by Jean Plaidy
She said: “We are going to Vauxhall on Saturday, Mr. Crew. My little daughter here is in a fine state of excitement about the jaunt.”
“That will be delightful,” said Mr. Crew, turning his eyes upon her. He seemed to be summing her up. If his manners were not always so perfect, that appraising glance of his might be offensive.
“You have been of course, Mr. Crew?” said Carolan.
“Many times,” he told her.
“Then it would not hold the same thrill for you as it does for us?” Kitty inquired archly.
“That would depend, Ma’am.”
Here, Kitty was in her element. Her eyes were wide and innocent.
“Depend on what, sir, may I ask?”
“On the company I had the privilege to enjoy!”
“And if the company was all that you could desire, you would enjoy a visit to Vauxhall?”
“Indeed I would!”
Kitty was silent. Another man would have asked outright if he might join the party; not so Jonathan Crew. All his movements were mysterious: he would leave one guessing. Would he or would he not join their little party at Vauxhall? Wretched man! Yet exciting man! For, Kitty asked herself, what was there about him except that mysterious quality? Take that away, and what had you a tall, thin man with a skin the colour of old parchment drawn so rightly across his bones that they looked as though they would break through it, a man whose peculiarly prominent eyes and somewhat receding chin gave him the appearance of a fish. And yet that peculiarity, that soft tread when he entered the shop, that timing of his entrance attractive, yes! Or it may be, thought Kitty, that I have been shut away so long that I find any man attractive. Now Marcus … there is a different sort of man. Not good-looking, it was true, but with a charm and an air … But his merry eyes could see none but Carolan.
She found they were talking of Marcus. Jonathan had seen him leaving the shop a few days ago. Was he well? asked Jonathan. Very well, as far as she knew, Kitty replied.
“A man whose chief object in Me is to amuse himself,” Jonathan said a trifle severely. That was the impression he gave me.”
“You are an observant man,” Kitty told him.” Tis my belief our friend Marcus comes from some great family and likes to haunt our poor neighbourhood for the amusement it gives him!”
Jonathan talked on, asking questions about Marcus, but he did not seem to care very much whether or not he received answers. Kitty had never noticed before what long arms he had, what strong-looking, ugly hands.
Carolan sat by the table, not attending; now and then she touched the letter in the bodice of her dress.
Kitty turned the conversation back to Vauxhall. She was sure Jonathan would come upon them, supposedly, by accident. When a hot-blooded man is roused to passion, that is natural enough, but when it happens to a cold man, why then it can be catastrophic and most entertaining.
Kitty patted her hair and smiled slyly across the table at Carolan. Odd that he should prefer her, surely; but then perhaps it was not so odd!
At the end of that day when they visited Vauxhall Gardens, Carolan sat at her window, looking down on the moonlit street. It was just on midnight; her mother had gone to bed worn out with the day’s excitement, but Carolan could not sleep. She was too disturbed. Her eyes felt hot and weary, as though they had stared too long at some over-bright light, and her emotions were mixed ones.
The illuminations, like constellations, had been wonderful. They had enchanted her; and indeed there had been much in the sylvan scene to enchant her; the delightful paths, the hedges, the trees; and in addition the picturesque pavilions and colonnades; the porticos, the statues, the paintings, the ornate pillars. There had been so much on which to feast the eyes that they grew weary. And the people … a never-ending stream of them, loud-voiced ladies and their gallants, merchants, apprentices; everyone there had been bent on pleasure.
And then that ugly little incident to spoil it all! Who else had seen? Had Kitty? No, definitely not. She had been too enthralled by the glamorous scenes about her. Darrell? She did not think so. But she, Carolan, had seen … and so had Jonathan Crew.
Now she must go over it all again leaving the shop in the hired cabriolet, laughing a good deal at nothing in particular, because the excursion put them all in such high spirits. Darrell included; and so to Vauxhall.
It had been late afternoon when they arrived.
“Wait,” Darrell had said, ‘until the lamps are lighted; it is then that Vauxhall can enchant the eye.”
It had enchanted Carolan right from the beginning; also Kitty. Dear Mamma, in her hat with the big plumes which she imagined made her look very much as Mrs. Fitzherbert had looked in her heyday.
“They say, my dear, that I am the dead spit of what she was! And in this hat … and in this gown … Look! Are not people glancing this way?”
“We must see everything,” said Darrell.
“We must miss nothing!” countered Carolan.
Delightful it was to sit in carved wooden seats under gracious trees, eating sliced ham and sipping syllabub. She had told herself then that she would enjoy telling Everard all about this when she was with him in the country. The day we went to Vauxhall!” It would stand out in her memory as a golden day, and she would remember Darrell faintly flushed with the pleasure he was giving his family, and Mamma, proud in her plumed hat and the knowledge that her resemblance to Mrs. Fitzherbert was indeed remarkable; and herself from the country, drinking in all the excitements of the place.
Such a lot of people seemed to know Darrell. There were nods from some; others exchanged a few words with him; and not one of them did he introduce to his wife and daughter.
“Business acquaintances, my dead’ he whispered.
