Penelope Goes to Portsmouth

by M C Beaton

  ‘I am coming with you,’ she said.

  ‘For a walk?’ asked Lord Augustus.

  ‘No, stoopid! To Lady Carsey.’

  ‘Ladies, ladies, may I point out we do not know where she lives.’

  ‘But I do,’ said Penelope triumphantly. ‘She lives at the Manor. The constable said so, and the Manor is only a short walk from here. I asked the servants. We turn to the left.’

  A blustery wind whipped at the ladies’ skirts. Penelope stifled a yawn. ‘I am so very tired.’ She smiled up at Lord Augustus. ‘Of course, as soon as we set our footman free, I can catch a few hours’ sleep.’

  ‘You are so confident,’ he said.

  A dazzling smile met his gaze. ‘Oh, but you see, I have quite decided you could do anything at all, my lord, once you put your mind to it.’

  ‘I am struck as dumb as the footman,’ remarked Lord Augustus.

  ‘What takes you to Portsmouth, my lord?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘I have an aged uncle in residence there. Quite rich. Bound to die soon. My last hope. Now what have I said?’ For Penelope’s face was puckered up in distress.

  ‘You are like a vulture, my lord, waiting for that old man to die. Fie, for shame!’

  A glint of anger showed in Lord Augustus’s blue eyes. Beautiful widgeons such as Penelope were supposed to make pretty, artless remarks. Then he smiled. ‘I feel I am reliving my grandfather’s experiences.’

  ‘How so? A story?’ Penelope clasped both hands over his arm and looked at him as hopefully as a child at bed-time.

  ‘A true story, Miss Wilkins. My father, when a very young man, was taken prisoner by the Americans in 1777 and put on board a prison ship above Charlestown Ferry in Boston. The ship was foul and he and his fellow officers were suffering from fever, ague, and dysentery. They wrote to the Council of Boston and asked leave to go into the country on parole. This was granted and he was told his parole would be in the town of Pepperell, although he would not be allowed to travel over a mile outside the town. He procured quarters for himself and his servant in a house where he had to pay two silver dollars a week for board.

  ‘It was a free and easy existence. The family consisted of a middle-aged couple and their two spinster daughters. They had not the least understanding of what was due to a gentleman and treated my father’s servant in exactly the same way as they treated my father. My father said he quite enjoyed the evenings when a large fire would be made on the hearth. The room was filled with the sound of humming spinning-wheels and the laughter of the apprentice boys shucking corn. No candles were used, but the room was lighted by splinters of pine wood thrown on the fire. The days were boring, he said; nothing to do while the family were out at work. And when he asked the town council for washerwomen to do his laundry, they sent him a wash-tub and a bar of soap and told him to get on with it. You should live in America, Miss Wilkins.’

  There was a silence. Penelope frowned in thought. ‘You are mocking me,’ she said at last. ‘But if he was a prisoner, washing his own clothes was surely not such a hardship.’

  ‘My dear young lady, the joke is that they should expect him to do so.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Gentlemen do not wash their own clothes.’

  ‘How very strange to stand on ceremony in such circumstances,’ said Penelope thoughtfully. ‘Stupid, too. And had he and his servant volunteered to help the family in their work, they would not have found the days boring.’

  ‘Have you ever done any work yourself, Miss Wilkins?’

  ‘No. But then I have not been a prisoner of war, but if I ever were, I should not stand on my dignity.’

  ‘Easy to say when it is not likely to happen.’

  The couple surveyed each other coldly, as if across a great gulf.

  Hannah stifled a sigh. Despite Père Wilkins’s worldly ambitions for his daughter, she feared he was a Radical, and would not look fondly on such as the frivolous Lord Augustus as a son-in-law. Like most people at the dawn of this new nineteenth century, Hannah believed that God put one in one’s appointed place and to think otherwise was flying in the face of Providence. In her case, it was different. Divine Intervention had seen to it that she was left a legacy. And yet there was no denying the common sense of Penelope’s argument. Perhaps Penelope was not stupid at all, but merely unfashionably down-to-earth.

  They came to the gates of the Manor. Lord Augustus rang the bell at the lodge and then presented his card to the lodge-keeper, who opened the gates.

