by M C Beaton
The colonel did not knock. He pushed open the door and walked inside. Caroline was pacing up and down, the play in her hand. She stopped short at the sight of him, and a look of weariness crossed her face.
“As you see,” she said, “I am beyond redemption. I have decided to return to my old profession.”
“Which one?” sneered the colonel.
“Why, acting, to be sure.”
“I have reason to believe, madam, that you are, or were once, Lord Harry Danger’s mistress.”
“And why should you think that?”
“Because you have been masquerading as his sister!”
Caroline sat down and said quietly, “Pray be seated, Mr. Bridie. I have much to explain.”
“I should deuced well think so!” said the colonel, but he sat down, both hands resting on the knob of his cane, and glowering at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
“Lord Harry discovered a long time ago that I was ill with consumption,” said Caroline. “He was never my lover. He arranged for me to go to Switzerland to live in the mountains. I stayed there for a long time, even after I was cured, for I feared a return of my illness. I owe him a great debt. He had apparently fallen in love with Miss Frederica Waverley after meeting her for the first time, but knew that Mrs. Waverley would not accept his suit or give him permission to pay his addresses. He wanted someone at court to plead his case, so to speak. He asked me if I would masquerade as his sister. It was very little to ask. But something Frederica said to me made me fear he meant to seduce her and so I told Miss Waverley my true identity. But it transpires Lord Harry’s intentions are honorable. I am ashamed of myself. I should have known they were.”
“It was a despicable thing to do,” said the colonel. “You are shortly to become my wife and no scandal must be attached to your name. What is this folly?” He pointed to one of the playbills of Macbeth which was stuck on a screen in the corner of the room.
Caroline looked at him pleadingly. “Mr. Biggs, the manager of the playhouse, begged me to return. I wish to be independent. I should not make you a suitable wife.”
“No, I don’t think you would,” said the colonel. “How can I have been so blind?” He looked about the room as he spoke: at the script of Macbeth, at the clutter of fans and shawls, at the flowers shoved haphazardly in vases, at the tea things lying on the table, waiting to be cleared away. The whole parlor, which might seem cozy to most, now screamed “Actress” at the embittered colonel.
He got to his feet. “I am a great fool,” he said. “I release you from the engagement. I may forgive you one day, madam, but I doubt if I shall ever forgive myself for my folly. No, don’t come near me.”
Caroline crossed to the window and watched the colonel walk out of her life. She tried to feel sad but could only feel a great lightening of her spirits. She picked up the script again and soon she was engrossed in rehearsing her lines.
It was that conversation in the park with Frederica that had made her realize she could never be tied to the colonel.
Unaware it was Mrs. Waverley—and her teachings which Frederica had so faithfully passed on—who was responsible for the break up of his engagement, the colonel found his steps leading westward—toward Hanover Square—in search of consolation.
***
Mrs. Ricketts received the news that Lord Harry Danger wished to speak to her with great aplomb. The cook thought she looked almost as if she had been waiting for him. Sternly telling the servants not to breathe a word of it, Mrs. Ricketts went to the area door. Although a woman and a mere housekeeper, Mrs. Ricketts knew the servants were more loyal to her than they were to Mrs. Waverley. Only Annie Souter had been a sad mistake. Mrs. Ricketts employed all the servants and chose them well. She went to the basement door, which opened into a narrow, coffinlike area below the street.
Lord Harry was standing there with a letter in his hand. “You wish me to give a letter to Miss Frederica,” said Mrs. Ricketts. There was no suggestion of a question in her voice.
“If you would be so kind,” said Lord Harry. “How is it you know the reason for my call?”
“Looked out of the upstairs window yesterday and saw the pair of you in your garden.”
“And you don’t think I am an evil seducer?”
“No, my lord. You look like a man in love.”
“I am glad someone credits me with finer feelings.”
