by M C Beaton
“Oh, you must not exercise your poor mind over that,” said the duchess. “Have a chocolate. It is so wonderful to be one’s own mistress, Harry. I can have chocolates and novels whenever I like and my darling doggies. Perhaps Miss Waverley does not wish to marry for other reasons. Perhaps she prefers her independence.”
“She has no independence,” said Lord Harry. “Mrs. Waverley does not even know she is here.”
“Oh, but that’s most unconventional. I do hope she will not call on me. Reformers of any kind frighten me to flinders. Where is that tea?”
“I have only just ordered it, Mama. Has Michael been troubling you?”
“He has given up. I was quite brave at his last call and told him roundly he should receive no money from me on my death if he continued to trouble me, and that mercenary wife of his almost dragged him from the room. Of course, he isn’t getting any anyway. He has more than enough of his own, but he is as greedy as his father. Marriage is quite a terrible institution, Miss Waverley. One promises, you know, to love, honor, and obey, and then one goes on obeying for the rest of one’s days. The servants have a better time of it. At least they can give notice and quit. I once said—with great courage, mark you, very great courage, for it was to your father—that it was all very well complaining about slavery and tut-tutting over it, but wasn’t it about time they emancipated women? Of course, it was a silly thing to say, for he threw the coffeepot at my head and roared like a wild beast. Men do roar a lot, Miss Waverley.”
“Mama,” said Lord Harry, torn between amusement and exasperation, “I am trying to persuade Miss Frederica to marry me, and all you are doing is to make the state of marriage sound like lifelong imprisonment.”
“Well, not in your case, dear boy,” said his mother. “I am sure you would not bully anyone.”
The butler and two footmen entered with cakes and tea. The duchess fell silent as she greedily examined each cake. “Which one would you like?” she asked Frederica.
“I have no special preference, Your Grace,” said Frederica. “I have a great fear of getting my teeth pulled so I do not normally eat sweet things.”
“You do not! Then I shall just have to eat all the cakes myself,” said the duchess cheerfully. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Waverley.”
“There is little to tell,” said Frederica. “I was adopted by Mrs. Waverley and lead a somewhat restricted life. I do not go out in society.”
“How lucky you are,” mumbled the duchess, her mouth full of cake. “You are not missing a thing, let me assure you. I used to loathe going to balls. All such pretense you know. We all pretended to sigh and flutter and be in love—while in the background our parents’ lawyers were busily signing contracts on our behalf with some other parents’ lawyers, quite like a business deal. I hated the opening of a ball, standing shivering in a thin gown in a badly heated, drafty room, while the men stared at the women with that cold, calculating, assessing look. Horrors! I had one bright moment. I fancied myself in love with a handsome captain, but, of course, nothing came of it, for I was ordered to marry your father, Harry.”
“But your children must have been a great comfort to you,” said Frederica.
“Harry is, because he leaves me alone, but Michael and Harriet are pig-faced bullies. Do not rely on children for comfort, Miss Waverley. They can turn out quite dreadful. Much better to be on one’s own. I can now do anything I like. I can wear comfortable clothes and eat cakes and have pugs and scream if I want to.”
To Frederica’s alarm, the duchess threw back her head and let out a piercing scream. She beamed on Frederica. “You see? Bliss!”
“Miss Frederica,” said Lord Harry, crossing one booted leg over the other, “has found out about Caroline James masquerading as Harriet.”
The duchess was just reaching out a hand to take another cake. She looked at Frederica sympathetically. “So silly of him, was it not?” she said. “I suppose you thought this actress was his mistress?”
Frederica blushed and nodded.
“I don’t suppose she was,” said the duchess. Her hand hovered over the plate of cakes and then descended on an almond jumble.
“You will become very fat, Mama,” said Lord Harry, “if you go on indulging yourself in such a way.”
