Authors: Kathryn Caskie
"No, dear. We believe you." Lady Viola sighed. "
N
ow we know how the information escaped, but we have yet to discover who the spy might have been."
Lady Letitia exhaled. "And 'tis likely we never will."
Then, bells started tinkling in Jenny's ears. "I think we must suspect the service staff."
Mrs. Penny's eyes bulged in her head. "What are you saying, Jenny," she whispered hotly into her daughter's ear. "Casting the light of suspicion upon your own."
Jenny continued, however, for here was her chance to get the blunt she needed to seal the wagging lips of the staf
f
—
b
oth Featherton and McCarthy.
238
"Just last night, one of the scullery maids informed me that Lady McCarthy had bade those in her service to learn as much as possible about my lineage."
"Oh! Tha
t
...
woman.
Why wi
ll
she not just leave us alone?" Lady Viola exclaimed, her high voice wavering angrily.
Jenny knew this was her moment. "The scullery maid even suggested that the widow was paying for the information, and that if we wished to ensure that my identity remain secret, until such a time as we choose to reveal it, that we pay the Featherton staff, as well as the widow's, for their continued discretion."
The two Featherton ladies sat very quietly as they considered Jenny's words.
Then a meaningful gaze passed between them.
Lady Viola settled a spoonful of hot porridge into her mouth, and after swishing it around a bit, swallowed. "Sister, I fear we have no choice. It is too soon to reveal our gel's true identity. Why, Callu
m
is still reeling from the revelation that I am his grandmother."
"Of course you are right, Viola. His wound is still fresh and he must have time to heal completel
y
—
b
efore learning Jenny's secret." Lady Letitia turned to Jenny. "Our man of affairs will arrive this afternoon. I shall leave instructions that he deliver to you whatever funds you request before he leaves. You will see that it reaches the proper hands, won't you, gel?"
Jenny bobbed a quick but buoyant curtsy. "Oh, of course, my lady."
******************
239
Later that afternoon Jenny walked into the kitchen looking for Erma, when she felt a bone-biting draf
t
coming from the outer door.
Rubbing her arms for friction against the bitter chill,
-.
he caught the handle to close the door when she noticed Erma chatting with, of all people, Hercule Lestrange!
The little man, spotting Jenny at the kitchen door, tipped his hat and smiled, then bid good-bye to Erma and set off in the direction of Brock Street.
Erma started back toward the house, but she seemed anxious.
"What was that all about?" Jenny asked her.
"What, the little man? Oh, I was givin' the little beggar a few tidbits, 'tis all."
Jenny nodded slowly. Indeed, she had not seen any
f
ood in his hands, nor any parcel of any kind. She watched the little man until he turned the corner and disappeared from her sight.
Ah, she just was being overly mistrusting, she decided, due to the fact that there was a spy in the household.
"I wanted to give you this." Jenny dropped a full guinea into Er
m
a's right hand.
Erma looked up at her in disbelief. "I thought you had no blunt."
"I didn't." Jenny smiled, lifted Erma's other hand, and dropped a small cotton bag into it. "And this is for the McCarthy service staff. Can you see the money is distribute
d
—
a
long with a promise to bite their loose tongues, of course."
Erma opened her mouth and gave Jenny a near tooth-
240
less grin. "You can count on me, Miss Penny. From this moment onward, your secret will be safe."
From this moment onward.
The words echoed in Jenny's mind as she walked back through the kitchen toward her bedchamber.
Why did Er
m
a's parting phrase itch at her brain so?
Chapter Fifteen
“Oh,
Mrs. Russell." Jenny knew she was gushing ridiculously over the modiste's work, but my word, how could she possibly help herself? Tears actually welled in her eyes, for this had to be, in all honesty, the most beautiful gown ever created.
Jenny beamed at her reflection in the long oval mirror mounted upon the wall of Mrs. Russell's private dressing chamber. She fingered the fine vapor of blue Venetian gauze layered over the underfrock of white crape and sighed with pleasure.
Gorgeous. Perfectly Gorgeous.
Swirling in a circle, Jenny watched the bottom quarter of the gown sway gracefully around her. No matter how she tried, she was simply unable to remove her
gaze
from the elegant confection.
"And what do you think of this?" Mrs. Russell settled
a
stunning blue headdress ringed with a double wreath of pale roses. "There is a French trick to wearing this headdress," she confided. "One that is sure to gain the
w
earer much notice."
Really?" Jenny turned to look at the modiste, dying w
ith
anticipation. "Will you show me?"
242
Mrs. Russell smiled knowingly as she drew several of Jenny's gold-shot brunette locks through the pale Indian roses and set her fingers to work braiding them. "Now, here is the special trick. You just twist the braids . .. like this ... so the coils of hair mimic the shape of the roses. You see?"
Staring with awe at Mrs. Russell's creation, Jenny bounced with glee on her heels as the modiste slipped from the dressing chamber.
Jenny bit her lower lip as she admired her image in the mirror. All the ladies of the
ton
would be so envious when they glimpsed her in the gown. And well they should be.
The gown was everything she'd hoped it would it be, elegant, simpl
e
. . . and memorable. At the ball, she wanted, nay
needed,
for Callu
m
to look upon her with love in his eyes, albeit for the very last time, and see her as the lady he made her feel she truly was.
