Masquerade: Can a street-girl become a lady?

by Joanna Taylor (aka JS Taylor)

  ‘French is harder than English,’ he winks at me. ‘It took a long time for an old man such as I to learn it.’

  I beam as he leads me easily through the steps. At the dinner table, Mr Vanderbilt had a menace about him, but as he whirls me in the dance, he has a kindly air.

  We exchange partners and I look anxiously down the line.

  The style of the dance means I have the briefest of moments to turn with first Charlotte and then finally Belle.

  ‘Is your stay with Mr Rivers comfortable?’ I whisper, searching her face, not daring to ask her outright.

  Belle looks uncertain. ‘It is as well as I could hope,’ she says, after a moment. ‘He is a kind man. In his way.’

  We dance away from one another for a few turns and then we are back again.

  ‘What of Lord Hays,’ asks Belle, continuing our improvised code. ‘He is a good host?’

  ‘My stay is very brief,’ I say carefully. ‘But he is most courteous.’

  ‘His eyes never leave you,’ observes Belle.

  I turn in surprise to where Edward is sitting. I had expected he would be deep in conversation with Lady Montfort. But while I am right to predict her to be talking animatedly at his side, I see Belle is right. Edward is gazing out at me. His eyes have a softness that I would attribute to wine if I did not know how little he drinks. When he sees me looking he nods a little and smiles. I do not return his smile. Instead I glance quickly away, confused by the affection in his expression. As I contemplate what his attention could mean, the dance turns me away from Belle and towards Charlotte.

  My heart sinks as I watch my old friend step away, desperate for more details, but when the dance is ended we move to another kind and I am never alone with Belle.

  All too soon, carriages are summoned and I am left with a sick feeling that the evening is unfinished. I wonder if I will ever see Belle again. We embrace tightly before she leaves.

  ‘Take good care,’ I whisper, tears rising up. ‘You always were the best girl, Belle.’

  ‘You take care, Lizzy,’ she whispers back. ‘Lord Hays is a good man. He has a liking for you. I see it.’

  The guests depart and I notice Edward giving Mr Vanderbilt a heartfelt handshake before the old man leaves.

  I watch from the window as Belle’s carriage ferries her and her keeper away.

  ‘Mr Vanderbilt has charmed you?’ I ask Edward, when we’re left alone, ‘with all his enthusiasm for adventure?’

  Edward gives a half-smile.

  ‘It would make no difference if he had,’ he replies. ‘I still must buy his ship.’

  I nod at this. I, of all people, understand that business should not involve the heart.

  ‘You knew that girl?’ asks Edward. ‘Lord Rivers’s companion. I noticed you talking during the dance.’

  ‘She worked with me in Mrs Wilkes’s house.’ My voice comes out flat and empty. ‘There were five of us who were friends. Belle, Harriet, Rose, Kitty and me.’

  ‘What happened to the other girls?’

  ‘Belle was sold,’ I say. ‘Since she is with Lord Rivers, I assume he must be her purchaser.’

  Edward looks disturbed by this.

  ‘It happened very quickly,’ I add. ‘None of us expected Belle to leave. When we realised what Mrs Wilkes could do, some of us decided to run away.’

  ‘And that is how you came to Piccadilly?’ he guesses. ‘You ran from her house?’

  I nod.

  ‘How many girls ran?’ he asks, frowning as though this is difficult to imagine.

  ‘In the end only three of us. Harriet would not run,’ I say. ‘She was doing too well for herself. I hear she is a fine courtesan now.’

  ‘Would I know her?’ asks Edward.

  ‘Most likely you know lords who do. She is famed,’ I say. ‘I ran away with the other two girls. Rose and Kitty. We had hoped to set up a house, the three of us. But Rose was spirited away by a fine suitor, the same night we left. He planned to take her overseas,’ I add.

  ‘And you and Kitty?’

  ‘We worked the streets,’ I say. ‘It was bad work. But at least we were free. We half starved ourselves to rent our first rooms in Piccadilly. Close to where I met you. Things were getting better. Then Kitty began drinking gin.’

