‘Including a taste for novels?’
‘Yes, your grace, an it please your grace.’
Frederica shivered under his hard stare. The firelight was shining on his face and two little red flames seemed to dance in his black eyes.
‘You are little more than a child,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Off to bed with you, and do not trespass in my library again without my permission. You may take Miss Burney with you.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ gasped Frederica. She took the book and then picked up her candle.
‘Light it,’ he said brusquely. Frederica lit the candle at the fire.
‘Will … will Mr Smiles hear of this, your grace?’ she asked.
‘Not this time,’ he said.
Frederica smiled suddenly, that bewitching, enchanting smile. Then she turned away and flitted from the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
‘So I have a runaway on my hands,’ thought the duke gloomily. ‘What is her name, I wonder? First Armitage, now Millet. I had better see Smiles in the morning and get her sent home.’
But the next day his guests began to arrive and the duke, for the time being, forgot about Miss Millet-Armitage.
‘Gone!’ exclaimed the Reverend Charles Armitage. ‘My Frederica gone? But I did not send any letter.’
‘But she showed it to me,’ said Miss Grunton. ‘She said it was enclosed with one from Mr Radford. I was to hire a po’ chaise and send her immediately.’
‘You hen-witted female,’ raged the vicar. ‘Did ye not think to wonder why I should expect mine own daughter to rent a chaise? To leave without a maid?’
‘Enough of this,’ said Lord Sylvester curtly. ‘From where did you rent this chaise, Miss Grunton?’
‘John’s Livery,’ said Miss Grunton. ‘I cannot be blamed, my lord. If Miss Armitage has taken to forging letters, she certainly did not learn it here!’ She glared venomously at the vicar.
‘Come along, Mr Armitage,’ said Lord Sylvester. ‘We will find where this chaise took her. Did Frederica have any beaux, Miss Grunton?’
‘Oh, no, my lord. We do not allow that sort of thing here. We are a very select seminary.’
John’s Livery vouchsafed the information that miss had asked to be set down at The Magpie, saying as how her father was going to fetch her.
The vicar began to feel more cheerful. Frederica had obviously decided to give them all a fright, and then make her way home.
But at The Magpie they learned that Frederica had gone out walking several days before and had not returned. The trunks that she had left behind were brought up from the cellar.
Mr Armitage was by now badly frightened. He also felt guilty. He did not really want to marry Sarah, and now he was trapped and his daughter had been driven into exile like the thingummies.
He sank down on a hard chair in the hall of the inn and burst into tears.
‘Come, Mr Armitage,’ admonished his son-in-law. ‘At least we have evidence that she is alive.’ He turned to the landlord, Mr Gilpin. ‘Was there any search for her?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Gilpin. ‘We told parish constable and some o’ the men from the village went all about, but no lady had been seen on the roads around here that day. Only a servant girl and an old woman.’
‘Did Miss Armitage meet any gentlemen at the inn?’
‘No one, my lord. Leastways, only the Duke of Pembury. They were chatting in the garden, like. His grace often comes here.’
‘Where does Pembury live? It is quite near here, I think.’
‘Hatton Abbey. Down the road a bit.’
‘In that case, I think we should call on Pembury.’
Mr Gilpin bristled. ‘Don’t you go thinking a fine gentleman like his grace would have aught to do with the young lady’s disappearance. Why, as fine a man never—’
‘Nonetheless, we shall call.’
Much to the worried Lord Sylvester’s annoyance, his volatile father-in-law sobbed and groaned all the way to Hatton Abbey. He had heard tell of this duke, the vicar wailed. Black as sin. No morals. His Frederica was ruined.
‘Pembury was wild in his youth. ’Tis said he has reformed,’ said Lord Sylvester repressively. ‘All I want to do is find Frederica and get her safely out of whatever mess she is in before Minerva hears of it.’
Frederica was bone-weary. She had been nervous and excited when she got back to her room and decided to read herself to sleep. Once she had started on the book, she found she could not put it down. So she had read until the candle had guttered out.
Now the bells were ringing, ringing, ringing. The ladies wanted chocolate, the ladies wanted tea, the ladies wanted cans of hot water, the ladies wanted their own linen put on the bed immediately – and Lady James simply wanted to torment.
