The Dressmaker’s Secret

by Charlotte Betts

  He nodded approvingly. ‘It’s essential to curb any excessive spending.’

  I opened the door to the landing. ‘Good day, Mr Brougham.’ I watched him until he had descended the stairs before returning to my sewing.

  The encounter left me unsettled. My hackles had risen when I saw him creeping about the Princess’s quarters and handling her private possessions. He may have been the Princess’s guest but there was something very unsavoury about his line of questioning.

  Closing the dressing-room door behind me, I went downstairs and tapped on the door of the Baron’s study.

  He bade me enter and I found him standing before the window with his back to me, apparently lost in thought. I waited in silence until he turned to face me.

  ‘Was there something, Signorina Barton?’

  ‘Yes, Baron.’ I found it awkward to put into words what had to be said. ‘When I came to Villa Vittoria you asked me to keep you appraised of any irregularities.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘An intruder?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘A guest.’

  ‘Brougham?’

  ‘I found him in the Princess’s bedroom looking at her personal items,’ I said, finding it impossible to meet his eyes. ‘He asked me if you shared her dressing room and about the sleeping arrangements on that floor.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘As little as possible except that Victorine’s bed is in the Princess’s room and, as far as I was aware, that is where she sleeps every night.’

  The Baron nodded his head. ‘Which is all perfectly correct. You have done well, Signorina Barton.’

  He smiled at me with unusual warmth in his eyes, which made me uncomfortable.

  ‘Then I shall return to my duties,’ I said.

  He opened the door for me with a flourish. ‘I shall tell the Princess you are a good and faithful servant, Signorina Barton. It’s good to know you have her welfare at heart.’

  ‘I trust there was never any doubt of that, Baron.’ I held my head high and swept from the room.

  Chapter 10

  June 1819

  The sails billowed and cracked above our heads as the Princess’s yacht turned into the wind. The breeze teased my hair from the front of my bonnet and I lifted my face to the sun, breathing in the briny air. I had shed my mourning clothes a few days before and was revelling in the cool comfort of lightweight muslin after months of unrelieved black.

  ‘You look happy,’ said Alessandro, his eyes bright with enjoyment.

  The sunshine touched his hair with bronze lights and I longed to run my fingers through it, as I had the night before when we’d lingered in the avenue of cypresses to kiss each other goodnight. We’d been entranced by the lights of a myriad fireflies illuminating the darkness: a romantic display seemingly provided just for us.

  ‘Emilia?’

  I came back to the present, a half-smile playing on my lips. ‘It’s so exhilarating!’ I said. ‘We’re travelling much faster than we could in any coach.’

  A short distance from us the Princess, dressed as an admiral in a naval-style coat and tricorn hat, sat with Willy and the Baron. She stared out to sea, her tense expression at odds with the jaunty feather in her hat. Countess Oldi, a poor sailor, had retired to the cabin. Victorine peered over the side of the yacht, squealing whenever sea spray splashed her face. Her father kept a tight grip on her skirt.

  ‘It was kind of the Princess to invite us today,’ I said to Alessandro. I didn’t mention she’d said she liked to see young people enjoying each other’s company and that I ought to give handsome Signor Fiorelli more encouragement. Perhaps she’d noticed more than I thought but, unlike most employers, she hadn’t forbidden me to have a suitor.

  ‘She looks anxious,’ said Alessandro.

  I nodded. ‘Lord Brougham has written to tell her divorce proceedings against her may start in November.’

  ‘Even if there is a divorce, she can’t marry the Baron,’ said Alessandro. ‘Not while his wife is alive, anyway.’

  ‘They act as if they’re a married couple, don’t they?’ I murmured, watching the Princess lean forwards and touch the Baron’s arm. ‘However unlikely their relationship, there’s a genuine affection between them.’

  Alessandro shrugged. ‘The Baron knows who butters his bread.’

  Victorine prattled to the Princess, making her laugh. Willy was watching the little girl, too. His mouth was twisted in its usual sneer but I remembered Marietta telling me that he’d slept in the Princess’s bedroom until the Baron came into her life four years before. Although I didn’t much care for Willy, I felt sorry for him if Victorine had displaced him in his adoptive mother’s affections.

  ‘What do you mean by “he knows who butters his bread”?’ I asked.

  ‘Bartolomeo Pergami wasn’t a baron until the Princess bought the title for him,’ said Alessandro.

  ‘No!’

  ‘The Princess is surrounded by the Pergami family. They’re all living off her wealth. Besides…’

  ‘Besides, what, Alessandro?’

  ‘It’s gossip,’ he said, ‘told to me by one of the footmen who was with the Princess before I came to work at Villa Vittoria. I don’t know if there’s any truth in it but stealing wasn’t the only reason Louise Demont was turned off.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘The Princess discovered the Baron had been, shall we say, rather too close to Signorina Demont.’

  I caught my breath. ‘But if that were the case,’ I said, ‘wouldn’t the Princess have turned off the Baron, too?’

