Penelope Goes to Portsmouth

by M C Beaton

  A young lady stepped down, followed by a stern matron. The carriage door was opened.

  ‘In you go, Penelope,’ said the matron. ‘It is of no use trying to lie to your parents, for I have written them of your perfidy.’

  The young lady murmured something unintelligible. Lord Augustus moved across the carriage to sit next to Hannah and begged the young lady to take his seat at the window. She murmured her thanks. Her face was covered with a large handkerchief.

  The carriage door slammed shut and the coachman and guard mounted to the roof.

  Hannah took out a guidebook, prepared to read, but put it down again as she heard a soft exclamation of surprise from Lord Augustus. She put down her book and looked up.

  The young lady had removed her handkerchief. Hannah stared at her, open-mouthed. Never had she seen such a vision of loveliness. The face of the young lady was heart-shaped. Under a frivolous little bonnet rioted dusky curls. Huge pansy-brown eyes stared out at the world in innocent wonder. She had a soft and generous mouth. Her lashes were long and tipped with gold. She was wearing a pink velvet gown with a pink velvet spencer. Two large tears welled up in her eyes and fell down her cheeks. Hannah thought the girl, for she was surely barely above seventeen years, had probably been crying for some time, although her cheeks were not blotched, nor were her beautiful eyes red.

  Lord Augustus took out a large handkerchief and handed it to her. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and smiled, a bewitching smile. ‘Mine is all wet. La! I have been crying this age.’

  ‘What troubles you, my dear?’ asked Hannah.

  Penelope gave a little choked sob and then blew her button of a nose. It was an unfashionable nose, a pert little nose, a common nose, but it did not detract from her beauty one whit. ‘There,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘I shall cry no more. When people keep telling you and telling you that you are wicked, you begin to think it might be so. But I did not do anything wrong.’

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Hannah bluntly.

  ‘I did not know his feelings were so warm towards me,’ said Penelope earnestly. ‘How could I? I mean, he was just the music teacher at the seminary and quite dreadfully old, nearly forty.’ Hannah glared but Penelope went on regardless. ‘He would put his hands over mine to show me the fingering of the keys, and say, “Naughty puss, you will never get it right,” and then he would squeeze my fingers, but I thought it was a punishment. Then yesterday, Mr Turrip, the music teacher, that is, fell to his knees beside the piano stool and asked me to marry him. Imagine! And then Miss Jasper walked in.’

  ‘Miss Jasper?’ prompted Lord Augustus, his voice warm with amusement.

  ‘The principal of the seminary. She said I had been leading him on and demanded to know all, after she had dismissed the poor man from her employ. I said I had not been leading him on and said he had squeezed my fingers as a punishment, and she said, no one in their right mind was as naïve as all that and that I had caused trouble before.’

  ‘How had you caused trouble before?’ Hannah leaned forward.

  ‘It was in church, don’t you see.’ Penelope prattled on in a childlike voice. ‘There was this young man kept staring at me and I thought perhaps I had a smut on my nose or perhaps he did not like me. So when we were filing out of the church – that is, I and the other girls – I stepped aside and demanded to know why he had looked at me so. He said his heart was breaking and I said that he would be better to stare at the lady who had broken his heart than glare at me, and Miss Jasper came up and gave my arm quite a cruel wrench and she said to the young man, “Your parents shall hear from me,” so perhaps she knew why his heart was breaking. But I do not see why I was in disgrace.’

  ‘Did it not perhaps occur to you that he was breaking his heart over you?’ demanded Hannah.

  Penelope’s large eyes became even larger. ‘No. Why should it? I mean, we had not been introduced.’

  ‘Ah, I see you are a stickler for the conventions,’ said Lord Augustus. He introduced himself and then the other members of the carriage. Hannah noticed in surprise that Lord Augustus had somehow managed to change his clothes, shave and wash during their brief stop at the Castle.

  ‘And my name is Penelope Wilkins,’ said the charmer. ‘How d’ye do. I shall have your handkerchief laundered when I reach home, Mr Railton, and return it to you.’

  ‘Lord Augustus Railton,’ simpered Miss Trenton.

  Penelope stared at Lord Augustus for a long moment. Then she said, ‘If you are a lord, why are you on the common stage?’

  ‘Pockets to let,’ he remarked.

