Frederica in Fashion

by Beaton, M. C.

  ‘Of course,’ said Lady James, wringing her hands. ‘I wonder whether we should keep her away that long. What will become of me when they are finally released?’

  ‘By your own reckoning,’ drawled Guy Wentwater, ‘you will be the Duchess of Pembury by that time. You have a whole year in which to entrap Pembury and a whole year to think up explanations. I can ship them to America if you like.’

  ‘Perhaps that might be best,’ said Lady James, hugging herself and wondering if she would ever feel warm again. ‘What is the next part of the plan?’

  ‘If you told me the right story, then young Frederica makes a habit of running away. Write a letter, supposed to come from her, and send it to Pembury. Say she is running away because she can’t stand the idea of marriage to him.

  ‘His pride will prevent him from trying to seek her out.’

  ‘His pride might prevent him from accepting the fact she has run away,’ said Lady James. ‘Faith, ’tis cold.’

  The duke’s first reaction to the letter, received the following day, that was supposed to come from Frederica was a kind of sad acceptance. Ever since the announcement of the engagement, Frederica had been quiet and withdrawn and had seemed scared of him. He had been carefully formal and correct, and yet the better he had, in his own eyes, behaved towards her, the more frightened she had become.

  He called at Lady Godolphin’s to wearily present his compliments to Miss Armitage and to tell her that he had agreed to the termination of their engagement.

  The house was in an uproar. Deirdre, Lady Desire, was there, her eyes red with weeping. Lady Godolphin was lumbering up and down like a hippopotamus, wailing that Frederica had taken leave of her senses.

  ‘I am sorry I have driven her to such extreme measures …’ began the duke.

  But Deirdre interrupted him with a cry of, ‘I am frightened. Just look at this letter. It is misspelt. This is not Frederica’s handwriting.’

  ‘Let me see it,’ said the duke.

  Lady Godolphin handed him a letter. ‘Dear Lady Godolphin,’ he read. ‘I dont want to marry Pembury, and so I am running away to where you cant find me and make me marry him. I am distresed and misarable. Forgive me. F.’

  The duke took out his quizzing glass and studied the letter and then he slowly lifted it to his nose and sniffed. A faint odour of violets came from the paper. On paper such as this had his ex-mistress Lady James written him many a letter. Not that she had ever written him love letters, only demands that he pay her dressmaker’s bills.

  ‘What a fool I am!’ he cried. ‘That footman … and I believed him! Do not fear, ladies. I hope to restore Frederica to you very soon.’

  He rushed from the house, leaving Lady Godolphin and Deirdre staring after him.

  ‘Beg pardon, my lady,’ said Mice. ‘I did try to tell you, but you wasn’t listening. This strange footman called, saying he had a message for Miss Armitage from the Duke of Pembury. Then she says as she is leaving with this man that Mary is in a little trouble. Perhaps Mary was paid to lure her away.’

  He had the satisfaction of seeing his mistress go into strong hysterics before he descended to the kitchen to tell the staff that that would teach old ‘boot face’ to listen to him next time.

  Meanwhile, the duke called first at Lady James’s mansion and found her absent. He promptly headed for Grosvenor Square and startled Lord and Lady Cooper by demanding to see their footman, Richards.

  Left alone with Richards, the duke said in a deceptively mild voice, ‘I think you have something to tell me about Miss Armitage.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Richards, all innocence.

  ‘Then perhaps this will refresh your memory, young man,’ said the duke, punching the footman viciously in the kidneys. He waited until Richards had stopped gasping and retching, and said calmly, ‘I have only just begun. So, my good fellow, if you do not wish me to beat you to a pulp, you will tell me why you lured Miss Armitage into that morning room and professed to be in love with her.’

  ‘I’ll tell you, your grace,’ gabbled Richards, ‘only let me sit down.’

  The duke nodded. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘begin at the beginning.’

  In a low voice, Richards proceeded to tell his tale of mad passion for Frederica, until he found his story violently interrupted.

  He was a tall, strong man, but the duke jerked him out of the chair with terrifying ease and banged his head against the wall.

  ‘Any last words before I kill you?’ enquired the duke pleasantly.

