by M C Beaton
Lady Mainwaring patted her hand. “Welcome back, Kitty. I thought you had gone forever. We’ll have some nice tea when we get home and you can tell me all about it.”
Under the willow trees in the garden by the canal, Kitty finally sobbed out the story of the two letters. Emily Mainwaring was shocked and puzzled. “Come now, Kitty. You must remember I have known Peter Chesworth for quite a number of years. He is incapable of trying to murder anyone. But someone is. Our first problem is to make sure you are adequately protected at all times. As for your husband, wait and see what happens. I could have sworn he was in love with you.”
“Well, I don’t love him,” said Kitty childishly. “And so he shall find out. Why, he even took Veronica Jackson around when we were engaged. I wonder how he would like it if I started going around with another man?”
Emily looked startled. “Now, Kitty, I’m sure it’s not the answer. Look—we are invited to dinner at the Barlowe-Smellies tomorrow. Your husband and Veronica Jackson will both be there—”
“I won’t go!” screamed Kitty.
“Of course you’ll go and, when you see them together, it will put all this nonsense out of your head. In fact, try to put all these dismal thoughts out of your head right now and think of something absolutely ravishing to wear instead. I never did like Veronica Jackson’s style. She’s one of those bosomy women who eats and drinks so much, she’ll look like a cottage loaf before she’s forty—which isn’t all that far off.”
Kitty looked thoughtfully at the flies dancing over the canal. “Where, by the way, is Mr. Jackson, dead?”
“No, she’s divorced. Her husband ran off to the States with a nineteen-year-old American heiress three years ago. She was very bitter about it. She felt that she ought to be able to philander but not he.”
“Serves her right,” said Kitty, stabbing the point of her parasol into the turf as if it were Veronica Jackson’s heart.
“Kitty, Kitty,” sighed Emily. “It will just turn out to be a very ordinary social evening at the Barlowe-Smellies and you’ll find you have nothing to worry about.”
The following evening, Mrs. Barlowe-Smellie would have given anything to agree with her. Her son, Percy, had just pointed out to her that she had invited the Baron’s mistress along with his wife.
Mrs. Barlowe-Smellie stared at the guest list in horror, hoping that if she kept on looking at it, it might somehow miraculously change. “Don’t you keep up with any of the gossip, Mama?” asked her son.
“Gossip… well… yes… servants, weather, yes… mistresses, no… assignations… bedrooms… whispers… dear, oh, dear… not right… tut… not right at all,” gasped Mrs. Barlowe-Smellie.
“Don’t worry,” said her energetic son, slapping her on the back. “Cheer up, Mater! Veronica Jackson may be a tart but she knows how to behave in company.”
He had reckoned without Veronica’s jealousy of Kitty. As a Baroness, Kitty took precedence over the other ladies in the room. Then she had no right to look so slim and ethereal and so damned virginal, thought Veronica savagely. And she did not like the way Kitty’s husband kept looking at her.
When they were seated at the table, Veronica moved directly to the attack. One of the ladies was complaining about the insolence of a shopgirl in Harridges.
“You should ask Kitty about what goes on in the minds of little shopgirls,” remarked Veronica languidly. “She can give you first-hand information.”
Kitty looked Veronica straight in the eyes. “I see you believe the gossip that I was a shopgirl before I was married. That is not true. My father was a stockbroker. The ‘shopgirl’ came about because of the jealous gossip of some raddled old tart.” And flicking Veronica a look of contempt, Kitty picked up her glass of wine and turned to continue her conversation with the gentleman on her right.
Veronica flushed dark red. She had lost round one. She turned to Peter Chesworth and began to carry on a determined flirtation. Kitty had begun to talk of the weather and how she would love to go boating on the Thames. Veronica’s eyes flashed and she moved forward for round two.
“Peter, darling,” she said in a loud voice with her hand possessively on his arm. “Do you remember that day we spent on the river, floating along under the trees? I shall never forget it.”
Once again she was transfixed by Kitty’s direct stare.
