Belinda Goes to Bath

‘It is a pity,’ mourned Hannah. ‘You are both so well suited.’

‘Miss Jordan and I?’

‘No, my lord, you and Miss Earle.’

He looked on her in dawning amusement. She was an odd creature with her strangely coloured eyes and her thin spare body and crooked nose. ‘Marriage is a serious business, Miss Pym. I fear you have been reading romances. I will choose some lady who will grace my home.’

‘Like an art treasure?’

‘Miss Pym, has anyone ever told you that you get away with murder? I really do not know why I am standing here listening to your strictures. Pray tell Miss Earle I behaved badly and am ashamed of myself.’

‘Why not tell her yourself?’

Why not? The marquess paused. He had never shirked an unpleasant duty in his life before. But the effect Belinda Earle had on his senses was devastating.

‘To be brutally frank, Miss Pym, I do not trust myself alone in a bedchamber with Miss Earle.’

‘Ah!’ Hannah’s eyes gleamed with a gold light. She decided to say no more at present. With any luck, this marquess was in love with Belinda and did not know it.

‘Then if you will leave this way, my lord,’ said Hannah. She showed him through her bedchamber to the corridor door, ushered him out, and then returned through the sitting-room to Belinda’s bedchamber.

Belinda was sitting by the fire. She had lit an oil-lamp and her eyes were bleak as she looked at Hannah. ‘How dare you!’ said Belinda.

Hannah silently handed her the letter from Penelope Jordan. Belinda read it and her face went as red as the fire she was sitting beside.

‘Yes, all the servants must know. To whom did you give your letter?’

‘To a lamp-boy,’ said Belinda.

‘A humble lamp-boy is of too low a rank to carry a letter to a marquess. You should have known that. Do your aunt and uncle not have many servants?’

Belinda shook her head. ‘No, we only have a butler, two footmen, two housemaids, two chambermaids, a lady’s maid, a cook, a housekeeper, one kitchen maid, one odd man, and of course the coachman and groom.’

‘Then I must tell you that the lamp-boy would take that letter of yours to the servants’ hall, where it would be delivered to the butler. The lamp-boy would tell the butler in front of the others from whom it came. So it would no doubt get to the ears of Miss Jordan’s lady’s maid and so to me.’

Belinda’s anger had died. The full horror of what she had done was slowly dawning on her. Love had blinded her to the fact that the Marquess of Frenton regarded her as a slut and therefore easy game. How shabby and brassy and common she now must appear set beside the beautiful Penelope.

Hannah did not want to add to Belinda’s distress by telling her the marquess knew about that footman episode. Both Belinda and the marquess were ashamed of themselves. Good! If the passage of true love ran smooth, then it could not possibly end happily, in Hannah’s experience. She remembered a gamekeeper at Thornton Hall who had fallen in love with a pretty chambermaid, and she with him. Mrs Clarence was still in residence and had smiled on the lovers. Everyone had thought they were a perfect match and said so. Before the gamekeeper had even thought of popping the question, Mrs Clarence had called him in and offered him a cottage on the estate where he could live with his bride. The couple had grown shy and embarrassed and awkward at all this headlong enthusiasm to get them to the altar, and love had faded away. Such a pity, thought Hannah. Their characters had been so well matched. She always thought that had a few obstacles been thrown in their way, then they might have tied the knot and lived happily ever after because they were so compatible, and couples must have something other than love between them to survive the rocky road of marriage.

‘I suppose I should be grateful to you for interrupting us when you did,’ said Belinda awkwardly.

‘It was very painful for me,’ said Hannah. ‘In future, Miss Earle, no matter how strong your feelings, you must let the men do the pursuing. That is the way of the world. Any bold move on the female’s part is always misinterpreted, and men only value what is hard to get. The weather is improving, and we shall shortly be moving on.’

‘I would rather leave on the morrow,’ said Belinda in a low voice.

‘Too soon,’ said Hannah. ‘One more day. Take my advice and keep to your bedchamber and do not venture belowstairs. Or sit and read to Miss Wimple. She needs her mind improved. The marquess will at first be relieved at your absence and then he will miss you.’

‘I do not want him to miss me,’ said Belinda pettishly. ‘The least he could do is apologize.’

‘You can hardly expect him to do that after having sent that letter and given him the wrong impression.’

‘Am I so very bad, Miss Pym? Am I going to be damned as an Original? Why cannot I behave as other young misses?’ Tears stood out in Belinda’s eyes.

‘Not your fault,’ said Hannah gruffly. ‘If that uncle and aunt were here, I would wring their necks. This is the direct result of overmuch discipline and reaching too high in the Marriage Market. Had they left you alone, you might have waited until your inheritance and found someone suitable without a title.’

‘It is dangerous to live on dreams,’ said Belinda with a little sigh. ‘I thought I was in love, but perhaps it was only because I am dreading the thought of Great-Aunt Harriet and months and months of moralizing. It would have been a triumph to arrive on her fusty doorstep already engaged to a marquess. Heigh-ho! I am feeling much chastened, Miss Pym, but better in spirit. I shall survive.’

The marquess, next day reviewing the events of the night, began to wonder if he had been drunk. He convinced himself that the repairs begun on the roof of a tenant’s cottage at one of the farther corners of his estate needed personal attention. Then he decided to ride on to the Queen Bess in Comfrey. There he met the new driver of the stage-coach, who told him that the young driver and the guard who had caused the accident had been fired. The landlord assured his lordship that rooms would be available for the stage-coach passengers when they arrived. The road from the castle to the Queen Bess was clear. They would need, however, to stay at the inn for about two days, as the roads farther on were flooded. The marquess paid the innkeeper for their care and accommodation. Satisfied, he rode back to the castle. The stage- coach passengers could leave the next morning. Miss Wimple would be conveyed lying down in a separate carriage. She would be put to bed at the inn, and from then on she would no longer be the marquess’s responsibility.

He dressed carefully for dinner that afternoon, as if armouring himself in silk and jewels for the confrontation with Belinda. But when he descended to the Cedar Room, he was told by Miss Pym that Belinda’s ankle was still hurting and she preferred to take her meals in her sitting-room and to read to Miss Wimple.

The marquess was at first relieved, and then, as dinner progressed, disappointed. The day had turned flat. He looked at Penelope Jordan and imagined sitting with her at dinner-tables and supper-tables day in and day out, and suddenly realized it was a prospect he could not face.

After dinner Mr Judd, trembling with nerves, took the marquess aside and asked him if he could really be of any help in finding them singing engagements. The marquess, glad he could do something so simple, agreed and wrote the Judds letters of introduction to all the leading luminaries of Bath, including the Master of Ceremonies at the Pump Room.

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