April Lady

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Oh, if it is the case that you are retiring from business – !’ said Nell, shrugging her shoulders with splendid indifference. ‘I had not perfectly understood: naturally you will wish to be paid immediately! Rest assured that I will attend to the matter!’

  She then sailed away, her head high, and her heart cowering in her little kid shoes. Madame, having curtseyed her off the premises with the greatest deference, rubbed her hands together, and said: ‘She will contrive, that one!’

  That she must somehow contrive, and without Cardross’s knowledge, was by this time a fixed determination in Nell’s mind. Every day that had passed since the first appearance of Madame’s account had added to her dread that he would discover the debt; reason was lost sight of; the debt, and Cardross’s sentiments, if he should be called upon to pay it, assumed grotesque proportions, until it seemed to her as though it might wreck her life. No sobering counsel was at hand to cast a damper on lurid imagination, and give her thoughts a saner direction. Letty, exaggerating her own experiences, recommended her at all costs to settle the matter before Cardross got wind of it; and Dysart, knowing how much his own depredations on her purse were responsible for her present predicament, was apparently prepared to go to extraordinary lengths for the furtherance of this end. But Dysart had shaken her faith in him. Letty might applaud his scheme for her relief: she could not. It seemed to her a shocking thing to have attempted; and the thought of what next his wild humour might prompt him to do put her in a quake of apprehension. There must be no depending on Dysart; and there was no one else to whom she could turn.

  Such a reflection as this was scarcely soothing to nerves already irritated. The conviction that she was friendless, and hunted into the bargain, began to take strong possession of Nell’s mind. She sank into a slough of self-pity, seeing her debt as a sum large enough to have ruined a Nabob, and her husband as a miser with a heart of flint.

  It was in this mood that she presently stepped down from her barouche, and it was her coachman who rescued her from it, by desiring to know whether she would be requiring the carriage again that day. The very mention of it dispelled that unjust vision of Cardross. Just because she had once admired a friend’s barouche he had given her one for her very own, and with a pair of horses that took the shine out of every other pair to be seen in town. She had not liked the famous Cardross necklace, an awe-inspiring collection of emeralds and diamonds heavily set in gold, and instead of being offended he had told her to keep it for state occasions, and had given her the most charming pendant to wear in its stead. ‘For everyday use!’ he had said, with the smile that had won her heart in his eyes.

  Self-pity turned in an instant to self-blame. From being a tyrannical miser Cardross became the most generous man alive, and quite the most ill-used; and she the embodiment of selfishness, extravagance, and ingratitude. And, if Dysart were to be believed, she had added blindness and stupidity to these vices. It now seemed to her wonderful that Cardross should have remained patient for so long. Perhaps he was regretting the impulse that had made him offer for her; perhaps, even, disgust at her coldness and depravity had already driven him back to Lady Orsett.

  A year earlier Nell, instructed by Mama, had steeled herself to accept the fact of Lady Orsett as one of the inescapable crosses a wife must bear with complaisance; but between the girl who had supposed herself to be making a marriage of convenience and the bride who had been brought to realize that hers was a love-match there was a vast difference. Mama would scarcely have recognized her docile, beautifully mannered daughter in the bright-eyed young woman who uttered between clenched teeth: ‘She shan’t have him!’

  This determination, excellent though it might be, only strengthened her resolve to settle Madame Lavalle’s account without applying to Cardross. In her view nothing could more surely jeopardize her whole future than to cast out lures to her husband while presenting him with yet another debt. He must certainly believe her to be hoaxing him, playing off a detestable cajolery that could only disgust a man of sensibility.

  Her thoughts flickered to the second of Dysart’s suggestions, that she should sell some of her jewellery. Not, of course, Cardross’s gifts, but perhaps the row of pearls Mama had given her? But every feeling revolted. They were Mama’s own pearls, jealously preserved by her for her eldest daughter, and bestowed upon her with such affecting tenderness. Stress of circumstances had obliged poor Mama to sell nearly all her jewellery, but her pearls she had clung to through the direst of her straits, and for her daughter to sell them only to pay for an extravagant gown must sink her forever below reproach.

  A very little reflection convinced Nell that there was only one way in which she could raise three hundred pounds. It must be borrowed. Dysart had rather unexpectedly condemned this expedient, but Nell knew that even Mama had had dealings with a moneylender, so that borrowing upon interest, though it might be an expensive practice, could not be a crime. Papa, of course, had carried it to unwise lengths: Nell perfectly understood how ruinous continued borrowings could be, but it was surely absurd to suppose that anything very dreadful would happen if one borrowed three hundred pounds only for a few weeks. It would be paid back at the end of June, and no one need ever know anything about it.

