Beatrice Goes to Brighton (3 page)

Lord Alistair’s was drawn by two matched bays. He helped Hannah in and then climbed in on the other side and took the reins in his hands. Benjamin jumped on the back just as Lord Alistair called to the ostler, ‘Stand away.’

To Benjamin’s disappointment, the carriage moved off at a leisurely pace.

‘I fear, Miss Pym,’ said Lord Alistair, ‘that being abandoned by the stage-coach is hardly an exciting adventure, merely a tiresome happening.’

‘But I have had an adventure,’ said Hannah, ‘or rather, something terrible has happened.’

‘And what was that?’

‘Lady Beatrice Marsham was one of the
passengers
.’ Hannah, so eager to share her worries, did not notice a certain rigidity in Lord Alistair’s handsome features. ‘We stopped at Croydon and we were just about to leave when this ugly-looking individual came up to Lady Beatrice and constrained – I am sure he was holding either a pistol or a knife at her side – constrained her to board his carriage. I cried for help and the coachman and others came running. But when appealed to, Lady Beatrice said she was leaving of her own free will.’

‘Did she use those words?’ asked Lord Alistair.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll admit that’s odd. It would be more in character for a cold fish like Lady Beatrice Marsham to say, ‘‘Damn your impertinence’’ if all was well.’

‘Do you know her?’ asked Hannah eagerly.

‘I have had that pleasure.’ His voice was dry.

‘You do not seem to approve of the lady.’

‘No, I do not. She plays fast and loose with men’s affections, and that was when she was married. Harry Blackstone, her husband that was, died drunk about a year ago. He was gambler, rake and swine in general, but that does not give the lady any excuse to flirt shamelessly until the fellows fall in love with her and then turn them down flat.’

‘Were you … were you one of those fellows, my lord?’

‘No, Miss Pym. I do not pursue married ladies. Change the subject. Lady Beatrice is well able to protect herself. What do you plan to do in Brighton?’

‘Look at the sea,’ said Hannah with a laugh. ‘Walk a great deal. Perhaps I might even see the prince.’

‘Bound to see Prinny,’ said Lord Alistair. ‘
Southern
’s giving a ball next week. Prinny’s bound to be there, so you’ll see him.’

What an odd day, thought Hannah. First she was humiliated because she thought Lady Beatrice had considered her too low to speak to, and now she was humiliated because Lord Alistair thought her grand enough to be invited to a ball by the Earl of Southern and she would have to explain she was not. ‘I am not of the ton,’ said Hannah in a stifled voice. ‘In fact, I do not really belong anywhere.’ In a near whisper, she told him all about her years of service with the Clarences.

He smiled at her. ‘Miss Pym, you are a citizen of the world and can go anywhere you like. Tell you what, I’ll take you there myself – that is, if you promise to tell me more stories.’

Tears glistened in Hannah’s eyes. ‘I, my lord? Do you mean that you would take
me
?’

‘Yes, Miss Pym. But you’d best tell me where you are staying so that I can call on you.’

‘I had not thought,’ said Hannah. ‘I shall let you know, my lord.’

‘Don’t know if we’ll catch any coach at this rate.’ Benjamin’s voice sounded from behind them.

‘
Really
, Benjamin,’ snapped Hannah, wondering if this new Benjamin complete with voice was going to be a problem.

But Lord Alistair smiled lazily and said, ‘He has the right of it. Hold tightly. I’m going to spring ’em.’

The horses surged forward and soon Hannah was hanging on for dear life as the now sunny countryside became a moving blur. Behind her, Benjamin, exalted by the speed, began to sing loudly and noisily.

At the bottom of a long hill, they at last saw the coach. On and on they sped. Hannah screamed loudly as they swept past the coach with an inch to spare. Lord Alistair drove his team up the next hill and then swung his carriage around to block the road at the top.

‘You was in the coach,’ cried the coachman, leaning down from his high perch, his eyes starting from his head as he brought his heavily laden coach to a halt.

‘As you can see, I am not,’ said Hannah. She climbed down on wobbly legs. ‘I am going to continue my journey and I expect a refund on my fare, too. Climb aboard, Benjamin.’ But Benjamin had hauled open the door of the coach and had started to berate the passengers.

Hannah pulled him aside and told him to climb on to the roof and then got in to hear the lying protests of the now thoroughly frightened passengers, each protesting that it hadn’t been his or her fault. Actually, it had seemed a prime joke to leave Hannah behind when Mrs Hick had suggested it, but now all were scared that Hannah might turn that terrible footman of hers loose on them.

