Annabelle

by Beaton, M. C.

  One day Captain MacDonald turned up to take Annabelle out walking, wearing his full uniform. His fur cap was black with a red bag and a white bag over red plumes and gold cap lines ending in tassels and flounders. The jacket, dark blue with scarlet collar and cuffs, had silver cords on the front. The pelisse, dark blue like the jacket, was laced with silver in the same way with a black fur edging. White breeches and black Hessian boots edged with silver braid with silver tassels in front; a sword belt made of crimson leather and ornamented with silver embroidery completed the ensemble. Annabelle thought he looked magnificent and told him so, and the large Captain smiled at her almost shyly and twiddled his side-whiskers with one large hand.

  As they walked along Piccadilly, Annabelle was pleasurably aware of the admiring glances cast in their direction, but she had almost bumped full into Lady Jane Cherle before she noticed her.

  Lady Jane was all that was gracious. She greeted Annabelle like an old friend. Lady Jane explained she was sending out cards for a dinner party and Annabelle must come. Annabelle was about to give a polite-refusal when, to her dismay, she heard the Captain accepting the invitation for both of them.

  “How could you, Jimmy?” demanded Annabelle when Lady Jane had left them. “Lady Jane is a cat.”

  “Oh, she’s all right,” said the Captain amiably. “Bit fast I admit, but quite the thing for all that.”

  For the umpteenth time Annabelle pondered over the vagaries of society. If she, Annabelle, had behaved even a tiny little bit as scandalously as Lady Jane, then all the doors of the top houses would be slammed in her face. But for some reason Lady Jane was accepted everywhere. “Almost as if society felt in need of a resident whore,” thought Annabelle and then blushed painfully as she realised she had voiced her thought aloud.

  “Here! I say!” said the Captain in alarm. “Shouldn’t talk like that, you know. Not the thing!”

  Annabelle fell silent. She could only hope Lady Emmeline would forbid her to go.

  But her godmother was depressingly enthusiastic. “If you were strictly a debutante, I wouldn’t let you,” explained the old lady. “But you’re going with Jimmy, and Jane’s careful of her reputation at her dinners. You’ll meet only the top people there.”

  It certainly seemed a sedate enough gathering. Admittedly the Captain’s admirers were present in the shape of Major Timothy Wilks and George Louch, but apart from teasing the Captain over his sobriety, which was the talk of London, they seemed more subdued than usual.

  Lady Jane’s house in Manchester Square was in the first style of elegance with Egyptian rooms and Etruscan rooms and powdered, liveried footmen.

  Her fortune had been gathered from two late husbands who had had the good taste to die shortly after their marriages. It was rumored that although Lady Jane had more than enough money of her own, she greedily collected what she could from her current lovers. Society had watched with bated breath for the replacement to Lord Varleigh, but so far it seemed as if Lady Jane intended to remain heart free.

  Annabelle was reluctantly forced to admit that Lady Jane was a good hostess. Her chef was excellent and her vintages of the best. She said she had heard Captain Jimmy was as sober as a judge these days and instructed a footman to serve him with lemonade.

  Annabelle eyed the handsome Captain approvingly. He had certainly been a model escort of late. He was a…well, a comfortable kind of man. He seemed to be relishing his lemonade as if it were the best vintage Burgundy.

  “By Jove, this is good,” he said. “You chaps ought to try it. Not in the common way, you know. Faint taste of liquorice or something. Gives it a fresh taste.”

  And Lady Jane, who had spiked the Captain’s lemonade with arrack, gave him her beautiful smile and relaxed in her high carved chair at the end of the table while she waited for the inevitable results.

  Mr. Louch began to describe the expertise of a juggler he had seen at Vauxhall Gardens the previous summer. “Didn’t throw balls or clubs or anything like that in the air,” he said. “But everything else. Champagne bottles, knives, forks. He kept them all up in the air at the same time. The man’s a wizard! I thought you were good at that regimental dinner, Jimmy, but you ain’t a patch on this fellow.”

  “Bet you I am,” said the Captain wrathfully, taking a long pull at his lemonade goblet. “Bet you anything you like!”

