Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

She had almost despaired of seeing her friends again before the move to London. On Christmas day she had woken up with a terrible headache, but in spite of feeling distinctly feverish, she had managed to struggle downstairs for long enough to distribute the Christmas presents that had been so dearly bought, before being packed back off to bed by her cousins. She had lain there for a week, snuffling, sneezing and coughing, bombarded with honey and lemon drinks, bowls of nourishing gruel, and smothering affection. She found herself actually feeling worse than she would have done if she’d just been allowed to fight her way through it and carry on as normal. But it was a good excuse to escape from the hostile glares of her brother and the admonishing lectures that Lord Edward was clearly eager to deliver as to how young women of quality should behave.

She had finally emerged from the sanctuary of her bedroom, slightly red-nosed and snuffly, but otherwise fully recovered, only to have her pleas to be allowed to visit her servants received with horror. Isabella had pointed out that Beth was in very delicate health, and that if she wished to be able to travel to London next week, she needed to rest. When Beth had pointed out that she had had a cold, not pneumonia, and that she normally found fresh air and a brisk walk to be a great aid to recuperation, Lord Edward had delivered a resounding monologue on the delicate constitution of the female of the species, and the dangers of being exposed to the chill air and the lower orders whilst in a weakened state, from whom she would no doubt catch another, more fatal infection. In spite of the fact that this lecture was delivered in the decidedly frigid and draughty drawing-room, in the presence of three footmen and a maidservant who was tending to the fire, Beth did not point out the illogical nature of his arguments, knowing how precarious her position in the household was at the moment.

And then Sir Anthony had called, having now returned from his small business venture in York, and Isabella had mentioned Beth’s dangerous and foolish wish. He had taken one look at the bitterly disappointed expression on the young woman’s face and had swept into action. He had brushed aside the sisters’ protestations with such a show of gallantry and flattery that before she knew it Isabella was waving them off quite light-heartedly from the door.

“Are you warm enough, Miss Cunningham?” Sir Anthony now asked, regarding her flushed face.

“Yes, thank you. In fact I am a little too warm, to be honest. If I may just remove this blanket...”

“Oh no, my dear lady, that would never do!” he exclaimed. “Whatever will your cousins think of me if I allow you to become chilled? I would never forgive myself if you were to fall ill again.”

“I assure you sir, I am not the fragile flower that everyone seems to believe I am. Why, only last year I...” she had been about to tell him that she had accompanied John one overcast autumn day to the market in the village to sell some of their surplus eggs and butter, and the two of them, both full of a head cold, had laid bets as to who could go the longest without sneezing. She had come to no harm from her day spent standing in the cool fresh air, apart from being sixpence poorer due to losing the wager.

“You were saying?” Sir Anthony asked, after a few moments of silence.

“Nothing,” she replied. She doubted that her family would appreciate her telling this gossipy man that she fraternised with the servants and held sneezing competitions. “I am...not used to such delicate treatment, that is all.”

“Well, no, clearly not,” he said. “Charlotte told me about your escapade in Manchester on Christmas Eve. Quite remarkable.”

Beth was surprised. She had thought the family would want to keep her hoydenish exploit quiet.

“What did she tell you exactly?” she asked suspiciously.

“Oh, merely that you had risked walking the great distance into town for the altruistic purpose of buying Christmas presents for your family at the Market Place, and then somehow managed to get lost, arriving home in the middle of the night in an extremely fatigued and distressed state, whilst in the meantime half the men in the county were out frantically searching for your mangled remains.”

Beth’s lips compressed into a tight line. Trust Charlotte to make such a dramatic story out of it. What she would have made of the truth, Beth shuddered to think.

“And what did poor dear Frederick have to say on the matter, may I ask?” she enquired innocently.

Sir Anthony let out a whoop of mirth.

“Innumerable things about the dangers of night air, walking, highwaymen and ravishers...I must say, I think it most commendable that you would put your precious life at risk in order to purchase gifts for your friends. Far from being a fragile flower, you seem to be quite the Amazon, my dear.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” she said, exasperated. “I assure you, I only did what hundreds of maidservants do every day. I had intended to leave Manchester during the daylight hours, but I lost my way. Admittedly I was a little late, but I hardly consider seven o’ clock the middle of the night! I’m sorry,” she added, realising that she had almost shouted the last words.

