by Joan Smith
“She has countenance, intelligence—all those things I lack. But a trifle cold, don’t you think?”
“A bit, but there are ways of warming up a lady, if a man has any ingenuity at all. I shall keep you informed of my progress.”
“Walking in the ice and snow is a poor way to warm the poor girl up. Freeze her to death is more like it.”
“Cold hands, warm heart,” he said unscientifically, and poured himself another cup of cocoa.
Chapter 13
Lord Belami was behaving as a fiancé ought to behave, the old duchess decided with a grimace which she supposed to be a smile. She doubted he would do so if he had indeed found her diamond, which he had not yet brought for her examination. Just what freakish start that false announcement was about she had no clear idea, nor did she care much. One way or the other, she would get her thirty thousand pounds, but she suspected Deirdre would only get Belami if the diamond remained lost. She must mingle with the guests of the house and hear what was being said about all this.
To this end, she had herself outfitted in her best day gown, a hideous puce outfit, chosen for its ability to conceal the ravages of gravy and wine. Such a nice, practical color, puce. Her thin hair was stuffed up under a matching turban, adorned with a single feather. The absence of any jewels would be her oblique reminder to the hostess of what happened to a lady’s jewels at Beaulac. She might praise the courage of any dame who appeared more finely bedecked. That would set Bertie down a peg.
Deirdre was at considerable pains to appear pretty. After skating all afternoon with Dick and enjoying a greater degree of intimacy than hitherto, even in the duchess’s conservatory, she needed no cosmetic aids to enliven her face. Her cheeks were pink from the outing, her eyes gleamed, and her hair was arranged as he liked it, in loose curls. An elegant toilette could not be constructed from nothing, but she had borrowed a set of ribbons from Lenore to enliven her plain white gown and, by shivering judiciously in front of Bertie, had achieved the loan of a lovely paisley shawl.
Dick was appreciative of her efforts. He greeted her warmly when she and the duchess entered the saloon before dinner. His praise was equally directed at them both, but she was coming to know him well enough to see the compliment was intended for her. It was Pronto who noticed her livelier style first.
“By jingo, Deirdre, you’re looking all the crack tonight,” he told her, his eyes roaming from coiffure to ribbons to sparkling eyes. “You’ve brightened right up, hasn’t she, Dick?”
“Ravishing, as usual,” Dick agreed.
“Eh? What are you talking about?” Pronto asked angrily. “She ain’t ravishing now, and she was even plainer before. ‘All the crack’ was what I said. She’s got a spot of color is all I meant.”
“You should have spent the day outdoors as well,” the duchess told him. “You look like a garden slug, Mr. Pilgrim. It is the Pilgrim constitution. Your papa too had always that faded complexion. His walk too just like your own, at the pace of a constipated turtle. An excess of wine was thought to be the cause, but I believe it is constitutional.”
Pronto glared and stalked off, muttering into his collar, “Ain’t constipated, by jingo. Ain’t going to take the blue pill.”
Bertie came hopping over to greet her troublesome guest. “How lovely, Duchess. Turbans are so becoming to old—elderly—they, my, I do like your turban. And a little old feather in it too. How stylish. I shall try one myself.”
“Don’t be a ninny, Lady Belami,” the duchess said scornfully. “A turban would not suit you in the least. You haven’t the countenance for one, though it’s high time you were in caps. Wearing your rubies, I see. You are brave, I must say. I made sure your son would have them safely tucked away in the family safe. Old Cottrell has his emerald stud in place as well. Brave souls! I have been meaning to ask you to put my jewelry box away in your vault, Belami, just in case.”
“Remiss of me not to have offered,” Belami returned, unfazed.
They got to the table without further sparring. The duchess was more easily seduced into humor by a good dinner that by any other means. Bertie, to do her justice, did set a fine table. Her son was also amusing company. Beaulac was convenient to London too, whereas her own ancestral heap was in the wilderness. Tallying up these advantages, she determined she must not let Belami slip through their fingers. She had turned quite mellow by the time the ladies left the gentlemen to their port.
