Chapter Six

Content warnings can be found here

In the comfortable, crowded parlour of the Reverend Doctor Dunning’s townhouse, Miss Tooting sat deep in conversation with her particular friend, Miss Dunning. While Serafina would have been welcome at almost any hour of any day at that house, the Revered Doctor made it his habit to entertain a selection of respectable folk in the warm summer evenings when the stench of the Thames crept up the gardens of those in the larger houses outside of town, and the thought of associating with doctors, or bankers lost some of its repugnance. 

Moreover, as Reverend Dunning had once confided to Serafina, he was not blind to the need of young folk for diversion when the season was over, and hoped they would have a touch more sensible conversation under the roof of a vicarage than might be expected elsewhere.

Serafina was not sure that she could vouch for that particular wish as Mary breathlessly asked, “Have you finished Manfred, then?”

Serafina glanced about her before replying, “Just last night. It was the most thrilling thing I have read in months. I could scarcely last a stanza without trembling.”

“Did you bring it?”

“No. Mama was keeping too close a watch as we were leaving the house, and I couldn’t let her tell your Papa about it – which you know she would. But if you call tomorrow, and I’ll slip it in with that dress pattern I’ve promised you.”

“I can do better than that. For, by morning, I will have finished The Guerrilla Chief, and I’ll bring that to you, for I have it from Minerva, and you must read it before it goes back.”

“Do you think it any good, then?”

“Better than Elfrida, I found. A pleasing number of valiant soldiers, and most horrid in parts – though nothing to which even the sternest moralist could object. You’ll doubtless find something in it to scorn, my dear.”

“I’m sure I shall, and it will serve you well for all the cruel things you said about Old Mortality, but I’ll not withhold my Manfred from you for all that.” Serafina tapped her fan against Miss Dunning’s wrist, playfully.

A small, ginger paw shot out from beneath Miss Dunning’s shawl and tapped the fan in return. 

“Oh no, not more kittens?”

Miss Dunning rolled her eyes, and said in a passable impression of her father, “They’re all God’s creatures, Miss Tooting.”

“I know that, but…” a little, pink nose emerged from under Mary’s sleeve, and a pair of still-blue eyes stared at Serafina with no small degree of insolence. “Could you not at least tell Cook to keep her in while she’s in heat?”

“‘And how can she catch mice, Miss, if I keeps her in the kitchen?’” Mary reached in to her sleeve, “No, not up there, you little beast. If you snag the muslin I’ll wring your neck.”  Miss Dunning extracted a small, mewling and wriggling, ginger kitten of the male persuasion. For all her words, she held him tenderly. “This one is of the host infernal, I’m sure of it.”

“Handsome for it.”

“You take him, then.”

“What? No!” and had they been alone in the parlour, and some years younger, those words would have been uttered with a shriek, and what followed would have been an indecorous tussle while the offending kitten vanished to somewhere less turbulent. 

However, as a young lady about in Society, Serafina could do more that give a furious whisper of protest, and permit the bundle of animal to be dropped into her lap. 

Uncowed, the kitten raised its blue eyes to hers, and hissed. 

“Now, that’s not kind,” Serafina said, and tapped his pink scrap of nose. 

In answer, the kitten gave the finger of her glove a deliberate bite. Then, in a fierce sort of disdain, turned his back upon her, and settled himself in to a stubborn hunch in the folds of her skirt. 

Serafina accepted her defeat with as much philosophy as she could muster, and consented to scratch the victor’s ears, whereupon the kitten’s indignant lines relaxed, and his paws began to make a mess of the fabric of her skirts. 

“Careful,” Mary said, “or he’ll chew your fan.”

Serafina moved it out of harm’s way. “Miss Dunning, your hospitality does you credit. Why, nothing is beyond your eagerness to promote the comfort and well-being of your guests.”

“I aim to give no cause for complaint, Miss Tooting. Besides, with him on your lap, at least you can’t embarrass the rest of us at the pianoforte, and that’s more my duty as a hostess than… Oh. Oh now, don’t look my dear, I said don’t look, but a certain dark bird has just joined the assembly.”

It was all Serafina could do not to crane her head about. 

“He’ll see you soon enough, let him pay his respects to Papa first. Lor’, but he’s tall, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” She tried not to blush. She had long since stopped any attempt to discourage Mary’s rather irreverent nicknames for Mr Thornton, taking the sensible approach that hearing him called a ‘crow’, or a ‘dark bird’ were preferable to having him described as ‘your beau.’

“Does it not hurt your neck to look up at him, when he’s standing?”

“Some pains are worth it, my dear,” this whispered behind her fan, leading to a little thrill of giggling that unsettled more than one young man in their vicinity. Serafina tried to stifle them before Mr Thornton came too close to them, suspecting he did not like to see such girlish impropriety displayed. 

“Oh well, there goes my hope for interesting conversation this evening. I see you are going to be terribly mature and respectable, and it’ll be all Locke and Wedgewood, and heaven help the rest of us. I wish that you two would hurry up and wed so that you can start being honest with one another. Has he declared himself yet?”

Serafina thought of their last, strained conversation, his insistence that he dared not aspire to her hand. “Not yet.”

Briefly, Mary squeezed her hand. “Well, you’ll not get it tonight. Too crowded. My word – though it might be sooner than you think. He must have had some good news. He’s actually smiling.”

“You’ve seen him smile before, Mary.”

“Not in my memory, now shhh. He’s coming over.”

Well, that was certainly one way to look natural and unaffected as Mr Thornton approached them. The only thing that could have made it worse would have been if she had followed through on the sudden urge to strike Miss Dunning about the head with her fan. 

“Miss Dunning,” said Mr Thornton’s voice, still just out of Serafina’s field of vision, “Allow me to wish you a good evening. I hope that I find you well.”

“Very well, Mr Thornton,” said Mary, barely suppressing a laugh. “You seem in good spirits this evening.”

“Yes. I… Your father has been kind enough to make me welcome at these evenings, and I regret that I am seldom at liberty to -”

“Yes, we all know how devoted you are to your career, Mr Thornton. Serafina! Our friend Mr Thornton has been able to join us.”

Blushing now, of course, and wishing to let Mary know exactly how she felt about being drawn into the conversation thus, Serafina turned and inclined her head as Mr Thornton made his bow. “Good evening, Mr Thornton.”