Belinda Goes to Bath

5

Sweet maid of the inn,

’Tis surely no sin,

To toast such a beautiful bar pet;

Believe me, my dear,

Your feet would appear

At home on a nobleman’s carpet.

Anonymous

Belinda looked at the little gilt clock on the mantel which was flanked by a shepherd and shepherdess. Midnight!

Surely he would come.

She bit her lip remembering the conversation she had had with Hannah Pym before that lady retired for the night. Miss Pym had said roundly that the marquess’s intentions were definitely dishonourable, doubly so as he had kissed Belinda while courting another. Belinda had only pretended to listen, as she had in the past when someone was giving her a jaw-me-dead.

But Hannah’s words echoed in her brain. If he was an honourable man, then he should have called on her immediately after reading her note. If he was dishonourable, then he would wait until he was sure everyone was asleep and then call on her. That could not be the case. He must be waiting until morning.

She gave a disappointed little sigh. Slowly she removed her clothes and washed herself and pulled on a lacy night-gown and tied her nightcap on her head. She climbed into bed and blew out the candle on the bedside table. She studied the patterns made by the flickering flames from the fire on the walls. Then she realized the rain had ceased to fall. She climbed down from the bed again and drew the curtains and looked out. A full moon was shining and the courtyard glinted with puddles of melting snow. She tugged open the window and leaned out. The air was soft and spring-like. Her days at the castle were numbered. She had looked in on Miss Wimple with Hannah before they retired to their rooms and Belinda had been astonished at how quickly her companion was recovering her health.

She limped back to the bed, sadly climbed back in, and drew the blankets up to her chin.

There came a soft knock at the door and her heart began to thud. Servants never knocked. She got out of bed and went to open it.

The Marquess of Frenton walked straight past her and stood in the middle of the room. He smiled at her and opened his arms. Belinda closed the door and then turned and ran straight into them. Faint warning bells were ringing at the back of her mind; he was wearing a night-gown and dressing-gown and she herself was in her undress. But as his lips closed down over her own in a passionate kiss she forgot time and space and everything but the hot surgings of her own body pressed so tightly against his. Her fingers wound themselves in his long red hair still faintly scented from the hair powder that he had brushed out, and she moaned against his lips.

Hannah Pym awoke and was immediately uneasy. The first thing she thought of was that Belinda Earle had accepted her strictures too easily. She was sure that young lady was planning mischief. She was thirsty and decided to get herself a glass of water. She lit the bed-candle and then rose and went to the toilet table, which held a decanter of drinking water. Then she saw a note that had been pushed under the door. When Penelope’s maid had come to deliver it, she had scratched at the door and, receiving no answer, decided Miss Pym was asleep.

Hannah opened it and read it. Then she cocked her head to one side and pulled her nose in embarrassed distress. She was sure there were faint sounds coming from Belinda’s bedchamber.

Hannah lifted the candle and walked with a determined step through the sitting-room and straight into Belinda’s bedchamber.

Belinda was clasped in the marquess’s arms. They did not hear her come in. Both were apparently deaf to the world.

‘Stop that!’ said Hannah. ‘Stop it this minute, I say!’

The couple fell apart. Belinda was flushed and aghast, the marquess angry.

‘What do you want, Miss Pym?’ he demanded in a cold, thin voice.

‘What do I want?’ echoed Hannah. ‘The question, my lord, is what do you want?’

‘A word with you in private, Miss Pym,’ he said grimly.

Hannah led the way into the little sitting-room and closed the door firmly on Belinda.

‘My lord,’ said Hannah, ‘I do not wish to abuse your hospitality by interfering with your pleasures. But Miss Earle is no woman of the world. Nay, sir, neither is she a woman of the streets. It is well known in this household that you are courting Miss Jordan. I must ask you what your intentions are towards Miss Earle.’

‘And may I point out,’ he said calmly, ‘that my intentions are none of your business.’

‘Someone must make it their business,’ exclaimed Hannah. ‘You cannot seduce a virgin and expect me to stand by and see it happen.’

‘It is my understanding that Miss Earle is not a virgin, and she certainly does not behave like one. I was in her bedchamber at her invitation.’

‘You silly … lord, she thinks you love her. Has Miss Wimple been filling your ears with some tale about a footman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I feel it my duty to tell you exactly what happened.’

And Hannah did.

The marquess stood frowning as she talked. There was no doubting the honesty of the story Miss Pym told. He began to wonder what on earth he would have done had he stayed in Belinda’s arms much longer. He might have seduced a highly respectable lady.

But he was a gentleman, and gentlemen never apologize because everyone knows gentlemen never make mistakes.

