stage-coach people in my company, I found a treasure.’
‘Going too far. Too far,’ roared Sir Henry.
The marquess treated him to an icy stare. ‘By which I mean I discovered two of the best voices in the country.’
The countess regarded him suspiciously. ‘Mean that opera caterwauling?’
‘Anything you like,’ said the marquess. ‘They have an enormous repertoire.’
‘Have ’em up,’ said Lord Frederick. ‘Bit of fun. Bit of a lark, hey?’
Lady Jordan stepped into the breach. ‘I do not think you would enjoy these persons’ company
The countess, who had been about to refuse to send for the passengers, turned contrary and glared at Lady Jordan. ‘I’ll have ’em here if I want.’
Belinda and the passengers were eating a late supper in the servants’ hall. They all knew the Jordans were staying as guests. Belinda was glad that they were confined belowstairs.
It was therefore with a sinking heart that she heard the summons from the butler that they were all, except the coachman and guard, to go up to the drawing-room.
She smoothed down the creases in her gown as she stood up. She wished there were some way she could change into evening dress, but the butler was waiting impatiently and so, keeping very close to Hannah, she mounted the stairs.
When she reached the drawing-room, she half-turned to flee. There was the Marquess of Frenton, there the Jordans. They must have come together, thought Belinda. He must mean to marry her if he has started taking her about with him on visits.
Penelope was wearing a white silk slip of a gown with a silver gauze overdress fastened with gold clasps. A heavy gold-and-garnet necklace emphasized the whiteness of her throat and her glossy brown curls were bound by a gold filet. Her gown was looped over her arm as she stood up, revealing a surprisingly thick leg and shapeless ankle. A thin ray of sunlight shone into the gloom of Belinda’s mind as she saw that leg. Also, Belinda had taken off her pelisse before leaving the kitchen and knew that her muslin morning gown was ruffed and vandyked with the finest lace, and for almost the first time she took comfort in the armour of expensive fashion.
The marquess made the introductions. ‘Yes, yes,’ said the countess impatiently. ‘Which are the singers?’ The Judds edged forward, holding hands.
‘Then sing!’ commanded the countess, waving her hand imperiously towards a spinet in the corner. Hannah went with them and pretended to be helping them by lighting the candles that stood on top. ‘Sing something John Bullish and patriotic,’ she hissed.
She returned and took a seat in the corner next to the poor relation, who turned out to be a Miss Forbes, a fourth cousin of the countess.
‘I do hope they don’t put Lady Twitterton in a taking,’ whispered Miss Forbes. ‘When she was but a gel, she threw a vase of flowers at an Italian opera singer’s head.’
And indeed, it did look as if the countess was regretting her invitation. ‘One song and that’s that,’ she muttered in an aside to her son.
This time it was Mrs Judd who played the accompaniment. Mr Judd stood with one hand in his waistcoat pocket and the other resting on the edge of the spinet. He threw back his head, stuck out his chest, and began to sing:
‘Come, cheer up, my lads! ’Tis to glory we steer,
To add something more to this wonderful year;
To honour we call you, not press you like slaves,
For who are so free as the sons of the waves?’
The Judds looked considerably taken aback, but then delighted as the Earl and Countess of Twitterton and their son began to roar out the chorus. Hannah saw the stark disapproval on the Jordan family’s faces and gleefully prepared to join in.
‘Heart of oak are our ships,’ screeched the countess.
‘Heart of oak are our men,’ bawled the earl.
‘We always are ready; Steady boys, steady,’ roared Lord Frederick in a deep bass.
And then the Twitterton family, Hannah, Miss Wimple, Mr Biles, Belinda, and the marquess all joined together in the last of the refrain:
‘We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.’
Mr Judd’s performance was cheered. Much emboldened, he went on to sing: ‘Oh, the roast beef of England, And England’s roast beef!’
The countess was noisy in her delight and called to Mrs Judd to sing something. Hannah almost held her breath. She hoped Mrs Judd would not sing something operatic. To her relief, Mrs Judd threw a rather saucy look at the earl and began to sing merrily:
‘A Captain bold, in Halifax, who dwelt in country quarters,
Seduced a maid who hanged herself, one morning in her garters,
His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his stomach daily,
He took to drinking ratafee, and thought upon Miss Bailey.
Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey.’
Then, when the company had finished laughing at the plight of Miss Bailey’s ghost, Mrs Judd sang a sentimental ballad. This, too, pleased the countess immensely.
Penelope looked covertly at Belinda Earle. But the girl was still not beautiful at all; in fact, she looked crushed and diminished. Why was it then that Frenton appeared to be trying to seem unaware of her and Lord Frederick kept beaming at Belinda with a silly smile on his face? Then, horror of horrors, Lord Frederick left his post by the fire-place and drew up a chair next to Belinda’s. Before the arrival of the marquess and these hell-sent stage-coach passengers Lord Frederick had been behaving with Penelope just as he ought. He had paid court to her beauty and found every opportunity to be in her company.
Penelope could not know what was going on in Lord Frederick’s rather simple brain. He had been thinking what a rare treat this evening must be for a common lady like Belinda and how she would no doubt cherish it forever and talk to her grandchildren in later years about the evening she spent in a noble household. It made him feel grand and sort of Lord Bountiful-ish. In a pause in the musical recital, he asked Belinda what she thought of the hunting-box. Her reply startled him. ‘It always amazes me,’ said Belinda, ‘that a building called a mere “box” should always be so very large and grand. Mind you, my lord, I have only stayed at one before and that was at Lord Bellamy’s near Nottingham.’
‘Coach break down there as well?’ he asked sympathetically.
‘Oh, no,’ said Belinda. ‘Lord Bellamy is my great-uncle.’
‘Haven’t seen Bellamy this age,’ said Lord Frederick, barely able to believe her.
‘He died last year,’ said Belinda. ‘My Great-Aunt Harriet, Lady Bellamy, lives in The Bath, and it is there that I am bound.’
He looked at her doubtfully. ‘I have heard of ladies travelling by the stage because it saves the expense of out-riders, postilions and goodness knows how many other servants.’
‘It was the decision of my uncle and aunt to send me by the stage,’ said Belinda.
‘How came it you landed in at Baddell Castle? Pole break?’
‘No, worse than that,’ said Belinda. ‘The driver was drunk and fell asleep. The coach left the road and we landed in the middle of a river. It was there that the marquess found us.’
‘Well, if that don’t beat all. What an adventure. Were you hurt?’
‘I sprained my ankle.’ Belinda poked a neat foot forward to show him an ankle wrapped in a bandage.
‘I say, you should rest that. Better get Mama to find you a bedchamber. Hey, Mother, this lady’s hurt her ankle. If you ain’t got any bedchambers made up, Miss Earle can have mine. She’s old Bellamy’s great-niece, by the way.’
‘How is he?’ asked the countess.
‘Dead, my lady.’
‘Sad. What of?’
‘A seizure, my lady.’
