by Jo Beverley
Bella washed and unpacked, but she left the pistol case in her small valise. The maid might look in a drawer. She longed to crawl into the bed, but she must find Billy, so she set out for the Crown and Anchor. She didn’t want to enter the inn, for there might be someone who could recognize the girl who’d arrived with two men. Heaven alone knew what the people there had thought of it all, but it wouldn’t be to the credit of reputation. In any case, as she wanted a stable boy, she entered the busy coaching yard and caught a middle-aged man’s attention.
“Billy Jakes, ma’am? Left two years ago to work for Sir Muncy Hexton, out Litten way. He do something wrong, ma’am?”
“Not at all. I was asked to give a message to him.”
“A message?” said the man, much surprised, but then a laden coach rolled in and he hurried away.
Bella too hurried away before anyone grew suspicious. Suspicious of what, she wasn’t sure. But she was feeling furtive.
Memory had her retracing her flight that night, which brought her to the busy quay. She walked close to the buildings, where it was quieter, looking for the Black Rat, but she didn’t see it. Perhaps it had become the Red Cock, or the Jolly Tar.
The area was as rough and pungent as she remembered, but freshened by a brisk sea breeze and sunshine, as it hadn’t been that night. There’d been a mist, she remembered, cold on the skin and rendering everything ghostly.
She’d not have entered the Rat if she’d seen it by daylight, but she’d known her captors were in pursuit and ducked into a hiding spot. . . .
Such folly. But what else could she have done?
She turned her back on the buildings and her memories to look at the boats filling the harbor. Was one the Black Swan? She hoped not.
Would it be painted black?
She strained to read names. The Dotty Philips. The Kentish Hope. The Singing Willie.
She walked on, but when she saw the harbormaster’s office, she went in and asked if they kept lists of ships in the harbor. A busy clerk pointed her to two large slates on the wall on which names were written. She went over and saw one was for arrivals and one for departures. The Black Swan wasn’t on either.
Better so, she told herself. She needed to learn a lot more about Captain Rose before making any decision. There was a saying that revenge was a dish best eaten cold. At first, right after her encounter with Coxy, she’d have gulped it down scalding hot, but she was more in control of herself now. She would have her revenge, but she would not destroy herself in the process. It must all be carefully worked out.
She returned to the Compass, considering going immediately in search of Billy Jakes, but early or not, she was simply too tired. She went up to her room and surrendered to the bed.
She slept through to the early morning. Very early. It was hardly dawn when she woke, so she didn’t try to summon a servant, even though the fire had died and the room was chilly. She bundled herself in the coverlet and sat to make notes on her plans.
Her pen hung idle for a moment as she contemplated how perfect it would be if Augustus died. Dead, he could never hurt anyone again.
Alas, from cowardice or morality, she couldn’t make it so. It would be wonderful to hear that he’d broken his neck, but she couldn’t push him off a cliff, or even hire someone to do it.
The door opened and a scruffily dressed girl crept in. She started to see Bella awake, her bucket of coals clattering. “Oh, beggin’ your pardon, miss! I’ve come to get the fire going.”
“Please do,” Bella said with a smile.
The girl hurried to the fireplace, head down as if she were trying to hide inside her large mobcap.
When the flames were licking, Bella said, “Is it too early for hot water and breakfast?”
The girl’s eyes were huge. “I’ll tell ’em, miss. Won’t be too long, I’m sure, miss. Got to go now, miss.”
She backed out of the room, clearly unaccustomed to actually encountering an awake guest, poor thing, and perhaps not much over ten.
Perhaps there were useful things she could do for young girls forced into work, though that one probably thought herself fortunate to have employment.
Bella looked at her blank sheet of paper, despairing of her dithering mind. There were people at Lady Fowler’s who were so sure of themselves. Lady Fowler herself, the Drummond sisters, and even sour Hortensia Sprott. At least the matter of Billy Jakes might be simple.
She dipped her pen and wrote: Find out how far away Litten is and hire carriage if necessary. There. A start.
Next she must tackle the subject of Captain Rose.
She dipped the pen again and wrote: Stir gossip about R.
She would learn about Captain Rose, his character and activities, from the servants here.
She dipped her pen and added: Enjoy peaceful solitude and time to think.
This was the first time in her life that she’d been alone, with no one in authority over her, no one dependent on her, and no pressures or obligations. When she was dressed quietly, men were unlikely to pester her or even notice her. Who was more unobtrusive than a soberly dressed governess?
It was all a blessed relief.
When the hot water arrived, brought by a more senior maid, Bella established her reputation as a gossip by engaging her in general talk. She discovered Louisa had worked at the Compass for five years, first as an undermaid and then as she was now, and liked her place here.
How strange to think that Louisa had been here in 1760. Had there been any gossip among the servants about the goings-on in the stables? It would be unsafe to raise that question, however.
When Louisa returned with breakfast, Bella had her assist with the stays as a way of keeping her there a little longer.
Was Dover particularly busy at the moment?
Did the Compass have any notable guests?
Were there dangerous smugglers or pirates hereabouts?
The name Captain Rose never came up.