  ‘No!’ screamed Richards. ‘I’ve had enough. I’ll tell you.’

  The duke listened carefully to the tale of Mr Jackson and the gambling debts. ‘He didn’t say nothing about Lady James, that lady what found us,’ said Richards. ‘But he said a lady would surprise us, and as soon as I heard a woman’s voice outside the door, I was to grab Miss Armitage. Oh, God, I’ve told you, and now he’ll make me pay.’

  ‘By the time I have finished with this Mr Jackson,’ said the duke, ‘he will not be in a position to collect any debts.’

  He went back to Lady James’s house and this time found her at home.

  Overset by worry and guilt, Lady James blurted out, ‘Oh, I am so sorry.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Why, the end of your engagement, of course.’

  ‘And just how did you know my engagement was at an end?’

  Lady James went red and then white. She wanted to lie, but found she could not. She was appalled at the enormity of what she had done. Fear clutched at her heart. She did not believe Guy Wentwater meant to leave Frederica alive. He would kill her, and then she, Lady James, would be embroiled in murder. She would never be free of him. She was deadly sure he would blackmail her until he had bled her white. Giles had struck Frederica very hard. She might have been killed then, but Guy Wentwater had not seemed to care. Lady James remembered Frederica’s unconscious body, lying on the floor, her face white, her breathing shallow.

  She covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

  ‘Is she alive?’ asked the duke. It was no longer necessary to ask Lady James if she had played any part in Frederica’s disappearance. Her sobs, her whole attitude, screamed guilt.

  Lady James nodded dumbly.

  ‘Then compose yourself and tell me where she is.’

  The whole plot came out, Lady James shivering and shaking, her voice broken by sobs.

  ‘I shall kill this Wentwater,’ said the duke. ‘Hume’s mansion on the Richmond Road, you say? You will hear further from me, ma’am. What on earth made you party to such a vile plot?’

  Calm now she had told her story, Lady James looked at him wearily. ‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ she said. ‘When I was your mistress, I was fêted and courted and envied. When you terminated our affair, I took it philosophically. But then I began to notice how badly my reputation had fallen. I had had affairs before but had always been discreet. I flaunted my affair with you. I wanted respectability more than anything. I wanted to be your wife. I persuaded myself you might marry me if only Miss Armitage were out of the way. This Wentwater hates all the Armitages. He is not quite sane, I think.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘We made a good pair – he, mad with hate, and I, mad with jealousy.’

  Despite her tears, she looked very beautiful and he felt an odd tug at his heart, until all his fears for Frederica’s life came flooding back.

  He turned on his heel and walked away. Lady James began to cry again.

  * * *

  ‘You must try not to be sick any more, Mary,’ Frederica Armitage was saying. ‘Goodness knows what filth that horrible woman put in your chocolate.’

  ‘It is not my stummick any more,’ whispered Mary through white lips. ‘I’m that afraid. What if they kill us?

  ‘If they were going to kill us,’ said Frederica firmly, ‘they would have done it right away.’

  Mary shivered. ‘It’s harder to get rid o’ bodies in the middle of London, miss, than it is here.’

>   ‘Oh, Mary,’ said Frederica, exasperated. ‘I refuse to be frightened.’

  Neither of the girls knew where they were since they had been conveyed to the house, bound and blindfolded. They had been placed in their prison, a small room with barred windows at the top of some house.

  A heavy, squat, mannish woman with a dirty apron and a red moustache had supplied them with food and water and had remained deaf to their pleas.

  ‘You know, Mary,’ went on Frederica, ‘I don’t know how it is, but I feel very well, despite a large lump on the back of my head. I feel, if we ever escape, I will never be frightened of anything or anyone again. I do not like London society. It crushes me so.’

  ‘At least you can’t marry the duke,’ said Mary gloomily. ‘That’s why that James cat had us brought here.’

  ‘I was a fool,’ said Frederica bitterly. ‘Pembury was so strange and withdrawn, he frightened me. I became my old self, just when I had begun to enjoy being brave. No doubt he thinks he’s well out of it. Why did I never just ask the man what was up with him? I won’t be able to unless I get us out of here.’

