The Brookenby ladies and Susanna arrived at the Upper Rooms escorted by Mr Cholmondeley, who was accompanied by his sister. It was still early in the Season, and the rooms, which in another month or so would be congested beyond bearing, were perfectly comfortable. A murmur of admiration followed the little party, which had, alas, little to do with Margery or Miss Cholmondeley.
Zanthe had determined to wear a gown to signify, once and for all, the end of her mourning period and which would have drawn down severe censure from her mother-in-law could she have seen it. For not only was it a very becoming shade of sapphire-blue gauze over white satin, but it was cut extremely low to display far more of her bosom than the Dowager would have approved. Indeed, she felt a little nervous about it but sternly told herself she was no longer a schoolgirl and many ladies were wearing gowns cut even lower. Her golden ringlets were confined by a filigree band studied with blue topaz, and a chain of sapphires snugly encircled her neck. A Greek zephyr scarf, as blue as the Aegean, sent to her by her Mama, was draped across her elbows, and long white gloves completed her toilette.
She walked into the room with her hand tucked in Susanna’s arm, conveying reassurance and sympathy. She soon realised this was unnecessary. It was the child’s first ball, but she was perfectly calm and collected. Dressed, as befitted an ingénue, in white muslin embroidered with flower-garlands in chenille thread, Susanna walked with eyes modestly lowered, displaying long sable eyelashes to advantage. A wreath of lily-of-the-valley adorned her glossy locks, which had been coaxed into fashionable ringlets, already falling a little due to the luxuriant weight of her raven hair.
Almost as soon as they had settled themselves upon the seats reserved for peeresses and their party, a lady of Zanthe’s acquaintance appeared with a distinguished-looking gentleman of medium height and rather sallow complexion at her side. ‘Dear Lady Brookenby, may I present Mr Fallowfield, who very much wishes to be acquainted with you and, more particularly, your young companion, whom he believes to be a relative.’
‘Oh? Good Heavens, we had no notion that any of the Fallowfields were in Bath!’ exclaimed Zanthe, secretly appalled. ‘What a very strange coincidence.’
The gentleman bowed. ‘Is it not? I should almost have said it was impossible.’
‘Impossible, Sir? But why?’
‘The Family was unaware that Cousin Richard had married and— But, of course, as Miss Fallowfield is sponsored by you, Lady Brookenby—’ He bowed again.
‘Well, Sir, I think the Fallowfield family should be very pleased to find they have so unexpected and lovely an addition.’
Susanna stood, lifted her eyes to Fallowfield’s face, and dropped a curtsy. ‘It is a very great, and unexpected, pleasure for me also, Cousin.’ She held out her hand, and he took it rather stiffly. ‘Did you know my father? I did not, you see. He died soon after I was born.’
He relaxed visibly. ‘I did, and I was extremely fond of him.’ He took a seat beside her. ‘And your mother? Who is she? Forgive me, but I know nothing of his life after— I have been abroad, you see.’
‘Mama is an Italian lady. They met, I believe, in Naples. But I do not really know. She never recovered from his death, and I was very early placed in school, here in Bath.’
Zanthe and she both recoiled from an outright lie but had decided that this tale, with its careful omissions, could hardly be called so.
‘I see. My poor child, you must have had a lonely childhood. If only your mother had consigned you to your uncle’s care.’ He rose from his seat and bowed once more. ‘But I must not monopolise you. You came here to dance, not to converse with prosy old relations. Lady Brookenby, may I call upon you at home?’
Zanthe smiled and held out her hand. ‘Of course, please do.’
They both watched him walk away and heaved a simultaneous sigh. ‘Nothing could have been more fortunate!’ declared Zanthe. ‘The whole of Bath will know by tomorrow morning that you have been acknowledged by the Family. If there were any doubters, which I cannot believe, they will be completely satisfied.’
‘I wonder if my father was like him,’ mused Susanna. ‘I thought him very agreeable, didn’t you?’
‘Very. Oh, here is Mr Whatshisname, the Master of Ceremonies. I do believe he is bringing you a partner.’
