With a wry quirk of a smile as she recalled that afternoon, Louisa thought that she might not be the only person feeling out of place at the party; anyway, she could console herself with the elegant new dress, which was a pleasure in itself.
In the parlour, Mary Elliott put down her crochet-work and looked on approvingly as her eldest daughter pirouetted. ‘Turn slowly, Louisa. Let me see the back. Oh, yes, it’s beautiful. The cut’s superb.’
‘And what about the excellent sewing? It took me almost three weeks, you know, burning the midnight oil. Why should Blanche have all the credit?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, dear. Of course the sewing’s good, you’ve done a lovely job. But you know the secret of style lies in the cut of a thing.’
Louisa sighed, but refused to let her mother’s bias upset her. ‘What do you think, Bessie?’
Bessie’s kind face was full of open admiration. ‘Lovely, you look a fair treat, Miss Louisa, even if you are in black. I bet there’s none to touch you – you’ll have all them gentlemen flocking round!’
Louisa laughed and kissed her cheek. ‘Oh, Bessie, I’m supposed to be Rachel Tempest’s chaperone, making sure she doesn’t overdo her quest for a husband, not looking for one myself!’
‘Aye, well,’ Bessie sniffed. ‘It’s about time you thought about it. Time you were married and having your own family, not looking after other people’s.’
‘Now then, Bessie, poor Mamma would have a fit. She’s got enough to do with Emily’s wedding.’
When she arrived at Blossom Street, Rachel’s recriminations could be heard in the hallway. Quickly removing her cloak and hat, Louisa hurried up to Rachel’s room, where Moira stood like a martyr. Her mistress was ranting over the disaster of her hair.
‘Get back to answering the door, Moira. It’s about all you’re fit for!’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘Just look at my hair, Louisa, just look at it. I asked her to pin these flowers at the back, and what did she do but pull all the curls awry. I’ll never find a husband looking like this!’
‘I thought you were going to a party, to enjoy yourself,’ Louisa calmly remarked, unpinning the shiny brown tresses and beginning again with the brush. ‘Not going hunting.’
‘Oh, shut up, Louisa, and get on with my hair.’ A few minutes later, soothed by those steady strokes, she said: ‘You know I haven’t got long to find someone. Father will have me married off to one of his awful friends before the year’s out, mark my words. He can’t wait to get rid of me.’
‘I don’t think that’s true, Miss Rachel.’
‘It is,’ she insisted. ‘You know it is.’ When Louisa did not rise to that, she said nastily: ‘It’s all right for you – it doesn’t matter if you work for your living, and become an old maid!’
Ignoring that barbed remark, Louisa continued her task in silence.
At last Rachel was ready, gloves smoothed, fan furled, mantle on, impatient and only half-listening to her father’s repeated instructions. Stressing punctuality and abstinence, he escorted them outside, watching as the cab turned into Nunnery Lane.
A few hundred yards beyond the Cavalry Barracks the cab turned left down a broad avenue. The house was a modern villa with a gravelled drive; quite grand with a pillared portico and tall mullioned windows to either side. In some trepidation as she climbed the steps, Louisa pulled at the bell. Almost at once the door was opened by a manservant.
Rachel handed him their cards, following him through double glass doors into an oak-panelled inner hall where a maid waited to take their cloaks.
Giving Rachel a gushing welcome, Sophie announced that they were the very first to arrive, and Louisa instantly regretted Albert Tempest’s fetish for punctuality. She hung back, relieved when Rachel at last recalled her manners, drawing her forward to be introduced to Major and Mrs Bainbridge.
Short and stocky, his round red face divided by a luxuriant moustache, the Major was like a strutting pouter-pigeon beside his nervous wren of a wife. In russet silk she fluttered to Louisa’s side, enquiring sympathetically whether she was in mourning.
‘I’m afraid so, Mrs Bainbridge,’ Louisa confessed, ‘but Miss Rachel has no immediate relatives in the area, and Mr Tempest did not wish her to make the journey unescorted.’
‘Quite right, I should feel the same about Sophie. But it was very good of you to agree,’ she said, innocently assuming that Louisa had had a choice in the matter. ‘If you’d like to sit quietly, my dear, you’ll find several peaceful corners in this rambling house. The young people tend to be rather noisy, I’m afraid,’ she admitted with an air of one who has her retreats well mapped-out.
