Rake's Progress: A Novel of Regency England - Being the Fourth Volume of A House for the Season

by M. C. Beaton

  “May I offer you some refreshment, my lord?” she said.

  “Thank you. You are very kind.”

  Once indoors, Esther put him in the dim and dark saloon and took the excited children upstairs. Before she turned them over to the nursery maid, she begged them not to tell any of the servants, “for it was a most wild and unconventional thing to do,” she ended uncomfortably.

  “We won’t tell a soul, will we, Amy?” said Peter. “You’ve never given us a big secret to keep before, Esther.”

  Once she had called the nursery maid, Esther rang for her own maid and, with her help, changed her gown and put her hair into a knot, shoved one of her caps firmly on top, and went down the stairs again to face Lord Guy.

  It was an evening for breaking the conventions. Esther knew, as she was unmarried and unchaperoned, she should have left the door open. But she was frightened of one of the servants hearing what she had to say, and so, once she had ascertained that wine and cakes had been brought in, she closed the door.

  Lord Guy poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. Esther was about to point out that she had never in her life had anything stronger than lemonade, but she was still shaken, and so she took the glass and asked Lord Guy to sit down.

  “I gather you do not use this room much, ma’am,” said Lord Guy, sitting down on an uncomfortable high-backed and carved Jacobean monstrosity.

  “On the contrary,” said Esther, automatically sipping her wine, “it is in constant use.”

  Lord Guy looked about. The room was dominated by a sort of pulpit with a large Bible on it. The curtains at the windows were as heavy and red and stiff as if they had been steeped in blood. The mantelpiece was of black marble, as was the clock on it. There was a painting above the fireplace of a cross-looking man in severe clothes who was pointing solemnly at his ear, rather as if to show a doctor where it hurt, or to indicate the whole world was mad.

  “Your father?” asked Lord Guy politely.

  “No, my lord,” said Esther with a return to her usual manner. “That is one of our great evangelical reformers, Mr. Isaac Sidcup.”

  He noticed she had drunk almost all of her wine, and refilled her glass.

  He sat down again and crossed a pair of well-moulded legs. People went on about present-day women’s fashions being indecent, thought Esther. But the men wear their Inexpressibles so skin-tight, they leave little to the imagination.

  She frowned suspiciously at her wineglass. Was this why the preachers warned against the pernicious effects of wine? Was it the wine that was causing her to think about men’s legs?

  Esther looked up and saw Lord Guy was studying her with a mixture of tenderness and amusement. He is very handsome, she thought breathlessly.

  With an obvious effort, she pulled herself together.

  “My lord,” she said, “I trust you will not speak of the happenings tonight or that I entertained you without a chaperone.”

  “You have my solemn word.”

  “On the other hand, I do not see how it can be kept quiet. The whole of London will be talking about it tomorrow.”

  “They will gossip furiously about what appeared to be an exciting theatrical performance. They will not believe the actress they saw is a respectable lady, living in Berkeley Square. Avoid social engagements for a week. After that, everyone will have forgotten about it.”

  “I have no social engagements,” said Esther. “Your unusual and estimable butler suggested perhaps I should look to the future—the children’s future—and make some friends in the ton. I am not of the aristocracy.”

  “You are obviously of the gentry. You will not find any doors closed to you—if you go about it the right way.”

  “And what is the right way?”

  “I suggest you hold an entertainment and ask my butler how to go about it. It appears one must have a theme, decorate the rooms, and provide an entertainment which will intrigue society.”

  “But I do not know anyone!”

  “Send out richly embossed invitations. London is thin of amusements. Rainbird will know whom you should invite.”

  “You are most kind.” Esther rose to her feet as a signal that the call was at an end.

  “May I call on you, ma’am?” asked Lord Guy.

  “I cannot allow that,” said Esther gravely. “I have the children’s morals to consider. I fear you are a rake.”

  “Rakes can reform.”

  Esther shook her head, unconsciously echoing Rain-bird. “That only happens in books, my lord,” she said sadly. “Only in books.”

