The orchestra began an introduction to the first dance, a quadrille, and those who would take part scurried to make up their fours, those who would watch stepped away. Jack now had a clear view through to the naked woman, saw Satan seize her hand, place her quite alone, before moving to join another forming four. Her circle of men had not dispersed, were joined now by several women, whispering loudly behind their jiggling fans.
The company had not fully formed. The orchestra commenced another eight bars. Jack moved before her. ‘Fanny!’
Her lowered eyes came up sharply. They reminded him of a hunted deer brought to bay. ‘You fool! Why did you come?’
‘Why your note, it—’ Until that moment he had forgotten her summons, his mind so fixed on vengeance for Clothilde. But she gave him no time to dwell on his guilt.
‘Leave me alone,’ she hissed. ‘Go away!’
‘But Fanny, you—’ He unclasped his cloak, thrust it towards her. ‘Take this.’
‘No!’
‘Why not? You can’t … enjoy—’
‘Enjoy?’ Fire displaced the fear. ‘This is not to enjoy. This is the first part of my punishment.’
‘For what?’
The words came bitter from beneath the veil. ‘For you, my dear. For you.’
The introductory bars were ending. They were facing each other, thus half of a four. A man dressed as Priapus joined them and a giggling young woman was thrust forward by her friends. Both raised their hands. Jack raised his.
‘No!’ Fanny hissed. But it seemed she had no choice. She raised her hand.
The music paused, hovered before its start. For a moment all that could be heard were fans and whispers.
‘Why for me?’ he said, ignoring the two who leaned close to listen.
‘Lord … M devised the punishment. “Bathsheba the Harlot.” Said that if I did as he asked, he might not proclaim me a whore to the Town, might let me keep my beautiful house, my servants, my … position.’ A tear ran, disappearing into the filmy covering at her nose and, just as it did, the dance began. The circles moved left, then right. He walked through, passing the other man back to back, bowing at the turn. The women did the same. Then the other couple peeled off to join a couple also parting. He took Fanny’s hand to move a few paces to their next position. Their heads now close, Jack said softly, ‘But Bathsheba wasn’t a harlot. Bathsheba lured David from a rooftop.’
‘Just so,’ she said, the tears coming faster now, ‘and that is the second part of my punishment. To lure you. Then deliver you.’
They had reached their new position. Another couple awaited, their hands reaching out for them, but he did not see them, could only look at her. ‘Deliver me?’ he said. ‘To whom?’
‘To me, boy. To me.’
It was Satan who spoke, their new partner in the four. And Jack needed no eyes to penetrate the red plaster of the exquisite, horned mask, for when he’d heard that voice before it had been similarly muffled … through the folds of Fanny’s dress.
He was dancing with the Devil and Lord Melbury’s grip upon his hand was indeed demonic. ‘You have two choices,’ the deep voice came again, ‘a boy’s or a man’s. If you are a boy, you will consent to go with me to some ground outside where my friends and I will give you the thrashing you deserve, which you will thank me for, thank me as each blow destroys what made you so alluring to my Fanny. Or …’
His hand was released. A paralysis had seized him of mind if not of body; his feet kept moving in the dance. He settled, as Fanny and Artemis the Huntress crossed and twirled between them.
‘Or?’
‘Or if you claim to be a man, you may meet me on that same ground … with a pistol. And then what I wrote upon the card will truly come to pass – for you will be dead.’
He remembered what was said of Melbury. One of the finest shots in the country. So the choice was between painful humiliation and death.
Some shouting drunkard had climbed up onto the bandstand and was trying to seize the leader’s bow. The music shuddered then stopped; people paused and called out their displeasure.
Under the Devil’s mask, fleshy lips shaped a smile. ‘Which do you choose then, Jack Absolute? Are you a boy or a man?’
Even Jack could see an alternative here. ‘Oh, neither really,’ he said, and began to walk swiftly away through the scattering, angry dancers towards the door.
‘Fool!’ hissed Lord Melbury. ‘Did you truly believe I hadn’t thought of that?’
