The Notorious Lord Havergal

by Joan Smith

  “Well, it is you, Lettie,” Violet said, smiling apologetically. “I cannot leave you alone. Do you think perhaps Cousin Germaine, from Exeter, might like to live with you?”

  “Yes, the very thing,” Lettie said. “As soon as we get home, we shall begin work on the wedding.” Cousin Germaine was the last lady in the land Lettie would want to share a house with. She was a tart-tongued spinster set in her ways, but there were other relatives who Lettie found more congenial, and she didn’t want to discuss it at this time.

  “Yes, I thought Germaine was the very one, for you and she are really quite a bit alike." Violet smiled.

  Lettie took that unintentional slight to bed with her. Was that how Violet and Norton saw her? As an opinionated, bossy shrew? As she lay in bed, worrying, the weak thought intruded, was that how Havergal saw her?

  Chapter Seventeen

  The plan settled on, over breakfast the next morning in Mr. Norton’s private parlor, was that Ned would drive to Tom’s apartment and bring him to the hotel. Ned had been up since seven-thirty and had already taken his gammon and eggs.

  “It will save you ladies running out to the carriage with your meal in your throats. You just relax and enjoy your fork work, and I’ll have the lad here before your plates are empty.”

  “So very kind,” Lettie said. She seemed to have turned into a parrot, forever repeating her gratitude to Norton. At times, she regretted having turned him off. What an extremely comfortable husband he would have made after all. But as she considered the full duties of a wife, she concluded that he would make an even better connection than husband.

  Breakfast was a leisurely meal, and would have been enjoyable, were it not for the cloud Tom’s improvidence threw over the table. The ladies had very little idea of the geography of London, but Norton had assured them he would be back within the hour. When that time had come and gone, and they could not force another drop of coffee into their mouths, Lettie suggested they wait in their rooms.

  As they entered the hotel lobby, Norton came pelting in alone. “Was Tom not at home?” Lettie demanded. It seemed unlikely that a young man who had no position should be out of the house so early.

  “His man said he had gone to visit a friend in the country for a few days, but he is expected back this morning. I left a note for him to come immediately to the hotel. It looks like we are stuck to cool our heels here till he comes. I shouldn’t think he would come much before noon. We could hire a cab and have a squint at the city for a couple of hours, if you like. Dandy buildings as far as the eye can see and plenty of shops.”

  As much as Lettie appreciated Norton’s help, she also wished for some privacy with her brother and took the decision to wait for Tom alone. It took a deal of persuasion, but finally she talked Violet into her bonnet and pelisse for a tour of the city with Norton, while she awaited Tom.

  “We’ll be back for lunch. I have kept the private parlor,” Ned told her. “Just make yourself at home there. I have brought a couple of journals for you to scan, to kill the time. Order a bottle of wine or coffee—whatever you wish, Lettie.”

  The room was cozy, and Lettie decided to await Tom’s arrival there. Her interest in politics was slight, and for amusement she turned to the social columns of the journals, thinking to learn what new parties Lord Havergal had been attending with Lady Annabelle. Strangely Havergal’s face had disappeared from all the cartoons. The Duke of C— appeared frequently by name. It seemed he had bought his mistress a set of cream ponies and a sky blue phaeton. He had forsaken pig racing for boxing. She read the list of coming matches and saw that Lord H’s man, Cuttle, had a match scheduled for the next week. This suggested that the friendship between Havergal and Crymont continued.

  After an hour she decided she could handle one more cup of coffee and called for it. At eleven she asked for biscuits, not because she wanted them, but because she was utterly bored. She ought to have brought some sewing or a long novel. At eleven-thirty she stood with her nose to the windowpane, searching the busy street beyond for a sign of Tom. When he finally appeared, she thought she must be imagining things. She was beginning to doubt that he would ever come.

  She ran to the parlor door and called. “Over here, Tom!”

  He came bolting forward, smiling and looking perfectly elegant in a jacket and waistcoat she had never seen before. He looked thinner and a trifle hagged. In fact, he looked suddenly no longer like a boy, but like a young man. His dark hair sat in a neat cap, and his brown eyes were sunk a little deeper in his face than she remembered. The face was thinner, too.

