‘I wanted to be sure the right wine was brought,’ she says primly to Edward, as if daring him to question why she is doing maids’ work.
‘Of course,’ he says, ‘you were right to come yourself.’
Mrs Tomkinson curtsies and hurries over to deliver the tray. She places it in Edward’s hand and pours the wine into a glass.
‘I discussed with the cook and we thought Italian wine was best for calming the nerves,’ she says, lifting the glass and pushing it into my hands.
‘Drink it all down,’ she insists. ‘It will do you good.’
I sip the wine gratefully and when I see Mrs Tomkinson means to stand over me until it is drunk, I upend the glass and finish it in a few gulps. It warms my stomach through.
‘Very good,’ she says approvingly. ‘You will feel the benefit of it presently.’
She stands, brushing down her skirts, as if suddenly abashed at her interest in my health.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘I have to supervise the silver polishing. I will make sure Sophie is on hand to bring you anything you might need.’
Mrs Tomkinson curtsies to both of us and scuttles out.
Edward smiles at me.
‘My housekeeper seems taken with your good health,’ he observes.
I smile back. The wine is doing its job and I am feeling more like my old self.
‘I feel better now,’ I say, a little embarrassed to be cosseted for a few bruises.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘The colour has returned to your cheeks.’
Edward reaches forward and toys with a fallen curl of my hair.
‘Tomorrow my business in London will be concluded,’ he says, looking at the tendril rather than me. ‘It will be our last day together.’
‘So it will.’ The same thought had just been in my head.
There’s a long pause. ‘Elizabeth,’ he whispers, ‘I feel something for you.’
It is a strange half-finished admission. But somehow I know exactly what he means. I feel the same.
He seems to be waiting for an answer and it takes all my strength not to reply. Because the truth is, I do not know if I can give him what he wants.
But in that moment, as he stares into my eyes, I am overcome with a rush of longing for him.
He must see something in my face, because he moves forward, so our lips are almost touching. And suddenly it is me kissing him passionately. I do not know what has affected me. Whether the danger of the mob, or the gentleness of Edward’s care. All I know is in this moment, I want him with every facet of my being. It is like there is a hunger in my heart which must be fed.
His arms wrap tight around my waist as he responds to my kiss. My armour is falling away completely, in the torrent of desire for him. When he breaks away I am dizzy with him.
He reaches forward, lifting me towards him on the bed. My eyes close as I breathe him in. There is something about this kiss. It seems to take my soul with it. I open my eyes, to see Edward gazing at me.
He doesn’t speak, but I can see in his face that he knows. I am all open to him.
‘Elizabeth,’ he murmurs. His hand moves to caress my collar bone and along the top of my open stays.
I close my eyes, knowing what he is asking.
He wants me to give him all of myself. Not just what can be bought.
His mouth is at my neck. My skin shivers. I am pressed against him, burning for him. His lips move back to mine and I feel as though I am falling.
As his hands move down, pulling away my stays, there is no resistance left in me.
I move to let my skirts fall away and my hands pull at his shirt.
We hesitate, breathless, half dressed, both knowing this is the point of no return. And with his eyes on mine, Edward gently takes off my last piece of clothing.
Then the thing is done. My boundaries are all gone now. I am his, body and soul. As we move together, everything is changed.
I feel myself rise up to meet him, breathing into him, tumbling into his eyes. I can no longer tell where I end and he begins. My body flutters in exquisite tension, knowing this is different from before. Waiting for when everything will change. And when the moment comes, it is a white-hot wave, sweeping over me, forcing my head back, making me cry aloud.
I gasp, pulling him close as my breathing slows again. His arms wrap me tighter and then we are floating, entangled with one another, sighing back into the bed.
Later, as we sit in bed drinking wine, something has shifted between us. It makes me sad. The best I can expect from Edward is to be his mistress. But the idea is a leaden cold in my heart.
‘I suppose,’ he is saying, ‘we should ready ourselves for one last evening together. We might attend a social dinner, or take a ferry-boat to the entertainments on the South Bank.’
‘You must be seen tonight?’ I ask.
He looks at me, slightly puzzled.
‘I mean to say,’ I clarify, ‘might you not be absent? You have almost completed your business, after all.’
Edward’s face is a picture. As though this possibility never occurred to him.
‘I suppose the matter is in hand,’ he says slowly. ‘One night’s absence would do no harm. Though Fitzroy will expect me to be seen. I have never missed a night when I am in London.’
‘You do not need to be seen every night,’ I urge. ‘You must rest and have some fun for yourself. Else what is all the money about?’
He smiles at this.
‘What would we do instead?’ he asks.
I smile back at him, liking the ‘we’.
‘We could have a simple dinner here in your parlour,’ I suggest. ‘And I will read to you. Or we could play at cards.’
There is a boyishness in Edward’s face. As though the prospect of baulking his social engagement is a heady thrill.
‘I would like that very much,’ he says.
‘Good,’ I return. ‘You may wait here and relax. I will order us a simple dinner from Mrs Tomkinson.’
