And yet you are an enigma. Your lack of a title, the way you seem entranced by me one minute and the next are heading for the wilds of the north, the fact that you regard yourself as unworthy. I am mystified.
I never imagined I would feel like this. I have been introduced to many gentlemen, but never have I felt the sensations I feel when I see you or even think about you.
Enough for now.
Your loving Hope
Hope read the letter and tore it into little pieces. She had never intended to send it to Beaumont; she simply wanted to put her feelings on paper to see if she could make sense of them. It hadn’t helped.
She decided to occupy her mind with another lesson for Edna and her friends. When it had been arranged and she entered the servants’ hall, Stevenson was talking to the cook, who acknowledged her presence and left the room.
“Lady Hope, I wonder if I could have a word.” He looked unusually uncomfortable.
Hope’s heart plummeted. Her plans to help the young girls in service here was going to be thwarted. “Of, course, Stevenson.”
“I doubt you know much about me, there is no need for you to do so. When I started in service as the hallboy, the butler at the house took me under his wing. He taught me to write. He also taught me everything I needed to know to progress my career. I have no idea why.”
“He saw your potential, Stevenson.”
Stevenson looked flustered. “Possibly. Without his help I would not be in the position of butler here.” Hope could almost see his chest puffing out. He was very proud of his status and rightly so she thought. “In view of my experience I would be prepared to overlook your visits to the servants’ hall, but you are putting us all in an untenable position which might result in us losing our jobs. You must tell Her Grace, or I will have to do so myself.”
“Quite right, Stevenson and thank you for your understanding. I will tell Aunt Constance at dinner this evening.” In spite of trying to sound confident Hope could already feel her knees trembling at the thought of telling her aunt about her visits below stairs. She attempted to concentrate on the lesson and not dwell on the forthcoming confrontation.
The way the servants applied themselves to their lesson delighted Hope. It was very rewarding to put pictures before the young women and ask them to choose the correct word to place beside them. She’d expanded the pictures from fashion to food and animals. The latter she’d drawn herself and had enjoyed doing so. There was a stray cat which she often saw from her window, and in the street outside the morning room she caught sight of mangy dogs roaming around.
When the lesson ended, she asked if there were any pictures they’d like for next time. As soon as she’d asked the question, she was aware that there might not be a next time. Her insides knotted as she remembered she had to broach the subject with her aunt. While Aunt Constance had softened considerably since Hope’s arrival, this particular situation could only have one outcome she feared. She would be instructed to give up her teaching.
At dinner she could feel Stevenson’s eyes on her. She looked at him and received an encouraging if almost imperceptible nod.
“Aunt, I have a confession. I have done something improper, but I think it was for the best of reasons. You must judge for yourself.”
“Well, my dear, you clearly didn’t follow Isabella’s example and partner the same man for almost every dance. Perhaps given the opportunity you would have. Are you running away with a soldier? That can’t be it because you say you have already committed the improper act. It is clear it is of little significance or you would be wringing your hands and weeping. Come along, dear, tell me, nothing much shocks me anymore.”
After Hope had explained, Constance smiled then raising her voice said, “And where were you, Stevenson, when these lessons were taking place below stairs?”
“I was there, Your Grace. I saw what was going on and allowed it to continue,” Stevenson conceded.
“Really? Whatever next?”
“It wasn’t anything to do with Stevenson, Aunt.” Hope didn’t want anyone else to take the blame for her misdemeanour.
“No, it was all to do with Beaumont, wasn’t it? Clearly this is his influence at work.” Constance indicated for the empty plates to be taken away.
“Not really. I taught my maid at home to read. We exchange letters. Mama thought it was a good idea and encouraged me.” Hope wasn’t sure whether involving her mother was the best thing.
“I am too weary to argue. You are a good woman, as is your mother in her unique way, and I am quite sure there is no reason for you not to go below stairs for this purpose. However, let us make sure Lady Padstock does not hear about this or we will be the talk of the neighbourhood for a very long time. Although I don’t think Lady Padstock will be finding fault with others for the time being. Now, Stevenson, what do we have for pudding?”
Later Hope wrote in her journal with enthusiasm.
I am unable to believe I am allowed to continue with the lessons. Aunt Constance is hard to fathom. Sometimes everything has to be proper and sometimes we can do as we please and forget the proprieties. I am very happy, but wonder if I should still meet Beaumont dressed as Richard. Aunt Constance has been very good to me and I think she would collapse if she found out I was going into public dressed as a man… and to a gentlemen’s club. It is outrageous. Even I admit that. My heart pounds when I think about it. It is hard to imagine how I will feel when the time comes.
* * *
Fortune favoured Hope. On Thursday her aunt sent a message that she would be spending the morning in her room. She insisted she was quite well, just a little tired. She would meet Hope for afternoon tea and begged Hope’s forgiveness for her lack of attention.
Hope almost danced around the room, but feelings of guilt at her deception and anxiety over her aunt’s constitution, prevented her from much jubilation. As she pulled the clothes from the trunk she realised they were not suitable for attending a gentlemen’s club. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? These clothes were the ones which were to be discarded as rags. Then she remembered the other clothing she had worn which had disappeared from her room.
