Frederica in Fashion (10 page)

‘Yes, really.’

‘Why?’

‘You kiss like an angel.’

‘Oh,’ said Frederica dismally. ‘Perhaps I might get used to it.’

‘You had better. For I am determined to marry you.’

Frederica gave a nervous little laugh. Was love like this? Terrified of someone and yet, at the same time, terrified of losing him?

News of his daughter’s moment of glory had not yet reached the Reverend Charles Armitage. He was enjoying his own moment of glory.

Hounds were streaming out before him in full cry. Mr Armitage was sure the old dog fox that had plagued him for so long was near the end of its mangy days. All day long he had hunted it. For two whole hours, hounds had lost the scent but now they were on to the fox again. ‘Tally-ho! Hoop! Hoop! Hoop!’ roared the vicar.

‘That’s him, all right,’ screamed the vicar to John Summer who was acting as whipper-in. He spurred his mount up a big backed hill and raced down the other side.

‘Dang me, but I’ll be in at the death this time,’ muttered the vicar. ‘They have him, by George!’

The exhausted fox was lying still, surrounded by a circle of howling, baying hounds.

The excited vicar hurtled from his saddle and, diving into their midst, seized the fox by the scruff and held it high.

‘Lookee,’ he cried to the grinning John. ‘I’ll break his neck, take the brush and pads, and you jolly boys,’ said the vicar, beaming down at his hounds, ‘can have the rest.’

‘
Papa!’
A scream borne on the wind.
‘Papa!’
Louder now.

The vicar stood with his mouth open, the limp, exhausted fox still held high above his head.

His daughter Diana who lived over on the far side of Hopeminster at the old Osbadiston place came riding up.

‘Papa!’ she shouted. ‘I have just had an express from Deirdre. Frederica is engaged to the Duke of Pembury!’

‘My little Frederica a duchess?’ Tears started to the vicar’s eyes. He hugged the fox to his bosom and walked across to Diana who was dismounting. ‘Here, John,’ said the vicar over his shoulder, ‘call off them damn hounds. Can’t hear a word. Now, Diana, are you sure?’

‘Here is Deirdre’s letter. See, she says … oh, Papa, you have finally caught old Reynard.’

Diana loved hunting but hated the kill. ‘Hey, what?’ The vicar looked down at the fox in his arms in a bemused way. His Frederica a duchess! He felt a great rush of gratitude.

‘Give me that animal,’ said Diana impatiently, ‘and take the letter.’

The vicar handed over the fox like someone moving in a dream. He read Deirdre’s letter over and over again.

He heard a hoarse cry from John Summer and looked up.

Diana was riding off like the wind, the fox tucked under one arm.

‘Come back here!’ yelled the vicar, jumping up and down with rage.

Diana rode on until she felt the fox begin to struggle in the crook of her arm. She reined in her horse and threw the fox on the ground.

‘Off with you, Reynard,’ said Diana cheerfully. ‘You have earned your freedom.’

She waited while the fox, recovering its wind and energy, loped off into the bushes.

The Reverend Charles Armitage was left prey to wildly conflicting emotions. ‘My fox … gone. My daughter … a duchess,’ he kept saying, over and over again.

But finally, joy at Frederica’s success soon
outweighed
anger at the escape of his old enemy. He reminded himself of all the famous days of sport the old fox had provided, and set out to tell Squire Radford of Frederica’s triumph.

NINE

It was perhaps unfortunate that the Duke of
Pembury
had never before courted a respectable young girl. He was anxious not to frighten his virginal bride-to-be with any further show of passion, and so he was correct and formal in his behaviour in the days following the Coopers’ ball.

He was extremely proud of his conduct and would have been amazed had he known that what he considered his excellent manner and address were only making him seem cold and reserved in Frederica’s eyes.

Frederica felt she had no one in whom she could confide. Her sisters were all so excited and delighted with her success that she could not bring herself to tell any one of them of her fears and doubts.

Two of her former school ‘friends’ had paid calls, but they had laughed and chattered about clothes
and beaux and had so patently envied Frederica her good fortune that she cringed from saying anything other than that she was ‘delighted’ with the
engagement
.

Debutantes were not supposed to addle their brains with missish doubts about love and affection. The suitor’s status and income were all that
mattered
. To voice any doubts whatsoever would cause one to be damned as an Original.

Frederica searched the duke’s face in vain for any signs of that mocking tenderness she had seen there before.

She did at last confide in Mary, but Mary only looked puzzled. If Miss Frederica did not want to wed the Duke of Pembury, then she surely only had to say so – not understanding how hard it was for Frederica even to think of objecting to the
engagement
when presents and congratulations arrived by every post.

Despite her fears, Frederica could not help
enjoying
her success. It
was
pleasant to find she was about to enter the most successful marriage of all the Armitage girls. When she was not with the duke, Frederica found she could easily bask in the envy and admiration of society. But when he was with her, chilly and correct, he seemed like a frightening stranger.

