by Joan Aiken
Apart from a certain curiosity to see this younger brother of the Prince of Wales, who, Miss Ardingly informed her, had spent most of his life at sea, and made some very extraordinary speeches in the House of Lords, defending the slave trade and urging a speedy end to the war with France, Juliana was not at all sorry to miss the party. Since she was also debarred from the dinner before it, she resolved, once she had seen Miss Ardingly totter off, equipped with fan, handkerchief, snuffbox, patch box, perfume container, head scratcher, and cane, to seek her own chamber and not leave it again. Listening to sounds of laughter and talk downstairs, she occupied herself by packing up her clothes, in readiness for her departure early on the morrow.
Presently the strains of music came up from below. Juliana decided that she might as well go to bed; the music, she hoped, would lull her to sleep, and assuage the pangs of hunger which she had been feeling for the past hour.
But just then there came a tap at the door. Juliana called “Come in!” thinking that perhaps one of the servants might, at this late hour, have remembered her and thought fit to bring her a tray of supper.
Greatly to her astonishment, however, it was Fitton, the butler, with a message: “His Lordship wishes you to attend him in the Blue Saloon, miss.”
“Good gracious, whatever for?” exclaimed Juliana, in the liveliest astonishment.
At this moment Fitton’s stately form was pushed aside by Lady Lambourn herself, looking exceedingly put out; she carried a dark-blue domino with a half-mask over her arm, and exclaimed, “It is the most vexatious thing! If I had had any notion Clarence would take such a quirk into his head, I should somehow have contrived to have packed you off today; here, child, put this on—for it will look excessively odd that you should be in day dress when all the world is dressed up for the Masquerade,” and she proceeded to drape Juliana in the domino, before giving her a push and saying crossly, “There, run along now! Make haste!”
“But why, ma’am?”
“Never mind—go to your uncle!” Still wholly puzzled—and very apprehensive that this might have some connection with Sir Groby—Juliana ran down the stairs to the first floor, where the ballroom and reception rooms were situated. The whole house throbbed with music from the band of the Grenadier Guards, Lord Lambourn’s old regiment. The rooms were all illuminated by colored lamps, which made the variegated costumes of the guests appear even wilder and more grotesque. Juliana saw Spaniards, chimney sweeps, Turks, night watchmen, orange girls, gypsies, devils, harlequins, haymakers, milkmaids, and Sultanas, strolling, dancing, promenading, and posturing.
On her way along to the Blue Saloon, as she passed a dimly lit alcove, she was suddenly riveted by hearing the tones of a voice that, in some curious, tantalizing way, seemed to recall her past life, Italy, her years with her father in Florence.
“If you do not do it tonight, I shall think you abominably poor-spirited!” this voice was saying harshly. “Why do you delay? All circumstances favor you!”
“Hush! It is too soon!” protested the second voice, in a much lower tone, hardly above a murmur. “To press on too fast now might ruin all—besides, it would lack artistry.”
“Artistry? Numbskull! Who asks for artistry?”
“I require it,” murmured the other voice, soft and dulcet. “Besides, if I go there—”
“If you go there—I know why you wish to go there! To see that Tillie, or whatever the creature calls herself—” Juliana moved on, wondering why the first voice, with its harsh, angry cadences, had struck such a chord of memory; it seemed connected in her mind with some sad occasion, some time of crisis…
Lord Lambourn met her in the doorway of the Blue Saloon. He was not in masquerade costume, but clad in the most formal black evening dress.
“There you are, child! Why in the name of heaven have you been such an age? His Royal Highness wishes you to be presented to him—!”
Utterly astonished at this unlooked-for occurrence, Juliana advanced into the room, where a small group of persons surrounded a fat, red-faced figure wearing a bottle-green-and-claret-striped silk jacket and breeches, silk stockings, a dazzlingly embroidered waistcoat, and such a profusion of epaulets and medals that the upper part of his dress seemed quite smothered in gold.
Dropping into her best curtsy, Juliana noticed that one of the royal stockings had a great rent in it.
“Hey-dey! So this is the little miss—the dauntless lass who’s the toast of the town?” said a loud, cheerful voice. “Well, well, missie, let’s have a look at ye—push back your hood, let’s see the cut of your jib!”
