Belinda Goes to Bath

7

Oh heav’nly fool, thy most kiss-worthy face

Anger invests with such a lovely grace,

That Anger’s self I needs must kiss again.

Sir Philip Sidney

‘They will have headed for the city,’ said the marquess, meaning Bath. ‘We shall go in that direction first.’

He helped the ladies into the carriage and climbed up on the box. Hannah was disappointed. She had not expected the marquess to drive his carriage himself. She had hoped the couple would have had the opportunity to talk to each other on the journey and get to know each other better. Hugs and kisses were all very well, thought Hannah, giving her nose a tug. But how would they ever find out if they were suited if they never had a chance to talk?

‘Do you think he is angry with us?’ ventured Belinda, peering out into the snow-covered blackness. Although the snow had stopped falling, the countryside was white.

‘For going in search of Miss Wimple? He was at first, but now I think he is reconciled to it, and he must be glad to be shot of the Jordans, as are we all.’

‘Did you mark that when Penelope Jordan joined the others in my bedchamber that her eyebrows were quite thin?’

‘No, I did not,’ said Hannah roundly. ‘I had other things to think about.’

‘Well, they were,’ said Belinda triumphantly. ‘And that means she wears false eyebrows.’

‘A dangerous practice,’ said Hannah severely. ‘It is one to be avoided. Mrs Clarence gave a dinner party once and there was a certain Sir Brian Curtis and his lady present. Right in the middle of dinner, he roared across the table at his wife, “Your left eyebrow is slipping.” Most mortifying for the lady. And then there was another gentleman who had strictly forbidden his wife to wear paint. She appeared in the drawing-room with a little rouge on her face. He grabbed a napkin, soaked it in seltzer, seized her, and scrubbed her face clean before the whole company.’

‘How dreadful! It is just as well this business of me marrying Frenton is all a hum. Marriage is a state to be avoided if a female can afford it.’

‘True,’ said Hannah gloomily. ‘Men will regard us as their chattels, you know, and … Faith! What am I saying? Not all men are thus, Miss Earle, I assure you. Furthermore, I do not think Frenton was teasing when he named you as his fiancée. There is his pride, you see.’

‘And there is mine,’ said Belinda. ‘He would take my very soul away,’ she said, half to herself.

Hannah fell silent. Belinda was left to think about the nature of love. Of course she had often thought about love, but had imagined that feeling would be something pure and spiritual. At that very moment, she hated the marquess, but at the same time longed for some sign of affection from him.

She peered out of the window of the carriage again. ‘We are moving down to lower ground,’ she said, ‘and there is no snow and the road is quite dry. How odd the vagaries of the English climate! Although I am concerned for Miss Wimple, I am sharp set. I barely touched anything last evening. The venison was vile, stringy and gamy, and the smell!’

‘I confess I could touch little of it myself. Moral people seem to have stomachs of iron. Both Miss Wimple and Mr Biles ate great quantities of the stuff. But as to Miss Wimple, it is our duty to apprise her of the facts because she is a woman and a fellow sufferer. If we women do not stick together, then what hope is there for us?’

‘Have you never met a man with whom you could spend the rest of your life?’ asked Belinda.

‘There was one,’ said Hannah, ‘but he turned out to be a cheat and a liar and deceived me sore. Thank goodness that there are good men in this world.’ She thought of Sir George Clarence with his fine figure, his piercing blue eyes, and the courteous way he listened to her so intently. He had offered to take her on a tour of the gardens of Thornton House on her return. Would he remember his offer? Perhaps he would marry and his new wife would frown on this strange friendship with a servant, albeit a former one. The thought of Sir George’s marrying anyone depressed Hannah.

‘The carriage is stopping,’ she said.

‘Perhaps we are going to be allowed something to eat,’ remarked Belinda hopefully.

The marquess opened the carriage door. ‘I am going to make inquiries at this inn.’

‘Any hope of breakfast?’ asked Belinda.

‘Later,’ he said shortly.

‘You have the right of it, Miss Pym,’ said Belinda bitterly when the marquess had closed the carriage door again. ‘We must always do as we are told.’

