Belinda Goes to Bath

by M C Beaton

  ‘Would you be so good,’ said Hannah to the marquess, ‘as to ask your butler to carve the gamecock for us ladies. I fear we lack the dexterity to tackle it ourselves.’

  The marquess called the butler forward and Mrs Judd flashed Hannah a grateful look as the bird was removed and then brought back to her, carved into manageable pieces. But the peas were another matter. Attacking peas with a two-pronged fork was a difficult job at the best of times. She decided to leave them alone.

  The marquess apologized for the scanty fare, saying it was only a light supper as they had already had dinner, but urged them all to order anything else they wished. Unlike Belinda and Hannah, who knew to take only a little of what was offered, the Judds had filled their plates at each course and now felt they had never eaten such huge quantities of food.

  Finally the cover was removed and nuts and fruit were placed on the table, along with a trolley on wheels that contained decanters of madeira, canary, port and brandy. The trolley was in the shape of a sailing ship with silver sails and gold rigging. Belinda glanced about the room – at the elegance of the Adam fireplace, the Aubusson carpet, the paintings of still life, the green-and-gold damask curtains at the windows and at the sage-green silk-upholstered dining-chairs – and then back at that sailing ship. It seemed out of place, a vulgar piece of nonsense, a rich man’s toy.

  ‘Glad to see you’ve put it to use, Frenton,’ said Sir Henry expansively, indicating the trolley.

  ‘It was a most generous present,’ murmured the marquess.

  There were many wax candles burning in the room and wax candles on the dining-table. The marquess was half turned away from Belinda, talking to Hannah. Belinda noticed that his white-powdered hair showed glints of red in the light and felt strangely reassured. Red hair was very unfashionable and she was glad to find there was something human and unfashionable about this rather intimidating man.

  As if conscious of her gaze, he turned abruptly and found her staring at his hair. ‘Is anything the matter?’ he demanded sharply.

  Belinda was too tired to do other than tell the truth. To Hannah’s dismay, she heard Belinda reply, ‘It’s your hair. It is red.’

  ‘If you mean my hair is not sufficiently powdered, then say so,’ snapped the marquess.

  ‘It is not that,’ said Belinda, wandering deeper into the thicket of bad social behaviour. ‘Red, don’t you see. Such an unfashionable colour.’

  His lips tightened in disapproval as he turned back to Hannah.

  Now Belinda wished this interminable supper would end. Her ankle had begun to ache again. She looked hopefully towards Lady Jordan, whose duty it was, surely, to rise to her feet and lead the ladies back to the Cedar Room and leave the gentlemen to their wine.

  But it was the marquess who suggested they repair to the Cedar Rooni, and so they all rose together. The marquess led the way with Penelope on his arm, Sir Henry and Lady Jordan followed, then Hannah and Belinda, with the Judds bringing up the rear.

  The confidence she had experienced during the earlier part of the meal deserted Belinda. She felt plain and gauche. Somehow, it was the Jordans’ bad behaviour that had given her courage. But now Penelope was being gracious to the Judds, and her parents, who seemed to take their lead from their beautiful daughter, were following her example. As Penelope noticed Belinda’s crushed mien, so her graciousness and courtesy grew. She begged Mr Judd to entertain them if he was not too tired, and Mr Judd, flushed with all this exalted attention, gladly agreed. He walked to a pianoforte that stood against the far wall and, flexing his hands like a concert pianist, sat down and began to play. Belinda had expected him to play a virtuoso piece in an effort to impress, but he played a selection of sentimental ballads and then he began to sing. So that’s what the attraction is, thought Hannah, looking at Mrs Judd’s radiant face. Mr Judd played beautifully and had a rich tenor voice.

  Belinda listened enthralled, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes dreamy. Gone was her recent unease and depression. She had dreamt before only of freedom, freedom to live her own life, freedom from marriage. But as the liquid, sentimental music coiled around her, she dreamt for almost the first time of a lover, a merry man full of laughter who would be a companion on her travels.

  Penelope, who was tone-deaf, sat like a classical statue with her mouth in the same little curved smile and her eyes as blank.

