Regency Society Revisited Read online

  Ministrations done, the husband and wife hovered over Serenity. “'Tis a sin what Milady has suffered,” Bess commiserated.

  They naturally were eager to hear the gruesome details so Serenity quickly improvised her story. “The footpads’ attack was so fast, I can't give a description, but I do believe there were two men. They knocked me unconscious. When I awakened, my dear servants and my coach were gone. Vanished!"

  She lowered her gaze, hoping her hosts wouldn't ask questions for she was in no condition to think on her feet. Head to toe, her body clamored for a chance to collapse into oblivion. At the moment, nothing looked real. The beefy innkeeper, his solicitous wife, and the buxom daughter all seemed too good to be true.

  Serenity's internal clock needed to reset to the slower nineteenth century time.

  But first things first. “Again, I must thank you all for your kindness. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Mr. Mills, may I please have a room for the night? And in the morning, I'll need transportation to Bath."

  "Yes, of course, milady. The mail coach stops ‘ere b'fore noon. Anything else, milady?"

  One other loose end. “If you would, sir, could you fetch my portmanteau? It's just a short distance down the road."

  The man nodded, then left to accomplish his task.

  The daughter, Jessy, ambled her way down a corridor, showing Serenity to her assigned room. Once alone, Serenity sank down onto the bed. “Whew! For future time-travelers’ sakes, I hope the kinks get worked out of the Wave."

  After seeing she could do no more for her head and arm wounds, she gratefully slipped under the feather bed's blankets to still her turbulent, racing thoughts. Sleep was a welcome tranquilizer.

  * * * *

  Mills swiftly carried out milady's request. But when he and his ostler spotted milady's portmanteau on the road near his establishment, he paused, his mind plagued with the inconsistencies of milady's tale. Why would desperate footpads assail milady's prosperous carriage, commandeer it and the servants, but leave a fine trunk behind? Unopened?

  And how did milady manage to transport it so close to his posting house?

  He shook his head. ‘Twas a mystery. He only hoped milady's purse fared similarly well so she would have the blunt to pay for her overnight stay.

  Chapter Four

  Blinking awake, Serenity focused on thin calico curtains ineffectively blocking the early morning sun. She made a move to rise from the comfortable bed, but changed her mind. Her body ached as if slammed against the proverbial brick wall.

  Moan and groan! Oh well, soon these discomforts would fade. The important thing was she obtained her objective: year—1812, and respectable lodgings in Bath, thanks to Mr. Mill's recommendation.

  Yesterday, she moved to the White Swan Inn located in the center of town. That had been enough work for one day. But today, she needed to begin her research.

  A bold knock at the door interrupted her reverie. Before she had a chance to ask who it was, the door creaked open and in walked a cheery young woman, carrying an obviously heavy tray. Dressed in a scoop-necked gown with a linen apron tightly outlining her pleasingly plump body, the maid set the food on the bed stand.

  "I thought I'd bring you up a tray, Mrs. Steele, seeings how you was too weak t'eat yesterday."

  The girl, probably only eighteen, curtseyed, then flitted about the room. She polished the water pitcher, straightened the cushion on the hard-back chair, and adjusted anything that was out of place. Returning to the bed stand, she lifted the tray's silver dome. “Have a look? Some hearty food will set you right, it will."

  Several different aromas mingled at once and beckoned to Serenity's hungry taste buds. Should she try the buttery caraway buns or fluffy egg omelet? What about the spicy pork sausage or perhaps the haddock bisque?

  Her stomach growled. Maybe she should play it safe and just have a piece of toast with coffee.

  As the maid plumped Serenity's pillows, she continued her chatter. “Don't mind me, ma'am. I always let my mouth run on and on. By the bye, your clothes already be cleaned and mended, awaiting you. The cook outdone herself t'day and prepared you a breakfast fit for a king. Or a prince regent. All of us at the White Swan agree you need some extra padding!"

  So much for the theory: a person can't be too thin. Serenity put on her robe and slid her legs down to the wood-planked floor. “Please thank the cook for going to so much trouble, but I can't possibly eat one-fourth of this ... ah, cornucopia. Would you like to join me?"

