The Girl in the Mask

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  ‘Like Aphra Behn!’ I whispered. ‘You’re a spy!’

  Mr Charleton was looking around the edge of the screen, and suddenly caught his breath. ‘Sophia, our friend Hades has just given your aunt a note. I need to know what it says. As soon as possible. She’s putting it … in her reticule.’

  I nodded, my eyes lighting with excitement behind my mask. Then I remembered the captain’s words: ‘Mr Charleton, could they be planning something for tonight? He said … ’ I frowned trying to remember the words. ‘He said something like tomorrow will be a new beginning in more ways than one. You will awake to a new world; a cleansed world. It will be a new start.’

  Mr Charleton’s eyes were on me, though his expression was hidden behind that enigmatic black-and-gold mask. ‘Sophia, go,’ he said urgently. ‘Get that note for me, but make sure you’re not detected. I’ll come and find you when you have it.’

  ‘Do you have a piece of paper I can have?’ I asked him. Understanding a part of my plan at once, he pulled a tablet from his coat pocket, tore a sheet from it and gave it to me.

  I stepped out into the ballroom again and began threading my way through the crowd towards Aunt Amelia. The edges of the ballroom were tightly packed with people chatting and watching the dancers. It was slow work to get through them. To my surprise, several gentlemen stopped me and asked me to dance with them. My costume was clearly a success. And clearly also a good disguise, since most of the men now asking would normally not come near me. I smiled to myself, refused them all politely and finally reached my aunt’s side, holding the folded paper in the palm of my hand. My heart was beating fast with the thrill of the task I’d been given: I was a real spy, like the famous Aphra Behn herself.

  ‘Sophia, where have you been?’ my aunt asked. ‘The captain is looking for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, holding my hand to my head and feigning dizziness. ‘But I don’t seem to be feeling very well. In fact, I … ’ I collapsed. As I did so, I hooked one finger into the drawstring of her reticule at her wrist.

  There is no way to fall either elegantly or modestly wearing a hoop. I fear quite a number of the gentlemen in the room caught a glimpse of my stockings and possibly more. But I succeeded in both my aims: firstly the drawstring of my aunt’s reticule snapped and it fell off her wrist, scattering its contents onto the ballroom floor. Secondly my aunt was so shocked and humiliated by my making such a spectacle of myself that she shrieked, cast her wheat sheaf aside and attempted to tug me to my feet rather than gathering her things. I made myself limp and lay like a dead weight on the floor.

  ‘Wake up, Sophia!’ she cried, bending over me. Peeping under my lashes, I saw her grab her smelling salts. Uncorking them, she thrust the phial under my nose. I choked and feigned waking, confused. As I sat up, I rested my hand on top of the slip of paper that had fallen from her reticule. It was almost done. I just needed a momentary distraction to make my aunt look away from me. Mr Charleton provided it: ‘Is Persephone quite well?’ enquired his calm voice somewhere above me.

  Aunt Amelia looked up at him, and I caught the piece of folded paper up in my hand and dropped the other onto the floor in its place. It was the work of an instant. By the time my aunt looked back at me, I was already attempting to rise.

  ‘Allow me,’ said Mr Charleton, taking one of my hands in his, and slipping his free arm about my waist. He lifted me easily to my feet, and supported me there a moment. I leaned against him as though still faint, and felt him take the paper unobtrusively from me. He then took my fan from my wrist and began to fan me gently. ‘It’s very crowded and overheated in here, Persephone,’ he was saying. ‘I’m not surprised you were overcome. You’ll be better directly.’

  My aunt was picking up the contents of her reticule, stuffing them back in; the note was the first thing she retrieved. With luck she would pass it on without noticing it was now a blank piece of paper.

  Mr Charleton found me a chair by the wall and handed me into it. ‘You seem better now,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you to the care of your aunt.’

  He left my side, and was soon lost in the crowd. I didn’t see where he disappeared to, for my aunt was fussing about the dust on my white gown. ‘Look! Just look at this mark!’ she wailed. I twisted about and looked obediently. ‘Oh, Aunt,’ I sighed. ‘It’s nothing that won’t come out with a little brushing.’

