by Jo Beverley
Mr. Clatterford commanded the coach to go on, and it did, picking up speed, thank heavens.
“Are you quite sure, Mistress Gussage?” Bella asked.
“Call me Peg, miss, and yes, I’m sure. I’m no fine lady and I’ve never been five miles from Cars Green, but I may have some simple skills that’ll help you.”
“But how did you know I was leaving?”
“It’s all around the village by now, miss. Babs, the scullery maid, ran down with the news. As soon as I heard, I thought as it wasn’t right, you going off alone with a strange man.” She gave Clatterford a look.
He smiled at her. “Very right, ma’am, and you are very welcome. But we are going far from here. The journey to Tunbridge Wells will take two days.”
Peg Gussage looked like someone who’d marched thoughtlessly into a lion’s den, but she said, “Quite sure, sir. I have little to fill my days now, and I meant it when I said I’d like to see a bit of the world before I die.”
“Very well. And if you do decide to return home at some point, of course I or Miss Barstowe will arrange that for you. For now, if you are to be Miss Barstowe’s maid companion, we must consider your wages and perquisites.”
His suggestions left Peg slack-jawed, but she nodded vigorously.
Bella realized she was smiling, a true smile at last. She was deeply thankful Peg was with them, but she especially relished being able to make someone so happy with a quite modest amount of money.
She didn’t have much experience of money. At seventeen she’d had her pin money, but all her bills for gowns and such had gone directly to her father. Since then, she’d had no money at all. However, she was sure that anyone could live comfortably on the interest of fifteen thousand pounds.
They did stop at an inn for hot bricks, and then again to change horses, but they spoke little. Bella had questions, but she’d been raised not to speak of money and such matters in front of the servants. For now she was content simply to travel farther and farther from Carscourt.
Eventually, however, thoughts of her future became insistent.
Did she want to go to Tunbridge Wells?
Once, the answer would have been yes, for her great-grandmother would have been there, but now, she wasn’t sure. It was a fashionable watering place, and that frightened her. Bella Barstowe might have been freed from prison, but she was still trapped by her reputation. She could be shunned.
When she’d persisted in her refusal to marry Squire Thoroughgood, her father had ceased to keep her scandal secret. No one had believed her protestations of innocence, and she couldn’t truly blame them, for her story was very thin.
She’d had to admit that she’d made a tryst with a man, a man merely passing through the area whom she’d met once at an assembly. It had been foolish, but she’d been foolish at seventeen and so confident of her safety.
She hadn’t gone off in a carriage with him willingly, however. She’d been carried off by force to a low sort of tavern, where she’d been kept locked in a room for two days. “Simon Naiscourt”—she suspected the name was false—and his older accomplice, who had seemed to be in charge, had told her she was being held for ransom. They’d promised that no harm would come to her, but that if she tried to scream or shout, they’d bind and gag her.
She’d been afraid, but certain her father would pay the ransom and she’d soon be free. Her father would be furious and probably confine her to the house for weeks for the tryst, but he was frequently furious at her for what he called her flighty, foolish ways. Sitting in the dismal, dirty room she had thought he might be right.
The reason no one had believed her account was that her father had never seen a ransom demand. Instead he’d received a letter from Simon explaining that he and Bella were in love and were running away to Scotland to marry.
She’d never been able to make sense of that. Her captors had been so impatient, so frustrated at the lack of response. But her father had shown her Simon’s letter.
She’d not known about the letter until her return, however, so when her captors had tired of waiting and forced her south with them, she’d been able to think only that her father had decided to punish her by letting her reap the consequences of her folly for a while. It had been hard to believe—he was strict and stern, but she’d never have thought him capable of such callousness—but the only alternative was that he’d abandoned her entirely, and that was inconceivable. She’d continued to expect rescue at every moment.
In the end, she’d had to rescue herself.
With the help of Captain Rose.
There was a person she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for years. For some ridiculous reason, in the early months of her imprisonment she’d imagined him rushing to her rescue. Idiocy. If he had rushed to Carscourt it would have been to demand her arrest for horse stealing.
She’d soon ceased dreaming all foolish dreams, and now was not a time to return to them. She needed a home, but there’d be no more balls and assemblies for disgraced Bella Barstowe.
When they stopped for the night, she and Peg Gussage shared one room, Peg all afluster. “My, my, I’ve never stayed at an inn before, Miss Bella. What a fine bed! And here’s another beneath it for me. My, my,” she repeated as she rolled it out.
Bella had been used to sharing her bed with her personal maid when she had one, but was glad of the truckle. She was grateful to have Peg Gussage as companion, but wasn’t quite ready to share a bed with her.
She deliberately asked for supper to be served in their room, because she also wasn’t ready to discuss her future with Mr. Clatterford. As they ate soup, she asked, “Do you mind where we live, Peg?”
“Me, ma’am? No. Anywhere’s new to me. This is delicious soup. So rich.”
Bella smiled. There was something to be said for a companion so pleased with everything. A lot to be said.
“Mr. Clatterford expects me to go to Tunbridge Wells, where my great-grandmother lived. It’s also where he has his business. But I want somewhere quieter.”
