Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (24 page)

“You go, Grace. I will be quite safe,” she said. She beckoned Sarah to sit down and remained silent until Sir Anthony and Grace had left, he taking her arm solicitously as though she were a lady of the highest quality instead of a maid. He really did have some very endearing qualities.

“We don’t have much time, so I will be brief,” Beth said. “You have used the money Richard gave you to set up as a hairdresser, am I right?”

“Yes, Miss, although I have only used a very little of it as yet.”

“How good are you at dressing hair?”

“Very good, Miss, and I can apply make-up as well, and...”

“You will have problems, though, in obtaining a respectable clientele, won’t you? Being known in the area as a prostitute? Graeme and Thomas tell me your main customers at the moment are Mrs. Pelman’s whores.”

Sarah blushed furiously.

“I am not trying to insult you. But I don’t have time to dress my words up. I am going to London on the nineteenth with my cousins. I need a ladies’ maid. Would you like the job?”

Sarah was thunderstruck.

“You’re not serious,” she said after a moment. “You don’t even like me.”

“Graeme has decided he was wrong about you, and that’s good enough for me. If you accept I will expect you to behave impeccably, be absolutely loyal to me and no one else, and to be utterly discreet. If you are not, you will be dismissed. No second chances, although I will pay your coach fare back to Manchester. If you are as good as you claim, it could be the making of you. Not only will your past be completely unknown in London, but I will recommend you to every lady of distinction I meet. And it seems I am going to meet a great many. When I marry, or return to Manchester, you will be able to remain in London if you wish and set up a business there, which will have a far higher chance of success, especially as your abilities will already be known to the aristocracy, and your past will not. Do you need time to think about it?”

Sarah was used to thinking on her feet.

“Why me rather than Grace?” she said.

“Grace belongs here. Her family and friends are here and she is not a city person. You are. Your former life means that you must be adaptable, and capable of keeping confidences if necessary. I do not want my cousin or my brother to employ someone for me who will report back on everything I do. I think you now know Richard for what he is, and if Graeme is right, your loyalty is to me rather than him. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Sarah said emphatically. “But if your brother is going to London too, won't he tell your family what I am?”

“What you
were.
No, he won’t, because the moment I get home I am going to announce to the whole family that I have engaged someone who he employed as a kitchen maid, but who is eminently more suited for a better position, and that I am merely trusting in his superior judgement of character in engaging somebody he thought so highly of. And if you’re worried about his violence, don’t be. He’s desperate to impress my noble family and is doing his utmost to behave like a gentleman. Just don’t let him get you alone, where no one could hear if you screamed.”

Sarah laughed out loud.

“My God, he got you wrong, didn’t he?” she said. “He told me you were pathetic and weak, and would do whatever he said.”

“I am, and I will,” Beth smiled. “That is why I am employing you, because my dear brother thought so well of you. When can you give me your answer?”

“Now,” came the reply as Sir Anthony and Grace walked back through the door. She spat on her hand and offered it to Beth. “You’ve got a deal.”

Beth shook it, and this time she didn’t wipe her hand on her skirt.

Chapter Eight

February, 1743

Dear Friends,

Thank you for your letter, which arrived last week. I have now barricaded myself into my room and refuse to emerge until I have replied to you. It is the only way I can get a moment alone. Sir Anthony (the purple popinjay!) warned me that London life was far different to that of the country. I wish I had believed him, although nothing could have prepared me for this.

Clarissa is still quiet and retiring, which is due more to shyness than snobbery, I think, but Isabella and Charlotte are transformed into true social creatures. Etiquette dictates that we make calls between noon and three, which would perhaps be pleasant if one could take the time to cultivate an acquaintance with the people, over an hour or two. But of course this would be too pleasant. Instead each call must last fifteen minutes precisely, during which you have no more time than to utter the most superficial platitudes about health and the weather, and perhaps a comment about Lord X, who is pursuing a secret affair with Viscount Y’s wife before you dash off to the next house, to repeat the whole tiresome procedure again. In the course of three hours you visit eight or nine people, which is both tedious beyond belief and exhausting. And of course by the end of those three hours the whole of London knows about Lord X and Countess Y.

