The Girl in the Mask

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  I had a long time to wait, as there were far more exalted guests present than us. At last all the dukes, marquises, earls and viscounts, of whom there appeared to be an extraordinary number, had taken their turn. My father was presented to a partner and danced down the room with her. My aunt was excused dancing on account of being in half-mourning, but the Beau brought me an elderly gentleman, who bowed stiffly and offered me his arm.

  ‘Miss Williams, may I introduce Mr Bedford to you?’ he said with a bow. ‘He is a widower and spending the summer at the Bath.’

  My intention had been to refuse all offers to dance. But under the stern yet kindly eye of the Beau, and the curious gaze of the rest of the room, I found I couldn’t do so. I curtseyed, placed my fingertips on my partner’s arm as the dancing master had instructed me, and allowed him to lead me to the top of the room.

  I stumbled more than once in my high heels and was several times late on the turn, but I somehow got down the room without absolutely disgracing myself. I ignored the giggles and whispers I could hear each time I made a mistake. My partner bowed deeply to me. ‘Thank you for a most charming dance, Miss Williams,’ he said, eyeing me in a way that made me uncomfortable. ‘You dance most delightfully, if you will permit me to tell you so.’

  I flushed and didn’t reply, embarrassed by compliments I certainly didn’t deserve. ‘You were clearly born for no other purpose than to grace a ballroom,’ he continued, kissing my gloved fingers. ‘You should never do anything but dance.’

  I snatched my hand away. His words struck me as so false and insulting, I was moved to retort: ‘Indeed, sir, I consider dancing a pitiful waste of time. There are far more useful occupations. As for my dancing, if your eyesight were sharper, you might have noticed my wrong steps. Excuse me,’ I said, walking off without curtseying, and leaving my partner standing, his mouth half open in shock.

  I was relieved to be rid of him and glad to be putting my plan into action at last. Social disgrace, I reminded myself, when my conscience pricked me, telling me it wasn’t fair to treat an elderly man so disrespectfully. If I make everyone dislike me, no one will want to marry me.

  Screens were removed from behind us, revealing food. There was quite a spread. I took ham and bread and ate it with relish. My aunt gasped disapprovingly when she caught sight of me. ‘Ladies take a jelly or a syllabub at a ball, Sophia,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘The meats are for the men. It looks so … unladylike to eat so eagerly.’

  ‘But I’m starving!’ I objected. It was always wise, I was fast learning, to take the opportunity of food when it was offered.

  ‘You shouldn’t show it!’ exclaimed my aunt, exasperated.

  I decided I’d been too docile so far this evening. What could I do to misbehave more? I had to disgrace myself as soon as possible.

  Before I’d thought of anything definite, the food was cleared and the musicians struck up for the country dances. Couples took to the floor, a line running the length of the ballroom. I saw Beau Nash walking towards me, a slender man mincing on ludicrously high heels beside him and had to hide a grin. He was dressed all in pink satin and silver lace. His face was white, his lips painted red and he had three large patches on his face. His powdered wig was monstrously tall and the long skirts of his coat were whale-boned and stood out from his body as stiffly as a lady’s hooped gown. He sported an ear-ring in one ear, and, worst of all, he carried a fan which he fluttered as he walked. He stopped in front of me; bowed deeply with a flourish of a scented pocket handkerchief.

  ‘May I present Mr Wimpole to you, Miss Williams?’ Nash asked. ‘He’s eager to meet you.’ He bowed politely and moved away.

  ‘May I be so fortunate as to beg the honour of the next dance, Miss Williams?’ Mr Wimpole asked with a flutter of his fan. He clearly considered himself to be bestowing a great honour on me rather than requesting one. He glanced at my aunt as he spoke and she nodded and smiled her approval.

  ‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ I said seriously. ‘But that’s not possible.’

  He looked taken aback. ‘You are promised to someone else?’ he asked. He looked around as though expecting a partner to materialize suddenly.

  ‘No, sir, but I can’t dance with you,’ I told him, being sure to speak in a clear, carrying voice. ‘You see, I’ve learned only the lady’s part.’ I paused and looked him up and down, ‘And we cannot both dance it.’

