The Girl in the Mask (19 page)

‘Of course I will. You’re well?’ he asked courteously.

‘Very well, thank you. Only somewhat hampered with chaperones,’ I said with a wry smile. ‘And you?’

‘Oh yes, very well indeed, I thank you. There is plenty of work for me to do and I like to be busy.’

I smiled at him, pressed his hand and turned away. My aunt was already walking towards me, a frown upon her face. ‘What
do
you think you are doing rushing up to a post office worker in the street and shaking his hand as though he were a gentleman?’ she demanded, dragging me towards Harrison’s. ‘That is forward, hoydenish behaviour, Sophia! Men like Mr … whatever-he-calls-himself, should be invisible to you.’

‘Yes, Aunt,’ I said meekly. Her words made me angry; Mr Allen was in my opinion more of a true gentleman than many we mixed with at Harrison’s. However, I was too pleased with the success of my stratagem to wish to provoke her by arguing.

In the tea room we found a number of people talking earnestly over the noise of the abbey bells. ‘It’s not right, I say,’ insisted an elegantly-dressed lady in a pink damask gown and cream petticoats, ‘to give such a welcome to Sir William Wyndham when he openly declares he’s against our king!’ She fluttered her fan in a way that clearly revealed her perturbation.

‘Many loyal Britons question why the Stuart heir was passed over for such a distant connection, my lady,’ said Captain Mould with a sneer.

‘And a German at that,’ scoffed Mr Wimpole with a flourish of a scented lace handkerchief. ‘The Elector barely speaks English! Send him back to Hanover!’

‘We’ve welcomed him and crowned him,’ cried the lady with the fan. ‘We cannot turn on him now. It would be treason!’

A silence fell. Across the way, the abbey bells continued to peal. My aunt shifted uncomfortably beside me, twisting her reticule in her hands, but remained silent. Captain Mould inhaled snuff and watched the scene unfold with every appearance of pleasure. ‘Fie on you all!’ cried the lady with the fan. She tossed her head angrily. ‘I’m a loyal Englishwoman, true to my crowned king, and won’t stand for it!’

A man was ushered into the rooms, looking flustered and trying to smooth his clothes to look smarter. ‘Lady Carew?’ he asked the lady in pink. ‘You sent for me?’ Lady Carew drew herself up to her full height and addressed him in a clear voice that carried throughout the tea room.

‘You’re in charge of the bells?’ she asked. ‘I understand they’ve been pealing all morning in honour of Sir William Wyndham’s arrival and for the Pretender?’

The man nodded. ‘That’s right, my lady,’ he said nervously. ‘Sir William is a freeman of the city and we wished to honour him. He, in turn, asked us to honour the Stuart heir.’

‘When you have done welcoming and honouring whom you will, I wish you to ring the bells again,’ said Lady Carew. ‘This time announce that the peal is in honour of King George. I will pay you and the crier well for your trouble.’

The man looked deeply uncomfortable. His eyes darted here and there, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd. ‘There’s mixed company at the Bath, my lady,’ said the bell ringer nervously. ‘Some guests may be offended at our ringing the bells for … King George.’

‘Offended?’ cried Lady Carew, her cheeks growing hot with anger. ‘How so? He’s our king!’

I admired her courage, speaking out against so many hostile people, fighting so passionately for what she believed in. I understood little of the heated emotions around me, but I realized for perhaps the first time how high feelings ran over this matter. There were more mutters and someone murmured ‘He’s no king of mine!’

At that moment, a newcomer entered the room and sauntered up to the group. Lady Carew turned to him with relief. ‘You’ll support me, won’t you, Mr Charleton?’

I hadn’t seen Mr Charleton for weeks and had begun to think he might have left the Bath for good. But here he was, resplendent in a fine new coat of pale blue velvet, snow-white lace at his throat and wrists, his wig beautifully powdered and curled, a sword half-hidden in the skirts of his coat. I felt my heart give a bound of pleasure at the sight of him and repressed it sternly.

‘Oh undoubtedly, Lady Carew,’ said Mr Charleton lazily as he walked forward. ‘I make it a point never to disagree with a lady. The more beautiful she is, the more eager I am to partake of her opinions.’

There was some scattered laughter and the tension began to ease. Mr Charleton bowed to Lady Carew with considerable elegance and kissed her hand. ‘What am I agreeing to?’ he asked, looking around him with a charming smile.

‘For the bells to be rung for the king,’ exclaimed Lady Carew, tapping his arm with her fan. Her voice shook a little. ‘The bells should be pealed for His Majesty King George, don’t you agree?’

