She had just removed her dress when a knock sounded at the door. She opened it a crack, trembling. Princess Emmeline stood there, her green eyes dancing.
‘Your name is not Elizabeth Fox!’
Chapter 2
The marquis saw his sister enter the chamber that presumably held the young girl from the taproom, and hoped that Emmeline could get her to confide a little. Emmeline had escaped from the school she had been sent to when she had tortured too many governesses at home, and could certainly understand the behaviour that might have brought the girl here. But the girl with the soft brown hair and sweet face was cut from different cloth than his sister. She was proud, but afraid, and somehow she brought out the protective instinct in Wrexham - a new experience. Emmeline had never needed protection that he could see, she had no nerves at all. He wondered what had brought the child here. She had not quite agreed that she had run from school, but she had blushed when he said it and given herself away. If Emmeline could get her real story they could perhaps help.
Nick Tennant, parting from him at the bedchamber door with a drunken pat on his back, said, ‘What shall we do with your little filly when we reach London?’ This pulled him up short. Surely the girl was travelling to her family? He hoped so. Drat it, what was he to do with her if Emmeline did not get her story tonight? They could hardly abandon such a sweet young thing on the London streets without any protection. He frowned and ignored Tennant’s question. Wait and see what Emmeline could uncover.
‘Let me in, won’t you?’ Beth did as she was asked automatically and her hands dropped to her sides, all resistance gone, awaiting her fate. The princess came in with a swish of silk and if Beth had been herself she could have admired her carriage dress, the same green as her eyes, made high at the neck and tight at the bust and sleeves, with a full skirt at the back allowing for comfort on the journey.
‘I didn’t meet you, after all,’ Beth still held her breath, ‘but you were pointed out to me at a masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens.’ Beth sank to the bed, feeling the blood leave her face. She wrung her hands together. The princess sat beside her, not seeming to notice her distress, talking as though this whole thing were a joke. ‘I asked who the woman in pink was and someone told me. You are not Elizabeth Fox, but Sophy Ludgate!’ Beth gasped and then gave a choking laugh. She remembered that night, Miss Sophy had the pink domino and she the green, but her dress (she shook as she remembered how shocking that dress was, only two sheer layers and a décolletage that barely covered her) was pink. Her informant had named Miss Sophy as the lady in pink whereas the princess was referring to the dress. ‘Where did you get that dress? I really have to know — it was too wonderfully shocking!’
‘Madame Godot’s,’ said Beth automatically, but then gave a nervous laugh. It was too ridiculous. But the release of tension at being able to stay here tonight and even save the stage fare to London was acute. And all because she was believed to be Miss Sophy.
‘Your exploits are legendary,’ said the princess, ‘you tack near to the line, but never seen to go over it.’
Beth sighed, thinking of the times she personally had hauled Miss Sophy back over the line quite literally. She sank onto the bed.
‘But you know, my girl, you must be careful.’ The princess sat and took Beth’s hand. ‘Having a free spirit I understand, I had one myself as a girl,’ Beth considered that the princess could be no more than twenty-two or twenty-three years, yet she did seem so sophisticated, ‘but it can lead one to be irredeemably lost.’
‘My name isn’t—’ Beth did not wish to continue this charade, the princess’s kindness, however casual, did not deserve lies.
‘Now, now!’ she said, ‘You seem a little frightened. Perhaps you have already sailed too close to the wind? And are escaping home for a while?’ The princess got up. ‘Well, the journey to London will have you royally chaperoned — it is absurd isn’t it? It was only a few years ago that I was considered quite as naughty as you!’
Beth was trembling, the princess must have felt it, for she leaned over and kissed Beth lightly on the cheek, saying, ‘Sleep now. You have fallen into good hands, I assure you!’