Louisa thanked her kindly, following Sophie and Rachel upstairs, where Sophie’s bedroom was set aside for the ladies’ use. Sophie showed them into the bathroom, a recent installation and the source of much family pride. Rachel insisted on a demonstration for Louisa’s benefit, turning on taps and laughing delightedly at her companion’s amazement. Full of enthusiasm, Sophie explained that the huge contraption was a geyser for heating water, and that the family could take hot baths as and when they wished. It was a great saving on work for the servants.
Louisa was both impressed and entranced. Under the gas-lit chandelier, white enamel gleamed, lotus-flowered tiles shone, and around the fireguard thick towels were draped invitingly. A small stab of envy pierced her normally serene soul.
Sophie moved to the door. ‘We really should go down. I want to introduce you to my brothers, and there will be more guests arriving. But do feel free to use the bathroom.’
‘As long as we don’t spend the entire evening in here?’ Louisa asked dryly, and the two girls giggled all the way down the stairs.
Larger overall than the Tempest residence, this house consisted of several smaller rooms, lacking the elegant proportions of Blossom Street, but brightly lit and furnished in glowing colours. William Morris designs adorned the walls, portraits and prints hung from picture rails, and displays of hot-house flowers were reflected in the long French windows leading to an elevated terrace. Adjacent to the window, glazed doors led into a charming conservatory. Louisa eyed this avenue of retreat as Rachel was introduced to Sophie’s elder brother Arthur, and Captain Hugh Darnley, the Bainbridges’ current lodger.
Arthur Bainbridge was an unmistakably male version of his sister Lily, earnest and horsey, and apparently unimpressed by Sophie and her awestruck friend. The young Dragoon, however, seemed more than pleased to be in their company. Immaculate evening dress lent elegance to a tall, angular frame, and as he bent his head towards Rachel’s upturned face, soft brown hair fell forward across eyes as soft and appealing as a spaniel’s.
Edging towards the conservatory, Louisa exchanged a few pleasantries with Lily, awkward and uncomfortable in a harsh blue taffeta. She smiled at two younger brothers sitting in rigid silence on a massive horsehair sofa and, as a fresh group of guests were ushered into the room, made her escape.
An old brocade chaise-longue was almost hidden by potted palms and aspidistras, and wreathed about with exotic ferns. It faced the night-hidden garden, but, by bending her head every now and then, Louisa could see into the room she had recently left. More people were arriving. In dresses of every hue, Sophie’s friends mingled like pretty butterflies amongst groups of young men, anonymous in black and white. Laughter filtered through, and the tinkling notes of a piano being played for fun.
Part of her would have liked to be with them, to have been accepted as an equal. But Louisa thought of herself as practical. Pushing the small twinge of envy aside, she refused to let herself be sad.
Following Rachel’s progress round the room, she was pleased to note that the yellow gown with its modesty piece of lace and silk was quite as fashionable as and prettier than most. After a while she became aware of newcomers to the party. They were taller and heavier than the slight young Hussars who were Arthur’s friends, and evidently more amusing, because Rachel and Sophie were laughing. As one of the men turned in Louisa’s
direction she saw that he was badly scarred down the left side of his face. Then his companion moved, and it was as though the rest of the room faded and blurred in that split-second of recognition.
Breathless, her heart pounding, Louisa sank back amongst the ferns. After a few moments she edged forward and looked again, almost convinced that she was dreaming. But he was still there, with the same group: impossible to mistake his height and that crisply curling hair. From behind a palm frond she watched his every movement, studied the polite smile, his occasional laughter. She noticed the guarded expression in his eyes and even counted the sips he took from his glass; with some surprise, she realized he was bored.
One of the girls spoke to him; he bent his head towards her, and Louisa craned her neck to see which one of them it was. With a pang very akin to jealousy, she saw that it was Rachel. But his interest was barely more than polite; he smiled and nodded and replied, then turned to Lily, hovering and ill at ease in her stiff blue gown.
