Chapter Twelve

Virginia was so ill that her head pounded and the room spun around her. She had done too much, and she was not yet recovered. However, those things did not stop her from remembering Lord Strangeways’s kiss, though it had only been on her forehead. The spot burned, and she put her hand up to gently touch it. Too ill to think of all its ramifications, she simply took pleasure in the moment and let it warm her soul.

She pulled the bell rope. When Sarah answered, she helped Virginia out of her stays. Soon she was lying on the day bed in her small sitting room, clothed in her modest dressing gown. Sarah puffed up the pillows behind her so she was semireclining.

“May I bring you a nice cup of tea?” Sarah offered.

“No, thank you. No more tea. I have drunk oceans of it.”

“Shall I have the mistress call her physician?”

“No, thank you so much. I will be fine if I just get some rest. It has been a full day.”

“Shall I bring up your dinner on a tray when it is time?”

“Yes. Maybe that would be best.”

Virginia drifted off to sleep, but her dreams were not restful. Mr. Sagethorn taunted and leered at her. Lord Strangeways was cold and left her alone with the man. “This is what you deserve,” he said. “This is what you have chosen. You shall be hanged.”

She awoke covered in perspiration, her mind made up. She would not spy. If she had been among enemies who were intent upon some evil, circumstances would be different. Lord Strangeways and his friends were not waging war. They were not soldiers or seamen.

The war seemed very far away, almost abstract. As she lay there, she remembered Mr. Sagethorn’s card. She had his address. She struggled out of bed to find it and sat at her small cramped desk to write him a note:

 

Shipley House

London

Mr. Sagethorn:

I consider those people around me to be my friends, not my enemies. I don’t know that I ever consented to spy, but if I did, I have changed my mind. I will not do it.

Sincerely,

Miss Virginia Livingstone

 

When Sarah brought her dinner up later, she gave her the letter. “Perhaps Stevens could see that this is delivered?” she asked.

“I will see to it directly, miss.”

Virginia found that she was hungry. She drank the broth and ate the small guinea hen, cutting it up with difficulty. The clock in the hall was striking nine o’clock when her aunt came into the room. Surprised, Virginia greeted her.

“How are you feeling, Virginia? Sarah tells me you are not well.”

“I just did too much today. I will be all right soon.”

“Are you well enough for a visitor?”

Viscount Strangeways came immediately to mind. What would he be doing calling so late at night? She smiled. “I am a little better. I would welcome company.”

“Good. I will tell George. He is most anxious to see you.”

Virginia’s spirits took a dive. She wished she could remember what her relationship with her aunt’s nephew was prior to her accident. Was he courting her? For some reason she could not like him. “Oh. Very well. But will it be proper for me to receive a gentleman in my sitting room?”

“You are quite modestly attired. I will send your maid to chaperone, if you wish. And, of course, you will keep the door open.”

Mr. Tisdale and Sarah ventured into her room a short time later. The maid sat in the corner on her desk chair. George, resplendent in a maroon jacket and matching breeches, settled in the armchair next to her bed.

Virginia asked, “Was there some reason you wished to see me?”

“I just thought that you must be dull, here on your own. How are you feeling?”

“I will be fine. It was probably unwise of me to do so much today.”

“I brought some poetry to read to you.” He held up what she saw to be a collection of Blake’s poems.

At the moment, the last thing her head needed was poetry. It was pounding, and had she not expected the visitor to be the viscount, she would have declined company altogether. But perhaps now that Mr. Tisdale was here, he could answer some questions that had puzzled her.

“I think I would rather not, if you don’t mind. Instead I have some questions I would like to ask you.” She struggled to put her thoughts into words. “I am very ignorant about English life, but I know that with your nobility and landed gentry, things are different here from America. I am trying to make sense of it all. Maybe you could explain to me how your social stratum works?”

George looked pleased at the question and reminded her again of a rooster fluffing his plumage. “I would consider it a pleasure.” Settling back in the chair, he took out his pipe and filled it. Everything about George seemed affected when she compared him to Lord Strangeways.

“Royalty is, of course, the upper level of society, followed by titled nobility, with whom we associate. Landed gentry follows. None of these groups support themselves with trade.” He explained an elaborate construct of estate ownership, tenant farming, and inheritance laws, as well as giving her a short course on the historical origin of the aristocracy.

What a complicated to-do it all was! “So, everything is inherited by the eldest son? What of the other children? How do they support themselves? And what of the women?”

