The Dressmaker’s Secret

by Charlotte Betts

  ‘Will that be all, miss? Only Mrs Hope is waiting for me.’

  I picked up the diary again. Perhaps there was time for another quick look…

  ‘Miss Langdon? The footmen will have started moving the furniture out of the drawing room by now.’

  I sighed. ‘I’ll come down.’ I hid the diary in the chest and followed her from the room.

  Mr Gunter’s deliverymen slipped on the freshly washed front steps as they delivered the fragile sugar-paste centrepiece. I nearly cried when I saw that one of the elephants’ trunks had snapped, two of the trees had crumbled and the gold crown had toppled off the temple.

  ‘We expect the King this evening,’ I said, sounding calmer than I felt. ‘Will you take the broken pieces back to your workshop for repair and return them here this afternoon?’

  The deliverymen looked relieved I hadn’t wept and railed at them, and retreated after promising to make all as good as new.

  I had no time to fret since the florists were waiting to be told where to place the enormous urns of sweetly scented roses, lilies and peonies, and Cook wanted me to admire the jellies. I hoped they wouldn’t melt in the heat.

  I attempted to escape during the afternoon, desperate to read more of the diary and discover what Mother had found. I was halfway up the stairs when a footman called after me.

  ‘The musicians are here, Miss Langdon. They want to discuss where they are to perform.’

  I suppressed a sigh of irritation. ‘Show them into the drawing room, James.’

  ‘And the men from Gunter’s are back and need you to approve the remedial works.’

  Later, I was in the dining room, inspecting the glasses to be sure they were properly polished, when I heard Father’s voice in the hall.

  ‘The supper table is ready for you to see,’ I told him.

  Father surveyed the room, his critical gaze taking in the bounteous arrangements of fragrant flowers, the gleaming silverware and starched napery. A vast crystal bowl waited to be filled with punch on a side table and the chandelier, holding the best beeswax candles, was twined with wreaths of rosebuds. He stood silently before the sugar-craft construction representing Hyde Park, running down the length of the table.

  ‘You have surpassed yourself, my clever girl.’ He put an arm around my shoulders and hugged me, his eyes shining. ‘This is truly a supper table fit for the King.’

  It unnerved me that Mother’s description of Father’s violence was in such contrast to his benevolence to me. I rested awkwardly against his broad chest as he smiled down at me. What should have been comforting made me uneasy instead and I wanted to weep, knowing that either my mother or my father was not what they seemed.

  ‘The King will enjoy the ball since he’s in unusually good spirits,’ said Father. ‘The Queen grows sicker by the minute and he’s extremely hopeful he’ll be released from any awkwardness in that quarter before long.’

  ‘That’s a dreadful thing to say!’ I pulled myself out of his arms, unable to bear his touch. The Queen’s humiliation at the Coronation must have sent her into a spiral of despair and I pitied her. ‘I heard she was taken ill at the theatre.’

  ‘Apparently so,’ said Father, rubbing his hands together.

  His gloating smile sickened me. ‘I’m going to rest now,’ I said, ‘before it’s time to put on my finery.’ When the ball was over, I decided I would visit the Queen to offer my commiserations.

  I hurried upstairs to my bedroom and curled up on the window seat with the diary.

  Searching the folios on Frederick’s bookcase I found the secret staircase almost by mistake. It smelled dank and mouldy and was too dark to explore further without a light. Fortuitously, there was a candlestick on the bookshelves. Perhaps Frederick keeps it there for exactly this purpose? Harriet was resting so I lit the candle and descended the stairwell.

  I gripped the diary tightly, impatient to read on.

  I found myself in an underground chamber. Narrow shafts of daylight entered from above, illuminating a magnificent canvas hanging above an altar. I was drawn to it by the vivid colours and arresting composition.

  As I passed one of the shafts of light I realised that the whitewashed walls displayed a great number of paintings and drawings. Candle sconces were fixed to the walls at frequent intervals and I lit several. The resulting flickering light illuminated a breathtaking array of works of art. I knew at once that Frederick must have created this secret art gallery hidden in the lost Papist chapel.

  I stopped reading. So there was a hidden chapel! But why had Father kept it a secret? He was so proud of his art collection and loved to show it off.

  I came to three tiny oval frames hanging in a row. Holding the candle closer, I saw images of a dark-haired young woman: full face and two opposing profiles. Her expression was grave but there was the smallest curve to her mouth, which made it look as if she were trying not to laugh. I realised with a jolt of recognition that I had seen the little portraits before. They were Lord Beaufort’s stolen miniatures.

  I closed my eyes in shock while my heart banged in my chest. I didn’t want to believe it but if what Mother had written was the truth, rather than the result of an over-vivid or disordered imagination, the only and inescapable conclusion was that Father was the Picture Frame Thief.

  Chapter 31

  I forced myself to smile and greet our guests with equanimity and soon the house was full of chattering people. It was hot and the odour of perspiration mingled sickeningly with the powerfully sweet scent of the flower arrangements, like the stench of decay. I watched Father on the other side of the room, acting the genial host. How had he managed to conceal the fact that he was the Picture Frame Thief for all that time? And what must I do about it now that I knew?

