by Joan Smith
“I believe I’ll change my gown,” I said, after we had eaten.
“You don’t have to dress up for this,” Miss Millichope told me.
“Just put on your diamond necklace and you’ll be the most elegant creature there,” Philmot suggested.
Naturally I did not confess my diamonds lay on a shelf in some shabby pawn shop, but some of my consternation was to be read on my face. Philmot’s eyes flew to my neck when I descended wearing a string of pearls. Before he could speak, I made a comment, totally irrelevant, to divert him.
The music presented was indifferent at best; the audience was most select. There was hardly an untitled head nodding in the whole chamber, and hardly one other than my own and Philmot’s that was neither bald nor gray.
"You made a poor choice of outing if it was entertainment you were looking for,” I told him between numbers. His restlessness and yawns had not escaped my notice.
“Aunt Marion twisted my arm when she learned I meant to stay home,” was his answer. I remembered her expressions of surprise, and was not deceived by his words.
I made the acquaintance of several elderly lords and ladies, and had a fifteen minute discussion with a dowager marchioness about her parrot during intermission. It was a fortune teller, so the story went. I also had a glass of orgeat and a biscuit. If Varley kept a good cellar, he also kept a tight one. Not a drop of wine was served. All in all, not a memorable evening.
It was not till we were home and Miss Millichope had yawned her way upstairs that the subject of diamonds arose. “You decided against being the most elegant creature at the party, I notice,” he mentioned, in a casual fashion.
“It is vulgar to strive to outshine all others, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. I notice you have not worn them since coming here. If there is something amiss with them,
you must get it repaired before my ball.”
“When is this great occasion?”
“In a few weeks. It is traditionally one of the last of the Season, in early June.”
Some quick calculations told me my second quarter salary would not be due so soon. I had spent virtually nothing since coming to him, and was toying with the idea of emptying my purse to get them back. He regarded me closely as this scheme ran through my head. “What have you done with them?” he asked bluntly.
It was no secret that half the aristocracy were in financial trouble from time to time. Harmsworth had laughed and joked about my predicament and his own. This being the case, I answered lightly, "Hawked them. I only got thirty guineas, the piker.”
He rolled up his eyes and said a word he ought not to have used in a lady’s presence. “I thought you were sensible!”
“I am. I know how to get hold of cash when I am in the basket.”
“How could you possibly need money? My sister paid you one hundred guineas two months ago. You don’t go anywhere. What foolishness have you been indulging in?”
“Having a foolish and quite unnecessary accident with my carriage. Buying stockings and muslin and gloves. Oh and a bottle of Gowland’s lotion for this demanding face of mine. My folly knows no bounds.”
“Where did you hawk it?”
“Squibbs was the name of the place.”
“That joint! You didn’t go there alone I hope.”
“I did not go at all. A friend did the deed for me.”
“A gentleman friend?”
“Oh yes. I could not like to ask a lady to do anything so untoward.”
“I did not realize you had a beau,” he said, with a certain stiffening of the shoulders that indicated the subject was drawing to a swift close. “This must be a very good friend, to be in on your most intimate secrets.”
“A good friend, yes.”
“One can only wonder he did not advance you the sum himself, if that is the case.”
“Like my profligate self, he was in the basket, or he would likely have made the offer.”
“That surprises me. I thought the clever Miss Fenwick would have the foresight to land herself a friend of better fortune.”
“I have not found wealthy people to be particularly open-handed,” I answered, with a thought of his nip-
cheese sister.
He studied me a moment, looking for a personal reference in the remark I expect. Then he shrugged his shoulders, mentioned his fatigue, and said goodnight. It was an entirely unhappy ending to a not very enjoyable evening.
Chapter Seventeen
The morning was no better. Any friendliness that had been developing between us was ended. He came late to his office, mumbled “Good morning,” and accepted the opened mail. Half an hour later, he laid it on my desk, the required replies penciled in. He said he had to go out, and left at once.
At lunch time, he was still out, though of course he was home in time to make a fresh toilette for his party. My own chief interest in the affair was to see if Harmsworth attended, that I might ask him to redeem my diamonds for me. He would think me a great fool, but I wanted them back. The throng soon trooping through the portals were younger and more lively than the ancients met at Lady Varley’s musical party. They were, I soon learned, the very pink of the ton.
There was hardly a name heard that was not often encountered in the newspaper, and not only in the society columns either. Stars of the Government, business, arts and letters were there. Everyone was there except Lord Harmsworth.
Lady Synge and Alice attended, and spent some moments talking to me. Jack and Debbie were there and condescended to inquire how I did. I inquired for the state of the mother-to-be and was told she felt perfectly horrid. And the doctor had forbidden her to ride! He might as well have forbidden her to draw breath. She looked perfectly wretched, all washed out, and with great circles under her eyes. She was not taking proper care of her health. Looking at her from across the room, I felt some pangs of concern, and went to them to urge a proper diet and exercise, for the baby’s sake if not her own. They were not at all grateful but said in the snippiest way imaginable that they planned to engage Doctor Croft, and if he was good enough for Princess Charlotte, they did not feel the need of Doctor Fenwick’s concern.
