Beatrice Goes to Brighton (11 page)

‘We shall put it behind us,’ said Mrs Cambridge, ‘and talk of other things. How long do you and Lady Beatrice intend to remain in Brighton?’

‘About a week,’ said Hannah, although her mind was beginning to race. Why should Mrs Cambridge be interested in the length of their stay? The most normal thing to have asked was all about the attempted abduction of Lady Beatrice.

‘Indeed. Brighton will be sorry to lose you. How do you intend to travel? I believe you came on the stage. How original.’

Hannah glanced at Mrs Cambridge’s heavy veil, which was now hanging down about her shoulders, pulled back over her hat to reveal her face. She remembered the two heavily veiled women standing
a little way away from her. Mrs Cambridge and her maid?

‘Do you know Sir Geoffrey Handford?’ asked Hannah, ignoring the last question.

Mrs Cambridge affected surprise. ‘Slightly,’ she said dismissively. ‘Have you known Lady Beatrice long?’

‘Only since I came to Brighton,’ replied Hannah, thinking suddenly that she had left Lady Beatrice alone apart from the remaining servants. And where was Mrs Cambridge’s maid?

‘Where is your maid?’ asked Hannah.

‘What has that got to do with how long you have known Lady Beatrice?’ countered Mrs Cambridge.

‘Nothing,’ said Hannah, eyeing her. ‘Again, I ask, where is your maid?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Cambridge pettishly. ‘Oh, I remember, I sent her to match silks for me.’

‘I am curious. I also wonder why you are both so heavily veiled. I saw you and your maid a little way away from me on the promenade,’ said Hannah.

‘It is the rough wind.’ Mrs Cambridge began to look even more uneasy. ‘So rough and blustery and so bad for the complexion.’

Hannah got to her feet. ‘I really must go,’ she said abruptly, and strode out of the pastry cook’s, leaving an infuriated Mrs Cambridge to pay the bill.

She did not trust Mrs Cambridge. Alert to possible danger on all sides, Hannah felt sure that Mrs Cambridge had been spying on her. She was now very worried that she had left Lady Beatrice alone.

Lady Beatrice was at that moment confronting Sir Geoffrey Handford. He had pushed his way past her servants, who obviously did not know what to do to restrain him.

‘You may think you have had the better of me, madam,’ raged Sir Geoffrey, ‘but you shall pay for it.’

‘With my life?’ demanded Lady Beatrice.

He stopped in mid-tirade and looked at her with his mouth open.

‘I am not stupid, Sir Geoffrey, and know that you hired those ruffians to abduct me. You cannot do anything to me now with all my servants listening at the door.’

He began to pace up and down. He suddenly regretted his impetuousness. The minute he had received that note from Mrs Cambridge’s maid, he had come dashing round. His desire for her had not waned in the least. Rather, it had become an obsession.

He looked at her in baffled fury.

‘And now you may take your leave.’ Lady Beatrice looked at him in contempt. ‘And do not try to harm me again, Sir Geoffrey, or it will be the worse for you.’

‘And who will stop me?’ he jeered. ‘The few servants you have left? One faded spinster and her cheeky footman?’

‘No, but I will stop you,’ said a quiet voice from the doorway.

Sir Geoffrey wheeled round. Lord Alistair Munro stood there, tall and elegant as ever.

‘So she has caught you in her wiles, like every other
poor fool that has had anything to do with her,’ shouted Sir Geoffrey, beside himself with rage and jealousy. ‘She plays with us all like a cat plays with a mouse. Well, more fool you, Munro. Take her, and be damned to you!’

He thrust his way past Lord Alistair and past the gaping servants and stormed out of the house.

There was a long silence. The servants retreated to go about their duties, talking in excited whispers.

‘Thank you,’ said Lady Beatrice at last. ‘Thank you again. Your arrival was most timely.’

‘I am grateful to be of service.’ He swept her a low bow.

‘Pray be seated, my lord,’ said Lady Beatrice, ‘and I will get you some refreshment. Wine? We have a very good claret.’

He looked at her thoughtfully. She was wearing a blue muslin gown, cunningly cut and shaped to her handsome figure. Her hair was dressed high on her head but one black curl had been allowed to fall on the whiteness of her shoulder. He felt a surge of desire and was impatient with himself. That churl,
Handford
, had the right of it. Lady Beatrice was a witch.

‘I have calls to make,’ he said. ‘I see Miss Pym is not here. I am disappointed. A most entertaining lady.’

Lady Beatrice suddenly felt jealous of the absent Hannah. ‘Then I shall not detain you, my lord.’

He bowed again, and backed into Hannah, who had come flying up the stairs.