‘By all means,’ said Mr Charleton promptly. ‘They are rung for everyone else, why not for King George too? Does anyone disagree with the lady? Surely not!’

His tone was light and there was more laughter. The muttering had stopped. People were turning away, talking among themselves.

‘That’s typical of Charleton,’ I heard one man say with a chuckle. ‘Too taken up with the ladies to think about politics.’

I frowned, for I thought myself it was rather the other way around. Mr Charleton’s flirtations were light and insincere, while his interest in politics seemed to run deep. And certainly he’d diffused the anger with his banter. It had been neatly done.

The bell ringer bowed stiffly to Lady Carew and finally accepted the guineas she was holding out to him. ‘We’ll carry out your wishes at once, my lady,’ he said and hurried away. Mr Charleton offered Lady Carew his arm and the two of them strolled outside together. I saw Beau Nash clap Charleton briefly on the shoulder in passing and the two of them exchanged a look. Several people headed for the card tables and my aunt eyed them wistfully.

‘Well, ladies, I do believe the excitement is over,’ said Captain Mould. ‘And really it’s far too hot for arguments. Would either of you care for a walk in the gardens?’

‘I really am finding it rather warm today,’ sighed my aunt, fanning herself. ‘You two go ahead without me. Go
on
, Sophia,’ she said firmly, giving me a little shove when I hesitated. Her eyes strayed back towards the card room.

Most reluctantly, I placed my fingertips on the lizard’s proffered arm and accompanied him down the steps and out into the gardens. I thought he’d talk about the scene in the tea room, but he didn’t. At first he confined his remarks to the fineness of the weather and the splendid views of the surrounding hills. Then he began to pat my hand and look at me, licking his lips in a way that made me long to run away. ‘Is your father returning to the Bath soon?’ Captain Mould asked. ‘I’m looking forward to making his acquaintance.’

‘He’s twice written to delay his return, sir,’ I replied. ‘But I imagine we’ll see him soon.’

‘I intend to ask him for your hand when he returns,’ my unwelcome companion told me, shocking me into silence. ‘You are just the sort of bride to suit me; pleasant enough to look at, docile, of good family.’

I fought a constriction in my throat; a surge of sheer panic. ‘You do not ask whether I would welcome the match,’ I managed to say at last.

Captain Mould raised his eyebrows very slightly. ‘Why would I? It’s your father’s decision, not yours.’

‘These days, sir, I believe it is customary to consult the bride’s inclination as well as her father’s,’ I said in a stifled voice. I was having trouble breathing. The sun beat mercilessly down upon me and I felt trapped and desperate. ‘You’re old enough to be my father and I feel no love for you!’

‘Love! What sentimental nonsense. You’ll learn to love me as much as is necessary. I consider the disparity in our ages a blessing. It will allow me to form you as I wish. And all women need a man to take their decisions.’

It was too monstrous to discuss calmly. He was proposing not a union of two souls, but a complete subjugation. I was struck by a horrifying realization: my father might approve of this entirely. The thought stole my equanimity. I broke away from Captain Mould and fled to the far end of the gardens. Leaning over the wall, I looked down at the muddy Avon, winding its sluggish way towards Bristol and the sea. I was fighting nausea. My fear of my father and my fear of Captain Mould seemed to merge into one and I felt the old terrors threatening to overcome me. My heart was pounding and my hands were as cold as ice despite the hot sun scorching me. ‘Breathe, just breathe,’ I murmured to myself in a jerky, uncontrolled voice. ‘Don’t let them defeat you.’

I’d never been overcome like this in public. I needed to recover myself before anyone noticed. I gripped my hands together and tried to slow my rapid heartbeat. A glance behind me showed that Captain Mould had seated himself upon a bench under a tree and was watching me, one knee crossed over the other, very much at his ease. I was determined not to return to him. But it was ironic: my persistent rudeness had rid me of all possible friends but him. He alone would not be deterred. My plan was in ruins. There was no one I could turn to, who would shield me from the snuff-taking lizard.

My heartbeat had slowed, but my hands and feet were still numb and chilled. I shivered despite the fierce heat. Footsteps approached me and I held myself quite still, dreading to hear Captain Mould’s cold voice right behind me. It was a huge relief to hear quite a different tone: ‘Miss Williams? It
is
you! You will burn out in the sun like this with no parasol!’

‘Mr Charleton,’ I gasped with relief. ‘How glad I am to see you!’ I grasped his arm as I spoke and then was ashamed. Whatever would he think of me? But before I could withdraw my hand, his own hand had closed upon it, holding it fast. ‘Miss Williams, you’re not well!’ he exclaimed.