  The more she considered it, the more Nell liked the scheme, and the more she was inclined to attribute Dysart’s severe attitude to some antiquated notion of propriety. Even the most careless of brothers could be amazingly stuffy on any question of conduct affecting the ladies of his family: that was one of the incomprehensible things about men. To hear Papa, in the bosom of his family, one would suppose that modesty and discretion were the two virtues he considered most indispensable in a female. But there had been nothing in Papa’s career to suggest this: indeed far otherwise! Dysart, warmly approving the generously displayed charms of a certain actress, almost in the same breath could speak censoriously of his sister’s gown, if it were cut rather lower than usual, or clung too closely to her form for his suddenly austere taste. Even Cardross suffered from this peculiarity. He had not criticized her raiment, but he made no secret of the fact that he expected from his wife and sister a degree of decorum which he did not practise himself. ‘I will have no scandal in my household,’ said Cardross inflexibly, just as though he had not been creating scandal in Lord Orsett’s household for years. Nell didn’t doubt that he would disapprove strongly of his wife’s patronizing a moneylender, but she didn’t allow it to worry her very much. Imprudent it might be, but what Mama had done could not be a crime.

  Nell gave Dysart a day’s grace, and when he neither came to see her nor wrote to tell her what next he meant to do, set forth, not without some inward trepidation, on a visit to Mr King, in Clarges Street. It had been Mr King who had enjoyed Mama’s custom.

  There were certain difficulties in the way of setting forth from Grosvenor Square alone and on foot, but she overcame these by ordering her carriage round to take her to the Green Park, where (she said) she was going to walk with some friends. At the last moment Letty nearly spoilt this careful plan by going with her, but she had the happy thought of saying that she had arranged to meet in the park two ladies whom Letty violently disliked, so Letty decided instead to go with her maid on a shopping expedition. Nell might tell herself that there was no harm in her projected errand, but she could not tell herself that it would be proper to take Letty into her confidence, for, oddly enough, although it might be allowable for herself to seek relief from her difficulties with Mr King, for Letty to do the same thing would be quite shocking. And she could not help feeling that that was just what Letty would do, once the idea had been put into her head, for she was never out of debt, and had lately been warned by Cardross that he was not going to encourage her extravagant habits by continuing to defray all the totally unnecessary expenses she incurred.

  Nell dressed herself with great care for her expedition, choosing from the formidable collection of walking dresses
in her wardrobe one of cambric, made high to the neck, and with long sleeves, and only a border of cable trimming to relieve its austerity. For some reason which she could not have explained she felt that when one visited a moneylender one’s habit should be as modest as possible, so she added a sarsnet pelisse of dark blue to her ensemble. This lent her an undeniable note of sobriety, but when it came to the selection of a hat the only one she possessed that approached sobriety was made of olive brown silk. No exigency could induce her to wear this with a blue pelisse, so she was obliged to choose instead a frivolous bonnet that matched the pelisse but was trimmed with lace and flowers. A thick veil served the double purpose of providing a disguise and a touch of rather dowdy respectability. It also staggered her dresser, and certainly made her suspicious; but Nell said glibly that the dust from the streets had slightly roughened her cheeks, an explanation which seemed to satisfy Miss Sutton.

  Set down at the Bath Gate, Nell entered the Green Park, and strolled for a little while beside the Basin, trying to recruit her ebbing courage. Two unwelcome thoughts had occurred to her: Mama, when she had turned in desperation to Mr King, had employed a go-between; and would not Mr King wish to know her identity? She had not previously considered this possibility, but as she rehearsed, during the drive from Grosvenor Square, what she must say at the coming interview she realized that not the most obliging moneylender was in the least likely to advance a large sum of money to an unknown and heavily veiled lady. Not only would he wish to know what were the circumstances of his client, but no doubt he would demand a note of hand from her. One might, of course, sign this with a fictitious name, but that would hardly satisfy Mr King. Nell was quite shrewd enough to know that an obscure Mrs Smith of no address would find it very much harder to borrow money upon interest than would the wife of an extremely wealthy peer.

  A good deal daunted, it was with lagging steps that she left the Park, and crossed the ruts and cobbles of Piccadilly. Her errand no longer seemed so innocuous, for while it would be a simple matter, and surely quite unembarrassing, to arrange a loan under a cloak of anonymity, it was another matter altogether to be obliged to announce: ‘I am Lady Cardross.’

  She turned into Clarges Street, and was soon abreast of the discreet-looking house in which Mr King carried on his business. She hesitated, saw that a man on the opposite side of the street was looking at her, and walked on, blushing under her veil. When she ventured to look round, he had disappeared from her view, so she turned, and began to walk back. By this time she was wishing herself a hundred miles away, dreading what lay before her, no longer sustained by the comforting reflection that it was not so very wrong after all. A small but insistent inner voice told her that on this occasion Mama would not wish her example to be copied; and again she walked past Mr King’s house.