I miss you all more than you would believe. I can’t help comparing our honest chats around the table with the insane artificiality of the so-called elite. Sir Anthony has assured me that once the initial rounds of visits are made things become a little calmer, but there seems no end to it at the moment. He is a regular visitor to the house, and I really have not made my mind up as to whether I like him or not. He is always considerate to me, and has an easy way of conversing that encourages confidences, although I do not confide in him, as I do not trust him. He can be very indiscreet at times. Having said that, he has said nothing about Sarah, although I am sure he suspects her past to be less than virtuous.

After dinner one can make yet more calls, or more often go to the theatre, the opera, or a concert, where the chief purpose of the audience seems to be to drown out the performance by talking as loudly as possible throughout. The whole aim is to be noticed. It does not matter if your head is empty; only that your mouth is full of nonsense, and your clothes are fashionable. Sir Anthony is always noticed, wherever he goes.

I have just re-read what I have written so far. I may be exaggerating a little, but at Raven Hall I was bored due to inactivity; here I never stop running around, yet I am just as bored.

Tomorrow I will be attending my first ball. Charlotte has told me that this is the sort of event where I will be most likely to meet my future husband, and that I will no doubt be inundated with admirers who are captivated by my beauty. To say nothing of my dowry, although of course no one would be so vulgar as to mention that. Lord Edward and Richard have been making separate visits to my cousin’s male acquaintance, so I have no doubt that every bachelor and widower in London now knows that I come with a fortune. I expect to fend off a great many love-struck men tomorrow.

How are you all? Please tell me all your news, however trivial. It is like a breath of fresh spring air to me. Which is another thing – London smells so dreadful! I had not been prepared for that, although of course any town of half a million people is bound to smell, I suppose. Imagine that! Half a million people! I am glad Grace stayed at home. She would have hated it here. Even the servants have great airs and graces. Sarah is in her element, and is a great source of information about what is going on beneath the surface. The servants know everything. We are getting on well together, and she is keeping me sane with her humorous observations. Graeme was right, we had misjudged her.

I will write again, as soon as I get a moment’s free time,

All my love to you all,

                                  Beth.

When Beth descended on the evening of her first ball Sir Anthony was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, resplendent in sapphire-blue satin, his coat and waistcoat heavily embroidered with silver. She was already in a bad humour; her stays were too tight, her skirt was so wide as to be a danger to anyone who came within four feet of her, and her shoes were hurting her. She had not yet put on her social face, and scowled blackly at him as she reached the hall.

“My dear Miss Cunningham, how absolutely exquisite you look!” he twittered, holding his arm out to her and smiling sweetly. “I thought you might like to enter the room on the arm of someone with whom you are already acquainted, but if you think I am being too bold, please, do tell me.”

She put her hand on his arm and leaned on it while she struggled to bend down and take off her shoe, which had something sharp in it.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” she said after a few moments of futile battling against the restrictions of her clothing. “How can it be sensible to wear clothing which render it impossible to take off one’s own shoe!”

“Allow me, my dear,” he said, kneeling in front of her and managing to take off the offending item of footwear without touching her at all. He shook it, and a small stone fell out. “There!” he said, replacing the shoe onto her outstretched foot. He stood up and offered her his arm again. “Now I would suggest, dear lady, that you also take the sharpness out of your face and replace it with a smile, however painful that may be. Although you will no doubt be besieged by young men eager to make your acquaintance, regardless of your facial expression. Money always wears a smile.”

She looked up at him.

“Does everybody know about my dowry then?” she asked.