Peg spread butter thickly onto fresh bread. “Why, miss?”
“I didn’t run off with that man, Peg, but no one in the neighborhood believes me, and it’s not surprising. Silly Bella Barstowe ran off with a charming rascal and was discarded once her virtue was gone. She then multiplied her shame by refusing a decent marriage.”
“Squire Thoroughgood,” Peg muttered in disgust. “Thoroughly bad, in the opinion of most!”
“So I gather, but most people seem to think that any marriage is better than none for a ruined woman, and once I made it clear my refusal was absolute, my father allowed the story to spread around the area. From there, it could have gone anywhere by letter.”
“But four years ago, miss. It’ll all be forgotten.”
“I wish I could believe that.” Bella remembered her cooling soup and drank some. “It could be particularly remembered in Tunbridge Wells, however, because of my connection to Lady Raddall. She may even have spoken of it to friends. In outrage, I’m sure, but will people remember that, or just remember the shame?”
Peg pulled a face. “Happen you’re right, miss, but then what about your older sister? The one as married.”
“Athena?” Bella considered it, but only for a moment.
Athena lived near Maidstone, and it was to her she’d fled from Dover. Athena might want to take her in, for she had a sense of duty, but her husband saw Bella Barstowe as a destructive influence on his young daughters. Even if Athena persuaded him they should offer her shelter, she would be seen as a sinner and expected to be grateful and penitent all her days.
She couldn’t speak of such matters to a servant, so she simply said, “No, it wouldn’t do.” She finished her soup, trying to find some possibility.
It seemed a bold notion, but she wanted independence. Years of imprisonment made the slightest hint of confinement unbearable, but was freedom possible for a young lady of twenty-one?
Could she seem older, and even a
different person, free of scandal?
“Perhaps I’ll take a new name,” she said, testing the idea on Peg. “And live in a quiet place, far from fashionable circles. A village, perhaps, where I can be mistress of my life at last, but far from curious eyes.”
Peg snorted. “If you want to avoid curious eyes, miss, don’t go to a village. There’s nothing the gossips like more than someone new to pick over. And the better sort as can read and write, they’re soon writing to their cronies everywhere asking why a pretty young woman might be hiding herself away in a village, no matter what name you use.”
“Oh, you’re correct, of course. But then what am I to do?”
“Go to a town, miss. People don’t notice so much in a town.”
A startling thought struck. “Why not the Town? London. Anyone could go unnoticed there.”
“London! Lawks, Miss Bella, I’d bust me stays to go to London. I might even see the king. Such a lovely young man, they say. And his dear, sweet little babies.”
Bella fought laughter. “I’m not planning a fashionable life, Peg.”
“That’s a shame, then, but it won’t bother me. Where would we live, though?”
Bella was at a loss, but then an odd notion popped into her head. Could she help Lady Fowler not just with a donation, but with actual work? She knew that some women did help like that by writing out copies of the letter and by other tasks.
“There’s a Lady Fowler . . .” she said hesitantly.
“A lady, miss? That sounds suitable.”
“Perhaps not. Lady Fowler is a social reformer, Peg.”
“What’s one of those?”
“She wants to put right things that are wrong.”
Peg poured herself more tea and added four lumps of sugar. “That seems good, miss. More tea?”
Bella agreed. “I think Lady Fowler is frowned upon in the highest circles. She writes a letter every two months and sends it to many people around the country. In it, she details wrongdoing among the aristocracy. She encourages her recipients to spread the word so as to bring about change.”
Peg’s eyes were huge. “How many letters?” she asked.
That was a question Bella had never asked. “I’m not sure. I think over a hundred.”
“All that writing. What a wonder she must be!”
Bella was fighting not to laugh. “She only writes the original. She has helpers to copy it. I would become one of them.”
“Oh,” said Peg. “If that’s what you want to do, miss. But I’m no use at that. I can write a bit, but it’s hard work.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to do that, Peg, especially when it could be dangerous. Lady Fowler is merely sending letters, but some of the content must offend powerful people.”
Peg chewed. “Then why do you want to do it, miss?”
“Because Lady Fowler also urges changes in the law to protect women from male tyranny.”
“Ah, I see, miss.” Peg took another slice of bread and butter, then added a slice of cheese.
Bella thought Peg would soon be round as a tub without extra layers of clothes, but she was enjoying her servant’s appreciation of these treats. For her own part, she was considering the complications Peg brought.
Some of Lady Fowler’s helpers lived in her house, and she might have asked to do that, but she could hardly take a servant there. What was more, those resident ladies were the neediest, the ones left by fathers or husbands without enough money to survive. She couldn’t take a place.
She’d have to set up her own home somewhere nearby, with Peg as her housekeeper. That was a daunting task, but having a plan made her feel much steadier. Again, she tested it on Peg, who said, “If you can have your own home, miss, why bother with this Lady Fowler?”
“To support the work.”
Peg merely shrugged, but Bella accepted that her question had been a good one. The honest answer was that she was afraid to be in the world without acquaintances of any kind. Once she’d known and been known by half the county, and even had friends. Fair-weather friends, however, for none had attempted to support her in adversity.
