Bad Miss Bennet Read online

  ‘You will not,’ he replied, pushing bread and cheese towards me. I was forced to eat something and to swallow some wine. I admit that I felt restored afterwards and I decided to do whatever was necessary to escape from this place.

  ‘It is quite simple, madam’ said Jerry. ‘You will give me details of your wealthy acquaintances and their movements and I will give you a share in the money and valuables I extract from them. Your familiarity with Getheridge will prove invaluable. Theft is my speciality. I rob the rich to aid the poor.’ He smiled and pointed at his chest. ‘Specifically, me!’

  ‘How do you know that I will not betray you to the authorities as soon as I am free of this place?’

  ‘Because you wish to be rich, madam. I know the signs of covetousness very well. Believe me, my scheme is more certain than cheating at the card tables.’

  He picked up the diamond bangles and put them in his pocket, pushing the garnets towards me. ‘I will keep these as surety. I will send a message to you with further instructions in a few days.’

  I almost wept with frustration. ‘Please!’ I begged. ‘Give me back the jewels. Getheridge will never forgive me. At least give me one of them.’ He leaned forward and placed his face close to mine, smiling and looking devilish and desirable at the same time. ‘Persuade me, madam.’

  I cannot readily describe, dear reader, how we came to be in the adjoining room lying on a skimpily covered bed with dusty curtains. I recall the dust in my nostrils but nothing else. We stepped out of our clothes and Jerry obligingly unlaced my bodice. We threw ourselves on to the bed where we were transported into a world of fleshly delights such as I had never experienced before and not often since. After Mr Wickham’s perfunctory efforts in this department the pleasures offered by Jerry were a revelation to me. Despite his earlier threatening tone towards me, he was all consideration and passion when we were between the sheets. I knew I was lost from that moment. Whatever he wished me to do, whatever crime I might be called on to commit I would do it willingly if these delights were to be my reward.

  Afterwards, I recall searching for my (deliciously decadent) pink silk stockings, attempting to calm my disordered appearance, and being sent back to Curzon Street in a cab in a dazed and delighted condition.

  I found the household in an uproar with candles blazing everywhere although it was the middle of the night. There was general consternation over my tattered appearance.

  ‘I feared the worst for you,’ cried Selena. ‘Do not attempt to describe your ordeal, my dear.’ I was given a hot posset and hurried to my bed where I fell instantly into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Five

  I did not wake until the following midday and after a cup of chocolate I was soon luxuriating in a hot bath prepared for me by Selena and the maid. They hovered around me solicitously, urging me not to upset myself on any account. I realised that the entire household believed me to have been kidnapped and probably violated in a horrendous manner and that they were trying to show their sympathy in any way possible.

  I toyed with the idea of allowing this misapprehension to continue but I knew they would soon tire of showing constant compassion and I might as well tell the truth. I was thinking how I might best explain this as I sat in my room after the bath nibbling a sweet roll. Selena for once was lost for words and was resorting to patting my hand constantly, which I found irritating. At this point there was a knock at the door and Miles begged leave to enter.

  ‘How is the, er, victim … I mean, patient?’ he stuttered as his wife glared at him. I waved a languid hand and gave him a wan smile. Miles hopped awkwardly from one foot to the other, not knowing what to say. ‘My sword is always at your service, dear madam,’ he continued, ‘should you wish me to call out the person who perpetrated this outrage!’ I waved my hand again and said that I was unable to collect my thoughts adequately at that moment.

  ‘There, there,’ said Selena patting my hand again. I resisted an impulse to lob a pellet of roll in her direction. She nodded sharply at the door and Miles began to retreat.

  ‘In moments of crisis, dear madam, I always say thank heavens for the salts of Epsom,’ he burbled. ‘A purge of the whole system can work wonders.’ The door closed rapidly as his wife threw her shoe at him.

  ‘Do not pat my hand again!’ I cried out. ‘The situation is not as grim as you imagine.’

