by M C Beaton
Lady Beatrice spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I do not really see what we can do.’
‘Well, you see, Miss Pym don’t agree with me,’ said Benjamin earnestly, ‘but I think this here Miss Bearcroft is Haymarket ware, and if you could find out and if he was put wise, like, the mistress could be happy again.’
‘You are a very loyal servant, Benjamin,’ said Lord Alistair. ‘Are you sure you are not romancing?’
‘I can tell a lightskirt a mile off,’ said Benjamin. ‘No matter how they’s dressed.’
‘I will see what I can find out,’ said Lord Alistair slowly, ‘but I cannot hold out much hope.’
When Benjamin had left, he turned to Lady Beatrice and said, ‘What do you think? Should I waste time I might be spending with you finding out about Benjamin’s trollop?’
‘Oh, please do something,’ begged Lady Beatrice. ‘I always used to think Miss Pym too bossy and dictatorial, but I would rather she stayed that way, for I love her dearly.’
‘Then I will do it for you, my sweet, but kiss me first!’
Their kisses were so long and so intense that Lord Alistair forgot all about Miss Pym’s predicament and would have gladly continued to forget about it had Lady Beatrice not at last freed herself and said in a ragged voice, ‘I think you should go before we both forget we are not yet married. Do try to do something for Miss Pym.’
Lord Alistair first called on the formidable Countess Lieven, one of the patronesses of Almack’s. To his inquiries, the countess said she had never heard of Miss Bearcroft and she had certainly never even applied for vouchers to the famous assembly rooms. From there he went to his club and questioned all he met and at last elicited the news that Miss Bearcroft had lately arrived from India and was being sponsored by Lady Beauclerc. Lord Alistair raised his thin eyebrows in surprise. Lady Beauclerc was a grasping harridan who would thrust anyone on society provided she was paid enough money to do so.
‘India,’ mused Lord Alistair. ‘Where do I go for gossip now? The military or the East India Company?’ He tossed a coin and it came down in favour of the East India Company.
He made his way over to the City and asked to see Sir Miles Burford, one of the directors. It was the only name he could remember. An old clerk asked him to be seated. He came back and said Sir Miles would see Lord Alistair as soon as possible.
Lord Alistair waited and waited. The clerk served him tea. The hands of the yellow-faced clock on the office wall crept slowly round.
‘Is he very busy?’ Lord Alistair asked the clerk. ‘Or does he like to keep people waiting?’
‘Sir Miles likes to keep people waiting, my lord, no matter what their consequence,’ said the old clerk with a trace of venom. ‘He feels it adds to his consequence.’ A bell rang in the inner office. ‘Sir Miles will see you now,’ said the clerk, and shuffled to open the door.
Sir Miles was a portly man, his heavy face hanging down pear-shaped under a small wig perched on top of his head.
‘Sit down, Lord Alistair,’ he said pompously, ‘and let me know how I may serve you.’
‘It is a delicate matter,’ said Lord Alistair. ‘I am trying to find out about a certain Miss Bearcroft.’
Sir Miles placed his podgy hands on the desk and heaved himself up. ‘I do not wish to insult you, my lord, but I am a busy man and have no time to waste talking about ladies of whom I have never heard. Good day to you!’
‘It was a civil question,’ said Lord Alistair. ‘I would remind you I own a considerable amount of shares in the East India Company.’
Sir Miles forced a smile. ‘Of course, of course, and if there is anything about the workings of the company you would like to know, we are always at your service.’
‘But you have never heard of Miss Bearcroft?’
‘No. Now, if you will excuse me …’ He fussily shifted some papers in front of him.
Lord Alistair took his leave. The little old clerk helped him into his greatcoat and peered up into his face in an oddly inquisitive way. Lord Alistair turned in the doorway. ‘I wonder whether, Mr …?’
‘Chipping.’
‘I wonder whether you have heard at any time, from anyone arriving back from India, of a Miss Bearcroft.’
