Each of the rooms had a carefully integrated style that had been suggested by an eminent London designer commissioned by Wortley. The eye would glide from rococo to Chinoiserie, punctuated by fine furniture. Here was an artfully positioned bonheur de jour with a fauteuil de bureau. There were placed classic commodes with fine trelliswork motifs and figurative scenes in rosewood marquetry. French gilt chairs covered in velvet and silk with a bergères and marquise afforded a formal sitting area in which to receive guests. On the walls were paintings by Boucher and prints by Piranesi. Delft, Meissen and Sevres were ostentatiously displayed, as was Wortley’s pièce de résistance, a pendulum clock by Isaac Turner that showed hours, minutes and seconds.
“Yes, it is styled a ‘chronometer’,” Worsley would fanfaronade. “The only one of its kind and—” he checked his fob, “infallibly accurate.”
The gilded Wortley household was further favoured by the elder Wortley boys prospering in their chosen careers.
William, the eldest, had been set for a military calling from the outset and for his twenty-first birthday his father had purchased a commission as a captain in the Grenadier Guards for £400. William had begun to make a name for himself as an imposing and fearless officer in training manoeuvres with a shrewd tactical brain whose opinion was valued by his senior officers. On taking up his commission in 1772, the Regiment was not actively involved in any major foreign adventures. So William spent an agreeable time in light training and ceremonial duties interspersed with society balls. As a young, self-confident officer with a good nature and ready wit he became much in demand. With his distinctive crimson uniform, gold buttons and precise military moustache, he was a catch.
It was at a birthday ball in Ranelagh Gardens in London that he met Elspeth Drew, a fragile and luminous girl of eighteen with a tumble of auburn hair. Her father, Alasdair, was a Scottish laird of long lineage with a castle and acres in Cromarty, together with a substantial London residence. Edward Wortley quickly blessed the union as a further entrée into society. The Drews were less pleased that their only daughter had taken up with the son of a wig-maker. But the obvious wealth of the Wortley family and the romantic prestige of a young officer squared the social imbalance neatly and unarguably.
When Edward Wortley heard of the betrothal amid the salon finery in King’s Circus he squeaked to his wife, “We are on our way, Mrs Wortley! We are on our way!”
In the meantime, the second eldest of the Wortley boys showed a quick turn of mind in an almost obsessive grasp of detail. After Classics at Pembroke College, Oxford it was swiftly agreed that a legal career was the metier for this intellectual, punctilious and ambitious young man.
A pupillage was secured at the chambers of Sir Athelstan Treble in the Middle Temple. As long as the initial fees, complemented by regular payments for commons and instruction, were promptly and satisfactorily handed over, then legal qualification for Henry was assured. There was the business of attending readings and moots but if a pupil ate a suitable quota of dinners in the vast dining room it was usual for a trainee to ‘eat his way to the bar’.
A young barrister could make a comfortable and leisurely living taking the occasional brief and seeing the clerk of the chambers ‘right’ for a steady flow of well-remunerated but none-too-taxing work. But Henry became a hyper-diligent and over-anxious lawyer with an obsessive eye for detail and complexity. It was these qualities that soon made him a pre-eminent authority in a particular niche of land law and trusts. He was sought out by wealthy fathers who wished to ensure that feckless sons would not squander the family estates. His reputation for meticulous detail and the triple locking of assets became well known via word of mouth and his reputation was secured.
However, personal prosperity and professional eminence did nothing to assuage Henry’s innate anxiety. Obsessive with his money, he cared little for the fripperies of success and lived in simple lodgings, spending little. He was secretive and fretful about his cases and techniques lest anyone encroach on his territory. He was troubled and anxious that he would be caught out in some technical detail.
He would go over and over the entrails of each case until the candle in his lodgings guttered and he fell asleep on his arm. Apart from the communal dinners at the Inns of Court and the necessary proximity to clients, judges and opposing barristers, he had little association and no friends.
Nevertheless, paterfamilias Wortley was able to boast to anyone within hailing distance.
