by M C Beaton
Lady Carruthers shrugged but did not protest. Her own moment of glory would soon come.
Arabella stiffened when she reached the hall but she pinned a brave smile on her face and marched up to the Earl of Denby. She curtsied low. “Congratulations,” she said. He gave her a puzzled look. He opened his mouth to ask her whether she was being sarcastic or not, but Lady Fortescue snapped, “Here come the first of our guests. Head of the line, Lord Denby. Miss Carruthers, take your place next to him.”
And so began all the curtsying and bowing while the earl flashed anxious little slanting glances at the frozen beauty next to him and cursed himself for his own clumsiness and arrogance. Why had he assumed she would have him? She did not look at all happy. If only he could have a word with her in private.
By the time the Prince Regent arrived and the colonel, Lady Fortescue, Sir Philip, and Miss Tonks swelled with pride, Arabella barely noticed the royal personage and the earl was only glad that this fat prince had finally put in an appearance so that he might get a moment alone with Arabella.
The prince walked down the double line of waiting guests, nodding and chatting and joking. Behind him walked his friends, who varied from the fop to the Corinthian, and after them the poor relations with the earl and Arabella. The earl expected that the prince would take Arabella to the floor for the first dance but he had forgotten about the Prince Regent’s penchant for elderly ladies. And so it was Lady Fortescue who was led to the floor, Lady Fortescue who glanced around in a dazed way, hardly unable to believe her own triumph. Sir Philip looked at Lady Fortescue with open admiration in his eyes and said, “What a woman!”
“What? That old stick of a creature?” said a coarse voice at his elbow and he turned and looked at Mrs. Budge, and for the first time since he met her, he heartily wished her at the devil. She was wearing an old-fashioned hooped gown embellished with red-and-white-striped ribbons. She looked a fright.
The earl meanwhile had moved quickly. He took Arabella firmly by the arm and hustled her off into the supper room, which was in a former morning-room adjoining the coffee room. But servants were working laying out food and glasses under the eye of Despard. “Where does that door at the end lead?” demanded the earl.
“The back stairs,” said Despard, thinking he never would understand the English, as the earl pushed Arabella towards the door.
“Upstairs,” commanded the earl. “If I am not private with you, I will scream.”
Arabella, listless and tired, went ahead of him. “Now,” he said, stopping on a dark little landing, “what did that sour little ‘Congratulations’ mean?”
“I was congratulating you on your engagement to Mama,” said Arabella in a little voice.
“Has everyone run mad? It is your hand in marriage I asked her for.”
She looked up at him in a dazed way. And then she said in a wondering voice, “Cannot you do anything right?”
He took her in his arms. Her brain was in a turmoil. She opened her mouth to berate him, to demand to know why he had not asked her. But before she could speak, he kissed her passionately, and suddenly all the hurt and fright melted inside her. She could feel her whole body yearning against his and then everything seemed to whirl about her and she clutched his shoulders for support.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked when she could.
“I realized at last how very much I loved you, how I do love you,” he said huskily. “Oh, I never dreamt for a moment that mother of yours would think I meant her. And I am to announce our engagement this evening. Well, I am going to do it. Lady Carruthers needs to be punished for all the pain she has given you. Will you marry me?”
She smiled up into his eyes. “Perhaps.”
“Oh, Arabella, my sweetheart.” He kissed her again while downstairs the dancers performed the Sir Roger de Coverley, their feet thumping on the floor, scattering Miss Tonks’ and Arabella’s magnificent chalk carpet, their steps acting as a sort of counterpoint to the thudding of the two hearts on the back stairs, pressed so very close together.
***
Mr. Davy was dancing with Miss Tonks and Miss Tonks was in seventh heaven, for Mr. Davy was such a beautiful dancer that it seemed to her that her own steps had never been better.
Sir Philip, lounging beside a tub of roses, watched them sourly.
“Where’s Denby?” said a voice at his ear.
Sir Philip looked up and recognized Mr. Sinclair, whom he had met many times during drinking sessions at Limmer’s. “Somewhere around,” said Sir Philip.