  “Bet you a monkey,” tittered Mr. Louch.

  “Done!” cried the Captain, shaking off Annabelle’s little hand from his sleeve.

  “Can’t you do something,” cried Annabelle to her hostess as the Captain began to gather an assortment of objects in front of him.

  Lady Jane said nothing, but she lay back in her chair and smiled like a cat.

  Annabelle turned back wildly to the Captain. “Please, Jimmy,” she begged. “Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

  “Leave me alone,” said Captain MacDonald huffily. “We ain’t married yet.”

  Annabelle flushed crimson with mortification as he got to his feet. In his large hands he held a champagne bottle, a knife, a silver salt cellar, and a wine glass.

  He began to throw them up in the air, deftly catching them and recirculating them as the guests cheered and laughed.

  “Here, catch!” called Lady Jane—and threw an orange down the table in the direction of the Captain.

  He saw it coming and took his eyes off the juggling objects for a split second in order to try and catch it. The champagne bottle crashed onto the silver epergne in the middle of the table and was followed by the wine glass. Both splintered into fragments. The silver salt cellar hurtled into the plate of syllabub in front of Annabelle and splashed the contents of the dessert over her dress, and the knife fell down and gashed the Captain on the cheek.

  “That wasn’t playing fair,” howled the enraged Captain. “Bet’s off!”

  Annabelle reached forward and slowly picked up the Captain’s lemonade glass.

  She took a sip of its contents and put it down. She rose to her feet.

  She turned and faced Lady Jane who sat laughing at the end of the table.

  “You have put arrack in the Captain’s lemonade, Lady Jane.”

  In a louder voice Annabelle repeated, “You put arrack in Captain MacDonald’s lemonade. A shabby trick.”

  A silence fell on the rest of the guests and only the drunken Captain who was trying to balance a knife on his nose seemed unconcerned.

  Now Lady Jane could flaunt her amours over half of London and still be good ton. But to spike a man’s drink was like cheating at cards.

  “Don’t all look at me like that,” shrilled Lady Jane. “’Twas a joke, no more.”

  Annabelle rose from the table and left without a backward glance. She was shortly followed by most of the guests. The Captain remained at his place with a silly smile on his face. “’Strordinarily good champagne, Lady Jane,” he said dreamily.

  “Go to hell,” said Lady Jane, throwing a glass at him which missed and struck the opposite wall.

  “Very well, ma’am,” said the Captain with awful dignity.

  He tottered out into the hall and called for his carriage. He was politely informed that he had arrived with Miss Quennell in Lady Emmeline’s carriage and that Miss Quennell had already departed in it.

  His good temper rapidly evaporating, the Captain hailed a hack and directed it to Berkeley Square. He was already seething in its evil-smelling interior by the time he arrived at Lady Emmeline’s house. He had every intention of giving Miss Annabelle Quennell a piece of his mind. She would have to learn to take a joke or he would take his riding crop to her—after they were married of course.

  He strode heavily into the hall to see Annabelle mounting the stairs. He unceremoniously dragged her down again and gave her a shake.

  “It’s time you learned what’s what, my girl,” he grated. “Do you think it fair to me that you prim up like a Methodist any time I’m having fun. Be demned to you, miss.” With that he dragged her into his arms and ruthle
ssly kissed her. He smelled overpoweringly of arrack and cigars and his lips were hot and wet.

  Annabelle pushed him away. She was trembling with rage. “You make me sick,” she said in a shaking voice, and turning on her heel, she mounted the steps, again trying not to run.

  “I do, do I?” yelled the Captain. “Well, you’ll be sorry you said that, Miss Annabelle Quennell. You’ll be sorry.…”

  Chapter Eleven

  Annabelle Quennell was going home—just as soon as spring came and the roads were fit for travel.

  Lady Emmeline had ranted and raved, but for once Annabelle remained unmoved. Annabelle felt she had disgraced herself completely. Lady Emmeline had accused her of “leading Jimmy on,” and Annabelle with her cheeks aflame had had to admit the truth of the accusation.