‘I was misled,’ he said. ‘But I think it would be too mortifying to explain to Miss Earle that I thought she was a hussy. Pray tell her I was foxed.’

‘I will try,’ said Hannah doubtfully, ‘but you look cold-stone sober.’

‘Tell her anything you like. I note the weather is improving. My servants tell me that your stage is repaired and waiting at the Queen Bess in Comfrey. We will give Miss Wimple another day’s rest and then convey you all there. Whether Miss Wimple feels up to travelling on further from the inn will be a matter for her to decide.’

‘It is a pity,’ mourned Hannah. ‘You are both so well suited.’

‘Miss Jordan and I?’

‘No, my lord, you and Miss Earle.’

He looked on her in dawning amusement. She was an odd creature with her strangely coloured eyes and her thin spare body and crooked nose. ‘Marriage is a serious business, Miss Pym. I fear you have been reading romances. I will choose some lady who will grace my home.’

‘Like an art treasure?’

‘Miss Pym, has anyone ever told you that you get away with murder? I really do not know why I am standing here listening to your strictures. Pray tell Miss Earle I behaved badly and am ashamed of myself.’

‘Why not tell her yourself?’

Why not? The marquess paused. He had never shirked an unpleasant duty in his life before. But the effect Belinda Earle had on his senses was devastating.

‘To be brutally frank, Miss Pym, I do not trust myself alone in a bedchamber with Miss Earle.’

‘Ah!’ Hannah’s eyes gleamed with a gold light. She decided to say no more at present. With any luck, this marquess was in love with Belinda and did not know it.

‘Then if you will leave this way, my lord,’ said Hannah. She showed him through her bedchamber to the corridor door, ushered him out, and then returned through the sitting-room to Belinda’s bedchamber.

Belinda was sitting by the fire. She had lit an oil-lamp and her eyes were bleak as she looked at Hannah. ‘How dare you!’ said Belinda.

Hannah silently handed her the letter from Penelope Jordan. Belinda read it and her face went as red as the fire she was sitting beside.

‘Yes, all the servants must know. To whom did you give your letter?’

‘To a lamp-boy,’ said Belinda.

‘A humble lamp-boy is of too low a rank to carry a letter to a marquess. You should have known that. Do your aunt and uncle not have many servants?’

Belinda shook her head. ‘No, we only have a butler, two footmen, two housemaids, two chambermaids, a lady’s maid, a cook, a housekeeper, one kitchen maid, one odd man, and of course the coachman and groom.’

‘Then I must tell you that the lamp-boy would take that letter of yours to the servants’ hall, where it would be delivered to the butler. The lamp-boy would tell the butler in front of the others from whom it came. So it would no doubt get to the ears of Miss Jordan’s lady’s maid and so to me.’

Belinda’s anger had died. The full horror of what she had done was slowly dawning on her. Love had blinded her to the fact that the Marquess of Frenton regarded her as a slut and therefore easy game. How shabby and brassy and common she now must appear set beside the beautiful Penelope.

Hannah did not want to add to Belinda’s distress by telling her the marquess knew about that footman episode. Both Belinda and the marquess were ashamed of themselves. Good! If the passage of true love ran smooth, then it could not possibly end happily, in Hannah’s experience. She remembered a gamekeeper at Thornton Hall who had fallen in love with a pretty chambermaid, and she with him. Mrs Clarence was still in residence and had smiled on the lovers. Everyone had thought they were a perfect match and said so. Before the gamekeeper had even thought of popping the question, Mrs Clarence had called him in and offered him a cottage on the estate where he could live with his bride. The couple had grown shy and embarrassed and awkward at all this headlong enthusiasm to get them to the altar, and love had faded away. Such a pity, thought Hannah. Their characters had been so well matched. She always thought that had a few obstacles been thrown in their way, then they might have tied the knot and lived happily ever after because they were so compatible, and couples must have something other than love between them to survive the rocky road of marriage.

‘I suppose I should be grateful to you for interrupting us when you did,’ said Belinda awkwardly.

‘It was very painful for me,’ said Hannah. ‘In future, Miss Earle, no matter how strong your feelings, you must let the men do the pursuing. That is the way of the world. Any bold move on the female’s part is always misinterpreted, and men only value what is hard to get. The weather is improving, and we shall shortly be moving on.’

‘I would rather leave on the morrow,’ said Belinda in a low voice.

‘Too soon,’ said Hannah. ‘One more day. Take my advice and keep to your bedchamber and do not venture belowstairs. Or sit and read to Miss Wimple. She needs her mind improved. The marquess will at first be relieved at your absence and then he will miss you.’

