by Carola Dunn
Lady Ariadne had her own opinion of her brother’s predilection for the company of Miss Alice. To be sure, the girl was very different from his usual flirts, but her only attraction was her beauty, and her ladyship had little fear that he would be brought to the church door by such a bird-witted widgeon as she had discovered Alice to be. He would soon tire of her, but in the meantime might she not seize the opportunity to put Lady Bardry to the blush?
“Good breeding, you say,” she murmured thoughtfully. “I shall invite her to my musicale on Friday week.”
“An excellent notion,” agreed Lord Alton coolly. He felt as if he had landed a salmon while fishing for trout.
Hester was astonished to receive an engraved card of invitation from Lord and Lady Charworthy to hear Miss Corn and Mr. Welsh perform operatic duets accompanied upon the pianoforte by Mr. C. Potter. Not unnaturally, she immediately jumped to the conclusion that this was Lord Alton’s doing.
“Not a bit of it,” he denied when she taxed him with it. “Entirely my sister’s idea, though she did mention it to me.”
“I cannot possibly go. I expect Lady Bardry will be there, and besides, I have nothing to wear.”
Wisely, his lordship concentrated on the second problem, which was much easier to overcome.
“I took the liberty of consulting Alice on the subject,” he told her smugly. “She has already begun to alter a suitable gown, and she assures me there is no difficulty, because you are much slighter than she. She will bring it for final adjustments on Sunday.”
“Alice needs all her dresses!”
“You cannot expect her to continue to wear the same ones forever. It would present a very odd appearance, I assure you. On a different person, it will seem like a different gown. There, surely I have demolished your objections.”
“But I do not even like opera!”
“Nor do three-quarters of the people who will attend. I daresay it will be a very dull evening, though Ariadne always provides an excellent supper, I’ll give her that.”
“I should not go. Only how can I offend your sister by declining? It is excessively kind in her to invite me. Shall . . . shall you be there?”
“I? Why, I had hoped to escort you. I’d not leave you to face the dragon alone. Unless you have another cavalier waiting hidden in the wings?”
“You know I do not, but surely there are other ladies who have more claim upon you than I.”
“Nary a one!” he assured her cheerfully. “Now, write a note of acceptance, and I will deliver it to Charles Street myself.”
He was on the point of departing when Robbie came in. “Good morning, sir,” he greeted his lordship.
“Good morning, Rob. Have you been seeing much of Frederick lately?”
“Oh yes, sir, nearly every day.”
“And his manners are no end improved,” put in Hester.
“Mr. Wallace makes me mind. I shan’t see them today, though. Jamie promised to take me to the docks. I asked if Freddy could come, but he said one thatchgallows brat at a time was more than enough, and he did not like to ask Mr. Wallace to come too.”
“If you and James are ready, I am going to White’s and will set you on your way.”
“In your curricle? Thank you, sir!”
* * * *
Lord Alton dropped the boys at the end of St. James’ Street, informed his groom that he would walk home, and headed for his club. He had spent very little time at White’s recently, having better things to do than to exchange scandalous gossip and lay wagers on his own and others’ skill at riding, driving, shooting, or boxing. His purpose today was to consult a fellow member about the young man he intended to employ as his secretary. But after his business was successfully concluded, he found himself drawn into conversation with a number of friends and acquaintances. None of them found it necessary to inform him that his own name at present figured prominently in the Betting Book. His changed habits had convinced the most cautious gamblers that he was in the market for a wife; the only questions were when and to whom he would get riveted. This last had everyone in a puzzle, for Alice Godric was hardly eligible, yet he seemed to favour no one else.
While his lordship was fending off the good-natured inquisitiveness of his erstwhile companions, James and Robbie had reached the East End and the dockyards. They lunched on a couple of meat pies purchased from a street vendor, and then wandered along the river looking at the shipping, Robbie in ecstasies, Jamie with increasing boredom.
By the time they reached the East India Docks, half the afternoon had passed. Rob’s enthusiasm was no whit diminished, while James was wishing he had allowed his brother to pester Lord Alton into taking him.
