The Privilege of the Sword (4 page)

B
ETTY PRACTICING HER CURTSEY WAS A TERRIBLE
sight to see. She had each separate move in the right sequence, but getting them to flow together seemed beyond her skill. She tugged her skirts out to each side of her. She crooked her knees. She came perilously near the ground. Then she did it again. And again; but it was never very convincing. Short and fat with middle age and scarlet with embarrassment, she resembled a quaking beet-pudding about to collapse in on itself.

“My lady,” she stammered, “forgive me—there’s a right way to do these things, I know—and I’ll begin as I mean to go on, just the way you like it…”

“Thank you,” I said, in an agony of impatience; “yes, thank you.”

But she kept right on going: “You’ll get satisfaction from me this time, my lady, and no messing about with the master, not this time, not this one, bless his boots—”

Finally I gave up and just said it: “Please, could you show me my room?”

“Of course,” she panted, nearly worn out with curtseys; “that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” I handed her my cloak, in hopes it would steady her. “Of course,” she said. “Of course, my lady.”

She didn’t look as if she could balance much more than the traveling cloak. I picked up my other small things myself. “My room,” I repeated. “Please.”

“Yes, well, it’s a great big house, this one, isn’t it? So many doors you don’t know where you are—not like the Riverside house, well, that one’s big too, but different; here everything looks the same…”

My heart misgave me as I followed her up the sweeping staircase (it was, in fact, the Perfect Staircase of my dreams, but I was too busy handling Betty to notice. Poor woman, I thought; trying to make a good impression and not quite equipped for it! I had considerable sympathy for her, after what I’d just been through).

“Now I know it’s this way,” she repeated as we rounded the same corridor a third time. But at last the door stood open to the right place.

There were my trunks in the corner, looking especially shabby in the glory that was my room at Tremontaine House. A huge bed with gauzy curtains, just right for the time of year; a painted wardrobe set off perfectly against the pale butter-yellow of the walls; prettily framed pictures and vases of flowers…and the whole reflected in the curly gilded mirror that hung over the marble fireplace.

Betty looked at the room, looked at me, attempted another curtsey and fell flat on her bum. When I leaned over to help her up, I found that my sympathy had been misplaced. Her breath smelt like a drover’s on payday.

It was too much. My rich uncle had hired me a drunkard, a slovenly woman from who knows where, to serve as my first very-own lady’s maid!

I looked at her red, babbling face, at my bags, at all of it reflected in the mirror (including my own shocked face and travel-frizzled hair) and burst into miserable tears.

“There now, my lady.” And the creature had her arms around me. “There now.” I let her hold me while I sobbed my heart out on the drunkard’s warm breast.

M
Y ROOM DID INDEED LOOK OUT ONTO THE RIVER,
and into the hills beyond, where the sun was finally setting. That morning it had found me waking in a strange inn on the road, surrounded by strangers. What a long day it had been! I leaned as far as I could over the balcony—
my
balcony—drinking in the sight. For natural beauty, the view from my room was not a patch on the rolling hills of home, the long vistas and sudden curves. No one could get lost in
these
hills, or tired walking along that river. But still they seemed far more exciting. And below me stretched a shadowy garden, suggestive of hedges and statues and paths one could, perhaps, get lost in. I watched as it all went blue and cold, and stars began to come out in the distance.

My huge white bed seemed to glow with its own light. I lay on its downy luxury, just for a moment—and woke to pitch darkness, and a thud against my bedroom door, and footsteps in the hall, and laughter.

Wide awake, I pulled an overdress on over my wrinkled chemise, and peeked out into the hall. A candle on a stand flared in the draft from my door. A man and a woman, whispering and laughing, were running down the hall toward its light, their inky shadows smeared out along the carpet behind them. I turned the other way, toward the stairs, where most of the noise was coming from. There were laughter and shouts, and the strains of string music flowed remarkably placid under the revelers. The party was in full cry.

