Plain Jane (12 page)

‘I pity you, Jane,’ said Euphemia sweetly as she made for the door.

‘No, you don’t,’ said Jane stoutly. ‘You’re jealous because
your
beau is old and looks like a wasp and
my
Lord Tregarthan is an Adonis.’

But the damage had been done. Jane lay awake, terrified. Were she to become engaged to Lord Tregarthan, then she would be expected to allow him to kiss and cuddle her. But what would that be like? Men had such brutal lusts – everyone knew
that
.

Her governess had once given her a talk on such matters, shortly before her services were no longer considered necessary. She had said that there were several things a lady must endure in order to present her husband with an heir. No lady enjoyed such things. One must close one’s eyes tightly and think of one’s country.

Euphemia seemed to accept this, but Jane had burst out in protest. What were all the love poems and romances about if it were all so unpleasant?

Love poems and romances were about
courtship
, the governess had said severely. That was the real and only honeymoon for a lady. The getting of babies was a different matter entirely.

So Jane tossed and turned, all her pleasure in being taken to a dashing dressmaker, all her joy in her new fashionable crop quite gone. She heartily wished Lord Tregarthan would cry off, forgetting he had not even proposed.

Then she heard a scream coming from away down in the bowels of the house. With nervous fingers, she lit her bed candle, and, shielding the flame, went to the door of her room and opened it.

The scream came again, louder this time.

A door crashed open in the attics and Rainbird came down the stairs, clad only in his nightshirt.

‘It’s Lizzie,’ he said. ‘The scullery maid. Go back to bed, Miss Jane.’

There was the sound of thumping from the attics as the other male servants got up.

Too awake and curious to go back to bed, Jane followed Rainbird down the stairs.

She entered the kitchen door at his heels.

Lizzie was standing on the kitchen table in her shift. Her eyes were wide and dilated. When she saw Rainbird, she pointed with a shaking finger to the floor.

Rainbird held his candle high.

In front of the hearth, neatly laid out, were three dead rats, five mice, and a large pile of dead black beetles. Standing beside them, its tail swishing backwards and forwards, was Joseph’s cat.

Rainbird began to laugh.

‘Come down, Lizzie,’ he said, putting down his candle and lifting the shaking girl down from the table. ‘The livestock is all dead.’

Joseph and MacGregor burst into the kitchen and stared in amazement at the kill made by Joseph’s cat.

‘Weel, that settles that,’ said MacGregor. ‘That animal stays.’

‘I knew he’d be a good ’un,’ crowed Joseph who had left his genteel accent behind him on his pillow. ‘Think on’t, Lizzie, they’re better dead than running about all night.’

A gentle snore from under the table made them all laugh. Dave, the pot boy, was sleeping through all the commotion. The cat stalked forward and pushed MacGregor’s leg with one paw.

‘D’ye see that?’ cried MacGregor. ‘Was ever an animal so intelligent! Come along, Moocher, and I’ll gie ye some gizzards.’

‘Not Moocher,’ wailed Joseph. ‘I wanted somethink more h’elegant.’

‘Now, Miss Jane,’ said Rainbird severely, ‘back to bed. The excitement is over.’ He looked at her narrowly. ‘You look troubled, miss. Is anything the matter?’

‘No,’ said Jane bleakly. ‘Nothing at all.’

After they had all left, Lizzie settled down on her bed, which was a straw mattress on the scullery floor. She cringed as she felt the cat pressing against her. But Lizzie had long been afraid of the rats and beetles that came out when the other servants had gone to bed. It was the noise the hunting cat had made that had frightened her, not to mention the pile of dead creatures she had found on the hearth. She now realized if she encouraged the Moocher to sleep with her, she would no longer have anything to fear. And it was Joseph’s cat.

‘Puss, puss,’ she murmured sleepily. The large cat butted her in the side with its head, then it curled up and lay against her, warm and comforting. Lizzie felt in her bosom for Joseph’s handkerchief and smiled to herself as she fell asleep.

*   *   *

When Jane awoke the next morning all her fears had gone. What a fool she had been to listen to Euphemia! She rushed to the looking glass and admired her new crop of pomaded curls. She was only eighteen and had not even been out and yet she was to receive a proposal of marriage.

Although the ballgown had been ordered for the ball on Thursday, there had been no time to buy Jane a new gown for the proposal. Felice had worked over one of Euphemia’s new ones and was soon on hand to help Jane into it.