Kitty’s hard, high voice carried round the room. “If you are trying to let me know that you have been carrying on a liaison with my husband, spare your breath. I am well aware of the fact, madame, so you need not try to embarrass me or the rest of the company longer.”
Veronica got to her feet in a rage. “Why, you rude little bitch,” she hissed.
“I may be rude,” said Kitty calmly, “and I may be a bitch, but at least I’m not a silly old tart!”
Veronica burst into noisy tears and ran from the room.
There was a shocked silence, until Mrs. Barlowe-Smellie plunged in, “Treacle tart now… sustaining… nursery food, of course… filling… old nanny used to… but jam… we did love strawberry jam,” she finished brightly.
Everyone immediately started talking about nannies. The man on her left whom Kitty identified as Henry… oh, dear… of the tea party, gave her a wink and said, “I hope you’re not always going to be so brutally honest. We’ll all be scared to death of you.”
“Good,” said Kitty in a composed voice, but putting her hands under the table to stop their trembling. In her mind, a punt floated lazily down the Thames on a sunny afternoon and Veronica’s voluptuous figure was clasped in Peter Chesworth’s arms. Then she took a clear look at the young man. He was not much older than herself and had very fair hair, thick fair lashes, and blue eyes.
Addicted as she was to black curly hair and pale gray eyes, she realized that Henry… oh dear… would be considered a very handsome young man by most of the debutantes.
“Do tell me your name,” she said, blinding him with a dazzling smile. “Mrs. Barlowe-Smellie introduced you as Henry oh dear and I can’t call you that.”
He laughed. “I love the way Mrs. Barlowe-Smellie talks. It’s as good as a crossword. Great fun filling in the blanks. My name is Henry Dwight-Hammond.”
Kitty cried out in surprise. “But I was staying with two sisters of that name at Hadsea only a few days ago.”
“My maiden aunts,” said Henry. “Are they as batty as ever?”
“Oh, no, they’re sweet. I loved them.”
“I like them too,” said Henry. “If only Jane would stop spouting poems at me. When I was out in South Africa with my regiment, she sent me a poem and I left it lying around the barracks by mistake. I never lived it down. Want to hear it?”
Kitty smiled. “Yes, please.”
“Our Henry is out on the veldt
A gun in his hand he heldt
And ever to the fore
He shot the terrible Boer.”
Kitty laughed delightedly and then laughed louder as she caught the cold expression on her husband’s face.
Henry was charmed by her response. “I say, feel like taking a trip to the zoo with me tomorrow? Oh, I am sorry. I got carried away and forgot you were married.”
“Well, if it doesn’t bother you, I don’t see why it should bother me,” said Kitty lightly.
An unidentifiable gleam flickered across Henry’s eyes. “Then shall we say one o’clock tomorrow?”
Kitty nodded and smiled and then her attention was caught by the gentleman on her other side.
Peter Chesworth was unable to get a word alone with his wife. Kitty felt that he could have snubbed Veronica’s flirting easily. She continued to turn all her charm on Henry Dwight-Hammond.
Emily Mainwaring tried to stop Kitty from going out with Henry unescorted. “Young matrons who make a dead set at a young man, the way you did last night, can have their actions misinterpreted.”
“Oh, you’re always so cynical,” said Kitty. “I want to have a bit of fun. And he likes me.”
“I am simply stating the truth,” said Lady Mainwaring. “You have blossomed into a very pretty woman. You will find that a lot of young fellows will ‘like’ you, as you put it, given half a chance.”
“Well, I’m going anyway,” said Kitty mulishly.
Lady Mainwaring was, after all, a few years older than Kitty’s husband and Kitty did so long for the undemanding company of someone her own age.
Henry Dwight-Hammond arrived in a sparkling new motorcar that seemed to seal Lady Mainwaring’s disapproval. Motorcars were not quite respectable. Lady Mainwaring belonged strictly to the “carriage class.”
But Kitty was thrilled. It was all so exciting and “up-to-date.” Up-to-date was the latest slang expression and like most of her contemporaries, Kitty did not want to be thought old-fashioned.
