Unsuitable Girl

by Ling, Maria

  An Unsuitable Girl

  by Maria Ling

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Maria Ling

  Cover photo copyright AndersonRise - Fotolia.com

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  ***

  Annis waited.

  Mrs Powell continued to write. Her pen scratched neat precise lines over thick bond paper. Behind her, pink silk curtains shimmered in the light from tall windows.

  "You sent for me, madam," Annis said at last. Mrs Powell might have time to play these games all day, but Annis had work to do.

  Mrs Powell finished the sentence, then signed her name underneath. She strewed sand over the paper, then tipped it away and blew on the letter with short puffs.

  "I did." She folded up the letter and held it out across the dainty walnut desk. "You are dismissed from my service. Here is your reference. Be out of the house within the hour."

  Annis' legs melted underneath her.

  "Dismissed?"

  "Please do not attempt to play innocent." Mrs Powell looked up at last, sharp grey eyes that cut Annis' face. "I am aware of your liaison with my husband. He has agreed not to see you again. You are no longer wanted in this house."

  Annis grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself. Mrs Powell watched, a crease of disapproval notched between her eyebrows.

  Liaison. That was one word for it. 'Either this or you leave without a reference,' he'd said. Which would condemn her as surely as a public flogging for whoredom.

  "I had no choice," Annis said.

  "Out."

  Annis sucked in breath. She had her orders and must obey.

  She willed her body to move. Her steps across the floor were uncertain, but she made it out onto the landing. There she slumped against the wall and held back tears.

  The paper lay smooth in her hand. She unfolded it, cold with fear. If Mrs Powell spoke ill of her, she would not get another place.

  - honest and hardworking, does not speak out of turn, can wait at table and do light work about the house -

  Not a word about her character. That was generous. Annis blinked away her tears. Mrs Powell might be angry, but she had at least offered Annis a respectable way out.

  Annis clutched the letter. She stood up straight, grasped the bannister with her free hand, and began the long ascent to her attic room.

  ***

  "I'm thinking of marriage," William confessed.

  His lieutenant, John Hoyle, shot him a doubtful glance. "To whom?"

  "Annis Jones."

  They lounged in the box-sized room that served them for a parlour. Since Hoyle's marriage to William's sister Henrietta, he'd found lodgings on the floor above a draper's shop. William, on the promise of half rent compared to what he paid for lodgings on his own, had joined them there.

  It served, though Henrietta refused to crowd in with the two of them while they passed the odd afternoon at cards. She preferred to visit the shop below.

  Which meant William had the occasional moment, such as this, to discuss matters unsuitable for other ears.

  "You bought her off, didn't you?" Hoyle shuffled and dealt. His skilled hands flicked the cards out too fast for the eye to trace.

  "I made a mistake." William cringed at the recollection. He'd let his elder brother talk him into it, but that was no excuse. "I thought I could let go of her, but I can't." He led with the queen of hearts. Hoyle buried it with the king.

  "You can't marry her." Hoyle led with the ten of clubs. William surrendered the five, but kept back the ace. Under Hoyle's tuition, he'd finally learned to dissemble. "She'll bring no dowry, no position, no promise for the future."

  "I know." William slapped his ace of clubs over Hoyle's king.

  "Nothing against the girl," Hoyle went on. "If you were a trooper, I'd give you leave and hand her a shilling myself. But as an officer - "

  "I know." William stared at his cards. A drab selection of spades, with a handful of small diamonds for sacrifice. He was about to get slaughtered. "I had thought of selling my commission."

  Hoyle levelled a stare at him.

  "You're that far gone?"

  "I love her," William said. "In truth. Not just for the body. If I sold it for eight hundred pounds or so and signed up as a plain trooper, then we'd have the money to live on. I could set her up in a room somewhere. She could take in piecework for mending, maybe."

  "Married bliss."

  "It's better than nothing. Once I'm sent abroad, I'd know she was provided for. I'd rather have that than a commission." He surrendered his last card.

  Hoyle added up his winnings. "You're a fool," he said. "But I can't blame you. What's her view on the matter?"

  "I haven't asked." William pulled the deck together, shuffled and dealt.

  "Perhaps you should," Hoyle said.

  "She'd tell me not to do it. She wouldn't want to feel beholden to me." William studied his cards. A better run this time. He took two tricks in a row, then lost his hopeful king of spades to Hoyle's ace.

  "Don't, then." Hoyle led with the six of hearts. William took it with the nine.

  "But if she didn't know the whys of it, she'd be contented enough," William argued.

  "Do you want a dim woman for a wife?"

  William offered the knave of clubs, his last card, and watched Hoyle cut it down with the king.

  "She's not dim," William said. "But she might not guess - "

  "She's a servant in the colonel's house," Hoyle pointed out. "Which should have been reason enough for you to leave her alone, but never mind that now. She'll have heard about commissions getting bought and sold. If you think you can be reduced in rank and then approach her with ready cash, and she not work out the connection, you have a poor view of her mind."

  Hoyle added up the totals, then pushed the stack of counters into the middle of the table. William pulled the wad of notes from his sleeve.

