Bad Miss Bennet

by Jean Burnett

  We entered the blue ballroom, Selena having confirmed that the Meyers and their friends were not present. Miles was itching to hide away in the gaming room but he was restrained by his wife.

  ‘You must be our attendant for the evening,’ she instructed. ‘We cannot be left alone like two unlit tapers in a glittering candelabra.’

  ‘Do you so despair of our finding dance partners?’ I asked. ‘Then why have we dragged ourselves to this tiresome event?’ My friend narrowed her eyes in that strange way I have often noted. ‘Who knows what may happen on such an occasion? I merely wish us to have a permanent escort to hand.’ Miles objected to being relegated to the status of a piece of furniture, but Selena was adamant.

  ‘You know your dancing skills are lamentable, my love. Guard us. That is your forte.’

  We stood like two of the three wise monkeys blankly surveying the undistinguished assembly. Even the faithful Lord Finchbrook had abandoned us temporarily. Miles and Selena went to greet an old regimental friend, leaving me alone for a moment.

  Suddenly, as they returned to me, the crowd parted a little and a handsome figure of middle height appeared before us as if transported by a magic Persian carpet. He was clad in the finest broadcloth coat and snowy linen. A diamond pin sparkled in his cravat and the shine on his dark hair, caught in the light of a hundred candles, matched the glitter in his brown eyes and glanced off his sharp cheek bones.

  With the merest nod to my companions he raised my hand to his lips saying,

  ‘I must appropriate this fair damsel for the evening.’ As Miles and Selena stood agog he led me into the throng to dance a cotillion. It was Jerry Sartain.

  Immediately, the Assembly Room became an antechamber of the gods and I was treading on air. As we danced he murmured sweet nothings in my ear, telling me that I looked divinely fair, like an Italian Madonna in my blue gown.

  I tried to whisper questions about Bow Street Runners and the danger of discovery, but he silenced me with a wink or a whisper. In truth, no-one would expect to see a felon in such finery in these surroundings, especially one who was presumed deceased.

  ‘I hear there are some daring, dastardly laundresses in this city,’ he remarked as he led me into supper, and I almost collapsed in hysterics. I heard Miles in the distance complaining of the dangers of dancing.

  ‘I heard that a fellow dropped dead after dancing thirty-three rounds in this very room.’ Selena told him to be quiet.

  ‘The devil!’ muttered Jerry. ‘It’s the villain who shot me in the forest. I did not recognise him for the moment.’ A terrible look passed over his face and I was afraid that he would drop his impersonation of a gentleman and leap upon Miles with murderous intent.

  ‘No! No,’ I whispered, hoarse with emotion. I squeezed his arm so tightly that he tried to shake me off, but I hung on.

  ‘I will save you from yourself,’ I hissed. ‘Lay a finger on him and all will be lost.’ Jerry, with huge effort, managed to control himself. I would not have been surprised to see steam issuing from his ears.

  ‘It is imperative that Miles does not see you at close range,’ I added as I pulled him away from the tables into an anteroom. ‘Whatever made you come here tonight?’ It was pure chance that Miles had not recognised Jerry when he came to claim me, but Miles had not the quickest of wits and one does not expect to see a dead man walking. Of course I was delighted to see him but Jerry was behaving in his usual reckless manner, relying only on his changed appearance for protection. He could put us all in danger. As if he had read my thoughts he turned to me and smiled.

  ‘People see what they expect to see, my love. I learned that a long time ago. I am happy to dice with death in order to spend a little time with you!’

  I was overcome by this remark – the most romantic, indeed, the only truly romantic pronouncement Jerry had ever made.

  He seized my hand and drew me along. ‘Let us find a more secluded spot.’ We squeezed ourselves into an alcove shielded from view by columns. He held me close and whispered in my ear. Indeed the alcove was so tight that there was no other option.