  ‘She’s in thrall to him,’ said Alessandro. ‘He runs every aspect of her household. All her English attendants have gone, the Baron made sure of that, and she can’t do without him. I suspect the Princess simply pretends it never happened so all can go on as before. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he is making a tidy profit out of managing the household.’

  ‘I don’t like to think of her being cheated,’ I said. ‘She’s shown me nothing but kindness.’

  ‘You remind her of her daughter.’

  Covertly, I watched the Princess playing a clapping game with Victorine. It wasn’t so strange if she looked for a substitute child. ‘This morning she said she may go to London to settle the matter of a divorce,’ I said.

  ‘London?’ Alessandro frowned. ‘Surely she wouldn’t take the Baron there?’

  ‘That would annoy the Prince of Wales, wouldn’t it?’ I said, turning my face into the wind.

  The jagged coastline slid past as the yacht sliced through the water and I wondered if the Princess really would visit London. I’d never thought much about England but now I was intensely curious. My real father lived there and I’d begun to lie awake at night wondering about him.

  Half an hour later the Captain anchored the boat off a small bay. The crew lashed a sail into a sunshade and placed a table underneath. They spread it with a linen cloth and served a picnic of poached fish and cold meats, crusty bread and bowls of olives with rosemary and lemon. Bottles of white wine cooled in buckets in the shade.

  ‘Sailing always makes me ravenous,’ said the Princess, picking up a chicken drumstick and eating it from her fingers. She pulled off a small piece of meat and fed it to Victorine.

  Willy piled his plate high and ate without speaking, occasionally throwing a piece of bread to the seagulls who cried overhead.

  The Princess, her face flushed by the sun, smiled at the Baron. ‘Isn’t this perfect, my love?’

  I was pleased that the excursion had lifted her spirits. My wine glass was refilled as soon as I finished drinking it and, after we’d eaten the picnic, I grew drowsy in the warmth of the sun. The Princess retired inside the yacht and the Baron sat in the prow with a bottle of wine. Willy stared morosely at the coastline.

  Victorine climbed onto my knee and pushed her thumb in her mouth. A few minutes later her eyelashes fluttered and she became warm and heavy in my arms. I yawned and glanced up to see Alessandro was smothe
ring a yawn, too.

  He blew me a kiss and smiled lazily at me as I rested my chin on the sleeping child’s head. Happiness flowed through my veins. I tipped back my face to watch powder puffs of cloud drift across the cerulean sky. The yacht rocked gently on the swell of the sea while waves slapped rhythmically against the side of the boat.

  Unable to resist any longer, I slept.

  I put down the pen and waited for the Princess to decide what she wanted me to write in her letter to Lady Charlotte Lindsay. The air in the salone was stifling and I looked longingly out of the window. The long, languorous days of summer in Pesaro were so hot that sometimes it was difficult to find the energy to do more than seek out a new patch of shade.

  The Princess lay on the sofa, wriggling her bare toes and fanning herself. ‘You can write that the report of the Milan Commission is evidence that the Prince Regent is maliciously at work against me,’ she said. She poked a finger under her wig and scratched her scalp. ‘I desperately want to be rid of him but perhaps separation by agreement has the advantage of avoiding taking the matter to Parliament.’ She nodded decisively. ‘Tell Lady Charlotte to chivvy Henry Brougham to hurry up and respond to my proposal.’

  I dipped the pen in the inkwell and began to write.

  The Princess rubbed the heels of her hands in her eyes. ‘I must be quit of this blackguard of a husband before I go mad with worry.’ She stood up and slipped on her shoes. ‘I’m going to sit in the garden. I shan’t need you this afternoon if you want to take Victorine swimming. It’s too hot for her to walk so take one of the carriages.’ She smiled. ‘And ask Signor Fiorelli to accompany you.’

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am, I’d like that.’ Even the thought of a dip in the sea made me feel cooler.

  I found Alessandro sitting in the shade of an oak tree with Victorine. He leaned against the trunk with his sleeves rolled up, listening to her read.

  ‘The Princess has given me the afternoon off to go swimming,’ I said.

  Alessandro’s face broke into a wide smile and the little girl clapped her hands. ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘Finish that page first,’ he said.

  She scowled but picked up her book again, her finger moving beneath each word as she read.

  ‘Very good,’ said Alessandro, when she finished. ‘There’s nothing more fulfilling than seeing a child’s mind blossoming,’ he said as we walked towards the stables. ‘Every child should have the opportunity of an education. I dream of owning my own school one day. One where I can educate poor boys…’

  ‘And girls?’ I asked.

  He smiled. ‘And girls.’

  ‘That’s a worthy ambition, Alessandro.’

  ‘I’ve spoken about it to the Princess, since she’s so fond of children. Willy, of course, she took into her household but she also adopted several poor orphans in England, fostered them in suitable families and educated them.’

  I heard the zeal in his voice. ‘You should ask her to support you in such a venture,’ I said.