  ‘Do you mean … are you trying to tell me that you were not … that you have not been …? Well, I am dismayed at your impudence, Lydia. How can you play upon our sympathies in this way?’

  ‘I was kidnapped,’ I retorted, ‘and treated abominably by a highwayman and attacked by his moll. Is that not enough to merit sympathy? Must I also have been cruelly violated?’ At that moment a thought occurred to me. I looked around in dismay. ‘Where are my jewels?’

  ‘They are in the cabinet under the window. We had to prise them from your fingers when we put you to bed. I see you retain your grasp upon life’s priorities.’

  The next hour was spent in recounting my adventures and listening to my friend’s outraged comments. The gist of her remarks was that I could not expect to advance myself in society if I entered into liaisons with highwaymen, however dashing.

  ‘Only one,’ I reminded her. ‘There is no need for the plural. And he made me an interesting offer that I could not refuse at the time.’

  Selena fixed me with a beady eye. ‘There will be no question of Almack’s if this little episode leaks out. You will, of course, hand him over to the authorities?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, not meeting her eye. I changed the subject to the matter of Mr Getheridge and his reaction to the loss of one of the diamond bangles. Selena continued to regard me suspiciously.

  Mr Getheridge himself put in an appearance soon after accompanied by a trio of Bow Street runners who were waiting to scour the area in search of the villain who had made off with me. They awaited only my direction as to the neighbourhood.

  Chief among the three was a man called Townshend, a short, fat man wearing a flaxen wig, a blue coat and a broad brimmed white hat. This man was the most famous of the runners, recommended by the royal family for his daring and cunning.

  I suppose I should have been flattered that my patron thought me worthy of the best, but my hand trembled a little as I waved it in the general direction of South London. Then I put my hand to my brow and said weakly that I had little recollection of the events but the words ‘Ratcliff Highway’ came to mind. The men nodded in sympathy and set off for that district.

  Mr Getheridge agreed to leave me in peace saying that he would return in a few days to escort me to Brighton where my spirits would soon be restored and a few furbelows could be purchased to aid my recovery. Before he left he presented me with a small gold watch locket to be worn on the breast – a delicate, lovely thing for which I thanked him profusely. In view of the loss of the diamond bangle his generosity was most touching.

  When I had dressed and ventured downstairs I found a letter awaiting me all the way from Derbyshire. Lizzie wrote peevishly that they had heard little from me since my arrival in London and they trusted that I was not entirely taken up in the social whirl. I was, after all, still in mourning. I screwed the letter into a ball and threw it away wondering uneasily whether any news of my escapades would reach them in their rural paradise.

  I returned to my room and sat down to write a soothing reply to my sister. I needed to allay any suspicions in that quarter. Reviewing the events of the last few weeks I had to admit my stay in London had been full of incident but that I was no closer to achieving my ambitions, to wit, dancing at Almack’s and getting to Paris. A great deal more money, subterfuge and pleasing men would be required before I realised these simple desires. The very thought made me fatigued and I looked longingly at the bed I had just vacated.

  My encounter with Jerry Sartain had disordered my wits completely. I needed to calm myself and decide on a course of action. I wondered uneasily when I would receive the me
ssage he had spoken of. Would he know I was leaving for Brighton? I suspected that his spies were numerous.

  Normally, such an excursion would fill me with joy but the complications in my life were causing me great anxiety. I am known for my carefree nature but life has a way of curing such tendencies.

  When I went down to the dining room for lunch I was displeased to find yet another letter waiting for me. This time it was from my parents requesting a close account of my life in the capital. My vexations grow larger by the minute.

  Selena was despondent, drooping over her soup after checking the family budget.

  ‘I am afraid we will not be able to join you in Brighton, my dear,’ Miles remarked apologetically. ‘My beloved wife, who holds the purse strings, tells me we have not a penny to bless ourselves with – or at least, not many.’

  ‘We must pay some of our creditors,’ snapped his wife. ‘If you spent less on tobacco, gambling and strong drink, not to mention etchings, we might be in a less parlous condition.’ Miles looked suitably chastened and kissed her hand.

