Endearing Young Charms Series

by M. C. Beaton

  “Dearest,” he said. “I do not want to stand in your way. I gave you my promise. But Bohun is not for you. He is cruel and vicious.”

  “Charles, everyone seems to know you are jealous of him, even Miss Woodward!”

  “She never said so!”

  “Yes, she did, Charles—and Dolly, too.”

  “So it’s Dolly, is it? She’s a slut, Fanny.”

  “I do not think I know you at all, Charles,” said Fanny in a voice that shook. “I could be so happy—we could be so happy—if you would mind your own affairs.”

  He sat in silence, thinking hard. Bohun had cleverly put about the gossip of his, Sir Charles’s, jealousy. He would have to trust the goodness that was in Fanny to discover for herself the type of man Bohun really was. He and Miss Grimes and Tommy could keep a close watch on her. One thing was certain, she would never be allowed to see Bohun alone, and, therefore, any protests or complaints from him would only prolong her blind adoration of the man.

  “I’m tired,” he said. “I go to the opera with the Woodwards tomorrow. Oh, and I have decided to borrow some jewelry for you, Fanny, so that you may look like the heiress you are supposed to be. You have nothing planned yourself for tomorrow?”

  “I am making calls with Miss Grimes in the afternoon,” said Fanny, “and then—and then I shall probably read in the evening.”

  “Good night.” He stood up and bent forward, holding her gently by the shoulders and kissing her cheek.

  He was no sooner out of the room than Fanny’s vivid imagination replaced him with Lord Bohun. It was Lord Bohun who had taken her gently by the shoulders and given her that kiss. He had not said anything about seeing her again, but Dolly was his friend—and seeing Dolly was the next best thing.

  True to his promise, Sir Charles presented Fanny with a dazzling array of jewelry sent “for her approval” from Rundell & Bridge the following day. “I think you can safely keep them for a couple of days, Fanny,” he said. “We are going to Lady Denham’s ball tomorrow evening, so you can wear some of the stuff then.”

  Fanny turned over the brooches and necklaces, privately deciding to wear some of the best to Dolly’s. But how was she going to escape from Miss Grimes? she thought, as she went on calls that afternoon.

  She smiled at various hostesses and murmured inanities. These calls, Miss Grimes had said, were all important to “nurse the ground,” that was to get on the good side of London’s most prominent hostesses, preferably those with marriageable sons.

  Miss Grimes, who had discussed the matter long into the night with Tommy, had decided not to mention Lord Bohun’s name.

  “And so we will have a quiet evening without Charles,” said Miss Grimes when they arrived home again. “Perhaps we could all play cards.”

  Fanny bit her lip. It would be hard to escape from the house.

  She thought long and hard about what to do, and then at dinner suggested that as it was a fine evening and Charles would not be with them, they could perhaps drive down to Westminster Bridge and look at the view. “It would make a quiet change from racketing about,” said Miss Grimes. “What do you think of that idea, Captain Hawkes?”

  “Might be fun,” said Tommy lazily. “Might take you ladies out in a boat.”

  “I have never been in a boat before,” cried Fanny, clapping her hands with every evidence of delight.

  It seemed all settled, but no sooner was the carriage at the door that Fanny suddenly pleaded a headache and said she simply had to lie down. Miss Grimes promptly exclaimed they would stay as well, but Fanny said it would only make her headache worse to think they had foregone such a pleasure as a sail in order to stay at home. She would ring for the servants if she needed anything. And with that, she practically shoved them out the door.

  Miss Grimes and Tommy continued on their way. Soon the broad expanse of the river was spread out in front of them. The view from Westminster Bridge was very fine. On one side of the river were the groves and palace of the Primate of Lambeth; on the other side, the residence of the Parliamentary Speaker, under repair, and the huge bulk of Westminster Hall. The boats that plied the Thames were long, light, and sharp, and seemed to fly through the water. The banks of the river were not very ornamental. A few streets came down to it at right angles, but none ran parallel to the water.

