by M C Beaton
“Where on earth did you find such a biblical butler, Princess Felicity?” asked Lord Arthur as he drove off.
“I hired him in London,” said Felicity, and added primly, “I am fortunate in having such a Godfearing staff.”
“What is the religion of Brasnia?”
Miss Chubb surveyed Lord Arthur with dislike. “Orthodox Brasnian,” she said repressively.
“Oh, don’t let’s talk about Brasnia,” said Felicity hurriedly, “or you will quite spoil my day. My poor country. So much turmoil. So many revolutions.”
Miss Chubb emitted something that sounded suspiciously like a groan.
“By George,” said Dolph. “Got the Jacobites over there as well?”
“You were not listening, Dolph,” came Lord Arthur’s amused voice. “Princess Felicity does not want to talk about Brasnia!”
While Felicity was on her way to the balloon ascension, a portly gentleman called Mr. Guy Clough, a Virginian tobacco planter, was landing at Bristol. After a decent bottle of port at a good inn, he began to feel much recovered from the rigors of the voyage. He fished in his pocket and drew out a small oilskin packet and looked at it thoughtfully. A minister, the Reverend Hereward Harrington, had given him the packet before he sailed and had told him the strange story of the repentant kitchen maid, Bessie Redhill. Mr. Clough debated riding over to this Tregarthan Castle and confronting this Mr. Palfrey with the evidence of his crime. But a man who could half kill a servant and have her transported might not hesitate to shoot any bringer of bad news. Also in his capacious pockets, Mr. Clough carried several letters of introduction to people in court circles. The Prince Regent was also Prince of Wales and Duke of Cornwall. Tregarthan Castle was in Cornwall. Then it would be better to get word to the Prince of the evil that had taken place in his duchy and let him cope with it. Mr. Clough was a lazy man and preferred to put any action off to the last minute. He returned the will to his pocket and proceeded to forget about the whole thing.
And, also on that afternoon Mr. Palfrey was arriving in London. Life had been too uncomfortable of late, hounded as he was by the locals and reviled by the servants. He had decided to take himself off to London. Time was a great healer. He would visit the opera, see some plays, and generally enjoy himself. By the time he returned to Cornwall, he was sure the whole business would have died down.
The Belvedere Tea Gardens were crowded to overflowing. Felicity was glad of the crowd and the noise. Lord Arthur had talked generally about ballooning, plays, operas, and the balls to be held during the Season. He had not mentioned Brasnia. But there was a feeling of waiting about him, and every time his eyes fell on Felicity, they lit up with amusement.
When they had set out, the weather had been fine. But now a thin veil of clouds was covering the sun and a chill wind had sprung up. Lord Arthur solicitously produced bearskin carriage rugs for the ladies.
The great balloon had been already filled before their arrival, and its huge red-and-yellow-striped shape rose well above the crowd. The pilot balloon was sent off, then two carrier pigeons. The crowd, who had become bored with the long wait—for it had taken over two hours to inflate the balloon—cheered the pilot balloon and the pigeons wildly, glad to see some action at last.
Another cheer went up as the balloonist, a Mr. Peter Green, was escorted through the crowd. And another cheer rose as the cords were cut away and the gas-filled balloon began to rise.
Felicity’s eyes filled with tears as she watched it. Lord Arthur’s overwhelming masculine presence was making her extremely uncomfortable. She felt she would like to float away, like Mr. Green, far away from the troubles and worries of her masquerade, far up into the clouds, far away from staring, curious eyes. Lord Arthur silently handed her his handkerchief, and she stifled a sob and blew her nose. Silence fell on the crowd as the balloon began to climb and climb. When sand fell down from it like white smoke, the wind caught it, and it began to bear away steadily to the east. Felicity, like the crowd, watched and watched until the balloon grew smaller and smaller in the distance, until it finally disappeared into a bank of cloud.
And then all chaos broke loose. A crowd of people had been sitting on the wall of a house that bordered the tea gardens. As they swayed and shuffled to get down, the wall broke. There were terrific screams, and the crowd went mad. They pushed this way and that against the carriages. Lord Arthur’s light curricle tilted wildly. Miss Chubb was thrown out, and Dolph leapt down after her to try to rescue her from the stampeding crowd.
