The earl smiled and was wondering how Miss Vevian was faring in London. He looked forward to seeing her again and telling her how her plan had worked.
In a month’s time, with any luck, he would be shot of both boys. It would mean a great deal of travel, first to Eton with Peregrine, and then to Oxford to hire a tutor to travel with Tom. Then he would be free to take Bella to London.
Bella and Angela elected to retire for the night as soon as they got in the door. The earl decided to go to the saloon and sit quietly by the fire and read.
He had just settled himself comfortably with a book in his hand and a glass of wine at his elbow when the house was rent with shriek after shriek. Throwing down his book, he ran out of the room and up the stairs in the direction of the screams.
Bella and Angela were standing together in the passage outside Bella’s room, clutching each other and staring in the open door. Bella opened her mouth to scream again. ‘Stop that!’ commanded the earl and pushed past them.
Bella’s room was a wreck. Drawers hung at a drunken angle, with clothes hanging out of them. The mattress and the pillows on her bed had been sliced open. Her jewel box had been upended, bracelets and necklaces and brooches spilling out onto the floor. Even the upholstered chairs had been sliced open.
‘My room is the same,’ whimpered Angela.
The constable was called and the magistrate. The grounds and the outside of the house were examined, showing that the thief had climbed up the ivy into Bella’s room and had then made his way to Angela’s room through a connecting drawing room. Angela’s room was only half-violated, as if the thief had been alarmed and had made his escape.
The servants were closely questioned but claimed to have neither seen nor heard anything. A footman did say he had been on his way to the bedchambers with baskets of logs when the butler stopped him and told him that the logs had already been taken up. The sound of his approach must have been what had alarmed the burglar.
The earl tried to calm Angela’s hysterics, hitting on the solution at last by telling her she could choose new chairs and refurnish both rooms if she liked. Angela went off happily with Bella to draw plans for the redecoration.
In the busy weeks that followed, the earl kept in touch with the local magistrate to find out if any clue had been found as to the identity of the thief, but each time the magistrate reported that no one strange had been seen in the neighbourhood. What made it all so odd was that nothing of value had been taken and the magistrate suggested the reason might be spite. Perhaps the beautiful Lady Bella had unwittingly spurned some young gentleman at the Bath assemblies and this was his revenge.
The earl replied that Bella was always spurning someone or other but he doubted if any of the Bath Pump Room beaux would go to such lengths.
It took longer than he had expected to get Peregrine into Eton and to find a tutor for Tom and get that gentleman off on his travels. Angela fussed so and insisted that Tom be kitted out with everything necessary for the journey, from a collapsible candlestick to lice-proof drawers.
At last the earl was able to send some of the servants ahead to open up the town house and planned to leave for London the following morning.
They had just finished an early dinner – or rather, the earl considered Angela’s choice of four in the afternoon too early – and the earl had retired to the saloon when the butler announced that Sir Jason Pym was calling.
The earl looked up, startled. He and Sir Jason had been students at Oxford together and he had not clapped eyes on him since then. He remembered him as a shy young man with a stammer.
As Sir Jason walked in, Lord Greystone found it hard to recognize in this Exquisite the nervous undergraduate he had once known. Sir Jason was tall and slim and dressed very expensively. His cravat was perfection, his coat was of Bath superfine worn open over an ornately embroidered waistcoat. The heels of his boots were high and he wore gold spurs. His thin face was painted and his black eyes were sparkling and restless. He wore his hair long and powdered and tied at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. It was not a style favoured by anyone under fifty, but the earl shrewdly judged that in this case the powdered hair was due to affectation rather than conservatism.
‘What brings you calling so unexpectedly after all these years, Jason?’ he said. ‘Sit down by the fire and tell me about yourself.’
‘I was in the neighbourhood,’ drawled Sir Jason with no trace of his old stammer. ‘Heard you lived here and thought, on impulse, you know, that I would call.’
‘You are more than welcome,’ said the earl. ‘But we leave for London in the morning. I am taking my half-sister to town for the Season.’