“You go ahead and look,” he proposed. “I’m going to sit on this bollard for a while.” Mindful of his promise to Hester, he watched Robbie’s every move, but gradually his thoughts wandered to a difficult bit of translation he and Terence had both had trouble with. He pulled a battered copy of Plato’s Republic from his pocket and was soon immersed in the intricacies of Greek grammar.
His attention did not return to nineteenth-century England until he was addressed by a grinning workman.
“'At yer bruvver?” asked the brawny fellow, waving a tattooed arm at an East India clipper that was pulling slowly out of the dock under half-sail. “Got a yen fer furrin parts, ‘as ‘e?”
Jamie shaded his eyes and stared. Sure enough, there at the rail was Rob, jumping up and down and shouting something that was borne away unheard on the breeze.
Leaping to his feet, James ran to the water’s edge. “Stop, stop!” he shouted in horror.
“Can’t ‘ear yer. Gotta catch ‘igh tide anyways. Boun’ fer Calcutta, she be!” The docker laughed so hard he was quite unable to answer any questions. With a sinking heart, Jamie watched the ship reach the middle of the river and carry his brother slowly but inexorably downstream.
Not even Geoff s tavern brawl had been as bad as this. Never, never could he face Hester again.
For a moment he considered stowing away on the next Calcutta-bound vessel and following Rob. Then he squared his thin shoulders and decided that would be thoroughly irresponsible. Not that he could think of any other course of action, until through the blank despair in his mind crept a memory.
“Should you find yourself in difficulties of any kind in London,” Mr. Fairfax had said, “I wish you will bring them to me . . .”
His lordship had surely not envisaged anything like this, but there was nowhere else to turn. Now frantic with haste, James hunted up a shabby hackney and ordered the driver to make all possible speed to St. James’ Street.
All possible speed turned out to be a gentle amble. James noticed that they were proceeding with extreme sloth, but he considered it just another aspect of the nightmare he was living through, that not uncommon sensation that whatever one does, one cannot move at more than a snail’s pace. It did not occur to him that he could have walked faster. He just sat numbly until the creaking vehicle clattered to a halt in front of White’s. Jumping down, he thrust his last half sovereign into the grimy paw of the driver and ran up the steps.
“I must speak to Lord Alton!” he cried to the porter.
That worthy had seen gentlemen carried out in every stage of inebriation. He had even, God save the day, seen Viscount Pillington dashing for shelter with a large rip in the seat of his unmentionables after an altercation with Sir Hugh Lodram’s mastiff. But never before had a stripling arrived in a seedy hackney and tarry breeks and demanded to speak to one of the august members of his club.
“I do not believe his lordship is within,” he said, his voice vibrating with disapproval. “Kindly remove yourself from my steps.”
“It is a matter of life and death!” insisted James frantically.
The porter considered using the toe of his boot to enforce his request, but the young man’s urgency gave him pause. Better safe than sorry. It would be the work of a moment to send a page to his lordship with the name. If th
e earl denied him, he could still toss the youth out, and with added satisfaction; if not, his lordship was a generous man with a vail for extra service.
To the porter’s considerable surprise, the Earl of Alton was apparently acquainted with Young Tarry Breeks, and was sufficiently desirous of speaking with him to desert his friends, take the lad’s arm, and walk him up the street. Not, fortunately, without first slipping a half crown to the discerning individual who had had the wit to call him in spite of his guest’s disreputable appearance.
“What is it, Jamie?” demanded his lordship in a resigned undertone. The street was full of loungers, and from the bow window of his club three or four dandies languidly inspected the passersby.
“I’ve lost Robbie, sir.” James had difficulty forcing his voice past the lump in his throat. “He went off on a Calcutta clipper when I wasn’t looking. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Calm down and explain yourself, James. You mean he stowed away?”
“I don’t think so. You see . . .”
By the time they reached Hanover Square, Lord Alton was in possession of the entire story.