  The marquess leaned back in an armchair and stretched out his buckled shoes to the blaze. He looked with admiration at Penelope, at the lines of her body, at the proud set of her head, and then, almost despite himself, his gaze was drawn to Belinda.

  Her eyes were full of dreams, and her wispy, baby-fine hair gave her an elfin look. That splendidly passionate mouth of hers was in repose, just waiting for a kiss …

  He gave himself a mental shake. The evening had turned out very pleasant after all. Judd was a superb performer. Penelope was behaving just as she ought. Mrs Judd looked happy and at ease for the first time. She was a dainty little thing, thought the marquess, despite her unfashionable gown. Her fair hair was dressed in ringlets and her wide eyes were pale blue and her skin was fine and delicate. When Mr Judd ceased playing for a moment, the marquess asked her, ‘Do you sing as well, Mrs Judd? It would give me great pleasure to hear you.’

  Belinda expected Mrs Judd to blush and disclaim but she rose and walked quietly to the piano and stood beside her husband. She began to sing ‘Cherry Ripe’. Belinda sat up straight, her eyes wide with amazement. Mrs Judd had a beautiful soprano voice, as clear as a bell.

  What a pair of nightingales! thought the marquess. And what are they doing hidden away in a ladies’ seminary in Bath?

  Only Hannah and Penelope remained unmoved; Penelope because music meant nothing to her, good or bad, and Hannah because her mind was busy with plans. Mrs Judd was eminently bullyable. But what was it that started friction in a marriage? Why, debt, lack of money, thought Hannah with satisfaction. Rows began and went on. Mr Judd was a weak man and in a perverse way had begun to enjoy ill-treating his wife. The crushable Mrs Judd had begun to sink under such treatment and, thinking little of herself, obscurely felt she deserved it, which, in a woman, was an open invitation for more bad treatment.

  Before leaving her husband, Mrs Clarence, wife of Hannah’s late employer, had held a musicale in Thornton Hall, their home in Kensington. Ever considerate of the servants, she had arranged for the staff to listen outside the room in which the concert was being held. A couple of singers, man and wife, had been engaged at great expense. But they had not been nearly so good as the Judds, thought Hannah. Something must be done about them. It was no use saying Mrs Judd would be better off without that husband of hers. Women like Mrs Judd would simply go ahead and find another bully. They need a patron, thought Hannah, eyeing the marquess covertly. That gentleman was sitting enraptured by the singing, his normally austere face looking younger. He and Belinda looked similar in that moment, each wrapped up in the pleasure of the music.

  They must marry.

  Hannah gave a little sigh. She had set herself a great task, but she was determined that if Hannah Pym had any say in the matter, then Belinda Earle would arrive in Bath as an engaged lady.

  The song was finished. The marquess, despite his absorption, had nonetheless sensed that it was Belinda, not Penelope, who had shared his pleasure in the singing and music.

  Hannah decided to retire and have a good night’s sleep while she made her plans. She usually needed very little sleep, but the bitter cold of the day and the alarms of the accident had left her feeling tired. Belinda rose at the same time, curtsied to the company, and followed Hannah from the room. The Judds, too, made their escape.

  ‘An unexpectedly charming evening,’ said Penelope. ‘It is very educational to study people of a rank lower than oneself.’

  ‘I think you will find Miss Earle is of our rank in life,’ said the marquess. Having been toadied to and then pursued by adventurers and wastrels from an early age, he had developed
a nice eye for social distinctions. ‘In fact, I know I have heard the name before. Untitled aristocracy, I believe.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ cooed Penelope. ‘Miss Earle is a delightful creature and I quite dote on her already, but a little strange in her ways, do you not think? A certain gaucherie? I could not help but overhear what she said to you at supper. To remark on the colour of a gentleman’s hair! I declare I was shocked. But she has been badly brought up perhaps.’

  The marquess should have agreed because he did feel that Miss Earle was regrettably outspoken, but some imp of perversity prompted him to say, ‘I find her inoffensive and much to be pitied. Miss Pym assures me she is an heiress. I can only think it reprehensible that her uncle and aunt found it necessary to subject her to the rigours of a stage-coach in winter.’