“No need to apologise, my dear,” he replied, unperturbed. “But surely you must have felt a little apprehensive, being in the town and then walking home alone in the dark? Why, I confess, in your position even I, a man, would have been absolutely prostrate with trepidation!”

“Yes, I was frightened,” she said, remembering the paralysing terror she had felt when the Scot with the scarred hand had produced the dirk from his cloak, “but I also felt more alive than I have since I can remember.” She stopped, not having intended to say the last sentence out loud. But it was true, she realised suddenly.

“Another thing that I find intriguing,” he continued conversationally, seemingly having paid no attention to her last comment, “is how you could possibly have lost your way. After all, the road from Ardwick Green leads directly to the Market Place. It commences to get dark at four-thirty at this time of year. I would have thought it extremely difficult for anyone to lose their way on a straight road for upwards of two hours, let alone a young lady who has lived her whole life in the area, and must surely be familiar with the route.”

She looked at him as though he had just turned from a grass snake into a cobra.

“Have you said this to my cousins?” she asked warily.

He held his hands up in a pacific gesture.

“Of course not,” he protested. “I am well acquainted with Lord Edward. I am in no doubt that you will have suffered enough from his moralising lectures, without me voicing my speculations and adding to your tribulation. No, no, I am the soul of discretion, I do assure you.”

“And just what are your speculations, Sir Anthony?” she asked.

“Well...you are a most attractive young lady. I thought perhaps you had arranged to meet a young gentleman there, for...ah... romantic purposes, and had forgotten how swiftly time flies when one is in thrall to Venus.”

She stared at him. His eyes were still innocent, full of sympathy and understanding for a warm-blooded young lady, but she could sense the acuity behind the guileless expression. He was on full alert.

“Stop the coach,” she said, throwing off the blanket.

“My dear, my dear, please, do not distress yourself!” he cried.

“I am not distressed, Sir Anthony, I am angry,” she replied hotly. “I went for a walk in Manchester and became lost in the back streets. It was, as I said, a disturbing experience.” That was certainly true. “How dare you suggest that I would engage in secret liaisons with members of the opposite sex? What do you take me for? Now stop the coach at once.”

The carriage rattled on.

“Please, please, accept my most effusive apology,” Sir Anthony wailed, sounding genuinely distraught. “I see I have been terribly mistaken. But I did not mean to suggest you had engaged in any improper behaviour. Why, in London the ladies indulge in flirtations all the time. It is a most innocent pastime.”

“If that is the way the ladies in London behave, then I begin to feel I should remain at home after all. I have been accused of many things in my time, sir, but lewd behaviour has never been one of them. If the London ladies choose to behave indecently, that is up to them, but I will certainly not be joining them.” Even to her own ears she sounded absurdly puritanical, but she had, at all costs, to stop him from repeating his suspicions to the Cunninghams. She had no intention of telling anyone, least of all him, what she had been up to for the missing three hours.

She was grateful that he did not ask her what she
had
been accused of. Instead an awkward silence descended on the coach. If he expected her to break it he would have a long wait, she thought. But he seemed not to notice the strained atmosphere, and relaxed back in his seat as though he intended to take a nap. After a few moments though, he sat up and looked out of the window. They were approaching the outskirts of Didsbury. He curved his red lips into an ingratiating smile

“My dear Miss Cunningham, we are almost there, and I would not for the world spoil your much anticipated visit with your friends by having you meet them in a bad mood. Do accept my apologies, I beg you. I swear on my life,” he placed his hand on his heart in a dramatic gesture, “that I will never utter one word against you to any member of your family.”

In spite of his theatricality, his tone sounded absolutely genuine, and she gave in.

“Very well, I accept your apology,” she said.

He uttered a great sigh of contentment, just as the coach halted in the driveway.

“Thank you. You do me the greatest honour. I will not forget it.”

