Penelope Goes to Portsmouth

by M C Beaton

  ‘Do not stand so close to the edge, Miss Wilkins,’ admonished Miss Trenton. ‘You might fall in.’

  Hannah looked along the harbour and saw Lord Augustus and at the same moment he saw the group. His face hardened, his nose went up in the air. He started to walk forward and Hannah knew that Penelope was going to receive the cut direct.

  Hannah was afterwards to wonder if there was not a streak of madness in her family. For she saw Lord Augustus and turned back and saw Penelope at the very edge of the quay looking down into the water, and the next moment, as if it had a life of its own, separate from her own body, Hannah’s strong arm shot out and her hand landed squarely in the small of Penelope’s back and she pushed her.

  With a loud scream, Penelope toppled over into the water.

  With an equally loud scream, Miss Trenton tore off her bonnet and, in front of Hannah’s horrified eyes, jumped in after Penelope. There was a sort of moving blur beside Hannah and Mr Cato as Lord Augustus hurtled past and dived into the harbour after both of them.

  ‘You pushed her!’ shouted Mr Cato, dancing up and down. ‘I saw you push her.’

  ‘Something had to be done,’ said Hannah sulkily. ‘I had to bring them together. Why on earth does Miss Trenton have to play the heroine?’

  ‘Because she’s a brave woman,’ howled Mr Cato.

  Hannah and Mr Cato leaned over the edge. Lord Augustus had reached Penelope first. Miss Trenton saw him and turned away and began to swim neatly and efficiently to the nearest stone stairs that led down into the water.

  ‘If no one else saw me push her,’ said Hannah desperately to Mr Cato, ‘do not, I beg of you, say anything. Please, Mr Cato, or you will ruin all.’

  ‘I’ll think about it, you madwoman,’ growled Mr Cato, calming down now that he saw Lord Augustus had a firm hold of Penelope and was swimming with her to the steps which Miss Trenton was just beginning to climb. ‘But if nothing comes of it, then I shall tell. You could have killed the girl.’ He ran forward to assist Miss Trenton. A crowd was gathering. Hannah prayed Miss Trenton had not noticed that push. For if she said so, someone would call the police and the militia and she would find herself in a damp Portsmouth cell awaiting trial.

  Fortunately for Hannah, Miss Trenton was basking in approval for the first time in her life. The little crowd sent up a ragged cheer as Mr Cato caught her in his arms, calling her noble and brave and courageous. Then came Lord Augustus, an arm around Penelope’s waist, but his eyes still cold and angry. ‘Everyone back to the inn,’ he said. He hailed a passing hack and helped Penelope in and then climbed in himself, leaving Hannah, Mr Cato, and Miss Trenton standing in the harbour.

  ‘What a silly thing to do,’ said Lord Augustus.

  Penelope let out a pathetic little sob.

  He muttered something and gathered her to him. ‘I could shake you,’ he said. ‘Why did you have to say that I was after your money and make a mock of me?’

  ‘I did not!’ cried Penelope. ‘Papa told me that your uncle had jeered at him and said that your family would never stoop so low as to ally their name with mine. He said you jeered also.’

  ‘How could I jeer when I did not even see your father?’

  Penelope looked up at him. ‘Mama said Papa was lying. That your uncle had probably said these things, but not you.’

  He picked a piece of seaweed out of her hair. ‘I think my uncle has been playing Machiavelli. Where did everyone come by this idea that I was going to propose?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ mumbled Penelope. ‘Stupid, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, very stupid.’ He looked down at her wet face and bedraggled hair. He gave a little sigh and gathered her closer in his arms and bent his mouth and kissed her, tasting salt water and salt tears.

  Penelope struggled free. ‘No, you shall not kiss me,’ she said crossly. ‘You are a rake and have kissed lots and lots of ladies. It means nothing to you.’

  ‘It means all the world to me,’ he said, suddenly happy. ‘What a good idea marriage would be after all, Penelope. I could kiss you as much as I wanted, like this … and this.’ He kissed her small nose, her forehead and the nape of her neck and then kissed her mouth again, this time with great passion, holding her so very tightly that her wet body seemed fused with his own.

