The Dressmaker’s Secret

by Charlotte Betts

  ‘But she wanted to go to her friends,’ I said.

  ‘Sir Frederick had told everyone she’d drowned herself because she was grieving for her baby and he’d posted notices offering a reward for my capture, accusing me of absconding with my mistress’s clothes and jewellery.’

  ‘That wasn’t true!’ Ma was always honest.

  ‘But it was!’ Her face crumpled. ‘Joe said the only thing to do was for us to marry and go to France as it wasn’t safe to stay in England. Later on, we hadn’t enough money so we had to sell Lady Langdon’s possessions.’

  ‘It was so very long ago,’ I said, taking her in my arms. ‘We’ve travelled extensively since then. I promise you, Sir Frederick couldn’t find us even if he did come looking. Now dry your tears. This is a special day, the first day you stop being scared of your own shadow and begin to live without fear.’

  Some of the lines on her forehead eased a little. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  I hugged her. ‘Now give me a smile!’

  It was a poor effort but it gave me a glimmer of hope for better understanding between us in the future.

  I was hemming Widow Mancuso’s mourning dress while daydreaming about Signor Fiorelli’s mischievous smile when hooves clattered past. A shadow fell over the parlour window as a horse and its rider passed by and a moment later there was a pounding on the front door.

  Ma looked up from her sewing, wide-eyed and motionless.

  Even though we’d agreed her fears were groundless, old habits died hard. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I’ll go.’ Hastily, I plucked some loose threads off my skirt.

  The Baron, dressed in a scarlet uniform and plumed hat, stood on the doorstep, holding the reins of his black stallion. He bowed. ‘The Princess’s compliments. She requests that you accompany her for a ride in her carriage.’

  ‘The Princess?’ I said, astonished.

  ‘She awaits you.’ The Baron waved his hand up the street and I saw a barouche and four. Victorine was standing on the seat and waving at the boats in the harbour. The Princess, sitting opposite Countess Oldi, waved at me.

  ‘How delightful,’ I said. ‘I’ll fetch my pelisse.’

  The Baron nodded. ‘Victorine says will you bring Peggy?’ He mounted his horse and set off towards the barouche.

  I closed the door behind him. ‘Well!’ I said. ‘When I last saw the Princess she suggested I might take a drive with her, though I didn’t imagine it was really her intention. But I can hardly refuse, can I, Ma?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ she said.

  I put on my bonnet and pelisse and tucked Peggy under my arm.

  ‘Don’t be long,’ said Ma. ‘You must finish Widow Mancuso’s dress tonight.’

  I hurried down the street to where the Baron waited beside the barouche, his stallion dancing from side to side.

  The coachman closed the carriage door behind me and returned to his perch at the front.

  ‘I received bad news this morning and needed fresh air and good company,’ said the Princess as we rolled away. She spoke in English. ‘Victorine told me where you live and I thought I should like to enjoy the sympathetic company of my little dressmaker friend.’

  Victorine slid off the seat beside the Princess and climbed onto my knee.

  ‘Signorina Barton,’ she said, ‘may I hold Peggy?’

  The Princess smiled indulgently, watching the little girl as she whispered into Peggy’s ear. ‘It does my heart good to see her happy when the world is so full of troubles.’

  ‘Did you say you had bad news this morning, Ma’am?’ I ventured.

  ‘The Prince of Wales continues to send his spies to Milan to conjure up evidence against me,’ she said. Her hands were clasped together so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white.

  I glanced at Countess Oldi who stared ahead with her customary bland smile. ‘I’m not sure I understand, Ma’am,’ I said.

  ‘Have you heard of the Milan Commission?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘The British government will not allow the Prince of Wales to divorce me,’ said the Princess. The corners of her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. ‘How could they, when there are no grounds for it except for his personal dislike of me? So my husband, conniving hypocrite that he is, has set out to find grounds for divorce. He has set up the “secret” Commission in Milan to interview anyone who might provide proof of my so-called adultery.’

  I caught my breath, astonished that the Princess discussed such matters with me.

  Her mouth trembled. ‘Dismissed servants, like Louise Demont, who have a grudge against me, men who provided my household with candles, an innkeeper, a sea captain whose boat I sailed on… all these people are being questioned.’ Her voice rose in indignation. ‘They are asked to suggest others who will malign me and some grow so fat on the Prince’s bribes they will never need to work again.’

  ‘That’s outrageous!’

  ‘My husband has always been outrageous,’ she said. Her jaw clenched. ‘He’s profligate, squandering his fortune on that seaside pavilion in Brighton or the latest fashions. He rarely pays his debts and would prefer to spend a morning buying paintings rather than discussing affairs of state. And then there are his many mistresses, though what they see in him now he has grown so very fat, I cannot imagine!’ She glanced at the elegant figure of the Baron, riding his stallion alongside us, and gave him a fond smile.

  The way the Princess described the Prince of Wales led me to believe he would be the worst kind of king, when the time came. But then, perhaps the Princess was hardly an ideal queen, either.