Jane was to stay in her room until Lord Tregarthan had seen her father. Then she would be summoned to the drawing room and left alone with her beau. She had risen very early and was waiting at the window a full hour before Lord Tregarthan’s curricle drew up outside the house.

To her surprise, although he had a liveried tiger in attendance, he was in carriage, rather than morning, dress: blue coat with brass buttons and leather breeches with top boots.

She waited and waited. The little clock on the mantel ticked away busily. Jane wondered what her father was saying. How terrible not to even know
what
one’s own father would say. He could not turn down the offer – mama would not let him. But still . . .

What did her father ever think about behind that wooden expression of his? And for that matter, what did Lord Tregarthan think? What sort of man was he?

Tick, tick, tick went the busy seconds. Jane shivered in white muslin. The day was cold and blustery but a fire had not yet been lit in her room.

And then she heard voices below in the street and opened the window and leaned out.

Beau Tregarthan and her father had emerged from the house together. They seemed on the best of terms. In fact, Jane had never heard her father sound so animated. His voice floated up to her. ‘. . . miss it all,’ he said, ‘standing in the cockpit in an inferno of noise and powder smoke and yelling men with the rumble of the huge guns leaping at their ropes as they recoil, and the gunners shouting, “Steady! Stand steady!” as the crews run the worm down the reeking barrels to remove smouldering tinder, and then, “Run her out! Steady! Stand steady! Give fire!” and, oh, my goodness, the batteries going off like an awful clap of thunder . . .’

His voice dropped as he walked around the far side of Lord Tregarthan’s curricle to examine it. He patted the horses. Captain Hart looked much younger than Jane could ever remember him looking. To her surprise, the beau and Captain Hart got into the curricle and drove off.

Jane closed the window and sat down, feeling bewildered. Surely any man who had just asked for someone’s hand in marriage would want to see that someone immediately. A frown of worry creased her brow and she cocked her head. The house seemed very silent.

Gathering up her courage, she made her way downstairs. Faint voices came from the back parlour. She found her mother and Euphemia inside. They both looked up as she entered. Mrs Hart’s look was hard and disapproving. But Euphemia! The thing that made Jane’s heart sink was the look of genuine pity in Euphemia’s beautiful eyes.

‘He did not propose,’ whispered Jane.

‘Of course not,’ snapped Mrs Hart. ‘What a man of Tregarthan’s character and reputation is doing by misleading us so is beyond me.
You
should have known better, Jane. Now, look at the money I have wasted on an expensive ballgown for you, not to mention the horrendous expense of paying for it to be ready by next Thursday. At least,
both
my daughters are not disasters. Berry is coming to take Euphemia driving again.’

Jane tried to say defiantly that she did not care, that she would not have married Lord Tregarthan anyway, but a lump the size of a cricket ball seemed stuck in her throat.

‘Mr Hart has gone to Fladong’s in Oxford Street with Lord Tregarthan,’ said Mrs Hart with a disapproving sniff. Fladong’s was the hotel frequented by naval officers in the way that Slaughter’s Hotel was for the army and Ibbetson’s for the Church of England.

‘He wished to go before, but I put my foot down. Of what use hankering over navy battles when those days are finished. But I could not very well say anything in front of Tregarthan.’

Jane left and went up to her room, hoping that when she was on her own, she would manage to accept with dignity that she had made a mistake, that Tregarthan had not meant a proposal. But Felice was waiting for her, Felice who, in that mysterious way of servants, already knew that my lord had not proposed.

‘Sit down, Miss Jane,’ she said, ‘and we shall discuss milord.’

Jane turned her head away. ‘What is there to discuss?’ she said airily. ‘He has gone out with papa, and that is no great matter.’

‘You were given to understand he would propose to you this morning,’ said Felice, ‘and that
is
a very great matter.’

‘I was mistaken,’ said Jane stiffly. ‘I should have used my wits. He does not care for me.’

‘
Tien!
That is the talk of a child and not a woman. Attend me! Now, this Lord Tregarthan has taken you out driving, no?’

Jane nodded her head.

‘He has never before given any young girl that honour. I heard him advise Mrs Hart to take you to Leonie’s and he also added that he looked forward to seeing you at the ball. A man whose affections are engaged does things like that. You expect too much too soon.’

Jane shrugged. ‘He thinks I am a schoolgirl.’