“Oh, probably not. Your father would not allow me cakes, and just before his death made me go on a diet of potatoes and vinegar, just like Brummell. It made me feel quite ill. I was so sad and miserable, I really thought I would die first. He must be quite a nuisance to the other angels in Heaven, you know, shouting around the clouds about the gaming laws and tiresome things like that, and telling them that too much ambrosia is bad for them. I will never forget the look of outrage on his face as he departed this world. I could not believe he was dead, even when they nailed down the coffin.”
“Mama. I fear you are shocking Miss Frederica.”
“Am I? I apologize. Do not let me give you a disgust of marriage, Miss Waverley. My husband was a thoroughly nasty man.”
“I think it is time I returned Miss Frederica home,” said Lord Harry, “before her absence is noticed.”
“Yes, you had better do that, for I hear this Mrs. Waverley is one of those overbearing creatures and I could not sustain a visit from her and would never forgive you, Harry, should you be instrumental in causing such a thing to happen.”
As he drove Frederica back to Hanover Square, Lord Harry said, “My mother must have struck you as being a trifle eccentric, but she did have a miserable sort of life. I will leave you at your door and then go directly to Greenwich. Meet me tomorrow if you can and I will let you know how I fared. As far as Caroline James is concerned, I did once think of making her my mistress. I was very young and callow and it seemed to be one of the things one did, like going to prizefights.”
“But you have had mistresses?” asked Frederica.
“Perhaps. But that need not concern you.”
“What would you think if you knew I had taken lovers?”
“I should be so mad with jealousy, I would probably wring your neck.”
“And yet you wish me to accept the fact that you have had mistresses with unconcern?”
“The only reason I had mistresses was because I had not met you.”
“Prettily said, sir, but I would feel more comfortable contemplating marriage with someone of my own age, someone not yet soiled.”
“A perfectly understandable point of view,” said Lord Harry. “You will, however, just need to forgive me for my past sins.”
“Perhaps they are unforgivable.”
“Miss Frederica, if you go on baiting me and making me feel like an elderly satyr, I shall be forced to kiss you again, if only to silence you.”
“How did you manage to corrupt Mrs. Ricketts?”
“Aiding and abetting a young lady who leads an imprisoned life is hardly corruption. You should be grateful to Mrs. Ricketts. Now I must ask your age.”
“Nineteen.”
“And your name before you became Waverley?”
“Bride. We were all called Bride. In Fanny’s case, I can understand it, for she was abandoned on the steps of St. Bride’s, or so the orphanage said. But why we should all be given the same surname, I do not know.”
“Here we are,” said Lord Harry, reining in his team. “I will leave you here at the corner of the square. You will probably find Mrs. Ricketts on the lookout for you.”
Too much afraid of her outing being discovered to linger and say good-bye, Frederica ran toward the house. As she approached, the front door opened and Mrs. Ricketts beckoned to her. “Give me your bonnet,” whispered the housekeeper, “and go to your room. I told mum you was lying down with the headache. But Miss Felicity knows you have been out so you’d best think up something to tell her.”
Frederica ran upstairs to her room, where she found Felicity waiting. “Where have you been?” asked Felicity sternly.
“I have been meeting Lord Harry’s mother,” said Frederica def
iantly. “It would appear his intentions are honorable.”
“Fiddle. Dilettantes such as Lord Harry will go to any lengths to secure their prey. He consorts with actresses…”
“Do not be so stuffy, Felicity. I rather liked Miss James. Furthermore, Lord Harry has gone to that foundling hospital in Greenwich to see if he can find anything out about our parentage.”
Felicity shivered. “Perhaps it might be better if we never found out.”
***
When he reached the foundling hospital, Lord Harry discovered his task to be easier than he had anticipated. It was as squalid, depressing, and noisy as most foundling hospitals were, but the governor, a Mr. Longrigg, was proud of the fact that all foundlings were christened on admission and meticulous records were kept.
