by M C Beaton
Arabella relapsed into gloomy silence. Opera dancers had not featured in any of the wonderful plays she had written in her head about herself and the earl. Although, from overhearing her mother’s gossip to her friends, she was well aware that many men had mistresses, it was very lowering to think that the man of her dreams might have one as well.
This idea began to plague her so much that when they arrived at Gunter’s to be welcomed by the earl and ushered to a table, she could think of nothing else. Mr. Davy and Miss Tonks had agreed to converse with each other just before the carriage arrived at Gunter’s so as to leave Arabella free to talk to the earl. So as soon as they were comfortably seated, Miss Tonks turned immediately to Mr. Davy and began to question him about the theatre.
The earl looked at Arabella’s expressive face and said gently, “Something is troubling you, Miss Carruthers?”
Those large eyes of hers fringed with long lashes studied his face and then she said quietly, “I was wondering if you had an opera dancer?”
For one moment his face froze. He was about to resort to the aristocratic tactic of appearing to become immediately deaf, but again his curiosity stabbed him.
“I have not been long resident in London, Miss Carruthers,” he said. “I have not had time. But when I get around to it, would you like me to let you know?”
“I do not know what came over me,” said Arabella miserably. “I am terribly indiscreet. You see, my lord, as you will observe from my childish dress, I am kept mostly in the schoolroom and do not get about much and… and… perhaps if I had a little Town bronze, I would not make such disgraceful remarks.”
“You are forgiven, Miss Carruthers. But why are you kept in the schoolroom? There is no schoolroom at the hotel, so I assume you were speaking figuratively.”
“Yes, I was. Papa died last year and we are in London for Mama wishes to find a husband. Having a grown-up daughter is a disadvantage and so… Oh, I have done it again. I should not have said that. Oh, dear, there is something else!” She looked at Mr. Davy.
“What now?” asked the earl indulgently, thinking that to feel interested and amused was an unusual state of affairs for him these days.
“Miss Tonks,” cried Arabella. “Lord Denby should not have met Mr. Davy!”
Miss Tonks and Mr. Davy looked at Arabella in dawning consternation.
“Now why should I have not met Mr. Davy?” asked the earl. He added maliciously, “Can it be that Mr. Davy and Miss Tonks are having a secret liaison?”
“My lord!” Miss Tonks’ sheeplike face was crimson.
“I am sorry,” he said, not looking sorry at all. “But Miss Carruthers has infected me with bluntness. Perhaps you had better explain what you mean.”
Miss Tonks struck her bosom. If the earl had been infected by Arabella’s bluntness, then Miss Tonks had been infected by the theatre. “We must throw ourselves on your mercy, my lord.”
“I shall tell him,” said Arabella firmly. “I have already broken the rules of polite conduct. My lord, Sir Philip Sommerville is part-owner of the hotel.”
“I have met the gentleman.”
“He has become enamoured of a vulgar woman, a Mrs. Budge, who does nothing but eat. Miss Tonks, Colonel Sandhurst and Lady Fortescue—that is, the other partners in the hotel—want rid of her for she is a leech, but Sir Philip is besotted.”
“Are you sure?” The earl’s blue eyes sparkled. “Sir Philip is as old as Methuselah.”
“One is never too old to be a fool,” said Miss Tonks bitterly.
“So,” pursued the earl, “what has Mr. Davy here to do with this?”
“Well, you see, it was Arabella who hit upon a plan,” said Miss Tonks.
“Arabella?”
“Miss Carruthers. She suggested that we should hire an out-of-work actor to masquerade as a rich merchant. In the guise of a merchant, the actor, Mr. Davy here, would then court Mrs. Budge. We are convinced that Mrs. Budge’s interest in Sir Philip is purely mercenary. If she saw better game, then she would detach herself from Sir Philip and the hotel. But the trouble is, having met Mr. Davy you would recognize him in his guise of rich merchant and perhaps say something.”
“What an enterprising young lady Miss Carruthers is,” laughed the earl. “If you are not out in the world, Miss Carruthers, where do you get your ideas from?”
