Devil Water

by Anya Seton

  Betty had been studying the girl’s face across the table, and said, “Well, cheer up, Jenny, you’ve treats in store. A holiday for one!”

  Betty’s little girls, Bess and Caroline, let out squeals of joy. They loved Jenny, who had now become their semi-governess, and toiled daily in the nursery to teach them reading, writing, and figuring, but on a holiday they could go to the kitchens, where Mrs. Prouty, the cook, let them mess about making sweets.

  Harry, whose lessons with his Latin master were not affected by any maternally granted holiday, continued to eat stolidly.

  “Jenny--” said Betty, “I’ve been thinking about you, how you have so few distractions, and that you’re fifteen now. I’m going to take you to the King’s Birthday Drawing Room today. You’re old enough to be presented.”

  Jenny raised startled eyes. “Why, my lady,” she said. “Do you mean it? Why, I didn’t know you were going, you haven’t been out in so long.”

  “I know,” Betty interrupted. “I’ve grown to be a dull dog. ‘Tis hard to be anything else without money. Yet it’s only right we pay respects to the King, who has himself shown some interest in my poor husband -- and the diversion will be good for both of us.”

  Jenny’s spirits did rise, she gave Betty her singularly sweet smile, then she frowned. “But, my lady, I’ve nothing to wear that wouldn’t disgrace you, and you --” She stopped for fear of being rude.

  Lady Betty had not bought a single new gown during the past year since Jenny had left school and come to live on George Street. True, Colonel Lee had partially recovered and held a small honorary Court appointment; he could walk a little, he could speak in a halting way, but he had not recouped his fortunes. The Lees lived on Lord Lichfield’s bounty, which had become smaller since the rebuilding of Ditchley Park, and the punctual production of heirs by the Catholic Lady Lichfield.

  “I’ll wear my old yellow tabby,” said Betty, “and I’ve borrowed my Lady Palmerston’s diamond necklace, since she is ill and can’t attend, so I’ll be quite fine enough -- as for you, Jenny, I told you there were several treats in store!” Betty rose and opening a cupboard in the passageway reappeared with a rustling mass of rose over her arm. “Stand up,” she said. “Let’s see how it looks!”

  It was some time before Jenny could believe that this beautiful gown was hers, a grown-up lady’s dress of rose taffeta, with lace ruffles and sapphire velvet bows, the full skirts spread over enormous hoops disclose a white satin petticoat, embroidered with forget-me-nots. There were brocaded slippers too. They had red heels and brilliant paste buckles.

  Betty produced them with a conjurer’s flourish from behind her back.

  “But how?” Jenny cried, smoothing the shining taffeta folds. “Lady Betty, you mustn’t give me anything like this!”

  “I couldn’t, child,” said Betty, sighing. “Can’t you guess who sent it? It came from France,” she added as Jenny shook her head.

  “Father?” whispered Jenny incredulously. From Charles she had not heard in nearly a year, not since he had married Lady Newburgh, and sent a hurried though affectionate letter enclosing a draft for ten pounds. After that her own little letters brought forth no reply, and the last ones came back “unclaimed.” Jenny had learned to live with this particular hurt, and was wise enough to know that Charles would always be immersed in whatever he was doing at the moment, and that for him it would be often a case of “out of sight, out of mind,” though she had felt forsaken all the same.

  “There’s a letter,” said Betty, handing it to her, “brought by the same messenger who brought the dress.”

  Jenny tore open the seal and saw her father’s sprawling, almost illegible hand. “My dear Jenny -- This gowne is to be fine in for your birthday I wish I c’ld see you in it, however [here a line was heavily crossed out] we are liveing near Paris, my lady expects a child soon, I do not wish to trouble her just now. If you write send to M. Jones, vis-a-vis La Fontaine de Carmelites, Rue et Fauxbourg St. Jacques -- my homages etc. to Lady B. Your affct. C.R.”

  Jenny read it and handed it to Betty. “He hasn’t quite forgotten me,” she said with a rueful smile, “and I am so grateful for the beautiful gown and shoes -- but--”

  “Aye. There are many but’s in life,” said Betty shaking her head. “Never think he doesn’t love you, and does all he dares. You’re old enough now to understand that Lady Newburgh holds the purse-strings, and I rather think she has her own methods of trying to hold Charles’s exclusive affections, too. I wish her luck,” added Betty grimly.

