The Girl in the Mask

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  ‘My apologies,’ I responded. ‘I was unavoidably delayed. Your three guineas,’ I added as I handed him his fee. ‘And an extra guinea for the blow Sir Oswald gave you. His downfall was a spectacle to gladden the heart of his every enemy.’

  Sam’s eyes gleamed as he palmed the money. ‘My pleasure. But there’s the question of my poor colleague.’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘He’s in the hospital with a broken leg. Can’t walk, can’t work. And him with a missus and seven little ’uns to keep. And me with no partner for the chair. Not to mention repair to the chair what got broken.’ The man sighed deeply and held out his palm suggestively.

  I felt a moment’s real shock. I’d been so sure they’d been faking the broken leg. It had been no part of my plan for anyone to be injured, not even the vile Sir Oswald. I looked closely at Sam. His eyes shifted. I decided he was lying. ‘I don’t believe you. That wasn’t your usual chair; I’ll bet it was an old one you found especially. I’ve already given you an extra guinea. There’s not a penny more,’ I told him. ‘You needed to take your expenses into account when you took on the job.’

  I’d barely finished speaking before I was seized from behind. A hand was clamped over my mouth and I was held tightly. As I struggled, Sam swiftly searched my pockets and gown for money. I writhed furiously as his hands ran over my body. ‘She’s telling the truth,’ he said to his unseen companion, who swore angrily.

  ‘Let’s have her gown then,’ he growled in my ear. ‘That’ll be worth a fair bit.’

  I was furious at myself for having been caught out. How had the man managed to sneak up on me without my noticing? And now the humiliation of being undressed and being forced to return home semi-naked stared me in the face. But the image had barely formed in my mind before there was a shout behind me.

  I was released so abruptly that I staggered and nearly fell. I managed to catch hold of the wall just in time to save myself from a descent into the mire reminiscent of Sir Oswald’s. As I recovered my balance, I saw the man fleeing down the street was Sam’s fellow-chairman. His broken leg had made a remarkable recovery.

  ‘Are you hurt, madam?’ asked a concerned voice as my arm was taken in a strong, supportive hold. I looked up to see the kindly face of Mr Allen looking down into mine. ‘Why, Miss Williams!’ he cried, recognizing me.

  ‘Mr Allen!’ I exclaimed. ‘No, I’m not hurt. But I’m very glad to see you.’

  Mr Allen’s companion was chasing the chairmen with greater agility than they showed in running away. I watched him leap over a pile of refuse after Sam, keeping his balance on the slippery cobbles in his elegant boots. He caught Sam by the collar of his coat, swung him round with considerable force, and pinned him up against the wall. Swiftly, the man drew his sword and held it to the chairman’s chest.

  He turned briefly towards me and I saw it was Mr Charleton. I’d always thought of him as a fine dandy, and was surprised to see him so fierce. ‘What did he steal from you, Miss Williams?’ Mr Charleton demanded. Keeping the sword point levelled at Sam’s heart, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of gold guineas. ‘Are these yours?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no; they must belong to him! He stole nothing from me!’ I cried. The man had behaved despicably, but I couldn’t rob him of the money he’d earned fairly from me. ‘Indeed, he didn’t hurt me at all. Please let him go.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Mr Charleton sounded taken aback.

  ‘Really,’ I assured him. ‘I’m truly grateful to you, but there’s no harm done.’

  Mr Charleton lowered his sword but still glared at his captive. ‘You had better not approach this young lady ever again,’ he warned. ‘Or it’ll be the worse for you.’ He released him and Sam made off as fast as he could. His companion had already made himself scarce.

  ‘What are you doing in such a street?’ asked Mr Charleton returning to me. He took hold of my arm and shook it slightly, a look of black suspicion on his face. ‘What have you been about, Miss Williams?’

  I stood silent, afraid he’d guessed the truth. What I’d done was bad indeed, I reflected, now I was faced with discovery. But Mr Allen interrupted: ‘Come, Charleton! Miss Williams has had a fright. Don’t upset her more!’ He turned to me and smiled kindly. ‘Did you get lost?’ he asked gently.

