Bad Miss Bennet

by Jean Burnett

  Muttering an excuse I fled from the room and retrieved Adelaide from the depths of the kitchen where she was eating the remains of the apricot pie. I was forced to acquaint her somewhat summarily with the details of Jerry’s resurrection from the dead. She gave a little scream before reluctantly agreeing to take a note to him begging him not to perpetrate any atrocity upon his lordship who was playing an important role in furthering my fortunes. I then amended this to ‘our fortunes’ for better effect. I was under no illusions about Jerry’s motives.

  Adelaide reported back that he insisted on speaking to me personally on a matter of great urgency. I sighed, knowing what that meant. He wanted money, probably a great deal of money. I resolved that things would be different this time. Chiding myself for a ninny with a sorry lack of resolve, I threw a cloak over my gown and slipped out through the kitchen.

  He was waiting in the shadows and his appearance startled me so much that I instantly forgot myself and became overcome by concern. His face was worn and haggard, with stubble darkening his chin. His eyes were red as if he had not slept for many nights, and his clothes were dusty. Looking down at his boots I observed that the soles were peeling away from the uppers. Was this the same man who had romanced me in Bath?

  Horrified, I grasped his arm urgently. ‘What has happened, Jerry? Are you in danger?’ He gave me his wry smile.

  ‘Of course I am in danger, my dear. I am a wanted man. Sadly, an acquaintance betrayed me to the runners. I was in an ale house when Townshend and his men arrived. I was lucky to make my escape but they are close behind me and I have no place to go now. Townshend will not give up until he has my head.’ Alarmed by this horrid vision I immediately asked how I could help.

  ‘It is not merely a matter of money,’ I urged. ‘You must have a place of safety.’ Jerry gave a mirthless laugh.

  ‘Such a place no longer exists in this country. You must help me to escape. I will be safe if I can get to America.’

  ‘America?’ I echoed. ‘Must you go so far?’ I knew how stupid this remark sounded. He shrugged; ‘There is a Yankee ship in the Port of London. She sails for New York tomorrow. Townshend will find it difficult to get on board a foreign vessel even if he suspects that I am there. The Americans have no love for the British. If I can pay my passage they will guarantee to keep me hidden. ‘May the devil take me away to hell on his black horse before I surrender to Townshend.’

  His words barely registered in my mind. All I could think of was that he was leaving me, just as my hero Lord Byron had left me. Why was everyone able to escape from England while I remained trapped?

  ‘Do you not have any family? Someone who could shelter you for a while?’

  Jerry gave a bitter laugh. ‘My mother threw me out of her house a long time ago. There is no-one else.’

  Of course, dear reader, I gave him all the money I possessed. I would probably have been foolish enough to give him Getheridge’s diamond bangle if he had asked for it, but fortunately he was content with the money.

  ‘I cannot reconcile myself to your loss,’ I whispered as he stuffed the money into various pockets.

  ‘It is better this way, my dear. You cannot share my way of life. Snare yourself a fop like that lord you were entertaining.’

  Impulsively, I flung myself into his arms and enjoyed a last passionate kiss with the only man who had truly aroused my deepest feelings and desires.

  ‘We had so little time together,’ I sniffled into his lapels.

  ‘But we had a fine adventure, did we not, my dear? We almost stole the Prince Regent’s emeralds!’

  ‘Almost is not enough in this world,’ I replied sadly. He slipped away after warning me to remember the name of Von Mecks.

  ‘That affair is not yet concluded.’ Those were his last words to me. At the mention of that name I remembered something. Hastily running to my room I seized the boots and the cape from the closet and instructed Adelaide to run after Jerry and give them to him. The sight of his worn out footwear had moved me almost to tears. At least my highwayman would arrive in the New World well dressed and warm.

  I returned to my bedchamber unable to face my friends at that moment. Full of tears and regrets I remained there until Adelaide returned waving the Almack’s invitation card in the air in a purposeful manner. ‘Whatever are you doing with that?’ I snapped.

  ‘Testing it, madam.’

  ‘For what, gout?’