  Jenny’s bright gaze rested on her benefactress, seeing Lady Betty, as for the first time. A pale woman with curly red hair, not handsome perhaps -- the amber-brown eyes were smallish, the nose quite blunt, the big mouth curved for laughter was held too tight -- yet Jenny knew the face had charm, the charm of courage, breeding, and innate goodness of heart. Jenny guessed now that Lady Betty loved her father, and saw clearly for the first time how intimately this love had affected her own life.

  She went to Betty and, putting her arms around her neck, kissed her hard, then she gathered up her new dress and shoes, and hurried upstairs.

  At St. James’s Palace in the crowded anterooms Jenny caused a sensation, which both pleased and perturbed Betty. She heard the constant whispers of “Who is she?” saw the ogles and leers sent Jenny’s way by the gentlemen, the envious stares of the ladies. Betty thought that Jenny handled herself well, with a subdued dignity, and only heightened color betrayed that she was aware of the attention she was causing.

  There was no doubt that Charles’s magnificent dress showed off Jenny’s tiny waist and round breasts to perfection. The dress fitted, of course, even the shoes fitted passably; Charles was the kind of man able to make a guess at his daughter’s probable size now. Betty herself had donated a wisp of Mechlin lace to perch on the brilliant golden hair, and Jenny had the beauty of Aurora --of the fresh and rosy dawn, or, as old Lord Peterborough said when he had made his way through the crush to greet Betty, “Botticelli’s Venus to the life, that’s your little Miss. You’ll have small trouble finding her a husband in spite of well -- certain drawbacks.”

  “You mean no money and no parentage?” asked Betty with her usual frankness. “She lacks the former, and the latter must be kept a secret, but I assure you she is true-born and of excellent lineage. As a matter of fact,” Betty added, “if it came to question of a really good marriage, a fair jointure might be found for her!”

  “Indeed,” said the Earl thoughtfully. “Well, in that case you must take her about, show her off, play your cards cleverly. And beware,” he added with a shrug, “of debauched married dukes . . .”

  Betty followed Peterborough’s glance and saw Philip, Duke of Wharton, staring at Jenny through his quizzing glass, and obviously trying to push his way over to them.

  “Come, dear,” said Betty to Jenny, “I think we can get into the Drawing Room now -- see, the line is moving.”

  The King sat in a crimson velvet armchair, beneath a purple and gold canopy. He was short and very fat, his jowls hung down, his watery pop-eyes gleamed at the debutantes who were being presented to him. He rose occasionally and kissed the prettiest of them on the lips.

  He kissed Jenny unctuously, murmuring, “Schönes Mädchen,” while she tried not to flinch from the foul breath and shiny wet mouth. The King’s German mistress, now the Duchess of Kendal, stood behind the throne. The King said something to her in German and laughed, while he still clutched Jenny’s hand.

  The German duchess leaned her big ungainly body forward. “His Majesty says you are to bring this klein Backfisch to Court more often, my lady,” she said to Betty.

  Betty curtsied again. “His Majesty does us honor, Your Grace.” The audience was over.

  They backed off and out into the farther anteroom. Here there was no way of avoiding Wharton, who was waiting for them with Dr. Edward Young in tow. “Good day, Cousin Betty,” said the Duke bowing elegantly, “and Miss Lee, I believe. It�
�s devilish stuffy in here, and since we’ve all done honor to his glorious Majesty’s natal day, I propose that we take a walk in the park together.”

  “But it’s raining,” protested Betty, “and anyway I must get back to my husband.”

  “Not raining at all,” said the Duke waving his scented white hand towards the window, where in truth there was a burst of sunlight. “And surely Colonel Lee can spare you a little longer, or I’ll take charge of Miss Lee and see her safely home.”

  Betty gave in rather irritably. It was silly to make such a fuss about a casual invitation, and it was also rather cruel to drag Jenny home so soon, on this first outing in months. Moreover, Philip seemed on his best behavior, and not drunk. Besides, Peterborough’s advice was good -- if a husband were to be found for Jenny, she must be seen.

