A Lady in Disguise

by Sandra Byrd

  “Of course. I trust Lord Lockwood implicitly.” An uninvited waver crossed through my voice. Mrs. W, so sharply attuned, caught my eye. “And Mrs. Colmore Dunn will attend with us as well,” I said.

  She nodded. I had not yet told her I planned to attend a second society ball.

  When the carriage arrived, I could hear laughter from inside it through my open window, and I smiled. An outing would be pleasant. The city was not as crowded, now that Parliament would close within a month or so and the Season was beginning to wind down.

  Lord Lockwood arrived on my doorstep. I let Bidwell open the door. It would not do to show my enthusiasm by opening it myself!

  I took my parasol, very glad indeed that Sarah had insisted I buy a new summer hat of light blue that set off my hair and my eyes, and we were off.

  “I’m truly enthused that you’re attending.” Lockwood led me protectively as we walked from my door to the carriage. “The exhibition hall will be crowded; we hope to encourage those who might consider the sport for future Olympic events.”

  “I’ll be there to cheer you on,” I said, and was rewarded with a large, spontaneous smile. His face warmed and his eyes crinkled at the corners and then softened again, bringing out those small freckles. I had a momentary impulse to reach up and touch them, but did not.

  “I thought fencing, and duels, were only for women and war?”

  He laughed aloud. “Is there anything else that matters? No, Miss Young. Fencing is for honor, justice, and faith. Those three values mean the most to me, and I could not live a life without them.” Lockwood opened the carriage door and introduced me to his friends.

  Mrs. Colmore Dunn was pleasant and progressive, and I very much enjoyed her conversation. “Please, call me Matilda,” she said. “And your Christian name is . . . ?”

  “Gillian,” I answered.

  “I hear you work,” she said. I flinched, wondering if a barrage of some sort was about to erupt from her forthright self. “Good. I am a novelist, and in my spare time, I work for women’s suffrage. Perhaps you’d like to join me in some volunteer campaigning?”

  I thought that was an idea I would very much like to consider, but she continued without giving me space to say much and I was happy to listen. Her husband seemed polite enough, but said very little. He looked at me, oddly, once or twice. The first time I passed it off to his wondering about me. Had Lord Lockwood often brought ladies to view their exhibitions? Perhaps not and Colmore Dunn found me a novelty.

  The second time he stared at me I looked at him wonderingly. He smiled and looked away. There had been something there, though. I knew it.

  The journey from Cheyne Gardens to Islington took a pleasant hour. Lockwood made good conversation when Mrs. Colmore Dunn did not interrupt him and smiled at me from time to time, but we had little to say. I think he had nerves ahead of the exhibition. He certainly fidgeted now and again, and I hadn’t seen him do that before.

  We arrived at a large country home with a brick exhibition hall on the side grounds. “They are great fencing enthusiasts, and had the building converted from an outbuilding,” Colmore Dunn told me.

  The grounds were beautifully kept. I could re-create this sort of garden at Winton, I thought. Fountains and a Roman garden, walking paths strewn with crushed rock specifically formulated—perhaps even dusted—to catch the sunlight.

  “What a lovely green!” I pointed at the beautiful lawn between the house and the exhibition building. “Perfect for bowls.”

  “Do you enjoy lawn bowls?” Lockwood asked.

  I nodded. “I do. But as you can imagine, there is no space for it in London, and my grandfather did not want us bowling on the green at Winton Park during the occasional summer visit. He did not want the grass torn up.” What he might say about the current state of disrepair of Winton’s lawns, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps, if I kept the house, I could repair the lawns and let my children enjoy a game and even a somersault on the green softness.

  We alighted and the carriage pulled away. The men went to put their fencing costumes on while Mrs. Colmore Dunn took me in hand and led me to the viewing area.

  The first group of fencers came out, and I watched politely, trying to understand what the movements were, and while I can’t say I understood much, I did see the intensity, the skill, the valor, and the manliness that poured into each exchange.