‘My fault,’ said Hannah. ‘Never ask a tentative question of a gentleman or the answer is bound to be no. I should have said, “Help us down. We are going to have breakfast.”’

‘That wouldn’t have worked either,’ said Belinda. ‘Try it.’

After only a short time, the marquess returned. ‘Good news,’ he said. ‘They stopped here and paid a driver handsomely to return the carriage and horses to the earl.’

‘Did they go ahead on foot?’ asked Belinda.

‘No, they paid for a pony and gig and took off in that. They asked the road to Monks Parton.’

‘And where is that?’ asked Hannah.

‘About six miles to the north.’

‘Good,’ said Belinda. ‘Now, if you will but stand aside, my lord, I am going inside that hostelry with Miss Pym and we are going to have some breakfast.’

‘As you will,’ he said.

‘There you are,’ muttered Hannah gleefully. ‘Works like a charm.’

Seated at a table in the coffee-parlour of the inn, Belinda and the marquess studied each other warily. Belinda thought the marquess, even in top-boots and a plain coat, looked more like a haughty aristocrat than ever, his cold eyes giving nothing away. The marquess wondered why Belinda, tired as she was, and with shadows under her eyes, looked like the most beautiful woman in the world, and then wondered whether she had bewitched him, but he showed all these confused thoughts and feelings like a true English gentleman by asking her, ‘More coffee, Miss Earle?’

Hannah began to despair of the pair of them. Of course there were marriages where husband hardly ever spoke to wife, but such had been the marriage of Mr and Mrs Clarence, and only look where that had led. Her eyes glowed blue with remembered sadness.

‘You are like a chameleon, Miss Pym,’ said the marquess. ‘I have observed your eyes change colour according to your mood.’

Hannah, who privately thought he would have done better to observe Belinda’s eyes, replied, ‘Humph,’ and buried her nose in her coffee-cup.

‘The sky will soon be light,’ said the marquess, ‘and the morning promises to be fine. It should be an easy and pleasant journey to Monks Parton. I have plenty of carriage rugs. Would you care to wrap up well, Miss Earle, and join me on the box?’

Hannah feared that Belinda was on the point of saying something pettish and kicked her viciously in the ankle. Belinda let out a yelp of pain.

‘What is the matter?’ asked the marquess anxiously. ‘Is it your ankle? I had forgot about that sprain.’

‘I experienced a sudden twinge of pain in my other ankle,’ said Belinda, glaring at Hannah. ‘Yes, I would like to join you. I have never travelled on the box of a carriage before.’

Hannah smiled, well pleased.

After Belinda had been helped up on the box and wrapped in a bearskin rug, Hannah climbed inside, accompanied by the marquess’s valet, curled up on the carriage seat and went to sleep.

‘How very high above the ground we seem to be,’ said Belinda nervously.

The team of grey horses ambled slowly forward. The air was sweet and there was a hint of spring in the warmth of the wind. Behind her the tiger, also wrapped in rugs, had fallen asleep.

‘So I have you to myself at last,’ said the marquess. ‘I am sorry I did not make you a formal proposal of marriage, but the circumstances were odd. I shall call on your great-aunt when we reach The Bath.’

‘But what do we know of each other?’ demanded Belinda, looking at his hard profile. ‘I had made up my mind not to marry, to be independent.’

‘You would have independence were you married to me. A spinster has a sad life.’

‘Miss Pym is a spinster.’

‘True. But Miss Pym is an Original.’

‘But you don’t really want to marry me,’ said Belinda. ‘You were just being chivalrous.’

‘Alas, I am never chivalrous.’

‘Why do you want to marry me?’

The marquess reined in his horses and looked down at her angrily. ‘Because I love you, dammit, as well you know.’

‘No, I don’t know,’ snapped Belinda.

He dropped the reins and took her in his arms. ‘Then let my silent lips tell you what my words cannot.’ He kissed her tenderly on her eyes, her nose, and then her mouth. No more bruising kissing, thought the marquess. But Belinda freed her lips and looked up at him with starry eyes, and said with a break of laughter in her voice, ‘Oh, you do love me, and I love you so much, Frenton.’

