Chapter 23

Edited by Old Rotorhead

Lord Kingswood strode through Victoria’s office door, his whole demeanour indicating that he was furious. Becky hovered behind him, clearly worried about what was happening. He threw a newspaper down on Victoria’s desk.

“What is the meaning of this!” his voice tightly clipped.

“What is the meaning of what?”she countered. “This is a copy of The Mercury. I don’t read the scurrilous rag, let alone buy it!”

Victoria waved Becky to leave.

“Victoria, you have been talking to the Mercury, or one of their reporters. How else would they write such a thing? When we are married...”

“Peter Hatherley! To start with I have never spoken to anyone from The Bristol Mercury. And secondly, you have at no time proposed marriage to me! And if this is an example of how I would be treated, then I sincerely suggest that unless you wish to suffer the humiliation of rejection, you never do make such a proposal,” Victoria had controlled her youthful temper for some years, but she was now winding up to a fully fledged rage. “You have burst into my office, and insulted me in front of my staff. If I had any idea of what you are talking about, I am sure I should be able to make some sense of it!”

Peter Hatherley was taken aback. He had expressed a preference for independent women, without realising that they needed to be treated with the same respect that he would accord to any male colleague. His fury at the article in The Mercury had, however, overruled his normally controlled reaction, since it impugned not only himself, but his daughter, and his intended wife. Even if he had overlooked the nicety of a formal proposal to the latter.

“Now,” said Victoria. “Sit down, and I will read the offending article. Becky!” she raised her voice, knowing that the girl would be outside the door. “Coffee!”

There was an affirmative from the other side of the door.

Peter Hatherley sat. “Victoria, I am sorry! But I am furious about this!”

“No excuse!” said Victoria. “I will be treated with respect, or not at all. If, something I have done has occasioned your unreasonable outburst, then I shall accept the blame. After the fact, not before!”

She opened the paper, found the article and began to read. The gist of the of the article, set around a rather poor woodcut print of Beatrice and one of Peter and herself attending a ball, was that the ‘well known rake’ Lord Kingswood, and his ‘mistress’, dress shop proprietress Victoria Underwood, had forced Lady Beatrice Hatherley, unable now to obtain a husband following her adventures in Ireland, to work for her living in Sir Jacob White’s sweat shop.

“This is disgusting!” was Victoria’s first reaction. “There isn’t a word of truth in it, it’s all been twisted around. Where did they get that picture of Bea, I wonder?”

Becky came in with coffee.

“Would you ask Lady Beatrice to come down, please?” Victoria asked.

“Victoria,” Peter Hatherley began. “I really am sorry. I behaved very poorly. Since you have read the article I feel sure you can understand. Can you forgive me?”

“I can certainly understand, Peter. Forgiveness we shall see. Being called a rake maybe an insult, but not so deep as the inference that I am a whore. None of it will help our businesses. My biggest concern, though, is the effect it will have on Beatrice. What damage it will cause her I’m sure I don’t know. I do worry that at some time in the future her experiences will manifest themselves in some form or other. Is there nothing we can do?”

“I will speak to my lawyers, but I fear there is not a lot directly. It may be possible to sue for defamation, and if it is then I will.”

Bea entered the office.

“Why Papa, what are you doing here?” she asked.

Victoria held up the paper.

“Where did this photograph of you come from, Bea?” Victoria asked her.

“Oh! It was when I went to the chemists. There was a young man with a camera and I spoke to him about it. He took a picture of me. You can see the chemists shelves behind. It’s a good picture of me though,” Bea said in appreciation.

“Never mind the quality of the likeness. Why did you allow it?” asked her father.

“I didn’t! He just took it. You can see that I’m not even looking at the camera.”

“So what happened?” asked Victoria.

“There was this woman with him. After I asked him about the camera, she came over and recognised me. She said she was a reporter, and really looked down on him. I felt uncomfortable and left. What have they written?”

Victoria looked at Peter, raising a questioning eyebrow. He nodded. Victoria handed her the paper.

Bea read the article through.

“Well that’s all just rubbish. Why nasty minded people think I should have lost my virginity I’m sure I don’t know. Well, I know I’m still a virgin, and the rest can go to hell!”

