The Counterfeit Countess

by Diana Campbell

  “Yes, the fly in the chain,” Mrs. Seymour agreed.

  She was clearly distracted, but Selina judged her annoyance quite well-founded. The chaises had reached Worflelds at a quarter to six—Grandmama ensconced in the lead carriage—and the luggage had been loaded by six o’clock precisely. It was now nearing half past the hour, and there was still no sign of Miss Bradley.

  “Well, we shall simply leave without her.”

  Mrs. Seymour stamped her foot, and as Selina attempted to repress a perverse smile of satisfaction, there was a clatter of wheels in the drive. Miss Bradley’s phaeton raced into view, and she reined in her team just behind the rear chaise, narrowly averting a collision. Selina perceived that her equipage might, indeed, serve as the Duke of Wellington’s baggage train, for the luggage compartment was fairly heaped with cases, and several more were lashed precariously to the seat beside her.

  “I am sorry to be late,” Miss Bradley trilled, “but Richards had a dreadful struggle with my bags. And now, of course, the seat must be cleared so someone can ride with me.”

  Grandmama and Papa had stated a desire to travel alone—presumably to have a final game of macao—and as they walked to the first chaise, Selina mounted the

  steps of the second. Jeremy was already inside, and she squeezed next to him, reserving a place for Sir Matthew. The postboy, obviously irritated himself, noisily rearranged the luggage on the roof, and shortly after his thuds and crashes had ceased, Alex entered the coach, pulled in the steps and closed the door behind him. Selina leaned over Jeremy, peered out the window and observed Matthew clambering up the ladder to the seat of Miss Bradley’s high-flyer. Two days since, she would have shuddered at the prospect of a long, private conversation between them, but it no longer signified, and she collapsed back in the seat.

  The three carriages got under way at last, and Selina glanced through the Earl’s window and beheld the servants gathered on the porch to wave them off. Word of their plans had swiftly circulated through the household, and Selina had not been compelled to lie to Rose after all.

  “I daresay you’ll enjoy seeing your American friends again, ma’am.” Rose had adjusted Selina’s leghorn hat and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “And I shan’t mind working for Mrs. Seymour in the least. But I should much prefer to work for you, and I do hope you’ll come back soon.”

  As she had then, Selina sniffed back a threat of tears and raised her own hand, and she continued to stare out the window- until Worfields w'as well out of sight.

  If his lordship regretted the necessity of leaving his home again, he betrayed no indication; to the contrary, he soon broke into a cheerful, tuneless whistle. It seemed to grow increasingly loud, increasingly off-key with ever)- passing furlong, and as they crossed into Somerset, Selina could bear it no longer.

  “Are you aware," she snapped, “that you have absolutely no ear for music?”

  “No?” Alex feigned a gasp. “Is that why I was rejected by the opera company at the King’s Theatre?”

  He began, if possible, to whistle a bit louder, and Selina clenched her hands and turned to Jeremy. “I—I daresay Alex has advised you of our situation by now,": she said.

  “Our situation?”

  Jeremy frowned, the Earl emitted a particularly piercing whistle, and Selina winced.

  “You mean what to do in the event of an Indian attack?" Jeremy said. “No, Alex told me you could best advise me of that, Selina. Shall I be permitted to have a

  gun.'

  He chattered on, and Selina dismally realized that he did not yet know the truth. But did that signify either? Within eight and forty hours, she would probably be en route to America, never to see Jeremy or Alex again. She leaned her head against the seat, and eventually Jeremy’s voice and his lordship’s whistle became a single, discordant buzz, and she "drifted to sleep.

  Grandmama had decreed that they would not stop for the night until they reached Exeter, and it was after six when the second chaise pulled into the innyard. As had happened during the journey from London to Wiltshire, the vehicles had become separated: the lead coach was already being unloaded, but Miss Bradley and Sir Matthew had fallen behind after the change of horses at Taunton and had not been seen since. After nearly twelve hours on the road, Selina was so stiff she could scarcely walk, and she permitted the Earl to assist her into the inn. Where they found Mrs. Seymour in a state of high indignation.

