Chapter Four

“Lady Allegggrrraaa...”

The call came shrieking down the uncarpeted hall, bouncing off the paneled walls and reverberating through the entire upper floor.

”What now, what now....” A woman muttered to herself as she bundled the hair she had been trying to brush back into a knot and shoved it willy-nilly under a large and unflattering cap.

“Come heeeeerrre....” echoed the voice, heavily rolling the final r.

“I’m coming, Madame.”

Rushing downstairs into the small entrance hall, the woman’s eyes met a strange sight. A large and colourful bird was perching in the transom window above the front door and was being addressed by a large and equally colorful woman standing below.

“Allegggrrraaa—you must do somezing—my precious Richelieu will fly away into ze nasty smelly air—zat fool of a servant opened zis silly window—ah bah—see? See how he eez looking?”

The woman, used to hearing her given name mangled in such a frightful fashion, sighed and pulled a small chair over to the door.

That Allegra, Lady Falworth, should spend her time trying to coax a parrot out of a Bayswater window must be affording the gods a lot of amusement, she thought ruefully, as she raised her hand and tried to make her fingers resemble an attractive perch.

Her attempts were met by a string of obscenities in an assortment of languages, only a few of which were intelligible to Allegra. Where the parrot had learned such a vocabulary was a mystery, but Madame serenely ignored it.

“Be careful, Allegggrrraaa, do not make him fly outside...”

Allegra, who was wobbling precariously enough on her chair, resisted the impulse to grab the bird and respond with some choice words of her own. Instead, she followed her employer’s instructions and gently urged Richelieu onto her hand with little cooing sounds and clucks of the tongue.

“I doubt if the real Cardinal was as much trouble as you are.” Allegra scowled at the parrot as he finally put both feet on her finger and held on tightly with his sharp claws.

“Bravo, Richelieu, mon amour...” enthused Madame. “Come, Maman will give you ze nuts, yes?” Madame moved towards Allegra, who held the bird out towards her.

At that moment, several things happened at once.

The front doorbell rang loudly, Madame jumped in surprise, dropping two shawls, and Richelieu nipped Allegra.

This was followed by the eruption of a small and very ugly pug, yapping at the top of his well-developed lungs, and aiming himself at the offending door with amazing ferocity.

“Ah—darling Dauphin—so good ze watch-puppy, eh? Come, come—Allegggrrraa shall answer ze ringing—we shall enjoy ze breakfast, no?”

Leading her flock away from Allegra, who was rubbing her injured hand, Madame turned. “Oh and bring lots of zose muffin zings to ze breakfasting table. My darlings need an extra treat today—clever babeeez....”

The procession of Madame, bird and yapping dog trailed off, leaving Allegra to handle a multitude of tasks, none of which she had anticipated when she agreed to become Madame’s companion.

Not for the first time, she realised that the definition of “companion” differed widely. Those applying assumed genteel tasks, such as reading, fetching, and carrying. Those hiring assumed legal slavery.

Nevertheless, she answered the door and was surprised to receive a note addressed to herself.

“Lady Falworth, and it’s on elegant stationery—I don’t recognise the crest. Who on earth...?” She puzzled over the note as she closed the door.

Fortunately, in the ensuing bustle to prepare a satisfactory breakfast for Madame and her menagerie, the ring of the doorbell was forgotten, and Madame never inquired. Somewhat guiltily, Allegra clutched the note to herself, reminding herself that she had not yet sold her right to a little privacy.

So it was later in the morning, when Madame had settled in for a visit with an old friend and dismissed Allegra, that the latter was able to finally open the impressive-looking missive.

Her eyes flew immediately to the signature Phillip Allenbridge, followed by a detailed seal containing a handsome crest, swans and a couple of fleur de lis.

“My goodness, what can Lord Allenbridge want of me?” She drew a deep breath and began reading.

“.... on behalf of my Nieces, Penelope, and Grace Sullivan. Through the Vagaries of Fortune, I am their Guardian and will be presenting them this Season. Unfortunately, our Family has been unable to provide suitable Chaperonage, which, I’m sure you will agree, is so Essential for the Girls’ Well-being. My Enquiries have indicated that you are related to my Nieces, albeit distantly, so it is not inappropriate for me to ask you to consider Undertaking such a Task. To discuss this matter further and to begin what I hope will be a Fruitful Acquaintance, would you do us the Honour of joining us for Tea at Bridgeford House on Monday next...”

