Back in Society (The Poor Relation series)

by Beaton, M. C.

  ‘No one, yer honour,’ gasped the man.

  The comte thrust him away in disgust. ‘Faugh, you smell abominably.’ But his assailant, finding himself released, suddenly took to his heels and ran away with surprising speed, down a dark alley to his left. The comte debated whether to follow him but thought the man’s friends might be waiting. He could not believe the attack was an accident. Someone had sent his coach away. Someone had wanted him to walk home.

  Someone had wanted him dead.

  SEVEN

  I feel the pangs of disappointed love.

  NICHOLAS ROWE

  Two weeks had passed since Lady Farley’s ball and Sir Philip and Mr Davy were closeted in the hotel office.

  ‘You have the necklace?’ asked Mr Davy.

  ‘Yes, they handed it over with no trouble at all,’ said Sir Philip. ‘Now what about this play? I put the idea in Lady Farley’s head before I left.

  ‘It is Act Two of The Beaux Stratagem. We have a few professional actors, including myself, but Lady Bountiful is played by Lady Farley. You play the part of one of the stage-coach passengers at Boniface’s inn. But as soon as Scene Two has been underway for a couple of minutes, you rise and exit. They will think you are playing the part of a departing passenger.’ Mr Davy took out a roll of paper and spread it out on the desk between them. ‘Here is a plan of the house which I have sketched for you. Here is my lady’s bedchamber. If she plans to wear the necklace in the play, I will dissuade her and say it is not suitable for a Restoration comedy. You must make your way to her bedchamber by the back stairs. The servants are to be present at the play, standing behind the guests. Lady Farley wants as big an audience as possible for her talents.’

  ‘Can she act?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. She seemed surprised that she actually had to learn lines and could not command a servant to do it for her. But that is not your affair. I have had to endure such performances before.’

  ‘What do you play?’

  ‘Gibbet, the highwayman.’

  ‘What if her jewel box is locked?’

  ‘Sir Philip, unless I am not mistaken, you are perfectly capable of springing the simple lock usually found on jewel boxes.’

  ‘Maybe. And when is this to take place?’

  ‘This evening.’

  ‘This evening!’ echoed Sir Philip in alarm. ‘Good God, man, what if I had not yet returned!’

  ‘You sent an express to Lady Fortescue saying exactly when you were to return. It all worked out beautifully. You will not forget your promise?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Sir Philip testily. ‘I shall not interfere with your friendship with Miss Tonks. Thinking of marrying her, hey?’

  ‘I did not say that.’

  Good, thought Sir Philip, then I shall propose, and I can say in all innocence that you talked only of friendship.

  ‘What if it does not work?’ he asked aloud, biting his knuckles nervously.

  ‘Provided you are quick and deft, it should work.’

  ‘That son of hers, Clarence; I don’t want him snooping around.’

  ‘He plays Aimwell. He fancies himself as another Kean.’

  ‘Then it should work,’ said Sir Philip. ‘You have not told any of the others?’

  ‘Of course not. You have my word.’

  For what that’s worth, thought Sir Philip nastily.

  ‘I am becoming increasingly concerned about Sir Philip,’ said Lady Fortescue to Colonel Sandhurst and Miss Tonks later that day. ‘He is nervous and jumpy. He disappeared to the country and refused to tell us where he was going. I hope he isn’t putting our money on horses.’

  ‘He can’t,’ said the colonel. ‘I keep tight control of the money, and Miss Tonks here does the accounting.’

  ‘We are become so wealthy,’ said Miss Tonks wistfully. ‘Do we sell when our prince leaves, or not?’

  The colonel held his breath.

  ‘I think we might,’ said Lady Fortescue.

  A look of sheer gladness lit up the elderly colonel’s face.

  But Lady Fortescue’s next words wiped it away. ‘I thought,’ she said in a considering way, ‘that as we have all dealt so extremely well together, that we could all share a house in Town and begin to entertain.’

  Colonel Sandhurst’s happy picture of a trim manor in the country, shared with his bride, Lady Fortescue, whirled about his head and vanished.

