Newt's Emerald

Chapter Four Lady Badgery’s Fez

The next day dawned bright and cheery, but Truthful was not awake to see it. By the time she came down to an elevenish breakfast, clouds had rolled across and a slight drizzle had begun. Truthful ate a rather lacklustre poached egg, looked at the rain outside, and felt gloomy. London was not living up to its promised allure. To make matters worse, Agatha had decided to have one of her turns and had taken to her bed and the replacement maid had none of her skill with hair or dress. Consequently Truthful was wearing a not particularly well-ironed walking dress of sprig muslin and a half-bonnet to hide her hair, and felt a complete dowd.

Soon after she finished her breakfast, a footman brought her a note on aquamarine paper folded into the shape of a cocked hat. It was, Truthful soon discovered, a request from her Great-aunt, asking her to call upon her in her bedchamber, as she was feeling indisposed and would not be coming down.

Truthful climbed the stairs with some trepidation. She had known her Great-aunt Ermintrude reasonably well as a child, but had not seen her aged relative for many years, due to her frequent indispositions and consequent aversion to travel. That aversion might have spread from travel to include great-nieces, thought Truthful, as she knocked, and then opened, the door to Lady Badgery’s bedchamber.

She had expected a dark sick-room, lined with bottles of medicine and obscure medical instruments, perhaps even a jar of leeches. But the room was bright with the new gas lights, which illuminated strange oriental wall-hangings and a huge bed hung with gauzy curtains. Even the window was a departure from traditional practice, for it was open, and Truthful could feel cool moist air coming through it.

Then the gauzy curtains twitched aside, revealing a little old lady propped up on a pile of gold-embroidered cushions of red plush. She wore a simple nightshirt, but her head was adorned with a very large red fez, complete with a long golden tassel. A pile of letters lay on the coverlet in front of her, next to a wicked-looking curved Turkish knife that she was employing as a letter opener.

Lady Badgery looked up as Truthful closed the door behind her, and her blue-black eyes ran up and down her in appraisal. Apparently satisfied by what she saw, she put her current letter down, and said, “Truthful, my dear niece. Parkins! Don’t be such a jobberknoll, and fetch Lady Truthful a chair.”

At first Truthful wasn’t sure who Lady Badgery was talking to, then a blue bow appeared from the floor on the other side of the bed, followed by the head of the large elderly women whose head it adorned. This was Parkins, her great-aunt’s maid and constant companion. She straightened up to her full height, and placed a knife scabbard on the side table.

“Milady will throw the scabbard about,” she said affectionately, as she trod heavily around the foot of the bed and moved a chair three inches closer to Lady Badgery.

“There we are, Lady Truthful. And may I say it’s a pleasure to see you all grown up, and beautiful too.”

“No you may not!” exclaimed Lady Badgery. “Go and fetch us some tea.”

“Yes, milady,” replied Parkins, executing a rather sarcastic curtsy, and winking at Truthful as she left.

“Been with me since I was married,” said Lady Badgery. “Never could do a thing with her. Sit down, girl, do!”

Truthful sat down, and tried not to stare at her great-aunt’s fez. Now that she looked closely, she could also see that Lady Ermintrude was wearing at least a dozen rune-inscribed spell-breaking silver bracelets on each arm — and that certainly couldn’t be the sort of thing a model of propriety would display!

“Don’t worry, my dear,” said Lady Badgery, catching her gaze. “The fez is a gift from an old friend, it has certain powers to help concentrate the mind. I don’t wear it in company. Callers and the outside world find me to be very proper indeed.”

“Oh, I see,” said Truthful. “Like play-acting at home with friends.”

“Something of the sort,” replied Lady Badgery easily. “But what brings you here so urgently, child? I wasn’t expecting you for weeks, the Season has barely begun. And without your father … you hinted at some dark news in your letter. I must confess I have been unable to scry what has occurred and so await with burning ears!”

“It is terrible news, Aunt,” burst out Truthful. “The Newington Emerald has been lost! Or . . . or stolen!”

“Really?” asked Lady Badgery, lifting one aristocratic eyebrow beneath her fez. “What a curious thing. Now, dear, don’t be upset. It is, after all, only a sort of rock with some sorcery attached.”

“Papa says it is the luck of the Newingtons,” said Truthful sorrowfully. “And is a very powerful talisman.”