Within a few moments gaunt, unattractive Lily was talking animatedly, and Louisa would have given almost anything to know the subject of that conversation. White teeth flashed suddenly as Robert threw back his head and laughed. Abject misery coursed through Louisa’s veins: who would have thought Sophie’s sister could be so witty? But within moments he was moving on. With a backward glance and a genuinely amused smile he left Lily’s side, not seeing, as Louisa did, the look of regret which followed him across the room.
As he approached the conservatory, Louisa ducked back amongst the plants. When she dared to look again, he was talking to Mrs Bainbridge, who, like Louisa’s mother, was blooming beneath a charm few of the younger ladies had been able to elicit. He was also very close to the conservatory door, almost facing her. Panic-stricken, Louisa retreated once more.
Moments later, the glass door opened. Startled, she looked up into the kindly, smiling face of Mrs Bainbridge.
‘I see you’ve found my favourite retreat, Miss Elliott. May I send in a glass of something for you? Lemonade, or perhaps a little wine? There is some punch, but I understand,’ she added with an anxious little laugh, ‘that it may be rather heady.’
Rising to her feet, Louisa politely declined. ‘Not just at the moment, thank you, Mrs Bainbridge.’
The older woman said something more, but Louisa hardly heard. Robert Duncannon was standing just a few feet away, staring with such frank and delighted amazement she could do nothing but smile and blush and shake her head like some bemused foreigner dropped in a strange but pleasant land.
Caught between the two, Mrs Bainbridge read their expressions, eloquent as the pages of the romantic novels to which she was addicted. Feeling, as her husband would have phrased it, extra to requirements, she tactfully slipped away.
‘What a delight this is,’ Robert remarked, closing the conservatory door behind him. Smiling, he raised Louisa’s hand to his lips. ‘Can I really believe it?’ he asked. ‘Truly, Miss Elliott, you are the very last person I expected to see this evening — and to think I very nearly refused the invitation!’
Unable to trust her voice, Louisa simply smiled, her eyes unwittingly revealing as much as they absorbed: the stark black and white of evening dress suited his dark good looks. Aware of her innocent appraisal, his blue eyes sparkled with sudden amusement. Louisa found herself blushing furiously.
‘I had no idea you were acquainted with the Bainbridges. Why haven’t I seen you here before?’
‘I’m not,’ she said frankly. ‘At least not personally.’ She paused, glancing up into expectant eyes, wondering why it was so hard to admit to being a paid companion. She forced a smile. ‘You know, Captain, you really shouldn’t be blocking my view of the proceedings — after all, I am supposed to be a chaperone.’
Chuckling at that, Robert moved away from the window and took a seat on the chaise-longue. ‘I don’t believe it!’ he said. ‘Surely the first requirement of a chaperone is to be that certain age, old enough to have forgotten one’s youth totally, yet not so old that youth is all one does remember?’
His light, teasing tone brought a smile to Louisa’s lips. ‘I’m sure you’re right – unfortunately, there was no one of that description to oblige. And in my position as Miss Tempest’s companion, I was – shall we say, pressured? — into it.’
‘Ah, I see,’ he smiled, as though much had just been explained. ‘And which of the little hot-house flowers is Miss Tempest?’ He peered between the overhanging ferns as Louisa described her. ‘Yes, I see now – the little girl in yellow. I’d say she’d keep you on your toes.’
‘What makes you say that?’
The black moustache twitched again. ‘Hmm. Instinct,’ he admitted, and turned back to Louisa. ‘Am I right? Yes!’ he laughed, ‘I see that I am, and I do not envy you your charge!’
‘Rachel’s young,’ she said defensively, feeling bound to explain her position in the Tempest household, her sympathy with the two girls after the tragic loss of their mother.
‘You have a kind heart,’ he observed. ‘But then, I knew that already. I hope the Tempests appreciate you.’
At a loss for words, Louisa studied her hands, strangely calm despite an inner trembling. She was overwhelmingly aware of his close proximity, an arm resting nonchalantly along the back of the chaise-longue, and one black-clad knee only inches from her own.