  “Two rooms!” She snorted. “The landlord informs me there are only two rooms. He also insists that in view of the great number of tourists bound for Plymouth, every other establishment in town is full. I do not believe him for a moment, of course, but as we instructed Isabella and Sir Matthew to meet us here, I fancy we must stay. Stay and submit to Mr. Ross’s blackmail; I shall not even tell you what he is charging. He is charging one full pound per room! Well, as I said, we’ve no choice: the women will share one room and the men another. However, I assure you that matters will be quite different in Plymouth, where the foremost innkeeper was a close friend of Samuel’s . . .”

  Grandmama was still grumbling as one of Mr. Ross’s minions led them up the stairs. A month ago, a week

  ago, eight and forty hours ago, Selina would have dreaded the prospect of sharing a bedchamber with Miss Bradley; but now, in view of the alternative, she welcomed the arrangement with a great inward sigh of relief. Furthermore, the room proved to be surprisingly spacious and generously furnished: in addition to the expected bed and nightstand, washstand and wardrobe, there was a large sofa and a great, overstuffed wing chair. Mrs. Seymour swiftly claimed the bed—directing] her postilion to place her valise upon it—and Selina, just as swiftly, directed her postboy to put her valise on the couch. Both women proffered a gratuity, and both drivers apparently judged their tips woefully inadequate: they stalked out of the room comparing coins and muttering under their breaths. They had scarcely disappeared when Miss Bradley loomed up in the doorway.

  “You migTt have waited for us,” she said testily. “We were only a few minutes behind, and had you waited, I fancy we could have found a suitable place to stay. As it is, or so I am given to understand, we must share a room.” She looked disdainfully about. “Well, it could be worse,” she conceded grudgingly. “If I take the bed—”

  “Grandmama has the bed,” Selina interrupted.

  “Of course; age does have its privileges. I shall take the sofa then."

  “Selina has the sofa,” Mrs. Seymour said.

  “But then where—where—”

  “You may choose between the chair and the floor," Grandmama interposed kindly. “Were I in your position,

  I should select the chair, but I am not in your position, am I? No, as you pointed out, I am an old woman, and you may well prefer the floor. Think about it while we dine. dear. Speaking of which—dining, that is—I advised Mr. Ross that we wished a private room at half past seven. I shall not tell you what he is charging; I shall only say that we might well be able to purchase the crown jewels for less. In any event, I daresay we should all freshen up at once . .

  In the end, Miss Bradley opted for the chair, and Selina—in relative comfort on the couch—was jarred awake several times before she identified the sound that had disturbed her. Miss Bradley snored, and Selina wondered if Alex should be alerted to this potentially grave problem. On second thought, she reflected bitterly, he was probably quite aware of Miss Bradley’s sleeping habits. She tugged one of the sofa cushions over her head and determinedly closed her eyes, her ears and her mind as well.

  They reached Plymouth just after noon the following day, and as they clattered into the innyard, Selina gazed at the building with considerable misgiving. Though the Merman was an impressively large structure and might once have been the town’s “foremost” hostelry, it had clearly seen better days: the timbers on the magpie front were nearly stripped of paint, several windows had been broken and patched with paper, and fully a quarter of the gabled roof was bare of shingles. However, she fancied i
t would have to suffice, for Plymouth was, indeed, mobbed with tourists. And at least the Merman was convenient: it was situated only two blocks from the sea, and Selina could readily see the teeming harbor from the window of the coach.

  Miss Bradley and Sir Matthew had fallen behind again, and when the remainder of the party converged between the two chaises, Mrs. Seymour at once began issuing instructions.

  “Since time is of the essence," she said, “we must divide our tasks. While I speak with Mr. Plummer, you, Selina, are to supervise the unloading of the luggage. Be certain the postilions bring everything in; they are occasionally inclined to ‘misplace’ a case or two. In the meantime, the men will go down to the wharf, arrange your passage to America and engage a boat to take us out to the Bellerophon. We do wish to have a close view of the Emperor, do we not?”

  Selina, recollecting her susceptibility to mal de mer, reluctantly nodded.

  “Let us begin immediately then.”