Beth, left alone, thought about the misery of lying. She was an honest girl, maidservants who were other did not last long in the best houses, but since she had become acquainted with Miss Sophy, she had naturally become inured to falsehoods. She supposed she could endure this falsehood for the length of the trip to London. She knew, since she had been cast off without a character, she could not apply at any great house, or really any respectable house. But perhaps a job at an inn, where the references were not so strictly adhered to, was something she could hope for. Or perhaps a job in a milliner’s, sewing in a damp basement and living in some … No. An inn would at least afford her accommodation — though after seeing the treatment that the red-haired waitress was offered, she could not help but shudder. Mrs Shuttleworth, the pious cook at Foster Hall, where she had worked since she was twelve, had often spoken in dreadful accents about losing one’s character, about the degradations, fearfully but obscurely referenced, that befell a young girl cast off by the family. Only one day into her fall from grace and Beth was already seeing what might be in store for her.
She slid beneath the covers but a knock at the door was followed by a swift intrusion by a red head, and the maid then slid in.
‘Excuse me, Miss, I brought this for you.’ She put down a checked cloth beside Beth on the bed and Beth opened it. It contained two more apples and joy of joy, an orange.
They looked at each other.
‘Thank you,’ said Beth, glad not to be pretending. ‘How did you know?’
The girl leaned over and touched the callous on the inside of her forefinger left by repetitive stitching, and another on her thumb. ‘My mother had such. She was a seamstress. I needed to explain to you that my da would tan the hide off’n a working man who offered me such insults as you have seen. But with the quality, see, it’s best not to upset them. Though allow it to go too far, he will not.’ She said this, Beth knew, more in defence of her father than herself. Beth smiled, unable to say anything. The red head disappeared as quickly as she came.
But I do not have a father to protect me.
Something in all this, something in the marquis’s kind eyes and protective demeanour, made her know tomorrow was taken care of at least. And somehow, despite her terrors, she slept deeply.
Chapter 3
Lady Ernestine Horescombe read for most of the journey to Foster Hall, choosing not to fear the worst until fully informed. Being something like a guardian to Miss Sophy Ludgate for the last five years, she was naturally far from hope of avoiding disaster, but on the other hand the rules of conduct that the two Misses Fosdyke, mousy Miss Wilhelmina and martinet Miss Florencia, were a great deal stricter than Lady Ernestine had ever thought necessary. Perhaps that was the problem, Ernestine (then but twenty years old herself) had encouraged her Grandpapa to be overly lax with the young girl. But this was a fleeting thought. Sophy was a handful, and had arrived so. She had progressed from swimming in the lake when forbidden to do so at twelve years old, and riding a horse she was similarly forbidden, which Ernestine had found mildly amusing. She was not a tree-climber or a physical risk-taker herself, but she had never seen why a girl being such was less acceptable than a boy. But as Sophy had grown toward womanhood, it was impossible to explain to her why her wilfulness was more dangerous now than it had once been. Perhaps Ernestine’s understanding of the earlier adventures had made Sophy worse. But Ernestine could not trouble herself with the whys and wherefores now. She would need her energy to deal with whatever the young girl had done this time.
Sophy had been sent away from London to Foster Hall to be looked after by Lady Foster, after a series of shocking behaviours that would draw censure from the world if they became generally known. There was the time that Sophy had kissed a Lieutenant Prescott, who was enough of a friend to drop a word in Ernestine’s ear, disengagin
g himself and describing it as a young girl’s high spirits, but with a warning in his tone — if it had been a less honourable gentleman ... And the time that Sophy had escaped the leash and persuaded her friend Miss Lamb to join her on a trip to the theatre, a treat she had been refused because of another incident. The girls went in disguise, even rinsing their hair another colour, but Sophy had the recklessness to wear a particularly charming tiara, belonging to her dead mama, which was famous in its own right. Thankfully, a cousin had been in the foyer there and took the young girls to her box. But, unable to resist Sophy’s piteous pleas, had merely banished them to the back, removed the tiara and sent it to the Horescombes via her footman, and afterwards took both girls home safely. Miss Lamb was not permitted to meet with Sophy again, though her mother had assured Ernestine that the matter would not be referred to by her. And all this and more before her first season. Lady Foster, to whom Sophy was sent, was a recluse and, Grandpapa had assured Ernestine, a disciplinarian. What trouble could Sophy get into in Foster Hall, away from London’s bright lights?