The crowd shifted before him, masks on every side, any of which could have hidden one of Melbury’s friends. As he neared the main door, he saw one broad shape step away from it, two others approaching from opposition directions. All were costumed as Hell’s Imps, which, to Jack’s mind, showed both Melbury’s arrogance and his lack of imagination. Immediately he bore sharply away, making for the screen of columns that separated the Rotunda from the Pavilion. There were other entrances there and surely even someone as powerful as Melbury could not have enough men to guard them all?
The press was at its thickest where the rooms joined at a screen of columns; Jack was completely halted. On the columns themselves, plaster boys ascended the gothic wreaths towards the heavens. Thinking that where one boy could go, another could follow, Jack reached, slipped his fingers over a plaster ledge, hoisted himself up. For a moment he hung there and, glancing back, saw the Imps as they saw him. Then he twisted around the column, dropping to the other side. Finding the crowd there much diminished, he began to push speedily up towards the north and west entrances.
Relief was brief. Two large men, in plain dress, stood either side of each of the three entrances. They were not stopping everyone, just those who, like Jack, sported black cloaks and Venetian dominoes. Word had been sent back.
Jack stood on one spot, yet quite unable to stop his feet moving, his breaths coming in ever shorter gasps, his panting causing those nearest him to step away, fearing some contagion. He knew that if he did not move soon, he would not move at all, would stand there waiting, held like a hare in the spill of a lantern, dispatched as easily as one. Yet everywhere he looked, the hunters were closing in. He looked at his hands, shaking as if with some palsy. They would not hold a gun. Yet if they did not he would have to submit to a beating that might leave him crippled.
A noise came from the north entrance, curses and threats. Behind Melbury’s men, two flunkeys, wearing the same lilac coats and powdered wigs as the man who’d taken Jack’s sword, were preventing a group of bravos from entering, the source of the dispute undoubtedly the flasks they were waving – for liquor could only be purchased from licensed purveyors within. Melbury’s men had turned to observe the fracas, there was suddenly a gap between them and at this Jack drove, dipped, smelled freedom in the night air as he slipped past. He started to move quicker, expecting to hear, at any moment, cries of recognition and pursuit. Yet finally it was not sound that halted Jack’s flight, but sight.
Standing almost directly before the entrance was a man with the face of a satyr, wearing a jacket in a most distinctive pink. And as Jack slowed, the fellow next to the satyr tore away from a flunkey’s restraint with a ‘Damn you dogs, I will enter’ and strangely, it wasn’t the voice he recognized first, slightly muffled as it was by an identical domino to the one he wore himself, it was the white collar below it; or rather, the patch of blood upon it; those, and the three scratch marks that ran beneath the mask from ear to chin.
All fears vanished with recognition. ‘Violater!’ he yelled, hurling himself across the small space between them. There was no method to it, no remnants of the skills they had learned as boys in Cornwall. Jack was onto Craster, knocking him back, punches flailing down to bounce off raised arms, crown of head, ears. Howling as he struck, no words now, just an outpouring of animal sound.
He was seized, dragged away, not by Melbury’s men, but by the maskless flunkeys who served as the Watch of the Gardens, tough ex-seamen in the main. Looking across, he saw that Craster was
equally bound, like him had lost his mask in the scrap and, to his fierce delight, was adding blood to his collar stain from his nose and one eye.
‘What is this rough housing? Who are these lumber troopers, disrupting the night for respectable people?’
The speaker was dressed in tones similar to the flunkeys but infinitely more richly expressed. He also wore a powdered periwig, the only adornment of his head, for he too was maskless.
‘Roaring Boys, Mr Tyers, sir,’ said the man clutching Craster, ‘ ’ad too much gin in ’em by the smell.’
‘Gin?’ The man’s sculpted eyebrows rose. ‘All know that such poison is not admitted to my Gardens. By God, I’ll banish ye both for life for your temerity.’
‘Mr Tyers.’ The voice that intruded now came silkily from beneath the Devil’s mask. ‘Mr Tyers, I think you know me.’
The man moved from wrath to servility in a moment. ‘I do, indeed, my Lord M—’
The voice interrupted harshly. ‘No names, sir. You know me as a friend and generous patron, d’ye not? I would help you this night, as I have helped you so often before.’
‘I would be so grateful, sir. Um … how?’
