Belinda Goes to Bath

4

There’s something undoubtedly in a fine air,

To know how to smile and be able to stare,

High breeding is something, but well-bred or not,

In the end the one question is, what have you got.

So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!

So needful it is to have money.

Arthur Hugh Clough

Belinda awoke and for a short moment did not know where she was. Then recollection came flooding back. She was in Baddell Castle, a guest of the Marquess of Frenton. She thought with amusement about Miss Pym’s ambitions for her. Almost as bad as Aunt and Uncle, reflected Belinda. How they would disgrace themselves were they both here, primping me and pushing me forward.

Her stomach gave an unladylike rumble. She wondered whether she could expect breakfast or if the marquess kept London hours and rose about two in the afternoon. Her stomach rumbled again and she threw back the covers, climbed down from the high bed, pulled on a wrapper, and went in search of Miss Pym. That lady’s bed was empty, so Belinda decided to dress and go downstairs.

She rang the bell to summon the lady’s maid and spent an enjoyable half-hour choosing an ensemble. Belinda had had little interest in clothes in London and would not admit to herself that this sudden desire to be fashionably gowned was to compete with Penelope Jordan.

She chose a cambric muslin gown, white with a small blue velvet spot and with a pelisse of blue silk trimmed with fur to wear over it. For her head, she selected the newest style in caps, a confection of muslin with the same blue velvet spot as her gown. Olive-green stockings, the very latest colour, were chosen as they, or rather one of them, would be seen, fashion demanding that any elegante should loop her gown over one arm to show one leg almost to the knee.

Betty, the maid, heated the curling tongs and arranged Belinda’s hair in a simple but flattering style before putting the froth of a cap on top of it.

On leaving the warmth of the bedroom where the fire had been burning brightly, Belinda was struck by the chill of the corridor. Through a mullioned window she could see snow falling steadily on the battlements. Both portcullises were lowered. It was amazing that they were still in use. Obviously the marquess did not expect or did not desire any further visitors.

She hesitated at the top of the main staircase and looked about for a servant to guide her to the breakfast room. She began to wonder if breakfast was being served at all. It was only eight in the morning, and a disgracefully unfashionable hour for any lady to be up and about. But Betty had made no comment, and surely the maid would have said something.

Then she saw a footman ascending the staircase and went down to meet him. To her query, he inclined his powdered head and said, ‘Follow me, miss.’ He led the way down to the first landing and then along a passage and threw open the door of a room.

To Belinda’s relief, the sideboard was laden with dishes. She sat down at a small mahogany table. The butler came in carrying a tray with pots of coffee, tea and hot chocolate, but asked her if she would prefer beer. Belinda asked for tea and then chose kidneys, bacon, egg and toast. She marvelled at the efficiency of the marquess’s staff, who could produce all this food so quickly, but no sooner had she begun to eat than the door opened and the marquess came in. Breakfast had been prepared for him, and he had not expected any of his guests to be up so early, for he looked at her in surprise.

He had obviously come in from riding, for he was wearing top-boots, leather breeches, a black coat, and a ruffled shirt. His hair was unpowdered and was indeed very red, a rich dark red, worn long, and confined at the nape of his neck with a black silk ribbon. He looked somehow more formidable than he had in evening dress.

He sat down at the table and ordered cold pheasant and small beer.

He said a polite good-morning. Belinda replied shyly and then he began to eat. Belinda had often heard it said that gentlemen were averse to conversation at the breakfast table, and so she ate in steady silence. She finally looked across at him, her eyes widening slightly, for he was staring at her in a way she could not fathom. It was a hard, calculating, almost predatory stare, the distillation of a long line of aristocrats who took what they wanted.

Belinda flushed slightly and looked down at her plate.

To the marquess, Belinda had become suddenly available. Any young woman who ran off with a footman could hardly be a virgin. She was not beautiful, but that mouth of hers was definitely disturbing.

‘Where is Miss Pym?’ asked Belinda, feeling the silence must be broken.

