The Girl in the Mask

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  ‘Any other girl, perhaps,’ I replied. ‘What makes you suddenly so keen to take charge of me, Aunt? I seem to remember there was a time when you’d rather eat slugs.’

  Aunt Amelia gave a stifled shriek and stuttered: ‘I … what nonsense! Slugs indeed! I … I have always cared for you … but, my husband, you understand … ’

  ‘Not a word, I assure you,’ I told her. ‘What was that about your husband?’

  ‘My late husband,’ said Amelia, a reproving note in her voice, ‘was ill before he died and couldn’t have supported the noise and disruption of a young person in the house … ’

  Her voice trailed off, and she failed to meet my eye, instead dabbing at hers with a scented pocket-handkerchief. I felt sure she was lying. Such interest in my welfare after having ignored me for years was odd, to say the least.

  My thoughts turned to our destination. ‘I’d always understood Bath was a place for old, sick people; a spa for treating gout and dropsy and the like,’ I observed.

  ‘Oh!’ scoffed my aunt, pleased to be on safer ground and to show off her superior knowledge. ‘No, indeed. That is a very out-of-date notion. To be sure, people still take the waters, but it is become the first city for refined entertainment after London. And you will find, Sophia, that it is referred to as the Bath.’

  ‘Refined entertainment,’ I murmured, looking out of the window once more. I could form no picture in my mind of what that might include. How did people of refinement entertain themselves? Having grown up in an isolated manor house, I had no idea.

  The countryside crept slowly by. The views transformed gradually from moorland with heath and gorse, to rolling, fertile hills. Towards evening it began to rain, a fine, misty drizzle that would have been a pleasure for me to feel against my face. My father called a halt at the next posting house where he’d booked two bedchambers and a private dining parlour. ‘How far is it to the Bath if we must stop overnight?’ I asked my aunt, as we climbed the rickety, creaking staircase to our shared bedchamber.

  ‘Do try not to be so ignorant, Sophia,’ she replied impatiently. ‘The journey will take three full days if we are fortunate with the roads and the weather.’

  Her words stunned me into silence. Two more days, perhaps longer, in that stifling, cramped post-chaise? I would go mad.

  We washed our hands and faces and tidied ourselves by the light of one shared candle, and then my aunt lay down on her bed, her petticoats billowing about her legs. I stared, wondering what it was that made them stand out and sway about so much.

  ‘It’s an hour until supper, Sophia,’ she told me. ‘You should take the opportunity to rest after such a fatiguing day.’

  ‘I would find a walk infinitely more refreshing,’ I told her. ‘I need to stretch my legs after sitting cooped up.’ I headed for the door, ignoring my aunt’s squawks of protest: ‘Walk? But where? Why?’

  I’d had enough of accepting other people’s decisions for one day. I ran lightly down the stairs and made my way out of the inn into the busy inn yard. There was a hill behind the inn that looked high enough to give me exercise climbing it, and rewarding views from the top.

  It felt wonderful, after the long day of inactivity, to climb the steep slope, and breathe the fresh, bracing air into my lungs. I climbed stone walls and vaulted over gates, as my cousin had taught me, until I reached the summit. The wind was strong up here, but the rain had stopped, and the prospect across rolling green hills was magnificent. I sat on a tree stump and drank it in.

  I soon lost myself in my thoughts. They began with how much I missed my cousin Jack, and concluded with endless speculations over what our stay in the Bath would be like. I was furious with my father’s assertion of power over me and determined to fight back. I wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

  When I arrived back at the inn, windblown and out of breath, the landlady called to me. ‘Your father is concerned about your whereabouts, Miss,’ she said. ‘He’d ordered dinner half an hour since. I’m to show you straight in.’

  Cursing myself for staying away so long, I followed her into the private dining parlour. My father and aunt sat at a table laid with covered dishes. Both had dressed for dinner. My aunt looked very imposing in a fresh black mourning gown, and a black shawl, and my father had shed his riding clothes and travelling wig for a full-bottomed wig, an embroidered silk waistcoat and an expensive-looking brown velvet coat, great cuffs turned back to reveal ruffles of costly lace. I thought resentfully that he refused to spend money on essential repairs to his tenants’ houses, or to invest it in improving their farms, but did not appear to begrudge any expense on his own attire. I was scruffy by comparison, but it was too late to tidy myself. A servant moved forward to remove the covers as I approached the table.