  My maid ignored the sarcasm in my voice and tapped the corner of the card. ‘This here card is a fake, ma’am,’ she announced.

  ‘Do not be ridiculous, who would want to fake such a thing?’ I already knew the answer; anyone who was desperate to gain an entrée into society, as I was.

  Adelaide was adamant. As the daughter of a printer in Cheapside she had seen enough forgeries to know the true from the false.

  ‘Have you seen any other cards?’ I demanded. ‘You must be able to compare it with others.’ Always full of surprises, Adelaide claimed that she knew the printer who made the cards and this one did not have his mark. ‘That’s ’ow you can tell, ma’am. Every printer ’as his own secret mark on his work.’

  My first thought was why had she not obtained one of the real cards if she knew the printer. It was most unlike my enterprising retainer. She read my mind in an unnerving manner.

  ‘You wouldn’t get past the door, ma’am. Your name would not be on the invitation list.’ I was sure that Lord Finchbrook could arrange that. Finchbrook! Was he the person who had obtained a forgery in order to humiliate me? Surely not? It was more likely that someone had sold it to him for a large sum. The fool! I would have to speak to him as soon as possible. For now I had other things on my mind. It was late and I needed to sleep.

  ‘Adelaide, lay out my walking clothes for the morning. Something dark and unremarkable. We will be leaving the house very early.’ She raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Going where, madam?’

  ‘Ships leave on the dawn tide, do they not? We will be watching a ship leave London.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that. Printing and ladies’ fashions, them I know about, don’t know nothing about ships and tides.’ She sounded peeved. Adelaide always hated early mornings. ‘It wouldn’t be something to do with that Jeremy Sartain, would it, madam?’ My guilty expression gave the answer. My maid nodded in a knowing manner. ‘’E didn’t look none too ’ealthy to me. I s’pose you don’t when you come back from the dead!’ She gave a macabre giggle while I sniffled and prepared to retire to my bed.

  As she helped me to undress Adelaide added that she doubted the wisdom of giving the boots and cape to Jerry.

  ‘And why not?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, madam, the clothes of a murdered man … they might ’ave some sort of curse on ’em.’ She was definitely in a strange mood. I told her that poor Jerry had worse things to worry about. If there was a curse attached to the Von Mecks incident it had surely transferred itself to me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Very early the following morning we crept out of the house in the chill, overcast dawn light. Adelaide managed to hail a cab whose driver was so sleepy that the sight of two well-dressed women creeping around Bloomsbury at that hour did not bother him in the slightest.

  It was a long drive to the docks and I feared that we might be too late. After instructing the cabbie to wait for us we climbed up a small hill where we had a good view of the river and its traffic. In among the ships leaving on the early tide I spied the merchantman flying the Yankee flag: Pride of Boston was its name, and small figures scurried around its decks like frantic ants. Of course it was impossible to recognise anyone at this distance.

  Tears flowed down my cheeks as I watched the ship’s progress. The river was like rippling grey silk and the masts and rigging were so high that even from our distant hill the ship looked like a giant’s vessel crewed by manikin men. He was gone – the only man who had ever inspired deep affection in my heart, gone thousands of miles away to a land I would ne
ver see. I sobbed quietly and Adelaide handed me a lawn handkerchief saying briskly, ‘You don’t know as ’e’s on board, madam. He could have taken your money and ’oled up in the stews of London.’ I thought of Townshend the runner and shook my head.

  ‘No, this time he had to leave.’ Certainly he had taken all my available cash. I was forced to borrow the cab fare from my maid’s wages when we returned home.

  I sent a note to Lord Finchbrook telling him of the situation regarding the invitation card and requesting him to attend on me to explain the situation. He came to the house promptly after riding with Darcy. He looked quite concerned.

  ‘Well, sir?’ I waved the card at him. ‘It is definitely a forgery. Am I to go to Almack’s or not?’ Finchbrook examined the card and visibly relaxed. He sat down carefully in his tight pantaloons, spreading his coat tails.

  ‘Unfortunately, dear madam, I had to obtain a forged invitation because all the cards for our appointed evening had been allocated. Rest assured our names will certainly be on the guest list.’