  I stop myself, realising I should not be telling him so much.

  ‘Mrs Wilkes did not try to fetch you back?’ asks Edward.

  ‘Yes, she did. But we evaded her any way we could.’

  Edward considers this.

  ‘Should you like to see Belle again?’ he asks eventually.

  ‘That would not do either of us any good,’ I reply. ‘She belongs to Lord Rivers now.’

  Edward looks thoughtful.

  ‘You did not succumb to Lady Montfort’s plans to have you betrothed?’ I say, to change the subject.

  He shakes his head with a little laugh.

  ‘Your Lordship?’ says a quiet voice. We both look up to see Sophie waiting.

  The expression on her face suggests she has interrupted some lovers’ tryst.

  ‘We wondered if we might clean the room?’ she asks tentatively. ‘So we might have it ready for breakfast tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ says Edward. He takes my arm. ‘We will retire to my parlour.’ He frowns for a moment, thinking. ‘I will be up at dawn tomorrow,’ he adds to the servant as an afterthought. ‘Please have breakfast ready then.’

  Sophie nods, and Edward guides me through the door and up the wide staircase.

  Chapter 17

  ‘You did very well tonight,’ Edward says, closing the door of the parlour.

  Suddenly, we’re completely alone. I feel the atmosphere change. My heart begins to pick up in my chest.

  ‘Did I?’

  He stands close, his eyes on mine.

  ‘You did.’

  Edward studies my face and I think he is about to kiss me. Something in my expression must make him think better of it, for he turns me around instead, to begin unlacing my dress.

  I breathe out. Had he kissed me, I might not have known what to make of it.

  My dress inches down and his hands roam over my shift and petticoats, feeling out the shape of my body.

  He begins kissing my neck softly. For a moment I am caught off guard and my eyes close.

  I open them quickly, gently moving my hands to his and turning back to him.

  His regards me as though I have puzzled him.

  I fix him with a coquettish grin and continue the process of undressing myself. I let my petticoats fall and then reach up, letting my hair down.

  Edward strokes a hand through my hair as it tumbles over my shoulders. He pulls away, his face still almost touching mine. I stare back at him uncertainly, wondering what he is expecting.

  He kisses me. There is something in the way he does this. As though he wants me to feel something.

  I hope he is not one of those men who wants me to enjoy this business more than I do.

  I find those men the hardest. For it is a difficult act to pretend you are in love. Though some girls, like Harriet, make it seem easy.

  Edward’s hands are moving down my waist and I gently stop them. He looks at me questioningly.

  I kiss him deeply, pushing my body against his, moving my hands between his legs. My eyes are conveying an unspoken message.

  I am here for your pleasure. Not the other way around.

  For a moment, I think he may resist my seduction. And then he seems to accept what he sees in my face and relaxes into me.

  I give a little sigh of relief and continue my artful work on his body. And after not very long at all, he is all mine.

  Chapter 18

  I wake to see Edward’s dark eyes looking down at me.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asks.

  I sit up, blinking, taking stock. Edward left for his own chamber last night, leaving me to sleep alone. By the sunlight streaming into the parlour, it is early morning.

  ‘Mm
mm. You are dressed already,’ I say, taking in his neat attire.

  ‘I rise early,’ he says. ‘There is much to be done.’

  I rub my forehead, trying to wake up.

  ‘I have arranged for dressmakers to come for you, Elizabeth,’ he says. ‘After you have taken your breakfast.’

  He speaks to me easily and I realise we have stepped into a kind of familiarity with one another. It no longer feels so strange to be waking in his fine house.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘That is most kind. You do not eat with me?’ I ask, not liking the thought of tackling that great dining room alone.

  ‘I often do not eat before midday if I am engaged on business,’ he says. ‘Now I must go to the Royal Exchange to have naval papers approved.’

  ‘Do you not take time for leisure?’ I ask. ‘All the lords I have met spend their days drinking and sleeping.’

  ‘I rather spend my time productively,’ he says.

  ‘May I take a little breakfast in this room?’ I ask. ‘There is no need to lay out a table. It is more work for Bridget.’

