‘Is that why you quizzed me so hard about where Sarah and I had travelled?’
His smile was fleeting. ‘You noticed that? I’ve written to all the art dealers in the towns you mentioned, asking if they might have bought such an item.’
‘I wish you’d confided in me before, Father. I’ll make a list of the towns we travelled through as far back as I can remember.’ I thought of something and pressed my fingers to my lips. ‘Those gold coins I found in Sarah’s petticoat, do you think they might be the proceeds of such a sale?’
‘Almost certainly,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe dressmakers’ earnings are high enough to save very much.’
‘Indeed not,’ I said. If Sarah had sold the miniatures, perhaps we’d been living off the proceeds for years? ‘What shall I do with the remaining coins?’ I said, in a sudden panic. ‘I’ve already used some of them for my crossing to England.’
‘They ought to go to Beaufort,’ said Father unhappily. ‘But I don’t care to explain to him how we came by them. Shall I put them in the bank and use them towards buying back the miniatures, if I can find them?’
I nodded and watched him as he went to stir the embers of the fire. He was still a handsome man. ‘Did you never think of marrying again?’ I asked.
‘I had no heart for another marriage,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t possible.’
‘Why not?’
He replaced the poker on the hearth. ‘I stayed at Rose’s side all that night after she tried to escape. By morning she was in despair because she knew her lover would already have sailed to France. She threatened to throw herself in the river off Westminster Bridge. I had an important meeting that morning but I’ll never forgive myself for leaving her unattended while she was in such a state.’ He paced up and down, running his hands through his hair.
‘What happened?’ I asked, my stomach churning.
‘She escaped and then it was discovered you were missing, too. The servants and I searched for you. After her earlier threat I went to Westminster Bridge.’ He covered his eyes with his hand.
‘Tell me!’ I said, feeling sick.
‘We discovered Rose’s shoes and shawl but her body was never found.’ He swallowed convulsively. ‘And that’s why I was unable to marry again and lost any chance of a son of mine inheriting Langdon Hall.’ He took my hands. ‘I thought that you must have drowned with her and everyone I’d loved had left me.’ His shoulders began to shake and he clung to me. ‘The only good thing to happen out of the whole dreadful business,’ he sobbed, ‘is that you have come back.’
Chapter 18
January 1820
London
Aunt Maude was a hard taskmaster. I walked the length of the Grosvenor Street drawing room with Samuel Johnson’s Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets balanced on my head. As I made my turn at the end of the room, the book slipped and struck my shoulder before bouncing, painfully, off my foot.
Aunt Maude sighed. ‘Really, Emilia, when I think how graceful your mother was…’
‘I don’t want to talk about her,’ I said, a tight knot of unhappiness under my breastbone. I had kept her portrait in my room at Langdon Hall but with its face turned to the wall, unable to look into her adulterous eyes.
‘That’s as may be,’ said Aunt Maude, ‘but if you will clump about as if you were a stable lad carrying a bale of straw…’
‘I’m not!’ I said, deeply insulted.
‘Don’t argue with me – it’s unbecoming. Glide! You must glide forward like a swan.’ She took a few steps to demonstrate. ‘Now put the book back and try again. All the other girls will have learned in the schoolroom how to walk gracefully and you don’t want to be the only ungainly one.’
Grimacing, I picked up the book.
We’d returned to Grosvenor Street a fortnight before and Aunt Maude had drilled me for several humiliating hours every day on how to walk, to greet new acquaintances, and on which subjects were suitable for conversation. A dancing master had been engaged twice a week to teach me English country dances, Scottish reels, the quadrille and, daringly, the waltz. To my surprise, I discovered I enjoyed dancing.
‘That’s it!’ encouraged Aunt Maude. ‘Head up, shoulders down, back straight. Smaller steps, please, Emilia, you are not an elephant.’
As I walked towards the window, I decided Aunt Maude would have been excellent at drilling army recruits. I glanced down at the street and saw a man hurrying away from the house. There was something uncomfortably familiar about his gait that made me pause and stare. I shivered but then the drawing-room door opened. I turned, allowing the book to slide off my head again, and saw Dolly and a young man standing in the doorway.
‘Hard at work, Emilia?’ said Dolly. ‘Aunt Maude, allow me to present Mr Francis Gregory. Francis, Miss Weston.’
Mr Gregory bowed to Aunt Maude as low as his starched neck cloth and tightly fitting coat allowed.
‘Emilia, this is Mr Gregory,’ said Dolly. ‘Francis, Miss Langdon.’
Mr Gregory bowed and brushed back one of the artlessly arranged blond curls that had fallen over his forehead. ‘How delightful to meet you!’ he said, his pale blue eyes looking me up and down. ‘Dolly has told me all about you.’ His teeth were rather small in his plump, pink-cheeked face and I was immediately put in mind of the painted cherubs I’d seen in Italian churches.
‘I trust we do not interrupt?’ said Dolly.
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I’m glad to have an excuse to stop walking around with a book on my head.’
