Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (16 page)

An awkward silence descended on the room when the men had left. No one wanted to discuss the great wisdom of St. Paul, as it was obvious Beth held a dim view of it.

Beth looked longingly out of the window. She could not discuss her views with her cousins; if she could at least release a little of her pent-up anger in a brisk walk, that would be something.

“Why don’t we take a stroll in the gardens?” she suggested.

Isabella looked doubtful.

“That would be a little irregular,” she said. “We normally take a walk in the afternoon.”

“But it will certainly rain this afternoon,” Beth said desperately. “And a little fresh air would be just the thing.” The mood she was in, she would be prepared to walk through a blizzard in her shift.

“And we are not yet dressed properly. What if someone were to call and see us in our informal wear?” Clarissa said.

“We have not had a visitor since I arrived,” Beth pointed out. “You said yourself, Isabella, that most of your acquaintance is already in the Capital.”

“That’s true,” conceded Isabella. “But Edward does insist on following Father’s tradition that we all spend Christmas in the country.”

“Yes, well, why don’t we get our cloaks then?” Beth persisted.

No one moved.

“In that case,” Beth said, teeth gritted. “Let us discuss St. Paul. In my opinion...”

The four ladies strolled along the paths of the formal garden, pausing to admire the topiary animals as though they had never seen such a phenomenon before. Beth’s hood was down and the cold breeze blew about her face, reddening her cheeks and bringing a sparkle to her eyes. She quickened the pace a little, but slowed down when she heard the others’ laboured breathing as they tried politely to keep up with her.

“Really, Adam does such amazing things with the shears,” Clarissa said. “That eagle looks as if it could fly away at any moment.”

Nobody commented. She said this every time they went for a walk.

They are bored, too,
Beth thought.
But they have lived this way for so long they are accustomed to it. Will I be like them one day, uttering the same platitudes day after day?
Gloom descended on her suddenly and she shuddered, prompting Isabella, mistaking it for cold, to suggest they go back, and dress ready to receive visitors.

The cousins sat in silence, preoccupied with their embroidery. At least three of them were. Beth’s expert fingers flashed in and out of the linen automatically, while her mind was in Didsbury, wondering how the servants were getting on and how on earth she was going to manage to get away to see them before January. Had they heard anything of John or Martha? She determined to write to them this evening and ask if there had been any news.

“Do you play, Elizabeth?” The sound of her name brought her back to the drawing room, and she looked up to find them all awaiting her answer.

Did she play? Play what? She looked from one to the other. Clarissa looked particularly eager. No doubt they were asking her if she played a musical instrument.

“No, I’m afraid not,” she said.

The three sisters looked disappointed.

“Oh, such a shame,” Clarissa said. “You see, we sometimes enjoy a game of quadrille and had so hoped you could make up a four. We used to ask one of the footmen to join us, but Edward was concerned that we were being too familiar and that Samuel would get ideas above his station, so we had to stop.”

“Perhaps you would be kind enough to allow us to teach you?” Charlotte suggested. “After all, it will be a most useful skill to have once we are in London. Simply everybody plays cards.”

Before Beth could respond to this kind offer there was a knock on the door and a footman entered.

“Sir Anthony Peters is here, milady. He apologises for calling unannounced, but asks if he may pay a short visit.”

Isabella, to whom the footman had addressed his remark, being the eldest of the sisters, clapped her hands with joy.

“Of course, of course!” she cried. “Sir Anthony is always welcome to our home. Show him in at once.” Isabella turned to Beth, who had brightened considerably at the thought of a visitor, who would maybe introduce some new conversation.

“Sir Anthony is always such delightful company,” she said. “And he is so knowledgeable on the world of...”

Sir Anthony’s expert field of knowledge remained unrevealed to Beth, as Clarissa was cut off mid-sentence by the door opening once more and the man himself entering the room. He looked across at them and executed a deep bow.

“I do declare, my dear ladies, your beauty is as always, utterly dazzling. I am quite overcome,” he gushed. The three sisters rose as one to curtsey to him, covered in blushes at the compliment. Beth followed suit slightly belatedly, unused as yet to the custom of bobbing up and down to every person of rank who entered a room.