Mr King, thus irreverently designated, had indeed come to introduce a young man to Miss Fallowfield as a very desirable partner. She went off on his arm, and Zanthe was able to relax a little, with another hurdle successfully negotiated. She sat, clutching her fan, scanning the crowd for the one face she hoped to see. But she did not really expect it. Launceston was hardly the type of guest Mr King welcomed to his assemblies. Nor would he be presented to any lady as a ‘very desirable partner.’ In fact, she reflected, he was not desirable at all by any rational standard—louche, dissolute, unreliable, harsh-featured. Why, oh why, did she love him so?
She was presently solicited to dance by a gentleman the very opposite of the Viscount—handsome, well-dressed, courteous. She went down two sets with him and remembered neither his face nor his name a moment after he had left her. Presently, she saw Margery, who had preferred to sit with her friends on the benches at the back of the room, moving down the set with Mr Cholmondeley. A tender little smile curved Zanthe’s lips. Whatever else might come of it, their sojourn in Bath had been a most excellent thing for her sister-in-law. She was reliving the youth she had never been permitted to enjoy. Handsomely dressed, courted by a gentleman she liked and respected and, best of all, released from the tyranny of a difficult and demanding parent, she was the happiest of creatures. At that moment, Zanthe caught her eye and smiled. Margery’s answering smile gladdened her heart. If ever anyone deserved to be happy, she did. Zanthe wondered when Mr Cholmondeley would come to the point, and what in the world she would do without the loving friend upon whom she had relied for so long.
She was solicited to dance several more times before the music stopped promptly at eleven o’clock. Susanna, too, had scarcely returned to her seat between sets. Yet, when they were handed into their chairs at the end of the evening, she did not seem unduly elated by her success. As the chair-men sped up the hill to the Crescent, Zanthe wondered how she was to break it to the Signora that her lovely daughter had plans of her own for the future, and the respectable marriage she envisaged played no part in them.
Nine
It was near five in the morning, and the golden dawn was just breaking to the east over Sham Castle, when Zanthe was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of something heavy falling with a crash in the hallway below. ‘Oh, Parry,’ she sighed. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and fumbled for the candle beside her bed. She could not find it, but a gleam of light outside her bedroom door seemed to indicate that someone else in the house was wakeful. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found her dressing gown and slipped into it, tying the ribbons at random. She had just reached the door when she heard men’s voices on the stairs. Good God! Was it not Parry at all but housebreakers? With the utmost caution, she eased open the door and peered through the crack.
There were two men upon the stairs. One carried a lantern in his left hand while his right arm was around the shoulders of a younger, slighter figure, who half-stumbled, half-crawled, along. She made no sound, but the man who held the lantern turned towards her door, as though instinctively aware that they were observed.
‘Jarvis!’
‘Zanthe? Good! Get some hot water and linen, quickly! Parry is hurt.’
‘Hurt?’ She darted from her room and ran down the stairs, to where the two men had halted. She fell on her knees beside her brother and laid her hand upon the shirt that covered his chest. It felt warm and sticky. ‘He’s bleeding!’
‘Yes, and we have to stop it. He’s been leaking like a stuck pig all the way here; lost a lot of blood.’
‘Take him in my room. Wait, let me light the candles at your lamp.’
A door opened further down the landing, and
Margery called out, ‘Zanthe, is that you? Is something amiss? I heard a noise.’
‘It is nothing, dearest. Just Parry, as usual. He fell over a chair in the dark.’ She could not have said why it was important to keep Margery out of this, but she felt instinctively that it must be.
‘I thought I heard voices.’
‘Just one of the chair-men helping him up the stairs.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, I hope he has the headache tomorrow. Waking us all up like this!’
‘I’ve no doubt he will.’
‘You are too soft with him, Zanthe. I have always said so.’
‘And you will say it again, I’m sure. Go back to bed now. You don’t want the chair-man to see you in your nightgown.’
With a gasp, Margery whisked herself back into her chamber and closed the door with a snap.
Launceston stepped out of the shadows. ‘Well done. Now, hold open the door, and I’ll carry him in.’
