Loe raamatut: «The Captain's Disgraced Lady»

Chapter One

Dover—March 1815

‘Come along, Mama—it’s this way.’

Juliana moved confidently along the wharf, ignoring the rain, the sailors, dockworkers and passengers. She wore a fashionable travelling gown of dark-green merino, which clung to her form, and a fetching hat with a small feather stuck in it at a jaunty angle.

‘You there!’ Her voice was strong, clear and assured.

‘Yes, miss?’ The docker doffed his hat, despite the rain.

‘We require a carriage—a good carriage. It will take us to Ashford tonight, then on towards Surrey.’

‘Yes, miss. Right away, miss.’

‘The porter will bring our luggage. We shall require a place to wait, out of the rain, while our luggage is brought from the ship.’

‘Er, yes, miss. You won’t want to go to the Swan—it’s not for the likes of you. You’d be better suited to the King’s Head.’ As he spoke, the docker indicated the King’s Head, failing to conceal his horror at the thought of two gently bred ladies wandering into the Swan in broad daylight. Juliana tried not to smile.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice gentled. ‘See, Mama? Did I not tell you all would be well?’

Her mama did not look convinced. She glanced around fearfully, clinging to her reticule as if convinced it would be stolen from her at any moment. Juliana sighed inwardly. Her mama’s anxiety was even worse than she had anticipated. She needed to get her indoors and offer her reassurance. Ignoring the spring rain, which was getting heavier by the minute, Juliana marched purposefully to the inn, her mama following in her wake.

The King’s Head had seen better days. The sign over the door was a little faded, as was the wool rug on the floor of the taproom. The wooden panelling and gloomy portraits on the walls gave an air of an age gone by, but the stone floor was clean and the brass taps shone.

The landlord, assessing their quality at a glance, bustled forward to welcome the two ladies. Inviting them to follow him out of the common taproom to the cosy parlour, he asked for their requirements—tea, cakes, and the fire to be built up. As usual, Juliana took charge, making her requests politely but firmly. They were to have sole use of the parlour. The tea should be served very hot, with an additional pot of hot water.

Mama sank into the nearest chair with an attitude of great relief.

Juliana immediately went to her. ‘Oh, Mama! You look fagged to death. And I have dragged you across the sea when you never wanted to come. You know I could have travelled to visit Charlotte with just a maid to accompany me. You did not have to come! Here, let me put this cushion behind you. Your tea will be here directly.’ She threw an imperious glance at the landlord, who quickly absented himself in pursuit of the hottest tea he could procure. Good! Now she could spend the next hour or so seeing to her mama’s comfort, soothing her and ensuring she was relaxed enough to cope with the next part of the journey.

Juliana knew exactly what her mama required, for had she not done this many times before? Mama needed solitude—the parlour door closed against strangers, along with hot tea and reassuring words.

Mama waited until the door had closed behind the landlord, before declaring tremulously, ‘I do not mind, Juliana. Well, that is to say... I cannot claim I wanted to come, but I could not let you travel by yourself, all the way across the sea. Why, you have never been to England before!’

Juliana sighed, remembering the many hours of agonised debating. Mama had wanted to accompany her, yet had also not wanted to. Juliana had bitten her lip, not having wanted to influence her mother, content to travel with her or without her. It had been months before Mama had made a final decision.

‘And I have told you before, I can look after myself, Mama. Why, I have travelled from Brussels to school in Vienna with just a chambermaid for company, many times!’

‘That is different.’

‘How is it different? I—but, no, let us not go over this again. You are here and you are weary, and I should make you comfortable. Should you like to lie down for a while?’

‘I confess I still feel as though the ground is rolling under my feet, as it was on that awful boat! I declare I thought we would all end up in the sea, it was so stormy! I should like to sit here for a little while, before we continue on.’

Juliana looked at her mother doubtfully. The crossing had been an easy one, the sea smooth. The rain had only started as they approached Dover. Mama had stayed in the cabin the whole time, not actually being sick, but expressing strong disapproval of the sea and everything associated with it. Juliana had paced the deck, exhilarating in her first sea voyage, inhaling the sea, immersing herself in the experience.

Perhaps this was why they had never travelled home to England before. Although Juliana was used to her mama’s nerves, she did seem to be reacting particularly badly to her sea journey. Mama rarely left their home city of Brussels, but had made the long journey to visit Juliana in Vienna the previous year, accompanied by her devoted maid, Sandrine. Strange to think Mama had grown up here, in England, yet Juliana had never even visited.

Until now. Juliana’s dear friend Charlotte—her best friend from the school for young ladies—had moved to England and was now married, and Juliana had not seen her for more than a year.

Tea was the solution, Juliana decided. Mama would rest here awhile, in solitude, then they could continue their journey.

