Belinda Goes to Bath (9 page)

The Judds, overwhelmed with relief and delight, sang like angels. Far above the Cedar Room, in Miss Wimple’s bedchamber, Belinda heard the music. She could picture the marquess sitting beside Penelope, the perfect couple.

She dropped the book she had been reading in her lap and said to her companion, ‘Did you by any chance, Miss Wimple, take it upon yourself to warn his lordship about my adventure with the footman?’

‘I did tell him,’ said Miss Wimple, ‘but I was overset at the time. Therefore, I sent for him yesterday and swore him to silence. I did my duty.’

Belinda controlled her rage and mortification with an effort. ‘Do you never think to your future, Miss Wimple?’ she asked. ‘In two years’ time, I will reach my majority and become an independent lady of means, a lady of means who will not want to be saddled with a companion who acts like a self-righteous jailer.’

Outraged, Miss Wimple sat up in bed. ‘Wait until I tell your aunt and uncle what you have said.’

‘Tell them,’ said Belinda bitterly. ‘What more can they do to me? Read to yourself, Miss Wimple. In case you have not been paying attention, it is a book of Mr Porteous’s sermons. Perhaps it might improve the low tenor of your mind.’

When Belinda left, Miss Wimple lay thinking uneasily. She enjoyed the power her position as a sort of wardress to Belinda Earle had given her. She had no intention of stooping so low as to ingratiate herself with that young minx. As soon as they reached Bath, she would search around for a suitable post, and to revenge herself further on Belinda, she would do as much damage to that young lady’s reputation as she possibly could. It was an unfair world where a young lady of low morals such as Belinda Earle should be
blessed with a fortune when such as she, of high moral standing, should be forced to work for a living.

The morning dawned fine and sparkling and sunny. A fresh warm wind blew across the countryside and blackbirds were singing from the battlements as the stage-coach passengers made their way to the courtyard. Mrs Judd was bubbling over with high spirits. Not only had her husband been treating her affectionately, even in private, but the marquess had given them a handsome sum in gold to enable them to start on their new career. She planned gown after gown, visions of silks and muslins and cambrics and velvets floating through her happy brain. She did not realize that the bullying had ceased not only because of her husband’s ambitions, but because her own attitude had changed. She no longer crept or cringed or punctuated his every pontification with ‘Yes, dear.’

The marquess was not present. The butler told them his lordship had been called away to attend to an urgent matter on the estates. Heavy of heart, Belinda climbed into the carriage. She looked up at the mullioned windows of the castle houses flashing in the sun, and as she did so one of the windows swung open and Penelope Jordan leaned out.

She saw Belinda looking up and gave a mocking wave and her beautiful lips curled in a slow smile. Belinda stuck out her tongue and then jerked down the carriage blind and sat with her arms folded.

The marquess, on horseback, was on a hill that
looked down on the Bath road and watched the carriages roll out through the lodge-gates, the first carriage bearing Belinda and Miss Pym, the second the Judds, and the third, Miss Wimple. He restrained a sudden impulse to ride down and join the carriages and accompany them to the inn. He was well shot of Belinda Earle. But he could still feel her lips against his own, warm and eager and, yes, he finally had to admit it, totally innocent.

Back at the castle, the Jordans were waiting for him. He sighed. High time he got rid of them as well and returned to his comfortable days of isolation. He would tell them he had to travel somewhere or another and soften the blow by saying they were welcome to stay, sure that once their quarry had flown, they would not do so.

That evening, he was doomed to disappointment. The Jordans were rich and remained rich by guarding every penny apart from what they spent on Penelope’s extravagant gowns and jewels. Sir Henry jovially said they would be only too happy to await Frenton’s return. The marquess parried by saying he might be gone for some considerable time. Lady Henry smiled gently and remarked coyly that their dear Penelope would act as chatelaine in his absence. ‘Good practice, hey?’ said Sir Henry and again gave that false jovial laugh that was beginning to grate on the marquess’s ears.

Now he would have to find somewhere to go. But where? London out of Season was not to his taste.

