Thick As Thieves

by Joan Smith

  At seven-twenty I changed my pearls for diamonds. At seven twenty-five, I took the brush to my curls and redid my simple coil to a more exotic thing, with loops over the ears. When a lady wearing chiffon and an ermine-tipped wrap descended from a crested carriage at seven-thirty, I made a hasty scramble out of my blue lutestring gown into my best outfit, doing considerable damage to the loops of hair in the process. At seven thirty-five I was ready, decked out in an “informal” gown of rose satin, wearing diamonds and the aforesaid exotic hairdo. My stomach was in knots, and my hands were shaking.

  Five minutes later, Lady Filmore welcomed us into a gracious saloon done up in pale shades of green watered moire that gave the curious effect of being in the sea, rather than beside it. She was wearing a silk gown of French cut that might have been called informal by Marie Antoinette, perhaps. It was not overly ornate, but it reeked of elegance. Bits of blond lace showed at the top, and minute green bows littered the skirt. Her hair was fluffed about her ears in soft curls. Perhaps that was what she meant by informal. I felt my hair was hideously overdone. We brushed cheeks in a ritual kiss, and expressed the greatest delight in meeting again.

  "You probably know everyone,” she said, drawing us into the middle of a crowd of perfect strangers.

  After the introductions, I could not recall a single name except Lord Harelson. He was a tall, slender, blond dandy, nearly as pretty as Lady Filmore. He wore an expression of weary disdain, and had petulant lips. I did catch an occasional “Lord” this or “Lady” that during the introductions, but what came after the title invariably sounded like a vegetable. Cauliflower, or broccoli, or some long string of uncertain syllables. I noticed in particular that there was not a sign of Mr. Dalton anywhere. This unnerved me to no small extent. I had thought I would have at least one friend in the house, if I may call a gentleman of two days’ acquaintance a friend.

  Lady Cauliflower (or perhaps it was Collifer, or Col something) drew a chair up beside mine and began to coze as if we were bosom bows. She was a gruff-voiced grenadier of a lady with white hair. “You have taken Grieve's place,” she informed me. I could not deny it, though it sounded like an accusation. “A shocking dark old dungeon."

  "But the gardens are pretty."

  "Aye, they are. I daresay she conned you into paying her gardener for her?"

  "The gardener is staying on."

  "I thought as much. I hired the dungeon one season. That is what the locals call it. Never again. It is a pity that was the only house left unrented. It is always the last to go."

  "I did not realize Lady Grieve was in the habit of hiring it,” I said. You will realize why this struck me as noteworthy.

  "She usually manages to get a taker at the last minute. There is a fortune to be made in Brighton if some sharp person with blunt put up a decent set of flats for hire, as they have done in Bath. It could be done for under fifty thousand. Now, there is something you could think of doing with your blunt, Miss Denver."

  "What an interesting idea,” I said, with whatever remained of my wits. Where had she walked away with the notion that I had that kind of money to spend? She had obviously read the notice in the London journals, and overestimated my worth.

  Ere long she darted off to have a word with Hennie, and her seat was taken by Lord Broccoli, who turned out to be Lord Brockley. A natural error on my part. He was a stumpy little fellow, built unusually low to the ground, like a chimpanzee. What remained of his hair was a pretty chestnut color, growing in a circle around his head, with a bald spot showing on top. He used a quizzing glass and had snuff spilled down the front of his waistcoat. He was dressed all in gray, like Hennie.

  "You would be our tin heiress,” he said, spearing me with a sharp blue eye. “Hired the Grieve's dungeon. Pity. Read about it in the Brighton Bugle."

  "Was it in the Brighton papers, too?"

  "This morning. Causing a good bit of stir, m'dear. And your aunt as well. A fine-looking lady. Is she also from Cornwall?"

  "From Cranbrook, actually.” I had a feeling “from Cornwall” meant “did she also own a tin mine?"

  "You want to keep a weather eye out for the fortune hunters. We get a deal of them here in the summer. Dalton will keep an eye on you. And if he don't, I shall. Ha ha."