“If he is to assist Princess Charlotte, you may be sure he will go to Claremont to reside with her. He won’t be much good to you, living outside of London.”
They looked stunned when I pointed this rather obvious fact out to them. Soon they were wearing a different expression. Shock, I think, is the best word to describe it. Following the line of their gaze, I noticed that Lady Beaton had decided to discommode Philmot with her presence, uninvited, unless she had wangled an invitation from him. As I was so very vexed with my employer, I was happy to see she had come.
“Lady Beaton!” I exclaimed, smiling a welcome towards the doorway.
"How did you find out about her?” Jack asked, staring.
“She was here at the house earlier this week. What is amiss with her, that Philmot is so eager for her absence? I think she is beautiful.”
“Good lord!” was his answer. He and Debbie exchanged a look, then Jack dashed across the room to greet her. I looked after him, noticing the lady was causing quite a stir. She was even more gorgeous than the other time. She wore a turban again. Her pelisse had been removed to reveal a perfectly stunning rose-colored gown, somewhat more elaborate than any other lady in the saloon wore.
Many heads turned to stare, then the level of noise suddenly rose several notches. I looked about to see how Philmot was taking her arrival. He looked once, one short, sharp, angry glare at her, then pointedly turned his back and resumed conversation with another party. It was clear to me, and no doubt to the others, that Jack was trying to guide the lady from the room. His hand was on her arm, his direction towards the archway by which she had entered. She was having none of it. She fought free of Jack’s restraining hands, looking around the room for Philmot. I saw her look at his back, with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. I made sure she was going to approach him, but she
continued glancing around, neither speaking nor nodding to anyone till she spotted me.
“Miss Fenwick, how nice to see you again,” she called in a good, loud voice, then she began working towards me. The throng fell away to allow her easy passage, while I looked, too surprised to speak. Why should she select me, whom she had met exactly once, as her especial friend?
Before she reached me, Philmot was at her elbow. I did not see his approach, for I had my eyes riveted on Lady Beaton. “Kate—so glad you could come,” Philmot said, smiling and trying to sound normal, but there was a touch of steel in his eyes. His fingers closed around her elbow in, a grip that caused her to wince. I thought she looked frightened, though he could hardly harm her in the middle of his saloon.
Without looking at or speaking to any of the hundred guests present, he led her to the edge of the room, talking in a quiet way all the while. Like everyone else present, I followed them with my eyes, noting that before two minutes were up, he was piloting her out the door. When they were gone, the hubbub of raised voices resumed, or increased, for it had not quite stopped.
Such tatters of conversation as “the gall of the creature!” and “Philmot will kill her” were heard to reverberate around the saloon, in outraged accents. Hoping for enlightenment, I wended my way towards Lady Synge. “Shocking performance!” she said. “But Philmot will wrap it up in clean linen. He is good at that. I did not know you were acquainted with her, Miss Fenwick.”
“Who is she?” I asked, with a premonition that folks would not speak so hard against any lady of propriety.
“Why, she is his mistress, Miss Fenwick. That is why he is so angry at her coming here to his home, to meet his friends. A gentleman does not invite his mistress to such a respectable do as this.”
“Oh,” I said, in a voice so weak I hardly heard it.
“If she thinks to force his hand to marriage with this stunt, she is out in her reckoning. It will turn him against her. Mark my words.”
Such a jumbled confusion of thoughts were in my head, I barely heard her. I felt as though I had sustained a severe blow to the stomach. Noticing Lady Synge regarding me strangely, I excused myself and fled the room, at too hot a pace to avoid notice and gossip. I stumbled along the hallway, seeking privacy at the first closed doorway. I wrenched the door open and stopped dead.
There in the middle of the room stood the pair of them, locked in a passionate embrace. Alerted by the opening door, they looked up to stare at me. Lady Beaton tossed her head and smiled in triumph. “We have company, darling,” she said to him, and laughed, a throaty, delighted gurgle.
Philmot just looked. He dropped his arms, his lower jaw and stood stock still for a moment. There is no describing his expression in one word. He was angry, proud, determined, most nonplussed, but certainly he was not unmoved.
I said, “Excuse me,” in a very low voice, and turned to continue my flight. Philmot’s office door stood ajar across the hallway. I pelted in and closed the door after me, leaning against it, for I knew my legs would not hold me up unaided. The chair was too far away to tackle it yet. I felt betrayed, as a wife must feel when first she learns of a husband’s straying. I don’t remember walking to the chair, but I must have. I sat in it a moment later when Philmot came in. I arose immediately, with the absurd thought that he had caught me out, sitting at his desk, where I did not belong.
He looked sheepish, no more. He had recovered his composure more quickly than I. “I came here to get my cheque book, but as you are here, perhaps you’ll do it for me. I want a cheque made out for Lady Beaton in the sum of one thousand pounds.” He looked a bold challenge at me as he made this speech.
“The job of mistress pays well. Much better than secretary."
“You made it perfectly clear you were not interested in the job the first day you were here.”
“Yes, for the duties struck me as singularly unpleasant.”