We eat roasted chicken, with thick slices of bread. And afterwards, I read Edward some writings by Alexander Pope. And after a few rounds of cards, he undertakes to teach me chess. I am a bad pupil, but he is patient.
‘How easy life would be,’ sighs Edward, placing his pawn with a rueful smile, ‘if this were all that was expected of us.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, frowning as I study the squares on the board.
‘If this was our life,’ he says, ‘and we had no other obligations of family, or income.’
‘That it would,’ I agree, selecting the queen and moving to take his pawn.
‘You cannot do that,’ he says, moving the pieces back. ‘Your queen cannot act like a horse.’
‘I thought she could move any way,’ I protest.
‘That is typical of you,’ smiles Edward. ‘You must have freedom complete.’
There is something in his eye as he says it. And I realise what he is hinting at. Though it has not been said out loud, we both know what he will likely suggest tomorrow. That I become his mistress in London.
‘Oh Edward,’ I say, ‘have you not learned yet? It is not freedom women seek.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘Control over their men,’ I reply, taking his knight with a deft movement.
Chapter 41
As the night draws on, we lie on the bed, sheets draped over us, with Edward stroking my hair.
I am drugged for him, heady with a feeling I should not feel. I have given him something which can never be taken back. I know I should be more frightened than I am. But I feel so warm and safe. As though nothing can hurt me.
‘Tell me,’ whispers Edward, ‘about when you first came to London.’
I relax a little deeper into his arms.
‘When I first came to London,’ I say, ‘I was a country fool.’
‘I cannot see that about you,’ he replies.
‘Well, it is true. I hoped to find work and fell into the trap of the first handsome man who sai
d he could help me.’
I pause, remembering how it was. The sudden crowds and dirt of London. The dawning realisation that it was much harder to find a place than I thought.
‘My seducer saw what easy prey I was,’ I say. ‘And he told me he would find me a place to stay.’ I look down. ‘I was so foolish. I believed him when he said he had fallen in love with me.’
‘And he abandoned you?’
‘He told me we would marry afterwards. A few days passed and he never took me to Fleet Street as he promised. I think I knew then,’ I add.
Edward says nothing, only carries on stroking my hair.
‘After a week, he had tired of me,’ I say. ‘He told me he could not afford to have me for a wife, for I had no work. Then he took me to Mrs Wilkes. Said I would do very well there. My beauty would make me rich.’
I look at Edward.
‘He made it sound as though he had helped me, rather than ruined me,’ I say. ‘When I saw Mrs Wilkes I was frightened. But she made my seducer pay me, for my week with him, and I liked her a little more.’
I smile at the memory.
‘But you did not spend his banknote?’ asks Edward.
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I have carried it since.’
I give him a sad smile. ‘It was the very last of my country pride. If I did not spend his banknote, then I had not sold my virtue.’
I close my eyes and swallow.
‘I still had hopes of being a wife one day. Then things happened,’ I whisper, ‘that made me realise I would never be that girl again.’
Edward hugs me to him.
‘Once I was in Mrs Wilkes’s house … I was destitute and homeless. There was no question I could refuse what was asked of me.’
‘Did they hurt you?’ he whispers.
I nod and the tears come.
‘New girls are sold as virgins on their first night,’ I explain. ‘And again and again until every dupe has had them.’ Words are spilling out now. I cannot stop them.
Edward says nothing, but his arm tightens around my chest. Somehow, this makes me feel better than any words ever could.
‘It was worse in the beginning,’ I add. ‘It became better.’
‘And now?’ he asks gently.
‘Men lie,’ I sigh. ‘It hardens the heart. Divining the true opportunities from the deceivers is an art I struggle to learn.’
‘Your ambition is for a rich protector then?’
‘It is a means to an end,’ I say. ‘I work to earn my own independence.’
‘Your own independence?’
‘What every courtesan wishes for,’ I say. ‘Enough money for a house and a lifelong salary.’
Edward is gazing deep into my eyes.
‘You do not think you are worth more than that?’ he whispers.
‘I have learned the hard way that life is hard. I should not be tricked again, by dreams.’
He strokes a line along my jaw.
‘You are such a truly beautiful thing,’ he says. ‘You should have more faith in your dreams.’
I give him a sad smile. ‘Outer beauty fades fast,’ I say, ‘and inner beauty does not buy bread.’
He kisses me very gently on the lips. ‘You have more value than you know, Elizabeth.’
I smile, thinking how hollow his words are. We both know I have not enough value to be his wife.
Chapter 42
I awake to a high commotion. The whole house seems in uproar and I sit up in bed, trying to take in what is happening.
It is still early. Barely past dawn by my best reckoning. What can all the noise be about?
Since the dressmakers’ visit, I have all kinds of garments at my disposal. I slept in a lace-edged shift, which can be readily accessorised to make a dressing room outfit. The kind a lady might wear while entertaining female relatives in her chamber.
So I pull on a loose silk skirt and drape a fine muslin around my shoulders, covering the upper part of my bust.
I am about to make for the door, when I remember that ladies cover their hair indoors. I hastily grab a frilled cap and tie it under my chin, pushing up my chestnut curls the best I can.