‘I do not want him to miss me,’ said Belinda pettishly. ‘The least he could do is apologize.’

‘You can hardly expect him to do that after having sent that letter and given him the wrong impression.’

‘Am I so very bad, Miss Pym? Am I going to be damned as an Original? Why cannot I behave as other young misses?’ Tears stood out in Belinda’s eyes.

‘Not your fault,’ said Hannah gruffly. ‘If that uncle and aunt were here, I would wring their necks. This is the direct result of overmuch discipline and reaching too high in the Marriage Market. Had they left you alone, you might have waited until your inheritance and found someone suitable without a title.’

‘It is dangerous to live on dreams,’ said Belinda with a little sigh. ‘I thought I was in love, but perhaps it was only because I am dreading the thought of Great-Aunt Harriet and months and months of moralizing. It would have been a triumph to arrive on her fusty doorstep already engaged to a marquess. Heigh-ho! I am feeling much chastened, Miss Pym, but better in spirit. I shall survive.’

The marquess, next day reviewing the events of the night, began to wonder if he had been drunk. He convinced himself that the repairs begun on the roof of a tenant’s cottage at one of the farther corners of his estate needed personal attention. Then he decided to ride on to the Queen Bess in Comfrey. There he met the new driver of the stage-coach, who told him that the young driver and the guard who had caused the accident had been fired. The landlord assured his lordship that rooms would be available for the stage-coach passengers when they arrived. The road from the castle to the Queen Bess was clear. They would need, however, to stay at the inn for about two days, as the roads farther on were flooded. The marquess paid the innkeeper for their care and accommodation. Satisfied, he rode back to the castle. The stage-coach passengers could leave the next morning. Miss Wimple would be conveyed lying down in a separate carriage. She would be put to bed at the inn, and from then on she would no longer be the marquess’s responsibility.

He dressed carefully for dinner that afternoon, as if armouring himself in silk and jewels for the confrontation with Belinda. But when he descended to the Cedar Room, he was told by Miss Pym that Belinda’s ankle was still hurting and she preferred to take her meals in her sitting-room and to read to Miss Wimple.

The marquess was at first relieved, and then, as dinner progressed, disappointed. The day had turned flat. He looked at Penelope Jordan and imagined sitting with her at dinner-tables and supper-tables day in and day out, and suddenly realized it was a prospect he could not face.

After dinner Mr Judd, trembling with nerves, took the marquess aside and asked him if he could really be of any help in finding them singing engagements. The marquess, glad he could do something so simple, agreed and wrote the Judds letters of introduction to all the leading luminaries of Bath, including the Master of Ceremonies at the Pump Room.

The Judds, overwhelmed with relief and delight, sang like angels. Far above the Cedar Room, in Miss Wimple’s bedchamber, Belinda heard the music. She could picture the marquess sitting beside Penelope, the perfect couple.

She dropped the book she had been reading in her lap and said to her companion, ‘Did you by any chance, Miss Wimple, take it upon yourself to warn his lordship about my adventure with the footman?’

‘I did tell him,’ said Miss Wimple, ‘but I was overset at the time. Therefore, I sent for him yesterday and swore him to silence. I did my duty.’

Belinda controlled her rage and mortification with an effort. ‘Do you never think to your future, Miss Wimple?’ she asked. ‘In two years’ time, I will reach my majority and become an independent lady of means, a lady of means who will not want to be saddled with a companion who acts like a self-righteous jailer.’

Outraged, Miss Wimple sat up in bed. ‘Wait until I tell your aunt and uncle what you have said.’

‘Tell them,’ said Belinda bitterly. ‘What more can they do to me? Read to yourself, Miss Wimple. In case you have not been paying attention, it is a book of Mr Porteous’s sermons. Perhaps it might improve the low tenor of your mind.’

When Belinda left, Miss Wimple lay thinking uneasily. She enjoyed the power her position as a sort of wardress to Belinda Earle had given her. She had no intention of stooping so low as to ingratiate herself with that young minx. As soon as they reached Bath, she would search around for a suitable post, and to revenge herself further on Belinda, she would do as much damage to that young lady’s reputation as she possibly could. It was an unfair world where a young lady of low morals such as Belinda Earle should be blessed with a fortune when such as she, of high moral standing, should be forced to work for a living.

The morning dawned fine and sparkling and sunny. A fresh warm wind blew across the countryside and blackbirds were singing from the battlements as the stage-coach passengers made their way to the courtyard. Mrs Judd was bubbling over with high spirits. Not only had her husband been treating her affectionately, even in private, but the marquess had given them a handsome sum in gold to enable them to start on their new career. She planned gown after gown, visions of silks and muslins and cambrics and velvets floating through her happy brain. She did not realize that the bullying had ceased not only because of her husband’s ambitions, but because her own attitude had changed. She no longer crept or cringed or punctuated his every pontification with ‘Yes, dear.’