  ‘You are firing my blood tonight, sweet Lydia. His mouth was suddenly hard on mine as he kissed me long and passionately. I could feel the pressure of his fingers through the thin silk of my gown as the familiar thrill started to run around my body, the feeling I remembered so well from our first wonderful encounter. He was kissing my throat, my shoulders, my breasts. I felt my knees tremble.

  ‘Jerry,’ I protested weakly, ‘we cannot … we are in a public place.’ At that moment a liveried servant stopped by the alcove waving his hands in an agitated manner.

  ‘You must leave the building, madam, and your honour. There has been a disastrous incident in the gaming room. A gentleman has been stabbed. We must close the doors until the matter has been resolved.’ Jerry cursed quietly as we dislodged ourselves from the alcove.

  ‘I must leave, my love. The watch will be called, not to mention a magistrate. I cannot risk being recognised.’ As I opened my mouth to speak he closed his own over it with a last kiss. Then he vanished into the night.

  Selena and Miles found me standing like a statue.

  ‘A stabbing in the Assembly Rooms!’ Selena mourned. ‘Society is crumbling around our ears. Let us return to Laura Place.’

  On the following day we caught the Bath Regulator at six a.m. which was due to arrive in London at eight p.m. We fortified ourselves with brandied coffee en route and arrived in an exhausted state in the capital. I have little recall of the journey, being in a daze for most of the time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  London, Spring 1816

  Our spirits lifted somewhat when we were installed in a delightfully appointed house in Portman Square. How wonderful it was to be back in London and away from damp and deceitful Bath. For a while we were taken up in a mad social whirl which had an almost hysterical edge. A Mrs Willoughby and her daughters lived at No. 19 in the Square. The widow of a wealthy merchant who had acquired his money by providing boots for the British army, she gave many balls and suppers and she lost no time in making our acquaintance. We were invited out so often that we scarcely had time to draw breath, although we were able to organise a card soirée at our house which we hoped would improve our financial health greatly.

  Finally, I had an excuse to invite the Count to join us and he accepted with alacrity. Few men in London would refuse such an offer. The proximity of a guards’ barracks in Portman Street was a great advantage. The victorious soldiers were as willing to throw away their money as ever.

  However, Miles was having an unaccustomed fit of caution. Gaming on unlicensed premises was unlawful and he feared the attentions of the upholders of the law. A procession of military men entering the house would surely attract attention and Mrs Willoughby could not be relied on for discretion.

  ‘But military men are always so willing to lose money,’ I protested.

  Finally, the matter was settled by the size of the salon where the gaming would take place. It was a modest but charming room decorated in the Chinoiserie style with the finest yellow silk curtains bordered with red dragons. The dragons distracted me as Selena was preparing discreet invitations by hand for the selected gamesters.

  ‘There must be a handsome supper, Lydia,’ she reminded me. ‘Could you not take responsibility for that? Do not allow the cook to be too extravagant. Chicken and salmon of medium quality will suffice and Miles will order champagne, hock and claret from Priddy’s.’ I protested that I had little inclination for domestic matters. Left to me the household would survive on bread and cheese. I offered to ensure a good supply of candles.

  Selena had been happy to invite the Count. Although she did not approve of my involvement with him she was more than willing to have him as an ornament at the tables, especially if he proved to be a keen player.

  ‘He must be wealthy,’ she mused. ‘Let us hope he is also reckless and unlucky.’

  All that remained was for Miles to
recruit a former sergeant from his old regiment to act as doorkeeper. This man had such a violent appearance and tongue that he was positively operatic. He declared that he could ‘spot a wrong-un at ten paces’. Meaning a representative of the law.

  On the night of the soirée I donned a gown of lilac brocade while Selena wore dull gold and white taffeta.

  When the Count arrived he drank a glass of wine with me and insisted I should stay by his table to watch him play a game of picquet.

  ‘You will bring me good fortune, my dear.’

  ‘Are you a good player, Count?’

