The Spider's Touch

by Patricia Wynn

  “Oh, he won’t mind overmuch. He might even think it’s rather diverting! All the fashionable ladies have affaires. Look at the number of mistresses the Prince of Wales has! And if their husbands don’t care, why should Harrowby mind? It’s not as if he cannot amuse himself without me.”

  An ache began to grow in Hester’s breast. She could not deny that the morals of the new king’s court left much to be desired. Queen Anne had tried to improve the conduct of her subjects, but if King George were ever to suggest better behaviour than he set for himself or his family, he would be justifiably ignored. As far as Hester had been able to tell, nothing was farther from his mind. But her concern was not for all of George’s subjects. Just for Isabella who, in spite of her flaws, was still dear.

  She could see that her reluctance would harm the confidence with which Isabella treated her, however, and she had no right to dictate to her cousin. What had waiting-women been used for always if not to ease their mistresses’ affaires? It was not a duty she relished, but neither did she have a choice.

  “I shall do what I can to see that they are occupied,” she finally said.

  Radiant with anticipation, Isabella led the way down to the antechamber where Harrowby, Sir Humphrey, and Lord Lovett waited for them. Recalling the manner in which Lord Lovett had parted from her on the previous evening, Hester could not help wondering if he would betray any sign of a friendship between them.

  Her own feelings about the way he had acted had undergone a series of changes. At first, as soon as the initial shock had worn off, she had felt gratified. In the loneliness with which she faced every day, being in perfect harmony with no one around her, unable to share either her opinions or her innermost secrets, she could not help but welcome the friendship of an intelligent and attractive man. Uneasiness had soon stolen away this feeling, however, for both Lord Lovett’s manner and his words had suggested that he was offering something a shade beyond friendship. Hester was not at all certain how she felt about the prospect of his admiration. And, if he had meant to imply that he found her preferable in some way, why was he always flirting with Isabella?

  She quickly discovered that she would not have to worry about a transfer of his attention from Isabella to herself. Lord Lovett betrayed not the slightest recollection of their conversation the night before. His gaze might have lingered on her face a second more than usual, but, as always, he turned the full force of his charm on her cousin and there it remained.

  He and Sir Humphrey had secured the use of a hackney coach to bring them this way. They chose not to disturb the arrangement, so the three from Hawkhurst House followed in a second carriage to Whitehall Stairs, where Lord Hawkhurst’s private barge was docked.

  The bargemen had been alerted to their coming and stood ready in their livery of brown broadcloth, trimmed in golden baize. Hester had never ridden in a private barge and could not help being excited as she was handed in. She would have infinitely preferred to receive the privilege from St. Mars, to whom the barge belonged in justice, if not in law. But since she was on her way to see him, she could almost persuade herself that the treat was truly his.

  A reflection of the moon lit the water. Ripples glistened behind them as the bargemen expertly plied their oars. A late spring breeze blew refreshing air off the cooler Thames. Dozens of wherries, tilt-boats, and barges made their way up and down the river, crossing in one another’s paths. It was hard for Hester to imagine a more beautiful evening.

  In the distance they could see the dark outline of the City of London with its many steeples and the new dome of St. Paul’s. A celebration of something seemed to be going on. The faint sound of bells came from a far-away church, and the glare of bonfires showed from some of the streets.

  Hester was about to ask what the occasion was, when a man called out from one of the shadowy boats, “Long live King James!”

  He was booed and hissed from some of the other boats, but a Jacobite ditty was taken up in others.

  “Damn fools!” Harrowby growled. “They’ll be celebrating the Pretender’s birthday today. Well, we’ll see how happy they are when the lot of them are packed off to gaol!”

  No one else in their barge said anything, but the incident seemed to cast a pall on their mood.

  The bargemen rowed them up river and deposited them on the opposite side at Vauxhall Stairs. Lord Lovett leapt out first and gave his hand to the rest. When her turn came, Hester was startled to feel his other arm come around her waist in what seemed unnecessary support. He drew her near enough to feel his breath in her hair, before letting her go.