  “What the deuce are you doing here, Lettie? I thought one of my friends was playing a joke on me when I got Mr. Norton’s note. And how does it come he is with you?”

  “He isn’t with me, exactly. He is going to marry Violet.”

  “Really! When did this happen?”

  “Just recently. Come in, Tom. We have to talk.”

  She led him into the parlor and poured him a cup of tepid coffee. “Tom, what is all this about selling the orchard?”

  ”Did old Telford tell you? I don’t know why he can’t mind his own business. Why must he run around, making a great to-do about nothing?”

  “Selling off your patrimony is not nothing, Tom. Now tell me why you need the money. You had a thousand pounds to see you through. You cannot have gone through all that!”

  “Everything is dear in London,” he said sulkily.

  “Not that dear! Have you been gambling?”

  “Where the devil did you get that idea? I suppose Telford told you that, too, did he?” He lowered his eyes over his cup, for he suddenly felt like a guilty boy who had been caught playing truant.

  “Never mind who told me. How deeply are you dipped?”

  “Selling the orchard would more than cover it. It would leave me a couple of hundred to go on with.”

  “So you are in hawk for something in the neighborhood of five hundred?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Five hundred squandered, on top of the thousand you had to begin with! At this rate, you will have lost Laurel Hall within a year. The estate that your father worked all his life to make prosperous for you! You should be well and thoroughly ashamed of yourself. You’ve been a month in London already and no sign of a position. I cannot think you’ve been bending your mind to finding one.”

  “Dash it, nobody works in London. You don’t understand how things go on, Lettie. Everybody lives off his estate. I’m not a poor man. Why should I sit in an office, scribbling letters for some scheming politician?”

  “You’re not a rich man either. That life you talk about is for wealthy lords. I hear you have seen Lord Havergal?”

  “And that’s another thing,” Tom said, turning to offense, as his defense was nonexistent. “You told me to call on him and the duke, then no sooner do I meet him than you tell me to stay clear of him. It is demmed hard, when he has been so kind to me, introducing me to his friends and getting me into his club.”

  “So that’s it. You have been rattling around town with that expensive fribble. I’m telling you, Tom, you either find a position, or you are coming home.”

  “I’m the master of Laurel Hall now, my girl,” he said, but his voice quavered with fear as he said it.

  “We’ll see about that. There is a good case to be made that you are too immature to handle your estate yet. I happen to know something about the laws of guardianship,” she reminded him. “If a person is incapable of handling his own affairs, then it is possible for his next of kin to have herself declared guardian. You know Papa’s intentions in turning it all over to you was that you run the estate, not decimate it. I’ll do it, Tom. I won’t sit still and see you ruin your life for a few months’ debauchery. You’ll thank me for it in the long run.”

  “Hardly debauchery,” he said, sulking.

  “I’m not talking about lightskirts, though I don’t doubt your new friend has introduced you into that as well.”

  “It wa
s only a bit of gambling,” Tom said. “To tell the truth, Lettie, I thought we were playing for shillings, but when they say one, they mean one pound! My God, I nearly fainted when I discovered the truth. I ought to have known, for something similar happened at university, where one means one shilling, whereas at home it means one penny. I haven’t been back to that club,” he said as a sop.

  “What club is it--Brook’s, St. James’s?”

  “It was a private club, Mrs. Reno’s place.”

  “A gambling hell, designed to fleece Johnnie Raws! You really are incompetent to handle your own affairs.”

  “It’s all the crack, Lettie. All the fellows are dying to get in, but you have to be introduced by someone that Mrs. Reno knows and trusts. She serves champagne and lobster. The food and drinks alone are practically worth the price.”

