by Jane Feather
Chastity grimaced. She could sympathize absolutely with her sister. Any other viewpoint would be completely antithetical to any of the Duncan women. “Does Gideon really believe that?”
“No, I'm sure he doesn't. He says he takes any case that interests and challenges him regardless of guilt or innocence.” Prudence shook her head disgustedly. “He said if he only took cases that fitted my moral framework, we'd all be out on the streets.”
Chastity couldn't help laughing. “I'm sorry,” she said. “But you must admit he's probably right. If we vetted every case offered to him according to our views of right and wrong, he'd have no practice.”
Prudence smiled reluctantly. “It's not that I'm not practical about such things myself, but this just caught me on the raw.”
“Yes, I can see why it would.” Chastity sipped her sherry. “Is Con coming early this evening?”
Prudence glanced up at the clock on the mantel. “She should be here soon. She said by seven at the latest, so that we can have time to discuss business before the guests arrive.”
“I'll go and dress for dinner before she gets here, then.” Chastity stood up. “Could I borrow your topaz shawl? It goes so well with the green dress.”
“Of course. And you'll need the matching ribbon for your hair. I'll look them out while I'm dressing. Do you want a bath? I'll send Becky to help you.”
“No, I bathed this morning and I can manage to dress myself,” Chastity said. “Somehow I don't think I could get used to a lady's maid.”
“Oh, you'd be surprised how quickly one can,” Prudence said. “Just wait until you're living in the lap of luxury.”
Chastity just shook her head with a smile and made her way to the guest room where Sarah had hung up her gown. A jug of hot water steamed on the washstand beside a pile of thick towels. She unpacked her valise, reflecting that both her sisters had adapted with remarkable ease to the luxuries of life supplied by wealthy husbands. She could hardly blame them after all the time they had spent on the verge of bankruptcy, gradually giving up all the little luxuries they had known when their mother was alive, before Lord Duncan lost his shirt to the earl of Barclay. For herself, though, she thought she would find the attentions of a lady's maid too intrusive. She was perfectly capable of dressing herself, after all.
She returned to her sister's sitting room within twenty minutes, fastening the wrist buttons of the tight sleeves of her gown as she went. Prudence, dressed now in an evening gown of black and gray silk, her cinnamon-colored hair piled in a pompadour, emerged from the bedroom as Chastity closed the sitting room door behind her.
“I do love that dress,” Prudence said admiringly. “That shade of green is just magnificent with your hair. Here, let me fasten the ribbon.” Deftly, she threaded the topaz ribbon into Chastity's artfully arranged red curls and then draped the matching shawl over her shoulders. “There, you look lovely, as always.” A slight frown crossed her light green eyes. “You look thinner, Chas.”
“Yes, I thought this gown was a bit looser.” Chastity smoothed the folds down over her frame with a pleased air. She was the shortest of the three sisters and more inclined to roundness than either the much taller Constance or the much more angular Prudence. “I'm probably not eating so much cake,” she said, cheerfully dismissing the subject.
“Who did you invite for me this evening?” She stood on tiptoe to examine her completed coiffure in the overmantel mirror. She licked a finger and smoothed her arched eyebrows over her hazel eyes.
“Roddie Brigham. That's all right, isn't it?” Prudence asked a little anxiously.
“Yes, of course it is. He's easy to talk to and we always enjoy each other's company,” Chastity responded.
“You don't sound overwhelmed with enthusiasm,” her sister observed.
“I'm sorry.” Chastity turned back from the mirror and smiled at her. “I like Roddie and I like not having to stand on ceremony with him.” She regarded Prudence with a slightly quizzical air. “But even though he's asked me to marry him at least three times, I am not looking for a husband, Prue, so don't get your hopes up.”
“In my experience, you don't have to look for one, they just turn up,” Prudence replied.
“What just turn up?”
They both spun to the door at the new voice. Their eldest sister, Constance, came into the room, preceded by a waft of exotic fragrance.
