Plain Jane

by Beaton, M. C.

  Jane forgot all Felice’s training. A quick glance behind her was enough to show her that Euphemia was happily engaged with the Marquess of Berry.

  Jane marched up to Lord Tregarthan and said in a loud, strained voice, ‘I wish to speak to you, my lord.’

  He broke off his conversation and gazed down at her in mild surprise. The lady with him looked furious.

  Lord Tregarthan turned to his companion. ‘My lady, may I present Miss Jane Hart. Miss Hart, the Countess Lieven.’

  Jane turned a fiery red and sank into a deep curtsy, wishing at that very moment she could sink through the ground. The countess was glaring at her.

  Countess Lieven was a patroness of Almack’s and the most formidable female leader of the ton. She often said, ‘It is not fashionable where I am not.’

  ‘As I was saying,’ said the countess, pointedly turning a shoulder on Jane, ‘we must strive harder to keep mushrooms out of the opera house.’

  Lord Tregarthan gave Jane a sympathetic smile, but she turned and scurried away, her face flaming.

  ‘And talking of mushrooms,’ went on the Countess Lieven, ‘we shall not be sending vouchers to the Hart family. I was in two minds about it, but if that sort of pushing behaviour is an example of that family, then we are better off without them.’

  ‘Miss Jane is very young,’ said the beau, ‘and she knows I wanted to discuss a certain matter with her. Besides, it is not her come-out, you know, but the sister’s.’

  ‘And which is the sister?’

  ‘Miss Euphemia Hart. Over there. Just taking the floor with Berry.’

  Euphemia was laughing very loudly and flirting quite dreadfully.

  ‘Do you know,’ said the countess, ‘I do believe she’s worse than the younger one. Besides, the mother is most odd, as I recall. Tried to embrace Lady Jersey, claiming to have a mutual friend of whom no one has ever heard.’

  ‘You must do as you see fit,’ sighed the beau. ‘Perhaps the Harts will survive without an entrée to Almack’s.’

  ‘No one,’ said the Countess Lieven, ‘survives without an introduction to Almack’s. No one.’

  Mrs Hart was busily engaged in talking to the lady next to her when Jane sat down on the other side.

  Jane studied the toes of her silk shoes. She had behaved dreadfully, and she knew it. She could only be thankful her mother had not witnessed her behaviour. For any young lady to accost a man boldly in the ballroom, no matter how well she knew him, was beyond the pale.

  She could feel herself burning up with mortification.

  Then she saw a pair of smart black dancing pumps standing in front of her. Her eyes slowly travelled up a vista of silk stockings, knee breeches, waistcoat, and cravat to a dark, handsome face smiling down at her.

  The gentleman half turned to her mother and said, ‘I have been searching for Lady Quesne to beg an introduction, but she is nowhere to be found. My name is Eprey, James Eprey. May I beg a dance with this beautiful lady?’

  Mrs Hart looked from him to Jane in surprise. Then she looked round cautiously as if expecting to see someone else.

  ‘Certainly,’ she said at last. ‘My daughter, Jane.’

  Jane stood up, curtsied, and gathered up her courage.

  Now all Felice’s instructions came back to her, and she danced gracefully through a Scottish reel with her new escort and promenaded with him at the end of the dance, listening to him with flattering attention. He said he had lately come to Town and was enjoying himself very much. He talked of the plays he had seen and the assemblies and routs he had attended.

  When the next dance was announced, Jane curtsied to him again and made to return to her seat. But she was all at once surrounded by a small court of gentlemen begging for the next dance.

  It was not as if Jane had suddenly turned into a dazzling beauty. It was that her gown was stylish and attractive, her manners pretty and modest – the gentlemen had obviously not noticed her social gaffe with the Countess Lieven – and she looked pleasant and lively.

  When Jane found later on in the evening that Lord Tregarthan had managed to secure a dance with her, she had by then regained her composure. ‘Do you mind if we do not dance?’ she asked. ‘I am so very thirsty and, besides, I owe you an apology.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, leading her towards the supper room. ‘I know why you wish to apologize, and yet you did not do anything so terribly wrong. It is just that young females are not expected to command the attention of gentlemen, unless they are hardened flirts of great fortunes, or demi-reps.’