Ignoring them all, Hannah sank back in her seat, only grateful to be secure in the stage-coach once more and resolving never to set foot in another curricle. She hoped the velocity had not damaged her brain.

At last, as night fell, they rolled into Brighton. Hannah was glad, when she booked two rooms at the Ship, that she had managed to force the coaching office to refund some of her fare. The rooms at the Ship were terribly expensive.

Benjamin presented himself in her room.

‘Now, Benjamin,’ said Hannah sternly, ‘out with it. Tell me your story. You may sit down.’

Benjamin sat down on a hard chair opposite and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘All of it, modom?’ he asked in the stultifying accent he obviously
considered
genteel.

‘Yes, all of it,’ said Hannah. ‘Start with your parents.’

‘I never knew them,’ said Benjamin. He told a story of being brought up by a Mrs Coombes in the East End of London in a broken-down house by the river. He could never find out who his parents had been or why Mrs Coombes had taken him in. She drank a lot, he said, and often beat him. He had been apprenticed to a sweep who had got rid of him after only six months because he was growing too big to get up the chimneys. Then he had found work as a stable-lad at a livery stable in the West End. He said he had envied the footmen he saw going about their employers’ errands. They seemed to have little to do but dress nicely and look tall. He found he was lucky at gambling and he soon became more interested in that than work. He did not turn up at the livery stable one morning, because he had been up most of the night gambling and had slept in. He lost that job. He felt the
loss of it keenly, too, for a clerk who kept the livery stable’s books had taught him to read and write. He decided to give up gambling and try to get into service as a footman. But he did not have any references and no one wanted him and he was too tall for a page. He worked as knife-boy in one establishment and then as odd man in another. Then Mrs Coombes, the only sort of family he had ever known, had died. Benjamin had decided to leave London and try to find work as a footman in a country household where they might prove to be less particular than city houses. At Esher, he had learned of Lady Carsey from some men he had gambled with. One of them worked for Lady Carsey as a groom and hinted that she had odd tastes and had once made a pet of a housemaid who had a hunched back. Benjamin hit on the idea of appearing to be deaf and dumb, and for a while it had worked, until Lady Carsey had decided to try to relieve the tedium of her country days by taking the footman into her bed. ‘And so you know the rest,’ he ended. ‘I refused, and she tried to get her revenge.’

Hannah thought uneasily that Benjamin’s story was too simple, and yet it could be true. She assured him that she had no intention of turning him off, but added that the inn was too expensive and that they would need to find cheaper lodgings.

‘An apartment,’ said Benjamin eagerly. ‘Then you could make calls an’ people could call on you.’

‘All very well, Benjamin,’ said Hannah, ‘but it will be difficult to find someone willing to let us a place for a short time.’

Benjamin struck his breast in a theatrical manner, which was his old way of showing that he would handle the matter, and then gave a shamefaced laugh and said, ‘I will find you sump-thin’, modom. Leave it to Benjamin.’

‘While we are on the subject of calls,’ said Hannah, ‘where did you manage to get those cards?’

‘Printer I used to know,’ said Benjamin. ‘Did ’em cheap.’

‘Then you must tell me what I owe you.’

‘Later,’ said Benjamin. ‘I’ll go out now and find us somewhere to live, suitable to our consequences.’

‘Consequence,’ corrected Hannah, but Benjamin had gone.

He strolled along the seafront, with his hands in his pockets, listening to the waves crashing on the beach, and looking for his prey.

And then he saw three army officers standing by some steps down to the beach. He judged them to be army officers by their whiskers and pigtails rather than by their dress, for none of them was wearing uniform.

He fished in his pocket for his dice, and as he came abreast of them, he dropped the dice to the ground. He bent down and picked them up and said, ‘A pair o’ sixes.’

One of the officers laughed. ‘You couldn’t do that again.’

‘Try me,’ said Benjamin with a grin.

Gambling was a democratic sport. Aristocrats would cheerfully gamble with commoners. They
would bet on anything – which goose would cross the road first, which fly would reach the top of the window before the other – and so they all crouched down round Benjamin and started to play hazard dice.

At one point in the game, Benjamin was losing so heavily that he began to think he would have to flee the country, but he persevered and, sure enough, the luck began to run his way.

‘Enough,’ cried one. ‘We have an engagement and we are late already. We will give you our notes of hand.’

‘Could suggest something easier for you,’ said Benjamin. ‘My lady is looking for a snug little apartment for, say, three weeks. Any of you got one? Take that instead of your money.’

The men looked at him in surprise and then one turned to the other and said, ‘What say you,
Barnstable
? Give him the keys to your place and move in with me.’

‘Done,’ said the one called Barnstable cheerfully.

