“Why, what can you mean?” Helen’s curiosity was on the alert at once. “What problems — what is this matter which you have on hand?”
He made a deprecating gesture.
“Merely a general observation, Miss Somerby. Pray pay no heed to it. Good day to you.”
He bowed and passed on, but she remained standing at the gate looking after him for some time.
He might pretend that he meant nothing, but she knew better. His tone had been vindictive.
She turned to walk up the path towards the house, a worried frown on her brow. There was some kind of trouble approaching Lord Shaldon, and Durrant not only knew of it, but was taking a spiteful pleasure in the knowledge. Somehow or other, she must try to discover what all this meant.
CHAPTER XVIII
Meanwhile, Viscount Shaldon went on his way with no slightest thought of impending trouble. His grandparents were delighted, as always, to see him; they seemed to have aged a good deal since his last visit, especially his grandfather, who was now looking very frail. They asked after his father as a matter of civility rather than interest, and were not at all surprised to learn that the visit to him had ended in a tiff.
“He would like to be able to rule you as his own father ruled him, I daresay,” remarked Sir William. “Fortunately, you are not dependent upon him, Anthony, since the Reddifords left you the bulk of their estate. We didn’t want it, you know. We told them we would far rather it came to you. And, of course, when we are gone, you are our heir, too.”
“And that, sir, will not be for a very long time, I hope,” replied Shaldon, with a gentle smile.
Sir William sighed. “I don’t know, my boy. One gets very tired, sometimes. But this is dull stuff to be talking, when you have only a few days to stay with us. And so you visited the Somerbys on your way? We see them occasionally. Your mother was very attached to Mrs. Somerby, you know. I find her little altered, except that like all of us, she has grown older.”
“She is one of the most charming women of my acquaintance,” replied Shaldon. “And as far as I can judge from our brief reunion, her daughter bids fair to be just such another.”
“Little Helen? Yes, she was always a delightful child — but I suppose I mustn’t call her so, now that she’s a young lady full grown and about to step out into the world.”
Shaldon laughed. “Indeed not! I was reproved only for saying that she spoke her mind plainly for so young a female.”
Sir William’s lined face lit with an answering smile. “Were you, my boy? But when one is young, one doesn’t wish to be reminded of the fact. Strange, since thereafter females seem intent on appearing younger than in fact they are! But come and entertain your grandmother with some of your Town gossip, Anthony. You can always make her laugh.”
Shaldon remained several days at Kenton Manor, afterwards going on to Newmarket, where Sir Jeremy Linslade’s mare acquitted herself to the satisfaction of both jockey and owner by winning her race by a comfortable two lengths.
After a short stay in Cambridge with some of his racing friends, Shaldon returned to Town to find a neat stack of correspondence awaiting him on his writing desk. He flipped quickly through this, as most of it consisted of invitations to one entertainment or another — a ball at Lady Malmesbury’s, the Duchess of Gloucester’s rout, a musical party, a dinner at Holland House — until he came to a letter written in a lady’s hand which he knew only too well. He lifted it to break the seal; as he did so, a lingering, familiar perfume drifted to his nostrils.
Since you are as yet the only man who has had the power to make me remember you in absence, do not, I entreat you, forget me utterly. I shall look for you in my box at the Opera on Tuesday, and you may accompany me home afterwards, if you still desire my society.
Yours ever affectionately,
Harriette.
As he read, a cynical smile twisted his lips. His connection with Harriette Wilson had started some years before, when he had first come upon the Town. The lady was an elegant courtesan who had started life as a humble clockmaker’s daughter, but had decided that it would be foolish to waste her beauty and talents on marriage to a man in a similar sphere to that of her father, when she might follow the example of her elder sister Amy by making a career for herself in the demimonde. Accordingly, she had embarked on a liaison with the Earl of Craven at the tender age of fifteen, and since then had enjoyed the favours of a distinguished succession of noblemen, among them the Honourable Frederick Lamb, son of Lord Melbourne; the Marquis of Lorne; and Lord Worcester, son of the Duke of Beaufort.