I assumed he was teasing me and gave a shaky laugh. ‘Because I’m pleased to see you? Yes, I suppose that must seem strange.’

‘Yes, but I wasn’t thinking of that. You’re standing in the hot sun and yet your hand is as cold as ice. You look as though you have seen a ghost.’

‘I have in a way,’ I admitted. ‘Or perhaps a glimpse of the future.’

Mr Charleton looked puzzled, as well he might, and I shook my head. ‘Take no notice of me, please. I do indeed feel ill and should dearly like to go home. Would you be so kind, sir, as to escort me to my aunt?’

At once, Mr Charleton offered me his arm. He led me past Captain Mould, who made no move to stop me, but merely gave me a smug smile. Mr Charleton found me a seat in the tea room and fetched me a dish of tea. ‘Drink this,’ he urged, ‘while I look for your aunt.’

I accepted the tea reluctantly, sure that I could swallow nothing. I was wrong. It made me feel stronger. Mr Charleton was soon at my side again. ‘Your aunt is in the middle of a game of ombre and judging by the stack of bills at her elbow she is winning,’ he told me. ‘Mine is therefore the pleasure of escorting you home.’

‘She always wins,’ I said. ‘This is putting you to a great deal of trouble. I can walk myself.’ It occurred to me that this was my first opportunity to go into the city unsupervised all week. I should make the most of it, no matter how unwell I felt. It was essential I purchased some practical clothing; a night-time expedition was urgently required to relieve today’s shock.

‘Absolutely not,’ said Mr Charleton at once, taking my hand and drawing it through his arm. ‘You are ill, and the city is becoming an increasingly unruly place.’

His manner was protective, and I couldn’t be completely unmoved by his kindness. It was rare enough that anyone showed me any concern. I followed him meekly, not needing the support of his arm, but not rejecting it either. ‘I’m feeling so much better now,’ I assured him. ‘What do you mean the city is becoming unruly?’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.’ Mr Charleton hailed one of the line of sedan chairmen that were jostling for custom outside the rooms, and handed me into a chair. It was lifted and began to move. Mr Charleton walked beside me, conversing through the open window.

‘I’ve noticed nothing,’ I said, wrinkling my forehead, trying to think. ‘But then, I’ve scarcely been in the city this past week, and have gone everywhere by chair and with my aunt. And that was entirely your doing, sir!’

‘Do I detect resentment there?’ asked Mr Charleton. ‘It was partly for your own protection.’

‘You detect fury, not resentment. How dared you betray me to my aunt like that? You don’t understand … you have no idea!’ I paused and then asked: ‘What do you mean ‘partly’ for my own protection? What other reason did you have?’

‘To protect others from your actions.’

I sat silent, my heart beating fast, shocked once again about how much he seemed to know about me. What was he going to do? Tell my father? Or worse: report me to the magistrates?

There was a press of traffic at the Grove, and the chair halted. ‘You don’t deny that the people of this city need protecting from you and your friends?’ asked Mr Charleton. He sounded grave.

‘You exaggerate, sir,’ I said with an uncomfortable laugh. I would admit nothing. I bit my lip and looked away. As I did so, a display in a shop window caught my eye. An idea to change the subject and to solve my problems came to me. I turned back to my companion and said: ‘Mr Charleton, could you lend me your assistance, do you think?’

‘Of course,’ Mr Charleton said in a polite but subdued voice. He sounded disappointed.

‘It’s my … Aunt Amelia’s godson’s birthday soon, and … his family, in Devon, are poor and we wanted to send him a new set of clothes. Something practical rather than formal. But we really need the help of someone who understands boys’ clothing! My aunt and I have been in quite a puzzle to know exactly what to buy. But you will be able to advise me.’

I was very pleased with my story, invented as it had been, on the spur of the moment. I glanced sideways at Mr Charleton, hoping he would oblige me. ‘You wish for my help and advice, Miss Williams?’ He still sounded disappointed. Had he really expected me to admit anything to him?

‘Indeed, I do.’

Mr Charleton called to the bearers to pull over and let me out so that we could enter the shop. Under his watchful eye, I lied glibly, explaining that the imaginary godson was ‘near my own height, though perhaps a shade taller’. I couldn’t tell whether or not he was suspicious of me as he helped me select breeches the boy might like, and recommended woollen stockings rather than worsted as they were less scratchy. ‘And definitely not that shirt, Miss Williams!’ he assured me. ‘Trust me; the lad will prefer this one with the smaller collar. Much more
à la mode
and more manly too.’