The True Darcy Spirit (16 page)

Then she was at the gate to the garden in the square again, and once inside the railings, she looked around for Petifer. There she was, sitting on the very bench where Cassandra had sat and sketched. The nursemaid and her charges had gone, and the groom was eyeing Petifer up and down; he clearly had a roving eye.

“Saucebox!” said Petifer indignantly, getting up as she saw Cassandra. “Very free in their ways they are in London, miss, and no mistake. Asked me if I grew up in a garden on account of the roses blooming in my cheeks!”

“Petifer, I can’t linger here, for—” Cassandra was going to say “for we may be overlooked from number seven,” but instead she led the way out of the garden, and into Charles Street on the east side of the square. “Now, I must know at once why you are come to London?”

It was not a happy story, and one that made Cassandra ashamed. How could she have been so heartless, so careless, so thoughtless? Why had it not occurred to her that Mrs. Cathcart might vent some of her fury at Cassandra’s elopement on her maid, the maid who had come from Kent with her, her own, dear Petifer, who had looked after her and been a painter’s assistant, and protected her on numerous occasions from getting into scrapes with her mother and stepfather?

“She turned me off directly, the very morning you were gone. She said I knew what you had planned, and that I should have gone straightway to her, so that she could put a stop to such wickedness.”

“Petifer, you didn’t know I was running away with Mr. Eyre. I made sure not to breathe a word of it, for that very reason, that Mrs. Cathcart would be so angry with you.”

“I guessed you were up to something, Miss Darcy, what with you so lovey-dovey with that Mr. Eyre, and creeping out of the house. I can tell when a man is up to no good.”

“Can you? Then it’s more than I can, I wish I had had such foresight. But then“—with a sigh—”I was doomed to believe what he said, and to trust him. I was a fool, that’s all there is to it. Never mind that, why did you not go back to Kent when Mrs. Cathcart treated you so badly? My mother would have listened to you, she always had a kindness for you.”

“Mrs. Cathcart was writing directly to Mr. Partington, to say that I was a poor servant and not to be trusted; I know I would have been turned away if I went back to Rosings, and that would mean the extra fare to pay and other expenses besides.”

“Surely Mrs. Cathcart was obliged to pay you your wages before she turned you off?”

Petifer shook her head. “Not she, the old cat, nor would she give me a character, although I hoped that Mrs. Partington might, if it blew over, if that is you became Mrs. Eyre. Or, that, if you were indeed a married woman, as I hoped and thought you would be, then you’d need a maid and perhaps be willing to take me on.”

Cassandra’s heart sank. “I would, I would indeed, but I am not married, nor likely to become a wife to any man. I can hardly afford to keep myself. We are in the same boat, you and I, Petifer, both turned off, as it were.”

Except that her lack of funds was her own fault, and the situation Petifer found herself in was none of her own making, but entirely that of Cassandra’s.

“How come you in London? Have you found employment?”

“Not without a reference, and…”

“But I can write you a reference. That at least I can do.”

“No, thank you all the same. I don’t want to work for anyone else except you.”

“Oh, Petifer, don’t you see that it is impossible?”

“I’ve got my savings. I’ve put something by ever since I began work. My nan told me to do that: ‘Don’t spend it all on a ribbon or other fripperies, for the day will come when you’ll thank the Lord you’ve got a bit of money of your own,’ she would say to me, and she was right, and that day is now. Soon as I knew what you’d done, soon as that old bat threw me out, I thought, I’ll follow her to London—”

“We had planned to go to Gretna Green, not London.”

“Pardon me, you might have thought you was going to Scotland, but Mr. Eyre’s groom knew it was London from the start. I struck up a friendship with one of the maidservants, who works at nineteen Laura Place. Her brother’s an ostler at the Christopher, and he overheard
Mr. Eyre talking about it. You don’t plan to change horses at Hungerford if you’re heading north, even I know that.”

It was nothing more than Cassandra had suspected, but it was lowering to have to accept that James Eyre had lied to her about his original intention to head for Gretna Green. For the only conclusion she could draw from his lie was that he had always had an eye to her fortune.

“How did you get to London?”

“With Jemmy’s help, he’s the ostler I spoke of. He’s friends with all the mail coach drivers, and one of them took me up as a favour.”