  ‘Surely they will check the cards against the list and realise that they do not tally?’ I protested. He waved away this problem.

  ‘It is all in the hands of the stewards and I have given them a small reward. The main thing is that we must pass the scrutiny of the dragons – I mean the distinguished ladies who preside over these matters.’ He did not explain how we would manage this without, in my case, appearing before the guardians and I did not wish to ask. Lord Finchbrook gave me a roguish smile and explained everything.

  ‘It only remains for you to be presented to the guardian tomorrow morning so that we may attend the assembly on Wednesday.’ I knew that the balls were always held on that day.

  ‘I know how much it means to you, my dear,’ he added.

  At that moment Selena came into the room, golden-haired and fresh in sprigged lawn, and I saw from the expression on his face that he would have loved to take her as his partner. It made his gesture to me all the more sweet and unselfish. I felt a lump forming in my throat. Miles followed her remarking to everyone that my brother-in-law was a fine fellow but easily roused to anger.

  ‘You could tell from his expression, from the nodules of rage on his forehead. I had a commanding officer like that,’ he added.

  ‘Never mind about Darcy,’ I assured him. ‘Just avoid enraging him whenever you meet him.’ Selena and I had made our excuses, leaving the men to accompany him.

  The next morning I prepared my toilette with the utmost care, endeavouring to appear modish yet modest, for my appointment with the guardian. My dilemma was that I was still officially in mourning – or in half mourning at the very least. I had no intention of appearing at Almack’s in black, and if the guardian knew of my situation I would never gain entry. Once again, his lordship came to my rescue.

  He presented me to Lady Sefton as Mr Darcy’s sister-in-law, Miss Mary Bennet. What a stroke of genius! The Bennet family was, naturally, unknown to her ladyship but my brother-in-law’s name worked its magic. She graciously approved me and issued me with a stranger’s ticket for the evening. Nothing more was required and we left without any further formalities. I hoped that no officers would recognise me at the ball, but it was unlikely.

  After that it only remained for me to borrow money from my friend for some silk for my gown. She agreed with an ill grace, reproaching me in private for my stupidity in giving mine to Jerry. I had been obliged to confess to her my encounters with him in Bath and London. There was also an element of jealousy, I suspected. When Miles said that he would prefer to go to All-Max in the east, a notorious drinking den, his wife gave him an evil look.

  And so, dear reader, my night of nights arrived. Arrayed in blue silk and white lace, wearing the Prince Regent’s necklace, a dead man’s bracelet and other finery borrowed or purloined by Adelaide, I awaited Lord Finchbrook’s arrival.

  ‘What a lark it will be!’ I announced gleefully to my image in the mirror. My partner did his best to be enthused but could not refrain from commenting as he handed me into the carriage that, in his opinion, only the lower orders really knew how to enjoy themselves. I was too busy congratulating myself to heed his words. Almack’s was the very meridian of fashion, style, elegance and manners – from the alpha to the omega. It was seventh heaven of the fashionable world. To breathe this rarefied air would surely elevate me to a different level of society. It must be a stepping stone to something great.

  Overcome with deep gratitude I turned to Lord Finchbrook and kissed his hand, which startled him considerably. ‘Pon my soul dear lady, it was but a little thing.’

  The clock wanted but five minutes of half past nine when we entered the ballroom and my dazzled eyes took in the diamond encrusted aristocrats, the mistresses of the famous and the infamous, the dandies, the generals, the ambassadors and a number of very ordinary looking people, both male and female. I was not, however, totally overcome by the throng passing before me. Had I not danced with a prince at Wellington’s ball? I had also shared a royal bed but I preferred not to dwell on that incident.

  It did not escape my notice that the many guests who came up to greet Lord Finchbrook paid scant attention to me, although my escort introduced me with the greatest respect. One woman in particular who was swathed in dark red velvet with ruby and diamond jewellery behaved as if I had suddenly become invisible. Lord Finchbrook said that she was wealthy Lady Sarah Sugden, much courted by fortune seekers. I noticed with satisfaction that the heiress’s abilities appeared to be restricted to being able to smoulder and walk in a straight line at the same time.