“I am getting rid of Kate. That’s why the sum is larger than usual.”
“Are you indeed? I assume you are parting on the best of terms, to judge by what I have just been subjected to.”
“No point aggravating her with half of London in the next room with its ears flapping. She came here to make mischief. She knew it was over between us, and had nothing to lose.”
“A good sum to gain, in fact.”
“Yes. Will you write up the cheque, please?”
“Do it yourself,” I said, and flounced from the room, to go upstairs, for I could not face the guests so soon.
There was no escaping the pair so easily. They were inside my head, her beautiful, taunting, triumphant face, and his arrogant mask, ordering me to write her a cheque. I would have remained forever in my room, had I not been prodded back downstairs by the necessity of seeing Harmsworth. I hoped he might have arrived by that time, for he had received an invitation, despite Philmot’s professed dislike of the man.
I was forming the idea I would return home to Bath immediately. Lady Synge would not be sorry to be free of me, so there was no compulsion to fill my contract. I would have packed up and left that moment had it not been for my diamonds. I could not go home without them. In my disordered state, it did not occur to me that getting the diamonds would mean emptying my purse, but some trifling pieces of jewelry could have been sacrificed to bring me a few guineas traveling money. Harmsworth must get them back for me, the diamonds.
It took me half an hour to screw up my courage to go below, and when at last I went, he was not there. How could I go alone to Squibbs, a disreputable hole in the wall, a haunt of raffish men?
I felt rather than saw Philmot approach from across the room. “Headache all better?” he asked when he was at my side. With so many ears on the stretch, I was not about to enter into an argument.
“I am looking for Lord Harmsworth. Do you know if he is here?”
“He’s gone to the race meet. He has a filly running in the Oaks at Epsom. Why do you want to see that
rattle?”
“It is a personal matter.”
“You had better unthaw your face if you don’t want every gossip in the room talking about you,” was his
next speech, delivered in a curt tone.
“They have a more interesting tidbit to discuss today, if I am not mistaken.”
“I am sorry you were involved in the disreputable affair.”
“I was not involved, Lord Philmot. If your mistress decided to pay you a call at an inopportune moment, it has nothing to do with me.”
“You are, unfortunately, mistaken on that score. It will soon blow over if we keep our heads.” As he spoke, he led me to a small group of his friends who were discussing some new dramatic wonder at Covent Garden.
“We haven’t seen that one yet,” he told them, his glance identifying myself as the other part of the “we.” “Olivia might like it. She enjoyed The Provok’d Wife which we saw earlier this season.”
I could not imagine why he was at such rounds to make me seem a closer friend than I was. There was more of this intimate chatter, during which I don’t think I said more than two words.
“Your cousins are preparing to leave,” he said later, still in front of friends. “We must say goodbye to Deb and Jack.” This too struck me as an unnecessary trotting out of my relationship to the Strathaconas.
“Why are you trying to make me sound respectable?” I asked when we had got away.
“Aren’t you?” was the only answer I had.
Deb was not feeling well, which accounted for her leaving early. The others stayed on for another interminable hour. This party, so looked forward to, was a disaster for me. When the last guest had straggled to the door, we stood alone in the rubble of empty glasses, discarded serviettes and partially empty plates. “Thank God that’s over!” he said, snatching the words from my mouth.
“An unfortunate affair,” I agreed drily.
“You are returning to Russell Square today,” he informed me.
“I cannot go yet.
Dottie…”
“The period of contagion is over. You are leaving within the hour."
“Why? What will you do for a secretary?” I asked this, not from any desire to remain, but because I
feared for my reception at Synges.
“I can write my own letters. Get your things together now. We’ll leave in one hour.”
“I’ll take my own carriage.”
“You are not to be seen in that rig. I told you it is unsafe. I’ll send it over when it is repaired.”
I was too surprised, too utterly confused to argue. “Very well.”
As I readied my belongings to leave, I was not unaware of the injustice of it all. Philmot’s mistress had misbehaved, and was rewarded with one thousand pounds. I, perfectly innocent, was rewarded by the loss of my position.
Chapter Eighteen
I don’t suppose more than three words were exchanged en route from Philmot’s place to Russell Square. It was not till we were at the front door that Philmot said, “This will blow over in no time.”
“I have not done anything wrong,” I pointed out.
“Appearances can be misleading.”
“It would take an active imagination to read a brief visit, chaperoned the whole time by your aunt, into a scandal.”
“There is no shortage of active imaginations in London,” he replied. “Then too there is your reputation as an—unconventional lady.”
His sister was waiting for us. She was on guard at the door of her saloon to catch us as we entered. Whether she had set Dottie at the door of the smaller parlor on the other side of the hallway I do not know, but I would not put it past her. Dottie, fairly well recovered from her spots but still pale, beckoned me into the smaller parlor.
“You go along and speak to Dottie,” Lady Synge said in a kindly way. Philmot and I will decide what is best to be done.”
It is indefensible to pick the brains of a mere child, so I shall not bother to defend my action in questioning Dottie to learn what was afoot. In any case, she was agog to tell me all.