Minor Indiscretions by Bárbara Metzger

sop to the early spring weather. Melody felt sensible, like a drab shopgirl or something.
    "But I'll be closeted with Mr. Hadley quite a while, I fear, and you might find the wait tedious." That should take care of any notion Felice had of sitting in on the interview.
    "No matter, I have some commissions for Lady Jess in the village."
    More bills to run up, Melody assumed dismally. She was hoping Mr. Hadley would explain why they were saddled with such an ungrateful burden, along with everything else. Then she shook herself for being so uncharitable. After all, Felice was as near to an orphan as could be, abandoned among strangers by a father she never knew. Now it seemed he had even reneged on his financial responsibilities. It must be hard on Felice, so used to thinking of herself as a pasha's princess. Besides, living with Mama could not be easy. Just this morning her tea was too cool, her head was too achy to speak with Cook about menus, and her pillows needed turning, twice. Mama kept a little silver bell by her side, and by bedtime last evening Melody was having quite unladylike thoughts about the little chime. This morning Melody had feared she would never be on her way to town. Then she had the happy notion of offering Mama those Minerva Press books.
    "What, those rubbishing gothic tales? Perhaps I'll just glance at them, dear, if you and Felice are both quite determined to leave me to my own devices. I cannot read much, naturally, my poor eyes, you know. Were there any of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels?"
    Mama was set for the morning.
     
    Melody was wrong; Felice didn't want to come along just to show off her outfit and spend money. She wanted the opportunity to bat her eyelashes and smile coyly at every man they passed. The apothecary's boy out on deliveries was reduced to red-faced sputters; Mr. Highet sweeping in front of his haberdashery made such a low bow he almost tripped off his stoop. Even the spotty young curate tipped his hat and walked right through Mrs. Vicar Elroy's tulip bed. They nodded politely to Miss Ashton as an afterthought, if they noticed her presence at all. Melody felt like a paid companion!
    Even Edwin, one of Mr. Hadley's assistants who had been a Dower House boy before going off to school and landing a position, greeted Melody punctiliously before turning to fawn over Felice. He passed Miss Ashton to another underling while begging to be of service to Miss Bartleby. Could he get her a cool drink or a chair, could he help with her errands? And this was the Edwin who used to sneer at Felice for thinking she was better than everyone else. Melody shook her head.
    At least Mr. Hadley was happy to see Melody. He patted her hand and told her she was as lovely a young woman as he always knew she would be. Of course, Mr. Hadley was more than sixty, but his sincerity restored a bit of her self-esteem. His views on her current situation, unfortunately, did nothing for her state of mind.
    "It's a sad day, my dear. I tried to warn your mother to set money aside, to get beforehand with the world. That's my job, you know, giving advice." He scratched his bald head. "Rainy days always come, you know."
    "Just how rainy, er, how bad is the predicament? To tell the truth, Mama's books made as much sense as Euclid."
    Mr. Hadley polished his spectacles, not looking her in the eye. "In basic terms, Miss Melody, your mother has just barely outrun the bailiff. She made some poor investments, against my advice, I beg leave to tell you, and then, like many in the fashionable world, continued living above her means. Credit, you know. She was spending on her expectations, but expectations are not money in the bank, when all is said and done."
    "That much I gathered from her records. But what I do not understand is what expectations Mama had. If not an inheritance from Aunt Judith, or settlements from my father, how had she hoped to afford to live the way she was? No one will tell me.
    "The contributions, of course."
    "You