Rising up and obeying this instruction, Juliana was just able to observe, from the corner of her eye, Lord Lambourn’s expression of icy outrage, but most of her attention was concentrated upon the Duke of Clarence. She could well understand how he had earned his nickname of Old Tarrybreeks, for he did have the look of a red-faced sailor; but there was something open, honest, yet gay and mischievous about his round weather-beaten countenance which she could not take in dislike.
“By gob!” he exclaimed, inspecting her up and down. “She’s a well-favored little craft, i’n’t she, Lambourn? Casts those bucktoothed, potato-jawed twins of yours into the shade, hey? Here, you”—he broke off to say to a footman—“scamper off and bring me a glass of champagne, I’ll drink Miss’s health. And—hearken—bring a glass for Miss too! So, I hear, miss, that you saved my brother’s equerry, van Welcker, from a deuced near squeak with those Frenchies? Hang me! I wish I’d been there to see! It sounded like a monstrous fine lark. And then you flitted across the Channel together like a pair of stormy petrels, ha, ha! My brother is much beholden to you for saving van Welcker, lassie! He could ill afford to lose a friend like Frederick, let alone as pretty a set of Sèvres chamberware as I’ve seen this seven year. He’d be delighted to see ye at Carlton House, I dare swear! And, bless me! You must come down to us at Bushey! I’ll get Mrs. J. to send you an invitation.”
Lord Lambourn’s face set into a rigid mask at this suggestion, but Juliana, curtsying again, replied. “Your Royal Highness does me great honor, but I believe I must forgo the pleasure. My visit to London terminates tomorrow.”
“What? When you’ve not seen half the lions?” cried the duke. “Bigod, Lambourn, this is a devilish mismanaged affair! Why does not Miss remain longer?”
At this point the champagne arrived, and the duke gulped down a glassful, saying to Juliana, “Here’s to your bright eyes, midear!”
“Thank you, sir,” said Juliana, sipping from her own glass.
“Your Highness,” said Lord Lambourn in a strangled voice, “my niece’s grandfather has need of her. She is obliged to return to Flintwood.”
“Hang me, why can’t the old gentleman manage on his own? Where does he live—Hampshire? Oh well, I daresay Miss could put on sail and tack over to Brighton for a visit—or to Bognor—George spends a deal of time there with Lady Jersey!”
Endeavoring to suppress his evident feelings as to the utter ineligibility of this scheme, Lord Lambourn signaled with a motion of his head to Juliana that she should now withdraw. She therefore curtsied a third time and bade His Highness good evening.
“Burn me, but she’s as neat a little pinnace as I ever set sail in, Lambourn,” exclaimed the duke loudly, before Juliana was half out of the room, “and, now I’ve seen her and can describe her to George, I’ll be hoisting anchor myself, for I promised to look in at the Charlevilles’ ball. Here, you! Run and see for my carriage! Where are all my rascals of servants? I shall be devilish late. But I will take another glass of champagne before I go.”
Pulling the hood of her domino over her face once more, to avert the possibility of being seen by Sir Groby, supposing him to have come to the Masquerade, Juliana slipped unobtrusively through the laughing, jostling, masked crowds, and made her way toward the supper room. It had occurred to her that, since plainly no servant was g
oing to be bothered to attend to her this evening, if she wished to avoid going hungry to bed, she had best forage for herself. No doubt there would be a tart or cake, something that she could carry up to her chamber.
The supper hall, in normal times the family dining room, lay ravaged and empty, its candles guttering in their sconces. Carcasses of turkeys and geese were picked clean, crumb-strewn plates were scattered everywhere, the great dishes that had contained jellies and syllabubs now held hardly a drop. Searching through the debris remaining on the white-spread tables, however, Juliana was able to find a small but sufficient repast—a roll, a chicken leg, a few grapes; and, having piled these on a plate, she was retreating through a service door and about to slip up the back stairs to her room, when she was startled by the sight of the masked figure of a lady wearing a Spanish costume with mantilla, comb, and fan, who had glided silently into the supper chamber and, thinking herself unobserved—for Juliana was in a distant and shadowed corner—moved swiftly to the mantelpiece, where she proceeded calmly to take from their velvet-lined case six little gold-framed miniatures, which, Juliana was aware, were among the most prized of Lord Lambourn’s possessions. The unknown masked lady briskly dropped them into her reticule and then quitted the room again in the same speedy and silent manner.
