Masquerade: Can a street-girl become a lady?

by Joanna Taylor (aka JS Taylor)

  ‘A potential creditor of Mr Vanderbilt?’ I guess.

  ‘Something of that nature. You see my work is never done,’ Edward says.

  ‘Come,’ I say brightly. ‘Let us use this fine box of yours to best advantage. We shall find you a girl from the crowd.’

  A flicker of a smile returns to his face.

  ‘A girl?’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, taking his hand and leading him to the edge. ‘I shall only be with you one week. You shall need some entertainment if you return to town, shall you not?’

  I eye him mischievously.

  ‘Perhaps you might even find a bride who suits you better than Fitzroy’s sister.’

  He laughs outright at this and I am pleased.

  ‘Let us see,’ I coax him, staring out carefully and pointing. ‘What of her?’

  ‘It is not polite to point,’ says Edward, following my gaze. ‘Ah. You mean the pretty girl with the mother by her side?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, returning my hand to inside the box.

  ‘She is married already,’ says Edward. ‘I should not want to duel her husband.’

  ‘Married so young?’ I exclaim. ‘Very well. Who else might there be?’

  I let my gaze drift. All the gentry look so very sour. You would think the aristocrats were here for a funeral. Especially when compared to the lively commoners in the penny pit.

  ‘What of that girl?’ suggests Edward, joining in the game. ‘Opposite, with the green dress?’

  ‘Oh Edward,’ I admonish. ‘You should have no fun with her at all. See how high and tight her dress is laced? You should spend all night undressing her. Or you must put her skirts above her head and hide her face entirely.’

  He laughs out loud.

  ‘And see how she frowns,’ I add. ‘We are here to find you fun. Not give you the cares of a wife before your real one.’

  ‘I suppose they do look very serious in that box,’ he acknowledges. ‘What of her then?’ he asks, looking out. ‘Surely she must meet your favour?’

  ‘Which girl do you say?’ I follow where his eyes go.

  ‘That lady with diamonds in her hair,’ says Edward. ‘She might do for a wife, do you think? Her money might support a large estate such as I have.’

  My eyes settle on the woman he points out and my heart skips a beat. For I recognise her. It is Harriet. But she is too immersed in her flirtations to notice us.

  ‘She is a courtesan,’ I say.

  ‘That lady?’ asks Edward. ‘How can you be so certain?’

  ‘I know her,’ I say, peering closer now at the jet-black hair, the broad smiling mouth. ‘That is Harriet. From Mrs Wilkes’s house.’

  Edward stares. ‘That is Harriet? A courtesan?’

  ‘Yes. See how she arranges all her jewels to face front,’ I add. ‘When she tilts her head you can see there is nothing behind. ’Tis a show for the theatre. Ladies do not style their jewels so.’

  ‘She plays a lady very well,’ observes Edward, taking in the expensive wines and sweetmeats that Harriet’s box contains.

  ‘That she does. And she looks to be jollier than most of the ladies here. Harriet is blessed with many advantages.’

  I sigh to myself, remembering how Mrs Wilkes constantly commended Harriet’s flawless figure, large green eyes and conspicuous charm.

  We both look at the box as Harriet whirls and flirts and raps knuckles with her fan.

  ‘Not all the advantages,’ says Edward quietly, with a faint smile on his lips.

  Chapter 21

  In the general din, no one seems to be watching the stage. Though it looks to me that the large chandeliers are being lowered.

  ‘Is the play starting?’ I ask, wondering why people bother to attend the theatre, if they do not wish to see the performance.

  Edward is staring out into the crowd, presumably making some social observations of his own. He nods at my question, returning his attention to me. ‘The actors have loud voices,’ he assures me. ‘And the theatre is shaped to carry sound. We should hear well enough once they begin.’

  I move a little closer to the edge of the box. Two seats have been placed so we sit next to one another.

  The curtain rises and I feel my spirits lift. Draped across the entire back of the stage is an enormous canvas, painted in oils to represent a strange foreign land.

  I turn to Edward in delight.