The marquess was not present. The butler told them his lordship had been called away to attend to an urgent matter on the estates. Heavy of heart, Belinda climbed into the carriage. She looked up at the mullioned windows of the castle houses flashing in the sun, and as she did so one of the windows swung open and Penelope Jordan leaned out.

She saw Belinda looking up and gave a mocking wave and her beautiful lips curled in a slow smile. Belinda stuck out her tongue and then jerked down the carriage blind and sat with her arms folded.

The marquess, on horseback, was on a hill that looked down on the Bath road and watched the carriages roll out through the lodge-gates, the first carriage bearing Belinda and Miss Pym, the second the Judds, and the third, Miss Wimple. He restrained a sudden impulse to ride down and join the carriages and accompany them to the inn. He was well shot of Belinda Earle. But he could still feel her lips against his own, warm and eager and, yes, he finally had to admit it, totally innocent.

Back at the castle, the Jordans were waiting for him. He sighed. High time he got rid of them as well and returned to his comfortable days of isolation. He would tell them he had to travel somewhere or another and soften the blow by saying they were welcome to stay, sure that once their quarry had flown, they would not do so.

That evening, he was doomed to disappointment. The Jordans were rich and remained rich by guarding every penny apart from what they spent on Penelope’s extravagant gowns and jewels. Sir Henry jovially said they would be only too happy to await Frenton’s return. The marquess parried by saying he might be gone for some considerable time. Lady Henry smiled gently and remarked coyly that their dear Penelope would act as chatelaine in his absence. ‘Good practice, hey?’ said Sir Henry and again gave that false jovial laugh that was beginning to grate on the marquess’s ears.

Now he would have to find somewhere to go. But where? London out of Season was not to his taste.

The Queen Bess was an impressive Elizabethan inn with three lofty storeys forming bay windows supported by brackets and caryatids. Inside, it was panelled in wainscot with carved ceilings adorned with dolphins, cherubim and acorns bordered with wreaths of flowers. The sign over the door was excellently painted, probably because Queen Elizabeth was always generally well treated in both busts and portraits, for such as were executed by unskilful artists were by her own order ‘knocked in pieces and cast into the fire’. A proclamation of 1563 recites that:

Her Majestie perceiveth that a great number of Hir loving subjects are much greved and take great offence with the errors and deformities alredy committed by sondry persons in this behalf, she straightly chargeth all her officers and ministers to see to the observation hereof, and as soon as may be, to reform the error alredy committed, and in the mean tyme to forbydd and prohibit the showing of such as are apparently deformed until they may be reformed that are reformable.

Queen Elizabeth was, of course, supposed to have slept there, although Hannah thought that, with a castle so near at hand, it was unlikely she would opt for a bed in a common inn. The room that Belinda shared with Hannah, having refused to share a bedchamber with Miss Wimple, was said to be haunted by the ghost of a grey lady. The landlord said this was an added attraction. Hannah, suspecting an addition to the bill for the pleasures of sharing a room with a ghost, demanded the price and was surprised and delighted when the landlord told her that the Marquess of Frenton had already paid handsomely for the stage-coach passengers’ food and lodging.

As they hung their clothes away in the wardrobe, Hannah said cheerfully to Belinda that she was sure their one great adventure was all they would have on this journey, the Bath road being famous for its safety and absence of footpads and highwaymen. Belinda’s face fell. Although she did not exactly wish Miss Wimple’s death, she could not help hoping another accident would befall that lady. Coping with Great-Aunt Harriet was something she felt she might be able to do herself were not Miss Wimple around to drop poison into that relative’s ear.

They were to take up another passenger when they resumed their journey, a Methodist minister called Mr Biles, who was residing at the inn. Hannah thought, when they all met up at the dinner-table, that he looked surprisingly like Miss Wimple. He had the same heavy features and the same moralizing manner, and the same weakness for strong drink. Hannah told him of their adventures, to which he replied that God moved in mysterious ways. Hannah described the accident to Miss Wimple. Mr Biles said solemnly that his duty lay with the patient and he would call on her. Hannah enthusiastically agreed, adding she was sure Miss Wimple would find a strong sermon very fortifying, and did Mr Biles have one with him? Mr Biles replied that he prided himself on giving extempore sermons, to which Hannah retorted, ‘All the better.’ After dinner, she cheerfully led him to Miss Wimple’s bedchamber and shut the door on the couple, considering that a middle-aged spinster and a minister need not worry about the conventions.

