Charlotte: The Practical Education of a Distressed Gentlewoman Read online

  Charlotte,

  the practical education of a distressed gentlewoman.

  Amelia Grace Treader

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s deranged imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2014 by Amelia G. Treader

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  Smashwords Version

  For my loving helpmate, and my adorable children.

  Proofed in American English

  Table of contents

  An Unfortunate Sequence of Events.

  Negotiations.

  The Talbot’s Take Possession.

  A Country Ball.

  Lost in Bath.

  Never Let Pleasure Interfere with Business.

  More Doings in Bath.

  Charlotte Visits London.

  Charlotte in the Suds.

  The Crisis.

  The Dead Shall Rise at the Last Trumpet.

  The Beginning of the End.

  Further Complications Related to an Estate.

  Mr. Talbot Takes a Hand.

  1. An Unfortunate Sequence of Events

  Gout and dropsy plagued old Lord Staverton's last years, but it was the pneumonia he caught during the hard winter of 1813-14 that finally carried him off. A hardened gamester, he had left his estates encumbered with so much mortgage debt that the income barely covered the interest payments. His son and heir, John had similar expensive tastes in entertainment, and as a captain in the army of occupation in Paris had many chances to indulge them. His daughter Charlotte secretly yearned for the chance to experience the exciting life of the ton in London, but was by far the most level headed of the last of the De Vere's and merely hoped to keep clearing housekeeping. No sooner had his vicar and somewhat more sober crony from the old days, Dr. Answorth buried him in the churchyard than an express bearing bad news arrived from Paris.

  John enjoyed the night life in Paris after Napoleon fled to Elba. He and his brother officers sought release from their memories of the real dangers and hardships of the Spanish campaign with the thrills of gambling, drinking and whoring late into the morning. His particular road to perdition was the dice box. In a desperate attempt to clear himself from his debts, he threw double or nothing hoping to sum more than double threes. He threw snake-eyes. Left with fifty thousand pounds of debt and no way to pay it, he quaffed his last glass of champagne then headed upstairs do to 'the honorable thing' in his room. The gamblers below hardly noticed the bang when he blew his brains out.

  A few days later the family solicitor, Mr. Cruise, gathered Miss Charlotte De Vere and her friends Dr. Answorth and Mrs. Answorth together to read the will and decide what to do with the estate. The situation was dire.

  “Miss De Vere, your father's estate was severely encumbered, and your brother John's debts were the last straw. I'm afraid you will have to sell Staverton Hall, its contents and grounds. As you know, the London house went years ago. Maybe we can keep some of your mother's jewels.”

  “Surely my mother's portion should come to me. I can live on that.”

  “Yes it should, but the interest on ten thousand pounds is hardly sufficient for the costs of the estate. To be blunt, even if we sell the Hall and grounds at a very favorable price there may not be enough of the proceeds left over to cover the portion due you.”

  Charlotte gasped, “Surely there is something left for me.”

  “I'm sorry but until the estate is fully settled, there is nothing for you. I could give you five thousand pounds in return for your signing your portion over to me when it is finally settled. I'm confident that the settlement will not be much higher.”

  Dr. Answorth hardly needed the prodding his wife and helpmate gave him to speak. “No! None of this, Charlotte should get her full share or as much of that as is possible. Miss De Vere, you can stay with us while this is sorted out. At the vicarage. I mean. Your father helped with my preferment and I am glad to repay the favor.”

  Mrs. Answorth continued in a more coherent manner. “Miss De Vere, you know we've never had children and the rectory is so big. Dr. Answorth and I just rattle around in it. It would be a great favor if you'd come and stay with us. We'd like to have the company of young people again.”

  Charlotte started to refuse, then realized that there was no way to refuse without hurting her friends. “I – I couldn't impose on you, but if you insist, I'd be happy to stay at the vicarage.”

  Mrs. Answorth clapped her hands with joy. “Then it's settled, you'll move in with us. We'll make a happy family while you sell the hall. Then we can see what fortune awaits.”

  A few days later Mrs. Answorth looked exhausted in the morning at breakfast. “It's Dr. Answorth. He's caught a chill again and I was up all night nursing him.”

  Charlotte inquired after his health.

  “It's not bad, but he sinks so low when he is ill. Unfortunately, I am promised to visit with the old widow Mrs. Chatsworth this morning.”

  “I could do it Mrs. Answorth, if you'd like. I'd like to be helpful. You've done so much for me.”

  “If it's not an imposition. I don't want to make you a drudge Miss Charlotte.”

  “No it's not. I need the walk. Is there anything I should bring her?”

  “Just your company. Her son looks after her wants, but she's housebound and gets so lonely. She used to be able to make it to church on Sundays, but recently even that's become too difficult for her, poor thing.”

  Charlotte went back upstairs to her room and changed from her delicate muslins into the coarse woolen dress she wore when she went rambling about the countryside. As she descended, Mrs Answorth remarked, “You look just like a farmer's daughter, Miss Charlotte. Shouldn't I send for the carriage and have you dress as befits your station?”