  It took the dandy a moment to understand I’d insulted him. A flush of anger flooded his face; he turned on his extremely high heel and walked away. Some ladies nearby had overheard and were giggling behind their fans. A handsome young man in black satin laced with gold half turned away to hide a smile.

  I glanced at my aunt, and saw her looking bewildered, but it was otherwise with my father. Judging by the look of fury on his face, he’d not only heard but also understood what I’d said. He walked towards me, gripping me painfully tightly by one elbow.

  ‘I think, Sophia,’ he said in a carefully controlled voice, ‘that we’d better leave now, don’t you? And have a little ‘chat’ together at home?’

  A shiver of fear ran down my spine, but I’d deliberately provoked him and was ready to take the consequences. I had to show him that he couldn’t force me to do his will. My father propelled me several steps towards the door, but we were stopped by the same gentleman in black and gold, standing between us and the way out, executing a very graceful bow. ‘Could I beg the indulgence of a dance with your daughter, sir?’ he requested politely. ‘I would consider myself honoured.’

  I was astonished. He’d heard my rudeness. Why was he asking me to dance? My father hesitated, then pinched my elbow to ensure my obedience, bowed and passed my hand to the man.

  ‘Miss Williams, is it not?’ the stranger asked me, leading me away, fixing me with a disconcertingly clear stare. There was just a hint of a smile in his dark eyes but I didn’t know whether he was being friendly or laughing at me.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied. ‘But I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.’

  The man raised his brows ironically. ‘Now, I didn’t have the impression that such social niceties would trouble you.’

  I blushed. ‘They don’t,’ I said defiantly. ‘I don’t care what your name is.’

  The young man merely smiled at my rudeness and led me to the top of the hall where we took our places ready to begin. He moved with ease and grace, wearing his fine clothes casually, almost negligently, as though neither the heavy, opulent fabrics nor the high heels of his shoes restricted him in the least. I tried to be as calm and unconcerned as he, but my father’s fury, briefly glimpsed and still to be unleashed, had given me a shock and my hand on his arm shook a little.

  The dance began. Unnerved as I was, I started on the wrong foot and had to shuffle quickly to retrieve my mistake. My partner politely ignored my clumsiness.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Williams, how are you enjoying the Bath?’ he asked courteously.

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied, struggling with the steps. They were a blur, and my only advantage was the firm lead my partner offered.

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear it. The fault must lie with us, for I’m quite certain you came determined to love the place.’

  I was quite certain now that he was making fun of me. ‘No, I came determined to hate everything about it,’ I countered.

  ‘And to insult its inhabitants. How very original,’ he observed.

  Thrown by this, I took a wrong step and accidentally trod hard on my partner’s foot. A pained expression crossed his face. We were parted and then came together again. I looked up at him. ‘Why did you ask me to dance, sir?’ I asked bluntly.

  ‘It was curiosity, I believe,’ he said, as though considering the matter. ‘I wanted to know why you chose to insult Mr Wimpole so grievously. Do you lack both manners and sense, I wondered, or was it deliberate?’

  ‘And your conclusion?’ I asked, feeling uncomfortable under his cool scrutiny.

  ‘You can’t expect me
to make up my mind about you after one conversation, Miss Williams, however quickly you may judge people. But I shall look forward to pursuing my acquaintance with you,’ he concluded as he restored me to my father. ‘Thank you for a most delightful dance.’

  He bowed gracefully, kissed my gloved hand lightly and left me. I tucked my hand into the folds of my petticoats, my heart beating uncomfortably fast. What did he mean by it?

  My father escorted me briskly from the ballroom, hurrying down the steps to where a great crowd of sedan chairmen awaited the guests, jostling for position to get our custom. I wished I could tell the men to carry me away from Trim Street. I didn’t care where, as long as I didn’t have to return there. But the men’s fare sat snugly in my father’s pocket, and they carried me inexorably home after him. I entered the candle-lit house first and already had my foot on the bottom stair in an attempt to flee a scene, when my father called me back.

  ‘Sophia, stay! Amelia, you must be exhausted and will wish to retire.’