He gave Lord Harry the use of his office and left him with piles and piles of enormous ledgers. Lord Harry selected the volumes which covered the year of Frederica’s birth and got to work. It took him several hours to go through all the ledgers, and there was no record of any girls named either Fanny, Frederica, or Felicity. He pushed the books away and frowned. The secret must lie with that orphanage. Orphanages did not rename children who had already been christened. Perhaps the girls really were sisters and really were called Bride, and the orphanage was being paid by some relative to keep quiet about them. He was disappointed. He had hoped to find some record. But how had he expected to discover Frederica’s parentage at a foundling hospital? Some had indeed been born in the workhouse, causing the death of their exhausted mothers, but most of the waifs and strays had been abandoned and there was no record of either parent.
He felt a surge of impatience. Frederica would just have to accept the fact that the mystery might never be solved. But what about that orphanage? Tredair had failed. But Tredair had probably never thought of stooping to bribery. The Pevensey Orphanage, which had been home to the girls, only took the daughters of quite well-to-do families. So someone must have been paying for their keep before Mrs. Waverley came on the scene. Lord Harry decided to spend the night in Greenwich and then travel to the orphanage in the morning. He scribbled a letter to Frederica and covered it with a letter to Mrs. Ricketts, asking her to deliver it, sealed both, and gave them to his manservant and told him to ride to Hanover Square, but to go to the area door and make sure he saw no one other than Mrs. Ricketts.
Frederica went straight to Felicity when she received his letter. “Don’t you see,” cried Frederica, “the orphanage will simply send someone directly to Mrs. Waverley and I shall be locked up in my room for days.”
“Then just say that you did not know of Lord Harry’s enquiries,” said Felicity.
“He has told her he wants to marry you, and so she will believe he is bent on satisfying himself as to the respectability or otherwise of your background, although I know he is simply trying to appear as a knight in shining armor in your eyes.”
“Oh, why will you not trust him, Felicity?”
“There is a frivolity and decadence about him I cannot like,” said Felicity severely. “It is just the sort of game to appeal to an aristocrat such as he.”
“But he is rich and handsome and could have any woman he wanted.”
“Exactly. He wants you as his mistress because he enjoys hunting and wishes to do something to titillate his jaded palate.”
“Oh, why don’t you write a book, Felicity! You speak like the worst of novels. Jaded palate, indeed. Try to live outside the pages of a book for a change.”
But Felicity was living inside the pages of a book, the book she was writing. The book was about a rake, but the rake was a woman who philandered and broke men’s hearts and seduced them, and when taxed with immorality, she would laugh and point out that she was going on like a regular gentleman. The heroine had green eyes and fair hair and in speech and manner was remarkably like Lord Harry Danger. Felicity thought it an excellent satire, which would highlight the folly of men and the double standards of society, which demanded that a girl should remain a virgin until her wedding night, and yet a man was expected to have had a great deal of experience. Felicity was not quite sure how to resolve the plot. Ordinary morality cried out that the licentious heroine should end in the gutter or the gallows, but Felicity had grown quite fond of this fictitious, female rakehell. She lost interest in Frederica’s predicament. The predicament of her heroine was more real to her.
Frederica, seeing that familiar, vague, abstracted look on Felicity’s face, went off to confide her worries to Mrs. Ricketts.
“Now you’ve warned me, I won’t let anyone from that orphanage come near Mrs. Waverley,” said Mrs. Ricketts, and with that, Frederica had to be content.
***
As he drove to the orphanage next day, Lord Harry wondered if the Waverley girls realized how lucky they were. London was a city of villages. In that village of the West End of London, with its glittering shops and fine buildings, where Frederica lived, the inhabitants were kept secure from that other London, where a careless turning could take you away from elegance and magnificence and plunge you among gin shops, pawnbrokers, and broken-down dwellings of such squalor that they literally oozed filth.
The orphanage was situated in a quiet suburb. He drove in through the arch and stopped under the shadow of a grim, brick building with barred windows.
He rang the bell and told the servant to tell the chairman that Lord Harry Danger wished an interview.
He was shown into a bare anteroom, furnished only with two hard chairs and a deal table.
Mr. Wilks, the chairman, entered, followed by the director, Mrs. Goern. Lord Harry Danger raised his quizzing glass and eyed the pair with disfavor. Mr. Wilks was a shabby dandy, a tall, thin Scotchman with wary, suspicious eyes. Mrs. Goern was fat and florid and truculent.
