Regency Masquerade (17 page)

Frances
was starting to get alarmed and a little angry.  Who on earth was playing this
trick on her?  She knocked loudly on the door, “Hullo?  Is anyone there?” she
called again.  She continued knocking and shouting for five minutes but there
was no response.  Eventually she gave up for the moment and looked around the
room more thoroughly.  It did not take long, there was no furniture other than
the bed. Gradually she became aware that she was wearing her camisole and
drawers but there were no other clothes in the room.  There was however a
chamber pot under the bed.  She was still feeling rather queasy, so she decided
the most sensible thing to do was to lie back down on the bed and wait for
whoever it was to come back and tell her what was happening.

Frances
had fallen back into a light doze when the door opened and Lady Murray came in
accompanied by Tom who was looking both fearful and embarrassed. 

“What
is the meaning of this?” she demanded, instantly awake.

“You
are being confined, for your own safety,” replied Lady Murray bluntly.  “Your
behaviour has been such that I can no longer allow you to leave the house.  Dr
Russell advised that it would be best if you were removed to a quiet place in
the country but until we can arrange that you will remain in this room.”

“What
in heavens’ name are you talking about?  What behaviour?”  Frances was
flabbergasted.

“Your
wantoness, your complete lack of modesty and virtue!  I have received a letter
from Chatswood – ah I see you know what that means!  You have been exposed as
nothing but a strumpet!” Lady Murray struggled to control herself.  “I am
certain you must be suffering from a brain fever.  Dr Russell has seen you and
he agrees with me, however, no relation of mine shall be placed in Bedlam, not
even you.  A quiet life in the country is the best you can hope for.  If you
are wise, you will agree with me on this, it will make things so much more
pleasant for you.”  She smiled grimly.  “Dr Russell has left me some medicine
for you in case you should become violent, I hope I will not have to use it.  I
will leave you now, if you are quiet and obedient, Tom will bring you something
to eat and drink in a little while, and possibly a book to read.”

 Frances
was too shocked to react when Lady Murray whisked out of the room with Tom
behind her and locked the door again.  She felt like banging on the door and
screaming her head off but she sat down bemusedly on the bed. “Think, I must
think, not react hysterically which is what they are expecting I am sure. 
Perhaps I will play their game for awhile, pretend to capitulate, and wait for
an opportunity to escape.”

Mrs
Pearson was dithering.  When she had asked Lady Murray if she could pop up and
see Frances she had been told that at the moment it would be too unsettling for
her to have visitors, perhaps in a day or two it might be possible. Although
Lady Murray had spoken as if she were distressed when she talked about Frances,
her companion was no longer certain that was the truth.  She noticed she had
stopped using her name.   Instead she called her “that girl” and more than once
she had caught a look of triumph on her face which she had been unable to
understand.  She remembered how bitter had been the breach between Lady Amanda and
her mother, how long Lady Murray had held the grudge, was she perhaps now
extending it to Frances? Mrs Pearson was certain Amanda would have wanted her
to help her daughter if she could.  She did not like to disobey her employer
but she felt she must see Frances for herself and talk to her.  Waiting until
Lady Murray had retired for the night and the house was quiet, Mrs Pearson
crept upstairs to the nursery.  There was a light in the passage!  She stopped
at the corner and peered around.  She could not believe her eyes, Tom was
sitting slumped in a chair in front of the door, giving the strong and
unpleasant suggestion of a jailer.  Quickly she tiptoed back to her room,
something havey-cavey was definitely going on!

John
Hopgood was also feeling uneasy about the situation, Frances had not been in
touch for several days and this was unlike her.  He hunted around for a reason
to call on her and discovered a single glove lying forgotten under her bed.  He
took this, dressed himself in a clean jacket and went around to the servants’
entrance of the house on Devonshire Street.  “Please be so good as to tell Miss
Frances I am here, I’m Hopgood,” he told the young maid who opened the door to
him.  The girl gave him an odd look and said “I’ll just get Mr Hanson.”  She
returned in a moment with a superior looking man in a frock coat, “And you
are?” he asked coldly.