Peg was chewing thoughtfully. “If it’s what you want, Miss Bella, but it’s not as it should be for a pretty young lady. You should be dancing and flirting and preparing to marry. Naughty of you to run off with a man, but—”
“Peg, I didn’t!” Bella should have realized that even the villagers would believe that story. “Oh, Peg . . . I was abducted. Snatched when out in the grounds.”
She told her story, but without hope. Why should Peg believe her when no one else had? As always, she skipped over Captain Rose. Another mysterious gentleman would only make matters worse.
At the end, Peg said, “Well, and it’s a sad business, miss, but it’s over now, so you put it out of your mind.”
“I wish I could, but you must see it means I can’t resume my place in society. So I will devote my time and some of my money to noble work. But if you don’t want to be connected to such things, I’ll arrange for you to return home.”
Peg considered for only a moment. “I’m not giving up my adventure so soon, Miss Bella, and from the sounds of it, you’ll need someone to look after you.”
Bella reached over to cover a work-worn hand. “Thank you, Peg. You don’t know what that means to me.”
“Reckon I do, miss. It’s not good to be alone in the world, especially for a woman. But it’s for my own benefit too. So we’ll live in London, will we? Where?”
Peg was cheerfully confident that Bella knew what she was doing, but Bella had hardly made a decision in her life more serious than the trimming for a bonnet. She was sure independence was what her great- grandmother had in mind, however, so she had best grasp this rare opportunity or she’d never be able to face Lady Raddall in heaven.
She tried to sound more knowledgeable than she was. “I’ll rent rooms in Soho—that’s where Lady Fowler’s house is. You will take care of things there while I assist Lady Fowler in her work.”
“Very well, miss.”
The wages of a cook-housekeeper should probably be more than the amounts fixed by Mr. Clatterford for a lady’s maid, but Bella didn’t know what would be right, especially in London. She didn’t know how they would manage things such as the purchase of food, fuel, and anything else they needed.
In fact, she knew nothing!
Very well, she did need some help. Tomorrow she’d discuss all this with Mr. Clatterford. She settled in bed, hoping for a sound sleep, but the mattress was lumpy, and after such a day, her mind roiled. She replayed the glorious moment when she’d received the news, but she also tumbled wildly amidst fears and doubts.
London! She’d been there, but only for escorted visits to fashionable spots and entertainments, and that in the last reign. She remembered how the bell tolling the king’s death had helped them escape from the Black Rat. . . .
She pushed that out of her mind.
Augustus made much of the new propriety at court, the boring prig. How he’d enjoyed lecturing her, both before and after the scandal. Enough of Augustus. Another subject to lock out of her mind.
Except that she still worried about what he’d do. Could he still claim she was mad, and lock her away? Clatterford had said no, but she couldn’t entirely dismiss the fear. All the more reason to take a new name and alter her appearance.
To be a new person, with no scandal attached, and no fear of her family.
She needed a new name. What would serve? Harriet, Sophronia, Jane, Margaret . . . They all felt too strange. Something close to Bella, then. Isabella was her real name, and Arabella was too close to that. Clarabella was too frivolous.
Bell . . . Bell . . . Bellona! The goddess of war.
She liked that.
Her new surname should be something equally warlike.
Bellona Sword? Hardly.
Bellona Cannon? No.
Bellona Gunn . . .
Bellona Flint . . .
Oh, yes, Bellona Flint. Har
d, sharp, and a necessary part of murderous weapons.
Tomorrow she’d find out from Mr. Clatterford what she should do to become Bellona Flint, and what else she need do to protect herself.
The solicitor was most unhappy with her plans. He tried to persuade her that she would be completely safe in Tunbridge Wells, and would soon be accepted in the best society. When Bella expressed her doubts, however, he deflated. “But you are so young, my dear. I cannot condone your setting up your own establishment.”
Bella almost shivered at standing up to authority, but she did it. “As I understand it, Mr. Clatterford, you have no more power to condone my choices than my brother has.”
“Oh, dear, oh, dear . . .”
At Clatterford’s insistence, they were taking breakfast together, leaving Peg to eat alone.
“But London,” he protested, his meal hardly touched. “I will not be on hand to advise you.”
“I regret that, sir, but surely you could arrange some other trustworthy solicitor.”
“But you are still too young to live alone. Only just twenty-one.”
Bella didn’t want to tell him about Lady Fowler, for he’d have to object. “I have Peg, and I know London a little. I intend to live quietly, and to claim to be older than my years. With sober dress and manner, I won’t attract attention. I intend to make myself unattractive as well. I took part in a play once in the role of a witch. I still remember how to make my skin sallow and stick on a wart.”
There were some more “oh, dears” and protests, but Bella stood her ground, and in the end he said, “I see you are determined, and I can’t deny that your story is known in Lady Raddall’s circle. As you surmised, she did speak of it, being much agitated over your situation.” He buttered some bread, remarking, “I see the dear lady was correct. She said you were as strong-minded as she.”
“Did she?” Bella asked, surprised. “I was the epitome of frivolity when we met for the last time.”
