Regency Masquerade

Chapter Seventeen

Eventually the three travellers in the post chaise reached London and dropped a weary Frances in front of the Pelican.  She was greeted by a relieved Mrs Cobb.

"I am that glad to see you again, sir, and that's the truth!  You would not believe the trouble we've had getting that man of yours to stay in bed.  As soon as my back was turned, up he'd get, determined to be off after you.  I don't know how many times I told him you'd be safe enough with his lordship."  She shook her head, following Frances up to the room.

"Nurse would have it he was delirious.  In the end she put a stop to it by taking away his clothes."

"Oh dear," said Frances guiltily, "Perhaps now that I am here you could bring them back.  I am sorry for all your trouble.  Could I have a room for the night?"

"Of course, sir, I'll see to it at once."

"If John is well enough, we will be on our way tomorrow.  I am due to visit my cousin in Bath," announced Frances.

One look at the scowling invalid's face convinced Frances there was nothing that a good raking down of herself would not cure, and in a few minutes the nurse was politely but firmly dismissed with a final payment for her services, along with Mrs Cobb, and Frances leant against the wall letting the tirade wash over her.  The manservant had been vastly worried to learn, when he eventually came to his senses, that his mistress had gone off into the country with Lord Carleton.  Eventually her servant ran out of steam and lay glaring at her.  

Frances smiled, "I am glad you are so much better, John!  Do you think you will be fit to leave tomorrow?"

"Another minute would not be soon enough!" he growled.  "Pesky women!  What devilry are you up to now?"

"No devilry at all!  Why just the opposite!  I intend to establish a respectable residence at the Regent Hotel – it is time for me to meet Lady Murray.  I have been thinking that, whatever the connection I have with the family, they will be bound to make enquiries and a respectable hotel is the best background I can think of.  I shall say I have just come over from France and have no acquaintance here in London that I could stay with.  I have enough money to pay for a fortnight's accommodation, which should be quite sufficient because by then I will either have been invited to stay with Lady Murray or I will have to be off adventuring again!"

John nodded with grudging approval, "You will need the devil's own luck to pull clear out of this one though, Miss Frances!"

The next day she paid her shot at the inn and sent her servant on ahead to book rooms at the Regent.  Dressed neatly as a respectable young matron, Frances visited several employment agencies and was lucky enough to engage a middle aged French woman who spoke hardly any English, having come to England with her émigré mistress but then been cast off as being too expensive a luxury.  Frances bound her to secrecy by promising her the price of the fare back to Paris once the two weeks were over.

That very afternoon, Miss Frances White and her companion Madame Lebrun moved quietly into their modest suite of rooms at the Regent.

Twenty four hours later, Frances found herself alighting from a hackney coach, with her new companion behind her and treading up the steps towards a blue door with a brass knocker in the centre.  She wore her yellow morning dress which was clean and tidy, if not exactly fashionable and had tied a modest bonnet over her hair.  Feeling nervous despite herself she knocked firmly at the door.  It was opened by a footman, dressed in a shade of blue which matched the colour of the door.

"Is Lady Murray at home, please?" she asked in a clear, low voice.

"Who may I say is calling, Miss?" he asked dubiously.

"Please tell her that Henry Metcalf sent me," answered Frances taking the bull by the horns.

The footman stared curiously and asked her to wait, then disappeared, shutting the door behind him.  Frances considered again, the reasons she had come.  Foremost was curiosity.   She had learnt all she could from common gossip and it had not been much.  She still could not imagine what connection the Murrays had with her father, nor was she really sure that the lady she hoped to see today was the one he had directed her to.  Still, it was all she had to go on, she certainly would not find out anything more waiting in her room at the Regent.

Just as she was wondering if she had been forgotten, the footman returned and ushered her inside.

"Lady Murray will see you, Miss," he sounded surprised, even to himself.  "If you will just come this way to the morning salon.  Your companion can wait here."  She followed him upstairs and along a passage.  Frances was concentrating on the approaching interview and scarcely noticed the magnificent surroundings.  The footman pushed open a door in front of her and announced, "The young, er lady, my Lady."

Frances stepped into the room.  For some reason she had been expecting an invalid, perhaps because everyone had spoken of her as a recluse, but the woman standing before her looked as fit and sharp as a tack.  She wore a fashionable dark grey gown and her thick white hair was coiled on top of her head.  Bright blue eyes stared at her with strange intensity and she noticed the fingers of her right hand were clenched whitely around a French fan.

"Well?" the query was more command than question.  "What message do you have for me from that man?  Speak up, girl.  His name had not been spoken in this house for over twenty five years until today – I want to know what he wants after all this time."

It was not an auspicious opening.  Obviously the unknown Mr Metcalf had seriously incurred her Ladyship's wrath and was not a passport to her goodwill as her father had hoped.  Feeling her cause lost already, Frances felt she had nothing to lose and answered honestly.

"I am sorry for intruding on you, my lady, but I was advised to come to London and seek out a Lady Julia Murray and to mention Henry Metcalf.  Unfortunately I hear she has passed away and so I have come to see you instead ..."  She broke off as the woman in front of her seemed to sway suddenly.

"Tom, a chair!" she called imperiously.  The footman hastily pulled forward a gilt chair and bent over her, making sure she was settled comfortably.  "Nothing to worry about, don't fuss, Tom." She complained. "What's your name, girl?"

"Frances, my lady."

"Frances Metcalf, eh?" she queried with a sardonic curl to her lip.

"If I am, it is the first I have heard of it!  As far as I know, Henry Metcalf was not my father," she replied coolly.

"What in heavens' name do you mean, girl?  Who are you then?"  Lady Murray frowned crossly.

"Perhaps you could answer a question for me first, my lady.  Can you please tell me who Henry Metcalf is?"

(Author's note - please let me know what you think about the story. All comments are really appreciated :))