by M C Beaton
She gave a disappointed little sigh. Slowly she removed her clothes and washed herself and pulled on a lacy night-gown and tied her nightcap on her head. She climbed into bed and blew out the candle on the bedside table. She studied the patterns made by the flickering flames from the fire on the walls. Then she realized the rain had ceased to fall. She climbed down from the bed again and drew the curtains and looked out. A full moon was shining and the courtyard glinted with puddles of melting snow. She tugged open the window and leaned out. The air was soft and spring-like. Her days at the castle were numbered. She had looked in on Miss Wimple with Hannah before they retired to their rooms and Belinda had been astonished at how quickly her companion was recovering her health.
She limped back to the bed, sadly climbed back in, and drew the blankets up to her chin.
There came a soft knock at the door and her heart began to thud. Servants never knocked. She got out of bed and went to open it.
The Marquess of Frenton walked straight past her and stood in the middle of the room. He smiled at her and opened his arms. Belinda closed the door and then turned and ran straight into them. Faint warning bells were ringing at the back of her mind; he was wearing a night-gown and dressing-gown and she herself was in her undress. But as his lips closed down over her own in a passionate kiss she forgot time and space and everything but the hot surgings of her own body pressed so tightly against his. Her fingers wound themselves in his long red hair still faintly scented from the hair powder that he had brushed out, and she moaned against his lips.
Hannah Pym awoke and was immediately uneasy. The first thing she thought of was that Belinda Earle had accepted her strictures too easily. She was sure that young lady was planning mischief. She was thirsty and decided to get herself a glass of water. She lit the bed-candle and then rose and went to the toilet table, which held a decanter of drinking water. Then she saw a note that had been pushed under the door. When Penelope’s maid had come to deliver it, she had scratched at the door and, receiving no answer, decided Miss Pym was asleep.
Hannah opened it and read it. Then she cocked her head to one side and pulled her nose in embarrassed distress. She was sure there were faint sounds coming from Belinda’s bedchamber.
Hannah lifted the candle and walked with a determined step through the sitting-room and straight into Belinda’s bedchamber.
Belinda was clasped in the marquess’s arms. They did not hear her come in. Both were apparently deaf to the world.
‘Stop that!’ said Hannah. ‘Stop it this minute, I say!’
The couple fell apart. Belinda was flushed and aghast, the marquess angry.
‘What do you want, Miss Pym?’ he demanded in a cold, thin voice.
‘What do I want?’ echoed Hannah. ‘The question, my lord, is what do you want?’
‘A word with you in private, Miss Pym,’ he said grimly.
Hannah led the way into the little sitting-room and closed the door firmly on Belinda.
‘My lord,’ said Hannah, ‘I do not wish to abuse your hospitality by interfering with your pleasures. But Miss Earle is no woman of the world. Nay, sir, neither is she a woman of the streets. It is well known in this household that you are courting Miss Jordan. I must ask you what your intentions are towards Miss Earle.’
‘And may I point out,’ he said calmly, ‘that my intentions are none of your business.’
‘Someone must make it their business,’ exclaimed Hannah. ‘You cannot seduce a virgin and expect me to stand by and see it happen.’
‘It is my understanding that Miss Earle is not a virgin, and she certainly does not behave like one. I was in her bedchamber at her invitation.’
‘You silly … lord, she thinks you love her. Has Miss Wimple been filling your ears with some tale about a footman?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I feel it my duty to tell you exactly what happened.’
And Hannah did.
The marquess stood frowning as she talked. There was no doubting the honesty of the story Miss Pym told. He began to wonder what on earth he would have done had he stayed in Belinda’s arms much longer. He might have seduced a highly respectable lady.
But he was a gentleman, and gentlemen never apologize because everyone knows gentlemen never make mistakes.
‘I was misled,’ he said. ‘But I think it would be too mortifying to explain to Miss Earle that I thought she was a hussy. Pray tell her I was foxed.’
‘I will try,’ said Hannah doubtfully, ‘but you look cold-stone sober.’
