The Girl in the Mask

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  One afternoon, a lady at a nearby card table beckoned me across to her.

  ‘You wanted to speak to me, ma’am?’ I asked her as I stepped up to her table.

  ‘Yes, dear. Miss Williams is it not?’

  She was an older woman with a strong, much-painted face, a large patch on one cheekbone and an elaborate, powdered hair-style. ‘That’s right,’ I agreed doubtfully.

  ‘Well, Miss Williams, we need a fourth for our table. Do you care to join us? We intend to play at ombre.’

  ‘Thank you for the invitation, ma’am,’ I said, still ignorant of the lady’s name. ‘But I don’t know how to play.’

  ‘You don’t know how … ?’ The lady stopped, apparently speechless. One of the girls at her table tittered. Glancing at her, I saw a young and pretty blonde face. ‘Lansquenet then? Or perhaps you prefer loo?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know any card game at all.’

  A fresh outburst of giggles from the fair girl greeted my words, and a look of astonishment descended on the lady’s face. ‘But, my dear, what do you do all day?’

  ‘I love to read, ma’am,’ I said somewhat stiffly.

  ‘Books!’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t give me books! Men and cards are all the books I need!’

  ‘We should teach her, Lady Orkney,’ cried the fair girl. ‘It does not do you know, Miss Williams,’ she said speaking earnestly to me, ‘to be ignorant of cards. All the world plays.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said swiftly, ‘but I find I do well enough without cards or what you call ‘the world’ for amusement.’

  A man nearby, hearing what I said, lounged up to us and leant on the back of the blonde girl’s chair. He was dressed in brown with a waistcoat that was a vile shade of puce. He stared at me as if I were some curiosity in a travelling fair. I felt my colour rise under his scrutiny. He commented: ‘How very singular!’ The girls tittered again.

  Blushing, I left the card room, aware of a buzz of whispers after me. I told myself I cared not. Instead I sought the tea room and accepted a cup of tea and a smile from a friendly waiter and passed some pleasant time chatting to him until a fiddler struck up outside and an impromptu dance began on the lawn. The guests crowded out of the rooms to join in. The tune was a merry one that set feet tapping at once, and I found myself drifting outside to watch. It was mildly entertaining; certainly better than sitting in a stuffy tea room on a bright afternoon.

  After just a few moments, I became aware I was being watched. The same man in the puce waistcoat was staring at me once more. There were several young women gathered around him, one of them the ubiquitous Mary Welland who I avoided whenever I could. I saw the blonde from the card table whispering in her ear, her speech punctuated with giggles. They were all looking at me. I looked away, pretending I hadn’t noticed. ‘Lud!’ the man exclaimed, loudly. ‘Does she think she’ll get a dance partner? Surely even she must realize that no self-respecting gentleman would be seen within ten feet of her?’

  It was clear the speaker intended me to hear his words. His tone was arrogant and disdainful. There was laughter from the girls around him. I froze, unsure whether to move away, pretending I hadn’t heard, or whether I should brazen it out. It hadn’t occurred to me that by watching the dancing, I’d be thought to be begging for a partner. Then I reminded myself that social disgrace was my aim and steeled myself to stay where I was.

  ‘Who’d want to dance with a girl who walks like a man and muffs all her steps?’ commented another girl in a breathless voice.

  ‘And she has no notion of the rules of ombre!’ said another with a giggle. ‘If ever there was a sign of no breeding.’

  I glanced at the group. Mary was in the act of putting her hand on the young man’s shoulder and standing on tiptoe to say in a penetrating whisper: ‘At home in Devon, she rides around in breeches and they call her ‘the Squire’.’

  Another outbreak of mirth from the girls. ‘By gad, I thought I caught a glimpse of a spur under those petticoats,’ exclaimed the gentleman in the puce waistcoat again, pretending to inspect the hem of my gown.

  ‘Oh, take care, Sir Oswald,’ begged Mary maliciously. ‘She hears you! I think she’s going to call you out for that!’

  I was burning with anger by now and opened my mouth to tell them nothing would give me more pleasure, but was forestalled by a hand on my arm. ‘How do you do, Miss Williams? Would you care to dance?’