At that moment, Angela and Bella entered. The earl introduced them. Both seemed delighted with Sir Jason, who said he was struck all of a heap with the beauty of the ‘sisters’, and Angela tittered and explained she was Bella’s mother, at which Sir Jason cried, ‘Never! It cannot be so.’
The earl reflected that Jason had turned out to be a tiresome fop.
‘Have you any more divine beauties here?’ cried Sir Jason.
‘No, just us,’ simpered Bella, hiding her face behind her fan.
‘Strange. A friend of mine claimed to have met a lady from your family, Crispin. He seemed vastly taken with her. He did not know her name, and when he asked the landlord at a certain posting-house, where this lady had spent the night, the landlord said that you, Crispin, had ordered the room for her and paid her bill.’
The earl frowned and then his face cleared. ‘Oh, that would be the Honourable Clarissa Vevian. She stopped here on her road to London.’ He flashed a warning look at Bella and Angela. He was sure they were dying to gossip about Clarissa who had set her own carriage on fire.
‘Ah yes, a divine goddess, or so I am led to believe,’ said Sir Jason.
‘Nothing out of the common way,’ said Angela waspishly. ‘Great lummox of a girl with the reddest hair you have ever seen.’
‘She is, let me see, Viscount Clarendon’s daughter, is she not?’ asked Sir Jason. ‘I cannot remember where their house is in London.’
‘Clarendon has a house in Bath,’ said the earl. ‘Miss Vevian is living with the . . . in Holles Street.’
For some reason, he did not want to say she was living with the Tribbles. Angela and Bella would then speculate out loud as to why Clarissa had been sent to the Tribbles. And everyone knew the Tribbles only sponsored girls who were a problem.
The conversation moved to other topics. By the time Sir Jason rose to leave, Angela and Bella were completely enchanted with him and the earl was devoutly hoping never to see him again. There was something slimy and oily about Sir Jason that he could not like.
To his dismay, he heard Sir Jason say he, too, would be at the Season and Angela replying that they would be delighted to have his company any time he cared to call.
The earl consoled himself with the thought that he would be glad if Bella married anyone at all and took herself out of his household and – pray God – took her mother with her.
3
Treason doth never prosper; what’s the reason?
Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason.
Sir John Harrington
While the Earl of Greystone was busy about his affairs in the country, Clarissa Vevian had not done very well in Town. The trouble lay in the person of Mr George Randolph.
Mr Randolph was a bachelor friend of Mr Haddon’s, which put him in the same age bracket as the Tribbles and made him a source of excitement. He was small and slim and, unlike Mr Haddon, dressed in the very height of fashion. Like Mr Haddon, he was very rich, but he was also extravagant and liked to buy Amy and Effy expensive presents. Effy was charmed by him and Amy once more walked in flat shoes and with a slouch so as to suit his short height and wore those fussy, frilly girlish dresses which did not become her.
In the middle of all this, Clarissa felt like a neglected beanpole. She had already sent off one music teacher. He had tri
ed to correct her playing by rapping her knuckles with a ruler. Clarissa had been too startled to think clearly and had snatched the ruler and brought it down with a crack on his head. The Italian tutor struggled on gamely, for he was poor and the wages were good. But ever since Clarissa had poured a cup of boiling-hot tea over his breeches, he had refused all refreshment and sat at the opposite end of the room from her to give her lessons. The dancing master, too, needed the money and so gave up dancing with her, but sat in a corner nursing his bandaged toes and calling out the figure of the dance while Clarissa leaped and pranced on her own. The curate, hired to give her religious instruction, was sorely alarmed that Clarissa refused point blank to believe in the existence of Hell. The curate was very fond of Hell and prided himself on his colourful descriptions.
The sisters were not totally unmindful of their duties. They examined her watercolours and her sewing in the evenings and took her out on calls during the day. Those calls were misery to Clarissa. She longed to find a friend among the other débutantes, but they huddled together and giggled and whispered, and most of them seemed to be barely over five feet in height.
