Animating Maria

by Beaton, M. C.

  She did not ring for her maid but dressed herself carefully in an outfit Yvette had created for her. It consisted of a cambric high gown covered with a Spanish robe of pea-green muslin worn with a winged mob-cap of white crepe under a beehive bonnet of moss straw, Limerick gloves, and green kid Spanish slippers.

  She went downstairs and told a footman to fetch her a chair, for it was raining lightly outside and she did not want her dress soiled by entering a hackney carriage from the muddy street.

  The footman wondered whether he should ask her where she was going, for it was odd that miss did not have her maid with her, but felt such a question might be considered impertinent.

  When two Irish chairmen entered the hall carrying the sedan chair on its long poles, the footman listened to see if he could hear where Miss Kendall was going, but she told the chairmen she would give them directions once they were outside.

  She was borne at a great rate through the rainy streets as her bearers ran along the pavements shouting, ‘Make way!’ and showing every sign of being prepared to knock anyone who did not heed their warning into the kennel.

  They carried their burden straight into the main hall of the duke’s town house in Cavendish Square. Self-conscious under the eyes of the duke’s stern butler and a row of liveried footmen, Maria paid off the chairmen and presented her card.

  She was led into a library and told to wait. Above the library fireplace was a portrait of the duke’s father. He had a look of surprise on his painted face as if wondering what such a common interloper as Maria Kendall was doing calling on his son.

  Then the door to the library was held open again by the butler and the Duke of Berham walked in.

  4

  I have misus’d the king’s press damnably.

  William Shakespeare

  Here was not the faded aristocrat of Maria’s recent imaginings but a handsome, virile man. His thick fair hair was cut in the Brutus crop and his coat of biscuit-coloured superfine was moulded to his powerful shoulders.

  He made Maria a low bow, insolent in its court depth and elaboration. ‘Miss Kendall,’ he said. ‘I am indeed honoured. What brings you here?’

  He felt sure he knew what had brought her. She had come to apologize for her lies, which had forced Amy Tribble to act as Captain Jack Freemantle.

  Maria did not answer immediately. She was gazing at him searchingly. She knew now that whatever had prompted the duke to insert that announcement in the newspapers, it was not passion.

  ‘May I sit down, your grace?’ she asked after a long silence.

  He ushered her into a chair and then sat down opposite her.

  ‘I was shocked to see the announcement of our forthcoming marriage in the papers this morning,’ said Maria. The duke went very still.

  ‘I have not seen the papers yet,’ he said. ‘You are come early. If there is such an announcement, be assured that mad Amy Tribble put it there. I shall consult my lawyers.’ He rang the bell. When the butler answered, he asked him to send Mr Jessey immediately.

  ‘My secretary shall send another notice, publicly stating I have been the victim of a wicked trick,’ said the duke icily.

  Maria sat frozen with dismay. Was this how Amy had planned to get revenge?

  Mr Jessey entered. ‘There is an announcement in the newspapers this morning,’ began the duke, ‘to the effect that I am to wed Miss Kendall.’

  ‘I hope I had all the facts correct,’ said Mr Jessey earnestly. ‘I wished to consult you on the matter, but her grace said you did not wish to be troubled with it.’

  ‘Her grace? My mother? Surely you must be mistaken.’

  ‘No, your grace, I was instructed to place that announcement in all the newspapers.’

  ‘Where is her grace?’

  ‘She has gone to stay with Lady Humphrey at Cheltenham,’ said Mr Jessey. ‘Did her grace not tell you of this?’

  The duke shook his head in bewilderment. Then he said, ‘That will be all, Mr Jessey. But do not leave the house. I may need you shortly.’

  When the secretary had left, the duke said savagely, ‘All women ought to be locked up when they reach the age of forty-five. First Amy Tribble challenges me to a duel, and now my own mother has set out to make me a laughing-stock.’

  ‘A duel?’ asked Maria. ‘What duel? Is that why Miss Amy is wounded?’

  ‘So you do not know. You amaze me. Miss Amy decided to act the part of that figment of your imagination, Captain Jack Freemantle. She dressed the part and challenged me to a duel. Thinking her a man, I put a ball through her arm.’

  ‘Oh, how brave of her!’ cried Maria. ‘How very brave.’

