Beth and the Mistaken Identity

by Alicia Cameron

  ‘I have no family!’ said Beth automatically. The Family — the Fosters were always referred to in this way by their household — were no longer hers. And everyone else was far away. She blinked, unable to stop two large tears escaping her eyes. She did not mean to say that, and she did not know how to respond to his kindness. Could she risk the truth and see his disgust as he cast her from the room? His eyes were still on hers, and he looked with compassion on her. His hand touched her face where the tear fell, and he said, ‘Poor child!’

  The princess, entering the room at this interesting moment, said, ‘Miss Fox, Beth, come with me so that we may tidy ourselves a little before we have refreshments. Your hair has fared no better than mine under your bonnet, I’m afraid.’

  Beth said, ‘Of course!’ glad to be free of the spell of the marquis’s eyes and the hot sensation that remained where his finger had trailed.

  As they mounted the stairs together, the Princess said, ‘My brother is a hard case, and you have broken him! I am so impressed, Miss Ludgate!’

  ‘I am not—’ said Beth desperately. They had reached a door, and the princess swept her in, nodding to the elderly but elegant French maid to exit. ‘If I had any doubts before, your capture of my careful brother would be evidence indeed. Miss Sophy Ludgate, not yet fully come-out, is already famous for entrapping the town’s most eligible, but entrenched, bachelors. And now my brother, the fascinating Tobias — with his broken heart ensuring that he never gives any young lady cause to think him enamoured. And I find him, within a day of meeting you, touching your face.’

  There was a great deal of misinformation to pick up in this speech, but Beth could not help herself by picking on the most intriguing. ‘Broken heart?’

  ‘Then you haven’t heard of Wrexham’s scandal? He was engaged six years ago to Lady Mary Ponsonby. She was pretty, vivacious and audacious, but she ran away with Bertie Lawrence —’ then, as Beth looked blank, ‘you know, the lecherous Earl! I suppose the scandal was rather before your time.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, since then, Toby will have none of any lady.’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘Oh, how delicious…’ as Beth looked blank once more, ‘How did I just describe Lady Mary?’

  Beth said, distractedly, ‘Pretty, vivacious and audacious.’

  ‘You see?’ said the princess, still laughing, ‘Just as the famous Miss Sophy Ludgate has been described to me. As well as a naughty minx.’

  Beth could think of a few more words to describe Miss Sophy. ‘If I were she, and I am not, how could you wish your brother to show interest in someone liable, by your description, to cause him pain?’

  ‘Do not be offended, my dear Sophy — may I call you so? — Toby’s heart has been so long locked in his chest that it needs an airing! Perhaps meeting you is just what he requires.’ As Beth looked appalled, she added, ‘Not for long, of course. You must promise me not to lead him too far, but perhaps it will be an exercise to let him join the world of women once more. Look at how you affected the reclusive Mr Forster. My friend Maria Sutcliffe informed me of all the latest on dits by letter, so you must not think my two years a princess makes me quite out of touch. Anyway, Maria told me how Mr Forster came to a number of tedious musical evenings, only to see you. But after all he met Miss Stavely, who plays so brilliantly, and offered for her. If you had not dragged him from his seclusion, how could that have prospered?’

  Shaking herself from the recollection of how this had occurred, Beth asked the princess, ‘Does your brother, then, hold himself in seclusion?’

  ‘No, no. Why, Wrexham may be found everywhere, even Almacks, escorting our cousins, at times. It is just that he does not seem to see the young girls around him, not as possible brides, at least. He dances with his family and with married ladies, and seems perfectly content. How he behaves with creatures of another class I could not say!’ The princess laughed, but stopped when she saw something in Beth’s eyes. ‘I should not talk so with you. Indeed, I know nothing of Toby’s amusements. Only that men have them, you know.’

  Beth, who had been both furious and scared by the mention of lower class females, was now moved by something in the princess’s eyes. Perhaps her prince had not been faithful, but took his pleasure elsewhere. There was hurt in the princess’s eye, and Beth, whose hands were still in her grasp, squeezed slightly. Her Serene Highness blinked and smiled brightly. ‘Besides, I like you already, Soph— very well, Beth! — and I do not believe you would hurt my brother. Whatever your reputation you are not considered cruel! But do tell me, how on earth did you entice Mr Forster from his home, which not the most insistent matchmaking mama could breach?’

