Mrs. Budley Falls from Grace

by M C Beaton

“With a wife and children, even such a gloomy and Gothic place as this takes on life and colour. It is a good place for children. The air is healthy and the walks and rides are among the finest in England.”

  Mrs. Budley found her voice. “Why are you telling me all this if you believe me to be an impostor?”

  She lowered her fan and looked at him, her large eyes wide with appeal, begging for escape.

  His eyes raked insolently over her body from the top of her head to her kid-slippered feet. “I do not know who you are or where you came from,” he said, “but it will take me only a short time to find out. There is something in your timid effrontery which pleases me. You are not some cringing young miss being forced into ambitious marital plans by her mother. Are you a widow? I cannot think a married woman would pursue me, although stranger things have happened.”

  Mrs. Budley nodded dumbly.

  “So you see, in my case, a marriage at present would suit me very well. So I am asking you to marry me, Mrs. Budley. Unless, of course, I dig up something really unsavoury in your past.”

  Mrs. Budley stared at him. Then slowly she bent her head forward and began to sob, covering her face with her hands.

  He gave an exclamation and came and knelt in front of her and drew her hands away. “What is this? Tears? Genuine tears? I have offered to marry you, not rape you.”

  Mrs. Budley scrubbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. The other poor relations would never forgive her. But the time had come to tell the truth. She looked steadily into those hooded black eyes which were on a level with her own and said simply, “I apologize for having come here on false pretences, my lord. I came to rob you.”

  “Of what? My land, my castle, my horses? What, pray?”

  She gave a shaky laugh. Now that she was telling the truth, relief flooded her body and made her bold.

  “Nothing so grand,” she said. “Just some very expensive trifle which could be pawned or sold.”

  He retreated to his chair and studied her again. “You could have thieved well enough in the houses of London, Mrs. Budley. I assume you come from London?”

  She nodded.

  “So? It is an expensive journey to Warwickshire.”

  “I will tell you all and throw myself on your mercy,” said Mrs. Budley with a pleading movement of her hands which robbed the words of theatricality.

  “Have you heard of the Poor Relation Hotel in Bond Street?”

  “Someone mentioned it the other day. An odd name.”

  “I am part-owner of that hotel.”

  “This becomes more fascinating by the minute. What is the part-proprietor of a West End hotel doing travelling far into the country to rob a marquess?”

  “It is all that old wretch, Sir Philip’s, fault,” said Mrs. Budley bitterly. “Oh, I had better begin at the beginning.

  “My husband, Jack, was a gambler and left me destitute. I was sitting in Hyde Park crying my eyes out when I was approached by Lady Fortescue and Colonel Sandhurst. They told me they were poor relations, of the genteel poor, that Lady Fortescue owned a house in Bond Street but little else and that they planned to found a colony of other poor relations so that we might share what we had and in return have each other’s company. At the beginning, there were six of us: myself, my friend, Harriet James, Lady Fortescue, Colonel Sandhurst, Sir Philip Sommerville, and Miss Tonks. Sir Philip suggested the idea of the hotel. He said we should call it the Poor Relation and that our relatives would be so outraged they would buy us out. Miss James married the Duke of Rowcester, and that left five of us. Lady Fortescue is now committed to keeping the hotel running, as are the others. We are low in funds. We drew straws. I drew the short one and was told to go and steal something from one of my rich relatives. The fact that all my relatives have cut me off was a cheering one until Sir Philip decided to invent a relative for me, namely you, or rather your uncle. Sir Philip claimed to have had it on the latest intelligence that your uncle was alive, the present marquess, and in his dotage, that he would not know I was not a relative. I was to stay a few days and then lift some expensive trifle.”

  “Amazing! What of morals, Mrs. Budley? Do you not fear for your immortal soul?”

  “No,” she said. “Not at all. You do not know what it is like to shift and scrape. I was lucky. I still had food in the larder when they found me. But Colonel Sandhurst fainted in the Park from hunger. That is how Lady Fortescue found him. If we have stolen anything previously, and I am not admitting we have, it was trifles which were not missed, and which did not cause pain to the owner. I can only beg you not to betray me.”