  From a window in a house on the other side of the street Mr Hethersett had for several minutes been observing these vacillations through his quizzing-glass. The particular crony whom he had come to visit, having addressed several remarks to him without receiving any other answer than an absentminded grunt, at last demanded if anything was amiss, and came to see what was claiming his attention. Mr Hethersett, letting his glass fall on the end of its ribbon, ejaculated: ‘Good God!’ and hastily picked up his hat and gloves. ‘Can’t stay!’ he said. ‘Remembered something important!’

  His astonished friend protested, but Mr Hethersett, in general polite to a point, did not stay to listen. He was out of the house in a matter of seconds, and crossing the street with long strides.

  Nell, drawing a resolute breath, had mounted the first of the steps leading to Mr King’s front door when she heard herself accosted in slightly breathless accents.

  ‘Cousin!’ said Mr Hethersett.

  She jumped, and looked round. Mr Hethersett raised the hat from his head and executed the bow for which he was famous. ‘Very happy to have met you!’ he said. ‘Beg you will allow me to escort you home!’

  ‘Sir!’ uttered Nell, in what she hoped was the outraged voice of a stranger.

  Apparently it was not. ‘Can’t hope to deceive me in that bonnet,’ explained Mr Hethersett apologetically. ‘Wore it the day I drove you to the Botanic Gardens.’ Acutely aware of the goggling gaze fixed on him from a window across the street, he added: ‘Take my arm! George Burnley has his eye on us, and it won’t do for him to recognize you. Not that I think he will, but no sense in running the risk.’

  ‘I am very much obliged to you, but pray don’t stay for me!’ Nell said, trying to speak in a careless way. ‘I – I have some business to transact!’

  ‘Yes, I know. That’s why I came across the road.’

  ‘You know?’ she repeated, rather scared. ‘But you cannot know, Felix! Besides –’

  ‘What I mean is, know whose house this is,’ he explained. ‘It ain’t any concern of mine, but it won’t do for you to be doing business with Jew King, cousin. What’s more, if Cardross knew –’

  ‘You won’t tell Cardross?’ she cried involuntarily.

  He was just about to refute with considerable indignation the suggestion that he was a tale-bearer when prudence intervened. He temporized. ‘I won’t tell him if you let me escort you home. If you don’t, nothing else for me to do.’

  ‘Felix, I never thought you could be so ungentlemanly!’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘To tell you the truth, I didn’t either. But the thing is it would be a dashed sight more ungentlemanly to go off and leave you to get into a pickle. Jew King! Lord, cousin, do you know the fellow owns an ornamental villa on the river? Slap up to the nines – never saw such a place in your life!’

  ‘No, and I don’t see what that has to say to anything!’ retorted Nell crossly.

  ‘Point is, where did he fund the blunt to pay for it? From people like you, cousin! Take my word for it!’

  ‘Yes, yes, but I only wish for a loan for a particular reason, just – just a very temporary one!’

  He drew her hand through his arm, and obliged her to walk with him up the street. ‘Believe me, fatal!’ he said earnestly.

  She sighed, but attempted no further argument. After a pause, Mr Hethersett coughed, and said delicately: ‘Very reluctant to offend you – awkward sort of a business! Thing is, might be able to be of service. Tolerably plump in the pocket, you know.’

  She was a good deal touched, but said at once: ‘No, indeed! I am sure there was never anyone half as kind as you, Felix, but that would be the outside of enough! And you mustn’t suppose that I am in the habit of borrowing money: this – there are reasons – why I don’t wish to apply to Cardross for this particular sum! Don’t let us talk about it! It is of no moment, after all.’

  ‘Certainly not: shouldn’t dream of prying into your affairs, cousin!’ he replied. ‘Only wish to say – at least, I don’t, but must! – feel myself obliged to ask you to give me your word you won’t come running back here as soon as my back’s turned!’

  She sighed, but said submissively; ‘No, I won’t do that, if you think it so very bad.’

  ‘Worst thing in the world!’ he assured her.

  ‘I don’t see why it should be. After all –’

  ‘You may not see why, but it ain’t a bit of use telling me you didn’t know it, because I’ve been watching you,’ said Mr Hethersett severely. ‘Going backwards and forwards like a cat on a hot bake-stone!’

  ‘Oh, how can you say such an uncivil thing?’ she protested. ‘I did not!’

  ‘That’s what it looked like to me,’ he said, with great firmness. ‘Not the moment for civility, either. Got great regard for you, cousin. Dashed fond of Giles, too. Wouldn’t wish to see either of you in a tangle. Thing is – nothing he wouldn’t give you! Officious thing to do – giving you advice – but if you’re in a fix you tell him, not Jew King!’