  The third pair to duel was Lockwood and Colmore Dunn. I should not have recognized them if Matilda hadn’t told me. “You’ll notice they each wear an iron fencing mask fronted with tight wire—it’s up to each man to inspect his to ensure there are not spaces for a blade to slip through.”

  “Goodness gracious! It would be easy to be maimed,” I said.

  She nodded. “If they’re not paying attention. A stout leather jacket covers them from neck to waist, and below that a protective apron is draped,” she said. “Underneath it all, Lockwood wears a plastron, though most men do not unless they are teaching. Afterward, you must ask him about it.” She smiled wryly.

  A plastron? That was a decorative part of many bodices. I’d had Mother Martha repair the beads on one of mine. I did not know men wore such things.

  They stood facing one another, tips of swords touching, and then Lockwood made a move, wrenching his tip away, and made to thrust it toward his friend and barrister. I wondered if his legal fees would go up if he beat him! Back and forth they sparred, and Lockwood tapped his friend on the wrist, indicating that he could have cut him if he’d wanted to. Colmore Dunn backed away a little, and Lockwood opened his arms wide as if to say, Come and get me.

  Colmore Dunn did. He moved forward in advance but then feinted and switched tactics, taking Lockwood by surprise. He touched him on the neck, indicating that he could have killed him there. Lockwood backed away, seeming to regroup and think through his strategy. Within seconds, he seemed to have found one.

  He backed around and made as if he were moving left, but moved right, and Colmore Dunn did not move quickly enough. Lockwood placed the tip of his sword in the middle of his opponent’s chest.

  “Touché!” Colmore Dunn called out, indicating that he’d been touched, would have been killed, and relinquished to his opponent.

  The crowd clapped wildly, I among them.

  It was thrilling. He was thrilling. I was breathless.

  After the other pairs had performed, the men came to speak with us, still in their fencing leathers, which made them seem even more masculine than did their everyday attire.

  “Bravo!” I said as Lockwood approached me. The Colmore Dunns wandered off to speak with other friends. “I am suitably impressed.”

  He grinned. “I’m so glad you watched. In days past, the victor could demand a favor from his lady. A ribbon or something to tie to his sword.”

  His lady. My heart pounded.

  “You shall have to ask her, then,” I said. “When you see her next.”

  He burst out laughing. “You delight me, Miss Young.”

  I felt quite elated from emotion and while it was not unwelcome, I was aware that we were in public and in no way formally connected to one another. I changed the subject. “Matilda has said I should ask you about your plastron?” I hoped I was not stepping into some jest.

  He sat down on the bench near me and unbuttoned his jacket. I was bewildered and my heart raced, involuntarily. What was he doing? He saw my discomfort and smiled, taking what seemed to be an ironic pleasure in it.

  Once the jacket was undone, he spoke and pointed to the thick padding beneath it. Right over his heart was . . . a heart. Stamped in red. “The plastron is to protect the heart, Miss Young. You see, it protects my heart from getting pierced.”

  It was a tender, revealing sentiment. “A woman would find that useful as well.” I was certainly not going to introduce the word bodice into the conversation. “I find I might have need of that very thing.”

  He took my hand in his for a moment and kissed the back of it. “Each and every one of us do
es.” Then he buttoned up his jacket. “As you have no ribbon to award me, I shall ask a different indulgence.”

  Was he speaking of blue ribbons, such as one awarded a winner, or the favor a man might ask of his lady?

  “What would that be?” I asked.

  “Come with me, and my brother and his wife, to see Henry V. The performance will be followed by a benefit dinner at my club, and I know Jamie and Lisbeth will see you are a civilizing influence upon me. Say yes, Miss Young. Please.”

  I said yes. Perhaps I shouldn’t have. But I did, and it made me happy to have done so. It would have been the perfect ending to a perfect day if only he hadn’t enquired about my plans for Winton on the way back to London.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  JULY, 1883

  I sat with the girls, sewing, contented to be in their company on that hot summer’s day. We were nearing the end of the sewing for the Twin Ball, and the costume they were most excited about, of course, was mine, especially when I’d explained to them that we’d give Cinderella a test run and practice some stitches on my Twin Ball gown. I told them how proud I was of them, and I was.