  ‘That is Egypt?’ I ask, turning back to the yellow-hued scene of pyramid shapes and bizarre animals. On the stage itself are huge pillars that look to be made of stone, in the neo-classical way, but I guess must have been fashioned from some lighter stuff.

  ‘Set design has become an art,’ replies Edward. ‘They make Egypt very well.’

  I am entranced now, resting as far over the lip of the box as I can. I barely have time to take in all the stage works when two handsome young men step onto the stage, clothed in togas like Romans.

  With the noise below, I strain to catch every word, as they discuss Mark Antony and his love for Cleopatra.

  My eyes flick to Edward and I see he is gazing at my face, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Watch the play,’ I laugh, his attention taking me by surprise.

  ‘I should rather watch you, as you watch it,’ he says.

  I have a feeling, after his conversation with Fitzroy, Edward is enjoying the lighter atmosphere between the two of us.

  ‘Well, I should rather you didn’t watch me,’ I retort. ‘So turn your attention to the players.’

  He smiles more to himself than to me and turns back to the stage.

  After I’ve assured myself he is watching, I let myself fall into the engrossing world of the play.

  Then, after a few minutes, I feel Edward’s warm hand seek mine out and close on it. I allow my fingers to tighten on his. And with the performance taking my attention, I do not let myself think too much about what it means.

  Chapter 22

  Halfway through the performance, the curtain behind us ripples again and the same servant reappears with a tray of marzipan sweets and several paper twists containing hazelnuts.

  Edward thanks him and drops coins into his hand.

  ‘You remembered I liked the marzipan sweets!’ I say, delighted.

  Edward looks pleased. ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘It is the least a gentleman can do for his lady companion.’

  ‘Not a lady,’ I grin back, eyeing the sweets with pleasure.

  ‘Near enough,’ he says, seeming touched at my reaction.

  The servant waits before withdrawing and Edward turns to him questioningly.

  ‘Miss Caroline Taylor asked me to deliver a card,’ he says in answer to the unasked question. The servant bows and presents a perfectly white square of card, with the name Mr Percival Brathwaite on it.

  Edward takes the card and considers it. His face is perfectly neutral.

  ‘Please show her up,’ he says.

  I look at the card and back at Edward.

  ‘She sends her brother-in-law’s card,’ he explains, seeing my confusion at the differing name. ‘Society women announce themselves by way of their male companions. Caroline has perfect manners as ever,’ Edward adds, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘This Caroline …’ I begin.

  ‘Is suggested to be my wife one day,’ he finishes. Edward is looking at the card. Then he raises his eyes to meet mine.

  ‘She wishes to see her future husband?’ I say, for want of another reply.

  Edward shakes his head. ‘I should have thought,’ he says slowly, ‘it is you she wants to see.’

  ‘Why should she want to see me?’ For some reason the thought of being sought out puts me in a high panic.

  ‘She will have seen you in my box. That is its function, after all. To show all of London that Lord Hays is in town. And to showcase whatever company he might deign to have with him.’ Edward smiles wryly at this last part and gives me an apologetic glance.

  ‘Does she know anything ab
out me?’ I ask. Fitzroy’s embittered face flashes before me.

  ‘Only what the rest of the town knows,’ says Edward. ‘That I entertain a lovely female companion from the country. So it would be tactless to try and corral me into taking a bride.’

  ‘Does Caroline not like to see the play?’ I say in frustration. I had been mesmerised by the performance and am irritated at the disruption.

  ‘Most come to the theatre to socialise,’ he says regretfully.

  The curtain is swept back before I can ask any more and a tall red-haired woman enters the box.

  She looks so unlike Fitzroy that I find myself wondering how they can possibly be related. Though she, like he, is attractive. Caroline has soft blue eyes, a pale pink pout and the kind of rounded cheeks you see on cherub angels.

  My mouth twists. I can well understand why Edward should want her as a bride. She bears all the hallmarks of a ‘society wife’. Her pale green dress is fashionable, yet cut modestly at the front, with long matching gloves. She wears her red hair swept high on her head, with sweeping ostrich feathers and enormous sapphires as ornaments.