  ‘We can’t,’ said Mary. ‘There’s men below keeping guard. I’ve heard them. And that horrible woman’s built like a Smithfield bull.’

  ‘Do not be so chicken-hearted. What would the Duke of Wellington have done in this situation, I wonder?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Mary, beginning to sob. ‘I ain’t the Duke of Wellington.’

  ‘Do be quiet,’ snapped Frederica. ‘It’s all your fault,’ she added unkindly. ‘Why did you not think to tell me that Lady James had asked you to call?’

  ‘Boo-hoo,’ wailed Mary.

  ‘Never mind. I am a beast. I am not angry with you, Mary. Here comes the bull with our food. Do not let her see you crying. Yes, on second thoughts, I will cry too. She must be made to think we are weak and helpless.’

  When the jailer entered, both girls were howling dismally. She dumped the food down on the table with a grunt and went out, slamming and locking the door behind her.

  ‘Now, see,’ said Frederica, ‘she has brought us bread and cheese which is very sustaining. But better still, she has brought us a stone pitcher of water. Do stop crying, Mary, and listen to me.

  ‘That’s better,’ she said as Mary gulped and dried her eyes on the corner of her apron. ‘What I want you to do is this. When that horrible woman comes back to take away the dishes, you must distract her, and I will hide behind the door, and when she comes into the room, I will hit her on the head with that pitcher.’

  ‘You can’t!’ said Mary. ‘She’ll murder us.’

  ‘Now, how can she when she is lying unconscious? You are not behaving at all like a correct lady’s maid, Mary. I am ashamed of you.’

  Being elected to the post of lady’s maid had been the proudest moment of Mary’s young life. Like a soldier being urged to serve his country, she stiffened her spine and said, ‘I’ll do as you say, miss. I don’t know what come over me, I’m sure.’

  ‘Good girl,’ said Frederica bracingly. ‘Now, all we have to do is wait.’

  Frederica did not have a watch and there was no clock in the room, which was simply furnished with two truckle beds and a table and two chairs. They had been locked up during the night. Food had been given them some hours ago which must have been meant as breakfast. Frederica guessed it must be around two in the afternoon. The fickle English weather which had been chilly had turned sunny and warm and the small room began to feel stuffy. Frederica tried to lift the window by reaching through the bars but it was stuck fast.

  Then she stiffened, her head to one side, listening. ‘She’s coming,’ whispered Frederica urgently.

  ‘Oh, miss, what will I say? What will I do?’ cried Mary.

  ‘Hush! You’ll think of something.’

  Frederica picked up the pitcher and stood behind the door.

  The heavy footsteps of their jailer came nearer and nearer.

  The door swung open.

  ‘Why don’t you shave yer moustache, you ugly old cow,’ jeered Mary from the other side of the room.

  ‘Why, you strumpet,’ raged the jailer, ‘just wait till I get me hands on you.’

  The woman advanced into the middle of the room. Frederica raised the pitcher and brought it down on her head with a crash. She gave a groan and slumped to the floor.

  ‘What if she’s dead?’ whispered Mary.

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Frederica, although she was white and shaken. ‘Come along. We must escape.’

  With Mary creeping behind her, Frederica edged her way silently down the stairs. Masculine voices came from below.

  ‘Quietly now,’ muttered Frederica. ‘Slowly. We must go slowly.’

  At last, they saw an empty hall below them. The voices were coming from a downstairs room but the door was closed.

  ‘Stop clutching at my sleeve, Mary,’ hissed Frederica. ‘I will go ahead and quietly open the front door. When I signal to you, run quickly down and don’t make a sound.’

  Heart beating hard, Frederica moved silently across the hall. She gently turned the door knob and breathed a sigh of relief. It was unlocked. She opened the door wide, and then turned and waved Mary forward.

  Mary saw the wide-open door and the sunny garden beyond. She hurtled down the stairs, missed her footing, and crashed headlong into the hall.

  The door of the room where the guards were burst open just as Frederica was half turning back to help Mary. In a split second, she decided the best thing she could do was run to the nearest house and ask for aid.

