Rake's Progress

by Beaton, M. C.

  As he reined in outside the house in Berkeley Square, Lord Guy looked up at it curiously. He felt he had noticed it before, that something monumental had happened to him there.

  Then the door opened and Esther hurtled out, eyes only for her brother and sister. When the twins were reported missing, she had risen from her sickbed. She was wearing a loose gown and her red hair was pinned loosely on top of her head.

  Lord Guy looked at her in a dazed way.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘You were not a dream. You exist.’

  ‘I am grateful to you for bringing the children home,’ said Esther, not really hearing what he said but looking at him for the first time. Her face stiffened.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said coldly. ‘We have met.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Lord Guy.

  ‘You were very drunk. You entered my house one morning and tried to assault me. You have turned Number Sixty-seven Clarges Street into a brothel. I should not even be speaking to you, but I must ask you where you found the children.’

  ‘In Hyde Park, ma’am,’ he said. ‘They mistook my servant for a spy. He frightened them.’

  Esther lifted the children down from the carriage, passed them over to the nursery maid, and then turned her attention back to Lord Guy.

  ‘Thank you for returning the children,’ she said.

  She turned away.

  ‘May I see you again?’ he said.

  She turned back and looked at him blankly.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Miss Esther Jones. And, picking up her skirts, she followed the children into the house and slammed the door.

  FOUR

  ‘O Radcliffe! thou once were the charmer

  Of girls who sat reading all night;

  Thy heroes were striplings in armour,

  Thy heroines damsels in white.

  Haut Ton finds her privacy broken,

  We trace all her ins and her outs;

  The very small talk that is spoken

  By very great people at routs.

  At Tenby Miss Jinks asks the loan of

  The book from the innkeeper’s wife,

  And reads till she dreams she is one of

  The leaders of elegant life.

  THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY

  ‘So that’s that,’ said Lord Guy, pacing up and down. ‘I’ve fallen in love with a stern goddess who was witness to the party here, who claims I entered her house when drunk and tried to assault her, and wishes to have nothing to do with me.’

  Mr Roger heaved a sentimental sigh. Like quite a number of army officers, he was an incurable romantic.

  ‘It must be a hopeless passion, Guy,’ he said. ‘When you go back to the wars, her face will be before your eyes on the battlefield.’

  ‘Demne, I want her face before my eyes in bed!’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Mr Roger lugubriously. ‘Not the thing at all, my dear fellow. You get the strumpets in bed, and if the virtuous and fair won’t look at you, you worship them from afar.’

  ‘Have you been at the port again?’ said Lord Guy testily. ‘I intend to do something about it. We must turn respectable.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Mr Roger amiably. ‘Tired already o’ card sharps, Pinks of the ton, and greedy demi-reps.’

  ‘We must give another party . . . a rout,’ said Lord Guy. ‘It must be all that is elegant.’

  ‘If you wish. But this Miss Jones is unlikely to come even if you send the Prince of Wales to fetch her.’

  ‘Then I shall find out where she goes, and then try to get myself invitations to the same functions.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult,’ said Mr Roger. ‘We’re both rich.’

  ‘I don’t think money will do much to wipe out our black reputation caused by that party.’

  ‘Money and a title wipe out any stain,’ said Mr Roger. ‘Together they form society’s favourite stain remover. How are you going to find out where she goes? Bribe her servants?’

  ‘I shouldn’t like to risk that. They might prove honest, and tell her.’

  ‘Send Manuel around to ferret out what he can?’

  Lord Guy frowned. ‘I am not pleased with Manuel. I do not know what has got into the man since we arrived in England. He pulled a knife on the servants downstairs, and today he terrorized Miss Jones’ little brother and sister.’

  ‘That’s the Spanish for you.’

  ‘No, that is not the Spanish for you. You must have noticed they are not nearly so cruel to children as the English.’

  ‘Where did Manuel come from?’

  ‘He said he was employed in a Portuguese household and that his life was made a misery by the other servants because he was Spanish. We were moving on the next day. He begged me to take him with me as my servant. I agreed. He proved to be quiet and efficient.’

  ‘Don’t like him. Never have,’ said Mr Roger.