  He went on to reveal a life on the rolling waves. He had commanded a ship under Admiral Nelson, and declared that he would not live anywhere but on the coast, “not if you promised me a gold mine—or a tin mine. Ha ha.” He touched his glass to mine and said, “A willing foe and sea room.” I blinked to hear we were foes, on such short acquaintance. “Nelson's toast,” he told me. “Many a bumper of rum I have enjoyed with him. The finest man who ever commanded a fleet, bar none."

  Others accosted me as well. My fame had come before me, paving my way into the charmed circle. The only face that frowned on me was that of Lord Harelson, but as he gave everyone in the room the same rebukeful look, I did not take it personally.

  It rankled that Dalton had conned me about Grieve's dungeon, but I could forgive him, as I was making friends for the next season in London. At length we were called to dinner, and still no sign of our host!

  When dinner was announced, I had the notion that Lord Harelson was propelling his frown in my direction. Lord Brockley beat him to it; snatched my elbow and said he would “pilot me through the shoals to a snug harbor,” which he did.

  Chapter Five

  Mr. Dalton was in the dining room when we entered, having gained access by some other route than via the saloon. He looked a pineapple of perfection in his evening clothes, nor did his table leave anything to be desired. The usual complement of silver, china, and crystal were on display, set off with a huge bouquet of garden flowers in the center.

  Seascape paintings hung on the wall. These were a little boring but infinitely preferable to the pictures of dead game that decorated Lorene's dining room, and were enough to turn you against your mutton. The food was good and plentiful, with perhaps more emphasis on fruits of the sea than I liked.

  Dalton apologized to his guests for his late arrival, explaining that he had been detained by his man of business. I would not leave my guests waiting for the convenience of my man of business, but the assembled company smiled their understanding, and I did likewise.

  With such a surfeit of titles in the room, it was not to be expected that I sat within hollering distance of my host. We did no more than exchange a smile until after dinner, when the gentlemen had enjoyed their port and the ladies had enjoyed quizzing me about my fortune.

  Dalton spoke to a few of the older ladies before wending his way to my chair, but I had the feeling from his first entry that I was his target, for he glanced at me several times. Our first conversation had to do with my trip to Brighton. Next was a question as to how I liked Lady Grieve's house.

  "It is fine, if one enjoys living in a dungeon,” I replied, with a sapient look.

  "I offered to show you the house before you hired it."

  "And I, like a fool, trusted your judgment. Odd you have not paneled your own house in dark oak, as you are so fond of it. I hope you did not put yourself to too much trouble convincing her ladyship to let me rent the place."

  A trace of pink showed above his cravat, but he carried it off pretty well. “Caught in a snare of my own devising. It was a wretched thing to do; let us blame my eagerness for your company. There was nothing else vacant. Really it is not a bad house. I know for a fact that two other families were after it, which is why I was in such a rush to see Lady Grieve in London. The roof don't leak, the view is marvelous, and the gardens!"

  His excuse was flattering enough to put me back in humor. “The deed is done. I have signed the contract, so I shall not give way to futile repinings."

  "I hope the dinner party, at least, pleases you."

  "Very nice. Now that I am aware of your sister's idea of meeting a few friends informally, I shall know how to behave if I am ever invited to a formal do. I shall rent Queen Charlotte's cr
own and buy a crimson velvet cloak."

  He smiled to see me in good humor. “Tomorrow I shall show you the town—if you are free?"

  "Shall we make it for the afternoon? I mean to tour the house and write up a list of things to have sent from London in the morning. I think that with a little effort, I can make the dungeon habitable. Lady Grieve won't mind if I store those cheap tourist things and take her fading prints to the attic?"

  "She would have not objection if you painted the dark oak, or installed new window hangings. She no longer uses the house, but has taken the idea it swells in value every day, so she is in no hurry to sell."

  "I daresay she is right."

  I had some more personal conversation for Mr. Dalton's ears, but it could wait for tomorrow. I meant to disillusion him regarding the extent of my fortune. Perhaps he, like Brockley and Collifer, believed me a nabob. I could not but wonder if that was why he was treating me so grandly. I also wondered how he knew I was a tin heiress. I had not told him.

