Colonel Sandhurst to the Rescue

by M C Beaton

  “You’ll have me out of a job,” Mary was whispering to Lord Bewley in the corridor outside his room at that very moment.

  “What do you care?” he said with a grin. “You can always go home.”

  “What? To Shoreditch? Back to sharing a bed with three little sisters?”

  “Oh, you’re a caution,” said Lord Bewley with relish. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what, my lord?”

  “Keep up that act.”

  “I ain’t acting, my lord.”

  “Have it your way, my sweeting. What about coming out with me again? What about the opera? Can’t stand it meself, but prepared to make the sacrifice.”

  “I would like to see Grimaldi at the Wells,” said Mary.

  “Sadler’s Wells it is,” said Lord Bewley heartily. He, too, wanted to see the famous clown Grimaldi. He was struck afresh at how close in their interests and pleasures he and this girl were. “When?”

  “Thursday night,” said Mary. “They’re all going to the Duchess of Darver’s party and I can slip away.”

  “Pick you up outside the old Pantheon building in Oxford Street at seven then,” said Lord Bewley gleefully.

  Mary dropped a curtsy and scurried off, well satisfied. She was secretly beginning to entertain hopes of marriage. The sane and sensible part of her mind told her this was quite mad, but the other part dreamt of being “my lady.” She studied the grand ladies who stayed at the hotel, noticing their speech and manners. She had quickly learned to parry passes made at her by the male guests. She went up to the small room she shared with two other maids and practised walking up and down with a book on her head. Then she talked to herself out loud, trying to refine her vowels. Dreams might just come true if you worked hard enough at them.

  ***

  Frederica was not looking forward to working at the duchess’s party. Captain Manners had said he would be there—but he would be there with his fiancée, entrenched in his own world and miles from hers. If she had not run away from home to this hotel, she would still be a part of that world. But that was silly. If she had stayed at home, she would have had to marry Lord Bewley and she would never even have seen the captain.

  Miss Tonks noticed her downcast looks and misinterpreted them. “You must not think it will be at all shaming,” she said. “We dress in our very finest and Sir Philip is trying to get jewels for us. Mr. Hamlet is tired of us, but Sir Philip is convinced he can persuade Rundell and Bridge to lend us some jewels for the evening.”

  “Why should great jewellers such as Mr. Hamlet and Rundell and Bridge bother to lend us gems?”

  “Advertisement. It pays to advertise. We are supposed to murmur discreetly to guests who might admire what we are wearing that they can be purchased at so and so’s.”

  A fastidious part of Frederica’s mind considered this all rather vulgar. But she was consoled with the thought of her gown. It was so very beautiful. It was of blonde satin with an overdress of white lace fastened with gold clasps. The overdress had been Miss Tonks’s inspiration, as she had pointed out that both satin and the blonde colour were a trifle old for a girl of Frederica’s years who ought to be wearing white muslin.

  “Sir Philip is trying to get you a pearl tiara,” said Miss Tonks. “I am sure he will succeed. Mr. Davy wanted to go, but Sir Philip got very cross and rude and said poor Mr. Davy had not the standing in society to impress the jewellers. Mr. Davy is constantly being reminded he is not a gentleman, and yet his manners are faultless compared to those of Sir Philip.”

  “Mr. Davy has too much animation, enthusiasm, and kindness in his manner to be a real gentleman,” said Frederica drily.

  “Do you think,” said Miss Tonks in a rush, “that Mr. Davy feels anything for me at all?”

  Frederica looked at her in surprise. She had never previously thought of anyone above the age of, say, twenty-five, as having any tender feelings at all. But there was the elderly colonel obviously pining after the equally elderly Lady Fortescue, and so Miss Tonks, who was in her forties, could therefore be expected to still dream of romance.

  “I had not really thought of it,” Frederica said cautiously. “Mr. Davy does appear to respect you.”