‘I found her exploring the barbican and demanding to see the old torture chamber. What an indefatigable lady she is.’

‘Why do you keep such a thing as a torture chamber?’ demanded Belinda.

‘For historical interest. I do not torture anyone, I assure you. There is also the dungeon, one of the towers which is said to be haunted …’

‘By whom?’

‘By the ghost of a Miss Dalrymple, a Scotch lady, governess to the children of the second earl. It was said the second earl was too interested in the lady, and so Miss Dalrymple was found murdered in the top room of the tower. Rumour had it that the countess had stabbed her to death. Another rumour had it she had rejected the advances of his lordship’s valet de chambre.’

‘And have you seen this ghost?’ asked Belinda.

‘I have not the necessary sensibility to see ghosts, Miss Earle.’ His eyes teased her. ‘Would you like me to show you the tower?’

‘Yes, my lord, and perhaps Miss Pym would like to come as well.’

‘But I do not know where Miss Pym is at present,’ replied the marquess, ignoring the fact that he had only to summon his servants and ask them to look for her. ‘We shall go now, as you have finished your breakfast.’

Belinda nodded and rose but she felt uneasy. The marquess, although his manner towards her had not particularly changed, seemed to exude a strong air of sexuality. She glanced uneasily at his flaming hair and wondered if he had a temper to match.

Hannah Pym saw them enter the courtyard together and withdrew behind a buttress. She had no wish to intrude. The marquess appeared to be chatting amiably to Belinda. She was pleased to note that Belinda was keeping quiet and obviously not treating the marquess to any of her frank disclosures of the night before. It was as well Hannah could not hear their conversation.

‘None of the rooms in the walls are used now,’ the marquess was saying. ‘As I explained, they are merely kept in order for historical interest. Would you like to see the torture chamber first? We have a very fine rack.’

‘No, I thank you,’ said Belinda with a shudder, blissfully unaware that she was the first lady who had not demanded enthusiastically to see it. ‘I am not the type of lady who enjoys public hangings, nor do I get a thrill from viewing antique instruments of torture. Nor do I see medieval castles as symbols of an age of chivalry and glory, but instead relics of an age of oppression.’

The curtain walls of the castle that enclosed the castle houses had four massive towers. There was a gatehouse and barbican, chapel, dungeon and torture chamber. The castle houses where the marquess lived were set in the courtyard inside the walls, rather like the buildings of Oxford College.

The marquess led the way to the tallest of the towers. Snow was falling gently, and Belinda shivered with cold. She was wearing heelless silk slippers, considered de rigueur for the fashionable lady, and she could feel the damp from the snow seeping through their thin soles.

‘This is Robert’s Tower,’ said the marquess. ‘Robert, Earl of Jesper, built it with the prize money he gained at Poitiers. They were great fighters, the Jespers, and when they weren’t going on Crusades, or fighting the wars of various kings, they were claiming to find infidels on the Welsh and Scotch borders and murdering them as well in the name of Christianity. There are five storeys in the tower: a dungeon, three vaulted chambers, and an upper guard chamber with a store-room underneath.’

He stood back to let Belinda mount first. Suddenly self-conscious, she dropped the skirt of her gown instead of looping it over her arm to show that one leg.

She paused on the first landing until he joined her. He pushed open the door. Belinda entered.

She found herself in a large chamber, vaulted in two bays, and lit on two sides by tall, single-light ogee windows. Two grooms were sitting by the fire and rose at their entrance.

The marquess waited patiently while Belinda looked quickly around. The remains of breakfast lay on a deal table.

Then she walked out of the room. The marquess followed her and closed the door behind them.

‘I thought you said the rooms were unoccupied,’ whispered Belinda.

‘They are,’ said the marquess, surprised. ‘They are only used by the outdoor servants.’

‘And are not servants people?’

‘My radical Miss Earle, when I said they were no longer used, I meant by either myself or my guests.’

‘You are reputed to be a recluse.’

‘Not I. Merely fastidious.’