  The maid blushed, pleased at the offer. Or was she embarrassed?

  "Oh no, ma'am. I must refuse. ‘Twould be unseemly. The likes of me sharing a meal with a lady. Oh no, indeed!"

  Then she paused. “Oh, ma'am, you've no idea how much we've all talked about your arrival here. Us parlormaids, I mean. With you beings a war-widow, attacked by those footpads. And your poor, bruised face."

  Before Serenity could blink, the girl quickly pivoted and stood at the door. Turning, she said, “But here, I goes on too much. If you need anything, ma'am, anything at all, just ask for Maggie—Maggie Morley."

  Serenity smiled. The girl's beribboned white mob cap hid too much of her sweet face. “Maggie, could you spare a few moments now? I was wondering if you could give me some information. You won't be risking your employer's, er, displeasure, will you?"

  "Oh no, ma'am. I'd be pleased t'tarry awhile.” Maggie perched on the edge of the room's tub-shaped chair. “Be happy t'help you. ‘Tis a shame about your nasty experience."

  Maggie glanced at Serenity's hairline, then looked away. Serenity also took a peek at her own forehead via the streaky mirror above the dresser. Her cut was almost healed but dark bruises still discolored her left temple. Her arm, though, hurt like the dickens. It'd take much longer to recover.

  She slowly got out of bed and poured a cup of steaming hot coffee. Something to jump-start her awake. She certainly could use the stimulant. Her bones still rattled as if they'd been disconnected by the time jolt, but professional curiosity overcame physical sluggishness.

  "These are the things I need, Maggie. First, the location of a banking facility. Next, an address of a housing agent. And last, information on Bath's local attractions.” It was at these tourist spots that Serenity planned to make some contacts.

  Maggie happily responded, spewing forth a volume of data. When she concluded her “walking guide to Bath,” she added, “But begging your pardon, Mrs. Steele. A lady never goes anywhere unaccompanied. ‘Tis too bad your maid be taken by the footpads. Do you go t'file a complaint with the magistrate?"

  How could she have forgotten the social stricture limiting free movement of upper class women? How could she get around it?

  She had an idea.

  "Yes, Maggie, I have to report my misfortune, but I am going to need a replacement for my own dear maid. Maybe you could get some time off from your duties here and accompany me around town? What do you think? If this works out, maybe you'd like to come to London with me and help me set up my household."

  Serenity again silently thanked the posting house's Mr. Mills for furnishing such an effective cover story. But a twinge of guilt tugged her conscience. She could only offer Maggie employment for a year. On the plus side, Serenity would be an easy mistress to serve. And with all the contacts she planned to make, there were bound to be several positions available to Maggie after the year's time.

  What did Maggie think? Serenity looked expectantly at the maid, only to find her dabbing her eyes with a corner of her apron. Maggie's cap had inched further down on her forehead, and the only visible portions of her face were a short, stubby nose and heavily freckled cheeks.

  "Oh ma'am, I couldn't possibly. T'be a lady's maid! I could never hope t'aim that high. Not worthy. I've a ... p-past.” Maggie's small face crumpled into tears.

  Serenity bit on her lower lip. Somehow she'd inadvertently touched a raw nerve.

  She took one of the maid's rough hands and patted it. “Maggie, I'm not concerned wit
h the past. As long as you're honest and loyal, that's all I'm looking for. I think I'm a good judge of character. The offer stands."

  Maggie looked at Serenity, tears suspended in her eyes. “But you don't know. No one here knows about my secret. Be let go if word got out."

  "Think about it, Maggie. That's all I ask. I'd like to begin my visits as soon as possible. And don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

  As an anthropologist, the ability to keep things confidential was essential.

  Maggie struggled to compose herself. Tipping the pitcher into her hand, she splashed a bit of water on her face. “I want t'tell you, ma'am. I trust you. You see, my mum's alone now. Just makes enough t'get by. When I turned ten and five, I started working t'make ends meet. So happy t'work as scullery maid in our town squire's fine house. So proud t'be able to give Mum my wages."

  Serenity had found this same reverence towards mothers in her study of kinship—London in the year 2016. Maggie's desire to ease her mother's burdens spoke well of her.

