‘Thank you,’ said Beth, wishing to give the girl some guidance on the correct placement of the gown on the chair, and thinking of some way to dismiss her without being dressed. She could think of none however, so when she finished the chocolate (whose dregs she had sipped before, only when Miss Sophy or Lady Foster had not quite finished their own) she got up and washed at the jug and ewer of hot water, using the rose scented soap provided, and submitted to being undressed and redressed in a fine shift (also Miss Sophy’s reject) short stays (which the maid regarded strangely, as they were made of rough linen) and a rose-sprigged muslin that Beth would have kept for best, had not it been churlish to argue with the maid. It was a deal easier to have another person button the small buttons at the back. When Beth had the leisure, she would change these pretty trinkets with a more simple to manage, laced fastening. The maid meant to dress her hair, too, and Beth submitted. She was a trifle rough, and Beth squeaked a little, sparking the frightened look once more.
‘My curls will have knotted themselves, Aggie, so it is best to go slowly,’ offered Beth gently.
She was rewarded by seeing the young girl’s flush abate. ‘Yes, miss. Sorry miss.’
As the maid worked on her hair, Beth’s brain was back to churning. It would make her soft to stay even one more night in a place where she went to sleep and awoke in a fire-warmed room, a feather bed and every luxurious thing to see. The marquis had handed her Robinson Crusoe as she left, so kind was he in his attentions. Was he simply kind, or was there something else in his manner? She hardly knew. Beth had met gentlemen of the aristocracy before, but had studiously avoided eye contact, as her position demanded. Young Maria Brass (and she had some, said Mrs Badger) a maid at neighbouring Hedgewick Manor, had been led to a life of sin (which sounded quite dreadful) by Lord Stanford, a rake, then cruelly abandoned. Which would probably happen to Beth now, had said the pious cook, Mrs Shuttleworth, after the dreadful Vauxhall adventure. Indeed, seeing the behaviour of some painted ladies, and some liberties that gentlemen took with them at Vauxhall, Beth was coming to an understanding of all the pitfalls. What, had said Mrs Shuttleworth, would become of such as Maria Brass once her youth and beauty had faded? Beth, a pious girl, was even more worried about her immortal soul. At least here she was free of being accosted. But it could not go on. At any moment she could be found out. And surely the kindness of the princess and her brother did not serve her continued lies.
At what point might she escape today? Beth’s head hurt.
She looked up to her reflection in the mirror, and found that Aggie, the maid, had a genius. Her hair had been raised rather high and her natural ringlets escaped the high knot, and some had been encouraged around her face. They had been smoothed a little too, by the slightest touch of pomade, and the autumnal hair shone. It became her even better that those styles that she had contrived for Miss Sophy, and Beth was a trifle jealous at Aggie’s skill.
‘Can I put a ribbon in it Miss?’
‘I fear all such decorations were in my trunk, which is with my maid, you know.’
‘Yes miss.’
‘You are truly gifted, Aggie. I don’t suppose my hair has ever looked so fine.’
Aggie flushed and looked happy, and told her that the family would be at breakfast very soon.
Beth met the princess on the stairs who remarked, ‘Why, you look very fresh today, my dear Miss, eh, Fox. Your hair is cunningly achieved.’
Since the princess’s own hair was pleated, curled and piled in luscious coils upon her head, Beth was very pleased at this. ‘It is the work of a rather gifted maid, Aggie, not me.’
‘Really, I must remember her name in case my Cécile should be taken ill.’
Beth felt a hot rush of anger at this — the princess did not even know the names of those who served her! It was unjust, of course, the princess had not always lived here. Beth had never felt this way in her old position. It was somehow as if being treated so kindly by the princess and the marquis in her disguise as lady underlined how differently she would have been treated if she were known as a maid. The vast gulf between who she was thought to be and who she was, did not always make her grateful for their kindness. Or not so much as she should be: only resentful at the emptiness of it all. If she were Aggie, the princess would forget her name in a second. She had always known it to be so, so why did it raise her wrath now? She supposed her wrung-out nerves from the dismissal, deception and fear of the future was making her less charitable. Then too, it was difficult to know her place and respect it when she had been catapulted to the exalted position of guest of a marquis.