Mr Chipping looked quickly at the closed door of Sir Miles Burford’s office and then laid a chalky finger alongside his nose. ‘I go to the chop-house, Brown’s, hard by, in five minutes, my lord.’ He again glanced at that closed door in a warning way.
‘Very well,’ said Lord Alistair in a low voice. ‘I shall meet you there.’
He went to the chop-house and found a dark corner to sit in while he waited for Mr Chipping. It was much frequented by clerks, all gossiping about stocks and shares and the iniquities of their employers. Mr Chipping sidled in through the crowd and sat down gingerly next to Lord Alistair and looked at him hopefully, like a robin looking for crumbs.
Lord Alistair smiled. ‘Shall we say ten guineas?’ he asked.
Mr Chipping rubbed his hands gleefully. ‘We shall indeed, my lord. We shall indeed. Now this Miss Philadelphia Bearcroft came on the London Season back in the late eighties, but she did not take. Father was a colonel, dead this age, mother pushing and ambitious. Decides to take daughter out to India in the hope of catching some homesick prize of an officer for her daughter. Now we comes to Sir Miles’s brother, James.’
‘Do we indeed. You intrigue me.’
‘Oh, it’s a real ten guineas’ worth.
‘Mr James Burford is another of the directors of the company, based in Calcutta. I was out there until the climate nigh killed me. Mr Burford has a marvellous mansion, plenty of money, unlimited power, and a little faded sort of lady of a wife and ten children. He meets Miss Bearcroft at a ball and is smitten. They tried to keep it quiet, but it soon became known that Miss Bearcroft had become the mistress of Mr James, and she lorded it over the wives of the employees of the East India Company and they had to be nice to her or Mr James might have sent their husbands packing. Finally the flighty Miss Bearcroft got too much for some of them and a deputation of the ladies went to see Mrs Burford. No one could have believed that downtrodden lady would have shown such strength of character. Gossip has it that she upped and told her husband that unless he got rid of this Miss Bearcroft, she, Mrs Burford, would make such a scandal in the courts asking for a divorce that he would never be able to hold up his head again in polite society. So he settled a vast sum on this Miss Bearcroft and then got her a passage home.’
‘Wonderful!’ said Lord Alistair. ‘You have earned your ten guineas.’
Sir George Clarence sat uneasily on a striped satin sofa in Lady Beauclerc’s drawing-room, with Miss Bearcroft beside him. Lady Beauclerc had left them alone together and gone out and shut the door behind her. It was too much for the conventional Sir George. No gentleman should be alone in a room with an unmarried lady and with the door closed. He went up and opened it wide and then sat down again.
Miss Bearcroft looked at him coyly over her fan. ‘I decleah you are cwoss with me still.’
‘I am a little,’ said Sir George reluctantly. ‘Miss Pym is a very dear friend and a most unusual lady. As a friend of mine, you should have offered her your whole hand, nor should you have made that ridiculous remark about her footman being her son.’
‘But what else was I to think?’ pleaded Miss Bearcroft. ‘I mean, she’s only a servant. What is she doing with a servant herself?’
‘It’s a long story, but do realize this, and then I will say no more on the matter. Whatever status Miss Pym held in the past, she is now a gentlewoman and I would thank you to remember it.’
Behind the shelter of her fan, Miss Bearcroft’s face hardened as her mind worked furiously. Yes, she had been jealous of that stupid crooked-nosed creature because Miss Pym and Sir George had looked so comfortable together. And yet, what had she to fear from such as Hannah Pym?
She gave a tinkling little laugh and lowered her fan. ‘In truth, I was jeaw
ous,’ she lisped.
‘Jealous? Of Miss Pym?’
‘Oh, I know it is ridiculous. But you are so careful of the conventions when you are with me but think nothing of being closeted alone with Miss Pym in her apartment. I shall make amends. I would love to hear her tell of her adventures and I shall become her friend, too.’
