by M C Beaton
“I… I do not have any,” gasped Freddie.
“Then you must make some. Muslin will be supplied to you.”
Miss Mary rustled out, and Freddie sank slowly down on the bed and stared wildly about her.
The room was deathly cold. The other three beds were tightly covered with thin blankets. The floor was sanded and scrubbed, and marks of damp had left strange patterns of faces on the lumpy whitewashed walls.
Did the earl know what this seminary was like? wondered Freddie. He must have, for he had received a letter and brochure. It was a cruel and heartless thing to do. She was to be shut away here forever among these other unwanted girls.
At last she went slowly down through the shadowy house and collected her other trunk. Panting and gasping, she managed to carry it upstairs.
All her love and admiration for the earl began to wither and die. He had sent her away like an unwanted parcel. It was now perfectly easy to understand why he was attracted by Lady Rennenord. They were two of a kind.
A shadow fell across the room, and Freddie looked up. Miss Cassandra stood there watching her, a smile on her full lips. “Have you any money, Miss Armstrong?” she asked.
Freddie looked startled. “Lord Berham gave a package to one of the grooms to deliver to you. I assume…”
“Oh, that money,” said Miss Cassandra, pouting. “A devil of a job I had getting it, too. That Manson woman was out arguing with Lord Berham’s servants and saying as how they were not to pay. So I says, says I, ‘You’ve no right for to go against your master’s instructions, and you can give me that money and then be off with you and take this harridan with you.’ That’s what I said.” Freddie recoiled slightly at the vulgarity of Miss Cassandra’s speech. “But,” went on that lady eagerly, “I mean, have you any personal money? I always takes charge of that, you know. Safer to leave it with me.”
Freddie thought quickly about a certain twenty guineas Miss Manson had given her in the carriage with a note from Lord Berham, saying it was to buy ribbons and things, and he would send more. Conscience money, thought Freddie bitterly.
“No. I have no personal money,” she lied. “Lord Berham understood that everything would be supplied her. He is going to forward me some. When it arrives, I shall let you know.”
Freddie looked gloomily out of the barred window to the great bleak expanse of the sea. “There does not seem to be much opportunity for spending anything here. Unless, of course, when we visit the shops in the town.”
“Oh, you’re not allowed to do that!” said Miss Cassandra. “We never go into the town. You wicked girls must be kept away from the world until you repent.”
“I have nothing to repent,” said Freddie hotly. “But you have. Masquerading as a boy. Fighting in cockpits! Shameful!”
“My Lord Berham seems to have given you my life story,” said Freddie bitterly, fighting back the tears which were pricking against her eyelids.
The details of Freddie’s exploits had in fact come from Lady Rennenord. But Miss Cassandra knew that she was not supposed to let Freddie know that, not if she and her sister were to collect the generous bonus Lady Rennenord had promised them should they succeed in keeping the girl away from Berham Court.
“I do not understand how he could be so cruel and unfeeling,” said Freddie half to herself. “I shall demand an explanation when I return at Easter.”
“But you will not be returning at Easter or on any other holiday. ‘Keep her with you for the holidays.’ Those were Lord Berham’s instructions.”
Freddie sat very still on the edge of the hard bed and felt the last glimmer of hope dwindle and die. But still she made a desperate last stand. “I cannot believe Lord Berham would tell me that I was expected back at Easter and then tell you otherwise.”
“Oh, you may see the letter,” said Miss Cassandra, her pale eyes noticing that this offer had the effect of making Freddie’s face go white and pinched. There was no such letter. Only the one from Lady Rennenord.
“Are you quite sure you have no money?” went on Miss Cassandra, running the tip of her tongue over her lips, her eyes darting at the trunks. “We must search your belongings, you know, to make sure you ain’t brought anything you shouldn’t.”
Freddie opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment there was the faint sound of voices from downstairs.
“I’ll be back,” said Miss Cassandra, waddling away.