George held the door open to the breakfast room, and Beth smiled at him. In the briefest of looks, he showed his gratitude for her silence last night.
Beth joined the others at the table, with her face as composed as she could. Morning salutations were expressed, and the princess remarked on ‘how fresh and youthful’ Beth looked today. The marquis smiled and said, ‘Charming’, and Beth found herself smiling. Dow was serving his master, and he glanced her way. His face was impassive, but Beth wondered if the marquis had spoken to him yet. She nibbled on a roll, watched as Dow shot a glance that made a maid quake. She turned and saw that the marquis’s eyes had followed hers, drawn by her attention. The maid looked nervous and flushed, and cast her eyes down. A hint of a frown crossed Wrexham’s face. He met Beth’s eye once more and she guided his eye to George, standing behind the princess’s chair, ready to attend her. George’s jaw was clenched, and a muscle worked in his face, contrary to all his training. The little blond maid was now shaking, after Dow had dropped word in her ear.
Beth exchanged a glance with the marquis. He said to Beth, ‘Might I have a word with you after breakfast, Miss Fox?’
‘I must go and seek my family I think, my lord,’ she said apologetically.
The princess started to interrupt with, ‘Oh my dear, we know—’
The marquis raised his hand. ‘After breakfast!’
They retired after a strange meal, where the princess bore all the conversational burden, Beth hardly hearing her as her brain ran forward.
When all three had eaten and retired to the Chinese room, the marquis nodded his servants away and the princess led Beth to a sofa, drawing her down to sit. Beth twisted a handkerchief and the marquis took his place by the fire, his hands behind his back.
‘Miss Fox. I have known from the first that you wanted to conceal your identity that you found yourself in some trouble, and now my sister has discovered your secret.’ Beth’s heart stopped. ‘She had informed me that you are Miss Sophy Ludgate, ward of General Lord Horescombe, whom I know well.’
Beth squeaked, and the princess took her hand. ‘You have nothing to fear, my dear, I assure you!’
‘I should tell you, my lord, indeed I have wished to tell you from the first that —’
The marquis strode forward. ‘You need not, my dear,’ he said kindly. ‘I sent last night to the general, hoping to restore you to your family today.’ Beth jumped. ‘You are frightened, but you need not be. No doubt Lord Horescombe will be cross with you, and read you a fine lecture, but he is not an unkind man, and it will soon pass.’
‘It isn’t that. Indeed,’ said Beth, remembering the general’s many kindnesses to her mistress, and to the servants, ‘I know he is, but—’
‘The letter was returned, however. I’m sorry to inform you that your family have left town for some days.’
Beth breathed again. Not to be sent to Newgate today, then. But her conscience was not to be borne longer. ‘I am not Sophy Ludgate. You must believe me.’
‘Then how,’ said the princess brilliantly, ‘do you know that the general is kind?’
This was her chance. She opened her mouth to try, but the full truth choked Beth. The princess was looking at her laughingly, and the marquis quite kindly. If she could just leave, she could escape seeing their disappointment. Indeed, perhaps they might not know the truth for some time.
&n
bsp; ‘I am — a-acquainted with the general, but I am not Miss Ludgate, you must believe me.’ She stood up with sudden decision. ‘I must leave now, and return home to my real family. I - I cannot tell you who they are. I thank you for your hospitality and kindness, but please call for my bonnet and pelisse! I must go—’ she tried very hard to keep the desperation from her voice, but the marquis was not deceived.
‘Have the Horescombes gone in search of you? Do you know where they may be? They left only the vaguest information about their return, but the butler believes there is a regimental engagement next week which his master attends each year, and will surely return for.’
‘Please sir, I must leave now,’ said Beth. Her lie was becoming more plausible than the truth.
‘My dear, I do not think it wise to try to return to Horescombe House, for there is no family member to bear you company.’
‘I am not so fragile as you would believe … Do you mean to keep me prisoner here?’