  Her heart leapt into her throat. She did not know what game he could be playing. And she was not certain that she wanted any part of it. How could she trust a man who played court to two women, under both their noses?

  As Harrowby and Isabella led the way up the bank amidst a throng of debarking ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were masked, Hester fell back with Sir Humphrey and was surprised when Lord Lovett did the same. He made no attempt to engage her in conversation, as they made the short walk up the lane to the gate of Spring Gardens.

  Once inside, Isabella turned to insinuate herself between Lord Lovett and the others. He gave her his arm, and they continued up the main promenade, surrounded by arrivals on all sides.

  It was far too soon to draw the gentlemen away, but Hester wanted to be ready for the best opportunity. Her only hope was to engage them both in the sort of conversation from which gentlemen were accustomed to excluding their female companions, before dropping back and out of sight. Only now did she realize how foolish her suggestion of a meeting place had been, for she had not appointed a specific place within the gardens. Even should she be able to escape her companions, she could do nothing but wander the dark lanes alone and pray that St. Mars found her before someone else did. And that no drunken men would intrude on her solitary state.

  Harrowby raised his lorgnette to ogle the women they passed, some of whose gowns had been cut very loosely at the neck. On those who were masked, a glimpse of pink nipple above the neckline was not at all rare. An occasional shriek as a gentleman availed himself of this invitation could be heard up and down every lane. Giggles, oaths, and grunts came to them from behind the shrubbery. Hester saw that Isabella had chosen the perfect place to deceive her husband, if Lord Lovett had a mind to the same.

  He seemed in no hurry to lead her away from the rest of their party, but kept turning to include Sir Humphrey and Harrowby in their conversation. Hester wondered how late it would be before she could lose them. She studied the face of every bewigged gentleman, young and old, thin and fat, hoping to recognize St. Mars behind a disguise, but all she saw were strangers. And she quickly learned that it was a mistake to show too great an interest in any gentleman’s face, if she did not wish to attract their impudent remarks.

  Tall trees with their fresh springtime growth widened overhead as they slowly made their way to the center of the gardens. Attracted by the sweet notes of the wandering musicians, Lord Lovett led them to an alcove where they could sit and eat. Waiters brought them slices of hung beef, with glasses of Burton Ale for the gentlemen and mead for the ladies.

  Sitting there, trapped, Hester felt as nervous as a bee, searching for a way through a pane of glass. She would never find St. Mars if she had to stay at the table. The only good thing about her situation was that Isabella could not expect her to distract the other two gentlemen when Lord Lovett had led them all here himself. She could do nothing, but bide her time and hope for a change in her circumstances before it was time to leave.

  Chapter Nine

  Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes;

  And when, in act, they cease, in prospect, rise:

  Present to grasp, and future still to find,

  The whole employ of body and of mind.

  All spread their charms, but charm not all alike;

  On different senses different objects strike;

  Hence different Passions more or less i
nflame,

  As strong or weak, the organs of the frame;

  And hence one MASTER PASSION in the breast,

  Like Aaron’s serpent, swallows up the rest.

  II. iii.

  Two hours later, she had to wonder if any of the gentlemen would be able to make it back to the boat on their own two feet. Lord Lovett had appointed himself their host and had kept the waiters filling their glasses to the brim. It had taken very little encouragement for either Sir Humphrey or Harrowby to drink beyond their capacity. Both had been in queer spirits before setting out—Sir Humphrey, low in mind for a gentleman who was always cheerful in his friends’ company, and Harrowby, garrulous and loud, as if relief from his fears had turned him hysterical.

  Seated beside Lord Lovett, Sir Humphrey was faring the worst. After several glasses of ale, he had started to bemoan the fates of Lord Oxford and the others. Using every form of persuasion from cajolery to rebuke, Lord Lovett and Harrowby had advised him to hold his tongue, and his mumblings had quickly subsided. Occasionally a morose comment still escaped, but it had been many minutes since his sentences had made any sense.