  ‘Really, Tommy, one does not like or dislike servants. They are good at their jobs, in which case you keep them on, or bad at their jobs, in which case you get rid of them.’

  ‘Don’t see it that way,’ said Mr Roger. ‘Nasty servants, however good they are, are unpleasant to have around.’

  ‘Well, I can hardly bring the poor fellow all the way to a foreign country and then shove him out to make shift for himself.’

  ‘Myself, I would pay his passage back to Spain,’ said Mr Roger. ‘But if you won’t use him, how about asking that odd butler of ours, Rainbird. I rather like the fellow. Clever. Got a knowing eye.’

  ‘And a disapproving tongue. Very well, make yourself scarce. I can talk to the fellow easier on my own.’

  Joseph was comfortably seated in The Running Footman, the upper servants’ pub, talking to his friend, Luke. Luke worked next door to Number 67 as first footman to Lord Charteris. Luke was tall and handsome and dark-haired in contrast to the tall, blond-haired Joseph. Because of the flour tax, neither footman had powdered his hair.

  Joseph had enjoyed his outing in Kensington Gardens with Lizzie. She had a very flattering wide-eyed way of gravely listening to everything he said, which made him feel important. Also, in her clean white dress and with her well-brushed head of shining brown hair, she had looked almost pretty. He wanted to buy her something. He had not yet had time to buy her that present.

  ‘I say, Luke,’ he said, ‘what’s a genteel thing a fellow can give a lady as a present?’

  ‘Who’s it for?’ asked Luke curiously.

  Joseph coloured and looked away. Like most London servants, he was intensely snobbish. He envied and admired Luke and could not bring himself to say the present was for a mere scullery maid.

  ‘It’s for Miss Hunt,’ he said desperately. Miss Hunt was a rather severe governess who worked at Number 52 Clarges Street.

  Luke whistled soundlessly. ‘Flying high, ain’t you?’ he said; for a footman to pay court to a governess was as ambitious as a City merchant paying court to a wealthy lady of the ton.

  ‘Never get anywhere if you don’t try,’ said Joseph with a laugh that sounded hollow in his own ears.

  ‘I know just the thing if you’ve got the ready,’ said Luke. ‘A silk rose. Best place to go is Layton & Shear in Covent Garden.’

  ‘I don’t know as I have time,’ said Joseph.

  ‘You’ve bin braggin’ as how you got two pounds. Come along. We’ll take a hack.’

  On their return to Clarges Street, the two men carefully stopped the hack at the Piccadilly end so that neither of their butlers should notice their extravagance.

  They were strolling along Clarges Street when Luke suddenly stopped and seized Joseph’s arm. ‘There she is!’ he cried. ‘Miss Hunt. T’other side o’ the street.’

  ‘I’ll wait till tomorrow,’ said Joseph frantically because he had just spotted Lizzie at the top of the area steps.

  ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’ said Luke with a grin. ‘I’ll help you. Miss Hunt!’ he called.

  A rather hard-featured young woman turned and stared haughtily.
/>   Joseph groaned inwardly. He had to go through with it. There was no way he could bring himself to tell Luke he had bought an expensive silk rose for a mere scullery maid.

  He crossed the road with Luke at his heels. ‘Miss Hunt,’ said Joseph with a deep bow, ‘pray do me the honour of eccepting this here rose.’ She raised thin brows and looked at him as if he had crept out of a sewer. ‘It’s silk,’ gabbled Joseph.

  She stared coldly at Joseph, raking him from head to foot, before turning away and mounting the steps.

  ‘Garn, you old ratbag,’ called Luke in a fury. ‘I bets you wear dirty drawers.’

  ‘I shall speak to your employers,’ said Miss Hunt. ‘Disgusting jackanapes!’

  ‘That’s torn it,’ said Joseph savagely. ‘Wot you say that for, yer bleeding kennel mouff?’

  ‘She asked for it,’ said Luke passionately. ‘See if I care. If you ask me, you’d be a curst sight better off with that Lizzie over there. Turning into a right looker, she is.’