  Lord Guy dismissed the carriage and walked slowly back to Clarges Street. Damn that supper party! Was he never to be free of the scandal that had caused?

  Rainbird was waiting for him in the hall.

  “Good evening, my lord,” he said, taking Lord Guy’s cloak and seemingly oblivious to Manuel, who stood scowling in the shadows.

  “Good evening, Rainbird. Mr. Roger at home?”

  “He is not yet returned.”

  “Good. Come with me, Rainbird. You must return to Berkeley Square as soon as possible.”

  Chapter

  Five

  ‘Come, come,’ said Tom’s father, ‘at your time of

  life,

  ‘There’s no longer excuse for thus playing the rake—

  ‘It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife’—

  ‘Why, so it is, father—whose wife shall I take?’

  —THOMAS MOORE

  Once more Rainbird sat facing Miss Esther Jones. He politely asked if she had enjoyed Astley’s and was surprised to see that his innocent question had brought a blush to her cheeks.

  He quickly changed the subject and asked how he could be of service to her.

  “I do not know what your master has told you,” said Esther, “but the fact is I am desirous of taking your advice and introducing myself to the ton.”

  “I have given the matter careful thought,” said Rainbird, “for my lord did mention the matter to me. I think a children’s party would be a good idea. There are many tonnish children in Berkeley Square.”

  “What a wonderful idea!” cried Esther. Then her face fell. “But how do I go about inviting them? I regret to say I have not allowed Peter or Amy to play with any children.”

  “It will be necessary for me to prepare the ground first,” said Rainbird. “To that end, I must ask you two seemingly impertinent questions.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Are you engaged to be married?”

  “No, Mr. Rainbird.”

  Rainbird smiled with pleasure at the flattering use of that little word “Mr.” in front of his name. The small courtesy meant more to him than any lavish tip.

  “And,” he pursued, “are you in comfortable circumstances?”

  “Very. I regret to confess to one sin. I gamble on ’Change. It is said in the City that my wealth rivals that of Rothschild.”

  “May I say, then, Miss Jones, you will have no trouble at all in attracting the attention of the ton when such facts are made known.”

  “Are they all so mercenary?”

  “In the main, yes. Of course, my master has a mind above such worldly things,” said Rainbird, tilting his head on one side and looking at her searchingly.

  But Esther did not rise to the bait. “And how do you go about broadcasting such tempting facts? You can hardly take an advertisement in the Morning Post.”

  “Servants’ gossip is very useful if cleverly used,” said Rainbird. “Tonight I will go out drinking and gossiping. By tomorrow, the whole of Berkeley Square will know of the existence of Miss Jones.”

  “And then I shall send out my invitations to a children’s party,” cried Esther, her eyes shining. “It is a wonderful idea!”

  “What a deuced stupid idea,” said Lord Guy crossly after Rainbird had reported back to him. “A children’s party! Of what use is that to me?”

  “Have you ever attended a ton children’s party, my lord?” aske
d Rainbird.

  “No. Have you?”

  “Yes, my lord. Before I went into service, I worked as an acrobat on the fairgrounds, also as a magician and juggler. I came to London and hired myself out as an entertainer for children’s parties. It nigh broke my spirit.”

  A wicked gleam entered Lord Guy’s eye. “And does the fair Miss Jones know what she is in for?”

  “No, my lord. She has only seen the children of Mayfair accompanied by strict nannies and governesses. She has never seen what the little darlings are like when they are with their fond mamas.”

  “And where do I come in?”

  “I think, my lord, you come in just about half an hour after the party has begun. I shall be looking for you as you fortuitously happen to be strolling past.”

  “And I leap to the rescue?”

  “Yes, my lord. You step in with a firm hand and a stern moralising tone.”

  “Have you been invited?” asked Lord Guy. This butler was an attractive fellow with his trim figure and humourous face. Could Miss Jones …? Lord Guy almost swore. He was becoming jealous of a servant.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Rainbird. “I am the entertainer. Angus MacGregor, your lordship’s chef, has been engaged for the day. He is wonderful at making elaborate confectionery.”