Victoria showed no acknowledgement of what Bea had said, but her father looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Mind you,” Bea went on, “it looks as though you two will have to get married!”

Victoria laughed. “Your father hasn’t asked me yet. And he’s not sure what the reply will be. D’you think he should risk it?”

“I suppose,” said Bea grinned “he’ll just have to ask himself a question. Does he feel lucky?”

Peter stood up and cleared his throat.

“I’d better see what I can do about this. Damage limitation. Yes. I’ll leave you ladies. Umm ... perhaps you would dine with us this evening, Victoria.”

After he had left Bea looked at Victoria.

“You two have had an argument over this,” she stated.

“Not over this, but he arrived here accusing me of being responsible. He also said ‘when we are married’ and I pointed out he hadn’t asked. I also told him that after his rudeness I’d probably refuse him.”

“What? You can’t do that!” declared Bea.

“I probably won’t,” replied Victoria smiling. “But it’s better if he thinks I may.”

Jake arrived at the London shop not long after Annabelle had opened for the day. Victoria’s reaction when he had told her the previous evening that he was going to rescue George, or Gina as they had become accustomed to calling him, had been anything but happy. She had suggested in quite strong terms that he should be left there to rot.

“They’ll probably send him to Siberia or somewhere and then you’ll have to chase over half the country looking for the miserable ingrate. I never want to see him again!”

Victoria was not the best person to upset.

Upon entering the shop the first person he saw was Hermione.

“Hermione! How on earth did you get here so soon? And how did you know to come here?” he asked her.

“And delighted to see you too!” said Hermione. “By leaving last evening, of course. And I should have thought it would be obvious that the first person you would want to see, other than me, of course, would be Gina’s mama. Simplicity when you’ve been an agent for my uncle.”

Jake laughed.

“Of course I’m delighted to see you, darling. And I’m delighted you’re going with me on this little holiday,” he replied. “And I expected that you’d work it out.”

“Travelling with you hasn’t been a holiday yet, Jacob White!” was the tart rejoinder.

Jake refrained from suggesting that the cause of that was generally Hermione herself.

Annabelle finished dealing with a customer and came over, cutting off any further conversation.

“Jake! I am so glad to see you,” she said. “I’ve been worried sick ever since I got George’s letter. Can you help?”

“The only way I can see is to go there and sort it out,” Jake replied. “May I have the letter? It may be helpful. We’ll go and see Lord Kingswood, and he should be able to point us to someone in the Foreign office, so that we may gather what information can be had.”

“That’s an awful lot of bother to put you to, but thank you. I’ll tan that boy’s backside when he gets back!” said Annabelle

“You’ll probably have to take turns,” said Jake.

“If only Victoria hadn’t taken him to Paris.”

“You can’t blame Victoria. She was busy and he was supposed to be helping,” Jake replied.

“You’re not going as well, are you, Hermione?” Annabelle asked.

Jake replied. “Yes, I wouldn’t be without her. She’s very good at shooting people,” he joked.

“Don’t worry Annabelle,” said Hermione. “We will bring George back. Whether Jake survives me sorting him out later tonight might be different.”

Their next stop was to see Peter Hatherley.

“Oh dear,” he said. “Russia, not easy. Are you sure you want to do this? Not much I can help you with, you’ll need the Foreign Office. I’ll give you a letter of introduction.”

From there they went to the Foreign Office where the name of Lord Kingswood worked wonders and they were soon shown into the office of a young man who specialised in Russia.

“Hercules Grytpype-Thynne,” he introduced himself in rounded tones. “Sir Jacob, Lady Russington, how can I help?”

Jake showed him George’s letter.

“Hmm ... yes, not easy,” said Grytpype-Thynne. “I suppose you’re going to travel there and ‘spring’ him, as the lower orders would have it. You’ll need some luck. We have an embassy in St Petersburg, but I think you might have the best chance if you can find the magistrate who is responsible, and persuade him to accept a ‘fine’.”

“By fine I assume you mean bribe?” said Jake.

