A Mad, Wicked Folly Read Online Free Page A

battle.”
    “What’s the news of home?” I asked as we moved
through the station.
“Oh, the usual. Mother is dragging Dad into the twentieth century, or at least attempting to. She’s had a telephone
installed.”
“That is news. What brought that on?”
“Mrs. Plimpton had a sudden rush of blood to the head
and had one fitted, so now all the ladies in her social circle
have to have one, too.”
My mother was ever the trend follower. Years ago she
had taken after Queen Alexandra’s style, which boasted
high collars and tiered pearl chokers, all of which were
really only meant to hide a scar on the queen’s neck. If
the queen’s deformities meant a high neckline, then who
was my mother to argue? At least she didn’t parrot Queen
Alexandra’s limp by shortening one shoe heel as many of
her friends had. When I was home at Christmas, Mamma
had changed our Mayfair townhouse from a dark, old-fashioned abode to one with a more light and airy sensibility,
as was now fashionable. Chintz and pastel fabrics, potted
palms and aspidistras abounded. My father was the opposite, and clung to the old ways like grim death.
“Papa has agreed?” I asked. “I thought he said a telephone in the home was an intrusion.”
“She talked him round, and the thing was installed last
week.”
“Heavens.”
I watched while Freddy saw Anne-Marie onto the next
train, and arranged for a growler for us, so capable and
self-assured. He had not always been so. Our father used
to remark on Freddy’s every movement, correcting him
constantly. My brother was much older than I, ten years,
but I remembered him spending most of his teenage years,
while not at school, avoiding our father.
We settled in the cab and the horse set off, harness jangling. The first signs of spring were about. Daffodils and
narcissi poked their noses through the grass in Green Park.
A weak ray of sunshine broke through the gloom, and several people sat on park benches, faces turned toward the
warmth. Motorcars chugged past our cab, trailing smoke,
tires hissing on the damp tarmacadam. The smell of wet
wool, coal fires, and the tang of horse sweat got under my
nose, but it was a welcome scent. London never failed to
make me happy, so I tried not to dwell on my sadness at
leaving France.
“Well, how grim is it?” I asked.
He frowned. “Fairly grim, Petal. I’m not going to lie to you.”
“Is Papa very angry, then?”
Freddy regarded me in silence for a moment. “Angry?
Vicky, you took your clothes off in front of a group of men.”
“You make it sound so sordid, Fred. It was an art class.
It’s what we do.”
But Freddy was shaking his head. “That makes no difference to our father. He doesn’t care a whit that it was in
the name of art or what have you. Word has gotten round.
Apparently some of the girls at Madame Édith’s wasted no
time writing to their parents, and now Mother’s social circle knows.”
“I care not what her social circle thinks.”
“You should care. Your behavior did much damage,
Petal. You know Dad has lost Hugo Northbrook’s regard?
That is a lot for him to swallow.”
“What does Hugo Northbrook’s regard have to do with
anything? Lily Northbrook is my best friend.”
“Northbrook had been paving the way for Dad to gain
a royal warrant. The royal residences are updating the
plumbing, and he was going to introduce Dad to the procurer. If Dad were able to supply the fixtures then he’d be
on his way, but now, because of your actions, he may have
lost his chance.”
What Freddy said filled me with guilt. Royal warrants
were marks of recognition for those who provided goods to
King Edward. The By Appointment stamp was a highly coveted
item; even more was the beautiful royal crest that decorated
the receiver’s place of business. My father had made it his life’s
work to gain one. Thomas Crapper & Company had installed
thirty lavatories in the king’s country seat, Sandringham
House, as well as fixtures in other royal houses years