Rainbird's Revenge

by Beaton, M. C.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Freemantle,’ said Jenny politely. ‘I am most obleeged.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Mrs Freemantle in a stage whisper that nonetheless carried from end to end of the rooms. ‘You must not say “obleeged”. Obliged, my girl. Obliged.’

  ‘But the Prince Regent himself is reported to say “obleeged”,’ said Jenny crossly.

  ‘Not by the time his elocution teacher, John Kemble, has finished with him, he won’t,’ said Mrs Freemantle, slapping her hip with her fan and roaring with laughter. ‘Why, only t’other day, Kemble said, “Sir, may I beseech your Royal Highness to open your royal jaws and say “oblige”?’

  Mrs Bessamy came hurrying up. ‘Prinny will be here shortly, Mrs Freemantle. Was there ever such a pest of a man? He was not invited, you know.’

  Jenny stood round-eyed with wonder. The Prince Regent himself was to attend, and yet this hostess was not pleased!

  Then she saw Lord Paul Mannering walking towards them, forgot she hardly knew him, and called to him, quite boldly, ‘Do but come and see this pretty fountain, my lord.’

  ‘Jenny,’ hissed Lady Letitia, quite distressed.

  But Lord Paul came up to them, smiled at Jenny, and bowed low before Lady Letitia. ‘I believe there is to be dancing,’ he said. ‘May I hope you will do me the honour . . .’

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ said Jenny, all dimples and smiles, and then wondered what there was about her acceptance of his invitation to make him look so startled and make her aunt frown.

  Lord Paul looked away from Jenny as if embarrassed, and then his face lit up. ‘Here is Pelham,’ he cried. ‘I am so glad he decided to come.’

  The duke smiled a welcome to Lord Paul, bowed to Lady Letitia and Mrs Freemantle, and ignored Jenny, who blushed furiously.

  A stentorian voice from the doorway announced the arrival of the Prince Regent. The guests shuffled into two lines.

  The prince was a corpulent man, and his blue eyes held the watery glitter of the habitual drinker. ‘’Tis a mercy he only likes ladies old enough to be his grandmother,’ Jenny heard Lady Letitia mutter. ‘My Jenny will be safe enough.’

  ‘Your niece is so beautiful,’ whispered Lord Paul, ‘that I doubt if she will be safe from anyone this evening, even Prinny.’

  Jenny’s eyes shone like stars at the compliment. She straightened her spine and when the Prince Regent approached her, she sank into a graceful curtsy.

  ‘Hey, who have we here?’ cried the prince.

  ‘Miss Jenny Sutherland,’ said Mrs Bessamy. ‘One of our newest débutantes.’

  It was true the Prince Regent did not usually bother with young misses, but there was something about Jenny’s fresh beauty and the blue of her gown that touched a sentimental chord in his fat royal heart.

  ‘I shall take pretty Miss Sutherland to waltz,’ said the prince with great good humour. ‘Music, hey!’

  The orchestra at the end of the room struck up, and the guests moved to the side of the floor as the prince put his arm around Jenny’s waist to lead her in the steps of the dance. ‘You must do exactly what his Royal Highness does,’ she heard her aunt whisper desperately.

  It did not take Jenny long to realize her royal partner was very drunk. He reeled and staggered, and to her mortification, he forced her to reel and stagger as well. She looked desperately to her aunt for guidance and received a quick nod to indicate she was doing just as she ought. If the Prince Regent danced drunkenly, then any lady dancing with him must appear to be drunk as well. Such was the peculiar etiquette. It was dreadful to hear the titters as they staggered and swayed and stumbled.

  After this had been going on for an agonizing ten minutes, the prince became bored, stopped and turned away, and called, ‘Bring my toy, and let us see how the ladies perform.’

  An aide carried in an air gun, which he presented to the prince. The prince strode through the rooms until he came to a smaller one. He ordered playing cards to be put up on the end wall, and then took aim. He had a remarkable eye for one so drunk. Then he called to the ladies to try their aim. Mrs Bessamy was heard to groan. Lady Letitia said loudly that she was very short-sighted, and many of the other ladies followed her lead. Several did try, but the shooting match was soon called to a halt, not because someone had shot one of the fiddlers in the orchestra – for who cared about a mere fiddler? – but because a giggling miss had succeeded in putting a dart into the painted eye of one of Mrs Bessamy’s ancestors whose portrait hung some way away from the targets.