She rang for her maid. “Edna, where are the clothes which I originally took from Uncle Eustace’s room? Do you know?”
“They are under my mattress. I didn’t know where to hide them so pushed them under there. No one will look. They are quite safe until you tell me what I should do with them.”
“I would like to see them. Please bring them here and then I would like to be left alone until it is time for tea.”
“Shall I bring you some luncheon?”
“No, thank you. I am bursting out of my new dresses so will try to eat a little less for a few days. Please fetch the clothes now.”
Moments later Hope studied her reflection. Any doubts she had were dispelled when she thought of Beaumont. With him by her side, she could do anything.
At the appointed hour, Hope left the house quietly and furtively. She had to remain positive that no one would see her and wonder who the unknown gentleman leaving Her Grace’s house was. After she’d gone a little way, she let out the breath she was holding and slowed down her pace. There was only a short distance to go before she would meet Beaumont at the entrance to the park. He had promised to accompany her to the club. When her heart hammered against her waistcoat, she knew it was the thought of seeing Beaumont which was causing it to beat so, rather than the excitement of attending a gentlemen’s club. What an adventure. She would confide to Mama all that occurred and was desperate not to miss out any detail as she would never again have the chance to relive it.
In her mind she had a vague notion as to what it might look like and pictured several dark wooden, well-polished tables dotted about a large room with comfortable armchairs arranged around them. Some of the members would be sipping claret and reading the newspapers while others smoked their cigarettes and cigars. At the thought of tobacco, Hope was immediately reminded of James Henderson
. Goodness, what would happen if he were at the club? She felt jittery at the idea. It was too late now to worry about who might see her; no one would recognise her, especially if she was in the company of Beaumont. Perhaps she would find out a little more about this mysterious man. She had no idea who his friends were. Moving along the street, she almost collided with someone and was about to make an apology.
“Richard, how are you? Are you going to the club?” It was Beaumont, of course, putting himself into an actor’s role.
Replying in kind, Hope said, “Yes, Beaumont. Shall we walk together?” It would be fine if he held her arm as they continued their journey. Oh dear, no it certainly would not! For an instant she had forgotten she was Richard rather than Hope. Her guard must not fall again for one moment.
Hope had no idea of their destination address and was surprised when Beaumont stopped walking and she almost bumped into him. Their physical contact had her nerve endings tingling again. “Here we are at last. We can continue our conversation inside.”
As she followed Beaumont into the inviolate masculine haven, Hope tried not to stare, but it was impossible. She wanted to record every detail in her mind so she could write about it and draw it later in the privacy of her rooms.
Beaumont indicated that she stay near the door and he had a private word with someone who kept glancing at Hope until she felt like an exhibit at a museum or some such thing. Eventually, Beaumont returned to her side and directed her to a table which was just as she had imagined. Overjoyed, she sank into a deep armchair and looked about her.
“They were curious about you as you’re not a member. I explained and now they think you’re a dignitary visiting from France,” said Beaumont, his eyes dancing.
“This visit is an honour for me,” stated Hope.
“The honour is all mine,” declared Beaumont. “Let me get you a drink. What do you prefer: port, whisky, brandy? And a cigar, I think.”
Hope could feel the colour drain from her cheeks at the thought. “No, indeed,” she said, “I do not smoke and rarely drink alcohol. Is there a cordial or coffee I may have?”
“I’m sure there is,” laughed Beaumont. He lifted a hand to the waiter and placed their order. “What do you think of the exclusive gentlemen’s club? Is it how you imagined it to be?”
“In some ways it is, yes. But what do they do here? Apart from drink and read and smoke? Many of the members appear to be on their own. Why can’t they remain at home?”
“They are in like company. Some live alone, like me. We come for companionship and also to dine. Isn’t that why we are here?”
“Of course,” replied Hope. “There’s a lot to see too.” Hope looked around her again noticing the other gentlemen. Most of them were old and grey or old and bald, but there were a few younger ones.
“We shall ask for the menu when the waiter returns. Ah, here he is and he has one with him; he knows my habits well. Thank you, Canterbury.”
They leaned forward to read the selections for the day. Hope was aware of Beaumont’s proximity which made her feel quite giddy. Would she ever get used to being near him? Then she remembered he had said he was going away. She nearly collapsed at the thought.
“Richard, are you quite well? You’re trembling. Either you’re hungry or you’ve a cold coming.”
“I, I expect I’m hungry, Beaumont,” Hope managed. “What do you recommend?”
“The soup’s good. I’m starting with that. Then I recommend either the roast pork or the chicken.”
“The soup will be adequate I feel sure.”
“Perhaps you will change your mind when your digestion gets working. Young men like you generally have good appetites.” Beaumont met her eyes with his and winked.
Shocked, Hope averted her gaze. Just then someone approached them and gabbled a garbled speech. It was all in French and she barely understood one word of it. She dared not risk a look at Beaumont. Whatever could she do? The gentleman paused in his monologue and waited, presumably for a reply.
“Richard is here to improve his English,” put in Beaumont smoothly. “Pray don’t ruin all his good intentions and make him revert to his mother tongue.”