Lord Arthur’s groom was holding the horses’ reins and brandishing his whip as he tried to keep the crowd clear of the terrified horses.
“We’re going to be crushed with the carriage,” cried Lord Arthur. He jumped down and lifted Felicity into his arms and began to force a way through the crowd, booting, kicking, and cursing as he cleared a path. He looked back over his shoulder. His groom had cut the horses free and was leading them safely away—just in time, for the curricle had been upended.
“Nearly safe,” said Lord Arthur in Felicity’s ear. His arms were tightly around her, and above one hand he could feel the swell of her bosom. Her light body seemed a throbbing, pulsating thing. The effect of holding her so close was making his head swim. He looked down at her. She had her arms tightly around his neck, but her eyes were downcast.
He carried her clear of the crowd and stood for a moment, filled with an overwhelming reluctance to free her.
“Look at me, my princess,” he said softly. Felicity turned bewildered eyes up to his face and saw a light burning in those black eyes that made her tremble. He suddenly held her very tightly against him, smelling the light scent she wore, and feeling the trembling of her body.
Then he set her down, and, turning a little away from her, he said in a rough voice, “There is a posting house quite near here. If you can walk that far, I shall hire some sort of carriage to take you home. You had better hold my hand. There are a great many unsavory people about.”
It would be all right to hold her hand, he thought. Any man, holding a beautiful young girl in his arms would have felt the way he did. But mere hand-holding was safe enough. He took her hand without looking at her. But a burning sensation seemed to run up his arm.
By the time they had reached the inn, he realized he wanted Felicity more than he had wanted any woman in the whole of his life. And he was engaged to be married.
“You are holding my hand very tightly,” said Felicity in a small voice, “and we are well clear of the crowd.”
He released her hand. He had meant to ask for a private parlor so that she might be able to have some refreshment before he escorted her home. But he knew he could no longer be alone with her without wanting to touch her.
In a loud voice, he demanded a carriage, any carriage, brushed aside the landlord’s apologies that there was only a gig, said he would take it, and drove Felicity home, only breaking his silence once to assure her that Dolph could be trusted to protect her companion.
She was in such a nervous turmoil that she should have been glad to see him go, but when he swept off his hat and bent over her hand to kiss it, she found herself saying, “Shall we meet again?”
“Alas, I do not think so,” he said. “I shall return to the country within the next few days.” He half turned away and then swung round again. “But should you need any assistance, ma’am, tell Dolph, and he will know where to find me.”
Felicity trailed into the house and stood for a moment in the hall, dwarfed by all the rented magnificence of tiled floor, soaring double staircase, and oil paintings in heavy gilt frames.
Mr. Silver, a book in his hand, came out of the library at the far corner of the hall.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said formally. Mr. Silver, like the rest of Felicity’s employees, was well aware she was not a princess but always addressed her as if she were royal.
“Oh, Mr. Silver,” cried Felicity. “Is Madame Chubiski returned?”
“Not as far as I kn
ow.”
“She was with me at the balloon ascension when a wall collapsed. There was rioting, and we became separated. Lord Arthur’s friend, Mr. Godolphin, was with her.”
“Would you like me to go to Pentonville to look for her?” asked Mr. Silver anxiously.
“No, I am sure she is unharmed. But join me in the drawing room for some tea, and tell me how John Tremayne’s education progresses.”
They drank tea and Mr. Silver reported that John was progressing favorably, but both strained their ears for a sound of the return of Miss Chubb. When a footman came in to light candles, Mr. Silver rose to his feet. “With your permission, ma’am,” he said, “I would like to go to Pentonville. I cannot feel easy in my mind. Madame Chubiski is rather shy and unused to London.”
“Shy? Unused to London, perhaps, but I would hardly call Madame Chub… iski shy.”
“I can assure you she is too gently bred a lady to be wandering about with a young boy of whom we know very little.”
“Then, by all means go,” cried Felicity.