“I would like to thank him. Very knowing chap, Denby. Saved my marriage. I’m going to keep clear of actors from now on. What’s that creature doing here? Going to entertain us later, hey?”
He pointed with his quizzing-glass to where Mr. Davy was dancing with Miss Tonks.
“Do you mean my Miss Tonks?” demanded Sir Philip wrathfully. “Any more remarks like that and I’ll have you thrown out.”
“No, no, Davy. Jason Davy. Haven’t seen him act in some time but remember him well.”
“But that Mr. Davy is a merchant—son of a friend of Colonel Sandhurst!”
“Someone’s been bamming you, Sommerville. When did you ever see a Cit dance like that?”
He moved away and Sir Philip sat with his brain churning. So they had hired an actor to lure Mrs. Budge away. But there was that Mr. Davy in the City. Must be another Davy. He, Sir Philip, had been tricked by his partners. They would pay for this, and pay dearly.
“There you are, my chuck,” cried Mrs. Budge, sailing down on him like some particularly massive bird of prey. “Isn’t the supper to be served? Can’t we just have a little peek?”
“Not yet,” said Sir Philip. She had broken veins on her cheeks. Why had he not noticed that before? “The old morning-room’s so small that we can only hope they all don’t descend on it at once.”
“Aren’t we going to sit down to a proper meal?” she asked.
“No, it’s stand, take a fork and plate and eat in a crush.”
Sir Philip noticed that the earl and Arabella had reappeared. He saw the earl lead Arabella up to the Prince Regent and say something, he saw the prince smile indulgently, and then, when the music ended, he saw the earl hold up his arms for silence.
Lady Carruthers moved forward, her eyes darting this way and that in triumph.
Holding Arabella’s hand, the earl said in a loud voice, “I am the happiest of men. Miss Arabella Carruthers has agreed to become my wife.”
There was laughing and cheering and then a terrible scream rent the air. Feathered head-dress askew, Lady Carruthers thrust her way forward to the front.
“You’re marrying me!” she shouted. “Me, me, ME!”
The earl put his arm about Arabella’s shoulders and shook his head.
Lady Carruthers fell to the floor and began to scream and drum her feet in a paroxysm of rage.
Lady Fortescue clasped her thin beringed hands and her eyes shone with delight. The crowning triumph of the evening, a really awful scandal! Society would talk about it for weeks and weeks.
Chapter Eight
A little work, a little play
To keep us going—and so, good-day!
A little warmth, a little light
Of love bestowing—and so, good-night!
—GEORGE DU MAURIER
For all except Arabella and her earl, a great cloud of anti-climax settled on the Poor Relation. They all felt jaded and tired.
Miss Tonks succumbed to a bad cold and Sir Philip took over the account books, raising spirits a little by saying that even after their donation to the army, they were well in profit.
Mrs. Budge announced she was leaving him. Sir Philip was still smarting at the trick played on him by the others, for he had firmly established that Mr. Davy was indeed an actor; but on the other hand, he did not want to tell Mrs. Budge about the deception, for he was heartily sick of her now and was glad to get rid of her. He was also suddenly tired of hotel life. W
ith the large profit they had made from the ball and with the sale of the business, they could all retire comfortably.
He broached this matter when they were all in the sitting-room, even Miss Tonks, sniffing into a damp handkerchief and decidedly red about the nose.
But Lady Fortescue, although very tired, was still flushed with success. In her dreams at night she still circled that ballroom with the Prince Regent, with everyone watching.
“Seems like as good a time as any to sell up,” said the colonel, ever hopeful. “What do you say, Amelia?”
Lady Fortescue looked at his upright figure and for a moment her black eyes softened, but then she said, “May I see the books, Sir Philip?”
Sir Philip handed them over. Lady Fortescue bent over them for a long time, and then said, “Do you know, after our success, I suggest we raise our prices again, and after another Season, why, we could all retire and live very well indeed. In fact, we could all live in the style to which none of us has been accustomed for many years, or, in your case, Miss Tonks, has never been accustomed to at all.”