Mrs. Ricketts took the letter and put it in her apron pocket. Then she held out a work-worn hand. Lord Harry smiled and pressed two guineas into it. Mrs. Ricketts deftly slid the coins into her pocket and bobbed a curtsy.
“If there is an answer, my lord,” she said, “I will throw it over the garden wall.”
Upstairs, Felicity was trying to get Frederica to swear she would never see Lord Harry again. “For, you know,” said Felicity, “there is a lightness and frivolity about him I cannot like. I fear he means you harm.”
“I don’t need to promise anything,” retorted Frederica angrily, “for you may be sure I will not be allowed to see him again.”
“Which is just as well, for we cannot marry. Tredair was another thing… and Fanny was so extremely beautiful, you know.”
“What a terribly insulting thing to say,” said Frederica, sounding almost tearful. “You mean that because I am plain, his intentions cannot be honorable. He proposed to me! You heard him.”
“That could merely be a way of getting you in his clutches.”
“Felicity, I am going to burn all your romances. Clutches, indeed.”
“If you do not know how to go about saving yourself, then I must do it for you,” said Felicity. “I am going to my room. If you come to your senses, you know where to find me.”
When Felicity had left, Frederica surveyed herself gloomily in the glass. Why was her skin not white? It was the color of pale gold, but to Frederica’s jaundiced eyes it looked sallow. Her mouth was too large and generous for beauty. Fashion demanded a tiny little rosebud of a mouth. Elderly ladies had spiderwebs of radiating lines around their mouths from years of practicing their Prunes and Prisms and primping them into the required shape. Her slate-colored hair should have been brown. Brown was fashionable. She tried to tell herself that it did not matter what she looked like. Certainly she had often dreamed of a man. What young lady did not? But she had always imagined someone stern and authorative who would impress Mrs. Waverley. Lord Harry was not for her. He caused all sorts of wanton feelings in her body… and surely no gentleman with honorable intentions would ever do that. Ladies in love fainted and sighed, only demireps lusted.
The door opened and Mrs. Ricketts came in. She handed Frederica Lord Harry’s letter, curtsied and said, “Ring for me when you have your reply ready,” and left the room.
Heart beating hard, Frederica broke the seal and opened it.
Dear Miss Frederica,
It has crossed my Mind that you might be Desirous of finding out the true Identity of your Parents. If you wish me to help You, I shall be in the Garden at four o’clock tomorrow.
Yr. Humble and Obedient Servant,
Danger.
Frederica’s first reaction was that she would not go. Her second, that tomorrow seemed an unconscionable time away.
***
Since her rescue by the colonel, Mrs. Waverley had received a great many invitations. The Waverleys were once more in the news. The colonel’s killing of the famous highwayman had been reported in all the newspapers, simply because the newspapers wished to discourse at length on the boldness of criminals who had moved in from the highroads, once more to terrify the citizens of London.
She flicked through them, longing to accept some of them, but fearing that terrifying outside world of society. She had meant to lead the life of a semirecluse, to put up barriers against the world—particularly the world of men. She had adopted the girls in order to supply herself with an immediate, ready-made family, who would be bound to her by gratitude and who would keep her company in her declining ye
ars. But things had not worked out as expected. The ungrateful Fanny had run off, and now Frederica was showing signs of waywardness.
Mrs. Waverley thought about Colonel Bridie. Now there was a man she could trust, she could lean on. His fiancée was indeed fortunate, and so Mrs. Waverley imbued the crusty and old-fashioned colonel with sensitivities and liberal ideas he did not possess.
When he was announced, she blushed like a girl and asked him in a shy voice to sit down.
The colonel did as he was bid and looked at her wearily. Here was a real lady, he thought: plump, stately, and dignified.
“You seemed distressed, Colonel,” said Mrs. Waverley. “I hope nothing has gone wrong.”
“Everything is wrong,” mourned the colonel. “Madam, I am shattered. Was ever a man so betrayed?”