  Beth remembered precisely how Miss Sophy had managed it. As they were walking through the park, Miss Oaksett had pointed out a gentleman. She named him as the wealthy Mr Forster, who had held out against the invitations of mamas desirous of introducing their daughters. On that occasion Miss Sophy had said, ‘A trifle fusty, but he shows promise!’ about the tall figure of Mr Forster, handsome, Beth considered, but rather more simply dressed than the usual town beaus.

  Miss Sophy then shamelessly followed him to a music emporium, Beth believing that the only thing to make this better for her mistress might be veiled bonnets or kerchief masks. Beth herself worried about being discovered in this completely improper situation, knowing that however fair Lady Ernestine and the earl could be, the maid would ultimately be held responsible. But how was Beth to stop these starts of Miss Sophy’s? She concluded that Lady Ernestine had no more notion than she, so all she could do was stick close to her and hope for the best.

  The gentleman evidently perused the shelves and instruments for some little time before he emerged, carrying a parcel which could be deduced as sheet music, and then he dispatched his servant, within their hearing, to buy tickets for a new concert of Mr Handel’s work, which the shop-keeper had informed him of.

  Later, Lady Ernestine was easily persuaded to purchase tickets, perhaps believing that Miss Sophy’s thoughts were been given a more proper direction. After the concert Miss Sophy had described to Beth how she had twice passed Mr Forster’s box, fortuitously on the ground floor — never once paying him attention, but hoping that he saw her in her prettiest silver dress, with silver butterflies in her hair. As Miss Oaksett, who had also accompanied them, had prattled on, Miss Sophy had interrupted her and said, ‘But the music, my dear Miss Oaksett, have you not been moved by the heavenly music?’ just as they had passed Mr Forster’s box.

  The next week, in the park once more, Miss Sophy’s fall had been well timed, too. Mr Forster had no option, as Beth helped Sophy to her feet, to pick up her scattered music pages and said, as though his memory was vaguely jogged, ‘Handel!’ He looked at her more closely.

  ‘Thank you sir!’ fluttered Miss Sophy, with lowered eyes.

  Beth brushed off leaves from Miss Sophy’s pelisse, but responded to a nip on her shoulder and stood behind her a little way.

  ‘The name is Forster, ma’am. I trust you are unhurt!’

  ‘Oh yes, Mr Forster. It is only my fingers I care about, I’m afraid. I shall need to practise my piece. And Mr Handel is a challenge, however passionately I feel about his music.’

  Beth silently agreed.

  Mr Forster looked suddenly struck. ‘Do you have a silver dress?’

  Miss Sophy laughed. ‘You do not mean you were at last week’s concert?’

  ‘I was.’ There appeared on the severe face of Mr Forster what might pass for a smile. ‘What did you think of Mr Latimer’s performance? I thought he had rather heavy handed underscoring of the counterpoint. I found it drowned out the more flowing Italian style to the piece. In other performances, it has been, I believe, more balanced, more true to Mr Handel’s intention.’

  ‘I do not think myself qualified to discuss such subtleties with you, Mr Forster. I only play.’ And Miss Sophy accompanied this with her most shy and captivating smile. Beth stepped forward a little as Mr Forster smiled more fully.

  ‘Miss S
ophy, Lady Ernestine is expecting you at the Subscription Library.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Beth. Quite right.’ Miss Sophy cast down her eyes in a picture of shyness. ‘Thank you sir. It was a pleasure to meet another music lover.’ She turned away, but Mr Forster called to her.

  ‘Where will you perform, Miss Ludgate?’

  ‘Oh, only at Lady Carston’s musical soiree, sir.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said and bowed.

  Miss Sophy curtsied and Beth breathed more easily as they had walked off. She was already dreading tomorrow’s walk, for whatever mischief it might bring.

  What precisely Miss Sophy had wanted from Mr Forster she had never fully explained to Beth. Certainly she had enjoyed her friend Miss Oaksett’s amazement at her achievement in drawing the rich bachelor into society. And she’d talked to Beth of his attention to her at the first and second musical soirees. However, Miss Sophy’s mastery of the pianoforte was non-existent. Indeed, when she attempted to practise a Handel piece to make good her boast, her fingers on the keys sounded like a herd of escaped horses.