  The Captain himself had heaped coals of fire on her head by calling the next morning to apologise most humbly for his behavior and to accept her final and most definite rejection of his suit with forgiving good humor.

  Despite all Annabelle’s hopes for a speedy departure, winter kept its grip on England, and by the beginning of March London was experiencing the coldest and hardest frosts in living memory. The great families were slowly returning to Town to start elaborate preparations for yet another Season, and once again, the flambeaux blazed outside the Mayfair mansions and carriages jammed the Ring in Hyde Park on a Sunday afternoon.

  Only the bravest dared to venture out in the new Spring muslins, and one young hopeful contracted rheumatic fever by damping her skirts when the temperatures were below zero.

  Annabelle attended a few routs and parties in the company of Lady Emmeline. The Captain was often present and often unsnubbable. Annabelle no longer felt at ease in his company after his onslaught in the hall. Lady Emmeline could pooh-pooh for all she was worth and call Annabelle missish, but as far as Miss Annabelle Quennell was concerned, she would now rather die a spinster than be wed to the Captain.

  He had an endearing boyish charm when he was sober, but Annabelle noticed that since Lady Jane’s party, he only managed to stay sober during the day. Lady Emmeline might point out acidly that in this year of 1815, that in itself was a great achievement. But the other bucks and bloods held their wine better—in the company of ladies at least—and did not seem disposed to dance on the ledge of their box at the opera or to juggle with the silverware at dinner.

  But Annabelle had found a new interest which effectively took her mind off the Captain’s erratic behavior.

  Skating was the rage this winter, and everyone who was anyone was giving a skating party. Annabelle loved them. They were gay and exciting and much more exhilarating than parties held in overcrowded and overheated rooms.

  One day, when Annabelle was upstairs in her rooms adding the finishing touches to a dashing skating costume to be worn at the Egremonts’ party that evening, the Captain called on Lady Emmeline and demanded a few words with her in private.

  More grotesquely painted and gowned than ever, Lady Emmeline received him in the drawing room.

  The Captain went straight to the point. “It’s about Annabelle,” he said, pacing up and down. “One minute it’s on and the next it’s off. What’s happening?”

  “It looks as if she’s made up her mind to go home,” said Lady Emmeline sadly. “I’ll miss her.”

  The Captain looked at her with some impatience. “Well, I’m glad you got something out of it. After all, she’s cost you a pretty penny as it is.”

  “She has amused me and kept me young and furthermore she’s saved my life,” said Lady Emmeline with quaint dignity.

  “Quite,” said the Captain, fingering his side-whiskers. “But I mean to say, since she won’t have me, it’s not as if she’ll get your money.”

  “Don’t be vulgar,” snapped the Dowager Marchioness.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake…I mean, you’ve known me from the cradle,” said Captain MacDonald. “You ain’t going to go cutting me out of your will.”

  “You’re in my will … somewhere,” said Lady Emmeline drily, “and for your further information, I have no intention of dying for a great many years.”

  “Of course, of course,” said the Captain hurriedly, and with that he had to be content.

  DARKNESS fell on the old buildings of Lincoln’s Inn. Lawyers, solicitors, and clerks had at last gone home. With the agility of a cat a dark figure slid up the old brick wall to the windows of Messrs. Crindle and Bridge. There was a sharp cracking noise, and the figure flattened itself against the wail.

  There was silence except for the faint cry of the watch. Another crack and the window opened, and the dark figure slid over the sill like a shadow.

  As he held the stump of a candle over the piles of papers and boxes, the flame wavered backwards and forwards, the light eventually coming to rest on a long black box with the name Eversley stamped on the front.

  A silver-barrelled pistol appeared in strong hands lit by the candlelight. With a sharp crack the butt was brought down on the hasp of the box.

  “Now,” whispered a voice in the darkness. “Now, dear Emmeline, Dowager Marchioness of Eversley, we shall see what we shall see…”

  “WE can’t wait around for Jimmy any more,” snapped Lady Emmeline. “We may as well get started. Horley, bring our skates.”