  ‘Fainting on the floor of the ballroom!’ she exclaimed tearfully. ‘You will always be doing something shocking, Sophia! It’s lucky for you your father wasn’t here to witness your behaviour!’

  ‘But indeed, I couldn’t help feeling ill!’ I exclaimed. ‘Where is father?’ I asked, looking around for him.

  ‘In the card room playing at ombre with the captain,’ said my aunt with a frown. ‘I’ve warned him, but he won’t listen to me.’

  ‘Warned him about what, Aunt?’ I asked, thinking it was ironic if my aunt had warned my father against playing at cards when she did little else herself.

  ‘Against playing with the captain,’ said my aunt, unusually forthcoming. ‘Like Beau Nash, it’s how he supports himself. You don’t think he lives in such style on his army pension, do you? Only, unlike the Beau, he has no kindness in him. He does not hesitate to ruin fools who would game away their fortune.’

  She stopped abruptly as Beau Nash himself arrived to enquire how I did after being taken ill. Aunt Amelia, greatly discomposed at having almost been caught speaking disrespectfully of the great man, blushed. I rose and curtseyed, however, and assured Mr Nash that I was very well now.

  ‘Please do not risk dancing again tonight, Miss Williams,’ the Beau begged. ‘It will not do to have young ladies fainting away at the Bath balls.’

  ‘I promise you I won’t, sir,’ I assured him. He bowed and turned to my aunt, engaging her in polite conversation. I took the opportunity to slip away and searched for Mr Charleton. But among all the bright and exotic costumes in the ballroom, I could no longer see the black and gold mask, nor the gold-winged shoes. My aunt was still talking, and my father and the captain apparently still busy gambling. It was time for me to go.

  I would like to have found out what was in the note. I should like to have spoken to Mr Charleton one more time. But it was not to be. I walked quietly from the room, went down the grand staircase, collected my cloak and left the building. No one tried to stop me, no one appeared even to notice that I was leaving. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

  The air was cool outside. The summer was definitely drawing to a close. I pulled off my mask, wrapped my cloak about me, and tried not to think about how I would fare alone with winter coming on. Nothing could be worse than what my father planned for me. And I had a feeling I would be able to look after myself.

  My first destination was the pawnshop, open at all hours for the desperate and destitute. I needed to part with my beautiful gown. I couldn’t repress a smile when I imagined how furious my father and Captain Mould would be if they discovered what I’d done with my costly wedding gown.

  I’d barely taken ten steps when I saw Mr Charleton ahead of me. He was standing quietly at the corner of the Guildhall, watching something around the corner. The gold wings had disappeared from his shoes and he had wrapped a plain black cloak over his gold laced coat. His mask dangled from one hand.

  I paused and then walked hesitantly towards him. But before I could reach him, he vanished around the corner. He was walking like someone who didn’t wish to be observed. My curiosity aroused, I followed him, stepping up to the corner of the building as he had done, and peeping round it. At first the street appeared empty, but then I caught a flash of movement, and spotted a dark shadow with a hint of gold disappearing down some steps into what looked like a basement of the Guildhall. He paused for a few moments at the door, bent over the keyhole, and then went inside.

  This time I hesitated longer before following. Perhaps he was on some secret business, and I’d be in the way. But my curiosity and my wish to see him one last t
ime won. I stepped around the corner and ran lightly down the steps after him.

  The door opened easily and silently. I slipped inside with a rustling of petticoats and closed it softly behind me. It was almost dark, only the flicker of a torch shining in through a small window. I descended the staircase and followed the silent corridor.

  A heavy wooden door barred my way and creaked when I opened it. A stale, musty blast of air hit me in the face; the dank smell of the Bath basements, tinged with the rotten-egg stink that was characteristic of the city.

  The corridor divided here. I stood still, uncertain which way to go. A door stood ajar just to my right, so I stepped inside, trying to make out the room in the gloom. I’d only just seen the shape of barrels piled up together when I was grasped from behind, a strong arm wrapped tightly around me and a hand clamped over my mouth so that I could scarcely breathe.

  ‘Sophia, what the devil are you doing down here?’ Mr Charleton breathed in my ear.