  No sooner had Mr. Dalton moved away than Lord Harelson brought his sneer to entertain me. “So you are Miss Denver,” he said, in an uppity way that set my nerves on edge.

  "And you, I collect, are Lord Harelson?"

  "Just so."

  "How nice for you,” I said, in a manner imitating his own ennui.

  "Nicer to be the elder son,” he replied.

  "Oh?"

  "Harelson is my Christian name. It can be misleading."

  This was of no possible interest to me, nor to any lady, unless she hoped to marry him. I assumed that Lady Filmore was aware of his status. “Where are you staying in Brighton, Lord Harelson?” I asked, for conversation's sake.

  "In Papa's ugly old mansion on East Street, south of the pavilion. Papa used to be one of Prinny's set."

  I asked about the princes's pavilion, and he described it in the most denigrating manner for five minutes. “I'll take you to see it, if you like,” he said. I was amazed at the offer, coming from this sneering young nobleman.

  "Very kind of you."

  "May I call tomorrow and we shall arrange a time?"

  It would be hard to say whether I was more surprised or displeased at the offer. “Mr. Dalton has promised to show me the town tomorrow afternoon."

  "The morning, then?"

  I could not like to offend Lady Filmore's special friend. Did he mean to bring her with him? If not, she might take a pet, and I was particularly anxious to keep in her good graces.

  "Lady Filmore mentioned calling in the morning,” I said. It was an outright lie, but I have never felt social lies counted for much.

  "Another time, then. I shall pop in one of these days.” On this cavalier speech, he rose and sauntered off, leaving me in confusion.

  I soon concluded that the informal aspect of Lady Filmore's party meant she had provided no entertainment for after dinner. No one mentioned cards, or music, or dancing. Around eleven o'clock, the guests began to leave. Not wishing to hang on later than the rest, Hennie and I left, too. Lord Harelson had settled into a corner with a book, looking as if he meant to outsit us all. I could not think much of Lady Filmore's taste in beaux.

  At home, Hennie and I settled in to discuss our outing. “Lord Harelson seems perpetually bored,” I said.

  "Lord Brockley hinted that you don't want to let him attach himself to you. Not the thing, he said."

  "I cannot believe Mr. Dalton would let his sister go about with Harelson if there is anything wrong with him."

  "I don't know just what Lord Brockley meant. He hadn't a good word to say about Lord Castlereagh or the Eldons either."

  "Perhaps he is a Whig, and Harelson a Tory.” I mentioned that Mr. Dalton was driving us out to see Brighton tomorrow.

  "Us, or you?” she asked archly.

  "Why, I just assumed..."

  "I shall be busy, but you go ahead, Eve,” she said. “Lord Brockley offered to give me the tour."

  "Aha! A beau!"

  She turned pink as a peony and scoffed at the idea. We had a cup of cocoa and retired at eleven-thirty. It had been an enjoyable evening. Images from our busy day whirled around in my head as I lay in that strange bed, listening to the ocean rolling in. It sounded louder in the stillness of the night, but not too loud. I could become accustomed to it, with time.

  A pleasant summer loomed before me—drives along the ocean, dinner parties, a few routs or assemblies, perhaps. Odd that with all the wonders of London, it was at little Brighton that I was beginning to find my social sea legs. I only hoped they would not be cut out from under me when the true size of my fortune was discovered. Thirty thousand was not contemptible by any means, but I had the vague feeling that these new acquaintances felt it was much more.

  Lorene had not owned the tin mine outright. She was only a shareholder. While I had a larger fortune than many noble daughters, I had no grand family to enhance me. Just money was deemed rather vulgar. Some out-of-pocket minor nobleman might be happy to have me, but the world would know why he had married Miss Denver, from Cornwall. I did not intend to become a laughingstock in society, vulgarly buying myself a title.

  In the morning, Hennie and I made a complete tour of the house, jotting down those items to be replaced. I itemized what I wished to be sent from London, and sent Tumble off in my carriage, as I would not need it that day. He was to stay overnight in London and return the next day. By eleven I was finished, and went out to inspect the garden.