She disliked that Deirdre was again sitting with Lady Lenore. She’d hint her out of that increasing intimacy before the night was done. Her mottled teeth were revealed in a broad smile of approval when Belami pranced smartly to Deirdre as soon as the gentlemen joined the female party. He very properly exchanged a few social nothings with Lady Lenore, before taking up his seat beside her niece. Lenore, the hussy, hadn’t the common decency to leave the young lovers alone, but stuck like a burr, trying her fading charms on Belami. Herr Bessler ran to her own side, and for the next ten minutes she failed to notice what was afoot across the room.
Deirdre Gower could not fail to notice that Belami was blatantly ignoring her in favor of Lenore.
“My poor head feels as if it is splitting wide open,” she overheard Lenore say in pitiful accents.
“I am sorry to hear it. Can I get something for you?” Dick offered at once.
“Nothing helps,” Lenore replied in a strange, choking voice. Peering around Belami’s shoulder at the woman, Deirdre saw a coy smile stretching her lips wide. “Nothing except going to bed. Laudanum only makes it worse.”
“Then you must go to bed,” Belami dictated, also in a strange, strangled voice. It was some game they were playing, some act they had worked out in advance. She was immediately suspicious of their motives.
When the voices fell low enough to make overhearing impossible, Deirdre arose and strode majestically to another sofa, where she sat alone, in high dudgeon, and higher hopes that she would be joined by Dick. For several minutes she watched them flirting outrageously, with never so much as a glance at her. At the end of that time, Dick arose and went to speak to Bessler. Her aunt joined in the conversation with enough relish to make Deirdre wonder. Auntie had no use for Lady Lenore.
A disruption of the seating arrangements occurred when Cottrell insisted on leading two tables off to the card room. The duchess was among them, but Lenore and Belami remained behind with Bessler. Before long, Belami arose and went to Deirdre.
“You decided to study Lenore’s tricks from afar tonight, did you?” he asked, having no idea he was out of favor.
She bristled at the very mention of the lady’s name. “I shan’t bother studing her further. How should that impress anyone, when the original is here to outdo me?”
“Lenore has a headache,” he said.
“I wonder why she doesn’t go to bed, then. It’s strange she should sit around complaining when she has a bed she could retire to. She does know beds are also for sleeping, I suppose?”
“You won’t find her deficient in the wits department. She’s going up soon. Bessler has agreed to give her a session, at your aunt’s recommendation.”
Deirdre’s humor returned with celerity when Lenore and Bessler arose and went toward a small parlor where, presumably, he was to give her the treatment. “Are there enough of us to get up a small dancing party?” she asked, remembering they had spoken of it that morning.
“Later,” Belami answered in a distracted way, as though not listening closely. “Perhaps Lenore and Chamfreys will like to join in,” he added. “There are so few of us, we could hardly get up a set without them.”
“Are we to dance in Lenore’s bed? You said she was retiring.”
“If she feels well enough to return, I mean.”
They chatted for a few moments, at which time Pronto appeared at the doorway and beckoned to Dick, who excused himself and left with Pronto. There were other non-card players at the party. Deirdre fell into conversation with some of them but kept an eye on the hallway, to see
when Dick and Pronto returned. Ten minutes passed, and the only person she saw going upstairs was Lenore, with a female servant. She held her hand to her head, indicating the headache persisted. A few moments later, Bessler followed her up.
She interpreted this to mean Lenore was going to bed, and when she was installed therein with propriety, Bessler would go to her and put her to sleep. This was entirely acceptable to Deirdre, even if it meant too few couples to dance. She was more interested to know what had become of Dick. Before long, she decided to go to Snippe’s room, to see if he and Pronto were having a meeting.
Only Pronto was there, paring his nails with a pocket knife while glancing frequently at his pocket watch, propped on the table before him. “Oh, there you are,” he said, as though he had been wondering where she was. “I was about to go after you, if you didn’t come here. Belami said you’d come. Deduced it.”
“Where is he?” she asked looking around.