Belinda climbed up the next flight of stairs. ‘Now this,’ said the marquess, joining her on the landing, ‘is the haunted chamber.’

He was interested to see Belinda’s reaction. In an age when gothic novels were in vogue, most young ladies, on being shown the tower room, would pretend to have seen the ghost; a few took the opportunity to faint into the marriageable marquess’s arms. The thing about this Miss Earle, thought the marquess, was that although she was by no means beautiful, he found her large eyes and that passionate mouth immensely attractive. And her directness was refreshing. It was not a pity she was Haymarket ware; it was a definite asset as his intentions were rapidly becoming dishonourable.

Belinda stood in the middle of the room and looked slowly around. This room was not even used by the servants. It was bleak and cold, with the wind howling mournfully in the chimney.

‘Was this Miss Dalrymple’s room?’ asked Belinda.

The marquess nodded.

There was a small chamber off the main room, a garderobe, a medieval lavatory with a stone seat over a hole, which gave a clear view downwards of the former moat, now drained. She returned to the main room, which had a scrubbed table and two massive carved chairs.

Perhaps it had not been so grim when the unfortunate governess was in residence, thought Belinda. She would surely have had some of her own possessions about her.

‘I did not think they had governesses in medieval times,’ said Belinda.

The marquess shrugged. He was disappointed in Belinda’s lack of reaction. ‘She was not called a governess. She was merely a female of fairly good birth who was there to educate the very young children. Do you sense her presence?’

Belinda shook her head. ‘I sense desolation, that is all. What a cruel time to live!’

‘I sometimes think no more cruel than our own,’ said the marquess. ‘Look from the window.’

Belinda looked out. The snow had stopped falling. Far down below, beyond the castle walls and the fields and farms and cottages, was a crossroads. And at that crossroads stood a gibbet with three rotting bodies hanging in the wind.

She shivered. ‘But that is the justice of the English courts,’ she said, half to herself.

‘I envy you your belief in the fairness of English justice,’ he said. ‘One of those hanged was a half-starved youth of sixteen. He stole a sheep. The other two are murderers, and yet he met the same fate. But we become too serious. Would you like to climb to the roof of the tower?’

Belinda replied reluctantly that she would. She felt she had been discourteous in not admiring this part of the castle enough and was trying to make up for it.

They climbed higher and higher until they came to a low door that led out on to the roof of the tower.

‘Go to the right,’ said the marquess. ‘You will obtain a good view of the castle buildings and the gardens.’

Belinda did as she was bid. She clutched the parapet and looked down at the jumble of chimneys on the roofs of the castle buildings, at the formal gardens behind them, buried in snow. The wind rose suddenly and she drew back, stepped on a pebble and gave her sprained ankle a savage wrench.

She let out a moan of pain. The marquess caught her round the waist and supported her. ‘Your ankle,’ he exclaimed. ‘I had forgot. I should never have let you walk for so long on it. Allow me to carry you.’

Belinda protested feebly but he lifted her up easily in his arms and made for the staircase. ‘Hold tightly around my neck,’ he commanded. ‘The stairs are narrow.’

Her heart began to thud painfully and she found it hard to breathe. He was holding her so very tightly and the feel of the hardness of his body against hers was doing bewildering things to her senses.

The marquess reached the bottom of the staircase. It was very dark there. Before he opened the door, he looked down at her and met a wide-eyed gaze. On impulse, he bent his head and kissed her on the lips. It was the first kiss Belinda had ever received and she thought dizzily that it was wickedly delicious, rather like one’s first ice cream.

And then it was over. He freed her lips and said in a husky voice in which surprise and passion were mixed, ‘You enchant me.’ Then he opened the door and, still holding her tightly, strode across the courtyard.

From a window overlooking the courtyard, Hannah Pym looked down on the pair in deep satisfaction.

From the window of her bedchamber farther along, Penelope Jordan also saw the marquess and Belinda and bit her lips hard to stop herself from crying out. She had been schooled from birth to learn that only the vulgar showed an excess of emotion. Ladies must never laugh out loud or show anger or passion of any sort. To produce a few affecting tears to demonstrate fashionable sensibility was in order, as was the occasional swoon. Of course, a type of laughter was permitted, the silvery laugh, taught by one’s music teacher, which began on a high note and rippled down the scale.