  He frowns. ‘Who is Bridget?’

  ‘Your housekeeper,’ I explain. ‘Mrs Tomkinson.’

  He raises his eyebrows slightly.

  ‘I can ask them to bring you some hot rolls,’ he says. ‘If you are sure that is all you would like.’

  I nod. ‘I should not like to trouble the servants unnecessarily.’

  He leans forward, hesitates and kisses my forehead awkwardly. Then he pauses. ‘It is kind,’ he says, ‘how you are with the servants.’

  I smile a little, not quite sure of his meaning. Certainly a real lady would not refer to the housekeeper by her first name.

  ‘I hope your business goes well,’ I say. ‘And you are able to buy the ship.’

  ‘It is a delicate game,’ he says. ‘Only formality and papers are left. But in these last few days every precaution must be taken to ensure the ship is mine.’

  There is a strange expression on his face.

  ‘You have respect for Mr Vanderbilt,’ I say.

  ‘I think Mr Vanderbilt was a fine admiral,’ replies Edward. ‘But my admiration for him is of no consequence in this matter.’

  I nod in complete understanding. His approach is remarkably similar to how street girls do business.

  ‘So you will play the game and win?’ I ask.

  ‘Mr Vanderbilt is trying to block our purchase,’ explains Edward. ‘And he seeks men to extend him credit. One of my tasks is to make sure they will not loan.’

  Edward is looking at me keenly. As though hoping for a particular response.

  ‘I suppose that is a good thing,’ I say uncertainly. Though I liked Mr Vanderbilt. I should enjoy the thought of his setting off to the Americas and beyond.

  ‘Yes,’ says Edward. But his face looks sad.

  After Edward has left, and I have eaten breakfast, dressmakers come in a virtual flood. Six women buzz around me, waving fabrics and tape measures. By mid-afternoon I have seen so many swatches and trays of shoes, I am dizzy from it. Each part of my body has been squeezed and measured. Every conceivable fashion and fit have been debated.

  Eventually, the team of women leave with instructions to make over ten fine dresses, for daytime and evening too.

  I can scarcely believe it. Only a day ago, I was a Piccadilly street girl in a cheap homemade dress. Now I am about to have an entire wardrobe, which the dressmakers say will be ready for tomorrow.

  Until then, however, I am trapped in Lord Hays’s townhouse. After the beadle I do not dare walk out in my cheap day dress. So instead I stay in the parlour reading.

  Edward arrives home as it’s beginning to get dark. I hear him ask my whereabouts from Sophie and then he takes to the stair, heading for the parlour.

  I have already planned how I am going to greet him after his long day. But I feel a more than expected amount of excitement at the thought of seeing Edward. I push it away, telling myself it is simply because I have been alone all afternoon.

  I quickly strip away my clothes, leaving a trail of stockings, dress and petticoats across the room. Finally I drape my dress over the screen, arranging it so the cheap fabric is not so prominent. Then I hide, naked behind the screen, and await his arrival.

  The door handle turns and I peek through a gap to see him enter. He is dressed in a long grey waistcoat, closed with a row of tiny silver buttons, a white linen shirt and black breeches under high riding boots.

  He looks utterly exhausted. My heart goes out to him.

  Then his handsome face wrinkles in confusion as he takes in the empty room. I smile. His dark eyes drop to the floor, taking in my abandoned stockings. He looks up, scanning the room with a grin. Then he stoops and picks up the stockings, one by one.

  I feel my heart beating faster, excited by the expression on his face.

  He scoops up the shift next and walks towards the screen. I hold my breath as he tugs my dress down and folds it carefully over his arm.

  Slowly, I step out from behind the screen.

  I hear his breath tighten. The tiredness has vanished from his face.

  ‘I thought you should like to see something different, after a day with tired old men,’ I explain, standing so he can see me easily.

  His dark eyes are roaming my body. ‘I like it very much.’ His voice comes low with desire.

  I take a step towards him and place a single finger on his chest.

  ‘Then you must let me show you something else,’ I say, moving forward so that he has to step back towards the chaise longue.