  ‘Stand, please, Sophia,’ instructed my father. ‘Behind your chair.’

  He shook the lace back from his wrists, pulled his pocket-watch out of his waistcoat pocket and consulted it. ‘You have kept us waiting almost thirty minutes. It is an insult to the cook who prepared this meal and to your aunt and me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, father,’ I said as humbly as I could manage. ‘I didn’t realize how late it was.’

  ‘You had no business leaving the inn at all, and will not do so again.’

  After that, my father didn’t speak to me again. The covers were removed and he and my aunt served themselves as I stood and watched. There was roast beef, gravy, a chicken fricassee, a selection of vegetables, a basket of freshly baked white bread and a dish of golden butter. A bottle of red wine stood on the table and the level sank swiftly. I could feel my mouth watering. I hoped I would soon be allowed to sit down and eat.

  I was disappointed. When the two of them had eaten their fill, the servant was ordered to clear the table. He removed the half-eaten dishes as I looked longingly at them. Once, as he passed me, he caught my eye and made a sympathetic grimace. He was a friendly-looking young man and he reminded me of Jack.

  Dessert was put on the table next. A curd pudding, a fruit jelly, and a dish of marzipan sweetmeats. My stomach gave a loud rumble. I could see from my father’s satisfied expression that he’d heard it. The servant removed my untouched plate and laid a dessert bowl and spoon in their place.

  ‘She won’t require those,’ said my father, waving them away. ‘A delicious meal. My compliments to the cook.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said the servant, bowing slightly before he left the room. I stood and watched as my aunt ate a jelly and a great number of sweetmeats, and my father ate the entire pudding.

  My back was aching now. I cultivated a look and pose of indifference, even though I would be so hungry tonight I’d be unable to sleep. At last my aunt rose, and left my father to his brandy. I accompanied her back upstairs where she locked our door behind her and put the key under her pillow. ‘Your father’s orders,’ she explained, seeing me watching her.

  I walked to the window and looked down the sloping roof at the posting yard, now quiet for the night, the horses stabled and resting. ‘I’m so fortunate,’ I sighed.

  Aunt Amelia looked bewildered. ‘You are, if only you realized it,’ she said.

  ‘I do, truly, Aunt. With such a wise father, so devoted to my discipline, I’m sure I shall learn to behave well in no time at all.’ I spoke earnestly, keeping all trace of laughter from my voice. I could see I’d thoroughly perplexed her.

  I changed and got into bed, lying meekly beneath the linen sheets. I watched Aunt Amelia undress with a horrified fascination: all those layers of petticoats she wore. And at last the secret of the swaying skirts was revealed. Beneath her petticoats, attached to her waist, my aunt wore what looked like a huge birdcage of wires, bone, and tapes. I sat up, staring in astonishment. ‘What is that thing you’re wearing, Aunt Amelia?’ I asked, quite forgetting it might be rude to watch someone undress.

  Amelia looked round. ‘This?’ she asked, unfastening the cage. ‘This is a hoop, Sophia. Dear me, how is it possible to be so igno
rant? Anyone would think you were a savage from the Americas, and not a baronet’s daughter from Devonshire.’

  She stepped out of the hoop, laying it aside, pulled a nightgown over her head and climbed into her bed, blowing out the candle with a puff. I lay back, wishing I were indeed a savage, so that I wouldn’t have to go to the Bath and be a fine lady. A dreadful thought struck me. ‘Aunt, you are not expecting me to wear such a contraption?’ I demanded. ‘For it is utterly out of the question.’

  ‘Go to sleep, Sophia,’ was all the response I got.