“Not on the waybill? Without paying?”

“I paid all right, having to listen to his wisecracks and jokes all the way from Bath to the Saracen’s Head. He had a free and easy way of looking and speaking, you might say, and he wasn’t restrained with his hands, neither.”

Petifer’s disapproving face made Cassandra laugh. “What courage and resolution. Where are you putting up? London is a dangerous place.”

“As you’re discovering, Miss Darcy,” Petifer retorted. “My sister Margaret married a man who keeps a market garden out Camberwell way. They have a stall in Covent Garden and bring stuff in every morning. I’ve been coming in with them, and giving them a hand, which they’re glad of, business being quite brisk, and then I have the rest of my time, once the market closes, to look for you.”

“How came you to find me?”

“I wrote to Miss Emily and asked her if she had your address, she wrote back at once and said she wrote to you at the Receiving House in St. Martin’s Lane, so I’ve been going there nearly every day. Today you were there, so when you came out I followed you.”

“Why didn’t you call out, there at the post office, if you saw me?”

“Because I wanted to find out where you were lodging. Otherwise you would most likely have given me the slip again.”

Cassandra gestured across to the square.

“This is where I’m staying at present. All very respectable, as you see. I have a room and a pleasant landlady.”

Petifer sniffed. “A room! That’s a come-down from Rosings, to be sure. My sister says this area is far from respectable, that there are a lot of ladies who live here who are no better than they ought to be.”

“Yes, but that might be said of almost anywhere in town.”

“If this landlady of yours is so respectable, what does she think of a young woman of quality such as you are tipping up on her doorstep without a maid or anyone in attendance?”

Cassandra reddened. “She thinks I am a widow.”

“Widow! You look like a widow, I dare say. How can she swallow such a tale?”

“Well, she did. Petifer, I can’t say how glad I am to see you, it does me good just to see you smile and hear your voice. I wish I could do something for you, and I can, as far as that reference goes. There is no hope of my being able to take you on again, now or in the future. I have to earn my living somehow, you know, and there will be no money to spare.”

“Go on! How do you hope to earn a living? I never heard of such a thing, and besides, your family wouldn’t permit it.”

“My family won’t have anything to do with me, I’ve been cast off, just like you.”

“That’s that mean-fisted, tight-arsed old fart! Forgive my language, miss, but it makes me see red, to think of that Mr. Partington having the right to turn you out of Rosings, where you were born. Lady Catherine’s granddaughter earning her living? I never heard of such a thing. Let word of that get back to Mrs. Partington and even she’ll come to her senses, and make Mr. Partington do what’s right by you. You’re her daughter, and nothing he says can change that. She won’t let him behave in such a way.”

“Do you think so? I do not. Besides, I don’t want to go back. Not now.” Cassandra stood up. “No, you must be sensible, Petifer, and find another position. For my sake as much as for your own; how do you think I shall feel, knowing you are using up your savings, while waiting to work for me again, which can’t happen?”

“I’ve as much right to do what I want with my money as you’ve got to go round calling yourself a widow and saying you’re going to
earn a living. Which you won’t, given that there’s nothing any lady of your sort can do, bar become a governess.”

“I trust it won’t come to that, for I fear I should make a poor show of it. I plan to teach drawing and painting. To young ladies. There is always a demand for that, in London.”

Petifer looked unconvinced, and she made a clicking noise with her tongue. “It isn’t right, but you always were one to do what you wanted, and now see where being headstrong has got you, into as bad a scrape as anyone could think of. You’re not fit to be out and that’s the truth of it. Now, your landlady will likely have an attic where I can sleep, so you just tell her your maid’s here, and I’ll be back with my bundle, ready to take up my duty, which is to take care of you, since you can’t do it for yourself.”

“She knows I can barely pay the rent, and to have a maid arrive—no, it’s impossible, Petifer. I am truly sorry, but even though I might wish for your company, I can’t accept your services.”

Petifer did not have the look of a person who was going to do as she was told. But she got up from the bench and gave a tight-lipped little nod. “As you say, miss, I can see it might be awkward for you, but I tell you plain, you need me. So I’ll be back, discreet like, every day. So as soon as you find you need me, which you will, as soon as I can do anything for you, why, there I’ll be.”