‘Tell her anything you like. I note the weather is improving. My servants tell me that your stage is repaired and waiting at the Queen Bess in Comfrey. We will give Miss Wimple another day’s rest and then convey you all there. Whether Miss Wimple feels up to travelling on further from the inn will be a matter for her to decide.’
‘It is a pity,’ mourned Hannah. ‘You are both so well suited.’
‘Miss Jordan and I?’
‘No, my lord, you and Miss Earle.’
He looked on her in dawning amusement. She was an odd creature with her strangely coloured eyes and her thin spare body and crooked nose. ‘Marriage is a serious business, Miss Pym. I fear you have been reading romances. I will choose some lady who will grace my home.’
‘Like an art treasure?’
‘Miss Pym, has anyone ever told you that you get away with murder? I really do not know why I am standing here listening to your strictures. Pray tell Miss Earle I behaved badly and am ashamed of myself.’
‘Why not tell her yourself?’
Why not? The marquess paused. He had never shirked an unpleasant duty in his life before. But the effect Belinda Earle had on his senses was devastating.
‘To be brutally frank, Miss Pym, I do not trust myself alone in a bedchamber with Miss Earle.’
‘Ah!’ Hannah’s eyes gleamed with a gold light. She decided to say no more at present. With any luck, this marquess was in love with Belinda and did not know it.
‘Then if you will leave this way, my lord,’ said Hannah. She showed him through her bedchamber to the corridor door, ushered him out, and then returned through the sitting-room to Belinda’s bedchamber.
Belinda was sitting by the fire. She had lit an oil-lamp and her eyes were bleak as she looked at Hannah. ‘How dare you!’ said Belinda.
Hannah silently handed her the letter from Penelope Jordan. Belinda read it and her face went as red as the fire she was sitting beside.
‘Yes, all the servants must know. To whom did you give your letter?’
‘To a lamp-boy,’ said Belinda.
‘A humble lamp-boy is of too low a rank to carry a letter to a marquess. You should have known that. Do your aunt and uncle not have many servants?’
Belinda shook her head. ‘No, we only have a butler, two footmen, two housemaids, two chambermaids, a lady’s maid, a cook, a housekeeper, one kitchen maid, one odd man, and of course the coachman and groom.’
‘Then I must tell you that the lamp-boy would take that letter of yours to the servants’ hall, where it would be delivered to the butler. The lamp-boy would tell the butler in front of the others from whom it came. So it would no doubt get to the ears of Miss Jordan’s lady’s maid and so to me.’
Belinda’s anger had died. The full horror of what she had done was slowly dawning on her. Love had blinded her to the fact that the Marquess of Frenton regarded her as a slut and therefore easy game. How shabby and brassy and common she now must appear set beside the beautiful Penelope.
Hannah did not want to add to Belinda’s distress by telling her the marquess knew about that footman episode. Both Belinda and the marquess were ashamed of themselves. Good! If the passage of true love ran smooth, then it could not possibly end happily, in Hannah’s experience. She remembered a gamekeeper at Thornton Hall who had fallen in love with a pretty chambermaid, and she with him. Mrs Clarence was still in residence and had smiled on the lovers. Everyone had thought they were a perfect match and
said so. Before the gamekeeper had even thought of popping the question, Mrs Clarence had called him in and offered him a cottage on the estate where he could live with his bride. The couple had grown shy and embarrassed and awkward at all this headlong enthusiasm to get them to the altar, and love had faded away. Such a pity, thought Hannah. Their characters had been so well matched. She always thought that had a few obstacles been thrown in their way, then they might have tied the knot and lived happily ever after because they were so compatible, and couples must have something other than love between them to survive the rocky road of marriage.
‘I suppose I should be grateful to you for interrupting us when you did,’ said Belinda awkwardly.
‘It was very painful for me,’ said Hannah. ‘In future, Miss Earle, no matter how strong your feelings, you must let the men do the pursuing. That is the way of the world. Any bold move on the female’s part is always misinterpreted, and men only value what is hard to get. The weather is improving, and we shall shortly be moving on.’
‘I would rather leave on the morrow,’ said Belinda in a low voice.