The princess laughed, ‘I told you she had spirit, Toby! She has at you —’
The marquis took her hand in one of his and began to pat it gently. ‘Miss — eh — Fox. You must see that we cannot send you out into the street while your family is from town. What would the general say to me then?’
‘I am not Miss Ludgate. The general has no connection to me —’
But nothing would make them believe it, save the truth. And Beth wanted to disappear before they had to know this. She wondered if she could indeed go to Horescombe House, to Lady Ernestine? Her Ladyship had been casually kind — might she give Beth a character? But she knew that the Vauxhall disaster would have made even the mild Lady Ernestine angry, and the general tried to be as far from Miss Sophy’s starts as was well possible, and probably had no notion who Beth was.
In the end, she agreed to take the air in the park with the princess this afternoon, after outright refusing to go shopping for an evening gown. She could not be more in debt to them than she was already.
Chapter 8
Whatever the Horescombes had planned for her, Sophy made no demur. She walked in the nearest square with the Misses Fosdyke rather than the park, where she might meet her friends, and listened to Miss Wilhelmina’s good-natured witterings with glazed eyes but no complaint. She affected to read in the afternoon with Lady Ernestine, who finally gave in and took her shopping, but only for the accoutrements that might finish a toilette, not into the more frequented establishments where it was more likely she would meet friends. She sat quietly when visitors called on the earl or her ladyship, serving tea and behaving decorously. The first day, some of Lady Ernestine’s friends were less than decorous themselves, for they included artists and writers, and seemed to have little truck with propriety. Sophy was not led astray in their presence, she behaved herself.
She entered the breakfast room to hear Miss Wilhelmina say, ‘Sophy is really appreciative of the move to London, Lady Ernestine. Under the tender eye of her guardians she really has improved her behaviour. Why, I believe it could not be faulted.’
‘When Sophy is being good, we must pay particular attention,’ said Lady Ernestine, not looking up from reading a journal while a maid served her eggs.
‘Fear not, Lady Ernestine, I am not so trusting as my sister.’
Sophy, who had stopped just outside the door frowned a little. What had the world come to when people were so mistrusting? But she put a smile on her face and entered the breakfast room.
The next day, Sophy made her plans. She realised that the maid that had been allocated to dress her was part of a supervision team. She was eagle-eyed and responded to Sophy’s friendly overtures with a thin smile or a sniff. But the maid who brought her chocolate and laid the coals before the lady’s maid arrived was another thing. After a conversation with the girl, Sophy persuaded her to send a letter to Jane Oakshott, arranging a meeting. At first the little maid had not wanted to accompany her on the walk which Sophy had suggested. Sophy confidingly admitted she did not much like her maid, Annie, and would much prefer to walk with her, Mary.
‘Me neither miss,’ agreed the maid, referring to Annie, ‘but I cannot go with you, I have me duties and Mrs Higgins would have my guts for garters. It’s Annie’s position to walk wif you, miss.’
Obviously the maid had no idea of the conspiracy against her, and that was in Sophy’s favour.
‘When is your afternoon off?’ asked Sophy.
‘Oh miss, it’s today, but I would be right sorry to miss seeing my ma, miss.’
‘What if you took just two hours of the time for a walk, and you could give your mama a sovereign afterwards?’
‘Oh miss, you are right kind.’
‘But best not tell the other servants, there might be a little jealousy.’
‘Oh no, miss. I won’t.’
‘Meet me after one at the servants’ entrance.’
‘The servants’ entrance, miss?’
‘Yes, I shall go through the stillroom so as not to be seen.’
‘Not seen miss?’
‘By Annie. I do not want you to be blamed for accompanying me.’
Thankfully the girl was a little slow, as this was a very thin excuse. But the next day, Sophy left the Misses Fosdyke with an excuse to go to her room to freshen up before the afternoon visitors arrived. Today she would avoid them. She would plead to the household afterwards that she had really needed this outing, and that she had gone chaperoned, so no harm had come of it. They would be angry, of course, but Sophy didn’t really pay attention much to other people’s anger. The maid was waiting outside the staff entrance with her pelisse and bonnet and they began the walk to the park, where she had agreed to meet her friends. She felt free, and joyous for the first time since she had been back in town, almost swinging her reticule as she moved.