‘My lord!’ cried Hannah. ‘I am so very glad to see you. I was detained by Mrs Cambridge and had the maddest idea she was doing it deliberately.’

‘That might have been the case,’ said Lord Alistair. ‘Handford did call, but left in a fury.’

‘Because you were here?’

‘Yes,’ put in Lady Beatrice, ‘most certainly because Lord Alistair arrived.’

‘But you cannot leave now!’ said Hannah to Lord Alistair. ‘You must stay and take a dish of tea with us.’

To Lady Beatrice’s mortification, Lord Alistair smiled and said he would be delighted.

‘I thought you had urgent calls to make,’ snapped Lady Beatrice.

He smiled at her lazily. ‘None that take precedence over tea with Miss Pym.’

Hannah watched the couple covertly all the while she was telling them about the veiled Mrs Cambridge who had accosted her at the pastry cook’s. Lady Beatrice handed Lord Alistair a plate of cakes. His hand inadvertently brushed against her own and Lady Beatrice’s own hand shook.

‘There is no doubt,’ said Lord Alistair when Hannah had finished talking, ‘that Handford has people watching you. You must leave Brighton as soon as possible.’

‘He might pursue us,’ said Hannah anxiously.

‘In that case, may I offer you my escort?’

‘Gladly,’ said Hannah quickly, before Lady Beatrice could speak.

‘In that case, I would suggest we leave tomorrow evening, at, say, six o’clock.’

‘Splendid!’ Hannah clapped her hands.

Lady Beatrice said in a voice that sounded pettish
to her own ears, ‘But I have much to arrange. The servants …’

‘The servants, the few that are left, can be sent to London in the morning,’ said Hannah eagerly. ‘I am very good at organizing things, Lady Beatrice. Do, I beg of you, let me arrange all.’

Lady Beatrice frowned. She found the very presence of Lord Alistair made her heart ache. He held her in contempt. He had not considered her
important
enough to put before his other calls and yet he had stayed for Miss Pym. But to protest would mean explaining why, and that she could not possibly do.

And so it was all settled. Lord Alistair would call for them in his travelling carriage at six o’clock the following evening.

After he had left and Hannah had gone off to arrange the servants’ affairs, Lady Beatrice rested her head on her hand and for the first time thought bleakly of the future. She would be trapped for life in some quaint English village with the domineering Miss Pym. Miss Pym would no doubt be supremely happy, but what of herself?

7

Hannah, her arrangements completed, told Benjamin that evening that she wished to take the air and he was to accompany her. Benjamin looked startled, for the rain was rattling against the shutters and a gale howled mournfully in from the sea.

‘The almanac says the weather is going to be fine tomorrow, modom,’ said Benjamin in injured tones. ‘Why not wait until then?’

‘When will you ever learn to obey an order?’ shouted Hannah, and Lady Beatrice looked up from the book she was reading in surprise.

Benjamin, injured, stalked off like an offended cat
to get his coat and hat. Hannah, already dressed to go out, made for the door. ‘I have arranged everything for your removal to London,’ said Hannah, turning on the threshold. ‘The servants will go ahead first thing in the morning, Lady Beatrice.’

‘Thank you,’ said Lady Beatrice in a tired voice. ‘You are indefatigable, Miss Pym.’

‘I have great energy,’ said Hannah. ‘Do not worry. We shall not be bored in our little village, whichever one we choose. I have great schemes. It has always been my desire to help Fallen Women, and then there are clothes to be made for the poor, and oh, so many things.’ She walked out and left Lady Beatrice to her gloomy thoughts.

It was all very well to want to atone for a rather selfish and dissolute past, thought Lady Beatrice miserably, but somehow the thought of doing good works under the eagle eye of Hannah Pym was very lowering. She could picture herself stitching away busily by
candlelight
in some poky cottage, occasionally reviving the tedium of the long winter evenings by reading in the social columns how London’s most eligible bachelor, Lord Alistair Munro, was charming society during the Little Season. She would have been amazed had she but known that Hannah had set out deliberately to give her a dreary picture of their life together. It was not the idea of good works that was so depressing, thought Lady Beatrice, but the idea of being bossed around for the rest of her life by Miss Hannah Pym.

Meanwhile, Hannah strode along the beach, her boots crunching in the shingle, followed by Benjamin.
A particularly large wave washed over Benjamin’s feet and he cursed and jumped back.

‘Tide’s coming in,’ he shouted against the wind.

‘We must find somewhere where we can talk,’ said Hannah, turning to face him. ‘There is much to be planned.’

‘I know a nice warm tavern,’ said Benjamin hopefully. ‘You’ll catch your death being out on a night like this.’

