The Girl in the Mask (6 page)

I smiled and nodded, as though admiring my father’s wisdom, but all the while thinking:
So, he has a hiding place somewhere in the chaise, does he? I can find that.
Not that I had any reason to do so. It merely seemed like good sport to know my father’s secrets.

‘Can I go out and see the city this morning?’ I asked.

My aunt shrieked with horror. ‘Dressed as you are? Sophia, really, have you no sense at all?’

I thought that was fine talking coming from the person who’d just betrayed my father’s secret hiding place to me. I said with as much politeness as I could muster: ‘But no one knows me here. What can it signify?’

Aunt Amelia shuddered. ‘They soon will know you, and think if anyone remembered seeing you in such a dowdy, outmoded gown. Pray, do not think of it.’

‘Then … ?’ I began, wondering how I should pass a whole morning shut into such a small house without even books to occupy me. I was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. I ran to the window, wondering who could be calling on us in a city where we knew no one. There was a bustle and the sound of voices, footsteps on the stairs and the door was opened.

‘Mr Richard Nash, Master of the Ceremonies!’ announced the butler.

My aunt jumped to her feet, flustered, and sank into a deep curtsey, her black petticoats billowing about her. ‘Mr Nash!’ she exclaimed. ‘
Such
an honour.’

The visitor bowed with exquisite elegance to us both. ‘On behalf of the Bath Corporation, may I welcome you to the city and wish your stay here will be a pleasant one? I shall certainly do my best to make it so.’

‘Thank you!’ cried my aunt, overcome. ‘Allow me to present my niece, Miss Williams. Please forgive her appearance. She urgently needs to visit a dressmaker.’

I curtseyed awkwardly, stunned by the appearance of our visitor. I’d thought my father richly dressed until this moment. I now realized that he was but a pale shadow compared to this man. Nash’s heavily-powdered long-bottom wig fell about his shoulders in a mass of carefully-arranged grey curls. The tails of his cravat were not worn loose as my father wore his, but instead tucked neatly through a buttonhole. A diamond pin glinted among the rich lace. A pink waistcoat, intricately embroidered with navy and silver thread, his buttons a gleaming silver to match, contrasted with a navy coat with absurdly large cuffs folded back to reveal a quantity of expensive lace at his wrists and jewelled rings on his fingers. Nash wore no sword at his side, which surprised me in such a fine gentleman, but instead carried an elegant walking-stick. Clocked silk stockings were fastened neatly above his knees, and square-toed black shoes with large, sparkling buckles and high red heels completed the vision.

I fear I gaped. Nash noted my gaze and smirked, clearly pleased by the attention. He no doubt considered it admiration, and his rightful due. I don’t know if I admired him or not. I think I was mainly taken aback that any man would spend so much time and money on his appearance.

At that moment my father came into the room, still attired in his morning gown and nightcap as he had been at breakfast. I blushed for him, but neither he nor Mr Nash seemed the least concerned at his state of undress. They exchanged conventional greetings. My father complained about the robbery last night, and Mr Nash was suitably shocked and sympathetic. He warned him against the men who carried the sedan chairs in the city and then began speaking of the baths, the pump room, and instructing my father in how he should set about subscribing to balls at the Guildhall and to Harrison’s tea rooms and private gardens. It all sounded insufferably dull. My attention soon wandered to the window. It was a fine day out and I was just wondering whether there was any way I could escape and enjoy it when I realized a silence had fallen in the room. I looked round and found everyone staring at me. My father looked angry.

‘I’m sorry … ’ I began automatically, wondering what I’d missed. Mr Nash kindly put me out of my misery:

‘I was just asking, Miss Williams, if you are not looking forward to the balls at the Bath? All young ladies love to dance, do they not?’

I hesitated, uncertain how to reply. Under my father’s frowning stare, I couldn’t tell the truth: that I’d never danced, knew no other young ladies, and would rather die than appear at a ball. ‘It will be … a new experience for me,’ I mumbled at last. There was another uncomfortable silence, broken by a loud peal of church bells.

