The Beringer Heiress

by Jan Constant

  and powder were setting like a mask. Hoping desperately that no one would see them, she attempted to hurry along the deserted pavement, but Julian Leyton set a deliberately slow pace, strolling along as if oblivious to her discomfort.

  “Pray walk a little faster,” she urged at last.

  ‘ ‘Don’t you find the night air enjoyable? ’ ’ he asked blandly.

  “You know I do not—not in these clothes and with this stuff on my face!” Emma was goaded into replying.

  “Then, my dear girl, you should not have put them on in the first place,” he replied silkily.

  His companion gritted her teeth and walked on in silence, asking after a thoughtful pause, “Did Sergeant Rourk tell you I was at the theater?”

  Sir Julian looked down at his charge. “Only in the most innocent way. Tom is an old friend of mine. ... We often meet. He was full of the news of his old major’s daughter. He did not betray you, have no fear of that.” A sound suspiciously like a suppressed chuckle escaped him. “I fear, in my eagerness to intercept you, that I missed the best of your performance, but I own to a suspicion that your talents lie on the comic stage. ”

  “I only did what I was told,” said Emma crossly. “All would have been well if the princess had not fallen on me!”

  Sir Julian’s shoulders shook, but when he spoke his voice was suitably grave. “F-fell on you! Well, indeed that would tend to spoil anyone’s performance!”

  Miss Beringer shot him a dark look. “Let me tell you, sir, that it is not to be laughed at.”

  “That, I can believe,” agreed her guardian in reflective tones. “Few would wish for such a fate, and your own dismay is perfectly understandable.”

  Entering the George Inn, Emma turned to look up at him. “Are you teasing me?” she demanded, eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

  Before Sir Julian could reply, a movement behind made 31

  them both look round to find that a gentleman on the staircase was surveying them through a quizzing glass.

  “ ’Pon my soul, Sir Julian,” he drawled, and turned his gaze upon the shrouded form of Emma. “And . . . companion, I see.”

  “Your servant, Devern,” said Sir Julian curtly, placing himself squarely in front of his ward. “I had not expected to find you here.”

  The slim figure on the stairs bowed elegantly. “Your servant, Ma’am. Aren’t you going to introduce us, Leyton?”

  “No,’’ was the bald answer, and a hand on Emma’s shoulder restrained her, when she would have curtsied in return.

  “How selfish,” drawled the other man. “But then you always were a dog.” His gaze traveled over as much of the muffled figure as he could see, lingering with interest on the slim pair of ankles which were revealed beneath the cloak. “Another of your Cyprians, Ju?” he inquired softly.

  “Go to hell,” advised Julian Leyton evenly and marched his ward firmly past the man on the stairs, whose eyes lit with interest as Emma’s honey-colored hair glimmered in the candlelight, and her satin suit was revealed briefly as the enveloping cloak fell open. Gathering it about her, Emma ran up the stairs and, bidding her guardian the briefest of ‘good nights,’ fled into the room which she had occupied previously.

  Something in the encounter had shaken her, ruffling her already disturbed feelings in a way which she could not understand. There had been a certain air about the stranger which she had found attractive, his obvious admiration had made her very aware of being female and the appreciative gleam in his pale eyes had made her spine prickle in an unfamiliar but totally delightful way.

  She could not help but compare him to Sir Julian and found her guardian wanting. He may have stolen a kiss, but he had never looked at her with open admiration and a blatant invitation in his expression.

  Dropping the cloak into a chair, Emma went through into the bedroom and, seating herself at the dressing table, gazed with dismay at her reflection; heat and emotion had made the paint and powder run together, the lurid colors doing nothing to enhance her delicate coloring. The cold air had set the grease into a mask, which resembled a child’s painting—or the visage presented to the world by a woman of the streets to proclaim her trade.

  Emma gasped in dismay, agonizing over what the strange man must have thought and then, seizing a handkerchief, attempted desperately to remove the stage makeup applied so hopefully a few hours previously. Her frantic efforts had no result apart from smudging the thick substance in a rainbow-colored mess across her face.