  I am no gardener, but certainly there were all sorts of beautiful flowers growing in profusion. The place was a regular bower of bliss, with a domed gazebo painted white in one corner, and a big enough lawn in the center to hold a table and chairs for my garden party. The gardener's name was Luke. He looked like a fox, with red hair, a pointy nose, and sly eyes. I found him bent over a berry patch, culling berries. He had a six-quart basket full and was not halfway along the patch yet.

  "How nice! We shall have some of those for lunch!” I exclaimed. It occurred to me that the excess might make a nice thank-you present for Lady Filmore. I mentioned it to Luke.

  He gave a sly smile, and began at once to talk about the roses. He was into a long speech about spraying against aphids when Hennie's head poked out the door and told me that Lady Filmore was here.

  I hastened inside to make her welcome. She looked particularly lovely that day in a high poke bonnet and a pink sprigged muslin that would have looked ridiculous on anyone but Lady Filmore. It resembled something out of a children's book, with a wide ribbon at the waist and a great deal of bows and trim.

  We brushed cheeks again. That seemed to be her standard greeting. I ordered tea, and we sat down to chat. Our first conversation was about her dinner party. She added a few details about some of the guests, but I felt her heart was not in it. Her blue eyes were shadowed, and her lips drooped.

  "Is something the matter, Lady Filmore?” I asked gently.

  Without further ado, she drew out a lace hankie and applied it to her eyes. “It is Harelson,” she sniffled.

  "Mr. Dalton has turned him off?” I asked. This seemed the likeliest explanation, bearing in mind Lord Brockley's hint.

  "No, it is not that Richard dislikes him. I have been seeing him for six months, more or less. I was sure he meant to marry me. I mean he even—he was most particular in his advances.” She blushed up to her ears. I assumed she had allowed him certain intimacies that a lady only allows a prospective husband.

  "Then what is the trouble?” I inquired.

  "I don't think he loves me anymore,” she said, and began bawling again. “I met Annabelle Monk in the shops this morning, and she said he had taken her to a picnic at St. Ann's Well yesterday afternoon. I had asked him to take me to the cemetery that afternoon—Mama is buried there, just by St. Nicholas Church, you know—and he told me he had to get his hair cut."

  I patted her hand. “Perhaps you are as well off without him, Lady Filmore. He is only a younger son."

  "I do not care for that!” she
said angrily. “We would have plenty of blunt at least."

  "You are fortunate to have been left well off,” I said. I naturally assumed the late Lord Filmore had left her wealthy.

  "I?” she said, staring with those big blue eyes, misted with tears. “Good gracious, I have not two pennies to rub together. Filmore left me destitute. He was a shocking bad manager. He lost my fortune and his own upon the ‘change. I would not be battening myself on Richard if I had any money of my own, for he is very strict, considering I am not a deb. No, Harelson is well to grass, you must know. His papa is a wicked nipcheese, but some aunt left him a fortune."

  "Well,” I said, racking my brain for something to comfort her. “Gentlemen sometimes like to sow their oats before they settle down. Harelson is young yet, and so are you."

  "I am practically twenty, Miss Denver,” she said severely. I felt about a hundred and ten. “And Harelson is twenty-seven. I know he means to shab off on me."

  This answered one question that had been puzzling me. I no longer thought that Lord Harelson meant to bring Lady Filmore when he called on me. I decided then and there I would not be home whenever he called. I did not care for him, and I certainly did not want to fall into Lady Filmore's bad books.

  "Perhaps you have inadvertently offended him, in some manner,” I said.

  She sat, thinking about this in silence. At length I suggested we go into the garden, hoping the sunshine and flowers might be better for her than the unalleviated gloom of dark oak and dusty windows. I would set the servants to cleaning the windows that afternoon.

  Luke had disappeared. I mentioned the strawberries to Lady Filmore, and she smiled her thanks. Unfortunately, Luke had not taken them to Cook, so I told her I would send them over when he returned. I also wondered where he was, when he should have been at work.

  We chatted for half an hour, becoming better acquainted. I mentioned my alfresco party, and she smiled. “I shall wear my leghorn bonnet. I cannot wear it in the carriage, for it always blows off, and for walking, it is impossible."