“Husbands,” Prudence said.
“Oh, yes.” Constance nodded. “How true. They tend to appear where least expected.” She kissed her sisters. “You haven't found one, have you, Chas?”
“Not since yesterday,” her sister informed her with a laugh. “But, as I just said, I'm not looking. At least,” she added, “not for myself.”
“Ah, did we acquire a new client this afternoon?” Prudence asked, remembering that Chastity was keeping an appointment as the Go-Between.
Chastity's small nose wrinkled. “I'd much rather tell him to go and fish in some other pool,” she said. “He's really obnoxious.”
Constance poured sherry for them all. “But that's not really the point, Chas,” she said slowly. “We don't have to like our clients.”
“I know.” Chastity took the offered glass and arranged herself on the sofa again.
“What was his name? Doctor something . . .” Prudence sat down on the opposite sofa.
“Farrell. Douglas Farrell.” She sipped her sherry. “He wants a rich wife, first and foremost. An essential quality, if that's the word.” She couldn't disguise her distaste.
“Well, at least he's honest,” Constance pointed out.
“Oh, yes, he's that all right. Not only must this wife be rich, she must also be willing and socially positioned to entice rich patients for him.”
“Where does he practice?”
“Harley Street. He's just beginning to build a practice, hence the need for a procuress.”
Her sisters grimaced. “Must you put it like that, Chas?” asked Prudence.
“I did to him and he said it was exactly right. He liked to call a spade a spade.”
“You really didn't like him,” Constance stated.
“No, I did not.” Chastity sighed. “He's so cold and calculating. And he was so scornful of the Harley Street patients that he wants to enroll, basically said they were hypochondriacal malingerers. I can't imagine what his bedside manner must be like.”
Her sisters regarded her in silence for a minute. It was so unlike Chastity to take such a determined stance against someone. Of the three of them she was the most charitably inclined, the least willing to criticize.
“It's not like you to be so dead-set against someone, Chas,” Constance said.
Chastity shrugged. “He put my back up, I suppose.” For some reason that she did not understand, she had not confided to her sisters her first unwitting sight of Dr. Farrell at Mrs. Beedle's. And for the same inexplicable reason she couldn't bring herself to tell them how her dislike of the man was rooted in disappointment. It seemed so illogical to have formed expectations of someone based on a clandestine observation behind a shop curtain.
“But you didn't tell him we wouldn't take him on as a client?” Prudence sounded a little anxious. Chastity could sometimes forget the financial priorities of their business, although that usually meant she pressed her sisters to take on clients just because she felt sorry for them, regardless of their ability to pay for the Go-Between's services.
“I wouldn't tell him that without consulting you two,” Chastity said. “But that's what I would like to do. I can't imagine condemning any woman to such a cold and sterile relationship.”
“Not every woman would see it your way,” Prudence reminded her. “Successful Harley Street physicians are highly desirable on the marriage mart.”
“Maybe so, but is it right to take advantage of a woman so desperate for a husband that she would basically sell herself? Because that's what it comes down to.”
“Now, why am I not surprised to find the cabal
gathered?” Sir Gideon Malvern's melodic voice interrupted the tête-à-tête. He entered the sitting room still in his street clothes. “Good evening, Constance, Chastity.” He bent to kiss Prudence, who hadn't moved from the sofa. “And how are you, madam wife? In a better frame of mind, I trust.”
“You could ask yourself that question,” Prudence returned with asperity.
“Oh, I have,” he said cheerfully. “And the answer is definitely in the affirmative.”
Prudence felt the wind had been taken from her sails. Her husband had a way of disarming her that never failed. “Hadn't you better dress?” she said, a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. “Guests are expected at eight-fifteen.”
He nodded and moved towards the bedroom, asking over his shoulder, “Is Max coming this evening, Constance?”
“He certainly expects to,” she said. “Parliament is in recess.”
“Oh, good. I want to discuss something with him.”
“Your case?” Prudence inquired.
