As a gambler's daughter, Frances was resigned to spending her life masquerading as a boy, learning how to shoot a pistol and fight with a sword. Constantly moving from town to town, it was far safer than being a girl. But when her father dies sudd...
Oops! Bu görüntü içerik kurallarımıza uymuyor. Yayımlamaya devam etmek için görüntüyü kaldırmayı ya da başka bir görüntü yüklemeyi deneyin.
A short, thickset man with the unmistakeable air of an old family retainer was waiting in his room when Peter opened the door. The single candle had burned down to within an inch of the holder but the coals still glowed in the grate. "Well, and what have you been up to then?" growled the retainer, coming forward to help him off with his coat.
"Don't scold, John" protested Peter half smiling. "I've had such an adventure! I came upon a man being attacked by three footpads and I had to lend a hand. And then he wanted to thank me and we got talking and I forgot the time ..."
Far from soothing the servant this information only seemed to aggravate him further. "Don't tell me you went to this man's lodgings? On your own? Who was he?"
"Yes, I did. Don't worry I was quite safe. His name is Carleton, Richard Carleton - have you heard anything about him?" Peter went behind a screen as he spoke and draped his garments over the top as he took them off.
John stayed in the centre of the room, glaring into the fire. "No, I can't say ... no wait a minute. I think the family has a place in Surrey. Don't know where he fits in though - but it's not right, you visiting him at home, whoever he is!" he protested, returning to his original theme. "And this ain't seemly either," he muttered to himself as he gathered up the clothes ready for cleaning.
"You should be used to it now, John - God knows I am!" came the slightly weary voice. "I'm too tired to talk any more about it tonight - Good night, I'll see you in the morning."
"'Night, Miss Frances," came the soft reply and then the door shut behind him.
Frances sighed and stretched. Gad it was good to be out of that binding. Dressing as a man had become harder as her body grew decidedly female. She fell into bed with a final image of a pair of thoughtful brown eyes under unruly black hair lingering in her dreams before she was soundly asleep.
~~~
Frances had spent more of her twenty four years as a boy than as a girl. Her mother had died before she could really remember her and since then, she and her father had travelled throughout Europe, spending no more than a few years in any one place. She knew Frances was her Christian name but she didn't know her surname - she had had at least a dozen different ones over the years and did not know which, if any, was the name she had been born with. Henri Fayette (Paris) or Giuseppe Monteverdi (Rome) had been quite simply an adventurer as long as Frances could remember.
Her father had lived by his wits and his skill at cards. His fortunes however had fluctuated and many had been the time that it had been safer for Frances to be a son rather than a daughter. Her education had been as varied as the places she lived in. She could speak French and Italian like a native, her German was not quite as good, but as well as these permissibly feminine accomplishments she could shoot and fence and ride without a side saddle.
It had been a devastating shock when her father had fallen ill a few months back and died in their lodgings in Florence. When he had finally realised the seriousness of his illness, in fact the very day before he died, he called Frances to him. "You must go to London ... find Julia Murray - Lady Julia, she'll see you right. Just tell her, Henry Metcalf ..." a fit of coughing had prevented him from finishing. He gripped her hand tightly and whispered his last words to her. "Remember, Lady Julia Murray ... give her my ..." Another bout of coughing shook him and he lay back exhausted against the pillows.
After his death, Frances had numbly made the funeral arrangements, paid their bills, packed her two trunks and set off to England with their manservant John Hopgood for her sole companion. She had automatically chosen her male garb for the journey as it made everything so much easier, and faster. A single woman could not put up at a respectable inn without a female companion or travel by herself in a carriage.
When she eventually landed in England, she saw no reason to abandon her disguise. "Peter Francis" had therefore travelled to London by coach from Dover and booked into the Pelican with the minimum of fuss. Her plans were to lie low while she located Lady Julia Murray and find out what she could about her. Frances had no intention of throwing herself upon the charity of a perfect stranger. She had enough money from their last gambling venture to allow her to live in a moderate fashion for several months.
She had planned to live quietly in London for several reasons other than money however, not the least of which was her desire to be unrecognised should she have the opportunity to become a woman again. Although she had every confidence in her disguise, she realised that a close friend of Peter Francis would remark audibly on his replacement by Frances. She would just have to stay away from Richard Carleton.
~~~
The next day was bright and sunny, a fresh breeze blowing a couple of small white clouds about the blue sky. As Frances strode briskly through Hyde Park, she wished rather wistfully that she didn't have to live quite so quietly. The theatre for instance - how she would love to see some English Shakespeare! There was so much happening in London at the moment, plays, operas, balls. For the first time in her life she thought it would be fun to be a young girl enjoying a London season, dancing and flirting the nights away. She sighed. It would also be very pleasant to hire a horse and ride in the Park - perhaps her purse would stretch to that once or twice during her stay.
She really must get a move on and find this Lady Murray. It was difficult to know quite where to start. She had no acquaintances in London to ask and her tentative enquiries at the Pelican had not borne fruit. She had taken to buying a paper and looking through the Society news, but so far she had had no luck. What she had noticed though was a short column about a masked ball that was being held by Lady Dalrymple in three days time.
Lady Dalrymple was one of the season's foremost hostesses commented the paper, and the occasion was sure to be a sad crush. Unbidden, the thought had slipped into Frances mind that surely, in such a sad crush, one more person would not be noticed? And how better to find out about Lady Julia than at a ball where the gossip buzzed like a swarm of bees? Perhaps she could even ask someone to introduce her? But the risks! What if she were caught trying to get in the house and was taken up for a burglar? The idea continued to tease her however and she was still deep in thought when she heard her name called. "Francis?"
Startled, she looked up into the amused face of Richard Carleton. At the same time she realised that she had left the Park and was now making her way down Oxford Street. She blinked and smiled, "My apologies, sir, I was daydreaming".
"Sound asleep more like!" joked Carleton. "Are you on your way to anywhere in particular? If not, perhaps you would like to join me at Mancini's Fencing Salon? He has a new thrust he has promised to show me."
Frances' eyes lit up. "That would be fascinating, I accept with pleasure, sir!" Only then did she remember, too late, her vow to steer well away from Mr Carleton! Oh well she mused philosophically, I'll just have to avoid him tomorrow. They turned off Oxford Street shortly and soon found themselves climbing the steps to the two upstairs rooms where M. Mancini conducted his fencing lessons.
He was a short, dark-eyed Italian and Frances heart gave a sudden lurch of fear that she might have met him in Italy before she realised he was a complete stranger. He came quickly forward to greet her companion, hand outstretched. "Ah my Lord Carleton, you have come to learn the "kiss of death" yes? And your friend? I have not met him before I think." The inquisitive brown eyes were turned directly on Frances and she gazed steadily back, masking the jolt his use of "Lord" Carleton had given her. A Lord? She should definitely have avoided his company.