“He must really be ill,” replied Lady Badgery. “He never cared for it much before, and your mother didn’t like it at all. Said it was too heavy, and that it felt like the proverbial millstone. As for the powers, she certainly never used them.”

“Really?” asked Truthful. She smiled at the thought of wearing an actual millstone. She had rarely heard stories about her mother, and remembered little herself.

“The absolute truth,” replied Lady Ermintrude. “She married into the family, and thought emeralds did not particularly suit her colour, though she was wrong in that respect. Nor was she much interested in magic, save for her own particular gifts. Now tell me exactly how the Emerald has been lost … or stolen.”

Truthful leaned forward a little in her chair, and her Great-aunt leaned towards her from the bed, so that the tassel on the red fez of the old lady almost touched Truthful’s bonnet. In this conspiratorial posture, Truthful told Lady Badgery the tale of the storm, the showing of the Emerald, its subsequent loss, and the Admiral’s sickness and suspicions. When she had finished, Lady Badgery lay back in her bed, and chuckled.

“A merry pickle,” she said. “And not easily untangled, I’ll warrant. What do you hope to do, my dear?”

“Well,” faltered Truthful. “I was hoping you might advise me, Aunt … I know you are a sorceress. I thought you might be able to scry for the Emerald—”

“Can’t scry for a magical talisman, particularly if it’s a powerful one,” snorted Lady Badgery. “You should know that. What did your father pay that tutor for?”

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” said Truthful. “You know I was never much for academic magic, aunt.”

“Nor was I, as a girl,” said Lady Badgery. “What book-learning I have came later. One thing I did learn early on was not to put all my trust in magic. If it can be done without magic, it’s better done without magic.”

“Perhaps, I might call upon jewelers and pawnbrokers and so forth to see if any large, sorcerous stones have been offered for sale—”

“That’s impossible in this censorious age,” sighed Lady Badgery. “You haven’t even come out yet! Wandering around London, talking to pawnbrokers! You would be sunk before launching. Why, you’re barely out of the schoolroom, Miss!”

“I might disguise myself,” suggested Truthful half-heartedly. “I have to do something!”

“Disguise . . .” mused Lady Ermintrude, her old eyes suddenly alight with scheming pleasure. “Perhaps your notion isn’t as wild as I first thought, Truthful.”

She tapped the top of her fez and began to sort through the letters in front of her, selecting one that was cut open, evidently already read that morning. The old lady flicked it open, ran her eyes across it, and then pounced with a thin finger on a particular line.

“Cousin Henri est entré dans le monastère voisin, comme nous l'avons toujours attendu. Une triste vie d'un de Vienne, je pense que vous serez d'accord, mon cousin. Mais il est un fils cadet, un homme pieux et doux, et si fraîche au visage, il pourrait être pris pour une femme. En outre, il a toujours été reclus . . .[1]” she read with relish. “I trust you speak good French, Truthful?”

“Oui, madame. Je me suis fait une étude particulière,” replied Truthful, who had always enjoyed her French lessons with a succession of tutors, including an emigré noblewoman, who had told her many tales of pre-Revolution Versailles and Paris to her eager student. “But I don’t understand. Who is Henri de Vienne?”

“The nephew of a cousin of mine,” said Lady Badgery. “As you heard, a shy and womanly young man, of pious disposition and retiring habit … who has just become a monk. He will do very well.”

“For what, Aunt?”

“For you to impersonate,” exclaimed Lady Badgery triumphantly. “Lady Truthful Newington cannot search London for an emerald, but her French relation Henri de Vienne can certainly do so on her behalf!”

“But I don’t think …” said Truthful, “I’m not sure … do you think I can be disguised as a man?”

“Bah! The disguise itself is nothing,” replied Lady Badgery. “A little sorcery, a bandeau pulled tight . . . it is the behaviour that is most difficult . . . that is, according to accounts . . . or so I believe. You were brought up with the Newington-Lacy boys — played with them, talked to them — just pretend you are one of them. Any difficulties you may have can be explained away because you are French and destined to be a religious. Oh, this will be capital fun!”

