Plain Jane (11 page)

Joseph had been out on an errand. He had been sent by Mrs Hart to buy pink ribbons to trim a gown – a job that Joseph considered beneath his dignity. He mutinously decided to take a stroll in the Green Park, for the day was fine and he was reluctant to return to Number 67 and spend the rest of the day fetching and carrying.

He saw three ruffians bending over something and shied nervously away. Joseph was frightened of the lower orders, who often delighted in tormenting liveried footmen.

Then he heard a plaintive miaow. Some horrible fascination drove him forward to have a look. One of them held a cat pinned to the ground. It was one of the largest cats Joseph had ever seen, with a brown-and-gold-striped coat. It had golden eyes, beautiful eyes, which seemed to look straight to Joseph for help. Another ruffian took out his penknife. ‘Let’s poke the moggie’s eyes out,’ he said.

‘Yus,’ agreed his friends gleefully.

Somewhere right down inside Joseph’s selfish, sensitive, cringing character, a voice said, ‘No, you don’t,’ and, to his horror, he realized the voice had issued from his own lips, not in a mumble, but in loud, clear tones.

The ruffian who was holding the knife straightened up. ‘Wot did you say?’ he demanded.

Joseph opened his mouth to say, ‘Nothing,’ and to let his shaking legs carry him away, but his legs would not move and his voice said loudly, ‘Leave the cet alone. Thet cet belongs o’ me.’

The ruffians started mincing up and down, their hands on their hips, imitating Joseph’s affected voice. They had let the cat go.

‘Run,’ pleaded Joseph silently to the cat. ‘Run away and I will run with you.’

But the cat stayed, crouched against the ground. The leader of the ruffians, he who had held down the cat, turned and put his thumb to his nose and waggled his fingers at Joseph.

‘Miaow,’ went the cat.

Joseph had never accepted a challenge before. Never. The last time he had been in a fight had been with Luke, the Gharterises’ footman. But Luke had not even asked him if he wanted to fight. He had simply set about him.

Again he waited for his brain to tell his legs and feet to move. Instead his brain told him to take off his black-and-gold coat and lay it carefully on the grass.

‘A mill!’ cried the leader’s two companions. The leader himself spat on his hands and approached Joseph. But the leader winked at his two companions and all three set on Joseph.

For the first few moments, sheer terror combined with mad rage served Joseph well and he sent two of them flying. Neither Rainbird nor MacGregor would have recognized the normally effeminate footman in the Joseph who landed punches with the finesse of Mendoza and the strength of Jackson. But two of them finally managed to seize his arms and swung him round to face the third, who drew back his fist ready to demolish Joseph’s face.

Joseph closed his eyes.

Miraculously the grip on his arms slackened and there were cries of alarm and a female voice screaming, ‘Help! Murder! Get the watch.’

Joseph opened his eyes. Jane Hart was jumping up and down and thumping Joseph’s would-be assailant on the head with her parasol.

‘The Quality. It’s a gentry mort,’ yelled the leader. They took to their heels down the park in the direction of Buckingham House. Past Jane, in full pursuit, thundered Lord Tregarthan. While Jane clutched Joseph, they both saw Lord Tregarthan catch up with the ruffians and Joseph screamed with glee as bodies started to fly.

‘Lord Tregarthan will be hurt,’ said Jane, making to run to him.

‘Not he,’ crowed Joseph. ‘He’s done wiff ’em already.’

They waited while Lord Tregarthan strolled back towards them, ruefully examining a split in his driving glove. He did not seem either ruffled or out of breath.

‘Splendid, my lord,’ said Joseph. ‘Oh, how splendid.’ Then he sat down on the grass and began to cry. Lord Tregarthan looked on in a mixture of amusement and exasperation as Jane, oblivious of the gathering crowd, sank down onto one knee and peered anxiously into Joseph’s tear-soaked face.

‘Are you hurt, dear Joseph?’ she pleaded. ‘Do stop crying and tell me what I can do. Oh, here’s a cat. Shooo!’

‘No,’ said Joseph. ‘’S my cat.’

He scrubbed his eyes with his shirt sleeve and leaned down and stroked the cat. It rubbed itself against his knee and purred.

‘The
kitchen
cat, Joseph?’ asked Jane.

‘Yes, yes,’ gabbled Joseph. ‘Kitchen cat. Champion will rats, ’e is. Take ’im ’ome.’ He rose to his feet, gathering the great brown-and-gold cat into his arms as he did so. It lay in his arms and regarded Jane with an insolent golden stare.

‘Now, young fellow,’ said Lord Tregarthan severely. ‘An explanation, if you please. My curricle is blocking the traffic in Piccadilly right at this moment and Miss Jane is distressed.’ He raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the circle of people about them. ‘If the vulgarly curious would please leave, unless anyone likes a taste of my fists, I might be able to hear you.’

Nervously, the crowd began to edge away. Still rattled by the occasional dry sob, Joseph told his tale, omitting, however, to say he had never seen the cat before.

‘Highly commendable,’ said Lord Tregarthan dryly. ‘Take that animal away. And do not forget your coat.’

Jane handed Joseph his coat and, still clutching the cat, he went off, carrying his coat over one arm.

‘What very odd servants you have, to be sure,’ said the beau. ‘Come, Miss Jane, and I will take you home.’

After he had returned Jane to her mother with smooth apologies for having kept her so late, he begged permission to call on Mr Hart in the morning and took his leave.

It was only as he was driving along Curzon Street that a sudden horrible thought struck Lord Tregarthan. At the same time, he heard himself being hailed from the pavement and saw his friend, Mr Nevill, who sprang lightly up beside him. ‘Why so glum?’ he asked.