  “My station? The daughter of a profligate old gambler who spent us into the poorhouse. No I've had enough of these airs. Besides, this way I can wander about for the exercise after I've visited her.”

  “But?”

  “Surely Mrs. Chatsworth will appreciate my company, even if I dress like this.” She looked at the weather when she left the vicarage. It looked from the clouds like the weather were likely to change, but the morning promised to remain fair.

  The Chatsworth farm was a few miles away from the vicarage, but the weather held clear and Charlotte made good time. She was nearly there when a young man in a curricle pulled up beside her and stopped. He was dressed in the latest London fashion with a tall almost conical hat with a curled brim, stiff collars so high that he could only turn his head with difficulty, a tie whose mathematical excellence required an hour in the morning to achieve and a traveling cloak with several layers and buttons as wide as his hands. His horses were showy horses that had been advertised as 'fifteen miles an hour tits'. Charlotte looked at them with dismay, they may have been showy, but they were in poor condition and exhausted. If they did fifteen miles an hour, it was only for a few minutes at a time. The man's groom evidently agreed and met her glance by looking away in shame.

  “I say, countrywoman, is this the way to Staverton Hall? The directions they gave at the pub in the village were so confusing. This road is so small and muddy, I'm sure we must be lost.” The road was one of the better ones in the district.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I'm thinking of buying it, b
ut my old man told me to always inspect the goods before laying out my blunt. He is a canny one he is. So before I offer, I want to see it.”

  “Oh. Well, yes. You're on the right path. It's a mile past the next farm, on the right. Though you might want to return by the main road. Go out the front gate and you can't miss it.”

  “Well, that's simple, and we should be able to find our way. Thank you. Just to show that Frederick Talbot isn't a welsher, here's this.” He tossed her a shilling, then hied his horses and drove off.

  Charlotte fumed, all the way to Mrs. Chatsworth's. “What a mushroom, a bobbing block and a fool, I hope he doesn't buy my hall.”

  Mrs. Chatsworth was overwhelmed at first by her visitor, the daughter of the lord of the manor, and last of the De Vere's. Charlotte did her best to reassure the old woman that she was merely human, filling in for Mrs. Answorth, and in the end, after an hour or so of conversation she departed.

  Charlotte climbed the down to see her beloved home, so soon to become the abode of someone else. Possibly even that detestable mushroom she'd met on the road. She shuddered at the thought, then turned and started towards the main road to make a loop out of her walk. The weather, which had started so clement began to darken with the threat of rain. The threat became real as a steady drizzle began to soak down.

  The noise of a curricle approaching from behind interrupted her reverie. That young man was driving past her again. She forced herself to look away. It didn't help. He stopped and asked her, “Countrywoman, since you were so helpful and it is starting to rain, would you like a ride to the village? I have to find that blasted solicitor.”

  The raindrops coming both larger and more frequently forced Charlotte to accept. With the help of the groom, she mounted the curricle. The man introduced himself, “I'm Freddy Talbot. My father saved up the readies and wants me to find a suitable country estate for the family. I've been looking for one for the last two years. It seems like forever. Finally, found it.”

  “I'm glad.”

  “And you are?”

  Charlotte looked away, both in shame and shyness. Freddy muttered “Suit yourself,” to himself and urged his pair onwards. After a few moments he shot a glance at his fair companion. She was uncommonly good looking, not at all what he expected a farm woman to look like, and yet, somehow she looked familiar. He thought for a moment then realized he'd seen her portrait at the hall.

  “You're Miss De Vere, aren't you? The owner of the hall.”

  Charlotte reluctantly admitted that was true.

  “Then what are you doing out here, dressed like a farm woman? I'd like to know.”

  “Visiting an elderly neighbor who needed the company.”

  “Ah, the noblesse oblige. I guess I might have to learn to do that.”

  “No, usually Mrs. Answorth visits her. She couldn't do it today so I did.” Charlotte looked away. This conversation was over as far as she was concerned. Closer acquaintance hadn't improved her opinion of Mr. Talbot. Freddy, in his usual style, didn't understand subtle messages. He turned to her and asked, “Why are you selling? It's a spanking place, just what the doctor ordered.”

  Unfortunately Freddy should have concentrated on his driving. He wasn't a good enough driver to let his concentration lapse, no matter how charming its object. His leads got caught in the near horse's feet, then wrapped around the right axle of his curricle. In a moment, the horse stumbled, the thill snapped and the curricle pitched sideways dumping him and his fair passenger into a tangled heap in the mud and slough on the side of the road. After a few physical intimacies that went well beyond the normal bounds of social etiquette, Charlotte and Freddy managed to disentangle themselves and stood by the side of the road.

  His, normally taciturn, groom started to speak. “Governor, she's broke, and the near horse probably lamed.”

  Freddy, despite his supercilious manner, was not dim. “I can see that Henry.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “If Miss De Vere is sound, we will lead the horses to the nearest village and see if there is some carriage available that isn't insufferable to drive.”