  Distracted, I turned and found myself face to face with Mr Charleton, expensively elegant as always, in a coat of dark green velvet over a pale green embroidered waistcoat and pale breeches. ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘A dance, Miss Williams,’ he said with politely lifted eyebrows. ‘It’s a social custom whereby we step out onto this patch of grass together, pretend it is a dance floor, follow some pre-ordained steps and try to refrain from stepping on each other’s toes.’

  I bit my lip, half amused by his nonsense, but my mind still on the group behind me. I heard Sir Oswald mutter distinctly: ‘I’ve always said Charleton had no discrimination. Damn, he might be the son of an earl but the fellow has low taste.’

  I stiffened angrily, ready to turn back and throw some insults in return, but Charleton took my hand firmly in his and led me towards the lawn. ‘You’d do much better to dance,’ he said. ‘An altercation would be their triumph, believe me.’

  ‘You heard them?’ I asked. ‘I’m surprised you aren’t calling that man out!’

  ‘When I feel my honour or yours will be better served by duelling than by ignoring him, I shall certainly do so,’ he said calmly. ‘But really, Sir Oswald’s opinions are a matter of complete indifference to me.’

  ‘How I wish I were a man!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’d call that fop out at once.’

  Mr Charleton looked sceptical. ‘Pistols or swords?’ he enquired.

  ‘Pistols,’ I said at once. ‘I’d shoot him dead.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said drily. I didn’t reply, busy dwelling on the pleasure it would give me to see Sir Oswald’s lifeless body stretched out on the cold turf of some deserted field at dawn tomorrow. ‘Your eyes are positively gleaming with murderous intent, Miss Williams,’ said Mr Charleton, recalling me to the present. ‘Have you ever actually held a pistol, or is this a vicarious daydream?’

  I frowned at him. ‘Certainly, I have.’

  ‘I see. Well, Sir Oswald had better watch out,’ he remarked. ‘By the way, Miss Williams, my valet has done a particularly careful job of polishing my boots this morning. Can I ask you to treat them with great care?’

  ‘That’s the second time today you’ve alluded to my poor skills at dancing, sir,’ I said. ‘If you will insist on making me dance, you must expect some damage. The other gentlemen know better and leave me in peace.’

  ‘And have you quite decided on being a social outcast?’ he asked. ‘It seems an uncomfortable choice to me.’

  ‘I have good reasons.’

  ‘And you are certainly not going to share them with me?’

  I shook my head. The dance was a country dance I’d attempted until now only with the dancing master, and our conversation died as I did my best to mind my steps. I reminded myself that I was not going to be drawn into any confidences with Mr Charleton. I’d already said too much again. It was surprising the way he could always get me to talk about myself.

  ‘Admirable!’ said Charleton as the music finally stopped. ‘My boots are entirely unscathed!’

  ‘You practically issued a challenge to me,’ I explained. ‘I wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of putting that long-suffering expression on your face again.’

  ‘An excellent motivation, if I may say so,’ Charleton responded. ‘More of that and you may learn to dance very creditably in the end.’

  ‘I don’t care whether I do or not, and I can’t imagine why you should,’ I said frankly.

  ‘Nor I, indeed. Perhaps it’s the pleasure of undermining your determination to hate everything about the Bath. Can I fetch you an
y refreshment?’

  ‘If that’s your intention, you will certainly fail,’ I said shortly. I realized with a shock that he had indeed made me forget, for a pleasant half hour, my plan to disgrace myself and to be unpleasant and rude to everyone. His humour had got under my guard and distracted me from my purpose. Across the room, I could see my aunt had forsaken the card room and was standing watching me approvingly. This was a disaster. ‘I want nothing from you, sir,’ I said abruptly to Mr Charleton. ‘Nothing at all.’

  I left him. I had to avoid him completely in future, I realized. I must keep firm to my purpose however unpleasant it was. Otherwise I might awaken expectations of wedding bells in my father’s mind. Unthinkable! But I felt a pang of loss, nonetheless, at the thought of needing to avoid Mr Charleton. I was drawn to him, I had to admit. I suspected it was at least partly because he was a danger to me. I’d always liked to play with fire.

  I returned to the tea room and spotted Sir Oswald with the blonde, dishes of tea in their hands. I grinned to myself and walked close by them, managing to knock the girl’s elbow in passing. She cried out in distress as the tea slopped down her white gown. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ I exclaimed. ‘My dreadful clumsiness. I can’t apologize enough.’