* * *

Captain Harry Fanton, darling of the Thirtieth Foot Regiment, strode into the King’s Head, glad to get out of the rain. The sea crossing had been smooth enough, but he was frustrated at having to return to England when his fellow officers were busy preparing to take on Napoleon again. His colleague Evans followed diffidently. Harry was rarely seen without a smile or a light-hearted remark, but today, his usual good humour seemed to have left him. Harry drummed his fingers impatiently on the high bar. ‘Landlord!’

Harry had lodged many times in the King’s Head and the landlord recognised him and his colleague immediately.

Ignoring the landlord’s effusive greeting, Harry informed him, curtly, that they required overnight rooms, as well as the use of the parlour.

Wringing the corner of his apron, the landlord explained haltingly that the parlour was in use, that two ladies—a mother and daughter just off the packet from Calais—had need of the parlour for an hour while they awaited their carriage and—

‘Tosh!’ said Harry. ‘Why, we have shared the parlour before, with many fellow travellers! We shall speak to these ladies and all will be well! Come, Evans...’ he nudged his portly, sandy-haired friend ‘...follow me!’

Knowing his way about, Harry led the way unerringly to the parlour. The landlord stayed at the end of the hallway, still clutching his apron for comfort. Ignoring him, Harry scratched on the parlour door. His friend, experiencing sudden qualms, baulked.

‘Dash it, Harry, we need not intrude. Perhaps we should have stayed in the taproom. The beer is the same there!’

Harry brushed off his concerns. ‘Nonsense, Evans! I have a fancy for the parlour and its fire. I will handle this—trust me.’

On hearing the command to enter, Harry opened the door. He paused to survey the scene. On a chair beside the fire sat a faded, middle-aged lady with fair hair and gentle blue eyes in a pale face. Standing beside her chair was a young woman, who—

Lord!

She was strikingly beautiful. Her height was average, but she seemed taller—something to do with the air of suppressed energy about her. She was as dark as her mother was fair, with glossy brown curls, a stubborn chin and expressive chocolate eyes, framed by thick black lashes. His own eyes swept over her, noting the confident stance, white neck and shapely figure. A vision!

He smiled—a smile his friends would recognise. They called it the Dazzler, for the effect it had on young ladies.

He made an elegant bow. ‘Ladies! Allow me to present myself! I—’

‘You have made a mistake. This is the wrong room.’

‘Pardon me?’ He blinked.

‘I said...’ the young lady spoke slowly, as if he had trouble understanding ‘...this is the wrong room. You should not be here. This room is taken.’

Beside him, Evans gave a snort of laughter, quickly suppressed. Harry’s spine stiffened. He would not be made to look a fool in front of one of his lieutenants!

‘This room,’ he returned, speaking equally patiently, ‘is a public room. It is not a private parlour. Therefore—’ he stepped forward ‘—we will join you.’

‘You must know,’ she insisted, through gritted teeth, ‘I cannot physically remove you. Hence I must ask you, if you are a gentleman, to allow my mother and me the private use of this room.’

‘An interesting dilemma. For you cannot know if I am a gentleman or not, as we have not even been introduced. I am—’

‘I do not wish to know who you are! I wish only that you leave this instant!’ Incensed, she stamped a little foot. Her mother, who had been becoming increasingly agitated, chose this moment to intervene.

‘My dear Juliana, they are doing no harm. They have been out in the rain, like us, and perhaps also need the warmth of the fire.’

Two points of high colour appeared in Juliana’s cheeks, as she heard her mother’s words. They were gently uttered, but delivered a public rebuke, nevertheless. Harry almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

She was not to be defeated. ‘Very well, you may remain. We shall remove ourselves to the taproom!’ She swept towards them, all grace and haughtiness. ‘Mama, we shall allow these men to have the parlour.’ She clearly expected her mother to follow.

‘Oh, no! My dear, please!’ Juliana’s mama shot a look of entreaty at the soldiers.

Harry knew himself to be defeated. He spoke coldly. ‘There is no need for you to leave. We shall retire to the taproom.’ He bowed politely to the older lady. ‘I shall cause you no further distress, ma’am.’

He turned to Juliana. ‘Miss.’ It was the shallowest of bows, designed to show his disdain.

She responded with the slightest nod of her head, mirroring his iciness, but her eyes blazed.

Evans, who had been squirming in agitated silence, made his bow to the two ladies, then followed his friend out of the room. They closed the door behind them.

‘Well!’ Juliana exploded in a flurry of movement, pacing up and down the parlour. ‘What an insufferable man!’

‘Now, Juliana—’

‘So rude! So arrogant! Thinking he could just burst in here, uninvited—’

‘They did knock, my dear. You bade them enter.’

‘No, but—well, yes, I bade them enter, but only because he knocked. I did not bid him to stay!’