Sir George hesitated. Somewhere at the back of his brain a little alarm bell was beginning to sound. Only that morning, a friend of his had told him that Lady Beauclerc was a thruster of the unfashionable on society. He remembered how he had met both Miss Bearcroft and Lady Beauclerc. He had been leaving his house and Miss Bearcroft had let out a cry and stumbled against him. She said she had twisted her ankle. Lady Beauclerc had eagerly accepted Sir George’s offer to escort them both home and had pressed him to stay to tea and then had left them together.
And yet he felt he had somehow to make amends to Hannah Pym.
‘I will send a servant to her and suggest we call together tomorrow,’ he said.
‘And you will see how charming I can be!’ cried Miss Bearcroft.
Benjamin called on Lord Alistair the following day and learned with great satisfaction of Miss Bearcroft’s background. ‘I did not tell Miss Pym,’ said Lord Alistair, ‘for I thought it better to tell you first and leave it to you to break the news to her. She may decide to do nothing. She is a shrewd lady and may know that a gentleman often blames the very person who makes the scales fall from his eyes.’
The footman thought about that as he made his way to South Audley Street. He knew that Sir George and Miss Bearcroft were to call that afternoon. Hannah had at first said she would not see them and then had changed her mind. Benjamin said nothing to Hannah but helped to arrange the tea-things. There was no air of excitement and Hannah was wearing a plain gown of green velvet, although it was of good cut and went well with her sandy-coloured hair.
This time Miss Bearcroft startled her by embracing her warmly. Hannah replied by detaching herself as quickly as possible and ushering the couple into chairs.
As tea was dispensed, Miss Bearcroft said with every appearance of eagerness, ‘I am all agog to hear your adventures, Miss Pym.’
Before Hannah could speak, Benjamin gave tongue. ‘Ain’t nothing compared to yourn, Miss Bearcroft.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Sir George frostily. ‘Besides, I thought you were deaf and dumb, you jackanapes. I thought there was something wrong when I heard you speak the other day.’
‘Oh, that is another story,’ said Hannah with terrible false gaiety. ‘It all happened—’
‘In India,’ finished Benjamin gleefully.
‘Benjamin!’ roared Hannah. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? I have never been to India.’
Benjamin grinned insolently. ‘But you have, ha’n’t you, Miss Bearcroft?’
‘Well, really,’ exclaimed Miss Bearcroft. ‘We should leave now, Sir George. Miss Pym has been a servant and that may be why she cannot keep her own in his place.’
‘And why can’t you keep yours?’ jeered Benjamin. ‘Miss Pym is a lady and I don’t like to see my mistress making tea for the demi-monde.’
Sir George stood up. ‘Explain yourself now,’ he demanded.
‘Well, sir,’ said Benjamin, turning all meek and humble, ‘it’s a well-known fact that Miss Bearcroft here was the mistress o’ Mr James Burford o’ the East India Company for years.’
Sir George’s blue gaze fell on Miss Bearcroft. Her face was contorted with fury. ‘Damn you!’ she whispered.
‘So,’ went on Benjamin unrepentantly, ‘it goes against the grain to see my mistress having to take insults from the likes o’ you, the camel o’ Calcutta, allus getting humped.’
Miss Bearcroft leaped to her feet and threw the contents of her teacup full into Benjamin’s face and then ran from the apartment. There was a shocked silence.
Then Sir George collected his hat and stick and said in a strangled voice, ‘Good day to both of you.’
‘No,’ pleaded Hannah, ‘you must not go. Benjamin has run mad. He will apologize.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
Sir George sat down again and looked at the floor. ‘You had better tell me all, young man,’ he said. And so Benjamin did, in a quiet voice, casting worried looks all the time at Hannah.
‘You see,’ finished Benjamin, ‘I had to find out. Miss Pym knew none of this, nor would she have let me say a thing if she did, but I could not stand by and see you gulled, sir.’
‘I am an old fool,’ said Sir George quietly, ‘and I should be thankful to you. Indeed, I am thankful to you. I was already coming to the conclusion I had made a sad mistake. I do not go about in the world as often as I used to. That is no doubt why Lady Beauclerc considered me easy prey for her protégée. But if you care so much for the sensitivity of your mistress, Benjamin, then I suggest that in future you do not use the language of the gutter in front of her.’
