by M C Beaton
“Oh, yes she will,” said Barney. “We ran off and left her, remember? Women like her will go on hunting you down for revenge until the day they die.”
“Well, we lost her,” said Polly. “We all knew she was in London. We will make sure we do not go near that quarter of town again. Too near Covent Garden. Come, this is our day of holiday. Let us enjoy ourselves.” But Barney and Jake could not seem to recover their spirits. Jake, on the threshold of respectability, thought with a shudder of his past life, and Barney dreaded Mrs. Blanchard finding out where he worked. What if she told Mr. White that he, Barney, was a thief and villain who once worked in her brothel? His job would be lost and any prospect of getting any other respectable job with it. He had heard the gossip in the city coffee houses and how quickly it spread from one merchant to another.
“Let’s not go to Vauxhall tomorrow, Polly,” pleaded Barney. “Jake here’ll get work with Mr. White, I’m sure, and between us we will be earning enough. Don’t go stealing things anymore.”
“I’m not going to steal anything,” said Polly. “Anyway, not tomorrow.”
“Then why are you going?” asked Jake.
“There’s something that happened to a good woman who brought me up,” said Polly. “It’s a mystery and I don’t want to talk about it. But I have to get in among the Quality in order to unravel this mystery.” They pressed her with excited questions but Polly refused to tell them any more.
“You’ll land in trouble,” said Barney finally. “I can feel it.”
“Stuff!” laughed Polly.
“’Strue,” said Jake. “Something will happen tomorrow night and I don’t want to be there to see it. You was born to trouble, Polly Jones!”
The pleasure gardens of London were at the height of their popularity, the most famous being Vauxhall, Ranelagh and Bagnigge Wells. They all boasted the same features: a concert, promenade room, a garden laid out in tree-lined walks, a fish pond with arbors, rooms for suppers, a fountain, an orchestra and a dancing floor. Vauxhall had the most dramatic entertainments, boasting a fireworks display, a hermit, and a lady who walked the slack wire. The entrance fee was three shillings and sixpence, but it did not deter the thieves and pickpockets who found its dark walks and groves ideal for business, or for the prostitutes who did a brisk trade with men drunk on the Gardens’ famous rack punch.
The middle-aged might condemn Vauxhall as noisy and vulgar, its masquerades an encouragement to licentious behavior, but to Polly it was a magical place full of delights. She wished she could forget Meg and simply enjoy herself. But the Mereslys would in all probability be there, and the secret to Meg’s death lay with the Mereslys.
As they approached the boxes where supper was being served to various parties, Jake and Barney elected to leave Polly, for in one of the boxes was the marquess of Canonby, Colonel Anderson and two ladies. Polly, Jake and Barney were masked but they were afraid the sharp-eyed marquess might penetrate their disguise if they stayed together. Polly almost did not notice their going, so intent was her study of the marquess’s fair companions. The ladies with the colonel and marquess were very pretty and very vivacious. Polly felt a tap on her shoulder and whipped about. A young man bowed and asked her to dance. Polly shook her head and walked away and he shouted coarse insults after her. She realized that because she was alone and unescorted, he had taken her for a prostitute. She was about to give up and go in search of Barney and Jake when she saw the Meresly family in one of the boxes.
She recognized Lady Lydia immediately. Beside her sat the earl, and with them what must be their twin daughters. They were younger than Polly—about fourteen, she judged—and so bedecked with jewelry that they flashed and glittered, the magnificence of their jewels making them appear paradoxically drab and awkward. Both took after their father and had large beaky noses, rather full blue eyes, and strong, full, sensual mouths. As Polly watched, the earl said something and Lady Lydia shrugged and pulled a mask from her etui and put it on, motioning to her daughters to don their masks as well. Most of the people in the other boxes were masked except the marquess and his party. A group of men entered the earl’s box. Polly watched. She felt she should escape in case some other man accosted her, but she was rooted to the spot. The boxes were brightly lit and it was like watching a little play from a seat far away, where one could not hear the words but only make out the actions.
The men bowed to the earl and Lady Lydia. There was much laughter. The visitors flicked open and shut snuffboxes, postured and bowed. Then just as they were about to leave, Polly noticed one of the men who had been leaning at the back of one of the twins’ chairs deftly detach her diamond necklace and slip it into his pocket.
Polly waited until the thief and the rest of the men had left the earl’s box and then glided off in pursuit. He said a few words to them, his eyes glinting behind his black mask, and then he moved off. Polly walked behind, keeping a family party between her and the thief, for he kept glancing over his shoulder. The proximity of the respectable family party also saved Polly from insult from the gangs of young bloods who roamed the walks.
Should she pick his pocket? Polly trembled at the thought. She had not been trained as a pickpocket. If she were caught, it would be useless to accuse him of being the thief.
The bell rang for the fireworks display. Crowds appeared from all sides and soon the walk was a moving mass of people surging in the same direction. Polly forced her way forward until she was directly behind the thief. Before he reached the corner of the gardens where the display was to take place, the thief turned sharply right and plunged into a dark grove. Polly followed.