  ‘Euphemia will not now receive vouchers to Almack’s,’ said Jane miserably.

  ‘I don’t think she was going to get them anyway,’ said Lord Tregarthan, seating her at a small table. ‘That,’ he said, sitting down opposite and waving his quizzing glass in the direction of the right-hand corner of the room, ‘is Mr Bullfinch.’

  Jane looked eagerly across the room. ‘The gentleman wearing the green silk coat,’ said Lord Tregarthan.

  Jane saw a thick, heavy-set, ape-like man talking to a pretty debutante. He wore his hair powdered, which made his blue jowls look darker. His eyes were brown and clever, just like a monkey.

  Jane gave a dramatic shiver. ‘He looks sinister. Only see how he is laughing and talking to that lady. Obviously he did not grieve much over the death of Clara.’

  ‘I believe he was shattered by her death,’ said Lord Tregarthan. ‘I shall introduce you in a little. Now, let me tell you about my visit to Mr Gillespie, that eminent doctor.’

  ‘And I suppose he was steadfast, upright, and charming as well,’ said Jane pertly. ‘You seem determined to refuse to supply me with a villain.’

  ‘I regret to say he was polite and charming. I went as a patient, as I could hardly stroll in and ask him if he had murdered Clara.’

  ‘What did you say was the matter with you?’ asked Jane curiously.

  ‘I was invalided home from Portugal with a bullet in my leg,’ said Lord Tregarthan. ‘I told him I still felt it stiff and asked his advice.’

  ‘I did not know you were in Portugal. Why were you there?’

  ‘Fighting for my country.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jane in a small voice. ‘I did not know.’

  He studied her face curiously, and then smiled. ‘You seem to know little of military matters. Perhaps you have little interest. Having a father who is such a great hero must make us all very small beer by comparison.’

  ‘Papa? A hero?’

  ‘Very much so. He fought bravely in the Battle of the Nile. And you must know he was at Trafalgar with Nelson.’

  ‘I am afraid I did not,’ said Jane. ‘He never talks about anything, you see.’

  ‘Well, to return to Mr Gillespie, he examined my leg and pronounced it a sound member, recommended more walking, and then charged me an exorbitant fee.’

  ‘What is he like?’

  Lord Tregarthan fell silent, remembering his visit. The doctor had been polite, polished, and efficient. He was, Lord Tregarthan judged, only a few years older than himself. He was of medium height with small, neat features, a triangular mouth fixed in a permanent smile, and small, grey, angry, humourless eyes.

  ‘I cannot describe him properly,’ said Lord Tregarthan at last. ‘He reminded me somehow of a waiter with sore feet.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘He has risen from very humble beginnings to the top of his profession very quickly. He has cultivated a charming, deferential manner, but I sense contempt and anger inside. I wonder what he really thinks of all of us useless members of society.’

  ‘A member of society who fights for his country is not useless!’

  ‘How warlike you are! You forget there are many Whigs in London who consider the war a great waste of money on England’s part and would gladly see Napoleon bring all his so-called liberty, equality, and fraternity over here.’

  ‘How can anyone think that. The man is a monster!’

  ‘Not quite the monster o
f the cartoonists and lampoonists. He does not eat children, whatever they may say. But he has great power and is very ruthless.’

  ‘But to return to Mr Gillespie – you did not mention Clara?’

  ‘No, but he is to call on me next week. I fear it was rather an odd move on my part to call on him. He is not used to members of society putting themselves out in such a way.’

  ‘Mr Bullfinch is returning to the ballroom,’ said Jane.

  ‘And must pass us.’ Lord Tregarthan rose to his feet. ‘Evening, Bullfinch.’ He performed the introductions. Mr Bullfinch introduced his lady companion. He turned to Jane and asked her politely whether she was enjoying the Season.

  ‘Very much,’ said Jane. ‘We have rented a house that is most conveniently situated – 67 Clarges Street.’

  Mr Bullfinch went very still. There was an air of listening about him, whether to hear if there was any underlying meaning in Jane’s words, or to a voice from the past, Jane could not say.