  Luke saw his butler, Mr Blenkinsop, peering out of a downstairs window of Number 65, and leapt across the road and vanished inside.

  Joseph walked miserably over to where Lizzie was standing, watching him sorrowfully.

  ‘What are you staring at me for?’ he demanded angrily. He shouldered his way rudely past her and went down the stairs.

  Rainbird listened with outward courtesy and inward growing amusement to Lord Guy’s question as to whether the butler knew anything about a Miss Jones of Berkeley Square.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ said Rainbird. ‘I had the honour to be entertained to tea by Miss Jones.’

  ‘And how did that come about?’ asked Lord Guy.

  Rainbird explained about Miss Jones’ meeting with Lizzie and about the lady’s desire to impart education to her servants. ‘It appears,’ added Rainbird, ‘that Miss Jones does not go anywhere socially. I thought it a pity that such a fine-looking lady should lead such an isolated life. I suggested Miss Jones might consider the future of the children. Should she wish good marriages for them, it might be in their interest if Miss Jones were to gain an entrée to the ton.’

  ‘And what did she say to that?’

  ‘Miss Jones said the children were still young, but she appeared to be considering the matter. Moreover, she appeared intrigued with my suggestion that there was no reason why education should not be fun. Perhaps Miss Jones may venture to take the children to some London amusement.’

  ‘Miss Jones has taken me in dislike, Rainbird.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord.’

  ‘I cannot call on her formally. I would like to meet her by accident. You and your “family”, as you call them, may take all the free time you want if you can contrive to find out where she plans to go – if there is some public place where I can accidentally come across her.’

  ‘Certainly, my lord. Very good, my lord.’

  ‘Does not my request strike you as strange?’

  ‘It is not my place to say so, my lord.’

  ‘You have my permission to forget your place.’

  ‘In that case, my lord, I would like to take leave to tell you, I consider you are behaving in a most sensible manner. Miss Jones is a trifle strict, but she is a good lady.’

  ‘Which makes my task all the more difficult.’

  ‘I think, my lord, Miss Jones would not find it at all odd were I to call again to present her with a few suitable books.’

  ‘Go to it,’ said Lord Guy, ‘and report to me as soon as you have any news.’

  The servants were intrigued and delighted at this odd turn of events. Miss Jones had been heavensent, they said.

  ‘But,’ cautioned Jenny, resting her sharp chin on her red hands, ‘you’d better start off and do your best, Mr Rainbird, ’fore he gets disappointed and starts kicking up his heels again.’

  Rainbird was received in Berkeley Square the following day by a Miss Jones who was rather red about the nose and eyes, since she was still suffering from the cold.

  She accepted the books Rainbird had brought with delight. ‘Your idea is already most successful,’ she said warmly. ‘The female servants are begging for more romances. I read one myself,’ said Miss Jones, ‘and was amazed to find it most entertaining. I also feel I have been over-strict with the children. Too many lessons can be as bad as too few. I am taking them to Astley’s Amphitheatre tomorrow evening.’

  Astley’s was a popular combination of circus and drama and spectacle on the Surrey side of the river.

  Light-hearted with such early success, Rainbird returned to Lord Guy with the news. Lord Guy sent him out again to purchase two of the best seats at Astley’s. It never dawned on him that Miss Jones might sit anywhere else.

  But Esther had given in to Peter’s pleadings to get ‘as near as possible’ and had booked three places in one of the front benches.

  When Esther arrived at Astley’s and was alarmed to find herself the only woman on the front benches and surrounded by noisy bucks, she soon quelled any advances with an icy stare. Clutching her umbrella in case she should need to use it as a weapon, she settled down to enjoy the show.

  It was a mixture of the vulgar and sentimental. The first piece was about a wicked landlord throwing a pretty maiden and her widowed mother out into the snow. Tinsel snow drifted down on the stage. The heroine looked very fragile and pretty and wept most becomingly. ‘What a lot of nonsense,’ Esther told herself, irritated to feel a lump rising in her throat. The hero entered, magnificent in gold braid and top-boots. How the children cheered!

  Far behind Esther in a side box, Lord Guy put down his opera glasses and said to Mr Roger, ‘She’s right on the front bench!’