Yvette, the French dressmaker, was her only comfort. Yvette, heavily pregnant, stitched away at a new wardrobe for Clarissa, encouraging the girl to draw sketches of what she would like. ‘You cannot change other people, miss,’ Yvette would say. ‘You must change yourself inside first. It is you who makes you clumsy. Ma foi! It is difficult being so tall among all the little ladies, but hold your head high. Now me, I am the disgrace, non? I am to have the baby and no papa by my side. The servants here talk about me in shocked whispers. But I must ignore them, must I not?’
And so her soft voice would go on and Clarissa would leave her room feeling comforted and determined to do better and go out on another call where some dowager would hiss, ‘Dear Miss Tribble, you’ve got your hands full with a great monster of a girl like that,’ and she would begin to feel miserable all over again and drop something or fall over something.
Clarissa’s maid, Hubbard, had sent all her jewellery off to be cleaned. She had seen the packet in the bottom of the box, had taken it out, scrubbed the box, and put it back again without looking inside. She assumed the packet contained love letters. All young ladies had love letters which they hid. It was none of Hubbard’s business. When the jewellery was returned, she therefore arranged all the pieces back in the box with the packet once more underneath.
The Earl of Greystone was settled in his town house at last and free to call on Miss Clarissa Vevian. But no sooner was he on the point of setting out that a messenger arrived with a letter summoning him to the War Office. Wondering whether he was going to be asked to take up his old command, he went along.
He was given orders, but not the orders he had expected. He was told that it was believed the government papers which had recently been stolen had been taken by one of a band of aristocrats.
‘I find that hard to believe,’ said the earl. ‘There was a lot of sympathy for Boney amongst the Whigs, but then when he made himself emperor, most got a disgust of him.’
‘No,’ said the tired old general facing him. ‘No, my lord. I believe a number of them find treason a game. They enjoy the hazards and risks, and the money they are paid settles their gambling debts. We want you to go about in society and keep your ears and eyes open. Watch the ones with heavy debts closely. There are certain ones, you know, with estates mortgaged to the hilt who may suddenly settle their debts, having recently received a mysterious source of income. You may hear something, anything, which will lead us to them.’
They then settled back and fought old battles and talked about old friends.
That evening, Clarissa felt low and homesick. She had gone out on a call with Miss Effy and the ladies had been talking of the Earl of Greystone and how he was in Town and what a vastly attractive man he was. Effy had said that the earl was a friend of Miss Vevian and Clarissa had been plied with eager questions. Not one lady present had looked on Clarissa as a rival.
She sat by the fire, her sewing lying unheeded on her lap. The sisters, Mr Haddon, and Mr Randolph were playing bridge. They now played bridge most evenings. But for once, Mr Haddon’s attention was not fully on the game. He kept glancing over at Clarissa. Why, the girl was miserable! Did Amy know? But Miss Amy appeared totally taken up with Mr Randolph. She was wearing a very fine Norfolk shawl which Mr Randolph had given her. Mr Haddon reflected sourly that the Kashmir shawl he had given Amy was much finer. Amy had her grey-streaked hair dressed in pomaded girlish curls. It made her face look longer, and the jaunty, glossy curls looked like a wig.
He knew the attempted girlishness of Amy’s appearance did not become her. Flat, heel-less shoes, for example, were all the rage, but before the advent of Mr Randolph, Amy had taken to wearing a low heel because she found it helped her posture. Now she shuffled about and stooped and did everything she could to diminish her height.
Effy was wearing a very pretty sapphire necklace. Mr Haddon hoped Mr Randolph had not bought it for her. It would be wicked if he had bought something so very expensive for Effy and not bought Amy a piece of jewellery as well. ‘Your mind is wandering, Mr Haddon,’ chided Amy.
‘I am sorry,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I was worrying about Miss Vevian.’
‘Nothing to worry about there,’ whispered Amy. ‘A trifle clumsy, but a thoroughly good girl.’
‘She is unhappy.’
Amy put down her cards and stared at Mr Haddon. Effy made clucking noises of annoyance.