‘Has it got a view of the sea?’ asked Benjamin, who thought they were getting off very lightly, for they all owed him a great deal of money.

‘I’ll take you over,’ said Barnstable, ‘and give you the keys. Just over there.’

Benjamin followed him to one of the new buildings facing the sea. It turned out to be a pleasant apartment on the ground floor, with a large sitting-room with a bay window that overlooked the sea, a small parlour at the back, then two bedrooms, also at the back, and a kitchen which opened on to a weedy garden.

‘My lady will want to move in tomorrow morning,’ said Benjamin, looking around. ‘Best have your traps moved out tonight. Got a piece o’ paper?’

‘Why?’

‘Want your written agreement.’

‘You churl. You little toad. My word is my bond.’

‘I’ve heard that one afore,’ said Benjamin. ‘You give me that there agreement. My mistress is a Hungarian countess and a friend o’ the Prince of Wales.’

‘Oh, really?’ sneered Barnstable. ‘Whoever heard of a countess getting her accommodation this way?’

‘Whoever heard o’ a countess spending any money she don’t have to?’

‘Oh, very well.’ Barnstable signed an agreement that he would allow Miss Hannah Pym to use his apartment for three weeks. He raised his eyebrows at the name.

‘Incognito,’ said Benjamin succinctly. ‘My lady has a lot of enemies.’

‘If this is how she goes about her business, you don’t surprise me.’

Benjamin had decided not to tell Hannah about his gambling. Instead he surprised her with a tale about an army man who was only too happy to let her use his place and did not want any payment.

‘I find that hard to believe, Benjamin,’ commented Hannah suspiciously.

‘He was in his cups,’ said Benjamin. ‘I got him to sign this here agreement, so that when he sobers up, he can’t do nuffin’ about it.’

Hannah decided to go along with it, and if by chance the mysterious army gentleman had changed his mind, she could always move out again.

2

Hannah was delighted with her new residence. She could now look out at the sea all day long if she pleased. But first, the apartment badly needed
cleaning
. Hannah donned an apron and covered her hair with a mob-cap and set to work until everything was gleaming and shining. As she worked, she thought ruefully that she must do something with Benjamin.

Benjamin appeared to think that a footman’s only duties were to stand behind the mistress’s chair and carry her letters. Hannah had sent him out two hours ago to deliver a letter to Lord Alistair Munro. She knew he was probably strolling about the streets with
his hands in his pockets. It was evident he had learned nothing while he had been in service to Lady Carsey. Probably, while he was in favour, she had made a pet of him.

Her thoughts turned to what she would wear to the ball. She would need to go out that very day and find Brighton’s most modish dressmaker and hope that there was some ball gown already made up which had not been collected by the lady who had ordered it.

She picked up two decanters and studied them. They had not been cleaned, so she took them through to the kitchen, filled them with hot water from a kettle swung over the fire, dropped a few pieces of
well-soaped
brown paper into each, and left them to stand.

She then went back to the sitting-room and opened the windows and leaned out to smell the fresh salt tang of the sea.

Benjamin came strolling along, whistling, hands in his pockets, and turned in at the gate.

Hannah shook her head in disapproval. A footman should always look as if he were on duty, whether his mistress was with him or not.

So when Benjamin appeared in the sitting-room, Hannah asked him sharply if he would like to learn to be a ‘real’ footman.

‘I thought I was, modom,’ said Benjamin, very stiffly on his stiffs.

Hannah shook her head. ‘You are a good lad, but you must learn that there is more to being a footman than parading about in livery. What would become of
you if I were to die? Now, would you like to be properly trained?’

Benjamin nodded eagerly.

But the look of eagerness left his face as Hannah went on … and on … and on.

A footman should never hand over anything at all without putting it on a tray first, and always hand it with the left hand and on the left side of the person he serves, and hold it so the guest may take it with ease. In lifting dishes from the table, he should use both hands. This was because, as one foreign visitor to England had noted, ‘A complete English repast suggested the reason why such large English dishes are to be seen in silver, pewter, china, and crockery shops; to wit, because a quarter of a calf, half a lamb, and monstrous pieces of meat are dished up, and everyone receives almost an entire fish.’

After each meal, the footman’s place is at the sink. He should have one wooden bowl of hot water for washing dishes, and one wooden bowl for rinsing. There was less chance of breakages if wood was used. He should rub down the furniture in the sitting-room and parlour before breakfast and then be washed and clean and neat, prepared to go out with his mistress.