Freddie leapt into action as soon as she had gone. She tore open the lid of one of the trunks and rummaged around until she had extracted a full suit of men’s clothes and a long cloak and her sword. She raised the mattress and carefully put everything underneath. Then she quickly tucked the blankets firmly back into place. She opened her reticule and took out the bag of guineas and looked wildly about. She knew all at once that she dare not hide it anywhere in the room. She was sure that Miss Cassandra was expert at finding hiding places.
She went out onto the landing. The sound of voices came nearer. There was a carved acorn ornamenting the wooden banister at the top of the stairs. Freddie remembered hiding treasures when she was small inside the carved ornamental ball on top of the banister at home. She gave the acorn a frantic wrench and smiled as it slowly turned. She twisted it off, noticing with satisfaction that it obviously had not been used before as a hiding place. Then she popped the bag of guineas into the cavity, screwed the acorn back on, and darted back into the room to sit primly down on the edge of her bed. Just in time.
Three young ladies walked into the room.
They were pinched with cold and shabbily dressed. All three stopped short and stared at Freddie. Then one of them shrugged and walked forward. “I wish you hadn’t come,” she said in a voice choked with the cold. “Now we can’t have the spare blankets from your bed. What have you been sent here for? Stealing the silver?”
“No,” snapped Freddie.
“Oh, you’ll tell us sooner or later. I’m Betty Blackstone, the one with the long nose is Freda Cartwright-Browne, and the one with the yellow hair is Jane Haddington. My sinful crime was to fall in love with the first footman. I keep writing home begging them to take me back, but they’ve become used to living without me. Freda ran away from home and was caught by the watch. Jane is the most exciting one. She set her family home on fire, or at least that’s what they said.”
“It’s like a prison,” gasped Freddie. “Sent to prison without a trial.”
“You’ll get used to it,” said Betty Blackstone.
“We all do. And you’ll never be allowed to wear such fine clothes. They’ll disappear in a day or two and be replaced with shabby duds like these we are wearing.”
“But your families must visit you… must care.”
“If anyone cares about you,” said the one called Freda dryly, “then you wouldn’t be sent here in the first place.”
“But you’re all quite old,” said Freddie, bewildered. “This is a school. I mean, you are all as old as I. A school is for children.”
“Oh, this is an excuse of a school to keep unwanted young ladies away from their families,” said Jane Haddington. “It’s only been here for three years, or some of us would be as old as Methuselah. I’ve been here the longest. I’ve seen three girls die since I’ve been here,” she said with a sort of distorted pride. “Pneumonia, influenza, and malnutrition. I like funerals. We get extra food.”
“But how can such a place be allowed to exist?”
Betty shrugged her thin shoulders. “Who would care? People are locked up in madhouses the whole time although they are perfectly sane, and simply because their relatives want their money, and no one does anything about that.”
“Have you never thought of escaping?” asked Freddie.
“Some of us have tried. But you can’t get very far. There’s two so-called gardeners always on the lookout for stray females.
“And then, we can’t get very far without any money. The townspeople think we are worse than criminals, so any girl seen in the town
is promptly taken before the watch and returned here.”
“But I was told I would be educated to become a young lady so that I could take my place in society,” said Freddie, her eyes filling with tears.
The three young women flung themselves down on their beds and rocked with mirth.
“You are funny.” Betty laughed. “We don’t get any education at all. We do the housework, and clean, and scrub, and sew. If you can find a decent book to read, you’re lucky. The only thing we don’t do is cook. They’re frightened we might steal the food. Our botany lesson is simply a ten-mile march supervised by one of the gardeners. There are no teachers, only the Misses Hope.”
“I shall escape somehow,” said Freddie, lifting her chin.
“Don’t tell anyone else,” said Jane Haddington. “We’re all right, but I don’t know about the other girls. You see, if you tell on someone, Miss Cassandra gives you extra food.”
“How many girls are there altogether?” asked Freddie.
“Twelve altogether, including you,” said Betty. “Oh, there’s the dinner bell.”
Dinner was served in a dingy and dark dining room. The meal consisted of two pieces of bread and a disgusting watery stew. Freddie ate her bread but passed her plate of stew to Betty. There was no talking allowed during meals, so she sat, turning over in her mind how to escape and what to do when she did.