“Books, and my own imagination,” said Arabella. “But you will not betray us, my lord, for we amuse you… for the moment.”
“No, you have the right of it. And what of yourself, Miss Carruthers? Surely with such a fertile brain you can hit on a plan to get your mother to bring you out?”
“Oh, Lady Fortescue has already thought of something,” said Arabella. “It was to be a surprise…” She bit her full bottom lip. She had been about to say, “It was to be a surprise for you.”
“Anyway,” she went on, “Miss Tonks here had expressed a wish to have her hair done by Monsieur André, the famous hairdresser. Lady Fortescue has invited him to the hotel tonight while Mama is at the Pattersons’ ball. He will give me a fashionable crop and Lady Fortescue will tell Mama that the hairdresser made a mistake.”
“Yes, it would be a mistake,” said the earl slowly. He looked at the glory of Arabella’s shining brown hair. Because the day was dark, the candles on the tables had been lit and Arabella’s hair gleamed with faint auburn lights. “Cannot you just get it put up?”
“Put-up hair can be brushed down again,” pointed out Arabella.
“Perhaps I can think of something.” They all watched the earl anxiously. Lady Carruthers, reflected the earl, was obviously a heartless and tiresome woman on the hunt for a husband. It was a wonder she had not dressed up this beautiful girl to look her best so as to attract men. That is what a lot of the old harridans did. He brightened. Perhaps if Lady Carruthers could be persuaded that her daughter was useful bait, then she might come about.
But although Miss Carruthers was cynical about her mother, she might not appreciate such plain-speaking.
“Your mother has not had an opportunity to appreciate your worth, Miss Carruthers,” he said. “I am at loose ends at the moment. In fact, Town wearies me and I wish I had not come. But your schemes delight me. What if I were to pretend to court you, Miss Carruthers? Surely that would open Lady Carruthers’s eyes.”
Miss Tonks could see the flash of pain in Arabella’s eyes, could see that she was about to refuse, but a pretend courtship could lead to a real one. “What a good idea,” said Miss Tonks loudly. “You may feel a trifle embarrassed at the moment, Arabella, but think on it.”
Arabella studied the spinster in silence and grasped what it was Miss Tonks was silently trying to communicate. If she allowed the earl to court her, then she would see him. If she refused, he might amuse himself by going off to find an opera dancer. “Oh, very well,” she said, a trifle ungraciously.
“And in return,” said the earl, “do not have your beautiful hair cut.”
Although it was dark and rainy outside, Arabella suddenly felt as if the room were filled with sunlight. No one had ever complimented her before. “I would suggest then,” she said to Miss Tonks, “that you cancel the hairdresser because Lord Denby cannot start to court me right away, and if Mama sees my hair up, she will immediately get her maid to brush it down, and all that money will have been spent for nothing.”
“I am going to the Pattersons’ ball tonight,” said the earl. “I will dance with Lady Carruthers, which will give me an opportunity to call on her tomorrow and meet you.”
“If Mama knows you are to call, then she will send me out with the maid,” said Arabella.
“Ah, then I shall appear suitably disenchanted and so she will expect me to send my servant instead.” It was the custom for gentlemen to call the next day on ladies they had danced with the night before, but many sent their servants if they were not particularly interested in their dancing partners.
Mr. Davy looked at the clock on the wall and gave an exclamation
of surprise. “I am to meet the colonel and go to his tailor.”
They all rose, Arabella with a feeling of regret. The earl looked down at her curiously, wondering what she would look like with a modish hair-style and fashionable clothes. He saw her turn slightly pink under his steady gaze and gathered his wits. He had come to London, complete with new clothes, to find a wife, a wife who would bear him sons and enliven the solitude of his life in the country. Playing games with a young miss was not the way to go about it, and yet there was something endearing about Arabella Carruthers and the odd company she kept.
At his club later, before he returned home to change for the ball, he was accosted by Mr. Sinclair. “Well, what did you think?” asked Mr. Sinclair. “Is she not ravishing, divine?”
