A Country Cotillion

by Sandra Heath

  As the carriage drove swiftly up the incline toward the highway, and then successfully drew out to mingle with the other traffic, Elizabeth and Violet sat back with relief.

  Frederick now tooled the horses along at a gentle trot, passing Kensington village and the Halfway House, then driving on toward Knightsbridge, and the little house with the monkey puzzle trees.

  Elizabeth wondered if Alexander was already viewing the sporting prints at Ackermann’s. He would spend hours examining them all, for such things were a particular passion with him, and his house in Cavendish Square boasted one of London’s finest collections. She hoped he did not mind that she had agreed to take Isobel with them. She had written to him explaining the moment her aunt and cousin had gone, but there had been no reply. Surely he would not object? No, he wouldn’t do that, for he would understand.

  She sighed, staring out at the darkness. She wished that she didn’t feel so oddly unsettled. Everything had been going so well, she hadn’t had a doubt in the world, but then she had for some reason decided to stop to look at the house in Hanover Square. If she hadn’t done that, and if she hadn’t seen the man who had so briefly conjured James into life again, then all would have remained well. But she had gone to Hanover Square, and she had seen the golden-haired gentleman, and now everything felt very different.

  Frederick slowed the carriage, turning the horses skillfully in between the monkey puzzle trees guarding the entrance of Mrs. Bateson’s new home. As he drew the vehicle to a standstill and climbed down to open the door for Elizabeth and Violet to alight, the clock on a nearby church struck seven o’clock precisely.

  * * * *

  Across London, in the heart of the city, another lady and her maid were alighting from their carriage outside numbers 96-101 The Strand, the impressive premises occupied by Ackermann’s Repository of Fine Art.

  Isobel paused on the pavement to adjust the folds of the delicate buttermilk silk gown she wore beneath a geranium velvet three-quarter-length pelisse. Her chestnut hair was teased into soft curls around her forehead, and on her head there was a geranium velvet turban draped with thin golden chains. She carried a white swansdown muff, and there was a glittering diamond brooch pinned to her left shoulder. Her green eyes glittered with anticipation as she nodded at her maid, and they both entered the building.

  Ackermann’s was renowned for the quality and variety of its prints, and was a suitably grand establishment with a superior facade facing the street. A highly-polished nameplate stretched across the building above the handsome ground floor windows, and the pedimented entrance boasted a large brightly painted coat-of-arms supported by heraldic beasts. Tonight’s exhibition had been extensively advertised in all the best newspapers, and as a consequence a great many fine carriages had converged upon The Strand. The entire building was brightly lit, and as Isobel and her maid stepped inside the drone of conversation seemed to reverberate all around. It was a mostly male gathering, but with a sufficient sprinkling of ladies to make the occasion suitable.

  In daylight Ackermann’s was well lit by its many tall windows, and the top floor had a glass lantern roof that admirably showed off any items on display there, but now that darkness had fallen, everything was illuminated by chandeliers. The ground floor counters were covered with green cloths and were presided over by young men assistants wearing brown coats and beige breeches. Portfolios and prints were placed on stands, there was a corner where a huge selection of frames could be examined, and the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with prints of every size and description, from small portraits of great pugilists to grand vistas of Newmarket racecourse.

  Business was very brisk, so that it was some time before Isobel was able to attract the attention of one of the assistants, and request him to find Sir Alexander Norrington. A small page was dispatched to search every room, and she waited impatiently by the counter, half-fearing that all would come to nothing because Alexander had decided not to come here tonight.

  She tried to look relaxed and unconcerned, idly leafing through a sheaf of little engravings of gun dogs, and at last the page returned to tell her that he had found Alexander on the crowded third floor. He conducted her up the staircase at the rear of the building, and her maid kept very close indeed behind her, for fear of losing her in the crush. The page led them to a room at the very back, where Alexander was engrossed in a comprehensive and enticing display of fox-hunting scenes. Isobel gave the page a coin for his pains, and then stood in the doorway, observing Alexander for a moment before he realized she was there.

  The room was not as crowded as most of the others, with only about eight other gentlemen and two ladies, and no one paid much attention to her as she stood there feasting her gaze upon the man who had so unknowingly captured her heart.

  He wore a charcoal-gray coat with brass buttons, tight cream corduroy breeches, and black top boots, and there was a very full neckcloth at his throat. His hat and gloves rested on a table beside him, and he stood in a pensive pose with one hand to his chin as he surveyed the wall of prints. His brows were slightly drawn together as he pondered which prints to purchase, but to Isobel it seemed that he was beset by some nameless adversity. His pallor seemed more pronounced, and the intensity of his concentration suggested a brooding, stifled passion. He was more her Childe Harold than ever, and she was immediately conscious of a quickening of her pulse and a tightening of her heart. She must win him, she must! Nothing else would do but that he became hers.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked into the room after gesturing to her maid to remain outside. Alexander heard her light steps approaching, and turned with quick surprise. “Lady Isobel? Is it you who seeks me?”

  “Yes, Sir Alexander.”

  “Forgive me, I had no idea that it was a lady, or I would never have allowed you to come to me.” He smiled, raising her hand to his lips.

