A Girl Called Foote

  “Is my hair alright?” she questioned, then laughed nervously. “The servants did it.”

  “It’s very nice,” he said, staring again out the window.

  “Jonathan?”

  “What?”

  “Will you promise to dance with me?”

  “Sophia, you know I hate spinning and prancing about like an idiot.”

  “You don’t have to if others are asking me to dance, but I can’t bear the thought of sitting in a chair while the pretty girls dance all evening.”

  “Were pretty girls invited?” Jonathan asked, jokingly. “I wasn’t aware of that. Look, if I notice you sitting in a chair for too long, then I will dance with you…but I make no promises that I’ll dance well.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jonathan continued, “Widcombe likes dancing. Maybe he’ll take you for a round or two.”

  “Jonathan, what was the name of that fellow at Heath who shaved his head because you convinced him he had lice? “

  Jonathan laughed out loud. “Edward Morton! That was a while ago. Why?”

  “I think he may be coming tonight.”

  “What? That can’t be!”

  “Mama said something about a Morton you went to school with being invited.”

  Jonathan thought for a moment. “No. Even if it was him, he wouldn’t come. He once told me that his stable block alone was larger than all of Whitehall, which was an incredibly stupid thing to say since he’d never even been here. And that was before I convinced him to shave his head. He considers himself far too superior to step foot on our piddling estate.”

  “Oh,” Sophia sounded disappointed.

  “What’s the matter? Were you hoping he would come?” Jonathan asked, a skeptical smile on his face.

  “No! Mama said something about him being the most eligible young man in attendance, so I know she wants me to impress him and now you’re telling me how awful he is.”

  Jonathan scoffed, “If she finds him so eligible, let her marry him!” At that moment, a carriage Jonathan recognized came down the drive. “Ahh, here is Hodges.”

  Jonathan smiled at Sophia as he bolted to the front door. “Let this blasted ball begin.”

  Out the front door and down the steps he flew as Hodges emerged from the vehicle.

  “Ahoy there!” Jonathan slapped his friend on the back.

  “Clyde.” Hodges nodded, his oiled hair flopping loose in front.

  Just then a lone horse and rider came around the corner of the drive and trotted up to the front staircase. The two young men turned to face the rider as he dismounted.

  One of the Lady’s awkward invitees, thought Jonathan, eyeing the man, but a hint of familiarity was in the face.

  “Meestuh Clyde?” the man asked, extending his hand.

  The foolish sounding voice jarred Jonathan to realization.

  “Heldmann!” Jonathan laughed aloud, grasping the hand which the man held out.

  Heldmann breathed in deeply and said, “I am…in England.”

  Jonathan waited until he realized there was nothing more to come, and nodded, saying, “Yes, yes you are…as we are, as well. Hodges, this is Herman Heldmann. We met in Paris last year.”

  Hodges and Heldmann nodded at one another.

  “Today is the mmmm…dance and eat, yes?” Heldmann asked, uneasily.

  “What? Oh yes, the ball! That’s right. I mentioned it in the letter, didn’t I? Please come in. Hardy! Come take the man’s horse. I’m so pleased you’ve come!”

  “I thanks you!” The large blonde man beamed, his broad cheeks rosy in the evening light.

  Jonathan motioned up the stairs toward the front door, laughing again as Hardy led the horse away.

  Sophia won’t believe it! The strange German is actually here in our own home!

 

  Teaching the Dance

  ~ Lydia

  “Let’s help Ploughman get these dishes taken care of,” Lydia suggested.

  “No! We might spoil our clothes,” said Wells. “The Lady would be furious if we looked slovenly in front of the guests.”

  “But we’ve been sitting here for half an hour doing absolutely nothing.”

  “You need to be ready if you’re called,” Ploughman said, pulling her hands from the sudsy tub and drying them on her apron.

  “They’ve already eaten and the punch is set out. What could they possibly need us for?”

  A burst of laughter and cat-calling from beyond the stable could be heard through the open door.