  There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

  It was a silence in which Mrs. Budley suddenly realized what she had done. Not only had she betrayed herself to him but the others as well. She turned quite white and her hand fluttered to her breast.

  “I will not betray you on one condition,” he said.

  “And that is?” She stared at him as if hypnotized by a snake.

  “That you give me a week of your company.”

  “Company?” she echoed, thinking it a euphemism for the pleasures of the bedchamber.

  “Only company. I have not been in the way of enjoying female company. There is no need to look so frightened. When I say ‘company,’ that is all I mean. Then you may return to your odd companions. I should be shocked by you, Mrs. Budley, but I find you somewhat endearing. So will you stop looking at me as if I am about to bite you? Relax. Be at ease. I have never coerced an unwilling woman yet into my bed and do not mean to start now. So you may begin to entertain me by telling me about your companions. Let us start with Lady Fortescue.”

  “May I have some more wine?”

  “By all means.” He rose and filled her glass.

  She sipped her wine slowly, glancing at him doubtfully from time to time. But he waited patiently. She was wondering whether to trust him. It was a cruel, harsh face, she decided, and yet somehow she trusted him. She had to trust him!

  “Lady Fortescue,” she began, “is, I believe, in her seventies, a great age, but still agile. The hotel means so much to her, because it means such companionship and comfort.”

  “Hardly a success if she must be party to sending an innocent like you out thieving. Go on. Appearance?”

  “Tall. Not stooped. Very black eyes like …” She bit her lip. She had been about to say, “Like yours,” but decided quickly that was too intimate a remark. “White hair and wears paint. She used to wear black although her husband has been dead this age, but Colonel Sandhurst, who appears to be in love with her, persuaded her to put off her mourning weeds.”

  “How old is this colonel?”

  “I overheard Sir Philip say he was probably the same age as Lady Fortescue.”

  “You amaze me. For some it seems that love never dies. For me, it never begins. Go on.”

  “Colonel Sandhurst has several times showed that he would like to take the profits after the sale of the business and retire to the country with Lady Fortescue. Lady Fortescue is related to the Duke of Rowcester and at first, when he threatened to have her committed, the colonel said she was his affianced bride but I have heard no more talk of a wedding, and then I doubt if Sir Philip Sommerville would allow it.”

  “How so?”

  “Because he is nutty about Lady Fortescue himself and very jealous of the colonel.”

  “What a geriatric triangle! I assume Sir Philip is equally ancient.”

  “Oh, yes, but there is no comparison with the colonel. Colonel Sandhurst is a fine-looking gentleman and still handsome. Sir Philip is like a smelly old tortoise.”

  “So why do the rest of you tolerate this horrible Sir Philip?”

  “Because you need someone ruthless in business,” said Mrs. Budley earnestly. “May I have another glass of wine?”

  “Your wish is my command. But do not become too foxed or I will never hear the rest of your tale.” He filled her glass again.

  “For example,
” went on Mrs. Budley, beginning to feel amazingly comfortable, “a family who stayed with us had a reputation of not paying their bills. Sir Philip said they would probably try to sneak off during the night. So he searched their rooms and found a bag of sovereigns and pushed it down the back of the sofa in their sitting-room. They did leave during the night, but Sir Philip had the sovereigns.”

  “But what if they had paid their bill and accused the hotel of theft?”

  “Then they would have been thoroughly embarrassed, for the sovereigns would have been found down the back of the sofa, just as if they had got there by mistake.”

  “I am beginning to see the use of Sir Philip. More.”

  “Miss Tonks’s sister, who is quite a dreadful woman, arrived with her husband to find out if the Miss Tonks, who had been mentioned in the newspapers as one of the owners, was really her sister, but Sir Philip dressed up as Miss Tonks and trounced them.” Mrs. Budley gave a rather tipsy giggle.

  “So we come to Miss Tonks.”

