by M C Beaton
He strolled along the seafront, with his hands in his pockets, listening to the waves crashing on the beach, and looking for his prey.
And then he saw three army officers standing by some steps down to the beach. He judged them to be army officers by their whiskers and pigtails rather than by their dress, for none of them was wearing uniform.
He fished in his pocket for his dice, and as he came abreast of them, he dropped the dice to the ground. He bent down and picked them up and said, ‘A pair o’ sixes.’
One of the officers laughed. ‘You couldn’t do that again.’
‘Try me,’ said Benjamin with a grin.
Gambling was a democratic sport. Aristocrats would cheerfully gamble with commoners. They would bet on anything – which goose would cross the road first, which fly would reach the top of the window before the other – and so they all crouched down round Benjamin and started to play hazard dice.
At one point in the game, Benjamin was losing so heavily that he began to think he would have to flee the country, but he persevered and, sure enough, the luck began to run his way.
‘Enough,’ cried one. ‘We have an engagement and we are late already. We will give you our notes of hand.’
‘Could suggest something easier for you,’ said Benjamin. ‘My lady is looking for a snug little apartment for, say, three weeks. Any of you got one? Take that instead of your money.’
The men looked at him in surprise and then one turned to the other and said, ‘What say you, Barnstable? Give him the keys to your place and move in with me.’
‘Done,’ said the one called Barnstable cheerfully.
‘Has it got a view of the sea?’ asked Benjamin, who thought they were getting off very lightly, for they all owed him a great deal of money.
‘I’ll take you over,’ said Barnstable, ‘and give you the keys. Just over there.’
Benjamin followed him to one of the new buildings facing the sea. It turned out to be a pleasant apartment on the ground floor, with a large sitting-room with a bay window that overlooked the sea, a small parlour at the back, then two bedrooms, also at the back, and a kitchen which opened on to a weedy garden.
‘My lady will want to move in tomorrow morning,’ said Benjamin, looking around. ‘Best have your traps moved out tonight. Got a piece o’ paper?’
‘Why?’
‘Want your written agreement.’
‘You churl. You little toad. My word is my bond.’
‘I’ve heard that one afore,’ said Benjamin. ‘You give me that there agreement. My mistress is a Hungarian countess and a friend o’ the Prince of Wales.’
‘Oh, really?’ sneered Barnstable. ‘Whoever heard of a countess getting her accommodation this way?’
‘Whoever heard o’ a countess spending any money she don’t have to?’
‘Oh, very well.’ Barnstable signed an agreement that he would allow Miss Hannah Pym to use his apartment for three weeks. He raised his eyebrows at the name.
‘Incognito,’ said Benjamin succinctly. ‘My lady has a lot of enemies.’
‘If this is how she goes about her business, you don’t surprise me.’
Benjamin had decided not to tell Hannah about his gambling. Instead he surprised her with a tale about an army man who was only too happy to let her use his place and did not want any payment.
‘I find that hard to believe, Benjamin,’ commented Hannah suspiciously.
‘He was in his cups,’ said Benjamin. ‘I got him to sign this here agreement, so that when he sobers up, he can’t do nuffin’ about it.’
Hannah decided to go along with it, and if by chance the mysterious army gentleman had changed his mind, she could always move out again.
2
Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.
Lady Caroline Lamb on Lord Byron
Hannah was delighted with her new residence. She could now look out at the sea all day long if she pleased. But first, the apartment badly needed cleaning. Hannah donned an apron and covered her hair with a mob-cap and set to work until everything was gleaming and shining. As she worked, she thought ruefully that she must do something with Benjamin.
Benjamin appeared to think that a footman’s only duties were to stand behind the mistress’s chair and carry her letters. Hannah had sent him out two hours ago to deliver a letter to Lord Alistair Munro. She knew he was probably strolling about the streets with his hands in his pockets. It was evident he had learned nothing while he had been in service to Lady Carsey. Probably, while he was in favour, she had made a pet of him.
Her thoughts turned to what she would wear to the ball. She would need to go out that very day and find Brighton’s most modish dressmaker and hope that there was some ball gown already made up which had not been collected by the lady who had ordered it.