“Mmm, yes. Not the way we like to think of it, you know, but once you get past Dover the world changes. Now, you’ll find there is a railway most of the way, it may well be all the way by the time you get there. If there are no hold ups, and there usually are, then you should make it in about five to six days,” Grytpype-Thynne told them. “Shouldn’t be any great problems customs wise, we’re on pretty good terms with most of ‘em, but be prepared to dab your way through if necessary.”

“Well, was that helpful?” asked Hermione when they were outside.

“Yes, I think so,” said Jake. “Any information you get is useful. Even if it means you need to take cash for bribes. I know we have to do it in some foreign ports, but fortunately not in England. I checked on sailings from the east coast ports, but there is nothing for ten days. I’d rather go by boat, but even the first one wasn’t direct. The first stop was Christiania, so who knows when we’d get St Petersburg. So train it is, we’ll leave in the morning. I’d better book in to a hotel, and then see what reservations I can make on trains.”

“You’ll most certainly not go to a hotel! I have a perfectly adequate bed in my apartment, and you are going to occupy half of it. We can retire there after you have taken me to supper,” Hermione said emphatically. “Now, let’s go and see what we can book.”

It turned out that they couldn’t book any further than Dover, but they were assured that when they got to Calais it would be easier.

When the carriage turned up to collect Bea, she insisted that Victoria accept the invitation to dine with her and her father. Victoria acquiesced, but insisted that they stop at her home so that she could inform her mother, and change into a more suitable dress. They then went on to the Kingswood mansion where Bea insisted that Victoria accompany her to her suite, where they could talk as she changed. Victoria was still worried about Bea’s reaction to the newspaper article, and gently broached the subject.

“Victoria,” said Bea. “Ireland was a damned unpleasant experience. I’ve put it behind me. I learnt an awful lot of bad language from the men, and I could use it to say what I think of the people who for their own selfish reasons won’t let it go. I know that you spent a lot of time down on the docks so I expect you have heard the words, and I don’t expect they would shock you. I’m not going to say them out loud, but believe me, I can think of every one of them to describe those people, and they are not going to get me down. They can think that every man in Ireland had his way with me if they wish, and maybe I’ll never be able to find a husband because of it. Well so be it, I’ll die a virgin. Because I know that I am!”

If not shocked, Victoria was taken aback by the vehemence of Bea’s speech. After a few moments she spoke.

“Good,” she said. “Well said! We shall not mention it again.”

She went over to the scantily clad Beatrice and hugged her.

When Peter Hatherley returned home they met in the salon for a glass of sherry before eating.

“Did you find out anything about the newspaper article, Peter?” Victoria enquired.

“Yes. The reporter, Belinda Cooper, is the daughter of a man who committed suicide when the bank foreclosed on him. Nothing remarkable about it, he was a poor businessman and we had no option. Banks are not charities, and it was a perfectly normal commercial decision. This was a very personal attack, and it was unfortunate that Beatrice was there at that moment to be used to get at me. The editor admitted that they were at fault and offered to sack the girl. I didn’t feel that I could ask for that. She made an error, I hope she will learn from it. Two wrongs would not make it right. I trust you would agree with that. He will, of course, print a full retraction and an apology.”

Both Victoria and Bea agreed.

Later, after they had dined, Bea left her father and Victoria alone.

“Beatrice said something today that made me wonder,” Peter started. “It led me to believe that she has more knowledge of the workings of ... life, than I would have thought she would know.”

“That is because I explained it to her. She was, as a young girl would be, woefully ignorant. That evil priest did things in front of her which she couldn’t understand. And she needed to understand in order to be able to put it behind her. The article referred to her not being able to get a husband, and one of the women who came in for a portrait to be taken quizzed her on the subject. Bea claimed not to know what she was talking about. She said to me earlier that neither the article nor the people are going to get her down, she’s a virgin, and if the gossip means she can never get a husband, then that’s the way she’ll die. I told her we’d never mention it again. She really is a very brave girl.”

“Thank you, Victoria. I’m so pleased that she has you to look after her. It must be very difficult for girls without a mother. Umm ... Victoria, I made a grave error this morning and I can only apologise for that and tell you that it will never happen again. Victoria, you said this morning that I should not ask you again, but...”

“I told you, Peter, that you should be prepared for a refusal. But that was this morning. You must bear in mind though, that I will not give up my business.”

