Read Online Fourpenny Flyer by Beryl Kingston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beryl Kingston
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âDo you think I could prevail upon your parents to permit you to accompany me, my dear? We could stay overnight at the Crown and Anchor, which is the most respectable establishment and served me a quite excellent dinner the last time I was there. Yes, indeed. Quite excellent. You would like that, would you not?â
âYes, Miss Pettie,â Harriet agreed, setting her daydreams aside and reaching for the scissors. A trip to Ipswich would be very pleasant if her parents would allow it.
âAnd then if all goes well,â Miss Pettie promised, âwe could go further afield the next time, to Norwich, perhaps, or Cambridge, which is a trifle old-fashioned, but worth a visit. I should like to go to Bath and take the waters which they say are quite excellent for the rheumatics, howsomever that would have to wait until the spring for I canât abide that city in winter time.â
Harriet said she would be happy to accompany Miss Pettie to any or all of these places, but secretly she would have traded every single one for a chance to see Mr Easter when he came to Bury to attend the Honeywood party.
Unfortunately the Honeywoods, being the most hospitable of parents and mindful of their position in society, haddecided that their daughterâs twentieth birthday should be celebrated by a rout, a night-long, fashionable party with dancing and gaming and entertainments of every kind. Their country seat was good enough for a garden party, but there was only one place for the sort of reception they had in mind, and that was their town house in Cavendish Square. So on that warm September evening when the Easter brothers arrived to assist in the celebrations, Harriet was a long way away from their sight and their thoughts.
Billy was in a state of muddled intoxication, which was partly due to the half bottle of British Hollands heâd consumed before he left home and partly to the prospect of an evening being teased and tormented by his bewitching beloved. He was dressed in the very latest style, as befitted a manager of the great firm of A. Easter and Sons, in a pink frock coat, white silk waistcoat and an exuberant purple cravat that wouldnât have looked amiss on the wild Lord Byron himself. His face was already flushed, and his forehead moist and his blue eyes watery, and he was saying secret prayers that this time he would comport himself with style and avoid the usual clumsy accidents that had dogged him all through the summer.
For wherever he went with the delectable Miss Honeywood, and however hard he tried to be adroit and suave in order to impress her, he always ended up making a fool of himself. When they rode together, his horse bucked him off, when they danced he trod on her feet, and when he took tea with her parents he smashed her motherâs precious porcelain and, on one fearful occasion, broke the leg of a chair, which turned out to have been made by Mr Chippendale.
In the warehouse his broad shoulders and sturdy legs were useful and admired. He could shift the heavy batches of newspapers as deftly as any of his workmen, and besides that his knowledge of the trade and his ability to make decisions quickly had given him a reputation for dependability and common sense. But in salons and theatres, at parties and dances and routs, it was as if heâd reverted to his childhood again. Some part of his anatomy always seemed to be in somebodyâs way. People fell over his feet, orremoved chairs just as he was about to sit on them. Or he would be rapt in some ardent conversation and wave an arm and demolish an entire tray of champagne glasses. And the more deeply he fell in love with his dear Matilda, the more clumsy and foolish he appeared before her. It was getting so bad it was beginning to upset him. If only he could be cool and contained like Johnnie. Not all the time, of course, because being cool and contained all the time was really rather a bore, but now and then, when he needed to
âYes, Miss Pettie,â Harriet agreed, setting her daydreams aside and reaching for the scissors. A trip to Ipswich would be very pleasant if her parents would allow it.
âAnd then if all goes well,â Miss Pettie promised, âwe could go further afield the next time, to Norwich, perhaps, or Cambridge, which is a trifle old-fashioned, but worth a visit. I should like to go to Bath and take the waters which they say are quite excellent for the rheumatics, howsomever that would have to wait until the spring for I canât abide that city in winter time.â
Harriet said she would be happy to accompany Miss Pettie to any or all of these places, but secretly she would have traded every single one for a chance to see Mr Easter when he came to Bury to attend the Honeywood party.
Unfortunately the Honeywoods, being the most hospitable of parents and mindful of their position in society, haddecided that their daughterâs twentieth birthday should be celebrated by a rout, a night-long, fashionable party with dancing and gaming and entertainments of every kind. Their country seat was good enough for a garden party, but there was only one place for the sort of reception they had in mind, and that was their town house in Cavendish Square. So on that warm September evening when the Easter brothers arrived to assist in the celebrations, Harriet was a long way away from their sight and their thoughts.
Billy was in a state of muddled intoxication, which was partly due to the half bottle of British Hollands heâd consumed before he left home and partly to the prospect of an evening being teased and tormented by his bewitching beloved. He was dressed in the very latest style, as befitted a manager of the great firm of A. Easter and Sons, in a pink frock coat, white silk waistcoat and an exuberant purple cravat that wouldnât have looked amiss on the wild Lord Byron himself. His face was already flushed, and his forehead moist and his blue eyes watery, and he was saying secret prayers that this time he would comport himself with style and avoid the usual clumsy accidents that had dogged him all through the summer.
For wherever he went with the delectable Miss Honeywood, and however hard he tried to be adroit and suave in order to impress her, he always ended up making a fool of himself. When they rode together, his horse bucked him off, when they danced he trod on her feet, and when he took tea with her parents he smashed her motherâs precious porcelain and, on one fearful occasion, broke the leg of a chair, which turned out to have been made by Mr Chippendale.
In the warehouse his broad shoulders and sturdy legs were useful and admired. He could shift the heavy batches of newspapers as deftly as any of his workmen, and besides that his knowledge of the trade and his ability to make decisions quickly had given him a reputation for dependability and common sense. But in salons and theatres, at parties and dances and routs, it was as if heâd reverted to his childhood again. Some part of his anatomy always seemed to be in somebodyâs way. People fell over his feet, orremoved chairs just as he was about to sit on them. Or he would be rapt in some ardent conversation and wave an arm and demolish an entire tray of champagne glasses. And the more deeply he fell in love with his dear Matilda, the more clumsy and foolish he appeared before her. It was getting so bad it was beginning to upset him. If only he could be cool and contained like Johnnie. Not all the time, of course, because being cool and contained all the time was really rather a bore, but now and then, when he needed to
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