She picked up two decanters and studied them. They had not been cleaned, so she took them through to the kitchen, filled them with hot water from a kettle swung over the fire, dropped a few pieces of well-soaped brown paper into each, and left them to stand.
She then went back to the sitting-room and opened the windows and leaned out to smell the fresh salt tang of the sea.
Benjamin came strolling along, whistling, hands in his pockets, and turned in at the gate.
Hannah shook her head in disapproval. A footman should always look as if he were on duty, whether his mistress was with him or not.
So when Benjamin appeared in the sitting-room, Hannah asked him sharply if he would like to learn to be a ‘real’ footman.
‘I thought I was, modom,’ said Benjamin, very stiffly on his stiffs.
Hannah shook her head. ‘You are a good lad, but you must learn that there is more to being a footman than parading about in livery. What would become of you if I were to die? Now, would you like to be properly trained?’
Benjamin nodded eagerly.
But the look of eagerness left his face as Hannah went on … and on … and on.
A footman should never hand over anything at all without putting it on a tray first, and always hand it with the left hand and on the left side of the person he serves, and hold it so the guest may take it with ease. In lifting dishes from the table, he should use both hands. This was because, as one foreign visitor to England had noted, ‘A complete English repast suggested the reason why such large English dishes are to be seen in silver, pewter, china, and crockery shops; to wit, because a quarter of a calf, half a lamb, and monstrous pieces of meat are dished up, and everyone receives almost an entire fish.’
After each meal, the footman’s place is at the sink. He should have one wooden bowl of hot water for washing dishes, and one wooden bowl for rinsing. There was less chance of breakages if wood was used. He should rub down the furniture in the sitting-room and parlour before breakfast and then be washed and clean and neat, prepared to go out with his mistress.
He should mind his own business at all times. ‘There was once a footman at Thornton Hall,’ said Hannah, ‘who would stand behind Mrs Clarence’s chair and advise her how to play her cards. You must never do anything like that, Benjamin. I had to speak to that footman very sharply. Also, what your mistress says at the table is none of your business. If a guest is telling a very funny story, you must not even dare to laugh. A good footman should be quiet, almost invisible. You have hitherto been saved all household chores, for I have been in the way of looking after myself. Now, I have put two decanters to soak. This afternoon, empty them out, fill them up with clean water, and add a little muriatic acid, and then leave them to stand. It is very hard to clean dirty decanters.
‘I have cleaned here very thoroughly, so you may be excused from proper duties today. But remember, some footmen have a very hard time. Gentlemen often take their footmen with them when they go out of an evening, for the footman’s duty is to pick his master up from under the table where said master has fallen after a bout of heavy drinking. If the footman does not remove the master quietly and gracefully from the room, he may lose his
job, for if his friends mock him the next day for his drunkenness, he will not blame himself but his footman for not having saved him from ridicule. It is not an easy life.’
Benjamin looked crestfallen for a moment, but then brightened. ‘I will do as well as I can for you, modom,’ he said, ‘but, saints preserve us, if you was ever to go to your Maker, I certainly wouldn’t work for one of those gents what you was talking about.’
‘Then decide what you do want to do,’ retorted Hannah tartly. ‘For if a life in service don’t suit, then you’d better start thinking about apprenticing yourself to some trade. Now, we shall go out. I must find a dressmaker and hope she or he has a made-up gown for sale, for I am determined to go to that ball!’
Hannah, by dint of visiting the circulating library, found out from the gentleman in charge of it that the main dressmaker of Brighton was Monsieur Blanc. Monsieur Blanc was a voluble man with a strong French accent. He said in answer to Hannah’s request that he had not only one, but three ball gowns which had not been collected. One of them, to Hannah’s delight, was perfect. It was a heavy white satin slip with a rich overdress of gold satin fastened down the front with gold clasps. It could have been made for her. She tried it on and hardly recognized Hannah Pym in the elegant creature that looked back at her from the glass.
‘A mere eight hundred guineas,’ cooed Monsieur Blanc.
‘Cor!’ said Benjamin in awe.
