Miss Weston's Masquerade (3 page)

‘Looking at the way you are turned out, I have the deepest misgivings.’ He eyed her dubiously. ‘Where did you get those garments? The stable boy?’

‘Yes, as it happens. They are his Sunday best.’

‘But hardly suitable for the valet of an earl. I’ll see what I can do with your hair, meanwhile.’ He tugged the bell pull. ‘Come back into the dressing room and we’ll see to that. Ah, Peacock, what do you have in the way of clothing that would fit my new valet?’

Cassandra hopped off the bed with alacrity, glad to escape from the bedchamber. Not that she felt threatened in any way. Naturally she had no experience of how a man should react to finding a girl in his bed, but it seemed to her that Nicholas was unflatteringly unmoved.

In the dressing room, she submitted meekly to being swathed in a towel while he dragged a comb through what remained of her curls. ‘This will have to be a severe crop if you are not to look as though the moth’s been at it.’ He snipped quickly and deftly, the fine hair falling on to her face and making her sneeze. Nicholas brushed it off her cheeks with surprising gentleness.

Peacock entered the room without knocking, a suit of dark clothing over his arm, disapproval etched on every feature. ‘The under-footman’s church clothes, my lord,’ he announced frostily. ‘An undersized youth. They should fit Miss Weston.’ He departed, stiff-backed.

‘He knows who I am?’

‘He seems to have recognised you at second glance. He has been with the family twenty years, so he certainly knows who my mother’s godchild is.’ Nicholas tossed aside the towel impatiently. ‘Hurry up and get dressed. It will soon be noon. We will eat on the road at the first change of horses.’ He paused with one hand on the doorknob. ‘If you need anything, ring for Peacock. Don’t be seen outside these rooms. And hurry,’ he urged as the clock chimed once more.

The under-footman’s Sunday best was a good fit. Cassandra tucked the ends of the neckcloth into the black cloth waistcoat and straightened a wrinkle in one of her stockings before examining herself in the long glass. The waistcoat was rather tight, but that was a good thing, she reflected. It served to flatten her breasts and for the first time she was grateful for their unimpressive size. When she shrugged on the coat, the effect was complete. No-one would guess she was not a boy, she assured herself. Many youths were positively effeminate in appearance, after all.

Ten minutes later, Nicholas’s keen scrutiny confirmed what she had seen in the glass. ‘Passable, in fact, more than passable. It’s a good thing you’re not pretty. Just remember to stride when you walk, stand up straight, and don’t say anything unless you have to.’ He seemed oblivious to the hurt look Cassandra gave him. She knew she wasn’t pretty, but he might at least have said she made a good-looking boy. ‘That’s right, scowl like that,’ he added, blithely piling insult on injury.

Cassandra followed him down the curving staircase to the hall where Peacock handed him into his caped driving cloak. ‘Is the luggage stowed, Peacock?’

‘It is, my lord, and the heavy baggage should have reached Dover this morning. Your gloves and hat, my lord.’

Trying to ignore the butler’s disapproving glance, Cassandra ran down the steps to where the curricle waited with a diminutive tiger holding the heads of four matched bays. ‘I shan’t be needing you, Jem. Have a holiday.’ Nicholas swung up onto the box, gathered the reins in his gloved hand and steadied the team.

‘What, m’lud? Not taking me? Who’ll sort the ’orses out?’

‘I think I'm capable of giving simple instructions to ostlers, Jem. You can follow tomorrow and bring the team back from the
Shoulder of Mutton
at Dartford. Get up, er, Cass.’

Cassandra scrambled up to sit beside him.

‘Cross your arms and sit up straight,’ Nicholas hissed out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Let them go, Jem.’

The team was fresh and enough of a handful to occupy Nicholas’s attention for the first ten minutes as he negotiated the thronged streets leading to Piccadilly and Green Park. Sitting up straight as she’d been ordered, Cassandra hardly knew where to look first. The quiet streets had been transformed into bustling life, so crowded she wondered that the traffic was moving at all.

Carriages of all kinds wove their way around tradesmen with barrows, a man was driving pigs, a broken-down hackney carriage with the wheel off half blocked the street while two coachmen quarrelled over who had caused the accident…

‘Look at that beautiful lady, Nicholas.’ She uncrossed her arms to tug at his sleeve. ‘Oh, I wish I had a dress like that.’

Nicholas glanced in the direction she was pointing and snapped, ‘Sit still and cross your arms! And don’t gawp.’

