Mistress of My Fate (41 page)
“I shall be requiring you for a very important task.” I spoke in hardly more than a whisper. “I am in need of money and shall be dispatching you to the pawnbroker to sell some of my possessions.”
Lucy nodded.
“Mr. St. John is to know nothing of this. Do you understand?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Let no one among the staff guess at your actions either, for if you are found out we shall both be undone.”
She regarded me with watery, dog-like eyes.
I then went to my rosewood box of jewels, the casket that had once belonged to my mother, and unlocked it. From it, I removed the flat case that contained the collar of pearls and the two large earrings, and committed it into Lucy’s hands.
“Bring this to Dubois, the pawnbroker on Piccadilly, near the church of St. James. Mr. St. John is to dine with Lord Charles Spencer and his wife this evening, an occasion to which I have not been invited. Wait until he departs before you set out. Tell Mr. Dubois that your lady is in need of funds and hopes to fetch a good price for the jewels, but do not sell it to him until you have told me what sum he has offered. That is all for the moment,” said I, dismissing her.
She curtseyed.
“And Lucy,” I whispered to her before she quit the room, “make certain to hide it well beneath your cloak.”
I then sent away my accomplice with her pocketful of treasure—and waited.
It must be said in her defence that I, too, believed St. John had departed. Like Lucy, I, too, had seen the coach before the steps of the house and then heard it pull away. What neither of us knew was that it had left without its passenger. The coachman noticed that a horse
had thrown a shoe and so the entire apparatus was made to return to the mews. St. John had been standing in the window, idling away the time, awaiting his driver’s return, when he observed Lucy steal away, concealing what appeared to be an object beneath her cloak. He sprang as quickly as a hawk upon a vole and, within an instant, had sent his valet barrelling down the road after her. A terrible scene then followed in the hall, and it was the racket produced by this that alerted me to the failure of my plan.
I flew down the stairs and there found the housekeeper, St. John’s valet and my protector encircling my poor, dear Lucy like a gang of villains. St. John had retrieved the box, which he now held in his hand.
“Oh dearest Jack,” I cried. “She is not to blame! She speaks the truth!”
They turned their heads, surprised to hear me plead my maid’s case.
“I have found her attempting to steal your jewels, madam,” St. John shot.
“No, dearest angel,” I panted, “I gave them to her…”
“Your mother’s jewels, Henrietta!” stormed my keeper, redirecting his ire towards me. “What? What sort of deception is this? Are you in want of money? How can that be, madam, when you hardly approach the gaming tables? What are you in need of that I have failed to provide?”
Oh, my mind raced like a Derby champion.
“I wished to buy some trinkets for my boy, perhaps a silver rattle… or… or a teething coral.”
St. John eyed me in that sidelong manner I feared. He breathed slowly, his nostrils flaring as he considered my tale.
“You wished merely to buy the boy a trinket, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But which boy?”
I squinted at him, not quite comprehending his meaning.
“Which
boy
, madam?”
“Why… your… your boy, Jack,” said I, meekly.
He shook his head. “No, that is a falsehood. My son has no need for silver and coral gewgaws. He has enough at his disposal. I see to it that he wants for nothing.” He returned his searing eye to me. “What were you after, madam?”
“I have told you, Jack.”
Each of the party stood in silence, their gazes nailed to me.
“You wish to buy the boy a trinket!” He sniffed out a laugh. “I would wager the boy you wish to ply with a gift would far prefer a pair of gloves… perhaps a horsewhip? Or perhaps, even, a watch?”
“No, sir,” said I sternly. “You are quite mistaken on that account.”
“You, madam, are the most artful, deceitful liar that ever wore shoes, and this time, I shall prove it!” And with that St. John dashed up the stairs to my dressing room.
Dear Lord, I had no notion of what his intentions were when he arrived at my dressing-room door. His face was a hideous mask of fury; his fists were clenched with rage.
I ran behind him, with Lucy at my train.
“Jack!” I cried. “Jack, why do you persecute me so? I have done nothing to merit this!”
He pushed open my door and stood at the centre of the room, his eyes scanning it for some unknown object.