Allegra finished the rest of the standard phrases and let her hand rest gently on her lap. Was this another Olympian attempt at humour?

Leaning back in her chair, she tried to place the name Sullivan in some context relating to her family, but was unable to recall it at all. In fact, she realised that there was much she now could not remember in any detail.

Of course, she remembered dear Papa, his studious ways and great interest in literature. She also remembered her childhood—isolated and lonely. Papa never felt the local gentry good enough to mingle with the Duxcombs, who could trace their origins back to William the Conqueror. And yet it had not felt lonely.

There had been Miss Harwood, her governess for as long as she could recall and then Curate Dawson, both of whom had encouraged her love of books and her interest in learning. Of course...if there was a relationship with these Sullivans, it must have come through the Falworths.

A dark expression settled in Allegra’s eyes. This was an area she’d rather forget.

But the day Charles Falworth had appeared and visited with her father was as fresh in her mind as if it had been yesterday. And the shock of being brought to Papa’s study to be told that a great honour was being done her—that Sir Charles had requested her hand in marriage.

Truly, most seventeen-year-olds would have been ecstatic to receive such an offer—but not from Sir Charles. The life he led showed clearly on his face, and although he was barely ten years older than Allegra, he looked more like a man of forty. Endless hours of drinking and dissipation had thickened his waistline and chin to the point where his features were soft and indistinct.

His eyes, as he surveyed Allegra’s young body, were cold and made her shiver involuntarily.

Papa, however, could see nothing but the ancient lineage of the Falworths, and the fact that a hefty marriage settlement had been arranged meant little to him.

“My dear, you know the Duxcomb estate will go to Cousin Peter on my death. This is money your mother, God rest her soul, made sure was put away for just this purpose...how pleased she’d be...” So said Lord Duxcomb when she had attempted to protest the wedding.

Being an intelligent daughter, Allegra realised that her father was delighted to receive an offer for her hand and discharge his parental duties with such minor inconvenience to his own schedule of scholarly research. He loved her in his way, but was so far removed from everyday things that he might well have accepted an offer from the Devil himself if he’d been able to provide proof of an impeccable lineage.

There were some days when Allegra was convinced he had.

It had not been long after his arrival that Falworth had found an opportunity for the two of them to be alone—in fairness, they were now engaged, and such a thing was permitted.

What should never have happened was Falworth’s insistence on sliding his hands up Allegra’s skirt and fondling her painfully. She gritted her teeth against the memory of him unbuttoning his trousers and forcing her to fondle him in return. Her breasts ached as she recalled his heavy-handed groping, and her stomach roiled anew at the thought of his body. She had sworn from the moment she learned of his death that she would never touch or be touched like that by another man.

She knew now that her father should have stopped the farce of a marriage, but getting his child “settled” had clearly been his goal, and Charles Falworth had neatly provided the answer by offering aristocratic status and a home at Falworth Manor, which, added her papa, had been in the family for centuries.

Seeing Falworth Manor, Allegra could well believe it. More of a fortress than a manor, it would have been hard to imagine a more unappealing dwelling. However, a dislike of drafty rooms, long stone passageways and damp walls was completely overshadowed by her dislike of her new husband.

Although having been raised with the prevailing attitude that love was not necessary for a successful marriage, Allegra had naturally cherished some romantic dreams. Her wide range of reading materials had not been censored to exclude stories involving the tender passions, so there had always existed a small secret hope that when she married, it would prove to be as joyful and loving an experience as that of some of her favourite heroines. She knew right away that this was not to be.

After less than two months of life with Falworth, Allegra had begun to wonder if her sanity would survive the marriage.

Sighing sadly, she carried her letter over to the small and rather sooty window. The view from her Bayswater room was mostly that of neighbouring rooftops, but in the distance she could see green trees moving gently with the wind, and she re-focused her thoughts away from the past and onto her current situation.

Ever truthful, she acknowledged that her ability to deliver two top-notch young ladies into the bosom of the Ton was probably nil—but Lord Allenbridge didn’t know that. However, it would seem that the girls required a chaperone more than a formal sponsor. In other words, only her presence would be needed for appearances’ sake. She had her title—in fact, given her lineage, she knew she could correctly claim to be Allegra Duxcomb, Lady Falworth.