“Miss
Frances manservant,” replied John, not liking the look of things at all.  He
held up the glove.

“You
may leave it with me,” said the butler.  “You may go.  The lady in question no
longer needs your services, my good man.”

“But
I must see her!” demanded John.  “What about my wages?  She still owes me two
weeks wages.”

The
butler frowned at him, “Wait here.”  He disappeared into the house and returned
with ten shillings.  “Take this and go, or I will call the constable,” he
ordered. 

“There’s
no need for that me fine fellow,” said John taking the money.   “I just want
what’s owing to me.”   He sauntered off without a backward glance.  There was
something very wrong here, he had told Frances it was all too good to be true,
but she hadn’t listened, and now she was in a right scrape.  He needed help, a
fancy house like that, there was no way he could get inside.  For a moment he
imagined what would happen if he went to the Runners and told them a young
woman was being held there against her will.  They would think he was telling
them a Canterbury Tale, either that or he was in his cups.  No-one would
believe him. 

Lord
Carleton was the third person to have his peace cut up that evening, worrying
about Frances.  He had heard absolutely nothing since he received her letter. 
The news of a lost heiress returned to the fold should have flown around
London’s drawing rooms before the gossips could have drawn a second breath. 
The silence was deafening, and more than a little disquieting.  He would have
to take the bull by the horns and call on Lady Murray tomorrow.  Perhaps he
could say he had known Frances father and wished to pay his respects to his
daughter?

He
was about to set out for his club for a late supper when his butler drew
himself to his attention by appearing at his elbow and clearing his throat.
“Excuse me my lord but there is a person here to see you,” he said cautiously. 
“I explained that you were about to go out and suggested he call back tomorrow
but he was very insistent.  He said you would think it important. His name is Hopgood
but he said that would not likely mean anything to you, so he asked me to give
you this letter.”  Carleton had been looking at him with raised eyebrows but
took the folded piece of paper held out to him.

It
was from the rector of Brasted announcing the fact that he had married Lady
Amanda Murray to Mr Henry Metcalf twenty five years ago.  Frances!  Carleton
seized the butlers arm.  “Quickly man, where is he?”

“In
the hall my lord,” stuttered Rawlings in alarm.  Carleton released him and
strode down to the hall where a middle aged stranger was standing, twisting his
cap between his hands.  The disappointment was like a blow.

“Yes?”
he asked, unaware of how intimidating he looked in his evening wear, his cloak
already around his shoulders.

The
older man gazed hesitantly up at him, was this tall, elegant Corinthian really
a friend of Frances?  Well he had come this far he wasn’t going to give up
without a struggle.

He
stated in a firm voice, “I’ve come about Miss Frances, milord,” then stopped as
Carleton held up his hand and shook his head slightly.  The change in
Carleton’s face was remarkable, it was as if someone had turned on a light. 
“Let us go into the study, Hopgood is it?”

“Yes
my lord,” he answered bemusedly as he was ushered into a cosy study and seated
in a leather chair before he could blink.

“That
will be all Rawlings, thank you.”  Carleton dismissed the butler. “A glass of
brandy?” he offered.

“Thank
you my lord,” was the dazed reply. “Very kind of you.”

“Now
tell me what has been happening,” requested Carleton, pouring himself a glass
as well.

John
filled him in about his trip to Brasted and what Frances had disclosed about
her subsequent visit to Lady Murray.  He then went on to recount what had
occurred that very day when he had tried to see Frances at Devonshire Street. 
“Miss Frances would never have sent me away like that, not if it were ever so. 
I am thinking my lord that perhaps Lady Murray was not so pleased to have her
granddaughter prove she was legitimate as she pretended,” he added shrewdly.
“It seems plain to me that Miss Frances is being held there against her will.”