But then everything changed…
The afternoon of the second day, when the princess had taken Beth for an airing in the carriage, she had her first test. As the carriage had paused for the princess to talk to an old friend, Beth withdrew a little into the background, gazing idly around at the swells in their shining tall hats and well cut coats, the ladies with their parasols making colourful dots in the distance, moving in a measured way, taking their afternoon stroll. She saw, too, the duller figures of maids walk behind, and almost wished she were one of them, rather than looking down at them from the barouche. She’d known her place then.
‘Darling,’ she heard a drawling voice, of some friend of the princess, who had caused her carriage to be pulled up beside the barouche, and who had been chatting for some time. ‘You have not introduced me to your friend.’
‘Oh,’ said the princess with an offhand manner, ‘This is my friend Miss Fox, just arrived from her country home.’
It seemed to work, the lady paid no further attention to Beth and the talk of fashions continued. But when she left, the princess, in her impulsive way, turned to her. ‘I quite see why you did not want to come out with me today. It would be very odd to be one day introduced as Miss Fox, and then when you come out, suddenly become Miss Ludgate.’ The princess held up a hand at Beth’s protest, ‘… or whatever your true name is. But you can certainly bear me company at Madame Godot’s.’
‘Please, please, Your Highness, I cannot.’ Beth was shaking, for her frequent visits to that establishment with Miss Sophy meant it was hard to see how she would not be recognised. Madame was a tiny personage with piercing eyes which were sometimes humorous. She exchanged some hidden glances with the maid at some of Miss Sophy’s starts, and had noticed Beth’s appreciation of the construction of each gown. Some petal sleeves had caught her eye once, and she had marvelled at each overlapping petal of silk mousseline, made of two pieces sewn together with tiny stitches, turned and tucked, and sewn together to make a sleeve for an angel. Madame had smiled at her then, seeing Beth’s gaping appreciation of the work involved. Madame would certainly know her.
The princess looked down at her and patted her hand. ‘No,
no my dear, we will not if you prefer.’ She smiled her lovely smile. ‘But Beth, please let me have some gowns sent over, you really cannot live in the two you have until next week, when the Horescombes return.’
But Beth shook her head, determined. If she were not to hurt this kind princess, who was beginning,absurdly, to feel like her friend, she must be gone before she found out the truth.
The marquis was standing in the hall as they returned, taking off his coat. ‘Would you join me in the library, Miss Fox? I have the need to speak to you.’
“What now?” thought Beth, but she passed him and moved into the library, removing her bonnet as she went.
The princess followed her, saying ‘Can you not let us take some tea and remove our pelisses first?’
Her brother stepped in front of her. ‘You may do so with my blessing, Emmi. I wish to speak to Miss Fox alone.’
‘Les convenances?’ his sister moued.
‘I shall leave the door ajar, never fear.’ He looked down at his sister’s disapproving face. ‘I have not suddenly become a rake while you were on the continent, Emmi.’
‘I know,’ said his sister, pertly. ‘I only wish you had. I must away to the dressmakers once I have tea, so be quick.’
Beth stood trembling in the middle of the room, clasping her hands in front her, looking so much like a frightened schoolgirl that the marquis was moved to pity.
‘Take a seat, my dear Miss Fox. I am not here to scold you.’
Her eyes flew to his, but she obediently sat, and he joined her on the same sofa, at a convenable distance. ‘Miss Fox. I have just visited Lord Summerton, whom Dow provided as his character. He has lately returned from India, and his account of Dow’s service differs very much from the character I had, as does his signature from that which adorned it. It is my intention to send Dow off this day, and leave him to forge another character if he can. It shall be for no house in London, I assure you.’ He smiled at her as though she should be pleased.
‘Sir! Please do not! It will be my fault that a man should be turned onto the street with so little thought. I could not bear it.’
Beth and the Mistaken Identity Page 6