Courtesies completed, the party resumed their seats. Sir Anthony’s eyes rested briefly on Beth. He was clearly about to ask her who she was, but was forestalled by the deluge of comments heaped upon him by her excited cousins.

“Oh, it is
so
wonderful to see you...”

“And it has been
such
a long time...”

“You cannot imagine how much we have missed you...”

“Where have you been hiding yourself all this time?”

He seized on the first question presented to him, and turning his gaze away from Beth, gave his attention to Isabella.

“I have been travelling a little, business you know, such a tiresome thing, but necessary. Once it was over I felt quite unable to return immediately to London, and have been recuperating in the country, my dears, away from the melee of the Court, enjoying the quiet life, hunting, shooting...” He waved his lace-covered hand airily about to indicate numerous hardy rural pursuits, before embarking on an anecdote about an unfortunate lady whose horse had unexpectedly dumped her into a bramble hedge during a recent hunt.

Whilst Sir Anthony spoke and the sisters simpered, Beth observed him with interest. She had heard about the effete dandies who frequented the aristocratic homes of England, but this was the first time she had seen one in the flesh. He was quite remarkable. Dressed from head to toe in embroidered lilac satin, his shirt frilled with layers of heavy lace which also protruded from his cuffs, covering his white-gloved hands almost entirely, he was the picture of pampered indulgence. His wig was elaborately curled and powdered, and his lilac shoes sported diamante buckles. A cloying odour of violets emanated from him as he waved his arms about to illustrate a point.

But the most fascinating thing about him was his face. Beth had never seen anyone so heavily painted in her life. His face was covered by a thick layer of white paint which made his mouth look unnaturally red. Two perfectly round spots of rouge decorated his cheekbones, and a crescent-shaped patch hovered at the corner of his mouth. Although he was above the average height, and appeared quite well proportioned, Beth could not imagine anyone less suited to the country life than this grotesque man.

She was drawn back to the conversation by the mention of her name.

“Oh, Elizabeth, is that not just quite the most amusing story you’ve ever heard?”

Beth hadn’t heard a word of it, but she smiled politely and abandoned her close scrutiny of the visitor as his eyes rested on her once more.

“So Elizabeth is your name,” he said, prompting a flurry from the others.

“Oh, I cannot believe...how remiss of me...I must apologise for not introducing you earlier, but I was quite overcome by your unexpected appearance...”

Beth listened to Isabella’s sudden girlish breathiness with some amusement, and surmising that the older woman would probably continue in this vein for some time, effected the introduction herself.

“Elizabeth,” she said brusquely. “Elizabeth Cunningham.” She stood, and thrust out a hand to him. He took it in his, but instead of shaking it as she had intended, raised it to his lips. His blue eyes sparkled at her through the mask of paint.

“Enchanted,” he murmured, before releasing her hand. She resisted the urge to wipe it on her skirt, and sat down again.

“Elizabeth is our cousin,” Charlotte put in helpfully, while the other two women stared at Beth in shock for having had the temerity to introduce herself and give her hand to a stranger in such a familiar way. “She is recently orphaned and has come to stay with us for a time, with her brother. They will be accompanying us to London in January and are hoping to be introduced to the king.”

Was it possible for a woman of twenty-two to be called an orphan? Beth wondered. This was the first she had heard of being introduced to the king and wondered how much plotting was going on behind her back.

The refreshments arrived, and Isabella busied herself with handing out cups of tea and slices of cake.

“Of course, our dear cousin has lived in the country all her life and is unused to the ways of polite society. We are hoping to coach her a little in the etiquette of the Court before she is presented,” said Isabella, unaware of how insulting her remark sounded. Beth bristled visibly, and opened her mouth to reply to her cousin’s comment. Sir Anthony intervened.

