Refining Felicity Read Free Page A

cold rooms and lack of servants.
    ‘Let me think,’ he said. ‘I believe you have put in the wrong type of advertisement.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ cried Effy, forgetting to flirt.
    ‘In this age of sensibility,’ he said slowly, ‘parents often ruin their daughters by indulging their every whim. You have seen some of the difficult ones. They are so spoilt, so hoydenish, that they do not “take”. Now, if you were to advertise for difficult misses, parents who were absolutely desperate might reply . . . if you see what I mean.’ He coughed and added tactfully, ‘The middle classes are apt to equate riches with good
ton
. An aristocrat would not notice, provided he thought he was gaining the correct schooling for his daughter before the Season. After all, one of your favourite phrases used to be that you always made the best out of the worst.’
    There was a long silence. Effy looked at Amy, wide-eyed.
    ‘By Jove!’ said Amy suddenly. ‘I believe you have it.’ She rushed out of the room to return with pen and paper.
    ‘I will take it myself direct to the newspaper,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘At least let me do that for you.’
    The three of them worked busily, writing and scoring out and redrafting until they were satisfied.
    ‘That should fetch them,’ said Mr Haddon at last. They all looked at the finished result.
    If you have a Wild, Unruly, or Undisciplined Daughter, two Ladies of Genteel Birth offer to Bring Out said daughter, and Refine what may have seemed Unrefinable. Religious and Social Training. The Seeds of Decorum planted where the Ground was Once Considered Barren. We make the Best of the Worst.
    Direct to XYZ, Cruickshank’s Perfumier, 12, Haymarket.
    The perfumiers ran a letter collecting service for advertisers.
    ‘I shall take it away directly,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘We shall meet tomorrow.’
    After he had gone, Amy said dismally, ‘We shall have to tell him the truth. We can’t go on saying the servants have a day off.’
    ‘He is a fine-looking man,’ said Effy dreamily. ‘Did you notice the speaking look in his eye when he bent over my hand?’
    But, for once, Amy would not share in any romantic speculation. ‘I had better go down to the larder and see if I can scrape up something to eat,’ she said. ‘We go to Lady Rochester’s tomorrow. Be sure to eat as much as you can, Effy.’
    ‘Oh, I shall. But do not disgrace me again.’
    ‘Whatever do you mean?’
    ‘You know what I mean, Amy. You scandalized the Petersons at their party by trying to stuff so much food into a reticule the size of a trunk and were caught. We were never asked back.’
    ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ said Amy sulkily.
    She spent an hour in the kitchen trying to coax scrag-end of mutton into a nourishing stew. A rumbling from the street outside made her leave the pot and go up the area steps. A coalman was bent over their coal-hole. Behind him stood his cart, laden with sacks of coal.
    ‘Leave that alone,’ said Amy sharply. ‘We did not order any coal.’
    ‘Mr Haddon ordered and paid for it,’ said the coalman crossly.
    ‘Very well,’ said Amy. ‘I had forgot.’ She ducked back down the area steps.
    There was a warm glow in her heart. Another man might have sent them flowers or chocolates. Only clever Mr Haddon would think of sending them coal. If he had asked if they would like any coal, the sisters would have refused. That would have been accepting charity. But this! This was a present.
    Amy went down to the empty cellar and stood with her hands clasped and her eyes shining, waiting for the avalanche of coal to descend down the chute from the street above.
    Two days later, in the county of Sussex, the Countess of Baronsheath sat at a pretty escritoire in her drawing room. She slid out a drawer and took out a copy of
The Morning Post
. She read the Tribbles’ advertisement over and over again. Could it be a joke? Were these self-styled Ladies of Genteel Birth really genteel?