Mary had not forgotten her appointment with Lady James. On the Wednesday, a week after the Coopers’ ball, Mary walked through the quiet morning streets from Hanover Square to Curzon
Street. She stood outside the tall house for several moments, debating whether to march boldly up to the front door, or whether to go down the area steps to the kitchen.

Then she reminded herself she was calling on the mistress of the house and boldly marched up the marble steps and performed a lively tattoo on the brass knocker.

A tall, grim-looking butler answered the summons and said he doubted my lady was at home, implying that my lady would naturally not be at home to such an undistinguished creature as Mary.

Mary flashed him a look of triumph when he came back and announced that Lady James would be ‘delighted’ to see her.

Mary was ushered into a pretty morning room.

‘Sit down, my dear,’ cooed Lady James. ‘You are a good girl and did not forget our appointment. You did not tell anyone about it?’

‘Not me,’ said Mary stoutly.

‘Good. Now before we discuss my little problem, you must take some hot chocolate to warm you. Ah, me. How I long for the summer. Do you go to Brighton?’

She poured a large cup of steaming hot chocolate and handed it to Mary. ‘I do not know my mistress’s plans,’ said Mary. ‘I have never seen the sea.’

‘Oh, it is wonderful at Brighton. So invigorating. And the Pavilion! Just like an Oriental palace.’

Mary took a gulp of the chocolate. ‘You wanted to discuss something with me, my lady?’ she ventured timidly.

‘Later,’ said Lady James airily. ‘Your mistress must be in alt over her engagement.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said Mary, and blinked her eyelids rapidly to bring the room into focus. How warm it had become, and how dizzy she felt. She took another gulp of chocolate to try to revive herself, but only succeeded in feeling dizzier than ever.

‘Perhaps our dear Miss Armitage is not the innocent she seems?’ Lady James’s face began to swim before Mary’s eyes.

‘I beg your pardon …’ she began, and then slid from the shiny striped satin of the sofa on which she was sitting on to the floor.

Lady James rose briskly to her feet. She leaned down and prised open one of Mary’s eyes. ‘Out cold,’ she muttered with satisfaction. ‘Time to summon Miss Armitage. Wentwater should be here shortly. I have need of him.’

Frederica Armitage had had to dress herself. Mary, it transpired, was nowhere to be found. She
supposed
the maid was out and about, looking in all the shop windows from Oxford Street to Holborn.

Mice, the butler, scratched at the door and called out that a messenger from the Duke of Pembury was waiting below.

Frederica hurried down to the hall. There was a large, burly man in footman’s livery waiting by the door.

‘The message is for you personal, miss,’ he said with a look at Mice who was hovering by the green baize door which led down to the kitchens.

‘Follow me,’ said Frederica, leading the way into the sparse cold reception room to the left of the hall which Lady Godolphin only used to interview tradespeople or entertain members of society whom she did not like.

‘Now, what is this message?’ demanded Frederica, shutting the door.

‘Your maid, Mary, has been arrested for stealing. I only said I was from the duke. You’re to come with me ’fore she’s taken to Newgate.’

‘But that is ridiculous,’ gasped Frederica. ‘Mary would not steal anything.’

‘The constable says if you was to say a word for her, then he’ll release her.’

‘Of course,’ said Frederica. ‘I will give you a note … no … I will come myself. Wait here until I fetch my bonnet.’

‘Is anything the matter, miss?’ demanded Mice suspiciously as Frederica was making her way out the front door with the messenger.

‘No, no,’ said Frederica. ‘Mary is in a little trouble.’

‘Then I will send two of the footmen …’

‘That will not be necessary,’ said Frederica
hurriedly
, not wishing any of Lady Godolphin’s servants to witness Mary’s humiliation.

‘Where is she?’ asked Frederica as the footman led the way across Hanover Square. ‘Is it far? Perhaps I should have taken the carriage.’

‘Only as far as Curzon Street,’ said the man.

‘Oh, then, I can easily walk there. Tell me more about it.’

‘I haven’t the rights of it,’ said the man stolidly. ‘Better for you to see for yourself, miss.’

Puzzled and anxious, Frederica hurried after him. Although she was very worried about Mary, she was also worried about this messenger. When Mice had offered the escort of two footmen, she could have sworn he looked apprehensive.

The man eventually halted outside a house in
Curzon
Street. ‘Your maid’s held in there, miss,’ he said.

‘Who lives here?’ demanded Frederica.

‘Blessed if I know, miss.’

‘Then who sent you?’

‘Don’t you want to help Mary?’ said the man coaxingly. ‘If you go inside they’ll answer all your questions. The constable is there and the watch. Mary’s crying something cruel.’

All her doubts about the messenger forgotten, Frederica picked up her skirts and ran lightly up the steps. The door opened before she had time to knock. She nodded to the butler and walked past him into the hall.

And stopped dead in her tracks.

