by Joan Smith
"Will it be possible to get him out tonight?"
"If Lord Fordwich personally wished to intervene..." the clerk said, his incredulous voice telling her how unlikely he found this. She knew it was impossible to go to her father with the story. Quite apart from finishing Henry's chances, it would embarrass her father unbearably. No, she must find help in some other quarter. Upset, nervous, humiliated, and uncertain though she was, she squared her shoulders, thanked the clerk, and left.
* * *
Chapter 10
Her decision was not long being made. Eskott's was the first, the only name that popped into her head. She disliked very much to appeal to him, but knew she could not go herself, a lady alone, to a watch house. She knew too that Eskott could be imperious, arrogant, demanding, when the occasion called for it. He would get Henry out with no trouble.
The greatest difficulty encountered was to discover where he might be passing the evening. It was not yet late enough that he would be at home, not even eleven o'clock. She discovered at his own home that he was at Milner's rout party, that same one she and Henry intended to say they went to. She did not have her card for it with her, but was admitted with no difficulty. Lady Madeline Morash was not likely to be refused entry, with or without a card. She waited in a small saloon while a servant fetched Eskott for her. She was unable to face the milling group.
He came within a minute, smiling with pleasure that she had sent for him, that he found her alone waiting for him. The smile faded as soon as she turned her troubled eyes to him. Her face was pale, traces of tears still drying on her cheeks.
"Eskott, help me," she said, arising, her hands stretched out to him.
"My dear, what has happened?" he asked, his voice sharp with worry. Her fingers, resting in his, were cold, trembling. "Come, sit down and have a glass of wine. It will calm your nerves. Was there an accident?" He tried to lead her to a chair, sustaining her with one arm about her waist.
She stopped, turned to him, shaking her head and screwing up her courage to tell him. "It's Henry," she said. His fingers tightened on her wrist, till they felt like steel.
"What has he done?" There was no longer any trace of concern in his voice, but only anger and suspicion. She could see the immediate change in him. Till then, she had not realized Eskott actually hated Henry. She knew he jeered at him, made fun of "the boy," but had thought it more a reflection on herself than anything else.
"He got arrested, at the Pantheon. He is in a watch house. We must get him out."
"He had the gall to send for you with such a message!"
"No, he didn't send for me. I was there with him. A fight broke out..." In disjointed statement, she told the degrading tale, feeling cheapened, debased to have been a part of it.
Throughout it all, Eskott didn't say a word. He listened, with that cold, hard, unsympathetic face. "Of course I cannot go to Papa. I wish Henry had not used his name," she finished.
"I should think not indeed! This is a fine mess he's landed you in. Well, the first move is to get out of here without causing a scene. I expect half the world has seen you in tears already, and is wondering what you are doing on the town in such a state. I'll have my carriage called. Stay here."
"Mine is waiting. I asked the groom to stand by."
"Come along then. What are we waiting for?"
He threw his greatcoat over his shoulders as they hastened toward the carriage. "St. James's Square. Spring ‘em," he ordered John Groom.
"No, no. We must go directly to the watch house," she told him.
"You're going home. I'll handle Aldred," he said, pushing her rather roughly in and onto the banquette.
"Maybe that would be best," she decided, not reluctant to have done with this night's work. "So you think you can keep Papa's name out of it, Eskott? And of course my own."
"That must depend on how much he has boasted of his connection with you. I hope this at last opens up your eyes to that creature. To have taken you to such a dive as the Pantheon! And for you to go with him, Madeline, passes human comprehension. I think you have lost the last of your wits."
"I had no idea it had got so rough. You must not tell anyone about this. It would ruin Henry's chances for a good position."
"What chances? He's turned down the three best offers he is likely to get."
"He has only turned them down to wait for something better. You need not look down your nose at him because he is a self-made man without your inherited advantages."
"He isn't made yet. He's nothing, and if he ever does amount to a row of pins, he won't be self-made, but manufactured by you. By God, I never thought I'd see the day Lady Madeline Morash was lowering herself to such a depth. Rubbing shoulders with cits and rattles at Bristol's gambling den wasn't low enough for you. You had to go to the Pantheon and fall into a common brawl. I'm surprised you haven't taken to strolling through the lower corridor with the ladies of pleasure at Covent Garden, or reserving a chair in the green room, to be leered at by fops and dandies. In a young girl your behavior would be unfortunate but understandable. In a lady of your years and experience it is not only ludicrous but incomprehensible.”
"There is no need to be satirical about it. If I'd known you were going to be so disagreeable, I would have asked someone else."
"Who, Maddie? What decent friends have you kept up contact with this winter? You never visit anybody, nor pay the least heed to anyone but Aldred when you go out. You've made yourself a laughing-stock. This is the last straw. I'll bale him out for your sake, and to save Fordwich the disgrace, but don't ever appeal to me again on Henry's behalf."
"It was an error of judgment going there. I admit it. He's young and inexperienced. I should have known better. If you want to be angry with someone, be angry with me."