Ernestine had visited quite frequently during the year, and Sophy had sat with her remarkably quietly, only begging once each visit for a return to London. And by letter of course. She cited her own good behaviour frequently and Lady Ernestine was considering giving her a season next year, when she might at last be able to comport herself like a lady, and the diversions of the season might curb her seeking adventure. Lady Foster had seemed to be a rather vague and sickly guardian — having the tendency, said Ernestine to her grandpapa, to quack herself, dosing herself with enough medicaments to fell a horse, for largely invisible ailments. However, there was a moment on an early visit when Ernestine had been glad to see the iron fist in the velvet glove (as it were).
Sophy had ignored a plaintive request for aid to search for her shawl from Lady Foster, effecting not to hear it. Her ladyship had not asked again. When Ernestine had looked her displeasure, Sophy had offered the aid after all, but was sweetly gestured away. However, when later Ernestine had offered to drive Sophy into the village to visit her friend Miss Jessop, and perhaps the Fosdyke sisters, Lady Foster had denied the possibility in a soft voice. ‘I’m afraid I cannot spare dear Sophy this afternoon, Lady Ernestine. My maladies chain me to my couch as you see, and I require my dear girl to write invitations for my card party, and to consult with cook and — oh, all manner of things that I am not yet able to do.’
A mulish look came over Sophy’s face at this and she said, with a semblance of politeness. ‘Oh, dear Lady Foster, I assure you I can carry out these tasks when I come back from the village.’
‘It is like you to overestimate your youthful energy, Sophy, but you know, my sweet that you were laid up only last week with the sick headache.’
Two sets of eyes met, unmasked for a second. Lady Ernestine thought that Lady Foster had her own way to deal with Sophy’s starts and she had ridden away rather content. Sophy with a sick headache was highly unlikely, much more might it have been some ploy in the game for dominance that this pallid lady was apparently winning. Grandpapa was rather wiser than Ernestine had given him credit for.
But now...
Larkins’ face, as he handed down Lady Ernestine, was of the same impassive complexion as always, befitting a butler. But that he had not allowed the footman to perform this service was enough of a clue to Ernestine that things were grave indeed.
She stopped to remove her old plaid cloak and bonnet, the cloak her grandmama’s and the bonnet incongruously smart. ‘Something troubles you, Larkins?’
He coughed. ‘I am sorry to say that Miss Sophy is without a maid at present. I admit it is a concern to me as a disorder in the running of the house. It will not be easy to replace her with such an accomplished girl from around here. Perhaps you might send a London girl, Lady Ernestine?’
Ernestine had been running her grandfather’s home for long enough to understand the subtext. ‘Was the girl cast off? How long was she here?’
‘Seven years, my lady,’ said Larkins gravely.
‘Good God!’ said Ernestine, falling back on her grandfather’s language.
‘Indeed, your ladyship!’
‘Where is Lady Foster?’
‘She is unwell, your ladyship. I believe she may not be able to see you today.’
‘And Miss Sophy?’
‘Also in her bed. Beginning a chill, I believe.’
‘Have the carriage returned. I will visit the village.’
In the comfortable, but tiny, front room of the Misses Fosdyke’s cottage, the excessive salutations of Miss Wilhelmina, were roughly ended by Miss Florencia. ‘Wil-helm-ina!’ She herself curtsied deeply, but gave no further sense of being overwhelmed by the visit. Lady Ernestine rather approved of her.
‘What has Sophy done now?’ was her direct attack on the elder Miss Fosdyke.
With a look directed at her sister to stay silent, Miss Fosdyke told her, then added. ‘A young person, of previously sterling character, has been cast off by this adventure. While she was wrong, no doubt, to have gone along with it, she was only obeying her mistress. Had she come to us, I would have taken her in. Though how I should have paid her it would be hard to tell. We have known her since she was a child, come to Foster Hall as a kitchen maid. She delivered many notes to us from her mistress. She seemed clean in her habits and diligent. Miss Sophy hardly knows what she has done to her.’
This was grave indeed. And the upshot was that Lady Ernestine returned to Foster Hall and walked straight up the stairs to Sophy’s bedroom.