  Miss Sophy had said to Beth, who was tidying nearby, ‘What did you think, Beth?’

  ‘Very nice, miss.’

  ‘Tell me the honest truth. I order you!’ said Miss Sophy with her dancing eyes.

  ‘Well miss, it sounded like the bag of cats Peter caught last week.’

  Miss Sophy grinned, and it was only necessary for an application of a muslin bandage on her wrist, applied by Beth and tied with the prettiest of ribbons, to attest to her inability to play, due to strain. But after two soirees, Mr Forster’s musical conversation had palled and Miss Sophy could no longer feign rapture at the music.

  Indeed, even Mr Forster himself had been disgusted with many performances, ‘If society must foist their daughters on us to display their musical talent, could not they first be assured that they have talent to display?’ And then Miss Stavely had sat down (“With her orange hair and freckles!” said Miss Sophy) and he had been entranced. ‘And instantly in love,’ had said Miss Sophy to Beth, with disgust. ‘Even though she had the poorest complexion of any girl I have ever seen.’ Beth had removed the pins from her mistress’s hair and silently cheered for Miss Stavely.

  Looking now at the princess, smiling as naughtily as Miss Sophy, Beth tried not to lie. ‘I am not Miss Ludgate, you really must believe me!’

  Sophy Ludgate was in her room in General Lord Horescombe's house, a fine Elizabethan manor, almost unique in surviving that old fire of London, (being fortunately enclosed from its path by two streams and a priory wall) and looking at the rich but old fashioned furnishings with disdain. What was the penchant in past times for heavy tapestries and furniture it would take several strong men to move? It gave one a feeling of depression and Sophy was not prone to depression.

  'You'll be glad of the heavy curtain come night-time, these windows let in the cold,' said her prosaic cousin Ernestine, when Sophy had said as much.

  Ernestine was dark and would have been pretty if she were to take more care of her appearance, thought Sophy. If there was a ball, or a formal dinner party in Horescombe House, she did indeed put on a dress (chosen for her by her lady’s maid on a shopping trip) that was elegant, and had her hair styled in a more elaborate manner — and she looked very well indeed. But she abhorred furbelows and spending time on her toilette and was as often in her grandmama’s cloak and sturdy boots than in the simple but elegant pelisses her lady’s maid saw to it that she owned. She had many simple cambrics in brown or grey, and her maid suffered and made her hair up simply into a knot, which escaped in curls at will. But Ernestine was never ignored, however plain her clothes and eccentric her style. She did not care what others thought of her, and although never rude to those who did not cross her, she was perfectly able to give a set down at will. Sophy liked her refusal to conform, and that had made them almost friends when she had first arrived in London. Ernestine did what she wanted, but Sophy had come to realise that this was a privilege of her rank. Her grandfather was an earl, after all, and she herself was very wealthy, which had ensured her independence. Sophy too would be rich one day, if not as rich as her guardian. But until then, she was expected to tow a line not of her own choosing. Sophy did not waste time being angry about this, merely kept alert to notice how to assert her own will.

  'But the earl is rich. You might have elegant furniture in the style of Mr Adam.’ She brightened up. ‘Oh, I know! We could redecorate the house, choose some handsome pieces together.'

  Ernestine had kicked a solid chest, saying, 'What is the need of change? This was built to last.'

  'Unlike the leaky windows,' said Sophy.

  'Well, leaky or not, they have stood the test of time.'

  'Don't you want the house to look more fashionable, when visitors come?'

  Ernestine regarded her as though she were a strange animal. 'No,' she said, and left.

  There was no trying to persuade Ernestine, Sophy had tried before. But the good news was that she was now in London, and that gave Sophy many things to think about. The presence of the old busybodies from Appleby village, the Misses Fosdykes, was a hurdle. Not so much the tedious old windbag Miss Wilhelmina, but her sister Miss Florencia was a tartar of the first order, with an eye like an eagle for improper behaviour. Because of their status as distant relatives, they had been invited to keep an eye on Sophy at Foster Hall, and visited often. As one of the genteel families of the area, they had also attended the meagre entertainments, and frequently mentioned, Miss Wilhelmina delicately and Miss Florencia bluntly, some minor infractions in behaviour. May I just give you a hint, Miss Ludgate, as I'm sure you are too kind to be otherwise aware, that I believe you wounded Miss Prendergast’s feelings by talking so long to her affianced husband. (Miss Wilhelmina), and You talked with Mrs Brand of Mr Ward's corpulence. Do not. (Miss Florencia).