Before Cassandra could remonstrate with her, Petifer was off, hurrying out of the garden and round the corner, oblivious to her name being called after her by her erstwhile employer.

Her departure left Cassandra torn between tears and laughter. How could she have been so thoughtless? Was there to be no end to the consequences of her action? Petifer’s loyalty was touching, and her reward for years of faithful service was to be turned off by that dreadful woman, who had no doubt had a lot more unpleasant things to say than Petifer had reported.

Well, at least she had a home with her sister, and maybe she would make Petifer see sense, where Cassandra couldn’t.

It was as well she weren’t a fly on the wall that evening, when Petifer was at home with her sister, being cross-examined on her day’s activities. Margaret, who was the older by several years, had noticed the satisfied look on her sister’s face, and she soon had the truth out of her.

“So you’ve found her, and in St. James’s Square. Well, I told you how it would be, she’s come on the town, for sure.”

“She has not. Miss Darcy would never do that. She’s lodging with a respectable woman, and passing herself off as a widow, so that she doesn’t get asked any questions.”

“We all know the kind of woman who passes herself off as a widow.”

“Do we?”

“You may not, because you’ve lived in the country all your life, and you’ve no idea what life in a big city such as London is like. She’s lost her reputation, has that young lady; since the gent she ran off with didn’t make an honest woman of her, she’s no chance of keeping her good name. She’ll end up with a protector, that’s all she can do, go into some man’s keeping, and then she’s on a slippery slope to the devil’s home, I can tell you. You leave well alone, my girl. You say you can’t go back to Kent, very well, we’ll find you a position in London, where I can keep an eye on you.”

“No, thank you. Miss Darcy’s who I work for, I don’t need any other mistress or master.”

“It’s not what you want in this life, it’s what you get that you have to do with. You’ll run out of money soon enough, then you’ll see sense. Now, give me a hand with these sacks, and let’s hear no more about Miss Darcy.” She went to the door. “Rob! Rob! Where is that dratted man? Men are never about when you want them, like your young lady’s finding out the hard way.”

Had Cassandra been privy to this conversation, she might have responded that unfortunately men were all too often there when you didn’t want them. Lord Usborne was a visitor at the house in St. James’s Square again that evening, in a high good humour, talkative
and lively; did the man spend no time at all at home with his wife, was it his habit to haunt the house in St. James’s Square?

Cassandra could deceive herself no longer. Lord Usborne was growing particular in his attentions, and there was something disagreeable in his easy manners, as though he was certain that where his fancy fell he would meet with success.

He takes me for a woman of no virtue or morals, Cassandra said inwardly, as she moved from the sofa where he had sat himself beside her, to another chair. Well, that might be so in the eyes of the world, but she had better morals than his lordship; he had a wife to make what he was doing adultery, a greater lapse, in her view than eloping with a man you loved. Or thought you loved, she corrected herself.

A visit to the theatre was being planned.
Hamlet
was showing at the Haymarket. Mrs. Kent would honour them with her company?

As it happened, Cassandra had never been to a play. She would like to see
Hamlet,
the play that her father had loved above all others, that he used to read out loud to her when she was a child, taking all the parts in turn, so that although she only understood the half of it, she knew many of the speeches by heart.

Could there be any harm in it? Would not a visit to the theatre be preferable to the intimacy of the rooms at St. James’s Square? Mrs. Nettleton was going, and some others, it was not as though she would be obliged to spend the evening alone with Lord Usborne.

The moment she stepped into the carriage, Cassandra knew she had made a mistake. Lord Usborne was there to hand her in, very fine in his evening clothes. Mrs. Nettleton wore a gown of pink silk that made Cassandra blink; the others in their party turned out to be Mrs. Palmer, but a Mrs. Palmer escorted not by Colonel Palmer, but by a leggy young man called Rolandson, who came from the north of England and who was, so the quondam Mrs. Palmer whispered to Cassandra, amazingly rich.

What of Colonel Palmer? Cassandra was forced to conclude that the relationship between the Palmers had never been sanctified in church, that the
Mrs.
was no more than a convenience. Any more than her own
Mrs.
was, she reminded herself somewhat ruefully; who was she to cast stones?