‘But . . . but . . . are you sure?’ asked Amy. ‘I had not noticed.’
‘No, you have eyes only for someone else,’ said Mr Haddon coolly. ‘And you are setting Miss Vevian a bad example.’
‘Step outside,’ said Amy sharply. ‘My apologies, Mr Randolph.’
‘Do not trouble to apologize to me,’ said Effy, but the couple had risen and were already leaving the room.
‘Kindly explain yourself,’ said Amy when she and Mr Haddon were outside on the landing.
‘I cannot help noticing that every evening Randolph and I call here to play bridge, Miss Vevian is always left out of things. You take her on calls, but you never take her to balls or parties. Why?’
Well, the answer to that one was that in all the glory of having two gentlemen for company, the Tribble sisters had all but forgotten about their responsibility to Clarissa, but Amy had no intention of telling him so.
‘We have hired all the best tutors for her,’ she said defensively.
‘I am sure you have.’
‘Then what did you mean when you said I was a bad example?’
‘That was silly of me. Pray forget it.’
‘I insist on knowing. You most certainly meant it.’
‘Don’t fly out at me then. The fact is that you are tall and Miss Vevian is tall. You, Miss Amy, had begun to adopt a dress and posture which suited your height and gave you a regal air. Since the arrival on the scene of my friend Randolph, you have started stooping again and wearing girlish clothes. He is the same age as you, you know.’
Amy’s eyes filled with tears. ‘What a cruel thing to say.’
‘Prompted by affection for you and worry for Miss Vevian.’
Amy’s heart melted. All she really heard was the ‘affection for you’ bit. ‘I suppose we have neglected her,’ she said slowly.
‘What of Greystone? He is in Town. Has he called? Or, what is more to the point, have you sent cards and encouraged him to call?’
‘No,’ said Amy. ‘You see, everyone’s in a flutter about this earl and he is said to be devilishly handsome and Clarissa is not . . . well . . . precisely . . . well, she does not exactly have the type of looks to take the Town by storm.’
‘She could have dignity and presence and a great deal of charm if perhaps someone would wish her to be exactly what she is and not keep trying to turn her into a simpering miss. Nothing,’ said Mr Haddon severely, ‘is worse than to see a large dignified woman stoopi
ng to ogle and simper.’
‘Are you jealous of Mr Randolph, by any chance?’
‘Of course I am,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘I am used to having your and Miss Effy’s attention and do not like to take second place to my friend.’
He would have to mention Effy, thought Amy sourly.
‘I’ll try to do something about Miss Vevian tomorrow,’ said Amy. ‘Why! I’ll even snap my fingers and conjure up the Earl of Greystone.’
There came a knocking on the street door.
Harris went to open it.
Amy and Mr Haddon leaned over the banisters.
The Earl of Greystone walked into the hall. His servant announced him and presented his master’s card.
‘Well, I’ll be blowed,’ said Amy. ‘Back inside. Don’t tell anyone. Let it be a surprise.’
‘You’re a sly dog,’ said Mr Randolph to Mr Haddon. ‘Whispering outside the door. What is going on?’
‘Miss Amy has been performing magic,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘She has conjured up a beau for Miss Vevian.’
Harris entered with a card on a tray. ‘Show him up,’ said Amy without looking at the card.
Effy rose in a flutter. ‘Who is it? Is it really someone to see Miss Vevian? Don’t be a tease, Amy. No one who is anyone calls at this hour.’
Harris flung open the door. ‘The Earl of Greystone,’ he announced.
Clarissa leaped to her feet and knocked her work-basket into the fire. With an exclamation of distress, she snatched at it and the burning work-basket rolled across the carpet. The earl seized a pair of tongs from the hearth, picked up the blazing work-basket and placed it on the fire.
‘I am so very sorry,’ said Clarissa wretchedly. ‘I will buy you a new carpet. I insist.’
‘Happens easily,’ said Amy. ‘Stupid things, work-baskets. Always rolling all over the place.’ There were then introductions all round.
Finessing Clarissa Page 5