“Ladies secure their futures through marriage. If they are very highly born, they may inherit a courtesy title.” He smiled at her as though she were a child he was instructing. “Younger sons, if they have no other source of income, must join the military or study for the church. Those are the conventional professions. Barely acceptable for untitled gentry is the study and practice of law—preferably as barristers. They can in time become King’s Counsel and earn themselves a title.”

She considered this. “So everything depends on your birth. No one can aspire to be anything better than the identity they are born to.”

“Commoners can go into politics. The Prime Minister is historically chosen from the House of Commons. Members of the nobility make up the House of Lords. The two together comprise Parliament.”

“What role do you play, Mr. Tisdale?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral so that he would not think she was prying into his personal business.

“I am a younger son of an earl. That is why I am an ‘honorable.’ It is a courtesy title. Only my eldest brother is a lord.”

She wanted very much to ask him how he supported himself as he was obviously not a clergyman or a military gentleman, but perhaps it was a bit too rude a question.

“Thank you very much for explaining all that to me. I have been wondering.”

“It is much different in America, I understand.”

“To some extent,” she said. “We have no nobility nor restrictions on inheritance. In theory, anyone can better himself, but I would be lying if I said there wasn’t an unspoken class system in the South. We fought a war to free ourselves, but many of the large plantation owners are of English descent and carry those biases.”

“What a heavy discussion, my dear! Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to read some Blake?”

“I am afraid my head is pounding, Mr. Tisdale. But thank you so much for answering my questions and for keeping me company.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Any little thing I can do to increase your happiness, you must let me know. That is what I am here for.”

She watched him bow and leave her. It was quite clear to her now that he was doing his best to court her, but if she was going to marry an Englishman, it certainly wouldn’t be the Honorable George Tisdale.

His explanation of how society was constructed in Britain rubbed against her Republican conscience. Lord Strangeways was an English aristocrat! She needed to put the man out of her heart before he attached himself there. His stature was the epitome of everything her countrymen had fought to abolish in her country. The thought made her head ache further.

Her feelings could not be dictated. The viscount was a human being, not a title. He was warm and caring. His smile did wonderful things to her insides. His touch made her heart turn over and her toes curl.

But falling in love could have only two outcomes. Either she would have her heart broken or she would marry. How could she even think of remaining in England and marrying into such a hidebound society? Though her memory was gone, she could not believe that she had come to this country for such a purpose.

Suddenly, the whole practice of slave ownership, which she abhorred, came to mind. The entrenchment of the British underclass was an ugly thing to behold, but slavery was far worse. The whole Southern United States was built on the backs of hapless slaves.

She would never forget witnessing a slave sale in Richmond when she was young. Her father had hustled her away, but not before she had seen the naked men, women, and children standing in chains as they were bid upon by wealthy planters.

Why couldn’t that memory have been banished by her fall? It haunted her now. How could she feel so morally superior to English society when her own could be guilty of such a hideous crime?

Virginia’s head felt like it would split open from the pain. Her emotions were spiraling downward, and life no longer seemed as clear-cut as she had always thought it.

* * *

She awoke in the morning feeling better but still somewhat bedeviled by her quandary. Sarah entered, bearing a tray with morning tea.

“Are you feeling better today, miss?”

“Yes, thank you. I think I shall go to Lady Strangeways’s dressmaker this morning and order some gowns. I would like you to come with me as my chaperone.”

“Oh, that would be lovely!” said the maid. “There is a note for you on the tray, miss. It came by messenger this morning.”

A note? Her heart gave a hop of anticipation. “Thank you, Sarah.”

One look at the address disabused her of the idea that it was from the viscount. She didn’t recognize the handwriting.

Sarah was at the wardrobe. “What shall you wear today, miss?”

“It doesn’t matter. All my clothing is equally ugly. Perhaps the blue-green? It suits my coloring, at least.”

The maid pulled out the gown while Virginia opened her note.

 

Dear Miss Livingstone,

Have you forgotten what you owe your country? Englishmen are killing Americans!

This matter is so important that I won’t allow you to turn tail. You cannot desert to the enemy in this war. If you refuse to serve your country, I’m afraid I will have to take steps.

You wouldn’t want to have it known that you are an enemy spy, would you? Remember, it is a hanging offense.

S.

 

Virginia began to tremble, and the sip of tea she had taken rebelled in her stomach. She grabbed her napkin and placed it over her mouth just in time.

What shall I do?

There was no one to confide in or ask for advice. She hadn’t any idea if she was close to her uncle. Virginia didn’t even know how long she had been in England or if she had any friends beyond those Lord Strangeways had introduced her to.