  ‘You are indeed fortunate,’ he said, after a short silence. ‘I, myself, live in Streatham, which is very inconvenient. I am looking for accommodation nearer the City, where I conduct my business. I hear the music beginning. Good evening.’

  He led his companion away.

  ‘Is Mr Bullfinch in trade?’ asked Jane.

  ‘In a manner of speaking. He is a banker. He is well-connected and well-liked. Society is not all sham and vanity. Mr Bullfinch is that rarest of all creatures – he is quite without pretension or conceit.’

  ‘But did you see how still he went when I mentioned the house in Clarges Street?’

  ‘Understandably. The love of his life who stayed there died in odd circumstances. Did you expect him to scream or break down and confess to murder or something like that?’

  Jane burst out laughing. ‘Yes, I did. You have the right of it.’ Her laugh was gurgling and infectious. He found himself thinking how charming and refreshing she was. He found himself noticing the swell of her bosom and the roundness of her arms. Then he realized Jane was reddening under his steady gaze.

  ‘We are to perform the waltz,’ he said. ‘Very daring. Almack’s has decreed that never, never shall such a vulgar display appear in their rooms. Do you waltz?’

  ‘Euphemia and I used to practise it,’ said Jane, remembering a rare happy day when she and Euphemia were friends.

  ‘You may practise with me.’

  Jane looked shyly up at him under her lashes. She could no longer remember the Lord Tregarthan of her dreams. He was real and alive and she wished he would take her in his arms and tell her he loved her. A startled look came across her face at this new realization.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.

  ‘I was wondering why you called on my father.’ Jane took her courage in both hands. ‘I fear you gave mama the wrong idea.’

  ‘Clumsy of me. But not you?’

  ‘No,’ lied Jane. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Mrs Hart had every reason to misunderstand the purpose of my visit. I thought later that I should explain myself better and sent her a note.’

  ‘She did not go on as if she had received it.’

  ‘So I put you in the suds again,’ he said. ‘Poor Jane.’

  ‘Plain Jane,’ she whispered miserably. ‘That is what Euphemia calls me.’

  ‘Dear me. How very jealous she must be of you. You are not plain. You look very fashionable and, to me, quite enchanting.’

  Jane felt a heady surge of pleasure and delight. Lord Tregarthan cursed himself. One did not give a young lady of good family such extravagant praise unless the affections were seriously engaged, and he was sure his were not. There was something so touchingly lovable about Jane, which always acted on his senses and gave him a desire to make her laugh, to see her happy.

  ‘Our dance, I think,’ he said, rising and offering her his arm.

  ‘It is too bad of Tregarthan,’ fretted Mrs Hart. ‘Just look at him! Jane is gazing up at him, head over heels in love. A man of his experience should have enough sense to depress such folly.’

  ‘Oh, people always like Jane,’ shrugged Euphemia, who had paused to fan herself between dances. ‘I can never understand why. Certainly, it is always very low people in the village – always telling me what a darling child she is and stuff like that.

  ‘Yes, people like Jane, but they don’t fall in love with her.’

  ‘Here is Berry come to claim his second dance,’ said Mrs Hart complacently.

  Euphemia pinned a glad smile on her face and hoped she would not stumble in the steps of the waltz. She must not. It would be too humiliating when Jane seemed to float through them, her feet barely touching the ground.

  Lord Tregarthan delivered Jane back to her mother after the waltz was finished and then returned to join his friend, Mr Nevill, in the refreshment room. That gentleman was happily broaching his second bottle of port, declaring he had done his duty by dancing with as many wallflowers as possible.

  ‘Not including Miss Jane Hart, however,’ he said. Lord Tregarthan turned and looked back into the ballroom. Jane was already dancing with a new partner.

  ‘She is a great success,’ said the beau. ‘It is a new thing for society to have someone so open and friendly and likeable in their midst. She is like a kitten, all play and friendliness and curiosity.’

  ‘Aha, gone are our bachelor days.’

  ‘I am not contemplating marriage. Are you?’

  ‘Oh, no, not I,’ said Mr Nevill with a knowing look. ‘But watch out. I’ve seen it happen before to the most hardened bachelors. Besides, I thought it was your intention to find a wife this Season.’