‘Then stop behaving like one,’ said Felice. ‘You cannot expect any gentleman to propose to a girl without a dowry after such a brief acquaintanceship. Only heiresses are proposed to very quickly and the proposals always come from unsuitable fortune hunters.’

Jane smiled. ‘You are very kind, Felice. I do not think I have heard you say so much before.’

‘Well, now that I have begun to talk, listen,’ said Felice. ‘Now, madame does not wish my presence at the moment, so we shall begin your lessons.

‘You must learn how to flirt, how to gossip, how to charm. I study these things, me, because I, too, may find a husband here.’

‘But servants cannot marry,’ said Jane, wide-eyed.

‘I did not say anything about marrying a servant,’ said Felice. ‘There was no one I wished to marry in Brighton and Mrs Swann did not entertain, which is why I paid that Lady Doyle to recommend me for this post.’

‘
Paid?
’

‘Is it not done? Lady Doyle told me it was quite the thing. I had not had a post before Mrs Swann, you see.’

‘Dear me,’ said Jane. ‘I fear, Felice, that Lady Doyle lies and lies to get money any way she can. We must tell mama.’

‘No, do not do that. She might dismiss me. We shall expose Lady Doyle later. Now, to your lessons . . .’

The days before the ball flew by in a rush. No one had time to ask Mr Hart why he had gone off with Lord Tregarthan. Euphemia and Mrs Hart were kept busy attending routs and assemblies. Euphemia’s vouchers for Almack’s had not arrived, but both she and her mother expected them any day. Jane was left at home. Mrs Hart felt she was already doing more than enough by taking her to the ball in Berkeley Square.

Downstairs, the servants were planning what to do with their evening off. All privately disapproved of Rainbird taking Felice to the play, particularly Alice, Jenny, and Mrs Middleton. He had never asked any of
them
to go to the playhouse. Besides, Felice was
French
, so Rainbird was not only being disloyal to his friends but downright unpatriotic.

Joseph had thought up several grandiose schemes but had finally rejected them all. Even the most practical one – that of meeting Luke, the Charterises’ footman, for a drink – had fallen through as Luke was to be on duty that evening.

Alice, Jenny, and Mrs Middleton finally banded together and arranged to go to Vauxhall to see the fireworks and, for the first time, Joseph noticed the wistful look in Lizzie’s eyes. He could not take her anywhere himself, he thought. Once, when they had all been staying in the country, he had found Lizzie very good company, but it had not mattered then, being away from London, that he should be seen talking to a mere scullery maid.

‘What will you do, Lizzie?’ asked Rainbird.

‘I don’t know,’ said Lizzie sadly. ‘Perhaps I shall stay here with the Moocher.’ She leaned down and patted the gold-and-brown cat, which gave a growling purr and rubbed itself against her legs. Then it leapt lightly onto Joseph’s lap and stared up into his face.

Joseph wriggled uneasily. He felt the Moocher was asking him to take Lizzie out. He felt Lizzie was asking him to take her out, as she looked at him with those large, pansy-brown eyes. To get away from both his adorers, he put the cat on the floor and, mumbling something about needing a breath of fresh air, made his way up the narrow stone-area steps.

Luke was returning back to Number 65, a flat package under his arm. ‘Don’t know what’s up with them all this Season,’ he grumbled when he saw Joseph. ‘Run here . . . run there. Will’s sick, so I got all the work.’ Will was the second footman.

‘And there’s something else,’ said Luke, slouching against the railings. ‘I won the draw at The Running Footman. Fourth prize.’

‘What d’you get?’ asked Joseph. ‘I didn’t get nothing.’

‘Two tickets for Astley’s Amphitheatre.’

‘So who’re you taking?’

‘Nobody. It’s on Thursday and I’m on duty.’

‘I’ll buy ’em, half price,’ said Joseph.

‘Garn. Tell you what – three quarters.’

‘You didn’t pay for ’em,’ said Joseph hotly.

The two footmen seemed set to haggle all night, but Blenkinsop, the butler, emerged from Number 65 and sharply called Luke to heel.

‘All right, half price it is,’ Luke said, shoving the tickets into Joseph’s hand.

Astley’s Amphitheatre at Lambeth was a wonderful circus, full of displays of horseback riding, acrobats, lurid plays, and spectacles. Joseph went downstairs fingering the tickets. Felice had entered the kitchen and was studying a recipe for a wash for the hair.