  Miss Tonks did not know what to think. Before the advent of Mr Davy she would have been delighted at the prospect of company for her declining years, but now she felt afraid. The magic title of ‘Mrs’ seemed as far away as ever. What if Mr Davy used his share of the money to launch some theatrical venture? The colonel, Lady Fortescue, and Sir Philip were all so very old that they might soon die and she would be left alone again. Mr Davy was pleasant and courteous to her at all times; in fact, he went out of his way to seek her company. But how could a man who had spent his life surrounded by beautiful actresses contemplate marriage to a faded spinster in her forties?

  Also, Mr Davy had joined Sir Philip immediately on his return, and they had been closeted in the office. There was something conspiratorial about them. Besides, Mr Davy had organized a theatrical event at Lady Farley’s, but when Miss Tonks had hinted shyly that she would like to go with him and be of help, he had not seemed to hear her.

  She saw the pain on the colonel’s face. She knew the colonel wanted to marry Lady Fortescue and so decided to leave him alone with Lady Fortescue while she herself tried to find out what Mr Davy was up to with Sir Philip.

  When Miss Tonks had left the room, the colonel cleared his throat. He was about to remind Lady Fortescue of her promise to consider his offer of marriage and that they should retire together to the country, but all at once he found he could not. He dreaded an outright rejection. Lady Fortescue was talking about menus and the possibility of getting new curtains for all the rooms and the colonel took that to be a sign that she did not mean to sell up at all, for what was the point in refurbishing a place they were about to leave?

  That evening Sir Philip, in the costume of a stagecoach passenger, which meant wearing his own clothes and having his elderly face smeared with nasty greasepaint, stayed on the stage for a whole two minutes before looking at his watch with a well-feigned start and taking his leave. He made his way to the back stairs with ease, having studied the map Mr Davy had drawn for him. As Mr Davy had predicted, most of the servants appeared to be at the back of the audience. He climbed to the upper floors, and consulting his map again by the light of an oil lamp in one of the passages, located Lady Farley’s apartment. With a sigh of relief he looked around. He walked through her sitting room to her bedroom. The jewel box lay on the toilet-table, a large brass-bound affair. He took out his penknife and examined the lock.

  Downstairs, Mr Davy saw trouble. Lady Farley, who had been like the worst prima donna during rehearsals, had considered the applause for her performance in the first scene of the Second Act not sufficient. To his horror, he saw her get up and stalk off in a sulk, followed by her maid. There was no way he could rush and warn Sir Philip.

  Upstairs, Sir Philip had sprung the lock on the jewel box. With a smile of triumph, he took out the real necklace and substituted the fake. To his even greater relief, the lock proved undamaged and he was able to close the box again. There would be no signs of burglary. He was just making for the door when he heard Lady Farley’s voice, high and petulant. ‘I gave a fine performance, Clorinda, did I not?’ and the maid’s answering, ‘Yes, indeed, my lady. You rivalled Siddons.’

  ‘Then why did not they give me the applause I deserved?’

  Sir Philip dived under the bed. He lay there sweating with fear while Lady Farley complained that her nerves were overset and she would retire early and that no one appreciated her, all punctuated by the sycophantic compliments of the maid.

  Let her go to sleep, please let her go to sleep, prayed Sir Philip. He heard the maid retire. He heard the body on the bed above h
im turn and twist, searching for a comfortable position. And then his nose tickled. He grabbed it to stifle the sneeze he felt rising. In the treacherous way of sneezes, it appeared to subside, but the minute he released hold of his nose, the sneeze erupted.

  He heard Lady Farley’s cry of alarm. There was only one thing to be done. He shot out from under the bed, whipped back the bedcurtain, and cried, ‘Do not betray me. I did all for love.’

  In the light of a candle on the bedtable, Lady Farley shrank back against the pillows and stared up at Sir Philip’s face, where the greasepaint had melted as he sweated with fear and was running in streaks.

  ‘Do not cry out, beloved,’ he panted. ‘I love you!’ Had he left it at that, then Lady Farley, whose hand was already reaching for the bell-rope, would have screamed for help, but fear had inspired Sir Philip. ‘It was your performance, my lady,’ he gabbled. ‘Magnificent. I have never seen anything like it. You stole my poor old heart away.’