‘But,’ mocked a voice in her head, ‘say you yourself were alone with Sir George Clarence in an inn bedchamber …’

Her mind clamped down on the thought. Sir George, brother of her late employer, had befriended her, it was true. But he was far above her. To think of him in any terms warmer than admiration and friendship was folly and impertinence.

She went back downstairs. The Judds and Belinda had moved to the coffee room.

‘I do not like Miss Wimple,’ said Belinda in a low voice, ‘but do you not think Mr Biles too strong a punishment for anyone?’

‘No, I think they will deal together extremely well.’

But when Mr Biles eventually reappeared, Hannah wondered if she had done the right thing. There was a definite reforming gleam in his eye as he surveyed Belinda. Hannah privatedly damned Miss Wimple as a malicious gossip and took herself upstairs to remind that lady that if she told anyone at all about Belinda’s unfortunate experience, she, Hannah Pym, would have no alternative but to report her to her employers.

Not knowing that Hannah had only guessed that she had been talking about Belinda, Miss Wimple thought it was Mr Biles who had told her and felt mortified, for had she not sworn the minister to secrecy? But Mr Biles called on her before bedtime and protested his innocence with such vehemence that Miss Wimple’s spirits were restored. And then, to add fuel to her malice towards her charge, a letter for her arrived by hand from the castle. It was from Penelope Jordan, who wrote that Belinda had been flirting shamelessly with the marquess and had even written to him arranging an assignation. She begged Miss Wimple to be careful of her charge, saying she had warned Miss Pym about the proposed assignation as she felt poor Miss Wimple was too ill to cope, but it was obvious that Miss Pym had lax morals and had done nothing.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Miss Wimple showed Mr Biles the letter.

After exclaiming in horror at the contents, Mr Biles asked who this Miss Jordan was.

‘She is a young lady of sterling character,’ said Miss Wimple, concealing the fact that, because of her accident, she had not set eyes on her. ‘The housekeeper who was nursing me told me she is to wed the Marquess of Frenton. What am I to do with that wretched girl? First a footman, and now she is wantonly pursuing a marquess who has no intention of marrying her.’

‘I shall speak to her and bring her to recognize the folly of her ways,’ said Mr Biles, who was enjoying all this intrigue immensely. But Miss Wimple thought of Hannah Pym and shuddered. She did not want to lose her comfortable and well-paid position as companion to Belinda until she had secured another post. ‘It would not serve,’ she said firmly. ‘We both travel to The Bath. May I persuade you to assist me in keeping an eye on the young lady?’

‘It is my duty as a man of the cloth,’ he said sententiously. ‘No man shall come near her when I am nigh.’

‘He was back in her bedchamber again,’ said Hannah as she and Belinda prepared for bed, ‘and I fear she is a gossip. I am perfectly sure she told him about that footman.’

‘She must be stopped!’ said Belinda, aghast.

‘Yes, but how?’ Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed next to Belinda and, worried though she was, studied her feet, of which she was inordinately proud, with some complacency. ‘I fear I shall have to call on your aunt when we reach Bath and explain to her that your companion is ruining your reputation.’

‘I suppose I should not refine on it too much.’ Belinda sighed. ‘It is not as if a Methodist minister is the height of fashion. He will not frequent the same circles as Great-Aunt Harriet.’

‘But the Marquess of Frenton will,’ said Hannah.

Shocked and dismayed, Belinda stared at her. ‘Yes, my dear,’ said Hannah. ‘Now that we are away from the castle, I must tell you that Miss Wimple must have told Frenton about that footman, and in such terms that he thought you open to his advances.’

Belinda hung her head. ‘How mortifying. Miss Wimple did tell me. But I was silly enough to think he might have cared for me a little. Who am I, after all, when compared to such as Penelope Jordan?’

‘You are a young lady of heart and feeling,’ said Hannah. ‘It was the marquess who came out of that adventure badly and not you. Now that he knows you to be respectable, for you may be sure I put him straight on that matter, he may readjust his thoughts. The Jordans are dull, and despite lineage and money, very common. If he cares for you at all, he will come and find you. If all he wanted was an easy diversion, then you are much better off without him.’

‘It makes him seem so much less noble,’ said Belinda. ‘I thought he was so far above me. He behaved disgracefully, for even had I lost my honour to that footman, I am still an unmarried young lady of good family and not some tavern wench.’

‘That kind never stops to think when something they want comes across their path.’ Hannah patted Belinda’s hand. ‘I heard a little from the servants. He was left quite poor when his father died and restored the family fortune by intelligence and hard work. But a marquess is a marquess, and money or not, he must have been courted and fêted as soon as he was out of short coats. Any female he wants is his for the taking. Do you still care for him?’