  Penelope looked puzzled. ‘Sported all my blunt,’ he volunteered by way of clarification. Penelope shook her head in bewilderment.

  ‘He means he ain’t got no money,’ said Mr Cato and then let out a deafening sneeze.

  ‘Oh.’ Penelope digested this piece of information. ‘But people do say, “As rich as a lord”, do they not?’

  ‘I think the phrase is, “As drunk as a lord”,’ said Hannah.

  Another pouting ‘oh’ from that rosebud mouth. Then the pretty face cleared. ‘Ah, that is why you do not have money. You lead a dissolute life.’

  ‘My dear …’ protested Hannah.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Lord Augustus.

  ‘Then the situation can be remedied,’ said Penelope. ‘You can always work.’

  Mr Cato slapped his knee in delight and chuckled. ‘That’s rich, that is. You sound like a Yankee,’ by which he meant New Englander. ‘Don’t you know what a gentleman is, young lady? They don’t work.’

  ‘But my father works very hard,’ said Penelope earnestly, ‘and he is a gentleman.’

  ‘What does he do?’ asked Mr Cato curiously.

  ‘He owns the biggest chandlery business in Portsmouth.’ Penelope’s eyes sparkled with pride.

  ‘Then he’s just like me,’ said Mr Cato. ‘You can’t be a gentleman and be in trade.’

  ‘That is not true,’ said Penelope. ‘Why, Mr Whitbread, the Member of Parliament, is in beer, and yet he dines with the Prince of Wales.’

  ‘Ah, well, beer’s another thing. Tea, too,’ said Mr Cato darkly.

  Penelope looked puzzled.

  ‘You do not seem to know much of the world, Miss Wilkins,’ said Hannah curiously. ‘I gather you have been at a seminary in Kingston. Surely the purpose of such seminaries is to train young ladies in etiquette.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Penelope vaguely, ‘and what a dead bore it was, too. Were I not in disgrace, I would be quite happy to go home. Papa is a dear but he has such ambitions for me. I had a governess at home and was not allowed to socialize with the daughters of the other tradespeople in Portsmouth. Papa says I am to marry a lord, but I do not think I want to, if they do not work.’

  ‘But everyone in England falls out of their cradle knowing the aristocracy do not work,’ said Mr Cato.

  ‘Now that is not quite true,’ said Hannah. ‘Many do a great deal of work on their estates or in the army or the Church or in the government of the country. Pray tell Miss Wilkins you are not a good example.’ Hannah gave Lord Augustus a quizzical look.

  ‘You have the right of it, ma’am,’ said Lord Augustus seriously. ‘You have no idea the work we have, Miss Wilkins. It is a great deal of labour to be in fashion. Hours being fitted by one’s tailor, lies to be thought up for the dun and one’s banker, dancing with the most appalling females just to be polite, knowing who to cut and who to be civil to … faugh! I feel exhausted just thinking about it all.’

  ‘What a dreadfully useless sort of life,’ said Penelope mournfully.

  ‘He is bamming,’ said Hannah, looking hopefully at Lord Augustus, waiting for that young man to redeem himself. But he cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her and said softly, ‘Good try, ma’am, but it is as I say. I am beyond repair – just like my fortunes.’

  But not, thought Miss Hannah Pym, if you marry a rich merchant’s daughter.

  2

  Dumb, inscrutable and grand.
>
  Matthew Arnold

  The coach rolled to a stop at Esher. All were hungry, and when the coachman opened the door, Mr Cato, as spokesman, said they all needed a proper breakfast.

  They filed into a low dining-room and clustered around the fire while the waiters rushed to set the table. Hannah looked curiously at Miss Trenton, wondering what she was like without her massive bonnet and then decided the lady would probably appear even more ill-favoured than she seemed with it on.

  Miss Trenton seemed to have contracted a strong dislike for the fair Penelope.

  This time the food proved excellent. Even Miss Trenton showed signs of thaw, although she still concentrated mostly on Lord Augustus, regaling him with tales of her splendid carriage, which was always ‘just up ahead’.

  And then the cosy atmosphere was shattered. A man in irons was led through the dining-room and into the tap by two constables and three militia. He was dirty and dishevelled, a sorry figure indeed. He was tall and thin with thick smooth black hair and a clever mobile face with a beaky nose and long mouth, an East End London face, thought Hannah. His black eyes flashed a look of mute appeal at the assembled company. Miss Trenton and Mr Cato turned their faces away. Hannah looked back in curious sympathy, Penelope’s eyes filled with tears, and Lord Augustus looked at Penelope and then shouted to one of the constables, ‘What has he done?’

