Masquerade: Can a street-girl become a lady?

by Joanna Taylor (aka JS Taylor)

  Caroline frowns. ‘Why should I love him? If we are to be allied, it will be for matters of family.’

  I shake my head, pitying her.

  ‘The life you desire holds no charms for me,’ I say.

  Caroline makes an ugly sort of noise.

  ‘Marriage to Lord Hays has not charms for you?’ she asks, eyebrows raised high. ‘What, may I ask, do you imagine is a better life?’

  ‘A life where I am not cast off to a lonely estate. While my husband romps in London.’

  ‘Oh, you are not one of those romantics?’ Caroline says, with a high peeling laugh. ‘You read too many novels.’

  ‘Perhaps I do,’ I reply. ‘But the only freedom your marriage will afford you is in choosing your dresses. You shall be locked in a gilded cage, seeking only to adorn your prison.’

  Caroline blinks at me and I realise with amazement that she does not understand the reference.

  So Edward’s wife-to-be is not so clever with reading as she is with social machinations.

  ‘That is Mary Wollstonecraft,’ I add helpfully. ‘Surely as a woman, you have read her writings?’

  ‘I …’ Caroline looks absolutely furious. ‘I do not bother myself with such nonsense,’ she manages.

  Her eyes flash dangerously and I realise I may have underestimated her. Perhaps she has more fire than I thought. Certainly, my tutoring her on political writings has angered her greatly.

  ‘There is some trick to you,’ she hisses in a low voice. ‘I know not what it is, or how you have insinuated yourself into Edward’s company. But I mean to find you out. And when I do, you will be sorry.’

  Before I can reply, the curtain twitches and Edward re-enters the box.

  He’s smiling broadly, proffering a fan. Then he glances at my face and his eyes dart between the two of us.

  ‘All is well?’ he asks.

  We both nod and make pretend smiles.

  ‘Very well,’ says Caroline brightly, her acted warmth returning. ‘Elizabeth and I were getting well acquainted.’

  I find myself staring at her. The transformation is incredible. All at once she is sweet, likeable. It makes me wonder what monstrous girls society breeds.

  Edward moves to my side, considering my face. He hands Caroline the fan, almost as an afterthought.

  She takes it with a curtsy. Her eyes dart to Edward, sensing she is losing her audience.

  ‘I must return to my companions,’ she says. ‘Though God knows I might have chosen better.’

  Edward refocuses his attention on her at this last part.

  ‘Fitzroy gives no thought to my safety,’ she explains, a note of hurt creeping into her voice. ‘He cares only that I might be seen at the theatre. Tonight I have only Percival and some silly girls to keep me company. And you well know he will afford me no protection should the crowd turn ugly.’

  She frowns and Edward’s eyebrows arch a little.

  ‘You need not fear,’ he says mildly. ‘Were there any danger, I should be sure to protect you.’

  Her eyes drop to the sword at his side and she gives a triumphant smile.

  ‘You are most kind, Your Lordship,’ she says, with a small curtsy. ‘I hope to see you again, while you are in town.’

  She flashes me a little look of victory and then retreats from the box, curtsying. Edward bows slightly, but his mind seems to be on other things.

  ‘I enjoyed your ideas of the play,’ he says, once the thick curtain has fallen back across the entrance to our box. ‘Different kinds of honour. I had never thought of it that way before.’

  ‘I do not think your future wife liked my notions.’

  ‘Do not mind Caroline,’ he says. ‘She is only jealous.’

  ‘She has no reason to be.’

  Edward’s dark eyes are full on mine.

  ‘Women such as Caroline are uncertain as to their place in society,’ he says. ‘You must not mind it.’

  ‘What does she have to be uncertain about?’ I ask, surprised.

  ‘Her family was not born to an estate. They acquired great wealth in the Indian colonies. Caroline must marry into the aristocracy before she is truly accepted as part of society.’

  ‘Why does she not simply enjoy her money?’ I suggest. ‘If I had great wealth, I should not chain myself to a husband.’

  To my surprise, Edward laughs. ‘Not many women of my acquaintance share your view,’ he says after a moment.