He crushed her close to him and sank his mouth into hers. Her passion rose to meet his. She caressed his hair and then choked and sneezed as a fine cloud of scented powder rose in the air.

‘We had better be married very soon,’ he said tenderly, handing her a large handkerchief.

‘Yes,’ agreed Belinda happily. ‘And you do believe me, or rather you did believe Miss Pym when she told you the real story about that footman?’

‘Yes, my love. Oh, yes, Belinda.’

‘I do not know your first name,’ said Belinda, shyly twisting a button on his coat.

‘It is Richard. Say, “Richard, I love you.”’

Her eyes were shining. ‘Oh, Richard, my dear heart, I love you so much.’

He held her close. Their lips joined in a kiss of such intensity that for both the world seemed to spin round faster and faster about them.

Inside the carriage, Hannah Pym awoke and sat up. The carriage was at a standstill. Perhaps they had arrived and the marquess and Belinda had not troubled to wake her. She opened the carriage door and climbed down.

There was a farmer, leaning on a gate with a farm-hand beside him. Both were looking up at the box. The farmer had a large steel watch in one hand. ‘Reckon that be about five minutes, Ham,’ he said.

‘Reckon as it do,’ agreed Ham with a salacious leer.

Hannah joined them and looked up at the box. The marquess and Belinda were wrapped in each other’s arms, both rock-still, their lips joined in a long kiss.

‘Been like that this age, mum,’ said the farmer cheerfully. ‘Ham, here, was saying as how he’d choke were he to do that there, but I says to him that he do breathe through his mouth the whole time, which is why he couldn’t achieve it. Wunnerful it is. Never seen the like.’

‘My lord!’ called Hannah angrily. ‘You are making a spectacle of yourself.’

The marquess started, released Belinda and looked down. ‘And so we are,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Climb in again, Miss Pym. We are on our way.’

Hannah climbed in and sat bolt upright. Their faces had been, yes transfigured by love. As the carriage rolled on, a slow tear rolled down Hannah’s cheek. She felt old and lonely. The feelings of precious independence given her by that legacy seemed to be withering away. No strong man had ever looked at Hannah Pym like that. No man ever would.

She had always been cheerful and hopeful. She considered life had treated her well. She had never known disease or infirmity or starvation, never regretted her spinster state. But now she felt weak and childlike and lost.

A thin ray of sunlight shone into the carriage. Hannah looked out. They were travelling quickly now along a high ridge of land. The fields stretched out, calm and peaceful, and with only a few remaining patches of snow. Her spirits began to lift. Here she was, plain Hannah Pym, off on another adventure and assisting in the marriage of a marquess. She shook her head, wondering how she could have become so blue-devilled only a moment ago.

‘It must have been that venison,’ said the ever-practical Hannah Pym. She rubbed her crooked nose and straightened her square shoulders.

Monks Parton was a small, sleepy village, unchanged since Tudor times. Houses of timber and wattle and thatch crouched around a triangle of village green like so many shabby cats. Two women were drawing water from a well at the edge of the village green. The marquess called down to them, asking them if they had seen any sign of a portly gentleman in clericals and an equally portly lady, driving a pony and gig.

One of the women shook her head but vouchsafed that there was a small tavern at the end of the village that had three bedchambers for guests.

The marquess drove on. The tavern, called the Bear and Stump, was as old as the houses of the village. One end of it sagged towards the ground, and the beetling thatch over the dormer windows reminded Belinda of Penelope’s false eyebrows.

‘I am coming with you,’ said Belinda firmly, when the marquess showed signs of leaving her behind. ‘She will not feel quite so humiliated if there is another woman there to comfort her.’

Hannah was determined to be ‘in at the kill’, but for less charitable reasons. Although she felt they were only doing their duty, she did not like either the moralizing Miss Wimple or the pontificating Mr Biles and was looking forward to seeing the guilty pair brought down a peg.

Before the marquess could stop her, Belinda had rushed before him into the inn, demanding of the landlord whether there was a Miss Wimple in residence.

The landlord, a stocky fellow in a smock who looked more like a labourer than the host of a tavern, scratched his head and said he had no one of that name.