  They walked in silence up to the house. Again Lord Augustus presented his card. A butler led them through a shadowy hall to a reception room and then left them. The house appeared to be richly furnished, but somehow cold and dark and gloomy.

  They waited half an hour and then the door opened and Lady Carsey came in.

  Penelope took one look at her, turned pink, and stared at the floor. For despite the chilly day, Lady Carsey was wearing a transparent muslin gown and appeared to have next to nothing under it. She was highly painted, Roman-looking, with a generous bust, liquid eyes, a patrician nose, and a great quantity of glossy brown curls dressed in the latest fashion. She held out her hand to Lord Augustus and then gave two fingers for Penelope and Hannah to shake. Hannah wondered crossly why Lady Carsey had immediately assumed that she and Miss Wilkins were of lower rank than Lord Augustus. Covertly, Hannah stroked the expensive stuff of her gown. Why had not Lady Carsey thought them relatives?

  But Lady Carsey knew all about the stage-coach passengers, having just heard the gossip about them from her servants. She had learned all about the handsome lord and the ‘divinely beautiful’ girl who had arrived on the stage, and so it was Penelope she was trying to offend, not Hannah.

  She waved a hand to indicate that they had her permission to sit down, and then asked Lord Augustus, ‘And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’

  ‘The ladies here have had their hearts touched by the predicament of your footman,’ said Lord Augustus. Lady Carsey’s eyes, which had been glowing at him a moment before, hardened. ‘He is a thief. He stole my brooch.’

  ‘Why did you employ a deaf-and-dumb footman in the first place?’ asked Lord Augustus curiously.

  She shrugged. ‘A novelty. It amused me to have a dumb servant. Now, if I have satisfied your curiosity, you must excuse me. I have much to do.’

  ‘I see we have bored you with our tedious inquiries,’ said Lord Augustus. ‘Perhaps I can redeem myself by giving you the latest London gossip.’ He smiled into her eyes.

  ‘Perhaps. But have these ladies nothing else to do?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lord Augustus. ‘They are both fatigued and would be glad of an opportunity to rest. Is that not so, Miss Pym?’

  Hannah got to her feet. ‘Certainly. Come, Miss Wilkins.’

  Penelope’s eyes were wide with disappointment as Hannah urged her from the room. ‘He was not interested in helping our footman,’ expostulated Penelope. ‘He is only interested in that painted harridan.’

  ‘Then he has more chance of finding out whether the footman really took the brooch or not than we have,’ said Hannah crossly. She hoped that was what Lord Augustus meant to do, but she doubted it. She wondered if Lord Augustus had ever thought seriously about anyone or anything in the whole of his life.

  ‘We can go and see our prisoner, however,’ said Hannah, ‘and take him some food.’

  Penelope brightened. Then her face fell. ‘But we cannot offer him any hope, and with the prospect of the gallows before him, he may not feel like eating anything.’

  They returned to the inn and found out the whereabouts of the prison, packed a basket with eatables and a bottle of wine, and made their way out again. The day had turned cold and the sky was dark. Birds piped miserably in the bare branches of the trees. Outside the prison, they were erecting the gallows, the workmen whistling cheerfully.

  Hannah had found out that the prisoner was called Benjamin Stubbs. She bribed the turnkey to obtain permissio
n to talk to the prisoner for half an hour.

  They were shown into a miserable cell. Benjamin was chained to the floor. Penelope gave a childish little gulp and Hannah knew the girl was trying hard not to cry. She held out a piece of paper on which she had already written: ‘We have brought you some food.’

  The prisoner gave her a wan smile and it went straight to Hannah’s heart. The footman had a face that Hannah was sure was normally bright and cheeky and alert. She took out another piece of paper and wrote, ‘How did you come to be in Lady Carsey’s employ?’

  He sat down at a plain deal table in the cell and awkwardly took the paper and pencil from her, the long chains locked to the floor rattling and clanking as he moved.