  I begin undoing the many buttons of his waistcoat. All the time I’m walking him back, slowly. His face never leaves mine.

  I pull open his waistcoat and push him gently down, so he’s sitting on the chaise. Then I pull his shirt over his head and undo the top of his breeches.

  As my hands do the familiar work, something wholly unexpected shifts through my body. Like a jolt of desire.

  It is so unnerving that I pause fractionally.

  I shake my head to dispel the thought and concentrate instead on the next part of my act. I mean to make him a little show. This was something we did often at Mrs Wilkes’s house.

  Edward’s lips are parted slightly and his breath has quickened. I know without him speaking, what he is thinking. He has understood what just happened. That some part of me feels more for him.

  I toss my head seductively, signalling he should not think such things. This is how I earn my money, that is all. But he only smiles as though he’s seen a secret.

  I reach up and run my hands across my breasts, my eyes smouldering. Then I run a finger over my lips and draw it softly down my body, over my belly, skimming ever lower.

  He makes a tight gasp in his throat. This is something I am very practised at. A large part of Mrs Wilkes’s entertainments were for us girls to make naked shows.

  The art was in the slow movements. The deliberate tease.

  I let my fingers slip between my legs. Edward is rigid. His breath held.

  ‘Would you like to see more?’ I whisper, moving closer to where he sits.

  He nods, his eyes flicking from my face to where my hand has stopped.

  I lean forward and run my fingers lightly over him.

  ‘Then you shall see it,’ I promise, pushing him down by the chest. ‘I will show you everything you desire.’

  Afterwards, Edward takes me in his arms and lies back, staring at the ceiling.

  We lie there for a while, enjoying the warmth of one another’s arms. And I have an unsettling feeling that some invisible boundary is slipping.

  ‘We should ready ourselves to go out,’ he says finally, unwinding gently from my naked body. ‘I am in town for only a week and must be seen at every entertainment.’

  ‘Are you not tired?’ I ask, remembering his expression when he returned home.

  ‘Maybe a little,’ he admits. ‘But I have obligations.’

  ‘I had thought lords did what t
hey chose.’

  ‘Not all lords.’ Edward’s face seems caught halfway between stoicism and humour.

  ‘If I am to make sure Mr Vanderbilt is refused his credit,’ he adds, ‘I must be seen by those who might afford it.’

  ‘So tonight you must parade your wealth to remind all of your importance?’

  He gives a smile at the simplicity of my explanation.

  ‘After a fashion,’ says Edward. ‘Some aristocracy work harder than you might imagine, to keep the delicate social web aligned.’

  ‘So where do we go tonight?’

  ‘The theatre,’ he says. ‘Have you been before?’

  I shake my head. ‘I have always wanted to go,’ I admit. ‘Since I read Shakespeare as a girl. At Mrs Wilkes’s house, Harriet was the only one of us with a fine enough suitor to take her.’

  Edward seems interested by this.

  ‘And did Harriet like the theatre?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh no. She said it was very dull. We would press her for details, but she hardly seemed to have noticed the play.’

  Edward smiles again. ‘She is not unlike many lords and ladies in that. And perhaps Harriet has not read Shakespeare as you have?’

  I give a snort of amusement at the thought.

  ‘Harriet reads only love letters. And those badly. What is the play?’ I ask.

  Edward frowns. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Then how can you decide you wish to see it?’ I laugh.

  ‘This is not leisure, Elizabeth, it is business,’ he admonishes. ‘We go so others might see us there.’

  I set my face a little more seriously. This is what he is paying me for after all. To be his companion.

  ‘Will the dress from last night do?’ I ask. ‘I have not yet had others made.’

  Edward looks at me as though he is only half listening. And I deduce his mind is already on fulfilling whatever social obligation is expected at the theatre.

  ‘It will do very well,’ he says.

  Chapter 19

  Sophie dresses me, under Mrs Tomkinson’s instructions that the theatre calls for wide skirts and sky-high hair. So a hairdresser is summoned to construct a great column above my head, made from lengths of horse tail and five pots of bear grease.