As she watched, the marquess set Belinda down and indicated her ankle. Then he put an arm about her waist and helped her into the house.

Penelope let out a slow breath of relief. That clever minx had affected to be suffering badly from that sprain and had cleverly manipulated Frenton into carrying her. But the marquess surely could not favour the few charms Miss Earle had above her own. Miss Earle had unfashionably high cheek-bones as well as an unfashionably large mouth.

She rang for her lady’s maid and put that servant through a gruelling hour and a half – choosing clothes, brushing her hair and trying it in different styles, seeing if rouge would improve her beauty and then deciding it would not, trying on olive-green stockings and then rejecting them in favour of pink, until at long last she was nearly satisfied with her appearance.

Penelope shivered slightly despite the warmth from the bedroom fire. She was wearing a very thin spotted muslin gown under a pelisse of black lace trimmed with narrow bands of sable. On her pomaded curls the maid finally placed one of the latest turbans, decorated with two scarlet plumes to match the scarlet spot in the muslin. Penelope carefully examined her elbows, her beautiful eyes narrowing as she thought she detected a sign of red roughness on them. She carefully applied some white lead, but the two white patches stood out, so she applied more white lead to her upper arms and drew on a thin pair of scarlet gloves that reached to just below the elbow.

Then she made her way to her parents’ rooms. They were in their sitting-room, breakfasting in front of a roaring fire. Her father was dining on shrimp and old ale, his favourite breakfast, while her mother had wafers of toast and tea.

‘You must make ready to accompany me downstairs,’ said Penelope, cross because both were still in their undress. ‘That Earle female is like to snatch the prize from me.’

‘Hardly likely,’ said Sir Henry. ‘She is nothing out of the common way and a man as high in the instep as Frenton would not prefer the charms of some female from the stage-coach to yourself.’

‘I am persuaded she is clever and cunning. I have just seen him carrying her across the courtyard. She must have pretended to have hurt her ankle again. Rally to me! There is no time to be lost.’

Hannah made her way back to the sitting-room she shared with Belinda and found that young lady sitting in an armchair while the doctor examined her ankle. ‘Another bad wrench,’ said the doctor. ‘I shad strap it more tightly, but you must now lie in your bed with the ankle raised on a cushion.’

‘It is much better now,’ pleaded Belinda. ‘I shall be so very bored if I have to stay confined to my bedchamber.’

‘Lord Frenton,’ said the doctor, strapping Belinda’s ankle, ‘must be anxious for you all to recommence your journey. You should oblige your host by recovering as quickly as possible.’

Hannah noticed a shadow of disappointment fall over Belinda’s expressive eyes.

She waited impatiently until the doctor had taken his leave, and then asked eagerly, ‘What happened? Did you really sprain that ankle again?’

‘Of course I did,’ said Belinda. ‘He took me to the top of the tower to look at the view and I trod on a pebble and wrenched it again. He kindly offered to carry me, nay, insisted on it.’ Her eyes began to shine.

‘And …?’ prompted Hannah.

‘He … he … kissed me.’

‘The deuce!’ Hannah looked alarmed. ‘That was very fast and forward of his lordship. Your companion is laid up and your relatives are not here to protect you. Would you like me to ask him his intentions?’

‘No!’ said Belinda. ‘I can handle my own life, Miss Pym. He seems much taken by me and even said I enchanted him.’

‘Fine words don’t butter any parsnips,’ said Hannah crossly. ‘An experienced man of the world can say anything he likes. Hark you, Miss Earle, the servants tell me that he is as good as engaged to Miss Jordan.’

‘Well, that’s as may be,’ said Belinda doubtfully, ‘but could it not be that I have struck him all of a heap?’