‘But I’ve never seen a gown like that, so daring. How does she make it cling so?’

‘Never you mind,’ Nicholas said grimly, swearing under his breath as a coalman shot a load of coal noisily down a cellar chute making the wheelers shy. ‘No woman walking the streets unaccompanied is any better than she should be. And I am beginning to think that a fresh team and Cassandra Weston in combination are more than any man should have to deal with at once.’

‘Oh, Nicholas, is that the Banqueting Hall?’ Cassandra was too excited to be crushed by his irritation. ‘Slow down, please, I want to look at it.’ She was swept up by the exhilaration of being driven through London, seeing before her eyes all the sights she had read about.

‘Perhaps you would like me to stop and buy you a guidebook?’ he enquired politely.

‘I wish you would. Papa has Mr Pennant’s
London
. If I had thought, I would have brought it with me, for Papa swears by it as a guide.’

‘Cassandra, I have no intention of sightseeing, gawping at streetwalkers, visiting bonnet shops, calling on the Prince Regent or any of the other diversions you seem to have in mind. Now, you tiresome child, you will sit still and be quiet, or I will set you down on London Bridge and you may throw yourself in the Thames or walk home to Ware as you wish.’

They both subsided into smouldering silence. Cassandra waited until Nicholas had turned the team onto the bridge, before she ventured, ‘Do you regret bringing me?’

‘I must have been mad,’ Nicholas said grimly.

Cassandra shot him a glare and sniffed defiantly.

Poor brat,
he thought with a surge of unwelcome sympathy.
She was fighting not to let him see she was almost on the verge of tears. She was tired, she was frightened and the sights of London were probably a welcome distraction.

‘Don’t sniff, child. I don’t allow Jem to sniff, and besides, your nose is getting pink.’ Nicholas smiled at her, his irritation suddenly gone, as they passed the new obelisk in St George’s Circus. ‘If you want to sightsee, how about that magnificent building on our left?’

‘What is it?’ Cassandra craned to look.

‘The King’s Bench Prison.’

She shuddered and averted her gaze from the grim walls, her appetite for sights disappearing no doubt vanishing. The team settled down to their work and soon the wide streets of Southwark were behind them, Greenwich and Blackheath with their palace and parkland were past and the horses were breasting the long pull of Shooters Hill at a steady trot.

‘Are there highwaymen?’ she asked, gazing at the thick wood which grew right down to the road edge and inching closer to him.

‘Probably. There are horse pistols in the holster beside you. If we’re attacked, it’s the groom’s job to fire them.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m teasing you, we’re safe enough in daylight and there are other travellers on the road. Besides, the Mail is a far more tempting target. If you look out at the crossroads, you might see a corpse on the gibbet,’ he added slyly.

Cassandra was spared the sight which was probably a good thing. He could do without her throwing up her early breakfast. It was nearly two o'clock before they arrived at the
Shoulder of Mutton
in Dartford and he heard Cassandra’s stomach grumble as she climbed down from the high seat. She stood quietly to one side like a good servant, while he gave orders to the ostlers for the return of his team and looked over the horses which were to replace them for the next stage to Chatham.

‘There’s time for some bread and cheese and ale.’ Nicholas shouldered his way into the inn and found them a corner table. ‘I should get a private parlour with you here, but this will be good practice for you. Just remember to act like a boy, and drink your ale, don’t sip it.’

Cassandra copied the way he lifted his tankard and drank deeply, then shuddered as the bitter liquid ran down her throat. ‘It’s
disgusting
. How can men drink this for pleasure?’

Nicholas listened with half his attention. He turned, one arm across the back of the settle, and watched the arrival of the Dover coach which had just clattered into the yard and was disgorging its noisy cargo.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked uneasily.

‘Nothing, I hope, so long as no-one who knows me is on board and stops to talk. Drink up, we’d better get on our way.’

They pushed their way back through the group, an ill-assorted collection of all social classes from young blades to plainly dressed artisans, all stretching to relieve the stiffness caused by the coach’s rattling progress.

Beside him he felt rather than heard Cassie let her breath out in a sigh of relief as they regained the road without anyone hailing him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought that I might be an embarrassment to you if anyone discovers me.’

‘No-one will,’ he said, as much to reassure himself as her as he drove the new team well up to their bits down the old Roman road to Rochester.