  “Has Miss Jones not managed to train her servants properly that she needs must borrow mine?”

  “It takes a certain type of servant,” said Rainbird. “We are not all alike, my lord.”

  “No, I can see that. It was uncharitable of me.”

  “Joseph is to serve the ices and jellies to the children.” Rainbird studied the ceiling. “Joseph is a sensitive creature and brings out the worst in women and children.”

  The street door knocker began to sound.

  “Let Manuel answer that,” said Lord Guy.

  “Your servant went out, my lord, just after you arrived home.”

  “Then send whoever it is away. I am in no mood for callers.”

  Rainbird came back a few minutes later with a silver card on a tray, which he presented to Lord Guy.

  “It is a Lady Debenham,” he said, “with her children’s governess. She insists on seeing your lordship. She claims her governess was grossly insulted by Joseph.”

  “That is Joseph of the sensitive nature?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Must I see her?”

  “That is for you to say, my lord,” said Rainbird. “Lady Debenham lives at Number Fifty-two.”

  “Very well. Bring her in. And Joseph.”

  Lord Guy rose to his feet as Lady Debenham entered the room.

  She looked remarkably like her governess, being harsh of feature and haughty of manner. She sat down primly, and Miss Hunt stood to attention behind her chair.

  “I would not have come here had I not felt strongly over the insult to my poor Miss Hunt,” began Lady Debenham.

  Joseph sidled in and stood looking wretched.

  “Pray tell me what happened, Lady Debenham,” said Lord Guy.

  “Your footman, accompanied by another footman, approached Miss Hunt. Your footman had thé impertinence to present her with a silk rose, which she, of course, refused. One of them shouted something frightful at her. Miss Hunt has great sensibility. She had a Spasm as soon as she was safely inside the house.

  “It offends my sensibilities to have to set foot inside this house, my lord. I take leave to tell you, you have brought shame on Mayfair with your antics. I take further leave to tell you—”

  Lord Guy raised a hand.

  “Enough!” he said. “Joseph, come here! What exactly was said by you or this other footman?”

  “It wasn’t me, honest, my lord. It was Luke,” said Joseph, shuffling forward and standing with his head bowed.

  “Raise your head, man, when you address me!”

  Joseph raised his head. There was the glint of tears in his eyes and his lip was trembling.

  “I ask you again, what did this fellow, Luke, say?”

  “I give … gave a silk rose to Miss Hunt, as a present, like,” said Joseph miserably. “She said nothink, just raised her eyebrows and turned her back. Luke, he … he …”

  “Come on. Come on. Out with it!”

  “He said, ‘I bets you w-wears d-dirty d-drawers,’” said Joseph, beginning to sob.

  Lord Guy took out his quizzing glass, polished it, raised it to one eye and thoughtfully studied the iron-faced Miss Hunt.

  “And do you?” he asked mildly.

  “My lord?” said Miss Hunt.

  “Do you wear dirty drawers?”

  Rainbird turned quickly away to hide a smile. Joseph’s mouth dropped open.

  Lady Debenham began to make strange puffing noises, like one of the new steam engines. Then, out of all the chugging and puffing, her voice suddenly screamed, “How dare you?”

  “If you walk into my house and insult me,” said Lord Guy indifferently, “then you must expect to be insulted in return.”

  “You, my lord, are as bad as your servants.”

  “And you, my lady, are a sour-faced, ungracious, Friday-faced frump, just like your servant.”

  “Come, Miss Hunt,” cried Lady Debenham.

  “I feel a Spasm coming on,” faltered Miss Hunt.

  “Pull yourself together,” snapped Lady Debenham. “It is I who is entitled to have a Spasm, not you.”

  She swept out, nearly colliding with Rainbird as he leapt to hold the door open for her.

  Rainbird saw them out and returned to the front parlour. I must not laugh, he thought, but laughter was bubbling up inside him.