‘By removing this … offence.’ He nudged Jack none too gently with the toe of his boot. ‘For he has offended me, too. I was set to teach him a lesson before he embarked on yet another scape.’ He waved a hand over the prone cousins. ‘It appears I was too late. But not to make amends. Nothing must interfere with your festivities.’
‘You are so kind, my Lord. And if this is a private matter—’
‘It is indeed.’ He tapped the sailors holding Jack with his cane. ‘Allow my fellows to take charge of the miscreant.’
Hands were released, replaced by others equally strong. Jack was jerked up.
A released Craster rose too. ‘May I accompany you, my Lord?’ he said, pressing forward eagerly.
‘And you are?’
‘This blackguard’s cousin. I’ve known him all his miserable life. He’s always been a villain and I would like to see him get what he deserves.’
Jack, who’d been unable to summon words, found them now. ‘The only one who deserves punishment here is him,’ he shouted, ‘for this day he raped an innocent young woman. Punish me if you will, but call the Watch first. Let him face the punishment of the noose.’
‘He lies,’ bellowed Craster back. ‘The girl he speaks of is a well-known French whore who drew me into the house and then refused to fulfil the business. I taught her a lesson, is all. These gentlemen here are witnesses.’ Beside him, his still-masked cronies, the pink-jacketed Horace prominent among them, nodded vigorously.
‘You’re the liar, Craster Absolute, and a coward too. T’was so throughout your life. You’d stand and watch me thrashed, you’d even get your kicks in. But you’d never stand and face me like a man.’
Quite the crowd had gathered outside the entrance, a line of flunkeys struggling to hold them back. At Jack’s words, those unaligned to any cause started crying out, ‘Brave lad!’ ‘Is he a coward then?’ ‘What’s his name?’
Craster flushed. ‘I’ll fight you any time, boy. Name your ground and time.’
‘Here and now.’
Tyers the proprietor spoke. ‘We allow no such affairs in Vauxhall! My lord, I appeal to you.’
Melbury’s smile had grown under the mask. ‘Indeed, this sanctuary must not be violated. But there is ground without which should suit such purposes. And,’ he continued turning to Jack, ‘since you have now claimed the prerogative of a man, I too will treat you as one. For I am tired of you. So if you survive your cousin’s fire, you will face a second flame … from me.’
There was no choice. There could be no escaping now should he want to. And in that moment, he didn’t. For even if he was to die this day, he would kill Craster Absolute first.
At Lord Melbury’s nod, his men released Jack though they stood close by and the whole party began to move toward the Pleasure Gardens’ entrance. They had not gone five paces before another voice halted them.
‘Tell me, pray … where exactly might you be taking my son?’
The party turned. The man who had spoken wore the face of Mr Punch and it was the sum of his disguise. Jack knew the speaker always said that, since he spent so much on his clothes, they would damn well be displayed, masquerade or no!
‘Father!’ Jack had taken a step back but a raised hand prevented any further approach.
‘I know you, sir,’ said Lord Melbury.
‘And I know you, Sir Devil,’ said James Absolute, ‘and your ways. As you do in Office, so here. Everything in darkness, nothing in the light.’
Melbury took a step back toward him. ‘Do you insult me, sir?’
‘Maybe later,’ Sir James said evenly, then turned to Jack. ‘What is this between you and your cousin?’
Both young men tried to speak, seeking to override each other in their need. Sir James waved them both down. ‘It doesn’t matter now. All heard your exchange, the challenge issued, accepted. You are both Absolutes and of age and the family name must be respected. But now, sir,’ he faced Melbury again, ‘what is your quarrel with my son?’
‘It concerns a lady, sir, and is between ourselves. Your son was offered a thrashing as an alternative punishment and refused. Thus matters have progressed.’
‘Thrash my son?’ Mr Punch’s head tipped to one side. ‘Now there was I thinking that pleasure solely mine. So I see why he must fight. Again. Excellent.’ He nodded vigorously and made towards the group. ‘So let’s to it then, gentlemen.’ He raised his arms as if to usher them forward, then halted them with a gesture. ‘And I presume the proper code is to be observed?’
‘Code, sir?’