  It was a fine clear moonlit night. The Egremonts’ skating party was to be held at the side of a small lake on the Chiswick road. A bleak winter sun had thawed the sooty snow on the roofs earlier in the day, and now long, wicked-looking icicles hung over the streets.

  At times like this, reflected Annabelle, she was almost sorry to be going home. There would be no more parties or balls once she was safely back in the rectory, suffering the lash of her mother’s sharp tongue. Bit by bit Annabelle was remembering her home life more clearly instead of the unreal dream picture of warmth and safety she had conjured up in her mind.

  But go she must. She had encouraged the Captain. Looking back on her year in London, she found it all had an air of unreality. She had tried to do her duty as far as her mother and Lady Emmeline were concerned, and look where it had led! For the first time in her young life Annabelle realised she had a duty to herself. Let her mother rant and rave and say she had rained her chances and the chances of her sisters. Her duty did not lie in making a distasteful marriage.

  The little lake was lit with brightly colored lanterns strung through the trees. The lake itself gleamed like beaten silver, vanishing off into a long silver alley which was the small frozen stream which fed it. Tables had been set up beside the lake, the powdered and liveried footmen stamping their feet and blowing on their whitegloved hands to keep warm.

  The chatter was all about the weather. They knew it couldn’t possibly last, but while it did, everyone was determined to enjoy the latest skating rage. A German band played cheerful waltzes, and the exotic smells of food from the buffet tables set up beside the ice mingled with the perfumes of the ladies.

  Annabelle had made her curtsy to Lord and Lady Egremont and had allowed Horley to help her on with her skates. She was standing on the edge of the ice wondering whether to launch off herself or wait for a partner when she suddenly saw Sylvester Varleigh.

  He was skating rapidly towards her and as he came nearer, Annabelle saw he was regarding her with a strange tenderness and warmth which altered the habitually austere lines of his face.

  She half turned—unbelieving—expecting to see Lady Jane or some other dasher standing behind her. But, no. Lord Varleigh’s warmth was all for her alone.

  He silently took her gloved hands in his and led her onto the ice.

  “I’ve missed you, Miss Quennell,” he said quietly, and Annabelle’s heart gave a dizzy lurch. All the barriers she had set up against him melted away before that single sentence.

  The reflection of the lights bobbed and danced dizzily on the ice under feet. Far above the stars wheeled drunkenly in their courses as Annabelle hung onto Lord Varleigh’s hands and wished never to let g
o.

  Skating faster and faster, he swept her far away to the other side of the lake which was empty and deserted. Still holding her hands, he drew her down onto a fallen log at the edge of the lake. There seemed to be so much they had to say—there suddenly seemed to be so little they had to say.

  His eyes glinted strangely in the moonlight as he bent his head towards hers.

  Annabelle closed her eyes as his lips came down on hers, pressing deeper and deeper, becoming more and more exploring until the pleasure and passion became almost a pain, and she clung to him, drunkenly and dizzily, freeing her hands only to clasp them behind his neck and draw him closer.

  His long white fingers slid under the fur of her mantle and began to caress her breast, and Annabelle stiffened in fright and trembled and then with a little sigh turned her face up to him again.

  “Annabelle! Annabelle!” Lady Emmeline’s voice echoed across the ice, and Lord Varleigh gently released Annabelle. Smiling gently into her eyes, he straightened her bonnet. “Run along,” he said softly, “and see what it is she wants. And then come back to me. Or I shall come looking for you.”

  With her face glowing and her eyes like the stars above, Annabelle flew across the long expanse of ice to where Lady Emmeline was teetering inexpertly on her skates.

  “Annabelle!” she cried. “We have been looking everywhere for you.”

  The “we,” Annabelle noticed with a sinking heart, was Lady Emmeline and Captain Jimmy MacDonald.

  “I’ll leave you two young things together,” said Lady Emmeline with her usual irritating giggle, and she waddled off rapidly on her skates towards the buffet, leaving them standing together.

  “I c-can’t speak to you just now, Jimmy,” faltered Annabelle, straining her eyes to the far side of the lake where Lord Varleigh was waiting for her.