  “Oh, respect,” mourned Miss Tonks, who forgot that in her impoverished days she had craved respect. “Let us talk about you. Captain Manners will be there.”

  Frederica turned pink. “So I heard him say. But he will no doubt be accompanying his fiancée.”

  “He is not yet married.”

  “He will be,” said Frederica with an odd look in her eyes. “In order to end the engagement, she will need to be the one to break it, and… and I cannot envisage any lady doing that.”

  “Oh, is that why I get the impression you are not looking forward to this party?”

  Frederica bit her lip and then said in a low voice, “I am persuaded I do not feel anything for Captain Manners at all. How could I? I barely know him. He called on me.”

  “Where?”

  “He came down to the kitchens and gave me a bunch of flowers.”

  “He had no right to do that. I hope Despard sent him away.”

  “There was no one there but me. The rest had gone to watch the military parade in Oxford Street.”

  “Oh, dear, I do not like this at all. As far as the captain is concerned, you are a servant. His intentions are suspect.”

  Frederica was about to say that Captain Manners knew exactly who she was for she had told him but somehow she could not bring herself to explain that to Miss Tonks.

  “I can look after myself,” she said instead. “I reminded him of his engagement. He will not approach me again. But you seemed to entertain hopes of a romance for me a moment before. Why is it now so impossible?”

  “I am a romantic and sometimes very silly. I had forgot your position here and how it must look to someone who does not know your circumstances. Lord Bewley does not know who you are?”

  “He has only seen me once and briefly. He showed no interest in me at all.”

  “Of course,” went on Miss Tonks, fretting away at the problem, “the very fact that you are with us, that he met you with us in our private sitting-room may very well lead Captain Manners to believe you are of gentle birth. One has only to look at you. Yes, yes, I am persuaded that is it. Never give up hope,” she added sententiously. “Here I am at my age pining over an out-of-work actor, and yet I refuse to see the folly of my ways.”

  Frederica wondered what Captain Manners’s fiancée was like. She found herself hoping that she was very plain. She did not rate her own looks very highly. Blonde hair was not fashionable. Perhaps this lady might have red hair or something awful like that. But underneath all these fretting thoughts ran one strong one. Frederica really did not want to go. She was sensible enough to know that to show her face in society meant ruin of any future chances of a decent marriage. She had not really believed Miss Tonks’s stories of friends who had married well despite working at the hotel. She only knew that she was seventeen, nearly eighteen, and that it was different for these ancients who ran the hotel. Their life was over, she thought with all the brutality of youth. And yet, charming pictures of her remorse-stricken father welcoming her home and promptly setting about to give her a Season were ridiculous. She gave a little sigh. She had burnt her boats and there was no going back now.

  ***

  As was usual before these events, they all met in the sitting-room for a “dress rehearsal” the evening before, Lady Fortescue insisting they all must look grand.

  Frederica, in all the glory of her new gown, began to feel her first flutter of pleasurable excitement. Lady Fortescue was in violet silk, flounced and gored and with a long train. On her white hair she wore a splendid diamond tiara and had a collar of diamonds round her neck. Miss Tonks was in leaf-green silk shot with bronze, a Turkish turban on her head and a ruby necklace at her neck.

  The gentlemen were very fine in black evening dress, with knee-breeches and embroidered
waistcoats. Mr. Davy was wearing the clothes which the colonel had previously ordered for him from Weston, and Miss Tonks thought mistily that there would not be a finer-looking man at the party.

  Jack, the footman, was guarding the chest in which the jewels had arrived. A pretty pearl-and-gold tiara was selected for Frederica and a fine pearl-and-gold necklace. They crowded around her as she put the jewels on, the colonel saying in an odd choked sort of voice which made Lady Fortescue glare at him that Miss Frederica would be the prettiest thing London had ever seen. The colonel’s conscience was troubling him sorely. Sooner or later, Frederica would need to return to her home, and once there she would learn that she had been taken under their wing only so that they could recoup the money her father owed them. Miss Tonks felt another sort of pang as she surveyed the dazzling beauty that was Frederica and noticed the open admiration in Mr. Davy’s eyes. If only the gods had chosen to invest her with beauty. It was all very well to talk of character and worthier traits, but in that moment poor Miss Tonks felt she could have sold her soul to the devil for just one evening of beauty.