She shut her eyes tightly and then opened them again so as to adjust her sight quickly to the darkness. The thief had come to a stop. He felt in his pocket and took out the necklace and held it up. There was a small moon riding high above but the stones in the necklace seemed to burn with a light of their own. Polly glided behind a tree right behind him. He stuffed the necklace back in his pocket and took out his snuffbox. He was just helping himself to a pinch when Polly saw her opportunity. She darted from behind the tree and, with one quick movement, jerked his hand holding the snuffbox up with such a force that the contents went flying into his face. As he gasped and sneezed, momentarily blinded, she thrust her hand into his pocket, took the necklace and ran off, twisting quickly to right and left so that the wide panniers of her gown should not get caught in the branches.
She heard him shout and scream but his cries were soon drowned in the explosions of the fireworks cascading overhead. People were still crowding up the walk and Polly had to fight her way through the crush, back toward the boxes, wondering whether the Mereslys would still be there or whether they had not yet noticed the theft and had gone to the display themselves.
But when she arrived, panting, in front of the boxes, it was to see the Mereslys still there. The daughter who had lost the necklace was crying while the earl and his lady searched here and there on the floor of the box.
Polly took a deep breath, smoothed down her gown, adjusted her gold velvet mask, and walked boldly up the stairs and into their box. Her heart was hammering against her ribs.
She held out the necklace. “I think this is what you are looking for, my lord,” she said to the earl.
The daughter stopped crying and gave a glad cry. The earl of Meresly looked curiously at the elegant, masked figure that was Polly Jones, and said, “Where did you find it?”
“I saw one of the men who visited your box take it,” said Polly, forcing herself to remain calm. “I followed him and took it back.”
“Which one was it?” demanded the earl wrathfully.
“A gentleman in a green silk coat and purple hair powder.”
“I remember him, papa,” squeaked the daughter who had lost the necklace. “He did not introduce himself. He came with Torrington’s party.”
“Torrington is all that is respectable,” said the earl. “He will probably not even know the fellow. He was a trif
le well to go, if you remember, and could not call to mind half the names of the men in his company. But I shall ask Torrington in the morning if he has any idea as to the identity of the thief. We are uncommon grateful to you, Miss …?”
“Smith,” said Polly, dropping a curtsy.
“I am Meresly. This is my wife, Lady Lydia Meresly, and my daughters, Lady Emily Palfrey and Lady Josephine Palfrey. Sit down, Miss Smith, and join us in a glass of punch. How did you contrive to recover the necklace?”
Polly told them and they all laughed heartily and said she was a wonder.
Even Lady Lydia drawled, “You are a most enterprising lady, Miss Smith. Have we met before?”
Polly was wearing a full mask with narrow slits which concealed the color of her eyes, and her hair was powdered.
“No, my lady,” said Polly, sipping rack punch.
“And do you go about in society?” asked Josephine.
“No, my lady,” said Polly. “I live in Bloomsbury, hardly the most fashionable neighborhood. I live with my brothers who work in the city.”
“Indeed?” Lady Lydia’s thin eyebrows rose under her mask. “Then you have found a treasure of a dressmaker somewhere, for that gown you are wearing is more modish than my own.”
“I made it myself, my lady.”
“How odd … to have to make one’s clothes oneself,” said Lady Lydia. “I would talk of this further, Miss Smith, but my husband cannot bear female conversation. He despises our sex, and swore he would never forgive me an I did not produce lusty sons.” She waved her fan languidly in the direction of her twin daughters. “It is a wonder he did not drown these at birth … like unwanted kittens.”
There was an embarrassed silence. Then the earl said heavily, “You must forgive my wife’s jests, Miss Smith.”
“I jest not,” said Lady Lydia, a shrill note creeping into her voice. “‘A wife is no use to me nor shall she remain a wife of mine should she produce daughters,’ that is what you said.”
“I am sure Miss Smith is not interested in what I said,” growled the earl. His daughters silently held each other’s hands for comfort and stared miserably at the table. “We are eternally grateful to you, Miss Smith, and would show our gratitude.”
“Then show it,” said Lady Lydia pettishly. “Lord, but the ennui of this place fatigues me.”
The earl took a large diamond stick pin from his stock and pinned it in the front of Polly’s gown. It was a diamond of the first water. Polly looked down at it in a dazed way. “I-I d-don’t know how to thank you,” she stammered.
“Then pray do not try,” yawned Lady Lydia. Suddenly she straightened her spine and one white hand rose to flick a curl of her powdered hair into place. “Canonby!” she cried, turning round with a graceful movement. “And dear Bertram!”
Her smile of welcome faded as she realized both men were looking intently at Polly. It was the first time Bertram’s eyes had ever strayed to another female in her presence.