Benjamin hung his head.
‘Leave us, Benjamin,’ said Hannah quietly.
Benjamin shuffled out.
Hannah turned to Sir George. ‘I am so very sorry,’ she said softly. ‘You must think that association with such as I has made you the butt of that sort of coarseness.’
He raised a white hand in protest. ‘It was strong medicine, I admit. When did he find his voice?’
‘Ah, that,’ said Hannah, carefully pouring him a cup of tea. ‘Did I not tell you? Well …’
Benjamin leaned against the door of his room, anxiously biting his knuckles, listening to the rise and fall of voices until he slowly began to relax.
‘And so,’ said Sir George when he finally rose to leave, ‘do you go on more travels, Miss Pym?’
Hannah thought quickly. She did not want to stay in London now, waiting and hoping to see him. Better to go away for a little again until he was completely recovered from Miss Bearcroft. She made up her mind.
‘I shall go to Dover,’ she said, ‘and I shall see the sea again.’
‘And when do you go?’
‘Soon. After the wedding of Lady Beatrice. I am to be maid of honour,’ said Hannah proudly.
He rose to leave and she looked at him a little sadly, wondering if they would ever be on their own easy footing again. He paused in the doorway. ‘I have just remembered. You were anxious to see the gardens at Thornton Hall, were you not? I will drive you there tomorrow if the weather holds fine.’
Hannah thanked him shyly. Inside his bedroom, where he had been listening all the while, Benjamin rolled on his bed and kicked his heels in the air and crowed with sheer relief.
The wedding of Lady Beatrice and Lord Alistair Munro was a quiet affair, with only Hannah as maid of honour and a friend of Lord Alistair’s as brideman to see them joined in marriage. Hannah cried copiously and loudly all through the wedding service and enjoyed herself immensely. The foursome had a wedding breakfast at an inn near the church. Hannah, unusually for her, became rather tipsy and only Benjamin knew it was caused more by sheer happiness than alcohol. For Hannah had not only visited the gardens at Thornton Hall with Sir George but had taken a drive with him at the fashionable hour in Hyde Park. And he had urged her to call on him again as soon as she reached London after her next adventure and had said that he would take her to Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.
‘So,’ said Lord Alistair when he was alone with Lady Beatrice in his town house where they were to spend their first night together, ‘who knows – we may soon be attending Miss Pym’s wedding.’
‘I would like to think so,’ said Lady Beatrice. ‘But Miss Pym did let fall that Sir George now regards her in the light of an old friend and Miss Pym thinks gentlemen never fall in love with their lady friends.’
‘You mean hate is more akin to love than friendship?’
‘So Miss Pym would have it.’
‘And are you happy to be spending the rest of your days with me rather than Miss Pym?’
She looked up at him teasingly. ‘Instead of asking me about Hannah Py
m, why do you not leave me so that my maid can undress me.’
He gazed into her eyes and then said in a ragged voice, ‘Let me be your maid.’
She raised her arms above her head and said gently, ‘By all means.’
In a very short time, Hannah Pym, the matchmaker who had brought them together, was forgotten as they tumbled over each other in a frenzy of love-making.
A few streets away, Hannah closed her Bible and put it beside the bed and composed herself for sleep. Her thoughts turned to Lady Beatrice and Lord Alistair and then jumped away like a scalded cat. Best not to think what they were doing. Better to look forward to that journey to Dover, and then perhaps end her travels for once and for all.
By the Same Author
Titles by M.C. Beaton
The Travelling Matchmaker series
Emily Goes to Exeter
Belinda Goes to Bath
Penelope Goes to Portsmouth
Beatrice Goes to Brighton
Deborah Goes to Dover
Yvonne Goes to York
The Edwardian Murder Mystery series
Snobbery with Violence
Hasty Death
Sick of Shadows
Our Lady of Pain
The Agatha Raisin series
Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death
Agatha Raisin and the Vicious Vet