She complained of this, she complained of that. The water was not hot enough nor the fire large enough.
In all the running up and down stairs, Frederica could only be thankful that the one lady who did not seem to want anything was Lady Godolphin.
The sheer selfishness of the treatment handed out to servants amazed Frederica. These ladies had all brought their personal maids but it seemed that the bell must be rung so that the over-worked chambermaid should climb the stairs to open a window or make up a fire.
‘It’s a wonder they don’t lose the use of their limbs,’ thought Frederica as she piled coal on the fire in Lady James’s bedchamber.
Lady James was wearing her undress, a scanty petticoat covered with a frilly negligée. She was a buxom blonde who reminded Frederica of Sarah, although where Sarah’s movements were sharp and brisk, Lady James’s every gesture was slow and languid. But she had the same bold coarseness about her.
‘I must have a buffer for my nails,’ drawled Lady James. ‘Leave the fire alone and go to that Lady Godolphin female and ask her for one.’
Frederica bobbed a curtsy and went out into the passage and along to Lady Godolphin’s bedchamber and scratched on the door. She was so tired, she no longer cared whether Lady Godolphin recognized her or not.
‘Come in,’ called a hoarse voice.
Frederica went into the room.
The shutters were closed and Lady Godolphin’s heavy bulldog face seemed to swim in the gloom. Frederica remembered nervously that Lady Godolphin had a very high-handed way with servants.
Frederica gave a little cough.
‘An it please your ladyship, Lady James is desirous of borrowing a buffer for her fingernails.’
‘She’s here, is she?’ demanded Lady Godolphin. ‘Thought a man of Pembury’s taste would have tired of that coarse jade by now. Well, she can’t have it. I’m not having anything of mine polited by that whore of Babbyling, and so you may tell her.’
‘Very good, my lady.’
Frederica had learned that it was a servant’s business to relay messages with as much accuracy as was politely possible.
With a wooden face, she said to Lady James, ‘Lady Godolphin refuses to lend you her buffer. Lady Godolphin says you might polite it.’
‘I suppose the old Malaprop means pollute. Tell her from me, I made a mistake. I do not wish to handle anything belonging to her. I have no wish to entertain her lice.’
‘Very good, my lady.’
Back went Frederica.
‘Lady James begs to inform Lady Godolphin that she has made a mistake and wishes nothing belonging to your ladyship as she does not wish to entertain your ladyship’s lice.’
‘I ain’t lousy, but if I were, it’s better than having the pox.’
Frederica blinked.
‘Well, go and tell her that, girl.’
Back in Lady James’s room, Frederica looked at the cornice and said, ‘Lady Godolphin’s compliments and she is not lousy, but she would nonetheless prefer to have lice than the pox.’
‘Tell her from me, if she wonders why that tottering old fool of a Colonel Brian has not led her to the altar yet, it is because he has found a younger piece of mutton.’
Frederica trailed
miserably back to Lady Godolphin and relayed the message.
‘Follicles!’ screamed Lady Godolphin. She seized a large hat pin and marched to the door. ‘Follow me, girl,’ she said over her shoulder.
Frederica followed the waddling figure of Lady Godolphin.
Lady Godolphin wrenched open the door of Lady James’s bedchamber and charged in, holding the gleaming hat pin in her hand. Lady James shot out a foot. Lady Godolphin tripped over it and crashed on to the floor, screaming like a banshee as she went. She twisted about and sank her teeth, or what was left of them, into Lady James’s ankle. Now Lady James began to scream and soon the passageway outside was jammed with curious guests and nervous servants.
Then the crowd parted and the tall figure of the Duke of Pembury shouldered his way into the room. ‘What is the meaning of this caterwauling?’ he snapped.
Lady Godolphin sat up. ‘That piece of laced mutton insulted me,’ she said, straightening her bright red wig. ‘Why don’t you send her packing back to Seven Dials where you found her?’
Seven Dials was London’s most notorious slum and famous for its prostitutes.
Lady James turned tear-drenched blue eyes to the duke. ‘She insulted me and encouraged this servant girl to be impertinent.’