Belinda shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I cannot think clearly. Every time I try to think of him, I can only think of my own wanton behaviour. Passion is a cheat, as you surely know, Miss Pym.’

Hannah looked at Belinda doubtfully. Ladies did not feel passion. Everyone knew that, or rather, everyone except Belinda Earle. She herself had never been swayed by such feelings, even when she was the lowest of servants. Certainly, she had been smitten by that under-butler, but that had been a shy and tremulous yearning of the spirit for a friend. Men had lusts, women had love, that was the difference. Perhaps Belinda’s ancestors had slipped up somewhere and introduced a vulgar strain into the blood.

‘Was Miss Wimple very angry when you said you would not share a room with her?’ asked Hannah, changing the subject as they both climbed into bed.

‘Not really. I told her that, as an invalid, she would be better in a room by herself. Are not the conventions strange, Miss Pym? For all we know, Miss Wimple may have been indulging in Roman orgies with Mr Biles, and yet it is all right for them to be locked up in a bedchamber together.’

Hannah began to giggle helplessly. ‘Why, what is the matter?’ asked Belinda.

‘I am trying not to imagine Miss Wimple indulging in orgies,’ laughed Hannah. ‘Did you mark her head? Her hair has started to grow in, a sort of fuzz all over. She looks like a fledgling vulture.’

‘Have you ever seen a vulture?’ asked Belinda, settling back against the pillows and hoping to wheedle a bedtime story from her new friend.

‘I saw a drawing in a book in the library in Thornton Hall.’

‘Did you always read much?’

‘No,’ said Hannah. ‘I was barely literate when I arrived at Thornton Hall, but so ambitious!’

‘So how did you learn to read and write? Oh, I know. I wager it was the beautiful Mrs Clarence.’

‘Yes. It was when I was the between-stairs maid. She found me one day glaring at a newspaper and turning it this way and that, and asked me gently if I could read. I said I could only make out a very few of the words. But she had hired a nursery maid—’

‘She had children? You did not mention children.’

Hannah shook her head sadly. ‘She was so very sure she would have children, don’t you see. She had a nursery all prepared, cradle and toys, and everything so dainty and pretty. She hired the nursery maid, saying she had such a good reputation she wanted to snatch her up while she could. But nothing ever happened. I remember one day passing the nursery and hearing singing. Mrs Clarence was sitting there, rocking the empty cradle and singing a lullaby. It made me cry. I never told anyone.’

Hannah fell silent.

‘The nursery maid,’ prompted Belinda gently.

‘She was young and kind. I think she came from quite a good family which had come down in the world. I was given half an hour’s lesson by her each evening. Her name was Dorothy Friend, and she was a Quaker. A suitable name for a Quaker. I learned very rapidly. Then Mr Clarence grew impatient with what he called “this farce of a nursery” and she was dismissed. Mrs Clarence found her a post in another household. But by the time she was dismissed, I had learned to read and write and add and subtract figures. Sometimes, when I look back over my life,’ said Hannah sadly, ‘I do not think of all the people who harmed me, but quite often of all the kindnesses and wish I could go back and say “thank you” properly.’

She closed her eyes. But Belinda did not want to be left alone with thoughts of the marquess.

‘Did you always want to travel?’ she asked.

Hannah shook her head. ‘For a long time, I was content, working my way up. But when Mrs Clarence ran away, half the servants were dismissed and half the house shut up. It was sad and gloomy, and without guests there was little work to do compared with what had gone before. Thornton Hall began to seem like a prison. I would rise very early each morning, make tea, and then slip up to the drawing-room and open the windows and wait for the first stage-coach to go hurtling by, far away from Thornton Hall.’

‘Was Mr Clarence kind?’

‘Oh, he was a good employer. I wish he had been a better husband. Sir George, his brother, told me that Mr Clarence was always a difficult and moody man and it was that which had driven his wife away.’

There was a note of pride in Hannah’s voice when she mentioned Sir George.

‘This Sir George Clarence, do you know him well?’ asked Belinda.

‘Quite well,’ said Hannah. ‘He was most kind after my employer died. He arranged a bank account for me and he took me to tea at Gunter’s.’

‘Is he married?’

‘No,’ said Hannah stiffly.

‘But he took you to Gunter’s.’

‘As I said, he is most kind.’

‘How old is he?’

‘What questions you do ask, my child. Fifties.’

‘Aha!’ said Belinda.

‘And what does that “aha” mean?’

‘It means, Miss Pym, that a marriageable bachelor took you to Gunter’s.’

