The Painted Fan

by Elizabeth Aston

She sat tensed on the seat while Henrietta, regaining her breath, began to utter cries of protest. “Have you taken leave of your senses, Anna? What on earth are you doing? Jumping into this horrid hackney. Ugh, how it smells. What are you about?”

  Anna didn’t reply; she was trying to see out of the tiny window, urging the driver on with her whole being.

  “Where are we going?” Henrietta demanded.

  Anna said, without turning her head, “I do not know. Oh, I do hope we catch him.”

  “Catch whom?”

  “Mr. Vere. I have something of the utmost importance to say to him.”

  Henrietta gave a shriek. “You cannot be chasing a man; the impropriety of it, and in a hackney cab.”

  They were bowling down Audley Street, and then the driver slackened his pace. He leaned down to say, “Sorry, miss, there’s so much traffic here, so many carriages and riders and other cabs, I’ve lost sight of your cove.”

  Anna thought for a moment, hesitated, and then made up her mind. “Take me to Whitehall if you please, as fast as you can.”

  Henrietta gave another shriek. “Whitehall? You have run mad. Where do you need to go in Whitehall?”

  The truth of it was that Anna had no idea where to go in Whitehall, but that was where government offices were, and therefore that was where she would find someone to speak to.

  It seemed an age before the hackney cab turned into Whitehall.

  “Which office would you be wanting?” the jarvie called down.

  “We will alight here,” Anna said. Then, realising that she hadn’t brought her purse, she said to Henrietta, “Quick, Henrietta, have you money to pay the jarvie?”

  Henrietta, once again speechless with horror, silently produced the necessary coins, which Anna handed up to the driver of the hackney. They stood in the street, two conspicuous young ladies, one hatless, attracting the stares and glances of people passing by. Henrietta gave a little moan of dismay.

  Then—oh, what a relief; Anna spied the tall figure of Lord Mountjoy. He was turning into a doorway only a few yards away. “There, that’s where we need to be,” Anna said, and hurried off towards the building, with a reluctant Henrietta, her face flushed with embarrassment, following in her wake.

  Anna didn’t pause at the entrance but sailed into the building. She found herself in an impressive entrance hall with polished floors and marble pillars. There was no sign of Lord Mountjoy, although there were two or three clerks hurrying backwards and forwards, who gave her startled looks.

  The porter’s assistant, looking out from his cubbyhole, saw the two of them. “Cor blimey, what are them two females doing here?”

  The porter looked up, then sallied forth to eject them.

  Anna didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I must see Lord Mountjoy at once.”

  The assistant porter was by now muttering about lightskirts, hussies. The porter ignored Anna’s hatless state as he took in the quality of her dress and her air of authority and said, quite politely, that no Lord Mountjoy worked in this office.

  “Perhaps not, but I saw him come in here,” Anna said. “Pray find him for me immediately. It is extremely important and urgent that I see him. Don’t look at me like that. I am Miss Gosforth, Lord Gosforth’s daughter, and I need to see Lord Mountjoy upon most urgent business.”

  At that moment Mr. Vere came down one of the several corridors that led out from the main entrance and stared in disbelief at Anna and the shrinking Henrietta.

  He hurried forward. “Miss Gosforth, what in heaven’s name—?”

  “I have something to say regarding that memorandum.” She looked around—they had attracted quite a little crowd—and went on, “But I am sure we should not be talking here.”

  Mr. Vere didn’t move but said, “My dear Miss Gosforth—”

  “Do not patronise me, and do not look at me in that way. I have not taken leave of my senses; I know where that memorandum is, and you must hurry, or you will lose the chance to get it back.”

  Mr. Vere hesitated and then said to the porter, “Don’t worry, Mr. Greeve, I will attend to these young ladies.”

  “Henrietta knows nothing of this. She had much better stay here,” Anna said.

  Leaving an apprehensive Henrietta perched upon a stool that the porter provided for her, looking as though she would rather be anywhere on earth than there, Mr. Vere escorted Anna through a door to the rear of the entrance hall.

  “I should blindfold you. You really should not know where you are. I will simply have to trust you. We go through here.”

  They left the first building, crossed a small courtyard, and entered another one. More corridors, more stairways, and even in her state of anxiety, Anna was aware of bustle and a feeling of urgency: men passed them at almost a run, doors opened and closed, snatches of conversation came through open doors.

  As though reading her thoughts, Mr. Vere said, “You have come at a busy and difficult time I am afraid, Miss Gosforth. The news from France is alarming, and our ambassador is leaving the capital as we speak.”

  For a moment Anna thought of Harriet, but she put that out of her mind as something to be dealt with later. What mattered now was passing on what she knew to someone who would act upon the information.

  Another corridor, more hurrying men—who gave Anna quick, puzzled glances as they went past—and then Mr. Vere stopped outside a shining wooden door somewhat larger than the others. He knocked, and when a voice inside responded with a “Come,” opened the door and ushered Anna into the room. Lord Mountjoy was there, sitting behind a table covered in papers. He was talking earnestly to a young man; heavens, she knew him; it was young Mr. Ilton, surely the idlest of men. Whatever was he doing here?

  Lord Mountjoy did not look pleased at the interruption. Cold eyes surveyed Anna from head to foot, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how ramshackle she must look.