“Then you shall be comforted and you shall tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Waverley, ringing the bell. She ordered Mrs. Ricketts and two of the housemaids to put a footstool at the colonel’s feet, to make up the fire for the day was cold, to bring cakes and biscuits and a good bottle of canary.
To have women bustling about him, to have a footstool tenderly placed under his feet, and a glass of wine placed in his hand, to hear the crackle of the fire, listen to the ticking of the clocks, and watch the cold rain lashing down outside, was balm to the colonel’s wounded soul.
“I should have known there were ladies like you in this sad world,” said the colonel, “before I tried to throw away my good name on a slut!”
“Faith!” cried Mrs. Waverley, raising her plump, beringed hands to her massive bosom. “Do tell me. What happened?”
“You heard from Miss Frederica that the character of Lady Harriet was impersonated by Caroline James?”
Mrs. Waverley nodded so vigorously that her starched muslin cap bobbed and shook.
“Alas, madam, Miss James was my fiancée.”
Mrs. Waverley’s face perceptively hardened, and the colonel cried, “Ah, do not look at me so. Hear me out. I believed she had given up her profession. She agreed to become my wife. I was blind! Blind! When I heard of her masquerade, I went to berate her. She explained Lord Harry had never been her lover, but, when she contracted consumption, had arranged for her to go to Switzerland until she was cured. That I might just have believed. But there is worse than that. She is to go back on the stage. ‘I spurn you,’ I cried,” said the colonel, showing that what had first attracted him to Caroline was because he had a taste for enacting tragedies himself. “Oh, she wept and pleaded. But in vain. I am made of strong stuff. ‘Our engagement is at an end,’ I said. She flung herself at my feet, but I walked over her, madam, and came straight here to remind myself there were decent women in the world. Cannot you understand how I came to make such a mistake? But, of course, you cannot. How can you know what it is to be betrayed?”
“I know,” said Mrs. Waverley sadly. “You are well shot of her, my dear colonel. I quite understand. Scheming adventuress. That’s what she is! Her name will not be mentioned between us again. Be assured there is always a welcome for you here.”
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” said the colonel. “It has been a sorry episode. I am afraid I interrupted you at your business.”
“Nothing important,” said Mrs. Waverley. “I have received a great many cards and invitations. Your brave rescue of us has made society anxious to meet us again. Here is a card from the Countess of Heatherington. We are invited to a ball, and she encloses a letter begging me to bring you as well. As if you would care for such frivolity.”
But the colonel cared very much. No countess had ever issued an invitation to him before. “Might be amusing to go along,” he said casually.
“Do you think so?” Mrs. Waverley frowned. “I always find these ton affairs so tedious.”
“But you would be escorted by me,” pointed out the colonel.
Mrs. Waverley reflected it had been a long time since she had been squired anywhere by any man. People could not say she was betraying her principles, for everyone knew the colonel to be a hero.
“Perhaps I might accept. My little girls have been teasing me to take them somewhere.”
“They will be well chaperoned with both of us present,” pointed out the colonel.
“If you are prepared to escort us, then I shall feel safe,” said Mrs. Waverley.
The colonel leaned comfortably back in his chair and took another sip of canary.
Chapter Six
Lord Harry was waiting in his garden when Frederica’s head appeared over the wall the following afternoon. He had received a short letter from her, thrown into his garden by Mrs. Ricketts, in which she said briefly that she would see him.
He went forward to help her, but she waved him away. “If you have brought me here to flirt with me, then I shall go back.”
“No,” he said. “You are quite safe. My offer of help is genuine.”
“I don’t see what you can do,” said Frederica, walking up to him. “Fanny, you know, went to that orphanage with Tredair, but before she returned, the orphanage had alerted Mrs. Waverley and there was the most dreadful scene. But perhaps the foundling hospital in Greenwich will be able to supply some information.”
“Perhaps. I will go there today and let you know tomorrow how I fared.”
“It is very good of you,” said Frederica awkwardly.