  Under the influence of mead, Isabella’s eyes had grown brighter, and her intentions even more blatant, though she had spared an occasional provocative glance for her husband as well. These seemed to satisfy Harrowby’s amour propre. In any case, he took no exception to the flirting between his wife and their host. On the contrary, it was not long before he began showing a keener interest in the masked ladies, who threw out lures to him as they passed. Some of their language was so coarse as to leave Hester in no doubt as to their trade. In deference to the presence of his wife, she supposed, Harrowby made no response other than to laugh at their invitations. But as the night wore on, his laughter diminished, and, after one very large and buxom woman strutted past him, promising him greater delights than he had ever experienced in his life, he waited a mere twenty seconds before excusing himself for a piss and stumbling after her.

  That was the chance that Isabella had been waiting for.

  “I should like to take stroll amongst the shrubbery before we go. Will you escort me?” she said to Lord Lovett, with a look that left nothing in doubt.

  Hester fought a rush of mortification, which spread from her toes on up. Even forewarned, she found it difficult to accept adultery in someone she loved, and she could not help but love her cousin. Isabella was heedless, often selfish, ignorant, and foolish. But she had a heart that could be generous in spite of the rapaciousness with which she had been raised. She was happiest when everyone around her was merry, and she even found it in her occasionally to be distressed by someone else’s suffering.

  Harrowby, though, had just evinced his own lack of fealty to the vows they had spoken, so Hester doubted that he took them seriously either. To her a vow was all the reason required to keep faith.

  These painful thoughts had taken only a few seconds to race through her mind, but they must have shown in her face, for Lord Lovett seemed to notice her embarrassment.

  “I would not like to leave Mrs. Kean alone,” he said, giving her a look of understanding that brought a lump to her throat. “I’m afraid our dear friend Humphrey has drunk far too much of a companion. Isn’t that right, Cove?”

  Thus applied to, Sir Humphrey made an effort to see who had spoken. His blurred eyes located Lord Lovett’s face, where they rested before closing in a peaceful sleep. Lord Lovett caught him as he fell and eased his head onto the table.

  “Hester won’t mind staying here,” Isabella said, peering over Lord Lovett’s shoulder. “Will you, Hester? Harrowby is sure to come back soon, and she should stay here to tell him where we’ve gone.”

  “Unless she had rather stroll with us?”

  Lord Lovett’s invitation surprised them both. Hester wondered if his flirting had been nothing more than that. She even felt some hope that Isabella could return home without the stain of adultery on her soul.

  She had no thought of playing chaperone, though. Not when her opportunity to steal away had finally come.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, smiling openly at him for perhaps the first time in their acquaintance. “But my cousin is correct. I shall be perfectly happy listening to the musicians play, and if my lord were to return and find us missing, he might regard it as an inconvenience at least.”

  He inclined his head, but his manner indicated that he would have preferred for her to join them.

  Hester waited until they had disappeared down one of the shorter alleys of trees before leaving her chair. Terribly afraid that Harrowby would come back before she, too, could get away, she started in a third direction, glancing nervously back over her shoulder to check for his arrival.

  With her gaze diverted, she did not perceive the gentleman who stepped in front of her until she bumped into his chest. Letting out a cry, she tried to retreat, but he took her by the arms and would not release her until she looked up.

  Blue eyes greeted her from behind a black mask. A teasing smile softened the harsh set of features she remembered so well and filled her with immeasurable joy and relief. “St. Mars!” she whispered, a smile bubbling up from inside her, too.

  He stared down, holding her in his grasp a moment more. “I thought you would never be rid of them. Come, let’s get away, before any of them can return.”

  He released one of her arms, but held the other to urge her away from the alcove and towards a towering row of trees. Within moments, he had drawn her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they had joined the lines of promenaders, who strolled up and down, giggling and calling out to strangers and friends. At Vauxhall, it seemed, no distinction between lord and commoner was observed, for no one could tell what face lay behind a mask.

