Regency Masquerade (11 page)

He
had his first inkling that all was not well when he rode Diabolo around to the
stables.

“Did
Mr Francis not find you then?” asked his groom looking a little worried.  “He
has not returned so I thought he must have caught up with you.”

“No,
I saw no-one.  We must have missed each other.”  replied Carleton “Tell me what
happened again Toby.”

“He
took the roan out for a ride, not long after you left, my lord.  He said he
would take the road to Selby and might try and meet up with you.” 

“How
long ago?”

“Must
be all of three hours now,” said the groom.

“Peter
is a careful rider, ’tis probably too soon to think of accidents.  ’Tis only just
starting to get dark now,” Carleton thought aloud.  “I am sure he will return
soon.”

He
left the stables and went into the house, only slightly anxious.

“Hold
dinner until Peter returns, if you would,” he told Mrs Madden who had come
forward to let him know dinner would be ready in half an hour, to allow him
time to change his clothes.

She
gave him an odd look, then said flatly, “There is no use waiting my lord, your
friend has left.”

“What!”
exclaimed Carleton.

“Urgent
business in town my lord,” she improvised.

“Nonsense!” 
Carleton rushed up the stairs to Frances’ room.  No, he could not believe it.
All her things were gone.  He stood staring, his brain grappling with the
shock.  Then he saw the letter on the mantelpiece and strode forward to snatch
it up.

“My
lord,

Forgive
me but I cannot stay any longer.  It is time for the masquerade to end. Please
do not try to find me. 

I
wish you well,

F”

What
did she mean?  Had she not understood he was intending to honour the betrothal? 
He had been so certain she enjoyed his company and was even coming to feel
affection for him.  How could she leave him like this?

He
turned back to the housekeeper who was watching him silently from the doorway.

“What
did she say? Where did she go?  Tell me everything!” he demanded.

“All
she told me my lord was that she had urgent business to attend to in London. 
She said she would ride to Guildford and leave the horse there for you, then
take the stage.”  Mrs Pearson tried not to sound defensive.

“Something
must have happened!  Did anyone come to the house?”

‘No
my lord,” Mrs Madden stuck to the simple story.  She had not thought to invent
a tale and probably would have been unable to carry it off successfully if she
had.

“She
must still be in Guildford, the stage would have already departed by the time
she would have reached the inn,” Carleton was thinking aloud.  “I will have to
go after her and bring her back.”

“No!
Let her go, master Richard,” the words were torn out of her.  “A woman like
that! Think of your reputation, your family!”

“’Tis
not your affair Maddy, stay out of it!”  Carleton retorted angrily. He strode
though the house to the door. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, expect me when
you see me!”  he flung over his shoulder.

Diabolo
was soon saddled again and Carleton was off to Guildford as fast as he could
ride while there was still enough light to see by.   The moon would be up later
but he would have to slow down until then, a fall from his horse would help
no-one.

An
hour later, he rode up to the Kings Head and was met by the innkeeper himself,
smoothing down his apron and looking questioningly at him.

“My
Lord Carleton, Is anything the matter?  What can I do for you?”

Carleton
dismounted and handed the reins to a hovering stable boy, “Just walk him up and
down for me will you?” he told him then turned to the innkeeper.

“Evening
Mr Jackson.  My business is with a young man I think you have staying here,
Peter Francis.  Could you take me up to him?”

But
the innkeeper was shaking his head, “Got no-one of that name, no young gentleman
staying here at all your lordship.”

“He
brought my horse in this afternoon, the roan,” persisted Carleton.

“Oh
him!  No, he’s long gone, he took off with Mr Lambert in his chaise, here for
the fight he was.  We have your horse though, all right and tight in the
stable. No trouble is there my lord?” the innkeeper added, suddenly anxious. 
His lordship had an awfully queer look in his eyes.

Carleton
felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach.  Jack Lambert, again.  First Rosamond
and now Frances preferred him. He couldn’t believe it.  Was he so repulsive?  Jack
so attractive?

He
realised the innkeeper was still waiting for his answer and managed to say
casually,

“No,
no trouble, I just hoped to catch him before he left.  No matter.  I’ll ride
the roan back now I am here, if you could bring him out?  I‘ll lead Diabolo.” 
He gave the innkeeper a generous sum to make up for the inconvenience, refused
a glass of wine and was on his way home in a matter of minutes.

What
was she thinking? He asked himself.  Jack certainly will not offer marriage to
her.  Does she prefer to be his mistress rather than my wife?  He felt sick. 
His thoughts went round and round in his head as he rode. He felt angry, hurt
and offended all at once.  But I am not thinking straight he suddenly realised,
as far as Jack is concerned she is a man, Frances has merely accepted a lift
from him, that is all.  It is still true that she has run away rather than
marry me but at least she hasn’t run to someone else!  He considered returning
to London the next day to find her and demand to know what was happening, but
when he woke in the morning after an overcooked dinner and a poor night’s
sleep, he decided it would be more sensible to stay and finish the business he
had arranged and depart in two days time as scheduled.  He decided that he
needed a period of sober reflection before dashing off in pursuit of her.  Perhaps
when he saw her again he would offer a carte blanche instead of marriage, he
thought, in a fit of pique.

CHAPTER
NINE

Eventually
the three travellers in the post chaise reached London and dropped a weary
Frances in front of the Pelican.  She was greeted by a relieved Mrs Cobb.

“I
am that glad to see you again sir and that’s the truth!  You would not believe
the trouble we’ve had getting that man of yours to stay in bed.  As soon as my
back was turned up he’d get, determined to be off after you.  I don’t know how
many times I told him you’d be safe enough with his lordship.”  She shook her
head, following Frances up to the room.

