Vice and Virtue

by Veronica Bennett

  Aurora fanned herself vigorously. She knew she must provide a plausible explanation for her apparent neglect of a dying man. “Joe,” she said, putting down the fan and regarding him as seriously as he was regarding her, “as I have confessed, my brother is in hiding from creditors. He cannot make his whereabouts public. Neither can he go out, though he is too ill to do so, anyway. For myself, I cannot do the first thing, but I can do the second, and I have his blessing to do so. He knows I crave the company of others, and being so lately arrived in London, our friends are far away.”

  Joe nodded. He seemed satisfied. “Where, exactly, are your friends?”

  “In the West Country,” invented Aurora. “Not far from Bath.” It was the first place she thought of. Her mother had recently begun to voice her wish to visit the city of Bath, where she hoped the spa water might relieve her swollen seamstress’s finger joints.

  “I know your parents are both deceased, but do you have other relatives?” enquired Joe.

  “No,” said Aurora quickly. “My father was considerably older than my mother, and the last of his family living. My mother’s parents have also passed on, and although she had a sister, we have never had anything to do with her. I do not believe my aunt ever married. I do not even know if she lives still.”

  She was pleased with this fabrication, which had come to her instantly. At a stroke, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins had been obliterated.

  Joe pondered her answers. “Then soon, you will be utterly alone in the world.”

  “That is so.”

  “What will you do, when your brother … when you are finally alone?” he asked.

  “I have not decided,” seemed the safest reply. “I may go back to Bath.”

  “And face your brother’s creditors?”

  She shrugged. “I must bear whatever comes to me, I suppose.”

  “The Lord will provide,” agreed Joe. He shifted on the bench a little. His expression had become earnest. “Speaking of the Lord … my sister tells me you have been brought up in the Protestant faith.”

  Aurora could guess why he was questioning her so carefully. From Miss Drayton’s point of view, marriage to Joe Deede would be far, far preferable to being left to make her own way in the world. Because she had no family to object, she could take the irrevocable step of converting to Catholicism in order to become his wife, as his father had done in order to marry Joe’s mother.

  Aurora began to despise herself for continuing this charade. To mislead a man in such an important matter as love and marriage, to lie before God like the worst sinner ever consigned to damnation, was despicable. She wished she really were lonely Miss Drayton, who cared so little for her religion that she might be persuaded to abandon it for a rich husband. As it was, she found herself wilfully deceiving a man innocent of everything but falling in love with her.

  “Yes, sir, that is true,” she told him. “But I have never been very strict in my religion. My brother is more so.”

  He caught the sorrow in her voice, though he could not know its real cause. “Does speaking of such things cause you pain?”

  “Forgive me, sir,” she said, bowing her head. “I am merely distressed by the thought that before I can make any plans about where to go or anything else, my dear brother must be buried, and in a Protestant churchyard.”

  He nodded towards her wine glass, which she had set beside her on the bench. “Then drink, and let us walk a little while, before we meet the others for supper. The exercise will give us an appetite.”

  Aurora was relieved to end the conversation. When she had finished her wine she took Joe’s arm and they set off along a different alley from the one they had taken before. It emerged into the main concourse, where the crowd had increased. “How will all these people be fed?” asked Aurora in wonder.

  “It is managed somehow,” Joe assured her. “And you must understand that not every visitor will have the means to purchase a supper ticket.”

  “Oh! I hope this entertainment is not proving very expensive for you!”

  “Not at all. It is a very great pleasure to provide you with an enjoyable evening,” he said stiffly.

  Aurora was again assailed by guilt. She squeezed his arm. “You are a good man, Joe Deede,” she said warmly. “You are altogether a better person than Aurora Drayton!”

  He began to respond with a pleasantry. But suddenly he stopped, transfixed by something ahead. Aurora found her hand clasped more tightly to his side. “Good God!” he exclaimed in an outraged whisper. “The effrontery of that man!”