  He leaned forward and said in measured tones, ‘I think the reason I have never married is because I think women are all mad. Are you not shocked that a seemingly respectable spinster should behave in such a scandalous way? Or did you pay her to do it?’

  ‘I told her about those scurrilous lies you had been circulating about me,’ said Maria, her eyes flashing. ‘I had no man to defend me. Miss Amy said she would see I got my revenge and I thought she meant to call on you and read you the riot act.’

  ‘I apologize to you most sincerely for having been misled as to your character by my own mother,’ he said stiffly. ‘I am prepared to make amends. My consequence in society is considerable and I shall make it my duty to stand up with you for a few dances and take you driving in the Park.’

  ‘How kind,’ said Maria sarcastically. ‘Let me tell you, you great lumpkin, I do not want you or your consequence.’

  He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her curiously from under his heavy eyelids. ‘You do not?’ he asked. ‘My rank, my favour, and my title do not interest you?’

  ‘Not in the slightest, your grace. I will leave you to repair the damage your mother has done. I only hope the notice in the newspapers explaining the mistake appears before my delighted parents decide to journey to Town, for if they set off immediately today after reading about the forthcoming marriage and then find it is all a mistake when they arrive, they will blame me for the cancellation and I have a mind not to be beaten.’

  ‘Do they beat you much?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Maria curtly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Because I am not interested in the suitors they find for me. My failure to provide them with an entrée to society makes them very angry.’

  He sat for a moment, studying her. He noticed the clear skin and beautiful eyes and the soft swell of her bosom. He vividly remembered the feel of her lips.

  He closed his eyes and thought hard. He would have to marry sooner or later, and he was tired of Season after Season. Maria Kendall was young and pretty and not unamusing. He could do worse. If he married her, he would get the heir he needed and the succession would be ensured. She would get her freedom from those parents who appeared to treat her very harshly, although he was sure her story of beatings was a wild exaggeration.

  ‘As you appear to be settling down to sleep,’ remarked Maria acidly, ‘I may as well take my leave. I should not be here when your mother is absent.’

  His eyes flew open. ‘I have two aunts somewhere about, and a housekeeper,’ he said. ‘Your reputation is safe.’

  ‘In any case, I must leave,’ said Maria, getting to her feet.

  He rose as well and stood looking down at her.

  ‘I have a proposition to make to you, Miss Kendall,’ he said, taking her hand.

  She snatched her hand away and glared up at him, a high colour mantling her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t you dare suggest I become your mistress,’ she said.

  ‘On the contrary. I suggest it might suit us both to let the engagement stand.’

  Now was Maria’s chance to spurn him, but the tone of voice had been cool and practical.

  ‘Why?’ she asked weakly.

  ‘I need to get married sometime. I would be giving you a freedom you cannot enjoy as a single lady. As my duchess you would have great social power.’

>   ‘I am not interested in social power,’ said Maria almost tearfully, thinking of all her rosy dreams of love.

  ‘Nonetheless, you would be your own mistress. You may lead your own life after we are married. Your main duty will be to present me with a son. After that, you may do as you please.’

  ‘May I sit down?’ asked Maria. He helped her to a chair.

  She sat and rested her head on her hand. What if this very expensive Season came and went and she did not find someone to love? Her parents would never forgive her. Her life would return to that old hell of nagging and bullying. She had a chance of becoming the Duchess of Berham. She would go to court, be presented to the Queen and the Prince Regent. She would be a failure, a disgrace, no more in the eyes of her parents. Freedom, he had promised. Freedom to have friends, freedom to dream, freedom to read all the books she wanted. And the Tribble sisters, of whom she had become so very fond, would have a great success. Their charge engaged to a duke before she had even made her début!

  If he had said something, if he had interrupted her thoughts, she might have refused him. But he sat down again and waited quietly.

  After a time, when she did not speak, he found himself becoming irritated and anxious. What was up with the girl? Any other woman in the land would have jumped at such an opportunity.

  At last she raised those fine eyes of hers and looked at him. There was a trace of sadness in them as she said quietly, ‘Very well. I accept.’

  ‘You have made me the happiest of men,’ he replied politely.

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Maria with a sudden gurgle of laughter. ‘You look as if you have just successfully bid for a horse.’