  "I be doing real good at my work,” the maid continued. “Cook praised me in front of the other girls. Mind, she be a hard'un t'please, too. But then the squire's son comes back to Blaise Hamlet—my town, you see. Just northeast of here. He comes home on a brief furlough, he calls it, from the King's service. Oh, he looks a sight in his uniform! He's an officer, you know. All us girls admire his blue eyes and windswept sandy hair."

  Another watery mist developed over Maggie's eyes, no doubt she was remembering her cavalier's handsome appearance.

  "He pays me such attention, he does. Fair turns my young head. Cook tries t'warn me but I just think her jealous. Well, he promises me marriage. I let him, um, you know.... Anyways, I keep awaiting for the ring on my finger. When I catch him with one of the upstairs maids, I realize I'd been a fool. Then, I discover I be with ... with child. I plead with him, but he laughs at me. I get my dismissal the next day."

  Gulping down some air, Maggie straightened her mob cap. “My poor mum takes me back. She don't have to, with my disgrace, but she does. Barely enough food t'feed the two of us. My babe comes along three months early. He don't have a chance. He rests near the churchyard, now."

  She took another swipe at her eyes. “That be three years ago, ma'am. I swear t'you, I've not been close to a man since. ‘Tain't worth it. How foolish of me, just fifteen and all. I truly thought a gent would want t'marry me. But you see now, ma'am, why ‘twould not do for me t'be your personal maid."

  Serenity felt the sting of a tear. The injustice of the nobility system burned. If a pregnant servant girl's family refused to take her back home, the system condemned her to a workhouse or to prostitution. The aristocratic male, on the other hand, got off scot-free, and eagerly returned to his debauchery.

  Anthropologists weren't supposed to make value judgments. After all, these arbitrary ratings of what was beneficial for a culture, were variable. What was good behavior in one culture could be viewed as undesirable in another.

  Damn it. Her emotions were running away with her. She had to maintain her detachment. Cool, calm, and distant. It would be disastrous if her methodology was questioned because of bias.

  She comforted the girl with a cup of coffee. “As I said, Maggie, the offer stands. You'd be doing me a great favor. I'd be pleased to have you as my maid."

  Maggie, for once speechless, smiled tremulously and nodded her acceptance of the new job.

  * * * *

  Preparing for her first real outing into Regency England, Serenity declined any help in dressing. Better to face her “first night” jitters alone. And besides, the simple muslin dress she wore had some “modern” small hooks used as fastenings. Anachronisms. The only type of fastenings used during this time period were either buttons or large, visible metal hooks.

  Heavens! She didn't want to blow her cover before she even got started. Hopefully everything else would check out okay.

  She slipped on a pale grey pelisse. Made of warm bombazine, the coat was perfect for this raw February day. Gathered at the highwaisted back, it fell in a smooth line down to her ankle. Complete with her wide brimmed bonnet, she also had a fur tippet or stole, and a matching ermine muff to go with the pelisse. She snuggled the muffler around her ears. With the howling winds outside, she could use every bit of extra warmth.

  Thank goodness for the Institute's generous budget. Due to animal protection groups, genuine fur was in short supply these days. Or, more to the point, “those” days back in 2020. Perhaps she had Axel Rhinehart to thank for the ermine.

  Stop admiring your image, Steele. After all, you are as phony as a three dollar bill. Or perhaps she should say, a three pence piece?

  Grabbing her reticule, which was too small for anything but the barest necessities, Serenity shut the door to her room and joined Maggie downstairs.

  * * * *

  After a satisfactory interview with a housing agent, Serenity signed a lease for one year's rental of a London townhouse, located at Twenty-three Bedford Street. Back on the street again, frigid winter winds, made colder with splashes of water from the town's gushing fountain, whipped through her.

  Even the beauty of the surrounding Georgian architecture failed to please. The only thought on her mind was to get warm. When she and Maggie turned the corner onto Bath Street, Serenity said, “Maggie, let's stop here at the Grand Pump Room. We can drink the hot springs water."

  And defrost!