  ‘That’s right,’ I agreed, smiling at Mr Allen, relieved to have such a reasonable excuse. ‘I was on my way to the post office, Mr Allen,’ I explained earnestly. ‘But then I took a wrong turning and lost my way.’

  ‘I hope you’ll allow us to walk you home now,’ said Mr Allen at once. ‘You should avoid this part of the city, it’s no fit place for a lady.’

  ‘But what are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘How did you happen to come along just in time to rescue me?’ The two men exchanged a quick glance.

  ‘We had some … business here,’ said Mr Allen. Surprised, I opened my mouth to ask more, but Mr Charleton interrupted.

  ‘You’re a young lady and shouldn’t walk alone at all,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised your aunt allows it.’

  ‘You weren’t carrying a purse?’ asked Mr Allen offering me his arm. When I shook my head he added: ‘That was fortunate, for the rogues would quite likely have robbed you of it.’

  ‘Finding I had none, they planned to steal my gown instead,’ I admitted ruefully as we began to walk towards home. Mr Charleton frowned at me.

  ‘That would have taught you a sharp lesson,’ he said sternly. Then he seemed to shake off his severity and go for a lighter note: ‘And we would have had our chivalry far more rigorously tested in escorting you home, hey, Allen? There was a real danger we’d have made a run for it instead.’

  ‘No … no, indeed,’ stammered Allen, embarrassed. ‘I would never leave a lady to fend for herself in such circumstances.’

  ‘Then you’re a better man than I,’ said Charleton.

  ‘I do believe, Mr Charleton, that you would take escorting a scantily-clad female quite calmly,’ I remarked. ‘After all, there is nothing you like better than to play knight errant to damsels in distress.’

  ‘Only the one damsel, Miss Williams,’ he replied with great courtesy. I knew he was just teasing me, indeed only a moment ago he had seemed quite angry, but his words brought a little colour to my cheeks nonetheless.

  It was most unfortunate that our arrival home coincided with my aunt’s descent from a sedan chair outside our front door. She was astonished to see me. ‘Allow us to restore your niece safely to you, madam,’ said Mr Charleton with a graceful bow.

  ‘Res … store? Safe … safely?’ gibbered my aunt, pulling out her vinaigrette and taking a fortifying sniff. ‘Wh-what … ?’

  ‘Oh it was nothing!’ I assured her, trying in vain to catch Mr Charleton’s eye to warn him not to say more. ‘I went for a short walk, and became a little lost. These kind gentlemen showed me the way home; that is all.’

  Mr Charleton’s eyes twinkled a little. ‘That’s right, ma’am. She assures us she was neither hurt nor robbed.’

  I felt a strong inclination to kick him in the shins. ‘You’ll take the greatest care of her, ma’am, I know,’ Mr Charleton continued, still ignoring me. ‘Perhaps Miss Williams might benefit from taking the waters with you in the mornings? You need to keep her close to keep her out of mischief, I believe.’

  I gasped. ‘No, by God!’ I swore angrily.

  ‘Sophia!’ shrieked Aunt Amelia. ‘Sirs, I apologize for my niece. You are absolutely right. I shall not let her out of my sight again. Thank you for your kind assistance and advice, Mr Charleton. And … er … Mr … ?’ She looked reluctantly at my other rescuer.

  ‘This is Mr Allen,’ said Mr Charleton at once. ‘Our excellent postmaster.’

  My aunt looked Mr Allen over, took in his plain, modest clothing and his neat tie wig both proclaiming the professional man, not the gentleman of leisure, and accorded him only the tiniest of curtsies and a stiff nod. Clearly she would not waste her civility on a mere pos
tmaster. I felt ashamed of her, and turned to Mr Allen, offering him my hand, hoping to make up for her rudeness. ‘Thank you so much for escorting me home,’ I said warmly.

  Mr Allen took my hand, bowed over it and murmured something polite. I then picked up my petticoats and swept into the house without giving Mr Charleton a second glance. I couldn’t help hearing him say, ‘That’ll teach me!’ and laugh softly. I gritted my teeth in annoyance and wished I could hear what he was saying to my aunt. I realized I’d made a strategic error in withdrawing from the scene without first getting rid of the enemy.