“Have you given any more thought to my proposal of marriage?”
“Yes,” said Frederica bleakly. “It would not answer. After a year or so, you would regret the impulse which made you propose to me. What if my parents were mad?”
“Then they would be no different from most of the aristocracy,” he said, with a grin. “Where is Mrs. Waverley?”
“She has gone to Kensington Gardens with the colonel.”
“How plebeian of her!” Kensington Gardens was no longer fashionable. “Quite a budding romance there.”
Frederica looked at him in surprise. “Romance? It is not possible.”
“Very possible. In her heart of hearts, I do not think Mrs. Waverley cares one jot for the rights of women.”
“She is a great educationalist!”
“Possibly she is a gifted teacher. But that is quite another thing. Go and get your bonnet and ask Mrs. Ricketts to let you out by the front door.”
“But I cannot go all the way to Greenwich with you! I would be away for hours!”
“I am taking you to meet my mother. Go and fetch your bonnet. You will find Mrs. Ricketts willing and eager to help you.” He handed her five guineas. “Give this to her.”
Frederica put her hands behind her back. “Mrs. Ricketts is a sterling lady and will not be bribed.”
“Do as you are bid or I shall kiss you again. Take the money, do, and hurry up!”
Frederiea cautiously held out her hand for the money. Mrs. Ricketts would not take it but would probably agree to delivering a letter to Lord Harry, saying Frederica could not go.
But to Frederica’s surprise, the housekeeper calmly pocketed the money and said, “You had best be quick and escape before Miss Felicity returns. I saw her leaving by the library window.”
“So you know of our escapes!” exclaimed Frederica.
“Of course. Run along, Miss Frederica, and don’t keep your gentleman waiting.”
Frederica was very silent on the road to the Duchess of Tarrington’s. She thought she was very silly indeed to have agreed to such a visit. She would be treated with disdain, but at least Lord Harry might realize just how impossible his suit was.
“Are you sure your mother is at home?” asked Frederica, breaking the silence at last.
“Yes, she is always at home. My father died a short while ago and she is becoming very gradually accustomed to a life of independence.”
“I am sorry about your father. You do not wear mourning.”
“That is because I do not mourn. Does that make me appear an unnatural son? But he was, I assure you, a most unnatural father.”
Frederica looked nervously up at the imposing house in Park Lane. Her legs felt quite weak and shaky as he helped her down from the carriage.
He led her up the shallow steps. A butler stood by the open door. “We will announce ourselves,” said Lord Harry to the butler. “Come, Miss Frederica.”
“Pray do consider,” said Frederica in an urgent whisper, “that she may not wish to receive me.”
“Why should she do that when she does not even know you? Come!”
Frederica walked reluctantly beside him, up the winding staircase to the first landing. He threw open the double doors of the drawing room and ushered her in.
The duchess was lying on a sofa at the window, a box of chocolates on her lap and a novel in her hand. Two pug dogs were lying on a rug beside the sofa. They scampered forward, wheezing and gasping, as Lord Harry and Frederica entered.
“Where did you get these repulsive creatures, Mama?” asked Lord Harry, aiming a kick at one of the pugs, which was trying to eat his boot.
“They are terribly sweet and quite devoted to me,” said the duchess, putting down her book and peering shortsightedly at Harry. “Oh, dear, you have brought someone. This must be your Frederica.”
In that moment, Frederica finally realized that Lord Harry was in deadly earnest about marrying her, and instead of scaring her, the fact sent a warm glow through her body.
“Come here, child,” said the duchess, “and let me look at you. How alive you are! How vital! I envy you. The very meeting of you makes me feel exhausted. Ring the bell, Harry, and order tea. Sit down, Miss Waverley. Are you going to marry my son?”
“I cannot, Your Grace.”
“And why not?”
Frederica looked miserably at Lord Harry.
“Miss Waverley is thinking of her doubtful parentage, Mama.”