  Next door to the Pump Room stood the Aquae Sulis, but exploration of that ancient Roman spa would have to wait for another day. Nothing could lure her away from the hot springs sanctuary. Her wool pelisse was proving to be no match for this weather. And Maggie's less than serviceable cloak was appalling. The poor girl shivered in silence, pretending to be unaware of the bone-chilling temperatures. A shopping trip would have to be the next order of business for both of them.

  Entering the Corinthian-columned Pump Room, Serenity handed her outer garments to the attendant and set about claiming two glasses of the famous healing mineral water with which to warm their insides.

  The interior of the building was elegant, all she had read about and more, but something caused the small hairs on her neck to rise. What was the matter?

  She looked around, then spotted Beau Nash's marble statue. The chilly stare from Bath's eighteenth century “king” met her gaze. He disapproved of her business here. If alive, he would've thrown her out.

  A shudder vibrated down her spine. Being fanciful, aren't you?

  She had as much right to try the waters as any other health-conscious pilgrim. Slipping a bobby pin back into her bun, she stood next to a very young woman, dressed in a fashionable ivory morning gown, who also waited her turn at the stone fountain.

  Here was Serenity's chance to strike up a conversation. “There's a decided odor in the air. Do you know if the water's taste is as vile as its smell?"

  Her speech sounded stilted to her ears, even pompous. But that was how the Institute had instructed her to talk.

  The lady turned toward her, raising teary dark blue eyes. “Oh yes. I am afraid it is quite repellent and ... and it does not even work."

  Bending her head, she fidgeted for a handkerchief, then dropped it. She burst into tears.

  Serenity picked up the lacy handkerchief and handed it to the lady. While the young woman composed herself, Serenity took a quick survey. The Regency miss was small, about two inches over five feet. A profusion of dark blonde curls covered her head, and an encircling pink ribbon was woven artistically through her mass of hair. A pretty teenager, probably seventeen years or so. And definitely a member of the upper class. Here was an opportunity.

  Serenity lowered her voice. “May I be of assistance?"

  The young lady quieted down. “I do thank you for your kindness, but no. I am so embarrassed to cause a scene.” She delicately blew her nose. “My mother would take me to task for being a watering pot. And rightly so. I did not mean to impose on your good nature."

 
She sighed heavily and took her filled glass of water from the attendant. Turning to leave the pump, she stopped, a line of concentration wrinkling her pale brow.

  The miss gave Serenity the once-over, taking in everything, from the affluent style of dress, to the colorful bruises decorating her forehead.

  Would the girl decide to share her burden?

  She twisted the handkerchief. “I know I am risking my family's disapproval for speaking with a stranger, but I must talk to someone. I have been cast into the dismals for so long now. I wonder, could you spare the time? Could you, perhaps, sit with me?"

  She indicated a couch at the far corner of the room. “I am Lady Zeena Wycliffe and I fear I cannot bear what is happening to my poor Georgie."

  With this provocative tidbit of information dangling in front of her, Serenity gave both glasses of warm water to Maggie, and followed Zeena past the Pump Room musicians. A sonata by Mozart followed her as well.

  Sitting down on a couch, Serenity placed her hands in her lap and waited. Everything was falling into place ... and so soon. Here she was, about to receive a “lady's” confidences. A lady in distress yet!

  When the girl was ready, Serenity introduced herself. “I am Mrs. Steele, from the country, pleased to make your acquaintance."

  Zeena smiled, which lightened the distraught cast to her small features. “I am happy to meet you as well."

  She looked down and mangled the handkerchief in her hands. “You see, Mrs. Steele, it is my sister, Georgiana—Lady Georgiana Trent. She is deathly ill. Her doctors have ordered her to rest and take the waters here at Bath—three nasty glasses a day. We have done everything they prescribed, but there has been no improvement. Indeed, her condition has worsened. How can she rest when she is constantly coughing? Now they want to bleed her. Georgie is so weak, I f-fear for her life."

  The girl started crying again, softly and quietly into the handkerchief.

  For some reason, Zeena reminded Serenity of her own sister, Tracy. Without thinking, Serenity put her arm around the Regency miss. “What are your sister's symptoms?"