The Painted Fan

by Elizabeth Aston

  She listened to the words of the marriage service with a sense of cold chill in her heart. The ancient words rang in her head, and she blinked away tears at the thought of how she had dreamed of being a bride kneeling before the altar, listening to these words and exchanging vows of lifelong love and fidelity and passion with Mr. Standish.

  Sarah, wreathed with smiles and glowing with happiness, came down the aisle on the arm of her new husband. There was a general sense in the congregation of approval and satisfaction in the young couple’s happiness and delight in one another.

  It was not a large or fashionable wedding, for bride and groom had not wished for a big occasion, but it brought together many friends and members of the family. Lord Mountjoy, a good friend of Lord Gosforth’s, was there, deep in conversation with her father. They are talking about France again, Anna said to herself; how she hated that country.

  The guests walked the short distance from the church to Lord Gosforth’s house. Anna held the hand of the flower girl, flown with her role in the ceremony and determined to describe just how important a part she had played in it, and Anna’s spirits were soothed somewhat by the child’s artless prattle.

  The wedding breakfast was a cheerful affair, and she managed to smile and accept the greetings of people and congratulations on her sister’s good fortune and not to look as furious as she felt at the knowing nods and winks and promises that it would be her turn next.

  Mrs. Rufforth was there, of course, sharp as ever, interrogating Anna as to her beaux and whether she had any likely prospects in mind. “Other than Mr. Standish, of course there is nothing will come of that. It is always good for a girl to find a husband before the end of the first season. I know Sarah had to wait all that time and managed it in the end, but it is much better to be turned off as soon as you can. Set your eye on some suitable young man, your mother will advise, and provided he has a nice enough disposition and a good fortune, there’s not much more that a woman can hope for in a husband.”

  Henrietta paid a call on Anna in the afternoon, eager to hear all the details of the wedding: what everybody was wearing; how Sarah had comported herself; were there many tears? Did anyone faint? “I suppose nobody came forward to raise an impediment? I do always so long for that to happen at a wedding, just for the excitement of it.”

  “Imagine how dreadful for the bride, though.”

  “You assume that the impediment must always be something wicked on the groom’s side, but I dare say it is just as likely to happen with the bride. And that would be even more shocking,” Henrietta added with relish.

  “Mr. Vere came to the wedding. Papa must have asked him, because I don’t think he’s particularly acquainted with Mr. Allen, and I am sure Sarah hardly knows him. He was talking to Lord Mountjoy and my father; they all had those long faces again, which mean they were discussing war and ships and armies and that dreadful Napoleon. But I wonder why Mr. Vere has not married.”

  “Oh, as to that,” Henrietta cried, “they say he was disappointed in love when he was a young man, but they always say that about a man who doesn’t marry. He has been abroad a little, you know, and who knows what men get up to abroad? But he is the kind of man who will be fastidious in the choice of a wife. He will marry to suit himself and not to suit his family. There have been any number of females on the catch for him, because he is extremely rich and has a big house in the country and a town house, apart from being so well connected.”

  “Do you fancy him? Are you planning to set your cap at him?”

  “That is such a vulgar thing to suggest, but good heavens, no. One must admire him, but he frightens me almost as much as Lord Mountjoy does.”

  Anna laughed. “Does Lord Mountjoy intimidate you so much?”

  “Yes, he does. I know you find that strange, for no man frightens you; you always stand up to them and smile and make them laugh.”

  So Anna would have said of herself a little while back. Now she doubted if she any longer had the capability to make a man laugh, and she didn’t feel that she had much laughter in herself either.

  Chapter 9

  After Henrietta had taken her leave, Anna came to a sudden decision. She went downstairs and opened the door to the library. She rarely came in here, which was a pity, because there was something about the smell of the room, a musty smell of leather and paper and polish, that was rather pleasant. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for; there were so many books here, and most of them looked so unaccountably dull.

  Then her father came into the room and looked surprised to see her there.

  “Papa, I want to know more about what is happening in France and in the Houses of Parliament and all that kind of thing.”

  To her chagrin, her father burst out laughing. “Why, what ever has got into you, Anna? You’ve hardly ever read anything in your life except those absurd novels, and now you’re in here looking to find out about France.”

  “You make fun of me. Everybody is talking about it, and I know nothing about it. Perhaps you can tell me.”

  Lord Gosforth realised that his daughter, strange creature that she was, was in earnest. So he wiped the smile from his face and looked reflectively at her. “I always have wondered about the education of you young women. It was nothing to do with me, of course; your mama was in charge of all that, and I know she considers it important that you learned music and a smattering of languages and all that kind of thing. For my part, I always think it a shame an intelligent young woman does not have a chance to stretch her intellect a little further than that.”

  “Intelligent? I think I must be the least clever female living.”