‘Then,’ said the marquess, stepping in front of Belinda and Hannah, ‘we are also looking for a married couple by the name of Biles.’

‘Ho, them,’ said the landlord. ‘They’s here, right enough. Room at the top o’ the stairs.’

Belinda made a dart for the stairs but the marquess drew her back. ‘Pray give them my card, landlord, and ask them to step below, if you would be so good.’

Belinda waited impatiently while the landlord backed towards the stairs with many low bows. ‘Why do we not go up?’ she asked.

‘Age and passion do not mix in your young mind,’ said the marquess. ‘You might find yourself faced with a highly embarrassing tableau were you to burst into their room.’

There were sounds of a sharp altercation from above and then the landlord returned. ‘Take a seat in the tap, my lord, my ladies, and they’ll be down direct.’

‘There is no back way by which they might escape?’ asked the marquess.

‘No, my lord. Window’s too small for a gurt woman like her.’

They waited uneasily in the tap, sitting in front of a log fire.

After half an hour, Mr Biles and Miss Wimple entered. He had abandoned his clericals and was dressed in a coat with a high velvet collar and brass buttons. Miss Wimple was wearing a white-striped cotton dress printed in a tiny flowing floral pattern in red and blue and yellow. On her head, she wore a splendid cap of the same material. Both looked mulish and defiant.

Belinda rose and ran forward and took her companion’s hands in her own. ‘Miss Wimple,’ she said, ‘you have been sadly deceived. This man is married.’

‘I know,’ said Miss Wimple crossly, tugging her hands free.

‘But Miss Wimple! What of all your strictures, your moralizing?’

‘My love for this gentleman is pure,’ said Miss Wimple, her eyes flashing. ‘Hardly a love that such as you, Miss Earle, would understand.’

‘Mr Biles,’ said the marquess, ‘what do you plan to do about your unfortunate wife?’

‘Miss Wimple is now my wife, before God,’ said Mr Biles, raising his hands to heaven.

‘But not before man,’ said the marquess drily. ‘I repeat, what of your wife?’

‘She may divorce me,’ he said coldly. ‘She has her own money. She will not starve.’

‘But Miss Wimple may do so,’ said the marquess, ‘if your fickle fancy lights on another lady.’

‘Never!’ cried the pair in unison.

The marquess looked at Belinda, who gave a little despairing shrug.

‘Then all I can do,’ said the marquess, ‘is counsel you to get as far away from the Earl of Twitterton as possible. For although you returned his carriage, in his eyes you may have stolen it, if only for a brief time, and if he presses charges against you, you will be transported.’

‘You sully our great love with your warnings and fears,’ said Miss Wimple grandly.

‘Tcha!’ snorted Hannah Pym. ‘We are wasting our time here. You are a fallen woman, Miss Wimple, and I am only amazed that you can still try to hang on to the high moral ground. Come, Miss Earle.’

Belinda was glad to escape. As they stood together beside the marquess’s carriage, she said in an amazed voice, ‘And I thought she would be so grateful to be rescued. Where now?’

‘To Lady Bellamy,’ said the marquess. ‘Journey’s end and life’s beginning.’

She’s made a romantic of him, thought Hannah.

Belinda looked at Hannah shyly. ‘Miss Pym, would you do me the very great honour of residing with me for a few days? I confess I dread to think of being alone with my aunt.’

‘Gladly,’ said Hannah. ‘But you must not enter Bath on the box of his lordship’s carriage. That would not do at all.’

Tired and weary, they reached Lady Bellamy’s in Glossop Street. The marquess told Belinda he would call on her great-aunt that afternoon, kissed her hand, and then mounted to the box of the carriage again.

Hannah rapped on the door. An old butler opened it and informed them that Lady Bellamy was in the Green Saloon on the first floor.

Belinda clutched Hannah’s arm as they mounted the stairs. ‘I am feeling unaccountably nervous,’ she said, glancing around. ‘This place is like a prison.’

Hannah nodded in agreement. The hall had been bare except for one side-table. The staircase was uncarpeted, which was not unusual, but there were no pictures on the walls and the window on the landing above them was barred.