Carleton
nodded, “It would seem so!  I will call on her tomorrow and see what I can
discover.  Where are you staying?”

“At
the Regent Hotel, my lord.  Miss Frances still has rooms there and some of her
belongings.”

“I
will call on you tomorrow evening, will you be there?”

“I’ll
make sure of it, my lord,” John replied, feeling hopeful.  Lord Carleton
appeared to know what he was doing.

“I
am on my way to Whites, can I drop you somewhere?” Carleton asked.

“No
thank you my lord.  I might just take a stroll round to Devonshire Street, just
to keep an eye on things.”

Carleton
nodded and they parted at the door.  He thought he might take a leaf out of Hopgood’s
book and spread the word of Frances existence and her parents’ marriage.  If it
became common knowledge it would be much more difficult for Lady Murray to
orchestrate a cover up.  He would make an appearance at Almack’s to drop the
word in a few feminine ears and then call in at his club.  Entering the
“Marriage Mart” he was fortunate enough to see Sammy Fairfax there with a party
of friends and went up to her, “Sammy, give me the next dance will you?”

“But
I am already promised to Tom Humphries,” she protested, smiling at him.

“Fob
him off,” he demanded impatiently, “I have something extremely important to
tell you.  You will be the first person to hear the news,” he offered tantalizingly.

Sammy
swapped her dance with Tom in exchange for going in to supper with him and was
soon standing up with Carleton, eager to hear what he had to say.

“Do
you remember the woman you met as Diana Murray?”

She
nodded questioningly, her eyes fixed on his. “Yes?”

“Her
real name is Frances Metcalf and she is the missing granddaughter of Lady Anna
Murray, her mother was Lady Anna’s daughter Amanda and her father was Henry
Metcalf.”

“Lud! 
Is it true?  She said she thought she was a relation of Lady Julia Murray!” 
Sammy exclaimed excitedly.

“Her
aunt,” confirmed Carleton.  “She is staying with her grandmother at the
moment.  No doubt she will be presented soon.”

“But
how-?”

“Before
you pepper me with questions, that is all I know,” interrupted Carleton
firmly.  “I am sure she will have lots to tell you when you see her next. 
Perhaps you and your aunt might call on her one day soon,” he suggested
distractingly.

Despite
his disclaimer, Sammy continued to plague him with unanswerable questions until
he was glad to hand her off to her next partner.  He stayed only to politely
greet several dowagers of his acquaintance, before departing for his club
before Sammy could corner him again.  He took a slightly different approach to
spread the tale at Whites.  A few simple questions as to whether George or
Harry had met the latest heiress was enough to get the rumours circulating.

Unaware
of the schemes being hatched in her support, Frances was getting tired of being
compliant.  She had spent a very boring day pacing her room and had even
ventured to read a few pages of the improving book Lady Murray had selected for
her.  She had carefully explored every inch of the room, which took less than
ten minutes and had reached the conclusion that her best weapon was the chamber
pot.  She had spent an hour testing the strength of the bars in the window and
attempting to chip away at the bricks they were embedded in but unless she was
going to be there for several weeks, the only way out was through the door.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

The
following afternoon, Lord Carleton dressed in a dark blue coat and cream
pantaloons, presented himself at the door of Lady Murrays’ house and sent in
his card.  He was uncertain how he would be received but what he had never
expected was to be left standing at the door and told by the butler, “I am
afraid Her Ladyship is not at home.  She is not receiving anyone, good day to
you my lord.”  He was turning away, still bemused by the rudeness of his
reception when the door opened and a small elderly woman ventured out.  “I am
most sorry my lord, my mistress is a little blue-devilled at the moment.  Were
you wanting anything in particular?  We so rarely have any gentleman callers.”

Carleton
stopped and looked at her, “My apologies ma’am, I am afraid I do not remember
if we have met before,” he said politely.