“Madam, I would have the key to your jewel box. And yours as well, hussy,” he said to Lucy, holding out his hand. After we had relinquished them, he went straight to the rosewood box.
“If I find any item in here which is not of my giving, if I find any gift from a gentleman not me, I shall send you from my house directly!”
He was so brutish, his temper so foul, that I began to grow quite terrified, though I had no cause. Of this invented crime, I was entirely innocent. Still, his shaking hands unlocked the casket and tore through the contents. He pulled from it all of his earrings, all of his hair slides, the two modish filigree necklaces that had been given to me, the emerald brooch, the brooch made of brilliants and every other present
besides, and yet he failed to uncover any proof of my infidelity. But it did not end there. Unsatisfied with his findings, he then went to my dressing table and lifted every lid. He emptied a glass jar of marchale powder, and another of pomade. He forced Lucy, who now was sobbing audibly, to unlock every door of my clothes press, every cabinet and every drawer of the tallboy. He opened my escritoire and ran his hand through it.
When he had completed his examination, he drew a long, angry breath and glared at me.
“Do not think you can hide so much as a pin from me, madam. I will discover all your secrets. You are a whore, and I have learned that whores are not to be trusted, no matter how sweet their dispositions.” He then slipped the two keys belonging to my jewel box into his waistcoat pocket. “From henceforth, I shall be the master of these,” he announced and, with a nod, departed.
It was that incident, dear reader, which caused me to consider quite carefully my future. St. John had confiscated my jewels, thereby robbing me of the means of funding my escape. This in itself was a terrible hindrance, but worse still, the discovery of my plot to sell my mother’s pearls had served to reawaken his tyrannical jealousy, which Georgie’s birth had temporarily conquered. I should never again be free of his gaze, and if he never permitted me a moment’s peace, I should never be at liberty to plan my flight. I had no more than a handful of pennies at my disposal, and while he observed me, I was not even free to sell my clothing or trinkets. Should an item be missed, he was certain to question me as to its whereabouts. I knew then that to flee this prison would be impossible.
Friends, had this been nine months earlier, I might have collapsed upon my floor into a sobbing heap of silks and chiffons, but in the passing of that time, my character had been altered. I had seen much and gained no small share of wisdom. Among the many lessons I learned was that it was far better to meditate upon a problem than to
fall into hysterics on account of it. Allenham had once remarked upon the strength of my mind. Was it not better to make use of that sharp tool, rather than to dull it with despair and weeping? This is not to say I did not shed a tear or two, but I soon blotted them away and applied myself with great determination to resolving my dilemma.
You may think me a radical, but I have always been of the mind that womankind is rendered helpless by her dependency upon men. We require husbands, fathers, sons and brothers to sign our documents and to speak for us. Why, I had no bank account, no assets, no protection from the law. Even today, in this modern era of steam power and gas lighting, I still require a man to defend my interests. Imagine me then, in my youth, without a father or brother to protect me, and my son too young by far to speak for his mother’s cares. At St. John’s mercy, I was no better than a rabbit in a trap, and the more I contemplated my predicament, the louder I began to hear Gertrude Mahon’s warnings in my head. I soon came to understand too well her insistence that I have in mind a number of possible admirers into whose guardianship I might throw myself, should circumstances dictate. What a fool I felt.
“I know not what to do,” I confided to Lucy the following day. “I must take my leave of this place,” I said to her in an agitated whisper.
I believe Lucy understood my meaning directly. She would not confess to it at first, for fear of seeming impertinent. She knew her role, and my association with Lord Allenham was no business of hers. But, to be sure, my maid was no dullard. Her impish smile and darting hazel eyes betrayed the quick wit of an urchin. I suspect she had knitted together the strands of my story well before I drew her into my confidence.
At first she was shy of offering me advice, but then, when she saw my eyes imploring her, she laid down her darning.
“Might you flee to someone, madam?” she asked timidly.
“No,” I remarked with sadness, “I am quite alone in the world, Lucy.”
“Have you no friends who might take you in?”