Hannah turned a little pale.
‘I have not yet made up my mind,’ she said. ‘I should like to take a little walk and think about it.’
Monsieur Blanc looked disappointed but, ever hopeful, said he was sure that, after a little thought, she would realize the folly of turning down such an exquisite creation.
With Benjamin a few paces behind her, she walked sadly down one of Brighton’s twisting, cobbled streets. ‘Eight hundred guineas,’ said Hannah over her shoulder. ‘It’s wicked, that’s what it is. Wicked! I should be ruined if I paid that.’
‘Beg parding,’ said Benjamin. ‘I left my gloves in that Frog’s shop.’
‘The fact that we are at war with the French does not mean you can go about calling respectable French tradesmen Frogs,’ snapped Hannah. ‘Oh, go for your gloves. I shall be in that pastry cook’s shop over there.’
Benjamin ran off. He opened the door of the dressmaker’s and went inside. ‘Has your mistress decided?’ asked Monsieur Blanc.
‘Fact is,’ said Benjamin, ‘my lady is strapped for the readies. O’ course, she could ask ’er friend, the Prince o’ Wales, but these foreign royalties is very proud. Very.’
Monsieur Blanc looked bewildered. ‘But she introduced herself as a visitor to Brighton called Miss Pym.’
Benjamin grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Incognito,’ he said. ‘Don’t want it spread about and I know a man in your position has to be discreet, but you know how it’s got around that Mrs Fitzherbert’s had her day.’
‘Bless me,’ said the dressmaker in accents almost as Cockney as Benjamin’s. ‘He married her, didn’t he?’
‘Mrs Fitzherbert … garn,’ said Benjamin, now more confident because Monsieur Blanc had revealed himself to be not French but very English, and East End of London English at that. ‘The marriage can’t be reckernized. You knows that and I knows that. Our prince is getting tired o’ her, like I said. An’ why’s he tired o’ her? ’Cos my mistress has caught his eye.’
Everyone knew the prince’s penchant for ladies older than himself. Even so, Monsieur Blanc looked bewildered. ‘But what has it got to do with me?’
‘Well, see ’ere. This Miss Pym – we’ll call her that, hey? – she’s going to Lord Southern’s ball. If you were to lend her that gown for a night, then she could tell all it was you she got it from and that she wouldn’t dream o’ getting her gowns and pretties from anyone else. Of course, the prince himself would get to hear of it.’
‘My stars and garters.’ Monsieur Blanc clasped his hands.
‘But you’re not to tell a soul who she really is. Promise.’
‘I don’t know who she really is!’
‘But you know now she’s a foreign princess what has taken the prince’s eye. So promise.’
‘Promise, as sure as my name’s Blanc.’
‘Which it ain’t,’ said Benjamin with a cheeky grin.
Monsieur Blanc grinned back. ‘You’re a sharp one. It’s White, so it’s the same thing really, blanc being the French for white. Don’t you go letting out I’m not French – the ladies liking to think they got a Frenchie to make their dresses – and I’ll let you have the gown. You can take it now. But tell Miss Pym she’s got to tell His Highness about me.’
‘Would I lie?’ Benjamin sat down in a little gilt chair and folded his arms. ‘If you box it up, I’ll take it to her.’
Hannah wondered what had become of him and whether he might have lost his way. She was just about to leave the pastry cook’s and go in search of him when he came running in, carrying a large box.
‘The dress, modom,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, heavens!’ wailed Hannah. ‘You’ve stolen it.’
‘That’s a right fine thing to say to your trusted servant!’ exclaimed Benjamin. ‘I went back to the shop and he ups and says you can borrow it for the evening; only, if anyone compliments you on it, you’re to say you gets all your gowns offa him. Right?’
‘Well, of course I’ll do that,’ said Hannah. ‘Are you sure?’
‘O’ course,’ said Benjamin loftily. ‘It’s the way he goes about advertising. They all do that. Bless my heart, modom, but you are as innocent as a new-born lamb. Them grand ladies, why, a lot of them haven’t paid for a stitch that’s on their backs.’