“Gone deducing somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“He can do it anywhere. Does it right in church, or at the table, or walking along the street. No saying where he went to do it this time,” he said vaguely. “He’ll be back. He said to wait here, and if you didn’t come here, I was to go after you in fifteen minutes to make sure you wasn’t . . . lonesome,” he finished, with a satisfied smile that he had conned her. “And to keep you busy. Sit down, Deirdre. Care for a glass of wine?” He had taken several himself and was on the way to being foxed.
“No, thank you. You have no idea where he is?”
“Can’t say.
“Can’t, or won’t?” she asked, suspicion mounting higher by the moment.
Gentlemen did not lie to ladies, and he was a gentleman, Deirdre definitely a lady. “Do have a glass of wine, m’dear,” was his answer.
“I said I don’t want any, thank you.”
“A famous brew. One Belami decocts especially for his mama. He adds sugar to a perfectly good burgundy, you see. He says it destroys the bloom, but between you and me and the bedpost, it’s dandy. Actually, it’s—no offense, ma’am. I didn’t mean ac-tually, just actually. Anyway, it’s syrup he adds, not raw sugar. Two or three glasses of this and you won’t care a tinker’s curse where he is. Not to say he’s anywhere he shouldn’t be. And even if he is, it’s not what you think. Nothing of the sort, I promise you.”
She was not deceived by this jumble of clues. Dick was doing something he shouldn’t do, but Lenore was in bed having a session with Bessler, so the something was not of a sort to disgust her. He was following up a clue having to do with the diamond, that was all. Her face wore a slight frown of concentration as these thoughts flitted through her mind.
Pronto misread the frown, and continued dissuading her as to any wrongdoing on Dick’s part. What was a friend for, if not to help a chap? “They ain’t making plans for Paris, if that’s what you think,” he told her severely. “‘Pon my word, it seems to me if a girl can’t trust her fiancé to have a few private words with another lady, she should break the engagement. Either fish or cut bait is my own feelings on the matter.”
“What lady?” Deirdre asked sharply. Lenore was the choice of the ladies in the house, but she was by no means the only possibility. “Who is going to Paris?”
“I didn’t say Dick and Lennie was planning to go to Paris in a couple of weeks. Damme, Deirdre, I wish you will quit putting words in my mouth. Dick will kill me,” he said, mounting his high horse and glaring at her. To his amazement, she split in two. The left side of her weaved left, and the right half to the right. He shook his head till she reassembled herself, then took another sip of the wine to clear his head, which felt strangely muddled.
“So that’s what it was all about!” she exclaimed, remembering those choked, laughing voices when the great headache scene was being enacted. He was with Lenore now, this very minute, while Pronto bungled his orders to keep her busy. Bessler, the scoundrel, was in on the ruse as well.
“Pull yourself together,” Pronto ordered as she began splitting apart again.
“I’m not upset, and I have figured out what is going on, so don’t bother with any more lies.”
“I never told one! Well, not what you’d call a real lie. It’s not my fault if you’ve deduced it. Dick should never have taught you the trick. You’ve gotten hold of it now. There’ll be no stopping you.”
She bolted from the room, to see Bessler sitting at his ease in the saloon, having a glass of brandy. As he was the first encountered, he received her first angry outburst.
“Did you manage to get rid of Lady Lenore’s headache, Herr Bessler?” she asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
“She is resting comfortably,” he replied.
“I hope you didn’t put her to sleep. Lord Belami would be very much disappointed if you did.”
“I expect she will doze off soon. What has it to do with Belami? It was your aunt who suggested it,” he told her.
“Did Belami not go along to observe the session? He has become so very interested in your cure, I was sure he would be there,” she replied.
“No, there was a servant with us, but the silly female kept interrupting, so that we had to ask her to leave in the end. There were just the two of us.”
“I see.” There was some hasty revising to do on her thoughts. She chatted to Bessler for a minute, then went upstairs.