“Of course, my dear. What do you think your cousin and your brother have been doing for the last days? Now, let us go in. I am so delighted that you chose to wear blue, and a shade which complements my own outfit so well! We will be the talk of the room.”

“Why?”

“Well, as we are already acquainted, people will assume we have dressed in the same colour deliberately, as a way of stating that we are...sympathetic to one another, shall we say?” he beamed down at her, displaying a set of perfect white teeth.

She looked at him with horror, and his smile faded slightly.

“If you wish, you can announce that it is mere coincidence, but you may prefer to use the assumption to your advantage.”

“What possible advantage could there be to me if people think we are sympathetic, as you put it, to one another?” she asked tactlessly.

“Well, when you find the constant attention and compliments a little overpowering, just signal to me, and I shall rescue you immediately. I promise not to say anything complimentary to you at all, and to pay you very little attention,” he suggested, undismayed by her obvious abhorrence of him.

She smiled, in spite of her apprehension.

“Ah, that is better. You look so beautiful when you smile...but I have promised. No more compliments. You will have a surfeit soon enough.”

“You are exaggerating, Sir Anthony,” Beth said, determined that once she was in the room she would not go anywhere near him for the rest of the evening.

“We will see,” came the reply.

Her resolve lasted just over two hours. Noticing her pleading look as she tried to fend off yet another young man who was begging her for the next dance and claiming that he could not live with the shame if she refused him, Sir Anthony left his companions and made his way across the room, bowing deeply to her and nodding perfunctorily to the pimply young man by her side.

“Ah, my dear Miss Cunningham, please do forgive me! I confess I was engrossed in conversation and almost forgot that you had kindly allowed me the next dance. Shall we?” She took his offered arm with alacrity, and almost dragged him away from the importunate young man.

“Thank you,” she said, both relieved at his rescue and annoyed that she had had to ask for his help.

“Not at all. Now, am I right in assuming that you have not the slightest desire to dance?”

“You are.” She had been whirled and swirled around, had her toes trampled on and her hand squeezed far too tightly since the moment she had entered the room.

“In that case, allow me to introduce you to some friends of mine,” he said, as they neared a couple who were watching their approach with amused countenances. “Edwin is a committed Whig, and an MP, my dear,” Sir Anthony continued as they came within earshot of the pair, “but that is not his fault. One day he will succumb to my entreaties that he take a cure.”

Edwin laughed, and bowed to Beth. He was slim and pleasant-looking without being handsome. His moss-green eyes sparkled as he raised his head.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Cunningham. But I am told that I must on no account say anything complimentary about your appearance for fear of sending you screaming from the room.”

“Thank you,” said Beth. “I would appreciate it. I had no idea that eyes could resemble so many things, from stars to summer skies, to every kind of blue flower God ever made.”

“Ah, and your hair!” Sir Anthony trilled, hand on hip. “Soft as spun silk, golden as a field of wheat on a summer’s day, liquid moonlight...”

“You are breaking your promise,” Beth growled warningly.

“Merely parodying your suitors, my dear,” he said, resuming a more normal pose. “Allow me to introduce Edwin Harlow and his wife Caroline.”

“I take it that you have not yet become accustomed to London life, Miss Cunningham?” said Caroline, looking down at Beth. She was tall, almost as tall as her husband, and willow-slim. Beth thought she had never seen such a classically beautiful woman, her upswept hair emphasising her long slender neck and perfect Grecian profile.

“I doubt I will ever become accustomed to this,” she said sadly. “I thought the mad round of daily calls bad enough, but this...” she stopped, aware that she had committed a terrible
faux pas.

“You were right, Anthony,” said Caroline. She turned to Beth. “He said that you were a refreshing change from the normal empty-headed and frivolous girls who are launched on society as soon as they come of age. You have my sympathy, Miss Cunningham. I suffered the same ordeal before I was fortunate enough to be rescued by Edwin. At least I was prepared for it by my upbringing. But I am told that you have until recently lived quietly in the country.”