  He studied the toes of his shoes while the Jordans exchanged startled glances. This Belinda Earle must be sent on her way as soon as possible.

  Belinda and Hannah made their way to Miss Wimple’s room. The physician, a Dr Patterson, was bending over the bed, shaving Miss Wimple’s head. Belinda let out a cry of alarm. ‘It is the necessary treatment for concussion,’ said the doctor, pausing in his work. ‘I shall then apply leeches to her head. After that, I shall apply this salve, which is made with half an ounce of sal ammoniac, two tablespoons of vinegar, and the same quantity of whisky in half a pint of water. Then Miss Wimple, should she show any signs of regaining consciousness, will be given a pill made from five grains of camomile and some quantity of antimonial powder with a little breadcrumb. Do not fear, ladies. I am persuaded Miss Wimple is of a strong constitution.’

  The ladies edged out of the room, retreating backwards as if before royalty, so grand and imperious was Dr Patterson’s manner. Once back in their own sitting room, Belinda began to giggle. ‘Poor Miss Wimple. She will be outraged when she comes to her senses and finds she is as bald as a coot.’

  Betty, the lady’s maid, entered, but Hannah dismissed her, saying they would make themselves ready for bed.

  ‘Rather high-handed of you,’ said Belinda crossly when Betty had left. ‘Now I shall have to untie the tapes of my gown myself and brush my own hair.’

  ‘You are quite able to brush your hair yourself, and I shall help you with your gown. What if you were up the Amazon River or somewhere monstrous interesting like that? You could not expect a lady’s maid to be on hand.’

  ‘True, but if I and everyone else decided to do without lady’s maids, there would be a great number of unfortunate servants left unemployed.’

  ‘But I want to talk to you,’ said Hannah. ‘I have to talk to you.’

  ‘What about?’ demanded Belinda, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Have you noticed the Marquess of Fenton?’

  ‘Of course I have. A very kind host.’

  ‘He is a handsome man.’

  Belinda scratched her head in an unladylike way. Then she laughed. ‘Why, Miss Pym, you are like all the rest. If a man has a title and a fortune, then of course he is handsome.’

  ‘I think you are both well suited,’ said Hannah.

  ‘My dear Miss Pym, your wits are addled with fatigue. The man must be in his thirties. He is very cold and austere. Did you mark the fine paintings, the objets d’art? That is what he loves. He will probably wed this Miss Jordan and add her to his collection.’

  ‘But he is fastidious, and she is not very clever, I think, and has no gentility of manner,’ said Hannah eagerly. ‘I tell you this because I was alarmed to hear the openness of your speech at supper. You must never tell him about the footman.’

  ‘Of course not. I am not such a widgeon. Ladies who run away with servants are always credited with having vulgar and lustful passions. Probably the ladies were simply bored to tears.’

  ‘You may have the right of it,’ said Hannah sadly. ‘Poor Mrs Clarence.’

  ‘Who was Mrs Clarence?’

  ‘I shall be open with you. I am but lately risen to the ranks of gentility. For years I was a servant in the Clarence household at Thornton Hall in Kensington.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Belinda, brightening at the prospect of a story.

  ‘I was taken from the orphanage when I was very young and sent to Thornton Hall as a scullery maid. Mr and Mrs Clarence were newly-weds. I was very fortunate. The house was warm, and there was food to eat, which could not be said about the orphanage. It was a happy household. Most ladies never see the inside of their own kitchens, but not Mrs Clarence. She was so pretty and gay.’ Hannah sighed. ‘Mr Clarence was a good man but very withdrawn and morose. At first Mrs Clarence got her way and there were plenty of parties and balls and picnics, and occasionally we servants were allowed to go to the play. I worked very hard and became between-stairs maid, then housemaid, then first housemaid, and then my greatest ambition was realized, and I was made housekeeper. I was competent, but my work was not so arduous, and I had more time to realize that the Clarences were not happy. A few parties were still held, but Mr Clarence would cast gloom over every assembly. And then, one day, Mrs Clarence ran away with one of the footmen. It was a shock to us all. She had not seemed to favour him overmuch. It was considered that passion had got the better of breeding, but now I wonder. I could see her beauty fading and her high spirits being worn down under her husband’s moodiness and disapproval. The footman was a happy young man, very cheerful and good-natured. But the world still thinks ill of Mrs Clarence and assumes she died soon after in disgrace. But she was a wealthy woman in her own right, so they would not starve. I would like to find her again and tell her that her husband is dead, and that she is free to marry, but I do not know where she can be found.