“Not the kind for you to meet.”
“Ah!” Carolan laughed.
“Big ideas you have of your family since bringing them by cabriolet to Vauxhall Gardens!”
They were sitting at a table under the trees when they saw Jonathan Crew coming towards them. Even he, thought Carolan, was affected by the scene. The faintest colour showed beneath his tight skin; excited, he seemed, and his eyes glittered more brightly than usual, or perhaps that was the light, for the lights had been lit at that time.
He was almost shy with Darrell, half apologetic. Kitty had watched them from under her long lashes. Piquant scene I she was thinking, Carolan knew. Poor darling Mamma, who had been so very beautiful and sought after in her youth that her confidence in her charms was as sturdy a growth as that of the young oak tree behind them!
“Unusual to meet you here!” said Jonathan.
“Do you often pass an hour or two in the gardens?”
Darrell said it was a treat for the little girl, who would so soon be returning to the country.
Kitty was demure, eyes cast down. She did not say that she had told Jonathan they would be here. This was intrigue such as Kitty loved. Carolan did not greatly care for it, but it seemed harmless enough.
“May I join in your feast of ham and syllabub?” Jonathan asked humbly, and Kitty looked modestly askance at Darrell as though, without his consent, she would not dare to ask the newcomer to sup with them.
They talked lightly of the weather, of the gardens, of the poor quality of the champagne which was served here, of the elegance of the grottoes and rotundas, of the charm of the music to be heard from not far off.
Perhaps, but for her sharp eyes, Carolan would not have seen what she did see. It had seemed a trivial incident. Kitty did not notice it; she was too busy noting the dresses of the women, the glances of the men; Darrell’s eyes were short-sighted, so he contented himself with admiring his Kitty in her Fitzherbert hat.
On the other side of the portico sat a lady, her face half covered by a mask. Now Carolan knew she was a lady of fashion in spite of the long, dark, concealing cloak she wore. Carolan had had a glimpse of a fine leather slipper and a rich gown. She was talking to a man who sat beside her, leaning towards her as though to
catch every word she uttered. Carolan guessed that the lady was here clandestinely meeting her lover, and the concealing cloak and the mask pointed to the fact that she did not wish to be recognized. That would account for her choosing Vauxhall Gardens as a rendezvous, for so few of her own class would come there on a Saturday evening. She was wondering about them when the man came by. He was a thick-set man wearing the most elegant of coats, and his breeches were so tight that they seemed like a dark skin about his legs. So deep in thought he appeared, that he walked straight into the table where the lady and gentleman sat. The lady gave a little cry, while the man in the elegant coat gripped the table as though to steady himself. For half a second Carolan saw his hands, and then looked up at his face. She was about to speak, but he had apologized and moved on. Then she was aware of Jonathan’s watching her. Not a word did she say of this. If she told Kitty, Kitty would say: “In an elegant coat, did you say? Ah! I knew it! Then Marcus Markham is a gentleman of fashion who amuses himself by taking a cup of tea with us now and then.” And she would weave fresh dreams about the man.
There the incident would have ended, had they left the table and gone on their way as they might so easily have done, having finished their repast. But they sat on until that moment when the lady started up from her seat and cried: “My purse! I swear it was here a moment ago. Where can it be?”
Then Carolan went cold with fear, for she had seen those long, tapering fingers resting on the table, and she remembered that occasion when she had first seen Marcus and he had pointed the way while he so deftly extracted her handkerchief. There was now no doubt in her mind; Marcus was a practised thief!
She wished they had gone before the lady had cried out that she had lost her purse; she wished she need not know. That was foolish and illogical; Everard had once said she was illogical. But I liked him, she thought, I liked him! I did not want to know that he was a thief. She seemed to heat the cool voice of Everard saying: “But if he was, it was better to know it.”
“No, no, no.” she persisted illogically and ridiculously. So he went about stealing, and she had thought of him as her friend! He had said to her, of the handkerchief: “This was the first offence.” He was a liar; he was a rogue; but he had such merry eyes, and she had laughed with him as she had never really laughed with Everard.
Everard was perfect in her eyes; Marcus far from perfect. But she had liked him; perhaps she was vain and foolish, but his admiration had pleased her. The throbbing note in his voice, the passionate glances … well, she had not wished to respond to them in the slightest but it had been good to know that he thought her comely. And now she was angry, not so much perhaps because he was a thief, but because he was a cheat. He had lied to her about the handkerchief; so therefore it was most likely that his admiring glances, the note of tenderness in his voice, were just a part he was playing. He was a libertine, a thief and a rogue; and he had fooled her.
If he were standing before her now, she would flay him with her tongue, she would tell him she despised him.
But she could not get out of her mind the picture of Marcus, hanging by the neck, and a crowd of laughing, jeering people looking on. Then her anger melted before her fear, and she wept for the folly of Marcus, for the stupidity of the man.
The gentleman had said: “Genevra, calm yourself! You cannot make a fuss here. Forget your purse…”
“Forget it! I had taken my pearls off because the clasp was weak; they were in my purse.”