‘Too soon,’ said Hannah. ‘One more day. Take my advice and keep to your bedchamber and do not venture belowstairs. Or sit and read to Miss Wimple. She needs her mind improved. The marquess will at first be relieved at your absence and then he will miss you.’
‘I do not want him to miss me,’ said Belinda pettishly. ‘The least he could do is apologize.’
‘You can hardly expect him to do that after having sent that letter and given him the wrong impression.’
‘Am I so very bad, Miss Pym? Am I going to be damned as an Original? Why cannot I behave as other young misses?’ Tears stood out in Belinda’s eyes.
‘Not your fault,’ said Hannah gruffly. ‘If that uncle and aunt were here, I would wring their necks. This is the direct result of overmuch discipline and reaching too high in the Marriage Market. Had they left you alone, you might have waited until your inheritance and found someone suitable without a title.’
‘It is dangerous to live on dreams,’ said Belinda with a little sigh. ‘I thought I was in love, but perhaps it was only because I am dreading the thought of Great-Aunt Harriet and months and months of moralizing. It would have been a triumph to arrive on her fusty doorstep already engaged to a marquess. Heigh-ho! I am feeling much chastened, Miss Pym, but better in spirit. I shall survive.’
The marquess, next day reviewing the events of the night, began to wonder if he had been drunk. He convinced himself that the repairs begun on the roof of a tenant’s cottage at one of the farther corners of his estate needed personal attention. Then he decided to ride on to the Queen Bess in Comfrey. There he met the new driver of the stage-coach, who told him that the young driver and the guard who had caused the accident had been fired. The landlord assured his lordship that rooms would be available for the stage-coach passengers when they arrived. The road from the castle to the Queen Bess was clear. They would need, however, to stay at the inn for about two days, as the roads farther on were flooded. The marquess paid the innkeeper for their care and accommodation. Satisfied, he rode back to the castle. The stage-coach passengers could leave the next morning. Miss Wimple would be conveyed lying down in a separate carriage. She would be put to bed at the inn, and from then on she would no longer be the marquess’s responsibility.
He dressed carefully for dinner that afternoon, as if armouring himself in silk and jewels for the confrontation with Belinda. But when he descended to the Cedar Room, he was told by Miss Pym that Belinda’s ankle was still hurting and she preferred to take her meals in her sitting-room and to read to Miss Wimple.
The marquess was at first relieved, and then, as dinner progressed, disappointed. The day had turned flat. He looked at Penelope Jordan and imagined sitting with her at dinner-tables and supper-tables day in and day out, and suddenly realized it was a prospect he could not face.
After dinner Mr Judd, trembling with nerves, took the marquess aside and asked him if he could really be of any help in finding them singing engagements. The marquess, glad he could do something so simple, agreed and wrote the Judds letters of introduction to all the leading luminaries of Bath, including the Master of Ceremonies at the Pump Room.
The Judds, overwhelmed with relief and delight, sang like angels. Far above the Cedar Room, in Miss Wimple’s bedchamber, Belinda heard the music. She could picture the marquess sitting beside Penelope, the perfect couple.
She dropped the book she had been reading in her lap and said to her companion, ‘Did you by any chance, Miss Wimple, take it upon yourself to warn his lordship about my adventure with the footman?’
‘I did tell him,’ said Miss Wimple, ‘but I was overset at the time. Therefore, I sent for him yesterday and swore him to silence. I did my duty.’
Belinda controlled her rage and mortification with an effort. ‘Do you never think to your future, Miss Wimple?’ she asked. ‘In two years’ time, I will reach my majority and become an independent lady of means, a lady of means who will not want to be saddled with a companion who acts like a self-righteous jailer.’
Outraged, Miss Wimple sat up in bed. ‘Wait until I tell your aunt and uncle what you have said.’
‘Tell them,’ said Belinda bitterly. ‘What more can they do to me? Read to yourself, Miss Wimple. In case you have not been paying attention, it is a book of Mr Porteous’s sermons. Perhaps it might improve the low tenor of your mind.’
