Lady Susan Plays the Game (25 page)

All roundly denied the charge, and, after some severe words, intended to reduce any guilty person to tears, Madam Dacre concluded that none knew more than she admitted. Yet it was hard to believe a timid girl like Frederica Vernon had left school alone, without anyone aiding her or providing a refuge.

The servants were now sent out severally to ask people in the neighbourhood if they had seen anyone leaving the school around the time the gentleman had arrived. Joe was dispatched alone to search the local inns. Madam Dacre, meanwhile, had the painful duty of writing at once to the girl's mother to tell her what had happened.

She wondered about mentioning her own absence: there was no reason why she should not occasionally feel the need of a little country air. But it didn't sound well, so she decided not to allude to the fact. She had, she wrote, followed all Lady's Susan's instructions concerning Frederica, trying her best to teach the girl how to comport herself in a ladylike
manner, but, sad to say, she'd had little success. She had also done as Lady Susan requested, made Frederica feel the difference between an institution and a comfortable home. As she wrote, she hoped she was not implying that she'd overdone this, so contributing to the girl's escape by any ill treatment.

In one area she could attack. She wasn't absolutely sure that Frederica's absence was due to Sir James's visit but the servants seemed to be. They swore she was in the house in the morning and a book was left open on the library table where the upper housemaid noticed it had not been earlier that day. It seemed reasonable to associate the sudden and seemingly impetuous disappearance with the young gentleman's arrival.

Now she, Madam Dacre, had been told of the existence of Sir James but had not been warned of any visit; so she could not have prepared her charge for it or arranged a chaperone. Hers was not an establishment that encouraged the pupils to have gentlemen guests, even those sanctioned by parents.

She'd just finished a second version of her letter and had it ready for dispatching to the post office when Joe returned. He'd discovered nothing useful. In the inns men felt inclined to say they'd seen such a girl if they wanted to chat and perhaps get a free drink. But Joe had no money to distribute and they'd returned to their tankards. The women stayed out longer combing the streets but again brought no news. No one had seen a girl of Frederica's description – or rather, several people accosted said they might have seen someone in a dark blue cloak, probably they had. In the gloomy afternoon, colours looked much the same.

When the servants were all back in the house and Joe sent to the post office with the letter for Lady Susan, Madam Dacre set about learning more about Sir James and his visit. She heard that, after kicking his heels for an hour or so in the fireless drawing room – Mrs Dick reminded her employer that she'd followed instructions with such economy – he had left in no very good mood. He'd come down into the kitchen where Cook told him outright that miss had most likely bolted. At that point Annie Dick had returned from searching the attic and questioning the child Fanny, who was too stupid to remember if she'd seen Frederica with her cloak on or not. She then tried to manoeuvre Sir James back upstairs, offering refreshment in the drawing room. But it was too late to mollify him: he was cold and cross.

‘What do you mean, bolted?' he'd exclaimed. ‘You said she was here and now she's not.'

Annie Dick tried again to placate him as she eased him up the stairs ‘Sir, she was here a while ago but she seems to have gone out, perhaps to a friend, perhaps for a walk. Please do call again tomorrow when Madam Dacre, our headmistress and proprietor, will be happy to receive you and I am sure Miss Vernon will be ready.'

‘I don't care sixpence for Madam Dacre,' Sir James had replied. ‘I want Frederica. Her mother said she was here and I want to see her.'

He was blustering but unsure. Was this the way young ladies behaved in boarding schools, running round the streets by themselves? He had no experience but he doubted it. Were they hiding the girl from him? Could they be in league against him? Or was this the damned modesty again? He felt wrong-footed. So he glared at them all, turned on his heels and went back up the stairs.

Mrs Dick motioned Joe to run to open the door for him. The two arrived at the same time and Sir James pushed the boy out of the way. He left with a curse, refusing even the customary tip. He would, he said, be back after he had contacted Lady Susan. Then they would understand this was no way to treat a man of his substance.