  “Worth five hundred pounds? Worth losing a valuable piece of your estate? What will have to go next to pay for your vices—the stable, the pasture, the house? What are your plans for after you have ruined yourself? Do you plan to batten yourself on my meager ten thousand? Think again. I’ve spoiled you long enough. You got the lion’s share of the family money, but you’ll not see one sou of my dowry. And if you are thinking of a profitable marriage to pull you out of the suds, you can forget that dream. The wealthy merchants’ daughters, I have no doubt your friend has mentioned to you, expect a title. They aren’t interested in penniless country squires of poor character and reputation. No, Tom, you were wrong, and in your heart you know you were wrong.”

  “Damn, I know I was a fool, but that doesn’t pay the bill, does it?” he exclaimed.

  “Who do you owe the money to?” she asked, and braced herself for the answer.

  “I borrowed it from a moneylender, a fellow named Wideman, on Poland Street. Here is his note.”

  She examined it and handed it back. “Very well, I’ll tell you what we'll do. I shall sell my diamond necklace.”

  “No!”

  “Laurel Hall obviously means more to me than it does to you. I would rather lose Mama’s diamonds, and you know what they mean to me. This is not a gift. I will expect you to reimburse me for them, as though the money was a mortgage. In fact, we shall draw up a note, at five percent interest.”

  Tom’s face screwed up and a few tears squirted out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lettie. I’ve been a demmed jackass. I feel so terrible. I was afraid to tell you. I wanted to. I knew you would think of something.” He went into her arms, and in spite of her determination, she felt a weakening rush of love.

  “It’s all right, Tom. You’re young. Too young for the pack of hardened rakes you’ve been running with.”

  “I’ll go home with you, Lettie. Truth to tell, London ain’t as much fun as I had hoped. Between worrying about money, and meeting all the pretty debs hanging out for a title and a big fortune, I haven’t been having that good a time. At home, all the girls made a great fuss over me, but here I’m nothing. The apartment is a miserable dump, and the food is awful. I think I’ve lost a few pounds.” She gave him a quizzing look. “Of body weight, I mean, besides the fortune I’ve squandered. Just like a Johnnie Raw. I ought to be whipped.”

  “Don’t tempt me. Norton and Violet will be returning at noon. Let us—”

  As she spoke, there was a commotion at the door, and Norton’s booming voice rang out. “So he has come. I hope Lettie has rung a good peel over you.”

  “Indeed she has,” Tom said with a shy smile. “And well deserved, too.”

  Violet rushed forward to greet Tom, and Norton turned to speak to Lettie aside. “I can let you have a few hundred if it will ease the strain, Lettie. Tom can pay me back at his leisure.”

  “The sum is not so great as I feared. I can handle it. Thank you once again, Ned.”

  “That’s good then. Tonight I shall take you all to the theater and for a smashing dinner at a hotel to celebrate. Tom can tell us where to go.”

  “The Clarendon—No, this hotel is as good as any,” Tom said with a thought to the prices.

  “Tonight dinner is on me,” Lettie announced, for she felt guilty at Norton’s unending generosity. Ned put up a good fight, but in the end Lettie had her way.

  Over lunch, it was decided that Tom and Lettie would attend to business that afternoon, and Ned and Violet would continue their sight-seeing. Lettie wanted privacy for the selling of her necklace. Norton would insist on lending her the money if he knew what she planned, and she would not infringe further on his good nature.

  Tom announced his intention of returning to Laurel Hall with them. “There, then that solves your problem, Lettie,” Violet smiled. “You won’t be alone when I marry Ned.”

  “I have not congratulated you, Mr. Norton, on your betrothal,” Tom said, and rectified the omission.

  “Since our little secret is out, I can put a diamond on my lass’s finger this very day,” Norton beamed. “That will be a pleasant job, finding a ring to fit.”

  Tom and Lettie remained behind when the others left. Tom said, “Lettie, I have been thinking ... I don’t want you to sell your necklace. Perhaps I can arrange a small mortgage on Laurel Hall.”

  “Small mortgages have a way of growing, Tom. It is so easy to increase them once the thing is started. Papa always said he would rather sell the coat off his back than take a mortgage. In a bad year, you know, a mortgage can make the difference in the estate’s breaking even.”