Shaldon had made her acquaintance largely as a matter of bravado, in response to a wager made one evening at White’s when the bottle had been circulating freely.
“To the fair Harriette!” one of his companions had said, tossing off a glass.
“Harriette?” Shaldon had queried, for he was still new to the Town and not yet apprised of all the gossip.
“Good God, here’s someone who doesn’t know who Harriette is!” exclaimed Sir Percy Dunton, a young man whose residence in London antedated Shaldon’s by a bare six months. “Why, dear boy, she is the Queen of the demimonde, a peerless barque of frailty who can only be attained by those of the highest rank, the longest purse, and, need I add, the most experience?”
“Which, I suppose, places her beyond your reach?” Shaldon queried, politely.
The other flushed. “Damme, and yours, too, I’ll be bound!”
Shaldon’s eyes glinted. He had imbibed freely enough to be reckless and he was still barely one and twenty.
“Would you care to lay any odds on that?”
In a moment their companions had gathered round and the wager had been ceremoniously made amid much laughter, encouragement, and advice on how best to storm the lovely citadel.
The following day had brought, besides a slight hangover, a less assured mood. Exactly how did one set about scraping an acquaintance with an acknowledged leader of the demimonde? Shaldon confided his difficulty to Henry Lydney, who happened to call round at his rooms.
“Lord, you’ll never have a touch at that one!” Lydney exclaimed, incredulously. “They say she’s even been Prinny’s mistress, in between his more serious affairs!”
“I don’t mind admitting,” replied Shaldon wryly, “that I’d liefer it had been an easier bet. It wasn’t altogether a sober evening, you understand; otherwise I wouldn’t have embarked on an enterprise of the kind. Having done so, however, what’s the best way of approaching the female? A bouquet, a handsome geegaw of some kind? I bow to your doubtless superior experience in this field, Lydney.”
Lydney laughed. “Such quarry’s above my touch,” he confessed. “No difficulty about the ordinary little bit of muslin, of course — but I daresay you manage tolerably well yourself in that quarter. I’ve heard she’s surprisingly literate. Why not write her an intriguing letter? Say you’re dying to make her acquaintance — all that kind of thing.”
“Good God, no! If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that a man should never put pen to paper in such a case — unless he wishes to pay handsomely at some later date for the doubtful pleasure of obtaining repossession of his own maudlin scribblings!” He broke off, grinning, as an idea suddenly occurred to him. “I have a notion, though, by Jove! Let’s see how far sheer impudence will serve me!”
That same evening when Harriette Wilson entered her box at the Opera with two dazzling female companions, she found a young gentleman already sitting there. He rose to his feet with lazy grace; and she saw at once — for she was a connoisseur in such matters — that not only was he a singularly well-looking man with unusual auburn hair, but also that he was undoubtedly a member of the ton. Nevertheless, she favoured him with a haughty stare.
“There must be some mistake I fancy, sir,” she said, coldly. “This is my private box, and you may see my name on the outside of it.”
He bowed, giving her one of his most disarming smiles. “No mistake, assure you, madam. I mus
t confess to having deliberately thrown myself in your way because I most ardently desired to make your acquaintance.”
“If that is so, you should have found someone to present you to me in due form,” she replied, very much on her dignity.
“How could that be?” He spread his hands out in a rueful gesture. “Can you suppose that any man so fortunate as to enjoy the friendship of La Belle Harriette would be willing to present to you another? No, you must see that it would be asking too much, madam.”
“Come, Harriette,” pleaded one of her companions, as fair as Harriette was dark, and therefore a perfect foil for her. “Surely you can relent a little towards so gallant a gentleman?”