  ‘Mr Clarence died and left me a legacy. How I longed to be free to travel in those long years during which he became a recluse.’

  ‘Why did you stay?’ asked Belinda curiously.

  ‘I was loyal. I never managed to save much money. I ran the house my own way. I could perhaps have moved to a livelier household, but might have been badly treated by some new mistress. But as to your future, miss, would it not be better to be mistress of this grand castle and a marchioness than to go to Bath in disgrace?’

  Belinda rose to her feet and stooped and dropped a kiss somewhere in the air above Hannah’s head. ‘Dear Miss Pym,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I shall endure my stay with Great-Aunt Harriet and dream of my future as a spinster. You need not help me to bed. I am not really such a spoilt brat that I cannot look after myself.’

  Hannah took herself off to her own bedroom. She chided herself for having been too forward too soon. Belinda obviously did not view the marquess with a loverlike eye and probably never would.

  The marquess said good night to the Jordans and mounted the stairs. He decided to see how Miss Wimple was faring. He was startled at that lady’s shaven head, and then realized she had probably been leeched. The doctor was holding a glass to her lips, as she had just regained consciousness.

  ‘I am very pleased with our patient’s progress, my lord,’ said Dr Patterson.

  ‘I see she has recovered her senses.’ The marquess approached the bed. ‘You have finished leeching the lady’s head. It might be a good idea to tie a nightcap on her.’

  ‘Just about to do that,’ said the doctor. A maid appeared from the shadowy recesses of the bedroom, stooped over Miss Wimple and tied on a lacy nightcap, and then collected the empty glass from the doctor and left the room.

  ‘When will she be fit to travel?’ asked the marquess.

  ‘Hard to tell. A week. Two weeks. Of course, if these passengers weary you, they could be conveyed to the Queen Bess within, say, a couple of days. As you know, my lord, it is an excellent hostelry, not far from here, and our patient could be taken there lying in one of your carriages.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said the marquess. ‘You may retire for the night, Doctor. I shall wait with the patient until a servant arrives to watch over her. Ask the housekeeper for a suitable maid. She herself has done her stint of duty at
the bedside.’

  The doctor left. Miss Wimple appeared to be trying to speak. The marquess drew even closer to the bed. ‘Belinda – Miss Earle?’ whispered Miss Wimple in a weak voice.

  ‘She is safe and well, madam. Your only concern is to regain your health.’

  ‘Wayward girl,’ said Miss Wimple in a stronger voice. ‘You are the Marquess of Frenton, Dr Patterson tells me.’

  ‘At your service, ma’am.’

  ‘My compliments to your wife, my lord.’

  ‘I am not married.’

  ‘Ah. You must, my lord, forgive my charge’s wayward ways. Running off with a footman indeed.’

  Miss Wimple’s voice was becoming stronger by the minute.

  ‘Ran off with a footman, did she?’ asked the marquess.

  ‘Nothing came of it.’ Miss Wimple’s voice became suddenly weary. ‘A wicked, wicked girl, but even the footman did not want her.’ Her voice trailed away and her eyelids began to droop.

  And having successfully demolished Belinda’s reputation in the eyes of the Marquess of Frenton, Miss Wimple folded her hands on her massive bosom and fell asleep.

  4

  There’s something undoubtedly in a fine air,

  To know how to smile and be able to stare,

  High breeding is something, but well-bred or not,

  In the end the one question is, what have you got.

  So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!

  So needful it is to have money.

  Arthur Hugh Clough

  Belinda awoke and for a short moment did not know where she was. Then recollection came flooding back. She was in Baddell Castle, a guest of the Marquess of Frenton. She thought with amusement about Miss Pym’s ambitions for her. Almost as bad as Aunt and Uncle, reflected Belinda. How they would disgrace themselves were they both here, primping me and pushing me forward.