  ‘My dear Miss Kendall, I am not entirely without romance in my soul.’

  ‘I think you are,’ sighed Maria. ‘But you have offered me freedom and what a beautiful word that is.’ Her face clouded over.

  ‘Now what is wrong?’ he asked gently.

  ‘I assume you will be travelling to Bath to ask my parents’ permission?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You have never met my parents. They may come as a shock to you.’

  ‘I am not high in the instep. It is you I plan to marry, not your parents.’

  Maria shook her head. ‘You are very proud. I will make you a promise. If, after meeting my parents, you decide not to marry me, I shall understand.’

  ‘I find it distressing in you that you are obviously ashamed of your parents and yet you call me proud.’

  ‘Make no mistake about it, I love my parents because they are my parents and their harsh treatment of me is prompted in part by wishing the best for me, but they do disaffect people. Please, your grace, send them an express warning them of your arrival or they will set out for London, and, please, see if I can be married from the Tribbles’ home.’

  ‘You are fond of those oddities?’

  ‘The Tribbles? Yes. Very. They are kind and funny and generous.’

  ‘And quite mad,’ he said. ‘I feel they have done nothing to earn this social success.’

  ‘When you speak like that,’ said Maria, ‘I am afraid I might be in danger of taking you in dislike.’

  He looked at her in genuine surprise. Dukes were never disliked.

  ‘I shall take you back to the Tribbles,’ he said, putting down her last remark to nervousness.

  The house in Holles Street was in an uproar when they arrived. Amy was lying on a sofa in the drawing room, wrapped in a quilted banyan and with a turban on her shorn locks. Effy was walking up and down, her many gauze scarves floating about her. Mr Haddon was studying that announcement in The Morning Post through a quizzing-glass, and Mr Randolph was sipping tea, trying to look helpful and wondering whether eating one of the delicious cakes on the plate in front of him would show signs of a lack of sensibility.

  ‘It’s some mad, cruel joke,’ said Effy again. ‘Someone is trying to ruin us. And where is Maria?’

  ‘Her parents, I gather,’ said Mr Haddon, ‘sent her to you in part to cure her of dreaming. Could she not have decided in her dreams that this duke was in love with her and put these advertisements in herself?’

  Amy looked stricken. It was beginning to sound like the sort of thing Maria would do.

  And then Harris announced the arrival of the Duke of Berham and Miss Kendall. Helped by Mr Haddon, Amy struggled upright as the couple entered.

  Holding Maria’s hand, the duke said, ‘You may congratulate me, ladies, gentlemen. We are to be wed.’

  There was a stunned silence. What have I done? thought Maria miserably. The hand holding her own was strong and firm and somehow possessive.

  Effy fluttered around delightedly on one side of the couple and Mr Randolph did a sort of excited dance step on the other. Mr Haddon looked startled. Amy’s shrewd eyes searched Maria’s face.

  The duke explained how his mother had had the notice inserted for some mischievous reason. Miss Kendall had called on him and they had both decided to go along with the engagement.

  Amy was worried. She was sure it was her own folly that had precipitated this engagement. It was a marvellous coup. London society must be talking of little else. She and Effy would be besieged with offers. But Amy thought Maria was much too young in every way for the duke. She was immature and dreamy. The duke was arrogant and sophisticated. But then could something not be done for Maria? She and Effy were supposed to school their charges and overcome all difficulties.

  The duke was saying, Amy realized, that he was going to Bath to ask Mr and Mrs Kendall for their permission. Amy let out a slow breath. Once the haughty duke had met the Kendalls, then the marriage would be off. No man as proud as the duke would be able to tolerate having such in-laws.

  Maria began to feel all her fears ebb away as Effy fussed about her and wished her well. Her parents would be proud of her at last.

  It would be a splendid wedding. Her mind floated away on a vision of white Brussels lace and clanging church bells.

  At last, when the duke, Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph had left and Effy had run upstairs to tell Yvette the glad news, Amy said quietly, ‘Come and sit by me, Maria.’

  Maria did as she was bid. ‘I am most grateful to you, Miss Amy,’ said Maria shyly. ‘But you should never have risked your life in such a way. Berham told me of the duel.’