  The prince said sulkily he would play cards and went off with his cronies. Dancing commenced in the main room.

  Jenny found herself standing beside Lord Paul and Lady Letitia. She smiled up hopefully at Lord Paul. It was again the inevitable waltz, and he had voiced a desire to dance with her.

  The Duke of Pelham joined them. He was a most unpleasant and unsettling man, thought Jenny. He looked over her head as if she did not exist and said to Lady Letitia, ‘Would you care to dance with me, ma’am?’

  Lord Paul muttered something under his breath. Lady Letitia appeared a little startled, but she nodded and curtsied and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. Lord Paul must really dislike the duke as well, thought Jenny, seeing her companion glower after the couple.

  ‘He is really a dreadfully overbearing man,’ commented Jenny.

  ‘Who?’ demanded Lord Paul crossly, his eyes still on the duke and Lady Letitia.

  ‘Why, the Duke of Pelham, of course.’

  Lord Paul looked down at Jenny. ‘You cannot know, Miss Sutherland, that I admire Pelham greatly as a soldier and a gentleman, or you would not have made such an odd remark. Excuse me.’ He bowed and walked across the room to where a vivacious little girl with a face like a pug was standing, and the next thing Jenny knew, Lord Paul was leading pug-face onto the floor, looking delighted with his company.

  Jenny sat down on a little gilt chair and fanned herself. She felt lost and bewildered. There was no other woman in the room as beautiful as Jenny Sutherland, and yet it appeared she was to be a wallflower.

  She sat through that dance and then sat through another. She had the mortification of seeing Lady Letitia anxiously making her way to join her niece, only to be asked to dance with Lord Paul. The Duke of Pelham led pug-face onto the floor and seemed as delighted with her as Lord Paul had been.

  Dancers danced, society members strolled past, their hard, assessing eyes resting indifferently on Jenny and then looking away.

  It was too much to bear. Jenny rose to her feet and hurried away to try to find a quiet corner to hide her humiliation.

  At the end of the chain of saloons was a closed door. She pushed it open and found herself in a little library. She closed the door behind her, shutting off the chatter and music.

  She sat down and opened and shut her fan while she tried to sort out her thoughts. Why was she not a success? What if someone from her home town should come to London, someone like Euphemia Vickers, who would return after her visit to tell everyone how their belle had been spurned?

  What was there about that pug-faced little girl in the undistinguished dress that drew such people as the duke and Lord Paul to her side?

  ‘It must be the fault of Mrs Bessamy,’ decided Jenny at last with all the hypersensitivity of the young. ‘She is jealous of me, and has put about bad things about me to ruin my social career.’ And the more she thought about it, the more Jenny decided that this must be the case. Mrs Bessamy’s uninterested gaze began, in retrospect, to hold a world of malice and envy.

  There are wicked people in London, mused Jenny, beginning to feel comforted. But I shall wait a little and then tell Aunt I must go home.

  She saw some magazines lying on a table in front of her, picked up one, opened it at the beginning of a serial, and began to read.

  She became so engrossed in the story that she forgot the passing of time until the sound of the turning of the handle of the library door made her start.

  Without thinking,
she dropped the magazine, darted behind her chair and crouched down.

  ‘There appears to be nobody here’ came Lord Paul’s voice.

  Then came the voice of Lady Letitia, sharp and worried. ‘Where can that child have gone to?’

  ‘Not very far, I think,’ replied Lord Paul. ‘Mrs Bessamy always promises little family parties and they always turn into a sad crush.’

  ‘I am taking you away from your partners, my lord,’ said Lady Letitia.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Lord Paul. ‘But I crave a dance now with the most attractive lady in the room.’

  ‘Oh, Jenny,’ said Lady Letitia with a little laugh. ‘Yes, as usual, she is the most beautiful creature here. It puzzles me why she has not taken. I must search further. Perhaps, my lord, if we separate and search on different sides of the room.’

  ‘Gladly. Good, here is Pelham. He shall assist us.’

  ‘I shall start my search immediately, my lord,’ said Lady Letitia. ‘I confess to becoming monstrous worried.’