Twenty minutes later, having sent Jamie to make his apologies and explanations to Hester, he galloped east toward Gravesend. Most ships stopped there to take on water, supplies, and passengers, and no captain wanted an unexpected eight-year-old aboard, particularly one as full of gig as young Master Godric.
He found Robbie in the taproom of the Tilbury Arms. He was absorbed in a fascinating conversation with the barmaid and a retired sailor with a wooden leg, all about the ships that had been wrecked in the Thames estuary during the past four centuries. Though quite pleased to see Lord Alton, he was reluctant to leave his new friends and their wonderful stories.
He was fast asleep by the time they reached Paddington. James rushed out of the house as Jettison’s hooves clattered on the cobbles. Rob did not wake when his lordship passed him down to his brother.
“Thank you, sir,” mumbled Jamie, his voice almost suspended by manfully repressed tears. “Hester is preparing a meal for you.”
“Was she very distressed?” asked Lord Alton, swinging down from his mount and tying the reins to a railing. He stroked Jettison’s black nose and gave him a lump of sugar.
“She was very angry with me. I deserve everything she said and more. But she was not worried, once I told her you were going after him. She said going to you was the only sensible thing I had done, and she was sure Rob was safe if you were on your way to rescue him.”
With these words as sauce, his lordship had never enjoyed a better supper.
Chapter 15
At Lord Alton’s request, Jamie went to see him the next morning in Hanover Square. He had spent a restless night pondering his sins and was still in a penitent mood that made him almost eager to accept any punishment his lordship might consider suitable.
Not once did it cross his mind that Lord Alton was not his mentor and had no right whatever to criticise his conduct.
To his surprised relief, he found himself being offered the chance of sharing Terence’s lessons with his lordship’s new secretary There was one condition—that he should put away his books at other times.
“We cannot have you making a regular habit of losing Robbie,” said his lordship with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh no, sir, I promise.” Jamie paused, suddenly ill at ease, then made up his mind to go on. “You . . . you’re doing this for Hester, aren’t you? I sometimes think maybe you are in . . . you are fond of her?”
Lord Alton had not expected this schoolboy with his head buried in his books to be capable of so shrewd an observation. He was in a quandary. It accorded ill with his dignity to admit his passion to a callow youth, especially when he was still unsure of the outcome. Then he remembered Hester’s expression of faith in him only last night, and his hopes rose. Besides, Jamie was her eldest brother and, in the absence of a father, that must give him certain rights in spite of his age.
“I wish to marry your sister,” he said candidly. “I’ve not yet spoken to her, and I know I may trust your discretion, James. I hope you would have no objection should she accept my hand?”
“No, how could I? I wondered if that was why you had been so very kind to all of us.”
“You must not think that it is entirely for her sake. I am, er, fond of you all, or I should not dream of taking on the whole family, not to mention chimney sweeps, three legged cats, and various other strays past, present, and future, however much I loved Hester!” He was aching to ask whether Jamie thought he had a chance of winning her affection, but that would be to humble himself beyond reason. He was soon very glad he had not.
“She likes you,” reflected James. “Well, it’s only natural after all you have done for us. Only there is still John Collingwood to take into account. She had several letters from him after you left Henley, you know.”
Neither of them had the least idea that the young vicar had tactfully written to Alice under cover to Hester. The knowledge would have set to rest many misgivings on one side and heartache on the other.
“Devil take the parson!” said Lord Alton gloomily.
Mr. Collingwood was the chief subject of conversation that Sunday when Alice spent the afternoon with her sister. They were planning to try on the altered gown, so Lord Alton delivered her to the door and then tactfully took himself off.
Hester slipped into the gown, and Alice began to pin here and stitch there to make sure of a perfect fit.
“Are you sure you can spare this, dearest?” asked Hester, though it was now by far too late to restore the garment to its previous state.
“Of course, Hester, and any others that you need. After all, I shall not need such fine clothing in Wiveliscombe. It would not be right for a parson’s wife to appear so fashionably dressed, and I daresay I shall not need an evening gown above once a week.”