The green countryside, with its rows of neatly trained hops marching up the slopes and the groups of oast houses, was pleasant enough to distract her until Rochester, it seemed. She craned around to look at the castle and the ships lying at anchor on the wide Medway, but Nicholas pushed the tired team on to Chatham for the next change.

They made good time, but still it was well past five before they entered Canterbury and he noticed that even Cassandra’s enthusiasm for sightseeing was blunted by tiredness. She passed the cathedral with scarcely more than a glance at the twin towers soaring over the narrow streets. They changed horses for the last time at Bridge.

The good weather that had favoured them all day had mellowed into a still, warm June evening and their shadows were lengthening on the road before them as they drove, at last, down the long hill into Dover.

Nicholas flexed his shoulders, the thought of a hot bath beckoning like a siren’s song. So far so good. No-one had pointed or stared, no-one had appeared to have taken any notice of the slim youth beside him. It seemed they would get away with this insane masquerade after all.

The castle crouched on the clifftop, dominating the town that straggled down the valley to the sea’s edge. Cassandra sat up, straightened her weary shoulders and crossed her arms like the perfect servant. She ached in every limb from the jolting of the road, yet all she had done was sit alongside Nicholas.

He had driven unfamiliar horses for mile after mile, negotiated potholes and tollgates, avoided village urchins and stray dogs, and yet he looked as fresh as when they had set out from Grosvenor Square. Only the crinkles of tiredness at the corners of his eyes and the way he flexed his shoulders betrayed any sign of fatigue. Cassandra watched his hands, sure and strong on the reins, the long fingers sending almost imperceptible signals to the leaders.

The curricle was bowling down to a wide esplanade and, suddenly, there was the sea sparkling grey in the evening light, the salt tang filling the air – and filling Cassandra with a strange exaltation.

‘Stop bouncing,’ Nicholas chided, but he was grinning. ‘You really are the most irrepressible child. Have you never seen the sea before?’

‘No, never. I’ve imagined it, of course, but it’s so big, so…’

‘Wet,’ Nicholas supplied wryly. ‘Now behave yourself, we’re nearly at the
Ship Inn
.’

‘Oh.’ Cassandra noticed for the first time the abundance of inns and lodging houses that lined the street, all of them disreputable and dirty.

‘Don’t worry, it’s not one of these. You'll find the
Ship
comfortable enough. And the bedlinen is at least clean.’ As he spoke, he wheeled the team into a cobbled yard under a gaudily painted sign of a galleon in full sail that swung so low that Cassandra ducked instinctively.

The yard was bustling with sporting carriages like their own and a number of chaises with piles of luggage strapped high behind. ‘Now you see why I was so eager to leave on time. We would have lost the accommodation otherwise.’

Cassandra climbed down stiffly, pleased to see the yard was freshly strewn with clean straw and that neatly dressed grooms hurried forward to take the horses.

She stared in awe at one of the passengers alighting from a closed carriage on the arm of a foppishly dressed gentleman. The lady was wearing a Spanish pelisse in a dove grey sarsenet trimmed with Chinese binding and her hands and feet were gloved in dainty lemon kid. Cassandra watched open-mouthed as this vision stepped down onto the cobbles without a thought for her exquisite footwear.

She was jolted out of her study by Nicholas stepping forward and raising his hat. ‘Lady Broome. What a pleasure to see you here. Are you making the crossing?’

‘My dear Earl!’ The lady fluttered forward, extending her gloved hand. ‘You know my brother George?’ The gentlemen exchanged nods. ‘Nothing would prevail upon me to brave the Channel, not even for a glimpse of Paris fashions before they reach Town. I am here meet my brother.’

‘And you?’ She clung to Nicholas’s sleeve and they began to walk towards the inn door.

‘Alas, the perils of the ocean for me – and without your presence to stiffen my resolution… Cass! Don’t stand there with your mouth open, boy, bring my dressing case.’

Resentfully Cassandra tugged at the leather straps securing the bags.
Mouth open, indeed
. The heavy case fell off the top of the pile, wrenching her arms.

‘Need a hand with those, lad?’ One of the grooms was beside her. ‘Amazing what these nobs put into their cases, feels like a load of bricks, don’t it?’ The man swung the remaining pieces down and took them into the
Ship
and Cassandra followed behind, trying to manage the heavy case and stride manfully at the same time.

Nicholas was leaning negligently against the mantelpiece in the coffee room. When Cassandra came in, he hailed a passing waiter. ‘Show my man to my chamber with the luggage. Cass, check the heavy luggage has arrived and unpack my evening dress. I shall dine with Lady Broome and Sir George this evening.’