‘More visitors,’ said Mr Nash with every appearance of delight. ‘We welcome every new arrival of note with bells. Did you hear them ringing for you last night?’

‘That was for our sake?’ asked my aunt, apparently overcome by the thought.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mr Nash. ‘I’ll leave you now, if you’ll excuse me, but please do speak to me if there is anything you need to know or if I can assist you in any way.’ He rose, bowed low with great dignity and took his leave.

‘Who the
devil
was that pompous, self-important ass?’ demanded my father as soon as we heard the front door close downstairs.

‘Oh, Sir Edward!’ exclaimed Aunt Amelia. ‘That was Beau Nash! Such an honour that he should call upon us personally!’

‘Who is Beau Nash when he’s at home?
Beau
Nash, indeed,’ scoffed my father. ‘An under-bred fellow if ever I saw one!’

‘You quite mistake the matter, my dear brother,’ Aunt Amelia assured him. ‘That is to say, I believe his origins
may
be quite low, his father was a glass manufacturer from Swansea or some such thing. But he is king of Bath!’

‘King?’ cried my father, and although he clearly hadn’t liked Mr Nash, I could see now he was simply enjoying contradicting my aunt. ‘If the place has crowned that confounded, jumped-up nobody king, then I say we should pack our bags and leave at once, because it won’t be at all the sort of place I want to stay in! What the deuce did you mean by dragging me here, woman?’

‘But, Sir Edward,’ my aunt wailed, thinking he was serious. ‘We’ve only just arrived! And I assure you all the best people come here, and the entertainments are quite the finest outside London. And Beau Nash is
very
respected, although, I confess, I thought his linen not quite clean, but truly … ’

‘I’ll give it two days!’ said Sir Edward. ‘And if they’re all like him, we’re leaving and you can pay the bills.’ My father slammed out of the room and my aunt dissolved into floods of tears. I took the opportunity to slip quietly away, fetch my cloak and leave the house.

I walked along Trim Street, thinking how new and clean it all was; the sandstone of the houses such a pale yellow it was almost white. To my great excitement, I found a building with
Trim’s Theatre
painted onto a sign. I resolved to ask my father about seeing a play there at the first opportunity.

There was a slight whiff of rotten eggs in the air but I couldn’t track down where it was coming from. One end of the street led into fields and the other into a building site, so I took the only other route, a short street called Trim Bridge running at right angles to Trim Street, which took me across the city walls and into the city of Bath itself.

The city was a crowded, bustling maze of narrow streets, alleys, and jumbled old houses of all shapes and styles, mostly built from the same pale-yellow stone. I roamed through the crowds, avoiding the piles of rubbish lying in the streets, looking around me with great curiosity. I’d visited towns before, once or twice, but Bath was bigger, dirtier, and busier than anything I’d seen. It smelt bad too, over and above the rotting refuse that lay about; that rotten-egg smell grew stronger the further I walked into the city.

Two men pushed roughly past me, carrying a huge, heavy box slung on poles between them, and I was surprised to see a lady in a fine gown sitting inside it. This must be one of the sedan chairs Mr Nash had spoken of. Before long, I realized I’d reached the fashionable part of the city. Instead of beggars, workmen, and traders, the streets were filled with ladies and gentlemen in absurdly fine clothes, sauntering at their leisure and gazing into the shop windows. The windows truly drew the eye: colourful displays of all kinds of luxuries which I was certain I’d never have a use for.

I reached a square where one building dominated: a fine abbey built of the same pale stone soared above the buildings around it, dwarfing and outclassing them. It was quite the most beautiful church I’d ever seen, and I stood admiring it for a moment before a noisy crowd caught my attention. Finely-dressed people, and a few less fine, were wandering in and out of a building. Inside was a kind of gallery where they were leaning over a balustrade, laughing and pointing at a scene below.

I’d finally tracked down the source of the smell. Here below me was one of the famous baths that the city was named for. I looked down and saw bathers of both sexes, dressed with great modesty in some yellowed canvas garments, floating around in the murky waters below us. As I watched, one spectator threw an apple core into the bath, causing shrieks of laughter among those around him.