As I break out into the hallway, I see a procession of footmen and servants carrying trunks and baskets back and forth along the hallway.
A few nod to me, as they see me begin to descend the stair.
I see Edward stride in from the front door, issuing instructions in a rapid low voice. Then he sees me high on the stair and stops.
‘Elizabeth.’ He smiles up at me.
‘Edward.’ I gesture to my partial dress. ‘You see I come in dishabille just to see your face.’
He seems pleased at this.
‘You are like the rising sun,’ he says, ‘at the top of my stairwell.’
I laugh, coming down two stairs at a time.
‘If you must rob Shakespeare,’ I laugh, ‘you should make the right words.’
I arrive slightly breathless before him and unexpectedly Edward catches me up in his arms. He spins me around and I laugh aloud.
‘There are no right words for you,’ he says, kissing my head and placing me back on my feet.
‘You are packing to leave?’ I ask, nodding towards the convoy of loading servants.
Edward nods and a spike of pain stabs my heart. A foolish part of me thought … I am ashamed to admit what.
He catches the expression on my face and pulls me into his arms.
‘I have it all arranged,’ he says. ‘You may stay here until you find a house you like. I will be back in London within the month and we may arrange your own servants and carriage then.
I smile at him. The first courtesan smile I have ever given him. Edward has handed me the dream of every street girl. The very thing I have wished for since my ruin. And how cold and empty it is now I have it.
‘You will complete your business today?’ I ask, studying my fingers so I don’t have to look at his face.
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Twelve noon,’ he says. ‘That is when titles to the ship are handed over. I will meet with Vanderbilt for one last time. Shall we take our midday meal together?’ he suggests. ‘When I am finished? I do not know how long it will be until we see each other, after today.’
‘I should like that,’ I reply. ‘Shall we take a walk in the park before you go to the Exchange?’ I add, thinking this a nice way to spend the last few hours. ‘Mrs Tomkinson can make a picnic of our breakfast.’
‘Is there a park near here?’
I laugh. ‘Edward, there is a park only a few streets away. Hyde Park. It is famed.’
‘I never did go to Hyde Park,’ he admits. ‘Perhaps it would be nice to see it before concluding my business.’
Edward seems uncharacteristically uncertain as we wander into Hyde Park. As though the function of parkland is not quite clear to him.
‘We will sit here,’ I direct, pointing to a springy patch of grass. ‘I shall take us a cup of milk.’
Edward sits, arranging our breakfast, while I walk over to a milkmaid and a tethered cow. I hand her my penny and she pumps warm fresh milk into my cup.
I return to Edward, who has assembled our breakfast picnic on the grass.
‘Try it,’ I say, handing him the cup. ‘It is fresh.’
He takes a long draught and his eyebrows arch.
‘It is good,’ he says. ‘I did not know you could get fresh milk in London.’
I sit next to him, stretching out my legs and enjoying the sun on my face.
Edward sits as though he is unsure how to place himself and I draw him back, so his head rests on my lap.
‘There,’ I say, ‘now you can see the sky.’
‘I never saw the sky from this angle before,’ he says.
‘You never lay on grass?’
His head turns in my lap to indicate he hasn’t.
‘Not even on your estate?’ I am rather shocked.
‘I work on my estate,�
� he says. ‘I do not use it for leisure.’
‘Maybe you should,’ I say, reaching into the picnic basket and drawing out the book I have packed. ‘Come,’ I add, ‘I shall read you one last poem before you go.’
He nods his assent and I open The Faerie Queene, selecting the poem carefully. As I start to read, Edward closes his eyes.
‘One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Vain man, said she, that does in vain assay
A mortal thing to immortalise;
For I myself shall decay,
And my name be wiped out likewise.’
I close the book and Edward’s eyes open.
‘You do not read the whole?’ he protests.
I shake my head.
‘The sun gets high,’ I say. ‘You must be going.’
He nods his assent and sits up a little.
I turn, so he cannot see the sadness in my face. For he did not realise, in the poem, I was telling him goodbye.
Chapter 43
It is a strange thing to be in Edward’s house, knowing I am leaving. I have ordered the midday meal from Mrs Tomkinson, taking care to select Edward’s favourites. And Sophie has helped dress me in something I hope will please him best.
For the most part, I have spent these few hours distracting myself by reading. But the minutes seem to crawl by.
I have thought about my situation from every angle. But I still cannot make the idea of being Edward’s mistress fit. The world is open to me in a way it wasn’t before. It is not just the money. I feel different in myself.
As a younger woman, I allowed myself to be debased. Now, it is as though I have been given a second chance to be fresh and free.
There is a sound at the parlour door and I am startled out of my thoughts. I did not expect Edward back so soon. And when the door finally opens I jump out of my seat.
But to my great shock, it is not Edward who walks through, but Caroline.
I freeze and my heart begins to beat faster. Even with my low background, I know that people do not just let themselves in to visit fine houses unannounced.
‘Elizabeth,’ she says, with the smallest of nods.
Masquerade: Can a street-girl become a lady? Page 21