Her admitted excuse was to inquire how Lenore felt, though she was also highly curious to ascertain that Dick wasn’t with her. She tapped softly at the door, waited a moment, and received no reply. She would just peek in and see if Lenore was sleeping. There would be nothing wrong in that. If she was asleep, she wouldn’t awaken her. She opened the door, saw a low light gleaming, and stepped in. She noticed immediately that Lenore was not in bed; the covers were disturbed, but she had gotten up. She must be in her dressing room next door. Deidre took a step toward the adjoining door and stopped dead in her tracks. There, cowering in the shadows of the dresser, stood Lenore, in Dick’s arms, both of them looking as guilty as a pair of foxes caught in the chicken coop.
Lenore wore a salacious night dress that hovered beguilingly at half-mast over her bosoms. There was a wisp of some diaphanous material over it that nominally suggested a dressing gown, but of a sort never seen in a house of good repute. Although Dick was dressed, there was enough disruption of his usually precise toilette to indicate unwonted activity. His hair was tousled, his tie askew, and, most damning of all, he was without shoes. Why did a man take off his shoes, but to get into bed?
All these convicting details were observed in a second, while a half of Deirdre’s mind struggled with some cutting remark to make. It must be of a sort that made them perfectly aware that she knew what was going on, that they were trying to hide it from her, and most importantly of all, that she didn’t care a groat. Dick’s arms fell from Lenore’s and went out toward Deirdre, while his jaw dropped in astonishment.
No clever words occurred to Deirdre. She was too overcome to be satirical. “Is your headache all better, Lady Lenore?” she asked in a tight voice.
Both Dick and Lenore began gabbing at once, in a contradictory way that only further condemned them. “Much better, thank you” collided head-on with “No, it’s worse. That’s why . . .” And Deirdre continued looking from one to the other. They tried again, still at odds. “Why don’t you join us?” from Lenore was only half out when Dick suggested meeting her belowstairs in a moment.
“Don’t hurry on my account,” she said, glaring at Dick. “I can see I have come at an inopportune moment. Ac-tually I just dropped in to see if you are feeling more comfortable, Lady Lenore. I can see you’re fine. Right in your usual spirits. I shan’t disturb you further. I’m sure you have a great deal to discuss. Paris—in two weeks, isn’t it?”
“That demned Pronto!” Belami said, and walked forward, grabbing Deirdre’s arm to hasten her out of the room. He slammed Lenore’s door and glared at Deirdre.
“Was t
his embarrassment really necessary?” he asked in a rather loud voice.
“Not only unnecessary but extremely ill-advised,” she answered coolly. “I’ll find my own way to my room. You can go back to her.”
“I’ve finished what I had to do with her.”
“Already? You are fast! Here I thought it was just beginning.”
“We were talking.”
“Criminal conversation I believe is the term for that particular sort of talk with a married lady. But then you’re an expert at it; you made sure her husband was nowhere around.”
“You’re quick to judge.”
“I’m not blind. I can see you have your shoes off, and your hair all mussed.”
“The reason I look like this is because I was hiding in her closet.”
“Oh, stop it, Dick! Stop your stupid lies. I’m not a child. I know what you were doing, and I doubt that even you, with all your imagination, found the clothes closet the place to do it.”
On this stiff speech she pulled free of his hands and ran to her room, where she slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. Before she had drawn three breaths, the door was forced open, without any warning knock, or even footsteps, due to the lack of shoes on the invader’s feet. Dick plunged in and faced her, arms akimbo, with a black scowl on his face.
“I was watching Bessler,” he said loudly, angrily.
“With a telescope, perhaps? Bessler is in your saloon, having a glass of brandy,” she retaliated.
“He was with Lennie. She let on to have a headache, to give me a chance to watch his performance. I hid in her clothespress, with the door open a crack. She told him she habitually drinks too much wine, had become worried about it, and he said he could cure her of it. He put her off into a kind of trance, and told her she would not drink wine again. She would develop a strong aversion to it, and the damndest thing is, she has. After he left, I poured her a glass, and she pushed it away as though it were vinegar. And Deirdre, she doesn’t remember anything about it! About what he did or said when she was in the trance. She just remembers looking at the light play on his monocle. Isn’t that amazing?”