Her grandfather’s old home rightly belonged to her. But her old home, her fortune, and she herself had been left in the care of the earl until she was twenty-one. Freddie would be nineteen in June. By the time I leave here, she thought bitterly, if I stay, I shall be too broken in spirit to enjoy my fortune. A sudden dark thought assailed her. Perhaps the idea was that she would never leave alive, in which case her lands and fortune would belong to the earl!
From being that of a handsome, elegant, and dynamic man, the earl’s picture changed in her mind to that of a cold-blooded aristocrat, devoid of feeling.
But still Freddie longed to see him again, if only just to give Lord Berham a piece of her mind!
Three days later Lord Berham walked restlessly up and down, wondering what to do.
His servants had returned from Lamstowe and told him a disturbing story of the vulgar fat woman who had ranted at them and insulted Miss Manson. They reported that the seminary had looked more like a prison.
He was now debating whether to go to Lamstowe himself, when to his delight and surprise Lady Rennenord and Mrs. Bellisle were announced.
He took Lady Rennenord’s hands in his, studying with pleasure her calm and beautiful face, her exquisite figure, and the thick, glossy curls peeping out from beneath a delicious confection of a bonnet.
“Welcome back,” he said. “I had not expected the pleasure of your company so soon. Pray be seated, ladies, and let me offer you a dish of tea. Did you enjoy your visit?”
“Very much,” barked Mrs. Bellisle. “Got rid of that girl, did you?”
“Miss Armstrong left us five days ago.” The earl frowned and studied the shining toecaps of his boots. “I confess I am a trifle worried about this seminary. I am sure you would not have recommended anywhere unsuitable, Lady Rennenord. Have you actually seen this establishment yourself?”
“No, Lord Berham. But it is highly recommended. Of course, Miss Armstrong has no doubt sent a letter by your servants, complaining bitterly. She is very young and needs to learn.”
“It is not that,” said the earl, becoming more worried by the minute. “My servants tell me that one of the principals is a fat, vulgar woman who berated and insulted poor Miss Manson and sent her packing as soon as Miss Armstrong had arrived.”
“Servants’ gossip,” sniffed Mrs. Bellisle. “That sort of low person is always dramatizing things.”
“My servants are very trustworthy and reliable,” said Lord Berham coldly. “Admittedly, they are all very, very fond of Miss Armstrong. Oh, my dear Lady Rennenord! You must not distress yourself.”
For Lady Rennenord’s beautiful eyes had filled with tears. “I was genuinely trying to do the best for the girl,” she said, allowing two large tears to roll unchecked down her cheeks. “Perhaps I should not have said anything. You were so worried about her, my lord, that my heart was moved. If you will forgive my saying so, my lord, I fear Miss Armstrong has really not been brought up to consider the comfort or welfare of anyone other than herself. Naturally, she does not want to leave a grand mansion to go back to school! It is humiliating. But necessary, my lord. How could she make her debut as she is at present when she might challenge someone at Almack’s to a duel?”
“I am sure you are right,” said the earl, “although she is far from being selfish. She was extremely concerned about all my servants’ welfare and seemed to know all their ailments,” he added with a reminiscent smile.
“Well,” said Lady Rennenord, delicately drying her eyes, “that is all very commendable, although a trifle lacking in breeding. It is a mistake to be too familiar with the lower orders. They take advantage.”
She saw the earl frown again and added quickly, “I will go myself this very day to Lamstowe to see the dear girl and so will put your fears at rest.”
“That is very generous,” said the earl warmly, “and so like you. But all this is not at all necessary. We are forgetting Miss Manson! She is an educated and sensible woman and will give us a good account of what actually happened.”
For a moment Lady Rennenord seemed to be in the grip of some strong emotion. Poor, pretty thing, thought the earl indulgently. She really fears she has displeased me.
“Let us forget about Miss Armstrong,” he said. “Tell me about your visit, and I will try not to tell you a hundred times how very much I have missed you.”
The visit passed pleasantly.