  After they had covered a safe distance, Hester stole a sideways glance at St. Mars. Tonight, he had not bothered to disguise his age. But a shorter wig than any fashionable gentleman would wear, a plain brown suit with no lace to distinguish it, Quakerish shoes, and the mask had altered him enough that she felt sure that no one would know him.

  Her scrutiny had not escaped him. “What do you think of my disguise?” he asked.

  “It is admirable, sir. But do you not think the mask poses a slight inconsistency with your choice of costume?”

  “Because I affect the Quaker?”

  She nodded.

  “But, surely, even a Quaker could be tempted to sin on an evening like this when the nightingales are singing in the trees. And if he were to sin, who would be more likely to wish for concealment?”

  His teasing tone started a pulse deep inside her. The feel of his muscles beneath her palm was wonderfully warm and hard.

  “Very logical, my lord. I see that you gave the matter adequate forethought before taking this risk. And may I apologize for not doing as well? Until this evening, I had not thought how hard it would be for us to find each other here. I was very relieved to encounter you so quickly.”

  “Did you think I would allow you to wander about in a crowd like this?” St. Mars had dropped his playful tone. “I’ve been watching you all evening. I followed you up from the riverbank and did not take my eyes off your table once.”

  Hester was so overcome that she could only murmur a shy, “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Who is that gentleman who walked away with your cousin?”

  Nothing could have punctured the cloud on which she had been floating since she’d found him faster or more completely than this question. For the past few moments, Hester had forgotten that the man beside her had been in love with Isabella, indeed, that he must be in love with her still.

  “That gentleman is Lord Lovett. He is a great friend of both Isabella’s and Harrowby’s.” She hardly knew how to refer to Isabella’s husband when speaking to St. Mars, for to call him Isabella’s husband or Lord Hawkhurst would remind him of all he had lost, and to acknowledge him as his first cousin might not be something St. Mars desired to do.

  “His actions this evening
scarcely fit those of a friend to Harrowby,” he said significantly.

  His comment brought a rush of embarrassment to her cheeks.

  Before she could think of a response, he asked, “Is their marriage already so weak?” —then, with scarcely a pause— “No, do not answer that, Mrs. Kean. It is inappropriate for me to speak to you of such a matter. Tell me instead how everyone does at Hawkhurst House.”

  Relieved by the change of subject, but with her mood properly subdued, Hester gave him news of his servants—Will, who had won a race against five of the fastest footmen in town, Mrs. Dixon with her painful tooth extraction, and his former valet Philippe and his annoyance with Harrowby’s morning callers.

  He responded feelingly to the first two, and laughed at the third. “How I should love to witness one of Harrowby’s levees! I make no doubt that he loves them. You have been charitable once, Mrs. Kean, in reminding me of something I cannot and do not regret. I do not possess the temperament to enjoy a levee.”

  “It turns out that Philippe does not either, when I believe he had anticipated liking them very much. He is not averse to an audience, as you undoubtedly know. But he cannot abide being told how he should go about his job in a better way.”

  “No, he wouldn’t, which is what made him amusing to me.”

  Hester wondered if she heard him sigh.

  She had been so happy speaking to him, in a way she could talk with no one else, that she had allowed herself to forget that her absense must not be for long. Reluctantly, she reminded him. “Is there anything particular you wished to speak to me about, my lord? Your message sounded rather urgent.”

  Now she did hear him sigh and wondered what had made him do it.

  They were just about to reach the end of an alley of trees. St. Mars halted, gave a good look about, and turned to lead her back to a short path leading off of it. Rustlings and murmurings from behind the densest shrubbery, where no lamps shone, gave warning that they were not alone. With a muffled oath St. Mars took her hand and led her farther down the path until they had passed the last of these sounds by thirty feet at least, before telling her to wait while he checked for listeners. Then he returned, and with a courtly gesture, invited her to join him behind the shrubbery.