  ‘Make sure neither of you ever tells anyone else,’ said Amy sharply. ‘It was the biggest piece of folly I have ever committed. Are you going to be happy, Maria?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am marrying a duke.’

  ‘And that is a very difficult thing to do,’ pointed out Amy, easing herself up on the sofa. ‘Almost like being wed to a member of the royal family. He owns that huge palace down in Cammerside. You will have an army of servants under you and many establishments. You will be a lady of great consequence. Did he say he loved you?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Maria. ‘But he was very practical. He pointed out that he needed an heir and I needed my freedom.’

  ‘That sort of arrangement is all very well for a high-nosed aristocratic lady with nerves of steel.’ Amy sighed. ‘I fear that unless you stop living in dreams and begin to grow up a little, Maria, you will be crushed by the experience.

  ‘I must find out where Miss Frederica Sunningdale is residing,’ said Maria dreamily. ‘Such a charming young lady I met at the inn. I do not have any friends, and it would be pleasant if she could be my bridesmaid. Will Yvette be making my bride gown? Should I wear a veil? I know it is not fashionable to be married in church, but I think I should like that. Do you know a church with really good stained-glass windows? I find it very romantic when different-coloured shafts of light strike through a really good stained-glass window.’

  ‘Tcha!’ said Miss Amy Tribble.

  Miss Spiggs had ingratiated herself so much with Mr and Mrs Kendall on her return from London that she had managed to move into their home as companion to Mrs Kendall. She had also succeeded in worrying them dreadfully about the Tribbles. They did not want t
o think they had made a mistake, but Miss Spiggs sighed and shook her head and said she feared the Tribbles were adventuresses and not very good ton. Amy Tribble was coarse to a fault and Effy was like an ageing courtesan.

  So persuasive was she that they were on the point of setting out for London to rescue their daughter when the news of Maria’s engagement to the Duke of Berham broke about their ears. As they stared at the day-old newspaper and cried and exclaimed, a letter from the duke was delivered to say he would be arriving shortly.

  ‘So what have you to say to that, Miss Spiggs?’ crowed Mrs Kendall.

  Miss Spiggs stood her ground. ‘I do not think the Tribbles had anything to do with it,’ she protested. ‘Maria met the duke at that inn. Remember I told you we was stranded there and he gave a ball.’

  ‘But you said he never even looked at Maria!’

  ‘I didn’t want to raise false hopes, but,’ said Miss Spiggs, looking modestly down her nose, ‘I did put in a leetle word with his grace myself. ‘‘You are not married,’’ I said, ‘‘and Maria Kendall is the most beautiful girl in the kingdom and has a good dowry.’’ ‘‘Miss Spiggs,’’ he said, ‘‘you are a wise woman and anyone with a companion such as you must surely be a lady of elegance and refinement.’’’

  ‘If that is the case,’ said Mr Kendall wrathfully, ‘I shall ask them Tribbles to give that money back.’

  ‘Oh, they will say I had nothing to do with it,’ said Miss Spiggs, ‘for they are great liars.’ She felt secure. The Kendalls would never be so vulgar as to ask the duke himself how he came to propose.

  In this, she underestimated the Kendalls.

  A few days later, the duke’s footman arrived on the doorstep to say that the duke was staying with a friend in Bath, a Mr Tarry, and begged leave to call.

  Mr Kendall promptly sent back an invitation to dinner at five o’clock and then opened his purse-strings wide to impress the duke. Although his house was quite small, he hired ten liveried footmen from an agency. They were to line the steps on either side of the entrance when the duke arrived. His butler, Butterworth, had been a mine manager in the old days, a wiry Yorkshireman with a face like a poacher and blunt manners that suited the Kendalls well, but they had the foresight to warn him to guard his tongue when the duke was present. They also hired a French chef, a Monsieur Duclare, a thin, neurotic creature who specialized in elaborate sauces. Then they felt they should have at least one pretty parlourmaid and appealed to Monsieur Duclare for help, considering that gentleman to belong to the upper echelon of servants. But Monsieur Duclare had been unemployed for some time and had been living on the immoral earnings of one Sally Rutger, a successful prostitute with golden hair, blue eyes, and an easy slatternly manner that made her a prime favourite with the gentlemen of Bath, and so he engaged Sally.