He picked the boy up with impressive ease, one arm under his knees and another around his shoulders. He brushed past her as she stood aside holding the door wide, and she glanced down to see a smear of blood upon her white cotton dressing gown. The unreality of the situation suddenly overwhelmed her. Could Launceston really be in her bedchamber depositing her injured brother on her bed? It must be a nightmare, surely.
She gave a little gasp, and Launceston shot a look at her over his shoulder. ‘Have you any smelling salts?’
She nodded. ‘But should we not tend the wound before we try to revive him?’
‘Not for him, for you. You look sick as a dog.’
She giggled, dangerously close to hysteria. ‘Charmingly put, my Lord.’ But she opened the top drawer of the dresser and took out her vinaigrette. She sniffed deeply, and the sickness and hysteria receded. ‘You were very right. I feel better now.’
Parry lay upon the rose taffeta coverlet. His blood stained it a deeper crimson. Zanthe took another sniff of salts, squared her shoulders, and prepared to deal with the situation.
‘Take this napkin and press it on the wound,’ she told Launceston. ‘I shall go down to the kitchen. There should be some hot water still on the stove.’
‘No, my dear. You staunch the blood. I’ll bring up the water.’ She seemed reluctant, but he forced her to sit and handed her the napkin. ‘You’re still too pale, and your legs will barely carry you. Stay here.’
‘Very well. But please be quick.’
‘I will. And don’t worry. It isn’t as bad as it looks; I don’t believe the blade touched any vital spot. The young fool will soon mend once we’ve got the wound bound and the bleeding stopped.’
There was still some water left in the ewer placed there by her maidservant that evening. Zanthe poured some into the bowl and moistened the napkin. With shaking fingers, she unbuttoned Parry’s coat and waistcoat and ripped open his shirt to reveal a deep, jagged wound just above his heart. She pressed the napkin against the flesh and pushed down with all her strength. Parry moaned and moved his head restlessly from side to side on the pillow. She bit her lip and swallowed hard to stop the nausea rising in her throat. Where was Launceston? How could it take this long? Oh, at last!
‘I built up the fire; we’re going to need more water.’ He handed her a glass. ‘This is brandy. Drink it down; you need it.’
‘No, horrid stuff. I am perfectly—’
‘I said drink it!’ He advanced on her in a purposeful manner, and she hurriedly tossed down the spirit.
She shuddered. ‘Ugh!’ Then, as a glow of warmth seemed to penetrate her chilled bones, she hiccoughed and laughed. ‘I think you must have a lot of experience dealing with hysterical females, Jarvis. You are so good at it.’
He smiled at her. ‘You’re doing very well. Most females I know would have fainted at the first sight of blood. Here, I’ll lift him while you strip off his clothes.’
She pushed the sleeves of her dressing gown up to her elbows and came to the head of the bed. ‘What happened? He was attacked?’
‘Clearly.’ He slid his arms around Parry’s chest under the horribly reddened garments. ‘Try to get everything off him at once. We mustn’t move him too much.’
Carefully, she eased his shirt over his shoulders and tugged gently at his coat sleeves until the coat slid down his arms, bringing with it the shirt and waistcoat.
‘Good. I’ll get his breeches off after we’ve dealt with this.’ Launceston dipped a towel in the hot water and skillfully swabbed the wound. ‘I think you’ve stopped the bleeding. Here, fold this napkin into a tight wad.’ She did so and held it in place while he bound torn strips of what looked like a linen petticoat around Parry’s chest, holding the dressing in place.
‘You’d better leave while I finish undressing him,’ said Launceston as he settled Parry back on the pillows.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
He shrugged. ‘Very well; make yourself useful then and untie his points while I get his boots off.’
She did so, saying over her shoulder, ‘How did it happen? Was it footpads?’
He laughed grimly. ‘Footpads? In Bath? My dear girl, no. It was merely a husky carter who took exception to Parry’s interest in the little game-pullet who was enjoying his, the carter’s that is, embraces.’
She turned paler yet and put a hand to her breast. ‘You mean, you can’t mean—Parry was in a—a—house of—ill-repute?’