“My apologies,” smiled the gentleman. “I thought you’d like to converse in a language with which you were familiar.”
“That ees all right,” squeaked Hope. Then she cleared her throat and deepened her voice. “It was a good gesture on your be’alf.”
“Mind if I join you, Beaumont?” asked the gentleman, about to pull out a chair to do just that.
“Sorry, we were about to go into the dining room. Please excuse us.” He stood and indicated to Hope that she should do the same. Trying to maintain a masculine bearing, Hope followed him.
It was as imposing as the rest of the club. The walls were panelled in dark wood and various portraits looked down on them. “Who are these people?”
“That one at the end is the founder of the club; the others are benefactors and members who have been eminent in some way.”
“It’s very grand.”
Beaumont looked as though he was going to pull her chair out for her. She caught his eye and gave a slight shake of her head.
“It’s very difficult to remember, when I am fully aware of your femininity. Even though you’ve had your hair cut I find you delectably womanly. In fact, I would proclaim it adds a je ne sais quoi to your whole character.”
Hope worriedly looked at the other diners and wondered if anyone would be able to hear their conversation.
“It is all right. We are far enough away from the others and the acoustics are not good. I have tried to hear conversations at times and failed.” He grinned at her. “You did not expect that I would do such a thing. Or did you? What sort of a man do you think I am?”
It seemed easier to talk to him honestly now she was in the guise of Richard. Being a man freed her to communicate in a more open way.
“I think you are a man with a conscience. You question why you are fortunate and you want to help people less privileged than yourself. I think you are a good man. It is possible you are lonely too.” She put her hand to her mouth as though to stop further comments, but failed. “I do not understand many things about you, but then I do not know you.”
Beaumont’s hand reached out to touch hers, but he jerked it back. “Oh, dear, this is very difficult. I will give the game away and we will be the talk of polite society. Will you mind?” His smile widened and he moved his chair an inch or so closer to Hope. Under the table his shining shoes sought out Uncle Eustace’s ill-fitting boots and his knee pressed against her trouser leg. Hope felt her face suffusing with colour, but she would not move away. However, her companion did as Canterbury approached their table.
Hope looked about her while Beaumont ordered the meal. She almost pinched herself. How had she dared come here? What would Mama say? Would she laugh at her daughter’s waywardness or would she finally disapprove of something her daughter had done? She hoped they would laugh together about it and she imagined describing the scene to her mother. Hope was quite sure she had never been inside a gentlemen’s club.
Hope tried not to be too dainty as she tucked into the soup. It was comfortable sitting opposite Beaumont. There was no need to talk all the time and the food was good.
“Ah, you like our English cooking?”
Hope was taken aback. For a moment she had forgotten who she was meant to be. “Mais, oui, it ees very good. Especially I like le rost bif here in your country.”
Beaumont laughed before saying, “Then that is what you must have. As you have no stays or corsets or whatever it is women wear, you are free to eat as much as you like. I will forgo the chicken and have le rost bif as well.”
If any other man talked to her about women’s undergarments she was sure she would feel somewhat embarrassed, but Beaumont was so direct about things it didn’t seem to matter what he said. “Sometimes I long to eat the full seven or eight courses, but as you say we are constricted
by our garments. I have found wearing men’s clothes frees me immensely.”
“And will you continue to dress as a man?”
“No, this is the very last time. These clothes are Uncle Eustace’s and it would be dreadful should Aunt Constance discover what I have been doing. She has been very good about allowing me to teach the maids in the servants’ hall.”
“The servants’ hall? Wherever next? You are outrageous.” The twinkle in his eye told her that he didn’t think so at all. It amused him. “Tell me how you are teaching the maids and how well they are doing.”
It was very easy talking to Beaumont about her methods and how she planned to progress and he appeared to be genuinely absorbed.
“I think you are a natural teacher. I have been mulling over a similar idea. I would like to set up a school for adults who have had little chance to attend lessons and learn. It will open the door for them to the wonderful world of stories and possible opportunity for furtherance.”
“Like your magic lantern shows. Which reminds me. I have been thinking that a magic lantern show for Aunt Constance’s servants at the house would be a special treat. We would provide the illustrated sheets too. Would that be possible before you leave?” She didn’t want to think of Beaumont’s departure as it was possible they would never meet again. She would almost certainly be back home with her parents if he returned to London.
“I would be delighted, but only if you have your aunt’s permission. I am certainly not going to skulk round Eustace’s house without his dear wife knowing I am there.”
Hope felt shamefaced. Beaumont’s decency showed a flaw in her own character which she did not like at all.
CHAPTER 11
Back at Aunt Constance’s house, Hope wondered if the day had been a dream. Safely behind her own door, she sank onto the bed and pulled at the clothes which had clothed both Uncle Eustace and Richard. She meant what she’d said to Beaumont; this would definitely be the final time she wore them. Bouncing off the bed, she tore them from her and folded them neatly. They would have to be returned to her uncle’s rooms. No, that wasn’t possible as his other garments had been removed. Perhaps Edna would hide them until she had found another arrangement. That would remove the temptation of having them around.
THE MAGIC TOUCH (Historical Romance) Page 9