After the introductions were over, Lord Harry stated his business and watched the shutters being swiftly pulled down over two pairs of eyes.
“Those girls again,” said Mrs. Goern. “Can’t they leave well alone? Poor Mrs. Waverley. Those girls were brought to us from the foundling hospital in Greenwich as charity cases—we take a few—and that’s all we know about them.”
Lord Harry took out a heavy bag of gold and put it on the table. “You both work hard,” he said evenly, “and must find it difficult to remember things.” He had carried the gold with him to Greenwich in case he had needed to bribe anyone there. He gave the bag a little shake and gold coins spilled onto the table.
Mrs. Goern and Mr. Wilks exchanged glances. “Perhaps we are forgetful,” said Mrs. Goern. “I shall go and look at the records again.” She rang the bell, and when the maid answered it, she ordered wine and biscuits, and then left the room.
She was gone a long time. Lord Harry and Mr. Wilks made stilted conversation. At last, Mrs. Goern reappeared. “I am sorry, my lord,” she said, “but the only information we have is that we took the three foundlings in and that Mrs. Waverley adopted them. I would help you if I could.”
“You, madam, are a liar,” said Lord Harry furiously. He scooped the gold back into the bag and put it in his pocket. “The foundling hospital at Greenwich has no record of the girls.”
“There now!” said Mrs. Goern, raising her hands to heaven. “You cannot expect places like that to know one baby from the other. I forgive you for your harsh remarks, my lord. Be assured we speak the truth.”
As Lord Harry drove off he suddenly remembered all Mrs. Waverley’s wealth and jewelry. Of course! The orphanage people were not going to accept a mere bag of gold from him when they could get much more from Mrs. Waverley for keeping quiet. He cursed himself for a fool. Mrs. Goern had left the room, not to search the records, but to send someone to Mrs. Waverley’s to warn her, and to demand more money for their silence.
Unfortunately for Mrs. Ricketts, the emissary from the orphanage arrived just as Mrs. Waverley was leaving with the colonel to go for a drive. Telling the colonel to wait, Mrs. Waverley took the ill-favored-looking man into the study. The colo
nel waited impatiently. The man soon reappeared, bowed, and left. Then Mrs. Waverley came out looking pale and shaken.
“Those tradesmen,” she said, with a ghastly smile. “I forgot to pay the wine merchant’s bill and he must needs send one of his creatures to dun me. He has lost my custom, and so I shall tell him.”
Mrs. Ricketts, who had been watching and listening, went up to Frederica’s room after Mrs. Waverley had left to tell her that it appeared Lord Harry had faired no better with the orphanage than the Earl of Tredair.
***
The Souter family had moved to lodgings in the city, knowing full well that the police of Sommers Town would no longer be interested in looking for thieves who had left their parish. Politicians and reformers had tried in vain to set up a general police force controlled from one central office, but their proposals were always turned down on the grounds that such a force would become like the gendarmes of France, nothing more than government spies. The police constables, such as they were, were badly paid, although they got “blood money” for catching thieves.
The Souter family were sitting in the warmth of a gin shop just outside the bounds of the City, still talking about the Waverley jewels and how to get them. As usual, the more they drank, the louder they talked. Two constables, Brock and Pelham, seated quite near, caught snatches of the conversation. “Some birds there, ripe for plucking,” murmured Brock. “Set things up and leave it to me.”
Brock carried a chair over and joined the Souters. “What d’ye want?” growled Mr. Souter.
“I have a mind to put you in the way of getting some money,” said the constable, laying a finger alongside his nose and dropping one eyelid in a wink. Brock, like many of the constables, looked like a villain himself, and the Souters were sure they were being joined by one of their own kind.
“How?” asked Mr. Souter.
“Let me buy some more Blue Ruin for you and I’ll tell you,” said Brock. The Souter family warmed to him. He teased Annie and flirted with her… and told them a great many lies about his thieving career.