Evening settled down over London. The parish lamps in the street outside were lit, and still Miss Chubb did not return.
At last Felicity heard the sound of a carriage stopping outside the house and ran out onto the front steps. But it was only Mr. Silver returning alone.
“I found no trace of her, ma’am,” he said, his lined face anxious. “There were two people killed when that wall collapsed, and many more were injured in the rioting.”
“Oh, what shall I do?” cried Felicity. “I cannot just wait here any longer, doing nothing. I know…”
She ran into the house and called for Spinks.
“Tell me,” she said to the butler, “do you know the address of Lord Arthur Bessamy?”
“Yes, ma’am. When you told me to invite him to your rout, I made it my business to find out,” said Spinks. “Lord Arthur lives in Curzon Street at Number 137.”
“That is only around the corner,” said Felicity, going into the drawing room and picking up her hat. Mr. Silver followed her in.
“You cannot go to Lord Arthur’s house,” he said severely. “That will not do at all.”
“Abstain from fleshy lusts, which war against the soul,” intoned the butler from the doorway, making them both jump.
“Oh, Spinks!” said Felicity crossly. “Do behave yourself. I am only going to call on Lord Arthur to enlist his help in finding Madame Chubiski.”
“Then, I shall go,” said Mr. Silver quickly. “For you to call at a gentleman’s town house for any reason at all is just not done.”
Mr. Silver departed quickly, and once more Felicity was left to wait.
In ten minutes’ time the tutor returned with Lord Arthur. “You are fortunate, Princess,” said Lord Arthur. “I was just leaving for my club when I received your message. I am sure you have nothing to worry about. Dolph is much more competent than he looks.”
“But you do not understand,” wailed Felicity. “This is not like my companion at all. She may have been struck on the head; she may have been abducted. Dear God, she was simply covered in jewels…”
Lord Arthur studied her distressed face and then said gently, “I see you would feel better if you took some action. Your carriage is outside. Would you like to go back to the Belvedere Tea Gardens yourself and make inquiries? I am prepared to accompany you.”
“Thank you,” said Felicity.
“Then, I shall accompany you as well,” said the tutor firmly. “You cannot go off alone with milord in a closed carriage.”
Lord Arthur nodded, and the three went out into the carriage and set off again in the direction of Pentonville.
“Tell me, Mr. Silver,” said Lord Arthur, “when you were making inquiries for Madame Chubiski, how did you describe her?”
In the light of the carriage lamps, Mr. Silver’s scholarly face registered surprise. “Why, my lord, I gave a fair description. I asked if anyone had seen a handsome woman of regal bearing dressed in black velvet.”
Felicity felt she could sense Lord Arthur’s amusement. What was there in Mr. Silver’s innocent description that he could possibly find funny?
They traveled the rest of the way to Pentonville in silence. When they arrived at the tea gardens, Lord Arthur put a restraining hand on Mr. Silver’s sleeve. “Let me try by myself,” he said. “You have already tried. I might have more success.”
Before the tutor could protest, Lord Arthur swung open the carriage door, stepped down, and strolled into the tea gardens. Waiters were still clearing up the mess left by the crowd. He went up to the nearest one and said, “Hey, fellow, I am looking for a missing lady.”
“Better have a good description,” said the waiter sulkily. “All the world and his wife were here today.”
Lord Arthur held up a guinea. “Now, think,” he commanded, “and this guinea will be for you. I seek a squat, somewhat elderly lady wearing a slouch hat like a highwayman, dressed in black velvet, and covered in jeweled brooches and pins. She is accompanied by a tubby, cheerful man.”
“Oh, them,” said the waiter.
“You know them?”
“I seen ’em with me own eyes,” said the waiter gleefully, reaching for the coin. “I was over at The Black Dog—over there—for a pint of shrub, and there they were, singing their heads off.”
“And when was that?”
“’Bout ten minutes ago.”
Lord Arthur returned to the carriage. “I gather Dolph and Madame Chubiski are in the pub.”
He turned and walked off in the direction of The Black Dog. Felicity and Mr. Silver scrambled out of the carriage and ran after him. They caught up with Lord Arthur just as he opened the door of the tap.