  She suppressed a shiver of pleasure. Oh, how she adored him. He was everything she could ever desire…

  “How may I be of assistance?” he asked.

  “I realize that I have taken yet another liberty by seeking you out like this, Sir Alexander, but I require your assistance.”

  “I am at your disposal.”

  “Well, as Elizabeth will have told you by now, my father has been taken suddenly worse, and—”

  “Elizabeth has told me nothing, Lady Isobel, for I have not seen her today. I know that your father has been unwell for a long time now, and if there has been a deterioration I am truly very sorry to hear of it.”

  “I am afraid that my father fell down the staircase at Southwell Park, Sir Alexander, and my mother fears greatly for him, as his condition has been severely aggravated by the accident. That is why I must go there as quickly as possible.” Isobel looked quizzically at him. “If you have not seen Elizabeth, surely she has sent word to you about it?”

  “Possibly she has, but I have not been at home today. I breakfasted with Tom Crichton at my club, and then he and I spent most of the rest of the day together. We’re endeavoring to find an old friend, but I am afraid we were not successful. I digress, however. You were speaking of your father, and having to go to him.”

  “I thought Elizabeth would inform you, Sir Alexander, because she has very kindly agreed that I can travel north with you both, and that you will escort me all the way to Southwell Park so that I may be with my father.”

  “I see. Lady Isobel, do I take it that you fear I may object?”

  “It is an imposition, sir, and you would be within your rights to object.”

  “I would most certainly not be within my rights, for your need is great at such a distressing time. I am truly sorry that you will be accompanying us for such a sad reason, but I am delighted that you will be with us.”

  “You are?”

  “How could I not be?” He smiled.

  She felt quite weak with emotion. Oh, to be free to fling her arms around him and kiss him on the lips. “You…you are very kind, Sir Alexander.”
>
  “I merely wish to do all I can to assist, Lady Isobel.”

  “Of course. I—I was hoping that you would help me choose a print to take to my father. Elizabeth says that you know a great deal about such things, but I am afraid that I know very little. My father is very interested in gun dogs.”

  “Gun dogs? Well, there is a vast selection of suitable prints to choose from. Come, I will be honored to help you choose something.” He took her hand and drew it gently over his sleeve.

  She smiled up into his hazel eyes. “I envy my cousin Elizabeth, Sir Alexander, for in you she has surely found the most perfect of gentlemen.”

  “You flatter me, I think.”

  “No, I do not, for you are everything I trust I will one day find for myself.”

  “Such one-sided praise will make me swollen-headed, so perhaps I should redress the balance by telling you that I think you look enchanting tonight.”

  “Thank you, Sir Alexander,” she breathed, her eyes shining as she allowed him to escort her from the room. She intended to spend several hours with him if possible, and she intended to flatter and admire all she could, without being too obvious. He was going to feel good in her company, better than he felt with Elizabeth, for that was the key.

  It was something Aunt Avery had said that had told her how to proceed in her stratagem to win him. “Make a man feel good when he is with you, my dear, make him feel that he is the only fine fellow in the world, and he will soon be eating out of your hand. Make him feel even slightly uncomfortable, and his glance will stray.”

  * * * *

  Elizabeth did not stay long at Mrs. Bateson’s, for the old lady was very frail and found conversation tiring. It was sad to see her former headmistress brought so low by circumstance, and like several other former pupils who had called before her, Elizabeth saw to it that a sum of money was left to provide for Mrs. Bateson’s comfort. Promising to call again soon, Elizabeth then left with Violet.

  Frederick drove the team out between the monkey puzzle trees, and then back along the highway toward Kensington. Isolated snowflakes swirled in the air again as the lane came in sight ahead, and he slowed the team to a walk to negotiate the sharp turn into the incline that led down to the meadowland below. The horses balked a little, and Frederick had to gather them. The carriage turned into the lane and was just out of sight from the highway when the shadows emerged from the hedgerow. Dark silent figures grabbed at the startled horses’ bridles, and several more leaped quietly on to the carriage itself, scrambling over the top toward Frederick, who at first tried to fling the horses forward, but then took up the whip to try to beat off the attackers. One of the figures on the carriage behind him struck him a blow to the back of the head, and with a grunt he lost consciousness, tumbling down from the carriage to fall heavily to the ground.

  Elizabeth and Violet pressed fearfully together inside the carriage, for there was no mistaking what was happening. The vehicle’s sudden halt, the frightened horses, and the few swift cracks of the whip had told them all they needed to know.

  Violet screamed as the carriage door was suddenly flung open, and a man with a swarthy, unshaven face peered in, his features lit faintly by the light from the carriage lamps.

  “Well, if it ain’t a pretty lady and ‘er maid,” he growled, grinning a little as they tried to keep as far away from him as possible. He gave them both a parody of a bow, as if he was quite the gallant. “Step down, if you please, my lovelies,” he invited.

  They remained motionless, too frightened to do anything.

  His smile was extinguished. “Do as I say!” he snapped, reaching in to seize Elizabeth’s wrist and drag her out.