I had no idea where Betty was, or how to get her to help me dress. I struck light to a candle, and picked out a green overdress that had covered deficiencies in the past; unplaited and combed out my hair, and knotted it up with a couple of pins, and clasped my coral necklace around my neck. My dove-grey slippers were nowhere in evidence, so I had to wear the apple-green, even though they did not match the dress. But I have noticed that, in large crowds, no one looks at anyone else’s feet. I’d be all right if I could just get down the staircase unseen.

I paused at the top of the stairs to examine the scene below. People were spread out across the great hall; they looked like badly arranged pieces on its gameboard squares of black and white marble. They seemed to be just the spillover from the crowded receiving rooms beyond the double-doors.

I did my best to drift inobtrusively down the stairs. I was terribly hungry; there might be food beyond the doors. The people all looked very grand—
gaudy,
my mother would have said—in rich fabrics and jewels and lace and ruffles. Bobbing amongst them was a dyed ostrich feather, elegantly curled over a sleek, dark head, almost like a little hat. The head turned to me, and suddenly I was looking right into the eyes of a girl my own age. She darted forward, and seized my hands in hers.

“Isn’t this
fun
?” she said. Her cheeks were pink, her blue eyes sparkled, and she wore a very good pair of pearl earrings.

“I’ve only just arrived. I came today, from the country.”

“And already you’re invited to all the wickedest parties! But I can tell that you are very, very good; I can always tell about people—aren’t you just a little bit terrified, being
here
?” She gave a theatrical shudder. “Of course, the old duchess had exquisite taste; that’s really why I wanted to come, to see the house, you know. Although the duke’s parties are events all their own—the ones at Tremontaine House—not the Other Place—we wouldn’t go
there,
of course.” My new friend flashed a smile at the whole room. “Isn’t it
grand
?”

I could not really see much for all the people. I noticed a cunning little pair of diamond buckles flashing by on someone’s feet—or maybe they were paste, I couldn’t tell. I wished I had a pair.

“Oh, yes!” I breathed.

She put her arm around my waist. “I just know we are going to be the best of friends. Where is your escort? I came with my brother Robert—the truth is,” she pulled me a little closer in; “I made him bring me. He didn’t want to. He said it wasn’t any place for me. But I said if he did not I would tell our parents the true reason he needed the advance on his allowance.
He
told them he’d given the money to a poor friend who needed it—they encourage us to be generous—but I knew it was really because he’d spent it all on a duel over Lavinia Perry, which is silly, because she’s almost a cousin. I wouldn’t fall in love with a cousin, would you?”

“Oh, no!”

I had been in the city only a few hours, and already I had a friend—someone whose brother hired swordsmen, and who admired me for getting into dangerous parties. I felt very happy as she circled my waist with her arm. My new friend was shorter than I; the feather tickled my cheek.

“So…you’re just up from the country. This must all seem very strange to you—although one wouldn’t know it, you have such natural grace. And of course you will be at all the dances. I’m sure to see you there—we will have such fun, searching out beaux together!” She was leading me out of the press, to a corner where we could be fully absorbed in each other.

“Do you know, I’ve already received flowers from—an admirer!”

I clutched her arm. “Oh,
who
? Is he here?”

“No, not here; this isn’t the sort of place he would be seen at. I shall get a dreadful scolding from him if he hears about it.” She tossed her head, looking pleased. “But next week…Will you be at the Godwins’ ball?”

“I—don’t know. I don’t believe we’ve been invited yet.”

My elegant friend said, “But I feel sure that Lydia Godwin would dote on you, if only she knew you as I do! I shall speak to her. She is such a dear friend of mine. Perhaps you could come in our party, with your brother. Or was it your cousin?”

“Cousin?”

“With your escort—the one who brought you here.”

“Oh. It’s my—uncle.”

“Oh.” She frowned briefly but prettily. “Not one of those boring old married men who only comes to parties to play cards?”