“You are going to the zoo, aren’t you?” Emily asked, peering at the motorcar as if it were some strange beast.
Henry flushed. “I thought we might take a little spin down Richmond way.”
Lady Mainwaring looked Henry straight in the eyes. “I expect Kitty back not later than six this evening.”
“Oh, righty-ho,” said Henry blithely. He added to Kitty as they moved off, “She goes on like your mother.”
Kitty tossed her head. “I’m so tired of old people.”
She immediately felt disloyal but it was so jolly to bowl along in a spanking new motorcar, nipping past the disapproving stares of the ladies and gentlemen in their carriages.
They finally stopped at the Star and Garter at Richmond and Henry ushered Kitty out onto the terrace. It was a weekday, so very few people were on the river. Henry ordered champagne for Kitty and whiskey and soda for himself. The river turned and sparkled under the willow trees. A few children were playing “ducks and drakes” at the water’s edge, their high, excited screams, blown on the summer breeze, reaching Kitty’s ears. They sat in companionable silence for a long time until the tinny tune from a barrel organ down by the river sailed into the air. A drunk man started dancing to the music, his raucous voice floating up to them, mellowed by the distance.
“Oh, yew are my ’oney, ’oneysuckle,
I am the bee.
I’d like ter sip the ’oney
From those sweet red lips, yer see.
I luvs yer dearly, dearly,
And I wants yer ter luv me.
You are the ’oney, ’oneysuckle,
I am the bee.”
Kitty became aware of a hand on her arm and Henry’s whiskey-breath in her ear. “I’d like to sip some honey from your lips, Kitty.”
Kitty drew her arm away and stared at Henry in surprise.
He flushed and then said, “Want to go on the river?”
“Oh, yes,” said Kitty, clapping her hands in delight. Henry had probably just been singing the words of the song. She couldn’t possibly have heard him properly.
He led the way down to the river and helped Kitty into a rowboat and then started rowing swiftly upstream. It was hard-going against the current but Henry was a powerful young man and wanted to get the Baroness away somewhere quiet. Of course she wouldn’t respond to his advances in public.
At last, panting heavily, he moored the boat under the shade of some willows beside a little island. “Shall we sit on the grass for a little?” he asked. Kitty agreed and waited until Henry had spread out a carriage rug on the grass and then she gingerly sat down. Then she jumped in surprise. Henry had removed his jacket, his collar, and his waistcoat. He then flung himself down in the rug beside her and, rolling over, pillowed his head on her lap.
She gazed down transfixed by the red-veined blue eyes that were looking up at her from between their thick, blonde lashes and then suddenly down at her left breast which was being imprisoned by Henry’s hand.
She sat quite still, every detail of the scene bright and vivid as if it had been suddenly lit up by a magnesium flare. The green-and-gray river seemed to have stopped flowing and not a breath of air moved the willow trees. Each long blade of grass stood to attention, a kingfisher sat transfixed on his branch over the water, and on the tanned hand spread over her breast, each gold hair stood out sharply like a pig’s bristle.
Then a breath of wind like a sigh rippled through the leaves and the kingfisher flashed over the water. Kitty tried to struggle to her feet. “What on earth do you think you are doing?” screamed Kitty.
“What am I doing?” mumbled Henry, feeling dizzy with the combination of whiskey, hot sun, and female proximity. Then he straightened up and said in a louder voice, “I’m bloody well making love to you, that’s what. Don’t spoil the day by being coy. What else did you expect?”
“I thought we were spending the day together as friends,” stammered Kitty.
“Oh, come on,” said Henry rudely. “A married woman like yourself hands me an open invitation, as it were, in front of her husband, and you expect me to believe you just wanted the pleasure of my company?” He forced her down on the grass and threw a muscular leg over her slim body, excited to discover it was soft and yielding instead of encased in the usual stays.
Mercifully, a party aboard a pleasure launch rounded the bend of the river and started rudely cheering Henry on. Henry released Kitty and cursed the merrymakers on the boat who were gleefully shouting helpful advice.