Dignity satisfied, Harriette allowed herself to be persuaded. Fixing her saucy dark eyes on the intruder, she first demanded to know his name and then gave permission for him to remain with them in the box. Now that he had leisure to study her, he saw that she was attired in an expensive gown of rich figured French gauze over white satin. Her dark hair was dressed in ringlets, and she wore a pair of very long earrings ornamented with diamonds, rubies, and turquoises which must have cost someone a very pretty penny, he reflected. Her companions were dressed in similarly expensive gowns, with rather more adornment than Harriette favoured, for neck, arms, and fingers glittered with jewels.
He was not to enjoy his monopoly of their company for long, as from time to time other gentlemen entered the box, some looking in for a short time and others remaining there. A good deal of gay chatter continued throughout the performance, for it was plain that no one was present in the box for the purpose of listening to the opera.
So far, so good, thought Shaldon, but he was still a long way from fulfilling the terms of his wager. He accepted with alacrity an invitation to take supper after the performance with the three females at the house of Harriette’s sister Amy, another notorious member of the demimonde. He found the drawing room crammed, and recognised many well-known male members of the ton amongst the crowd. Beau Brummell was there in his elegant though unostentatious evening attire, passing to and fro with his usual supercilious air, as if he conferred a favour upon everyone by his own presence. Presently supper was served, a sumptuous meal of cold chicken and other delicacies washed down with champagne and claret in generous supply. By now the assembly was becoming rowdy, with all the guests talking and laughing at the top of their voices and the temperature of the room rising to an uncomfortable height. Shaldon eased himself out into a narrow passage leading off the drawing room, so that he could take a breather for a few moments.
“You are finding it uncomfortably hot and noisy, my lord?” asked a soft voice at his ear.
He turned to find Harriette Wilson beside him.
“Yes, devilish, ain’t it?” he replied. “And I’ve scarce passed a single word with you, divine creature, since I came here.”
She moved closer to face him, so that his eyes were attracted irresistibly to the decolletage of her gown, which just revealed the swelling curve of her breasts.
“La, sir,” she said, mockingly, “if you came here for conversation…!”
He had drunk a quantity of champagne, which heightened the heady effect of this generous display of the lady’s charms. With fingers that shook slightly he traced the neckline of her gown, pausing when he came to that seductive cleavage.
“No,” he muttered, hoarsely. “B’God, no!”
She laughed softly as she led him upstairs.
Thus began a liaison which had lasted during the past four years, though by no means continuously. On both sides it was a casual affair, untroubled by any emotional overtones. Harriette had a series of acknowledged protectors who monopolised her during the term of office, so to speak, and were extremely jealous of any outsider who attempted to share the lady’s favours. She always claimed that she was completely faithful to whichever man happened to be paying her bills at present, but Viscount Shaldon had good cause to know that these claims could not invariably be upheld. As his knowledge of the social set in which he moved increased, so did his cynical amusement in this situation. Most of them were playing the same game, but few were fortunate enough to remain as emotionally uninvolved as himself.
As for those other very different females who inhabited the beau monde and who every season flocked to the Royal drawing room and such unexceptionable places as Almack’s Assembly rooms and the ton parties, he had scant interest in them. Frequently they were pretty and he would enjoy a mild flirtation with them until he chanced to see their Mamas eyeing him speculatively, when he would draw off hurriedly before he should find himself committed. For, pretty or plain, they seemed to Shaldon to be fashioned to the same pattern, like the expensive set of Wedgwood ware that appeared on his grandparents’ dining table at mealtimes. They were all highborn, elegant, and models of propriety. The business of their lives was to achieve a creditable marriage, and all their behaviour was regulated to promote this object.
With the example before him of his own parents’ marriage, Shaldon was not disposed to think of matrimony as a desirable state. It was easier to tie a knot than to untie it; and what could marriage possibly offer to compensate for the benefits it would remove — the freedom to go where one pleased and the sense of being one’s own man, instead of a puppet manipulated by some female? Of course, if he should ever chance upon a woman like his mother… but that was impossible, he told himself. The heredity and circumstances which had moulded Maria Cottesford into a loving and compassionate, yet intelligent and lively woman were unique to herself.