Both men bowed. The marquess had seen Polly sitting in the Mereslys’ box. Masked and powdered as she was, he knew he would have recognized her anywhere. Bertram Pargeter had joined his party a moment before the marquess saw Polly. Bertram, hearing the marquess’s stifled exclamation and noticing the way he quickly rose to his feet, had followed his gaze. At first he jealously thought that Lady Lydia was the focus of Canonby’s interest until he saw the elegant and pretty young lady who was being entertained in their box. He would not have recognized Polly, but the marquess’s interest sharpened his suspicions, so as the marquess muttered a hurried excuse and went to join the Mereslys, Bertram had promptly followed.
“Will you not introduce us to this charming young lady?” asked Bertram.
“This is Miss Smith whose family is in trade,” said Lady Lydia with a thin smile.
“Miss Smith was instrumental in confounding a thief,” said the earl with a cross look at his wife. He then proceeded to tell them how Polly had recovered his daughter’s necklace.
A cynical smile curled the marquess’s lips. “Amazing,” he said dryly. “You must allow me the pleasure of a dance with you, Miss Smith.”
“I am afraid I do not dance,” said Polly in a muffled voice.
“Then we shall walk and talk.” The marquess held out his arm. “Come, Miss Smith.”
Polly looked to the others for help. The earl was highly amused, Lady Lydia was angry, her daughters were still staring miserably at the table, and Bertram Pargeter’s eyes were fixed greedily on Polly’s masked face as if the intensity of his stare could melt her mask.
Polly meekly rose and took the marquess’s arm and moved off with him. Bertram made a move to follow them but was restrained by Lady Lydia, who put a hand on his arm. “Stay and talk to me, Bertram,” she commanded. Bertram took a seat next to her, casting a wary glance at the earl. But the earl was tapping his fingers to the music on the edge of the box. He had forgotten he had commanded his wife never to see Bertram again. One of those periods of hazy vagueness which often descended on him these days clouded his brain. He had even forgotten the theft of his daughter’s necklace.
Polly and the marquess walked in silence until he turned down one of the quieter, less well lighted walks. “Now, Miss Polly Jones,” he said severely, “what is all this about?”
Useless to pretend she was someone else: “It happened as the earl told you,” said Polly flatly. “I returned the necklace and they invited me to join them.”
“And is your reward that diamond stick-pin in your gown?”
“Yes.”
“Vastly clever, Polly Jones. You take the necklace yourself and then accuse someone else of stealing it and return to collect the reward you know you will get.”
“How dare you!” cried Polly, stamping her foot. “How could I take it? How could such as I simply walk into the Mereslys’ box and take it?”
He stood in silence, his head bowed. “Perhaps you tell the truth,” he said slowly. “But you must have been watching their box closely. What is your interest in the Mereslys? It is always the Mereslys, is it not?”
“My interest is natural,” said Polly. “They own a manor on the outskirts of the village where I was brought up. I recognized them. Of course I would recognize them. I stole from them, didn’t I? And nearly hanged because of it.”
“So now you make reparation. Is that the case?”
“Yes,” said Polly, “so stop pestering me with stupid questions.”
He took her arm and began to walk along the path. The sound of someone singing “The Gay Hussar” floated on the still night air. “And yet, I have reason to distrust you,” he said. “I followed you that day in Bloomsbury and saw you save one of your villains from the hanging he richly deserved. I saw you put that watch back into that gentleman’s pocket. You are remarkably nimble-fingered. But then, I suppose you have had a deal of practice.”
“Since you persist in thinking the worst of me, why do you not leave me alone?” cried Polly. “Do you feel I owe you something for saving my life? You have my thanks. And yet your motives were hardly altruistic. You did it for a bet.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. Where is your cavalier? Did you lose him in the shrubbery?”
“Yes,” said Polly, who did not want to tell him she had come with Barney and Jake. She desperately wanted him to think that some handsome gallant had escorted her.
He gave a light laugh. “So some city buck is beating the bushes for his fair one.”
“I am not escorted by any Cit,” said Polly primly. “My escort is as fine a gentleman as you, my lord.”
“Then I must know him,” said the earl dryly. “What is his name?”
Polly tossed her head. “None of your business, sir.”
The earl caught a movement to his left. He affected not to notice and went on talking, although his eyes were alert.
“For some strange reason I cannot fathom,” he said lightly, “I would feel reassured if I knew you were keeping respectable company. Will y
ou invite me to dance at your wedding, Polly Jones?”
A black wave of depression engulfed Polly. “I wish you would go away,” she said pettishly. “Your lady friend must be wondering where you are.”
“I am sure Colonel Anderson is keeping both ladies amused. After all, they were his choice for the evening.”
“And you have no say in the matter?”
“I am a trifle too old and too experienced to enjoy the blandishments of a couple of mesdames of cracked reputation.”
“The contempt in your voice!” exclaimed Polly. “And yet it is because of men such as yourself, my lord, that such ladies carry on their trade. And believe me, I often wonder how many of these unfortunates were innocent misses when they came fresh from the country.”
“Do not preach to me,” he said icily. “You are hardly in a position to do so … thief that you are.”