When Belinda left, Miss Wimple lay thinking uneasily. She enjoyed the power her position as a sort of wardress to Belinda Earle had given her. She had no intention of stooping so low as to ingratiate herself with that young minx. As soon as they reached Bath, she would search around for a suitable post, and to revenge herself further on Belinda, she would do as much damage to that young lady’s reputation as she possibly could. It was an unfair world where a young lady of low morals such as Belinda Earle should be blessed with a fortune when such as she, of high moral standing, should be forced to work for a living.
The morning dawned fine and sparkling and sunny. A fresh warm wind blew across the countryside and blackbirds were singing from the battlements as the stage-coach passengers made their way to the courtyard. Mrs Judd was bubbling over with high spirits. Not only had her husband been treating her affectionately, even in private, but the marquess had given them a handsome sum in gold to enable them to start on their new career. She planned gown after gown, visions of silks and muslins and cambrics and velvets floating through her happy brain. She did not realize that the bullying had ceased not only because of her husband’s ambitions, but because her own attitude had changed. She no longer crept or cringed or punctuated his every pontification with ‘Yes, dear.’
The marquess was not present. The butler told them his lordship had been called away to attend to an urgent matter on the estates. Heavy of heart, Belinda climbed into the carriage. She looked up at the mullioned windows of the castle houses flashing in the sun, and as she did so one of the windows swung open and Penelope Jordan leaned out.
She saw Belinda looking up and gave a mocking wave and her beautiful lips curled in a slow smile. Belinda stuck out her tongue and then jerked down the carriage blind and sat with her arms folded.
The marquess, on horseback, was on a hill that looked down on the Bath road and watched the carriages roll out through the lodge-gates, the first carriage bearing Belinda and Miss Pym, the second the Judds, and the third, Miss Wimple. He restrained a sudden impulse to ride down and join the carriages and accompany them to the inn. He was well shot of Belinda Earle. But he could still feel her lips against his own, warm and eager and, yes, he finally had to admit it, totally innocent.
Back at the castle, the Jordans were waiting for him. He sighed. High time he got rid of them as well and returned to his comfortable days of isolation. He would tell them he had to travel somewhere or another and soften the blow by saying they were welcome to stay, sure that once their quarry had flown, they would not do
so.
That evening, he was doomed to disappointment. The Jordans were rich and remained rich by guarding every penny apart from what they spent on Penelope’s extravagant gowns and jewels. Sir Henry jovially said they would be only too happy to await Frenton’s return. The marquess parried by saying he might be gone for some considerable time. Lady Henry smiled gently and remarked coyly that their dear Penelope would act as chatelaine in his absence. ‘Good practice, hey?’ said Sir Henry and again gave that false jovial laugh that was beginning to grate on the marquess’s ears.
Now he would have to find somewhere to go. But where? London out of Season was not to his taste.
The Queen Bess was an impressive Elizabethan inn with three lofty storeys forming bay windows supported by brackets and caryatids. Inside, it was panelled in wainscot with carved ceilings adorned with dolphins, cherubim and acorns bordered with wreaths of flowers. The sign over the door was excellently painted, probably because Queen Elizabeth was always generally well treated in both busts and portraits, for such as were executed by unskilful artists were by her own order ‘knocked in pieces and cast into the fire’. A proclamation of 1563 recites that:
Her Majestie perceiveth that a great number of Hir loving subjects are much greved and take great offence with the errors and deformities alredy committed by sondry persons in this behalf, she straightly chargeth all her officers and ministers to see to the observation hereof, and as soon as may be, to reform the error alredy committed, and in the mean tyme to forbydd and prohibit the showing of such as are apparently deformed until they may be reformed that are reformable.
Queen Elizabeth was, of course, supposed to have slept there, although Hannah thought that, with a castle so near at hand, it was unlikely she would opt for a bed in a common inn. The room that Belinda shared with Hannah, having refused to share a bedchamber with Miss Wimple, was said to be haunted by the ghost of a grey lady. The landlord said this was an added attraction. Hannah, suspecting an addition to the bill for the pleasures of sharing a room with a ghost, demanded the price and was surprised and delighted when the landlord told her that the Marquess of Frenton had already paid handsomely for the stage-coach passengers’ food and lodging.
