Regency Masquerade (15 page)

Yours
sincerely,

A
friend”

Before
she could reconsider, she folded the paper, addressed and sealed it, and put it
in her reticule to post when she was next in Guildford.  A couple of days later
she posted the letter feeling virtuous, she had done all she could, now it was
out of her hands.  Richard would never have to know.

Unaware
of the schemes being hatched against her, Frances continued to live quietly at
the Regent while she waited for a report from her solicitor and his enquiry
agent.  She went for brisk walks in the park accompanied by long suffering Madame
Lebrun and also paid several visits to the British Museum.  They both enjoyed
occasional browses through Grafton House, picking up bargains. 

John
had disappeared on his own business as she did not require his services while
she was staying at the hotel.  In fact, John had gone to visit the area in Kent
where Amanda Murray had grown up and eloped with Henry Metcalf.  He thought he
might have some luck talking to the older inhabitants of Sevenoaks village, at
least to attempt to determine the route they would have likely taken to the coast. 
He was fairly certain they would have departed England at Dover, but his own
theory was that Henry would have married her as soon as possible after leaving
Sevenoaks.  He visited both inns and the local shops, seeking older folk
prepared to have a chat and reminisce about the past.  He stated openly that he
had been in service with Mr Henry, when he found that the villagers still had a
soft spot for him.  He also spoke briefly to the rector but was not surprised
to get a cool reception from him as he was beholden to Lady Murray for his
livelihood.  The word soon spread that Mr Henry’s man was seeking information
about him and he found himself approached by several persons eager to find out
what Mr Henry had been up to since he went to France.  They were dismayed, but
not surprised to learn that he had died abroad but absolutely flabbergasted to
hear that he had a daughter even now in England.  It became apparent that Lady
Murray was respected but not particularly liked by the local villagers, and few
thought it odd that she had never mentioned having a granddaughter.

John
stayed a couple of nights at the most comfortable inn, waiting for the news of
his search to spread and hoping for a visit from someone who could help him. 
He was sitting over a tankard of ale the evening of the third day when an
elderly man with a wizened face like a walnut came and sat next to him.  “You
were with Mr Henry?”

John
nodded. “Nigh on twenty years.”

“Longish
time that.”

“Ale?”
at the answering nod, John gestured to the serving maid.

“Now
I’m in service to Miss Frances, his daughter,” John continued after they were
both served another foaming tankard.  “To be honest, there’s some question as
to whether her parents were wed and I’m here to try and find out.  From what I
knew of Mr Henry, it doesn’t seem likely that he would’ve just run off with a
young lady like that.” 

The
other man was nodding, “I reckon you’re right there, he liked kicking up a lark
but there weren’t no harm in him.  You might do worse than to try the rector
over at St Martin’s, in Brasted.”

“Brasted? 
That’s to the west isn’t it?  Further away from the coast?”

“Aye
‘tis that but seems he and Mr Henry were at Oxford together.”  He gave John a
steady look as he spoke.

“Ah.” 
John nodded. “Another?”

They
moved on to talk about some of Henry’s adventures abroad, John gradually
gathering a small but interested crowd around him.

The
next morning, John rode off to Brasted, his head slightly the worse for wear. 
He soon spotted the square tower of St Martin’s above the rest of the village
and made his way there.  The church was unlocked and he entered cautiously.  A
middle aged woman who was sweeping the floor, directed him to the rectory, “Rectors’
name is Mr Thomas, sir,” she added.  “He should be there at this time of day.”

John
walked over to the rectory, a low red brick building with a tiled roof and a
neat garden out the front.  He knocked at the door and was answered by the rector
himself. “Yes?  What can I do for you?”  Mr Thomas had a pleasant open face and
was clad in a black coat which gaped slightly over a comfortable stomach. 
“Good morning sir, I was wondering if I might talk to you about my late master,
Mr Henry Metcalf.”

“Good
heavens!” Mr Thomas exclaimed, “I haven’t heard that name in years!  Do come in
my good fellow and tell me what happened to him.”

John
entered the vicarage and was led into the parlour and asked to take a seat.  He
gave Mr Thomas a brief summary of the last twenty years and then led into the
reason for his visit.

“You
see sir, I am the only person Miss Frances has to look out for her interests
since her father passed away.  She has been to visit Lady Murray who told her
that if she can prove she is their legitimate daughter she stands to inherit
ten thousand pounds.  However Lady Murray is not convinced Lady Amanda and Mr
Henry ever married, so I thought I would come here and do some investigating of
my own.  A chap I met in the village at Sevenoaks directed me to you.  So here
I am.  Can you help me?”

“How
extraordinary!  Of course they were married.  Henry had a special licence and I
married them myself.  I find it hard to believe Lady Murray did not know
that.”  Mr Thomas was dumbfounded.

John
looked at him in disbelief, how could it have been that easy?  Brasted was only
five miles from Sevenoaks, Lady Murray had certainly not looked very far to
find out if her daughter had been married or not!  Together they went across to
the church and the rector got out the parish registry and showed John the
entry.  “Here it is, you can see for yourself.”

“Amanda
Louise Emerson Murray (spinster) and Henry James Metcalf (bachelor)” John read.

“Here,”
offered the rector, “If you can wait a moment I shall write a letter confirming
this for you to take to Miss Frances.”

John
thanked him profusely. It all seemed too easy.  He was never quite sure what
made him cautious but he asked politely, “Would you mind very much sir, writing
me two letters?  Then Miss Frances can give one to Lady Murray,” and still have
her own copy, he thought to himself, just in case anything happens to the first
one.