The butler opened the double doors, took their cards, and announced them in a surprisingly loud voice.

Belinda’s heart sank right down to her little green kid slippers when she saw her great-aunt. Lady Bellamy had always been a hard-faced, austere woman, but she looked even more grim and disapproving than Belinda remembered her to be. The first thing Hannah noticed was not her ladyship, but the fact that the windows of the Green Saloon were barred as well.

She then turned her attention to Lady Bellamy. She was a tall, gaunt woman dressed in a gown that looked like sackcloth. A Bible lay on a small table beside her. She put out a hand and rested it on the cover of the Bible and Hannah noticed that hand was so thin, it was almost transparent. Her eyes were black and glittering, as if she had a fever.

‘So the fallen one has come,’ said Lady Bellamy in a deep voice that had a hollow ring to it, as if sounded from the depths of a tomb.

‘Miss Earle is here, yes,’ said Hannah.

‘And who are you?’

‘I am Miss Hannah Pym of Kensington,’ said Hannah, meeting that black, glittering gaze with a steady one of her own. ‘Unfortunately, Miss Earle’s companion has fallen from grace. She is run off with a Methodist preacher. Miss Earle has requested that I stay with her for a few days.’

‘That you may not.’ Lady Bellamy’s glance dismissed Hannah and fastened on Belinda. ‘I shall soon teach you the error of your ways, young miss. Running off with a footman, indeed! Too much food. Nothing like starvation to purge the soul.’

Belinda flashed a scared look at Hannah, and then said, ‘My lady, I have good news. Lord Frenton, the Marquess of Frenton, has done me the honour to offer me his hand in marriage and I have accepted. He is to call upon you this afternoon to ask leave to pay his addresses.’

‘Frenton? Frenton of Baddell Castle?’

‘The same.’

‘You poor child. Do not worry. I shall keep you pure.’

‘Mad,’ Hannah mouthed to Belinda.

Aloud, she said to Lady Bellamy, ‘Your great-niece has secured a fine match for herself. Surely congratulations are the order of the day.’

‘Never!’ cried Lady Bellamy. ‘What is this year?’

‘Eighteen hundred,’ said Hannah impatiently, wondering how soon she could get Belinda away from this madwoman.

‘Then let me see … it was in ninety-two that Frenton caused such a scandal in our fair city. Lady Devine had been widowed but two years when he dragged her into his bed. They lived together quite openly.’

Belinda turned pale. ‘And where is Lady Devine now?’

‘She married the Duke of Minster. The wicked flourish like the green bay tree.’ She looked at Hannah. ‘Miss What’s-your-name, take yourself off.’

‘I shall just see Miss Pym to the door,’ said Belinda, clutching Hannah even harder.

Lady Bellamy jerked the bell-rope twice. The aged butler and two young footmen appeared. ‘Bradfield,’ said Lady Bellamy to the butler, ‘show this lady out. You two, James and Henry, take Miss Earle to her bedchamber and lock her in. You know I have everything prepared for her arrival.’

Hannah was carrying her trusty umbrella. It was a heavy thing, covered in green waxcloth and with iron spokes. She raised it menacingly and stood in front of Belinda. ‘Stand aside,’ she shouted. ‘I am taking Miss Earle with me.’

Lady Bellamy seemed indifferent. ‘Lock them in together,’ she commanded.

The two footmen approached. Belinda darted for the door, wrenched her bad ankle and collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain. Hannah dropped her umbrella and ran to her.

She helped Belinda to her feet. She could not start a fight and risk injuring Belinda further. As long as she was to be locked in with Belinda, they might plan something between them.

Urged forward by the footmen, Hannah, her arm around Belinda’s waist, helped her up the stairs. They were thrust into a room and the door was locked behind them.

Both stood still, looking helplessly around. ‘Mad,’ said Belinda, beginning to cry. ‘She’s gone raving mad.’

Hannah nodded gloomily. There was an old double bed without curtains or posts, covered in a ragged quilt. Apart from that, there was no other furniture except a prie-dieu in the corner. The windows were barred.

‘Now what are we going to do?’ said Hannah Pym.