  Grandmama hurried into the inn, and Alex, Jeremy and Papa obediently strode into the street and down toward the docks. The postboys had begun to unload the bags even as Mrs. Seymour was speaking, but they evidently remembered their unsatisfactory tips, for they were none too careful about it. In fact, several cases “slipped” off one or the other roof, and Selina gritted her teeth as they crashed into the cobbled innyard. Miss Bradley’s portmanteau was the last piece to be dropped, and when it hit the ground, it sprang open, spewing forth a veritable cascade of muslin. Selina dashed to the scene of the accident and crammed Miss Bradley’s youthful dresses back inside the case, not particularly dismayed that she was compelled to wrinkle them most dreadfully in order to close the portmanteau again.

  At length, the postilions completed the unloading, and Selina further supervised as they bore the luggage into the inn. When they were finished, Mrs. Seymour gave them each a shilling, which even Selina thought too little, and she discreetly rummaged in her reticule and presented them a shilling more. Though far from thrilled, they did seem slightly mollified, and Selina snapped her reticule shut, dismally aware that she had been left with no money at all. She did not know Papa’s cash resources, and she wondered if they would be forced to sell some of Mama’s jewels before they sailed from England.

  “Thank God I am personally acquainted with Mr. Plummer,” Grandmama whispered, after the postboys had disappeared. “He did not have a single available room, but he has agreed to pretend that we booked in advance and expel several of his other guests. However, we shall not be able to take occupancy until after we have returned from the harbor; Mr. Plummer will guard our bags and distribute them amongst the various chambers in our absence. In the interim, let us arrange for lunch. And while we’re about it, for dinner as well.”

  The fat, perspiring landlord assured Grandmama and Selina that in view of his long friendship with the late Captain Seymour, he could—though with great difficulty—grant them a private dining room for Doth meals. He instructed an enormous, middle-aged woman (presumably Mrs. Plummer) to escort them to the designated room, and they had scarcely taken their places when Miss Bradley and Sir Matthew appeared. Miss Bradley peevishly announced that she did not care for the Merman at all, and she was even more distressed to learn that they could not take their rooms for some hours to come.

  “I wished to change,” she wailed. “I brought the most perfect dress in which to see Napoleon . . .”

  She was still complaining when Papa and Jeremy and Alex arrived and reported that their mission had been accomplished with total success.

  “We are to sail on the Devon at dawn tomorrow,” Papa elaborated. “She is bound for New York rather than Virginia, but that may prove an advantage: Jeremy will be able to view the countryside between New York and Richmond.”

  Tomorrow. Selina had believed herself prepared for that eventuality, but she discovered she was not. Tomorrow. And Jeremy still thought he was going to America . ..

  “While John was conversing with the captain of the Devon”—his lordship took up the story—“I hired a boat for the afternoon. A fishing vessel, but I collect the local fishermen have discovered greater profit in human cargo than in flounder or halibut.”

  “Greater profit?” Grandmama repeated sharply. “Never mind; I do not wish to know what the fisherman is charging. What is he charging?”

  “Five pounds,” the Earl said.

  “Five pounds.”

  Mrs. Seymour began to fan her face with her napkin, but before she could faint with horror, a buxom waitress delivered their lunch. As it happened, the main course was fish, but Selina could not identify the variety because it had been cooked to a soggy, tasteless fare-thee-well, as had the accompanying green beans and boiled potatoes. She cast about for a silver lining behind this latest cloud and speedily glimpsed it: if she must venture out in a boat, it was surely best to do so on an empty stomach.

  And venture out she must, for as soon as lunch was

  over, Grandmama ushered them all across the innyard and down the street to the sea. The name of their boat had long since peeled off the rotting hull, but it was unmistakably a fishing vessel; it reeked from stem to stern, and generations of scales encrusted the deck. Perhaps centuries of scales, Selina amended, as the captain guided her to one of the wooden benches on either side. She felt gingerly about before she sat, but apparently the captain had tidied up a bit before their arrival: the scales on the bench were Firmly varnished to the wood. Unfortunately, the captain had not elected to tidy himself up; he smelled, if possible, slighdy worse than his vessel, and his clothes hovered between “ancient” and “rags.” In any event, they all took their appointed places, and the disreputable captain cast off, and, despite herself, Selina was caught up in the excitement of the moment.