  "Keep it," Hoyle said. "I like to practice, that's all."

  "I pay my debts." William pushed the notes across. Hoyle sighed and took them.

  "Play better, then," Hoyle said. "Or you'll be left with nothing else but honour, next cards night at the mess."

  ***

  Annis raised her hand and gave a feeble knock on the door. The sound barely carried to her own ears. She tried again, with a smart turn of the wrist, and this time got the confident knock she needed.

  "I am looking for a place." She offered her letter to the opening door. "Would it be possible to see Mrs Swann?"

  "More than possible - it is certain." A dark-haired woman smiled at her from the doorway. "Where do you come from?"

  "I recently lost my place with Mrs Powell." Annis drew a quick breath for courage. One little white lie, and then the truth. "She suggested I come to you, since you're setting up a new establishment."

  "I don't especially need a housemaid." Mrs Swann studied the letter. "How are you as a companion?"

  Annis hesitated. She didn't even know what the question meant. "I could learn," she hedged.

  Mrs Swann stood aside. "Come in and talk."

  Annis followed Mrs Swann up the stairs to an elegant sitting-room furnished in cream and pale green. There she sat on the edge of a silk-covered chair, trying to keep her dusty shoes off the rug.

  "Do you play cards?" Mrs Swann asked. "Read well? Sing
and draw?"

  Annis shook her head.

  "Dear me. Have you any skills at all other than dusting?"

  "I can cook simple meals and serve them," Annis said. "And I can read and write well enough for the Bible and a lady's letters." She dredged her memory for other accomplishments. "I know some poetry off by heart."

  "Let me hear it."

  Annis recited as best she could with tears starting to her eyes. Mother had taught her these favourite poems years ago. It brought back memories of open fields and summer sun and the soft patter of rain on the roof.

  "Yes," Mrs Swann said when Annis fell silent. "I do not care much for poetry."

  Annis' heart plummeted to her stomach.

  "But you have a pretty voice." Mrs Swann fetched a book from a nearby table. "Read to me."

  It was nothing, some silly scene of a man and a woman taking six pages to declare their love. Annis did what she could with such poor material, but she felt the awkwardness of it.

  "Sewing?" Mrs Swann suggested.

  "I can mend and patch and do straight seams."

  "My word." Mrs Swann gave a small sigh. "There really seems to be nothing I can offer you." She stared at Annis for a long time. "Why did Mrs Powell ask you to leave?"

  Annis cast around for another lie, but found none. She could not bring herself to tell the truth. But Mrs Swann waited, and her dark brown eyes glimmered kind.

  Annis settled on half a truth. "I am ashamed to say," she faltered, "that I once thought myself in love with one of the officers. It's all over now, and I know I was extremely silly to imagine such a thing. I thought it was a secret, and that no one but myself need ever know. But Mrs Powell found out somehow, and disapproved. I do not blame her. She thought it best that I be removed from such proximity."

  "I see." Mrs Swann thought for a while. "Which officer?"

  It had to come to this, now. What she had hoped never to reveal to any other human being, because she feared so deeply that it might hurt the man she loved.

  "Cornet William Dean."

  "Young Will? That's natural enough. He's a sweet boy. And did it never go further than a liking on your side?"

  She would burn for this, on the day of judgement. But here and now, God's vengeance was less of a threat to her than the vengeance of women.

  "Never." Annis lifted her head, and looked Mrs Swann in the eye, and perjured her soul. "He would never do such a thing. And nor would I."

  Mrs Swann folded up the letter and tucked it into her book.

  "I think you and Mrs Powell are both being very sensible," she said. "He does come here from time to time, but only in company. I will of course make sure that he doesn't see you. Have you brought your belongings?"

  Annis nodded. Hope danced inside her chest, but she swallowed it down. She dared not believe, not yet.

  "Then bring them to the kitchen and ask my housekeeper Goodman to find you a bed. I am not quite sure what your duties will be. You could be trained to read aloud, I think, but there may be other tasks at hand. Let me consider for a while, and consult with Goodman, and see what we come up with."

  ***

  William stirred. He'd waited in the shadow of the church tower at the usual time two Thursdays in a row, and she hadn't come. Not that he'd expect her to meet him there. He'd told her it was over, passed her a wad of notes wrapped in newspaper, and in every way showed her that she was paid off, finished with, no longer wanted.

  He'd hated himself for it, even at the time. Now he felt he didn't deserve to live.

  But she passed by here weekly, or had done, and that was the source of their tryst. He'd planned to accost her, ask her for a moment alone, and then lay down his heart for her to pick up or to step on as she chose.

  But she hadn't come. He didn't know what to make of it.

  She may have varied her times, if she feared to see him again - or varied her path, to avoid the hurt of seeing their spot empty. If so, he couldn't expect to track her down by loitering. There was nothing for it but to call at the colonel's house and reveal himself as her suitor.

  But that would make her position untenable if she refused him. Everyone would assume he could have only one reason for proposing. They would think her pregnant with a bastard child, and scorn her for it. He couldn't bear that.

  This would take finesse. He'd had plenty of time to think while he stood here, kicking his heels, pretending to read the military notices in a day-old newspaper. By now, he'd shaped a plan.