  I wondered why she was wearing velvet when everyone else wore the fashionable muslins and silk. I mentioned this to Lord Finchbrook as we perambulated around the ballroom.

  ‘She wishes to stand out from the crowd,’ he replied. ‘It is not enough that she is the richest heiress in England.’

  I was disappointed to discover that supper would consist of thin slices of bread and butter and pound cake, accompanied by tea and lemonade. I could have been back with my mother and sisters at Longbourn.

  We joined another two couples for a cotillion called Mr Fortune’s Maggot, the same dance that first brought Lizzie to the attention of Mr Darcy, and then the orchestra struck up a lively quadrille. My heart skipped with joy but despite my entreaties my escort could not be persuaded to venture on the dance floor again claiming that he would end in a heap in front of the dragon guardians.

  At that moment who should appear at my side but the Count himself, handsome in burgundy and pristine white linen, his splendid hair vying with the gilt on his Austrian decorations and the ruby pin glowing in his cravat. He gave a deep bow and asked if he could partner me. With a flourish he signed for every dance in my card and whisked me off around the ballroom floor which seemed to my eyes to be sprinkled with gold dust and starlight.

  The red silk-covered window seats and the high mezzanine balcony were crowded with observers, including those disconsolate wallflowers and their chaperones who had not been asked to dance.

  My partner held me in a pleasingly firm manner and after a few extremely elegant turns around the floor he gave me some personal details at last. I knew he was a diplomat but he informed me that he was, in fact, the military attaché at the Austro-Hungarian embassy.

  ‘I am about to take up a new post at our embassy in Paris.’ I refused to be downcast at this news, exclaiming, ‘Oh, but you must be adept at dancing the waltz. What a pity it is not danced here.’ The Count assured me that it was. ‘But you must obtain permission from the guardians for your first waltz.’ Within seconds he had deposited me before the Countess Lieven who gave me permission with a brief nod of disinterest. She bestowed a dazzling smile on the Count, I noticed.

  The Count was then able to sweep me out into a small salon where we waltzed around at such speed that my feet hardly touched the ground. Music was unnecessary. I heard it in my head.

  When we returned to earth I told him that it wa
s my dearest wish to spend time in the city of light and romance; he smiled, held me tighter and invited me to join him there. He assured me that it would be done without any risk to my reputation. I was so taken by surprise by this sudden invitation that I was struck dumb for a moment or two.

  ‘That is a most improper suggestion, sir!’ I felt obliged to say this for propriety’s sake. What did the Count really think about me? Had he assumed that I was now Lord Finchbrook’s mistress? I was not a debutante or an aristocrat, after all. In our brief meetings I had told him little about my background. I remembered the incident in the Sydney Gardens at Bath and immediately became flustered. I tried to hide my chagrin by fixing him with a haughty look. ‘You must know, sir, that I am a gentleman’s daughter. His lordship is a friend who has generously offered to escort me this evening.’

  Obviously the Count had recognised something in me. Perhaps I gave off an air of worldliness that marked me out from the simpering virgins being exhibited by their mamas. He saw me as someone helping to operate a clandestine gaming house in Portman Square. In addition I was forced to explain why I had posed as my sister in order to gain admission.

  The Count was immediately full of apologies claiming that he was so overcome by my charms that he had forgotten himself. As he said these words he gave me a brilliant smile and spun me around the room again until I saw stars everywhere. When he slowed the pace somewhat he nodded at the glittering throng and remarked, ‘There are many highborn ladies here who are the mistresses of the most powerful men in the land.’ And quite a few of the other kind I told myself silently.

  The Count looked into my eyes, ‘Are you sure, Cherie, that you would not like to be my guest in Paris? It could be arranged with the utmost discretion.’

  I fought another brief battle for my virtue and lost. How else could I achieve my ambition? Even Jerry had urged me to snare an aristocrat. I wondered if such a man might be a safer proposition than a banker. It was evident that the Count was not proposing marriage but his reluctance in that department might be overcome, I told myself. Stratagems. Stratagems were required.