Seated once more in his comfortable coach, he had turned the matter over in his mind. If it was not the servants – and now he was out of the house he hesitated over this – then the girl herself was playing with him. Was she after all the kind of little minx his dead mother had warned him about? He contemplated this as Ned trundled the coach over the cobbles. It was possible, he supposed. He had little knowledge of girls of her rank, but he imagined they might think it amusing to toy with their suitors. Miss Manwaring had been coy at times but had never played these sorts of tricks on him. He started to feel angry with Frederica. The girl had been as good as promised to him. What was she about?

He wished his mother were still alive. She would have known what to do. Now Lady Susan must help him. But she was away with some relatives in the country – her last letter had been from there. It was frustrating. She'd assured him that Frederica would easily be brought round. What would she say when she heard this?

Had she been awake, Frederica might have asked herself much the same question. But by the time Sir James was drinking a morning tankard of light ale at Tattersalls, where he'd returned to cheer himself with some good manly horse talk, she was lying drugged in an upstairs room in the tavern close to the Haymarket theatre.

By the middle of the afternoon she had begun to stir. And in due course she partially awoke. A confusion of sensations and impressions assailed her. She had no idea where she was. She felt heavy, her lips full and bruised, her skin puffy and hair tangled. Her body seemed not to be her own.

As consciousness more fully returned, so did fear. The numbness originally dampening down her mind gave way to a panic. Abruptly she tried to sit up in bed but the heaviness increased and a dizzy blackness forced her back down.

She realised she was lying in her linen petticoat and chemise and that her outer garments and cloak were on a chair close by. The blood rushed to her face. What had happened? She didn't remember taking her clothes off. If she hadn't done it herself, then who had undressed her? Could the worst have befallen her? Was this why she felt such heaviness in her limbs?

She tried to think back as her head cleared. She remembered a boy on a stool. What was he to her? She recalled some women with red mouths. Who were they? Then slowly, almost as if her gaze were really travelling the scene, she took in the figure of a large imposing man who had taken her arm. She could not remember his face but she felt again his pressure.

‘Oh heavens,' she gasped aloud, ‘oh please, no, no.'

Again she tried to sit up and managed it this time. She could not yet quite feel her legs. Were they numb? If they were, was there a reason? What could have happened? She dared not think.

She lay back down. Did that man, the taller, older one, the man who had probably brought her here, whatever place this was, have her in his power? All the novels she'd been reading so recently swam into her mind, the fates of the many Sophias and Matildas and Emmelines, all of them powerless, threatened, humiliated, tortured even, reduced to fainting
and brain fevers. But they were never quite destroyed, were they? Then she remembered Clarissa.

The worst had happened to this angelic woman, though again what exactly the ‘worst' was remained unclear to Frederica. But it had to be horrid, so horrid that it was a miracle she survived at all. Lovelace had said so. But she'd died in the end. She had to. What had happened to her was so bad there would have been no proper life after it.

Could something like this have been done to her, Frederica? Was it possible? Was she ‘ruined'? Did this result in the stupor of her senses, the dizziness? The room swam round her again as she tried to gather her thoughts. Tentatively she felt between her legs.

They were hot and limp but there was nothing else wrong with them. Was there some other sign? She wished desperately that the novels had been more explicit. Surely if she had been ‘ruined' she would have felt quite different all over. She remembered reading about a girl's mind being tainted. Could the dizziness suggest this tainting? It was so puzzling. Surely most of the knowledge would be in her body: how could she bring it to her brain?

Certainly something horrid must have happened. How else could she be here in this bed with her outside clothes draped over the chair? Or perhaps the terrible thing had not occurred and she'd had a brain fever. But in that case where were the women who usually attended at the bedside of sick girls? And how long had she been in bed? She had absolutely no sense of time.

She returned to the notion of ruin. Why else would she be here alone? She felt the tears well up into her eyes and spill over; they were hot as they rolled down her cheeks and into her ears. She pulled the coarse linen bedclothes up to her chin, then covered her face with the blanket.

Through the covers she heard sounds. There was movement outside her door. So she was not in some isolated house where she could be killed at any time – or worse. But where on earth was she?

