Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (18 page)

Richard did, and Beth had only just got into bed when the door opened. She knew who it was immediately; he was the only person in the household who would be so rude as to enter her chamber without knocking. She cursed the fact that she had not locked the door.

“How could you do it?” Richard said without preamble. She did not pretend that she had no idea what he was talking about.

“The man disgusts me,” she said. “He is an empty-headed, tactless fool.”

“That empty-headed fool is a close acquaintance not only of the king and the prince of Wales, but also of his second son the Duke of Cumberland, and of Sir John Cope, all of them men who at a word could promote me to the stars if they wished. And you dared to insult the man? Have you forgotten your promise?”

“I remember exactly what I promised, Richard. I did
not
promise you that I would creep and toady to every overdressed nincompoop who was presented to me. He didn’t even notice what I did, by the way. For your part, you promised that you would leave me alone and not enter my bedchamber ever again. Close the door on your way out.”

She lay down and turned over on to her side, pulling the bedclothes up around her in a gesture of dismissal. She was aware of his every breath as he stood there, undecided. If he so much as touched her she would scream the house down, she decided. She had no knife under her pillow this time, but Charlotte’s and Isabella’s rooms were both within earshot.

After what seemed an interminable length of time, she heard his footsteps cross the room and the door close quietly. She made sure it was firmly bolted before she went to sleep.

* * *

20
^th
December 1742

Dearest friends
,

I received your letter today. It is so good to hear news from home, and I am determined to come to see you all before we leave for London at the beginning of January. I had hoped to come before Christmas, although that looks increasingly unlikely.

I am sorry there has been no news of either John or Martha. I am starting to think they must have left the area altogether, although I do worry about them, especially Martha, with her special circumstances.

Thank you for sending the newspaper article about the Anglo-Prussian treaty. I am glad that Richard forgot to cancel the papers when he left, and of course will not be reminding him of it. I do not think any good will come of concluding a treaty with Frederick of Prussia. After all, Britain is supposed to be supporting Austria, and Prussia is her main enemy! But the treaty will help to ensure the safety of Hanover, which is of course King George’s main priority. It will be wonderful to discuss this with you when I call.

I have really tried to behave myself, and apart from a small lapse at the dinner table recently, as I told you in my last letter, I have been a model of propriety. It is driving me mad, and I must get out of the house soon. It seems that noble ladies are in danger of expiring at the slightest breeze, drop of rain, or snowflake. I can only assume that it is due to my mother’s hardy Highland blood that I did not die the day I decided to find out if I could breathe underwater like a fish and fell in the pond. I think I was five at the time. Graeme will no doubt remember, as he dragged me out. It would have been the death of my cousins. Not that they would ever think to try such an experiment; if Edward told them they could breathe underwater, well then of course they would be able to. I have been thinking a lot about the past recently, and about how happy I was. I am not exactly unhappy now, but so bored and restrained. In some ways I am looking forward to going to London; at least I will meet some new people there.

I try to listen more attentively to my cousins now, as I have just spent the most excruciating time ‘learning’ how to play quadrille. I did not have the heart to admit that I had not been listening when Clarissa asked me if I played, and so have been perfecting the art of deceit instead, which I am sure I will need in London. I do not think the kind ladies suspected that I can in fact play cards very well. Sir Anthony Peters, who has now graced us several times with his flowery presence, insisted on sitting behind me, so that he could give me advice as to the proper cards to play. I do not think he was so easily fooled as the good ladies, as he commented dryly that I seemed to be learning the game remarkably quickly, although in fact I was too overcome by his presence to concentrate on my cards; his cologne is so strong it’s quite nauseating, and when he was sitting in such close proximity during my first game, it was the most I could do not to be sick, or flee the room in order to get a breath of unperfumed air.

I wish you could see him. He has worn a different outfit for every visit, each one more outlandish than the last. Today’s was of cerise velvet, richly embroidered with gold. He must be immensely rich. His conversation is amusing at times, although he is a true supporter of Hanover, is devoted to gossip, and has no sense of discretion at all. He is certainly well connected, though, and it is fun to watch Richard trying to hide his disgust of the man in order to cultivate his friendship. However, we will not see him now for at least a week, as he assures us he has business of a most tedious but pressing nature, which calls him away. I think it will take that amount of time to rid the house of his perfume, although I must admit the time passes more quickly when he is present.

I do miss you all so dreadfully, but be assured; Richard cannot hurt me here, and whilst Edward is pompous and domineering, he is harmless enough.

With all my love, until I see you soon,

                                                           Beth.

Chapter Six

Beth lay prone in bed, the covers drawn up around her. Her forehead was covered with a cool damp cloth. The shutters had been opened but the heavy cream velvet curtains were still drawn, filtering only a dim light into the room. On the table at the side of the bed stood a pot of pain-relieving willow-bark tea and a plate of bread, cheese and fruit, in case the patient should become hungry later.

Grace hovered uncertainly by the side of the bed. She was so unused to seeing her mistress unwell that she felt quite distressed. She had never known her to have such a bad headache before, and was worried that it might presage a fever.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

“No thank you,” came the weak voice from the bed. “I’m sure I will feel better if I’m left alone for a while.”

“Very well. I will come to see how you are in an hour or so.”

“No, you don’t need to do that, Grace. I think I will probably sleep until this afternoon, and would rather not be disturbed.”

“Oh, I will be very quiet. But I would not dream of leaving you alone all day. What if you were to get worse?” Grace said, her voice full of concern.

Beth discarded the wet cloth impatiently and sat up.