Standing facing her was a man she remembered well. The last time she had seen him was when he was sitting with her family in the vicarage at the supper table all those years ago. It had been hoped he would marry Annabelle. He had made jokes about his work, saying he traded in black ivory. It was the vicar who had enlightened the family by explaining grimly that ‘black ivory’ meant slaves and that Mr Wentwater was a slave trader.

‘You!’ said Frederica.

And then a savage blow on the head struck her down from behind.

‘Very good, Giles,’ said Guy Wentwater as Lady James came hurrying out of her drawing room and screamed at the sight of Frederica’s unconscious body sprawled on the tiled floor of the hall.

‘You have surely not killed her!’ said Lady James. ‘I said there was to be no killing.’

‘Do not worry,’ said Guy Wentwater. He turned to the footman. ‘Tie her up, and her maid, and we’ll get them into the carriage after dark.’

Lady James shivered. ‘Where are you taking them?’

‘To the Humes’ mansion on the Richmond Road. I took the lease of it for a year in your name. Remember, my lady, it is also up to you to pay the guards handsomely for a year if you want these women kept alive …
if
you want them kept alive.’

‘Of course,’ said Lady James, wringing her hands. ‘I wonder whether we should keep her away that long. What will become of me when they are finally released?’

‘By your own reckoning,’ drawled Guy
Wentwater
, ‘you will be the Duchess of Pembury by that time. You have a whole year in which to entrap Pembury and a whole year to think up explanations. I can ship them to America if you like.’

‘Perhaps that might be best,’ said Lady James, hugging herself and wondering if she would ever feel warm again. ‘What is the next part of the plan?’

‘If you told me the right story, then young Frederica makes a habit of running away. Write a letter, supposed to come from her, and send it to Pembury. Say she is running away because she can’t stand the idea of marriage to him.

‘His pride will prevent him from trying to seek her out.’

‘His pride might prevent him from accepting the fact she has run away,’ said Lady James. ‘Faith, ’tis cold.’

The duke’s first reaction to the letter, received the following day, that was supposed to come from Frederica was a kind of sad acceptance. Ever since the announcement of the engagement, Frederica had been quiet and withdrawn and had seemed scared of him. He had been carefully formal and correct, and yet the better he had, in his own eyes, behaved towards her, the more frightened she had become.

He called at Lady Godolphin’s to wearily present his compliments to Miss Armitage and to tell her that he had agreed to the termination of their
engagement
.

The house was in an uproar. Deirdre, Lady Desire, was there, her eyes red with weeping. Lady
Godolphin
was lumbering up and down like a
hippopotamus
, wailing that Frederica had taken leave of her senses.

‘I am sorry I have driven her to such extreme measures …’ began the duke.

But Deirdre interrupted him with a cry of, ‘I am
frightened. Just look at this letter. It is misspelt. This is not Frederica’s handwriting.’

‘Let me see it,’ said the duke.

Lady Godolphin handed him a letter. ‘Dear Lady Godolphin,’ he read. ‘I dont want to marry
Pembury
, and so I am running away to where you cant find me and make me marry him. I am distresed and misarable. Forgive me. F.’

The duke took out his quizzing glass and studied the letter and then he slowly lifted it to his nose and sniffed. A faint odour of violets came from the paper. On paper such as this had his ex-mistress Lady James written him many a letter. Not that she had ever written him love letters, only demands that he pay her dressmaker’s bills.

‘What a fool I am!’ he cried. ‘That footman … and I believed him! Do not fear, ladies. I hope to restore Frederica to you very soon.’

He rushed from the house, leaving Lady
Godolphin
and Deirdre staring after him.

‘Beg pardon, my lady,’ said Mice. ‘I did try to tell you, but you wasn’t listening. This strange footman called, saying he had a message for Miss Armitage from the Duke of Pembury. Then she says as she is leaving with this man that Mary is in a little trouble. Perhaps Mary was paid to lure her away.’

He had the satisfaction of seeing his mistress go into strong hysterics before he descended to the kitchen to tell the staff that that would teach old ‘boot face’ to listen to him next time.

Meanwhile, the duke called first at Lady James’s
mansion and found her absent. He promptly headed for Grosvenor Square and startled Lord and Lady Cooper by demanding to see their footman, Richards.

Left alone with Richards, the duke said in a deceptively mild voice, ‘I think you have something to tell me about Miss Armitage.’

‘No, sir,’ said Richards, all innocence.

‘Then perhaps this will refresh your memory, young man,’ said the duke, punching the footman viciously in the kidneys. He waited until Richards had stopped gasping and retching, and said calmly, ‘I have only just begun. So, my good fellow, if you do not wish me to beat you to a pulp, you will tell me why you lured Miss Armitage into that morning room and professed to be in love with her.’

‘I’ll tell you, your grace,’ gabbled Richards, ‘only let me sit down.’

The duke nodded. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘begin at the beginning.’

In a low voice, Richards proceeded to tell his tale of mad passion for Frederica, until he found his story violently interrupted.

He was a tall, strong man, but the duke jerked him out of the chair with terrifying ease and banged his head against the wall.