Ugh. Such a mouthful.

No, Lady Falworth would do. Her widowhood not being of recent date, at least not in the view of the world which considered five years a lifetime, the title would not be questioned by the curious. She could certainly put off any pretence of mourning.

Hah. Rejoicing was more like it. But that was neither here nor there, and more immediate was the pressing problem of what to wear on Monday.

“This means you’re going, doesn’t it?” she asked her reflection in the window.

Her hazel eyes answered with a sparkle that had been missing for some time, a glitter of excitement at a new challenge, and the chance to get away from a life that was little better than that of a maid.

As this thought crossed her mind, a small bell rang outside Allegra’s room. Gritting her teeth, she tucked the letter into the deepest recesses of her pocket and left to see what was wanted. For almost two years she had been answering that dratted little bell; in fact sometimes she had had dreams of ripping it out of the wall and dancing on it with large boots.

Nearing the small parlour, she heard loud voices raised in raucous laughter.

“Allegggrrraaa. Come here—we need more of zis tea and some of zees biscuits. My naughty Dauphin ees being piggy today.”

“I wonder where he gets that from,” muttered Allegra under her breath. She observed the large numbers of crumbs that were presently resting like snow on Madame’s ample bosom.

In addition to being “piggy”, Dauphin was also clearly being frisky as well, his antics occasioning much hilarity from the two ladies in the parlour.

“Take him for ze walk—do, Allegggrrraa. Maybe wiz ze air he come back not such a naughty boy, eh?”

Having heard the “walk” word, Dauphin eagerly leapt from Madame’s leg to which he had been professing undying love, and attached himself to Allegra. Sighing, she left the room, dragging a happy little pug along with her.

Realising that she could at least use this opportunity to respond to Lord Allenbridge’s letter, Allegra moved into action. Arriving at the kitchens, she allowed herself to smile appealingly at the two occupants—a large woman who did the cooking, and a very supercilious footman who had convinced himself that he was actually the illegitimate offspring of some lately guillotined member of the French aristocracy.

“Madame needs us...” began Allegra, with somewhat less than complete accuracy,”...to provide her with more of those divine biscuits you whipped up so beautifully this morning, Mrs. Andrews. And she particularly requested that you, Alphonse, take Dauphin for a little stroll towards town.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “I heard that the Prince Regent himself might be coming to look at snuff boxes at Mr. Louis’ Emporium, but I know there are other things for me to do here, so Madame says you’re to go...”

Allegra allowed her lower lip just the slightest tiny pouty tremble, conveying her envy of Alphonse and his task.

“Don’t worry, luv, if I sees the Prince, I’ll tell him to drop by for a cuppa. Maybe he’ll take a fancy to yerself...wot do you think?” The footman followed up this ribald suggestion with a nudge from a bony elbow and a leer.

“‘Er? ‘Er what ain’t got a bit of flesh to tempt a feller no place on ‘er? She maybe a fancy lidy an’ all that, but she’s still no better’n a serving maid and I don’t see nothin’ ‘is ‘igh an’ Mightiness might wanna cuddle up to on a cold night...”

Laughing gustily at her own joke, Mrs. Andrews waddled over to the stove to mix up more biscuit batter.

“Well, I heard tell that some likes ‘em skinny....” Alphonse was obviously ready to continue this line of conversation, little though it was to Allegra’s liking.

At this point, however, Dauphin saved the day by deciding that Alphonse’s calf was a more suitable object for his affections than Allegra’s skirt.

“‘Ere, knock it off, yer little bugger,” said Alphonse, shaking his leg violently. “I’d best get you out of ‘ere sharpish-like. Mayhap we can find you a fancy bit of yer own. Really looks like you need it.”

With a grin at the two women, Alphonse lifted Dauphin by the scruff of his well-padded neck and stalked him out towards the back door.

Leaving the cook to her mixing bowl, Allegra thankfully flew up the stairs to her room and closed the door tightly behind her. She had few items of her own left, but had hoarded her writing materials, so it was in front of the small bureau that doubled as a desk that she now seated herself to compose a response to Lord Allenbridge.

Drawing a sheet of inexpensive paper in front of her, Allegra quickly wrote a note.