“Grace,” she said. “I assure you, I will not need your attentions until...say, three o’ clock this afternoon. I do not wish to be disturbed until then.” Grace’s mouth fell open at this sudden rallying of her patient. “However,” Beth continued briskly, “if you would care to leave the outside door that leads to the back stairs ajar, I would be most grateful.”

Comprehension dawned, and Grace’s expression of concern changed to apprehension.

“Oh, Beth, what are you going to do?” she said.

“Nothing,” said Beth, lying down again and retrieving the cloth, which had left a dark damp patch on the pink satin cover. She slapped it back onto her head. “If any of my cousins ask you later, you can tell them honestly that I said I had a terrible headache and asked to be left to sleep until three.”

Grace was unerringly loyal. But she was also honest, and Beth did not want to put the girl in the position of having to tell Lord Edward an outright lie, if her plan was discovered.

“I’m sure I’ll be quite recovered by then, and you can come and help me to dress for dinner,” Beth said, in what was meant to be a reassuring manner.

Grace left the room, her face a mask of worry. Isabella, encountering her on the stairs, was most concerned and decided to inspect the patient herself. Beth, already out of bed and reaching for her stays, heard the gentle knock and leapt back under the covers just before Isabella popped her head around the door.

“I do not want to disturb you, Elizabeth, but your maid looked so worried...” she began.

“Really, I will be fine. I have had megrims like these before. If I am left in peace to rest until the afternoon, I am sure I will be recovered. As long as I am undisturbed.”

Hopefully she would be left alone now, she thought. Just to make sure, she locked the door, and then hurriedly dressed in a simple brown woollen dress that she used to wear when she was working in the gardens or stables at home. Donning a pair of stout leather shoes and a cloak, she carefully counted the money her brother had reluctantly given her to buy any small items she might need. Nearly two pounds. She smiled and tucked it carefully into her pocket along with the bedroom key, and her knife in its brown leather sheath. If Grace forgot to leave the back stairs entrance ajar, or someone else closed it, she could probably force the lock with the blade. It was never bolted until the night time, and she intended to be back long before then.

The hoped-for family trip into Manchester had not materialised due to the inclement weather, and Beth was at the end of her tether. She was desperately in need of some freedom. She had hoped that if they all drove into the town together, she would be able to slip off unnoticed for a while. But this would be even better. A whole day of absolute freedom to do whatever she wanted. Bliss!

She parted the curtain and pushed the sash window up, blessing the person who had allocated this bedroom to her. Her window had a small wrought iron balcony outside. It was only decorative; there was no platform outside the window on which to stand and the space between the window and the railings was no more than a foot, but the ironwork butted up against the sturdy drainpipe down which Beth intended to make her escape. She had no fear of heights or falling, only of discovery. The coast was clear, and without considering any further she seized her chance and within a minute or so was sneaking furtively out of the side gate onto the dirt track which led to the main road into Manchester, little more than a mile away. She could already see the distinctive square tower of the collegiate church in the distance. She would be there in about twenty minutes.

As she walked along she blessed her parents for allowing her as a child to indulge her naturally tomboyish instincts, saying nothing when she came home with her clothes grubby and torn after having spent the day climbing trees or rolling down the slope behind the church in a madcap game with the village children. They had been grateful that she was healthy and robust; Beth would have had three younger siblings, but two of them were stillborn, and the third had lived only a few days. Indulged she might have been; spoiled she was not. If her mother and father had taught her the more eccentric skills of knife-throwing, tickling for trout and bareback riding, among others, she had also learnt to sew, to read and write, and various other accomplishments more traditional to a lady of birth. By the age of seven she was proficient enough in needlework to mend her own torn clothes, and was expected to do so.

Her father didn’t hesitate to discipline her either, when necessary. Stealing apples from the farmer’s orchard, dropping spiky chestnuts from a tree on to the heads of unsuspecting passers-by... She smiled as she remembered that her behaviour had been modified more by the knowledge that she had truly disappointed her parents, than by the half-hearted beatings her father had given her.

As she had grown older, she had started to understand that her upbringing was not the norm for a girl of her rank. Her father had tried to tell her of the way a young lady of the nobility was expected to behave, in case she was ever accepted back into the family, but it had seemed like a fantasy to her, unreal.

It was real enough now, she thought gloomily as she approached the town centre, panting slightly as she walked up the steep Market Street towards the Market Place, where she knew there would be plenty of stalls and shops from which she could select presents for her cousins and friends.

Once she reached the market, all her gloom was washed away in the joy of wandering through the stalls, exchanging pleasantries with the stallholders, and haggling over the price of items she was interested in. She saw no one she knew, and it was wonderful to be anonymous, her behaviour unscrutinised for impropriety. She bought a meat pie from a woman on the corner, making her choice from a large basket covered with a cloth to keep the heat in, and ate it in the street like any common person would, wiping her greasy hands on her skirt. With her plain homely clothes and her distinctive hair carefully covered by a scarf, she was mistaken for a maid who had been sent to purchase some trinkets for her mistress, and revelled in the joy of being able to unwind and relax, laugh and joke with good-humoured strangers in festive mood.

The buying of gifts took longer than she expected; by the time she had finished making her purchases, it was already afternoon. She would not have time to walk to Didsbury and back before three o’ clock, and she dared not arrive home any later than that if she wanted her escapade to remain undiscovered. It was Christmas day tomorrow; her presents to the servants would be late arriving, but she was sure she could arrange a trip home at some time in the next few days.

Instead, reluctant to relinquish her freedom and return home earlier than necessary, she decided to stroll down Deansgate, perhaps pay a visit to Mr. Cox if he was in his office. She spent a penny on a handful of hot chestnuts, taking the opportunity to warm her hands at the seller’s brazier while she waited for him to wrap them for her. Then she set off along the wooden-paved road.