  Fifteen minutes later we were in the shell-shaped phaeton jogging along a lane perfumed with the honeyed scent of wild broom. We collected Alfio from the Fiorelli house and soon after we arrived at the wide stretch of golden sand that was the Baia Flaminia. The sea was as calm as a millpond and melded at the horizon with the great dome of blue sky.

  Others had come down from their villas and horse-drawn bathing machines were lined up in the surf. I hired one and Victorine and I went inside to change into our swimming shifts.

  ‘Hold on to the bench, Victorine,’ I said, tucking her hair into a muslin cap. I rapped on the wall and a moment later the bathing machine began to roll into the sea. Once it came to a standstill I helped her down the steps into the water. I gasped as a wave broke over my thighs.

  Victorine squealed. ‘It’s cold!’

  Silver fish swam around our feet as we wriggled our toes on the sandy seabed, avoiding fronds of drifting seaweed. My cotton swimming shift billowed out around me and there was a delicious freedom in the feeling of the water against my naked skin beneath. The sun was hot on my shoulders but the rest of me was blessedly cool.

  I heard a shout and saw Alessandro wading towards us with Alfio on his shoulders.

  ‘How are my little mermaids?’ he called.

  Victorine splashed him and screamed when he splashed her back.

  ‘Isn’t it glorious to be cool?’ I said, bobbing up and down in the undulating waves.

  We stood in a circle holding hands and I sang ‘Ring a Ring o’ Roses’ in English, and told the children the tale of the Plague in London a hundred and fifty years before. ‘And then there was a Great Fire,’ I said, ‘and all the rats and the fleas were burned and the Plague went away.’

  We sang the song again and the children shrieked with laughter when we fell down, dipping our heads under the water. My mob cap floated away and my hair tumbled around my shoulders.

  ‘My beautiful Botticelli Venus,’ said Alessandro. He picked up one of my curls and lifted it to his lips, never taking his eyes off me. His wet shirt was moulded to his muscular chest and there was a hint of dark hair on the sun-kissed skin exposed by the open-necked collar.

  A quiver ran down my spine as I imagined him without his shirt.

  ‘Cold?’ he whispered.

  I shook my head and he laughed. ‘Come on, I’m going to teach you to swim.’

  An hour later the children were shivering and their lips turning blue. ‘Time to come out of the water,’ I said, ignoring their cries of protest.

  Victorine and I returned to the bathing machine to change. Afterwards, Alessandro and Alfio were waiting for us, their shirts and breeches already drying in the sun. I rubbed Victorine’s hair with a towel and she and Alfio set off along the tideline to collect the mother-of-pearl shells that shimmered in the sand.

  Alessandro lay with his arms behind his head and regarded me through heavy-lidded eyes.

  I let sand trickle through my fingers whilst my head was bowed so he wouldn’t see my blushes. I wanted so much to lie down beside him but propriety forbade it.

  ‘I wonder if your mother was as lovely as you?’ he said.

  ‘I wish I could remember her.’ I gazed out to sea, listening to the gentle hiss of the waves as they foamed on the shore.

  Alessandro touched my mouth with the tip of his finger to still its trembling. ‘Your home is here in Italy now.’ He turned on his side to face me. ‘Emilia, you do know that I love you, don’t you?’ A muscle flickered in his jaw.

  I lifted his hand to my cheek. ‘I hoped so,’ I said, kissing his palm, ‘because I love you, too.’

  The tension faded from his face. ‘As soon as I saw you,’ he said, ‘I knew we were destined for each other.’

  Joy blossomed in my heart. ‘I felt the same. I could hardly look at you in case you guessed.’

  Alessandro laughed, his eyes shining. ‘Was that why you blushed?’

  I leaned towards him to drop a kiss on his salty lips. ‘Now you know my innermost feelings,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t let us keep secrets from each other, Emilia.’ His fingers gripped mine. ‘Promise me?’

  ‘I promise,’ I said, looking into his eyes.

  Chapter 11

  October 1819

  Lyons, France

  I slid the claret silk gown over the Princess’s head, careful not to open the loosely tacked seams. We’d purchased the silk from one of the Lyonnais weavers shortly after we arrived here, since the Princess was determined to make an elegant appearance on her arrival in England.

  The past weeks had been exhausting. It was ironic that I’d arrived in Pesaro with the firm idea of escaping my nomadic life but no sooner had I found a place to settle than the Princess’s restlessness moved us on. Almost overnight her household had been packed into three post-chaises and we’d set off, incognito, for Parma.

  The Baron hired Villa San Bono for us in the Piacentini Hills. The Princess received visitors late at night and her emis
saries, including her Milanese lawyer, came and went. In the middle of September, a courier arrived with a letter from Henry Brougham warning her not to go to London but to Lyons, where he would meet her. That same night the household left Villa San Bono.

  We spent a month in a dilapidated castle in the province of Alessandria, in the King of Sardinia’s lands. The Baron and Willy Austin went backwards and forwards to Milan and Como, seeking witnesses to testify for the Princess against the Milan Commission. A month later we departed in a flurry for Lyons. Then we waited for Lord Brougham.