  ‘I believe I am considered to play a very fair hand. I have always believed that a steady nerve was more important than skill in games of chance.’ I nodded rather doubtfully. Wickham always said that a certain low cunning was the principal advantage in card playing.

  As I stood behind his chair I noted that nature had favoured the Count with a fine figure, broad shouldered with a slim waist, but I observed a certain puffiness in the chest that indicated some tight lacing under his bright blue coat and pristine linen. As I leaned closer to observe the cards I inhaled the smell of his skin – lemon and vanilla with a hint of mint. My hand brushed against his thick blond hair. He shook out the ruffles at his wrist and cut the cards with a snap. His opponent watched carefully.

  ‘What stakes will you play for, Excellency?’

  ‘Shall we start with ten shillings a point?’ My eyes widened. The Count was either reckless or a confident player or extremely wealthy – or possibly all three.

  Abruptly he seized my hand which was resting on his shoulder. ‘Sit where I can see you, my dear. You must be my lucky charm!’ I quickly took a seat near the other player facing the Count. I smiled sweetly at him and raised my eyebrows to signify victory, but my presence appeared to distract him rather than anything else.

  My admirer negligently lost several hundred pounds before pausing to call for more champagne. His game rallied a little before diving again just before a halt was called for supper. When he fetched chicken and salad for me I commiserated with his losses which stood at two thousand before I remembered that I was a joint custodian of the gaming salon. The Count brushed the amount aside saying that it did not signify. ‘It was worthwhile if it allowed me to spend a few hours in your company, my dear.’

  Later, we played picquet together and I allowed him to win five hundred pounds. Selena then took my place and won the money back. The Count did not stay long, to my regret. He drew me close as we stood in the entrance hall and gave me a lingering kiss. ‘Until the next time, Cherie.’

  The guard on the door obligingly looked the other way. Then my admirer was gone saying only that I would hear from him very soon. Once again I wondered why he behaved so mysteriously.

  ‘He is a diplomat,’ said Selena. ‘They have to be circumspect. Either that or he has a vigilant wife.’ She gave me a spiteful look. We rejoined Miles and a few hours later we were able to count our winnings which were satisfactory enough despite Selena bemoaning the ruinous amount of wine and spirits consumed during the evening.

  A few days later, when we were still basking in our comparative wealth, Selena horrified me by declaring that I should visit Getheridge in his prison.

  ‘I will do no such thing. How can you suggest it, Selena? Do you want me to become embroiled in this affair?’ My friend gave a mysterious smile and tapped her nose.

  ‘That man has many financial secrets. Why should he take them to the grave? You may learn something to your advantage.’

  ‘I say, dear heart, don’t wish the poor fellow dead just yet. He hasn’t even been tried,’ protested Miles. Selena shook her head knowingly.

  ‘Lord Finchbrook assures me that he will hang.’ I shuddered again and devoutly wished myself in Paris. Even Pemberley was beginning to appear attractive in the circumstances. Apart from the mad whirl of evening activity the atmosphere in the capital was grimmer than ever. In addition to the dolorous weather and the bread riots, cholera had appeared in London striking terror into every heart. It was reported that wells had been poisoned which led Miles to declare he would drink only brandy for the sake of his health. This regime differed so little from his usual habits that we scarcely noticed a change.

  Furthermore, London society was agog with the scandal of Mr Getheridge and the bank. He pleaded with his creditors but they showed no mercy. He was duly tried at the Old Bailey for fraud and embezzlement and sentenced to be hanged. While he was incarcerated in the Fleet prison before his execution at Newgate, I began to think of Selena’s words. Was it possible that I could persuade the man to reveal any secrets he might have? We had not exactly had a happy relationship but we were reconciled in Bath and he had been grateful for my assistance.

  On the other hand, if he had money hidden away would he not have used it to help himself? I suggested this to Selena at breakfast one day but she disagreed.

  ‘Any money he admitted to possessing would have been seized by his creditors. No doubt he wishes to make some provision for his family.’

  ‘I am not his family.’