‘Sir George is an honourable and kind gentleman, that is all,’ said Hannah, suddenly cross with Belinda, but not knowing why. ‘Go to sleep!’

Belinda turned over on her side. Between a crack in the bed-hangings shone a spark of light from the rushlight on the bedside table. She stared at it, hypnotized, trying to concentrate on that pin-point of light and empty her brain of thoughts of the marquess. But the thoughts came just the same … What was he doing? … Did he think of her?

The Marquess of Frenton was being prepared for bed by his Swiss manservant. He turned over the day in his mind. Penelope had started to give orders to the servants as if she were already the lady of the castle. He had to admit he felt trapped. He had at no time expressed a wish to marry her, and yet by inviting her and her parents to the castle as his only guests, he had led her to believe he would marry her.

He must get away. But he could not bear to leave the Jordans in residence.

But where?

He had a married sister, Mary, Lady Arnold, who lived in Bath. He had not seen Mary in some time and a visit was long overdue. He was not very fond of his sister, for Mary, older than he by three years, had seen no point in his determination in the early days to keep the castle and estates. She was anxious to secure a good dowry and saw the maintenance of the castle as eating up any possible dowry she might have. But she had married well, although she was fond of saying it was thanks to her own efforts and no thanks to her brother. Still, she was his sister and he should pay her a call.

He wondered about Miss Earle and what she thought of him, or if she thought of him. He should be grateful to the redoubtable Miss Pym for interrupting them. He wished now he had not been in such a hurry to be shot of the stage-coach passengers. Miss Pym had entertained him with her forthright manner and the singing of the Judds had been a delight. Belinda Earle had enjoyed the music, to which Penelope appeared totally deaf. He remembered Belinda’s expressive face and the emotions flitting across her large eyes. Why was it considered bad ton for women to betray emotions? On reflection, he considered it was only considered bad ton to show real emotion. A lady could not laugh out loud with pleasure, but she could give that high, chiming, artificial laugh taught by her music teacher. She could not betray either horror or disgust, but she was allowed to faint or cry genteelly to show sensibility. And passion? Never! Never was any lady supposed to burn and sigh and moan in his arms like Belinda Earle. And on that thought came a craving, a hunger, to see her again.

His valet slipped a night-gown over the marquess’s head, saw his master into bed, and then retired, slipping out of the room as soft-footed as a cat.

Why can I not see her again? thought the marquess suddenly. This is ridiculous. She is young, unmarried, and of good family.

He began to make plans. First he must get rid of the Jordans.

The Jordans rose early, or rather, early for them. Nine o’clock and the castle was resounding with scrapes and bangs and thumps. The smell of paint was everywhere.

Struggling into his dressing-gown, Sir Henry rang the bell and demanded testily to know what the deuce the infernal row was all about.

The chambermaid bobbed a curtsy and said his lordship was having every room redecorated.

‘He can’t!’ wailed Lady Henry, sitting up in bed, her nightcap askew. ‘Penelope!’ For their darling daughter was highly sensitive to the smell of fresh paint.

Sir Henry dressed at great speed and went in search of the marquess. There seemed to be paint-pots and ladders and workmen everywhere.

‘Ah, Sir Henry,’ called the marquess cheerfully as that gentleman ran him to earth in the breakfast-room.

‘You must send all these decorators away,’ said Sir Henry wrathfully. ‘The smell of paint makes my poor Penelope ill.’

The marquess affected concern. ‘My dear Sir Henry. What am I to do? It is hard for the local artisans to find work in the winter. I cannot cut off their employ. But as I am leaving shortly, it might be a good idea if you started on your journey as well.’

‘But you have not yet proposed to my daughter, or have you?’ barked Sir Henry, almost beside himself with fury and thwarted hope.

The marquess’s eyes went quite blank. ‘I have not yet proposed to your daughter, nor shall I. I fear I am a confirmed bachelor.’

‘You led us to believe the knot was as good as tied.’

‘I did no such thing.’

‘Damme, that trolley I bought you at great expense, mark you, at great expense, was by way of an engagement present.’

The marquess turned to the butler, who was standing by the sideboard. ‘Hemmings,’ he said, ‘take said trolley from the dining-room, parcel it up, and give it back to Sir Henry; or better still, put it in his carriage with his baggage and have his carriage brought round to the front door in readiness. Unfortunately, Sir Henry finds himself obliged to leave.’

‘Pah!’ said Sir Henry, hopping up and down in rage and disappointment. ‘Pah, pah, and pooh to you, sir!’

The marquess picked up the morning paper and began to read it.

It was hard to tell, when the Jordans left, whether Penelope was crying with rage or weeping from the effects of the paint. Her eyes were red and swollen.