‘Tell me, Peter,’ said Lord Tregarthan in a neutral sort of voice, ‘if you told a young lady you intended to call on her papa on the morrow, what would she think?’

‘Why – that you had marriage in mind.’

The beau drove on in silence.

‘I say,’ said Mr Nevill, ‘never tell me you’ve asked leave to pay your addresses to the Hart chit!’

‘No. I desired to see Captain Hart with a view to discussing a purely masculine matter.’

‘Which is?’

‘Entirely my affair. If anything comes of it, I will let you know. However, I fear I may have given both Jane and Mrs Hart the wrong impression.’

‘Did you make love to the girl?’

‘No, of course not. She is much too young.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘But I tell you, Peter, there is something about that little waif that makes me behave in the oddest fashion. She did not want to go to the park, but requested a drive about London. Then, when we were on Westminster Bridge, the wretched Cully challenged me to a race from Streatham to Croydon, and before I knew what I was about, there I was, enjoying myself immensely, going like the devil, with Jane Hart cheering me on.’

‘Did she?’ Mr Nevill looked at his large friend in awe. ‘A Trojan of a girl.’

‘Not only that,’ said the beau, ‘she then involved me in a fight in the Green Park because her footman was under attack.’

‘You know, you had better watch,’ said Mr Nevill. ‘I have never known you behave in such an unconventional manner. Are you sure there is not a certain something about Jane Hart which . . . ?’

‘Do look,’ interrupted Lord Tregarthan. ‘Isn’t that fellow a veritable quiz? His cravat is so high, he has to stare at the sky as he walks along.’

Mr Nevill began to laugh and the subject of Jane Hart’s attractions was soon forgotten.

Although Lord Tregarthan was quite sure Jane herself would not expect a proposal of marriage, her mother was another matter. He decided to send a note round that very evening to Mrs Hart explaining that the matter he wished to discuss with Mr Hart was one of business. He called his butler and handed him the note, his butler handed it to the first footman, who handed it to the second footman, Abraham, and Abraham set off in the direction of Clarges Street.

He was a young man who had but lately joined Lord Tregarthan’s establishment. He was tall and good-looking but still naive and countrified and rather overpowered by the
tonnish
ways of the London servants.

He met Rainbird, who was standing on the steps of Number 67 taking the air. Perhaps if he had stated his business immediately the note would have been delivered, but, feeling at ease under Rainbird’s benign look, he said he was from Lord Tregarthan’s household and that he had but lately come to town. One thing led to another and soon Abraham was confiding his fears of grand society and Rainbird was giving him various tips as to how to go on.

Then there came the sounds of a noisy altercation from the kitchen below, and Rainbird invited the young footman down the area steps, saying he would settle the matter in a trice. The cause of all the row turned out to be Joseph’s cat. MacGregor was threatening to behead it, Jenny and Alice were screaming it had a nasty look and, as sure as eggs were eggs, the animal had fleas, Joseph was clutching the cat to his bosom, Mrs Middleton was bleating in dismay, and Dave was joyfully taking one side and then the other. Lizzie was standing a little away from the argument, wondering what best she could do to aid Joseph.

The noisy freedom and interchange of views amazed Abraham, who was used to the stiff formality of Lord Tregarthan’s servants’ hall. He thought Alice was the most beautiful maidservant he had ever seen and if she did not want the cat then the cat should go. Abraham cheerfully joined in the argument.

Lizzie quietly fetched a saucer of milk and some scraps of beef. She gently took the cat away from Joseph and carried it to a corner of the kitchen, crouching protectively down beside it while it fed. Lizzie thought it was a strange-looking cat, more like a wild animal than a pet, but if Joseph loved it, then she would love it too.

Soon the bells began to ring. Mrs Hart, amazed and bewildered and overjoyed by Lord Tregarthan’s request, had listened to Jane’s tale of how the beau had suggested she patronise Leonie and had gone to see that person immediately, dragging Jane, Euphemia, and Felice along with her.

Now she was back, and, not finding Rainbird on hand to open the door or Joseph to carry in parcels, she was ringing the bells in the front and back parlours, striding from one room to the other, jerking the bell cords so hard that the bells up on the kitchen wall were fairly jumping on their wires. The cat was forgotten as the servants sprang to their posts.

Abraham cheerfully said goodbye and promised to call again. He walked back through the dusk, congratulating himself on having found new friends. London did not seem such a hostile and foreign place any longer. It was only when he reached his own servants’ hall and was asked sharply whether he had delivered the note that he realized it was still in the pocket of his tails. Fear of losing his employ made him say, ‘Yes.’ He would find some way of slipping out later and delivering it.

But he was put to clean the silver, then he had to trim the lamps, then he had to carry coal, for the evening had turned chilly, then my lord arrived home for a late supper and he had to scramble into his best livery and powder his hair and take up his stance in the dining room.

After all that, the house was locked up for the night and all hope of taking the note round to Clarges Street had gone.

I have heard a traveller from the wilds of America say that he looked upon the Red Indian and the English gentleman as closely akin, citing the passion for sport, the aloofness and the suppression of the emotions in each.

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
,
RODNEY STONE

Euphemia was every bit as jealous as Jane had ever wanted her to be, and Jane found herself not enjoying it one whit.

The elder sister made a point of visiting Jane in her bedchamber before she went to sleep to pour into her unwilling ears all the rakish exploits of Beau Tregarthan that Euphemia had managed to pick up from the Marquess of Berry. The marquess had failed to tell Euphemia that the beau had recently returned from the wars and so Jane was left with the picture of a Corinthian who pursued brutal sports as enthusiastically as he pursued every high flyer in Town.