  “Nonsense. You have a good head on your shoulders, and you are quick in your understanding. I do not think it strange at all that you wish to know more. You are quite right; we live in troubled and difficult times, and I think it is right for everybody to know what is going on, male and female. Besides, my dear, one of these days you, like your sister, will marry, and I should hate to see you married to a blockhead. If you marry a clever man, as I hope you will, he will expect you to have more in your head than simply what is the latest fashion or a passion for card games or the gossip of the town.”

  He walked slowly along the bookshelves and removed a volume. “Here is a history of France, a history of the Revolution. You have heard about the French Revolution?”

  “Oh, Papa, of course I have. When they cut everybody’s heads off; it was quite dreadful. Miss Pinkerton told me about it, but not really much more than how shocking it was to cut off the head of the king and queen. Although I don’t know that we can count ourselves so righteous on that front, because after all we cut off the head of King Charles.”

  “And thereby maybe saved ourselves from the kind of revolution the French had,” her father observed.

  Anna couldn’t quite see the logic of this, but she reached out her hand for the volume that her father had taken down from the shelf.

  “This will tell you something about the French Revolution, and then I can explain to you how Napoleon came to power. And what his wicked ambitions are. You will find it interesting.”

  Mr. Vere saw Anna without at once recognising her, as she was quite a distance away, but he admired a rider with such a good seat and light hands, handling her high-spirited horse without difficulty. Then, as he came closer, he realised it was Miss Gosforth, riding with that friend of hers—what was her name? Ah, Henrietta Portway. Who was quite another kind of rider; even though mounted on a placid chestnut hack, she didn’t look at ease in the saddle.

  A gentleman came up to the two young ladies, reining in his horse to walk alongside them. Who was it? Should he know him? Ah, Mr. Hooper. He had eyes only for Miss Portway, which didn’t give Mr. Vere a good opinion of him. Miss Portway was well enough but couldn’t hold a candle to the livelier and more taking Miss Gosforth.

  Her upright figure had become rigid; now why? Then he saw the two riders who were coming the other way and just drawing level wi
th the trio.

  It was Lady Flavia, cantering side by side with Mr. Standish.

  People were saying they would make a match of it. She would be a good catch for him in many ways, but he would stray; he would make her an abominable husband. Still, a good wife for a man with political ambitions, and a good escape for Miss Gosforth. Not that Mr. Standish had ever had any serious intentions in that direction.

  He saw the look in Miss Gosforth’s eyes as she turned her head slightly to watch the other two riders go past, having received nothing more than a cool look from Lady Flavia and a slight bow from Standish. On an impulse, he urged his horse into a trot and drew up beside Miss Gosforth. She looked surprised but greeted him in a pleasant and civil way. He wondered, had that been a look of desperation or of anger? Before he could wonder any further, she said something which surprised him so much that he hardly knew how to answer.

  “My father says you know all about politics and are well informed about the present situation with regard to France. I have been reading Edmund Burke’s history of the French Revolution and . . .”

  He was so startled that her next words were lost to him, and he came back to earth to hear her saying, “But of course that was all in the past, and although it may give some basis for comprehending why Napoleon is the man he is and the power he has obtained in France and Europe, it doesn’t really help me to understand the present situation.”

  Vere collected his scattered wits. Was she teasing him? Was she serious? In which case, she was not quite the frivolous creature she seemed to be.

  “I’m sure your father is well able to explain the situation in France.”

  “I dare say he might, and he has a little, but he has better things to do with his time than talk to me about it. I appreciate that he is very busy—all you politicos are very busy at the moment—but he fobbed me off, you know, by giving me the Edmund Burke to read. I am sure he did not believe I would get through more than a page of it, but I found it quite absorbing.”

  She was serious, damn it. “He has told you about the Peace of Amiens?”

  “Yes, and I know there are those who think that it was a bad move and merely gives the French time to rearm and build many more ships, which I gather they have done. And others say that we should come to terms with Napoleon.”

  He hesitated, glanced at Henrietta, who was wholly taken up with her beau, and decided to take Miss Gosforth at her word. There was an air of resolution about her, and she appeared to be in earnest. Quite a character, Miss Gosforth; possibly too much so for a young lady in her first season.

  He explained, she listened and was frank in asking questions, with an apology for her ignorance. “You see, I have never taken any account of our navy and how many ships we have or indeed exactly what a man o’ war is. I have a cousin who is a naval officer, and I’m sure he would answer all my questions, but he is away in the West Indies.”

  Chapter 10

  Anna was surprised to find that she could talk so easily to Mr. Vere, and she applauded him for being so civil as to answer her questions. Her head was in a whirl, there were so many things to grasp and understand, and she was having glimmerings of how different the life of a Lady Flavia would have been from her own restricted and enclosed upbringing. She ceased her questions, falling silent for a while, and then said abruptly, “I envy a young woman like Lady Flavia, who has had the chance to travel and see how people go on in other countries. All I know so far about France is fashion.”

  “Fashion is not unimportant, particularly to a young lady making her come out,” Mr. Vere said.

  “Do not patronise me, Mr. Vere.”