“No, Christmas, as it happens,” he replied, pulling his tie loose. “I'll be in my dressing room if anyone wants me.” He disappeared into the bedroom.
“A quarrel?” Constance inquired of her sister with a knowingly raised eyebrow.
“Just a case he's taking that I don't agree with.” Prudence put her in the picture and was gratified to see that Constance was at least as outraged as she by the defense Gideon intended to mount.
“Well, there's not much that can be done about it now,” Chastity said. “Maybe you can work on him behind the bed curtains.”
“I doubt it, he's as stubborn as an ox.” Prudence sounded resigned.
“Speaking of which,” Chastity said. “Father.”
Her sisters were all attention. “Is there something new?” Constance asked.
Chastity shook her head. “Not since you saw him yesterday. But he's not improving. His frame of mind . . . he's so depressed, and he just sits in his chair making inroads into the whisky decanter, staring into space, blaming himself for everything.”
“We need to take him out of himself,” Prudence said.
“That's what Jenkins said.”
“Easier said than done, though,” Constance stated.
“I had an idea on the way over here.” Chastity looked at her sisters in turn, her gaze a little hesitant, a tentative note in her voice. “I don't know what you'll think of it.”
“Well, tell us, love.” Constance leaned forward attentively.
“I was thinking that maybe a companion . . .” Chastity paused, unsure how to go on. What she was about to propose could upset her sisters, could seem like an act of disloyalty to their mother's memory. “A wife,” she said, making up her mind. “I thought, since we find wives and husbands for people all over town, maybe we could find a wife for Father. It's been nearly four years since Mother died. I don't think she'd mind. In fact—”
“In fact, she would applaud the idea,” Constance interrupted strongly. “It's a brilliant idea, Chas.”
Prudence was still silent, and they both looked to her. After a minute, she said slowly, “A woman of independent means would be perfect.”
“Or even better, a wife of more than independent means,” Constance said.
“But that's just as bad as Douglas Farrell,” Chastity protested. “It's so mercenary. I just thought he might enjoy a loving companion. She doesn't have to be rich.”
“No. No, of course not,” Prudence soothed. “But if perhaps she was, well, wouldn't that really gild the lily? Father wouldn't be thinking about money, and of course we wouldn't put someone in his way whom we didn't like. But . . .” She shrugged. “Money has its uses, Chas.”
“As if I didn't know that,” Chastity said. “So, you think I'm being too nice in my objections to Farrell's mercenary attitude?”
“Quite frankly, yes,” Prudence said, glancing at Constance, who nodded her agreement.
Chastity frowned into her sherry glass, then she said, “Very well. I thought you'd say that anyway. But you didn't meet him, don't forget. He's a dour, calculating, mercenary Scotsman.”
“But he's also a doctor,” Prudence reminded her. “He must have an interest in helping people. That should appeal to you, Chas.”
“It would if I thought it was true,” her sister said. “But he reminded me of some Victorian industrialist who couldn't care what tools he used to advance himself, or whom he trampled on to get his way. He seemed to think that so long as he was honest about his greed, there was nothing to object to.”
“You got all that in just a brief meeting in the National Gallery?” Constance asked in astonishment.
Chastity flushed slightly. “It does seem a little extreme,” she admitted.
“Maybe when you see him in an ordinary social situation you'll see him in a different light,” Prudence suggested.
“Well, we can't issue any invitations until we have some prospective brides,” Chastity pointed out. “Who do we know rich and desperate enough to enter into a mutually convenient business partnership under the guise of marriage?”
“At least we know they don't have to have beauty or brains,” Prudence said.
“Or even character,” Chastity said with a touch of acid. “We do know our client is not in the least fussy about such minor matters.”
“You've made your point, Chas.” Prudence rose to her feet. “We'd better go down to the drawing room, the first guests will arrive any minute.” She stuck her head around the bedroom door and called, “Gideon, we're going down. Hurry up.”
Her husband appeared immediately, fastening his cuff links. “Is Sarah going to be in the drawing room before dinner?”