“You will certainly be the talk of the Court when you arrive,” he said enigmatically. Whether he meant that the whole Court would be entranced by her beauty, or stunned by the manners of the heathen savage from the north, Beth wasn’t sure. “But I am afraid you will find the Court of the old king very tedious, my dear,” he said. “The Court of the prince of Wales is a far more amusing place for young people.”

“Sir Anthony!” protested Clarissa. “How can you say such a thing!”

“Oh, I did not say that
I
find the king tedious,” he said calmly. “I find his conversation most instructive. But it is no place for young, lively people.”

He made himself sound as though he was as old as the king. Beth scrutinised his face as closely as she could without seeming rude. He could have been anything from twenty-five to fifty. With all that paint it was impossible to tell.

“Is it not true then, that King George has stated that anyone frequenting Prince Frederick’s home is no longer welcome at St. James’s?” Beth asked.

“Yes, that is true. But there are a very few of us who have the good fortune to be accepted in both circles,” he replied, smiling at her with merry blue eyes.

“How on earth do you know that, Elizabeth?” asked Isabella. “I thought you had never been to Court.”

Beth looked at her cousin impatiently. “No, but one does not need to go to Court to read the newspapers, which are always full of gossip about the king and his animosity towards his son.”

Sir Anthony settled back a little in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Are you interested in the affairs of the Court then, Miss Cunningham?” he asked.

“Not particularly, no, but I have an interest in politics, yes, and in the situation in Europe,” Beth replied.

Isabella, Clarissa and Charlotte looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“What do you think then of the recent treaty concluded between Prussia and England?” he said.

“I know nothing of it, I am afraid, sir,” she replied. “I used to read ‘
The Manchester Magazine
’ and also a newspaper from London, but my cousins do not take a journal. I have read no news since I arrived here some weeks ago.”

“Oh, but Edward does take the papers,” cried Isabella, shocked that anyone should think the family so ill bred as to not keep up with events. Beth looked at her in surprise. She had not seen any trace of a newspaper, nor had Edward mentioned anything about an Anglo-Prussian treaty. “He takes ‘The London Gazette’ and is kind enough to tell us of any news which he thinks may be of interest to us.”

A furious expression crossed Beth’s face like a cloud.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, her voice tight. “It seems that treaties between foreign powers are of no interest to ladies, Sir Anthony.”

Charlotte stood up so quickly that she almost tipped the tea table over with her voluminous skirts. She looked out of the window.

“I cannot believe we did not hear your carriage approach, Sir Anthony,” she said desperately.

Sir Anthony cast a sympathetic look in Beth’s direction, before turning to Charlotte. “I asked John to put me down at the gate. I thought to stretch my legs a little by walking up the drive, but when I was half way along the path it started to spot with rain. I thought my coat would be quite ruined,” he said, glancing down at imaginary spots on his lilac frock coat. “But it seems to have dried without leaving a mark.”

“I was saying to my cousin as you entered the room, Sir Anthony,” said Isabella, “that you are just the person to advise us on the latest fashions. Elizabeth has a whole new wardrobe for London. Perhaps you could advise us as to whether any alterations need to be made. You are so knowledgeable on these matters.”

“Oh, how delightful!” the baronet trilled. “Perhaps you would care to model one of your new dresses for us, my dear?”

Beth rolled her eyes to heaven. She had hoped that his field of expertise would be politics or literature, anything that would ensure a lively conversation. Not fashion. She had already had enough of that to last a lifetime. She wanted to question him about the treaty, but the conversation had been moved on by Charlotte and Isabella.

“I am afraid my gowns are not yet ready,” she replied. Even if they had been, she had no intention of parading up and down in her finery in front of this ridiculous scented man.

“But we have drawings of all her outfits, if you would be so kind as to give us the benefit of your expert opinion,” Isabella said.

The next half hour was spent in poring over drawings laid out on the now cleared tea table, while Sir Anthony suggested the placing of a ribbon just so, and that this season’s fashion was for a double ruff of lace at the sleeve rather than a single, and that feathers were so
a la mode
in France at the moment. Beth muttered agreement to every suggestion, wondering where Edward kept the newspapers and how she could get her hands on them.