Dolly nodded, his mouth twitching. ‘I should rather think you might be.’ He and his companion sat down, deftly flicking their coat-tails aside in a practised motion.
Aunt Maude tutted under her breath. ‘Emilia, please refrain! You must remember to talk only of subjects that will interest our guests.’ She turned to Dolly. ‘Will you drink tea with us?’
‘Alas, I have an appointment with my tailor,’ he said, ‘but since we were passing I thought we’d drop in for a few moments.’
‘I understand your father is holding a ball for you, Miss Langdon?’ said Mr Gregory.
‘In April,’ I said.
‘We shall send you an invitation,’ said Aunt Maude. ‘And I shall be asking your advice, Dolly, for the names of suitable young people to invite.’
The drawing-room door burst open then and Father hurried into the room. ‘Have you heard the news?’ His eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘The King is dead!’
Aunt Maude gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth.
‘Well, well,’ said Dolly. ‘Demented, blind and confined, it can only have been a happy release for Farmer George.’
‘At long last,’ said Father. He went to the side table, poured out glasses of sherry and handed them to us. ‘A toast to King George IV!’
‘Long live the King!’ said Francis Gregory, rising to his feet.
‘The King!’ said Dolly.
I put the glass to my lips but did not drink. ‘When did it happen?’ I asked.
‘Last night, at Windsor Castle,’ said Father. He rubbed his hands together. ‘At last Prinny will be free of the petty restrictions placed upon him by his father.’
It was then I realised that since the Prince Regent was now the King, the beleaguered Princess of Wales was our Queen. Had anyone, I wondered, taken the trouble to inform her?
That night I awoke suddenly in the grip of a night terror. I sat up and clutched the sheet to my chest while my pulse thudded in my ears. I’d had the same old dream of hiding between the wall and the bed while a man’s voice ranted and raved in the next room. I always woke up sweating and sick when I remembered the lash of a belt and a woman’s terrified screams.
Of course, it couldn’t have been him, but I knew what had sparked my nightmare. Earlier that day I’d seen a man walk away from the house. A man who looked just like Sarah’s husband, Joe Barton.
Two weeks later Aunt Maude, Father and I were in the carriage returning to Grosvenor Stre
et after attending church.
‘Whatever the Queen may or may not have done,’ said Aunt Maude, ‘for the King to have taken such a step as to remove her name from the Liturgy is reprehensible. There is no proof of her adultery and therefore no reason to omit her from the customary prayers for the Royal Family.’
‘Perhaps it wasn’t a wise move on the King’s part,’ agreed Father, shrugging. ‘It’s certainly aroused the ire of the general public, thereby increasing her popularity, which, I should imagine, was not at all what he intended.’
‘If he wishes to retain his own good standing,’ I said, ‘surely he must then discontinue his vindictive behaviour towards his wife?’
Father gave me a cold look. ‘Emilia, your venturing such an opinion publicly may do us a great deal of harm. Aunt Maude, you clearly need to make greater efforts to teach Emilia what is and is not acceptable in polite society.’
I refused to be cowed. ‘I shan’t make such observations except in private, Father, but it’s obvious to me that the opinion of many is that she’s been sorely mistreated. When she arrives in London…’
‘God forbid!’ said Father. ‘If she comes to England now, the King will close up the Court, if only to prevent her from presiding over the royal Drawing-Rooms and disgracing the English throne.’
Despite his sharp comment, having been subjected to Aunt Maude’s rigorous instruction on exactly what behaviour was suitable for a lady who wished to be accepted by society, I understood that Queen Caroline’s conduct might not be considered merely eccentric, but completely unacceptable. I trusted that Lady Hamilton would have an edifying effect upon the Queen, restraining her from her worst excesses and saving her from public censure.
‘If there are no Drawing-Rooms,’ said Aunt Maude with a frown, ‘then the young ladies will not have the opportunity of being presented.’
‘I believe that may be the case.’
Aunt Maude sighed. ‘Perhaps Emilia should come out at her ball? She may then be presented when the difficulties are resolved. Or even,’ she glanced at me, ‘upon her marriage.’
I frowned at her.
Father nodded. ‘It’s possible that the Duchess of Gloucester may hold a Drawing-Room after the Royal Family are out of the second change of mourning in April. I agree however that, in the circumstances, a later presentation is the best course of action. In any case, I can’t imagine that Caroline of Brunswick will be Queen for much longer.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘The King is determined not to allow her at his Coronation,’ said Father. ‘She will remain uncrowned. Furthermore, he won’t continue to pay her allowance should she come to London.’ There was a spiteful gleam in his eyes as he said, ‘I imagine that will encourage her to stay overseas.’
I looked thoughtfully out of the carriage window. The Queen would be fretting and, I guessed, no matter what the outcome, she’d still come to London to face her antagonists. The one positive thing she should know was that the ordinary people were on her side while the King’s continuing excesses antagonised them. I resolved to write to her again. And, perhaps, I would brave Lady Hamilton’s annoyance by including another note to Alessandro.
