sufficient.”
“It means enough, so you need not say sufficient enough. That is pointless tautology. If you have any hope of being a diplomat, you must learn to speak English.”
“Then why am I studying Italian?” He turned to his mother. “There is a dandy farce at the Royal Coburg. That is where we are going.”
“My dear, do you think it proper to take Cathy to the Surrey side of the Thames?”
“Dash it, we ain’t going to live there. The whole town is talking about the new farce at the Coburg. No wonder she hasn’t a beau to her name, when you keep her wrapped in cotton wool.”
“Your sister has made an eminently suitable connection, Gordon. It is Lord Costain I am thinking of. He might dislike to think she is running about town like a hurly-burly girl.”
“If Cathy is a hurly-burly girl, I am a monkey. Costain ain’t such a toplofty article as you seem to think, Mama. He knows a thing or two.”
“Article?” she said, her color rising. “You call the Duke of Halford’s son an article?”
Rodney scowled and said, “Learn to speak English, my lad. It is what distinguishes man from the animals. In the Foreign Office—”
“I ain’t so sure I will be a diplomat after all.”
“You might do your country a greater service by refraining,” Rodney said with awful sarcasm.
The meal continued in this somewhat fractious manner. Before leaving for the theater, Cathy said, “By the bye, Mama, I have learned a little more of Mrs. Leonard. Her first name is Helena, and she was married once before.”
“How long ago? What was the first husband’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Helena,” Lady Lyman said, furrowing her brow. “The name rings a bell. I might remember, given time. Remind me in the morning, dear. I don’t know how it is, but my memory is leaking away on me day by day. It is better for the past than the recent present, however, so there is hope.”
“Ask Rodney,” Gordon suggested. “He hasn’t lost his mind yet.”
“Memory, dear,” Lady Lyman pointed out. “The young are really very poorly spoken these days.”
She closed the door on her youngsters and went to the saloon to prepare for an evening of cards with her close circle of friends, mostly diplomatic widows like herself. It was a Mrs. Leadbeater who remembered Helena Johnson.
“She made her bows the same year as my daughter, Anne. She had no fortune to speak of—two thousand, I think it was. Less than ten thousand ought not to be presented, unless it is a noble family. And she was certainly not noble, but very pretty and forthcoming. She nabbed an aging M.P. Fotherington was well enough off, but an unreliable sort. I seem to recall there was some scandal attached to his death. In fact, he committed suicide, if memory serves.”
“What sort of scandal?” Lady Lyman inquired.
“I believe it happened abroad, so I am not familiar with the details, but I think it had to do with gambling debts. It was around 1802. He was sent to France—what could it have been?”
Lady Lyman ransacked her fading memory and came up with something. “The signing of the Peace of Amiens, perhaps?” she suggested. “We were the only country at war with France then. Boney had been trying to persuade the Russian emperor to form a League of Armed Neutrality with Prussia and some other countries. But then, the emperor, Paul the First I think it was, was assassinated before it came to anything. Nelson had a good success at Copenhagen, and we all thought the war would continue, but Britain was tired of it, and the peace was signed at Amiens.” She looked hopefully to Mrs. Leadbeater.
“Fotherington must have been mixed up in it,” the dame said, nodding. “Several M.P.’s went along to help out with clerical duties. Perhaps he was giving away secrets to the enemy for money to pay his debts. He never came back to London—we heard later he shot himself in the mouth to avoid the shame of prosecution.” A collective frisson
“It means enough, so you need not say sufficient enough. That is pointless tautology. If you have any hope of being a diplomat, you must learn to speak English.”
“Then why am I studying Italian?” He turned to his mother. “There is a dandy farce at the Royal Coburg. That is where we are going.”
“My dear, do you think it proper to take Cathy to the Surrey side of the Thames?”
“Dash it, we ain’t going to live there. The whole town is talking about the new farce at the Coburg. No wonder she hasn’t a beau to her name, when you keep her wrapped in cotton wool.”
“Your sister has made an eminently suitable connection, Gordon. It is Lord Costain I am thinking of. He might dislike to think she is running about town like a hurly-burly girl.”
“If Cathy is a hurly-burly girl, I am a monkey. Costain ain’t such a toplofty article as you seem to think, Mama. He knows a thing or two.”
“Article?” she said, her color rising. “You call the Duke of Halford’s son an article?”
Rodney scowled and said, “Learn to speak English, my lad. It is what distinguishes man from the animals. In the Foreign Office—”
“I ain’t so sure I will be a diplomat after all.”
“You might do your country a greater service by refraining,” Rodney said with awful sarcasm.
The meal continued in this somewhat fractious manner. Before leaving for the theater, Cathy said, “By the bye, Mama, I have learned a little more of Mrs. Leonard. Her first name is Helena, and she was married once before.”
“How long ago? What was the first husband’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Helena,” Lady Lyman said, furrowing her brow. “The name rings a bell. I might remember, given time. Remind me in the morning, dear. I don’t know how it is, but my memory is leaking away on me day by day. It is better for the past than the recent present, however, so there is hope.”
“Ask Rodney,” Gordon suggested. “He hasn’t lost his mind yet.”
“Memory, dear,” Lady Lyman pointed out. “The young are really very poorly spoken these days.”
She closed the door on her youngsters and went to the saloon to prepare for an evening of cards with her close circle of friends, mostly diplomatic widows like herself. It was a Mrs. Leadbeater who remembered Helena Johnson.
“She made her bows the same year as my daughter, Anne. She had no fortune to speak of—two thousand, I think it was. Less than ten thousand ought not to be presented, unless it is a noble family. And she was certainly not noble, but very pretty and forthcoming. She nabbed an aging M.P. Fotherington was well enough off, but an unreliable sort. I seem to recall there was some scandal attached to his death. In fact, he committed suicide, if memory serves.”
“What sort of scandal?” Lady Lyman inquired.
“I believe it happened abroad, so I am not familiar with the details, but I think it had to do with gambling debts. It was around 1802. He was sent to France—what could it have been?”
Lady Lyman ransacked her fading memory and came up with something. “The signing of the Peace of Amiens, perhaps?” she suggested. “We were the only country at war with France then. Boney had been trying to persuade the Russian emperor to form a League of Armed Neutrality with Prussia and some other countries. But then, the emperor, Paul the First I think it was, was assassinated before it came to anything. Nelson had a good success at Copenhagen, and we all thought the war would continue, but Britain was tired of it, and the peace was signed at Amiens.” She looked hopefully to Mrs. Leadbeater.
“Fotherington must have been mixed up in it,” the dame said, nodding. “Several M.P.’s went along to help out with clerical duties. Perhaps he was giving away secrets to the enemy for money to pay his debts. He never came back to London—we heard later he shot himself in the mouth to avoid the shame of prosecution.” A collective frisson
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