Martha meets Beau Brummell

Beau Brummell, the most famous dandy in the world, beautifully perfumed and immaculately turned out, probably thought he was irresistible........

As part of my campaign to cheer us all up in these dark times, here is a short extract from Chapter 4 of "Conspiracy of Angels" in which our heroine Martha Morgan has an encounter with the famous Beau Brummel, up in the Lake District.

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By half past nine my candles were extinguished, and I was in bed, lulled by a whispering breeze and by the gentle movement of the muslin curtains drawn across the open window. I had been fast asleep for I know not how long when I was jolted into wakefulness. I lay on my back, suddenly fully awake, not knowing whether I had been disturbed by an owl outside the window, or by a shaft of moonlight, or by something else. Then I realized that there was a hand on my breast. Somebody else was in bed with me! I was petrified, and did not know what to do -- and so at first I did nothing. Then a voice whispered into my ear: “Mistress Martha! It’s me -- George Brummell! I have come at last. You knew, my precious, that I would come?”

“Sir!” I hissed. “Take your hand off my breast this instant! I do not have the faintest idea what you are talking about!”

To his credit, he did take his hand off my breast. Then he whispered: “Martha, dearest Martha, I have been enchanted by you from the moment you stepped into my life. I am ravished by your beauty, and cannot live for a moment without you! Say you will be mine! Here and now! Reject me, and I swear that I will fling myself from that open window -- that will make a mess on the lawn, and you will never forgive yourself! Believe me -- I am your devoted servant. Do with me what you will.............”

By now my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, which was not so intense, since the faint light of the moon was filtering through the gently moving curtains. I had also accepted that the figure in the bed beside me was indeed Master Beau Brummel -- he had short fair hair, and he was so heavily scented with oils and fragrances that it could not have been anybody else. I could also smell the alcohol on his breath, and I realized that he was very drunk. That might spell danger, I thought, but it might also be the saving of me. I leapt out of the bed and pulled my nightgown tight around my body. I ran across to the window and pulled the curtains apart, letting the moonlight flood in.

“Sir! How did you get in here?”

“Oh, the doors are never locked on this landing. I tiptoed along, light as a fairy, and just let myself in. Simple as that.” He giggled like a child. “Dearest, you do love me, do you not? I noticed the way you looked at me at dinner this very evening. Oh my goodness -- the look of a lusty woman in her prime. Well, Martha, I am a lusty man who has certain needs -- and so it has to be assumed, I venture to suggest, that there is a need for mutual satisfaction. Correct, my precious?”

“As mistaken as it is possible to be, Master Brummell. Now, get out of here before I summon the servants!”

“Oh, you would not do that, my lovely. They are all fast asleep, and a tinkling bell in the servants’ quarters will go entirely unnoticed. In any case, I have locked the door on the inside, and here is the key!”

He laughed, waved the door key at me, and then climbed out of the bed. I could see in the moonlight that he was dressed only in his nightshirt, and that he was fully aroused. For the first time I began to feel afraid -- for a man who is very drunk can be unpredictable, and very violent. He flung off his nightshirt, so that he was now entirely naked. He moved towards me, still holding the key in his hand above his head. Then he giggled again, and did a little dance across the floor, bathed in a pool of moonlight. I noticed that he was none too steady on his feet. That gave me confidence, and I decided upon my strategy.

“Come now, Martha,” he whispered. “Be reasonable. You and I have much to give each other. Just you give me a few minutes on that comfortable bed, and I will show you that I am quite irresistible. Just a little kiss and a little tenderness, leading from one thing to another. Believe me, I know how to please a woman.........” He was now just a few feet away from me, and I noticed that he was not smiling any longer. That spelt even greater danger.

I moved sideways along the wall which led to my commode. “Sir, I can assure you that your irresistibility is greatly exaggerated,” I said sharply. “I have asked you to leave, and I ask you again. Please go now, and nothing more will be said about this. If you do not......”

“Ah, you have a cunning plan? Relax, Martha. You are too tense, and too concerned about appearances. You are a free woman, and I have no ties either.”

“I am not a free woman, sir. I am betrothed to be married!”

“Ah, to a gentleman who is at this very moment, by all accounts, sleeping on the bottom of Cardigan Bay. Come now, what comfort will he bring you on this warm summers night?”

I was now in the right position, and that last comment caused me to see red. So I walked straight up to him and grabbed the offending organ with both hands. That brought a radiant smile to his face, but then I brought up my knee with all the force I could muster between his legs. He let out a yell which was loud enough to wake the dead, and dropped down onto his hands and knees, groaning pitifully. I grabbed my tin chamber-pot from the commode and smashed it down with a thud upon the top of his head. Mercifully it was empty at the time. I thought afterwards that it was also a mercy that it was not made of earthenware; if it had been, I would probably have killed him. He was now stretched out, quite unconscious, on the bedroom floor. I was shaking like a leaf, but having checked that he was still alive, I picked up the key and unlocked the door. Then I lit the candles on the dressing table, went across the room to the bell-pull, and yanked it furiously for half a minute. I was certain that my summons would be answered, since I knew (unlike Master Brummel) that all of the bells for the house were located in the passage immediately outside Mr Scruple’s room. Sure enough, no sooner had I climbed back into bed and made myself presentable than I heard a great commotion of running feet and concerned voices outside in the passage. There was a hammering at the door, and in they all came -- Mr Scruple himself, the housekeeper Mrs Timpson, my dear Bessie, three or four of the servants and a good many of the house guests as well. They all gazed in amazement at me in my bed, and then at the recumbent and naked figure of Master Brummell on the carpet.

“Mistress Martha!” gasped Mr Scruple. “Are you all right? What has happened?”

“Thank God you have come, Mr Scruple. This rough fellow came into my room when I was fast asleep, entirely uninvited and unwelcomed. I thought he might be a burglar, so I dealt with him appropriately. I think he might be drunk. Would you please throw him out onto the lawn, where he can sober up, and summon the constables?”

“You are......ahem, unharmed, Mistress?”

“Yes thank you, Mr Scruple. That, I think, is more than can be said of the burglar.”

Everybody knew of course that the figure on the floor was Beau Brummel, for his smooth white perfumed body was now exposed in the full light of all the candles carried by my rescuers. The ladies pretended to avert their eyes while Mr Scruple and my friend Dafydd Stokes slapped my attacker’s face and covered him with a blanket. After a while, he groaned and sat upright, at which point the men dragged him to his feet and scurried off with him down the corridor, no doubt intending to deliver him back to his own room. He was in no state to walk, so the men had to carry him, moaning and groaning like a man condemned to a lifetime of penal servitude. The women fussed about me for twenty minutes, and Mrs Timpson brought me a cup of tea, and when all were satisfied that I was unharmed and as comfortable as may be, they all went off to the drawing room, where no doubt the night’s relatively simple events were subjected to endless elaboration and magnification.