The duke’s black eyes surveyed Frederica thoughtfully.
Mr Smiles oiled his way into the centre of the group. ‘One of my servants being impertinent? Dear me, we can’t have that. Sarah is a new girl on trial. If she has given offence, I shall send her packing.’
‘I only carried messages from one to the other,’ said Frederica desperately.
‘And she’s probably a thief too,’ sniffed Lady James. ‘That’s a book she has in her pocket.’
‘A book,’ said Mr Smiles awfully. ‘Give it here.’
Frederica pulled out the volume of Evelina. Lady James dabbed at her tears with a tiny scrap of cambric. ‘Since she obviously cannot read,’ she said, ‘she no doubt planned to sell it.’
‘I lent it to her,’ said the duke and Lady Godolphin in unison. Lady Godolphin had risen to her feet and was staring at Frederica.
‘You what?’ demanded Lady James.
‘I lent it to her,’ said the duke patiently. ‘What I want to know is this, Lady James, am I to expect a continuation of this vulgar behaviour during your stay?’
‘Here!’ said Lady Godolphin, seizing Frederica’s arm. ‘Out of here, quick. I want a word with you.’
She propelled the bewildered and shaken Frederica through the watching group of guests and servants and did not release her firm grip on her until they were safely in her room.
‘Now …’ said Lady Godolphin, kicking the door shut behind them. ‘What is the meaning of all this … Frederica Armitage?’
Rose slammed the tea tray down on the table in the parlour and stalked out, her back rigid with disapproval.
‘Uppity servants,’ said Guy Wentwater languidly.
‘Mrs Armitage spoilt them,’ said Sarah airily. ‘I shall fire them all,’ she said, raising her voice, ‘Just as soon as I am married.’
‘Bravo!’ Mr Wentwater grinned, leaning back in his chair with his thumbs in his waistcoat and putting one booted foot up on the other. ‘When did you say you were to be married?’
‘After I chaperone Frederica at her come-out,’ said Sarah proudly. She was wearing one of Miss Annabelle’s old silk gowns, the former Annabelle Armitage, now the Marchioness of Brabington. She felt it became her much better than it ever did Annabelle. Gone was her cap and apron. Sarah Millet was determined never to wear them again.
Guy Wentwater was highly amused. He had heard all the gossip from his own servants. He knew Sarah was a servant herself, and he thought it a fine joke that the vicar actually meant to marry her, diamond of the first water though she might be. He was also amused at the idea of being entertained in the vicar’s home, that clergyman who had once driven him out of Berham County. During all his time in America, Mr Wentwater had promised himself revenge. He once had had hopes of marrying Annabelle, but the vicar had effectively stopped that. Then Deirdre Armitage had made a fool of him. Yes, all the Armitages had a lot to answer for. This silly maid might supply him with the means.
He sipped the tea Sarah had poured him and made a face. ‘Have you nothing stronger, my lovely?’ he said.
‘Certainly,’ said Sarah grandly, ringing the bell. But though she rang and rang, no one answered its summons. All the servants had in fact gone to the church to meet Mr Pettifor, the curate, to hold a council of war.
Sarah eventually went off to the kitchens to find them deserted and so was forced to fetch and serve the brandy herself.
‘So it seems we are all alone,’ said Mr Wentwater, pouring a generous measure of brandy for Sarah.
Sarah shrugged. ‘I hear you are courting Miss Emily up at the Hall,’ she said.
‘I wouldn’t believe all you hear. Now I heard you were a servant.’
‘Would I be entertaining you in the middle of the afternoon if I were?’ countered Sarah.
‘I was only funning,’ said Mr Wentwater. ‘You are much too pretty to be anything other than a lady. Your hands are so soft.’
He took one of Sarah’s dimpled little hands in his own and ran his thumb along the palm.
‘Don’t do that,’ said Sarah, giggling and snatching her hand away. ‘What if Mr Armitage was to walk in?’
‘But he isn’t likely to, is he?’ said Mr Wentwater in a caressing voice and retrieving the hand again.
As the afternoon wore on and the shadows lengthened and the brandy sank lower in the bottle, Sarah progressed on to Mr Wentwater’s lap, and after that, it seemed only natural that he should pick her up in his arms and carry her up to the bedroom upstairs.