  The constable turned back. ‘Footman to Lady Carsey at the Manor. Robbed her of her diamond brooch, he did. Moving him to the prison here. He’ll hang on the scaffold in the morning. Thirsty work, escorting prisoners.’ He looked longingly at the rest, who were already burying their noses in pewter tankards in the tap.

  Penelope let out a little squeal of dismay.

  ‘I suppose the prisoner protests his innocence?’ asked Lord Augustus.

  ‘Can’t. Deaf and dumb.’

  Lord Augustus glanced at Penelope’s wide-eyed distress, and said, ‘And there is absolute proof he took it?’

  ‘Well, her ladyship says so, and that was enough for the court.’

  ‘But hanging,’ protested Hannah. ‘Surely transportation would be a more normal sentence for theft.’

  ‘Not from a peeress, it ain’t,’ said the constable. ‘If you’re on the thieving lay, best to take from Mr Bloggs of nowhere and leave the quality alone.’ And he walked off to join the others.

  Penelope clenched her little hands. ‘He is innocent,’ she pronounced.

  Miss Trenton found her voice. ‘Do not be such a silly chit,’ she said roundly. ‘You have never seen the fellow before, and if Lady Carsey says he did it, then he did.’

  ‘Are you acquainted with Lady Carsey?’ asked Lord Augustus.

  ‘No, but, well, it stands to reason …’

  Penelope had begun to cry in earnest, and all looked at her helplessly.

  Her food lay untouched in front of her. ‘I do not understand your distress,’ said Hannah, although she had to admit that that look from the prisoner had touched her heart. ‘Excuse me.’ She rose to her feet, and to the other passengers’ surprise, she made her way through to the tap.

  ‘I would like to speak to the prisoner,’ she said.

  ‘He can’t speak, mum, nor hear,’ said a constable.

  Hannah looked into the prisoner’s face. He seemed intelligent. She opened her reticule and drew out a notebook and a lead pencil. On a page she wrote, ‘Did you take the brooch?’

  She then passed both notebook and pencil to the prisoner. Holding them awkwardly, for his wrists were manacled, he leaned the book on top of the table and wrote, ‘I am innocent.’

  Hannah’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Then why should she accuse you?’ she wrote.

  The prisoner read it and then began to write busily. ‘She wanted me in her bed. I refused. She took this revenge. She probably still has the brooch.’

  ‘Enough o’ that,’ growled the constable. ‘Time to go.’ Hannah took back her notebook and watched miserably as the prisoner was dragged out of the inn.

  She read what he had written and then returned to the others. She silently showed the notebook to Penelope, who had to scrub her streaming eyes in order to read it.

  ‘Oh, there you have it,’ cried Penelope. ‘He is innocent.’ Her large and beautiful eyes turned on Lord Augustus. ‘You must do something, my lord. You can do something.’

  Lord Augustus took the notebook from her, read it, and shrugged his elegant shoulders. ‘I cannot be of help,’ he said indifferently. ‘Deuced hot in here. Going outside for some air.’

  Hannah slid an arm around Penelope’s shaking shoulders. ‘I do not think anyone can help now that the courts have passed a death sentence on him. All we can do is pray.’

  Penelope clasped her hands and closed her eyes like an obedient child. Hannah felt a lump rising in her throat. Surely the man was guilty. He must be guilty.

  The coachman called they were ready to leave and they all trudged out into the courtyard to where Lord Augustus was leaning against the side of the coach, smoking a cheroot.

  They all climbed silently in. Even Mr Cato seemed to have been affected by the prisoner’s fate. They were just leaving the courtyard when there came various splintering sounds. The carriage dipped suddenly, throwing everyone into a jumble of arms and legs.

  Mr Cato was first to open the door. The front wheels of the coach had gone spinning away, the poles had snapped, and the cursing coachman was gingerly climbing down.

  The coachman examined the damage and his face darkened with rage. ‘Someone’s taken a saw to these here poles and wheel shafts,’ he shouted. ‘Which one of you did this?’