‘You know. I’ve wondered what you did and where you lived, ever since our first meeting. You very cleverly let me talk about myself on that occasion, and revealed practically nothing about yourself. But in spite of that, I formed certain ideas about you.’ He paused and she glanced up, again catching that amused twinkle in his eyes. ‘I decided that here was a young lady of great independence, a lady, I told myself, accustomed to giving orders, and to being obeyed. No, don’t frown,’ he admonished, tapping the back of her hand. ‘Independent ladies never frown — they are quite above criticism!’
As she laughed, his left hand closed lightly but firmly over her own; with a quickening heart she looked down, noticing two long, angry scars, which reached from beneath his starched cuff almost to the knuckle. She stared in horrified fascination, wondering what could have caused those wounds. In places it was obvious they had been deep.
Robert leaned closer, whispering like a conspirator in her ear. ‘I had you down for a nursing sister,’ he confessed. ‘Or perhaps a teacher — in a very proper girls’ school. What do you say to that?’
‘I – I don’t know what to say,’ she admitted, forcing a smile. ‘Except – I doubt I could have made a nurse...’
Her eyes gave her away. He withdrew his hand, and for a moment the laughter went out of him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I shouldn’t have taken off my gloves. I’d forgotten — not very pretty, I’m afraid.’
As he pulled on one white kid glove, she said, ‘What happened? You never did say.’
‘I didn’t, did I?’ With a sigh, he shook his head. ‘And now I’m thinking I should have.’ For a long moment his eyes held hers, but in spite of the smile which touched his mouth, there was no amusement, only regret. ‘But this is neither the time nor the place for that kind of confidence. One day, perhaps...?’
The question, left hanging on the air, was dispelled by the sudden opening of the door. As Tommy Fitzsimmons joined them, voices and laughter invaded that precious moment of intimacy.
‘So this is where you’ve gone to earth, you old fox!’ Turning to Louisa, he bowed, begging forgiveness for the intrusion. ‘My old friend has such a habit of disappearing, I have to be sure he’s not eluding his social obligations. However,’ he added gallantly, ‘I see that on this occasion, he is not.’
Covering his displeasure tolerably well, Robert performed the introductions.
‘I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, dear lady,’ Tommy murmured as he bent over her hand. Embarrassed, afraid that she had taken up too much of Captain Duncannon’s time already, Louisa excused herself at the first opportunity.
It app
eared that she had neglected her duties shamefully, for Rachel was nowhere to be seen.
The two men watched as she crossed the room. Taking a glass of wine from a passing servant, Robert drank deeply. ‘Your arrival, my old friend, was most inopportune.’
Surprised, Tommy stared at him. ‘Was it? Sure and I thought I was rescuing you from unwelcome clutches!’
‘Far from it.’
‘My sincere apologies! Had I known... why did you not say? Who is she? I’ve not seen that face before.’
‘She’s the one I was telling you about.’
For a moment or two Tommy thought hard. ‘Not the one you met all those weeks ago?’
Robert nodded. ‘And would you believe it? She’s here with a friend of the Bainbridge girl.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘It’s incredible – seeing her here, of all places! God, but she’s beautiful. Don’t you think so?’ Lost in private reverie, he failed to notice Tommy’s hesitation.
‘Well – yes,’ his friend finally agreed, but it was a gallant rather than sincere assent. Tommy’s taste ran along more obvious lines, and recalling Charlotte’s exquisite and ethereal beauty, he found Robert’s rosy view hard to appreciate.
Louisa returned, her movements sharpened by anxiety.
‘Could you not find her?’ Robert asked, putting down his glass.
‘Oh, I found her. In the hall with Sophie and the young man who’s staying here, giggling quite helplessly, I’m afraid. I couldn’t get any sense out of her. I’m sure she’s been drinking.’
Tommy laughed. ‘I’ll say she has! Downing the punch like it was lemonade. I said she’d regret it, but she’d not listen.’
Louisa closed her eyes tight against a sudden vision of Albert Tempest. ‘Her father will be furious – he doesn’t hold with strong drink. What am I to do?’
‘Food,’ Robert said, taking her arm and ushering her out of the room. ‘Get something inside her to soak up the alcohol, and give her lots of black coffee. It’s only ten o’clock, she’s got time to sober up before you have to leave.’
Louisa Elliott Page 9