  She wondered if she’d offended him, been ruder than she’d intended, as he withdrew his attention from her. No, it was nothing she had said; he was looking at a man some yards away who was leaning against a tree, his eyes fixed on Mr. Vere.

  “Pray, excuse me, Miss Gosforth,” he said with a slight bow. “I hope we may continue our conversation at another time.”

  She watched him as he rode off and saw him come up to the man and sit for a few minutes talking to him. He leaned down from the saddle and handed the man something—a paper of some kind? And then, touching his horse’s side with his heels, he cantered on.

  Anna was intrigued, but she thought no more of it until later that day; back in her house, she chanced to be in the library. It wasn’t a large room, but there was a part of it where a deep shelf was set at an angle. She had just settled herself in a chair on the other side of it when she heard the door open and the sound of Papa’s voice. Who was he talking to? Ah, she recognised that other voice: it was Mr. Vere.

  Her first instinct was to get up, to make her presence known, and to remove herself. It was clear the men had no idea she was there, and, situated as she was, she couldn’t help overhearing their conversation. It would be uncomfortable to leave now and therefore better to sit tight and wait for them to leave the library again. Papa would be going upstairs to dress for dinner shortly; it was indeed a strange hour for Mr. Vere to call on him.

  She didn’t intend to listen to them, but in spite of herself she became interested in what they were saying. They were talking about a paper, a memorandum that was missing, some important document. What was it that Mr. Standish had said? That Mr. Vere worked in some government department? Her father, of course, sat in the Lords, and he also held some office, although she wasn’t sure what he did.

  “A very serious matter should it fall into the wrong hands,” Mr. Vere was saying.

  “It will unquestionably fall into the wrong hands unless we can trace it and retrieve it so swiftly that no information has been passed on. What would be the extent of the damage should it reach French hands?”

  “Incalculable.” Mr. Vere’s voice was sombre. “The names of half our agents working for us in Paris? Malbos would give his right hand to have that information.”

  “We will have to put a watch on all ports and all travellers must be searched.”

  “That is already arranged and messengers sent off. The officials at the ports keep a close eye on travellers as it is, but of course there is always the possibility—indeed, the likelihood—of smugglers taking an agent across, or a fishing boat taking an illicit passenger in return for money. At present, when we are not at war with France, they see no harm in it. No, we need to find how it was taken in England, and by whom, so that we can try to prevent whoever has it leaving the capital.”

  “They will most likely already have done so.” Papa’s voice sounded as grim as Anna had ever heard it.

  A week ago none of this would have meant anything to her, but now she quickly comprehended the seriousness of what was being said. Obviously, if there were any danger of war, the government would have people in place; not Englishmen but Frenchmen who opposed Bonaparte. They would supply the information which would be so necessary to the English should the peace not last.

  Mr. Vere was telling Papa who might have had access to the paper, and one name caught Anna’s attention. Mr. Standish? Of course, he said that he worked with Mr. Vere. Well, they could cross his name off; he was a man of honour who would never betray his country.

  Mr. Vere took his leave, and Papa followed him out of the library. Anna breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness she had not been discovered, for she knew she would have been in trouble had they been aware of her presence. She also felt a moment of guilt, for she knew it was wrong to eavesdrop. But she could be as discreet as the next person; she was hardly going to go around telling people that an important state paper had been mislaid. Mislaid? Mislaid nothing. It was clear that they thought it had been stolen.

  That evening Papa dined at home, and Anna could see how preoccupied he was. He was short-tempered and paid little attention as Mama recounted some minor domestic crisis. However, mellowed by a good claret, he rallied towards the end of the meal and asked Anna how she had spent her day.

  In the time between leaving the library and coming down to dinner, Anna had been
thinking hard. Mr. Vere had reported the paper missing to Papa and had given him those names, but just what had he himself handed over to that person in the park? Was it possible that his concern was all a blind, and that he was responsible for the disappearance of the paper?

  What did she know of him, other than he had at first appeared to be a disagreeable kind of man? Yet he was a friend of Papa’s, which must mean he was trustworthy, and as she saw more of him she had grown to dislike him less. In fact, at their recent encounters, she had found him to be perfectly amiable.

  She said, in answer to Papa’s question, “I rode a little way with Mr. Vere in the park this afternoon.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Mr. Vere, riding in the park? I would not have thought he had time for such idle pursuits during the day.”

  “He holds a position in some government department, does he not? I did not think that such duties were onerous.”

  “He is a key official, a man with a great deal of responsibility, and these days most people who work in his department find they do not have enough hours in the day to attend to their duties.”

  “He only spent a little time with me, and then . . .”

  Should she tell Papa what she had seen? It could be important.

  “He only rode with me for a little while, and then he went over to speak with a man by a tree. An ordinary-looking sort of man, not dressed like a gentleman. They must have had an appointment of some kind, for Mr. Vere gave him a paper and then rode directly away. I expect he was returning to his office after taking exercise. A man cannot be expected to sit all day at a desk.”