  Sure enough, I had to endure a long telling off from my aunt as a consequence of the encounter. ‘Really, Sophia, I do not know what the matter is with you,’ she said crossly, seating herself on the settle and sniffing vigorously at her salts. ‘You go from one scrape to another! What were you thinking of, going out alone? You know you’re forbidden to do so! When I think what could have happened! You cannot be trusted to spend as much as five minutes alone. That much is clear. I shall take Mr Charleton’s advice. Tomorrow, you’ll accompany me to the baths!’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The next morning, Dawes came to my room at a quarter to six, wrapped a morning gown about my nightgown, tied back my hair and then sent me downstairs. She was serving me in hostile silence; I wasn’t forgiven for my tantrum or the wreck of my wardrobe the previous day.

  My aunt awaited me, attired as I was, but with the addition of a large black turban tied around her head. None of my arguments, entreaties, or promises had prevailed with my aunt. She’d remained adamant that she could no longer leave me alone in the mornings. She’d clutched her vinaigrette and threatened a fit of the vapours, but I was becoming convinced this apparent weakness was mere affectation. Beneath it I sensed a sternness of purpose and a determination to have her own way that made me question my previous reading of her character.

  As we left the house to climb into sedan chairs, I noticed a tall young man lounging against the railings of next door’s house. I glanced curiously across at him. With a start of pleasure, I recognized Bill Smith. I wanted to run to him at once, but the watchful eye of my aunt made me hesitate.

  Instead, I let fall my pocket handkerchief as I walked to the chair. Bill grasped the hint quickly, stepped forward to pick it up and presented it to me with a bow.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said aloud, then lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘Bill! Can you write to me care of Mr Allen? I can’t speak now.’

  ‘Sophia!’ called my aunt sharply.

  Bill gave a tiny nod, and then stepped back. ‘You’re welcome, Miss,’ he said.

  I climbed hurriedly into my chair and was carried away, hoping that Bill understood my predicament.

  We were greeted on arrival at the Queen’s Bath by attendants who ushered us into small, cramped changing rooms. I shed my nightgown for a stiff, canvas monstrosity that billowed about me like a large tent. I objected strongly to its colour and smell: the deep yellow stain of many trips into the mineral-rich spa waters and the throat-catching stink of rotten eggs.

  ‘Must I really?’ I asked my aunt one more time as we emerged from the changing cubicles into the fog and fetid steam near the waters. ‘Can’t I wait for you here while you bathe?’ I looked distastefully at the murky brown waters in which a number of canvas-clad men and women, most of them elderly, were already floating around. I felt sick at the thought of getting into the great stone bath.

  ‘Nonsense, child,’ snapped my aunt irritably. Then she seemed to regain command over herself and smiled at me. ‘It’s for your own good, Sophia,’ she said in her usual tone. ‘Your father trusts me to care for you and you persist in being disobedient.’

  I looked at her uneasily. It was almost as though my aunt were wearing a mask. It slipped from time to time, revealing a different person underneath. She turned from me, descended carefully into the steaming water and floated away without another word.

  Gingerly, I dipped one toe into the water. It was surprisingly hot. I placed one foot on the first step. The stone was repulsively slimy underfoot. Slowly, reluctantly, I lowered myself into the steaming, stinking water, trying not to think of all the diseases that were probably floating around in it. My canvas gown billowed about me. I drifted around a little, at a loss for what to do with myself. I wished this whole experience to be over as soon as possible.

  As I moved across the pool, my aunt’s face emerged through the steam. She was in earnest conversation with two men. One was one of her partners at cards: the sallow man whom I normally recognized by his distinctly shabby clothes. The other was Captain Mould, looking greyer and more sinister than ever through the swirling steam, beads of moisture collecting on his moustaches. He was talking fast, his face expressing no emotion at all, while my aunt and the other man listened intently. My aunt saw me approaching and nudged Captain Mould significantly. He stopped speaking at once and turned to me, his face growing even blanker as his eyes met mine. ‘Why, Miss Williams,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘What a delight to see you here. I hope your decision to take the waters is not due to any ailment?’

  I disclaimed, and did my best to withdraw from the conversation, but was not permitted to do so. ‘You manage to make the costume of the baths positively fetching, Miss Williams,’ Captain Mould remarked tonelessly. ‘The flush from the steam has given you roses.’