“No one.” I thought at once of Mrs. Mahon and closed my eyes in shame. “No one who would not betray me to Mr. St. John. And how might you pack my belongings? How might I prepare to flee without his notice? I could not very well abandon this place with only the clothes upon my back. What should I live upon? Even the kindest of hostesses would not pay for my maintenance.” I had begun to wring my hands in distress.
“Then, madam, if I may be so bold… you must find yourself another gentleman.” Lucy did not wish to meet my gaze as she offered her suggestion.
“But I do not wish to find another gentleman!” I inhaled sharply. “I wish only to fly to Paris—at once.” And there, if she had not guessed it already, I confessed to her the truth of my situation.
Lucy did not respond for some time to my revelation. Instead she turned over the stocking she mended.
“Madam, if you are clever… and willing… there are ways in which…” She stopped and shook her head.
“Continue,” I urged her.
“Begging your pardon, madam, it is to your credit, but I do not think you have enough of the vixen in you to attempt such a thing as I was to propose.”
“Tell me, girl,” I pressed.
“I had once a mistress, a noblewoman who had ruined her reputation with a captain, and when she found him unfaithful to her, she wished to part with him. He would not have it, and so she permitted another spark to make love to her, and when the captain found them together, he called the other gentleman out to the Powder Mills on Hounslow Heath to fight for her. Her gentleman wounded the captain, though not fatally, but as he had lost the challenge, the captain was made to give her up. I boxed up all her apparel and trinkets, which were then sent toher new abode.” All at once Lucy began to giggle and hid her face behind her hand.
“What?” I demanded. “What then?”
“Oh madam,” she gasped, composing herself, “begging your pardon… My mistress, she was a sly one, for no sooner had she quit the captain’s house for her new gentleman’s lodgings than she eloped with a musician! She sold all the clothes and jewels she acquired from the captain so she might make a life with her musical lover. The poor blunderhead who freed her from the captain was left no more than her garter ribbons to show for his efforts!” she exclaimed.
Had I been another Henrietta, that child who had thrown herself upon the world a year earlier, I would have bristled at this fable. In truth, I doubt I would have grasped the meaning of it, and certainly the ingenuity of its heroine would have been lost on me entirely. Although it must be said that the lady in question’s conduct was less than exemplary, I was desperate for a plan, and her cunning strategy brought a thoughtful smile to my lips.
Quite as I had anticipated, my situation with St. John grew ever worse following that fateful encounter. He was now more convinced than ever that I should be kept under the strictest of guard. Indeed, his suspicion had been fanned to such a heat that he positively forbade me to leave the house. He would have permitted me to go abroad in the company of Mrs. Mahon, he informed me, “But as you have unwisely broken off that friendship and as I trust no others among your coven of associates, you shall remain at home, unless escorted by me.”
The one exception to this sentence of imprisonment was the thrice-weekly visits he allowed to Georgie. These I might make without him, so long as Lucy accompanied me. At first I thought it peculiar that he should permit me this liberty, but I might have guessed at his motives. My faithful Lucy, who was proving her devotion to me by the day, revealed the truth of the matter.
“Two shillings,” said she, “he promised me for reporting all your movements to him. He wished me to keep watch over you, to tell him if you paid visits to any other person besides Mrs. Brown.”
I was indignant upon learning this. That he should treat me as a villain was more than I could bear. I expressed my deepest gratitude to Lucy for her loyalty, and promised her that I should forever be a kind and generous mistress.
“Madam…” She hesitated. “Should you go to Paris… might you be inclined to keep me for your maid?”
To be sure, this girl was bold. She knew the value of things and had learned how to acquire what she desired. Some might call this designing. Certainly, it was impertinent, but I had arrived at a time in my life when I was coming to admire traits that I might once have thought despicable. Now I saw their necessity. Lucy would prove an asset to me.
“Yes, Lucy. I should want a maid as constant as you at my side, always.”
She made a triumphant smile at me, and I at her. And so, from that day, our pact was sealed.
I must confess, Fortune truly walked beside me in those months of winter. I cannot ascribe any reason to this. I suppose the winged goddess had abandoned me for so long that she now wished to make her peace. This she did in spades, for no sooner had she sent me Lucy, then she blessed me once more by delivering Philip Quindell.
