Turmoil on the Thames, page 7
“Nothing would afford me greater pleasure, ma’am.” He nodded to his groom.
“Mama, you are quite beyond anything,” Annabel said. The groom leapt down and went to the horses’ heads; Lord Quinceton leaned over and held out his hand to help her into the vacated seat. “And so are you, sir!” she added severely when she was seated beside him.
He tucked the lap robe over her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“We’ll see you at Grillon’s at seven for dinner, dear,” Mama said as he gathered up the reins again. “Have a lovely drive!”
Lord Quinceton was silent for a few moments as they eased into the flow of promenading carriages. “Your mother is a remarkable woman,” he finally said.
“My mother should be hanged.” Annabel was still seething.
He laughed. “Oh, come now, Fellbridge. Is it really all that bad? Just say the word, and I shall set you down at once.” When she did not reply he added, “If it makes you feel any better, I dared not disregard her directions about meeting you this afternoon. She threatened to be disappointed in me.”
That drew an unwilling smile from her. “It’s just…embarrassing.”
“It shouldn’t be. She’s so charming about it that I certainly don’t mind. She has much more finesse than my mother when she tries her hand at the same game.”
How did she not know his mother? “I don’t believe I’ve ever met Lady Quinceton.”
“That’s because she’s no longer Lady Quinceton. She married Lord Ballymena a few years after my father’s death and moved to Ireland. She comes to England only rarely.”
Was it only Annabel’s imagination that she thought she heard him add, “Thank God!” under his breath? Before she could decide he said, “I fell in with your mother’s plans so readily because I had hoped to have an opportunity to speak with you.”
“On what topic?”
“The expected one, I suppose—what happened at Eton.” He slowed his team a little and looked at her earnestly. “More specifically, the Potamides and the King’s Maintenancer.”
“What about them?”
“Just this: are you planning to “investigate” them?”
“Goodness, no! Why should I want to do that?”
He frowned. “That won’t fadge, ma’am. I know you too well. After what your son went through, I would expect you’d be preparing to—pardon my language—investigate the devil out of them.”
“Well, I’m not.” Oh, they certainly would be investigated—but not by her.
At yesterday’s Lady Patronesses’ meeting, Maria had acquainted everyone with the previous day’s events at Eton, with Annabel supplying details. There had been smiles at Lord Quinceton’s unusual but effective method of dealing with the immediate crisis as well as several expressions of surprise: Annabel was glad to see she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t known about the Potamides’ existence.
No one had been amused, however, by the news that the king’s appointed representative, Lord Rossing, was not performing his Maintenancing duties.
“Needless to say, this could become a serious problem,” Maria said. “Not just on the Thames but on other rivers as well.”
“I don’t quite know what to say, since I hadn’t even heard of the Potamides before this,” Sally said. She sounded peeved about the fact. “Which I suppose should not be too surprising since it’s a Crown matter. But that very thing puts it beyond our purview, does it not? And if Lord Quinceton is aware of the problem, won’t he be able to report it?”
“I should care to know to whom he will report it,” Dorothea said. “Certainly not to this Lord Rossing, whom I do not know and do not wish to know.”
“Maria and Georgiana knew about the Potamides already. What do they think?” Clementina asked.
Georgiana and Maria exchanged glances. Then Georgiana said, “I agree that this is not our business and we should not try to involve ourselves—in any official way.”
Sally nodded. “But unofficially, perhaps? Information is always useful to us.”
“Information about Lord Rossing?” Frances was in attendance that morning. Annabel had not yet had the opportunity to ask how her aunt did; at any event, the lack of mourning implied that the lady lingered yet. “Oh, I think he might be an acquaintance of my brother’s, but I am not sure. I had no idea about these Poma—no, Potamides. Shall I see what I can discover about him?”
Sally looked relieved. “Yes, please, Frances. And thank you for telling us about this, ladies. Annabel, I’m very glad that your son was not hurt.”