“Yes, yes. One a commissioned officer about to do his duty in the American colonies. And the other a well-regarded barrister in London. As for Hugh – well he is young yet but he has a refined ear for music and we have great hopes for him. His great friend is Thomas Linley Junior, d’you know? The Senior lives but a stone’s throw around the corner. Very well up in fiddling.”
*
After his initial encounter with the predatory Catherine de Neufville, Hugh’s eyes had been opened and he was enthusiastic about another lesson. Thomas Linley, his co-violinist was not available, much taken with work in London. There was talk of him going to an academy in Florence under the tutelage of Pietro Nardini to play with the young genius first glimpsed at the Swan and Harp public house. Hugh, although accomplished, had neither the innate talent nor the uncompromising dedication to make him of the first rank. This did not inconvenience Catherine. The week following his initial seduction, Hugh presented himself nervously at her door. The housekeeper had been alerted to expect him.
“Ah yes, Master Hugh. The mistress said that you would be attending to give her musical instruction. I have word that you are to attend her rooms on the second floor.”
He was shown up the marble staircase lined with family portraits and he felt the velocity of his heart. The housekeeper knocked politely on the door and a voice enjoined them to enter. Hugh was shown in with his violin case and his sheet music.
Catherine was pleasantly formal in welcoming him then advised the housekeeper that they were not to be disturbed.
“This talented young man has agreed to school me for a couple of hours here and there in reading music and composition. Please ensure that we are left undisturbed.”
The housekeeper nodded and retired noiselessly. Catherine closed the door, turning the key. She eyed Hugh with a sensual smile and gaze, admiring his beauty and drinking in his lithe outline. She sat on the ornate bed in the centre of the room. Hugh swallowed and stuttered.
“Shall I… shall we… would you wish to begin with…?”
She beckoned him over to stand by her and he did as instructed.
“I was thinking that perhaps we could continue where we left off last week. Would that be to your liking? And then I believe there are some matters you can help me with also. Take your ease. We are quite alone. My husband…” this with a roll of the eyes, “is again in London. And here the staff are instructed most clearly not to interrupt our… lesson. Come here. Closer.”
She took the violin and music and placed it on the bed. Hugh looked down on her and noticed the lacings around her dress top were unfastened. She took his hands and helped him as she made it clear that he was to finish unlacing her. His hands, trembling, finished his task and he looked at her for guidance. Looking him in the eye and smiling she pulled down the material, exposing herself. She then placed his hands on her breasts.
“There. How does that feel? Is this the first time you have seen and touched a woman?”
He nodded, nervously. She showed him how to touch her and how to trace his palms against her nipples. She closed her eyes and sighed sensuously with deep satisfaction.
“Did you know that a woman can feel pleasure as well?”
Hugh could feel his erection, which was noticeable now in his breeches. She stroked him then unhooked his buttons, exposing him.
“Well, boy you may be young in years but you are a man in many other ways. How old are you? Seventeen?”
/> Hugh nodded. With his hands still on her breasts and with her two hands now pleasuring him it was only a matter of seconds before he felt himself spilling over onto her hands and the floor in indulgent pleasure. Then he started apologetically.
“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
She stopped him with a look and a soft shake of her head as she wiped her hands.
“Well, you are a little tinderbox and your musket does discharge precipitately. Let us take a few minutes and then we can move on to the next lesson in your education and perhaps you will offer another libation. But, be well assured, it gives me pleasure also.”
Within half an hour of lying side by side on the bed, Hugh’s education was to move on significantly. Catherine, totally unabashed, showed him where and how a woman likes to be touched. Hugh relaxed and learned from her small noises of satisfaction which she released involuntarily, how to proceed.
She stripped off her clothes and undressed him and he gasped as his skin touched that of a naked woman for the first time. Catherine positioned herself so that he could enter her. Then an atavistic instinct took Hugh over as he thrust vigorously. He stopped momentarily as Catherine seemed to gasp in pain.