  More large jewels at her throat sparkle expensively in the candlelight and she seems to feel no discomfort from the weight of her high hair, or the wide dress.

  Mrs Wilkes would have pointed out such a woman as a certain threat. Propriety and beauty combined.

  I am suddenly acutely aware of my own lack of jewellery. Compared to Caroline’s, my ribbons and lace must seem very poor. And my dress is not the latest fashionable shade or cut like hers.

  As she approaches, I feel Edward move a little towards me. As though protecting me from something.

  ‘Edward.’ Caroline gives a broad bright smile, revealing small white teeth like her brother’s. ‘You have been hiding from me!’

  She stays standing perfectly upright, but reaches her arm forward and dashes him with her gloved fingertips. Then her hand retreats as if uncertain how this flirtatious gesture should be resolved.

  ‘Miss Taylor,’ says Edward with a bow, ‘how charming to see you. This is my companion, Miss Elizabeth Ward.’

  Caroline’s eyes sweep my figure and face as if trying to commit as much of me to memory as possible before decorum insist she look away.

  I have the distinct feeling that Fitzroy has briefed her to find out more about me.

  ‘Miss Ward,’ she says after a moment, making me a curtsy.

  We stand looking at one another.

  Under her scrutiny, the weight of my hair seems to burn my neck and the cage beneath my dress digs at my hips.

  ‘Will you not take a drink?’ I suggest, eager to break the silence. ‘We have red wine. Or the new foaming one. Champagne.’

  Caroline looks at Edward uncertainly and I realise I have made some error of manners. Perhaps a lady should not offer drinks.

  ‘Please do have wine,’ he says quickly, stepping towards our little silver table. ‘Take a glass with us.’

  He pours her a glass of red wine. She takes it a little clumsily.

  I’m noticing there seems to be something wholly uncomfortable in their interaction. It is hard to imagine they will one day be husband and wife and will have to bed one another.

  I eye Caroline surreptitiously as she brings the glass to her mouth. I wonder if she has any idea what is expected of women when they marry. Rumour has it that some society girls know nothing until it happens.

  Caroline takes the tiniest sip of wine and her little brow furrows.

  ‘I never did get used to red wine,’ she admits, lowering the glass.

  ‘We have white,’ I suggest. But she waves her hand politely.

  ‘Please,’ she says sweetly, ‘I should not like to be a trouble.’

  I smile at her uncertainly.

  ‘Miss Ward,’ says Caroline, ‘you are new to London?’

  I nod, opting for a half-truth. ‘London society is quite new to me,’ I say. ‘I confess I find some parts of city life quite surprising.’

  ‘Really?’ Caroline is eyeing me carefully now and I finally see a shade of likeness to her brother. There is something vulpine in her gaze. As though she is turning me this way and that, trying to unravel me.

  ‘You are from the country?’ she asks cautiously.

  I nod. ‘From near Bristol.’

  I am silently pleading she asks no more details about my background.

  She considers my answer, shifting her weight onto one foot.

  ‘How do you like the play?’ she asks, surprising me with the abrupt change of topic.

  ‘Very well,’ I say, relieved to be telling the truth.

  ‘You know it?’ she asks. Her eyes are darting over me again. Assessing.

  ‘A little. I read it as a girl.’

  ‘I can hardly follow it,’ says Caroline airily. ‘It is hard to know what is happening. Besides, of course, Cleopatra is a woman without honour.’

  Caroline’s eyes narrow, sweeping the theatre beyond. They light on the courtesan I spied earlier, in her box.

  ‘Like so many women in London,’ she adds, her gaze settling back on me.

  ‘But Cleopatra does have honour,’ I blurt.

  Realising I must justify my outburst, I continue speaking.

  ‘I mean to say,’ I begin, ‘is this not what Shakespeare tells us? Antony and Cleopatra both have honour, but different kinds.’

  Caroline looks confused.

  ‘How can there be different kinds of honour?’ she says. ‘There is only one kind.’

  I bite my lip. I may as well continue now.

  ‘Antony has honour to his duty. To society,’ I say. ‘But Cleopatra has honour to herself. Hers is unchanging. His must waver wherever Rome goes.’

