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! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
On the morning of the ball, Frances was still considering whether to attend or not. Doubtfully she looked at her two dresses, one plain and deliberately servant like and the other a reasonably pretty morning dress with blue trim but definitely not a ball gown. "Well that settles that," she told herself firmly. However, when she found herself strolling down Bond Street an hour later, she realised her subconscious had not listened. She paused outside a particularly modish shop and made a bargain with herself. "Alright then, if there's a gown in there that will fit me, I'll buy it and go to the ball. If there's not, I won't."
Hesitantly she entered as befit a very young gentleman shopping for his mistress. Before she could get her bearings a saleswoman stepped up smiling, "May I be of assistance, sir?"
"Well I ..." Frances halted in well simulated confusion, "I'm looking for a dress - for my sister... it's for a ball." Despite the fact that no young lady she had ever known in her entire life had sent her brother to buy a ball gown, the assistant continued to smile. "I see, sir, and what size does m'selle take?"
"Eh? Oh I don't know ... she's nearly my size ... just a little smaller," her voice trailed away as the assistant beckoned her over to a fabulous creation of gold satin. Frances looked doubtfully at it. "I don't think I could afford anything as grand as that."
The assistant frowned, "I'm afraid we do not stock many ready-made gowns - most customers prefer to have them made up." She paused thoughtfully, then snapped her fingers for a young attendant. "The green one, from the back." There was a slight delay and then the girl reappeared carrying a green silk gown carefully over both arms. She held it up gingerly by the shoulders and Frances fell in love with it. Pale green, like shallow water, it was not suitable for a young girl but for a married woman. A trim of white lace around the neck and the puff sleeves set it off nicely.
"How much?" she queried fearfully.
"Two hundred guineas," came the rude awakening. Frances sighed and turned away reluctantly.
"That is," continued the saleswoman smoothly, "It was two hundred guineas originally when it was made for Lady Fairfax, however she changed her mind. Now it is only a hundred and eighty - pounds."
"I'll take it," the words were out before Frances could stop them. "I do not have the whole sum on me at present, but if I could pay half now, could someone deliver it to me at my room at the Pelican and I will pay the rest then?" This arrangement turned out to be quite satisfactory, in fact it was quite a pleasant change as many of Madame Lisette's customers delayed weeks before settling their accounts. Frances left her direction then set off with her head in a whirl. Now she would have to buy some slippers and some gloves, and a reticule and a hairpiece! At this rate she would have to win a very large wager with Carleton to keep living in London for more than a couple of weeks!
Turning her back on these thoughts, for now she was committed to attending the ball, Frances made her way to Grafton House, where she had heard that one could pick up the most amazing bargains. Sure enough, she found all the accessories she wanted there and even remembered at the last minute to purchase a black mask. Muttering bashfully about his sister's birthday, Peter Francis managed to complete his shopping in under an hour and for a mere ten pounds. Trifling when one compared it to the cost of the gown!
She summoned John immediately when she returned to the Pelican. "I need a carriage for tonight, John, a proper carriage, not a hackney. I am going to Lady Dalrymple's masked ball."
He stared at her open mouthed, "You're what?"
"I'm going to a ball, a masked ball. I've bought a gown and everything."
"You've gone mad!" was the flat reply.
"Well only a little," she admitted. "But I'm sure 'tis the only way I'll discover Lady Murray and besides I feel like being a woman again for a while."
"Are you invited?"
"Of course not! How could I be? I shall just have to bluff my way in - that's why I need a carriage to make an impressive entrance - how does Amelia Blenkinthorpe sound?"
"Unlikely!" returned her harassed servant. "No doubt you'll be turned back at the door," he assured himself. "And how do you think you're going to get out of here, all dressed up in your finery? Not to mention getting back in!"
"Hm ...," Frances nibbled a fingertip as she considered. "I think I could slip out while everyone was at dinner, if you were waiting for me with the carriage around the back. Perhaps I had better take my breeches and a coat with me in the carriage so I can change on the return journey. I shall make a point to leave at a quarter before twelve before the unmasking. Can you have the carriage waiting for me?" she asked, fleshing out her plan.
"Hmph! I can see you're set on it so I'll do my best about the carriage. You'd better hop to it if you want to be ready before midnight!" he remarked acidly as he left the room. Frances lost no time as she needed to do everything for herself, there was no maid to assist her! She was accustomed to being her own maid however, and when John returned to admit grudgingly that he had managed to hire a carriage, he found her already dressed and carefully powdering her face. No lady would have such ugly brown skin! Painstakingly she attached the dark brown wig to her own short locks, tucking any fair strands out of sight and then put on the black mask. She was totally unrecognisable as Peter Francis.
Smiling she met John's eyes in the mirror.
"You'll do," he approved reluctantly. "Have you got the garments you want ready? I'll take them along to the carriage now." She handed him the dark cloak, boots and a pair of breeches. "I'm ready. Is the carriage at the back of the inn?"
He nodded. "In that case, I will come down as soon as the coast is clear."
Frances waited until John had disappeared down the corridor, then, checking in both directions, stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her. Moving softly, she hurried after him, listening for the sounds of anyone approaching. Everything was quiet until she opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and noise from the taproom filtered along the passage towards her. She could imagine the scene, Will the landlord would be serving mugs of ale while Mary his wife would be in the kitchen preparing dinner for the two or three guests who regularly ate in. As she paused, a servant girl came out of a room ahead and disappeared into another.
Holding up her skirts, Frances slipped down the passage into the store room and out through the back door to the small courtyard and stables. John was standing at the head of a pair of horses attached to a smart looking coach with the door swinging open. She trod purposefully toward it, ignoring the startled exclamation of a stable hand coming out with a bucket of water, and climbed in. John shut the door smartly behind her, jumped up behind the horses and they were off.