  So among half the fashionable London world they strolled in St. James’s Park, along the Pall-Mall promenade beneath the avenues of elm and lime trees.

  Jenny, at first reluctant and embarrassed, soon began to think the Duke quite charming. He made no reference to their last unfortunate meeting when she had slapped him, he took no liberties of glance, touch, or speech. He was gravely courteous as he continuously responded to bows from passing acquaintances, and he pointed out many well-known figures to Jenny. Behind them Betty walked with Dr. Young and also enjoyed herself more than she had expected. The doctor had apparently given up writing tragedies in favor of satire. He recited some of his lines to Betty, who thought them witty, as clever as many a line of Alexander Pope’s. She said so, and Young was delighted. He told her how pleasing it was to meet a charming intelligent lady, and that he hoped the pleasure might be soon renewed. Betty agreed they must meet again and really meant it, suddenly aware of how restricted her life was, and that really there was no law decreeing that she should wither away completely at the age of thirty-two.

  The quartet continued to stroll for some time. They admired the ornamental ponds which were studded with geese and wild ducks, they fed the tame roe deer, and finally left the park enclosure, and were joined by the Duke’s Italian factotum, Serpini. The Italian slithered along several paces behind in case the Duke should need him. The party ended up at a small tavern near Queen Anne’s Gate, where they sat outside in complete democracy and the Duke ordered wine for the ladies and Young, fiery arrack punch for himself.

  The May afternoon grew into one of London’s finest, the sun glinted on cobblestones which the earlier rain had washed clean. A small southerly breeze blew away the smoke from nearby chimneys. There was music in the air, strips of bunting at the windows. The citizens were celebrating a gaudy day, and Jenny’s heart celebrated too, not for the King’s birthday, but because she was well dressed and admired, because Lady Betty was actually laughing with that queer-looking Dr. Young, and because there was a band of mountebanks coming down the street -- a tumbler and a bearward leading a shambling bear, and a tiny monkey in a red cap who somersaulted, and gibbered and ran right up on the table behind them.

  The Duke watched Jenny’s delighted face, and beckoned languidly to the chief mountebank. “Make the bear dance,” he said.

  “Yes, sir -- yes, your honor,” said the man bowing, while the bearward jerked his chain and the old bear shuffled heavily through a few paces. Jenny had prepared to be amused; then she saw that the bear’s hind paws were bleeding and that it gave a grunt of pain each time the bearward struck it with his stick. “Oh, poor beast,” she cried. “Let it rest!”

  The Duke did not heed her. Instead he got up and, taking the stick, himself, administered sharper jabs, delivered at the bear’s most tender parts. When the bear growled and made a feeble lunge, which the chain cut short, the Duke threw back his head and gave a ringing laugh of utmost enjoyment.

  “Now give me the monkey!” Wharton cried. One of the mountebanks handed the monkey over eagerly. The Duke swung it to and fro by the tail. “A wager!” he cried. “I’ll wager any of you I can throw this ape as far as that house across the street! Who’ll take me on?”

  “Naow, naow, your lordship,” whined the mountebank. “If ye kill it ye must pay for it!” The Duke shrugged and gesturing towards the hovering Serpini said, “Give the fellow a guinea.”

  “Don’t throw the monkey!” cried Jenny violently. “Don’t you dare throw it!”

  Betty, Dr. Young, and the Duke all turned and stared at her in astonishment. Betty had not cared for the Duke’s behavior with the animals, but Londoners were accustomed to bear-baitings, cockfights, and the pelting of human beings in pillory. And she was distinctly startled at Jenny’s tone. She felt it necessary to say, “That is hardly the way to speak to his grace, who is, I believe, merely trying to divert you.”

  “I don’t want him to hurt the monkey!” said Jenny reddening. The Duke stood there, swinging the little beast by the tail, and considering her through narrowed eyes.

  “Very well,” said the Duke. “Then perhaps this will amuse you.” He suddenly reached down and scooped the hat and wig from Dr. Young’s head. He dumped the monkey on top of the shorn pate, where it clung for a ludicrous instant scrabbling furiously, while the outraged Young tried to smile at his patron, who let out another high peal of laughter. Serpini also cackled in the background. The monkey scuttled down Young’s arm and fled, squeaking, back to its master.