  ‘You mean to marry her?’ I ask, facing the players to hide my expression.

  Edward glances at me.

  ‘We are not formally betrothed. But it has been decided,’ he replies. ‘I owe Fitzroy a debt for his help in recovering my family estate.’

  ‘You love his sister?’

  ‘Not yet. But she brings a large enough fortune for us to make a fine home. I dare say we shall be happy. Once the children come.’

  I take a careful sip of champagne.

  ‘You sound like a courtesan,’ I say. Perhaps it is the wine taking effect. Or maybe Caroline has riled me. But suddenly I do not care that I insult him.

  He turns to me in surprise.

  ‘That is what all the girls at Mrs Wilkes’s house believe,’ I add. ‘That love can be bought for the right sum.’

  I take another mouthful of champagne. I do not know why I am speaking like this. It is like a devil has got inside me, but I cannot stop.

  ‘So for all your money, you aristocrats have no more freedom than us street girls. For you may not love who you choose,’ I conclude.

  Edward is quiet. I feel my stomach begin to tighten.

  I am suddenly sure that this must be the end of our arrangement. Whores do not grow rich by speaking out of turn.

  ‘Is that what you believe?’ he asks softly. ‘That love cannot be bought?’

  I give a shaky smile. ‘It does not matter what I believe.’

  ‘It matters to me.’

  I look up at him. His dark eyes are sincere.

  ‘So what does a woman sell,’ he asks softly, ‘when she entertains a man?’

  ‘She sells her company,’ I say. ‘She does not sell her soul.’

  I turn my gaze straight ahead, not trusting myself to say anything more.

  After a moment, I glance at Edward, out of the corner of my eye, and see he is staring at my chest.

  I realise my fingers have automatically moved to the shape of my banknote. I move them away quickly.

  Slowly, he moves so he is standing close.

  My heart starts beating fast. I close my eyes.

  ‘What of you and me?’ he whispers.

  ‘We have a business arrangement,’ I say, working to fight the lump in my throat. ‘That is no place for the heart.’

  I open my eyes to see Edward has a tight little smile.

  I feel tears prickle and look away.

  ‘We are similar, you and I,’ he says, gazing back out into the crowd. ‘We have made ourselves so hard that no one can ever hurt us.’

  I stare at the stage, waiting for a point when my emotions will not betray me.

  I know what Edward says is true. Whether he thinks this a good or bad thing, it is impossible to tell.

  Then he sighs as though women are a difficult mystery.

  ‘For the time we have together,’ he says, ‘let us just enjoy one another.’

  I stare at him for a long moment. Then we both turn back to the players.

  Edward is quiet for the rest of the evening. His eyes are distant. And though we talk of the play, he does not seem his usual self.

  When we return, by carriage, to his townhouse, he does not accompany me into the parlour. I fall asleep alone, cursing myself for speaking so freely. Tonight will likely be my last in this house.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning I wake alone and Sophie comes into the parlour to make my toilette.

  ‘His lordship has asked if you might join him for breakfast,’ she explains, as I allow myself to be layered in petticoats.

&n
bsp; I take in this information. So Edward does not wish to end our arrangement as I feared. I wonder if he has forgiven me, or simply decided not to dwell on my outspokenness.

  There is a knock on the door and two more maids glide in, one carrying the familiar accoutrements of the morning toilette, the other pulling a large trunk.

  ‘Your clothes have arrived,’ says Sophie, sounding pleased. ‘I had the maids bring those that might be suitable for today. Should you like us to hold them out for you?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ I cry, betraying my excitement. ‘Please do.’

  ‘The dressmakers seemed to think them in very good taste,’ confides Sophie, as she eases open the lid. ‘They told us you had a very good eye for fashion and colours.’

  ‘I have not much experience,’ I admit. ‘Besides watching fine ladies.

  Let us hope I have a figure to match the dressmakers’ art.’

  I am hoping my bony frame has gained a little weight. Life in Edward’s well-fed household means I have eaten three good meals a day. I flatter myself that my arms and legs begin to look rounder.

