Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Stillroom Maid

A Draught to Bring On Labour

Mix together three spoonfuls of white wine and one spoonful of Oil of Sweet Almonds; take this every night before going to bed for a fortnight or three weeks before the expected Time.

Or take a little rye that has been spurred or covered with ergot, and boil in one pint sweet wine; strain the whole and let it cool. The dose is one-quarter pint, and the draught thus taken will bring on the pains in half an hour.

— From the Stillroom Book

of Tess Arnold,

Penfolds Hall, Derbyshire , 1802–1806

30 August 1806, cont.

THE PROSPECT OF A FINE MEAL AMIDST ELEGANT COMPANY must give rise to the most pleasurable anticipation in the dullest of times; but when set in the frame of recent events, and coupled with the knowledge that one or more of my companions might be guilty of murder — it gains considerably in piquancy.

I had occasion to reflect upon this when Mr. Charles Danforth vied with his brother for the honour of taking Lady Harriot Cavendish into dinner, only to be supplanted — as must be natural — by Lord Harold Trowbridge, his senior in both years and consequence. Lord Harold preserved his command of countenance, and Mr. Charles was too well-bred to cavil. He turned instead to the Countess of Swithin, our dear Desdemona, who accepted his arm with alacrity and the greatest good-humour in the world. Mr. Andrew Danforth was consigned to me — the eldest, least attractive, and most impoverished of the lot. But such is the fate of younger sons. He bore his duty well, and was so obliging in his manner, that I nearly forgave him the role of chief suspect in a heinous crime. Mr. Andrew’s attentions drew Lord Harold’s eye so often during the course of dinner, in fact, that I felt myself in the slightest measure repaid for his lordship’s own excessive devotion to Lady Harriot.

We were twelve at table — I had not looked for so great a crowd with the family in mourning, but Lady Harriot’s native day had drawn nearly every relation to her. Georgiana Morpeth, Lady Harriot’s elder sister, sat to her father’s left. Lord Morpeth had brought his wife down from their home at Castle Howard, in Yorkshire, and intended to return thence on the Monday — Lady Morpeth’s three little children being constantly in want of her. The Countess of Bessborough, younger sister to the late Duchess of Devonshire, was but lately arrived from her home at Roehampton; she intended a stay at Chatsworth of some weeks.

Lady Bessborough is a bewitching woman, with Hary-O’s rapier wit and a faded beauty that is nonetheless enchanting. Here was the mold from which Hary-O had been struck; and I should not be greatly surprised to learn that Lord Harold had once been as enslaved to the charms of this Harriot as he was now thoroughly devoted to her niece. Though she was a Countess (and the Earl yet lived), the burdens of public rectitude had never weighed overly-heavy on Lady Bessborough’s white shoulders; she had brought an excessively handsome young man, Granville Leveson-Gower, in her train from Roehampton. All at the Chatsworth dining table acknowledged him as her lover, despite the twelve-year difference in their ages; and as Leveson-Gower might command a fortune, and the notice of any woman in the world, we may adjudge his attachment a tribute to Lady Bessborough’s fascination.

The Duke sat at the head of the great dining table, but the chair to his right — the late Duchess’s place — was draped with black crepe. Lady Elizabeth, I saw with some relief, had not yet attempted to seize her dear friend’s empty chair. One other seat had gone unfilled, as though reluctant to disturb the symmetry of our arrangement: the Marquess of Harrington’s. The boy had not appeared at dinner; and I was not alone in remarking upon the absence.

“Where has young Hart hid himself, Your Grace?” Lord Morpeth cried to his father-in-law, when the first congratulations and wishes for returns of the day had been offered to Lady Harriot. “I should not have thought he would neglect his sister on so signal an occasion.”

“No doubt he’ll turn up,” the Duke returned vaguely. “Always out until all hours. Can’t drag the fellow off his mounts. Sportsman. Think he sleeps in his riding breeches.”

“Did Hart know of the excessive anxiety he causes,” managed Lady Elizabeth, “I am certain he would make amends, dear Morpeth; but he is of an age where the claims of Society are as nothing. The boy is heedless, foolhardy, and given over to the very worst sorts of humours — but possessed, I am sure, of the dearest heart in the world! There is nothing to his grief for our beloved Georgiana. Indeed, as I said to Lady Bessborough only this morning, I must forgive Hart every unfeeling wound when I consider of the depth of his loss.”

“You are too good to us all, I am sure, Lady E.,” retorted Hary-O, with barely suppressed rage. “What my brother might be, without your influence in this household, does not bear thinking of.”

Granville Leveson-Gower regarded Lady Harriot narrowly — he was seated immediately to her left — then looked all his enquiry at Lady Bessborough directly opposite. The Countess gave a barely discernible shake of the head, and reached for her wineglass. Leveson-Gower sat back, his eyes yet fixed on Hary-O. There was curiosity in his gaze, I thought — but anxiety, too, for her welfare.

“And has grief entirely blasted your twenty-first summer, Lady Harriot?” he asked her gently.

She fixed her eyes upon her lap as she replied; but a warmth suffused her countenance. “It should be very strange, sir, had it not. Though I do not make a parade of sorrow, as some do, I must feel my mother’s loss as deeply.”

“I’m sure you must,” he returned. “No more excellent lady lived. And the continued torments of Chatsworth — the thousand unquiet memories of happiness, now gone forever! — must deepen your pain. Lady Bessborough, I think, intends to carry you back with us to London; and there, I am sure, the diversions of Town, and the novelties of a new Season, must invariably raise your spirits.”

“Carry Hary-O into Town!” cried Lady Elizabeth, before the young lady could express her thanks. “What an excellent notion, Lady Bessborough! The very thing! We are excessively obliged to you! For Lady Harriot cannot have many eligible young men thrown in her way in Derbyshire, you know,” she added, with cruel disregard for the Danforth brothers, “and she does not grow the younger, as our happy occasion must only emphasise.”

“I see you regard the improvement of her circumstances in the proper light,” murmured Lady Bessborough ironically.

“Canis and I shall be at Devonshire House by Christmas,” Lady Elizabeth continued insensibly. “I should dearly love to chaperone our little Hary-O this winter, and I am sure that Georgiana would have wished me to stand in her place — but I fear my delicate condition of health forbids it.” At this, Lady Elizabeth managed an example of her peculiar, hacking cough.

That she should put herself forward, as Hary-O’s chaperone — an office belonging first to the married elder sister, and more properly to Lady Harriot’s aunt — defied belief! That the Duke’s mistress should carry his daughter into Society! Was Lady Elizabeth so blind to the impropriety of her own position, as to imagine it went unnoticed by all around her?

Lady Harriot rolled her eyes towards Heaven. Lord Harold’s composure was excessively correct; but his eyes met mine with the most satiric look.

“We may take it as settled, then,” interposed Leveson-Gower briskly. “When the Duke is once more in residence at Devonshire House, Lady Harriot shall naturally make her home there; but until that time, she shall remain with the Countess.”