The Queen Bess was an impressive Elizabethan inn with three lofty storeys forming bay windows supported by brackets and caryatids. Inside, it was panelled in wainscot with carved ceilings adorned with dolphins, cherubim and acorns bordered with wreaths of flowers. The sign over the door was excellently painted, probably because Queen Elizabeth was always generally well treated in both busts and portraits, for such as were executed by unskilful artists were by her own order ‘knocked in pieces and cast into the fire’. A proclamation of 1563 recites that:

Queen Elizabeth was, of course, supposed to have slept there, although Hannah thought that, with a castle so near at hand, it was unlikely she would opt for a bed in a common inn. The room that Belinda shared with Hannah, having refused to share a bedchamber with Miss Wimple, was said to be haunted by the ghost of a grey lady. The landlord said
this was an added attraction. Hannah, suspecting an addition to the bill for the pleasures of sharing a room with a ghost, demanded the price and was surprised and delighted when the landlord told her that the Marquess of Frenton had already paid handsomely for the stage-coach passengers’ food and lodging.

As they hung their clothes away in the wardrobe, Hannah said cheerfully to Belinda that she was sure their one great adventure was all they would have on this journey, the Bath road being famous for its safety and absence of footpads and highwaymen. Belinda’s face fell. Although she did not exactly wish Miss Wimple’s death, she could not help hoping another accident would befall that lady. Coping with Great-Aunt Harriet was something she felt she might be able to do herself were not Miss Wimple around to drop poison into that relative’s ear.

They were to take up another passenger when they resumed their journey, a Methodist minister called Mr Biles, who was residing at the inn. Hannah thought, when they all met up at the dinner-table, that he looked surprisingly like Miss Wimple. He had the same heavy features and the same moralizing manner, and the same weakness for strong drink. Hannah told him of their adventures, to which he replied that God moved in mysterious ways. Hannah described the accident to Miss Wimple. Mr Biles said solemnly that his duty lay with the patient and he would call on her. Hannah enthusiastically agreed, adding she was sure Miss Wimple would find a strong sermon very fortifying, and did Mr Biles have one with him? Mr
Biles replied that he prided himself on giving extempore sermons, to which Hannah retorted, ‘All the better.’ After dinner, she cheerfully led him to Miss Wimple’s bedchamber and shut the door on the couple, considering that a middle-aged spinster and a minister need not worry about the conventions.

‘But,’ mocked a voice in her head, ‘say you yourself were alone with Sir George Clarence in an inn bedchamber …’

Her mind clamped down on the thought. Sir George, brother of her late employer, had befriended her, it was true. But he was far above her. To think of him in any terms warmer than admiration and friendship was folly and impertinence.

She went back downstairs. The Judds and Belinda had moved to the coffee room.

‘I do not like Miss Wimple,’ said Belinda in a low voice, ‘but do you not think Mr Biles too strong a punishment for anyone?’

‘No, I think they will deal together extremely well.’

But when Mr Biles eventually reappeared, Hannah wondered if she had done the right thing. There was a definite reforming gleam in his eye as he surveyed Belinda. Hannah privatedly damned Miss Wimple as a malicious gossip and took herself upstairs to remind that lady that if she told anyone at all about Belinda’s unfortunate experience, she, Hannah Pym, would have no alternative but to report her to her employers.

Not knowing that Hannah had only guessed that she had been talking about Belinda, Miss Wimple thought it was Mr Biles who had told her and felt
mortified, for had she not sworn the minister to secrecy? But Mr Biles called on her before bedtime and protested his innocence with such vehemence that Miss Wimple’s spirits were restored. And then, to add fuel to her malice towards her charge, a letter for her arrived by hand from the castle. It was from Penelope Jordan, who wrote that Belinda had been flirting shamelessly with the marquess and had even written to him arranging an assignation. She begged Miss Wimple to be careful of her charge, saying she had warned Miss Pym about the proposed assignation as she felt poor Miss Wimple was too ill to cope, but it was obvious that Miss Pym had lax morals and had done nothing.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Miss Wimple showed Mr Biles the letter.

After exclaiming in horror at the contents, Mr Biles asked who this Miss Jordan was.