  I didn’t believe a word he said. I wasn’t sure he intended me to. Even in the heat and steam of the water, his presence sent chills down my spine. I was relieved when at last I was allowed to leave the water and shed the revolting canvas gown. I towelled myself dry, wishing I could rub the sulphur smell off my skin, and wrapped my morning gown about me once more. It’s over now, I told myself.

  I was wrong about my ordeal being over. From the baths, my aunt led me into the pump room. A great crowd of bathers was gathered there, inelegantly clad in morning robes, all of them with that steamy, scorched look the hot waters gave. A distinct aroma of sulphur clung to them still. My aunt led me to the pump, where she purchased a glass of the spa waters for each of us. I stared at the cloudy liquid in distaste. I could smell the rotten eggs without lifting it to my mouth.

  ‘I’ve just been bathing in that,’ I objected. ‘And so have all those other people. I’m not drinking it!’

  ‘You are under a misapprehension, Miss Williams,’ said Captain Mould in his level voice. ‘This water is taken from the spring, before it passes into the bath. It is quite clean, and remarkably beneficial, we are told.’

  ‘By whom?’ I asked suspiciously.

  He smiled. At least I assumed it was a smile. He could equally have been baring his teeth at me. ‘Our doctors themselves recommend it. Our good Queen Anne once obtained the gift of good health from these waters. Long live her rightful heirs and the true King of England!’

  My aunt frowned at him, but he responded with his usual bland look and took a pinch of snuff. He’d shown his politics very clearly; King George the First was not a descendant of Queen Anne, even I knew that much. I made a non-committal noise in my throat and made no move to drink from my glass. My aunt sipped at hers with a look of great concentration on her face. I thought of being forced to accompany her here every morning and my heart sank.

  On our return home, Mr Charleton was just emerging from his own house across the street. Seeing me dressed for the baths, he gave a satisfied smile and tipped his hat to me. My aunt curtsied in return, but I pretended I hadn’t seen him and went indoors in silence. It was the last glimpse I saw of him for some time. After this meeting, he seemed to vanish from the Bath altogether. Did that disappoint me? I was too angry with him to miss him at first, but gradually admitted to myself that the city was dull without him.

  Meanwhile I found myself completely tied to my aunt’s routine. When I finally managed to escape her supervision for half an hour one afternoon to run to the post office, Mr Allen was absent. ‘Did you say your name was Sophia Williams?’ asked Mr Allen’s assistant,
looking at me over her spectacles.

  ‘That’s right,’ I agreed hopefully.

  ‘Mr Allen asked me to give you this,’ she said, putting a screw of paper into my hand with ‘Miss S. Williams’ scrawled across it in an unformed, semi-legible hand. She handed me a letter too, and to my great joy I recognized Jack’s writing at long last. I handed over the payment to receive the letters and with a hurried word of thanks, I left the post office. I opened the note whilst walking swiftly back home.

  I folded the note up and stuffed it into my sleeve, arriving home breathlessly a bare five minutes before Aunt Amelia came downstairs from a rare afternoon nap. I was sitting with my stitching in my hand and a book of sermons open before me when she came into the room. She gave me an approving look and I bent my head over my work to hide a smile.

  Although I was relieved to hear from Bill, I had no idea when I’d be able to contact him. I also needed to find Jenny and ask her whether she was willing to meet him. I had no wish to incur her anger again.

  It wasn’t until bedtime that I had an opportunity to read Jack’s letter. It was brief: a scrawled account of army life which was obviously suiting him. He’d signed it ‘your loving cousin, Jack’, and I treasured his words, glad for his sake that he was so happy.

  * * *

  The days passed without another opportunity to leave the house alone. My aunt seemed tireless, not needing to rest during the day nor stirring from the house without me. Although she still spent her afternoons in play at Harrison’s, I could no longer slip away from there either, as she now had a willing deputy-chaperone in the shape of Captain Mould, who watched me closely.

  It was quite astonishing how fatiguing doing almost nothing could be. I’d been active and busy all my life without ever experiencing exhaustion. And yet the round of social nothings, the endless chatter, the trifling, insipid activities that made up daily life at the Bath, wore me out completely. I had nothing to live for, nothing to hope for and it drained my energy as exertion had never done.