Sophy Ludgate was happy to tell Ernestine Horescombe her method when asked. Ernestine felt that the chit was rather proud of herself. She had arranged to dress herself and her maid in dominoes borrowed from her friend Miss Lamb, to whom she had applied by letter. Miss Lamb had forgone the trip to Vauxhall herself, aware that her mama would, she'd said, "have hysterics and very likely expire” if she did such a thing again. However, she engaged to have Sophy met by her maid who would bring the dominoes and masks (which her mother and she acquired for a masked ball that season) to Sophy's carriage.
The escape was easily achieved. She had only to go to bed early that night, get herself and Beth dressed for a ball, minus the dominoes which they would retrieve in London, and escape from the first floor window of an adjoining room which had a strong tree branch adjacent. She'd had to push Beth, who had a silly fear of heights, out of the window enough so that she had no option but to climb on the branch. 'It was so funny to see her feet dangling, frantically kicking for support which was only just below her,' Sophy laughed. 'The very worst thing was that my dress got caught on a branch, and I feared that it would tear and be ruined, but I called for Beth and she climbed up and released it.' Ernestine looked at her slanted eyes, full of confiding candour and laughter, and ground her teeth. 'Then we found the carriage at the gates and drove off.' She held up a little imperious hand and added, 'Do not ask me who supplied it, for I shall never tell. I am not a tattle-tale who repays her friends with betrayal. I am true blue and shall never die!'
'And your maid, Sophy? A girl who worked in this house for seven years, cast off because of your little scheme. Have you not betrayed her?'
'Oh, you have been listening to Miss Fosdyke. She took me aside after church and rang me such a peal, all because of Beth. If Beth had stayed, I'm sure I could have got Lady Foster to change her mind. I did say that it was all my idea.'
'No one doubts it was your idea, Sophy, but Lady Foster cannot have a maid who is no longer reliable. And it was you who made her so.'
'She need not have gone with me, after all. I meant it as a treat for her.'
'And now? You realise what dangers there are for a girl with no position?'
'Oh, but Beth will be alright, I assure you. She has very likely got a new position already. She is very clever and resourceful. Look—' she stood and pirouetted in her yellow dress, 'she fashioned this for me, only from an illustration in La Belle Assemblée, no
pattern at all.'
'But she has no character from Lady Foster. Her ladyship said that she could not, in conscience, provide one after your little escapade.'
'Then I expect she has gone to London. She knows the city, you know, for you remember she came with me from Foster Hall last year.’ Ernestine strove to remember her: a pretty, quiet young girl, whom she saw as Sophy’s shadow, and hardly noticed at all. Sophy said, virtuously, ‘I gave her a sovereign, you know, and told her to write to me when she was settled.'
'You are a hideous child, Sophy. I only wish you could walk one week in that poor girl’s shoes to know what you have done. You shall now pack up your belongings and come home with me.'
Sophy hugged her. 'To London? Oh, how lovely! Thank you, Lady Ernestine.'
'It is not a reward, Sophy. I expect my grandfather will keep you to the house for a very long time.'
But Sophy was not to be depressed. Already, Ernestine supposed, watching as the young beauty ran about her chamber, she was plotting ways of escape to see the sights and maybe more. But Ernestine's sympathy for the young girl had run out, and she planned a very different kind of visit to London than Sophy had enjoyed last year. Very different.
'Only the essentials, Sophy,' called Lady Ernestine after her, 'the rest can be sent by carrier. We shall be too many in the coach.'
The most wonderful part of Ernestine's day was viewing Sophy Ludgate's face when she entered the carriage and saw that as well as her guardian, the two Misses Fosdyke, in their rusty black bonnets and unfashionable wool cloaks, were already ensconced. Her jaw dropped, and she met her mentor's eye, while Ernestine sat as smug as a cat, raising one eyebrow. Ernestine gave herself to her book then, tuning out any but the first sentence of Miss Wilhelmina’s gratitude, the whole of which went on for some miles and was only ended by a nip from Miss Florencia. Unfortunately this brutal reminder served to start a rush of apologies instead. Two miles of this and finally Miss Wilhelmina fell under her sister's eye again and, after removing her prayer book from her reticule, said, 'Ah, I will take a leaf from Lady Ernestine's book and read, I believe.'
Beth and the Mistaken Identity Page 2