‘Poor Zanthe. Don’t look so shocked. Did you really think your brother was a pure young Knight of the Grail—Galahad in person?’
Her lip trembled a little, but she attempted a smile. ‘No, but—he is so young. It had never crossed my mind—oh, did you take him there?’
‘I? Why should I do that?’
‘Oh—no—I know you would not.’
He looked at her fixedly across Parry’s prostrate form. ‘But you did think it, for a moment. Why, Zanthe?’
She looked away, blushing, and murmured something of which he could only catch the word ‘—revenge.’
‘Revenge, eh? And why should I wish to be revenged on you, my lovely one?’
‘I thought—not me—Papa!’
His face hardened. ‘What a very high opinion you have of me, to be sure. So, to revenge myself upon your father for parting us, I attempt to bring his only son to ruin?’
‘It was but the thought of a moment—I know you could not—’
‘No, I could not. But don’t think too well of me, I beg. I might, if Parry had been blessed with a fortune, have attempted to relieve him of some of it at cards. Fortunately, he has no fortune, nor indeed any means of support that I have been able to discern.’
‘Papa keeps him very short,’ she agreed, trying for a more normal tone. ‘I think it a great mistake.’
‘Your Papa would find it very difficult to do anything else. Papa is very short of cash himself. Why do you think he was so anxious to marry you to Brookenby? His concern for your happiness? Think again.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you little innocent, that you were sold to the highest bidder, and Papa has been living off the proceeds for the last eight years. From what I can gather, the money is now almost all spent on the purchase of his precious antiquities. It is well for Parry that the land is entailed, or he should be lord of nothing but a pile of dust when Rothmere shuffles off this mortal coil.’
Zanthe fell silent, digesting this information while Launceston stripped Parry of his breeches and pulled the bloody coverlet out from under him. ‘This will probably have to be burned.’
She nodded, then, quite suddenly she said, ‘What were you doing in a bawdy house?’
He broke into laughter. ‘What does anyone do in a bawdy house?’
‘But you have the Signora. You do not need to—find relief—in that way.’
‘Find relief? How very broad-minded of you, my love. What a wonderful wife you would have made.’
A thought struck her. ‘Did you follow him there?’
&nbs
p; For the first time, he looked a little uncomfortable. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Did you? Jarvis, did you?’ She reached across the bed and laid a hand upon his arm. ‘Tell me.’
Involuntarily, he covered her hand with his own. ‘I did. I don’t like the crowd he’s running with—wild, vicious, young brutes, the lot of them. That fellow Carlyle is the most dangerous because he’s clever and cunning, as well as being a very ugly customer. I’m pretty sure he has plans for Parry.’
‘What kind of plans? What do you mean?’
He frowned. ‘Parry’s been playing at Hazard with him, and losing heavily. God knows where the young fool thinks he’s going to get the money to pay his debts.’
‘Gaming debts are not recoverable in law. That much I do know.’
‘Good God, Zanthe! This is not a case of his being asked to resign from his clubs! If he does not pay these debts, they’ll be dragging his body out of the river.’
She sank onto a chair, quite overcome. After a few moments she said, ‘It is no matter. I can pay.’
He nodded. ‘Of course. Carlyle knows that. Why else would he let him punt on tick to the tune of over a thousand pounds? The scheme isn’t to bleed Parry of his fortune, my sweet Zanthe. It is to bleed you of yours.’
Ten
The news that Mr Parry was laid up in bed with a severe brain fever was accepted by the household without the slightest suspicion. Had they not all been prophesying some such thing would come to pass for weeks? And was it not like the mistress, soft-hearted dear that she was, to give up her bedchamber, the best in the house, to him? She did not allow anyone else to tend him, either, nor let them in the room while the doctor was there—not even Miss Margery. Such devotion was an example to them all and more than the young scapegrace deserved.
Zanthe did not feel particularly admirable. Indeed, she was very bored and extremely cross with her brother for putting her in this situation. But her pride would not permit her to admit to the world that her brother had been stabbed in a drunken brawl over a harlot, and so brain fever it must be.
A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance Page 6