CHAPTER FOUR
Felicity watched the next morning as the servant brought round the letters that had come by post. Sadly, there was no reply from her mother.
She sat in one of the drawing rooms with the few other young women in the group. All of them were married, she discovered, besides herself and Aunt Agnes. Beside her sat Mrs. Josephine Cartwright, who was just her age. Her husband was playing cards with some of the other men.
Mrs. Cartwright was embroidering a silk pillowcase while she spoke. The bright thread flashed in and out of the cloth with seemingly little effort.
“I can never seem to stop sewing.” She smiled and shook her head, barely glancing up from her work. “I hope you don’t mind. Whenever my hands are idle, I simply cannot concentrate on conversation or anything else.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Felicity had set aside her book on Chinese, and she now took up the needlework she had brought downstairs with her.
“I am looking forward to dancing. Lady Blackstone said we would have a dance soon and I can test out my new skills. I’ve been learning from a dancing master since I got married, but this will be my first real ball.”
It was very unusual for a young woman to learn to dance after she was married instead of before, but Felicity thought it best not to comment on it. Likely she was from a poor family and had married someone of means who wished his wife to know all the social graces, including dancing.
“Lady Blackstone said you are from a large family. I had seven brothers and sisters, but three of them died before they were a year old. I hope to have a great many children. My husband says the more the better.” She looked up and smiled before pinning her gaze back on her embroidery.
“There are many good things about having a large family.” Felicity worked a knot loose from the sampler she was stitching for one of her nieces. “I am thankful for my sisters especially, but my brothers are my good friends too—mostly.”
“Oh, girl children are the best, to be sure, though the boys are the most useful to their fathers.” She glanced up with another smile.
“There you are.” Lady Blackstone stopped abruptly as she rushed through the doorway. She was looking down at Felicity. “Mrs. Cartwright, you don’t mind if I steal Miss Felicity away, do you?”
“No, I—”
“Felicity, come. I want to show you something in the garden.”
Felicity began stuffing her needlework back into her bag. She hoped Mrs. Cartwright didn’t feel slighted, but it was rather flattering to be singled out.
“Don’t worry about your things. I’ll have the servant take them to your room. Come.” Lady Blackstone laid a cloak over Felicity’s shoulders. “I don’t want you to get a chill.”
Lady Blackstone hurried her out of the house to the garden. “Whew, it’s good to be out in the fresh air, away from the clucking hens.” She laughed, then sent a side glance Felicity’s way.
Felicity looked about her. “It is a beautiful day, but I was enjoying the conversation with Mrs. Cartwright.”
“Oh?” Lady Blackstone’s lips were slightly parted as she stared at her. “Was she telling you of intrigues and conspiracies?”
“Not at all.” Felicity laughed.
Lady Blackstone laughed too, as if relieved.
“We were only speaking of dancing at the ball and the benefits of having a large family.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Cartwright is quite the little wife. Her husband rescued her from near starvation.”
Felicity stared. “What do you mean?”
“Well, her father worked as a weaver, and when he got sick, he was unable to feed his wife and children. Mr. Cartwright found her on the street one day trying to sell some of her embroidery. He took pity on her and fed her. His mother took her in as a servant and . . . he fell in love with her. But you are not shocked that I would tell you such a story? Your mother might not approve of you knowing such things.”
“No, I am not shocked. I think it is a very sweet story. And my mother allows me to visit the Children’s Aid Mission, so I am acquainted with stories of the poor street children of London.”
“Yes, of course.” She was all smiles. “When I learned of your work there, I knew you and I were kindred spirits. But do you really think it is a sweet love story? That is, you agree, do you not, that a girl’s marriageability should have nothing to do with her circumstance of fortune or birth? For Mr. Cartwright has some money and property, and his family was not very pleased at his marrying such a poor girl.”
“I believe that, as long as each partner is well pleased with the other, where there is love, economy, and enough to live on, there is nothing more one could wish for.”
Lady Blackstone squeezed her lips together in a sort of triumphant smile. “I knew I was impulsive to ask you here, now, but my instincts proved true. You do not approve of arrogance, and you are just the compassionate sort who will wish to thwart the cruelties of our society.”