  Tommy hailed a waterman and asked him to ferry them along the river. The most handsome buildings, Miss Grimes decided, were in the long range of buildings called the Adelphi. Somerset House looked as if it might one day be magnificent, but as Tommy pointed out the work was going on so slowly that one half looked in danger of falling into ruin before the other half was finished.

  Miss Grimes caught a glimpse of the gardens of the Temple, or Inns of Court, but mostly the view was generally dismal, the shores on either side choked with barges laden with coal.

  At Blackfriars, the second of the three bridges that spanned the Thames, the view of a fine sweep of steps down the river was spoiled for Miss Grimes by the simply appalling smell. For here the common sewers of London discharged into the river.

  “When you consider that all the filth of this metropolis is emptied into the river,” said Tommy cheerfully, while Miss Grimes held a scented handkerchief to her nose, “it is perfectly astonishing that any of the people consent to drink it. One week’s expenses of the last war with the French would have built an aquaduct from the Surrey hills and covered London in fountains. But there you are. We always seem to be fighting someone.”

  Miss Grimes hung nervously to the side of the boat, for they were about to “shoot” London Bridge. The passage under London Bridge was made precarious by the “starlings,” or wooden platforms that protected the piers and created a swirling race under the bridge.

  The boat lurched perilously and she was thrown against Tommy, who put an arm about her shoulders. She felt quite dizzy at the contact and was relieved—and at the same time lost and shaken—when he took his arm away.

  Below the bridge, the bulk of the Tower of London cast its great shadow over the water. There were gloomy wharfs and warehouses on either side, and Tommy called to the boatman to take them ashore, where their carriage, which had followed them down the length of their sail, was to meet them.

  As they stood waiting for Miss Grimes’s coachman to arrive, she said suddenly, “I am now uneasy about that headache of Fanny’s. She is, I would judge, not normally given to lying, and when she talked about that headache, there was almost something actressy in her manner.”

  “We’ll soon be home,” said Tommy reassuringly. He sighed a little as he looked over the forest of masts in the river. The evening sun was golden. Everything swam in a hazy light, in the slight fog that hung about the corners of the streets of London even on the best of days. He felt so at ease with Martha Grimes, so far from war. He was war-weary, but unlike Bohun he could not afford to sell out. Like Miss Grimes, he often wished the irritating Deveneys would settle down to being comfortably married so that he and Charles could enjoy this rare holiday.

  When they both finally alighted in Hanover Square, Miss Grimes said, “I am sure Fanny will be lying down in her room. Where could she go? She does not really know anyone in London apart from us and cannot attend any social occasion unescorted.”

  “Just go and see if she needs anything,” said Tommy, ever practical, “and then we can have a comfortable game of cards.”

  Miss Grimes went up to Fanny’s room and pushed open the door.

  The room was empty. Clothes were strewn all over the place—reminding Miss Grimes of days in her youth when she turned her wardrobe upside down looking for the prettiest gown. And the jewel box from Rundell & Bridge! It was lying open, and a quick examination informed the bewildered Miss Grimes that some of the best items were missing.

  She ran downstairs to the drawing room, where Tommy was opening up the card table.

  “Fanny! She’s gone!” she cried. “She tricked us. And she is wearing some of that jewelry.”

&
nbsp; Tommy took her hands in his and said, “Calmly now. Can it be Bohun? Bohun thinks she is an heiress, so I do not think he would queer his pitch by suggesting she meet him on the sly. Charles is at the opera. We will need to go there. Charles will know what to do.”

  Chapter 5

  FANNY ENJOYED HERSELF at first. All the ladies were so friendly. She had played faro before with her schoolfriends and remembered the excitement when one of the girls had managed to smuggle a pack of cards into the school. And just as she had lost a great deal of money on paper to her schoolfriends, so it was here. “We don’t play for money,” said Dolly gaily. “You just sign your vowels.”

  So Fanny cheerfully signed IOUs in the comfortable belief that it was all pretend.

  But as the evening wore on and the company began to drink more heavily, the conversation grew coarser. Fanny began to feel uneasy and wondered if Charles had in fact known what he was doing in warning her to stay clear of Dolly.

  Just one more game and then she would go. She was playing against Dolly.