“A pretty-enough actress, I’ll grant you that, but I fear Mrs. Tarry may prove expensive.”
“She has a mind above material things,” exclaimed Mr. Sinclair. “And what of you? Who were those odd people you left with? That shabby actor, the drab middle-aged creature and the baby.”
“The baby is Miss Arabella Carruthers, daughter of Lady Carruthers. She is, in fact, all of nineteen years.”
“How odd! What an odd way to dress! Does she make her come out at this unfashionable time of the year?”
“I do not know,” said the earl, affecting boredom. “Talk of something else.”
And Mr. Sinclair was only too happy to return to rhapsodizing about the beauties of Mrs. Tarry while the earl followed his own thoughts. His marriage had not been a success. It had been an arranged marriage, arranged for him by his father before the old earl died. His wife, Henrietta Babbington, had seemed well enough, and arranged marriages were very common. He had not thought much about love, but often, when the prattle of his wife’s conversation irritated him, and when she lay at night as passive in his embrace as a dead body, he had often regretted following his family’s wishes. For most of the marriage she had been ill. He had suspected her of manufacturing illness. She lay, day in and day out, in a darkened room, surrounded by patent medicines. She was addicted to dosing herself with mercury, a medicine which was just beginning to go out of favour. Whether it had been the mercury or whether she had, after all, been really ill, he did not know, but when she died, he suffered from extreme guilt, feeling that he could perhaps have done something to get her out into the fresh air, to rally her spirits. He had then worked hard on his estates, believing in a way that he had no right to enjoy himself.
Recently he had begun to find himself free of guilt and determined to get back into the world and enjoy himself. His clothes had become sadly old-fashioned even in an age when fashion moved slowly, and so he had ordered a great many new ones from the best tailor. But London appeared such a boring, affected sort of place, or at least it had seemed like that until that afternoon.
When he left Mr. Sinclair and returned to the hotel to change, he looked at it with new eyes. It was well-appointed and well-run. He was suddenly curious to know more about the owners and how they had started out.
***
Lady Fortescue, when told about the afternoon and the earl’s plan, said that they must be careful that his intentions towards Arabella were honourable, and Miss Tonks pointed out that with the girl’s mother in residence, they could hardly be anything else, although, at the moment, she added, the earl did not look on Arabella in a romantic light, merely seeing her as an amusement, a diversion.
Colonel Sandhurst was beginning to report on his visit to the tailor with Mr. Davy when Sir Philip came in with Mrs. Budge. Sir Philip’s pale eyes darted this way and that. He had heard the sound of the colonel’s voice as he had approached the door of the sitting-room, a voice that had broken off and fallen silent the minute he entered. Secrets, he thought. They have secrets which don’t include me.
He realized Lady Fortescue was speaking. “Sir Philip,” she said, “we are as usual delighted to see you, but unless your companion is here to offer her services in some capacity, I must ask you to take her away.”
“Mary’s going to start work tomorrow,” said Sir Philip, “and I’ll thank you to treat her with respect.”
“Why?” demanded Lady Fortescue. “Her very presence is an insult to us.”
The door of the sitting-room opened and Arabella slipped quietly in.
“See here,” said Mrs. Budge truculently, “you’ve got no right to be so high and mighty wi’ me. You ain’t nothing but a load o’ tradespeople.”
“Sir Philip,” said the colonel quietly, “this sitting-room is our refuge, and we would be obliged if you would escort your lady out.”
“Oh, you would, would you?” demanded Sir Philip wrathfully. “Well, so I shall, and I shall be back in a trice to tell you lot something that’ll make your eyes start out o’ your stupid heads.”
“Now what?” demanded Lady Fortescue after Sir Philip had propelled the bulk of his lady from the room. “There is no insulting that creature. By which I mean she is determined to stay and batten on us.”
“Perhaps it might be better to tolerate the woman,” said Arabella, “until our plan goes into action. You might goad Sir Philip into doing something silly.”
“Like what?” asked the colonel.
“Like demanding all his share of the hotel and going off and marrying Mrs. Budge.”