  Aurora followed his gaze. Her heart jumped so violently she had to put her hand on her breast. Not three yards away, walking towards them with the rest of the throng, were Edward and Richard. They appeared as they had when she had first seen them in St James’s Park: two young gentlemen, finely dressed, extravagantly bewigged, wearing their swords with a confident air.

  Her cheeks had instantly reddened, and she put up her fan. She must not betray she had ever seen either of these men before. Her brain raced as she tried to piece together the events of the evening. Edward had left their lodgings while she was still dressing, reminding her he was going to meet Richard at Will’s Coffee House. He had not been wearing this finery then, so he must have returned to change after she had gone to Mill Street. What mischief was he up to?

  “I know not who the taller man is,” said Joe, “but the shorter one is the son of my father’s greatest enemy, now deceased, I am glad to say. The son is as great a villain as his father was, and as great an enemy of our family.”

  Aurora tried to recover her wits, and remember to be Miss Drayton. “But, Joe,” she said as mildly as she could, “we are in a public place. It must be merely by chance that your path has crossed this man’s tonight.”

  “That is so. You are quite right.” He patted her hand again. His voice was calmer, but his chest rose and fell rapidly. The sight of Edward had greatly unsettled him. “We shall ignore them.”

  But as Aurora might have predicted, Edward was not of the same mind. He approached boldly and removed his hat. “Mr Deede, indeed!” he cried, with an exaggerated bow. Richard, grinning, bowed equally low. Aurora could not fathom this nonsense.

  “Good evening, Mr Francis.” Joe did not bow, but regarded both gentlemen with suspicion.

  “Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr Augustus Hoggart,” said Edward, indicating Richard. “Augustus, this is Mr Josiah Deede, of Mill Street, Mayfair.”

  “Odd!” exclaimed Richard foppishly, his fingers cupping his chin. “I would have thought Mr Josiah Deede, the esteemed attorney, to be rather older.”

  “This is the esteemed attorney’s son,” Edward told him. His eyes then travelled back to Joe, who was still regarding him and Richard coldly. “Mr Deede, may Augustus and I have the pleasure of being introduced to your fair companion?”

  Joe gave an impatient sigh. He could not, for courtesy’s sake, refuse. “Gentlemen, this is Miss Aurora Drayton, of Covent Garden.” His grip on Aurora’s arm did not relent. “Miss Drayton and I are on our way to meet the rest of our party for supper, and must take our leave. Fare you well. Come, Aurora.”

  Before she had time to make a curtsey, Joe tried to pull her away. But at that moment Mrs Fellowes and Mrs Partridge appeared. Pushing herself eagerly between their shoulders was Celia, whose face, already pink from excitement and the heat of the evening, turned pinker when she saw the two strangers. “Oh, Joe!” she cried. “You have met someone you know! Do introduce us!”

  Again, courtesy would not allow Joe to refuse. “My sister, Miss Celia Deede, and our friends Mrs Fellowes and Mrs Partridge,” he announced, without looking at the two men. “Ladies, this gentleman is Mr Hoggart, and this is Mr Francis.”

  Celia’s expression changed. “Mr Edward Francis?”

  “The very same,” replied Joe bitterly. “I would have walked past him if he had not insisted otherwise. But come, Celia, we must to supper. My dear Mrs Fellowes, Mrs Partridge, wil
l you join us?”

  This time he succeeded in moving the party of ladies on. Edward and Richard glanced at each other and began to walk towards the supper tables too. Joe ignored them, but Celia could not contain her delight at falling into the company of the famous Edward Francis, whom her father and brother had spoken of with such contempt, and whose fortune had landed so spectacularly in her own lap.

  “What are you doing here, Mr Francis?” she asked him pertly. “I am surprised you can afford the price of admission! Or did your friend pay for you?”

  “Celia!” admonished Joe. “Do not debase yourself in speaking so.” He turned to the two older ladies with apology. “Mr Francis’s family has long been at enmity with ours, and Celia has not encountered him before. Though I have.” He looked sidelong at Edward. “However, I confess myself bewildered as to why he has decided to adhere to our party.”

  “I am grieved to hear that,” said Edward. “I would have thought my motive would be obvious. You are in the company of four charming ladies, and Augustus and I are in the company of none. Will you not share them with us for a little while?”