  “We want your dress to be the most beautiful one,” Charlotte said.

  Mother Martha had been reading from Little Women; then she switched, of a sudden, to Scripture. I had not seen her do that before, but the girls did not seem troubled. She opened it up straightaway to a passage and read aloud:

  “He that diligently seeketh good procureth favour: but he that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto him.”

  And then she closed the Bible without comment. What had she meant? Or had her mind simply gone? She was getting older, after all.

  “Mother Martha, would you like to rest awhile? The beading is nearly done,” I said.

  “Oh, no, dear. I am fine,” she responded.

  The first part of the Scripture passage gave me pause for thought. Winton, which I had for many years thought to look forward to living in, was becoming a burden of its own. I had no idea if Lord Lockwood had any interest in me outside of the property itself, either as a sale or, in my more fanciful daydreams, a dowry. Inspector Collingsworth and even Francis had seemed unhealthily interested in it. Perhaps they knew it would all come to Francis, too, should we marry.

  Of greatest importance were Mamma’s expressly stated wishes.

  I’d memorized the letter’s passage. The house is too big for one person, in truth. It is not necessary or even godly for anyone to have a home this size and no good has come of it. Knowing that, it is my intention to immediately donate the house to the Cause if and when it becomes mine.

  What exactly had she known in order to know with certainty that no good could come of it? More than I, likely. Had it been cursed somehow? Did it hold horrible memories she had not shared? And I did want to be godly, as my mother had seen it, after all.

  I thought of Francis, so earnest, and yet there was nothing that pulled me to him. What pulled him to me? Tradition and expectation? His father? Winton?

  And then, Lord Lockwood. I was pulled to him, as they say, as the Tideway to the Thames. And yet, as Mamma had said, Do not marry a man if you are not sure he loves you for yourself alone, dearest little daisy. Never a man about whom you even think, for a moment, he loves me not.

  I am your dearest little daisy, Mamma, I thought. I wish you were here, and then all of this would make sense and be put right.

  But she was not, so I had to make my way through alone.

  I looked at Ruby, who did not wear a wig on this hot day, her short hair pulled back in an adorable queue. And at Charlotte, who never put a stitch wrong. There were others in this difficult world who also needed my help.

  I admired Matilda, writing her novels and working for the vote for women. She had not inherited wealth or a grand home or any of that, and she was happy making her own way. She’d complimented me on my profession. Lady Tolfee had compared me to Mr. Worth, for goodness’ sake. I did not need to inherit a life, either.

  And yet, I truly loved Winton. It had been Mamma’s. I could make it the warm place she and I had always wanted it to be, full of love and giggles and not strife and struggles. But Mamma had clearly other plans for the house. I would honor them.

  After months of consideration, I was now resolute. Before I could change my mind I marched downstairs. “Mrs. W?” I called into the sitting room.

  “Yes, dear?” She set her reading down on her lap and took off her spectacles.

  I walked in but did not sit down. “I have not discussed this with you before, but . . . I have spent a considerable time thinking about this, and as the trust has now placed the property in my name, I have decided to donate Winton Park to the Cause.”

  Her book clattered to the floor. “In truth? In faith!”

  I nodded firmly. “I am sure. Please write a note to the headquarters, East End, and tell them I shall come and sign the appropriate papers soon if it suits them.”

  Her eyes welled with tears and she hugged me . . . a first. “I shall do exactly that; Victoria would certainly have approved.”

  • • •

  Mrs. W accompanied me to the East End, of course. I rarely visited anymore. I knew my mother had caught typhus working among the poor there and I’d had a little phobia about catching it myself. Mrs. W, apparently of sterner stock, was rarely ill and worked among the poor every week.