  Despite all that wine and good food, it seemed to take an eternity before my aunt finally fell asleep and began to snore rhythmically. Restless with hunger, I got out of bed and cautiously pulled my gown and shoes back on. I stood looking down at her sleeping face for a moment. ‘Start as you mean to go on,’ I murmured to myself. Then I threw up the sash window and climbed out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The roof tiles were slippery with the rain that had fallen earlier in the day, but I managed to keep my balance as I descended carefully as far as the gutter. From there, it should have been an easy drop down to the yard, but unfortunately my gown snagged on a broken bracket as I tried to jump. I dangled there for a moment or two, kicking helplessly, cursing the loss of my breeches, before finally freeing the fabric with an ominous tearing sound. Then I dropped to the ground.

  I straightened up, brushing myself down, and looked around. I was shocked to see what looked like half the servants from the inn sitting on upturned crates, staring at me, their faces a picture of blank astonishment.

  ‘You really need to get that guttering repaired,’ I remarked, to hide my embarrassment. ‘It’s a menace to guests who are compelled to use the roof as an exit. Just look what it’s done to my gown!’

  There was a moment of shocked silence, and then one of the young men began to laugh. I recognized him as the waiter who had served dinner. ‘It must have escaped our notice, Miss,’ he said. ‘For some reason, our guests usually prefer the stairs.’

  ‘Even on such a fine night?’ I asked, feigning amazement.

  The kitchen maids giggled, and I found myself relaxing, the blush fading from my face. Now that I looked more closely there were only four servants: two young men and two girls.

  ‘I don’t know how it comes about, after the fine supper that you serve here,’ I told them, ‘but I find myself quite famished.’

  The servant lad chuckled. ‘I thought it might be hunger drove you down here,’ he remarked. ‘It fair broke my heart to see you standing there, not allowed to touch so much as a morsel.’

  ‘It broke mine too,’ I agreed. ‘I came down in the earnest hope of remedying the situation.’

  The servants glanced at one another uncertainly. ‘We’ve finished serving now,’ explained the lad. ‘The tables have been set for breakfast. I don’t think you’d be comfortable in the tap room, neither. There’s only men in there tonight, two of ’em your father’s coachman and groom.’

  ‘Oh, that wouldn’t do at all. But as we already agreed, it’s a fine night, and starlight makes a grand setting for a meal. I’d be grateful for anything: a hunk of bread, an apple, whatever you can spare. You can add it to my father’s bill, naturally.’ I smiled at the thought of how furious my father would be when he saw how I’d tricked him. It would be worth any punishment, I thought recklessly.

  The servant lad disappeared into the inn, reappearing a few minutes later carrying a bundle wrapped in a clean napkin. ‘Here you are, Miss,’ he said handing it over. ‘This should keep the wolf from the door. And the landlady don’t know I took it, so no need to bother with the bill.’

  I took the bundle gratefully, sat down on a spare box and unwrapped the feast. There was a slice of fresh white bread, lavishly buttered, a thick slice of ham, a square of cheese, an apple and a generous selection of the sweetmeats that I’d not been allowed at supper.

  ‘This is wonderful! Thank you,’ I exclaimed, sinking my teeth eagerly into the bread. The servants watched me eat. ‘Does your father make a practice of starving you?’ asked one of the maids.

  ‘Well, he’s been away in Jamaica for four years,’ I said between mouthfuls. ‘So I’d almost forgotten it’s his favourite punishment. He’s been back less than a fortnight, and this is the third meal I’ve been deprived of.’

  ‘Who helped you out the other times?’ asked the second girl, a plump lass with red cheeks and bright eyes.

  ‘No one. I starved!’ I said with a sigh.

  ‘Oh! I couldn’t bear that,’ said the girl. ‘I love my food!’

  The others laughed and began teasing her a little. I listened to their banter, enjoying my late meal and gradually feeling the weakness fade. One by one, the servants were called back in to work, until only the young man who’d brought me the food was left. I ate everything in the napkin, shook the crumbs out, folded it carefully and returned it to him.

  ‘I’m more grateful than I can say,’ I said. ‘You deserve a handsome tip, and I’m very sorry I can’t give you one.’

  ‘Consider it a favour,’ he replied. ‘So where are you journeying to?’

  ‘We’re going to Bath,’ I told him. ‘The Bath, I should say.’

  ‘You’ll be going to catch a fine husband then,’ he said with a mischievous grin.