‘Marquesses with every female in the land after ’em don’t get struck that easily,’ said Hannah cynically. ‘Hey, what’s happened to that young lady who didn’t want to marry?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Belinda wretchedly. ‘I wish I had never told you. Now it all seems soiled.’

‘Are you in love?’

‘How can I tell? I have only met the man.’

‘I tell you what I will do,’ said Hannah. ‘I will observe his behaviour towards you and let you know whether his intentions are indecent or honourable in my opinion. Would you like that?’

‘No! Well, maybe yes. But I don’t have to promise to listen to you.’

‘Now,’ said Hannah, ‘I suggest you get to bed and spend the rest of the day there and I’ll get two footmen to carry you down to dinner. What else did he talk about?’

‘He told me about the castle and how a room in Robert’s Tower was haunted by the ghost of a governess. He offered to show me the torture chamber but I said such things did not interest me, that the days of chivalry were in fact very cruel, and he said surely this age was cruel and commanded me to observe the bodies on the gibbet.’

‘How eccentric!’ said Hannah. ‘He cannot have been trying to endear himself to you. Besides, these modern times are very humane, no racking or crushing or gouging or pouring boiling oil on people. He must have been teasing you.’

After Hannah had left, Belinda lay looking at the bed-hangings, seeing mocking faces in the patterns made by the brocade. All her elation had gone. He had only been flirting. He could not have meant anything warmer, not with his nearly-to-be fiancée as a guest. Then, despite her troubled thoughts, Belinda fell asleep.

Hannah visited the Judds in their quarters. She could see Mrs Judd had been crying. Hannah’s temper snapped and she rounded on Mr Judd. ‘Will you never be done with tormenting your wife?’ she exclaimed. Mr Judd’s face turned dark with anger and he took a menacing step towards Hannah. ‘Just you try it,’ said Hannah. ‘I have strong arms and strong muscles, and besides that, if you lay one finger on me, I am like to brain you with the poker. Fie, for shame, you monster! Ruining your future career. One would think you had no interest in money.’

‘Money!’ The angry colour slowly died out of Mr Judd’s face.

‘Money,’ echoed Mrs Judd in a whisper.

For money had been the cause of this latest marital row. Mr Judd had said his wife had cut a shabby figure at the marquess’s supper table compared to the other ladies, and she had shouted at him that they had no money at all for finery and how could he be such a half-witted baboon? Aghast at his wife’s temerity, Mr Judd had had no inclination to hit her, but then she had begun to cringe and cry and beg his pardon, and so he had struck her and immediately felt so guilty that he was sure his guilt must be her fault, and so he had struck her again.

‘Sit down, both of you,’ said Hannah, ‘and listen to me. Your vanity, Mr Judd, does not seem to stretch to your playing and singing. Nor do you seem aware that your wife has a first-rate voice.’

‘What has all this to do with anything?’ demanded Mr Judd, his temper rising again, although he did sit down and eyed Hannah warily as if facing a dog liable to bite.

‘I could not help noticing how entranced the marquess was with your singing. A couple such as you, I have heard, can command a great deal of money for a drawing-room performance, provided that couple has a patron. If you play your cards aright, you could perhaps have the marquess as that patron.’

Mr Judd looked at her open-mouthed and Mrs Judd in dawning hope.

‘What is your history?’ asked Hannah. ‘I am not being impertinent. I only want to help.’

‘It is a dreary story,’ said Mr Judd. ‘My father was a successful lawyer and I had a comfortable upbringing. I studied music and singing for my own pleasure. Then I met Persephone.’

What an exotic name for the frightened Mrs Judd to have, thought Hannah.

‘I am from The Bath. Persephone was music teacher at the seminary where I now teach. My father disapproved of my interest in her. He had high hopes for me and wished me to enter the law. Persephone’s parents had no money at all. Nonetheless, I was in love and I married her and my father turned me out.’

‘And your mother?’