“So am I,” Annabel agreed fervently.
After the meeting Frances had gone straight to her. “Annabel! What a dreadful thing that must have been at Eton yesterday! Your poor son! Oh, I do wish I had been there to see Quin vanquish those horrid creatures!”
“He didn’t vanquish them—he fed them.” Did Frances have to be so obvious about her infatuation with him? “How is your great-aunt, by the way? Is she on the mend?”
“My—oh, yes, my aunt.” Frances shook her head. “No change, really. Thankfully, her physician doesn’t think we should give up hope of a recovery just yet. But you must tell me all about yesterday—what did Quin do? What did he say? He’s so clever! And brave!”
The brave and clever Lord Quinceton sighed, recalling Annabel to the moment. “I promise I haven’t the least interest in investigating Lord Rossing or anything to do with him,” she said firmly.
“I am relieved to hear you say that. This is not a matter that you should be concerning yourself with. In any way.”
“Yes, I—I had come to that conclusion.”
He looked at her. “Why does that answer fail to fill me with confidence?”
“Don’t be horrid. I don’t want to even hear the words ‘river nymph’ again for as long as I live. And anyway, I fully intend to have some fun in the next few days. I am going to Epsom for the races tomorrow.”
“Oh?” He sounded surprised. “I did not know you were a racing enthusiast.”
“I’m not. But several friends are going—it seems there’s a wonder horse everyone’s talking about who’s supposed to be running, and I thought, ‘why not?’”
That wasn’t quite true. She was indeed going to Epsom, but not purely for fun. Mr. Almack had reported a possible matter of investigation at the annual race meet, and Georgiana and Maria had been assigned to investigate, with Annabel to assist as needed.
“Then perhaps I will see you there. I usually stop in for a day or so.” He hesitated. “May I ask you a question without fear of giving offence?”
“You may certainly ask, sir.”
“Whether I get an answer is another issue?” He smiled. “Fair enough. I hope you aren’t thinking of trying to, er, raise some capital at Epsom?”
“What, bet on races?” Annabel laughed. “No, not at all. I wouldn’t have the first idea of how to choose a horse to bet on.”
“Your husband didn’t either, but he never allowed that to stop him.”
Freddy had always gone to Epsom, hadn’t he? She’d assumed it was because it was what gentlemen did—and this race meet was very fashionable. That he was gambling heavily as well as carousing with his friends hadn’t really occurred to her. “No,” she said quietly. “I won’t be placing bets.”
They drove in silence for a moment. Then she said, “May I ask you a question without fear of giving offense?”
“Ask away, Fellbridge. I am notoriously difficult to offend.”
“I am glad to hear that. At Eton—no, it’s nothing to do with the Potamides or the King’s Maintenancer,” she said quickly as his brows drew together.
“What, then?”
She took a breath. “What was your meaning yesterday when you said that Gus Blackburn had been taken care of?”
“Oh, that.” He laughed softly.
“Yes, that.” His laugh nettled her. “The boy is in a sad position and may not be able to continue at Eton—”
“He’ll be able to stay at Eton as long as he wants. I had a talk with the new Head—Keate, is it?—in May, and we were able to come to an agreement.”
An agreement? “Are you saying that you’re paying his tuition?”
“Er, yes, I am. Room and board and his other classes as well, as I recall. I left it up to Keate to arrange the details and send them to my steward.”
It took her a moment to recover from her astonishment. “But—that is, you don’t know him, do you? No, of course not. You didn’t even recognize him on Sunday when he came to speak with me.”
“No, I hadn’t yet laid eyes on the boy,” he agreed.
There was an amused note in his voice that Annabel knew—and mistrusted. But she couldn’t withdraw now. “Then why are you paying for his schooling?”
He shrugged. “Because it seemed to matter to you.”
She just managed not to gasp. He was paying Gus’s fees—for her sake? A gulf of meaning suddenly yawned at her feet; did she dare look into it?