  ‘You sure she’s a lady?’ exclaimed Mr Roger.

  ‘Yes, most definitely. I only hope the gentlemen about her realize that.’

  ‘She’s big, I’ll grant you that,’ said Mr Roger, looking through his opera telescope. ‘But that hat’s enough to frighten anyone.’

  Esther was wearing an unbecoming black slouch hat that drooped down the back of her neck.

  The noisy bucks around her, who had been discussing her loudly while all her interest had been in the drama, had finally put her down as a dragon of a governess, one who would make a deuce of a scene if they became too warm in their attentions.

  If Esther had been left in peace to enjoy the show, it is doubtful if she would have had anything at all to do with Lord Guy Carlton in the future. But backstage, the Fates were twisting things to make them happen otherwise.

  Madame Chartreuse, that famous equestrienne, was preparing to make her entrance. The piece was quite simple. A gypsy stole her child, who was represented by a large doll. The villain threw the ‘child’ down on a pile of sacks in the glade where he and his brigands hid out from the law. In rode Madame Chartreuse, standing up in the saddle of her white horse. Crouching down, she seized the ‘child’ and rode off. Applause and curtain. Or rather, that was the way it was supposed to be.

  But her manager, Silas Manchester, who had been in love with her for years, had discovered she had fallen in love with a young actor in the cast. He taxed her with it before she was about to go on. She laughed in his face and said she was tired of him.

  The piece started. The villain snatched the child from her. She wept, her ‘mother’ wept, and the snow fell, because they had tinsel snow left over. Next scene. The doll was placed by the villain on the pile of sacks. Silas Manchester, on his hands and knees, slid a cane onto the stage, hooked the handle round the large doll’s neck, and gently drew it offstage. Then he stood back to watch the fury on his love’s face when she found her act had been ruined.

  Now, the doll was life-sized and had red curls.

  One split second after she had ridden onto the stage, wearing a spangled tutu and flesh-coloured tights, Madame Chartreuse’s sharp eyes noticed the missing doll. In the next second, she noticed Peter with his red curls sitting on the front bench. That any respectable child would be brought to sit in
the front benches, which were usually only occupied by men who came to ogle the female performers, never crossed her mind, or she would not have done what she did next.

  She rode round in a circle, standing on the horse. The stage was a sort of half-circus ring on a level with the front benches. Then, with one quick movement, she crouched down, put out one muscular arm, and lifted little Peter up into the saddle to stand next to her.

  Dazzled and excited, Peter clutched hold of one of her plump legs and hung on tight with one hand and waved frantically to Esther with the other.

  ‘Odds Fish,’ said Mr Roger, ‘that’s torn it.’ Lord Guy had already vaulted over the box and was making his way rapidly to the front.

  Madame Chartreuse jumped down lightly, holding Peter, placed him beside her, and took a bow to tumultuous applause while her manager gnashed his teeth in the wings and looked more like a stage villain than any of the actors.

  Miss Esther Jones’ temper, so long held firmly in check, flamed up. Seizing her umbrella, she marched on the stage and brought it down full on Madame Chartreuse’s head, took Peter by the hand, and began to march back to her seat. Madame Chartreuse jumped on Esther’s back, tore her hat off, and threw it in the sawdust, leapt down and began to do a sort of war dance on it. Esther, the glory of her red hair now spilling about her shoulders, placed Peter beside his sister, told him sternly not to move, marched back to Madame and slapped her with such force that the actress went flying. Madame Chartreuse rose to her feet, her eyes blazing with hate.

  ‘A mill! A mill!’ cheered the audience wildly. ‘A hundred to one on the Amazon!’ cried one buck, delirious with joy as he stared as Esther. ‘Look at those shoulders!’ he called.

  Lord Guy ran onto the stage just as the two women were about to close again. He seized both their hands in a powerful grip and dragged them round to face the audience.

  ‘Bow!’ he said savagely. ‘Bow, damn the pair of you.’

  In a dazed way, Esther bowed. Madame Chartreuse, quickly grasping the advantages of the situation, bowed as well.

  What a roar of applause went up! Money and jewels were thrown in the ring.