  We drove through the gate in the massive walls to the old town. I enjoyed being in such a smart barouche as we threaded our way through the cobbled streets. Pedestrians stood back and touched their foreheads when we passed and I wondered what it would be like to have people notice you everywhere you went.

  ‘How long is it since you were in England?’ I asked.

  ‘Five years now,’ she said. ‘And since my Charlotte has been taken from me, I’ve no desire to return. I am happy here.’ She sighed. ‘Or I would be, if my husband and his spies would leave me alone. Now there is no heir, I suppose he’s more anxious than ever to rid himself of me.’

  We stopped in the Piazza del Popolo so Victorine could look at the marble horses prancing in the fountain.

  The Baron was attentive to the Princess, handing her down from the carriage and kissing her fingers.

  ‘Thank you, amore,’ she said.

  I tried not to smile but he was so tall and elegant in his scarlet uniform and the Princess so dumpy that they made an ill-assorted pair.

  Victorine ran to the red granite pool with its splashing fountain, her footsteps echoing across the piazza. She laughed in delight at the stone seahorses, frozen in motion as they frolicked at the edge of the pool. Spouting dolphins and mermen supporting a giant shell blew jets of water from their pipes.

  The Baron lifted Victorine onto the low wall surrounding the pool and held her hand as she walked.

  The Princess shivered. ‘It’s pretty in the summer but the water looks cold today.’ She glanced at three or four ragged street children crouched in the square playing five-stones, and beckoned to the Baron. ‘Will you buy bread for those children?’ she said. ‘They look hungry.’

  Five minutes later, the ragamuffins, clutching crusts of bread in their grimy fists, waved as we set off again in the barouche. We drove through the gate on the opposite side of the walled town and down to the sea.

  I breathed in deeply the invigoratingly salty air and watched the waves as they frothed onto the golden sand.

  The Baron thundered off along the beach, his horse kicking up clumps of wet sand behind them.

  ‘Catch him!’ shouted the Princess to the coachman.

  ‘Hold tight, Victorine!’ I said, as the coachman cracked his whip. The barouche lurched forward and I clung to the side as we rattled along.

  Victorine squealed, her eyes sparklin
g. ‘Look at Papà! Go faster or we won’t catch him!’

  The Princess laughed, snatched off her hat and waved it in the air, hooting with delight.

  The Baron was only a tiny figure in the distance now.

  Countess Oldi, a terrified smile frozen on her face, gripped the door.

  I was filled with exhilaration as we bounced over the sand at breakneck speed. The wind was in my hair and my pulse raced. I’d never travelled so fast in my life. A dog ran towards us and snapped at the horses, making them canter even faster and the Princess laugh louder.

  At last, the Baron galloped back towards us.

  The coachman pulled on the reins, turned the barouche in a wide circle so we faced the San Bartolo hills again and we settled down to a more sedate pace.

  ‘That’s put the roses in our cheeks,’ said the Baron as he came to ride beside us.

  ‘Can we do it again, Papà?’ asked Victorine.

  ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  We trotted back towards the harbour and stopped near the cottage.

  ‘Thank you for the outing, Ma’am,’ I said. ‘The fresh air has certainly blown the cobwebs away.’

  ‘I am refreshed, too,’ she said. ‘You remind me so much of my dear Charlotte, I knew I should like your company.’ She patted my hand.

  Victorine hugged the rag doll tightly in her arms. ‘Can I keep Peggy for tonight?’ she asked as I descended from the coach.

  ‘If you promise to keep her safe for me,’ I said.

  The barouche’s wheels began to turn.

  Victorine waved Peggy’s calico arm vigorously at me. Smiling, I turned towards the cottage. The Princess might, at first glance, appear a figure of fun, but it seemed to me that she had been poorly treated. I admired her for dismissing her troubles and bravely making the best of things. And, unlikely as it seemed, I felt there was a tentative friendship blossoming between us.

  Chapter 5

  ‘If only you hadn’t gone gallivanting off with the Princess yesterday you’d have finished Widow Mancuso’s dress earlier,’ scolded Ma.

  ‘Well, it’s done now,’ I said. I finished folding the garment, wrapped it in tissue paper and tied it with a black satin ribbon.

  ‘Come straight home afterwards,’ said Ma. ‘I need you to help me to finish these shirts before the light goes.’

  I went to the post office and collected the parcel of silk for the Princess’s ballgown before making my way to Widow Mancuso’s. She lived just within the town walls in a once-fine house, now sadly neglected. She received me with old-fashioned courtesy in the gloom of her salone, where an almond cake and glasses of wine had been laid out in readiness. I couldn’t hurt her feelings by refusing her hospitality.

  It was nearly half past five and growing dark when I made my escape back to Harbour Cottage. The full moon was reflected on the water over the harbour wall and the fishing boats were moored in neat rows. Lights were already glowing from behind the shutters in the houses but Ma hadn’t yet lit our candles.