“What will become of me?” asked Miss Tonks pathetically. “You, Lady Fortescue, will go off with Colonel Sandhurst; I do not know what Sir Philip will do, but I will be left to live alone again.”
Sir Philip was feeling exhausted. He had put forward a sensible suggestion and he had been looking forward to a life of leisure. His temper broke and he forgot his desire to be quit of Mrs. Budge.
“While we’re on the subject of money,” he said nastily, “how did you fix the books to cover up what you were paying that mountebank of an actor?”
Miss Tonks looked like a frightened rabbit. “You knew,” she whispered.
“I found out at the ball,” said Sir Philip. “She’s packing now, but wait until she hears what I have to tell her. All that expense for nothing.”
“That’s blown it,” said the colonel when Sir Philip had marched out.
“The fault was not Mr. Davy’s,” pleaded Miss Tonks in a tremulous voice. “He played his part well.”
“Yes,” agreed the colonel. “It is a pity he was found out. But pay him we must. We should have known Sir Philip would not be gulled for long. But it nearly worked.”
***
Mrs. Budge looked up from a large trunk as Sir Philip entered the room and stood surveying her with an evil grin on his face.
“You can’t talk me out of it,” said Mrs. Budge. “I’m leaving you for a better man, a younger man, a richer man.”
“Like play-actors, do you?”
Mrs. Budge turned and looked at him, holding a large petticoat which she had just folded to her massive bosom. “What you talking about, then?”
“Davy, Mr. Jason Davy, penniless actor, paid by my faithless friends to gull you and lure you away from me. Ah, well, they’ve succeeded, and they’re all next door having a good laugh at you.”
“Is this true?”
“Every bit of it. I’ll go and get him.”
Sir Philip returned shortly with Mr. Davy.
“What is this?” cried Mrs. Budge. “Sir Philip tells me you ain’t nothing but an actor in the pay of them next door to trick me into leaving.”
Mr. Davy looked at the malicious glint in Sir Philip’s eyes and knew the game was up. He spread his hands. “I am afraid that is the case.”
“Get out of here,” wailed Mrs. Budge. She threw her bulk into Sir Philip’s elderly arms. “Oh, my sweetheart, my precious darling, can you ever forgive me?”
Lust stirred in Sir Philip’s ancient body. Oh, well, he thought, just one more time.
Mr. Davy walked sadly next door and up to the sitting-room.
“All that for nothing,” he said disconsolately. “Do you know that Sir Philip has discovered the deception?”
The colonel nodded. “You nearly did it. You just nearly pulled it off. We will pay you what we promised.”
“I cannot take the money for a failure.”
“If a play failed but you had played your part well, you would take the money,” said Miss Tonks. “Please accept it.”
“I quite agree,” said Lady Fortescue. “Make out a cheque for the full amount, Colonel.”
“You are very good,” said Mr. Davy. “I shall miss you all.” He took the cheque and bowed. “I must hope that some theatre manager will find a part for me.”
“Lord Denby,” cried Miss Tonks. “You need a patron. He can help. I will go and see if I can find him.”
The earl was in his apartment and listened gravely to Miss Tonks’ eager request. “I will see what I can do,” he said. “Arabella suggested before that I should be his patron. In fact, I think I know of a way I can do it. I shall call on you this evening and let you know if I have any success.”
Delighted, and pink about the nose with a cold in the head and pleasure in the soul, Miss Tonks darted back up the stairs to tell Mr. Davy the glad news.
“So what has happened to Sir Philip and Mrs. Budge?” asked Lady Fortescue after the actor had thanked Miss Tonks.
“They are very much together again.”
“I do not want to be driven into selling this place just to get rid of that woman,” said Lady Fortescue. “We must think of something else, Colonel.”
***
The earl made his way to the theatre, where The Way of the World was about to open. He was fortunate in finding Mrs. Tarry in the Green Room. He said he was smitten by her charms. “That is a tawdry necklace you are wearing,” he said, raising his voice a little as his eye caught sight of Mr. Tarry standing in the shadows, listening. “You should always wear diamonds. I saw your rehearsal of the play. Such a pity the actor who plays Mirabell is not up to your weight. I confess I feel that my friend, my very dear friend, Mr. Jason Davy, would be better in the part. A pity, for had he the part then, I would have an excuse to call and see you.”