  The hackney carriage driver stood at the open door of the carriage and regarded the passionately entwined couple gloomily. ‘The George, guv’ner,’ he shouted hoarsely.

  Lord Augustus dreamily freed his lips and searched in his pocket until he found a handful of wet change, the last of his money. He handed the lot to the gratified driver. He helped Penelope to alight and then, holding her hand, led her into the inn. ‘I wish I had stopped to take off my boots,’ he said. ‘They feel as if they’ve got most of the sea in them.’

  Lord Augustus told the inn manager to show Penelope up to Miss Pym’s room. ‘Do not go home,’ he said softly. ‘We must plan what to do. Stay at the inn until I return. Miss Pym will lend you some dry clothes. You will marry me, will you not?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Penelope, her heart in her eyes. Oblivious of the watching guests, the dripping-wet lord pulled her back into his arms and kissed her soundly. Several cheered. Benjamin, who was silently watching, saw some men starting a book, laying wagers as to the length of the kiss, and cheerfully wrote down his bet.

  That kiss went on and on until Penelope began to tremble with passion and Lord Augustus thought she was shivering with cold and instantly released her. ‘Go along,’ he said softly.

  ‘One minute, fifty-nine seconds,’ wrote down Benjamin, who had been watching the clock. He handed over his paper and collected the winnings, having guessed the nearest time.

  ‘Seemed more like ten,’ growled one of the men. ‘It beats me how they manage to breathe.’

  Penelope sat by the fire in Hannah’s room, but she had not removed her wet clothes. In all the transports of delight caused by the kisses of Lord Augustus, she had forgotten to tell him that she had not fallen, that she had been pushed, and she was sure it was Miss Pym who had pushed her. She had heard that spinster ladies often went mad in later years. She was not afraid of confronting Hannah. She knew she only had to scream for help to arrive.

  The door of the bedchamber opened and Hannah Pym stood looking at her. Hannah saw immediately that Penelope knew it was she who had pushed her.

  ‘What else was I to do?’ demanded Hannah before Penelope could speak. ‘That Lord Abernethy had told such lies, made such trouble. Then I saw Lord Augustus walking towards us and I knew he meant to cut us dead, and I … well, I …’

  ‘Pushed me?’

  ‘Yes, you see,’ said Hannah, wringing her hands, ‘I could not think what else to do to bring you together. And if it has not worked, then Mr Cato is going to tell the authorities, for he saw me, although Miss Trenton did not.’

  ‘You deserve to be punished,’ said Penelope, beginning to laugh. ‘But, Miss Pym, it did work, and we are to be married and he is coming back here to see me. Yes, I do forgive you, you terrible matchmaker. Do give me some dry clothes.’

  Hannah scrubbed tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, for she had been horrified at her own behaviour. Soon Penelope was dried and arrayed in one of Hannah’s best scarlet merino-wool gowns and wrapped in a brightly coloured Norfolk shawl.

  A waiter called to say that Lord Augustus had taken a private parlour for supper and requested their company.

  Lord Augustus, after having given his uncle a blistering lecture, had found a jeweller open late and had sold a fine set of diamond buttons. He had settled his outstanding bill at the inn and started a new one by moving out of his uncle’s and then had decided to entertain his old companions of the stage-coach. He had sent a note to Mr Wilkins’s home, explaining his daughter was at the inn. Mr Wilkins was still working as he usually did. Mrs Wilkins received the note and prayed that the good sense of Miss Pym had worked a solution. After a few moments’ hard thought, she amazed her servants by cal
ling for the carriage and going off to the inn herself.

  She found the party toasting the happy couple and listened in awe and amazement to the tale of the rescue. She hugged her happy daughter and gave her her blessing, but wondering all the time what on earth her husband was going to say. She drank several glasses of champagne and began for the first time in her life not to care a fig what her husband would say.

  Hannah was elated, her odd eyes flashing as they looked around the table. But the travelling matchmaker was soon to learn of a match that was none of her doing. Mr Cato got to his feet. ‘A toast to my bride,’ he said, ‘Miss Trenton, God bless her. A brave woman.’ There were cries of delight from all except Hannah, who felt rather sour. It was more than Miss Trenton deserved, a Miss Trenton who had found another hideous bonnet, albeit a small one, and whose nose was quite pink with gratification and relief and champagne.