  My aunt swept past me and on up the stairs. I longed to follow her. My hand on the balustrade was trembling a little, so I clasped it behind my back, awaiting my father’s orders. ‘Wait for me in my study,’ he said curtly. I walked slowly to the downstairs room he’d adopted as his own. As I went in, he gave all the servants orders to go to bed. ‘That includes Miss Sophia’s maid,’ he said. ‘She won’t be needed tonight.’

  I wondered with a kind of fearful fascination what punishment he had in mind. Sending the servants away sounded like a beating. I wasn’t afraid of that. Or at least only a little afraid.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I sat upright and very still at breakfast the following morning. I’d put on my comfortable old blue wraparound gown, but even so, every movement rubbed the fabric against the welts the lash had raised on my back, causing exquisite pain.

  Despite this, and despite the fact that I’d not been out for my usual nocturnal ramble, I made a good breakfast. Battle was joined and I’d shown my father I wouldn’t obey him meekly.

  I found it slightly disconcerting that my father was in such a good mood this morning. His trip to the baths and the pump room had cheered him greatly, it seemed. Or perhaps he was hopeful he’d got the better of me at last. When he sent me a gloating look, I was certain of it. I felt suddenly sick. I pushed away my cup and rose from the table.

  ‘That’s right, Sophia,’ said my aunt. ‘You go and get changed ready for the promenade.’

  ‘The promenade?’ I asked faintly. ‘Must I … ?’

  ‘Yes, indeed!’ she said enthusiastically. ‘We take chairs to the Grove directly after breakfast.’

  I nodded gloomily and left the room, walking carefully. The butler bowed me out and then went back inside, leaving the door ajar. I leaned my forehead briefly against the cool wall, conquering a wave of pain that had swept over me, breathing deeply. Before I could move on, I caught my name.

  ‘Who do you think that fellow was who danced with Sophia last night, Amelia?’ my father asked.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted curiously.

  ‘Damn it … what’s the fellow’s name again? Can’t remember. But he’s the son of some earl, so I hear. Younger son, more’s the pity, so he’s not likely to succeed to the title, but still.’

  I heard the sound of liquid splashing and pictured my father pouring himself another mug of ale. I scarcely dared breathe in case I missed anything.

  ‘I’m told he rarely dances, so apparently it was an honour.’

  ‘But a younger son, Edward,’ objected my aunt. ‘There may be no fortune at all! He was very young.’

  ‘There’ll be money somewhere in the family. What’s more the fellow’s popular with the ladies. You make sure you encourage him. And stay within earshot of the girl when you can. She’s not to be trusted. We can’t have her being rude to … ’

  The knocker on the front door hammered suddenly, right near me. Before I could leave the hallway, Watson emerged from the dining room to answer the knock and caught me listening. I flushed with embarrassment, but he only gave me the ghost of a wink as he passed by.

  The caller had brought a note for my aunt, but I didn’t wait to hear what it contained, instead fleeing upstairs to my bedchamber. Hunting through my closet for a suitable gown, I realized I had no idea what should be worn to the promenade. Reluctantly, I rang for Dawes, who soon came lumbering up the many flights of stairs from the basement, breathing heavily.

  ‘We’re going to the promenade, Dawes,’ I said to her. ‘What should I wear?’

  She glanced out at the patch of sky that could be seen from my small window. ‘It’s a fine day, Miss, for the time of year. Would you like to wear the primrose gown with the white petticoats? Or the pink gown and cream petticoats?’

  Life at the Bath had begun in earnest for me if such were the decisions around which my day was based.

  The paths and walkways of the Grove were crowded with fashionables in exquisite clothes, and I recognized faces from the ball the previous night. One or two of the other girls pointed me out to one another and giggled. I was glad to think that I was becoming notorious already, and tried to ignore the slightly uncomfortable feeling it gave me. I walked with my aunt with slow, tripping steps that had no aim or purpose to them other than to show off our gowns and while away the long morning.

  My aunt seemed to know a great many people, and was bowing and smiling to them as we passed, sometimes stopping to exchange dull conversation, which forced me to suppress yawns of boredom. ‘I thought you hadn’t visited the Bath before?’ I asked her at last. ‘How do you know everyone?’