“I do not think he would do that,” said Lady Fortescue. “He has extravagant tastes and any money he got from his share would soon be dissipated. Now, Miss Tonks, I forgot to cancel Monsieur André’s visit and he will be here presently, and as you expressed a wish to have your own hair done, perhaps you should make use of his services.”
“So soon?” Miss Tonks’ thin hands fluttered up to her brown hair, which she wore under a cap.
“Why not?” said the colonel heartily. “You deserve a treat.”
“When is he due here?”
“In half an hour,” said Lady Fortescue.
“But he is such a great man and my bedchamber is so small.”
“You can use Mama’s room,” said Arabella. “She will not be home until dawn, and by that time I shall have certainly removed all traces of the hairdresser’s visit.”
Miss Tonks made up her mind. “Then I shall do it. Will you come and sit with me, Arabella?”
“Gladly.”
Lady Fortescue experienced a pang of sympathy for Miss Tonks. The spinster was so obviously delighted to have a friend, and yet, a pretty girl like Arabella would soon marry and Miss Tonks would be left alone again. Strange that Sir Philip’s romance should have affected her so badly.
They talked then about general things and menus, none of them anxious to return to the subject of Mr. Davy when Sir Philip was expected to return.
At last he came in and stood looking contemptuously around the room, jingling coins in his pockets. He then noticed Arabella and raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then his gaze returned to Lady Fortescue and the colonel. “You’ve all gone too far,” he said. “So hear this. I am going to marry Mary Budge.”
“No!” screamed Miss Tonks.
“Fiddle,” said Lady Fortescue.
“You can’t,” said the colonel bluntly.
“I can and I will,” declared Sir Philip.
“Has she accepted you?” asked Lady Fortescue.
“No, ain’t asked her yet. But she will. She knows which side her bread is buttered on.”
“That one likes her bread buttered on both sides, and loaves and loaves of it, too,” said Miss Tonks with a break in her voice.
“And what’s more,” went on Sir Philip who, Arabella noticed shrewdly, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, “I think I’ll get you to give me my share in this hotel. Fed up working. Want to be a gentleman.”
Miss Tonks rose to her feet. “Nothing,” she said passionately, “could ever make you a gentleman!” She marched from the room, her head high, two spots of colour burning on her cheeks. Arabella followed her.
“Come down to Mama’s apartment,” sai
d Arabella.
Miss Tonks shook her head blindly. “Why ornament an old fool like me?”
“Because it will make you feel better,” said Arabella quietly. “You are already a distinguished-looking lady, Letitia. I would like to see what Monsieur André does with your hair. And I’ll tell you something else. I do not think Sir Philip is going to propose to Mrs. Budge.”
“But he said…”
“He said it to get revenge on all of you, firstly because he really does care for that awful woman, but secondly because he smells secrets from which he is excluded. He is like a bad child, I think. Come along.”
***
The earl was dancing with Lady Carruthers. He was glad it was a country dance, for the few times the figure of the dance brought them together caused her to ogle him in quite a dreadful way and so it was easy for him to show coldness to her. And hard as she worked at flirting, Lady Carruthers’s spirits were plunging by the minute. The earl was the first gentleman who had asked her to dance and she feared he would be the last that evening. She could not see what she really looked like when she surveyed herself in the glass. She still saw herself as young as her clothes. And yet there was no denying that her dreams of being surrounded by eligible men were falling about her ears. Instead of sitting with the chaperons and dowagers, she had taken a place with the young débutantes. That had been a mistake, for as each was taken up to dance, she was left alone on her rout-chair, feeling exposed. She could have crossed the room and joined friends of her own age, but she felt that by so doing she would draw attention to her age. Of course London was thin of company, but it was mortifying after all these years to find herself a wallflower. When her dance with the earl was over and they were promenading around the room, she said with an arch look, “I look forward to your call tomorrow, my lord. As we are both resident in the same hotel, I feel confident that you will call in person.”
“I doubt if that will be possible,” he said loftily. “I have many engagements.” And with the next dance being announced, he led her back to that lonely seat.