  And into all this merriment charged Mr Wilkins like a pantomime demon. He brushed aside all offers of champagne and seized Penelope by the arm and began to drag her from the room. Lord Augustus tried to pull him off.

  And then faded Mrs Wilkins leaped to her feet with a howl. She knocked her husband’s hat from his head, tore off his wig and jumped up and down on it, shouting, ‘Selfish beast! I hate you!’

  Mr Wilkins reeled back, releasing his daughter, who flew into Lord Augustus’s arms.

  ‘There!’ cried Mrs Wilkins, kicking the mangled wig into the corner. ‘There, you nasty, nasty man. Penelope shall marry Lord Augustus, and I have said so, so there!’

  Mr Wilkins collapsed into a chair and clutched his shaven head. ‘Has she run mad?’ he asked feebly.

  ‘We are simply trying to get you to listen,’ said Hannah. Clearly and slowly, she told Mr Wilkins how Lord Abernethy had tried to split the couple apart, how Lord Augustus had once more saved Penelope’s life. ‘And look how happy she is,’ said Hannah. ‘Are you going to turn your own wife and daughter against you for life and all because of your silly pride?’

  Mr Wilkins mumbled that he would agree to anything if only Mrs Wilkins would sit down and be calm. He looked every bit as frightened of his wife as she had once been frightened of him.

  Everyone sat down again and a babble of voices tried to tell Mr Wilkins he was wrong until he clutched his head harder and begged them to stop.

  ‘I don’t like to be tricked, and that’s a fact,’ he said, ‘and I believed everything Lord Abernethy told me.’

  ‘The way to get your revenge on my uncle is by giving your permission to this marriage,’ pointed out Lord Augustus.

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps. But what have you to offer my daughter, my lord?’

  ‘Not much,’ he said cheerfully. ‘An army officer’s pay. I am going back to my old regiment and I am taking Penelope with me.’

  Mr Wilkins was aghast. ‘She has led a sheltered life. You cannot expose her to hardship.’

  ‘I will cherish her,’ said Lord Augustus. ‘I will care for her, sir, and unless you want me to elope with your daughter, you must give permission.’

  ‘Give it,’ shouted Mrs Wilkins a trifle tipsily.

  And so Mr Wilkins capitulated and the party resumed until Mrs Wilkins tried to stand on the table and sing and Mr Wilkins decided it was time to take her away.

  Lord Augustus took Penelope home with her parents and then asked permission for a few moments alone with her.

  He waited until he heard Mr and Mrs Wilkins walk up the stairs, Mrs Wilkins singing little drunken snatches of songs that no lady should know.

  He smiled down into Penelope’s eyes, took one of her hands in his, and sank down on one knee. ‘I am asking you formally, Penelope, to be my bride.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Penelope, ‘with all my heart. Thank goodness for Miss Pym.’

  ‘What has our stage-coach spinster got to do with it?’ asked Lord Augustus, getting to his feet.

  ‘Do not tell, anyone, or she will be in the most fearful trouble,’ said Penelope, beginning to laugh. ‘But she pushed me in!’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes, she … she p-pushed me in the h-harbour b-because she was afraid you were going to c-cut me and she … she didn’t know what else to do!’

  ‘I’ll wring her neck!’

  ‘No, do not do that. She is the best of women. We have so little time this evening.’

  Penelope stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth, at first gently and then fiercely with all that pent-up burning frenzy of sweetness that she felt for him, until both were dizzy and gasping. ‘We had better marry soon,’ he said softly, ‘although I do not think you can know what I mean.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Penelope huskily. ‘I am hungry for kisses. Kiss me again!’

  8

  These poor Might-Have-Beens,

  These fatuous, ineffectual Yesterdays!

  W.E. Henley

  Hannah’s departure from Portsmouth was delayed for two days. Lord Abernethy had originally reported to the authorities that ‘two villains’ had tried to drown his nephew and friends. Not much attention was paid to this. No one had died and the authorities decided that the said villains had been nothing more than a couple of youths messing about, who had not seen the other boat in the storm until it was too late. But when Lord Abernethy called to see how the investigation was progressing and demanded to know whether they had found the smugglers, that was another matter. The excisemen arrived on the scene and Hannah, and everyone else, was questioned over and over again.