  When we reached home, Aunt Amelia stripped off her gloves and turned to me: ‘Straight to your room, Sophia. I don’t want to see you until tomorrow. You are an embarrassment to me and to yourself. I despair of ever teaching you to behave like a young lady.’

  Taken aback at her severity, so unlike her usual foolish vagueness, I opened my mouth to object. But I could see she was furious and meant what she said. With a slight shrug, I decided to do as I was told. It made little difference to me whether I spent the evening in my room or my aunt’s company; either was equally tedious. And now I had money, I could make up for my lost supper later.

  I roamed the narrow streets that night with a particular purpose in mind. I was looking for two sedan chairmen; the two men, in fact, who had played that unkind trick on my aunt. I asked after them among the other chairmen and was directed to a tavern in Slippery Lane; a most unsavoury part of the city. Unwilling to enter the dirty, dilapidated tavern itself, I waited until the two men emerged, the worse for drink, holding on to one another for balance. They paused when I stepped out of the shadows to speak to them. I could see they recognized me. Neither of them looked remotely pleased to renew their acquaintance with me.

  ‘I have a job for you,’ I told them.

  ‘Well I ain’t working for you till I gets paid the last fare,’ said the warty-nosed man pugnaciously. He was clearly the leader.

  ‘That isn’t going to happen,’ I retorted. ‘You should ask rather why I’d trust you when you tried to cheat us last time.’

  ‘Fair point,’ slurred the second man. ‘Ain’t that a fair point, Sam?’

  ‘Shut up, you. You’re as drunk as a cart horse,’ said his friend impatiently. ‘Let’s go. I ain’t about to stand here being insulted by some chit of a girl.’

  ‘Go then,’ I said calmly as they lurched off. ‘I can see you’re both too stupid for the job I had in mind. Which is a pity, as you’d have earned three guineas.’

  The smaller man tore away from his friend at that, and stood staring at me with his mouth hanging open. ‘Three guineas?’ he stuttered.

  The man called Sam was looking at me too now, his eyes gleaming with greed. ‘What for?’ he demanded.

  I looked him up and down. ‘No,’ I said at last. ‘You haven’t got the guts. Besides, you’re drunk.’

  ‘Seems to me,’ said Sam with a glance around him at the dark street, ‘we could just take the money off you now and be done with it. Who’s to stop us?’

  I folded my arms and stared back at him. ‘You could do that,’ I agreed. ‘If I’d been stupid enough to bring such a sum out with me at night. Whereas in fact if you rob me now, all you will find is a few coppers I’ve brought with me to buy a pie.’

  All three of us stood frozen, wondering who’d give first. I was pitting my wits against two brawny, unprincipled men in a dark alley and hoping I’d planned cleverly enough not to come off badly. I loved the risk and the danger.

  ‘Let’s hear it then,’ said Sam at last.

  I paused, pretending reluctance. ‘You have the courage to extort money from ladies,’ I said at last, ‘but are you brave enough to play a similar trick on a man? I’m not so sure.’

  Both men looked wary. ‘What sort of trick?’ asked Sam.

  ‘I was thinking along the lines of tipping him out of the chair into a particularly muddy puddle or festering rubbish heap. Preferably with witnesses and when he’s wearing his evening clothes. I don’t want him hurt, merely humiliated.’

  The smaller man gave a soundless whistle and his friend looked thoughtful. ‘You’ll pay us three guineas for that? Who’s the geezer you hate so much?’

  ‘His name,’ I said with relish, ‘is Sir Oswald.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  For the ball the next night, I wore a midnight-blue gown with white lace and silver ribbons. Dawes curled and powdered my hair, fastened my pearl necklace around my neck and draped a shawl about me.

  The street was chaotic with sedan-chair arrivals when we reached the Guildhall. People were alighting with great care, the ladies holding their petticoats out of the dirt. It had been raining all the afternoon and a great deal of refuse and mud had collected in the streets and lay putrefying there. I picked my way through it to the entrance. I’d just stepped inside the pillars when a great commotion arose behind me. A crash first; a thud and the sound of splintering wood. This noise was followed by shouts and cries and the air was suddenly full of the kind of language that made my aunt shriek and cover her ears.