Kitty saw her chance of escape and took it. She ran to the rowboat, jumped in, and pushed off. The strong current carried her swiftly downstream away from Henry who was shouting and cursing on the edge of the island. It was then that Kitty realized that the oars were left behind. She settled back in the stern of the boat and resigned herself to her fate, lying back as immobile as the Lady of Shalott and just about as interested in her surroundings.
She sailed past the Star and Garter and was dimly aware of the boatman shouting to her. A stately little figure in one of her high-collared white organza dresses, a white lacy hat, and new white-buttoned boots, Kitty stared straight in front of her, uncaring and unseeing.
Suddenly, a boat hook clamped over the bow jerked her into an awareness of her surroundings. Her rescuers were the men on the pleasure launch and she recoiled from their loud voices and reaching hands. The skipper shoved them aside. “C’mon, miss!” he shouted. “I ain’t going to let any of ’em touch you.”
Kitty grasped the skipper’s hand, was hauled on board, and hustled into the protection of the small wheelhouse, where the skipper seated her on a small stool and slammed the door on the noisy crowd.
She told him in a low voice that the rowboat had escaped from its moorings before Henry could climb aboard and then she blushed painfully as she realized that the skipper must have seen her with Henry on the island. But he merely nodded and puffed away at his pipe. Then he pointed out various landmarks and told her that he would set her down at Blackfriars Pier where she would find a hansom to take her home. From time to time, the leering faces of the increasingly drunken party on board pressed against the windows of the wheelhouse, looking, in the fiery rays of the setting sun, like so many bacchantes staring out of the windows of hell.
The kindly skipper gave her his protection across the pier until she found a hansom and as the cab clopped its way to Regents Park, Kitty felt absolutely miserable and ashamed.
Lady Mainwaring was fortunately in the garden at the back of the house and did not see Kitty’s arrival home in the cab. Kitty did not want to see that “I told you so” look on her friend’s face and was able to escape to her room and change her soiled dress.
She would have been very annoyed had she realized that Lady Mainwaring was perfectly aware that something unpleasant had happened, after one look at her strained face. She would have been equally annoyed had she realized that Emily Mainwaring had spent the afternoon discussing her with her husband.
Peter Chesworth was furious about the letters and furious that Kitty had gone off with Henry Dwight-Hammond.
“The man’s a positive boor. A callow young pup,” he raged. “I’ll wait here until my wife gets bac
k and I’ll insist she comes straight home with me.”
“That won’t get you anywhere, Peter,” sighed Emily. “Kitty pokers up at the merest hint of bullying. Treat her very gently and she’ll come round.”
“What about these letters?” asked Lord Chesworth.
“Given time, Kitty will realize that her mother is strange to say the least and that the anonymous letter was simply a piece of spite.”
“But someone did try to kill her.”
Emily frowned. “I can’t think who on earth would want to, Peter. But Hadsea is a small place and you still get a lot of inbreeding in these country retreats. The local idiot probably had a brainstorm.”
“But it does not have to be a local,” protested Peter. “It could be anyone.”
He frowned suddenly and ran his long fingers through his black hair. “Do you think Henry Dwight-Hammond is enough protection?”
“No, I do not!” said Lady Mainwaring roundly. “And I think Kitty needs protection from him. I sent Judson, my footman, to follow them. He’ll keep up with them easily. A good horse is still the equal of any of these tin-pot motorcars any day. Are you going to the Hallidays’ midnight supper?
Good, then I’ll bring Kitty and you can continue your courtship.”
When Kitty was in her rooms changing, a breathless Judson burst in on Lady Mainwaring with the tale of Kitty’s voyage.
“Why didn’t you take a boat out after them?” snapped Lady Mainwaring.
The poor footman explained that there had not been another one available. He had waited on the pier and the next thing he had known, Kitty flashed past him, alone in the boat. He had ridden down to the next point of access on the river but she had disappeared.
Emily told him of Kitty’s safe return and then sat staring at the canal, deep in thought. Obviously Kitty must be much more closely guarded. At least, she thought grimly, today would have taught her a lesson.