“Yes, it does matter to me. Thank you,” she finally said. Her voice sounded stiff even in her own ears. “When I am in better frame, I trust you will allow me to reimburse you for your trouble.”
“You? Never. If Master Blackburn wishes to do so at some later date, I will accept it if he wishes, but don’t intend to ask for it. In the meanwhile, I am arranging a method of compensation with him that I expect will be satisfactory to both of us.”
“But—”
“But if you should care to thank me, Fellbridge, there’s one way you can.”
“How?”
He smiled again, but there was no mockery or teasing in it this time. “At one point on Sunday, you addressed me in less formal terms than you usually do.”
“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just before I went into the river, you called me Quin. Not ‘Lord Quinceton’ as is your wont.”
She swallowed. “Did I?”
“Yes, you did. I confess to having felt some elation, as it implied that you were perhaps thinking of me in friendlier terms than you did a month or two ago.”
Her face grew hot. Any moment now, the feather from her hat sweeping against her cheek would burst into flame. “I—uh…that is—”
He ignored her. “At the time, I took it as thanks for getting your son out of trouble. But I would not be averse to hearing you use it more often.” He paused, then added, very gently, “Please?”
I hope you enjoyed the fifth installment of The Ladies of Almack’s! There’s more—much more!—to come. Keep reading for a sample of the next story, An Event at Epsom. And if you’d like to keep up with the news from King Street, sign up for my newsletter for new release announcements, extras, and more about the ladies: https://marissadoylenewsletter.link/
Also, if you enjoyed reading Turmoil on the Thames, please consider telling your friends who might also enjoy it or posting a review on the site where you purchased it or on your favorite social media site such as Goodreads or LibraryThing.
Author’s Note
N.B.: Any resemblance between a certain event in Chapter 4 to a well-known aquatic moment in a popular and well-loved Jane Austen television mini-series is of course purely coincidental.
A little background on Eton College
Eton College was founded by King Henry VI in 1440 as a charity school for deserving poor boys, to prepare them to enter King’s College at Cambridge. While its continued existence seemed in doubt in the years after its founding, it eventually became one of the best known and most prestigious of boys’ boarding schools. Of course, any institution that has been around for centuries acquires its own culture and history. We know about the Fourth of June (still part of the social calendar, by the way), but here’s the skinny on a few other bits of Eton history and custom mentioned in this story:
Eton slang - dry bobs: When a place has been around as long as Eton has, it not surprisingly collects a vast amount of folklore, traditions, and slang. One of those slang terms is “dry bobs”, which Quin uses when addressing Martin and his co-conspirators. It means boys who prefer cricket (played on dry land, obviously) to rowing. If Martin was a dry bob, his twin Will, out on the river, was a “wet bob.”
Montem: Eton Montem (or Ad Montem) was another tradition observed from the 16th century to the 19th (it was abolished in 1847.) Originally it seems to have been a sort of initiation rite for new boys, conducted at the Montem Mound, or Salt Hill, a couple of miles from the college. It eventually evolved (or devolved) into a good-natured sort of highway robbery, when carriages and horsemen on the nearby Bath road would be stopped on Montem day (sometime in May or June, depending on the ecclesiastical calendar) by groups of boys demanding a payment in order to be allowed to go on; the money thus raised was for the Senior Colleger’s anticipated expenses at university. By the 1770s it was only held once every three years but was attended by luminaries including George IV and, later, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. The birth and growth of the railway system spelled its death sentence: so many rowdy crowds came out from London for it in 1841 and 1844 that Eton’s headmaster abolished it before the 1847 celebration.