  When after a timid knock Maria entered, it was to find Miss Beringer slumped over the table, her shoulders heaving with smothered sobs.

  “Lawks!” exclaimed the child, hurrying forward. “Don’t take on so, ’m—I’m as sorry as I can be that Sir Julian found your things, but he has a way with him, and I couldn’t hold out no longer. He’s ever so charming, as you know’m.”

  Emma shuddered. “He’s horrid!” she cried emphatically. “Anyway, it’s not that that is bothering me—look at my face! What am I to do?”

  Examining her garish appearance, Maria was hard put to hide a grin but exclaimed in a suitably sympathetic way, “I know how to get that off. ” She added, more usefully, ‘ ‘Lard is what you need. I’ll nip down to the kitchen and get a dollop.”

  As good as her word, she was quickly back with a basin of clarified dripping. For a moment all was silence as the two girls worked, rubbing the grease into Emma’s face and wiping the resulting mess off. At last she emerged, recognizable, if shining and slippery.

  “What have you been doing?” the younger girl inquired, covertly studying Emma’s blue satin suit.

  “I went on the stage—” said Emma with casual pride.

  ‘‘You never!” There was every admiration in Maria’s tones. ‘‘Well, I never did—and you a lady, too.”

  “I wish everyone would not keep saying that,” observed Emma peevishly. “Anyway, I’ve given up the idea. Now I shall go to London and make a grand marriage,” she announced.

  “There’s a lord here now,” Maria told her, as if she might wish to make a start that instant. “He’s ever so nice—gave me a guinea.”

  Emma looked away to hide her interest. “What is his name?” she asked casually.

  “Lord Devern—but I heard his friends call him Viv—funny name, ain’t it?”

  “Vivian, I expect, ” Emma told her. “Do you know where

  he lives?”

  Maria shook her head. “But, I can tell you that he and Sir Julian don’t care for each other,” she went on. “My Lord was trying to chivy him about some doxy, excuse my French, ’m, in a friendly way, and Sir Julian was very stiff—give him a proper set down, I can tell you. If you don’t mind me saying so, ’m—he’ll make a stem guardian, and no mistake.”

  Having a good idea who was the female under discussion, Emma was not surprised at her guardian’s response but had to agree with Maria’s pronouncement and faced the coming months with foreboding.

  She was awoken early next morning with the information that Sir Julian wanted to take the road by nine o’clock. Maria’s voice sounded muffled, and her downcast eyes were suspiciously pink. Sitting up in bed, Emma noticed a fiery red mark on the side of the girl’s face and exclaimed in shocked surprise, demanding who had struck her.

  “Old Beerbelly, ’m. He’s a bad’un, I can tell you. Proper heavy-handed, he is.” Maria sniffed, rubbing her cheek reflectively. “And I hadn’t done nothing—not really. I’d overslept a bit, and the stove wasn’t hot when he came down. ”

  Jumping out of bed, Emma soaked a handkerchief in the washbasin and gently dabbed the inflamed cheek.

  “No need for you to do that, ’m,” said the girl, backing away. “I’ve had worse—I nearly lost a tooth last time.”

  She sounded surprisingly cheerful, almost proud, seeming to accept violence as a normal part of life, and as she scurried about the room she appeared to have forgotten the incident. Emma felt helpless; filled with sympathy for the other girl yet unha
ppily aware that, without an establishment of her own, Emma thought there was nothing she could offer in the way of practical help. She was still pondering the problem and had just decided that, much as she disliked the idea, she would apply to Sir Julian in the hope that his better nature would emerge to solve her difficulty, when Emma’s guardian entered the room.

  He was already dressed in a green riding jacket and tight- fitting yellow buckskins. Gold tassels dangled from his shiny black Hessian boots, and a spotless linen cravat had replaced the fine muslin one of the previous evening. He carried a black beaver hat with a curly brim and a pair of kid gloves. Even Emma had to admit that he made a handsome picture as he stood in the doorway, the epitome of masculinity.