Mr Judd looked surprised. ‘Women have no say in such matters,’ he said. ‘In any case, the seminary promised to engage us both, but after we had both been there for a week, they said they could not afford the two of us and so they told my wife to leave. My father and mother died a year later, both of the fever, and he had cut me out of his will. Persephone’s parents are also dead. And so we struggled on. We had been to London to see if we could both find employ in different educational establishments, but we met with failure.’

Hannah turned to Mrs Judd. ‘And you, where did you learn to sing so beautifully?’

‘My father was a dancing master,’ said Mrs Judd, ‘but he had ambitions to make me an opera singer and to that end he hired the best tutors he could afford. Oh, Miss Pym, do you really think we could find a patron?’

‘There is hope,’ said Hannah, ‘and I will have a word with his lordship myself when the time is right. But there is one thing you must do or I cannot help you.’

‘That being?’ demanded Mr Judd.

‘No one is going to be interested in furthering the career of a constantly quarrelling couple. You must appear at all times affectionate. You must start practising in private. A woman must obey her husband, everyone knows that, but all dislike a bully, Mr Judd, and forgive me, but that is how you appear, and an unpleasant one at that.’ She raised her hand to stall an angry retort from Mr Judd.

‘Come now, you are not going to protest that you don’t bully your wife when I and everyone else must know that you do.’

‘He is really very kind,’ said Mrs Judd, flying to her husband’s defence.

‘Then let him show that side of his character or I cannot help you,’ said Hannah roundly.

There was a long silence after Hannah had left.

‘Strange woman,’ said Mr Judd gruffly.

Mrs Judd clasped her hands tightly. ‘Do you think she meant what she said?’

‘Yes, I do,’ he said slowly. Then he gave an awkward laugh. ‘I don’t really bully you, do I, my sweet?’

The usual meek denial trembled on Mrs Judd’s lips. Then she thought about the money they could make instead of scrimping and saving and rowing on the pittance paid to her husband by the seminary.

‘Yes, you do, Mr Judd,’ she said firmly. ‘You are become a monster. You nag and criticize me for every little fault and my life is wretched.’

Mr Judd looked uneasily round as if expecting to find the marquess or Hannah Pym listening.

To apologize for or to admit to his bad behaviour would be going too far. And yet there was a steely determination in his little wife’s eyes that had not been there before.

‘And if you do anything to jeopardize our future by indulging your bad temper,’ said Mrs Judd, ‘I shall leave you.’

He looked as startled as if some mild-mannered family pet had suddenly decided to savage him. ‘We’ll see how it goes,’ he mumbled, and Mrs Judd, knowing her husband well, realized that was as near an apology and a promise of reform as she was likely to get.

Hannah went into Miss Wimple’s bedchamber and was reassured to see that lady looking much recovered.

‘How is Belinda?’ demanded Miss Wimple in stern accents.

‘Very well,’ said Hannah. Her eyes sharpened. ‘Have you had a visit from his lordship?’

Miss Wimple put a hand to her brow. ‘I recall he came to see me last night.’

‘And what did you say?’

Miss Wimple bridled. ‘I do not see that what I said or did not say is any of your concern, Miss Pym.’

‘But Miss Earle should be your concern, Miss Wimple. That, after all, is what you are being paid for. You did not, by any chance, let fall to his lordship about Miss Earle’s unfortunate episode with the footman?’

‘I cannot remember what I said,’ said Miss Wimple huffily. ‘My head aches. Go away.’

‘I wish to counsel you to hold your tongue on that matter in future,’ said Hannah, ‘for the young lady may arrive in Bath with a reputation already ruined and, if that be the case, I shall have no hesitation in telling her parents the reason for her downfall. If you did let fall anything indiscreet about your charge, then I suggest you tell his lordship as soon as possible that you were rambling.’

Miss Wimple lay very still after Hannah had left. She did recall what she had said to the marquess. She had felt it her duty, thought Miss Wimple defiantly, not knowing that she had been prompted by the jealousy of an unmarried middle-aged woman of small means for a young lady of fortune. She would not eat her words when she saw the marquess, but mindful of her job and Miss Pym’s threat, she would beg him to keep silent on the matter.