Something in the wildness of Lady Blackstone’s eyes made Felicity cautious. “I do believe in caring for the poor and needy. It is a Christian’s duty, as I think most people accept.”
“Yes, they say it is their duty, and yet they cheat their workers out of a living wage. Their actions show they care nothing for the poor. They think of them as dogs and worse.”
Lady Blackstone’s expression as she spoke was completely different than it had been but a moment before. Her eyes were hard and flinty, her voice cool, her jaw rigid.
Her expression changed again as she smiled. “Forgive me, sweet Felicity. You are too kind and innocent, your parents far too excellent to have ever allowed you to be exposed to the evils of this world. But believe me when I tell you that you would not be able to stand for the atrocities that are inflicted on the poor by the wealthy in this country.”
Felicity’s heart ached at the pain behind both Lady Blackstone’s words and her eyes.
Lady Blackstone brightened again. “But I wanted to show you these roses. I believe you said you loved pink roses, and mine are blooming.”
Felicity did not recall saying she liked pink roses, but she looked at the beautiful blossoms, bending to sniff one and touch its cool, velvety petals. “They are lovely.”
“You know, Mr. Ratley is a natural-born leader. He will be a strong advocate for whatever he believes in.”
Felicity smiled and nodded, hoping to encourage Lady Blackstone to tell her more about Mr. Ratley.
“He has a very good heart, a true Briton’s heart. I believe he thinks of me as a second mother. His own mother died some years ago. Here he is now.”
Mr. Ratley rounded a bend in the walk, appearing from behind a tall hedge.
“Miss Mayson. Lady Blackstone.” He joined them and began chatting about the garden and the weather, the last time it had rained or snowed. After a few minutes, he asked, “Miss Mayson, did you know that the seaside at Margate is only a short carriage ride away?”
“I did not.”
“Have you ever been to the sea?”
“I visited Grimswood Castle in Lincolnshire, which is on the sea. It was a beautiful sight.”
“And that is the only time you’ve been to the seaside?”
“It is. And I only saw it from the castle tower, but it was quite an impressive view.”
“Then I propose a trip to the seaside, just for the day.”
“Oh yes!” Lady Blackstone cried, laughing as if he had just told a great joke. “Miss Mayson would enjoy that above anything.”
“Miss Mayson?” Mr. Ratley turned to her with a humble look. “Would you and Miss Appleby accompany Lady Blackstone and me to the seaside tomorrow?”
“I cannot definitely speak for my aunt, but I believe we would both enjoy the seaside.”
“Excellent. Then we shall plan to leave in the morning.” Lady Blackstone looked pleased.
When she was back at the house, in the bedroom she shared with her aunt, Felicity spoke to her about going to the seaside. Auntie agreed.
Later, when they were both sitting in the drawing room again having afternoon tea, the servant came bearing letters. “For Miss Felicity Mayson,” he said.
Felicity took the letter. It was from her mother. She excused herself to go to her room and read it.
Dearest Felicity,
I am pleased you are enjoying yourself at Doverton Hall with Lady Blackstone and her guests. As for your inquiries about Oliver Ratley, your father says that he has a fortune left to him by his father, who was a successful merchant. He knows nothing of the son, and of the father he knows only that he was a clever businessman. Your father and I will make further inquiries, but if your aunt Lady Blackstone approves of him, then I think he would be a great match for you.
Mother went on to give the news from home, of various colds, disagreements, and household intrigues that were interesting or amusing.
“Is that a letter from your mother?” Aunt Agnes asked.
“Yes, it finally came.” She relayed the information about Mr. Ratley first. “And everyone is in good health, and Tom has arrived with his regiment in the Netherlands.”
“Mr. Ratley is an honorable man, then? It does sound as if your mother would approve of your forming an attachment to him.”
“Yes.” Still, Felicity would have preferred if her mother had more information or had known his mother or father personally. All she really knew was that he was truthful about his situation in life. She was left to make up her own mind about his character—and about how trustworthy Lady Blackstone’s opinions were.