  The streets stank of gin and rubbish stewing in the summer sun. There were mothers walking with their children, trying to keep them clean, tidy, and orderly in a very disordered situation. I admired their determination. Many of the women who found themselves in East End brothels had been actresses or had been pushed aside by their parents, or misled into a life of vulgar servitude. I pitied them. But for circumstance, it could have been my Ruby, my Charlotte. My mother.

  Me.

  When we arrived, Mrs. W was treated like a sister, a mother, almost a celebrity. She was as much the star in this arena as my mother had been on the stage. The building in which the office was located was actually a large hall, mostly used for Sunday and Wednesday meetings. There were also a few dormitories for women to shelter themselves for a time and a kitchen and dining room, with rough wood tables stretching end to end. I remembered running around them as a girl, with the children the Cause served. I went upstairs to meet the Director while Mrs. W fussed with her friends downstairs.

  The Director, a godly man whom I had first met as a thirteen-year-old girl the year before my mother had died, spoke kindly to me. I explained the situation: my mother had left instructions for Winton Park to be donated.

  “Are you certain this is what you’d like to do, Miss Young?”

  Less to tend to, less to fear losing, I supposed. After swallowing hard and blinking back tears, I nodded. “It’s what my mother wanted.” He said nothing, waiting for me to continue. “It’s what I want, too,” I said. “I’m very given to the work you’re doing with the Theatrical Mission on King Street. It has become very dear to me, and I wish to see its work continue.” He’d been waiting to hear that.

  “Do you want us to attach any restrictions to the property?”

  I thought of Lady Lockwood and her fear of unsuitables moving in, and smiled.

  “No, there are no restrictions. You may use the property however you feel it may be put to best service for the Cause. Except, whatever arrangements you may make, I would like Davidson, our estate manager, generously pensioned from the proceeds. My mother would have wanted that.” I grinned. Who would now spy for Lady Lockwood?

  “Yes, Miss Young. I shall see to that myself. I will also ensure there is plenty of time for you to reclaim whatever sentimental objects you may wish to keep. We’ll be in contact about that.”

  I signed the documents and the transaction was complete.

  I collected Mrs. W, and we got into a carriage to return home. As the driver slowly made his way down the streets, I pitied and was filled with compassion for the poor wretches who lived there. Man, woman,
child, all were in filthy clothes, some leaning or lying against brick buildings that must be heated like ovens in the summer’s sun. A clutch of little boys sat on a stoop like fledgling chicks, their trousers much too short for their thin legs. Farther down the road, a woman stood outside a public hall, already loud with drunken rowdies, hoping to sell whatever bruised fruit she had left in her basket. Whether it was for throwing or for eating, I did not know. The bloody smell of the tanneries was carried, somehow, on the wind. I held my linen kerchief to my nose.

  I told Mrs. W to take a carriage home, as I wanted to stop by the Theatrical Mission. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to be near Mother Rachel. I arrived just in time to help her serve Mrs. Beeton’s Nourishing Soup.

  I kept a smile on my face as I served the girls, and as Mother Rachel showed me the treadle machine she’d purchased with Lady Tolfee’s silver gown money, which the girls were so proud of.

  Later, though, as I helped tidy up the dishes, the tears came, and they would not stop. Mother Rachel asked no questions but took me in her large, soft arms.

  My house. My dream. My mother, my father. All gone.

  • • •

  The night we were to see Henry V, Lord Lockwood showed up punctually—of course, his carriage clock would not let him down. For a moment, I thought about the partner clock in Winton Park and was sad. Perhaps I should take it? Had his father given it to my mother? I purposefully set the melancholy aside. I would not allow anything to impinge upon my excitement for the evening ahead.

  Lockwood’s brother and his brother’s wife waited in the landau, a larger model than the carriage he’d earlier collected me in, but his new driver handled it quite well, and waved at me, friendly. The top was open, as the night was glorious and warm, but a light breeze teased us, and I was glad Ruby had fast-secured my hair.

  “Miss Gillian Young, my brother, Captain James Lockwood.”

  “How do you do?” I asked. His brother was perhaps my age, and still had a pinch of baby fat around his cheeks that made him look rather jolly.