  ‘I will endeavour to sell a few items, my dear. That will set us right. We have been in this situation before and we will pull through.’ His wife looked unconvinced.

  ‘We must have another soirée with the cards when I return from Brighton,’ I declared.

  ‘Has Mr Getheridge mentioned where you will stay when you are there?’ my friend asked. ‘Shall you stay in a hotel or will he take rooms for you? You know he has a house there. His mistress, Maria somebody, resides there and she is a fearsome woman I have heard.’

  I told her he had not mentioned any details but he had promised that we would attend the Prince Regent at the Royal Pavilion amid scenes of unrivalled splendour and gaiety. Selena gave me with a look that spoke volumes but I preferred to anticipate the pleasures awaiting me.

  ‘The sea air will be most beneficial,’ said Miles with his beatific smile.

  As for Sartain, all I had to do was supply him with a few details easily acquired. I struggled with my conscience, truly, dear reader, but the would-be victims were wealthy and could afford the loss. I knew I had a duty to hand the villainous Jerry over to the authorities but my desire to see him again overpowered my better nature.

  The problem of Mr Getheridge remained. I fingered the gold watch at my bosom and decided to adopt a course of ‘wait and see’ as far as that gentleman was concerned.

  As we were getting up from the table Selena’s maid rushed in with the news that Lord Byron was expected to leave his house in a nearby street within the hour prior to fleeing to the continent.

  We were agog with excitement, throwing on our bonnets and rushing out of the house. Miles was obliged to follow unwillingly. I confess that I was overcome with joy at possibly seeing my hero in the flesh and desolated that it might be the first and last time.

  London was afire with talk of his lordship’s indiscretions with Lady Caroline Lamb and many other society women. There was also dark talk of a liaison with his half sister but I refused to believe such things. Hypocrisy and the narrow minds of the English had combined to ruin our greatest poet, the very embodiment of Romance and Passion. Now he was being forced to leave the country, leaving many a broken heart in his wake.

  Selena and I tried to force a way through the crowd but it was impossible. I saw only a glimpse of a pale, set face and dark curls as he entered a carriage and was driven away. Later, we heard that many women had followed him to Dover to bid him farewell. How I longed to be one of them but I was obliged to review my wardrobe in preparation for the visit to Brighton. My heart was lightened by the thought that I also might one day reside on the continent and our paths might cross.

  When we returned to the house Selena and I retreated to the music room where a cosy fire had been lit. We had barely settled ourselves when another caller was announced.

  ‘Are we at home to Lord Finchbrook?’ Selena asked.

  ‘It is your choice,’ I replied. ‘You know he only comes to make sheep’s eyes at you.’ When his lordship entered I was relieved to discover that he knew nothing of my adventures. He was delighted to hear of my departure for Brighton.

  ‘Excellent, my dear, we will all take a jaunt down there. I shall have an opportunity to show the paces of my new pair.’ I assumed he was referring to horses. Miles burst into the room at this point exclaiming, ‘Turkey rhubarb and sulphuric acid!’ Seeing our startled faces he explained that he had just heard from the cook that this combination was a sovereign cure for all ailments.

  Finchbrook looked puzzled. ‘I thank you, sir, but I am quite well at the moment.’ I closed my eyes.

  ‘Miles,’ said Selena, ‘do be quiet.’

  I had a great deal add to my journal that night, although I was puzzled as to how to record the more intimate details without offending a gentle reader. I consulted Mrs Radcliffe’s works but they offered nothing appropriate. After I had written letters of duty to my family I sent a note to my sister Kitty giving her a hint of my exciting new life in London, omitting the more scurrilous events, naturally. I knew she would enjoy the stories and could be trusted to keep her own counsel. We had always confided in each other.

  Chapter Six

  Brighton, January 1816

  Two days later I departed for Brighton with Mr Getheridge. As I was handed into the carriage the footman contrived to press a note into my hand. I hid it in my reticule. My highwayman had not forgotten me.

