Belinda expected Mrs Judd to blush and disclaim but she rose and walked quietly to the piano and stood beside her husband. She began to sing ‘Cherry Ripe’. Belinda sat up straight, her eyes wide with amazement. Mrs Judd had a beautiful soprano voice, as clear as a bell.
What a pair of nightingales! thought the marquess. And what are they doing hidden away in a ladies’ seminary in Bath?
Only Hannah and Penelope remained unmoved; Penelope because music meant nothing to her, good or bad, and Hannah because her mind was busy with plans. Mrs Judd was eminently bullyable. But what was it that started friction in a marriage? Why, debt, lack of money, thought Hannah with satisfaction. Rows began and went on. Mr Judd was a weak man and in a perverse way had begun to enjoy ill-treating his wife. The crushable Mrs Judd had begun to sink under such treatment and, thinking little of herself, obscurely felt she deserved it, which, in a woman, was an open invitation for more bad treatment.
Before leaving her husband, Mrs Clarence, wife of Hannah’s late employer, had held a musicale in Thornton Hall, their home in Kensington. Ever considerate of the servants, she had arranged for the staff to listen outside the room in which the concert was being held. A couple of singers, man and wife, had been engaged at great expense. But they had not been nearly so good as the Judds, thought Hannah. Something must be done about them. It was no use saying Mrs Judd would be better off without that husband of hers. Women like Mrs Judd would simply go ahead and find another bully. They need a patron, thought Hannah, eyeing the marquess covertly. That gentleman was sitting enraptured by the singing, his normally austere face looking younger. He and Belinda looked similar in that moment, each wrapped up in the pleasure of the music.
They must marry.
Hannah gave a little sigh. She had set herself a great task, but she was determined that if Hannah Pym had any say in the matter, then Belinda Earle would arrive in Bath as an engaged lady.
The song was finished. The marquess, despite his absorption, had nonetheless sensed that it was Belinda, not Penelope, who had shared his pleasure in the singing and music.
Hannah decided to retire and have a good night’s sleep while she made her plans. She usually needed very little sleep, but the bitter cold of the day and the alarms of the accident had left her feeling tired. Belinda rose at the same time, curtsied to the company, and followed Hannah from the room. The Judds, too, made their escape.
‘An unexpectedly charming evening,’ said Penelope. ‘It is very educational to study people of a rank lower than oneself.’
‘I think you will find Miss Earle is of our rank in life,’ said the marquess. Having been toadied to and then pursued by adventurers and wastrels from an early age, he had developed a nice eye for social distinctions. ‘In fact, I know I have heard the name before. Untitled aristocracy, I believe.’
‘Are you sure?’ cooed Penelope. ‘Miss Earle is a delightful creature and I quite dote on her already, but a little strange in her ways, do you not think? A certain gaucherie? I could not help but overhear what she said to you at supper. To remark on the colour of a gentleman’s hair! I declare I was shocked. But she has been badly brought up perhaps.’
The marquess should have agreed because he did feel that Miss Earle was regrettably outspoken, but some imp of perversity prompted him to say, ‘I find her inoffensive and much to be pitied. Miss Pym assures me she is an heiress. I can only think it reprehensible that her uncle and aunt found it necessary to subject her to the rigours of a stage-coach in winter.’
He studied the toes of his shoes while the Jordans exchanged startled glances. This Belinda Earle must be sent on her way as soon as possible.
Belinda and Hannah made their way to Miss Wimple’s room. The physician, a Dr Patterson, was bending over the bed, shaving Miss Wimple’s head. Belinda let out a cry of alarm. ‘It is the necessary treatment for concussion,’ said the doctor, pausing in his work. ‘I shall then apply leeches to her head. After that, I shall apply this salve, which is made with half an ounce of sal ammoniac, two tablespoons of vinegar, and the same quantity of whisky in half a pint of water. Then Miss Wimple, should she show any signs of regaining consciousness, will be given a pill made from five grains of camomile and some quantity of antimonial powder with a little breadcrumb. Do not fear, ladies. I am persuaded Miss Wimple is of a strong constitution.’
The ladies edged out of the room, retreating backwards as if before royalty, so grand and imperious was Dr Patterson’s manner. Once back in their own sitting room, Belinda began to giggle. ‘Poor Miss Wimple. She will be outraged when she comes to her senses and finds she is as bald as a coot.’
Betty, the lady’s maid, entered, but Hannah dismissed her, saying they would make themselves ready for bed.
‘Rather high-handed of you,’ said Belinda crossly when Betty had left. ‘Now I shall have to untie the tapes of my gown myself and brush my own hair.’
‘You are quite able to brush your hair yourself, and I shall help you with your gown. What if you were up the Amazon River or somewhere monstrous interesting like that? You could not expect a lady’s maid to be on hand.’
‘True, but if I and everyone else decided to do without lady’s maids, there would be a great number of unfortunate servants left unemployed.’
‘But I want to talk to you,’ said Hannah. ‘I have to talk to you.’
‘What about?’ demanded Belinda, stifling a yawn.
‘Have you noticed the Marquess of Fenton?’
‘Of course I have. A very kind host.’
‘He is a handsome man.’
Belinda scratched her head in an unladylike way. Then she laughed. ‘Why, Miss Pym, you are like all the rest. If a man has a title and a fortune, then of course he is handsome.’
‘I think you are both well suited,’ said Hannah.
‘My dear Miss Pym, your wits are addled with fatigue. The man must be in his thirties. He is very cold and austere. Did you mark the fine paintings, the objets d’art? That is what he loves. He will probably wed this Miss Jordan and add her to his collection.’
‘But he is fastidious, and she is not very clever, I think, and has no gentility of manner,’ said Hannah eagerly. ‘I tell you this because I was alarmed to hear the openness of your speech at supper. You must never tell him about the footman.’
‘Of course not. I am not such a widgeon. Ladies who run away with servants are always credited with having vulgar and lustful passions. Probably the ladies were simply bored to tears.’
‘You may have the right of it,’ said Hannah sadly. ‘Poor Mrs Clarence.’
‘Who was Mrs Clarence?’
‘I shall be open with you. I am but lately risen to the ranks of gentility. For years I was a servant in the Clarence household at Thornton Hall in Kensington.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Belinda, brightening at the prospect of a story.
‘I was taken from the orphanage when I was very young and sent to Thornton Hall as a scullery maid. Mr and Mrs Clarence were newly-weds. I was very fortunate. The house was warm, and there was food to eat, which could not be said about the orphanage. It was a happy household. Most ladies never see the inside of their own kitchens, but not Mrs Clarence. She was so pretty and gay.’ Hannah sighed. ‘Mr Clarence was a good man but very withdrawn and morose. At first Mrs Clarence got her way and there were plenty of parties and balls and picnics, and occasionally we servants were allowed to go to the play. I worked very hard and became between-stairs maid, then housemaid, then first housemaid, and then my greatest ambition was realized, and I was made housekeeper. I was competent, but my work was not so arduous, and I had more time to realize that the Clarences were not happy. A few parties were still held, but Mr Clarence would cast gloom over every assembly. And then, one day, Mrs Clarence ran away with one of the footmen. It was a shock to us all. She had not seemed to favour him overmuch. It was considered that passion had got the better of breeding, but now I wonder. I could see her beauty fading and her high spirits being worn down under her husband’s moodiness and disapproval. The footman was a happy young man, very cheerful and good-natured. But the world still thinks ill of Mrs Clarence and assumes she died soon after in disgrace. But she was a wealthy woman in her own right, so they would not starve. I would like to find her again and tell her that her husband is dead, and that she is free to marry, but I do not know where she can be found.