  She resisted, struggling with all her might, but he was far too strong and suddenly she found herself falling from the carriage into the lane, where she lay winded for a moment, only inches away from Frederick’s motionless body.

  Her eyes widened as she saw the coachman. “Frederick?”

  “There ain’t nothin’ wrong wiv ‘im,” said the man who had dragged her out. Then he turned to Violet, but the maid scrambled out unaided, afraid of angering him.

  Elizabeth rose shakily to her feet, backing away until she was against the carriage. “I haven’t any money,” she said. It was true, for what money she’d brought out tonight had been left at Mrs. Bateson’s.

  He grinned. His teeth were black and rotten, and his clothes stank of the stable. “No money, eh? Well, we’ll see about that.” He snapped his fingers toward her reticule, and she handed it over without argument.

  He opened it and shook the contents over the ground. Out fell her vial of lavender water, her silver comb, her handkerchief, and the few pennies that were left. He bent to snatch up the vial and the comb, as well as the pennies, but he left the reticule and the handkerchief lying there. Then he looked at her again. “Come on, now, my dear, I’m sure you’ve got sommat else for us, ain’t you?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  His glance moved to her earrings. “They’ll do nicely,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Please don’t take them, for they were given to me by my parents!”

  “Oh, please don’t take them,” he mimicked, putting on a silly high voice. His companions enjoyed the joke. His smile faded again. “Give ‘em up, sweetheart, before I take ‘em. I won’t be gentle, I promise you.”

  Close to tears, she removed the precious earrings and dropped them into his outstretched hand. “That’s all the jewelry I have,” she said, holding his gaze.

  He gave her another menacing grin. “P’raps a little kiss?” he breathed, coming closer.

  Revulsion and terror washed icily through her, and her desperate glance flew toward the highway, so near and yet so very far away. Here in the lane everything was in shadow, but up there, only yards away, carriages and other vehicles were passing freely to-and-fro. Suddenly she saw a horseman, a gentleman mounted on a spirited coal-black thoroughbred, and in an instant she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Footpads! Quickly! Help! Help!”

  The gentleman reined in, looking down into the lane. Evidently he could make something out, for he reached inside his greatcoat pocket and drew out a pistol, the barrel of which glinted in the lamplight from a swiftly passing gig.

  The footpads had frozen the moment she screamed, and then the ringleader pocketed the earrings. “Scatter, my laddoes!” he shouted, and as one they melted away into the shadows.

  Elizabeth stepped tentatively forward, trying to see exactly where the ringleader went. She saw him vault lightly over a gate into one of the meadows and then run away in the direction of Kensington with several of his accomplices. Halfway House—he was going to take refuge in Halfway House!

  The gentleman had by now urged his horse down into the lane, and he reined in beside her. “Are you all right?”

  She tore her eyes away from the meadow, and stared up with a shock into the handsome face of the man she had seen emerging from the house in Hanover Square. She recognized him immediately, for he was so very distinctive with his bright golden hair and aristocratically fine features. His eyes were very quick and blue in the light from the carriage lamps.

  “Are you all right?” he asked again, reaching down to put a gloved hand to her chin.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “You came in time.”

  Frederick was beginning to come around, and Violet knelt anxiously beside him. The gentleman looked at Elizabeth again. “Did they take anything?”

  “My earrings were the only thing of value.” A lump rose in her throat, and tears filled her eyes as she thought of the earrings that meant so much to her.

  His hand still cupped her chin. “They were valuable?”

  “I treasured them,” she whispered.

  “Then I will do what I can to retrieve them. Did you see which way the footpads went?”

  She pointed toward the gate. “I think they were going to Halfway House.”

  “Most probably. You stay here,
and I will return as quickly as I can.” Gathering the reins of his horse, he rode toward the gate, pausing only long enough to bend down and swing it open before urging his mount through into the dark meadow beyond.

  She stared after him, still shaken to have found herself face to face with the man she had taken so briefly for her late husband.

  Silence returned to the lane. The clatter of traffic on the highway seemed muffled, and when one of the carriage horses shook its head suddenly, the jingle of the harness sounded unnaturally loud and almost jarring. Frederick was sitting up now, but was too dazed to do a great deal, and Violet still knelt anxiously beside him.

  Elizabeth could hear her own heartbeats, and she gave a frightened gasp as a twig snapped somewhere nearby. Had one of the footpads returned? The others heard the sound as well, and Violet scrambled fearfully to her feet, staring in the direction from which it had come. There was another snap, and Elizabeth suddenly gathered her skirts, hurrying to the others.

  “We cannot stay here. Frederick, do you think you can climb into the carriage?”

  “Into it, madam?”

  “Yes. Violet and I can lead the horses back to the house.”

  “I’ll try, madam…”

  They helped him carefully to his feet, both still glancing nervously over their shoulders, half-expecting to see the footpads coming toward them again.

  Frederick clambered into the carriage as best he could, and they closed the door upon him before hastening to the horses, and beginning to lead them along the lane. They hurried as swiftly as possible, urging the nervous team to do their bidding, and at last they saw the white posts of the house ahead.