“Hush, Genevra! You cannot stir up trouble here. Remember …”
And listening, Carolan felt glad … glad that those two were engaged in some clandestine intrigue, that they dared do nothing… glad … glad, and all for that rogue, Marcus!
When they left their table, Jonathan put his hand lightly on her arm, to detain her, and Kitty and Darrell walked ahead.
He said to her: “I wonder if you saw what I saw?”
“And what was that?” she asked, trying to force a note of unconcern into her voice.
“The little fracas at the table near us. Did you see it? Did you hear it?”
“It would have been impossible not to and we so near.”
“Her purse was stolen. Did you see by whom?”
“If I had,” she said defiantly, “I should have called stop thief! I should not have sat by and watched the thief make off with the lady’s purse!”
“We saw the thief,” said Jonathan slowly, ‘but we did not actually see the theft. They are clever, those rogues, and sleight of hand is the first lesson they learn.”
Carolan shrugged her shoulders.
“An incident that must happen time and time again in such a place as this.”
“Indeed you are right, but this particular incident would interest us more, since … we are aware of the identity of the thief.”
Carolan was too guileless to hide her dismay.
He said: “May I speak to you frankly?”
“Of course.”
“We recognized him, did we not? He is the man who stole your handkerchief. He has called on you since; I have seen him, leaving your house. Your mother has mentioned him to me; he is, she says, a friend of your father’s. Now we have discovered that he is a rogue, a common thief.”
“I am not at all sure …” began Carolan, but he interrupted her.
“Come. Let us be frank with each other; we have to be, if we are to help him. You recognized him, did you not? I knew him at once. Do you not understand that when I discovered he was visiting your house, I felt I had to know something of him? There have been other times when I have seen him.”
Carolan shivered. There was a burning self-righteousness about Jonathan now; a certain fire was creeping into his words; he moved nearer to her.
“Do not think,” he said, ‘that I wish to condemn him. I wish to stop his career of crime; do you understand? I was wondering … Could you speak to him? Your mother has told me that he sets a certain store by you…”
“Oh!” cried Carolan angrily.
“Is there anything my mother has not told you!”
He smiled.
“She has a nature that is scarcely secretive. Listen, dear young lady. Could you plead with him? Could you make him see that to pursue a life of crime means the gallows or transportation? I think he may listen to you, whereas he would not to others.”
Now she was sorry that she had been angry with Jonathan, when all he wished to do was to help Marcus. Marcus was a lovable fool; but Jonathan was a wise, good man.
“Speak to him,” went on Jonathan.
“Perhaps he has some good reason for behaving as he does. Perhaps he was led into temptation and finds it difficult to extricate himself. Ask him. Try to understand, for it is only by understanding that you can help him.”
“You talk like a preacher.”
“I wish to help the friends of my friends.”
“You are very good. I will think about it … Perhaps I will speak to him.”
He pressed her hand; his fingers were cold, and yet they seemed to tingle. He was a very good man, she thought, to feel so deeply for poor, foolish Marcus.
She was remembering it all so vividly as she sat, looking down on the street, that when Marcus appeared suddenly she felt for a second or two that he was part of her imaginings.
She stared down at him. He was strolling along the street, as though well pleased with himself. He had changed his elegant clothes for coat and breeches of worsted. How he angered her! The complacent fool! No doubt he was congratulating himself on a fine haul. Angrily she got to her feet. She would speak to him; she would tell him that he was a fool a ridiculous fool -nay, a criminal and a rogue, and she and her family had done with him.
She sped downstairs. There was no one in the parlour. Her mother had retired to bed; her father was probably working down in the basement and would not hear him. She was glad of that.
She opened the front door, and Marcus was standing there.
“Why… Miss Carolan!” he said.
“Indeed, yes!” she spoke severely.
“Pray come in. I would have a word with you.”
He looked alarmed.
“I trust I have not offended you.”
“Offended me! That is a mild way of expressing it.”
“You alarm me.”
“You should be alarmed! Speak quietly; I do not wish my father to hear. He would not have you in this house if he knew …” She drew herself up to her full height she was almost as tall as he was and her eyes flashed in scorn.
“We have just returned from Vauxhall.”
“I trust you spent a pleasant time there.”
“A most pleasant time, until one incident spoiled the whole day for me!”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
She noticed with a grim satisfaction that he was shaken.
“And well you may be. Please lower your voice. Come over here behind these old clothes; they will muffle our voices.”
“It is you who are speaking loudly, Miss Carolan!” He smiled at her tenderly.
“My dear, how upset you are!”
“Upset!” She was finding it difficult to keep back the tears.
“I was sitting near a masked lady who lost her purse.”
“But why should you care so deeply for a masked lady’s loss?”
“I saw you. Oh! You were elegant, a young gentleman of fashion, but I saw through your disguise! All the fine coats in the world would not deceive me into thinking you were anything but a thief! If my father knew, he would never allow you to set foot inside this house again.”
He stared down at his hands. He was guilty but unrepentant, disturbed only because he had been found out.
“You are a fool, Marcus,” she hissed at him.