  “Let me look into it at least. It won’t take more than an hour. I’ll just speak to an estate agent and see what sort of a deal I can arrange.”

  “Don’t even think of it,” she insisted.

  “Well, at least I must go to my apartment and tell my man to pack. I know a fellow who is desperate for rooms. I’ll call on him and sublet my place. That’ll give me a couple of hundred to settle a few accounts outstanding in town. My tailor, and the fellow I bought this new curled beaver from,” he said, smiling ruefully at his new hat.

  Lettie was happy to hear that he wanted to settle his accounts before leaving town. That augered a good character beneath the recent folly. Tom had always been a basically good lad.

  “Don’t do anything about selling the necklace till I return,” he said as he went toward the door.

  Lettie pondered this speech. She knew Tom well enough to know that he planned to try for a mortgage. It was sweet of him to want to save her necklace, but she had taken the decision to sell it and had every intention of doing so.

  “I’ll be gone for two or three hours,” he said. “Don’t wait for me. Hire a cab and go out and see the sights, Lettie.”

  Unlike taking a mortgage, selling diamonds was relatively easy. She could get the money within the hour and pay off his troublesome note. She would have felt better with an escort, but she was mature enough to tackle the city without one.

  She called for a cab and asked to be delivered to Bond Street, where she made inquiries about the sale of her necklace at three establishments, finally returning to the first one, which had offered five hundred. She felt a piercing sadness to lay her beloved heirloom on the counter. What lady would be wearing it next? She hoped it did not end up on the neck of some lightskirt. After some discussion the shop agreed to pay her in cash. Her next destination was Mr. Wideman, on Poland Street. In the cab she remembered that she ought to have gotten Tom’s IOU, but she would get a receipt from Wideman, and that would be proof the note was discharged—probably with a forfeit of several pounds.

  The driver looked curious when she gave the address, but the lady certainly looked as if she knew what she was about. Lettie felt a few qualms as the carriage proceeded into a fairly squalid part of town. There were no trees and few carriages, but only rundown houses packed close together, with a few down-at-heels gentlemen walking the street.

  “Wait for me,” she said curtly when she got out. She surveyed the mean establishment. It was an apartment building, one of a row a block long, with only a small brass plaque to inform clients of the various matters
going on within. As well as Wideman, there was also a solicitor, no doubt a shady one, a dealer in coins, and an art merchant, whom she felt in her bones sold either stolen goods or forgeries.

  She opened the door and stood, studying the list of businesses pasted in the hallway. Mr. Wideman was on the second floor. She gathered up her skirts, for the staircase looked as if it hadn’t seen a broom in months. As she put her foot on the first step, she heard a rattle of descending footsteps. Their firm tread and rapid pace told her it was a young man. Some other unfortunate victim like poor Tom, perhaps. As the stairway was dark and narrow, she waited below till he had passed. God only knew what sort of man he might be. He might rob her of the fortune in her reticule.

  She looked up as he negotiated the bend at the top of the stairs and felt as if her lungs had collapsed. Havergal! She thought she must be imagining things, for he had been so much in her thoughts. She blinked and looked again, just as he looked up and recognized her.

  “Lettie!” The word came out in a shocked, disbelieving rasp.

  All her grief and anger congealed into disgust. How could anyone who looked so good be so horrid? He looked as she remembered: young, handsome, healthy, prosperous. But he had caused her untold harm and had nearly ruined Tom into the bargain. And now he was here, probably selling off his birthright to pay for his latest sins.

  “Lord Havergal,” she replied in icy accents. “So it was you who directed Tom here. No doubt Mr. Wideman is an intimate business acquaintance of yours. Do you get a commission on the Johnnie Raws you send to him to be fleeced?” He just stared dumbly. “I will be taking Tom home tomorrow, before you turn him into another libertine like yourself.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Do you deny that you called on him in London?”

  “Of course not! I promised you I would help him find a position.”

  “You are either extremely ineffectual or have an odd idea of a position. Tom has to earn money, not throw it away on gambling. Excuse me.” She made a movement to walk past him.