  “And that,” said Dolly as she won again, “means you owe me five thousand pounds.”

  Fanny laughed. “I shall just sign another of your intriguing pieces of paper and then I really must leave. Charles may be home himself soon and he will wonder where I am.”

  And Miss Grimes, thought Fanny, with a qualm. She will already have found out I am missing, and what on earth shall I tell her?

  “If you are going,” said Dolly, “we should make arrangements. A draft on your bank will be sufficient.”

  Fanny laughed merrily.

  “If you do not have the necessary papers with you,” said Dolly, a note of steel creeping into her voice, “do not worry, for I shall call on you tomorrow, or you can leave some of your pretty jewels.”

  The glitter in Dolly’s eyes should have told Fanny that her hostess was quite drunk, for sober, Dolly would never have been so clumsy, but Fanny only felt lost and frightened. Five thousand pounds! Oh, they would need to run from London, and Charles would never see Miss Woodward again, and he would never forgive her, and she—she would never see Lord Bohun again, either.

  As for the jewels! No, the scandal would be too much to bear if London society remembered them both for robbing its most famous jeweler.

  Her nervous little fingers moved over the surface of the cards … and then again. She felt infinitesimal little pricks on the smooth surface. She remembered a conversation Captain Tommy had had with Aunt Martha. He had been explaining the ways of card sharps. “But how do they mark the cards?” Miss Grimes had asked. And Tommy had replied, “Pin pricks.”

  Her face hardened. Her mind raced. To call Dolly a cheat would not get her anywhere. The obsession about Lord Bohun left her body; her mind became clear and sharp and seemed to be working in double-quick time. As far as Dolly knew, she had been drinking heavily. But Fanny did not like strong drink, and, when Dolly had been concentrating on the game, had frequently decanted her glass into a hothouse plant next to the table. She looked around the room and saw the others for what they were—silly, greedy women obsessed with gambling. They were not friends of Dolly’s. This was a gambling club and she, Fanny, was the gull, the flat, the pigeon for the plucking.

  “I have decided to stay,” she said in a voice she made slurred. “I have so much money, what is five thousand pounds to me?” My love, my life, my happiness, cried a voice inside her. But she went on aloud, “But I swear these cards are unlucky for me. A fresh pack if you please, Dolly.”

  Dolly’s eyes gleamed with a hectic light. So the new pack would not be marked. But this little innocent, so well and truly foxed, would be no match for her.

  And so they began to play again, but this time Fanny’s mind was crystal clear. She was determined to play all night if necessary to cancel that debt.

  Sir Charles stood impatiently outside the Woodwards’ box at the opera, where he had been summoned by Tommy. “Are you sure you cannot find her?” he declared impatiently. The opera ball followed the opera and he had dreamed of waltzing with Miss Woodward.

  Tommy shook his head. “I found Bohun at White’s, gambling heavily, so she’s not with him.”

  “Dolly,” said Sir Charles heavily. “That little harlot thinks Fanny’s an heiress—and I remember some fellow in our regiment telling how Dolly had gulled his wife by inviting her to a little party that turned out to be Dolly’s private gambling club. Damn Fanny! I will need to make my apologies and go and rescue her. Oh, God, if she’s lost a great deal there is no way we can stay in London … and I will be tied to that irritating featherbrain for the rest of my life.”

  “No harm in her,” said Tommy awkwardly. “Not up to all the rigs and rows of town. Needs a little bronze.”

  “Pah,” said Sir Charles nastily. “Wait here until I make my apologies.”

  On the way to Chelsea, Tommy bravely tried to suggest to his friend that he forget about Miss Woodward and try to make a go of his marriage. Sir Charles did not even attempt to protest. Tommy’s words did not seem to have any effect on him; his face was stern and set in the bobbing light of the carriage lamp.

  “There she is,” said Tommy when they drove up outside the Marsdens’ house.

  The curtains at the bay window at the front of the house were drawn back. Dolly and Fanny sat at a card table in the bay. Sir Charles groaned inwardly when he saw the borrowed diamonds glittering around Fanny’s neck and sparkling in her hair.