  “Philip, you’re mad,” said Betty with the ring of truth and exasperation. She helped Young adjust his wig and don his hat again.

  Jenny said nothing at all, for as she turned to watch the monkey scamper away, she had caught sight of a man standing on the tavern’s second-story gallery and looking steadfastly down in her direction. It can’t be Rob, she thought, and yet she knew it was -- despite the sober well-cut clothes, the cocked hat, and the dark tie-wig. Ever since the dream last night she had felt him near her, felt against all reason that she would see him. She made an instinctive beckoning gesture, then checked it, half rising from the table.

  “What are you looking at, Miss Lee?” said the Duke quickly, turning around. But Rob had vanished.

  “Nothing, your grace -- at least I’m glad you let the monkey go -- Pray forgive me, I must be excused for a moment.” She turned blushing to Betty, who put the natural interpretation on this request, and said, “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, my lady,” said Jenny. “No need.” And she was out of her chair into the tavern before Betty could move.

  Jenny ran blindly up the stairs and found Rob on the landing. “I knew I’d see you today,” she cried, “though I don’t know how --”

  “I followed you,” he said with difficulty. “Saw you in the park. What are you doing with the Duke of Wharton!” His heavy black eyebrows were drawn together, his intent hazel eyes held hers with a sudden intimacy which cut through all their estrangement.

  “Oh, the Duke --” she said impatiently. “I can’t talk now, Rob -- but I beg of you to come and see me at the Lees’. Lady Betty won’t mind. It’s foolish that we can’t have a chat. We’re old friends. Come tomorrow!”

  “Jenny--” he said beneath his breath, resisting as best he could. Assurance she had now, an imperiousness added to the dazzling clothes and the increased beauty. “Aye, Jenny,” he said slowly, “I’ll come just once -- though I’m a muttonheaded booby to do it.”

  “I think not,” she said, giving him a small sideways smile. She ran down the stairs again and out to the table where the others were waiting.

  The Duke had finished his bowl of punch, and grew very quiet as he watched Jenny. He saw the heightened sparkle and glow about her and suspected that her sudden flight had something to do with a man. I must hasten, he thought, or someone else’ll have the maidenhead. Erotic images flitted through his mind amid the powerful arrack fumes. The dark and secret rites -- the voluptuous pleasures hidden in the rites -- the forbidden, the wicked, the blasphemous, the redness of carnality which needed for its exquisite completion innocence, white and simple innocence -- to be deflowered. The destruction and the mockery whic
h produced the godlike fervor in its devotees. These delights he had not tasted for too long. These thrills might be again in store, since now there was an instrument at hand.

  Betty was startled by the sudden glistening pallor of her cousin Philip’s face, that smooth girlish face with its painted lips and air of delicate sophistication. She saw that the blue eyes were hard and expressionless as agate. She said low to Dr. Young, “I believe his grace has had too much punch, and in any case, sir, ‘tis getting late and we must go.” She rose, and Jenny with her.

  The Duke did not move. His eyes rested on Jenny with the same hard blue blankness. The girl felt an instinctive creeping distaste, while she made her thank yous. The Duke did not reply. Serpini, however, bowed and smirked and showed his pointed teeth ingratiatingly. Dr. Young said he would see the ladies home. They walked off to find a hackney coach. The Duke continued to sit on at the tavern table, until at last he spoke to Serpini. “I’m going abroad soon,” he said. “I’ve had enough of England, enough of this mingy Court. But before I go there is a matter to be accomplished -- you know what I mean.”

  “La bella signorina” said the Italian with certainty. “Yet it will be difficult -- if your grace is thinking of the Mass -- this one is a lady, and well guarded, not like the last --”

  “Nevertheless we will find a way--my excellent Serpini,” said the Duke drawling out each word. “And quickly, before I lose the humor.”

  The next afternoon the Lees had several callers -- an event so unusual that Briggs, the sole remaining manservant, was quite stunned and finally got the cook to polish the braid on his shabby livery. The first visitor to arrive was Edward Young. Briggs ushered him unceremoniously into the drawing room, where Betty was darning socks. Jenny was seated at the escritoire correcting little Bess’s sums, and a beagle snuffled on the hearth by a small coal fire. Colonel Lee was also present, dozing in his great armchair, as he always did after dinner.