  I sagged with relief, sighing as he released me. ‘I followed you … ’ I began, but he clapped his hand over my mouth again.

  ‘Whisper,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who else is down here.’

  ‘I was looking for you to say goodbye,’ I whispered obediently. ‘And to ask what was in the note.’

  He released me, clicking his tongue with annoyance. ‘You have no sense of danger!’ he exclaimed. ‘And next time you want to creep up on someone, don’t wear so many petticoats! The note contained information that led me down here. And just as well, by the look of it.’

  He went across to the barrels, forced one open and appeared to be examining the contents. I wasn’t sure how he could see a thing in this gloom and was about to say so when he exclaimed under his breath: ‘Great God!’ He returned to my side. ‘Sophia, I’m glad you’re here after all. I’m going to need your help.’

  His words sent a surge of excitement through me. My flight from the city and the pawnbroker were both forgotten in an instant. I was a spy once more. ‘What do I need to do?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘Take a chair straight to Mr Allen’s lodgings,’ he said. ‘He’s at number seven Lilliput Alley.’ He reached into his coat pocket for his purse. ‘Here’s a shilling to cover the fare. Listen carefully now; this is important. He must instantly send a message to General Wade that he’s to move into the city at once. Not wait until later, as we agreed earlier. Tell him there’s a quantity of gunpowder and fuses beneath the Guildhall, and that I shall stay here and guard it until he gets to me. He must come here first, and deal with the cache at Slippery Lane afterwards. Do you understand me? Can you repeat it?’

  Reeling with shock at the seriousness of both the message and the threat to the city, I repeated everything back to him. ‘Should all the people at the masquerade upstairs be warned?’ I asked in a shaking voice.

  ‘I think not,’ said Charleton. ‘They can’t possibly be intending to blow the place up with so many people inside; a number of them loyal supporters. Our sources suggest that the main attack is planned for tomorrow. Now go!’

  I nodded, only partly reassured, and turned away, clutching the shilling. Mr Charleton was drawing his sword and stationing himself by the door. ‘Please take care,’ I whispered. I was afraid for him down here in the dark with all that gunpowder right next to him.

  ‘Go!’

  Embarrassed, I turned and fled back down the dark corridors towards the stairs. I was halfway up them when I heard the sounds of voices on the other side of the door. I froze in horror, and saw the handle turning. As quietly as I could, I whisked myself through a doorway and hid behind it; I stood completely still, trying to quiet my breathing. Any movement at all would set my petticoats rustling again.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened and several pairs of feet descended. Male voices spoke in urgent but hushed tones. The only words I caught were ‘left it open, you idiot’. A faint grating sound followed.

  I thought I recognized Captain Mould’s voice and felt sick. The men were heading straight for where Mr Charleton was waiting. I had no way to warn him. I peeped out after they’d passed me but could make out only a group of shadowy figures in the gloom. There was nothing I could do to help, I realized, except carry the message to Mr Allen as fast as I could. Accordingly, I lifted my voluminous petticoats and ran softly out of the room, and up the stairs. When I reached the door and turned the handle, however, it wouldn’t budge. I tried again, convinced I must be mistaken. It still didn’t open. Panic rising, I twisted it this way and that, pulling, pushing, and shaking it. It was locked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The sounds of shouting and raised voices reached me from the room where the gunpowder lay. I turned, feeling blind in the darkness and utterly helpless. Mr Charleton was relying on me to carry his message, and I was trapped. I heard a clash of steel and knew that they were fighting.

  Hurriedly, I searched the other rooms to see if any of them had a door that led outside, but it was pointless. I remembered perfectly well that the outside of the building only had one doorway. There were no windows, only a grille high above my head that opened onto the street above. I couldn’t shout for help however, for the rebels would certainly hear me before anybody outside did.

  I was at a loss. What could I do? There must be something. The sound of footsteps running back towards me made me realize my main task: to remain undiscovered. If I was caught, too, there was no chance of doing anything to help. To conceal myself, I pushed behind an old cabinet that had been deposited down here to rot, one of its doors hanging off the hinges. There were spiders’ webs, dust and dirt, but I ignored them, crouching a little, for the cabinet was barely taller than I was. I wished my hair hadn’t been dressed so high and that my gown and cloak were not so brilliantly white; it was a bad colour for hiding in the dark.