“No, I—don’t think he’s married. I mean, he isn’t. He’s very elegant.”

“Perhaps you’ll introduce us.” She pulled away for a moment, to fish in her beaded reticule for a little engraved card. “You must call on me tomorrow.” She laughed happily, indicating the throng of revelers: “Not too early, of course!” I had no idea what time it really was. Close to midnight, surely. No one at this party would be up early tomorrow.

I pocketed the card. “I will come, if it’s not being a bother,” I said shyly, picturing a disaster, with no one home. But she squeezed my hand in hers. “Yes, yes, you must! Then you can meet my brother Robert in decent circumstances—maybe even turn his head away from the Perry chit!”

Was that all it took to get beaux—just meeting friends’ brothers? This was going to be easier than I’d thought! I said, “I have no card, not yet—we don’t need them at home, everyone knows everyone else. But let me introduce myself—”

“No, let me. It’s much more decent,” a voice announced from above. “This is my niece, the Lady Katherine Samantha Campion Talbert.” My friend was staring, rather pale, over my head, at the tall duke dressed in black. He turned all the pink and silver and powder blue and turquoise in the room to sugar candy. Even my friend’s delicious feather looked addled. He said, “And you’re a Fitz-Levi. I can tell by the nose.”

She sank down in a very lovely curtsey, with her head bowed to hide her flaming cheeks. “My Lord Duke.”

My uncle looked down at the feather. “Fitz-Levi…hmmm…I don’t remember inviting you. Marcus will know—” His eyes scanned the room, presumably for the boy Marcus. From what I had seen this afternoon, the duke didn’t remember having invited anyone. But I could hardly tell her so at this moment. She flashed me a haunted look, pressed my hand once more and fled. By the time my uncle looked down again, she was gone.

He looked curiously at me, as though I had performed a conjuring trick.

“What happened?”

“You frightened her,” I told him.

He shrugged. “Well. At least you’re still here. Let’s get something to eat. Are you hungry?”

I was ravenous. “Yes, please. But—why did you say that, about her nose?”

“What about her nose?”

“You said she was ugly.”

“Did I?” He considered for a moment. “I suppose I did. I’d better make her an apology, then. I’ll have Marcus send her some flowers.”

“Don’t!” I exclaimed quickly. “You’ll get her in trouble.”

He looked at me again with great curiosity. “What do you care?”

All the while he had been maneuvering us out of the hall and off to a side room where tables were spread with food and drink.

“By the way,” he said absently, “those shoes don’t match that gown.”

He handed me a plate piled with strawberries, bonbons, smoked fish and asparagus.

“Ah!” he said. “Finally. Someone to talk to.”

The duke was looking with great delight at a large, ugly woman coming toward us across the room. Her complexion was muddy; her hair was chopped like badly mown hay, and of the same rough color and texture. It was hard to tell how old she was; older than I, and younger than Tremontaine, I would guess. Under her shapeless dress, her big body looked thick and without contours. She couldn’t be a serving maid; any of them would take pains to present a better appearance. He had terrified my friend with the lovely feather, but was smiling warmly at this troll-like apparition. The corners of his eyes crinkled, which is how you can tell whether someone is really smiling, or just curving their lips.

The ugly woman stumped up to us. “Is this the niece?”

“This is Lady Katherine. She’s not very tall, but I think she’ll grow.”

“How do you do?” I said to her, trying to restore myself to my rightful place in the situation.

“Hello,” she said to me. She nodded to the room. “What do you think?”

It was not a question I, or anyone else, could answer. She didn’t seem to realize it. I reached for the safety of the commonplace: “It’s very nice.”

“Oh.” The ugly woman nodded, as if that told her all she needed to know about me. She seized a bonbon from my plate and bit it in half.
“Ig,”
she objected. “Peppermint.” She began to drop the other half back onto my plate, realized what she was doing just in time before she did it and cast about for somewhere else to bestow the offending morsel.