“But I’ve never been to France!” protested Truthful. “And I have no skill with glamour myself, and I will need clothes—”

“Bah again!” cried Lady Badgery. “Henri probably only ever knew his family’s chateau and a few towns, which I shall describe to you. You shall say you never went to Paris due to your religious feelings, and a natural antipathy to Bonaparte’s regime! As for clothes, we shall take your measurements and order suitable garb, my dear. It is fortunate you are slim. And with regard to glamour, while my own poor bones are now too old to take a spell, I have not lost my expertise, nor thrown away my apparatus.”

“Oh,” said Truthful, blushing. She had forgotten that her great-aunt was a famous glamouress, among her other magical accomplishments. “If you really think I can … and if it will help find the Emerald … I’ll do it.”

“Excellent!” beamed Lady Badgery. “Now, where is the tea?”

An hour later, to Truthful’s bewilderment, everything was settled for her to assume the identity of Henri de Vienne. For some of the time, at least. Lady Badgery had decided that despite Truthful’s late arrival the night before, many people would have heard she was in London, for as she said, servants talk. So Lady Truthful must be in residence, happily at the same time as her French cousin, ostensibly as a last ditch effort on the part of his father to expose him to the world before he committed himself to the Church. If word leaked out that the young Henri de Vienne was searching for the Newington Emerald, everyone would presume he was helping his unfortunate cousin, the Admiral being unwell.

Her measurements being taken by Parkins, who showed surprising familiarity with male attire, orders had sped to Weston in Conduit Street for coats, Hoby (at the top of St James) for boots, and the finest linen to match. In all cases, the Countess attached a note giving detailed measurements and drawn outlines of Truthful’s feet and hands, all accompanied by the annotation that they were for her soon-to-arrive cousin, the overtly religious Chevalier de Vienne, who preferred not to be called upon for fitting, due to a reluctance to wear “finery”. The clothes were to be a present to the young man from the Countess, who hoped to remove him from his somber clerical garb, even suggesting that the young man had an unfortunate preference for that most awful of garments, the cassock.

That story, said Lady Badgery, would be all over London within a week, and would explain both the lack of personal attendance from tailors, bootmakers and the like, and perhaps many other oddities as well.

“In the meantime, my dear,” said Lady Badgery. “We must decide what is to be done with Lady Truthful. I had planned on giving a ball here for you, but perhaps that should be left for a little while . . . it would be difficult to explain even a monk-like cousin’s absence from my own ball if he is supposed to be staying here. However, I am sure there will be no shortage of invitations for you in any case. We must present you at Almack’s, of course. Fortunately, Lady Jersey will certainly provide you with vouchers. Doubtless she would do so for my sake alone, but she was also very fond of your father’s older brother.”

“Oh, yes! Almacks!” said Truthful. “That is of the first importance, is it not? I recall a verse to that effect.”

“Yes,” agreed Lady Badgery. “Luttrell’s no doubt, ‘If once to Almack’s you belong/Like monarchs you can do no wrong/But banished thence on Wednesday night/By Jove, you can do nothing right.’ He is an amusing man — you shall probably meet him, he often dines with Lady Holland, who is a dear friend of mine.”

For the next three days, Truthful and Lady Badgery remained quietly at home in Grosvenor Square, despite Truthful’s natural desire to see at least the Tower and some of the sights, and attend a play, particularly as Edmund Keane was performing at Drury Lane. But her great-aunt insisted that she must perfect her role as Henri de Vienne, and kept her busy memorising the details of the Château de Vienne and the land about it, practising her French, and getting used to masculine attire, which was now arriving at a steady pace in attractive brown paper parcels.

Lady Badgery also insisted that Truthful keep her intended deception secret, even from Agatha. As Agatha was still keeping to her bed (claiming “Lunnon” had brought on a semi-permanent sick headache) this wasn’t hard. Parkins and Lady Badgery herself assisted Truthful to dress, displaying a knowledge of male clothing that Truthful found rather shocking.

Though Truthful was slim, a bandeau was found to not be sufficiently secure in flattening her chest. So she had to wear a corset under her shirt, a lighter version similar to the one made popular by the Prince Regent. Fortunately, as it was not holding back a similar bulk it didn’t creak with every movement, and as Lady Badgery said if it did become noticeable, it could always be explained away as a religious observance, akin to a hair shirt.