“Lord Allenbridge,

I am in Receipt of your letter dated Friday last, and accept your Invitation to Tea. I regret that I have not personally met your Nieces, nor can I recall Acquaintancewith any member of the Sullivan Family, however, I am sure they are all that is Delightful.

Yours...”

There—it was done. Well, at least I have been honest, Allegra thought to herself. Now he won’t expect a grand reunion between people who’ve never met, and I haven’t committed myself inevitably to accepting him. Not on paper, anyway.

Sealing the missive with a drop of wax, Allegra wondered if she was sealing her fate as well, then giggled rather hysterically to herself. Did Lord Allenbridge understand he would be getting an ugly widow, who was past twenty-five, and who didn’t know a single member of the Ton to say hello to? Was he going to take one look at her on Monday and shut the door in her face?

“Not if I can help it,” said Allegra firmly. “Close to two years’ worth of Madame, Dauphin and Richelieu is quite enough.”

She looked down at the letter and noticed her hands. Rough and red, they certainly weren’t the hands of a member of the Upper Ten Thousand. And moving to the mirror, she took a close look at the rest of her. Was Alphonse right?

Yes, she was skinny, but her whole family had always been on the lean side, and in spite of Mrs. Dawson’s criticism, there were some womanly curves lurking under her worn dresses. Of course, her hair was a disaster, but she could probably manage some time over the next couple of days to wash and dry it—nothing fancy in the way of styling, just a simple twist at the nape.

And fortunately, she had her one “good” dress. Her governess had always stressed the importance of having one “good” piece in your wardrobe, and hers was the hunter-green day dress. Hopelessly out of date, of course, but from a fine designer, and well cut. That would be just the ticket for an afternoon tea. Allegra realised she would need time off to attend this meeting, and pondered just how to accomplish her goal without revealing too much to Madame, who was well known to be a social climber of positively the worst type.

Although London was full of émigrés at the moment, and most of them had a title of one sort or another, Madame seldom mixed with others from her country. In fact, Allegra couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a French visitor. She had set her sights on the English aristocracy and was determined to eventually become one of their select number. So Allegra had to tread carefully when mentioning the reason for her request.

Her opportunity came later that afternoon at a time when she customarily read to Madame, who listened intently to the assortment of literature Allegra presented. That she was listening ‘intently’ was clearly apparent from the closed eyes, slack lips, and snores that occasionally grunted their way through the woman’s open mouth.

Before she began to read, however, Allegra drew a breath.

“Madame, I must request a favour....” she said. “I have received a letter from an... an old friend...Lord Allenbridge. “

Madame’s head turned so sharply Allegra could have sworn she heard bones snap.

“Lord Allenbridge’s housekeeper,” she improvised quickly. “I have been invited to visit Bridgeford House for tea and wondered if you would permit such a visit? It would only be for an hour or two at the most on Monday afternoon?”

Madame’s eyes narrowed, and she exhaled slowly.

“Well—if it eez only for ze little time—tell me, is Heez Lordship married to ze wife?” Madame unconsciously sat straighter in her chair and touched her over-coiffed hair.

“I believe not, Madame, but I have no knowledge of recent events within Society,” demurred Allegra, knowing exactly what the old battle-axe was thinking.

“And you will be seeing zis housekeeper person. Eez possible you see Heez Lordship sometime while you are there, no?”

“It’s certainly possible, Madame...anything’s possible,” agreed Allegra.

“Eez proper that I go wiz you, perhaps?” smiled Madame in an unmistakably enthusiastic manner.

“Oh how kind you are,” gushed Allegra, slightly panicked. “However, it would not be seemly for such a person as yourself to visit a ...a housekeeper. No, indeed. Perhaps it would be better for you to drop Lord Allenbridge a note and thank him for allowing his housekeeper to invite me for tea.”

She thought rapidly now, devoutly hoping that no such thing would happen, and trusting to Madame’s characteristic laziness when it came to correspondence.

The older woman leaned back in her chaise and smiled graciously, clearly agreeing with Allegra.

“But yes...I shall thank heem for heez condescension and let heem know I understand ze ways of ze Ton, no? And he shall be entranced by my bon mots...”

While Madame slipped into the realm of fantasy, Allegra allowed some breath back into her starving lungs. Well, that was one hurdle over and done with.

Now it was just a matter of waiting till Monday afternoon.