Felicity gave Auntie the letter to read for herself. She stared down at the seal, holding her eyeglasses close to it.
“It almost looks as if the seal was pried off and melted again. The seal is warped. Would your mother have done that?”
“I suppose she might, if she had forgotten to say something after sealing it. But would she not have just sealed it again with new wax?”
Felicity examined the seal herself. It did indeed appear as if someone had melted the wax again, as the edges were smudged and the seal was slightly blurred.
“The weather is not warm enough to have melted and smudged it,” Felicity mused aloud.
Aunt Agnes’s brow creased. “It was just so in a book I read. The nefarious uncle intercepted the heroine’s letter and opened and altered it.”
Felicity examined the letter again. “It is certainly Mother’s handwriting and her style of writing. Nothing seems amiss about the content of the letter. Besides, who would want to intercept and read my letters?”
She smiled, trying to shrug off the uneasy feeling her aunt’s words had given her. It was silly. Auntie had read too many novels.
“I’m sure you are correct, my dear. No one would interfere with your correspondence with your mother.” But the crease between her eyes lingered.
While most of the other guests were readying themselves for dinner, Philip came downstairs to see if anyone was about. He did not want to miss any clandestine meetings or important conversations.
He found Miss Felicity Mayson sitting by a window with an open book as she wrote on a sheet of paper.
His eyesight had always been excellent, so while she still had not discovered him standing there, he tried to see if he could read what she was writing from across the room.
The writings were similar to tiny drawings, or even just random markings. He stepped a bit closer. They looked even less like words. Was she writing in some sort of code? Or perhaps learning a code?
His stomach sank at the thought that she was one of this group of revolutionaries. What other reason could there be for her learning to write in code? She had such an expression of goodness in her face whenever she spoke. Mr. Langdon and his wife would be most disappointed to find that their friend was a traitor to England.
He stepped forward, letting his footsteps be heard. Miss Mayson glanced up and closed the paper inside the book, turning the book over so that its cover could not be seen.
“Good evening,” Philip greeted her.
“Good evening.” She placed her hands over the book in her lap.
“I hope I am not disturbing you. I can leave you alone if you like.”
“Oh no, that is not necessary.” She smiled. “I was only giving my aunt some time alone in our room. I thought I would do a bit of studying downstairs.”
“Studying?”
“Yes. I enjoy novels, but I also spend time studying. Mr. Merrick, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Miss Mayson. You have a good memory.” Another trait of a spy. Now that he thought about it, women would make good spies; they were such mysterious creatures.
“Thank you. I have met quite a few people since coming to Doverton Hall, but I cannot say I remember all the names.”
Was she telling the truth?
“Do you mind if I ask what you were studying?” He carefully watched her face for her reaction.
“You will think me foolish.” She fingered the book in her lap.
“Foolish? Why?”
“I am trying to learn Chinese.”
He let out a pent-up breath. “Chinese?”
“You can laugh at me if you wish, but I thought I might perhaps be a missionary there someday.”
“That sounds very noble.” He could not be sure she was telling the truth, but in his heart, he was relieved to have an explanation for the “code” he’d seen her studying. He took a deep breath and let it out.
“Most people tell me it’s foolish, since unmarried women aren’t allowed in the country. But I want to do something in life, something important. I thought perhaps if I were a missionary, I could write something that would be meaningful to others, similar to Hannah More.” She shook her head and looked down at her lap. “You must think me foolish for telling you all that.”
“I don’t think you foolish at all. It is refreshing to hear someone speak so openly about honest ambitions.”
Indeed, most girls he knew only cared about “bettering” their situation in life by marrying the wealthiest man. They schemed and simpered and spoke flowery, flattering words until one was left to guess what their true thoughts were. And they were rarely interested in him, as he was a fourth son and would inherit nearly nothing.
At least now he could go back to admiring her pretty eyes, delicate brows, and perfectly shaped mouth.
He probably should not be noticing the latter.
Felicity Mayson was different, especially if she wanted to be a missionary. Of course, she might only be pretending to feel and believe things she did not.
But he had yet to discover: What was she doing here?