He had allowed the letter to fall from his hands as he sat meditating. Now he swept the papers aside from the top of the desk and drew a sheet of paper towards him. On it he penned a single short line.
I will be there.
S.
In spite of Helen’s determination to discover what lay behind Bertram Durrant’s dark hints of trouble in store for Shaldon, she could think of no way of doing this other than by paying a visit to Cynthia Lydney to see if anything could be gleaned discreetly from her.
Although the two girls had been living in the same neighbourhood ever since leaving the Seminary in Kensington last summer, visits between them were rare. Neither cared very much for the other; and their respective parents had never had any close association, although naturally the families were bound to meet when taking part in the various neighbourhood activities.
Cynthia therefore was somewhat surprised when Helen was announced to her one morning soon after Shaldon’s departure.
“Why, Helen, it’s an age since I saw you,” she said, inviting her visitor to be seated, and subjecting her to a searching scrutiny. “Pray, how do you contrive to become so brown at this season of the year? Never mind, as you are naturally of a fair complexion, it shouldn’t be too difficult to rid yourself of that country look before you appear in Town. My dresser makes up an excellent lotion for the purpose. If you like, I’ll let you have some of it.”
Helen laughed. “You’re very good, Cynthia, but pray don’t trouble, for I could never bear to be daubing my face with lotions! If it will not do as it is, I fear I must resign myself to being stared at. How is your Mama, and all the rest of your family?”
This civil enquiry being answered and reciprocated, the two girls fell to talking of their forthcoming visit to London — a discussion which on Cynthia’s part involved a minute description of all the various morning gowns, walking dresses, carriage dresses, ball dresses and other adornments to her person which she intended to take with her. Suspecting that Helen’s wardrobe would not be nearly so extensive or fine, she was hoping to raise envy in the other girl. In this she was disappointed, however. Helen merely remarked that it was wonderful how many clothes one was supposed to require for a few months in the Metropolis.
“My own mother has gone to a deal of exertion over the business. Indeed, I felt obliged to protest that I could never hope to wear the half of what she thinks necessary! But I believe she’s enjoying all the fuss of prepa
ration every bit as much as if she were going herself, so I haven’t the heart to discourage her, poor darling.”
“I daresay Mrs. Somerby never had the advantage of a come-out in London herself?”
“No, but I believe she had a grand ball at her home in Oxfordshire, with most of the county present.”
Cynthia smiled pityingly. “Then it’s no wonder that she should take a vicarious pleasure in your debut. Of course, it may be a little uncomfortable to be obliged to accept the patronage of the Chetwodes. After all, Melissa will naturally be their first concern.”
“Naturally. But their kindness is such that I know they will treat me as if I were a very close relative — otherwise my parents would not have dreamt of accepting their offer. I am quite at home with the family, you know. Melissa and I often used to exchange visits during the school holidays, though I never went to their town house.”
“Ah, but this is different. This time, you and Melissa will be rivals.”
“Rivals? I don’t think that likely.”
“But surely, my dear Helen, since you will both be on the catch for eligible husbands?”
Helen wrinkled her nose with distaste for Cynthia’s phrase. “I can’t speak for Melissa, of course, though I doubt if she would view the matter quite in that light. As for myself, I have no thought of husband catching! I hope to go amongst agreeable company and to enjoy a whole host of new experiences. In short, I wish to be thoroughly entertained, and not to spend my time scheming for an advantageous marriage, which seems to me a dreary waste of a splendid opportunity!”
“Well, you were always an original. But in truth, my own plans are something akin to yours, since I, too, mean to give up the whole of my time in Town to pleasure. My case, of course, is different from yours, since I am already certain of an eligible match. That is all arranged.”
Helen saw no point in pretending that she did not understand what was meant, so she nodded.
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