  He began to write busily while Hannah and Penelope sat in silence. At last he handed the paper over. Hannah and Penelope put their heads together and read, ‘I had never been in Service and had a mind to be a Footman. I had been on the Rode for a Long Time, working in the Fields when I could. I had no References but heard Lady Carsey liked Freaks and had once taken a Dwarf in her employ as a page. Me being Deaf and Dumb might interest her and so it did, and so she hired me. But she wanted me in her Bed and I could not, for she was not to my Taste, and so she got Mad and said I had stole the Broach which I did not as sure as my name is Benjamin Stubbs.’

  ‘Decadence,’ said Hannah fiercely. She wrote, ‘Describe the brooch.’

  Again the prisoner wrote and again they read. ‘It was an oblong brooch of Dymonds set in gold with little saffires around the Edge.’

  Hannah wrote, ‘Be of good cheer. We will do what we can to help.’

  Tears formed in the prisoner’s eyes and he turned his head away.

  ‘How terrible,’ sobbed Penelope when they were once more outside the prison. ‘B-but how odd that Lady Carsey should collect freaks.’

  ‘Painted harpy,’ said Hannah with a sniff. ‘If such is to Lord Augustus’s taste, I want nothing more to do with him.’

  When they returned to the inn, it was to learn that the stage-coach would be repaired the following morning. There was no sign of Lord Augustus. The day wore on and then he appeared. He requested a bedchamber, went upstairs, and came down a half-hour later, very grand in evening dress, cool and tailored and barbered. Hannah asked him eagerly if there was any hope of finding the brooch, but he looked at her vaguely and said he was going to the Manor for dinner. Still hopeful, Hannah gave him a description of the brooch. He did not appear to pay any great attention. He had become haughty and remote. Even Miss Trenton voiced as soon as he had gone that she was disappointed in such a man who did not know the proper respect due to a lady such as herself who owned a carriage.

  After dinner, Mr Cato and Miss Trenton retired to the bedchambers they had been forced to reserve, neither wanting to sit up all night. But Hannah and Penelope sat on in the dining-room, looking from time to time out of the bay window, hoping for a glimpse of Lord Augustus coming back with some good news. Neither of the ladies really could believe that the indolent Lord Augustus would make an effort to do anything.

  Midnight came and went. ‘You should get some sleep, Miss Wilkins,’ said Hannah.

  Penelope shook her head. ‘I will wait out this night,’ she said quietly. ‘At least we can pray.’

  ‘Of course he may be guilty,’ ventured Hannah cautiously.

  ‘But you do not believe that,’ said Penelope.

  ‘N-no. You see, he reminds me of someone.’

  ‘Tell me. It will help to pass the time.’

  ‘I was once a servant,’ began Hannah, ‘in a large household, Thornton Hall, in Kensington. I do not wish you to tell anyone of this, Miss Wilkins. Can you imagine how such as Miss Trenton would behave towards me? In any case, it all happened when I was a scullery maid. That is how I started in service. Food had been found to be missing from the larder, and somehow this young footman was accused of taking it. He looked a little like Benjamin, not the usual handsome lump of a fellow like your ordinary footman. He was quick and alert and bright. But he made fun of his betters behind their backs and the other servants did not like this.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Penelope, round-eyed.

  ‘There is a very strict pecking order in the servants’ hall, and above all, your masters must be spoken of with respect. The footman was called Adam. Well, Adam was accused of taking the food and the matter was about to be put before our employers, the Clarences, and I was appalled that a man could be found guilty without any evidence. It was simply because his face and manner did not fit. He was the strange animal in our meek little herd of obedient servants. I slept at nights then under the kitchen table. One night, I decided to stay awake, which was a great effort, for usually I was too tired at the end of the day to keep my eyes open. But I managed this night. At two in the morning, I heard a sound from the larder. There was one of the maids, a sharp-faced girl called Nancy. The kitchen was lit by shafts of moonlight. I stayed in the shadows and she did not see me. She took a large meat-pie and wrapped it in a cloth. Then she went to the back kitchen door and opened it and handed the pie to a villainous-looking ruffian. I said nothing. I went back to my bed and fell asleep. In the morning at the servants’ breakfast, the butler announced he was going to report the theft that very day to Mr Clarence. I stood up, feeling very nervous and shaky, sick almost with fright, and told them about Nancy. Nancy threw her apron over her head and began to cry and confessed all. The villain was her brother, a bad lot from Hammersmith, who had threatened her with violence if she did not supply him with food. So that matter was taken to the Clarences, although it was Mrs Clarence who handled the matter.’