Lodgings for boys Oppidans/Collegers: Until recent times (again relatively speaking, considering how old Eton is), a large proportion of boys attending Eton lived in boarding houses in town outside of the school, often run by respectable widows or by Eton teachers as a side gig, which provided room and board—hence Annabel’s concern that their house “dame” (in quotes, because dames could be male or female) was not feeding her sons sufficiently. Boys who lived in these boarding houses were known as Oppidans, from the Latin word for “town.” Collegers were boys who lived on campus; they were scholarship students as per the original foundation of the school who were guaranteed admission to King’s College, Cambridge, on completing their education at Eton. By later in the 19th century, this system had broken down in favor of school-run “houses” for all students.
Making one’s curtsey to the queen
When a young lady of means was considered to be of marriageable age—the number varied but was generally at least seventeen—she “came out” to society in order to meet possible appropriate husbands. This meant parties and dinners and balls and (if she were lucky and well-born) vouchers to Almack’s. And (again) if she was well-born and well-connected, she might be presented to the queen at court. Being presented was not strictly a requirement for being “out”, but one could not be invited to parties given by the king and queen (or, shortly, the Prince Regent) if one had not been presented. So you can imagine that young persons entering society (yes, young men were presented as well) did not want to run the risk of being excluded if they had any social pretensions at all.
The Duke of Cumberland incident
George III’s fifth son, Ernest, Duke of Cumberland, was one of the least popular of the king’s unpopular sons. Unlike most of his brothers who were on the plump side, Ernest took after his mother and was rail-thin; a saber cut down one side of his face, received when he fought the French in Holland at the Battle of Tournai, gave him a rather sinister appearance despite his handsome features. And unlike all his brothers, he was an avowed Tory and never dabbled in Whiggery or any liberal causes, being particularly opposed to Catholic Emancipation. He had an unpleasant reputation from his Army days as being a savage disciplinarian, and rumors about his personal life were rife.
But those rumors were nothing compared to the gossip that ricocheted around London after the wee hours of May 31, 1810.
According to the duke, he went to bed around one a.m. in his apartments at St. James Palace after attending a concert earlier in the evening. He stated that he was awakened by two blows to his head, then quickly received four other blows and a saber cut to his thigh as he tried to flee to the room of one of his valets, Neale, calling out that he had been murdered. Though a small lamp burned in his room, he said he saw no one. The valet dashed to his master’s defense, waving a poker about, until he tripped over a sword—the duke’s own, covered with a considerable amount of blood. While Neale tended to his master, the duke requested that his other valet, Joseph Sellis, a native of Corsica, be summoned as well. When the servants went to Sellis’s room, they found the door was locked. After various backing and forthing involving doors that should have been locked but weren’t, Sellis’s room was finally gained—and Sellis himself found with his throat slit by a razor. There was no sign of a struggle.
Ew.
So what had actually happened?
The jury called to hear the incident's inquest found, on weighing the extensive testimony and physical evidence, that Sellis had attacked his master and then committed suicide. Based on the accounts given by all the servants, that was probably what happened, though we’ll never know what inspired the attack.
But public opinion whispered otherwise—remember how disliked the duke was? It was rumored that the duke had seduced Sellis’s wife, and murdered Sellis when the valet threatened to go public with his knowledge, then arranged matters to look as though he had been attacked instead. Other rumors postulated an affair between the duke and Sellis, and that the duke had murdered him when he threatened blackmail, while others favored the theory that Sellis had discovered an affair between the duke and his other valet, and was murdered by the duke in order to keep the affair secret. Some who accepted that Sellis had indeed attempted to murder his master suggested that he had done so in revenge for the duke’s seduction of his wife. Others guessed that he was tired of the duke’s constant stream of anti-Catholic jokes and mockery (Sellis was Catholic) and had simply had enough.
The duke survived, though it took months for him to recover (his brain could actually be seen through one of the wounds in his head, and his thumb had nearly been severed by the saber.) His reputation, however, never recovered, and he would go on to be accused of even worse things, such as being the father of his own sister’s illegitimate child and of scheming to bring about the death of his niece Victoria, who until she had children was all that stood between the duke and the crown.
