The Adventuress: HFTS5 by Marion Chesney, M.C. Beaton Page B

behaving in a very common way,” she thought, “by entertaining servants, but I am tired of being a lady. From now on I am going to be myself.”
    And in all the relief and excitement, Emily forgot she was still an adventuress, still an impostor, and that, if society ever found out she was an ex-chambermaid, they would hound her out of Town.

Chapter
Seven
     
    We missed you last night at the “hoary old sinners,”
Who gave us, as usual, the cream of good dinners—
His soups scientific—his fishes quite
prime—
His pâtés superb—and his cutlets sublime!
In short, ’twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a
Stomachic orgasm in my Lord Ellenborough,
Who
set to,
to be sure, with miraculous force,
And exclaimed, between mouthfuls, “A He-Cook, of course!—
While you live—(What’s that under that cover, Pray, look)—
While you live—(I’ll just taste it)—ne’er keep a She-Cook
’Tis a sound Sallic Law—(a small bit of that toast)—
Which ordains that a female shall ne ’er rule the roast;
For Cookery’s a secret—(this turtle’s uncommon)—
Like Masonry, never found out by a woman!”
    —Thomas Moore
     
    In the week that followed, Lord Fleetwood did not call. Emily tried to tell herself she was relieved, although he had—unwittingly, she was sure—saved her from having to maintain her pose as a princess. She had many beaux and plenty of invitations. She and Mr. Goodenough decided to relax and enjoy a little more of the Season before deciding what to do next. Emily had more or less made up her mind
not
to find a husband, and that decision had made life easier. She made no more slips into common speech and soon found she was able to converse naturally without guarding her tongue every minute.
    It was Lizzie, Lizzie the scullery maid, of all people, who shattered Emily’s equanimity. It was part of Lizzie’s duties to wash down the stairs and keep the doorstep outside whitened with pipe clay.
    So one afternoon, just as Emily was leaving, escorted by Joseph, to go and potter about the shops in Oxford Street, she came across Lizzie, who was dreamily pipe-claying the front steps while she read a book, spread open on the steps in front of her.
    Lizzie jumped to her feet and bobbed a curtsy.
    “You seem to be enjoying that book,” said Emily with a smile. “Who wrote it?”
    “It doesn’t say, ma’am,” said Lizzie. “It only says ‘by A Gentleman.’ It’s ever so funny but a bit crool.”
    “Cruel? How so?”
    “Well, the main character is this chambermaid called Emilia, who steals her mistress’s jewels and takes herself off to London, where she pretends to be a lady and trick this lord into marriage. He first becomes suspicious when he begins to notice a certain coarseness in her speech, and—”
    “Thank you,” said Emily stiffly. “Return to your work.”
    She swept off down Clarges Street, with Joseph behind her.
    Joseph found he was having to trot to keep up with her. Emily felt confused and frightened. It did not dawn on her that a writer could hardly have managed to use her for a model for one of the characters in his book and get it published, all in the short time she had been in London. She felt that someone in society had pierced her disguise and was sitting somewhere watching her, like a cat watching a mouse.
    But by the time she reached Oxford Street, her panic was dying down. It was a coincidence, that was all. She, Emily, had not stolen anything. She would go to Hatchard’s in Piccadilly and buy a copy of the book and prove to herself that all her worries were over nothing. Joseph groaned inwardly and wondered at this sudden decision to go back to Piccadilly, when they could easily have gone there in the first place.
    At Hatchard’s, Emily was told the book was sold out. Although she did not know the title, the bookseller assured her that there was only one book out by ? Gentleman’ and that it was called
Above Her Station
or
The Vain Folly of a Presumptuous