  I tapped on the front door and hopped from foot to foot, shivering, while I waited for her to let me in. The wind from the sea had sprung up again and I drew my shawl tightly around my shoulders. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep over her sewing. ‘Ma,’ I called, ‘open the door!’

  There was no sound from inside. The shutters were folded across the window though not secured, but I couldn’t see into the parlour through the tiny gap. I rapped on the casement but still there was no response. I peered at the upstairs windows. Did I imagine it or did the lace curtain move?

  Annoyed now, I hurried down the street and into the alley behind the cottages, feeling my way by moonlight. Footsteps came running down the alley. A man blundered towards me out of the shadows. I froze when he loomed over me but I needn’t have worried. He didn’t say a word but rudely pushed past, thrusting me back against the wall in his haste.

  I counted the gates along the wall until I came to the one that gave access to our yard. I found a toehold in the crumbling brick and stretched up to fumble blindly over the top of the wall until cold metal touched my finger. Triumphant, I withdrew the key we’d secreted there. But when I went to unlock the gate, it swung inwards when I touched it. Nonplussed, I ran my hand over the wood and drew in my breath as splinters drove into my palm.

  The unease within me flowered into dread when I discovered the kitchen door was wide open. Standing very still, I listened. There was no sound from within.

  ‘Ma?’ I whispered.

  Nothing.

  I fumbled my way to the dresser and lit a candle from the embers of the fire, expecting her to call out at any moment. As candlelight illuminated the room I gasped when I saw the pretty majolicaware had been swept off the dresser and smashed into shards on the tiled floor.

  Shielding the candle flame, I tip-toed into the dining room. Fear prickled at the back of my neck. Our sewing boxes were upside-down and the floorboards littered with spools of thread, pins, scissors, thimbles and tailor’s chalk. An intruder must have run out of the kitchen door and smashed the lock on the yard gate.

  ‘Ma?’ I called.

  In the parlour the cushion covers were slashed to ribbons and feathers lay on the rug like a carpet of snow. The bookcase was overturned and volumes lay strewn over the floor.

  Frightened now, I sprinted up the stairs, coming to a sudden stop in Ma’s bedroom doorway. My stomach lurched. She lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. I fell to my knees, heedless of the wax that seared my wrist in my haste to put the candle down. Blood ran from Ma’s temple and her cheek was swollen and turning purple. Her eyes were closed but my own heartbeat steadied a little when I felt her breath against my cheek.

  ‘Ma, wake up!’ I shook her gently and she murmured and stirred. ‘Thank God!’ I lifted her up in my arms and gasped when I saw her wrists and ankles were tied together with coarse twine. Carefully, I placed her on the bed, shocked by the vicious bruising on her arms and throat. I stroked her hair until her eyes opened.

  She looked around wildly and tried to sit up. ‘He had a stick and he hit me!’ She began to shriek with terror and I held her firmly.

  ‘He’s gone and you’re quite safe.’ I rocked her until her cries gave way to hiccoughing sobs. ‘I’m going to fetch the scissors and free your hands and feet,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t leave me!’

  ‘I’ll only be a moment.’ I ran downstairs, bolted the back door and snatched up my embroidery scissors from the floor.

  Ma’s wrists and ankles were so swollen and chafed it was hard to sever the twine without slicing her skin. Anger boiled up inside me. ‘What happened, Ma?’

  ‘I told you they were looking for us,’ she said, hysteria rising in her voice again.

  My heart sank. This was the worst possible thing that could have happened, when I had so recently persuaded her that her fears were ungrounded.

  ‘Did you see him?’ I asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘And did you recognise him?’

  Her teeth were chattering and I wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. ‘No.’ She cupped her hands over her eyes. ‘It wasn’t your father or…’

  ‘Sir Frederick?’ I asked.

  ‘Who?’ Her face was ashen.

  ‘Your mistress’s husband.’

  She looked perplexed. The head wound must have made her forget temporarily. ‘You thought he might be looking for you,’ I said.

  ‘Why would he be here?’

  ‘No reason at all. I’m sure your attacker was simply a chance thief,’ I said. But, just for a moment, I’d wondered.

  ‘A thief?’ She wrinkled her brow and touched the lump on her temple. When she saw the blood on her trembling fingers she frowned.

  ‘A thief,’ I said, firmly. ‘He ransacked the cottage.’

  Ma leaned back against the pillows. ‘I didn’t tell him about them,’ she said.

  ‘About what?’

  She closed her eyes and I took water from the ewer and poured it into the
basin to wash the blood from her face. She winced as I cleaned the cut on her head. It wasn’t deep but, despite my gentle pressure, she groaned as my fingertips explored the swelling around the wound.

  ‘What didn’t you tell him?’ I asked.

  Puzzled, she looked at me with a blank stare. ‘Who?’

  She was still shaking and confused and I decided any further questions could wait until later. It was too late to report the assault and, besides, I couldn’t leave her alone. ‘I’ll fetch some salve to soothe your wrists and a cold cloth for your head.’