‘Now,’ said Hannah, ‘I suggest you get to bed and spend the rest of the day there and I’ll get two footmen to carry you down to dinner. What else did he talk about?’
‘He told me about the castle and how a room in Robert’s Tower was haunted by the ghost of a governess. He offered to show me the torture chamber but I said such things did not interest me, that the days of chivalry were in fact very cruel, and he said surely this age was cruel and commanded me to observe the bodies on the gibbet.’
‘How eccentric!’ said Hannah. ‘He cannot have been trying to endear himself to you. Besides, these modern times are very humane, no racking or crushing or gouging or pouring boiling oil on people. He must have been teasing you.’
After Hannah had left, Belinda lay looking at the bed-hangings, seeing mocking faces in the patterns made by the brocade. All her elation had gone. He had only been flirting. He could not have meant anything warmer, not with his nearly-to-be fiancée as a guest. Then, despite her troubled thoughts, Belinda fell asleep.
Hannah visited the Judds in their quarters. She could see Mrs Judd had been crying. Hannah’s temper snapped and she rounded on Mr Judd. ‘Will you never be done with tormenting your wife?’ she exclaimed. Mr Judd’s face turned dark with anger and he took a menacing step towards Hannah. ‘Just you try it,’ said Hannah. ‘I have strong arms and strong muscles, and besides that, if you lay one finger on me, I am like to brain you with the poker. Fie, for shame, you monster! Ruining your future career. One would think you had no interest in money.’
‘Money!’ The angry colour slowly died out of Mr Judd’s face.
‘Money,’ echoed Mrs Judd in a whisper.
For money had been the cause of this latest marital row. Mr Judd had said his wife had cut a shabby figure at the marquess’s supper table compared to the other ladies, and she had shouted at him that they had no money at all for finery and how could he be such a half-witted baboon? Aghast at his wife’s temerity, Mr Judd had had no inclination to hit her, but then she had begun to cringe and cry and beg his pardon, and so he had struck her and immediately felt so guilty that he was sure his guilt must be her fault, and so he had struck her again.
‘Sit down, both of you,’ said Hannah, ‘and listen to me. Your vanity, Mr Judd, does not seem to stretch to your playing and singing. Nor do you seem aware that your wife has a first-rate voice.’
‘What has all this to do with anything?’ demanded Mr Judd, his temper rising again, although he did sit down and eyed Hannah warily as if facing a dog liable to bite.
‘I could not help noticing how entranced the marquess was with your singing. A couple such as you, I have heard, can command a great deal of money for a drawing-room performance, provided that couple has a patron. If you play your cards aright, you could perhaps have the marquess as that patron.’
Mr Judd looked at her open-mouthed and Mrs Judd in dawning hope.
‘What is your history?’ asked Hannah. ‘I am not being impertinent. I only want to help.’
‘It is a dreary story,’ said Mr Judd. ‘My father was a successful lawyer and I had a comfortable upbringing. I studied music and singing for my own pleasure. Then I met Persephone.’
What an exotic name for the frightened Mrs Judd to have, thought Hannah.
‘I am from The Bath. Persephone was music teacher at the seminary where I now teach. My father disapproved of my interest in her. He had high hopes for me and wished me to enter the law. Persephone’s parents had no money at all. Nonetheless, I was in love and I married her and my father turned me out.’
‘And your mother?’
Mr Judd looked surprised. ‘Women have no say in such matters,’ he said. ‘In any case, the seminary promised to engage us both, but after we had both been there for a week, they said they could not afford the two of us and so they told my wife to leave. My father and mother died a year later, both of the fever, and he had cut me out of his will. Persephone’s parents are also dead. And so we struggled on. We had been to London to see if we could both find employ in different educational establishments, but we met with failure.’
Hannah turned to Mrs Judd. ‘And you, where did you learn to sing so beautifully?’
‘My father was a dancing master,’ said Mrs Judd, ‘but he had ambitions to make me an opera singer and to that end he hired the best tutors he could afford. Oh, Miss Pym, do you really think we could find a patron?’
‘There is hope,’ said Hannah, ‘and I will have a word with his lordship myself when the time is right. But there is one thing you must do or I cannot help you.’
‘That being?’ demanded Mr Judd.
‘No one is going to be interested in furthering the career of a constantly quarrelling couple. You must appear at all times affectionate. You must start practising in private. A woman must obey her husband, everyone knows that, but all dislike a bully, Mr Judd, and forgive me, but that is how you appear, and an unpleasant one at that.’ She raised her hand to stall an angry retort from Mr Judd.
‘Come now, you are not going to protest that you don’t bully your wife when I and everyone else must know that you do.’
‘He is really very kind,’ said Mrs Judd, flying to her husband’s defence.
‘Then let him show that side of his character or I cannot help you,’ said Hannah roundly.
There was a long silence after Hannah had left.
‘Strange woman,’ said Mr Judd gruffly.
Mrs Judd clasped her hands tightly. ‘Do you think she meant what she said?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said slowly. Then he gave an awkward laugh. ‘I don’t really bully you, do I, my sweet?’
The usual meek denial trembled on Mrs Judd’s lips. Then she thought about the money they could make instead of scrimping and saving and rowing on the pittance paid to her husband by the seminary.
‘Yes, you do, Mr Judd,’ she said firmly. ‘You are become a monster. You nag and criticize me for every little fault and my life is wretched.’
Mr Judd looked uneasily round as if expecting to find the marquess or Hannah Pym listening.
To apologize for or to admit to his bad behaviour would be going too far. And yet there was a steely determination in his little wife’s eyes that had not been there before.
‘And if you do anything to jeopardize our future by indulging your bad temper,’ said Mrs Judd, ‘I shall leave you.’
He looked as startled as if some mild-mannered family pet had suddenly decided to savage him. ‘We’ll see how it goes,’ he mumbled, and Mrs Judd, knowing her husband well, realized that was as near an apology and a promise of reform as she was likely to get.
Hannah went into Miss Wimple’s bedchamber and was reassured to see that lady looking much recovered.
‘How is Belinda?’ demanded Miss Wimple in stern accents.
‘Very well,’ said Hannah. Her eyes sharpened. ‘Have you had a visit from his lordship?’
Miss Wimple put a hand to her brow. ‘I recall he came to see me last night.’
‘And what did you say?’
Miss Wimple bridled. ‘I do not see that what I said or did not say is any of your concern, Miss Pym.’
‘But Miss Earle should be your concern, Miss Wimple. That, after all, is what you are being paid for. You did not, by any chance, let fall to his lordship about Miss Earle’s unfortunate episode with the footman?’
‘I cannot remember what I said,’ said Miss Wimple huffily. ‘My head aches. Go away.’
‘I wish to counsel you to hold your tongue on that matter in future,’ said Hannah, ‘for the young lady may arrive in Bath with a reputation already ruined and, if that be the case, I shall have no hesitation in telling her parents the reason for her downfall. If you did let fall anything indiscreet about your charge, then I suggest you tell his lordship as soon as possible that you were rambling.’