Diana the Huntress (21 page)

Once again, she savagely cropped her hair and threw the tresses into the fire. Then she took a length of linen and bound her breasts as flat as possible.

All this seemed to take ages but in fact it had only taken her under half an hour. Before she left, she crept quietly into her mother’s room and took a little painted miniature of her from the wall.

Once safely outside the house she swung herself up into the saddle and rode off, never once turning around.

NINE

When Frederica was summoned to the principal’s office in the seminary for young ladies her first thought was that she was in trouble. Had they found the candle she had carefully hidden under her pillow so that she could read at night?

School had not turned out to be so very bad after all. She had made friends with a cheerful bouncing girl of her own age called Bessie Bradshaw. Bessie was as outgoing as Frederica was introverted and the one complemented the other.

By the time Frederica pushed open the door of the office she decided it must be the candle and wondered whether to tell the truth or to lie and say she did not know how it got there.

The principal was a fussy faded lady. She was not alone in the room. A young man stood looking out of the window, his back towards Frederica.

‘Ah, Frederica,’ said the principal. ‘I have told your brother it is customary to let us know in advance when any of the girls are expecting visitors. You may use my room for ten minutes.’

The young man at the window turned and Frederica gave a gasp of surprise.

‘Is anything the matter?’ demanded the principal.

‘N-no, ma’am,’ faltered Frederica. ‘My brother has grown so tall, I hardly recognized him.’

‘Very well,’ said the principal. ‘Ten minutes and no more.’

Frederica waited until the door had closed.

‘Diana!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’

‘Oh, Freddie,’ sighed Diana, ‘I have brought distress on our family. I am in such a mess.’

‘Tell me,’ urged Frederica, ‘and I will see what I can do.’

‘I don’t know if I can manage to tell you all in ten minutes,’ said Diana, ‘but I will try.’ She proceeded to tell her amazed sister everything that had happened.

When she had finished Frederica clasped her hands and said, ‘Only tell me what to do to help you.’

‘There is nothing you
can
do, Freddie,’ sighed Diana. ‘I am come to say goodbye. I think I will go to London and call on Lady Godolphin and ask her to help me find some work. She will not be shocked, you know. It is no use going to Minerva or Annabelle or any of the others. They would only tell Father and I would have to return to Hopeworth and I couldn’t bear to face anyone after all the scandal.’

‘But I think you love this Lord Dantrey,’ said Frederica.

‘That does not matter. One thing is very clear, Freddie, and that is that he does not love me. Oh, dear, I hear that woman returning.’

‘At least write to me,’ begged Frederica, hanging on to her sleeve.

Diana gave her sister a fierce hug. ‘I
will
write, Freddie,’ she whispered.

She made her bow to the principal who had just entered the room, and then left.

Frederica ran upstairs and looked out of the landing window on to the courtyard below. Diana sat on her mare, Blarney, her head bowed. Tears were running down her face when she finally raised her head and set off down the drive at a canter.

Frederica turned from the window and found herself staring at her own reflection in the glass. Her dark hair hung in distressed wisps from under her cap and her large no-colour eyes stared wistfully back at her. She had a picture of Diana when she was happy, vital, beautiful and very much alive. Diana was made to fall in love and live happily ever after, an enviable state to which Frederica was convinced she herself could never aspire. Better that her own lovers remained between the covers of her books where they could not condemn or find fault with this one Armitage failure, this one daughter who had inherited neither looks, nor charm, nor grace. She gave a little sigh and thought of Diana, vulnerable and alone in the world.

‘It’s just not
fair
,’ muttered Frederica. ‘Something
must be done to stop her.’ She sat down on the stairs and thought hard. Then she ran down to the deserted school library and found a pen and some paper.

She took a deep breath, pulled the paper towards her and began to write. ‘Dear Lord Dantrey …’

Two days later Lady Godolphin was awakened by the sound of one of her servants scratching at the door. She groaned and cursed. Why this morning of all mornings had one of her normally discreet staff decided to behave badly?

‘Grrmph,’ said a sleepy voice from the other pillow.