  ‘I am including his mistresses in this group.’

  ‘I was never his mistress, strictly speaking,’ I pointed out. Selena told me I was being tiresome. She tapped her nose in that irritating way she had.

  ‘Stratagems, Lydia, stratagems. Would not a person in extremis be overwhelmed with gratitude towards anyone who offered to stand by him, to help him in some way?’ I continued to look puzzled and my friend shook her head in despair.

  ‘You must visit him, tell him you will do anything to help him.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Of course, you have no money, but you might be able to help in other ways. Remind him that we recovered the Cambridge emeralds for the prince. Tell him something that will raise his hopes. In return urge him to tell you everything so that you can make plans.’

  ‘What exactly do I want to know?’

  ‘Oh, really, Lydia, must I spell it out? You need to know if he has any money hidden anywhere. Offer to marry him if necessary.’ I almost choked on my chocolate.

  ‘Marry him?’ I squealed.

  ‘Have you never heard of a Fleet marriage?’

  ‘Surely they are not legal. And he already has a wife.’ She brushed this aside.

  ‘We do not know if his first marriage was legal either. It does not matter, he will be hanged. I am speaking of gaining his trust.’

  I was momentarily horrified by my friend’s words. She was revealing a side of her character I had not previously seen. Suddenly, it seemed she had metamorphosed into Jerry Sartain’s twin sister, perhaps separated at birth.

  As always, these schemes involved no inconvenience to anyone except myself. The thought of entering the noxious confines of the Fleet prison was terrifying.

  ‘There is plague in the city,’ I whispered, adding, ‘All I want is to dance at Almack’s and go to Paris with the Count.’ Selena rolled her eyes impatiently.

  ‘Believe me, my dear, your plans will come to nothing for want of a fortune.’

  ‘I am sure that poor Getheridge does not have a fortune and why should he bestow it on me?’ My friend frowned and stood up in a decisive manner.

  ‘If I cannot convince you, then this is an end to it. I must await the apothecary, Miles is to be bled this morning.’ As she left the room she paused and remarked over her shoulder, ‘I would not suggest this action to you if I had not heard that Getheridge’s mistress has abandoned him.’ With this parting shot she withdrew leaving me to ponder on my next step.

  Lord Finchbrook called at the house later that morning and found me in the red drawing room with a book open. He took one look at my book and reproached me for reading ‘the merest trash from the common circulating libraries’.

  ‘Why should I not read a Gothic novel in this delightful room?’ I replied. No. 27 Portman Square was furnished in exquisite taste. The room in which we were sitting was a smaller version of one in Carlton House wit
h five gilded Gothic arches and crimson silk curtains. What better surroundings for reading The Monk by Matthew Lewis? A truly horrifying and disgusting novel, I would never have been permitted to read it in other circumstances.

  ‘This book is the talk of London,’ I assured him. His lordship shrugged in the manner of one who never read anything but the Sporting Times. He did not mention Almack’s to me. I needed to remind him of his promise. Whoever escorts me, it must surely be before I visit Mr Getheridge. I looked down at the book resting on my lap. It was open at a page describing particularly gruesome scenes in a subterranean prison. I thought again of the Fleet and shuddered.

  It was surely a malign fate at work that caused a servant to appear at that very moment with a note from Jerry. He had wasted no time in discovering my whereabouts. Then I recalled that I had given him the direction. Of course, he knew about Getheridge’s imprisonment and he agreed with Selena that I should visit the man.

  ‘In fact’, he declared when we met later that day, ‘I can smooth your path in a manner of speaking. I have an acquaintance with one of the jailers.’

  I could well believe this: the jailers were notoriously easy to bribe and Jerry had probably spent time in the prison at some stage. No doubt he would use my money for the purpose. He generously offered to escort me ‘at a distance’, in view of his own dubious status. My own life was beginning to resemble the plot of an unsavoury novel. How could I, poor little Lydia Marianne Bennet, have come to such a pass?