“I fully accept that, I should not want it otherwise because then it wouldn’t be you. Victoria, will you do me the honour of becoming Lady Kingswood?”

He produced the ring.

Victoria held out her hand. “Yes, Peter, I will.”

Half an hour later Bea rejoined them.

“We’ve something to tell you, Beatrice,” said her father.

Bea looked at Victoria’s hand. “You’re getting married! Wonderful! Will I call you Mama?”

“No, because I’m not your mother. That would be disrespectful to her. I’ll be Victoria, the same as always.”

“Oh pooh!”

Her father and Victoria laughed

“Unless you misbehave!” said Victoria. “In which case I shall insist on being addressed as Lady Kingswood!”

“Double pooh! But I’m very happy. I’m sure you will be too!” and she hugged Victoria, and then her father.

The percentage of the bed that Jake occupied that night was definitely open to interpretation. More particularly if you factored in time. Could you, for instance, say that he occupied the entire bed when Hermione was sleeping on top of him? Jake was musing on this subject, as the South-East and Chatham Railway took them towards Dover. Colloquially known after its initials as the So Easy and Comfortable, Jake thought that ‘Easy’ must refer to the speed of its express trains. Which, when you were anxious to get on, was irritatingly slow.

They had made an early start, but would not reach Dover until lunchtime. Hopefully there would be a connecting boat service to Calais, but Jake was pessimistic about the chances of connecting to a train that would take them in the direction they needed.

Some hours later Jake was sitting comfortably in the railway carriage he had hired which was attached to a train bound for Brussels. They had been in luck, and had had no problem securing the carriage, although as Grytpype-Thinne had suggested, there was a small ‘adjustment’ to the price. In Brussels the carriage would be attached to a train which would take them to the Prussian border. There they would have to change to another train to Frankfurt, hopefully with at least their own compartment. Hermione had been unhappy when Jake pointed out to her that this first part would mean a night time customs check, and that sleeping au naturel would not be a good idea. She was also somewhat piqued when she realised how narrow the beds in the sleeping compartment were.

“I can sleep on top of you,” she decided.

“No,” said Jake with deliberate misunderstanding. “I’ll take the top bunk.”

Taking meals tended to be rather hit and miss. There was no dining car and the train would stop at stations along the route where food could be purchased.

From Frankfurt they would be able to take a train to Berlin, the capital city. Once there they would be able to determine how they would proceed further.

The stops for customs checks were not too onerous and they both managed a reasonable, if broken, night’s sleep. When they crossed into Prussia they were able to secure a private compartment. The train stopped at a station for breakfast at a rather early hour. The meal was described by Hermione as ‘interesting’, comprising cold sausage and cheese, with a very dark bread, but fortunately the coffee was passable. They stopped for lunch around midday. This consisted of sausage and sauerkraut.

“Whatever is this?” she asked Jake, prodding the pale shreds on her plate.

“It’s a sort of pickled cabbage,” Jake replied. “If you don’t eat it you end up being hungry.”

“Why?”

“Because the economy of central Europe is based on the humble brassica,” Jake laughed. “I believe they have cabbage soup too.”

Hermione tasted it.

“Hmm ... not too bad ... Oh! The sausage is very good.”

And with that she tucked in.

They arrived in Frankfurt in the early afternoon, where they found that they had to transfer to another station to continue their journey in yet another private carriage. The one thing that struck them were the number of smartly uniformed soldiers that were there.

Jake was, of course, reasonably proficient in French, a language that Hermione also spoke. Between that, and a little English, they were able to get by. However, with his aptitude for languages, Jake was beginning to pick up some German, at least to obtain food and transport. This was very useful when they arrived in Berlin twenty four hours later.

Lydia’s reaction when Victoria waved her left hand in front of her was immediate joy.

“Oh Victoria, that’s wonderful. We must get organised, when is the wedding to take place? Oh, so much to do. And to think I shall have more grandchildren.”

“I should have thought you had enough of those already, Mama,” she said. “You can’t possibly want more. Besides, you’ll get Beatrice immediately.”