Mrs Webbe, a sought-after mantua-maker from Pall Mall, had been engaged to provide my new wardrobe for the coming season. It was strange to see her assistant kneeling at my feet as she pinned up the hem of my new spotted muslin dress. I’d lost count of the times I’d crouched at a client’s feet performing the same action and, no doubt, I would be doing it again once I’d returned to Italy.
‘Miss Langdon has pretty ankles and it would be a shame to hide them when she’s ascending the stairs or climbing into a gig,’ said Mrs Webbe.
‘Not too short!’ said Aunt Maude. ‘It won’t do to attract the wrong kind of attention.’
The assistant paused, unsure as to which instruction she should follow.
‘Perhaps just half an inch?’ I murmured.
Mrs Webbe nodded in assent and the assistant bent to her task again.
Sometimes I thought that the past few months were only a dream. Finding my father and Aunt Maude and being accepted into their lives was a wonderful thing and there was no doubt that it was very seductive, taking advantage of the many benefits that money brings. Father had even made me an allowance for such fripperies as ribbons and shoe rosettes and it would take some adjustment for me to return to my previous frugal way of life. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have to obey the excessively irksome restrictions imposed upon me by propriety and take a chaperone with me everywhere. If all went well, I would have a substantial dowry by the time I was reunited with Alessandro. We might be able to buy a little cottage by the sea…
The assistant dressmaker stood up. ‘Shall you try on the ballgown next, Miss Langdon?’
We retreated behind the screen in the corner of the drawing room and the dressmaker pinned me into the dress of white satin overlaid with cream gauze. The puffed sleeves were trimmed with lace and I fingered the roses embroidered around the daringly low-cut neckline. I smiled. It was the most extravagant dress I’d ever worn and it made me look entirely different. There’s a certain gloss that someone born into money carries with them and, in that dress, I looked like one of them. Remembering Aunt Maude’s instructions, I held my head high as I came out from behind the screen and glided across the room.
She clasped her hands and smiled. ‘Beautiful, my dear.’
Mrs Webbe tweaked the neckline and smoothed the bodice. ‘You need a new pair of stays, Miss Langdon,’ she murmured, ‘to lift your décolletage.’
‘No ornaments or feathers in her hair,’ instructed Aunt Maude.
‘I agree,’ said Mrs Webbe. ‘Fresh flowers, white of course, are the only acceptable choice for an unmarried girl.’
Feeling as if I were a prize pig being prepared for market, I stood still while the skirt was adjusted. I passed the time daydreaming about Alessandro, imagining him partnering me in the first dance at my ball.
Male voices sounded outside the door and then Father came in, accompanied by Dolly and Francis Gregory.
Father stopped short when he saw me. A muscle flickered in his jaw but then he smiled. ‘So this is what I’ve been spending my money on?’
‘Worth every guinea!’ said Dolly.
Father took my hands and twirled me around. ‘Fine clothes bring out your natural beauty, Emilia.’
‘You’re so slender,’ Dolly observed, ‘you could almost be a boy. Don’t ever allow yourself to become matronly… you’re so very lovely just as you are.’
‘Praise indeed from you,’ I said, a faint flush warming my cheeks. Despite his fulsome compliment, it seemed to me that he studied me as if I were a work of art rather than a living, breathing being.
‘I came to tell you I was talking to Lord Liverpool this morning,’ said Father. ‘I mentioned your miraculous return and he expressed an interest in meeting you. It appears he remembers being enchanted by your mother at a musical evening, long before he became Prime Minister. I said you’d invite him to your ball.’
‘Aunt Maude and I collected the invitation cards from the printer this week,’ I said. A great number of Father’s friends were titled but it unnerved me to know that the Prime Minister wished to meet me, if only out of curiosity.
‘Aunt Maude,’ said Father, ‘have you discussed the supper menu for the ball with Cook?’
‘Yes, Frederick,’ she said. ‘And ices and ornamental confectioneries have been ordered from Gunter’s. The florist will bring arrangements of white narcissi, early white azaleas and pink and blue hyacinths.’
Father nodded. ‘Very good.’ He turned to Dolly. ‘May I have a word with you in my study?’
‘Will it take long?’ he asked, glancing at Francis.
‘It’s time I took my leave,’ said his friend. ‘I shall see you later, Dolly.’
Before long Father and he were closeted in the study. Mrs Webbe and her assistant soon followed Mr Gregory out of the fr
ont door and Aunt Maude and I were left in peace. She sat on the sofa and sighed deeply with her eyes closed.
‘You look tired, Aunt Maude,’ I said, suddenly guilt-smitten. ‘You must let me do more to help with the arrangements.’
‘As your father so often tells me, I need to earn my keep.’
‘That’s awful!’ I was shocked that he might say such a thing.
‘What is awful is being an elderly spinster with no home of her own,’ said Aunt Maude. ‘But your arrival here has given my life new meaning,’ she said. ‘I used to help your dear mother when she was organising a ball but I’m finding I’m too old for it now.’ She sighed. ‘I miss Rose. She was charming and I loved her quite as much as if she’d been my own flesh and blood.’
The Dressmaker’s Secret Page 18