‘Go to sleep, Arthur,’ said Lady Godolphin to Colonel Brian. ‘’Tis only some stupid servant.’

The scratching persisted.

Lady Godolphin adjusted her scarlet wig and tied the ribbons and her nightcap more securely under her chin, swung her legs out of bed and waddled to the door.

She opened the door a crack and glared at Mice, her butler.

‘What are you about, you great lummox, waking me at dawn?’ she demanded.

‘It is one o’clock in the afternoon,’ said Mice in injured tones.

‘That’s dawn, you fool.’

‘Mr David Armitage has been waiting downstairs for the past four hours, my lady. He said not to wake you but the young man seems in some distress …’

‘Oh, lor’,’ groaned Lady Godolphin. ‘Very well.’

‘What was all that about?’ mumbled Colonel Brian from the bed.

‘Never mind,’ said Lady Godolphin, her voice muffled as she pulled a petticoat over her head without undoing the tapes. ‘We’re cross lovers, that’s what we are, Arthur.’

‘My love, how could I ever be cross with you?’

‘Well, that’s what the poet said. Pair o’ cross lovers. ’Course they was foreigners, although one lot belonged to the Montagus and they’re as English as roast beef. Not feeling any pangs of remorse, are you, my duck?’

‘No, my angel, my fall from grace was a marvellous thing. Let us be married as quickly as possible.’

‘Oh,
Arthur
!’ squealed Lady Godolphin, wrenching off her petticoat with such force that her wig went over one ear. She threw herself on the bed.

‘My lady will be with you presently,’ said Mice to Diana. He raised his eyes at the sound of creaking bed which was coming from upstairs. ‘Perhaps in another half hour.’

He was optimistic. It was another two hours before Lady Godolphin finally put in an appearance. Her conscience smote her when she saw Diana’s white, tear-stained face.

‘Back in man’s clothes again,’ said Lady Godolphin when the servants had served them with cakes and wine and left.

‘Now it’s no use a-crying, Diana. You’d best tell me all.’

Lady Godolphin listened to Diana’s tale of woe with horror. She was proud of the success of the Armitage girls. How society would laugh and snigger over this appalling piece of gossip.

‘And so,’ ended Diana, ‘I thought perhaps you might be able to help me find work. I would rather work as a man. I am quite good with horses.’

‘Tish. You must let me think. It’s no use me
moralizing
and preaching because I ain’t a saint. I was married before I started any fun and games, and a married woman can get away with a lot. If this Dantrey was as mad as you say he was and hit this Emberton fellow, then it stands to reason he must have a
tendre
for you.’

Diana sadly shook her cropped head.

‘To think I was so misled by that Mr Emberton,’ wailed Lady Godolphin. ‘Let me think.’

She put her chin on her hand and gazed into the fire. She knew what she should do and that was write to Charles Armitage and tell him his daughter was safe. But that would mean Diana would have to go home in disgrace. The family would have to get together and raise an enormous dowry, for no man would want her now unless he was paid to marry her. Lady Godolphin silently cursed the late Mrs Armitage. If she had not been so self-indulgent with her drugs and potions then she would be on this earth and doing her maternal duty. At least Sally, the maid, was the only servant in the house who knew that Diana Armitage and David Armitage were not two different people, and Sally would not talk.

Lady Godolphin rang the bell. ‘Arthur will know what to do,’ she said firmly.

‘Arthur?’

‘Colonel Brian. We are to be married and you are the first to know, Diana.’

Diana gave Lady Godolphin her heartfelt
congratulations
, but trembled inside, wondering what Colonel Brian would think of the scandal.

The Colonel, when he arrived, seemed to take it all in his stride as if young debutantes dressed as men and running away from home were part and parcel of everyday life.

‘I have a cousin,’ he said, ‘who was very wild in her youth. She is now married and living in Boston in America. I suggest we buy Diana a passage to America and I will furnish her with letters of introduction. She may start a new life. My cousin, Jane Croxley, is kind and warm-hearted.’

‘But to send her all that way!’ moaned Lady Godolphin.

‘It need not be for ever,’ said the colonel. ‘After a few years when the scandal has died down, she may return.’