‘I shall never forgive her. Never!’ said Penelope as the carriage drove off.

‘Who?’ asked her mother.

‘That Belinda Earle creature and her sluttish ways.’

‘Put it all out of your mind,’ said Lady Jordan. ‘Frenton is quite mad. Have you your book, Sir Henry?’

‘Already looking,’ muttered Sir Henry. He kept a book of all the noble families with eligible sons and their addresses. ‘Here it is,’ he said at last. ‘Lord Frederick, eldest son of the Earl of Twitterton. They have a box between Shepherd’s Shore and Devizes. You have not met Lord Frederick, Penelope. He is returned from the Grand Tour this month. We shall strike while the iron is hot.’

The marquess, having started the decoration to get rid of the Jordans, decided to go ahead with it and stayed to supervise. Miss Earle would be at the inn close at hand for the next few days. Having made up his mind to see her again, caution set in and he decided he did not want to appear too eager. He did not know her very well, after all.

But, unknown to him, by the following morning the Bath coach was once more on the road. Belinda’s heart plummetted as the coach slowly rolled out of the inn yard. He had not come. He was probably engaged to chilly Penelope by now.

She was relieved that the odious Mr Biles at least had the merit of making Miss Wimple his concern. He fussed over her and handed her smelling-salts and read to her. She fluttered and tittered and thanked him profusely. She appeared to be in prime health and despite her fondness for spirits was evidently as strong as an ox.

Hannah passed the tedium of the journey by regaling Belinda with tales from the guidebook. When they reached Beckhampton, where the Bath roads converged, Belinda was disappointed that they were only to be allowed half an hour, for she had hoped to see the abbey nearby. Hannah had told her a most intriguing story about it. Evidently, in the sixteenth century, there lived a young lady called Miss Sheringham whose father owned the abbey. She had been refused permission to see her lover, one John Talbot. One night she was standing on the abbey battlements calling down to him. Then she said, ‘I will leap down to you,’ a rather unwise decision as the walls were thirty feet high. Nonetheless, she leaped. The wind came to her rescue and ‘got under her coates’ (no doubt, the ulster of the sixteenth century), and so assisted, she flopped down into the arms of Talbot and to all appearances killed him dead on the spot. She sat down and wept. But Talbot, who had only been temporarily winded, recovered and clasped her in his arms. And it was at that point that Miss Sheringham’s father, with a fine sense of the melodramatic, jumped out of a bush and observed, ‘as his daughter had made such a leap to him, she must e’en marry him.’ And so they were married and lived happily ever after.

Belinda could not share Hannah’s enthusiasm for coach travel. Despite the sunny weather, the coach was cold and damp. It had been vigorously hosed down inside after its repairs and did not seem to have dried out. The constant swaying was making her feel sick. She had started her journey hoping it would take as long as possible. Now she felt even Great-Aunt Harriet would be preferable. Every time she thought of the Marquess of Frenton, which was frequently, she felt so low in spirits that she believed there was nothing left anyone could do to lower them any further. At the inn at Beckhampton, there had been a party of bloods from another coach and they had been discoursing loudly and anatomically about the charms of a certain Sally until the horrified landlord had turned them out. Belinda shuddered as she wondered whether the marquess would tell his friends about her vulgar passions.

Bath was drawing even closer. The coachman was a good and steady man and the horses were fresh. But three and a half miles outside Beckhampton they crossed high, windy, unprotected ground. The temperature had been dropping rapidly, and to the dismay of the passengers, they found that snow had begun to fall.

They stopped at a tiny inn called Shepherd’s Shore and all crowded around the fire. The coachman said he thought they should all stay where they were until the storm had passed, but the Methodist minister, Mr Biles, had grown as brave as only half a bottle of good Nantes brandy can make a normally weak man and overrode the coachman and the others by saying this was the last stage before Bath and as soon as they descended to lower ground, the snow would turn to rain. The coachman demurred at first, but he knew the coach was already days late and so he reluctantly agreed to take them forward.

They only got a mile from Shepherd’s Shore when the full force of the storm struck. The coachman cursed himself for his folly in having listened to the drunken minister. He did not want to lose his job, as had the previous coachman, by causing more harm to befall the passengers. He saw dimly through the blinding snow a tall pair of iron gates. The guard blew on the horn and a lodge-keeper came out and swung the gates open.

‘Residence?’ called the coachman to the lodge-keeper.

‘Earl o’ Twitterton,’ replied the lodge-keeper.

‘His lordship’s in for some unexpected guests,’ muttered the coachman, and cracking the whip, he urged his team of horses up the long, wintry drive to the Earl of Twitterton’s home.