  Mrs Fellowes succumbed immediately to this flattery. “Why, Mr Francis, I believe you are flirting with us!” she trilled. “But you would be far better to flirt with Celia and Aurora, you know – Mrs Partridge and I are spoken for!”

  “Quite so, madam,” agreed Edward, bowing. He took a step nearer Aurora. “Miss Drayton, you must be at a loss to understand the cause of Miss Deede’s animosity. I confess I am too. Now that I have seen her for the first time, I consider her a very pretty, amiable young lady. As, no doubt, her brother considers you.”

  “Enough, sir!” Joe could no longer keep his countenance. “I insist that you remove yourself from our company. We have not invited you to join us for supper—”

  “More’s the pity!” put in Richard. “I like nothing better than supping in the company of ladies!”

  “And we will not invite you,” continued Joe with contempt. “You, sir,” he said to Richard, “are as conceited a puppy as your companion. I will not allow either of you to make free with my sister, Miss Drayton or our friends. I bid you both farewell.”

  Compressing his lips, he strode on, followed by Celia and the others. But Aurora had freed her hand from Joe’s grasp. She fell into step with Edward and Richard, a few yards behind the others, avoiding Joe’s sight by mingling with the increasingly dense crowd. “Are you completely deranged?” she hissed at Edward.

  “No, I am merely bored with Samuel Marshall’s company.”

  She could not show her anger in her face in such a public place, but she thrust it into her voice. “You came to spy on me, did you not? You do not trust me. Admit it!”

  “We came to protect you,” said Edward calmly. “My distrust of Joe Deede grows daily. I am afraid I cannot find him as innocent as you profess him to be.”

  Aurora’s indignation did not abate. “Your arrogance…” She stopped, and glanced coldly at Richard. “The arrogance of you both is breathtaking. Will you risk destroying everything I have tried to do, in order to spy on your own spy?”

  Edward drew breath, but she was too incensed to let him speak.

  “Why involve Richard?” she asked. “Oh, I know why! You thought two pairs of eyes would be better than one, did you not, in case you missed a coquettish glance, or some lover’s sign I might have given Joe Deede?”

  Edward’s eyes glittered, but he kept his countenance. Taking her elbow, he drew her into an alley so rich with blossom they were immediately invisible to passers-by. “It was necessary to bring Richard, whom Joe Deede has never seen and whose identity he does not know,” he told her firmly. “Being in the company of a droll young fellow, a part I think you will agree Richard plays very well, made my running into your party more plausible than if I had appeared alone.”

  “But why did you have to appear at all?” demanded Aurora.

  “I had to satisfy myself that my suspicions of Joe Deede are well founded. My appearance clearly disturbed him, did you not see? He is no more at peace with his father’s sudden inheritance than I am, though he pretends otherwise. He is as suspicious of me as I am of him. I will wager he knows about the key. He may well know about the letter too. He is waiting to act. You are in danger of discovery, and more.”

  Aurora barely listened. “Edward, hear this,” she commanded coldly: “I refuse to continue in this enterprise if you will not trust me to accomplish my task alone. You said I have the attributes of a good spy, did you not? So I would thank you to allow me to discharge my duties. Now, Joe will be seeking me. I must return to my party.”

  He did not release his grip on her elbow. Aurora turned to see Richard guarding the entrance to the alley. She turned back to Edward. “I insist, sir, that you let me be!”

  She watched the purposefulness of his expression disappear, and resignation take its place. “Very well,” he said, letting go of her arm. As he contemplated her his eyes filled with a soft light. “But do me the honour of remembering, in your dealings with the Deede family, that it is I – not Joe Deede – who loves you truly. If disaster should befall you, my remorse would last past death.”

  Aurora gave him a final indignant look, then brushed past Richard and stepped out of the alley. Joe was scanning the crowd with a pained, restless expression. “I am here, Joe,” she reassured him. “I was detained by people getting in my way.”

  “Did those two men speak to you again?”