  Having admired each other sufficiently, they removed their jewellery and handed it back to Jack, who locked it up in the strong-box for safekeeping.

  ***

  Mary Jones slipped up to the bedchambers, a bunch of keys in her hand. One of the guests, Lady Tonbridge, she knew had gone to the country for a few days, leaving most of her extensive wardrobe behind. Mary was determined to dress like a fine lady for that outing to Sadler’s Wells with Lord Bewley.

  She jumped guiltily at every noise. She knew her bosses were upstairs in their private sitting-room. Taking a deep breath, she selected the key to Lady Tonbridge’s room and slipped inside, locking the door behind her for safety.

  Mary went through to the bedchamber and examined the clothes in the wardrobe and press, after lighting an oil-lamp. She shrewdly resisted the temptation to take one of the grand opera gowns or dinner gowns, finally selecting a pretty muslin and a pelisse, gloves, and a dainty straw hat embellished with flowers. She reflected it was just as well that it was an age in which even dowagers dressed as young girls in frilly white muslin. She hoped God would not punish her, although she was not really doing anything very wrong, or so she persuaded herself. The fact that she was able to return to her room unobserved and hide the clothes in her wickerwork basket under the bed eased her conscience further. If she had been doing something wicked, God would have made sure that she was found out.

  ***

  Captain Manners called on his mother on the afternoon of the ball, presenting himself in her drawing-room with increasing reluctance. To his surprise, Lady Manners rose to her feet at his entrance, as did Mrs. Devenham and, looking strangely coy, they told him that they had decided to let him have a few minutes alone with Belinda. Belinda coloured slightly and smiled, a little curved smile, and looked down at her hands.

  “Will you not sit down?” asked the captain when they were alone.

  But Belinda only continued to smile and stand in front of the fireplace.

  “Did you wish to speak to me on some matter?” he asked.

  “I only say this,” declared Belinda in well-modulated tones, “for your own good—for Lady Manners’s good.”

  There was a long silence while the captain waited and Belinda placed one white hand carefully on a console table and briefly admired it.

  The captain had a sudden impulse to shout, “Oh, get on with it!”

  “You are, I believe,” said Belinda finally, “residing at the Poor Relation Hotel.”

  “Yes. But surely I told you that.”

  She looked at him directly with large brown, rather protruding eyes. “I do not approve. You should be living here.”

  “The purpose of my living in a hotel,” he said evenly, “is that I may entertain my army friends and not disturb my mother. I have already explained that.”

  “You do not seem to think highly of your friends, and as they will be my friends, too, I think it is time you entertained here. Mr. Warren, for example, is a most delightful and charming man.”

  “They are not all like Jack Warren. Besides, if I may remind you, you are the one who wishes to dine at the Poor Relation.”

  “True. But once you arrange that, I see no reason why you do not live in your own home. I have been brought up to know that owning wealth does not mean one should squander it, and the Poor Relation is very expensive.”

  “Lady, how or where or why I spend my money is my affair and always will be.”

  She compressed her lips into a thin line. “I think you owe me an apology for that remark,” she said in a governessy voice which grated on his nerves.

  He realized with a shock that this petty argument could go on and on, rather like the arguments he had overheard between officers and their wives.

  He suddenly smiled. “We will compromise,” he said. “I shall invite several of my army friends here for one of my mama’s afternoons and you shall judge for yourself.”