  The fear and outrage vanished from Lady Farley’s face and she actually simpered. ‘Why, Sir Philip. You old rogue!’

  ‘I cannot help it,’ said Sir Philip, striking his bosom. ‘I am ever susceptible to beauty. I had to see you alone, to tell you how I adore you. Now, having told you of my love, pray let me retire and leave you to your slumbers.’

  What an awful woman she looked, he thought, with her skin ruined by too many years of application of white lead and her hair thinned by dyeing.

  She gave him a flirtatious smile. ‘Do you know, Sir Philip,’ she said, ‘I think such love should receive its reward, do not you?’

  ‘I could not dare to hope for any favour,’ cried Sir Philip in genuine anguish.

  ‘Silly man. Come here.’

  And just before he did what he had to do, Sir Philip thought of his colleagues with real hatred. The things he did for them!

  The following day, Mr Jamie Ferguson prepared to meet his love. Lord Dunwilde was to be in the House of Lords that afternoon to make an important speech. Lady Dunwilde had told him that she had given the servants the afternoon off. The road to adultery lay straight before him. He was just adjusting his cravat when the comte was ushered in.

  ‘Good day,’ said the comte, subsiding gracefully into a chair. ‘I came to suggest you accompany me. I am to take Miss North driving. I have been deliberately cold in that direction so as not to alarm her or her protectoress. But Farley sees more and more of her at ball and party, the safe, so dull Farley. If you came with me, perhaps we could take up little Miss Frances. Then Miss North would relax more in my company.’

  ‘Alas, my friend, I am bound for Lady Dunwilde’s.’

  ‘Oho, and his lordship is known to be giving an important speech in the House – or rather, important only to the old bore himself. So you are about to have your heart’s desire? Eh, bien, I shall nonetheless call on Miss Frances first and see if she is free and allowed to come with such an old rake as myself, although come to think of it, she is so extremely popular that I shall probably find she is engaged.’

  ‘Miss Haggard popular!’

  ‘My dear Jamie, because she lied to you about what your soon-to-be mistress told her and you have been so studiously avoiding her, you must not yet have noticed that she never sits out a dance. She is a prime favourite.’

  ‘To be sure, she has a certain charm.’

  ‘She will make some man a good wife. All that liveliness and warmth and honesty. I shall leave you to your fate. Or rather, I can set you down at Lady Dunwilde’s on my way there.’

  Jamie glanced at the clock and gave a reluctant laugh. ‘If I go now, I shall be too early and may meet his lordship on the doorstep. I tell you what, I shall call on Miss Frances with you. It is silly to bear a grudge against one so young and heedless.’

  ‘Splendid. Let us go.’

  To Jamie’s surprise, Mrs Haggard’s drawing room appeared to be full of gentlemen callers. To the comte’s request to take Frances with him while he drove Jane, Mrs Haggard said, ‘I am afraid, as you can see, Frances has too many people to entertain this afternoon. Perhaps another time.’

  A footman carried around a tray with wine and cakes. Jamie helped himself to a glass of wine. He had come to talk to Frances and so he felt he may as well stay until he did. He still had plenty of time. Besides, Fiona Dunwilde had been cruel to him, damned cruel, and so she deserved to be made to wait a little. And now she is being damned cruel to her husband, said a voice in his head. He did not take her away from you by trickery or guile. She went gladly.

  He joined the little court of men around Frances who were looking at her sketches. Somehow, by dint of inserting himself in front of her admirers, he managed to isolate her from them until they were left briefly alone.

  ‘Forgiven me yet?’ asked Frances in her usual direct way.

  He smiled. ‘Of course.’

  Her face brightened. ‘Why, then we can be comfortable again.’

  He laughed. ‘I could forgive the world this day. I am on my way to see Lady Dunwilde.’

  Her expressive face became a mask of distaste and she said primly, ‘Do not let me detain you. Ah, Mr Samson, you are lurking in the background and you will quite break my heart and you do not admire my sketches.’

  A young man bounded eagerly forward. He was, Jamie guessed, only about a year or two older than Frances. He had an engaging smile and a mop of carefully coiffed blond curls. Jamie moved away. He heard Frances say something and heard this Mr Samson laugh.