  ‘And was Nancy dismissed?’ asked Penelope.

  ‘No, for Mrs Clarence was as kind as she was beautiful. She had several of the outside staff wait the next night and they caught the villain. He was told that if he was found within the grounds again, he would be turned over to the magistrate. Nancy became a very willing and obedient servant after that.’

  ‘And Adam?’

  ‘Oh, he left. I do not know what became of him. The other servants did not apologize to him, you know. In fact, I think they blamed him for not being the thief. Servants, like other people, are suspicious of anyone whose face does not fit. And yet I liked him. He was not malicious about his employers, only very funny. I think he found service demeaning and it was his way of coping with it. Benjamin reminds me of Adam. I feel he had never been a servant before his employment with Mrs Carsey, but I also feel, whatever he worked at before, it was honest employ.’

  Hannah fell silent. She prayed that Lord Augustus would return with some proof of either innocence or guilt before morning. But she did not like to tell Penelope that she had very little hope of his doing so. Lord Augustus, she was convinced, was pleasuring himself in the bed of Lady Carsey and had forgotten all about the footman.

  At five in the morning, Lord Augustus crept from Lady Carsey’s bed and as softly as a cat began to prowl about the room, looking in boxes and drawers. He felt shaky and exhausted. What a night! At one point he had begun to despair of ever tiring her out. He felt soiled and dirty in mind and body. She was an evil woman, and, he had learned, mad in a vicious way. The light from a tall candle shone across Lady Carsey’s body. She was lying on her back, with her mouth slightly open. He searched quickly and rapidly. Where could she have hidden it? He doubted whether she had thrown it away. He had quickly learned she was avaricious. And then he wondered whether she might after all just have left it in her jewel box. The servants seemed to be her creatures, and besides, only her lady’s maid other than herself would know if the brooch was still there. He tried the lid of her jewel box. It was locked. He searched in his coat, which he had slung over the back of a chair, until he found a penknife. He slid the blade under the lock. It was not very strong and snapped open with a crack. He waited. The figure on the bed said something and stirred. Then there was a gentle snore. He opened the lid and began to lift out the trays of brooches and necklaces. And there, a
t the very bottom of the box, he found it – a diamond brooch, oblong and with an edging of sapphires.

  Lord Augustus thought quickly. If he awoke her and accused her of her perfidy, she would have time to hide the brooch again, and it would only be his word against hers. If he took the brooch to the authorities, she might claim it was a twin of the one of the footman had taken and accuse him, too, of theft.

  He dressed very quickly and let himself softly out of the room and then out of the Manor. Penelope and Hannah would not have recognized the indolent Lord Augustus in the figure that fled down the drive as if all the demons in hell were after him. He ran at great speed straight to the prison and roused the guards and the governor, demanding that a constable and magistrate should come to the Manor with him immediately.

  Lady Carsey awoke and stretched like a cat. She rolled over in bed but felt no warm body in the bed beside her. She yawned and sat up. The bedhangings were drawn back and a candle burned and flickered in its stick. Her sleepy eyes fell on the jewel box, which lay on her toilet table with the lid thrown back.

  She swung her legs out of bed and stood up just as the door of her bedchamber was flung open and Lord Augustus, followed by the magistrate, the constable, and the governor of the prison, burst into the room.

  * * *

  Benjamin Stubbs was led out of his prison cell and then out to the gallows. It was five minutes to six in the morning, and he was to hang at six. Only a small group of townspeople had gathered to see the hanging. Hangings were such an everyday event that few troubled to rouse themselves to watch. But Hannah and Penelope were there, clutching hold of each other, their eyes weary with lack of sleep.

  ‘You should not be here,’ said Hannah to Penelope. ‘There is nothing we can do now.’

  ‘I cannot, I will not, believe that Lord Augustus should abandon us in this shameless way,’ said Penelope. ‘My papa is always saying the aristocracy are lazy and effete. Why does he then want me to marry one of them? The world is a stupid, wicked place.’