The tavern to which Benjamin led Hannah was a modest one. The coffee room served as the
dining-room
, but dinner had been served long ago and it was empty save for a prim gentleman in the corner smoking a long clay pipe and reading the newspapers.

‘You may sit down with me, Benjamin,’ said Hannah. Benjamin gratefully sank down in a chair next to her. Hannah ordered ratafia for herself and beer for Benjamin and then regarded him
thoughtfully
.

‘I do not want to spend the rest of my life with Lady Beatrice,’ she said. ‘I feel she would become bossy and domineering.’

Benjamin put a hand up to his mouth to hide a smile.

‘I feel that she may be enamoured of Lord Alistair Munro.’

‘Don’t think they care for each other meself,’ said Benjamin, burying his nose in his tankard.

‘I think you are wrong,’ said Hannah. ‘Besides, he was naked in her bathing box.’ Hannah coloured faintly. ‘It is only fitting they should wed. He is, I
believe, immensely rich. ’Twould be all that is suitable, and even her greedy parents would come round.’

‘Mayhap something will happen on the road to London,’ said Benjamin comfortably. ‘I went around to talk to Lord Alistair’s coachman. Bang-up rig, he’s got. Fifteen-mile-an-hour nags and the best-sprung travelling carriage you ever did see. Better’n a nasty smelly old stage anydays. Brought down from
London
a few days ago.’

‘I do not think we shall be travelling with Lord Alistair.’

‘But you said …’

‘I didn’t say anything, Benjamin. I think we should go quietly ourselves on the stage. There is one that leaves Brighton at six.’

‘But, modom!’ wailed Benjamin in protest.

‘Listen! Propinquity is the answer. Without us, they will be forced to travel together, to talk to each other, to get to know each other better.’

‘Could not they do that in London?’ protested Benjamin, who still hoped to be able to journey in Lord Alistair’s splendid travelling carriage.

‘No, no. They will go their separate ways. Cast off by her parents and living with me will put Lady Beatrice effectively out of society and she will have no chance to see him again. We must hope and pray. Benjamin. Let us go to the booking-office now.’

A particularly vicious gust of wind drove rain against the windows of the coffee room. Benjamin shivered. ‘I’ll go first thing in the morning, modom.’

‘Very well.’ Hannah looked reluctant. ‘Have your things packed and ready. Lady Beatrice does not rise until late. We will take our baggage to the Ship and will simply leave the house during the afternoon and then have a letter delivered to Lady Beatrice at ten minutes to six, saying she must go ahead without us.’

They finished their drinks and walked back together through the windy rain-swept streets under the swinging oil lamps.

Mrs Cambridge was on a diet. Although plumpness was in fashion, fat was not, and she had suddenly begun to grow rounder and rounder. Layers of fat had crept up her back, where it hung in ugly creases, and her diamond choker would need to be altered to fit her neck. Mrs Cambridge sighed. She would never have believed that her very neck could put on weight.

She rose very early, ate a beefsteak and washed it down with a pint of old port and set out to take her morning’s constitutional along the beach. She did not take a maid or a footman, for such villains as Brighton possessed were still sleeping off the dissipations of the night and the streets were empty.

Mrs Cambridge was approaching the Ship Inn and telling herself that a plate of shrimps could hardly be counted as
eating
, when she saw the tall figure of Benjamin going towards the coaching booking-office. She waited around a corner until she saw him emerge and then entered the booking-office herself. She asked about fares to various places and then demanded idly, ‘I thought I recognized Miss Pym’s footman. Is she
taking the stage? We are very dear friends and I might be persuaded to go with her.’

The clerk said that the footman had booked tickets on the London stage, which was to depart at six o’clock that very evening.

‘Perhaps I should consult her first,’ said Mrs Cambridge airily and took her leave.

So, thought Mrs Cambridge, Sir Geoffrey will be most interested in this piece of news. For Mrs Cambridge assumed that Lady Beatrice would be travelling with Miss Pym. To celebrate her successful bit of spying, she entered the Ship and ordered those shrimps.

It was much later in the morning when she reached Sir Geoffrey’s, for an obstacle in the shape of a pastry cook’s had loomed in her path and she felt she deserved some cakes after all her exertions. Sir Geoffrey listened to her closely. Mrs Handford said, with an air of relief, ‘She is beyond your reach now, Geoffrey. You cannot descend on her in London and make jealous scenes.’

He rounded on his mother furiously – both mother and son having forgotten the very presence of Letitia Cambridge – and said, ‘She will not reach London.’

‘You were lucky last time,’ said Mrs Handford urgently. ‘This time, Miss Pym will shout for the constable.’

‘She won’t get a chance,’ jeered Sir Geoffrey. ‘High time someone stopped that interfering busybody’s mouth.’