“You can’t have too many, my dear. And a step grand daughter, that’ll be different.” was her mother’s reply

By contrast Victoria’s reaction to Jake’s news about Gina’s plight was mixed. On the one hand she still felt some guilt over it, perhaps she should have kept a closer eye on her. But for heaven’s sakes, Gina was old enough to know better wasn’t she? She had to admit that she knew just how naïve Gina was so ... but dammit why should she take on the role of nursemaid? Then again Gina had shown a remarkable lack of gratitude, after all she was, well almost, Victoria’s creation. No, that was unfair, all she had done was help what was already there. So she was not completely focused when she sat down in her office the next morning. Perhaps, she thought, she should now be on her way to rescue Gina. She heard Bea’s footsteps on the stairs and decided to go and see her.

“Good morning, not mama,” Bea quipped when she saw Victoria.

“Good morning, not daughter. What have you got on this morning?” asked Victoria.

“No portraits. Have you got any dresses to photograph?”

“No, I don’t think so. Siobhan and Roisin are working on some more designs,” Victoria told her.

“You don’t seem very happy, Victoria. What’s the problem. Not second thoughts about Papa I hope.”

“No, no, I was expecting the proposal so I had given it a lot of thought. So no, I’m happy with that ... it’s Gina.”

“What has happened?” asked Bea.

“Apparently she is in gaol in Russia. St Petersburg. That vixen must have dumped her,” Victoria sat down. “And now Jake has gone off with Hermione to rescue her ... him ... whatever!”

“And you’re not happy about it?” asked Bea.

“No, and she’s not coming back here. She can stay with her mother in London,” averred Victoria.

Bea sat down and hugged her.

There were footsteps on the stairs and Becky came in and curtseyed.

“Becky,” said Bea, “you don’t have to curtsey every time you see me. I work here! You really don’t need to.”

“Th, thank you, umm ... my lady. There’s a lady downstairs who would like a portrait done, if you can.”

“Right, would you ask her to come up? Sorry Victoria, work calls,” said Bea.

Victoria grinned. “I’m feeling better, thank you. It’s good to see children working!”

She went downstairs. Halfway down she met Becky escorting a young woman coming up. Victoria acknowledged the woman, but there was something about her that made her stop a few steps further down the stairs. She paused, and then retraced her steps. She met Becky coming back out of the studio, and put her finger to her lips to indicate Becky should be quiet.

They both heard Bea’s exclamation of surprise when she saw the woman.

“You! What are you doing here? If you want your picture taken you can get your own man to do it. Then you can spread it across the front page.”

“I came to apologise...” the woman turned as Victoria entered. “Oh!...”

“To whom were you intending to apologise?” asked Victoria. “You painted both of us as whores, and my fiancé as a rake. Nothing could be further from the truth!” she paused. “So, do you have an answer?”

Belinda Cooper, for it was she, had turned a pasty white and swayed slightly. Victoria guided her to the chaise, and sat her down.

Bea, who had flushed when she realised who the visitor was, now had a look of concern on her face.

“I’ll get a glass of water,” she said, and disappeared to her darkroom.

When Bea returned she found Victoria sitting next to Belinda holding her up. A few sips of water and she began to look better.

“I didn’t know...” she began.

“No reason you should,” said Victoria. “He only proposed last evening. But being escorted by someone doesn’t make you their mistress. And I can assure you that Beatrice is still as pure as when she was borne. Thanks to you, and one or two gossips questioning that, it seems unlikely that she will be able to find a suitable husband. Mothers will always raise that question.”

“I seem to have made a mess of things,” said Belinda, a tear running down her cheek.

“You have. In your position you have a certain power, and you have abused it. I can understand your feelings towards the bank, but I have been assured that the decision to foreclose was a normal commercial one. I am sorry about your father, but you can’t blame the bank for that. They would do the same to me if I lost money.”

“But he’s...”

“Responsible to his shareholders,” Victoria finished for her.

“Lord Kingswood was ... well he gave me a good dressing down, but he insisted the editor keep me on. I’ve been told not to make a mess of things again, though. I have to admit that father was no business man, and he tried to do deals that were never going to work. Mother told him, but he wouldn’t listen. But he was always very kind and loving.