‘It is not seemly to draw attention to yourself in such a way.’

‘Oh, stuff, Mama! What should I do? Allow people to dominate me? Never!’

‘We could have shared the parlour with them, you know.’

‘Mama, you know you could not have rested properly with strangers in the room!’

‘But you must not appear hoydenish, Juliana. We are in England now and it is important you are not noticed.’

‘I care not if I am noticed or not. But I will not stand by and have your comfort disturbed by some boorish soldiers!’

Mama sighed. ‘I do not mind, Juliana.’

Juliana put her hands to her head in exasperation. ‘You know I am right, Mama. Why do you say you do not mind, when we both know that you mind very much?’

Mama had no answer to this. Looking at her confused face, Juliana relented. Taking Mama’s limp hand, she spoke kindly to her. ‘Mama, you cannot always please everyone. Sometimes you must think of yourself. Why, you are so kind, so yielding, that you would be insulted by every demi-beau and dunned by every tradesman in Brussels! How I used to hate it, when I was younger, watching them be rude to you or try to cheat you with false accounting. If I were a boy I’d have called them out over it! But you are so good, Mama. They sense your weakness.’

‘I do not believe those young men offered us any insult or inconvenience, Juliana. Oh, how I wish you would think before you act!’

Juliana was only half-listening. She moved to the window and stared out, lost in thought. ‘I swore when I was twelve I would grow up and take care of you.’

She would never forget the day she had made that vow. She had entered their little sitting room in the rented house in Brussels, to find her mama crying, sheets of paper with numbers on them scattered across the table. Twelve-year-old Juliana had been shocked. ‘What is wrong, Mama?’

‘Oh, Julie-Annie,’ her mama had said. ‘It is just these bills—tiresome grown-up things. I think the butcher has made a mistake with his reckoning again, but this time I have not the funds to pay the difference.’

‘What difference, Mama? What do you mean?’ Juliana had never been interested in the accounts before. Mama meticulously counted out the money every month and gave some of it to the landlord, some to the butcher, some to the other tradesmen. It had always been that way. Juliana’s father, a soldier, had died of a fever when Juliana was just a baby, so there had only ever been the two of them.

‘It says here that we had a haunch of venison, which I know we did not, for I would surely remember if we ate anything so extravagant. Well, I know we had only the bacon and the squabs this week, and the mutton for stew.’

Juliana was shocked. ‘You mean the butcher has added something to the list that we did not have?’

She took the bill from her mother’s trembling hand. There it was. Venison. They hadn’t eaten venison since April, when they had been invited to the Vicar’s house for dinner.

‘It must be a mistake,’ said Mama. ‘He does make mistakes, sometimes.’

But it wasn’t a mistake. Standing there, in that little parlour, with its faded French rug and damson-coloured curtains, Juliana suddenly understood something for the first time. The butcher was cheating her mother. Cheating both of them.

In an instant, Juliana suddenly made sense of things she had seen and heard before. Some people—unscrupulous people—would see her mother’s gentle nature as an opportunity to cheat her. Mama was so good, so giving, so pliant. But where she saw goodness, others would see opportunity.

‘He is cheating you, Mama! Why should you allow him to do such a thing?’

‘Oh, no, Juliana! It is an honest mistake, that is all. I shall not even mention it.’

Looking into her mother’s angelic, trusting blue eyes, Juliana knew there was no point in trying to persuade her mother of the butcher’s deceit. She would simply not believe it.

In that moment, Juliana understood something else. She and Mama were different. Her twelve-year-old self could not have explained how, or why. But she, Juliana, was different. She saw what Mama could not, would not see. And she could act.

‘I will go with you to the butcher’s tomorrow, Mama.’

This time, when Mrs Milford went to settle her reckoning with the butcher, her daughter was with her. The child calmly explained there had been a mistake with the bill. She made the point in full earshot of three other customers, who tutted in shock that such a thing should happen. The butcher looked into the girl’s resolute, angry gaze and immediately realised he had met his match. He apologised profusely to Mrs Milford, thanked her daughter through gritted teeth for pointing out the error, and assured them it would not happen again.

It hadn’t. And Juliana had been her mother’s guardian ever since.

She turned back, returning to the present and the parlour in Dover. Her mother was pressing her hands to her temples. ‘Mama, are you unwell?’

‘Just a little headache, my dear.’

‘Oh, no! What shall I do? Would you like a tisane? Some tea? Where is that tea?’ She moved to the door. ‘Landlord!’

He bustled towards the parlour, followed by a sullen serving girl carrying a tray.

‘At last! Please set it on the table. Thank you.’

‘Your carriage is prepared, miss, and ready to leave at your convenience.’

Juliana gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’ Now Mama, finally, could begin to settle.