  The grooms and livery servants from the other ‘great houses’, assumed Lydia, though no one was in view. She thought for a moment and then began to pile the servants’ plain cups onto a platter and fill a pitcher with small beer.

  “Come on, Wellsy.”

  “What are you doing?” asked Wells.

  “We’re going to go give the lads a drink.”

  “What?”

  “You know, the lads from the other great houses out there in the stable yard. They’re just waiting for this great ball to be over, so we might as well give them some great small beer while they endure their great wait for their own great families.”

  “We oughtn’t do that,” Wells whined.

  Annoyed already, Lydia responded, “Well, then we won’t. I will, though you can come along if you’d like. I think I saw your brother, Joseph.”

  “Don’t be stupid. He’s at Beverly Park which is counties away.”

  “Well, I did catch sight of a ginger fellow, and he very well may be thirsty, so if you’ll excuse me...” She balanced the platter on her left hand expertly and exited the kitchen.

  “And you oughtn’t assume all my brothers are gingers!” Wells called out behind her.

  The evening air was pleasant as Lydia passed the garden toward the stables. The laughter grew louder and Lydia heard footsteps behind her.

  I knew you’d change your mind, Wellsy.

  Rounding the corner of the stable house, she saw the group was gathered around two tussling men. The taller of the two had succeeded in getting the stockier man in a headlock and they were going round and round. The others laughed and jokingly called out advice to the trapped man.

  At her approach, the men fell nearly silent. Even the tusslers let go of each other.

  “Oh, don’t stop. I’m terribly fond of dancing though I’m not familiar with that particular one you were just doing,” she said.

  This brought on a fresh round of laughter.

  Lydia surveyed the group as she began to pour the small beer for the men. Wells aided her by holding the serving tray.

  They’re all a bit rough, though they’re dressed in the finest that great families are likely to deck their servants in, she thought.

  Often, the livery staff was dressed in fancier clothing than other servants due to the fact that they were seen out and about. This was unfortunate since most of the livery staff were young men, hardly more than boys, and of all groups, they are known to be the hardest on clothing.

  Lydia didn’t like the way one of the men was looking at her. He was sitting on a stump, his legs splayed wide as he chewed on a piece of hay. The look in his eyes was one of assessing, as Lydia recalled her father looking at a heifer he was considering for purchase.

  Next to him sat Glaser. The older man lounged comfortably on another stump, smiling appreciatively as he took the cup offered to him.

  The strains of a lively tune reached their ears from the ball within Whitehall.

  “It’s a shame to waste such lovely music. Do any of you lads know the Sellenger’s Round?”

  “I do,” said a boy whose teeth stuck out like a mule.

  Usually good looking boys were chosen to be liverers.

  You must really have a way with horses, thought Lydia, but she said, “Very well then. You shall be my partner. Please come here. And who will dance with Wells?”

  A little squeak of horror escaped Wells as many hands shot up into the air.

 
Careful not to look in the direction of the hay-chewer, Lydia pointed.

  “You,” she said to the man she had mentioned earlier as a possible sibling to Wells. “Yes, you two belong together.”

  The young man came forward, looking pleased to have been chosen.

  “And you two,” said Lydia, turning to the men who had been roughhousing at her approach. “Which of you was the lady of your earlier dance?”

  Immediately both men pointed at the other and loudly proclaimed, “Him!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Hmm, well it looked as if this fellow was leading,” said Lydia, pointing to the taller man. “So you stand here with the men and you come over here beside Wells.”

  The stocky man refused, looking annoyed. “God ha’n’t made me no lady.”

  “We all praise Him for that!” hollered someone.

  The youngest looking boy there was pushed forward into the circle.

  “Cadby’ll do. His voice ha’n’t changed yet and his chin is as bald as the top of Glaser’s head.”

  “That’ll do. That’ll do,” said Glaser, running his hand over his scalp as the others laughed.

  Lydia positioned a miserable looking Cadby opposite the tall man, who ducked his head slightly to tell Lydia, “I’ll have you know that I’m only willing to dance with this here boy because you kindly brought us the drinks.”