  Her last words were fainter as she moved away.

  Then to Jenny’s listening ears came the Duke of Pelham’s voice. ‘What troubles Lady Letitia?’

  ‘Miss Jenny Sutherland is nowhere to be found.’

  ‘She is probably hiding somewhere. Having failed to get any attention by fair means, she has no doubt resorted to foul. By that, I mean she is probably hiding behind some curtain waiting until her disappearance has created enough of a fuss.’

  Jenny stifled a gasp of outrage.

  ‘You are too hard’ came Lord Paul’s voice. ‘Help me search. After I have found her, I think I shall go home. I am tired after the journey.’

  ‘I shall probably stay until dawn at least,’ said the Duke of Pelham. ‘Little Miss Maddox is delightful company.’

  Pug-face, no doubt, thought Jenny.

  ‘It is a wonder the beautiful Miss Jenny was not besieged with admirers,’ said Lord Paul.

  ‘That is easy to explain,’ said the duke. ‘Confess! You know the reason as well as I.’

  But Lord Paul’s reply was drowned in the sound of the closing of the door as both men went out of the room.

  Jenny slowly straightened up and went to the mirror and looked at her own glowing reflection. What had gone wrong? Why was her failure so marked it was being discussed by Lord Paul and the loathsome duke?

  The headache she had been planning to fake all day suddenly became a reality. She slipped from the room and went in search of her aunt.

  ‘So I became bored,’ said Jenny in the carriage home, ‘and wanted a little time to myself. That is why I disappeared, Aunt, so do not keep asking and asking.’

  ‘Jenny,’ said Lady Letitia, ‘your country manners will not answer in London. There is a boldness about your air and mien, an expectation of attracting all eyes to you, which I fear makes the gentlemen decide to ignore you. You are an unknown. The favourites among the new débutantes are already well established. You would do well to copy the air and attitude of Miss Maddox.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘The attractive brunette who danced first with Lord Paul.’

  ‘But she has nothing in the way of looks. She looks like a pug-dog with her little squashed-up face!’

  ‘Jenny! When will you ever learn that . . . oh! You infuriating girl, you are not paying the slightest heed to a single word I am saying!’

  And Jenny was not. For as the carriage slowed and they approached Mrs Freemantle’s, Jenny looked down from the carriage window and caught a glimpse of the servants of Number 67, sitting around a table in their servants’ hall. It was an odd view, seen as it was through the high-up window, revealing Joseph playing the mandolin and the tops of the heads of the rest as they sang to its accompaniment.

  Lady Letitia and Jenny climbed down. Lady Letitia sent the carriage back to wait for Mrs Freemantle, that energetic old lady having vowed to stay all night.

  ‘At least Lord Paul seems quite taken with me,’ said Jenny defiantly as they mounted the stairs.

  ‘And what on earth gave you that idea?’ said Lady Letitia, becoming very angry indeed.

  But Jenny could not reveal she had been listening in the library when she heard Lord Paul describe her, as she thought, as the most attractive lady in the room.

  ‘And he is much too old for you,’ went on Lady Letitia, seeing Jenny did not reply.

  ‘Pooh! He is very handsome. And let me tell you this, I am quite convinced Mrs Bessamy said something spiteful about me to make me unpopular.’

  ‘Go to bed, Jenny,’ said Lady Letitia, and Jenny looked in surprise at her normally tranquil aunt’s furious face revealed in the light of the oil lamp she was carrying. ‘You weary me with your vanity and stupidity and want of courtesy, manners, or generosity of heart! Mrs Bessamy is all that is kind. She told me she was worried over your wallflower status and did her best to alleviate it, but not one gentleman could be persuaded to take you to the floor.’

  Lady Letitia went into her room and slammed the door in Jenny’s face.

  Jenny ran into her own room, threw herself down on the bed and cried and cried. What had gone wrong? Aunt Letitia had always been kind and warm and loving. What had made her say all those terrible things, none of which could possibly be true? ‘I am not selfish,’ said Jenny at last, sitting up and scrubbing her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘If it had not been for me, those servants of Pelham’s would have been in dire trouble.’

  Cooper came in to prepare Jenny for bed, but Jenny told the maid to go away.