Mrs Cambridge shrank back in her chair. Like most ladies of her class, she was only dimly aware of the
brutish side of the gentlemen she met in
drawing-rooms
or balls. Women, although damned as the inferior sex, benefited in a way by being treated like delicate children. No uncouth words or thoughts were revealed to them, and they were rarely subjected to any shocking lusts, it being tacitly understood that gentlemen who required such diversions took their pleasures outside the home.

She rose to leave. Her stomach felt queasy and her conscience, never much exercised, nonetheless was giving her several painful jabs.

Neither mother nor son appeared aware of her going. Mrs Cambridge stood outside the house, irresolute. She felt she ought to warn Lady Beatrice. But, on the other hand, perhaps she was reading too much into Sir Geoffrey’s remarks about stopping Miss Pym’s mouth.

She trailed off home and ate a light luncheon of soup, grilled sole and potatoes and tartlets, all washed down with a bottle of champagne. She felt a little nap would do her good and clear her brain. She was not to wake until late in the evening, long after the London coach had left, and so was able to persuade herself that fate had taken the matter out of her hands.

Hannah climbed inside the coach at six and Benjamin joined the outside passengers on the roof. The day had turned mellow and fine, turning the cobbles of the twisting streets to pure gold. Sea-gulls wheeled and screamed overhead as the coach rumbled off. The other passengers consisted of a clerk, dressed in a
showy waistcoat and, over it, a velvet coat which was rather short in the sleeve and showed a large expanse of dirty cuff; a fat and fussy woman who kept peering suspiciously at the other passengers and clutching a large wicker basket on her lap; a large and rubicund farmer in creaking new boots and a shirt so cruelly starched it was a wonder it did not creak as well; a thin, cross-looking woman with finicking genteel mannerisms whom Hannah privately damned as a governess or some other upper servant; and a
schoolboy
eating sweets from a sticky bag and gazing morosely all around as if hating the whole pernicious race of adults.

New straw had been thrown on the floor on top of the old straw, which had not been cleaned out. Hannah plucked fretfully at bits of straw clinging to her gown and wondered how Lady Beatrice would fare with Lord Alistair.

Usually Hannah’s journey home to London was spent in dreaming happily of seeing Sir George Clarence again and rehearsing what she would tell him. But now the shadow of the beautiful Lady Beatrice fell over all. Why had she, Hannah Pym, so recklessly promised to spend the rest of her life with Lady Beatrice? Lady Beatrice did not need her. By the time she sold her horses, her carriage, and her jewels, there would be enough to keep her in modest comfort for the rest of her life.

And why, thought Hannah, had she herself decided to move next year, when her travels were over, to some poky cottage in some rustic village? Surely only
a pastoral poet could find comfort in antique Tudor houses with dry rot in the beams and rising damp in the walls. When Hannah had thought of that cottage before, in her mind it had always been summer, with flowers blooming in the garden, roses tumbling over the door, and pleasant bucolic villagers stopping at the garden gate to pass the time of day. Now she thought of a cottage in the winter: of going to bed at six to spare candles, of being snowed up, of being cold and lonely. Her new odd station in life would mean that she would be above the majority of the villagers socially but below the gentry, rather in the position of a governess who belonged to neither the one class nor the other. She and Lady Beatrice would probably murder each other out of sheer boredom. She could not expect a young man like Benjamin to stay away from the city for long.

Her curiosity in her fellow passengers was dimmed because of worries about her own future. Nor did she look for adventures. The only adventure Hannah Pym wanted now was to sit beside her best tea-service, dispensing tea to Sir George, but without Lady Beatrice. She tried to think hopefully of the possible result of Lady Beatrice and Lord Alistair travelling together, but could not. Lord Alistair would no doubt opt to drive his cattle himself and Lady Beatrice would travel alone inside the coach. I should have stayed with them, thought Hannah. I could perhaps have engineered some accident or some diversion to throw them together. 

Before the coach had even left Brighton, Lady Beatrice was pacing agitatedly up and down her drawing-room, the letter Hannah had left for her in her hands. Hannah’s message had been brief, almost curt. She liked the Flying Machines and preferred to travel that way. She would call on Lady Beatrice in London and do the best she could to manage that lady’s affairs.

Lady Beatrice realized that she had taken Hannah Pym’s friendship for granted. She wondered now how she could have been so ungrateful. Without Hannah’s strength, she never would have had the courage to defy her parents. Now that Hannah had shown her the road to take, she certainly did not need her. She could live very comfortably in a quiet way from the money she could raise from the sale of her jewels. But the tone of Hannah’s short letter seemed to indicate the spinster might be having second thoughts about sharing her life with her, and that came as a rude shock.