  “Of course, of course. No one is doubting your natural unwillingness to dance with Cadby. And he, obviously, is lamenting being forced to dance with you. Now let’s begin before the song ends.”

  Standing before the homely boy, Lydia called out, “Bow to your partner and then everyone join hands in a circle. Move to the left for eight.”

  There was much running into one another as the group struggled to keep up with Lydia’s orders.

  “Turn to your partner and bow; ladies, curtsey. Now you go this way and you go there.”

  The observers watched with large grins as the three couples stumbled along, bumping into one another and laughing at their own clumsiness.

  “Now all join hands in a circle…ugh, our timing’s completely off…and two steps in, now two back. You all can count to two, can’t you?” Lydia looked to her partner, laughing. “I thought you said you knew Sellenger’s Round.”

  “I’m not sure this is Sellenger’s Round,” retorted the boy, his teeth looking even more obtuse as he smiled.

  “I assure you it is! It is!” Lydia laughed aloud.

 

  Defending a Fraulein’s Honor

  ~ Jonathan

  “God save the king, it’s hot in here!” exclaimed Widcombe, throwing himself down on a settee after finishing his third dance of the evening.

  “Off of there, sweaty pig!” Jonathan demanded. “You’ll leave a watermark. I’ll open a couple of windows. You were starting to smell the place up anyway.”

  Widcombe laughed, prone still on the settee.

  It was early enough in the summer evening to still be light outside. Several dancers cheered accordingly as the cooler air rushed in.

  Jonathan bowed good naturedly. “As always, I am more than happy to play the hero.”

  The room held six young men and nine young women in addition to the many parents who had come along to chaperone the event. Some of the guests were Jonathan’s school friends and their siblings. Others were fine families from the nearby area.

  Nary a duke nor baron, Jonathan thought, eyeing his mother who hovered everywhere, rarely sitting down.

  Jonathan itched to get Sophia alone to snicker over the ridiculous headpiece Amelia was wearing.

  A turban! And with a little purple jewel dangling from the front, no less!

  One of the young men present was, in fact, the very Edward Morton that Jonathan was certain would not attend.

  “Excellent,” he had said to Hodges, rolling his eyes. “Look who’s here with a full head of hair.”

  Morton had strolled in a little later than the others and sat far from Jonathan at dinner. Even from the distance, Jonathan could see how Morton had picked at his dinner, wrinkling his nose and waving it away when Foote had offered him vegetables from a platter.

  Hmmm…as charming as ever, Jonathan thought. Once when Morton looked in his direction, Jonathan vigorously scratched at his scalp.

  Noticing Heldmann sitting in a chair watching a dance in progress, Jonathan approached him. “Do you dance the Quadrille in Hamburg?”

  “I am…sorry?” Heldmann’s eyes focused on Jonathan’s mouth.

  “Is the Quadrille a dance you’ve danced before?”

  “Mmm…please forgive. I do not…understands.” Heldmann repositioned himself in the chair as if preparing for another try at comprehension.

  Ugh, tiresome business.

  “Would you like some punch?” asked Jonathan, sweeping his left arm in the direction of the punchbowl while lifting an imaginary glass with his right.

  “No, no thank you,” responded Heldmann.

  “Very well then. Please excuse me.” Jonathan bowed his head and began to move across the room, but not before noting the German’s crestfallen face.

  Sorry, old chap, but I’ve got other things to do than repeat the same question a thousand different ways.

  The musicians struck up another song and a number of couples positioned themselves in the designated dance area to begin a reel. Sophia was not among them. Glancing around, Jonathan saw that she was seated by the door.

  I suppose I ought to fulfill the loathsome obligation. Best to do it now and be done with it.

  He made his way over to her.

  “I haven’t forgotten my unhappy promise,” Jonathan said, extending his hand.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she rose.

  Halfway through the dance, Jonathan noticed that his mother was standing by the door and that she was looking directly at him, obviously displeased.

  What egregious sin have I committed now?

  Her hand fluttered distractedly.

  If you want to say something to me, you must do so, and not think I can interpret your silly hand gestures.