  I looked round, curious to see the cause. A scene of chaos met my eyes. A tatty old sedan chair half-stood, half-lay in the dirt of the High Street, one leg snapped off. Its finely-dressed passenger lay sprawled in the road, his fine clothes and his wig generously splattered with filth. A grin spread across my face at the sight of the proud Sir Oswald brought low.

  ‘Come away, Sophia,’ cried my aunt, clutching my arm.

  ‘No, Aunt, they’ve stopped swearing now. Let us see what happens!’ Aunt Amelia didn’t release my arm, but she let me stay. Truth to tell, she was probably eager to watch too.

  Sir Oswald had struggled to his feet with the help of a certain wart-nosed chairman. His fine clothes were covered in muck, and he was bewailing their ruin. Quite a crowd was gathering about him and all traffic had come to a halt around the epicentre of this storm, people watching, calling out comments. ‘Fetch the constable!’ Sir Oswald was crying. ‘These men did this on purpose!’

  ‘No, guv’nor,’ the chairman cried hoarsely. ‘Accident! See—me chair’s broke! And me partner here’s bust ’is leg!’

  For the first time, I noticed the second man sitting in the road, rocking backwards and forwards, moaning, clutching his leg. For a moment I was afraid he had a serious injury, but then I recollected that this was probably all staged to excuse themselves from blame. I was impressed. The men had worked hard for their three guineas.

  ‘They can’t have broken a chair and a leg on purpose, Sir Oswald!’ exclaimed a bystander. ‘Be reasonable!’

  Sir Oswald cast the injured man a cursory glance. ‘Curse you, you clumsy oafs!’ he swore. ‘I shall have to go home now. Someone get me another chair!’

  I didn’t quite follow what happened next, but it looked as though Sir Oswald pushed past my warty friend and then somehow tripped. I saw him stagger in a vain attempt to regain his balance and then go sprawling once more into the mud.

  ‘Oh, the poor man!’ exclaimed my aunt beside me. I didn’t reply, watching joyfully as Sir Oswald picked himself up once more. This time, even his face and wig were smeared and dripping with filth.

  ‘You tripped me, you damned cur!’ he yelled. He picked his cane out of the mud and gave the chairman a blow with it. I could hear the crack of
the stick across the man’s back. The feeling in the crowd veered sharply against Sir Oswald and in favour of the chairmen.

  ‘Leave the poor man alone!’ people were shouting.

  ‘I never tripped you, sir, your worship!’ The chairman denied the accusation hotly, whilst cringing against further blows. ‘You fell, sir!’

  Sir Oswald began to swear again, and once more my aunt tugged on my arm. ‘We all saw you trip, Sir Oswald,’ said Mr Charleton, who had strolled up to the group on his way to the ball. ‘Let these poor men get to a doctor and clear away this broken chair. The whole High Street is blocked; the traffic backed up halfway down Cheap Street.’

  Charleton was as immaculate as ever in his evening clothes: a long cloak, high heels and long-bottomed wig, a sword at his side, a complete contrast to the dripping and unfortunate Sir Oswald.

  ‘I didn’t ask for your damned interference, Charleton,’ swore Sir Oswald, wiping the filth from his face with a handkerchief. ‘I’ll get a constable on these men, I tell you.’

  ‘Aw, take a damper, gov’nor!’ called out another chairman. ‘They was injured in the course o’ their duty, and you oughta be sorry for ’em, not make a fuss cos you got a bit of mud on your pretty clothes!’

  The chairmen rallied around now, circling their unfortunate colleagues and shielding them from Sir Oswald’s anger. In his fury, he snapped his cane across his knee, threw it into the kennel, in which murky water trickled down the middle of the street, and stalked off. Except that it isn’t easy to stalk in a dignified manner in high heels on a cobbled street. His departure was punctuated by stumbles and oaths. There was guilty laughter and suppressed merriment in the crowd. ‘Well, that was as good as a play!’ exclaimed my aunt, summing up the general feeling. ‘Come, Sophia. Let’s go inside now!’

  I obeyed willingly, pausing at the entrance to the ballroom to shake out my petticoats. I was triumphant. First my father, then the blonde, and now the obnoxious Sir Oswald. Was anyone else keen to thwart me? I was ready to take on all comers.