  Aunt Maude waved at me from the chaperones’ corner. ‘Are you quite well, dear?’ she asked, her expression full of concern. ‘You’re very pale.’

  I smiled brightly. ‘Just a little tired. I can see Dolly has just arrived,’ I said, ‘and Mr Gregory is with him, as usual.’

  ‘They’re late,’ said Aunt Maude. ‘Dolly’s usually so punctual. Indeed, that is one of his better points.’

  When they appeared Dolly had a face like thunder and Mr Gregory’s eyes were red-rimmed.

  ‘Don’t let me come between you two lovebirds,’ said Mr Gregory in a waspish tone. ‘I shall fetch myself a glass of punch while you bill and coo in a corner.’ He marched off.

  ‘Have I upset him?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Dolly tersely. ‘We had an argument. He lost more than he can afford at the gaming tables.’

  ‘It’s a shame he didn’t stay at home then, instead of bringing his bad temper here.’ I heard the vinegar in my voice but had matters of more importance to worry about.

  Dolly’s mouth tightened and he gave me a look of undisguised loathing before following his friend.

  Anger washed over me. Why had I agreed to marry Dolly? Sometimes I didn’t even like him, and I certainly didn’t like his friend who stuck to Dolly’s side like a burr. But, of course, the main reason I’d agreed to marry him was because it pleased Father and, in the present circumstances, that was the worst reason of all. I felt thoroughly out of temper with them both.

  Mr Sandys clapped his hands and called out that the first dance would begin shortly.

  Father and I were to open the ball and he came to lead me to the top of the set. I flinched momentarily from the touch of his hand and, unable to meet his eyes, looked steadfastly over his shoulder.

  The first violin struck a chord and we stood, poised to begin. The music shrieked discordantly in my ears and I wanted nothing more than to escape, to be somewhere quiet far away. Somewhere I could walk along the beach listening to the soothing hiss of the sea. Somewhere far away, like Pesaro.

  I moved through the dance like an automaton, bending, pirouetting and jumping, coming together with my father and receding again, while all the time I thought about what Mother had written
and what Father had said and what I was to do about it.

  We reached the end but there was no escape since I was promised to Dolly for the second dance. He appeared distracted, too, and his smile quite as fixed as my own. We exchanged barely a word and it struck me how joyless our relationship was. Could I stand to go through life with this man at my side? But, of course, if I accused Father of being a thief, if I reported him to the authorities, Dolly wouldn’t marry me after all. And then I would be alone in the world again, but this time penniless and branded the daughter of a thief.

  After what felt like a lifetime, the dance ended and Dolly escorted me off the floor.

  Almost immediately, one of Father’s friends, a portly man whose name I’d forgotten, stood before me.

  ‘Will you do me the honour of partnering me in the next dance?’ he asked.

  Since I was the hostess, I was obliged to accept.

  Half an hour later my lips were fixed into a rictus smile as the dance finished. I lied to my partner for the eighth time that, of course, he hadn’t hurt my toe when he stepped on my foot and that the tear in the hem of my ballgown could easily be mended.

  ‘Always had two left feet,’ he chortled, drips of sweat falling from his shining brow. ‘Well, that was fun! Haven’t danced with a pretty girl for ages. Last chance before you’re married, eh? Shall we join the next set, too?’

  ‘I’ve promised to sit with my aunt for a while,’ I said in desperation.

  Fanning my flushed face, I backed away and instructed a footman to open the windows wider. I went to the card room to collect two glasses of punch. A cluster of young men stood at one side of the room, laughing uproariously, and I noticed with surprise that Mr Gregory, very pink about the cheeks, was at the centre of the group. He was recounting some tale or other with vivacious hand movements while Dolly looked on with a sour expression.

  Aunt Maude glanced up anxiously as I went to sit beside her in the chaperones’ corner. ‘I wish you’d tell me what has disturbed you so,’ she murmured as she took the glass of punch from me.

  ‘Not now,’ I whispered, still fanning my overheated face. ‘Tomorrow perhaps. Here comes Father.’

  He hurried up to us. ‘The King will be here imminently,’ he said. ‘You will be ready to greet him, won’t you, Emilia?’

  I nodded.

  He laughed. ‘Don’t look so overwhelmed!’

  I was more overwhelmed by the thought of what the King would say if I told him I believed my own father was the infamous Picture Frame Thief.

  I was expected to take part in every dance and the music was shrill to my ears as I moved through the steps whilst an agonising band of apprehension tightened around my head like an iron maiden. Despite the open windows, the stench of overheated bodies packed closely together was unbearable. It was almost a relief when the King’s arrival was announced. The music ceased, the dancing came to an abrupt halt and the assembled company bowed and curtseyed in silence.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I whispered to my partner. I hurried to join Father as he welcomed the King.

  ‘Perhaps you remember my daughter, sir?’