  ‘Not if I can avoid it,’ I retorted. ‘I have no opinion of husbands!’

  The young man laughed out loud, and then broke off with a quick glance behind him to check his merriment hadn’t been overheard. ‘How’s that then?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, just imagine the type of man my father is likely to select for me! Older of course, sober, and strict enough that my father will consider him able to tame me … ’ I shuddered at the vision my words had conjured up.

  The young man’s eyes twinkled with amusement. Then his smile faded. ‘My old man took my sister off to the Bath over a year ago. I’ve been thinking for some time I should go check on her, if only I could get the money together. See how she’s doing. He promised he had an opening for her in a respectable line of work, but I don’t trust the old rascal.’

  ‘You have father trouble too?’ I asked, raising a sympathetic eyebrow.

  ‘Of a different kind,’ he said.

  ‘Have you not had letters from her?’ I asked curiously.

  He shook his head. ‘I could read ’em, just about, but she can’t write,’ he explained.

  ‘I could look out for her, if you like?’ I offered. ‘I could write you a letter if I meet her, then you’d know she was safe.’

  ‘You’ll be consorting with the fine ladies and gents in the city, not working girls,’ he objected.

  ‘I shan’t care for that,’ I said swiftly. ‘I’ll ask for her if I get the chance, I promise you. It’s the least I can do. What’s her name? And your name too?’

  ‘I reckon you’ll not be allowed to,’ he replied. ‘But if you wish to know my name, it’s Bill Smith. And my sister’s Jenny.’

  I put out my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Bill Smith,’ I said. ‘I’m Sophia Williams.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Bill took my outstretched hand and shook it.

  ‘If it so happens that you should have a chance to look for Jenny,’ he said, ‘you’ll know her by her little finger on her left hand. Half of it’s missing.’

  ‘I’ll remember that. Now I have one more favour to ask of you,’ I confessed.

  ‘You need to get back into your room?’ he guessed. ‘Can you climb back up if I boost you up as far as the gutter?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I agreed. ‘I have some experience of climbing.’

  ‘I’ll bet you do,’ he said. ‘I reckon you’re a rare handful. If I hadn’t seen what your father’s capable of, I’d feel right sorry for him.’

  I slept deeply and woke early the next morning feeling much more cheerful. The scramble back up the roof and in through the window had been accomplished easily, and my aunt never knew I’d left the room.

  We breakfaste
d and then four horses were put to our chaise. As we rumbled over the cobbles out of the yard, Bill was at the gate, and waved a discreet farewell to me. I gave him a smile and a small wave, and then we were under way; another long day of lurching through ruts and potholes. The following day was no better. In the afternoon, it began to rain heavily, turning the roads swiftly into a quagmire.

  ‘As if they weren’t bad enough already!’ exclaimed my aunt, when the chaise got stuck for the third time, and we had to get out and walk while the coachmen freed it. I was glad to escape the confines of the carriage, and strode ahead happily, ignoring the rain and the mud.

  A little further on, I came upon a commotion. A stagecoach had overturned and crashed into a stone wall on one side of the road, leaving the horses injured, and passengers scattered across a wide area, nursing cuts and bruises. I ran forward to see if I could help, but there was already a doctor in attendance, splinting a broken leg and bandaging the worst cuts.

  Just at this point, the road ran between two walls, narrow, muddy and treacherous, and was now completely blocked. The accident was clearly recent, and no one had yet had a chance to think about shifting the coach. I looked at the way it was jammed between the walls and judged it would be hours before the road was clear again.

  ‘Here’s a fine mess,’ said my father riding up behind me. ‘Just as I’d hoped to reach the Bath tonight. What do we do now?’

  We were told there was an alternative route to the Bath. With difficulty, we turned our chaise in the narrow road and by early evening we reached the steep hill that led down to the city from the north.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dusk was falling, and the road ahead of us plunged down the steepest hill I’d ever seen. The chaise came to a slow, hesitant halt. The coachman pulled the door open and let down the steps. ‘You’re going to have to walk,’ said my father from where he sat astride his horse. ‘This hill’s too steep for the horses.’