  Lord Tregarthan stretched and yawned. ‘I’ve changed my mind, for one thing,’ he said sleepily. ‘And I’ll tell you another. This is the first time in my life I have found the London Season such a bore.’

  ‘Despite Jane Hart?’

  ‘Despite Jane Hart.’

  Jane danced on, hoping against hope that Lord Tregarthan would approach her again. There was so much she wanted to ask him. He had not even told her why he had wished to speak to her father.

  Rainbird and Felice enjoyed the play immensely. They had gone to Covent Garden to see Mrs Jordan in The Country Girl. Although the performance had not found favour with the critics, Mrs Jordan could still sway her audience and so there was little rowdiness, apart from an incident when one young Pink of the ton climbed down from his box and walked across the stage on his hands and had to be pelted with oranges before he could be driven off.

  It was enough for Rainbird to be with Felice. She fascinated him. He wondered what went on behind that Mona Lisa smile of hers.

  They repaired to a chop house after the performance and ate mutton pies and drank porter. It was only when they were walking home through the streets that Rainbird realized with a queer little pang that, although he had talked for a long time about himself and his life, he had learned very little about Felice. She was wearing a subtle perfume and the silk of her gown rustled as she moved. He longed to steal a kiss, and that longing increased the nearer he got to Clarges Street. He hoped the others would still be out so that they might have further opportunity to be alone together.

  They were approaching the house when they saw Mr Hart arrive home alone. It was his keen sailor’s eye that perceived them for, despite the new reflectors that had been put in the parish lamps, the street was still very dark. He nodded to Rainbird and then said, ‘Felice – a word with you, if you please. Follow me.’

  Felice looked momentarily startled, but she followed Mr Hart obediently through the front door. Rainbird walked closely at their heels, hoping Mr Hart would call for wine so that he might have an opportunity to find out why the usually withdrawn and silent captain wished to speak in private to his wife’s lady’s maid. But Mr Hart ushered Felice into the front parlour and shut the door in Rainbird’s face.

  Rainbird went sadly down the back stairs. But before he had reached the servants’ hall, the whole ma
gic of the evening in Felice’s company was on him again.

  Lizzie was sitting alone in the servants’ hall at the table, a dreamy look in her eyes.

  Rainbird thought she was looking very fine. She was wearing one of the print cotton gowns that had been bought for her the year before, when they were in funds. Now it seemed to have an almost stylish air, and her soft brown hair had been elaborately dressed.

  ‘You look like a lady,’ grinned Rainbird.

  ‘That was Felice,’ said Lizzie. ‘I was always scared of her, her being a Frenchie and all. But she come to me right after the ladies had left.

  ‘She had taken my gown away earlier to “do something to it”, she said. She had made it fit ever so well, and she insisted on doing my hair. Ever so kind, she was.’ Lizzie blushed. ‘Even Joseph said he wouldn’t have recognized me.’

  ‘Where is Joseph?’

  ‘Gone to bed, Mr Rainbird. But we had such a wonderful time. Oh, the horses and the spectacles. I never saw anything like it before in my life.’ She looked up with glowing eyes and saw her own expression mirrored in the butler’s eyes. ‘Are you in love, too, Mr Rainbird?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Rainbird sharply, gripped with fear for Lizzie, fear for himself. ‘We cannot be in love, Lizzie. Servants must not fall in love. We cannot marry unless we are very lucky or very old.’

  ‘Mr Rainbird!’ piped a voice from the doorway.

  Rainbird swung around. Dave, the pot boy, stood clutching a small bundle of letters.

  ‘Why aren’t you in the kitchen?’ demanded the butler. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘It was the Moocher,’ said Dave. ‘Well, it wasn’t ’im, ezzactly. I wanted to see what the ’ouse looked like upstairs. So I was wandering abaht, not touchin’ anythink, like. Well, arter all, I was s’pposed to be seein’ everythink was all right. Anyways, the Moocher followed me up and when we got to the bedroom, ’e leapt into Miss Jane’s room and jumped on ’er desk and ’is paws slipped an’ ’e went thump, right into them little drawers. One of ’em sprang out like it was a secret drawer or somethink, an’ these letters shot out.’