“She's hoping so, but I said you'd have to decide.” Gideon had been Sarah's only parent for close to seven years and Prudence was still learning the moves of the stepparent dance—when it was appropriate to disagree or to make her own suggestions, and when to keep her opinions to herself.
“Do you think she's old enough?” he asked, turning back to get his coat.
“I would say so.”
“Then, by all means. I'll be down in a couple of minutes.”
The three women went to the drawing room. Sarah was hovering in the hall as they came down the stairs. “Can I stay for a little, Prue?”
“Yes, until we go in to dinner,” her stepmother said. “Your father said it would be all right.” She examined the girl, who, in anticipation of this permission, had donned her best party dress. The ink on her fingers rather spoiled the effect, but Prudence didn't think it worth mentioning. She adjusted a hair clip to catch up a drifting lock of hair behind Sarah's right ear. “Perhaps you could pass around the canapés.”
“Oh, yes, I could certainly do that,” Sarah agreed. She noticed Constance for the first time. “Hello, Aunt Con, I didn't hear you arrive. I must have been getting dressed.”
“Yes, I'm sure that must be it,” Constance agreed gravely. “Your ears are far too sharp to have missed my arrival otherwise.”
Sarah regarded her doubtfully for a second, as if trying to decide whether she was being made fun of, but then decided that it didn't matter if she was. She liked her newly acquired aunts. They never talked down to her, never excluded her, and were all amazingly competent when it came to tricky areas of homework. And they were great favorites with her father.
They went into the drawing room and Prudence cast a swift eye over the arrangements. All seemed in place.
“Who are our fellow guests, Prue?” Constance asked. “Anyone we don't know?”
“Only the Contessa Della Luca and her daughter, Laura. Everyone else you know.”
Chastity cocked her head. “They sound exotic, Prue.”
“The contessa was a client of Gideon's.”
“One you approved of,” Chastity put in with a hint of mischief, her habitual equanimity restored.
“Yes, Chas,” Prudence said with an answering laugh. “A simple matter of helping her reclaim an estate. She's Eng
lish, was married to an Italian count, and was recently widowed, so she decided to come back to London with her daughter. I haven't met either of them, I only know what Gideon told me. He asked me to invite them . . . to introduce them socially. I don't think he's met the daughter. Gideon, have you met Laura Della Luca?” she asked as her husband entered the room.
“No, only her mother. She's a pleasant woman. I assume the daughter is the same.” He went to pour himself a whisky. “Can I get you all another sherry?”
The doorbell chimed and they heard Max Ensor's voice greeting the butler with easy familiarity. Max came into the drawing room, accompanied by Sarah, who announced, “The Right Honorable Max Ensor, Minister of Transport and Member of Parliament for Southwold.”
“Cheeky madam,” Max said, lightly tapping her cheek. Sarah ducked and grinned. She liked this newly acquired uncle as much as she liked her aunts.
“May I get you a drink, Uncle Max?”
“Whisky, please, Sarah.” He kissed his wife, then his sisters-in-law, and shook hands with his brother-in-law.
“Busy day?” Constance asked, smiling up at him as he perched on the arm of the sofa beside her.
“No, an indolent one,” he said, twisting one of her russet side curls around his finger. “I played billiards all afternoon.”
“And did you win?” Constance knew her husband was as competitive as she was.
“Need you ask?”
She laughed. “No, of course you did.”
The butler announced the first dinner guests and the time for intimate family chat was over.
Chastity dutifully devoted her attention to Lord Roderick Brigham, who was to take her in to dinner. It was no particular hardship, since she'd known him for years and he had an easy, accomplished manner. They performed the obligatory steps in the social dance automatically and were exchanging pleasantries about family matters when the Contessa Della Luca and her daughter were announced.
“Do you know them?” asked Lord Brigham in an undertone.
“No,” Chastity said. “Do you?”
“Only by repute. My mother met them at tea at Lady Wigan's the other day.”