  It is said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Certainly, the road to Brighton provided some time for formulating intentions, good and otherwise. I tried to obtain details from Mr Getheridge about my lodgings but he would say only that they were conveniently situated near the centre of town, in George Street. I noticed that he would not meet my eye when he said this. Selena’s words rang in my ears.

  ‘Maria somebody, his mistress, is a fearsome woman.’ Not to mention his wife or wives. I resolved to avoid these ladies as far as possible. Selena had also voiced doubts about going to Brighton so early in the year. Would anyone of consequence be there? In between pleasing Mr Getheridge, fulfilling my promises to Jerry Sartain and avoiding fearsome women, I would have little time to please myself. Why and how had my life become so exhausting?

  Mr Getheridge changed the subject, preferring to describe the delights of the Royal Pavilion, still under construction, with its curious oriental domes and exotic appearance. He promised me that we would attend one of the Prince Regent’s assemblies. I closed my eyes, imagining the food, the music, the dancing and the opportunities for dalliance.

  My companion droned on ceaselessly as the green and chilly countryside passed the windows.

  ‘The opulence of the prince’s apartments is unimaginable: the lights, the perfumed chambers, the finest music.’ I nodded and smiled, half asleep and worrying about fearsome women.

  ‘The prince has a shower bath, a vapour bath, a douche bath and a plunge bath,’ he continued. I gathered that Prinny was fastidious in his bodily hygiene, if not in his morals.

  ‘It is unfortunate that the weather will not permit any sea bathing,’ said my admirer with a provocative leer. ‘You would look charming in your swimming costume, my dear!’ I struck him with my reticule at this point. ‘I was merely thinking of your health!’ he protested. ‘Sea water is very beneficial. His Royal Highness rates it very highly.’ I closed my eyes for a moment imagining the corpulent Regent staggering into the waves. It was not a pretty picture.

  Getheridge seemed as excited as a child about a trip to the seaside but there was a wild edge to his gaiety that unnerved me a little. He chattered like an old woman, only attempting an occasional embrace or knee squeeze.

  Thankfully, at this point we stopped at Cuckfield to take lunch at the Prince of Wales Inn. We were three quarters of the way through our journey, unmolested by highwaymen, and during the meal I attempted once more to extract information about my living arrangements.

  Getheridge gnawed on a lamb bone like a
n anxious terrier and told me not to upset myself. I had engaged a maid to accompany me but I was well aware that if it became known that I was unchaperoned tongues would wag and my widowed status would not protect me.

  The maid had been recommended by the cook at Curzon Street before she left in high dudgeon due to the late payment of her wages. The girl had duly presented herself, offering excellent references which I did not take up at the time and which in any case she later admitted were fakes. Her father was a printer and could supply her with any number of such things. Nevertheless, her manner was bright and intelligent and she proved to be adept at her duties, scurrying around like a perspicacious ant, her small, bright blue eyes agleam with curiosity, and her fair curls standing up around her head like a halo. Adelaide, however, was no angel.

  She was sharp-eyed and quick-witted, able to judge a situation immediately and act accordingly. Most of the time she acted for my benefit, but there were times when she furthered her own ends. With hindsight I could scarcely blame her for that.

  When I found a few moments in which to question her about her previous employment her account was quite startling.

  ‘I worked for Lady Fortescue before I came to you, madam. I went to her household, but I didn’t intend to be a slavey, did I?’ I nodded and she continued.

  ‘The house was but a few yards from the London home of that Lady Caroline Lamb. You know of her, don’t you, madam?’ Indeed I did. Everyone in London knew of that lady – Lord Byron’s tempestuous former lover.

  ‘Well, madam,’ Adelaide continued, ‘Life at Lady F’s was all very fine but very quiet like. I was treated well enough. I was a housemaid, you see, not a kitchen wench.’ I felt puzzled.

  ‘What exactly are you trying to tell me?’ Her face twisted into an alarming rictus.