“I am so sorry, particularly for the slight to you Lady Beatrice, that was very unfair, and there is nothing I can do about it now.”

“Don’t worry too much,” said Bea. “I’m not sure I want a husband anyway. They seem to spend too much time telling you what you should, and should not, be doing. That, I can do without.”

Now that she had some colour back in her face Belinda proved to be an attractive woman, although no lightweight. Victoria assessed her figure with a professional eye.

“There is something you could do for me,” Victoria told Belinda. “I’ve a new line for the slightly fuller figure, I wonder if you could model it for me?”

“I’ve never done anything like that. I’m sure I wouldn’t know how.”

“Oh, it’s easy. All you have to do is just relax and be yourself. I’ll go and get it. Bea will help you get ready.”

Bea soon had Belinda down to her underwear.

“Oh, you have such a lovely figure, I must take a photo of you like that. There, stand like that, now don’t move ... excellent! Now,” Bea busied herself with the camera, “you’d better take the petticoat off, it’ll show through the dress.”

She went over to Belinda to assist her. Belinda seemed to be somewhat dazed, and Bea allowed her hands to just wander slightly.

“Now we might just as well take this off too,” another piece of clothing came off. “Oh, you are lovely,” her hand brushed across a nipple making Belinda jump.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to show the camera just how beautiful you are,” Bea told her. Just hold there ... perfect.”

“Someone might come...”

“No one will,” Bea assured her.

With only one chance Bea hadn’t taken the earlier photo, but with Belinda standing there in her birthday suit she got what she wanted.

Victoria had returned with the dress, which she genuinely wanted Belinda to model, and witnessed Bea’s performance from just outside the door that she had left ajar. To finish, Bea went over to her subject and kissed her full on the lips, holding it for a moment as she caressed a breast.

“There,” she said to a seriously shocked, but also turned on, Belinda. “Now we’d better get your underwear back on.”

“But you said...”

“I lied,” Bea giggled. “I wonder where I learnt that? Bad habit, I should try not to do it.”

Victoria came in, and a highly embarrassed Belinda tried to cover herself.

“Have you two girls been having fun? Here, put this on,” she said.

Belinda eventually had the dress on, and everything in place where it belonged. Victoria had her walk up and down, and do one or two pirouettes. Then Victoria left them to finish taking photos. Bea had Belinda try several poses, and took two photographs. Belinda left some time later, rather dazed. A little while later Bea came down to Victoria’s office carrying the dress.

“Sorry to be so long, I had to finish myself,” she giggled. “That girl knows nothing, quite innocent. Still, maybe she’ll come back again,” she grinned.

“My god, what have I unleashed?” Victoria shook her head. “Still, you did very well. Did she not ask about the photograph of her...”

“No. Mind, I didn’t give her much chance,” Bea replied. “It’s great fun. I can see why Gina did it. I’ll have to add it to the gallery.”

“And how are you going to do that? I’ve got the key.”

Bea blushed. “Oh yes! So you have.”

Victoria looked at her and shook her head again. Innocent indeed!

Jake and Hermione were now sitting watching the scenery flow past. Breakfast this morning had been a repeat of the previous morning, and Hermione had commented that if she wasn’t careful she would end up as fat as so many of the German ladies who were happily tucking in to vast breakfasts.

“The countryside is just like you read in fairy tales,” she said to Jake. “Miles of forest, sometimes a little house, and occasionally a little town, and you can see castles too. It’s lovely.”

“It’s like a fairy tale,” said Jake, “because that is what it is. All those little kingdoms and princedoms in the fairy tales are here. Most of these kingdoms are no bigger than an English county, and some are smaller. There were about three hundred of them, many impoverished. So the forming of alliances through marriage was very important, and of course you couldn’t really have morganatic marriages despite Cinderella. So this is the setting for Snow White, Hansel and Gretel, Cinderella and all the others. We shall shortly be passing through Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, where Prince Albert came from. They’re partially united now by the Congress of Vienna, so there’s about thirty of ‘em. Still a lot though. One of the Queen’s daughters is married to Frederick, the son of Prince William of Prussia.

“Of course,” said Hermione. “That was Victoria, the Princess Royal, she married Frederick. What was that, four years ago?”