  “Letitia is my friend, although”—here Mrs. Budley’s face darkened—“I thought she might have stood by me instead of encouraging the others to send me here. She is a spinster and was very shy when we first started off together, but one cannot remain shy with such as Sir Philip around with his damned insults.” Mrs. Budley coloured up and looked down into her wine in surprise, as if it were full of swear-words. “I do beg your pardon, my lord.”

  “You mentioned a Harriet James.”

  “Yes, she was our cook when we began, but she married the Duke of Rowcester. She made up her mind to marry him after he rescued her from the hotel after it had been set on fire.”

  “Dukes do not usually marry cooks.”

  “Harriet was good ton, and besides, the duke was once in love with her when she was a débutante.”

  “So this fire? Was it an accident?”

  “Sir Philip does not think so, for Harriet was locked in her room. Lady Fortescue said it was probably started by some rival hotel, but if that were the case, why lock Harriet in her room?”

  “To stop her sounding the alarm?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “How old are you?” he asked abruptly.

  “I am above thirty.”

  “Strange. You look very young. But candle-light is always flattering.”

  “When marquesses are not,” countered Mrs. Budley tartly and then was amazed at her own temerity.

  He smiled. “You have had a long day and must rest. Tomorrow, if the weather is fine, we will ride out and view the countryside. You do ride?”

  “I ride anything,” said Mrs. Budley proudly. “Jack taught me. I used to be so terrified of the horses he threw me up on, and often they just tossed me off their backs. So I had to learn, or I would have been a mass of broken bones.”

  “I will find you a pleasant mount. Perhaps you do not rise early?”

  “Oh, very early.” Mrs. Budley got to her feet and stood swaying. She put a hand to her brow. “I fear I have drunk too much.”

  “Come, I will escort you to your quarters.”

  He put his hand under her elbow to assist her. They walked together along through a chain of rooms and then up a stone staircase. The marquess held a candle in one hand while supporting her with the other, and crazy dancing shadows fled up the stone walls on either side like so many castle ghosts fleeing at their approach.

  Betty was standing waiting silently outside the door to Mrs. Budley’s apartment. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, walking forward and taking charge of Mrs. Budley. “I will put madam to bed.”

  He bowed and left. Mrs. Budley slumped against Betty, who led her into the sitting-room. “He knows all, Betty,” she cried. “I told him everything.”

  “I have never known you to come back from the dinner-table glorious before,” chided Betty. “You do not know what you are saying. John has just been here to tell me that the old marquess died six months ago. Hush, now. Your nerves and the wine have got the better of you. Of course you didn’t tell him the truth.”

  “But I did,” wailed Mrs. Budley, “and he asked me to m-marry h-him.”

  “This is mortal bad,” said Betty. “I’ll get John.”

  She darted out with that girlish sprightliness of hers, odd in such a bent figure.

  Mrs. Budley sat down by the fire, her head reeling.

  Betty returned in a short time with John. Both stood in front of her, their eyes stern.

  “Now, madam,” said John. “Let’s be having all of it.”

  Sobering rapidly, Mrs. Budley said, “I was overset. He discovered I am an impostor.”

  “Not a hanging matter,” said John. “What else?”

  “I told him all about us, about how I had come to r-rob him …”

  “We’d best be out of here fast,” said John. “At least he won’t know where to find you.”

  “H-he does. I told him all about the Poor Relation Hotel and—”

  “You had no right to do that there,” said John fiercely. “Me and Betty belong by rights to Lady Fortescue and all our loyalty is to her.”

  “But he will not betray me … any of us … so long as I stay a few days to keep him company.”

  John looked her up and down and his wrath perceptibly cooled. “There now. When all’s said and done it might have been worse. If his lordship only wants a little pleasure with you, then you owe it to her ladyship to grin and bear it. I thought Betty must have got it wrong when she reported you had said his lordship had proposed to you.”

  “But he did,” wailed Mrs. Budley. “And I was so overset that I told him the truth!”

  “I don’t understand,” said Betty crossly. “You were on the edge of being a marchioness, so you chose to not only betray yourself but my lady as well?”