  “Good—I see you are ready,” he said, coming into the room. “Now, Miss Beringer, I have a proposition to make to you. You are in need of a female companion, and Maria, here, is in need of a position.”

  Emma wondered briefly if he could have been reading her thoughts as she turned to Maria to see how she was taking this suggestion. Exchanging glances, the girls knew without speaking that the idea was agreeable to both. Hope flared across Maria’s thin features, before the joy died away and her shoulders slumped.

  Shaking her head, she said, “Old Beerbelly’ud never agree.”

  “I have . . . persuaded him,” Sir Julian told her gently, surprising Emma with the unexpected kindness he showed.

  “You are free to accompany Miss Beringer, if you wish. No one will force you, and Old—er, Beerbelly will keep you on, if that’s what you prefer.”

  The child looked up into his face. “Really?” she asked. “Really and truly?”

  Sir Julian smiled down at her. “Really and truly,” he repeated. “Trust me.”

  A wide grin broke over the little face, and Maria did a jig of joy. “Coo, ta ever so,” she cried. “Fancy me, a lady’s maid!”

  Looking up, Julian Leyton met his ward’s eyes. “Go and pack, Maria,” he said. “You have ten minutes.”

  “Shan’t need two!” she retorted, and ran from the room.

  “She is not what I would have chosen for you, if I had had the choice,” said Sir Julian, when they were alone. “However, you have need of a companion on the journey, and that child obviously has need of a home. She is young, wise in the worst way, and . . . vulnerable. I shall expect you to have a care to her until we get to London, then she can be put in the hands of my housekeeper, who will find a suitable situation for her.”

  “Cannot she stay with me?”

  Sir Julian looked surprised. “I had not considered it. . . . Someone older and stolidly respectable would be more the thing.”

  “I would prefer Maria,” Emma said obstinately.

  “I daresay,” said her guardian, a knowledgeable smile lurking at the back of his black gaze. “I’ve known many a maid to keep her young mistress in order, and I’m persuaded that you have, too. Forgive me if I’m blunt, Miss Beringer, but, from what I have seen, you have need of an older, wiser companion.”

  Emma fought her lower lip, which had developed a determination to stick out. “I thought you wanted me to play companion to your naughty little sister. You are being inconsistent,” she pointed out.

  “Heaven forgive me, I did have such a thought in mind!” Julian Leyton murmured. “But now, I wonder if a finishing school would not be more suitable for you both.”

  “I am too old,” Emma told him with satisfaction.

  “I know, my dear. I’m afraid there is nothing for it but the cellars and bread and water when you misbehave.” Emma stared at him, shock on her face, before her eyebrows drew together. For the second time she had the uneasy feeling that her guardian was teasing her, and she did not know how to respond.

  Amused that he had silenced her, he picked up his hat and gloves. Ticking his riding whip under his arm, he strode to the door and held it open, saying with a slight bow, “The carriage is at the door, Miss Beringer.”

  Emma was joined on the front steps by an excited Maria, clutching a large checked bundle which contained all her belongings. They were both gratified to find an elegant equipage awaiting them, a coat of arms displayed on its black- painted door. Two handsome horses chewed their bits patiently, while a coachman waited with an impassive face for the groom to load the luggage behind. Miss Beringer managed to hide the fact that she was impressed by the outfit, but her newly acquired maid did not even try.

  Mouth and eyes agape, she stared, before crying loudly, “Ooh, miss, he ain’t half doing us proud! He must be ever so rich!”

  “Hush, Maria,” chided Emma quietly. “Pretend you are used to such magnificence.”

  The girl did her best, accepting the groom’s helping hand to follow her mistress up the folding steps with chin high and her small nose tilted skyward. Only her genteel, “Ta, my good man,” spoiled the effect.

  Emma covertly admired her guardian’s black gelding as Sir Julian and his valet trotted ahead through the narrow streets. Soon they were clear of the town and driving along country lanes until they reached the little village of Cosham

  at the end of the bridge that joined Portsea Island to the mainland. Topping Portsdown Hill, Emma stole a quick look backward at the panorama laid out behind her; the whole of Portsea, surrounded by sea, ships riding at anchor in the Solent and beyond, the Isle of Wight half hidden in a misty haze. Then the horses plunged down past the inn and gathered speed on the well-kept road which was the main thoroughfare to London.