  The beginnings of a mad idea were beginning to take shape in her brain. She craved admiration as another might crave a drug. For Jenny, her own beauty really existed only in her reflection seen in other people’s eyes. Those servants of Pelham had every reason to be grateful to her. Why, she must be a heroine in their eyes! Pelham had said he would stay all night. She would let herself out of Mrs Freemantle’s, as she had done earlier, and slip along to Number 67 and surprise them. How delighted they would be to see her! How admiring! How respectful!

  Jenny bathed her red eyes in cold water and tucked several stray curls back into place. The night was very warm, and she would not need a pelisse or a shawl.

  Having made up her mind, she no longer hesitated to consider the folly of what she was doing.

  She let herself quietly out of the house and took a deep breath of warm, gritty night-time London air before darting along the street and down the area steps of Number 67.

  ‘Stop playing, Joseph!’ called Rainbird. ‘There’s someone at the door.’

  ‘Whoever could it be at this time of night?’ exclaimed Mrs Middleton. ‘You had best take Angus here with you in case it prove to be villains.’

  ‘I don’t think villains would knock loudly for entrance,’ said the butler, looking at Angus with amusement as the cook unhooked a great blunderbuss from the wall.

  He opened the door. Angus poked the muzzle of the blunderbuss over Rainbird’s shoulder. Jenny Sutherland stood on the doorstep.

  ‘Why, miss!’ said Rainbird, backing a pace in surprise and bumping into Angus. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  ‘I had to speak to you,’ said Jenny. ‘Let me in.’

  ‘But your parents . . .’

  ‘Both dead. Let me in.’

  Rainbird stood his ground. ‘You must have some sort of relative or chaperone.’

  ‘I am Miss Jenny Sutherland,’ said Jenny. ‘My aunt is in bed. No one will miss me. I reside at Number Seventy-one. I only want to talk for a little. I thought you would be glad to see me.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Rainbird. He and Angus stood aside, and Jenny, still in her ball-gown, tripped into the servants’ hall. The rest rose and stood at attention.

  ‘Please sit down, Miss Sutherland,’ said Rainbird, pulling out a chair for her. ‘Miss Sutherland,’ he said to the rest, ‘is the young lady who warned us of the Duke of Pelham’s return.’

  ‘Yes, but what is Miss Sutherland doing here at this hour of the ni
ght?’ demanded Mrs Middleton, her face twitching nervously as she imagined wrathful parents or guardians erupting into the servants’ hall.

  ‘Miss Sutherland is about to explain that,’ said Rainbird. He poured Jenny a glass of wine, sat down beside her, and indicated to the others that they might be seated as well.

  ‘Now, Miss Sutherland,’ said Rainbird, ‘please explain how we can be of assistance to you.’

  Jenny looked about the candle-lit group. Joseph was holding a beribboned mandolin on his knee and gazing at her in open admiration. Mrs Middleton was looking as stern and disapproving as that kindly lady could manage to look. Lizzie’s large, pansy-brown eyes were fastened on Jenny’s face like those of a child waiting for a bedtime story. Alice was hemming a handkerchief. She raised her head and smiled at Jenny, a warm, encouraging smile.

  Jenny drank a little of her wine and remained silent.

  ‘I shall introduce myself and then the others while you compose yourself,’ said Rainbird. ‘I am Rainbird, butler. The distinguished lady with the cap is Mrs Middleton. The fiery Scotchman in the skull-cap is Angus MacGregor. Our brunette has the same name as yours, Jenny, the chambermaid. Alice is the housemaid, the one with the sewing. Joseph, the footman, has been entertaining us on the mandolin. Lizzie is our’ – he hesitated. He had been about to say ‘scullery maid’, but Lizzie had changed so much, had grown in mind and stature, and soon they were to have their freedom and Lizzie would be their equal. ‘Lizzie is our general maid,’ he said, and Lizzie went quite pink with delight at the grand new title. ‘And little Dave is our pot boy.’

  Jenny smiled tremulously.

  ‘Now, you cannot stay long,’ said Rainbird. ‘Do please tell us what troubles you. I assure you none of us will gossip.’ Rainbird flashed a warning at Joseph, that arch-gossip, and then turned back to Jenny. She looked at the butler’s clever, funny face, at his sparkling grey eyes, and gave a little laugh.