  All at once he felt rather grubby, and what had appeared to him earlier like a rapturous adventure seemed now in his eyes just to be another sordid society intrigue. The comte would not be troubled by conscience, he thought, looking across at his handsome friend. But the comte, he realized with a little shock, despite his reputation, had never really hurt anyone. The ladies were either widows or racy matrons with philandering husbands who did not give a rap what their wives got up to, provided it did not appear in the windows of the print-shops or the daily newspapers. His feet felt like lead as he walked to the door. He looked back. Little Frances was once more surrounded by her admirers. She appeared to have forgotten his very existence. She looked young and happy and innocent.

  ‘Are you coming?’ asked the comte at his elbow. ‘We have stayed our regulation ten minutes.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose so,’ said Jamie fretfully. They made their goodbyes and walked together out to the comte’s carriage.

  The comte climbed in and took the reins. His tiger jumped on the back. ‘Come along, mon ami,’ said the comte lightly. ‘I will leave you at your lady-love.’

  ‘I will walk, thank you,’ said Jamie abruptly. The comte gave a Gallic shrug and drove off As he turned the corner of the street, he twisted his head and looked back. Jamie was still standing there, his hat in his hand, looking up at the house.

  Harriet walked into Jane’s bedroom just as the maid was putting the finishing touches to Jane’s hair. ‘You have such a busy calendar these days that I cannot keep pace with your engagements,’ said Harriet. ‘Mr Farley again?’

  ‘You forget, Harriet,’ said Jane. ‘The Comte de Mornay is to take me driving.’

  ‘I suppose I must trust him to behave,’ said Harriet doubtfully. ‘I have been glad to see that he regards you with a certain indifference, Jane.’

  And Jane should have been glad of that as well, instead of remembering all the times she had danced with Mr Farley conscious the whole time of the tall, handsome Frenchman moving about the ballroom.

  ‘I am going to settle down and read a letter from my husband,’ Harriet went on. ‘I have been saving it for a quiet moment.’

  They walked down to the drawing room together just as the comte was announced. Harriet was struck again by his looks and thought that he and Jane made a handsome couple. It was a pity their characters were so unsuited.

  ‘I called to see if Miss Haggard would care to join us but found her surrounded by admiring gentlemen,’ said the comte as he handed Jane up into hi
s carriage. ‘I am lucky to find you not similarly besieged.’

  ‘The duchess sometimes refuses callers when she wishes a quiet day,’ said Jane. ‘She has received a letter from her husband which she has been treasuring so that she may read it when she is alone.’

  They drove off in the direction of the Park in the comte’s phaeton, his horses stepping out proudly. The day was fine and warm. Jane was wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat with lilac silk ribbons, a lilac silk gown embroidered with lilac flowers, and around her shoulders she wore a handsome Norfolk shawl. She looked around at the Fashionables strolling on the pavements and once more wondered how long this holiday, this respite from the agonies of home, would last. She had received a letter from her old nurse confirming that her letters had been sent on to her father and that he had not replied to any of them. But the day would soon come when his pride would not suffer a stubborn daughter and then he would go in search of her. When that day occurred, she had told her old nurse to tell her father the truth, that she was in London, or her father might take out his anger on the nurse.

  The comte, glancing sideways at her, thought that the light and shade of different emotions chased across her face like cloud shadows over the countryside.

  ‘So how are you enjoying the Season?’ he asked, as he turned his carriage in at the gates of the Park.

  ‘Very well, I thank you,’ said Jane politely.

  ‘Rumour has it you are to marry Mr Farley.’

  ‘Indeed? Society is full of rumours.’

  ‘He is not for you. He has a bad temper and would beat you.’

  ‘Mr Farley? You are funning. He is all that is amiable.’

  ‘I have warned you, Miss North. I do not think you know him very well. I have made certain inquiries and do not like what I have heard.’

  ‘Would you like me to believe the rumours that I hear of you?’ asked Jane, tilting her lilac silk parasol so that she could see his face. ‘That you are a heartless philanderer?’

  ‘I was a trifle flighty,’ he said easily. ‘But how I have changed! I am sedate and boring and highly respectable. Have you noticed me paying any particular attention to any female this Season?’