Her hair presented another problem, but they managed to arrive at a compromise cut long enough to still be dressed in many of the current female modes, but not too long to be considered strange in a man — particularly a Frenchman, for whom there would be made a condescending allowance.

The final piece of disguise was provided by Lady Badgery, who set a powerful glamour upon Truthful, so onlookers would see her as a man. Because the spell would have to be taken on and off frequently, it was decided to place it upon a very real-looking artificial moustache, which Truthful fixed to her upper lip with gum. In her full rig-out and with the ensorcelled moustache in place, Parkins and Lady Badgery assured her she looked very much the young gentleman, even under the full glare of the sun. But her great-aunt warned her that without the moustache and the glamour it held, her costume alone would probably only serve in dim light, or at a distance.

All callers were turned away in this time, with the news that Lady Badgery was indisposed, and her great-niece still wearied by the journey and an unfortunate coach accident, though the cause of that accident was not mentioned.

Truthful, studying the cards the callers left, and listening to Dworkin recite their verbal messages, was pleasantly surprised to find a large number of highly eligible young men asking after her health and general well-being. But she was soon disabused of any notion of their gallantry or her own allure by Lady Badgery, who looked over their names and sniffed.

“Fortune hunters. They know you’re worth at least ten thousand a year from your mother, even without your father’s estates. Not to mention heiress to the Newington Emerald, which they must not know is missing … which is curious, now that I think on it.”

“It is very odd,” said Truthful, her brow troubled. “Lady Troutbridge did call upon Father that afternoon, and he was . . . awake, if still wandering in his wits. I am sure he would have spoken of its disappearance and blamed the Newington-Lacys. I wonder why she hasn’t spread the tale?”

“The only reason she would not, is because she is ill, or if the story would somehow reflect badly on herself.” replied Lady Ermintrude. “Otherwise, Portia Troutbridge has never been known to keep a scandal to herself.”

“Oh, I do hope she is ill!” exclaimed Truthful. “I mean, only just ill enough to keep the news quiet for a little longer. Is that too dreadful of me?”

“Not at all,” announced Lady Badgery. “It is a very reasonable desire. In the case of Portia Troutbridge I myself would wish for something much more severe. Scarlet fever, perhaps. Or the plague.”

At last, on the evening of the fifth day after Truthful’s arrival, it was time to put their plan into action. Truthful, her moustache glued on, donned a low-crowned beaver and travelling clothes of a very plain cut, covered them with an old and very unfashionable single-caped driving coat that had belonged to the late Lord Badgery, crept out of the servant’s entrance at midnight, and walked around the corner to Charles Street, taking care that no-one observed her. There, she waited a few minutes, till the hackney cab the Countess’s intermediaries had ordered approached. Its driver, seeing a single gentleman standing on the corner, drew up, and leaned down.

“You the gent who’s to go across to Park Lane and then back to the Square?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes,” she muttered, keeping her voice low, and hat well down, shading her face.

“Right. Well, jump up, sir.”

Truthful, who had been waiting to be handed up, started, then jumped in as best she could. There was straw on the floor of the cab, and she brushed her boots down automatically, thinking of how awful it would be to arrive anywhere with the tell-tale straw of a hackney on one’s costume.

The drive to Park Lane, and then along it, was a nervous one for Truthful, who had never thought to be alone in a cab at midnight, in the middle of London … and dressed as a man!

But the drive was uneventful. They passed several other carriages, a group of lantern-bearing street-keepers gathered at the Grosvenor Gate into Hyde Park, and a number of tipsy young gentlemen who were trying to walk backwards along the full length of Park Lane, apparently for a bet, as they were urged on by a number of others who were walking the normal way beside them.

Ten minutes later, the hackney pulled up outside Lady Badgery’s house and Truthful jumped down. She turned back for a moment to hand the driver a guinea, a massive overpayment were it not for the added gruff instruction: “Forget you came here this evening.”

Then she was knocking on the door — a firm, but polite knock, that she felt might reflect the character of a religious-minded young gentleman.

After five minutes had produced no discernible effect on the other side of the door, she knocked again. The door opened, presenting the cautious visage of the elder footman, with the second footman behind him holding a stout cudgel. Before they could speak, Truthful gruffly proclaimed her new identity.

“I am the Chevalier Henri de Vienne, cousin to Lady Badgery. I believe I am expected.”