And so it came about that Miss Wimple did more damage to Belinda’s reputation than she had done before. She sent for the marquess and begged him so emotionally never to speak of Belinda’s affair with the footman that she left him thinking that Miss Earle must have behaved very shockingly indeed.

Dinner was served at four in the afternoon, so at three-thirty all were assembled in the Cedar Room, Belinda having been carried in by two footmen.

With the single-mindedness of the aristocrat, the marquess studied Belinda Earle quite openly, unaware of the consternation he was causing in the Jordan family. She attracted him and he still remembered that kiss vividly and wanted more. But to seduce, say, a London widow who knew very well what she was about was one thing. To go to the bedchamber of a gently reared girl whom her family was obviously trying to reform was another. In some way, Belinda must show him she knew what she was doing and was prepared to face the consequences.

Hannah saw that studied look and her heart fell. There was something more of the predator about it than the lover. Her mind went back to a certain groom who had worked for Mr Clarence. Hannah had been courted and then rejected by a perfidious under-butler and had been left feeling raw and stupid. The groom, Harry Bates, was rumoured to be the bastard son of a noble. He had a certain aristocratic elegance, strange in a groom, and more intelligence than was usual. He was witty and made Hannah laugh at a time when she did not feel like laughing at anything. It was well known among the staff at Thornton Hall that Hannah rose very early before the rest to spend a little time by herself in the servants’ hall. It was there Harry had approached her one morning. She had been delighted to see him, but he had sat down very close to her at the table, and then he had taken her hand and gazed into her eyes. In his eyes, Hannah had seen the same look that the marquess had in his when he studied Belinda – that authoritative air of reaching out and taking what he wanted. And all in that moment, Hannah had realized that Harry thought she had had an affair with the under-butler and so was fair game.

She had snatched her hand away, and with her face flaming had said, ‘I am still a virgin,’ and had walked out of the servants’ hall. Harry had never come near her again.

In her heart, she cursed Miss Wimple. She was sure the companion had gossipped about Belinda. The Jordans, she noticed, were looking furious. Little did they know they had nothing to be furious about, thought Hannah gloomily.

And Belinda! A pox on the girl! Hannah felt quite savage. Belinda was glowing and her looks had taken on a radiance.

‘I hear Miss Wimple is all but recovered,’ said Penelope in a thin voice. ‘You will soon be able to take your leave.’

‘Not in this weather,’ said Hannah.

‘But the weather has changed,’ said Sir Henry with satisfaction. ‘Listen!’

They all listened, and sure enough, instead of snow whispering at the windows, they heard the sound of drumming rain.

‘The roads will be flooded for days,’ Hannah pointed out.

‘But not as far as the nearest inn, where no doubt your stage is waiting,’ put in Lady Jordan.

‘Come now,’ chided the marquess, ‘you must not be in such a hurry to speed our guests on their way. I, for one, am hoping that Mr and Mrs Judd will entertain us again this evening.’

‘Gladly,’ said the Judds in chorus.

Dinner was announced and the guests filed through to the dining-room. Once more, Belinda was seated beside the marquess.

‘I am amazed, Miss Earle,’ said the marquess, almost as soon as they were seated, ‘that you were not besieged with suitors during your Season.’

‘I do not remember you at the Season,’ said Penelope, forgetting her manners in her anger and talking directly across the table.

‘I was mostly hidden from view,’ said Belinda with a gurgle of laughter. ‘I used to take a book with me and try to hide behind a potted plant to while away the tedium of the evening.’

‘Penelope,’ said Sir Henry heavily, ‘was never without partners.’

The marquess frowned. He could hardly be so rude as to remind them of the conventions and urge them to talk only to the people on either side. The unsophisticated Judds had taken a leaf out of the Jordans’ book and were talking openly to all at the table, inoffensive chit-chat about the weather and the perils of the English roads.

Penelope saw her advantage and took it. She began to talk directly to the marquess about people they both knew, leaving Belinda and Hannah excluded.