  After the dismissal of her maid Beth, Sophy had had an interview with Miss Fosdyke that she would not soon forget. Somehow it was as though something dreadful had occurred and that she, Sophy, was selfish not to think of the harm she had done. It was just that she was fusty and old, and even Lady Foster had been entertained when she had heard from Sophy the details of the reprimand. 'Well,' she had said, 'to talk so much of the maid! I thought she would ring a peal over your head about the risks to your person and your reputation that you take with your shocking behaviour.' Sophy had heard a great deal on this head already and yawned. 'To be sure,' said her ladyship, 'it is both an annoyance and an inconvenience to lose a maid, but after that evening she could hardly be trusted.' Yet it was Miss Florencia's words that had caused her a pause. Only for a minute, it was true, for she knew that she had been very generous to her maid in many ways and more affectionate than other, more selfish young ladies. Beth had been the nearest to her in age in the whole of Foster Hall, and she had made a friend of her. She quite missed her now. Making up plans for entertainment, and evading detection, was better done with someone who listened as well as Beth. If she was ever applied to, she would defy Lady Foster and write her a handsome character. If only the recipient did not know her ladyship's signature. One bored day, Sophy had practised it, observing to her ladyship that it would be easier for her if Sophy also signed the invitations she sent out (for her boring card parties or stultifying dinners) to spare Lady Foster the fatigue. Her ladyship had sent her a sharp look, but was so lazy that she agreed, even instructing Sophy on the correct flourish that she gave at the end of her name.

  But after the move to London, it was unlikely that Beth would know where to apply. Oh, well.

  Chapter 5

  ‘She is exactly who I said she was!’ said the princess to her brother.

  ‘She has confided in you at last?’ said Wrexham, looking up from his position. He was leaning forward on the tall mantelpiece with one hand and kicking at a log with a very expensive boot.

  ‘As good as!’

  Wrexham looked askance. ‘She must tell us who to send her to, or she will beco
me a very awkward permanent visitor. I may have to get a good deal harsher. I would already if she didn’t seem so terrified.’ He sighed, ‘I don’t suppose you know anything at all about it, Emmi.’

  Emmeline looked at her brother’s scornful face, wanting, as she once had as a child, to squash his nose with her fist. ‘I tell you I do! And I know the reason she’s run away from home.’

  ‘From school, I thought.’

  ‘No, I think our young Beth is rather older than she looks. Indeed, I believe she is about to be presented next season.’

  ‘Stop taking the pig for a walk, Emmi, and tell me what you know before she comes down to dinner.’

  ‘Oh, she won’t. She is too afraid that you will ferret out her secret and be disappointed in her as her family probably is!’

  ‘She told me she had no family.’

  ‘Oh, that is right, I think, as far as it goes. She was orphaned at an early age and she’s been looked after by the Horescombes, who are some distant kind of relatives, I believe.’

  ‘Really? Old Horescombe and Lady Ernestine have a young girl in their care? I should not have thought them best suited for the task. The general’s a recluse these days and if Ernestine Horescombe has any interest beyond books, I have to learn of it. And I have never seen them together.’

  ‘Well why should you? The girl’s not out yet.’

  ‘So beyond it being a remarkably dull house for a young lady, why has Miss Fox run away from the Horescombes?’

  ‘Well,’ said the princess, considering, ‘I could take a really good guess, but it would involve telling you of a childish recklessness that you might not quite approve of.’

  ‘If I can survive your pranks, Your Serene Highness, I suppose I might be lenient to any of that sweet girl’s.’

  Emmeline looked at him speculatively. Would it be counterproductive to her cause of opening her brother’s heart by the tool of the young girl’s sweet face to tell him about her indiscretion? On balance, she thought it would show her vivacity of spirit. Like his old love, Lady Mary’s.