‘Code, sir. Who, for example, is the president?’
‘Really,’ rasped Melbury, ‘this is more in the nature of—’
‘A punishment? Yes, you said. But my son’s refusal to be beaten like a cur, followed by his challenge, transformed that.’ His voice had become very cool, a contrast to Melbury’s. ‘Have you a president?’
Lord Melbury glowered at the small crowd still gathered around. A fellow in regimental scarlet, topped by the face of a gargoyle, stepped forward.
‘Gentlemen, I would be delighted. And my friend here is a surgeon.’
‘My next question answered. You see, sir, how easily the code can be accommodated?’
The soldier – for his uniform was too well cut to be anything but the real thing – spoke again. ‘And may I suggest that we all retain our masks. No names, eh?’ He tapped the gargoyle’s warty nose before continuing. ‘A public place and the magistrates harsh on such affairs, eh?’
‘An excellent precaution. Agreed?’ Sir James got a short nod from Lord Melbury. ‘Now I presume these are your seconds? And my nephew has these fellows. So where are my son’s?’
Lord Melbury said, sourly, ‘I am sure you could fulfil the function.’
‘You know, I am sure I could. Do you agree, boy?’
‘If … you …’
‘Excellent. Wise choice.’ He sighed. ‘Then according to the custom of these things, as your second I must take on certain obligations, certain duties. I must look to your interests. And the first thing I have to say on your behalf is,’ he stepped closer to Lord Melbury, ‘that you will not fight two duels in one night.’
‘I will meet him tonight. Now.’
Sir James’ voice was still calm. ‘You will not. As his second I cannot allow it. You will choose another night and other ground.’
Lord Melbury roared. ‘And allow you to smuggle your bastard out of the country under your actress wife’s costume? I think not.’
Jack winced. Few people, in his hearing, had ever referred to Lady Jane’s previous career without consequence, and none, ever, with the inflection that His Lordship had just given the word. He awaited the thunderbolt. But instead, the knight’s voice stayed calm. ‘Ah! There! Now you have strayed onto different ground.’ His voice lowered. ‘Y
ou will answer to me for those words. You can take a ball for ’em. Or,’ he smiled, ‘you can kiss my arse.’
Melbury grimaced. ‘When and where, sir?’
The smile broadened. ‘Well, we seem excellently accommodated here. Shall we say … straight after the lads fight?’
Melbury smiled back. ‘Let us. And with you dead, there will be no one to prevent me stamping out the last of your rat’s nest of a family.’
The president stepped forward. ‘Except for me, sir. I will have no shuffling.’
‘Enough. No more talk,’ snarled His Lordship.
The conversation had been hitherto conducted on the move. At the gates, most of the small crowd turned back, for their viewing of the duel would cost them another ticket if they wanted to re-enter the Gardens. The few who would follow were dissuaded by Lord Melbury’s Imps. So it was only the party concerned that emerged from the gates and began to walk along the Vauxhall Road, past the carriage park toward the open heath land beyond.
The party divided into three. The larger of Lord Melbury’s swelled when Craster and his roughs joined them. The president and his surgeon-friend walked between. Jack and his father brought up the rear.
‘Father. I … I am so sorry.’
Sir James grunted. ‘So you should be! How you get into these scrapes I’ll never know. Must be the Irish in you. God knows it’s nothing to do with Absolute blood, which was ever temperate.’
‘How did you find me, sir?’
‘Those dogs who beat upon my door in search of you today? Well, that lazy poltroon of a footman was nowhere to be found, of course, so I admitted them myself. They immediately began to threaten me. In my own hallway, damn their insolence! The one ceased talking on the instant, t’other swiftly confessed his allegiance,’ he gestured to the Devil ahead, ‘and soon after the rest of the plan. So I came to the rendezvous.’
Jack was so overcome he nearly grabbed his father’s arm. ‘I am much obliged to you, sir.’
Sir James sniffed. ‘Should think you are. I’d a good mind to let you die. Teach you a lesson. But Lord Melbury is an enemy to this country, whispering in the King’s ear his treasons for an accommodation with the French. It will be good for the realm if I end his career today.’
The Blooding of Jack Absolute Page 16