  “I trust you have a good reason for this intrusion, Vere,” he said.

  “I hope so too, sir. Miss Gosforth, with whom I believe you are acquainted, says she has something relating to the stolen memorandum to tell us.”

  Lord Mountjoy put down his pen, pushed his chair back a little way, gestured to Vere to bring another chair forward for Anna to sit on, and looked at her across the desk. His eyes were chilly and held no hint of friendliness.

  Anna noticed the lines of strain and worry on his face. She took a deep breath and plunged into her story, trying to keep it coherent and straightforward. She told them, with a slight blush, of the scene she had witnessed in Henrietta’s aunt’s house, and then about Mrs. Fortescue’s fan—the fan with the strange writing on one side which had changed into a different fan by the time she emerged from Madame Girot’s establishment.

  Mr. Ilton let out a low whistle. Lord Mountjoy gave him a quelling look and said, “We have nothing against Mrs. Fortescue, I believe?”

  “Nothing specific, sir,” Mr. Ilton replied promptly. “However, she did live in France and was married to a Frenchman, even though he fell foul of Robespierre and was executed.”

  “Well, that is something of a connection. We cannot ignore this; we must take notice of this information. See to it at once. What is the exact address of this modiste, Miss Gosforth?”

  Anna told them, the young man left the room at a brisk pace, and she let out a sigh of relief.

  Lord Mountjoy said, “I will ask you to remain a little while longer, in case we need to ask you anything more. Mr. Vere, I will be obliged if you will take Miss Gosforth—oh, she may sit in Harper’s room for the time being.”

  Mr. Vere, his hand firm and comforting upon Anna’s elbow, took her through to another room. “I will be back with you shortly,” he said, and left her there.

  Anna thought of Henrietta, left behind in the hallway, and wondered for a moment whether she should go and find her. But no, she did not think that Mr. Vere or Lord Mountjoy would care for her wandering these corridors, and in such a warren she would very likely get lost. Henrietta w
ould just have to wait in patience. She would make it up to her somehow, and if as a result of her mad dash here the memorandum were recovered . . .

  Now, finally, she began to have doubts. Was she imagining all this? Was she making too much of what might have been nothing but an amorous note? Had she been mistaken in thinking that the two fans at the dressmaker’s were not identical?

  Prey to dismay and doubt, she sank her head in her hands, thinking what a fool she had made of herself. What ever would Mr. Vere think of her? How she would fall in his esteem.

  She didn’t stop to consider what Lord Mountjoy would think of her, although she knew that he would be angry if all this turned out to be wholly wrong. So it was in agony of apprehension that she sat in the room for what seemed like hours and in fact was no more than three-quarters of an hour. Then the door opened, and Mr. Vere came in, energy in his stride, a smile on his face. Anna jumped up, her heart thumping.

  “You are an excellent creature, Miss Gosforth. You have done the trick. You were quite right. Madame Girot has indeed been passing information to her compatriots. She has been settled in London so long that we had no particular suspicion of her, but a search of the premises revealed not only the memorandum, cunningly hidden in a fan as you thought, but many other incriminating things. Mrs. Fortescue will by now be under arrest. And,” he added, suddenly serious, “I am afraid Mr. Standish also.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Anna said with some vehemence. “I know I had a fancy for the man, but never was affection more misplaced, and I assure you that what he has done is so wicked that I do not mind in the least what becomes of him. You may throw him into the Tower for all I care.”

  Mr. Vere took a step forward to her, laughter in his eyes. “It will not come to that. We cannot let it be known that a government official was in any way involved in this. Everything will be kept quiet. But he will have to settle for the life of a country squire; his political career and his official duties are, of course, finished.”

  He took another step towards Anna, who was overcome with a sudden rush of emotion and shyness. She stood quite still; two more steps and he was there in front of her. The next moment she was swept into his arms and held in a tight embrace.

  Time stopped and, even overwhelmed as she was by his ardour and the flood of delight that ran through her, she was aware of how different were these sensations from those she had felt with Mr. Standish’s kisses.

  The door opened, they moved quickly apart, and Lord Mountjoy stood there looking at them with a mocking air. “I am sorry to intrude upon your private affairs, Vere, but you are needed elsewhere.” He smiled at Anna, who was by now a fiery red. “You had best go and rescue your young friend, who is waiting anxiously for you. Pray tell Lord Gosforth that I will be calling on him this evening; he will be most relieved by today’s events.”

  “And so will I call upon Lord Gosforth, but with a different purpose,” Mr. Vere said, giving Anna a look of such warmth as made her feel quite weak. “This afternoon, if Lord Mountjoy can spare me.”

  Lord Mountjoy smiled, not a trace of his usual hauteur left. “Go with my hearty good wishes, Vere. Permit me to be the first to offer you my felicitations and congratulations. You will make Anna a good husband, and you will have, as do I, the joy of a quick-witted and lively wife.”

  About the Author

  Elizabeth Aston is a full-time writer who aims to entertain and enchant. She lives in Oxford, England, where she went to university. She was born in Chile, lived in India and Italy, and loves to travel when she’s not busy with her next story. Two grown-up children act as her keenest critics, a visiting cat provides feline company, and the Gothic-style apartment block where she lives is full of fascinating neighbours for when she feels like people watching.