  He rolled up the paper and tucked it under his arm, then strode along the streets to the back door of the colonel's house.

  "I saw a notice," he told the scullery maid. "A ship called the Triumphant, damaged in battle with the French. Mention of an Able Seaman Jones - don't you have a maid of that name here? I thought she might like to see it, in case it's a relation of hers."

  "She's left service." The woman pulled back straggly brown hair and squinted at the newspaper. "Don't know where she went."

  "I see." He felt as if a cannonball had passed clean through him, leaving a ragged hole where his midriff should be. "No matter. The name is common enough."

  He strolled away and fought to appear casual. His brain worked as he tried out possible next steps. He could ask the colonel at mess, but that would seem peculiar. He could advertise, or ask around. His friend Mrs Baines - Mrs Elijah Swann now, since her recent marriage - might know, as she caught most town secrets. But that would draw attention to his search, and until he knew why Annis had left, he preferred not to embarrass her.

  On the other hand, if she had left to avoid meeting him again, he wanted to tell her he'd changed his mind.

  Which was itself a feeble excuse. He'd grappled with all sorts of ways to tell her, but it came out bad whichever words he chose.

  The best idea might be to call on the colonel's wife, Mrs Powell, and affect the same desultory interest he'd just feigned with the scullery maid. It would expose him to comment, if anyone discovered he'd made the same enquiry twice in one day. But the chances of Mrs Powell discussing her callers with the kitchen staff must be remote.

  He resolved to gamble on it. As he strode towards the door, a carriage wobbled along the street towards him. William stood aside, but the carriage drew up at the door of the colonel's house.

  William waited to see who came or left. Soon Mrs Powell stepped out from the front door, gloved and hatted, her figure wrapped in a dress suitable for morning visits. William strode forward and gave her a smart salute.

  "Cornet Dean, isn't it?" Mrs Powell squinted at him, much as the scullery maid had done while pretending to read. "Or are you someone else? I never can remember all my husband's officers. There are so many of you."

  Curse the woman. She'd met him times enough - she ought to know who he was. But she was the kind of person who'd enlarge her own consequence by feigning ignorance of everyone else's. And as a lowly cornet, William had not the standing to challenge her.

  "It is, madam." He gave her his best and most respectful smile. "Your memory is excellent."

  She frowned very slightly. Perhaps he'd overdone the humility.

  "I suppose I should offer you a ride in the carriage," she said. "Are you returning to the barracks?"

  "I am not." He had no plans until the evening. Inspiration struck. "My intention is to call on the Swanns at Bridge Street." It was at least plausible that he would choose to visit his brother's wife's relations.

  "I can take you that far," Mrs Powell admitted.

  William clambered up and sat facing her. The carriage lurched away.

  "I seem to recall you have a servant by the name of Jones." William brandished his newspaper. "Anne Jones?"

  "Annis." Mrs Powell gave him a sharp stare. "She is no longer in my service. Why do you ask?"

  William showed her the notice.

  "Is it a relation of hers?"

  "I doubt it." Mrs Powell turned away.

  William sought for an innocuous approach to his subject. Asking straigh
t out where Annis had gone - and why she left - would give the game away at once.

  "It's hard to keep good servants, I hear," he ventured. "They either want high wages or they think they can do better in London."

  "I have no such difficulty."

  "And yet this Jones - "

  "She is not worth speaking of," Mrs Powell said.

  "Of course." William racked his brain for another idea. The carriage stopped.

  "This is Bridge Street, I believe." Mrs Powell's tone carried no invitation to further remarks.

  "You are all kindness." William stepped out of the carriage. He could think of nothing to say. Mute, he watched the carriage rattle off up the street.

  Since he was here in any case, with nothing better to do, he turned lie into truth by knocking on the door. After ten minutes' chat with Mrs Charles Swann, he took his leave.

  "Are you going near Church Lane?" she asked him as he rose. "I wonder if I could trespass on your time. Mrs Elijah Swann very kindly invited me to her dinner party next week. Would you take a note to her for me?"

  "Delighted," William said. He would fall back on that plan after all. Mrs Elijah Swann knew most things pertaining to the garrison - how, he did not ask and dared not speculate. She might have some idea of where Annis had gone.

  ***

  Annis wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The fumes of sliced onions stung and drew tears, so she had an excuse to weep. She was glad of it.

  Kitchen maid was a step down from parlour maid, but she was grateful that Mrs Swann had hired her at all. She liked the place, she liked the staff - Mrs Goodman, the cook and housekeeper, had proved to be a stern woman with a gentle heart. Here in the bustle of the kitchen, Annis could put to use her skills at cookery and avoid meeting any visitors who came to the door.

  And now she would have to leave. Again. Because her period was ten days past its due date, and her breasts felt different - swollen and sagging. She could no longer conceal from herself the fact that she was pregnant.

  She knew of an apothecary nearby. It must be possible to take something that would rid her of the creature. But it wasn't the poor mite's fault that no one wanted it. Annis wrestled with herself, agonised through sleepless nights, and made plans for an escape to the country. People were less fussy there, so rumour told.