  The harbor was literally alive with boats—small boats, large boats, boats of every conceivable type and description. Appearances notwithstanding, their captain soon proved himself and his vessel remarkably seaworthy; they dodged through the competing boats, often with mere inches to spare, and eventually anchored within twenty yards of the Bellerophon. Jeremy eagerly pointed out that there was a frigate stationed on either side of Napoleon’s floating prison, but after a desultory glance, Selina returned her eyes to the central ship. She soon collected that the crew were thoroughly savoring their historic role: two seamen were holding aloft a board on which had been chalked the information that the Emperor was presendy "IN CAPTAIN MAITLAND'S CABIN." Ten or fifteen minutes later, an officer dashed into view and updated the board; Napoleon was now "WRITING IN HIS QUARTERS." Another hour elapsed, and just as Selina was beginning to fidget with boredom, there was a great, collective sigh in the harbor. She squinted against the lowering sun and perceived the erstwhile Emperor of France pacing the deck of the Bellerophon. He was a short, rather potbellied man—far less imposing than Alex or Papa or even Sir Matthew—and she could not quell a flood of disappointment. And, after

  that, a stab of pity for the former master of Europe, who had been reduced to little more than a zoological exhibit.

  “Well, we have seen him.” Mrs. Seymour sounded a bit disappointed as well. “We have seen him, so let us hasten back while everyone else continues to gawk.”

  The captain turned immediately about, but haste was impossible: several hundred other vessels were struggling toward the shore as well, and at least an equal number were attempting to sail out. It was consequently nearing five w'hen they straggled wearily into the Merman and Mr. Plummer greeted them with evil tidings.

  “I shall be unable to provide you five rooms after all,” he advised Grandmama with a heavy sigh. “Two of the guests reminded me that they also had advance bookings.” Selina strongly suspected that these “reminders” were now resting in the landlord’s money drawer. “I can therefore give you only three rooms,” Mr. Plummer continued. “I presume that Lord and Lady Worsham will share, that you will share with the other young lady and that the remaining gentlemen will take the third room.”

  Se
lina clenched her hands. She had known, of course, that Grandmama would place her and Alex in the same chamber, but she had planned to exchange with Papa after Mrs. Seymour had safely retired. Well, it could not be worse than Reading, she decided; she could spend one more night with the Earl before they parted forever.

  “Very well,” Grandmama snapped. “I trust you have distributed the luggage accordingly.”

  “I fear not.” Another sigh. “The present occupants have found it exceedingly difficult to arrange for transportation and substitute lodging, and I have granted them till eight o’clock to leave. If I might tender a suggestion, Mrs. Seymour, I propose you go to your dining room and enjoy a leisurely repast. I assure you that matters will be entirely taken care of by the time you have finished dinner.”

  In view of the fact that she had eaten no lunch and had, miraculously, failed to be ill on the boat, Selina was ravenous; but dinner proved, if possible, even worse than the midday meal. Actually, she amended, much of it was the midday meal: the leftover potatoes and beans had been recooked to the point that no faint, last hint of flavor remained. There was, however, a new main course-7-roast beef so tough that the cutting of it set Selina’s fingers to aching and the chewing threatened to dislocate her jaw. But, literally weak with hunger, she managed to choke most of the entree down and then fairly inhaled the dessert. She thought the latter was supposed to be blancmange, but it had not properly jelled, and it resembled nothing so much as a cold, sweet bowl of soup.

  To Selina’s immense surprise, Mr. Plummer fulfilled his final promise: he came to fetch them shortly after eight, announced that their rooms were ready and personally escorted them up two sagging flights of stairs. Their chambers—the doors already open—were situated at one end of the second-floor corridor, and Mrs. Seymour and Miss Bradley, Alex and Jeremy and Sir Matthew scurried into their appointed quarters. Selina and Papa lingered on their thresholds a moment while Papa desired the landlord to knock them up at four o’clock precisely.