‘Here, let’s throw something bigger in,’ cried a young man. ‘How about you?’ he asked, grasping a young lady around the waist.

‘Ooh, don’t you dare!’ she shouted and began shrieking in the most vulgar way as he hoisted her into the air.

I couldn’t believe he’d really do it, unless perhaps he was drunk this early in the morning; it was a long drop and the young woman could be hurt.

‘No, wait!’ cried another young man. ‘I’ve a better idea!’ So saying he darted out of the building, grabbed hold of a dirty stray dog that was gobbling scraps off the pavement, ran back in with it and flung the poor creature bodily over the wall.

The dog fell with a great splash, and then thrashed wildly in the waters. The bathers were all screaming and fighting each other to get out of its way.

It was very childish, but mildly amusing, to see such finely-dressed people behaving so badly. I grinned a little, left the gallery and walked on around the abbey. There were coffee houses here, people sitting inside eating and reading newspapers and books. I saw ladies eating syllabubs and jellies in cook shops and everywhere I could smell the aroma of freshly-baked, buttery bread. I soon felt hungry. After all, it was some time since breakfast. I asked a sooty chimney sweep the way back to Trim Street and followed the directions he gave me.

Walking along Trim Bridge, I was suddenly seized from behind and dragged under an archway into a deserted yard. A firm hand was clapped across my mouth and another held a knife to my throat. I was so astonished it didn’t even occur to me to resist.

‘Don’t even think about hollerin’. This knife’s sharp and I ain’t afraid to use it,’ said a girl’s voice in my ear. A thrill of excitement ran through me. I’d expected to be bored to tears in a city, but I’d been completely mistaken. The hand was removed cautiously from my mouth. I was silent and still, awaiting events. ‘Tell me what you know of Bill Smith,’ said the voice.

I almost laughed. ‘Jenny? However did you find me so quickly?’ I demanded. ‘You could just have come up and asked.’

The hand was clamped back over my mouth and the knife pressed tighter. ‘I didn’t say as I was called Jenny,’ the girl hissed in my ear. ‘I jest asked what you know of Bill. And you didn’t take much finding. I asked around where you lived and here you is, wandering about like a reg’ler green ’un. Now keep yer voice down.’

As the hand released me cautiously once more, I said: ‘I’m not saying a word at knifepoint.’

‘I’ll make yer!’ said the voice fiercely.

‘How? By cutting my throat?’ I asked calmly. ‘I won’t be able to say anything then. I don’t mean you any harm, you know.’

‘I’m supposed to trust you, am I?’

‘I really don’t care,’ I replied. ‘I liked your brother, but this is the second time you’ve held me up. You haven’t made a good impression so far.’

‘All right then,’ said the girl, loosening her grip. ‘But you don’t look round.’ The knife was withdrawn, and I breathed freely again. I could feel my heart beating fast in my chest, but it was with excitement rather than fear. ‘Bill was working at the Golden Lion on the post road here,’ I said. ‘We got talking and he said he had a sister called Jenny at the Bath. He’s thinking of coming to look for her.’

There was a sharp intake of breath behind me. I had to master an impulse to look round. It was frustrating not being able to see who I was talking to. ‘I promised him to look out for her,’ I added. ‘I said I’d write to him and tell him how she was.’

‘You can tell him she’s fine. He don’t need to come here. Right?’

‘He’s concerned,’ I said carefully, ‘that her father might have put her into a line of business that isn’t respectable.’

‘Tell him,’ the girl said, ‘that she’s set up jest fine and dandy; nothing he wouldn’t like. He’s not to bother with such a long journey.’

‘Can I give him your direction?’ I asked.

There was a long silence behind me. ‘Jenny?’ I asked. I suddenly had the feeling there was no one there. Turning round, I found I was quite right. I was standing alone in the yard, talking to myself.

‘Where
have
you been, you troublesome girl?’ demanded my aunt, seizing me and shaking me the instant I got home. ‘You’re lucky your father’s gone out or you’d be shut in your room for a week!’ Aunt Amelia dragged me into the withdrawing room and rang the bell. A footman appeared at once.