“Does it hurt? Shall I stop?”
She placed her hands on his buttocks and impelled him on.
“Don’t stop. Please. Come into me hard!”
After a few minutes, she stopped him and turned over, kneeling naked on the bed. She made him stand behind her and guided him in. This seemed to bring her to a state of frenzy. Hugh could resist no longer and after a few seconds he emptied himself inside her. They fell onto the bed. Catherine moaned.
“Such pleasure! My fine young man! Oh how I needed that!”
Catherine gave a half-laugh and looked at Hugh knowingly.
“Well, I am unsure about who was instructing whom. I do believe that your education has moved on apace. Now…” She was serious for a moment. “I am sure that you will understand that not a word of this is to be spoken to anyone… anyone,” she said, underlining her point by holding his jaw. “Or I am ruined.”
Hugh nodded his assent and made it quite clear that neither did he wish to be party to a scandal involving an adulterous liaison with the wife of a powerful man.
As he left, she checked his clothing for correctness. Then remembered to give him his violin and music back. She enquired in her little girl voice, “And shall we continue our lessons? I feel that there is much mutual benefit, do you not think? Mr de Neufville is out of the country on business in April, so that will give me an opportunity. Do you not think that I shall be able to become proficient in double-stopping and the like?” she whispered conspiratorially as they descended the staircase.
Hugh was shown out of the house and walked back to King’s Circus turning over the events of the morning and scarcely believing credible what had transpired. He walked with the confident bravura of a young man with an exquisite secret.
Catherine tidied herself in front of her bedroom mirror and congratulated herself on still being able to turn the head of a beautiful young man despite her age. He would suffice for her needs for the moment and she resolved to deflect the attentions of Josiah Woodfall, a young aristocrat who had become tiresome of late. She would enjoy the ministrations of a handsome young man in thrall to her. She closed her eyes and exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Chilvers had decided that Sophie should be dismissed.
“Wanton child. Licentious, lewd and debauched. Flaunting herself to that delivery boy I don’t doubt. Well not on my shilling! I should have expected it, given where she springs from. Her mother was of loose morals and easy virtue, which is how the girl came to be in Coram’s. Like mother, like daughter.”
Faith, disregarding the implicit slight on herself, had sought to argue her case.
“She is but fifteen years old and has nowhere to go. Should we not help her?”
Chilvers was unbending and the weeping child was despatched with a small bundle of clothes and a few pennies. Chilvers resolved to find a fresh young replacement from Coram’s as soon as time allowed. In the meantime, he must return to his investments.
*
Monthly interest payments on the capital from the house and the new bank loan had continued promptly for about a year. Then, abruptly, they ceased. Chilvers made enquiries at the Baron’s offices. He was told that the Baron was away on business in Bolivia but there should be no anxiety. There was simply an error by the bank and payments would resume forthwith. And resume they did for half a year with interest payments now doubled as a result of the additional investment. Reassuring bulletins were issued with a detailed handwritten ledger of cash invested, payments made and the putative value of each share which, Chilvers noted with some self-congratulation, had trebled in value since his astute investments.
He continued to spend as though his stream of wealth was inexhaustible, and covertly passed discreet details of the bounty on to a couple of his confederates with a knowing tap of the nose.
But in December 1768, with a hard early winter frost settling over London, Chilvers noted, again, that dividend payments had ceased. A visit to the Baron’s office proved fruitless as the premises were closed and locked.
After New Year he was summoned to the bank and ushered into a wood-panelled office to face an icily polite interrogation from an assistant manager by the name of Thynn.
“I am sorry if we have inconvenienced you, sir, but we asked to see you, Mr Chilvers, as we have a few concerns and trust that you can allay them,” murmured Thynn.
Chilvers noticed the change in tone from the effusion at the bank when lending him money.
“You see, sir, we were wondering when you would be able to discharge the interest payments due – overdue – on your loan? The bank is due four payments amounting to a not inconsiderable sum. We also wish to ensure that you are good for the continuance of your remittances.”
