ANNE ASHLEY - Miss In A Man's World

‘Await me over there, Georgie, in that unoccupied alcove. And, remember, do not stare!’

As his hopes were not high at his orders being carried out to the letter, he was neither annoyed nor dismayed to discover on several occasions, when he chanced to glance across at that particular niche, a certain blue-eyed gaze considering quite a number of different guests, and by the looks flitting over that expressive countenance a fair few of those present did not meet with approval.

After doing his duty by standing up with the daughter of the house in whose honour the ball had been arranged, the Viscount wandered across to that certain alcove. ‘I should be interested to hear your opinions, dear child, but I rather fancy you had best express them in private, so for the time being you may accompany me into the card room.’

His lordship quickly spotted the worthy he was most desirous to see, and wandered across to the table in one corner, where two gentlemen sat. One was dressed in formal evening garb, whilst the other, in stark contrast, was clad in the height of fashion that had prevailed during the last decades of the previous century.

The bewigged gentleman in the heavily embroidered gold-coloured coat caught sight of him first, and waved one slender white hand in an airy gesture of welcome. ‘Fincham, old chap! Will you not join us?’

‘Your arrival is timely,’ the other said, rising from his chair. ‘You may take my place and keep our friend Sir Willoughby company, whilst I do my duty in the ballroom.’

‘Poor Gyles. He must keep on the right side of his brother. If Merton was ever to cut his allowance, he would find it hard, with all his extravagancies, to keep his head above water.’ After sweeping the pile of coins before him to one side of the table, Sir Willoughby reached for the cards. ‘What is your pleasure—piquet or French ruff?’

‘Either will suffice,’ the Viscount replied equably.

‘I do not intend to remain for too much longer. I have a further engagement this evening.’

Sir Willoughby’s painted lips curled in a knowing smile. ‘With the divine Caro, I do not doubt.’

When his lordship offered no response, the baronet raised his eyes and, much to his lordship’s silent amusement, suddenly felt for his quizzing-glass in order to study more closely the slender form, clad in severest black velvet, standing dutifully behind the Viscount’s chair.

‘Good gad! That is never your page, Fincham, surely?’

‘Loathe though I am to disabuse you, Trent, but it is, indeed, my page.’

The baronet then transferred his gaze to the slender golden-haired youth standing dutifully a couple of feet behind his own chair. ‘You wretch, Fincham! You’ve acquired him on purpose! I do believe he’s prettier than my own! Such divine eyes!’ He appeared genuinely distressed. ‘You know I cannot abide others possessing prettier things than my own. You must sell him to me at once. At once, do you hear! How much do you want for him? Name your price!’

‘Now that’s an interesting proposition.’ Lord Fincham beckoned with one finger. ‘How much are you worth, Georgie?’

When blue eyes regarded him in a mixture of outrage and disgust, he came perilously close to dissolving into laughter, but was spared any further attacks on his powers of self-control by the arrival of the hostess.

Fincham rose at once to his feet. ‘Your arrival is most timely, your Grace. Sir Willoughby here has lost complete interest in our game. Perhaps you could provide him with another opponent more worthy of his skill?’

‘I very much doubt that, Fincham,’ she responded. ‘Your reputation is widely known. There are few here tonight who would pit their skill against one of the favoured five.’ Her smile faded slightly. ‘Or perhaps it would be more accurate now to say … the favoured four.’

His lordship didn’t attempt to respond to this. After exchanging a few other brief pleasantries with their hostess, he turned to leave and caught an almost frozen look on the face of his page. So deeply entrenched in her own private world did she appear to be that it took two attempts before he could gain her attention and instruct her to follow him from the room.

Putting her sudden disinclination to talk down to the lateness of the hour, and fatigue, he didn’t attempt to make conversation until he had taken leave of the host, and had led the way outside to where his carriage stood awaiting him.

‘Get in, Georgie,’ he ordered, so far forgetting himself as to open the door for her. ‘I shall not be returning to Berkeley Square with you.’ He then turned to his head groom, perched high on the box. ‘I entrust it to you to take care of my page, Perkins. I shall make my own way home in the morning.’ And with that he sauntered off down the road, leaving both his servants to stare after him.

‘But why isn’t he coming with us? Where’s he going, do you suppose?’ a bewildered little voice enquired.

The head groom looked down, askance, at the slight figure by the roadside. ‘Cor blimey, lad. Green by name and green by nature, that’s you! He’s going to pay a visit to his mistress, o’ course! He won’t be getting much sleep tonight, if I knows anything. But I needs mine, so climb aboard and let’s get going!’

The instruction was obeyed, but a moment later the carriage door was slammed shut with considerable violence.

The following morning Brindle located his quarry with no difficulty whatsoever. Seated at the kitchen table, the page was lending Cook a helping hand as usual, although for some reason seeming less sociable than usual. He didn’t perceive anything untoward in this slightly subdued state. The child had not gone to bed until the early hours, and was no doubt feeling slightly out of spirits through lack of sleep.

‘His lordship has returned to the house, Mrs Willard, and requires breakfast as soon as maybe. He will partake of it in the breakfast parlour and desires you, George, to serve him.’

As this was an undoubted honour bestowed upon one so young and inexperienced, the response was not quite what the butler might have expected.

‘Oh, he does, does he!’ Looking decidedly mutinous, the page rose abruptly from the chair, very nearly toppling it over in the process. ‘Well, he can damn well serve it himself, because I’m going out! Come, Ronan!’

It would have been difficult to say which member of the staff present was most shocked by the outburst. Both the scullery maid and the boots stared open-mouthed as the door leading to the mews was slammed shut by the clearly disgruntled young servant. Even Mrs Willard appeared taken aback by the outburst.

‘Well, upon my soul! There’s heat for you, Mr Brindle!’ Cook declared, when she’d recovered from the shock. ‘Have you ever heard the like before? Anyone might suppose the boy doesn’t know his place.’

‘And there you have hit upon it exactly, Mrs Willard, because I do not believe he does know his place!’ Napes announced, having entered the kitchen in time to witness the shocking outburst. ‘And he should be made to learn it! It’s no good, Mr Brindle,’ he continued. ‘I know you look kindly upon the boy, and have from the first, but behaviour of that sort cannot go unpunished. His lordship should be told about this appalling breach of conduct.’

‘But not by you, Mr Napes,’ the butler countered. ‘Kindly remember I am in charge here; I shall decide how best to deal with the matter.’

In truth, the highly skilled and diligent major-domo was in something of a quandary. He was fully aware that it was essential to maintain discipline and standards below stairs at all times, otherwise his authority would quickly be called into question. Yet, at the same time, the valet had been so right: he had developed a genuine fondness for his latest protégé.