Before the maid left, Bella asked her about the distance to Litten and the weather forecast.
Three miles, and the day would be clear but crisp.
Bella told her she’d need a one- horse chair after breakfast, and when she went downstairs it was waiting for her. Armed with precise directions to Sir Muncy Hexton’s house, where Billy Jakes worked, she set off, hoping she retained her ability to drive a simple carriage.
The horse was steady, needing little guidance, so her skills weren’t challenged. As they ambled along country roads, the journey became another pleasant escape. This was so different from crowded London, and she was bothered by nothing more than the occasional bird or animal, and a few other travelers who merely exchanged good-days.
There were tranquil places in the world, and ordinary people living good, ordinary lives. It was easy to forget that.
She was a little sad when she arrived at her destination.
The modest manor house lay on the edge of the village of Litten Gorling, fronting the village street. A high wall ran backward along a lane, and Bella took that direction, seeking the stables. The lane followed the wall in a turn to the left, with laden orchards on her right and harvested fields beyond.
Ahead of her lay a stable block. She drove in, and when a young man ran out to hold her horse, Bella asked, “Are you Billy Jakes?”
He’d grown tall and filled out, but it had to be him.
He glanced at her warily, but nodded. “I am, ma’am. Can I help you?”
Bella climbed down unaided. “I’m wondering if you still have my silver cross and chain, Billy. No matter if you don’t, but if you do, I’ll keep my promise at last and exchange it for coin.”
He stared at her and color touched his cheeks. “You’re safe then, miss. Ma’am. I always wondered. Me talking that nonsense about princesses. Yes, I’ve your silver still.” He looked troubled. “Do you truly want it back? I’ve thought of giving it to my Anne. We’re courting,” he added shyly, but with such a lovely smile that Bella envied his sweetheart
. “I’ve not done so yet because her father’d want to know where I got it.”
“You’d rather keep it than have the coin?”
“I know it’s foolish, ma’am, but it’s so pretty, and I still think of you as my princess. And now Anne’s my princess. She deserves pretty things.”
Bella felt almost tearful. “Then she should have it. What if I were to speak to Anne’s father and tell him it was a reward for a great service?”
A big grin spread. “That’d be grand, ma’am! And if he accepted that as truth, no one else would question it.”
“Then tell me where to find him.”
“No need of that, ma’am, for here he is, coming to see what’s going on. He’s the head groom, ma’am. Mr. Bickleby.”
Bella turned and saw a sinewy, grizzled-haired man whose queue was thin because the top of his head was completely bald.
“What’s this then, Billy?” he demanded. “Why’re you keeping the lady talking?”
Bella smiled. “Mr. Bickleby, please don’t be angry with Billy. It is I who have kept him in conversation. In fact, I came here to speak with him.”
Spiky brows lowered. “What’s he done, then?”
“Been a hero,” Bella said firmly.
The man bridled back. “What?”
“Perhaps I could speak to you in private, Mr. Bickleby, while Billy waters my horse?”
After some suspicious glances, the man led her into a small room. “Well, then, what’s all this about, ma’am?”
Bella told him a very brief and edited version of her story. “I regret the delay in returning, but Billy did me a great service and I would be happy for him to have the chain and cross as reward and to give it to your daughter.”
The man pulled another face, but he was nodding. “Aye, she’d like that. And she likes him. They’re both young, but both have a steady head, and Billy’s a good, honest worker.”
“You may tell the story if you must, Mr. Bickleby, but I would rather my name not be attached to it.”
“No trouble about that, ma’am. None of anyone else’s business if I say I’m satisfied about it.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
Bella turned to go, but the man said, “Are you in more trouble, ma’am?”
She turned back, stiffening.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but you’re not that many years older than Billy and Anne, I reckon, and here you are, alone.”
Bella knew he meant well, but his concern seemed to threaten her freedom. “I’m in no trouble, Mr. Bickleby, but I thank you for your kindness.”
“As you say, ma’am. But it’s not good to be alone, for man nor maid.”
Bella almost objected again, but then she said, “No, it isn’t. But sometimes it is our fate.”
He looked skeptical, but didn’t persist. Bella went back to where Billy was walking her horse. “All’s well.”
His face shone with happiness. A trite phrase, but Bella hadn’t seen the effect before.
When had she ever felt so gloriously happy?
And when, if ever, would she?
She drove out back toward Dover with her vision blurred by idiotic tears. They turned into fuel for her anger at Augustus, however. By now, she might have loved and been loved by a good man if not for her vile brother.
She returned to Dover as the sun was setting, wishing Captain Rose were at the Compass, so she might be able to set out upon vengeance immediately.
When Louise came up with her supper, Bella asked—idly, she hoped—about new guests.
Only two families. Of course Captain Rose hadn’t turned up.
As she drank soup and ate grilled cheese, Bella considered. She wanted to find out about Captain Rose, and she didn’t want to return to her uncomfortable Bellona life in London.
She could extend her stay here to at least a week, but she’d need occupation. This might be a pleasant escape from her normal life, but she didn’t like idleness, so she’d buy some cambric and make handkerchiefs. Perhaps she would give them as farewell gifts to the ladies at Lady Fowler’s.