  In vain did Hannah suggest that Lady Carsey might be at the bottom of it. Wicked titled ladies were the stuff of novels. Smugglers were something else.

  Hannah finally obtained permission to leave and booked two seats on the London coach for herself and Benjamin, Benjamin to travel outside this time like a proper servant.

  On the evening before she was due to depart, Mr Cato and Miss Trenton were murmuring to each other in a corner of the coffee room while Hannah at another table regarded them with a jaundiced eye. Miss Trenton was being unbearably arch and flirtatious. Hannah did not think that lady deserved any happiness at all. She was relieved when both of them went out for a walk.

  Hannah picked up a guidebook and tried to read it and then put it down with a sigh. She did not often mourn her spinster state, but the happiness of Lord Augustus and Penelope was almost tangible, and Miss Trenton was behaving like sweet sixteen. It was all very well to travel the roads of England as an independent lady, but what of the future, when her wanderings were over? She had a sudden bleak picture of a Miss Pym settled in some English village, damned as a nosy interfering woman as she tried to become involved in others’ lives to relieve the tedium of her own.

  A shadow fell across her and she looked up. Lord Abernethy was standing there. He drew out a chair and, without waiting for her permission, sat down opposite her.

  He leaned back and surveyed her. ‘I am glad to find you still here, Miss Pym,’ he said. ‘You see, I am persuaded that the engagement between my nephew and Miss Wilkins is all your doing.’

  ‘They are very much in love,’ said Hannah quietly.

  ‘Love? Pah! What is love? Something that will soon wither and fade to leave two people washed up on the beach of reality, two people with nothing in common.’

  ‘The fact that they have little in common may be the saving of your nephew’s character.’ Hannah ruffled the pages of her guidebook impatiently, as if seeking a chapter that dealt with recalcitrant uncles.

  ‘I do not have such a low opinion of my nephew as you seem to have,’ retorted Lord Abernethy sharply. ‘I am most displeased with you. I would suggest to you that next time you consider interfering in the lives of others, you pause for thought. You will go back to London, happy to be the instigator of romance, and will not be around to see him tire of her and regret the day he became allied with such a low family. I detest stage-coaches. They allow the vulgar and common to travel the length and breadth of this land instead of staying in their own places of habitatio
n and their own stations. Lord Augustus tells me he believes you were once some sort of upper servant.’

  Hannah went very still. She felt the thin veneer of gentility she had acquired after her inheritance cracking and crumbling. And yet, Lord Augustus must have known that the reason she had a servant’s gown in her luggage was not because she used it for fancy dress. Or perhaps Penelope had told him.

  ‘I am a lady of private means,’ she said stiffly. ‘I see no reason why I should justify my ways to you. But I take leave to tell you, my lord, that you are a pompous and insufferably conceited man. Good evening!’

  He rose to his feet. ‘I feel our paths will cross again, Miss Pym,’ he said coldly. ‘And I have a score to settle.’

  Hannah watched him leave. She found her hands were trembling and clasped them on her lap. Was she too presumptuous? Was she nothing more than a servant in sheep’s clothing? she thought rather incoherently. What would happen when she went to the opera with Sir George Clarence? No matter how finely gowned she might be, would everyone see the servant beneath and pity Sir George for making a cake of himself?

  She hardly ever felt tired, but she felt exhausted now. She miserably trailed up to bed, undressed, crawled between the sheets and fell down into a dream where she was at the opera and everyone was staring and tittering at her because she had not any clothes on at all.

  Benjamin helped her on board the coach in the morning, before climbing on the roof. He kept shooting anxious little looks at his mistress, worried to see her so unusually downcast.

  Hannah settled into a corner seat and looked bleakly out at the bustle in the yard. And then the door opened and Mr Cato and Miss Trenton stood there.

  ‘We could not let you go without saying good-bye,’ said the American. ‘I have written down my address in Virginia.’ He handed Hannah a piece of paper. ‘Any time you get tired of Old England, write to me and I’ll send you the ticket for a ship. Abigail and I will always be delighted to see you.’