He should mind his own business at all times. ‘There was once a footman at Thornton Hall,’ said Hannah, ‘who would stand behind Mrs Clarence’s chair and advise her how to play her cards. You must never do anything like that, Benjamin. I had to speak to that footman very sharply. Also, what your mistress says at the table is none of your business. If a guest is
telling a very funny story, you must not even dare to laugh. A good footman should be quiet, almost invisible. You have hitherto been saved all household chores, for I have been in the way of looking after myself. Now, I have put two decanters to soak. This afternoon, empty them out, fill them up with clean water, and add a little muriatic acid, and then leave them to stand. It is very hard to clean dirty decanters.

‘I have cleaned here very thoroughly, so you may be excused from proper duties today. But remember, some footmen have a very hard time. Gentlemen often take their footmen with them when they go out of an evening, for the footman’s duty is to pick his master up from under the table where said master has fallen after a bout of heavy drinking. If the footman does not remove the master quietly and gracefully from the room, he may lose his job, for if his friends mock him the next day for his drunkenness, he will not blame himself but his footman for not having saved him from ridicule. It is not an easy life.’

Benjamin looked crestfallen for a moment, but then brightened. ‘I will do as well as I can for you, modom,’ he said, ‘but, saints preserve us, if you was ever to go to your Maker, I certainly wouldn’t work for one of those gents what you was talking about.’

‘Then decide what you
do
want to do,’ retorted Hannah tartly. ‘For if a life in service don’t suit, then you’d better start thinking about apprenticing yourself to some trade. Now, we shall go out. I must find a dressmaker and hope she or he has a made-up gown for sale, for I am determined to go to that ball!’

Hannah, by dint of visiting the circulating library, found out from the gentleman in charge of it that the main dressmaker of Brighton was Monsieur Blanc. Monsieur Blanc was a voluble man with a strong French accent. He said in answer to Hannah’s request that he had not only one, but three ball gowns which had not been collected. One of them, to Hannah’s delight, was perfect. It was a heavy white satin slip with a rich overdress of gold satin fastened down the front with gold clasps. It could have been made for her. She tried it on and hardly recognized Hannah Pym in the elegant creature that looked back at her from the glass.

‘A mere eight hundred guineas,’ cooed Monsieur Blanc.

‘Cor!’ said Benjamin in awe.

Hannah turned a little pale.

‘I have not yet made up my mind,’ she said. ‘I should like to take a little walk and think about it.’

Monsieur Blanc looked disappointed but, ever hopeful, said he was sure that, after a little thought, she would realize the folly of turning down such an exquisite creation.

With Benjamin a few paces behind her, she walked sadly down one of Brighton’s twisting, cobbled streets. ‘Eight hundred guineas,’ said Hannah over her shoulder. ‘It’s wicked, that’s what it is. Wicked! I should be ruined if I paid that.’

‘Beg parding,’ said Benjamin. ‘I left my gloves in that Frog’s shop.’

‘The fact that we are at war with the French does
not mean you can go about calling respectable French tradesmen Frogs,’ snapped Hannah. ‘Oh, go for your gloves. I shall be in that pastry cook’s shop over there.’

Benjamin ran off. He opened the door of the dressmaker’s and went inside. ‘Has your mistress decided?’ asked Monsieur Blanc.

‘Fact is,’ said Benjamin, ‘my lady is strapped for the readies. O’ course, she could ask ’er friend, the Prince o’ Wales, but these foreign royalties is very proud. Very.’

Monsieur Blanc looked bewildered. ‘But she
introduced
herself as a visitor to Brighton called Miss Pym.’

Benjamin grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Incognito,’ he said. ‘Don’t want it spread about and I know a man in your position has to be discreet, but you know how it’s got around that Mrs Fitzherbert’s had her day.’

‘Bless me,’ said the dressmaker in accents almost as Cockney as Benjamin’s. ‘He married her, didn’t he?’

‘Mrs Fitzherbert … garn,’ said Benjamin, now more confident because Monsieur Blanc had revealed himself to be not French but very English, and East End of London English at that. ‘The marriage can’t be reckernized. You knows that and I knows that. Our prince is getting tired o’ her, like I said. An’ why’s he tired o’ her? ’Cos my mistress has caught his eye.’

Everyone knew the prince’s penchant for ladies older than himself. Even so, Monsieur Blanc looked bewildered. ‘But what has it got to do with me?’

‘Well, see ’ere. This Miss Pym – we’ll call her that, hey? – she’s going to Lord Southern’s ball. If you were to lend her that gown for a night, then she could tell all it was you she got it from and that she wouldn’t dream o’ getting her gowns and pretties from anyone else. Of course, the prince himself would get to hear of it.’

‘My stars and garters.’ Monsieur Blanc clasped his hands.