Felicity peered over his arm and let out a gasp. Miss Chubb was standing on a table in the middle of the room, belting out the third verse of “The Gay Hussar.” She had a tankard in her hand and was being accompanied on the fiddle by a ragged Highlander. Dolph was sitting down at the table on which he was standing, looking up at her with rapt attention.
“Disgraceful!” cried Mr. Silver.
“Wait!” commanded Lord Arthur.
Miss Chubb finished her song to wild cheers and shouts and was helped down from the table by Dolph, who gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“Well, Dolph,” said Lord Arthur, strolling forward. “Having fun?”
“Oh, the bestest ever,” said Dolph, peering at them blearily. “Let’s have another chorus. Oh, with a tow, row, tow, row…”
“Silence!” roared Mr. Silver. “What have you done to this respectable lady, you… you rake? You have debased her. You have made a spectacle of her. By God, you shall answer me.”
“I… I… I,” babbled Dolph, goggling at the enraged tutor.
“No one is going to call anyone out,” said Lord Arthur soothingly. “All outside. All home. Come along, Madame Chubiski. Your mistress has been very worried about you.”
“Don’t w-want to go home,” hiccupped Miss Chubb. “Less have ’nother song.”
“We’ll sing all you want,” said Felicity gently, “when we get home—you, me, and Mr. Silver. Come along; there’s a dear.”
Miss Chubb allowed herself to be led out, grumbling under her breath, “You said I was to have fun. Said everybody mush have fun.”
“Yes, yes,” said Felicity, throwing Lord Arthur an anguished look. What if the drunken Miss Chubb forgot she was companion to a princess?”
But as soon as the carriage moved off, both Miss Chubb and Dolph fell asleep, both snoring loudly, their heads rolling to the motion of the carriage. Felicity had Miss Chubb’s full weight pressed against her, which in turn forced her to press against Lord Arthur. He smiled down at her and slid an arm about her shoulders. “There, have you more room now?” he asked, as his pulse leapt at the feel of her body.
“Yes,” whispered Felicity dizzily.
Mr. Silver snorted, folded his arms, and glared grimly out the window.
As the ca
rriage rattled through Berkeley Square, Lord Arthur found himself saying, “I have decided to stay a little longer in town. Would you care to come driving with me—say on Friday—in three days’ time? I shall call for you at five.”
He was not only a danger to this masquerade of hers, thought Felicity, he was a danger to her body, which seemed to be fusing hotly against the side of his own. When he smiled down into her eyes in that lazy, caressing way, as he was doing at that moment, he was a danger to her very soul. She must tell him she would never see him again. She must…
“Yes,” said Felicity weakly. “I should like that very much.”
It took the efforts of three strong footmen to carry Miss Chubb upstairs to her bedchamber and four maids to undress her and put her to bed.
Felicity sat by the bed and held her unconscious companion’s hand and looked down at her face. “Oh, Miss Chubb,” she whispered. “Why am I so very happy when it can all lead to disaster?”
Two days later Miss Barchester slowly lowered a copy of the Morning Post. It was a day old but carried a long description of the balloon ascension. The deaths of two people and the injuries of many only rated a small piece tagged on at the end. But the paragraph that riveted her attention went: THE ASCENSION WAS GRACED BY THE PRESENCE OF THE DIVINELY FAIR PRINCESS FELICITY OF BRASNIA. LORD ARTHUR BESSAMY IS THE ENVY OF ALL MEN, AS IT WAS HE WHO HAD THE HONOR TO RESCUE HIS FAIR COMPANION FROM THE VULGAR AND RIOTING POPULACE, BEARING HER BOLDLY FROM THE SCENE IN HIS ARMS.
“Papa,” said Miss Barchester. “Would it not be splendid to travel to London this weekend? Poor Lord Arthur must be pining away without me.”
“Don’t like London,” grumbled Mr. Barchester. “And if Lord Arthur is pining that bad, he’s only got to come home.”
“Papa,” said Miss Barchester, a steely note in her voice. “I have said I wish to go to London.”