  Having adjusted her dress and dusted as much muck from it as she could, Charlotte gave Freddy her fiercest gaze. She shouldn't have done that because it was also her prettiest gaze. Freddy was dazzled rather than threatened. “Mr. Talbot, we will never speak of this again.”

  “Fine, suits me. Not my finest hour, you know. Can you walk to the village?”

  Charlotte took a few trial steps then collapsed.

  “I guess not. Looks like your ankle is banged up.”

  She nodded. The pain only added to her intense dislike of the parvenu. Freddy addressed his groom, “Henry, it looks like you'll have to manage the horses and curricle yourself. I'll support Miss De Vere.”

  “No you won't! I'll wait here for someone to rescue me.”

  “I'm sorry Miss De Vere, but it's raining hard already, and will only get worse when the evening chill sets in. You're coming with me.”

  “I could ride your horse.”

  Freddy gave a hopeful glance at his groom Henry, expecting deliverance from his burden. Unfortunately, Henry replied, “Miss, no, they've never borne a rider.” Henry continued speaking, in the vain hope of having the more pleasant task, and asked, “Sir, could I carry her?”

  “Sorry Henry, but the horses are your responsibility. Miss De Vere, if you will pardon me.”

  With that Freddy picked Miss Charlotte De Vere up in his arms and started down the road. When she objected, he replied, “Sorry Ma'am, but the rain is getting even harder, evening is coming and I want to have a change of clothes and then my dinner.”

  A quarter of a mile onward, Freddy asked Miss De Vere, “I'm sorry Ma'am, but you're heavier than I thought. If you would try to walk, I could support you on one arm.”

  Charlotte remained silent.

  “Oh well, it can't be helped then.” He started to shift her from his arms to carry her over his shoulder.

  “Stop!”

  “Miss De Vere, it's your choice. I can't carry you in a dignified and ladylike manner much longer.”

  “I, I can't let you carry me like that.”

  “Why not?”

  There wasn't any good reply to this.

  “Miss, the last thing I want to do is to carry you off for an improper purpose. I can't imagine anyone I'd less want to marry. It's either this, or you walk.”

  Charlotte relaxed, a little. To be held this close by a man, even one she heartily detested, was a novel experience. She couldn't quite relax completely, but it was strangely enjoyable despite her substantial misgivings about its propriety. Freddy continued, “I'm headed to the pub, then to find that blasted solicitor. Where should I drop you off?”

  Charlotte's stony silence continued.

  “The pub it is.” Freddy shifted his load, despite her objections, to over one shoulder, carrying her like a sack of corn and strode off.

  They entered the village, and Freddy stopped. He asked his burden, “Where is the King's Arms?”

  “It's in Staverton, this is Holt.”

  “How far is that?”

  “Six miles, back the way you came.”

  “Damn and blast!”

  “Mr. Talbot!”

  “Sorry, I presume there is a hostelry in this benighted village?”

  “The Royal Oak. James used to say the beer was excellent there.”

  “James?”

  “My late brother, Captain James De Vere the last Lord Staverton.”

  “You have my condolences for your brother. The Royal Oak it is.”

  “I can't go in there.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “It's a low place.”

  “I'm tired of carrying you, very thirsty and more than a bit hungry, so that's where we're bound.”

  Freddy found the inn and entered it. Much to her dismay and the amusement of the pub keeper and attendant farmers, he unburdened himself. “Do you have a private
parlor for Milady? With a fire, she's shivering.”

  “Aye, we have one, upstairs. Bit dusty as there's not much call for it.” The publican took a look at them, and continued, “Miss De Vere's credit isn't good here, her good for naught brother still owes me a good few pounds for drink, and I don't know you. Who's going to pay?”

  “I will,” Freddy replied reaching for his pocket book. It lay somewhere in the mud along their route. “Damn, I'll have to send to my man Phelps at the King's Arms. I seem to have lost my pocket book.”

  “Then sir, Miss De Vere can sit by the fire in the main room.”

  Charlotte glared at them, but let herself be helped to a settle by the fire. Freddy laughed, “It's warm enough Milady”

  “Please don't call me that.”

  “Yes Milady, I'll stop Milady. Do you still have that shilling I gave you?”

  With as much grace, dignity and condescension as she could manage, Charlotte retrieved it and presented it to her tormentor.

  “Good girl!” Freddy handed it to the publican. “Get her some food and see that she's comfortable. Would you please send for the surgeon or apothecary to see to her ankle? I'll walk back the Red Hart and return with the readies.”

  The publican took the time to examine this stranger. His clothes might be ruined with the wet and mud, his boots certainly were, but underneath the layers of grime it was clear that they were of the first stare. The stranger surely couldn't be on speaking terms with Miss De Vere if he were totally shiftless.

  “Sir,” the pub keeper interposed, “perhaps one of my grooms might carry the message to the Red Hart?”

  “Really? I'd be much obliged if he could. My curricle,” he paused, chuckled, and continued, “Well, you see, we had a little accident, half way from Staverton Hall.”