"I am. And I'll give you some advice I never thought I would hear myself give. If you feel about him the way your actions lead me to believe, marry him. It will provide some excuse for the way you behave in public. Newlyweds are generally given a season's grace. The follies of a bride are more excusable than those of a spinster of your years. Aldred might behave with more discretion then too. He might have some concern for his wife's reputation. He obviously doesn't give a tinker's curse for yours."
"Oh, go ahead, vent your spleen on me. It will blow off steam, so you won't rip up at poor Henry."
This speech had the effect of shocking Eskott into silence. "Well, upon my word!" was all he could find to say. Before he opened the carriage door for her, he added, "I'll call on you tomorrow morning. I trust you won't trouble Fordwich and Lady Margaret with details of this spree."
"Of course not. Pray do not mention it to them. We let on we were going to see Martha."
"I had already concluded there was some duplicity to the family in the evening's escapade. They would have had the good sense to lock you up if they'd had any notion where you were going."
The door was slammed, the horses bolted on down the road, and Madeline stood looking after it for a moment before entering the house. She was relieved that her father and aunt were not downstairs. She walked softly to her room to be alone and think.
She had little fear there would be any unpleasant outcome of the night. Eskott's discretion was to be counted on. Despite his ill-humor, she could depend on him for that. What she had to consider, to assess, was Henry.
An unattractive side of his nature had been revealed at the Pantheon. His reluctance to oblige her in taking her home when she told him she had a headache, his dragging out of her and her father's names, indeed even his poor judgment in allowing himself to be embroiled in a brawl when he had a lady with him—all these were serious flaws.
But what she had to determine was whether they were flaws of character or only due to his inexperience. She was slow to condemn him. He was young; he'd had no more idea than herself of what the Pantheon was like till he went. If he used her father's position to try to get out of a tight corner, it was hardly surprising. He had no way of
knowing how vulgar it sounded, that it was simply not done.
It had been a poor display on his part, and she would tell him so. She would not allow him to decide, in future, what entertainments were suitable for them to attend together. If he did not like it, then she would just have to learn to live without Henry Aldred. It was a decision she could not have taken twenty-four hours previously. A little chink had formed in the armor of her love.
* * *
Chapter 11
Whatever Eskott said to Aldred, it proved marvelously effective. Henry came the next morning in an agreeable state of self-abasement, apologising for his behavior and begging forgiveness. "I ought to be whipped for exposing you to such a disagreeable experience," he said, with more self-directed violence actually than humility. "What must you think of me? Will you ever be able to forgive me? I had no notion the place was so disreputable as Eskott says. Taffy told me he has often taken girls there—ladies I mean—for a lark. I thought it would be fun for us."
"It was disagreeable certainly, but the fault is not all your own. In future, I must follow my own judgment regarding where we can go together."
"I shall follow your judgment also on where it is acceptable for me to go alone. I come to see this idea we had of my taking an occasional night off was a perfectly wretched one. I have seen enough of the wrong side of London life that I want to see no more. It is only, you know, that I hear Taffy and the fellows talking about this and that spot—the green room at the theaters and so on—and I feel like the country cousin I am when I don't know what they're talking about. But there is nothing wrong in being a little naive after all. That's all it was, Maddie. Just stupid country innocence."
"Did Eskott manage to hush it up?" she asked, weighing his words and finding much to agree with in them.
"Yes, he was wonderful. Came striding in, telling the world who he was, and that I was a most particular friend of his. He didn't seem to mind having his name used, Maddie, so I think you were a little hard to rip up at me for using yours."
"The cases are quite different. Eskott is a bachelor—he has no immediate family to be sullied if it should leak out. And if you think he did not mind, you are out in your thinking."
"At least it is hushed up. He came down pretty heavy to get my name off the books."
"We'll have to reimburse him. What is the sum?"
"He said not to bother with it. Five or ten guineas is nothing to him."
"It is a matter of honor, like a gambling debt. Naturally we shall pay him."
"I offered him last night, and he refused."
"You should have insisted. I'll find out from him what he paid, and reimburse him on your behalf."
"Be sure you let me know the sum, and I'll repay you. I don't mean to take any more money from you. That is something else I should not have allowed myself to do, or allowed you to talk me into doing. You must be more strict with me in future. Mama," he added with a smile.
"I mean to be, my boy," she answered, patting him on the head in a mock semblance of maternity.
The scrape was eased over with Eskott's help, and the lovers were back on good terms. Not quite so good as formerly, but they were still more than friends. Henry called her "Mama," till she hinted it had ceased to amuse, at which point he stopped at once, showing every sign of shock that she should take it amiss.
Eskott came the next morning to receive Madeline's thanks and to continue his scold. Henry was in her father's study when he arrived; she did not call him, instinctively feeling she could handle Eskott better alone.
"I owe you a large debt of gratitude, my dear friend," she said, walking to the doorway to meet him. On a sudden impulse, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
"I don't care for the manner of repaying it," he told her. "When a young lady makes free of a gentleman's cheek in that way, it shows pretty clearly she considers him too old to appreciate a real kiss."
"It was a gesture. I mean to repay you in cash too. How much did you have to bribe the watch man?"
"The boy and I have settled that."