  “Of course not,” soothed Aurora. “They are gone. Let us enjoy our supper in peace.”

  A Lace-Edged Glove

  Aurora awoke the next day feeling hot. Brilliant sunlight imprinted a small square on the grimy floorboards of her room. It was Sunday; a church bell tolled for nine o’clock service. Despite her good supper at Spring Gardens, she wanted her breakfast, and it was time Edward woke up anyway. She got up and opened her chamber door. The outer room was empty, the bed still made. Edward had not returned.

  She crossed the room, unlocked the door and stood on the landing, listening. Mary was going about her morning chores. Aurora heard the clump, clump of her heavy shoes, and the click, click of Mr Marshall’s stick as he made his way downstairs. She lifted the breakfast tray Mary had left outside the door and placed it on the table. Then she closed the door and turned the key.

  The coffee was long cold, but she drank greedily. She cut a thick slice of bread and butter, and took it into her room, wondering why Edward had not come back. Had he stayed at the Black Swan with Richard? Or had they both gone to Hartford House? Why, after what he had said about keeping the door locked, had he left her alone all night?

  She finished the slice of bread and licked butter off her fingers, thinking about Joe. She knew quite well why Edward was convinced of his duplicity: he was jealous of the attentions Joe was paying her. Aurora was not convinced, but in the short time she had known Edward Francis she had learned to respect his wisdom. Would he have embarked upon last night’s reckless adventure without good cause? If he was sure that Joe knew more than he betrayed, should she be so sure he did not?

  She tried to master her unease. She knew she should trust her husband; without trust she was lost. And she hoped he would trust her, as he had agreed to last night under the blossom trees. But her imagination framed the memory of Joe’s handsome countenance, and the amiable attentiveness he had shown her. He had not chosen to fall in love with a Protestant woman, but now that he had, he was making the best of it. His quizzing her about her lack of family connections and uncertain future had a very important purpose. And since it was not Aurora Francis he held in his heart, but Aurora Drayton, what harm was he doing anyone but himself?

  She sat on the bed a little longer, thinking hard. Then she went to her trunk and pulled out a grey cotton dress, sprigged with blue and trimmed with white. It was light material, but the weather was warm enough for it. She shook it out and held it against herself. The glass told her that yes, the dress suited her well; the
bodice was low but not too revealing, and the pattern reflected the blue of her eyes. With white ribbons on her straw hat, she would be fit to charm Joe Deede. Or, for that matter, whomever else came in her way.

  She was searching for her summer petticoat when she heard Edward’s key turn in the lock.

  “Aurora! Are you awake?” There was more than urgency in his voice.

  Aurora rose and opened her bedroom door. Framed by the side curls of his wig, Edward’s face was shadowed by anxiety. He was still dressed in last night’s finery, but his shirt had been pulled awry at the neck, and his breeches were muddied. Aurora stiffened. “What has happened?”

  He ignored her question, preoccupied with others. “Was the key still in the lock of the writing desk? Did you retrieve it?”

  “Yes, on both accounts.”

  “And where is it now?”

  “It is with the letter, at the bottom of this trunk.”

  His eyes fell on the open trunk, and the dress laid out on the bed. He held out his hand. “Give me them both, the key and the letter.”

  “But surely I must keep them,” reasoned Aurora, “since I must restore the letter to its hiding place as soon as possible?”

  “There is no need of that now. Give me them.”

  Puzzled, but not daring to press him further, she knelt and rummaged for the letter and the key. When she handed them to him, he put them in the deepest pocket of his coat. “Richard is in an upstairs room at the inn, under the name of Mr Augustus Hoggart. I am afraid that our situation has become more dangerous.”

  “Since your reckless behaviour last night?”

  “I am never reckless. But we are discovered.”

  Aurora froze. “How?”

  Edward pushed the sprigged gown aside and sat on her bed. Still kneeling by the trunk, she watched while he removed his wig and rubbed his scalp. He was exhausted.

  “Richard and I stayed within Spring Gardens until your party departed for the ferry,” he began in a low voice, “then we caught the next one. I wished to protect you as long as I could.”