My excerpt post today is from a story tentatively entitled The Granite Earl and the Ice Princess, which I’m writing for the Bluestocking Belles’ anthology Fire and Frost.
Jessie rose to her feet. “We had best change for the meeting, Tilda. The Society for Brats is coming.”
Oh, yes. One of the duchess’s charities was meeting here today, rather than in the Oxford Street bookshop and tearooms that was their usual meeting place. The Ladies’ Society for the Care of the Widows and Orphans of Fallen Heroes and the Children of Wounded Veterans intended to hold a fundraising event in a few weeks, when most of the ton had arrived in London. Even the dreadful fog could not be allowed to interfere with deciding what that event was to be.
The maid they shared brought them warm water to wash, and they helped one another into afternoon gowns suitable for receiving company.
“This is my third change today,” Jessica commented. “Yours too, I take it.”
Matilda knew what was coming. She and Jess had been deputed to the duchess’s causes since they were old enough to help, but for some reason this one had got right under Jess’s skin, and just last week, she had all but accused their benefactor of hypocrisy.
Jess ignored her silence, repeating the essence of what she had said to the duchess. “The cost of the gowns we have already worn today alone would have provided a year’s care for one of the indigent families for whom we were fundraising.”
Matilda gave her the answer that Her Grace had given last week. “If we both dressed in sackcloth, Jess, it would still be not enough. Aunt Eleanor says that we need to draw money out of those who would not otherwise give. To do that, we need to be seen as part of the ton, and that means we need to dress the part.”
Jess was not convinced. “If Aldridge would give me my dress allowance, instead of paying my bills, I could get by with half the clothes I have. I know I could.”
They dropped the conversation as they entered one of the less formal parlours, where the duchess waited for them, her current companion at her side, and Cedrica Fournier, her previous companion, already seated before a table, pen and paper ready to take notes.
Madame Fournier no longer served as Her Grace’s secretary, but she had volunteered to be secretary for this committee. Jess and Matilda took turns in greeting her with a kiss in the vicinity of her cheek, and as they did, the other ladies began to arrive.
The first part of the meeting was given over to reports. The work of the Society was organized by small groups, sometimes as few or two or three ladies. Lady Felicity Belvoir, through her connections to half the families of the ton, kept them aware of social events at which they could canvas for votes in Parliament. Lady Georgiana Hayden was in charge of writing pamphlets to sway opinion, and Lady Constance Whittles marshalled a miniature army of letter writers for the same purpose.
Many of the Society’s members also volunteered at hospitals where injured veterans were nursed and orphanages that cared for veterans’ children. They visited widows where they lived, some in very insalubrious areas. The duchess agreed with the necessity: how else were they to meet real needs if they did not first talk to those who were suffering? She insisted on the volunteers and visitors travelling in groups and being escorted by stout footmen.
Once all the groups had reported back, they discussed their next fundraising event. The ladies offered one idea after another. The duchess would hold a charity ball, of course, as she did every year, but none of them felt that would be enough to really draw attention to the cause. Something special was called for. Something unusual.
Matilda was not sure who suggested a Venetian Breakfast, but the star suggestion of the day came from a shy girl who was new to the Society. Lady Clermont rose to her feet and waited for Mrs Berrisford, the meeting’s chair, to notice her.
“I wondered if we might hold a picnic basket auction,” she said, flushing pink at being the center of attention. We have done them at home as fundraisers for the church, and they are very popular.”
Two of the ladies objected that midwinter was hardly time for a picnic, but Mrs Berrisford called for silence. “Go on, Lady Clermont,” she encouraged. “How does it work?”
“The ladies provide a basket of food,” Lady Clermont explained, “and the gentlemen bid for the right to share the basket with the provider. It is usually the single ladies, of course.” Her voice faded almost to nothing as her blush deepened to scarlet.
Mrs Berrisford called for order again, as the Society’s members all tried to express an opinion at once.
The duchess rose, and those who had not already stopped talking fell silent to see what she thought. “If we can ensure propriety, ladies, such an auction would be just the thing to bring in donations from the younger gentlemen, who are far more likely to spend their funds on less helpful activities.”
That settled it, of course. Discussion turned to ways and means, and before the meeting was over, several more groups had been established, to cover the various aspects of three events: Venetian Breakfast, auction, and ball, all on the same day.
“We will need to enlist the ladies of the ton,” Mrs Berrisford said. “I suggest each of us talks to as many as possible; older ladies to the mothers, younger to the girls. The men, too, of course; but ladies first.”
“We can start at Lady Parkinson’s in two days’ time,” one of the other ladies proposed.
That seemed to be the end of the decision making, though many of the members lingered for another cup of tea and one of the delicious little cakes Monsieur Fornier supplied to the duchess for her meetings.
Matilda and Jessica, in their role as daughters of the house, moved from group to excited group, knowing Her Grace would wish to know what was being said in these more casual conversations.
Everyone was excited by the plans, and more than one person was hoping that the fog would lift so that Lady Parkinson’s soiree would proceed and they could begin their campaign.