  They entered the room just as a game was finishing. Sir Charles had expected a blushing and ashamed Fanny, but she looked up at him and said mildly, “I am just leaving, Charles. How kind of you to come and bring me home. You owe me five hundred pounds, Dolly. A draft on your bank will suffice.”

  Dolly looked at her in baffled fury. The shock of finding she had been outwitted by this innocent was sobering her rapidly—but doing nothing to improve her temper.

  “I always pay my debts,” she said. She called a footman over and whispered to him. Fanny sat very still, her face hard and set, waiting.

  The footman returned with a bundle of notes that Dolly passed to Fanny. Fanny counted them slowly and insultingly. At last she looked up. “I prefer gold,” she said, “but notes will do on this occasion.” She stood up. “Your arm, Charles. Come, Captain Tommy. Miss Grimes will wonder what has become of me.”

  Sir Charles waited until they were all seated in the carriage and then he shouted, “What the devil do you think you were doing with that strumpet in that slap-bang shop she runs? You fool!”

  “So I was a fool, but I repaired my losses,” said Fanny. “I lost five thousand pounds because Dolly told me it was only pretend gambling and I believed her—until she started to demand a draft on my bank and suggested I leave some of the jewels with her. It was then I found the cards were marked and noticed that she was drunk. So I won back the money I lost, plus five hundred pounds, and I feel very clever. I am sorry you were dragged away from the opera, but you can go back now, Charles.”

  “It is high time you realize the enormity of what you have done!” he raged.

  But Fanny was triumphant. She felt she had just slain a monstrous dragon. She felt brave and clever.

  “Why don’t you shut your potato trap and give your tongue a holiday,” she said gleefully.

  “You jade! How dare you speak to me thus?”

  “Pooh! Because I am rich and you are poor.” And Fanny leaned back in the carriage and fanned herself with the bundle of notes.

  “I shall talk to you later, when we are alone,” he said threateningly. “You will never, hear me, never go anywhere again without my permission. I have a good mind to give you the beating you deserve.”

  “I shall see you ride backward to Holborn Hill—with a book in one hand and a nosegay in t’ other—before I let you lay a finger on me,” said Fanny, meaning she would see him hanged first. Fanny had enlarged her vocabulary immensely in just one evening.

  Tommy tried to signal to his friend to stop beratin
g Fanny because the more Charles went on, the more defiant and unrepentant Fanny became.

  Miss Grimes was waiting for them when the carriage drew up. “Why, Fanny,” she began, “what …?”

  But Fanny walked briskly past her and ran lightly up the stairs. It was left to Sir Charles and Tommy to explain what had happened.

  “I will go to her,” said Miss Grimes, heading for the stairs.

  “No.” Sir Charles put a hand on her arm. “Fanny is my responsibility and I will deal with her.”

  When he entered Fanny’s room, she was carefully removing the jewels and putting them back in the box. She twisted round and glared at Sir Charles, then went back to rearranging the jewels.

  “Fanny, look at me!” he ordered. Two small white shoulders raised in a shrug. “I am not going to berate you,” he said sadly. “You are young and untried … and were easily fooled by such as Dolly. No doubt, Bohun, who hates me, put her up to it.”

  That brought her round, eyes flashing. “You are going on like a real husband, Charles,” she said. “Did I whine and complain about you going to the opera with the Woodwards?”

  “Do not be such a widgeon. The opera with a respectable family and a gambling hell are worlds apart and you know it. What has happened to you? You are become so hard!”

  Her face softened. With a little shock, he realized that despite her lack of inches, Fanny was very pretty indeed with her huge brown eyes looking almost black in the candlelight, her creamy skin, rioting black curls, and soft little mouth. “I am in love, Charles,” she said simply. “You know what it is like. Dislike of Bohun has colored your judgment. Look at the facts. He is very rich, so rich that my lack of money will not matter to him. What if I constantly complained about Miss Woodward, said she was only after your imagined money? Would that not hurt? Would you not deny it vehemently? Very well, I concede I should not have gone to Dolly’s and I will not do so again—and I will be sharper when it comes to ladies of the ton who are not quite ladies.”