She could not wait to be away from him and his ridiculously overblown declarations. He leapt down lightly from the coach and reached up to assist first Beth then Grace down the steps. From the corner of her eye Beth saw Graeme in the distance. He was digging the vegetable patch over, but as they emerged from the coach he planted his spade in the soil and leaned on the handle, eyeing the purple velvet clad phenomenon with disbelief.

Sir Anthony waved merrily in the direction of the gardener.

“There, that will be one of your friends,” he trilled, oblivious to Graeme’s lack of response.

“I will show you to the parlour, Sir Anthony,” Beth said politely, her voice still a little cool. “I am sure Jane can rustle up some refreshments for you.”

“No, no,” he said, carefully arranging the delicate white lace at his wrists, putting his hands together to make sure that exactly four inches of frothy material was protruding from each sleeve. “I would not dream of inconveniencing your friends. I shall go for a short drive, and return in two hours. Is that enough time?”

Gratified by his considerate gesture and that he persisted in calling them her friends, rather than ‘the lower orders’ or ‘the domestics’ as Edward would have done, she softened towards him a little.

“Two hours will be fine, thank you,” she said, aware of how quickly that time would pass.

“Let us say three hours, then,” he replied, climbing back up into the coach. “Enjoy yourself, my dear.”

* * *

“Is that purple popinjay the sort of thing your brother’ll be expecting you to marry, then?” Graeme said as the two women arrived within hearing distance of where he was standing, his brows drawn low into a frown.

Beth had known better than to expect a warm and friendly greeting from the gardener.

“If he does, then he’ll be sadly disappointed,” Beth replied as they made their way to the kitchen.

There she did receive a warm and friendly greeting, and was soon ensconced at the table while Jane bustled about preparing coffee and food, and Ben ran off to find Thomas. Once everyone had assembled Beth handed out all the presents, apologising for not having brought them earlier.

“When I’m in London,” she said, “I’ll write to you regularly. I’ll try to post my letters myself. But if I can’t, I’ll write ‘Dear staff,’ instead of ‘Dear friends’, so that you’ll know whether I’m being completely honest or not. I don’t trust Richard not to read my letters before they’re posted.”

“I’ll be able to post your letters for you, if you’re worried,” Grace said.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Beth said. “I don’t think you should come to London, Grace.” The slight flicker of relief in the maid’s face before she opened her mouth to protest told Beth that she had made the right decision. “I’m very happy with you, you know that. And I’ll miss you terribly. But you belong here. I have no right to take you away from your family or your friends.”

“But what will you do?” Grace cried. “You can’t do without a lady’s maid.”

“I don’t know. I will have to look for someone else.”

“But I can’t leave you all alone!”

“I won’t be alone. My cousins are not so bad,” she assured them all. “I’ll feel a lot better if you’re living happily here, Grace, than knowing you’re miserable in London with me.” She forced a smile onto her face. At all costs she could not let Grace suspect how lonely she felt at the thought of facing her new life without a single true friend by her side.

“I can’t deny we could do with the extra help,” Jane said. “Since Sarah left it’s not been easy.”

“No, but Thomas is becoming a dab hand with a feather duster,” Graeme observed.

Thomas glared at him.

“We’ve had to share Sarah’s duties out between us,” Jane pointed out. “Graeme’s already doing John’s work, and Mary and I are doing Martha’s job...”

“So that leaves me to clean and polish,” Thomas said, embarrassed.

“Do you wear one of Grace’s lace aprons to keep your clothes clean?” Beth asked innocently.

“No, I do not!” Thomas snorted.

“I wish I’d known before. I’d have bought you ‘The Housewife’s Companion’ for Christmas instead of a book about fishing,” Beth said.

“Shall I go and make your bed up, Grace?” Thomas asked.

Grace looked shocked. “Oh no,” she said. “I’ll stay with Beth until she leaves for London.”

“She’ll not be leaving this kitchen if she carries on making comments like that,” Thomas said, picking up the bread knife and eyeing it speculatively. For a moment, in place of Thomas’s slender unblemished hand Beth saw a scarred one, and shuddered slightly.