  She said unhappily: ‘There are circumstances which – Oh, I
can’t explain it to you, but he mustn’t know of this!’

  To her relief he forbore to press her. She would have been dismayed, however, had she known the construction he had put on her words.

  Mr Hethersett, who had so strongly disapproved of his cousin’s alliance with any member of Lord Pevensey’s family, had now the doubtful felicity of realizing how just had been his objections to the marriage. If Nell had incurred a debt she dared not disclose to Cardross, it was as plain as a pikestaff that she had embroiled herself in her brother’s chaotic affairs. In Mr Hethersett’s view that was almost the only form of expenditure Cardross would not tolerate in his wife. Probably he would not take gaming debts in good part either, but Mr Hethersett did not think that Nell was a gamester. He had once struggled to support her through several rubbers of whist, an experience which had left him in doubt of her ability to distinguish spades from clubs.

  He had made his offer to rescue her from her embarrassments in good faith, but he was considerably relieved by her instant refusal of it. He enjoyed a considerable independence, but the last settling-day at Tattersall’s had not been happy, and to have advanced what he feared must be a very large sum of money to Nell must have left him in uncomfortably straitened circumstances. It might also, if the truth leaked out, have involved him in a quarrel with Cardross, who would certainly feel that he had behaved in a very improper way. Cardross was a man of calm judgement, so it was perhaps unlikely that he would suspect his cousin of having formed a warmer attachment for Nell than was seemly. At the same time, there was no predicting what crackbrained notion a man deeply in love might take into his head; and Mr Hethersett was uneasily aware that by assuming the rôle of Nell’s cicisbeo-in-chief he had certainly laid himself open to attack. Nor had he the smallest desire to contribute towards Dysart’s relief. Mr Hethersett, a gentleman of the first respectability, and a high stickler in all matters of taste and conduct, disapproved unequivocally of such dashing blades as Dysart. Such feats as jumping one’s horse over a loaded dinner-table awoke no admiration in his breast, for anything that set people in an uproar was bad ton, and to be in bad ton was to be beyond pardon. The world of fashion might embrace all manner of men: the Out-and-Outers, the Tulips, the Dashes, Tippies, and Bloods: but the first style of elegance could only be achieved by those whose dress and deportment were characterized by an exquisite moderation. Dysart was never moderate. In the saddle he was a hard-goer; on the road his ambition was to give the go-by to every other vehicle; in the gaming-room, not content, like Mr Hethersett, to sport a little blunt on the table, he played deep. He engaged in hare-brained pranks; and the chances were that if you met him any time after noon you would find him ripe already. None but the very strait-laced objected, of course, to a man’s becoming foxed during the course of a convivial evening; but either Dysart had an uncommonly weak head, or he was carrying his drinking propensity beyond the line of what was acceptable. As for his debts, he had been monstrously in the wind at the time of his sister’s marriage, and he had had ample time, since being relieved by Cardross of his more pressing obligations, to run himself to a standstill again. It would be typical of him, Mr Hethersett considered, to apply to his sister for succour; and ridiculous to suppose that she could bring herself to deny him. He did not blame her in the least, but he was strongly of the opinion that such reckless generosity ought to be checked before it had run to such lengths as must put her as well as Dysart heavily in debt. A hazy recollection of the appalling load of debt under which Devonshire’s mother had died flitted through his mind. Astronomical figures had been whispered: probably false, for no one knew the exact truth, but it must have been a monstrous sum. It was said she had lost a huge fortune at play: queer sort of fellow the old Duke must have been, not to have known what his wife was about, thought Mr Hethersett. Things would never get to that pitch of disaster in Cardross’s household, of course; still, they might become pretty bad before he discovered what was happening. He was rich enough to be able to stand the nonsense, but Mr Hethersett had a very fair idea of what his feelings would be if he found Nell out in such deception. Someone, he decided, ought to drop him a hint now, before any serious mischief had been done, and while he was still so much in love with Nell that he would find it easy to excuse her folly. He was inclined for a moment to regret having promised Nell he would not betray her to Cardross; but as soon as he played with the notion of making such a disclosure to his cousin his imagination boggled at it. Under no circumstances could he have done it. The proper person to intervene was Lady Pevensey, and had she been in town he might, he thought, have contrived to hint her on to the trouble. Only she was miles away, tied to that ramshackle husband of hers, and there was no saying, after all, that she would see the matter as she ought: she had never seemed to Mr Hethersett to have much more wit than a pea-goose; besides, she doted on Dysart so fondly that she might possibly think his interests of more importance than Nell’s.