This
was no trouble and soon John was on his way back to Sevenoaks after making a
modest contribution to the church roof fund, the two letters tucked inside his
jacket.  He debated with himself whether to keep the news secret or not but in
the end decided that the more who knew the better. “Yes, they were married in
Brasted by special licence,” he announced to the landlord on his return.  “I
shall be on my way back to London now to give Miss Frances the news.  I have a
letter from the rector and all to prove it.”  He was certain the report would
spread like wildfire.  Now let Lady Murray deny Miss Frances was her
granddaughter!

It
was fourteen days since he had seen Frances, Lord Carleton had counted every
one of them.  His feelings for her were growing stronger rather than fading
away with the passing of time, the young girls on display in the Marriage Mart
seemed pale and uninteresting compared to Frances.  He realised reluctantly
that she was not going to contact him and he was not going to find her by
himself, so he at last approached his man of business for help in finding her. 
He concluded that she was currently presenting herself as a woman because he
had not seen or heard of Peter Francis in any of his usual haunts since his
return to London, and asked Mr Adams to send one of his clerks to each
respectable hotel with a delivery of artificial flowers, to enquire if they had
anyone with the name of “Frances” staying with them.  At least the name was
sufficiently unusual that there were not likely to be many. 

John
felt a mixture of excitement and rather undefined anxiety as he rode back to
London.  He should be feeling pure happiness that Frances would be able to come
into her inheritance and take her rightful place in society, but perhaps years
of working with a gamester who knew that when things seemed too good to be true
there was usually a reason, had instilled wariness in him.

Frances
was overjoyed when he gave her the letter and told her about his meeting with
the rector at St Martin’s.  Now I can contact Richard, was her immediate
unspoken response but she said. “This is wonderful John! I must visit Lady
Murray as soon as possible to give her this.”

“Hold
yer horses,” cautioned her retainer.  “Perhaps you should call on that
solicitor of yours first, let him make the arrangements.  Lady Murray might not
be so happy as you think with this turn of events.”

“I
am sure you are wrong John.  She might be a trifle crusty, but she is family
after all.”  Frances was too happy to listen to sober counsel and asked John to
arrange for a hackney to take her to Devonshire Street.  She changed into her
best morning dress and whisked Madame Lebrun off with her to visit her newly
acquired grandmother.  John made sure he had the second copy of the rectors’
letter tucked safely inside his jerkin.  He had a bad feeling about this.

It
appeared that his fears were groundless.  Frances was admitted to the morning
salon where Mrs Pearson had been reading to Lady Murray.  They looked up as she
entered, Mrs Pearson smiling tentatively and Lady Murray schooling her face
with a polite expression of enquiry.

“Good
morning my lady, Mrs Pearson.  I am sorry to burst in on you like this but I
have some great news!” enthused Frances.  “It will be a relief I think, for you
to know that your daughter, my mother, was properly wed to my father.  My
servant found the record in the parish register at Brasted. Here, I have a
letter for you from the rector,” she placed it into Mrs Pearson’ trembling
hand.

“My
goodness!” she exclaimed, “That is wonderful isn’t it?”  She turned to her employer,
who just had time to paste a pleased expression on her face, before answering
graciously, “Yes indeed.”

“Just
think!  Brasted!”  Mrs Pearson continued to wonder and exclaim, innocently covering
the fact that Lady Murray sat in silence as her brain rushed to consider how best
to deal with the situation.

“You
must come and stay with us my dear,” she announced suddenly, it would be best
to have the girl under her charge while she decided what to do.

“Yes,”
agreed Mrs Pearson enthusiastically, “I will have a room prepared immediately. 
You must make your home with us now Frances.”

“Well
I will certainly come for a visit,” Frances answered, feeling a little startled
by the offer.  Her more cautious self was suddenly waking up, did she really
want to live with Lady Murray and be subject to her notions of what was
suitable for her?  If she moved into Devonshire Street she would be forsaking
most of her independence. There would be no more dressing in male attire, no
more shooting or fencing, she would not even be able to leave the house without
a companion. 

They
talked for a little longer then Frances took her leave to return to the hotel
and make arrangements.  “Surely I can send a servant to do that for you?”
suggested Lady Murray.

“Thank
you, my lady, but there are some matters I must attend to personally,” replied
Frances, her heart sinking as she realised the restrictions she would now be
faced with on a daily basis.

She
returned to the Regent Hotel, impatient to tell John what had occurred.  He agreed
reluctantly that she needed to at least visit Lady Murray, but encouraged her
to continue renting the rooms at the Regent for another week or two so that she
would have somewhere to go if affairs did not go smoothly.  Frances felt
obliged to fulfil her bargain with Madame Lebrun. She dismissed her with an
extra week’s wages and gave her the money for her fare to Paris as previously
agreed.  Madame was effusive in her thanks but ventured to ask if she was sure
she would be able to manage without her.

They
decided that John would continue to stay at the Regent, until she made more
permanent plans, he would hardly fit in at Devonshire Street.  Before she
packed a bag, containing only her female clothes and accessories, Frances sat
down to write a letter to Lord Carleton.  John would deliver it to him after he
had dropped her at Devonshire Street.

“My
dear Carleton,

I
have been waiting until I sorted out my affairs before contacting you again.  I
have a name now, Frances Metcalf.  I am the daughter of Lady Amanda Murray and
Henry Metcalf and they were married at Brasted in Kent, twenty five years ago. 
I have approached my grandmother Lady Murray and she has invited me to stay
with her until my inheritance is arranged, I have been told I am to inherit ten
thousand pounds!   It all seems like a fairy tale and best of all it is
true
and not a scam!

I
must tell you why I left Chatswood as I did, though perhaps you have guessed
the reason yourself by now!  I did not want to trap you into offering for an
adventuress, your unfailing kindness to me did not deserve to be repaid like
that.  I hope in time you will find yourself able to forgive me,

Yours
sincerely