‘She is a young lady of sterling character,’ said Miss Wimple, concealing the fact that, because of her accident, she had not set eyes on her. ‘The housekeeper who was nursing me told me she is to wed the Marquess of Frenton. What am I to do with that wretched girl? First a footman, and now she is wantonly pursuing a marquess who has no intention of marrying her.’

‘I shall speak to her and bring her to recognize the folly of her ways,’ said Mr Biles, who was enjoying all this intrigue immensely. But Miss Wimple thought of Hannah Pym and shuddered. She did not want to lose her comfortable and well-paid position as companion
to Belinda until she had secured another post. ‘It would not serve,’ she said firmly. ‘We both travel to The Bath. May I persuade you to assist me in keeping an eye on the young lady?’

‘It is my duty as a man of the cloth,’ he said sententiously. ‘No man shall come near her when I am nigh.’

‘He was back in her bedchamber again,’ said Hannah as she and Belinda prepared for bed, ‘and I fear she is a gossip. I am perfectly sure she told him about that footman.’

‘She must be stopped!’ said Belinda, aghast.

‘Yes, but how?’ Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed next to Belinda and, worried though she was, studied her feet, of which she was inordinately proud, with some complacency. ‘I fear I shall have to call on your aunt when we reach Bath and explain to her that your companion is ruining your reputation.’

‘I suppose I should not refine on it too much.’ Belinda sighed. ‘It is not as if a Methodist minister is the height of fashion. He will not frequent the same circles as Great-Aunt Harriet.’

‘But the Marquess of Frenton will,’ said Hannah.

Shocked and dismayed, Belinda stared at her. ‘Yes, my dear,’ said Hannah. ‘Now that we are away from the castle, I must tell you that Miss Wimple must have told Frenton about that footman, and in such terms that he thought you open to his advances.’

Belinda hung her head. ‘How
mortifying
. Miss Wimple did tell me. But I was silly enough to think he might have cared for me a little. Who am I, after all, when compared to such as Penelope Jordan?’

‘You are a young lady of heart and feeling,’ said Hannah. ‘It was the marquess who came out of that adventure badly and not you. Now that he knows you to be respectable, for you may be sure I put him straight on that matter, he may readjust his thoughts. The Jordans are dull, and despite lineage and money, very common. If he cares for you at all, he will come and find you. If all he wanted was an easy diversion, then you are much better off without him.’

‘It makes him seem so much less noble,’ said Belinda. ‘I thought he was so far above me. He behaved disgracefully, for even had I lost my honour to that footman, I am still an unmarried young lady of good family and not some tavern wench.’

‘That kind never stops to think when something they want comes across their path.’ Hannah patted Belinda’s hand. ‘I heard a little from the servants. He was left quite poor when his father died and restored the family fortune by intelligence and hard work. But a marquess is a marquess, and money or not, he must have been courted and fêted as soon as he was out of short coats. Any female he wants is his for the taking. Do you still care for him?’

Belinda shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I cannot think clearly. Every time I try to think of him, I can only think of my own wanton behaviour. Passion is a cheat, as you surely know, Miss Pym.’

Hannah looked at Belinda doubtfully. Ladies did not feel passion. Everyone knew that, or rather, everyone except Belinda Earle. She herself had never been swayed by such feelings, even when she was the
lowest of servants. Certainly, she had been smitten by that under-butler, but that had been a shy and tremulous yearning of the spirit for a friend. Men had lusts, women had love, that was the difference. Perhaps Belinda’s ancestors had slipped up somewhere and introduced a vulgar strain into the blood.

‘Was Miss Wimple very angry when you said you would not share a room with her?’ asked Hannah, changing the subject as they both climbed into bed.

‘Not really. I told her that, as an invalid, she would be better in a room by herself. Are not the conventions strange, Miss Pym? For all we know, Miss Wimple may have been indulging in Roman orgies with Mr Biles, and yet it is all right for them to be locked up in a bedchamber together.’

Hannah began to giggle helplessly. ‘Why, what is the matter?’ asked Belinda.

‘I am trying
not
to imagine Miss Wimple indulging in orgies,’ laughed Hannah. ‘Did you mark her head? Her hair has started to grow in, a sort of fuzz all over. She looks like a fledgling vulture.’