  He bumbled his way through the dance, only stepping on Sophia’s slippered foot once and then moved off to his friends in the corner. Widcombe had sat out of the last dance, recovering from three in a row.

  “Widdy, be a friend and dance with Sophia, will you?” Jonathan asked.

  “You don’t hear me asking you or Hodges to dance with Amelia, do you?” Widcombe responded with a grin.

  “Quiet, they’ll hear you. Please, Sophia’s worried sick that no one will dance with her. Just once, won’t you?”

  “Alright, but don’t get any ideas about becoming brothers-in-law.” Widcombe walked across the room to where Sophia sat next to her mother.

  “Dance with me?” he said to Sophia charmlessly.

  Still, Jonathan was thankful to hear it at all.

  Sophia began to open her mouth to speak, but it was Lady Clyde whose voice rose above the chatter of the crowd.

  “Widcombe, really! You need to leave Miss Sophia available for other suitors to dance with. How will she enjoy herself if she dances all evening with her brother and his friends?”

  Unperturbed, Widcombe shrugged and walked off to the punchbowl.

  Sophia, however, turned a bright shade of pink and sank as deeply into her chair as she could.

  Well done, Lady, thought Jonathan. Not only have you completely mortified your daughter, but you’ve announced to the entire room that anyone wanting to dance with her will be regarded as a suitor. Now she’s not likely to have a single dance for the rest of the night.

  Jonathan’s prediction appeared to be proving true as three more dances went by and Sophia was not a part of any of them. As he was on the verge of asking Sophia to dance with him a second time, the musicians played the first few notes of the next song.

  “Ah!” Heldmann said, his finger in the air as he rose from his seat. “This…this, I knows!” He smil
ed broadly around the room though few people paid any attention to his declaration. Crossing the room in a few long strides, he stood before Sophia and asked her to dance.

  Smiling shyly, she consented, rising from her seat. Heldmann led her by the hand to where the other dancers stood, tripping on a corner of the rug on the way.

  Off to an excellent start, I see, thought Jonathan, stifling his laughter.

  Sophe looks quite pleased, though.

  The thought warmed him. However, the sentiment quickly transformed to one of embarrassed amusement for although Heldmann had declared he knew the dance, it became clear that he did not know it well. Twice when the couples changed partners, he reached for the hand of the fellow next to him, and once he started to move around the circle in a counter-clockwise direction colliding into several of the other dancers.

  Jonathan was pleased to see that Sophia simply laughed and redirected Heldmann each time.

  Just beyond her, though, Morton sat, snickering at the display, once even rolling his eyes. When the final notes of the song were played, he rose and stood, mock-applauding an unaware Heldmann who was bowing to Sophia as she curtsied.

  Smiling, Heldmann still held on to her hand as they walked over to where Jonathan sat near the door.

  “Danke schöen, Herr Heldmann,” said Sophia.

  “Ich mag Ihre Ärmel.” The German continued to smile as he ducked his head. “Sie sind groß.”

  While the other couples were moving off the floor, Morton made his way past Lady Clyde, who was standing by the punch bowl. In what Jonathan knew as her ‘teasing’ voice, she said to him, “Mr. Morton. Don’t you know that as a guest, it’s only proper to dance with the daughter of your hostess?”

  “Dear Lady,” Morton responded in an equally ingratiating tone, lifting a glass of punch as if he were giving a toast. “Don’t you know that as a hostess, it’s only proper to offer your guests the very best?”

  Someone from across the room gasped. Another snickered.

  Jonathan felt his throat tighten with rage when he heard a little sound escape from Sophia who was standing beside him. Turning, he saw her face frozen in angst.

  Oh, no. Here it comes.

  Wrapping his arm around her, he motioned to the musicians to play another song and hurriedly propelled her out of the room. He got her out just before she burst into sobs.

  “Why…must Mama…embarrass me…as she does?” She choked out the words between heaving breaths.

  Jonathan dragged her up the stairs and down the hall to her door where he fumbled with the knob.