Juliana gasped with horror. Setting down her plate, she ran after this audacious thief, and was in time to see her descending the main staircase. Coming up the stairway at the same moment was Fitton, the butler, and Juliana immediately accosted him.
“Fitton—oh, Fitton!” Remembering that she was disguised, she pushed back her hood. “It is I—Miss Juliana. You see that lady at the foot of the stairs, dressed as a Spaniard? She is just going into the ballroom. Two minutes ago I saw her take my uncle’s little Fouquet miniatures from their case! She has them hidden away in her reticule!”
At first Fitton was suspicious, doubtful, very unwilling to believe Juliana, but when she showed him the empty velvet case he muttered, “Mercy on us, miss! What’s to be done? I can hardly accost the lady—His Lordship cannot abide any to-do or scandal.”
“No, but I think you must tell my uncle, Fitton—I am certain he would be in flat despair at the loss of his miniatures. I have heard him say he values them above everything in the house. You had best inform him directly, in case the lady slips away before the end of the ball.”
“Yes, miss,” said Fitton, looking at Juliana with a certain respect, and he hastened off to find his master. Juliana, having done what she could but hoping not to be involved in the distasteful business, turned back toward the supper parlor, intending to retrieve her plateful of food. She had gone but a few steps when she heard herself addressed in soft but urgent accents.
“Miss Paget! Miss Juliana! May I have the honor of a word with you?”
Glancing round in surprise, momentarily forgetting that she had again pushed back her hood, she saw a black-visored chimney sweep, carrying his sack and brushes.
“Why, I thank you, sir,” she said, laughing, thinking that it was some young gentleman who wished to dance with her. “But I am in no need of having any chimneys swept and must hold myself excused!”
So saying, she pushed her hood back into position and was about to run up the stairs again when he caught her by the hand.
“Pray, pray, hear me but one moment!” he begged, and, leading her aside into a niche at the head of the stairs, he slipped aside his mask for a moment and revealed the handsome features of Captain Davenport. “Why!” she exclaimed. “Captain Da—!”
“Hush!” he adjured her. “I am trespassing on your aunt’s hospitality, for I received no invitation to her Masquerade. Yet, hearing that you were so soon to be cruelly reft away from us, and returned to rustic seclusion, I could not forbear coming to make my farewells!”
“Oh!” cried Juliana, now somewhat confused and embarrassed, for, thinking the matter over during the day, she had come to the conclusion that she had acted in a rather forward and improper manner in sending a message by the Count. “You have seen Count van Welcker, then?”
“I have. He sought me out at the Cocoa Tree and imparted the sorrowful news that you were to leave tomorrow shortly after dawn. I felt I must take this chance of seeing you. But tell me, Miss Juliana, only give me one hope—may I, should occasion arise, may I come to pay my respects to you at your grandfather’s residence? Will you permit me to do that?”
“In Hampshire?” Joy and astonishment made her heart beat fast. “But, Captain Davenport, what possible occasion could you have to visit Hampshire?”
“Oh, I have friends residing in Southampton,” he replied. “It is the most likely thing in the world that I might have occasion to visit them. Indeed, business affairs may very probably call me thither at no very distant date. In which case it would give me inexpressible pleasure if—do you think your grandfather would permit me to wait on you at Flintwood?”
“Truly, sir, I cannot say for sure—” But, Juliana thought, why should her grandfather bar his door to this perfectly unexceptionable young man? “I believe, if you had come so far, he could hardly deny you,” she added hopefully.
“Miss Paget, you give me hope again! London will seem—will seem a dark desert without your presence,” he murmured in a low, constricted tone. “But if I may entertain the possibility of calling on you in the country—then there will be a star in my darkness!”
And, carrying her hand to his lips, he saluted it in the most respectful way—looked in her eyes for a brief instant—then, picking up his brushes, he hurried away down the staircase—Juliana, looking after him, saw him walk between the footmen and out through the front door.