The mention of that diamond necklace was still causing her eyes to shine. He kissed her hand and gracefully took his leave, feeling pretty sure of what her next move would be. She would throw a scene and demand that Mr. Davy had the part of Mirabell and that unless Mr. Davy were in the part, she would not go on. All that Mr. Davy had to do was make sure he had a written contract so that the Tarrys would not try to ruin things for him when they found that neither the earl nor any diamond necklace was going to put in an appearance. He felt sure that Mr. Tarry encouraged men to court his wife and give her presents so that the pair could use a genteel form of blackmail.
So he went to Rundell & Bridge and bought a fine diamond necklace, but for Arabella, and was almost sorry for Lady Carruthers when he caught the look of almost blind envy on her face when he clasped the jewels around Arabella’s neck later that day.
***
The earl and Arabella visited the sitting-room together that evening and a gratified Mr. Davy learned that he probably had a part and the earl suggested he call at the theatre as soon as possible. The colonel said he would send Mr. Davy’s belongings to his lodgings, including his new clothes, and so Mr. Davy decided he would walk immediately to the theatre. Sir Philip was not present and so there was no one to jeer at Miss Tonks when she said quietly that she would see Mr. Davy to the door of the hotel.
They stood together in the hall under the glittering light of the chandelier. Mr. Davy raised Miss Tonks’ hand to his lips. “I shall miss you,” he said quietly.
“Come back and see us,” urged Miss Tonks. “I… I shall miss you as well.”
He bowed and kissed her hand, put his curly brimmed beaver at a jaunty angle on his head and left the hotel.
Miss Tonks hesitated. Then she ran quickly into the street. He was walking away. She could see him clearly in the lights from the shops, his slim elegant figure moving away from her. She stayed where she was, straining her eyes, looking all the way down Bond Street until he turned into Oxford Street, and then he was gone.
***
When she returned to the sitting-room, Sir Philip had joined the party. Despite the fact that
Arabella was playing the piano and that everyone else seemed in good spirits, Sir Philip looked sour.
He neither listened to the conversation or the music. He wanted rid of Mary Budge, who now disgusted him after his recent brief and lustful lapse. He also wanted to walk away from the hotel and all its dreary responsibilities, from complaining guests to the Gallic tantrums of Despard, the chef.
“The money from the ball has not yet been lodged in the bank,” he realized Lady Fortescue was saying to him.
“I’ll take it round in the morning to Coutt’s.” Sir Philip creaked to his feet. “Going out,” he muttered.
He went along to Limmer’s. All the talk was of the horse race to take place at Ascot in two days’ time. The tables in the coffee room were littered with racing periodicals—Bailey’s Racing Register, Pick’s Racing Calendar and The Sporting Magazine. Names of horses were being bandied about, and very peculiar some of the names were: Kiss in a Corner, Jack, Come Tickle Me, I Am Little, Pity My Condition, Why Do You Slight Me? Britons Strike Home and Turn About Tommy.
A shadow loomed over Sir Philip as he sat at a table, and there was Mr. Fotheringay. “You should have warned me about Denby,” he said. “Snatched the beauty away from all of us.”
“Don’t talk to me about women,” snarled Sir Philip. “I’m sick of women. Horses are more interesting.”
Mr. Fotheringay slid into the seat beside him and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you who’s going to win at Ascot.”
“Everyone always knows who’s going to win,” said Sir Philip wearily, “and they’re always wrong.”
“But this is a sure thing. Do you know who owns Lady in Her Petticoat?”
“No. Don’t care.”
“Lord Black.”
“That villain!”
“Exactly. And he’s fixed it so that his horse will win.”
“How so?”
“I’ve pulled my horse out of the race, for my jockey says that Black’s men are threatening to break the legs of any jockey who rides before his horse.”
“Report him to the authorities.”