Chilvers explained that all monies due would be rendered as soon as his dividends resumed, including any interest on his defaults. He mentioned that he was a good customer. Thynn inclined his head respectfully. Indeed he was an ex-employee who could be trusted to reimburse the bank just as soon as he himself was paid which he expected ‘timeously’.
Thynn steepled his fingers on his desk and leaned forward enquiringly.
“And what, may I ask, is the nature or source of your income? We do understand that a customer’s financial transactions are his own business. However, once there is money due, then of course they also become the bank’s concern.”
Chilvers explained how the mortgage on his house in Bloomsbury and also the subsequent bank loan had all been invested in the Bolivian silver mine venture, “as arranged by your customer Baron Vicente Santiago Alvarado,” he said, confidently.
Thynn leant back in his chair and looked askance. His only rejoinder was a deeply reflective “Ah.”
Chilvers, with mounting apprehension, sought further confirmation. Surely they knew the Baron and were a co-investor?
“We considered the proposition put forward by the gentleman you mentioned, but after certain due diligences we declined the opportunity. It appears that there were certain – how shall we say – discontinuities and invalidations in the supporting documentation. As it turned out, we were prescient. It appears that there is no silver mine in Bolivia.
“The scheme was built, metaphorically, on sand. Investors were persuaded to chance their assets on a house of cards. Early speculators in the scheme were paid very attractive rates of interest, financed entirely by the subsequent resources from subsequent, erm, investors, often persuaded by word of mouth from the original ‘shareholders’.” He vocally parenthesised the word.
“Apparently there are a number of people wishing to lay a private prosecution against the Baron. However, we are told that his office has been clo
sed for some weeks and that the gentleman in question has vanished. You may or may not be aware that this sort of speculative venture is relatively commonplace. Land, ground nuts, precious metals. Our Dutch colleagues even made a fictional market in tulips, I am told.
“Now, can we return to the question of settling your debt to the bank? May I suggest that you return home, take stock of your assets and liabilities and of any financial support you may be able to muster, for example from family or friends. Then perhaps you would kindly return for a further discussion on how we might reschedule payments.
“It is probably opportune to remind you as part of that reckoning that the bank has a charge against your property for the seven hundred pounds we advanced you some time ago.”
Chilvers’ mind raced over this devastating news. How could he have been duped? He mentally totted up his assets and liabilities. If he could not find the Baron and reclaim his monies, what then?
He composed himself.
“And in the event that I experience problems with repayment? What then?” he asked of Thynn.
“Ah,” said Thynn definitively. “Financial peculations are always pursued vigorously by the bank in order to retrieve value for the bank’s shareholders. If there is a shortfall then, naturally we have an obligation,” this a practised recitation of policy, “that we lay a private prosecution in the Sherriff’s Court. The individual must either find the funds to discharge his debt or…” He tailed off.
“Or what?” said Chilvers, now feeling a rising panic in his stomach.
“Or we seek a declaration of bankruptcy. Naturally any such action is taken with a heavy heart and as a last resort. We have no wish to see our clients in debtors’ prison.”
Then, with a final wintry smile and a scraping of chairs to indicate that the meeting was concluded, Chilvers was ushered out into the dull, dark chill of the late January afternoon.
*
Back in his own offices, Chilvers sat at his desk almost catatonic with dread. His mind raced over the possibilities. Borrow from friends? They would soon ask why he was low on funds and he had made much of his cleverness over his investments. The Baron’s evaporation would soon be common knowledge and he, Chilvers, would be a tainted man. Slowly he formulated a short-term plan. Household running costs must be whittled down to a minimum. The trappings of his recent fortune must be realised. Obviously this must be discreet in order not to depress prices but there were collections of glass, paintings and porcelain that would realise sums that were by no means trivial. Lastly, that baggage he had inherited with the house must understand that money needed to be earned as well as spent. There was no reason why she should not bring in funds as she and her father used to do performing with the fiddle.
The Violin Page 8