  Sophie and the other maids carefully unpack the top three dresses, unfolding them reverently.

  ‘They are lovely,’ breathes Sophie, running her hand along the garment she holds – a light blue silk embroidered with tiny white peonies.

  I stare at the dress, rendered speechless. Then I have crossed the room and am holding up the fabric, sliding my hand along the perfect stitching.

  ‘You do not like the colour?’ ventures Sophie uncertainly. ‘The blue is too pale?’

  ‘Oh no!’ I gasp, finding my voice. ‘No. It is just … I simply cannot believe the loveliness.’

  I look at her and we both smile.

  ‘They are beautifully made, are they not?’ she says. ‘I think they will all look very well on you.’

  My fingertips brush along the top of the dress. ‘The stitches cannot even be seen,’ I say admiringly. ‘I have never worn such dressmaking.’

  Sophie smiles as proudly as though she stitched the dresses herself.

  ‘See how well the skirts are made,’ she suggests, holding them out. ‘Are they not fine?’ The wide skirts fan out from the solidly constructed stays in a rippling expanse of flawless folds.

  ‘Which should you like to wear?’ she asks, as I admire the skirts.

  My eyes flick across the other two dresses. Besides the blue dress, there is a light green silk, like the dew on morning grass. It is decorated with deep purple ribbons and stitched with gold trim.

  The third dress is the softest dusky pink silk, ornamented with clouds of French lace at the bust.

  ‘I think the blue peonies,’ I say, after a moment, remembering Edward’s blue carriage. ‘What should you say, Sophie?’

  ‘I think the blue is the nicest for today,’ she agrees, hanging it over her arm. ‘It is bound to be bright and you should put the sky to shame.’

  I laugh at this.

  ‘Shall we put it on you, Miss Lizzy?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes please.’ I stand, hardly breathing in my excitement, as they fuss about me, unlacing and helping the dress on.

  Sophie steps away as the other two maids lace my back in at high speed, tying, straightening and tugging with deft fingers.

  Then she returns, wielding a large mirror.

  ‘You are beauty itself,’ she says admiringly.

  When I am finally ready for breakfast, I abruptly remember Edward’s silence last night. Now I know I will stay today, I realise how disappointed I would be to leave. But I wonder if he will reprimand me for my strong opinion.

  The servants announce me and I walk into breakfast, keeping my posture tall as Mrs Tomkinson advised.

  Edward is already seated, but he stands when he sees me enter.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ he says. And I feel as though he has said so much in that one word. He takes in my fine dress for a long moment.

  ‘You seem to grow more beautiful by the day,’ he concludes finally.

  There is no false flattery in his tone and I feel myself blushing.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, with a little curtsy.

  ‘The dressmaker has done you credit,’ he adds. ‘And you have shown yourself refined in your choice.’

  Sophie steps forward to whisk my chocolate and I wait for her to finish.

  Edward nods that the servants leave us and considers me as I approach the table.

  ‘You seem troubled,’ he says, as I take a seat near him.

  ‘I … I thought I might have offended you,’ I admit. ‘Last night. With my observations on your marriage plans.’

  He eyes me keenly.

  ‘You think you should not be allowed your view?’ he asks. ‘Because I pay for your company.’

  I give a little half-smile at how well he has summarised things.

  ‘Something like that,’ I admit.

  ‘Well, you must put your mind at ease,’ he says. ‘One of the things I pay for is your lively nature. The last thing I should wish would be for it to be subdued, like those tedious society girls.’

  He pauses as though realising he has said too much and then smiles broadly.

  I grin back and help myself to a bread roll from the table.

  ‘What is your business for today?’ I ask, imagining he will be gone during the daytime, as before.

  Edward sits back in his chair and considers me.

  ‘I am glad you asked,’ he said, ‘because I should like you to accompany me.’

  I raise my eyebrows, halfway through a swallow of bread.

  ‘On a business matter?’

  He smiles, folding his napkin. ‘Not exactly. Mr Vanderbilt made a clever delay,’ he explains. ‘I must travel to my country estate today to sign some documents in person. I wondered if you might accompany me.’