  The footsteps came right into the room where I was and paused. I held my breath. There was such a long silence that I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. But then the door banged shut and the footsteps moved on. I heard a voice call: ‘There’s no one else down here!’

  I let out my breath in a long sigh of relief, but remained motionless, listening. A spider crawled onto my neck, tickling it, and I brushed it away with a shudder. Still I didn’t move from my hiding place. There were footsteps running backwards and forwards, and the clatter of something heavy. Once I heard someone cry out, and my heart jumped into my mouth, for I was sure it was Mr Charleton. The thought that they might hurt him, or even kill him, made me feel desperate.

  It was some time before the pairs of feet went back past my room towards the cellar steps. The sound of running followed them and a shouted warning. The men left the cellar and banged the door behind them. This time I clearly heard the key grate in the lock. Their footsteps and voices came to me once more as they passed swiftly along the street above me and faded.

  Had they all gone, or had they left someone down here? Had they taken Mr Charleton with them, leaving me alone? I had to find out at once. I wriggled out of my hiding place, and crept from the room. All was quiet except for a soft hissing sound in the distance. I paused a moment listening, but it wasn’t a sound I recognized. I walked cautiously down the corridor. I was hampered by my petticoats that hushed and rustled as I walked, swaying and brushing the walls of the narrow passageway. I cursed the ill-chance that had set me on this adventure in such unsuitable clothing.

  I turned the corner and thought there was an acrid smell of burning in the air. It was faint, but definitely there. Thinking of all that gunpowder, I quickened my pace. The door to the room where I’d left Mr Charleton was open, and a thread of ash led into it. I paused, afraid I might be running into a trap. There was a sort of glimmering, sparkling light coming from the room.

  I walked in to see Mr Charleton tied to a chair and gagged. He convulsed frantically at the sight of me, fighting his bonds, and rolling his eyes. I ran to him at once, but he shook his head desperately, making unintelligible sounds and looking at
something to my left.

  I turned to look, and my heart stopped in horror. The sparkling light was moving swiftly across the floor towards the barrels. I stood staring at it, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. One part of my mind was telling me stupidly what a pretty light it was, like a small firework. Another was screaming at me that it was a fuse. It would cause a much bigger firework in a few moments; one that would blow half this building to pieces, and I was in a room with it.

  I tried to run towards it with an indefinite idea of putting it out. But it was as if I was in a nightmare. My limbs were heavy and unresponsive. I was running through water. My mind was frozen in shock while the fuse moved at an appalling speed away from me towards the heaped barrels. It was not even the thought of my own death that paralysed me, though that passed through my mind. It was all those hundreds of people above me, dancing, talking and playing cards, completely unsuspecting. And the knowledge that Mr Charleton was tied up behind me, as helpless as I was to escape our fate.

  Something freed up inside me, and I was moving, running, picking up my petticoats and stamping my fashionable white shoe down onto that brightly burning fuse. The spark escaped from under my foot and kept burning. I stamped again. It faltered, but then brightened again. The gunpowder was very close now and my heart was in my throat.

  The third time, I ground my shoe onto the spark and kept it there, holding all my weight down on that foot. I could feel the heat through my sole. The hissing stopped and the silence seemed loud around me. Slowly, carefully, dreading what I might see, I lifted my foot from the fuse. There was nothing there but a smoky pile of ash. We were in semi-darkness once more.

  To be safe, I picked up the fuse and pulled it away from the gunpowder. It came free in my hand, a frighteningly short piece, and I threw it out of the room into the corridor beyond. I was dizzy with relief.

  I turned back to Mr Charleton who sat slumped in his chair. I hurried to his back to free his hands. The knots were pulled so tight that I couldn’t loosen them, no matter how hard I tugged and dug my nails into the fibre of the rope. I stood up to untie the gag instead. It too was tied cruelly tight and I had to tug and work at it to loosen it, but at last it came free.