  Maria’s head was turning in all directions as she tried to watch everything which flashed past the windows. “I ain’t never been in the country before,” she explained, catching Emma’s eye.

  “Do you like it?”

  Maria was doubtful. “It’s ever so big,” she murmured. “You could easy get lost.”

  Emma pointed out a windmill, its sails turning slowly on a hill near the road and then nodded toward a much larger hill on their left. “That’s called Butser,” she said, “and it is only a few feet off being a mountain. ”

  Maria appeared suitably impressed, but spoiled it by asking innocently if a mountain was bigger than a hill. Settling back in her comer, Emma fell silent, idly watching the scenery and wondering what life in London would be like. They flashed through Petersfield and then Haslemere. Here she roused herself, staring out of the window in the unlikely hope of catching a glimpse of her friend.

  Turning right onto the Guildford Road, they settled into a steady trot that devoured the miles and set the well-sprung carriage into a soporific sway. Both girls fell asleep, to be awakened by the sudden cessation of motion, to find that they had arrived in the yard of an inn and that the steps of the coach were being let down.

  A meal was procured for them in a private room, somewhat to Miss Beringer’s disappointment, for she rather liked the idea of eating in a busy, public room, gazing out at the shops and passersby as she did so. However, she had to be

  content with what little she could glimpse of Guildford as they set out again, toiling slowly up the steep main street, passing under overhanging upper floors of medieval buildings, by mullioned windows and more modem bays, and even past the ruined gate of what could only once have been a castle.

  “It’s a long way, in’it, miss?” commented Maria, sighing heavily and shuffling around on the seat in an endeavor to find a more comfortable spot.

  “I believe that we still have some way to go,” Emma agreed, wishing herself that the long journey was over. “I take it, Maria,” she went on, pursuing a question which had been bothering her, “that your parents know of your move to London? You did ask your mother’s permission?”

  “Ain’t got no mother—nor no father neither,” was the cheerful answer. “I’m a foundling, ’m.”

  “I think that if we are to be better acquainted, you must call me Miss Emma,” said Emma diplomatically. “If you are to be a lady’s maid, you must start as you mean to go on.”

  “Yes’m—Miss Emma,” agreed the child. “I wa
s found in the porch of St. Thomas’s—that’s why I’m called Maria Thomas. Maria was the woman who found me. I suppose if I’d been a boy, they’d have called me Thomas Thomas!”

  “What a romantic tale—like a novel. ”

  “Romantic or not, miss. I’d sooner have had a Ma and Pa. The orphanage was something horrible, and Old Beer- belly weren’t too nice neither. ’ ’ She paused and looked across the enclosed space, her expression anxious. “Do you think Sir J will turn me off once we get to London?”

  ‘ ‘I’m sure not, ” comforted the older girl. ‘ ‘Why would he have bothered to take you so far, if he was going to do that? ’ ’ “You will put in a word for me, Miss Emma, when we get there? I’ll be ever so good as your maid. I’m used to hard work—no one can scrub a floor cleaner than me. ”

  Emma smiled. “A lady’s maid doesn’t do things like that.

  They look after clothes and learn how to do hair. Some maids are even grander than their mistresses! When I was in Portugal, Lady Pultney, General Sir Timothy Pultney’s wife, came out, and her maid wore silk dresses and had her own maid. She kept her nose in the air and was much too grand to speak to anyone except her mistress!”

  “Well, I never! Tell me about your travels, miss. Was it hot, and were all the folk blackamoors?”

  Emma laughed and began to recount her adventures in the Peninsula. With only a little embroidery, the tales became distracting and made the miles pass quickly. The afternoon gave way to evening without them noticing, and dusk had fallen by the time the equipage rounded Hampton Court and began the last part of the journey into the city.