“How so?” asked Roger.
Aunt Madge sighed. Her voice dropped lower.
“You were seen at the King’s Playhouse last week.”
“There must be some mistake. Perhaps it was my brother.”
“It was not your brother – that is an old song and will not serve.”
“Who says I was there?” asked Roger angrily.
“That is none of your business,” Aunt Madge said, to my great relief. “Suffice it to say I sent someone expressly to satisfy my suspicion.”
This was a blow to me. I went on my way, hugging my disappointment to the quilt. Aunt Madge had not sent me to the playhouse for a treat, but to be her spy. I went to Evelyn and spilled it all.
“Do not be angry at our aunt,” she said. “We came here to be of service to her, did we not? And you were of service. And I’m sure she thought you would like to see the play. I am not so blind as you think,” she said, and winked at me, so I knew she knew.
I was fearfully excited about the evening ahead and looking forward to getting to know my cousins. There was also to be other company: Aunt Madge’s old gentlemen that we knew – Dr Rookham, her physician, and Mr Fluke, her lawyer – and two young ladies that would be new to us. I had the impression Aunt Madge was not overjoyed about the ladies, whom Roger had invited, but he had said, “Zounds, Mother, do you want an old bachelor party? Besides, my cousins will want some female company. Sylvia and Melissa can teach them something of the town – civilise them a little.”
One of the services we had found we could do our aunt was reviving her wardrobe; in an old chest we found many clothes we discovered she had cast aside not because they were worn through but because they were no longer the fashion. Evelyn and I had always made our own clothes and had restyled a number of her old gowns for her to her great satisfaction, but she had also given us some that she proposed to cast off, thinking them no longer suited to her years. (And indeed some were too small and would not admit enlargement to our aunt’s now generous proportions.) “My day is past,” she had sighed, giving us the pretty things. Evelyn and I had made ourselves three new gowns each out of this stuff, and new caps and kerchiefs, but two of the gowns were too fine to wear every day so this evening was to be their first outing. Evelyn’s was pea green and mine a mustard, both in velvet, and we looked at each other rather abashed at how fine we seemed. We went in to Aunt Madge, who complimented us, and herself looked very grand, and we took a cup of sack with her. She and Evelyn began discussing what we were to eat, which did not interest me, as I could barely sit still, so I took the opportunity to slip out.
I ran downstairs to make sure everything had been made ready in the dining room, and found myself humming as I flitted about, but hearing a carriage draw up at the door ran back to the stairs in case it was the ladies as I did not want to face strangers without Evelyn at my side. On my way up the staircase I passed Roger sauntering down, and I don’t know how it was – high spirits, I suppose, or possibly the sack as I was not used to strong waters – but before I knew what I had done I had smacked him on the bottom as he passed, saying “Two can play at that game, cousin!”
He stopped and looked utterly astonished and somewhat shocked, but I carried on up the stairs, and went back to Aunt Madge’s chamber, where, to my consternation, I found Roger.
“And here is my other pretty cousin,” he declared, bowing to me. “You have both brought the country freshness with you.”
“I think,” I whimpered, curtseying, “I just met Frederick.”
“Good,” said Aunt Madge. “Let’s go down.” She took Roger’s proffered arm and led off, Evelyn and I following.
“What’s the matter?” asked Evelyn. “You are all red.”
“Nothing,” said I, feeling hot and ashamed beyond measure.
8
I immediately recognised Miss Sylvia and Miss Melissa as two of the gay ladies I had seen at the playhouse, Miss Sylvia being, I felt certain, the one to whom Roger had thrown the kissed orange. They were not painted (or perhaps only a little) as they had been when I saw them before, but both still wore patches on their faces. Sylvia’s was round like a real beauty spot, but Melissa had two – one shaped like a crescent moon and another shaped like a star – which I thought extremely à la mode. (Oh, indeed I had a smattering of London French by this time.)
“These must be your poor cousins,” Sylvia said, advancing towards Evelyn and myself as we curtseyed.
(“Your poor cousins,” Evelyn later repeated to me, as we undressed for bed.
“Perhaps she meant because our parents are dead,” I suggested.
“Perhaps,” said Evelyn, but neither of us was convinced.)
She looked us up and down before observing, “What original gowns. Is this the fashion in the country now?” Without waiting for an answer she and Miss Melissa swept past us and embraced our aunt without seeming to touch her which I thought most elegant and resolved to practise later.
Both young ladies were very finely dressed and I observed that their gowns were vastly low at the front, but whereas their breasts had been almost bare at the theatre, now their charms were covered by transparent kerchiefs. As I tried not to stare at this, having not had such a near view before, Aunt Madge was evidently struck by the same thought as she said, “My dears, aren’t you afraid you will catch a chill?”
“I’d sooner catch a husband!” said Melissa and they both laughed in a sort of twittering way which from my aunt’s expression I guessed to be somewhat irritating to her. I began to suspect that my aunt may not, after all, have been the epitome of urbanity, for it was obvious that she did not share their cutting wit. This came as something of a shock, as often sudden revelations of one’s betters’ flaws – especially one’s betters who are especially dear to one – constitute not only a surprise but tend to prompt a new valuation of their character. In short, I began to cease to view my aunt as an inviolable authority on the ways of the world. Melissa and Sylvia continued to laugh like this all the evening, flicking their fans before their faces in a way which, to tell truth, I found rather irritating too, but I repressed this sensation as, though their laugh seemed an affectation – as it were, to have no true happiness in it – this was evidently fashionable and therefore civilised. However I did not venture to copy them: I knew I yet lacked the refinement to carry it off.
Frederick and Roger saluted the young ladies, who, like everyone on first seeing the twins together, marvelled at their almost identical appearance. They really were as like as two peas in a pod, as the saying goes. Both twins were uncommonly handsome, but Frederick was slightly smaller in stature, and was the younger by only two minutes. Roger was fond of saying that those two critical minutes had made his fortune, otherwise Frederick should have been the heir and he the spare. Frederick always looked slightly pained on these occasions and indeed it seemed to me most unfair that twins should not inherit equally. Aunt Madge had often told us that when she was with child she had no idea she was carrying two babies, and Frederick’s arrival had been an utter surprise to both her and the midwife.
“’Twas the last time Fred ever surprised anyone!” Roger quipped whenever she told this story, and it was easy to see that Frederick was the quieter, more sensible of the two. At first I thought him of a rather retiring, even bashful temperament, but soon saw that he rarely had an opportunity to shine, as Roger blazed away like a firework, dazzling everyone, and putting Frederick in the shade by comparison. Just before we went into dinner, when the other guests were being welcomed, I tried to gain an opportunity to speak with Frederick, but then realised that saying that I had mistaken him for his brother would still not excuse the familiarity I had shown. I hoped he did not think I was a forward young thing and bitterly regretted my moment of madness.