  ‘My dear girl, the whole world is here. If you’ve spent a season in London, as I have done, then this is the same crowd. They come here the better to enjoy each other’s company, to win each other’s money and gossip, just as they did in the winter.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, feeling depressed. A thin, sallow gentleman paused to greet my aunt at that moment, bowing over her hand and casting a covert glance at me. They drew apart, enjoying a low-voiced exchange, and he discreetly passed my aunt a note which she concealed in her reticule. I fidgeted uncomfortably, unsure what to do with myself. I glanced around me, and saw my partner from the previous evening, the desirable parti, in conversation with several ladies nearby. They were chatting to him, casting him worshipping looks that turned my stomach. He was smiling and listening to them, but his eyes were intent on my aunt and her companion. When he saw me watching, he gave me a polite bow. The ladies looked daggers at me and I smiled a little to myself.

  My aunt broke off her conversation. ‘Sophia, you must be bored! You don’t want to spend the day with a dull matron like me,’ she said. ‘Now, I had a note this morning … friends of ours from home are here at the Bath.’ She began looking around her, as though seeking someone. ‘My dear Jane!’ she said, beckoning to a stout older woman and a plain young one. They approached and my heart sank as I recognized them. The girl was Mary Welland, my least favourite neighbour. Her mother and my aunt had grown up close friends, but we’d spent the majority of our childhood disliking one another cordially.

  My aunt kissed them both and turned to me with a smile. ‘I thought it would be lovely for you and Mary to spend some time together while Jane and I enjoy a cosy chat about old times.’

  I scowled. Mary simpered, looking scarcely more pleased than I was, but my aunt was already fishing in her reticule for something, and a moment later held out some coins and a ticket to me. ‘Why don’t you girls go and treat yourselves to a bun or a syllabub in the pastry-cook shop and then meet us at Harrison’s Assembly Rooms in an hour or so?’ she suggested.

  My impulse was to refuse indignantly to do any such thing. I spend an hour or so in Mary’s company? No, thank you. But the precious coins pressed into my hand made me think differently. So I allowed the obnoxious Mary to tuck her arm through mine and lead me off to her favourite pastry-cook in the nearby High Street.

  ‘Dear me, Sophia,’ Mary
said. ‘You seem to have succeeded in making yourself a figure of fun in Bath in no time at all. I thought you might want to make a new start if you came away here. I know that was your aunt’s hope.’

  She looked up at me, pretending sorrow and sympathy at my waywardness, but I wasn’t fooled. I could see the malicious gleam in her eyes.

  ‘I care nothing for a parcel of Bath dandies,’ I said contemptuously.

  ‘Clearly not. Only one evening in public and you’ve offended two gentlemen already!’ She sniggered behind her hand.

  I pulled my arm out of hers. ‘As I said, I really don’t care.’

  ‘How brave you are, Sophia!’ she said, mock-admiringly. ‘As for me, I should hate to be a figure of fun. I prefer to please.’

  ‘How very galling it must be for you then, to fail so dismally,’ I said spitefully. I regretted the words at once, but didn’t know how to say so. An angry flush darkened Mary’s features and she sent me a look of pure loathing. Then she schooled her features into a pious resignation that made me want to slap her. ‘You always were unmannered,’ she said. ‘But I forgive you. This is the cook house.’

  We entered together, and Mary chose a table by the window. ‘So we can see everyone passing by,’ she said. ‘It is quite the best seat in the place!’

  I disagreed. To sit in full view of the street and to be ogled by every gentleman that passed by might be Mary’s idea of fun, but it wasn’t mine. I didn’t argue, however, still feeling guilty at my nastiness. I sat down quietly and very cautiously, so as not to hurt my sore back.

  ‘What can I get for you, ladies?’ asked the waiter.

  ‘Order anything you like,’ I told Mary. ‘It’s my aunt’s treat.’

  She ordered a jelly, but I said I wanted nothing. ‘I couldn’t eat a thing,’ I excused myself to Mary. ‘One is fed so heartily here, I find.’ I clutched the coins tightly in my hand, already planning the letters I wished to write.