“Does not that distress you? You are used now to constant amusements and entertainments, but in a vicarage you are more like to be employed about household tasks.”
“I love to sew and to care for little John. Mr. Collingwood keeps a maid and a man, so I shall not cook or clean. I do not care so much for grand parties anyway; a great crush makes me sadly nervous, and at a small gathering one is supposed to be witty and clever, and you know I have no conversation. My aunt is forever saying so.”
The thought of Lady Bardry’s strictures was bringing tears to Alice’s eyes. She stopped pinning to wipe them away.
“Alice, you are not truly unhappy, are you?” asked Hester in concern. The sympathetic anxiety in her voice was enough to completely overset Alice’s self-control, always susceptible.
“I want John!” she wailed. “You may think me shockingly ungrateful, but I never wanted to come to London. You and Jamie made me come, and all I wanted to do was to go into Somerset!”
Hurt and troubled, Hester tried to soothe her sister, valiantly ignoring the pins that jabbed her every time she moved. Alice was inconsolable.
“But, dearest, you told me he will be here next month!” Hester pointed out at last, beginning to grow exasperated. “You know I will not, cannot force you to marry someone else if the pair of you are still of the same mind then. You really must try to outgrow these weeping fits, Allie. They are as unsuitable as fine raiment in a vicar’s wife! Hush now, or I shall have nothing to wear on Friday.”
The tumultuous sobs gradually decreased. Alice raised her tearstained face, her dark eyes huger than ever and unmarred by the slightest trace of pink. “I’m so sorry, Hester. I never meant to say such a thing. It was what Mama wanted for me, I know, and you are only against John because of her wishes. You have been very good to me.”
Hester was afraid that remorse was about to lead to a new outburst. “Yes, love, but see, this sleeve is so tight it has left a red mark right around my arm. I hope you can loosen it a little.’’
Thus challenged, Alice was soon busy again with needle and scissors. Her favourite occupati
on settled her nerves and by the time Lord Alton returned to take her back to Holles Street, and Hester to the Rugbys in Russell Square, she was perfectly content once more.
Not so Hester. While her sister was gathering her sewing materials above stairs, she waited in the parlour with his lordship.
‘Forgive me,” said Lord Alton gently, “but you are blue-devilled, are you not? Is there anything I can do?”
“No, it is nothing. Alice is in the mopes, and I have to acknowledge that it is partly my fault. How I wish Mr. Collingwood were here!” Hester sighed deeply. She was sorry to have to strike such a blow at his hopes, but it was kinder in the end to let him know that Alice still thought of nothing but John Collingwood.
His lordship had not heard that name on her lips since his sojourn in Henley. In spite of Jamie’s words, he had hoped that his increasing intimacy with Hester had driven the churchman from her mind. Now he felt that his sympathy had been rejected in favour of the absent Collingwood. It was Collingwood’s advice and support she longed for, not his.
The Earl of Alton and Miss Godric were not among the Rugbys’ most talkative guests that evening. As they left, Bella shook her head sadly at her husband.
“I wonder what is wrong,” she whispered.
“Trust David to come about,” Barney reassured. “I’ve never known him to fail yet.”
David himself was less sanguine. Instinct and pride alike bade him hide away and lick his wounds. If over six months of absence had not undermined Hester’s tendre for the vicar, what hope had he? He was making a cake of himself, dangling after an ineligible female who preferred a village parsonage to the wealth and position he could offer her. He shuddered to think what his cronies at White’s would make of the sorry tale. Never must a murmur come to their ears! He must stop seeing Hester at once.
He pictured her awaiting his usual Monday afternoon visit. When he did not turn up, she would soon realise that she could no longer keep him dancing attendance while her lover was absent.
The thought was curiously unsatisfying. Hester’s forlorn face rose before him, and far from triumph, it brought only pain. She was his friend; was it her fault she could not love him? If he did not take her out, she would be condemned to endless hours of Mrs. Florabel Stevens. To leave her in the clutches of that harpy was an act no gentleman could condone. Noblesse oblige! It was his duty to continue in his present habits.