Regency Masquerade, page 11
“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
Frances Metcalf”
It was not exactly what she wanted to write, but she did not want to appear too forward, after all, Carleton may have felt glad to be rid of her. She felt she had owed him an explanation, even at the risk of placing her future in his hands if he wanted to destroy her. He was the only person in London, apart from John, who knew her whole story. She was already inventing a heavily edited version to tell Lady Murray and Mrs Pearson, without actually gammoning them too much.
Eventually she was packed, made her farewells to Madame Lebrun, who would leave in the morning to take the stage to Dover, and left sufficient funds with John to allow him to stay at the Regent for some weeks. She also left her male attire, including her pistol, securely locked in a bag in her room. Then she was off to Devonshire Street and a new chapter in her life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Frances followed Mrs Pearson upstairs to a delightful room, furnished in pale blue. A young girl followed them in silently, “This is Annie, she will be your maid until you find someone yourself,” advised the older woman. “I will leave you to get settled, then, when you are ready, Annie will bring you down to the parlour for tea. Oh I am so glad to see you here, I was your mother’s nurse you know.”
“You must tell me all about her,” responded Frances, “I would love to hear your stories, in fact I know very little about this side of my family at all.”
“I am sure the two of us will have lots of opportunities for a comfortable cose. Lady Murray does not like to remember the past,” she explained carefully.
Annie was young, with light brown hair tucked under a cap, and slightly blotchy skin. Deftly she unpacked Frances bags and put things away, without saying a word. “Thank you Annie,” said Frances, and she dipped her head and smiled shyly. “Can you show me the parlour please?” The maid led her downstairs to a small room decorated with white and gold panelling and delicately carved chairs. Lady Murray was already seated and called for the tea tray when Frances arrived. Expecting to give an account of how she had spent her life, Frances was taken aback when Lady Murrays’ first question was, “What accomplishments do you have girl? Maria, Mrs Pearson that is, says you have the look of a lady, and your voice is acceptable, but what are your accomplishments?”
“I am afraid I do not have many, your ladyship. I sew a little of course but I do not play an instrument, or sketch. However, I speak French and Italian fluently, and German, a little.” Frances answered honestly. She resisted the temptation to add that she could also fence a little and out shoot most men, though it would almost have been worth it to wipe the condescending smile off Lady Murrays’ face.
“I feared as much. What about dancing?”
“I am familiar with some country dances, but a few lessons to teach me the current steps would be helpful.” She replied, trying hard not to let her offense show.
Lady Murray smiled suddenly, “You will forgive me if I do not introduce you to society just yet. You will need proper clothes and dancing lessons at least before we present you. I am sure you will feel more comfortable with that, rather than to be thrust into a round of activities too soon.”
Frances had rather been looking forward to engaging in a round of social activities but she could hardly gainsay her grandmother, and murmured a polite “Thank you, my lady.” A small spark of rebellion prompted her to add innocently, “Should I call you Grandmere, or Grandmama my lady?”
Lady Murray suppressed a wince. “You may call me Grandmother,” she conceded reluctantly, she could hardly insist the girl keep calling her Lady Murray! “Maria has a good eye for fashion, she can take you to my dressmaker tomorrow. I will ask her to look through your wardrobe and see if anything you have is suitable for your new station.” Frances bit her lip, there was no point in taking umbrage. She would just have to pretend she was undertaking a new masquerade for the period of her visit, that of demure young lady. She wondered how soon she could lay hands on her ten thousand pounds and set up her own establishment. Fortunately Lady Murray retired to her room shortly afterwards for a rest, and Frances went upstairs with Mrs Pearson to look through her wardrobe and discuss what new clothes she would need to purchase tomorrow.
Lord Carleton was beginning to think he was the victim of a malicious fate. No sooner had his plan succeeded, and Frances been located by his agents’ clerk at the Regent Hotel, than she disappeared again before he could talk to her. He arrived home feeling discouraged, to find a letter had been left for him in his absence. He unfolded it half heartedly, then drew in his breath as he recognised who it was from. Eagerly he scanned the short missive.
“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
Frances Metcalf”
He read it a second time. Did she want him to seek her out or not? It certainly sounded as if she cared for him but whether it was as a friend or something warmer he could not tell. He needed a private conversation with her, but how could he approach her at Lady Murrays without admitting a prior acquaintance? As far as he was aware, no-one outside Lady Murrays’ immediate household even knew of her existence yet. He would have to wait until she was introduced socially to the ton and then seek an introduction, he must curb his impatience. For the first time he wished she was still masquerading as Peter Francis, it would certainly have been a lot easier to arrange a meeting.
Frances and Mrs Pearson greatly enjoyed their expedition to Lady Murray’s dressmaker the following day. They ordered two evening gowns, a muslin dress gathered high above the waist to wear in the day time, a pelisse with velvet trim and a blue bonnet to match and felt very extravagant.
While they were out, a letter was delivered to Lady Murray and she asked Hanson to read it to her. She was exceedingly glad she had not waited for Mrs Pearson to return when he opened the letter and after glancing at it, suggested in a wooden voice that they move to the privacy of the parlour.
“My dear Lady Murray,
I am writing to you tell you about the wanton behaviour of the person who goes by the name of Frances. I understand she is a connection of yours. She dresses in male attire and recently spent a week at the house of Lord Richard Carleton, as his close companion! I do not need to tell you the scandal this would cause if it became known. I hope you can do something about this,
Yours sincerely,
A friend”
Lady Murray felt a curious mixture of horror and vindication, “I knew something like this would happen!” she said harshly. “There was bad blood in Henry and it has come out in the daughter. She must be mad!” she concluded with certainty. “The girl obviously needs to be looked after, she is not capable of keeping herself decent.” She thought for a moment, “Send for Mr Pilkington immediately, Hanson, I will get him to investigate this. Also, I think we should ask Dr Russell to call tomorrow, I fancy his services will be required to keep her under control. Arrange it will you? Mind, not a word to anyone else, especially Mrs Pearson - I will break the sad news to her myself, she will be very distressed.”
“Yes my lady. What shall I do with the letter?”
“Give it to me. I will need to show Mr Pilkington.” Lady Murray took the letter and held it carefully, it was the most valuable thing she had received for ages. She waited impatiently for Mr Pilkington who fortunately for both of them, was not busy when Hanson called and was able to return with him in the hackney.