  She fled down the drive, hearing the sounds of pursuit behind her. To her dismay, the tall gates at the end of the drive were bolted and locked.

  She veered to the left through the grounds, never once looking behind. She came to a low, broken part of the garden wall and scrambled over, ripping her gown in bramble bushes which grew thick on the other side.

  Gasping for breath and feeling a pain in her side, she ran headlong across a meadow in the direction of the Richmond Road. She could see a carriage coming along it at great speed.

  She stopped in her tracks and screamed as loudly as she could.

  But that gave one of her pursuers the necessary time to catch up with her. He dived for her legs and brought her down.

  ‘Now, you jade,’ he growled, ‘back you go and this time you’ll be tied to your bed.’

  He dragged her to her feet and twisted her arm painfully behind her back.

  His companion was waiting for him at the break in the wall over which Frederica had escaped. ‘Where’s the other mort?’ shouted the man, holding Frederica.

  ‘Locked up an’ cryin’ fit to bust. Broke poor Mrs Cocker’s skull, they did.’

  ‘Wait till master hears o’ this,’ panted Frederica’s captor.

  ‘Look lively,’ hissed the other guard. ‘There’s a gentry cove runnin’ across the field. Knock her out so’s she can’t speak, and we’ll say she’s a madwoman.’

  The guard twisted Frederica about and pulled back his fist.

  A bullet whizzed over his head, and he stood where he was, his mouth open, and his fist still drawn back.

  Pistol in one hand, the Duke of Pembury came striding up to them.

  He took Frederica gently by the arm and pulled her away from her now unresisting captor. ‘She’s a madwoman, guv’nor,’ pleaded the man.

  ‘Turn your head away, Frederica,’ said the duke gently. But Frederica watched and had the satisfaction of seeing the guard knocked unconscious. His companion made the mistake of coming to his rescue and was shortly flattened by the duke’s punishing left.

  ‘Oh, Robert,’ sighed Frederica. ‘I must be very bloodthirsty. I have never seen anything so magnificent.’

  The duke came up to her, nursing his bleeding knuckles.

  ‘What did you call me?’

  ‘R-Robert.’

  ‘Never did the sound of mine own name sound so glorious. I thought you were going to call me “yo
ur grace” for the rest of your life.’

  ‘It’s because you were behaving like a duke,’ sniffed Frederica tearfully. ‘So cold and formal, you terrified me.’

  ‘What would you? I kissed you and that terrified you.’

  ‘’Twas the strength of my own feelings, Robert. I am not in the way of being kissed, you see.’

  The duke came very close to her and looked down at her averted face, his black eyes burning. ‘Perhaps I need practice,’ said Frederica shyly.

  He pulled her into his arms, his lips found hers, and he proceeded to give Miss Frederica Armitage a long and passionate lesson in the arts of love.

  Out on the Richmond Road, Guy Wentwater dropped his telescope on to the floor of the carriage and cursed roundly. He would have just one more try to ruin one of the Armitages, and then he would flee to America.

  ‘Robert,’ murmured Frederica dizzily. ‘Poor Mary. We must rescue her.’

  The guards on the ground began to stir. The duke started to unwind his cravat. ‘I will just tie these fellows up, and then we can see to Mary. Then we must alert the authorities and see that Wentwater is put behind prison bars for the rest of his life.’

  EPILOGUE

  Emily Armitage was trying on a new gown in her bedroom at the Hall. It was made of metallic gauze, the very latest thing, and Emily considered it became her amazingly.

  She had already been undressed and made ready for bed by her maid, but found she could not sleep. Papa was to drive her to Hopeminster in the morning to meet a certain Sir Andrew Jensen, who had expressed an interest in her.

  Emily once more felt like the most beautiful girl in the county. Ever since that dreadful scene where Mr Wentwater had been discovered in bed with that slut, various gentlemen in the county had applied for her hand in marriage – and without even seeing her! Well, they must have seen her in Hopeminster and been so smitten with her charms that they had immediately thought of marriage. Emily did not know her rush of admirers was caused by her father, Sir Edwin, trebling her dowry and broadcasting that fact all over the county.