This was almost true, as a great number paid their dressmaking bills only when faced with the threat of duns, and some did not pay at all.
‘Why, Benjamin, you are amazing. You may sit down with me and take tea.’
‘Won’t do,’ said Benjamin sternly. ‘You have to know what’s due to your position. I’ll get some newspapers and we’ll take that box ’ome … home … and I’ll have me tea there.’
They bought newspapers and groceries, Hannah disappointed to find the prices were as high as in London. They returned to their temporary home and Hannah said that Benjamin could take the newspapers through to the parlour while she prepared dinner. She went to the kitchen and made up the fire and put a joint of roast iamb on the spit. Benjamin appeared in the kitchen, holding a newspaper. ‘What was the name of the frosty-faced female what was on the coach?’
‘That,’ said Hannah repressively, ‘was Lady Beatrice Marsham.’
‘She’s in the newspapers. Her engagement’s written right ’ere.’
‘To whom?’
‘Sir Geoffrey Handford.’
Hannah shook her head in amazement. ‘To think of all the fuss I made! She must have thought me quite mad.’
‘It also says she’s here in Brighton, staying with Mrs Handford, Sir Geoffrey’s ma.’
‘Worse and worse,’ moaned Hannah, shaking her head at her own folly. ‘And there I was crying out that she was being taken away by force. I must say, this news does relieve my conscience, for when Lord Alistair told me that Lady Beatrice was well able to take care of herself, I believed him, but last night I found myself worrying about her again.’
‘You can call on her anyway,’ said Benjamin. ‘I mean, she gave you her card. Got to meet a few of the nobs, ha’nt you?’
‘Well, yes, I could call. Can you find Mrs Handford’s address?’
‘Easy,’ said Benjamin.
He was back in about ten minutes. ‘Mrs Handford’s just around hard by. One of those big houses on the Steyne.’
‘How did you find out so quickly?’
‘Thought it might be one of them grand houses, so I asked any servant I saw about and got it the third time of asking.’
‘I wonder if I should go,’ mused Hannah. ‘I mean, I would be social climbing, woul
d I not? And what if I were damned as a mushroom?’
‘Well, if that’s yer attitude, you’d best kiss that Sir George Clarence good-bye.’
‘Benjamin! I allow you a good deal of licence, but I would not have allowed a footman to address me in such terms even were I still only a housekeeper.’
‘Sorry, modom,’ said Benjamin stiffly.
Hannah looked at him for a few moments and then said reluctantly, ‘Oh, very well.’
Late that afternoon, Monsieur Blanc called at the household of a certain Mrs Cambridge. Mrs Cambridge was very elegant, a member of the untitled aristocracy and one of Monsieur Blanc’s best customers. With a mouthful of pins, he carefully arranged a seam and said, ‘T’ shtrangesht shing ’appened today.’
‘What?’ demanded Mrs Cambridge, twisting round. ‘Do take those pins out of your mouth. It is hard to understand you at the best of times.’
Monsieur Blanc complied. ‘Zee strangest thing ’appened this day,’ he said, his accent stronger than ever, for he regretted bitterly having let it slip in front of Benjamin. ‘Zis lady, ver’ grand, came into my salon. She is amazed at my work. She says she will buy everything from me. She call ’erself Miss Pym. ’Er footman, he return to collect the gown I ’ave fashioned for ’er, and he tells me,’ went on Monsieur Blanc, dropping most of his accent suddenly in his desire to impart such a stunning piece of gossip, ‘that this Miss Pym, is, in fact, foreign royalty. Oh, ma foi! Why did I tell you? It is so secret.’
‘Really!’ Mrs Cambridge’s eyes glowed. ‘You silly man. You know I won’t tell a soul.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
‘Such a pity. I was going to order a whole new summer wardrobe from you.’
‘But it eez gossip of the most dangerous.’
‘Pity about that wardrobe. I meant to have at least a dozen ensembles.’
Like the shrewd man he was, Monsieur Blanc guessed that the bidding had now gone as high as he could expect it to go. Twelve ensembles was top offer. With affected reluctance, he said, ‘I must remember that Madame is so discreet.’
