Memory, I confess, is not always a faithful interpreter of the heart. It tends to forget all the little details in its haste to come to the point. But oh, my love – this night I can recall as if it has just happened. I go over it again and again, a charm to ward off the inevitable drudgery of greyness. A fog has descended over any hope of a future. Seven months is the most I can expect from this life – if I don’t die giving birth or of jail fever then I have the hug of the hangman’s rope to look forward to. If my child – our daughter – lives, Hope will bring her up. Memories are the greatest comforts I have. They keep the ghosts at bay, for even in the governor’s house they’re here a-plenty. The dead are often more vibrant than the living, unencumbered as they are by life, and only irritated by regret.
According to Queenie’s wishes, I was to be dressed with virginal simplicity. The gown chosen for the purpose was a polonaise the colour of primroses, embroidered with white flowers. My stays were tight, so tied that my breasts sat un adorned, two soft peaches. The kerchief around my neck was of the lightest muslin, not hiding the fruit but making them appear all the riper.
It was Hope’s idea that none of us should wear a hooped petticoat; without it, the fabric of my gown fell in a way that showed my figure to great effect.
When my maid had finished dressing me, I was told I must wait until called to the drawing room. Voices and music wafted up the stairs and I could not think what was causing the delay. In a vain attempt to calm myself, I walked back and forth, playing with my fan. I was trying to master it in an elegant manner when, without knocking, Mr Crease limped in. I stopped, quite prepared to feel the sting of his tongue. But as always, when I was certain he would say one thing, to my surprise he said another.
‘Queenie tells me you rose off the floor this afternoon.’
I nodded and waited for the inevitable rebuke.
Instead he said, ‘I will see you tomorrow morning in the long gallery.’ He bowed. ‘Goodnight.’
Shortly after, Hope came to fetch me. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Is Mercy in the party?’
‘No, she is out. But don’t worry, my ninny-not. Queenie has found you the most handsome gallant and I don’t think you will be disappointed.’
The redecoration of the drawing room was complete and I was much taken by its elegance, by its windows in well-measured panes gazing lazily over the square. The chamber, lit with hundreds of candles, gave the occupants a golden glow. Music came from an antechamber, the doors of which were open, revealing three musicians seated with their backs to us.
Flora introduced me to her particular. The Earl of Wellborne was a grand man indeed, and older than I had imagined. He held a little glass to his eye and pronounced me delicious. Bethany’s gallant looked equally well bred and, like Bethany herself, not much interested in my arrival. He only once glanced in my direction before returning to concentrate on the charms of his new mistress. Hope’s gallant was younger than the other two gentlemen and it was plain that he was already enamoured by her beauty. That left only an overdressed dandy wearing a wig that was parted in the middle, rising into horns on either side. He had the longest fingers and neck I had ever seen, was as tall as a willow tree and just as thin. His face was covered in patches.
I tried not to look disappointed when Queenie introduced me to Sir Henry Slater, for he appeared effeminate compared with the other gentlemen in the party.
‘She is a picture, Queenie, I am sure,’ he said, yawning. ‘But not for me.’ I was confused, for surely this was the man who was to bed me. ‘I do like the gown, ma’am. No hoops – most radical.’
‘Why, Sir Henry,’ said Queenie, handing me a glass of champagne, ‘I am flattered that you approve.’
She left me to talk to him.
‘Are you come fresh from the country?’ asked Sir Henry, taking a pinch of snuff.
‘No, sir, I have always lived in London.’
‘But you are really a virgin? Not just patched up for the night? My friend would not be impressed to find you have been overused.’
Queenie hastily returned to my side and swished Sir Henry’s questions away with her fan.
‘I don’t deal in anything that isn’t genuine, Sir Henry. Now, stop making the poor gal terrified.’
‘Cards?’ said Hope.
It was a suggestion that was greeted with approval by all except Flora, who said, ‘I don’t know – it will take the gentlemen’s minds off pleasure. They will be more concerned with their wallets than our purses.’
There was laughter.
‘Oh, what a wit,’ said Sir Henry.
‘Let us not gamble with money then,’ said Hope.
‘If we don’t use money,’ said the Earl, ‘what, madam, would you suggest should be the token?’
‘Why, clothes, sir,’ said Hope. ‘And the winner is the person who is wearing the most at the end of the game.’
This novel idea caused great delight and the Earl of Hatton put a twenty pound note on the table for the winner.
Sir Henry declined to play.
‘No, by gad,’ he said. ‘I am on my way to my club and will leave you to your devices while I enjoy mine.’
He took my hand, kissed it and, making his excuses to Queenie, left.
I was somewhat puzzled and longed to ask Hope the meaning of his sudden departure. Had I done something to displease him? But she sat so far away at the other end of the card table that unless I had shouted she would not have heard me.
Queenie dealt the cards and, in all honesty, I was not paying much attention to the game, but I won the first hand while all round the table the other players were obliged to part with one item of clothing. When the clock struck ten I was the only one still dressed with a modicum of decency. Hope, on the other hand, was quite undone and Flora had on just her stockings. Bethany was enjoying the effect of her nakedness on the three gentlemen. Only their breeches remained to them.
‘Enough,’ said the Earl, kissing Flora. ‘I have a need to be inside your pretty garden, my love. Miss Tully, as you are the least indecent of us all, this is your winnings.’
He handed me the twenty-pound note and left the drawing room, his arm round Flora’s waist.
Bethany and her gallant were next, followed by Hope and her young stallion, who looked impatient to mount his ride.
Queenie glanced at the clock.
‘Perhaps I should return to my chamber,’ I said, gathering my clothes. ‘I seem to have failed.’
‘You’re not thinking that Sir Henry was the gallant I had in mind for you?’ she said. ‘Why, my dear, he has no interest in the ladies unless they’re dressed up like mollies. Come here.’ She undid my stays, for which I was most grateful, and helped me back into my gown, tying it loosely and lowering my shift so that the two apples were well in view. ‘Crease assured me he would be here,’ she said, pouring more champagne. ‘I can only think he has been detained.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
But before she could say another word, the footman announced Mr Avery Fitzjohn.