  Caroline shrugs. ‘It seems to me that Cleopatra is a wicked woman,’ she says uncertainly. ‘But I suppose that is the art of Shakespeare. To make us question.’

  Her eyes light on Edward as she says this, as though sharing a joke. But he is looking thoughtfully back to the stage.

  The tiniest glare of annoyance flickers in her features and is gone before I can be sure it was there.

  She turns back to me with a polite smile and I wonder how she can be so civil. Truly, these society women are cold to the core. If a common girl were to meet with her betrothed’s obvious mistress, there would be a catfight. But this woman is happy to accept her future husband’s infidelity without a ripple. Perhaps that is how these arranged marriages are done. But it seems to me an empty kind of life. No wonder society men look to courtesans.

  Caroline yawns, covering her mouth delicately.

  ‘That dreadful Harriet girl is in one of the boxes,’ she says. ‘She styles herself a proper lady since she has managed to whore herself to a duke.’

  Caroline toys with her heavy necklace as I peer out into the theatre. But I can no longer see Harriet. She has vanished among her huddle of men.

  ‘Of course he will tire of her soon,’ Caroline says. ‘Already the duke must bore of being out of society. A lady will not receive a harlot into her parlour. So this Harriet creature must provide all his entertainment.’

  Caroline shakes her head sadly. ‘The duke perhaps flatters himself she loves him,’ she sighs. ‘But no girl who truly loved a man would condemn him to such a life. Such a marriage could never join society. The man must give up all polite company.’

  I risk a glance at Edward as she talks.

  I see something pass over his face and wish I hadn’t. Because it is suddenly so clear to me how different we are.

  Caroline’s clever little eyes are darting back and forth now. Like she’s working something out.

  She gives an exaggerated sigh.

  ‘What a fool I am,’ she announces. ‘I have left my fan with your servant, Edward.’

  There’s a split-second pause, before he realises what’s expected of him.

  ‘Please,’ he bows, ‘allow me to bring it back for you.’

  ‘Would you?’ She gives him a delighted smile. ‘You
are so very kind. Are you sure it is not too much trouble?’ she adds, as he shoots me an apologetic glance.

  Edward’s natural good manners swing into place.

  ‘For you, nothing is too much trouble,’ he assures her gallantly. And before I realise what is happening, Edward bows to us both and slips behind the curtain, leaving Caroline and me alone together.

  Her cool blue eyes are on me now. Their warmth has entirely vanished, as though it were an act she affected with some effort for Edward’s benefit. Her face looks almost cruel.

  I realise she plays this game of social manners perfectly. Asking for the fan was a deliberate ruse to have me alone.

  ‘So, Miss Ward,’ she says archly, ‘you hope to steal Edward for a husband. But your presumption is too great.’

  The accusation is so preposterous I almost laugh out loud.

  ‘I can assure you,’ I say, struggling not to giggle, ‘I have no wish to marry Edward.’

  ‘But of course you do,’ says Caroline dismissively. ‘I do not blame you, of course. ‘A simple country girl such as yourself must think she is close to a fine prize.’

  She tilts her head, like a bird considering its prey. There’s a long pause as she waits for her words to sink in. It seems they do not have the effect she hoped for, since she talks on.

  ‘You couldn’t honestly think you could pass for Edward’s wife in polite society?’ she says. ‘You have not the refinement.’

  Her eyes are taking in my dress and hair now.

  ‘You may have a pretty face,’ she adds, ‘but you have no fashion. No manners. Your country charms will do you no good here.’

  It occurs to me in a burst of incredulity that Caroline sees me as a genuine threat. It is too ridiculous. If only she knew.

  ‘Perhaps vulgarity is prized more by certain men than you might think,’ I reply, unable to resist goading her a little.

  ‘Men toy with vulgarity,’ she says in a light tone that doesn’t mask her annoyance. ‘They marry manners.’

  Her hypocrisy is starting to rile me. She talks as though her loveless arranged marriage will be a noble thing.

  ‘My vulgarity might be obvious to you,’ I say, ‘yet you must know how clear it is that you do not love Edward.’