Before she went to bed, she wrote a letter to Peg, telling her all was well and not to expect a return within the week. The next morning she walked to the shops and purchased a book to read and some cambric and thread. She had her small needlework case with her, and over her years at Carscourt the simple matter of hemming handkerchiefs had become soothing.
She had another purpose as well: it gave her occupation as she sat in the small parlor provided for the use of guests. The parlor lay off the front hall, warmed by a fire and containing a few chairs and a desk at which guests could write letters.
A newspaper was placed there every day, and Bella read it, but it was always one or two days old, and the news seemed from a distant world. She tried to avoid items she’d once have noted for Lady Fowler. That part of her life was definitely over, but she did see a small section to do with the revels, informing the reader that Lord and Lady G——n were happily reconciled and en route for his lordship’s family home in Devon. Bella felt happy for them, and pleased that the Fowler letter wouldn’t attempt to exaggerate what had clearly been a minor drama.
One day the words “His Grace, the Duke of Ithorne” leapt out at her, but it was merely a notice that he’d attended a meeting of the patrons of the smallpox hospital. Doubtless that was something he did only out of a sense of noblesse oblige, but it made her think a little better of him.
Most of the time, she sat with her needlework and listened to comings and goings and occasional snippets of conversation. Bella enjoyed her little window on a passing world, and even heard snatches of drama—missed sailings, lost luggage, and even a case of terror of the sea—but nothing about Captain Rose.
By the third day she had a small pile of handkerchiefs and was wearying of the diversion when she heard someone say, “. . . the Black Swan.”
She stilled, straining to hear more. She thought it was the innkeeper who replied, but he said only, “Rain comin’ in.”
Bella hastily folded her needlework and left the room as if returning to her own. To her annoyance, the innkeeper was already alone, but she seized the moment.
“Did I hear mention of a black swan?” she said lightly. “Does such a thing exist?”
The innkeeper bowed with cursory courtesy. “Not at all, ma’am, but perhaps that’s why the name appeals to many. There are inns with the name, and even a ship.”
“A ship?” Bella asked.
“Probably more than one, but there’s a local version. There’s a painting of it over there, ma’am.” He indicated a picture on the wall.
The walls of the entrance hall were almost covered by paintings of ships, but Bella had paid them no particular attention. Now she went to look at the one indicated, but it was simply a ship to her.
“Is it famous then,” she asked, “to have its portrait painted?”
The man chuckled. “Not particularly, ma’am, but I had an artist staying here a while back who couldn’t pay his bill, so I provided canvas and paints and he made the pictures for me of local ships. The Black Swan’s master is always asking to buy that one, but I like it.”
“You know him, then?” she asked, trying to sound as if she made idle conversation, but with a thumping heart.
“He stays here when he’s in town, ma’am. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” He was off to deal with another guest before Bella could glean any more.
She lingered, pretending to study the painting but listening to a new conversation. Neither told her anything new.
Frustrated, she put on her sturdy hooded cloak and went for a walk in the blustery wind before the threatened rain arrived. She could see the building clouds, and as it was not yet noon, once the rain arrived, it would probably settle in for the day.
She took a direction away from the docks, where buildings provided a little protection from the wind, and then turned away from the main streets with their shops and inns into residential streets.
She passed old cottages and newer terraces and saw women engaged in all the daily work of looking after home and family. She paused to watch a smith beat metal into a curve for some purpose, and later saw men laying bricks for a new house.
All around her, people were busy with ordinary life. Did she have any hope of an ordinary life? She’d taken that for granted once—that she would marry, have children, and run her household. In one wild turn of the cards, it had been stolen from her, and even destroying Augustus’s reputation wouldn’t restore her own.
As a church bell began to ring noon, the first rain splattered. Bella turned to return to the inn, but she had to pause when a small but merry wedding party spilled out of a church onto the street, tossing grains of wheat at the blushing couple. Despite the spitting rain, the newlyweds laughed and looked into each other’s eyes as if stars truly twinkled there.
The party raced off, anxious to reach shelter before their best clothes got wet, but Bella followed more slowly, tears mingling with rain.
Bella finally accepted that she wanted, desperately wanted, to marry.
With a modest fortune, even she could buy herself a husband, but she doubted he would be a choice specimen. For heaven’s sake, she’d suffered four years of imprisonment rather than make a bad marriage, and many of the women she’d met at Lady Fowler’s were testaments to the destructive power of the institution. Even Clara Ormond, who’d had a happy marriage, had been left in poverty by her husband’s fecklessness.
Yet the longing wouldn’t die.
She thought of Kitty and Annie, whose eyes shone. And Peg with her sweet memories. And Billy Jakes.
She wanted a good husband, a home, and children.
Once she would have imagined a manor house, or even aspired to a great estate. Now a modest house would suffice if it held a dear companion. There would be a cozy drawing room where she could sit and sew as her husband read aloud to her. There were children in her dream house too, but in her vision, they were tucked in their beds for the night.
There was nothing grand about this. Nothing to thrust her into embarrassing attention or demand courage. Simply comfort and loving security.