‘But you’re not to tell a soul who she really is. Promise.’

‘I don’t know who she really is!’

‘But you know now she’s a foreign princess what has taken the prince’s eye. So promise.’

‘Promise, as sure as my name’s Blanc.’

‘Which it ain’t,’ said Benjamin with a cheeky grin.

Monsieur Blanc grinned back. ‘You’re a sharp one. It’s White, so it’s the same thing really, blanc being the French for white. Don’t you go letting out I’m not French – the ladies liking to think they got a Frenchie to make their dresses – and I’ll let you have the gown. You can take it now. But tell Miss Pym she’s got to tell His Highness about me.’

‘Would I lie?’ Benjamin sat down in a little gilt chair and folded his arms. ‘If you box it up, I’ll take it to her.’

Hannah wondered what had become of him and whether he might have lost his way. She was just about to leave the pastry cook’s and go in search of him when he came running in, carrying a large box.

‘The dress, modom,’ he whispered.

‘Oh, heavens!’ wailed Hannah. ‘You’ve stolen it.’

‘That’s a right fine thing to say to your trusted servant!’ exclaimed Benjamin. ‘I went back to the shop and he ups and says you can borrow it for the evening; only, if anyone compliments you on it, you’re to say you gets all your gowns offa him. Right?’

‘Well, of course I’ll do that,’ said Hannah. ‘Are you sure?’

‘O’ course,’ said Benjamin loftily. ‘It’s the way he goes about advertising. They all do that. Bless my heart, modom, but you are as innocent as a new-born lamb. Them grand ladies, why, a lot of them haven’t paid for a stitch that’s on their backs.’

This was almost true, as a great number paid their dressmaking bills only when faced with the threat of duns, and some did not pay at all.

‘Why, Benjamin, you are amazing. You may sit down with me and take tea.’

‘Won’t do,’ said Benjamin sternly. ‘You have to know what’s due to your position. I’ll get some newspapers and we’ll take that box ’ome … home … and I’ll have me tea there.’

They bought newspapers and groceries, Hannah disappointed to find the prices were as high as in London. They returned to their temporary home and Hannah said that Benjamin could take the
newspapers
through to the parlour while she prepared dinner. She went to the kitchen and made up the fire and put a joint of roast iamb on the spit. Benjamin appeared in the kitchen, holding a newspaper. ‘What was the name of the frosty-faced female what was on the coach?’

‘That,’ said Hannah repressively, ‘was Lady Beatrice Marsham.’

‘She’s in the newspapers. Her engagement’s written right ’ere.’

‘To whom?’

‘Sir Geoffrey Handford.’

Hannah shook her head in amazement. ‘To think of all the fuss I made! She must have thought me quite mad.’

‘It also says she’s here in Brighton, staying with Mrs Handford, Sir Geoffrey’s ma.’

‘Worse and worse,’ moaned Hannah, shaking her head at her own folly. ‘And there I was crying out that she was being taken away by force. I must say, this news does relieve my conscience, for when Lord Alistair told me that Lady Beatrice was well able to take care of herself, I believed him, but last night I found myself worrying about her again.’

‘You can call on her anyway,’ said Benjamin. ‘I mean, she gave you her card. Got to meet a few of the nobs, ha’nt you?’

‘Well, yes, I could call. Can you find Mrs
Handford
’s address?’

‘Easy,’ said Benjamin.

He was back in about ten minutes. ‘Mrs Handford’s just around hard by. One of those big houses on the Steyne.’

‘How did you find out so quickly?’

‘Thought it might be one of them grand houses, so I asked any servant I saw about and got it the third time of asking.’

‘I wonder if I should go,’ mused Hannah. ‘I mean, I would be social climbing, would I not? And what if I were damned as a mushroom?’

‘Well, if that’s yer attitude, you’d best kiss that Sir George Clarence good-bye.’

‘Benjamin! I allow you a good deal of licence, but I would not have allowed a footman to address me in such terms even were I still only a housekeeper.’

‘Sorry, modom,’ said Benjamin stiffly.

Hannah looked at him for a few moments and then said reluctantly, ‘Oh, very well.’

Late that afternoon, Monsieur Blanc called at the household of a certain Mrs Cambridge. Mrs
Cambridge
was very elegant, a member of the untitled aristocracy and one of Monsieur Blanc’s best
customers
. With a mouthful of pins, he carefully arranged a seam and said, ‘T’ shtrangesht shing ’appened today.’

‘What?’ demanded Mrs Cambridge, twisting round. ‘Do take those pins out of your mouth. It is hard to understand you at the best of times.’