"No, you and the boy have not settled it to my satisfaction. You told him to forget it; he was too shy to press you, and has enlisted me to do it for him."
"He has already been here to explain, has he?"
"He works here, remember? He is in the study this minute."
"Then I shall settle the score with him before I leave. I had not realized he was encumbered with shyness," he said, taking up a seat before the grate.
"I'll get him," she said.
"Wait! Let us have a little private conversation first."
"You don't have to repeat last night's injunctions. Henry and I have had a good talk. He promises to reform; I promise to keep him on a shorter leash. C'est tout."
"It is strange, you know, we used to find other things than Henry Aldred to discuss when I visited you. You will notice how I am curbing my tongue. I didn't say 'more interesting things,' but only 'other things.' Sit down; order some tea. It's demmed cold outside."
She pulled the bell cord before taking up a seat beside him. "So we did. As a matter of fact, I would prefer not to talk about Henry today. I am more than a little peeved with him. I see your young poet, Byron, is quite the rage."
Eskott entered willingly into a spiel in praise of him. "The book I lent you is excellent, don't you think? I would like it back, by the by."
"I haven't read it! Everyone tells me it is all the crack, but I am more interested in his love life. Who is he chasing after this week?"
"He's never allowed to chase anyone. He is too busy running away from them. He blames his bad foot for the inordinate number of times he gets caught. Lady Ishington would like to appoint him her lover, they say."
"A highly unlikely appointment!"
"The poet mentioned Emperor Caligula appointing his horse a consul when the subject arose. I assume he cast himself in the role of emperor though. A cruel cut, considering the lady's unfortunately equine face."
"Papa mentioned seeing him at Carlton House."
"Yes, I thought I would see you at that do."
"One cannot go uninvited."
"Your father could have taken you, but I assume you mean Aldred was not asked."
"That was my meaning of course."
"You missed a famous do. Brummell was widely quoted as inquiring of Weston who is acting the prince's taxidermist these days. He has got so broad one does wonder whether he is not stuffed rather than tailored. About your not attending, is it not possible to get a card for Aldred?"
"Till he has a decent appointment, one does not like to put him forward too much."
"Why the deuce don't you get him one then?"
Henry came into the saloon at that moment, bowing and uttering a dozen expressions of gratitude to Eskott, who brushed them all aside brusquely.
"I'll see what is keeping tea," Madeline said, excusing herself. Her true motive was to leave Henry privacy to repay Eskott.
This was not the subject that arose between them, however. When she returned, Eskott was saying, "It seems to me if the Tories can't find a place for you, you would do better to come to us."
"So that is what you're up to the minute my back is turned!" she accused Eskott. 'Trying to steal my protégé."
"But of course! We could discover all sorts of interesting secrets from him, as he has been acting Fordwich's private secretary all this time."
"He is not privy to any state secrets," Madeline answered, knowing Eskott was joking. On this occasion, Henry made no mention of performing only estate duties for his cousin.
"Pity. We would give our ears to know what is going forth between Prinney and your set. We know Wellesley's bid was rejected, of course. As Perceval chose to word his letter to us, asking for our cooperation in forming a cabinet of all the no-talents, in the most insulting terms, we assume there is some other alternative being hatched, which excludes us entirely. Now if we could only figure out what the cabinet has in mind, we could be b
usy to stick a spoke in their wheel."
"You must be more subtle if you wish to weasel any secrets from us," Madeline told him. "Now that we know what you are up to, we shall be on our guard."
Henry listened, smiling, till the subject was dropped. "What are you doing this afternoon, Maddie?" Eskott asked when he was about to take his leave.
"Papa is speaking in the House. 1 plan to go and listen to him. I shan't say see him, as the gallery you lords have chosen to set aside for females shows us nothing but the mace and the speaker's feet. All that crimson-draped throne and finery you keep for yourselves."
"But it is a nice private place for gossiping, and that is your real reason for going."
"We don't have to climb so many stairs into a dusty, dingy cubbyhole that is nothing else but a ventilator room to gossip, Eskott. We do that in comfort at home in our saloons. It is the wish to learn that takes us out."
"Is anyone going with you?" Eskott asked, with a little look in Henry's direction.
"Not I," Henry answered at once. "I shall be busy here."
"May I accompany you then?" Eskott asked.
"Certainly, if you like."
"Good. I can hear what is going on as well from the strangers' gallery as from my seat in the House, and don't really mind if I only see the speaker's boots. They have his phiz beat all hollow for looks. I'll call for you in a couple of hours, if that suits you."
When the tea was done, he took his leave. "This is not the first time he has spoken to me about joining his party," Henry mentioned.
"He was joking."
"1 suppose he was. He never offered anything definite—specific, I mean—either time."
"It was a dig at me for doing so poorly by you. There is a do coming up at Ten Downing Street this week. I'll speak to my father about getting you an invitation. It is not like Carlton House in that respect. It can be arranged. You'll meet several people who have not been to call here, or met at other functions."
"I would appreciate it if you could. It is a waste of time, and demmed dull, writing to your father's constituents about roads and taxes. I thought politics would be more interesting."