  “Oh, Betty, it is not so bad. Honestly. He said that provided I spend some time in his company—and only his company—that he would keep quiet.”

  “And you believed him?” John stood over her, his hands on his hips. Visiting foreign nobles and their families were often appalled at the democratic outspokenness of the English lower orders to their betters. John addressed Mrs. Budley like an equal. “Well, Mrs. Budley, whether his lordship has company or dalliance in mind, it does not matter. It is your duty to protect Lady Fortescue. You will keep his lordship sweet and we will be here to see you do it.”

  “Just wait till Sir Philip hears what you’ve done,” said Betty with gloomy relish.

  “Do you have to tell the rest?” pleaded Mrs. Budley.

  “‘Tis our duty to do so,” said John. “What if he changes his mind one day and betrays the lot of us?”

  “I shall deny everything,” gasped Mrs. Budley. “I shall say he is lying.”

  “Your word against a marquess?” John loomed over her. “Harkee, the Duke of Rowcester will begin to search through his mansion, remembering Sir Philip’s visit, and will discover whatever it was he took, for Sir Philip still hasn’t told nobody what he filched. Then there’ll be others. You’ll have us all at Newgate. No, it’s up to you to do your best. That’s all I am saying for now.” And having delivered himself of this lecture with all the authority of a cross father, John suddenly remembered his role in life and sketched a bow before taking his leave.

  The poor relations were in their sitting-room discussing Mrs. Budley. Dinner at the hotel was over. It had been a busy day. Several people had left and had paid their bills without having to be threatened or coerced into doing so—an odd event in an age when society took pride in paying as few people as possible—and more people had arrived to take up the empty rooms.

  “We should have waited,” said Lady Fortescue, “and not sent little Mrs. Budley off to that castle. There was no need to panic after all over lack of funds. She’ll make a mull of it. Those innocent types always do,” remarked Lady Fortescue with all the aplomb of a hardened criminal.

  “She’ll soon be back,” said Sir Philip and shifted uneasily in his chair. “Pass
the decanter, Colonel.”

  “Sinking it a bit tonight, aren’t you?” remarked the colonel but he passed the decanter.

  “What sort of friend am I?” cried Miss Tonks, striking her flat chest. “I should have protested. I should have stopped her going.”

  Lady Fortescue waited for the inevitable withering remark from Sir Philip, who always slapped down the spinster when she became theatrical, but Sir Philip was staring moodily into his brandy glass, tipping the fiery liquid this way and that. Lady Fortescue’s black eyes suddenly narrowed. She rose and picked up an oil-lamp and placed it on a table next to Sir Philip and stood studying him.

  He gave a shifty smile. “Admiring my handsome phiz, dear lady?”

  “Guilt is emanating from you like a dark cloud, Sir Philip. Instead of helping us at the dinner, you were drinking in Limmer’s. No, don’t deny it. For the footboy saw you going in there at six.”

  “What does that little fart catcher know about anything?” retorted Sir Philip defensively, using the vulgar cant for a footboy, who had earned the crude title because he always walked so close behind master or mistress.

  “Ladies present,” said the colonel wrathfully.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” said Miss Tonks. “The man has a mouth like a common sewer, with rats of vulgarity running around in it.”

  Lady Fortescue listened neither to the colonel nor to Miss Tonks. She continued to study Sir Philip.

  “Limmer’s is where you picked up the gossip about the doddering marquess,” she said. “You go to Limmer’s tonight and come back worried and pensive. Out with it! We may as well know the worst.”

  “Peterhouse died six months ago,” said Sir Philip.

  There was a shocked silence.

  Miss Tonks was the first to find her voice.

  “And who is the new marquess?”

  “Rupert Lamont Sinclair Bretherton. Aged thirty-three. Soldier. Major in the 49th. Hard as old boots. Bachelor. Don’t all stare at me like that. How was I to know?”

  “You know what I think?” said the colonel wrathfully. “I think you got hold of an old piece of gossip and tried to pass it off as new coin. We had better rescue Mrs. Budley.”