  The cold voice of Lord Augustus dripped like iced water on the rage of the coachman. ‘My dear, dear fellow,’ he said. ‘You are surely not accusing one of us of sabotage.’

  ‘Someone did it,’ said the coachman, whirling this way and that.

  ‘Then you had better summon the law,’ remarked Lord Augustus equably, ‘while I escort the ladies back to the inn.’

  He held out one arm to Hannah and the other to Penelope. Miss Trenton muttered something and then walked behind them to the inn, followed by Mr Cato and the outside passengers.

  ‘It is a miracle,’ breathed Penelope.

  ‘The coach breaking down?’ Hannah began to wonder whether the fair Penelope had all her wits.

  ‘Yes, you see, it gives us time.’

  ‘Time for what?’ demanded Hannah crossly.

  ‘Why, time to visit Lady Carsey and ask her whether she is sure that the footman stole the brooch.’

  ‘I do not see how a party of stage-coach passengers would be allowed further than her lodge-gates,’ said Hannah.

  Penelope’s eyes rounded on Lord Augustus like carriage lamps turning a corner. ‘But you could, my lord.’

  ‘I am a Fribble, Miss Wilkins,’ said Lord Augustus, leading her to the inn-table and drawing out a chair for her. ‘A lily of the field. I toil not, neither do I interest myself in the fate of footmen.’ He turned and walked stiffly from the inn. Penelope let out a cry of distress.

  ‘Wait here with Mr Cato and Miss Trenton,’ said Hannah. ‘I shall be back in a trice.’

  She found Lord Augustus standing in the coach-yard, studying the wreck of the coach through his quizzing-glass.

  ‘If you took that saw out of your top-boot, my lord,’ said Hannah quietly, ‘then you might be able to join us and sit at your ease.’

  He stood silently for a moment, and then gave a reluctant laugh. ‘I hope no one else has such sharp eyes. I shall go round to the tack-room and replace it if you will make sure no one follows me.’

  Hannah studied his retreating back thoughtfully. So the indolent Lord Augustus had moved himself enough to wreck the coach. Obviously he wanted to gain time to prove the footman’s innocence or guilt to Penelope’s satisfaction. Therefore, he must be interested in Penelope. He was obviously in need of funds and Penelope’s father was rich. Penelope’s father wanted his daughter to marry a lord. What co
uld be more perfect? And Hannah was firmly convinced that behind the stiffening spine of every Fribble lay a pretty and spineless woman who needed protection. Hannah heaved a sigh. The meek shall inherit the best husbands. Women of character, brains, and independence were damned to spinsterhood unless they commanded a good dowry. Such was the way of the world.

  Lord Augustus ambled back. ‘Why did you do it?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘The food here is good,’ he said carelessly, ‘and I have a mind to stay the night in Esher.’

  ‘But, my lord, surely you wish to prove the footman innocent?’

  He laughed. ‘Why, you are a romantic, Miss Pym, with a hellish gleam of matchmaking in your fine eyes. I have no interest in that soufflé of a young lady in there.’

  ‘Do you mean to say,’ said Hannah angrily, ‘that you damaged the coach simply to prolong your stay here? I have a good mind to report you.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said lazily. ‘They would bill me for the damage and my pockets are to let.’

  ‘Then if you want to keep my mouth shut, sirrah, I suggest you busy yourself with an immediate visit to Lady Carsey.’

  ‘What a bully you are. Must I?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘So be it. But at least allow me a glass of brandy to fortify myself.’

  Hannah sat impatiently in the inn while Lord Augustus sipped his brandy and looked vaguely about him. Penelope had retired upstairs to an inn bedchamber to wash and change. ‘I told her she was going to needless expense renting a room,’ snapped Miss Trenton. ‘Waste of time prettifying herself.’

  ‘I do so agree,’ said Lord Augustus earnestly. Miss Trenton beamed on him, but her smile faded when he added, ‘Miss Wilkins is pretty enough as it is.’

  Hannah rose to her feet. ‘I am going out for a walk. I suggest you accompany me, Lord Augustus.’ She gave him a threatening glare.

  ‘Very well,’ he said meekly.

  ‘And you know just where we are going,’ said Hannah, as they walked together across the inn courtyard. There was a quick patter of footsteps behind them and Penelope caught up with them. She was wearing a sapphire-blue carriage dress with gold frogs, and a frivolous little military hat was balanced rakishly on her dusky curls.