  ‘To your country estate?’ I am taken aback.

  ‘My estate is fifteen miles outside London,’ he says. ‘It is tedious, for the journey is four hours in each direction. Ordinarily I might take a footman for company,’ he adds, ‘for it is a long journey to take alone. But I can spare no man today.’

  ‘And you should like me to come in the carriage? For company?’

  I am relieved this is the function he wishes me for. I had been a little frightened he should have wanted me for some greater purpose.

  He smiles at me.

  ‘I was hoping you would be kind enough to accompany me, yes.’

  I take a sip of my chocolate.

  ‘You hardly need to ask me,’ I point out. ‘You are paying for my company.’

  ‘But the journey is long and over bumpy ground,’ replies Edward. ‘It will be arduous. I would not compel you if you should not wish it.’

  He nods and then clarifies. ‘You will also function as a witness while I sign the documents. But that is no task at all. Simply be present.’

  ‘Then I should be happy to accompany you,’ I reply.

  Unexpectedly, Edward breaks into a wide smile.

  ‘I am glad,’ he says. ‘The journey would be dull without you.’

  He frowns slightly and reorders his words. ‘Without company, I mean.’

  I smile to myself and take another sip of chocolate.

  ‘Might this delay stop you buying the ship?’ I ask.

  ‘No, no,’ he assures me. ‘It is a delay, nothing more.’

  ‘So you will go and sign today? And the thing will be done?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Vanderbilt has done his best to inconvenience me. But aside from being out of London all day, it is nothing more than a feint. The business part will be over quickly,’ he adds. ‘I will conclude the rest in London as planned.’

  I grin at him. ‘If I keep you company,’ I say, deciding to tease him, ‘you must entertain me in your turn.’

  ‘That is already taken care of,’ he promises. ‘I have packed the carriage with wine and cards. We shall have a little breakfast as we journey, and there will be fresh rolls and a joint of meat besides. So we s
hall be well fed and merry.’

  ‘You already presumed that I should make the journey,’ I accuse.

  ‘I know how kind you are,’ he says with a mischievous smile, ‘where I am concerned. Besides, we do not have long together. I need to make the most of my money. I merely take steps to be sure our time together isn’t tedious.’

  ‘We shall have a merry time,’ I promise.

  We smile at each other.

  ‘And I suppose you may buy a little presumption for fifty guineas,’ I add, to mask my sudden sadness that the week seems to be going quickly.

  Chapter 24

  While Edward busies himself with business arrangements, I stand in the grand hallway, watching as servants race back and forth.

  Mrs Tomkinson steps into view, armed with a covered wicker basket. She stops when she sees me, taking in my appearance with something like pride. I realise I have done well to choose the right clothing and have Sophie tie a pretty cap over my hair.

  ‘Miss Elizabeth.’ She curtsies.

  ‘Hello, Bridget,’ I grin. ‘I hope you have strawberry jam in the basket. It is my favourite.’

  She looks confusedly at the basket and then back at me.

  ‘You are travelling to the country with his lordship?’ she deduces.

  I nod. ‘Edward should need some conversation, else spend eight dull hours on the road.’

  ‘But you wear your nice dress,’ Mrs Tomkinson protests. ‘You should need something different for the country.’

  ‘What should I wear?’ I ask, uncertain of country protocol.

  ‘Something on your feet that will not mind the mud,’ she says, eyeing my hand-stitched blue shoes. ‘And I think I have a woollen cloak to cover your dress. If you go to his lordship’s estate you shall be on foot for a part and you may be splashed from the carriage.’

  She clucks her tongue in annoyance at this new task.

  ‘I am already delayed in contacting the butcher,’ she complains. ‘I could not find his lordship to ask whether he would take a chicken fricassee or roast beef.’

  ‘I think he should prefer roast beef,’ I say, remembering Edward’s choice of meat at the dinner with Vanderbilt.

  Mrs Tomkinson nods gratefully. ‘I shall return with your cloak and some clogs,’ she promises. Then, as if she can’t help herself, she reaches over and straightens my cap.