Lady Rennenord and Mrs. Bellisle were no sooner seated in their carriage and leaving Berham Court than Lady Rennenord asked suddenly, “This Manson woman. Who owns that cottage of hers?”
“I do,” said Mrs. Bellisle promptly.
“And does she always pay her rent?”
“Always,” said Mrs. Bellisle. “That’s what I like about her. No fuss. No endless demands for repairs. She’s got a little money that was left her by some relative. Not much, but it seems sufficient for her needs. I only charge her a token sum.”
“I think I had better pay her a call,” said Lady Rennenord, “if you would not mind setting me down. There is no need for you to accompany me.”
“Of course, you are concerned about our dear Miss Armstrong,” said Mrs. Bellisle sarcastically.
“I am concerned that Miss Manson will turn out to be one of those hysterical spinsters who will trouble Lord Berham with a great deal of nonsense,” said Lady Rennenord calmly.
“And you want to get to her first,” said Mrs. Bellisle with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Of course.”
“Very well. But Miss Manson is not at all hysterical. I told you she was the ideal person to accompany Miss Armstrong. Very religious and strict. You will find she has not approved of Miss Armstrong’s unconventionality one whit. You know her yourself, Clarissa. You have met her several times. She knows her place.”
Miss Manson was weeding a flower bed in her garden as the carriage drew up. She had been rehearsing the speech she would make to Lord Berham when she called on him that afternoon. Miss Manson was determined that Miss Armstrong should be brought home, but she was shy of approaching such a great personage as Lord Berham without a great deal of rehearsal.
Besides, did she need to say anything? Did she need to complain about a seminary so highly recommended by Lady Rennenord? The whole of Berham knew that the earl was enamored of her ladyship. And Miss Armstrong would be home again at Easter, which was only a few weeks away. But Miss Manson’s conscience nagged her more and more. She had grown extremely fond of the girl and could not bear to think of her living in that place under the rule of those terrible women even for a day.
She straightened her back and saw Lady Ren
nenord descending from Mrs. Bellisle’s carriage.
Miss Manson nervously wiped her hands on her apron and dropped Lady Rennenord a low curtsy. Lady Rennenord graciously gave her two fingers to shake.
“Shall we step inside your charming cottage for a little, Miss Manson?” she said. “I am anxious to have a private chat with you.”
Miss Manson pinned a servile smile on her face and curtsied again before leading the way into the cottage.
Lady Rennenord sat down in the small parlor and looked about her with calm, limpid eyes. The furniture was old but comfortable and well cared for. A copper jug of daffodils shone in the gloom of the low-raftered parlor. A bright homemade hooked rug decorated the floor. There were several quite good watercolors on the walls.
“Very comfortable,” remarked Lady Rennenord, fanning herself languidly although the room was quite cold. “I gather from Mrs. Bellisle that you pay quite a modest rent.”
“Yes, my lady. Mrs. Bellisle is most generous. She takes, as you know, a great interest in the welfare of the indigent gentlewomen of Berham and was pleased to offer me the tenancy of this cottage when the seminary closed. May I offer your ladyship some refreshment?”
“I thank you, no. It has often been pointed out to Mrs. Bellisle that she could charge a much higher rent for this cottage. You must be very grateful to her. She is not famous for her generosity. You will forgive me for speaking plain.”
Miss Manson felt her heart sink. She knew very well the reason for all these remarks about her rent. The clutch-fisted Mrs. Bellisle charged Miss Manson a low rent simply because she occasionally liked to appear generous, and Miss Manson knew how to creep and toady to a nicety, having learned in the hard school of impoverished gentility. If you were of the wrong sex—female—and the wrong class—gentry—and you had barely enough to eat, then like the Miss Mansons of the world, you learned quickly how to flatter and manipulate and stoop to all sorts of disgraceful subterfuges to keep yourself from the workhouse.
What Lady Rennenord was actually saying was that if Miss Manson dared to complain to Lord Berham about the seminary in Lamstowe, Lady Rennenord would use all her influence to see that Miss Manson’s rent was increased drastically or that Miss Manson was put out of her cottage. Miss Manson understood all this very well.