  “Now, Joseph,” said Lord Guy, “it seems you were wrong in your choice of friend and in your choice of inamorata. What on earth made you want to give an expensive present to a nasty woman like that?”

  Joseph hung his head. “It wasn’t really for her, my lord. It was for Lizzie.”

  Lizzie? thought Lord Guy. Then his face cleared. Lizzie was the scullery maid who had so impressed Miss Jones.

  “Ah,” he said, “our Lizzie is by way of being something of a catalyst.”

  “No, my lord,” said Joseph. “Lizzie’s a Roman Catholic.”

  “Well, if you bought the rose for Lizzie, why give it to Miss Hunt?”

  “I lied to Luke, my lord. Luke is Lord Charteris’, next doors’, first footman. I couldn’t tell him it was for Lizzie, me being a footman, my lord.”

  “Why not?”

  Joseph blushed and remained silent. Rainbird stepped into the breach. “What Joseph is trying to say, my lord, is that a scullery maid in the hierarchy of the servants’ hall is far beneath a footman. It would be rather like your lordship buying a genteel present for a tavern wench.”

  Lord Guy blinked. He had often found himself becoming impatient with the snobberies of the ton. He had never guessed that such rigid divisions of caste existed below-stairs.

  “I cannot chastise Luke,” said Lord Guy. “That is a job for Lord Charteris. You are infuriating, you know. I don’t know what came over me. I have never been so rude to a lady in the whole of my life. Get out of here and consider yourself lucky that I don’t complain to the Duke of Pelham’s agent about you.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Joseph, scuttling off.

  Lord Guy turned to the butler. “Now, Rainbird,” he began. He broke off. Rainbird’s face was twitching, and his eyes glistened with tears.

  “Oh, laugh, if you want to,” sighed Lord Guy.

  Rainbird began to laugh. It started off as a restrained titter and ended up as a guffaw. He laughed helplessly, holding his sides, the tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Lord Guy began to laugh as well. He was laughing because Rainbird’s laughter was infectious, and the world was suddenly a glittering and wonderful place because of the very existence of one stern goddess of Berkeley Square.

  The servants had a brief account of what had happened from Joseph—although Joseph did not say the present had really been for Lizzie. T
he presence of Manuel, who slid round the door and joined them, put a damper on the conversation. They were wondering how to get rid of him when Rainbird joined them and said to Manuel, “Have you been mucking about with the newspaper?”

  “Please. I do not understand,” said Manuel.

  “It’s like this. The Morning Post and the News are delivered daily. When his lordship has finished with them, he gives them to me to take down to the servants. Angus said that an article had been cut out of one of the papers with scissors.”

  Manuel shrugged. “His lordship, he want it for something.”

  “It was not his lordship. I asked him. It wasn’t one of us, so that leaves you.”

  “I go,” said Manuel, and vanished out the door.

  “Odd,” said Rainbird. “But that’s got rid of him. Wait till you hear this!”

  The servants roared with laughter over the insult to Lady Debenham and her governess—with the exception of Lizzie, who was still hurt. Rainbird thought Joseph should tell Lizzie himself that he had really bought the rose for her and so left out that part of it.

  Then he told them about his interview with Miss Jones.

  They laughed and gossiped and plotted. Joseph got out his mandolin and began to strum a lively song.

  Lord Guy and Mr. Roger, stepping out, paused to listen to the sounds of merriment drifting up from the basement.

  “I tell you, Tommy,” said Lord Guy, “there’s a whole other life goes on down there.”

  Esther had told her business managers, the gentlemen who “fronted” for her in the buying and selling of stocks and shares, that she would do no further work until the Season was over.

  Up until recently, money had been security. The very sight of her father throwing it away on frivolous trifles had eaten into her soul. But now, for Peter’s and Amy’s sake, she reminded herself sternly, it was time to unloosen the purse strings.

  For the first time in her life, she felt the need of a female companion badly. Her father’s scandalous mode of living had set her apart from the young ladies of the neighbourhood when she was growing up. Now she wished she had someone to help her choose clothes.