Cassandra opened her mouth indignantly, then closed it again with a snap. After all, what else did she expect? She’d freely entered the charade, she couldn’t complain when she was asked to act the part. But Nicholas didn’t have to act his with such relish, she though resentfully.

The room was a good one with a bow window overlooking the main street and a glimpse of the sea beyond. A maidservant was mending the fire and the heavy luggage was piled high in one corner. With a nod at the girl, Cassandra began unpacking the dressing case, laying out the silver-backed brushes and shaving gear.

Poking into the various valises, she found what seemed appropriate evening wear and clean linen. It was not until she was laying a nightshirt on the bed that a thought struck her. Where was she to sleep? Where
did
servants sleep in establishments like this? And more immediately, where was she to eat?

What time was it, and when would Nicholas require warm water? How little she knew. It was all very well to have to act like a boy. That was easy, compared with learning to act like a valet.

‘Oh, hang the man.’ Cassandra muttered, angry that Nicholas had abandoned her in this strange place and, suddenly, not a little nervous.

‘Language, infant.’ Nicholas was leaning against the door jamb. He seemed lazily amused, his eyes narrowed as he watched her.

‘I am not an infant. How could you leave me without giving me some idea what to do with all this?’ She gestured wildly at the pile of cases, irrationally more angry now he was there than she had been before.

‘What did you expect me to do?’ he enquired, strolling into the room and loosening his neck cloth. ‘Invite you to take tea with Lady Broome?’ He shrugged off his coat and handed it to her. ‘Brush this will you, it’s dusty from the journey.’

‘Brush it yourself.’ Her chin came up and she threw the coat onto the bed. ‘You just go off with that
woman
and leave me…’

‘Calm down, Cassie and don’t treat my coats like that. I’m sorry I left you, brat. To tell you the truth, I keep forgetting you’re not a boy, you’re so good at it.’

He straightened and strolled across to look down at her, his eyes warm with amusement. One long finger tilted her chin up, forcing her gaze to meet his. ‘Stop sulking, Cassie. I couldn’t just leave Lady Broome, it would have looked most odd. Besides,’ he smiled reminiscently, ‘what better way to kill an hour than in the company of a beautiful woman? You seem to have managed well enough. Have you ordered hot water?’

Cassandra bit her lip, acknowledging to herself that her real complaint was Nicholas’s preference for Lady Broome’s company over her own. ‘No. I didn’t know what time you wanted it. I’ll get it now.’ She paused, her hand on the door knob, ‘Nicholas, where am I to sleep tonight?’

He paused, arrested, his neck cloth half off. ‘Lord, I hadn’t thought of that. Go for the water, I’ll think of something.’

Cassandra returned with a steaming ewer to find Nicholas pulling a battered screen across one corner of the room. ‘What are you doing?’ She set the jug down on the dressing table and came to peer round the edge. ‘Where did you get that from?’ A low truckle bed was set behind the screen.

‘It was under the bed. I’ll take this, you have the bed.’

‘I can’t do that, Nicholas,’ she protested, scandalised. ‘I cannot sleep in the same room as you. It’s…’

‘…the only option we have,’ he finished for her. ‘What would you prefer? To share with the male inn servants?’ He looked at her, grimaced and added ruefully, ‘Face it. You’re as compromised as you’re ever going to be, Cassie. By running away with me dressed as a boy, you burned your boats. A night in my company can make it no worse.’

Cassandra knew her blush was deepening. Her tongue felt too clumsy to get round the words. ‘But we… I never thought…’

‘I don’t believe you thought half a day ahead from the moment you left home. But then, neither did I, at least, not about this.’ He hesitated, ‘Look, Cassie, with the screen pulled across it will be almost as if we’re in two separate chambers.’

Cassandra cast round for other reasons not to share the room. It wasn’t as though she didn’t trust Nicholas, it was just that the big bed was strangely disturbing. Her eyes fell on the shortness of the pallet. ‘Your feet will stick out of the end. You won’t be able to walk tomorrow. I’m much shorter, I’ll sleep on the truckle bed.’

‘You are in my care, Cassandra, and you will do as I tell you.’ Nicholas’s tone brooked no argument. ‘You’re my mother’s godchild and I must see you safely delivered to her. It’s bad enough that you’re jauntering around in boy’s clothing, unchaperoned, without sleeping in a servant’s bed in an inn.’