Better Than Byron

Dinner at the Daltons

VI

Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.

-Lord Byron

The Daltons' residence in Dover Street was a tall and white building with a red door and a black fence in the Georgian style. It was three stories high, and located in the south of Mayfair. It was eventide; and the day had been a fine one with few nuisances.

After being admitted into the elegant town house and being ushered into the well-lit parlour by the well-groomed butler, Mrs. Dalton and her husband joined their long-anticipated guests. The former was dressed in a white muslin gown – she had worn pastel colours since her youth, for she had so pale a complexion – and looked as amiable as ever. The latter was a tall and well-built gentleman who did not at all look stricken in years, though Edgar was sure that he must have been well past his forties. He had a candid face, strong features that indicated firmness of character, a florid complexion, and had deep crow's feet at his eyes, which suggested that he often laughed. He was a serious man enough – where business was concerned – but one with a good sense of humour – where good company was concerned.

"I was not certain whether or not you'd come," said their affable hostess, curtsying to both her visitors. "But happily you have brought yourself – and a friend."

"Mrs. Dalton," Edgar smiled. "This is the headmistress of my school, Miss Margaret Doria Vickers. I have asked her to come with me, and I hope you do not object to her being here."

"Not at all!" she laughed restrainedly, nodding at Margaret, who had put on her finest evening gown – a plain Mexican calamanco gown, for Margaret could afford neither glazing nor twilling. She wore her hair in the same style of everyday, bringing variety to it with a black velvet headband, and had white lace wrist-gloves covering her graceful hands. "Good evening, Miss Vickers. I was rather hoping to meet you during the course of this summer. Mr. Thurlow, this is my husband the magistrate, Mr. Ambrose Dalton."

"Good evening, sir," Edgar said, apparently having not much altered his dress. He wore the same black velvet high-waisted waistcoat, black cutaway coat with tails and a standing collar, and black breeches that were tucked into his Hessian boots.

"Good evening, Mr. Thurlow," Mr. Dalton bowed in return, without the affectation of a theatrical sweep. "I have heard of your school before my wife mentioned it to me, and have always highly admired you – from a distance." Edgar grinned, rather pleased with the distinction, and then modestly inquired into the young Miss Dalton's whereabouts. He had harboured a secret but not altogether fruitless hope that she could chat with Miss Vickers, and that the two young women could instantly become bosom friends – so that his sister might be a frequent visitor at the seminary.

"Amy has been summoned," said Dalton, "but takes so long in setting herself to rights. Ah, women!" He and Edgar exchanged knowing smirks. Margaret's ears pricked at this, like a cat's when it hears something of interest.

"Mr. Dalton," she said in her calm yet commanding tone. This hushed the whole room, and all eyes were presently fixated upon her. "Forgive me, but I must speak my mind where I consider myself undeniably in the right. I do not appreciate men's generalisation of women's characters. I have often perceived that when once a woman does something or behaves in a particular way that is not favourable, the nearest man seizes the opportunity to scoff, 'Women!' and to criticise our entire sex. There is many a silly woman in London who doubtless deserves every sensible person's contempt, but not all women are like this. Thus, when you say 'Women!' you imply that all women are silly, and this is a grave misconception." A bewildered silence ensued, but Miss Dalton soon made her soft entrance, causing her mother to exclaim after blinking perplexedly at Miss Vickers, "Amy! There you are. We have been waiting anxiously for you."