The Paper Princess

Felicity was still too young to realize it was most odd for an old and, seemingly, conventional governess to agree to such mad escapades, and did not yet even guess how very romantic and starved for adventure was poor Miss Chubb.

“Mr. Palfrey might come looking for you,” said Miss Chubb.

“To kiss me good night? You know he never pays me the slightest heed.”

“Miss Felicity, he is a fussy and ambitious man-ambitious to have the castle to himself. He will be anxious to arrange a marriage for you as soon as possible and may call you downstairs to discuss the matter. You may remember that Maria was sent for just after Emily had gone off with her new husband.”

“Yes, yes. But Maria's bishop had been selected for her some time before Emily's marriage. You must admit, there is no one left for me-thank goodness!”

“You forget Lord St. Dawdy.”

“Now, my dear Miss Chubb, the baron is abroad and he is too old even for my wicked stepfather to consider asking him to marry me, so there is no question of him sending for me. He is probably down on his hands and knees at this moment polishing the dining room floor himself.”

Miss Chubb hesitated. She thought she had overheard Mr. Palfrey saying something about the Lord St. Dawdy and Felicity. On the other hand, the baron was surely far too old. It would cause a scandal in the neighborhood if Felicity were forced to marry him, and Mr. Palfrey longed to be admired and respected by the tenants as Mr. Channing had been admired and respected. Also, she enjoyed these harmless adventures. In the last century, when Miss Chubb had been governess to a lively family of girls in Brighton, the girls had gone to assemblies dressed as men for a joke and nobody had seemed to find it shocking. But times had changed and society was more strait- laced in this second decade of the nineteenth century. But she longed to escape from the castle, just for a little.

“Perhaps it would not be noticed…” she started to say and was interrupted by Felicity.

“My best of governesses!” she cried. “Hurry up! A ride across the moors is just what we need.”

Felicity and Miss Chubb had spent one wet afternoon two years before studying the old plans of the castle. They had found, to their delight, a priest's hole, albeit a fake one, the castle having been built well after the days of the Cavaliers and Roundheads, and a secret staircase. Their disguises were hidden in the priest's hole and the staircase enabled them to make their way out of the castle unobserved.

Soon, what looked to all appearances like a slim youth and a heavy, John Bull-type of gentleman slipped through the darkness of the grounds to the stables after having negotiated the moat by means of a long ladder laid across it-the one part of the adventure Miss Chubb never enjoyed because she was sure the ladder would break one dark night under her weight.

It was a November evening, but unusually balmy. It had been a warm autumn and the stunted trees on the moors were only just beginning to send the last of their scarlet and gold leaves flying down on the warm, sticky gales which blew in from the sea.

Miss Chubb was not a good horsewoman and the old, steady mare John Tremayne had found for her suited her needs, being as slow and cautious as she was herself. Felicity had a frisky little Arab mare, a dainty little creature that could fly like the wind. Miss Chubb's mount could not keep up with it, so Felicity had to content herself by riding off on long gallops on her own and then turning back to join the governess, whose horse was steadily and surely plodding sedately along the cliff path.

These little adventures had never palled, never lost their feeling of excitement, although they never entailed any real fear of discovery.

Felicity and Miss Chubb would ride to The Green Dolphin tavern, a well-appointed inn that drew people from all over because of the excellence of its food. They would drink two glasses of wine each, staying about half an hour, and then ride back to the castle, having enjoyed their harmless masquerade as gentlemen. Felicity, like her sisters, was given a present of pin money by her mother every quarter day, and it was with that money that she had purchased disguises for both of them.

The advantage of the popularity of The Green Dolphin was that neither the landlord nor the serving maids had much time to wonder about the identity of the heavyset “gentleman” and his “nephew.”

Felicity threw the ostler a coin and told him to stable their horses, for the rain had started to fall. In fine weather, they left them tethered outside.

Miss Chubb entered the taproom first and then drew back abruptly, bumping into Felicity who was behind her.

“What's the matter?” hissed Felicity.

“Come back outside,” muttered Miss Chubb.

But the landlord, Mr. Saxon, had recognized them as the two pleasant gentlemen who infrequently patronized his hostelry.

“Enter!” he cried. “We have a deal of fine folk with us tonight. But I have your usual table at the window.”

“I don't know…” began Miss Chubb, but Felicity lowering her voice several registers, said heartily, “Splendid, Saxon,” and, walking past Miss Chubb, she entered the tap.

A hum of voices rose to greet her. Apart from a few of the locals, there was a party of richly dressed men who had put two tables together in the middle of the room. Mr. Saxon guided Felicity over to the little table in the bay of one of the windows where she usually sat. With a feeling of apprehension, Miss Chubb lumbered after Felicity.

Usually, they had only the locals to contend with-locals who were interested in gossiping to one another and not bothering to pay too much attention to the two quiet gentlemen in the bay.

But these strangers were a different matter. When Mr. Saxon himself had served them with their usual glasses of claret, Miss Chubb whispered, “We should not stay long, Felicity. These strangers may become overcurious.”

Felicity was not listening to her. She was studying the men at a table in the center of the room with interest.

They were all dressed in riding clothes, and, from their conversation, she gathered they had all been guests at a shooting party at an estate farther along the coast. There were six of them. Their riding clothes were all well-cut as the finest morning dress and each man wore an expensive jewel in his stock.

But it was the man at the head of the table who held Felicity's attention the most. Once she had seen him, she found it almost impossible to look away.

He was quite old, she decided, about thirty years, and thatwas old in Felicity's eighteen-year-old eyes. He had a strong face with a proud nose and a firm chin. His eyes were very black and sparkling and held a clever, restless, mocking look. His brown riding coat was fitted across a pair of powerful shoulders, and his long legs encased in top boots were stretched out under the table. A ruby glittered wickedly in his stock and a large ruby ring burned on the middle finger of his right hand. His hands were very white and his nails beautifully manicured and polished to a high shine with a chamois buffer. Felicity was fascinated. Effeminate and decadent men were laughable; decadent and powerful men, such as this one, frightening.

“Do not stare so,” whispered Miss Chubb urgently.

But as if conscious of Felicity's curious gaze, the man looked across at her.

“Gentlemen!” he called. “If you are so interested in our conversation, pray join us.”

A gentleman next to him, who had his back to Felicity and Miss Chubb, swung round and stared at them rudely through his quizzing glass.

“Never say they are gentlemen, Bessamy,” he drawled. “Just look at the rustic cut of that lad's coat.” The other four solemnly produced their quizzing glasses and raked Felicity and Miss Chubb up and down as if studying two new and curious insects.

Then, as if finding them lacking in any merit whatsoever, they dropped their glasses and continued to talk about sport.

Miss Chubb let out a slow breath of relief. Felicity's face flamed.

“Pay no attention, my dear uncle,” she said in a clear, carrying voice. “'Tis naught but some city mushrooms aping the rudeness and the churlishness of the Corinthian set.”

There was a shocked silence. Miss Chubb muttered prayers under her breath. One of the gentlemen, the one next to the man called Bessamy, rose to his feet and slowly picked up his gloves.

“He's going to challenge you to a duel,” squeaked Miss Chubb.

Then Bessamy rose to his feet and with one hand pushed his friend down into his chair.