Could she claim innocence? She had no idea whether she had actually agreed to spy. But how would Mr. Sagethorn have known her otherwise? Once again her head whirled with confusion. If only she could recover her memory!

One thing was for certain: she would not stand for this blackmail. She had Mr. Sagethorn’s address. As a last resort, she could turn him over to Lord Wellingham of the Foreign Office. He had no proof of his accusation, but this note was proof against him.

What a mess. As Sarah dressed her and coiffed her hair, she knew that no matter how the man threatened her, she could not spy on her friends.

A footman came to her door and said, “Miss Arabella Saunders has come to call, miss.”

Dread pooled in Virginia’s middle at the idea of seeing anyone. She was really not up to visitors at the moment. But she liked the girl and her forthright manner, and it would be unkind to deny her.

“I will be down directly,” she replied. Turning to her maid, she said, “Thank you, Sarah. We shall go to the dressmaker after I visit with Miss Saunders.”

Her caller was dressed in forget-me-not blue that flattered her fair coloring.

“Miss Saunders,” Virginia said. “It is so kind of you to call.”

The girl colored with pleasure. “I wanted to see how you did. Are you well? Have you recovered your memory?”

“I’m afraid not. It is very annoying!”

They sat across from each other on matching red leather sofas.

“Well, if you had to crash, it was most fortunate that you did so on Lord Strangeways’s estate! I have known him since I was six years old, and he is the kindest man imaginable.”

“I agree that he is very kind,” said Virginia wholeheartedly.

“I saw the way he was watching you at tea yesterday. And then he took you to the park! It is very exciting—I am convinced he has a tendre for you!”

Virginia felt herself color. “I am sure you are making too much of it. He is only being kind. He was the one who found me after the crash.”

She absolutely could not go on talking about the viscount with this inquisitive girl! Casting about for a diversion, Virginia said, “Would you like to go with me to the dressmaker this afternoon? It is past time that I ordered a new wardrobe. I have no idea how I came by the clothing I have, but it is dreadful!”

“Oh, I should like that of all things!”

Shortly, they left the house for Madame Bellon’s establishment on Bond Street. Virginia was glad of the company.

In spite of her worries, Virginia enjoyed her afternoon at the French modiste with Arabella and her maid, Sarah. She ordered six new day gowns, six dinner gowns, and two ball gowns. She was able to wait while a few alterations were made on an apricot-colored muslin day frock that one of the dressmaker’s other patrons had decided didn’t suit her complexion.

It was such a relief to have something flattering that fit her, she decided to wear the new gown home.

“Since you have forgotten all about your first visit, shall we go to Gunter’s again?” asked Arabella. “There is nothing like ordering new clothes and then having an ice!”

Because she dreaded going home to face her aunt, Virginia agreed. As long as they steered away from the topic of the viscount, it was lovely to spend time with the cheerful girl. “Let’s,” she said. “You are so patient with me and my memory loss.”

“Any excuse to have an ice!”

Hackneys were plentiful on Bond Street, so they had no difficulty finding one to carry them to Gunter’s.

“Something about this place does seem a bit familiar,” said Virginia, looking around the high-ceilinged room with the large windows and crowds of fashionable people.

“Oh, look!” exclaimed Arabella. “There are Beau and Penelope. He must have returned early from the Foreign Office. Penelope is very fond of ices.”

Virginia’s heart sank to her middle. She dreaded seeing Lord Wellingham again.

The man and his wife joined them. Lady Wellingham was reintroduced to Virginia.

“What an enchanting dress!” she exclaimed.

“We have been to Madame Bellon’s this morning,” said Virginia. “Arabella was most helpful. I chose some new gowns.”

Lord Wellingham stared at her without a hint of expression. How very odd his clothes were. He was dressed all in lavender. In America such clothing would signal an effeminate man, but there was nothing the least effeminate about this man. If she were a spy, she would not like to be at his mercy.

“My brother-in-law is home from the sea,” Lady Wellingham said. “We are having a party for him in a few days. I would so love you to come. I will let you know the details.”

“How very kind,” said Virginia, willing her heart to stop misbehaving. She was not going to spy, so she had nothing to worry about. Except for Mr. Sagethorn making false accusations. But doing so would shine a light on his own activities, which she didn’t think they could bear.

“Come, Penelope,” her husband said. Turning to his sister, he added, “We were just on our way.”

Virginia was happy to see the back of him, but she didn’t enjoy her ice nearly as much as she thought she would.