She pushed the blanket off her face and felt the dizziness begin to wear off. She struggled to get her legs out of bed, to the point where they touched the bumpy wooden boards of the floor. Her shoulders were bare where the straps of her chemise had fallen down. She felt exposed and naked. She must get to her clothes lying on the chair.

There was a knock. Frederica froze.

Before she could say anything she saw the door slowly opening. She was too terrified even to scream.

When it was half open, a short plump serving girl entered. ‘Oh, miss, you're awake. Thanks be,' she said in a squeaky high voice. ‘We thought sometimes you was really gone. But it was probably something you ate.'

Frederica pulled her legs hurriedly back into bed and again covered her shoulders with the bedclothes. She stared with wide eyes at the girl.

‘Where am I? Oh please tell me where I am?' she gasped between words. Her tongue was thick and rancid.

‘La, miss,' said the maid grinning. ‘You're in the Haymarket Tavern, everyone knows that. And in the best bedroom too, though you don't seem to know it.'

‘But how did I get here?' Frederica pursued. Her tongue hurt with the words. ‘Why am I here? What have I done?'

Her voice released something in her throat and she began to sob violently.

‘Oh miss, no need to cry now. You've been ill, is all; you was took bad last night, you fainted or was sick, I don't know. I was in the back serving the gentlemen. But anyways here you are and if you want your dinner I can bring it up. It's all paid for.'

‘But why am I here?' she sobbed

‘As to that …' began the maid, then stopped. ‘I was told to get you dinner if you want it.'

‘Dinner?' said Frederica weakly, trying to control her sobs.

‘Lor, miss. You've slept the best part of the day and it's dinner time, don't you know?'

‘No,' said Frederica, ‘no, I don't. I … I … feel sick.' She put her hands to her mouth.

‘Well,' said the maid, ‘I'd best give you a basin.'

She went over to a commode to fetch the basin under the jug, then carried it to the bed. She arrived just in time. Frederica vomited into it, paused and lay back on the pillows, then, as the maid started to remove the basin, pulled it towards her and vomited again, finally retching noisily.

At last she seemed to have finished. She lay back again. She had no handkerchief and was forced to pass the top of the sheet over her wet mouth and forehead.

‘That's better, miss,' said the maid, keeping her face away from the basin's foul contents. ‘Better out than in, I always say. I'll just go and get rid of this.'

Frederica heard the girl going down the stairs. She felt too weak to think much more.

After some minutes the maid returned with the cleaned basin. Frederica forced herself to concentrate again and ask her questions more coherently.

‘Please tell me what happened to me.'

‘As to that,' replied the maid again, ‘as to that I can't tell. But your uncle said we was to look after you till you was fit to travel.'

‘My uncle? Travel?'

‘Yes, travel, miss. You was going to your family. Lor, you can't remember nothing, can you?'

Frederica looked at her with wide eyes. What was happening to her? Was she someone else? Who was this uncle?

‘Well,' said the serving maid when Frederica didn't answer, ‘why don't I bring you up a bit of dinner? Some boiled pork would set you up and maybe when you've ate it you'll remember a bit more. You can eat it up here if you want. Then I can arrange your bed and you can sleep in it tonight and get off ready tomorrow when your friends come for you. That's what the gentleman said we should do.' She paused, then added, ‘It's all paid for.'

‘The gentleman?' repeated Frederica.

‘Yes,' said the little maid, a bored note in her voice. ‘The gentleman what has paid for your stay, your uncle. He's left you a note. So you have a little sleep and get better and then eat your dinner, like I said.'

‘I can't eat,' gasped Frederica suddenly. It seemed the only clear thing the maid had said. ‘I really can't eat.'

‘Well, suit yourself, miss,' said the maid as she walked out of the room.

When the door had closed, Frederica lay back on the pillows. She was in such confusion she didn't know what to think or feel. Her body still felt separate from herself, it seemed to know something of which her mind was insensible. It was the strangest sensation.