  I sank into a deep curtsey.

  ‘Indeed I do,’ said the King. ‘Uncommonly pretty girl.’

  The music began again and the dancers resumed their positions.

  I rose and smiled at the King. Though dressed in the first stare of fashion with jewelled medals glittering upon his chest, I’d forgotten how very fat he was. Once, he might have been handsome. ‘We shall shortly be going in to supper, Your Majesty,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you would care for some refreshment?’

  His small pink mouth curved in a smile. ‘Delighted,’ he said, and offered me his arm.

  Followed by Father and the King’s equerries, we made a stately progress through the ballroom. The King stopped to bow stiffly, due to his corsets no doubt, and to exchange a word or two with selected guests. I noticed that sweat beaded his forehead and his nose shone greasily in the heat.

  We entered the dining room and the footmen sprang to attention.

  ‘I dare to hope you will like the centrepiece for our supper table, sir,’ I said. ‘Since the Coronation Fête in Hyde Park was such a success, I took the liberty of having the scene recreated in sugar as a tribute to the occasion.’

  Amused, the King peered closely at the scene. ‘Splendid!’ he said, mopping his face with a handkerchief. ‘The elephants are particularly fine.’

  I held my breath, wondering if he’d notice where the trunk had been mended, but he’d already lost interest.

  I stepped away as Father moved in to flatter and encourage our sovereign to taste some of the array of cold meats, soups and jellies. I was relieved to note that the jellies hadn’t collapsed in the heat.

  The guests began to arrive for their supper and a glimpse of the King. Before long the buzz of conversation and laughter was so loud it was hard to hear what was being said.

  Dolly came to sit beside me to eat his supper but was so morose I didn’t exchange more than two words with him. His gaze was directed over my shoulder to where Mr Gregory, clearly in his cups, was laughing with an elderly dandy.

  After supper we returned to the ballroom where an Italian opera singer waited to entertain us. The King appeared to enjoy the performance, perhaps for the singer’s voluptuous bosom quite as much as her musical skills. Whilst it was a pleasure for me to listen to the lyrical cadences of the Italian language again, the singer’s high notes sliced into my head like a sharp nail scraped down glass.

  The King took his leave after the singer had finished her rendition and the dancing began again. I was much in demand as a partner, not only as the hostess but because my guests were eager to know about my conversation with the King. Several told me how much they were looking forward to the wedding breakfast at Langdon Hall. The band of worry around my head grew even tighter and I counted the minutes until everyone would leave.

  Two hours later I was exhausted, not only from the energetic country dances and the excessive heat but from smiling and remaining polite when all I wanted to do was lie down in a darkened room while I decided what to do about Father. At the end of the next set I slipped out of the ballroom and made my way downstairs and into the garden. I paused in the doorway until my eyes became accustomed to the dark. My kid slippers made little noise on the path as I walked past the apple tree to the bench under the rose arbour. Careful of my dress, I brushed leaves off the bench and sat down with a relieved sigh.

  The air was still very warm but infinitely cooler than inside the house with the heat generated by sixty guests and hundreds of candles. Music, light and high-pitched laughter spilled from every window. I breathed deeply, inhaling the perfume of the roses that almost overpowered the usual summer reek of city drains.

  As I was about to return to the ball, a shaft of light fell across the garden as the door opened. I heard male voices. I looked through the trelliswork of the arbour and saw two men silhouetted against the doorway. They spoke in an angry undertone, too low for me to hear but I realised it was Dolly and Francis continuing their argument.

  Dolly placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  Francis pressed his hands over his ears. ‘No!’ he said, and ran down the garden towards me.

  Dolly called out, ‘Francis!’ and ran after him, catching him by his coat sleeve as they reached the apple tree not eight feet away from the arbour.

  I shrank back in the darkness, peeping at them through the trellis.

  Dolly gripped the shorter man by his upper arms and shook him. ‘Stop this!’ he said. ‘It’s no good. I don’t have any choice.’

  Francis muttered something and struggled to free himself.

  ‘I’ve told you, it’s the only way out,’ said Dolly, his voice pleading. ‘You know I haven’t a feather to fly with and this marriage will change all that.’

  ‘I hate her!’

  ‘Don’t. She’s nothing to me.’ Dolly wiped tears from Francis’s eyes. He glanced around, then
bent to kiss him.

  I pressed my fist to my mouth to stifle a gasp. It was absolutely clear to me that this was a passionate kiss between lovers.

  Francis wound his arms around Dolly’s neck and they fell back against the trunk of the apple tree, their bodies locked together.

  When they finally drew apart Dolly tenderly smoothed back a lock of Francis’s hair. ‘There was only ever you,’ he said. ‘Nothing and no one will change that. Later, when it’s all over, we’ll go away together. Just the two of us.’

  Shivering with shock, I pulled my feet up onto the bench, accidentally knocking over a plant pot. It tipped and fell with a dull thud onto the path. I curled myself into a ball and my hair snagged painfully on the climbing rose.