  She smiled back triumphantly. She was sure her beauty would charm even the most savage military man. Just look at the effect she had on Mr. Warren! Their mothers came back into the room at that moment, Lady Manners looking relieved that her son appeared to be in such a good humour. She had tried to counsel Belinda against telling the captain what to do or what not to do before they were even married. In fact, Lady Manners was beginning to have niggling doubts about the engagement. She herself had had a marriage arranged for her. Love had not entered into it, but then love never did. One found that outside marriage, provided one observed the eleventh commandment: Thou Shalt Not Get Found Out. She was beginning to suspect her son had a sentimental streak and wondered if he had caught it from low company, the way one catches an infection.

  The ladies began to talk and the captain decided to invite the crudest and worst of his acquaintance to tea with Belinda. But the trouble, he mused, is that the crudest and the worst would nonetheless behave themselves over the tea-table in a lady’s drawing-room. His thoughts drifted to the owners of the Poor Relation. He was sure they would think of something.

  You are being childish, mocked a voice in his head. If you are going to spend the rest of your life with this lady, why make elaborate plans to shock her so as to have some freedom away from her?

  ***

  “There is a princess in our kitchens, slaving away,” said the Duchess of Darver to the duke.

  “Thought you never went down there,” grumbled the duke, handing another ruined cravat to his valet. He cursed Beau Brummell for ever having made starch and intricately tied cravats fashionable.

  “Lucy, my maid, told me about this gel. She is working with those two chefs from the Poor Relation as a helper. Prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Went down to look at her. Such delicacy! Such an air!”

  “Probably a relative of old Lady Fortescue.”

  “Can’t be. Even if Lady Fortescue has decided to dabble in trade, she isn’t stupid. Why ruin the chances of a fairy-like creature like that, who could have her pick at the Season?”

  “Hard to know what to do with the by-blows,” mumbled the duke, who had fathered several bastards in his time. “But wouldn’t make one a kitchen maid. Lady’s-maid or something like that.”

  “Exactly. There’s a mystery there. You will see her this evening. She will be handing out negus for the ladies.”

  The duke finally arranged his cravat to his satisfaction by pleating the starched material with his fingers. “What looks dazzling in the kitchens,” he said with the voice of one speaking from experience, “can look pretty tawdry when set against the members of the ton. Why, I remember…”

  “Oh, spare me,” snapped the duchess. She stood up and peered in the glass. She was still a handsome woman, she reflected, provided she used enough white lead to cover the ravages of age. But certainly one of the greatest marks of age for a lady was when she was no longer courted by the gentlemen of society and had to look for lovers among the footm
en.

  She gave a little sigh and, like Miss Tonks, wished briefly that she could look like Frederica for just one evening.

  ***

  Frederica stood nervously behind a table which held a bowl of negus being kept warm by a spirit-lamp, and a forest of glasses. The duke had come up and said a few words to her but had leered at her in such a way as to make her tug nervously at the low neckline of her gown once he had gone.

  She was also beginning to worry that some of the men who had ridden with her on the hunting field might arrive. Certainly they had only seen her dressed as a boy, with her hair hidden by a hat. She had been kept indoors from the day her father had decided to turn her into a fashionable young lady. Still, it was an unnerving thought. Also, she would be facing the very cream of society, with all their strange taboos and shibboleths, which were not applied so rigorously in the countryside.

  They came in at first by ones and twos and then in crowds. There were women with feathered head-dresses and tiaras and men carrying their bicorns under their arms. The one thing they all had in common was a hard assessing stare. Everyone stared at everyone else, quite boldly, through quizzing-glasses and lorgnettes. Most of all, the men stared at Frederica, until she began to feel vulnerable, exposed, almost naked. And then, towering above the rest, she saw the handsome head of Captain Manners and the rest of the room became a blur, with only the captain’s profile in sharp focus. He turned and said something to the lady on his arm and they began to approach Frederica. Her hand holding the silver ladle over the negus bowl began to tremble. Miss Tonks, who was dispensing claret, looked across and quickly summoned a footman to take her place.