Belinda had never been jealous in her life, but now she was shaken to the very core of her being. She hated Penelope Jordan. He had kissed her, not Penelope, and he had said she enchanted him. Belinda craved some sign from him that he cared for her. Her strict upbringing was being undermined with jealousy and all her usual common sense had fled. This was agony! She would ask to see him alone and, yes, she would ask him if he loved her.

Things were worse when they retired to the Cedar Room. The Judds gave a virtuoso performance, each liquid note of their voices tearing at Belinda’s heart. Mrs Judd was so very happy and it showed in her singing. It was obvious to Hannah that the Judds had taken her advice, but she was so worried about Belinda that it gave her little satisfaction.

Belinda had fallen helplessly in love, and she did not know what to do. The marquess looked so very handsome, but unapproachable. His hair was powdered and he was dressed in fine silk and the jewels in his cravat and at his fingers winked and blazed in the candle-light. His eyes gave nothing away. He seemed totally wrapped up in the music, as indeed he was.

Hannah edged her chair closer to that of the marquess and when the Judds had finished one number and were looking through their music, she said softly, ‘It is a pity two such fine singers should languish forgotten. They need a patron.’

‘Meaning I should sponsor them,’ he said, looking amused.

‘Why not?’

‘Why not, indeed, Miss Pym. I shall speak to them about it.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ said Hannah. ‘Did … did Miss Wimple mention anything to you about Miss Earle?’

‘Such as?’ His eyes were quite blank.

‘I feel Miss Wimple is not a suitable companion for Miss Earle,’ said Hannah. ‘She …’

But he held up his hand for silence, for the Judds had begun to sing again.

Belinda decided she would write him a note, asking him to meet her. She would do it as soon as she retired and give the note to one of the servants. But Miss Pym must not know.

At last the evening was over. The marquess suggested Belinda might like to retire to rest her injured ankle and his glance included the other stage-coach passengers. He was sitting beside Penelope, engrossed in conversation, when Belinda and Hannah left the room. Belinda hobbled and leaned on Hannah’s arm, for she felt being carried by footmen presented too undignified a spectacle. She twisted her head and looked back. Penelope was smiling at something the marquess was saying and leaning towards him, creating an island of intimacy, while her parents beamed on the pair as if already blessing the newly-weds.

After Belinda had said good night to Hannah, she went to her room. She dismissed the maid, saying she would prepare herself for bed. Instead, she sat down at a tiny escritoire in the corner and wrote a short note, asking the Marquess of Frenton to exchange a few words with her before he retired for the night. She sanded the letter and sealed it. She reached out a hand to the bell-rope and then paused. Miss Pym might hear the sound of the bell and come to see if anything was wrong.

She gently opened her bedroom door and walked along the corridor. A small boy was trimming one of the lamps that stood in an embrasure. Belinda handed him the letter and told him to take it to the marquess and then returned to her room, feeling very alone and frightened and wondering if she had run mad.

The lamp-boy was too inferior a being to convey a message to the marquess directly. He gave it to the fourth footman, who took it down to the servants’ hall and gave it to the butler in front of everyone, saying it was from Miss Earle to the marquess. The butler put on his coat, put the letter on a silver tray, and carried it upstairs.

The Jordans were in the Cedar Room and on the point of saying their good-nights to the marquess. The butler handed him the letter, but, being a good servant and scenting an intrigue, he did not say who had sent it.

The marquess turned away slightly and scanned the short note. His lips curled in a smile.

Penelope Jordan found out who had sent that letter as her maid prepared her for bed. All the servants knew. So she, too, wrote a letter and sent her maid with it to Hannah Pym.

‘As you are obviously concerned for the welfare of your fellow passenger,’ she wrote, ‘I suggest you stop Miss Earle writing letters to the Marquess of Frenton proposing assignations.’ Penelope of course did not know what Belinda’s letter had said but felt sure that as Belinda had written something she could obviously not say in public, that meant an assignation. ‘I beg you to tell the silly child that I am engaged to Frenton and any attempts on her part to secure his affections would only lead to ridicule.’