidence,’ he said blandly.

Trixie’s innocent expression fell apart instantly. ‘We were just talking. Honestly, how am I meant to become a Great Beauty without having flirts? Stands to reason: if he’s a libertine, he must be good at it!’

‘Hush!’ Lady Allerton hissed. ‘I will have not another word about libertines! In front of Mr Hargan, too!’

Mr Hargan murmured his apologies, and all but fled from the box.

‘Mama, I must leave,’ Timothy declared. ‘At once!’

‘Whatever for?’

Timothy drew himself up. ‘Look at me!’

Arthur kept his face as straight as he was able. ‘Really, Mama, is it not obvious?’

‘It’s a lemonade emergency,’ Hetty explained gravely.

With some effort, Arthur maintained his composure. ‘Timothy, you cannot leave. It would be too ridiculous,’ he told him firmly and – resolutely ignoring his brother’s protestations – instructed them all take their seats once more.

Only once the curtain had risen again did he say to Hetty in a whisper: ‘You wretch, you almost tipped me into whoops.’

‘Timothy would never have forgiven you,’ she whispered back.

Her eyes looked at him, brimming with mischief – so different, so absurdly different to the dead-eyed creature who had inhabited Hetty’s body mere moments ago, that Arthur felt overcome with sudden determination. He might not yet know how to untangle his family’s finances, or rescue their fortunes from destitution, but Hetty – Hetty, he could help.

CHAPTER VI.

THE play finished to great applause and left the audience full of liveliness. Hetty, however, could not share in the general animation. The performance had been more than long enough for her mind to stray compulsively back to her awkwardness during the interval. Plainly, a change of dress was not going to bring about the transformation she desired. If anything, she thought with some agitation as she adjusted the skirt, it had made matters worse, somehow.

‘Cease fussing,’ Timothy reprimanded her in a low voice. The crush of persons had separated Arthur and Lady Allerton from the rest of the party, leaving Timothy with the task of safely escorting Hetty and Trixie to the carriage. ‘There is nothing less dashing than fussing. You do not see me doing so, even after all I endured this evening.’

‘My gown feels wrong.’ Hetty tugged at the fabric again. ‘Does it look wrong?’

Somewhat reluctantly, Timothy looked her over. ‘Perhaps it is the way you stand.’

Hetty straightened, alarmed. ‘There is something wrong with the way I stand?’

Hetty had not, as was common for young ladies of her class, been schooled in the principles of perfect posture by a series of exacting governesses. Miss Herne, hired by Hetty’s father a month after her mother’s passing, had been sacked a day into her employment, just as soon as Professor Clithero – who preferred total quietude for his work – had discovered her penchant for a morning sing-song. Following this, he had never sought another governess, in the fear that a musical proclivity would prove characteristic of the profession. But whatever ramifications this decision had had upon Hetty – and there were certainly many – she had not thought it had affected her posture.

‘Something off about it,’ Timothy diagnosed. ‘Or perhaps it is your walk.’

‘What do you mean?’

Timothy sighed as one prevailed upon far beyond what was acceptable. ‘I do not know … Trixie?’

Trixie, who was a little ahead of them, peering into the crowd in search, Hetty suspected, of this Captain Edgewood, turned back to consider Hetty.

‘It is not your walk itself,’ she identified. ‘Nor your posture. It’s something happening in …’ She made a vague gesture across her body.

‘My soul?’ Hetty interpolated.

‘That’s it!’ Timothy said, with all the relief one feels to be finally understood. ‘You must improve the posture of your soul.’

‘Exactly!’ Trixie agreed.