Such a wild and energetic episode followed that neither of them heard the footsteps on the stairs and neither of them was even aware anyone had entered the house until the bedroom door burst open.
They were all there – Mr Pettifor, Mrs Hammer, John Summer, Harry Tring, Herbert, the knife boy, Rose, and, worst of all, Miss Emily Armitage, who let out a great shriek and dropped into a swoon.
‘You’ve done it now, girl,’ said John Summer with great satisfaction. ‘Turn us all off, would you? And you in master’s bed wi’ master’s worst enemy.’
Sarah turned her face into the pillow and began to cry.
‘Emily,’ wheedled Guy Wentwater, ‘do not judge by appearances.’ But Emily was being helped to her feet by Rose and Mrs Hammer who led her off down the stairs, making clucking noises of sympathy.
Mr Pettifor stood as if turned to stone, an ugly blush staining his thin cheeks.
‘Come along, Mr Pettifor, sir,’ said John Summer, putting a comforting arm about the curate’s shoulders. ‘Such sights are not for the likes of you.’
But Mr Pettifor, staring at Sarah’s tumbled golden hair and naked bosom, thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.
FOUR
‘And so that is why I decided to run away, Lady Godolphin,’ finished Frederica.
‘You should never have been sent to that sinny-rammy in the first place,’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘I don’t hold with education for gels.’
‘It wasn’t precisely anything to do with learning,’ said Frederica. ‘Just bits of everything. A little bit of Italian, a little bit of music, a little bit of drawing, and so on.’
‘A girl should be taught to write her name and that’s all,’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘Well, you can’t stay here. I’m not staying under the same roof as that James creature. You’d best come back to London with me. Minerva’s poorly after her last and the only reason she’s in town is so’s to be ready for your come-out. A bit of country air would do her good. The rest of your sisters say they won’t be doing the Season. Going to be in the country. Even Annabelle’s gone rusty.’
‘Rustic?’
‘That’s what I said. Now, I found them all husbands and I’ll find you one.’
�
��I don’t want one,’ said Frederica quickly. ‘Men are all philanderers.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ said Lady Godolphin gloomily. ‘Ah, well, sweet are the uses of amnesia, as the Bard says. We must struggle to find the best. You can’t say any of your sisters married a philanthropist.’
But Frederica was thinking of the duke.
‘Don’t look so sad,’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘Minerva ain’t up to puffing you off, so I’ll do it.’
‘It is very kind of you, but …’
‘Of course, you could return to your pa,’ said Lady Godolphin with a wicked gleam in her eye.
‘No,’ said Frederica. ‘Can’t I just go on working here?’
‘Of course not. Pembury wouldn’t allow it, for a start.’
Mary came bouncing in. ‘Sarah, I mean, Miss Millet, I mean, your pa is below and he’s in a taking.’
Frederica turned white. She was afraid of her father’s rages.
‘Tell the reverend we’ll be down as soon as we’re ready,’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘Ring for my maid.’
‘You might have told me you was the Quality,’ mumbled Mary as Lady Godolphin was swept off to the dressing room by her maid.
‘I thought I no longer was,’ said Frederica sadly. ‘I did not think anyone would find me. My real name is Frederica Armitage. Now I am to go to London and have a Season.’
‘Oh!’ Mary clasped her work-reddened hands. ‘I’ve never seen London. Just think o’ the shops and parties and theatres.’
Frederica gave her a watery smile. She had become very fond of Mary.
‘I’ll take you with me,’ said Frederica suddenly. ‘I’ll make you my lady’s maid.’
‘I dunno,’ said Mary doubtfully. ‘I don’t know laces or jewellery or French or …’
‘I could teach you.’
‘But her ladyship won’t like it.’
‘She won’t mind,’ said Frederica. ‘Please, Mary.’
‘If I do,’ said Mary severely, ‘you’ll need to know your place and not be so friendly-like. And you can’t go downstairs in your cap and apron. Let me fetch that dress you come in, and while I get you ready, you can tell me how you come to be working here under another name.’
Frederica in Fashion Page 5