“Nurse
would have it he was delirious.  In the end she put a stop to it by taking away
his clothes.”

“Oh
dear,” said Frances guiltily, “Perhaps now that I am here you could bring them
back.  I am sorry for all your trouble.  Could I have a room for the night?”

“Of
course sir, I’ll see to it at once.”

“If
John is well enough, we will be on our way tomorrow.  I am due to visit my
cousin in Bath,” announced Frances.

One
look at the scowling invalid’s face convinced Frances there was nothing that a
good raking down of herself would not cure, and in a few minutes the nurse was
politely but firmly dismissed with a final payment for her services, along with
Mrs Cobb, and Frances leant against the wall letting the tirade wash over her. The
manservant had been vastly worried to learn, when he eventually came to his
senses, that his mistress had gone off into the country with Lord Carleton.  Eventually
her servant ran out of steam and lay glaring at her. Frances smiled, “I am glad
you are so much better John!  Do you think you will be fit to leave tomorrow?”

“Another
minute would not be soon enough!” he growled.  “Pesky women!  What devilry are
you up to now?”

“No
devilry at all!  Why just the opposite!  I intend to establish a respectable
residence at the Regent Hotel – it is time for me to meet Lady Murray.  I have
been thinking that, whatever the connection I have with the family, they will
be bound to make enquiries and a respectable hotel is the best background I can
think of.  I shall say I have just come over from France and have no
acquaintance here in London that I could stay with.  I have enough money to pay
for a fortnight’s accommodation, which should be quite sufficient because by
then I will either have been invited to stay with Lady Murray or I will have to
be off adventuring again!”

John
nodded with grudging approval, “You will need the devil’s own luck to pull
clear out of this one though Miss Frances!”

The
next day she paid her shot at the inn and sent her servant on ahead to book
rooms at the Regent.  Dressed neatly as a respectable matron, Frances visited
several employment agencies and was lucky enough to engage a middle aged French
woman who spoke hardly any English, having come to England with her émigré
mistress but then been cast off as being too expensive a luxury.  Frances bound
her to secrecy by promising her the price of the fare back to Paris once the
two weeks were over.

That
very afternoon, Miss Frances White and her companion Madame Lebrun moved
quietly into their modest suite of rooms at the Regent.

Twenty
four hours later, Frances found herself alighting from a hackney coach, with
her new companion behind her and treading up the steps towards a blue door with
a brass knocker in the centre.  She wore her yellow morning dress which was
clean and tidy, if not exactly fashionable and had tied a modest bonnet over
her hair.  Feeling nervous despite herself she knocked firmly at the door.  It
was opened by a footman, dressed in a blue which matched the colour of the
door.

“Is
Lady Murray at home, please?” she asked in a clear, low voice.

“Who
may I say is calling Miss?” he asked dubiously.

“Please
tell her that Henry Metcalf sent me,” answered Frances taking the bull by the
horns.

The
footman stared curiously and asked her to wait, then disappeared, shutting the
door behind him.  Frances considered again, the reason she had come.  Foremost
was curiosity.   She had learnt all she could from common gossip and it had not
been much.  She still could not imagine what connection the Murrays had with
her father, nor was she really sure that the lady she hoped to see today was
the one he had directed her to.  Still, it was all she had to go on, she
certainly would not find out anything more waiting in her room at the Regent.

Just
as she was wondering if she had been forgotten, the footman returned and
ushered her inside.

“Lady
Murray will see you Miss,” he sounded surprised, even to himself.  “If you will
just come this way to the morning salon.  Your companion can wait here.”  She
followed him upstairs and along a passage.  Frances was concentrating on the
approaching interview and scarcely noticed the magnificent surroundings.  The
footman pushed open a door in front of her and announced, “The young er lady,
my Lady.”

Frances
stepped into the room.  For some reason she had been expecting an invalid,
perhaps because everyone had spoken of her as a recluse, but the woman standing
before her looked as fit and sharp as a tack.  She wore a fashionable dark grey
gown and her thick white hair was coiled on top of her head.  Bright blue eyes
stared at her with strange intensity and she noticed the fingers of her right
hand were clenched whitely around a French fan.

“Well?”
the query was more command than question.  “What message do you have for me
from that man?  Speak up girl.  His name had not been spoken in this house for
over twenty five years until today – I want to know what he wants after all
this time.”

It
was not an auspicious opening.  Obviously the unknown Mr Metcalf had seriously
incurred her Ladyship’s wrath and was not a passport to her goodwill as her
father had hoped.  Feeling her cause lost already Frances felt she had nothing
to lose and answered honestly.

“I
am sorry for intruding on you my Lady but I was advised to come to London and
seek out a Lady Julia Murray and to mention Henry Metcalf.  Unfortunately I
hear she has passed away and so I have come to see you instead ...”  She broke
off as the woman in front of her seemed to sway suddenly.

“Tom,
a chair!” she called imperiously.  The footman hastily pulled forward a gilt
chair and bent over her, making sure she was settled comfortably.  “Nothing to
worry about, don’t fuss Tom.” She complained. “What’s your name girl?”

“Frances,
my lady.”

“Frances
Metcalf eh?” she queried with a sardonic curl to her lip.

“If
I am, it is the first I have heard of it!   As far as I know, Henry Metcalf was
not my father,” she replied coolly.

“What
in heavens’ name do you mean girl?  Who are you then?”  Lady Murray frowned
crossly.

“Perhaps
you could answer a question for me first my lady.  Can you please tell me who
Henry Metcalf is?”