‘What think you of this plan?’ Lady Godolphin asked Diana.

‘It is very kind of you, Colonel Brian,’ said Diana in a low voice. All at once she knew she could not bear to return to Hopeworth, to live with her shame, to hear of Lord Dantrey’s marriage to Ann Carter. ‘Only please do not tell anyone until after I have left.’

Lady Godolphin shook her heavy head. It would be too cruel to keep them waiting. It will take time to arrange your passage. I will send one of my servants down to Hopeworth this day to say you have already left and another to your sisters. You may as well stay dressed the way you are.’ Lady Godolphin ran a critical
eye over Diana’s clothes. ‘Or better than you are,’ she amended. ‘Colonel Brian will see to it that you have a new suit of clothes and some decent cravats.’

Lady Godolphin and Colonel Brian threw
themselves
into the plot with great energy. The colonel went off to find out about ships to America and Lady Godolphin sat down and composed a letter to the Reverend Charles Armitage.

‘I left it too late,’ said Lord Dantrey savagely a week later to his friend, Mr Tony Fane. ‘She has sailed for America.’

He kicked the logs in the grate and stared down moodily into the leaping flames.

‘Gone just like that!’ exclaimed Mr Fane. ‘It surely takes longer than a week to arrange a passage.’

‘Lady Godolphin wrote to Mr Armitage to say she had already left. Some old lover of hers, Colonel Brian, arranged that Diana should stay with a cousin of his in Boston.’

‘Seems like a sensible arrangement.’

‘It seems like an unnecessary arrangement,’ said Lord Dantrey bitterly. ‘Did I not terrify that idiot Emberton into saying he had made the whole story up out of jealousy? He will not dare open his mouth now. I told Armitage that and he just sighed heavily and said he would write to Diana in Boston and tell her to come home.’

‘That’s good news,’ said Mr Fane. ‘All you have to do is wait for her to return. You could write to her yourself.’

‘By the time she gets my letter, she could be married to some Boston pumpkin.’

‘Perhaps she might have said something about you to Lady Godolphin before she left.
That
would be a little comfort.’

‘Perhaps. I will go to town and speak to her anyway. Do you come with me?’

‘Of course. Don’t want to stay here in the country on my own.’

Chalmers, the butler, opened the door. ‘Mrs Carter and Miss Ann Carter,’ he said.

Lord Dantrey did not even look round.

‘We are not at home, Chalmers,’ he said. ‘Now, or at any other time.’

When Frederica was told a gentleman was waiting to see her, her heart soared. Diana! Perhaps she had decided to stay. Perhaps she was returning to Hopeworth.

But it was the stocky figure of her father who came forward to greet her.

‘Papa!’ said Frederica nervously, wondering whether to ask about Diana.

‘Just thought I would call to see how you go on,’ said the vicar cheerfully.

Frederica’s heart rose. He would not look so cheerful if Diana were still missing.

‘Diana is well, I hope, Papa?’ she timidly ventured.

The vicar’s face fell. ‘As to Diana,’ he said, ‘Lady Godolphin has made a right mull of things. Seems she’s packed her off to some relative o’ Colonel Brian’s in America. Oh, you won’t have heard of the scandal.’

‘I did. Diana wrote to me,’ said Frederica, not wanting to say that Diana had called in person.

‘It seems that Lord Dantrey made Emberton tell everyone he was lying so there was no reason for Diana to leave at all. Well, well. At least there isn’t a stain on her character and she can return any time she likes. I have written to her. Lady Godolphin sent me the address.’

Frederica now wished she had not posted that letter to Lord Dantrey. She had not wanted to give it to the principal since all letters addressed to anyone outside one’s own immediate family were usually read. It had taken her days before she had managed to slip it to the post boy.

‘Fact is,’ said the vicar, ‘there’s been a want o’ care in your upbringing.’

‘Minerva looked after us all very well, and Mama, too,’ said Frederica loyally.

‘Aye, well, it’s you who are my concern now, my chuck. I’ll tell you a secret. You are to have a new mama.’

‘S-so soon?’

‘It would not be fitting for me to get married before the year of mourning is over,’ said the vicar righteously.