She stood for a moment with her hands clasped together, then, very slowly, began to move toward the upper stairs. But she had ascended one flight only when she heard what sounded like a commotion down below in the entrance hall. There were angry cries, a woman’s shrill exclamation, a man’s shout, the slam of a door.
Turning in sudden irrational anxiety—what if Captain Davenport had been detected and accosted?—forgetting that she had seen him make a safe departure—Juliana ran back to where she could see the entrance hall over the baluster rail. Guests were now moving toward the main doors, ready to depart, and others, in cloaks and pelisses, were waiting for their conveyances.
The scene that met her eyes at the foot of the staircase was so brief, so swiftly terminated, that, a moment later, she might have thought she had dreamed it—except that she knew she could never have imagined such a tableau.
Fitton, the butler, stood close to the front door, which was shut. Her uncle Lambourn, tall and severe in his black evening dress, was halfway between the door and the stair, holding a black mask in his hand; his whole posture and countenance denoted outrage, disgust, and contempt. In a defiant attitude, facing him, stood a tall woman in black Spanish costume; Juliana could not for a moment think why her face seemed so familiar; then: “Why—it is the woman from the Ponte Vecchio!” she said to herself in astonishment. “That was the harsh voice I recognized upstairs! It was she!”
Next instant the scene had dissolved. The woman, with a glance of loathing at Lord Lambourn, and with some low-voiced remark which made him redden up to his ears, had pulled a handful of objects out of her reticule and cast them scornfully on the floor; then, turning swiftly on her heel, with an imperious gesture to Fitton to stand aside, she had pulled open the front door and was out through it before anybody had time to prevent her departure, even did they wish to do so. But Fitton, with a cry of distress, had gone on his knees to collect the fallen treasures; Lord Lambourn swung round and strode up the stairs without a word. The look on his face terrified Juliana. She glanced around, to make certain that Captain Davenport had not been involved—but there was no chimney sweep in the entrance hall. Then, petrified at her uncle’s expression, congested with rage, she turned and silently fled up to her own room. Lord Lambourn had n
ot noticed her; nobody had. As she hurried up the stairs, she could hear a buzz of amazed discussion break out among the departing guests who had witnessed the incident. Juliana had no wish to hear what they said. She had no wish to hear any talk at all about what had happened. If she could have locked her door she would have done so. But no member of the family came to disturb her further that evening.
A horrible thought absorbed Juliana as she made her preparations for bed; how it had arrived, whence it had come, she did not know, but a complete certainty had taken possession of her mind.
“That woman was my mother,” she repeated to herself, over and over. “I am sure, I am sure that she was my mother!”
Eight
It was in very subdued and dejected spirits, next morning, that Juliana started out on her journey back to Flintwood. None of her relatives had thought fit to see her off or say good-bye to her, but this, considering the earliness of the hour, was hardly to be expected. She and Partridge left Berkeley Square at first light, traveling in one of Lord Lambourn’s smaller chariots. It was hoped that in this conveyance they would be able to reach Winchester by noon, so that Partridge might be restored to her mistress that evening.
Juliana very much wished that some other escort than Partridge might have been selected for her, since it was very evident that the lady’s maid considered it wholly outside the sphere of her activities to be obliged to travel with a penniless, disgraced niece of her mistress, and she lost no time in making the disagreeable nature of her task as plain as she could in every way. Her aspect combined contempt and resentment in equal parts; she adopted a lofty, scornful tone whenever she had occasion to speak to Juliana, and grumbled continually to herself in a monotone, muttering various pejorative remarks about indigent hangers-on, inching place-seekers, grasping toe-lickers, and people who were no better than they should be, all under her breath but just loud enough to be heard.
At last Juliana, thoroughly irritated by this snapping and sneering, said clearly, “Partridge, I assure you that I have had no more pleasure in residing at my aunt’s house than you have taken, apparently, in my presence there. I am only too delighted to be returning to Hampshire, and I assure you it was by no request of mine that you were obliged to accompany me. I would far rather have traveled unescorted. I must ask you to be silent.”