Seconds later, the modiste returned with something white in her hands. "Surely you have white satin shoes and kid gloves, but let us slip these on so you will have the full effect."
Jenny did as Mrs. Russell suggested, then looked at herself in the glass and let out a long sigh. It was perfect.
Then, Jenny caught Mrs. Russell's reflection in the mirror. Gads, she was waiting for something. O
h
.. .
her payment,
she realized belatedly. Jenny lifted a brow. She could have at least waited until she had removed the gown, Jenny thought sourly.
Reaching for her reticule, she withdrew a small velvet bag and handed it to Mrs. Russell.
243
The
,m
odiste emptied the coins into her hand, then looked up. "And two more guineas for the headdress."
"Two?" Jenny glanced down into her bag and saw to her displeasure that it was empty. "That's a bit dear, isn't it?"
"Do you want it, Miss Penny, or do you not?"
Jenny swallowed. "Yes, but I haven't got any more money."
"Well, then you shan't have it." With that, the modiste reached up and pulled the ornament from Jenny's head, yanking hard at the braids of hair she had worked into the design.
Jenny clapped a hand to her pulsing scalp. "But I must have it. I simply must.
I
—
I
can pay you next week perhaps."
Mrs. Russell shook her head. "Miss Penny, I have sewn for you before and though you might have forgotten about your delinquent payment history, I have not. No, I must have the money before you"—
s
he dangled the flowered circlet before Jenny's clawing hand
s
—"receive the headdress."
"I'll get you the money."
Mrs. Russell leered at her. "Good. I shan't wish to apply pressure, but I will do what I must, Lady Geneviev
e
... or would you prefer to be called
Lady Eros
?”
Jenny gasped. "H-how did you know?"
Mrs. Russell laughed. "Miss Penny, your trio of identities are well known throughout the servant and merchant classes. ''Tis only the Quality that cannot seem to see the grand i
m
poster before their very noses."
******************
244
That night, Jenny peered into the harvest basket.
Blast,
only one stone.
One.
It was as she feared. She'd glutted the tingle cream market. Now she could do naught but wait for the high-borns to run out of their current supply.
She slumped down on the stool and let a loud sigh roll down her tongue. What was she going to do? She needed money and needed it now.
Then a single word waved for attention in her mind, like a squealing shop sign in the wind.
Bartleby's.
******************
Shortly after sunrise the next morning, Jenny stood s
h
ivering outside, harvest basket in hand, as Mr. Bartleby unlocked his shop door.
"Good morn, sir," Jenny said brightly. "I made up some extra pots last eve and I thought you might be able to use them."
"More pots?" Appearing confused, the shopkeeper stared blankly back at her. "Erma brought round over twenty pots just yesterday."
"What? Only yesterday?" Jenny furrowed her brows. "No, no, you must be mistaken."
"I assure you, I am not." Bartleby invited Jenny inside as he flipped open his ledger book and ran a finger down a page. "There you go. Have a look. Twenty guineas, I paid her just yesterday."
Jenny began to sputter. "B-but I didn't make any crea
m
—" Suddenly an uneasy thought exploded in her mind.
Maybe
she
didn't make any cream .. . but Erma had
245
been watching her whip the emulsion for several nights now.
No, she couldn't have.
But nothing else made more sense.
Er
m
a was making the tingle cream and selling i
t
—
herself.
Why that double-crossing thief
!
******************
"All right, Erma. Give it over." Jenny ground her teeth at the grimy scullery maid.
Erma looked up at her quizzically as she stoked the fire in the kitchen hearth. "What are you going on about, Jenny?"
"I know you have been making the cream and selling
i
t on your own." She folded her arms at her chest. "I want the money you've stolen from m
e
—
n
ow
."
Erma stilled for a moment, then slowly turned her body to face Jenny. "Figured it out, did you? Aren't you the clever one? But I ain't givin' you nothin'. / made the cream."
"From
my
receipt, using
my
supplies!"
"All right then, I will pay you for the supplies I
borrowed.
What would that b
e
—
a
ll of five shillings?"
"I'll see you dismissed." Jenny glared at Erma, her fists clenching and releasing in her rage.
"I'll see
you
in
The Bath Herald's on-dit
column."
A tremor shook Jenny's body. "What do you mean, Erma?"
Setting her hands on the broad shelf of her hips, Erma laughed. "Oh, nothin' ... except if I was you, I'd
246
make bloody sure I enjoyed the ball tomorrow ev
e
—because it's the last one you'll ever attend."
Jenny tried her best to sound strong and sure, but inside she was shaking like a mouse under a cat's paw. "You had better explain yourself."
Erma stretched out her arm and pulled something from a nook in the overmantel. She turned and dangled Lady Letitia's bag of coins Jenny had given Erma to silence the widow's service staff.
"Y-you never paid the McCarthy service staff," Jenny muttered in shock.
"Why should I? There is more blunt here than I'd see in five years. And now that I know how to make the cream ... it won't matter a lick if I get sacked."
A cold finger swiped down Jenny's spine. "Oh, Erma. What have you done?"