‘Roger, my dear, you ask too much. Even for you I am not prepared to give up my old friends. And, after all, what is three months? In the past you have at times absented yourself from me for years at a stretch.’
‘That is true enough,’ he agreed. ‘But during those periods I was very fully occupied in serving my country abroad, whereas now I have naught to do that interests me. My life out at Richmond has become deadly dull, and I am sick to death of mooning about, listening to the scandals of the town. Apart from being with you, I have nothing to look forward to except an occasional men’s dinner, and I no longer derive much pleasure in consuming more port than is good for me.’
‘There is a simple solution to your malaise,’ Georgina replied. The two happiest years of your life were ’90 and ’91—between the Liberal Revolution in France and the coming of the Terror, when you had temporarily left Mr. Pitt’s service and were married to Amanda. You must marry again.’
‘My love, I have already told you that I’ll not do that, lest your husband dies and you again become free.’
‘Roger, in this case ’tis folly to wait for dead men’s shoes. The condition of my poor old Duke shows not the slightest change. He may well live to be a hundred. And, did you marry again, it would make no material difference to us. Except when you were wed to Amanda and I to Charles, neither of us has ever been faithful to our spouses. Apart from maintaining happy relations with my friends, I am as free as the wind; and with your subtle mind you’d find no difficulty in inventing plausible excuses to leave your wife now and then, in order that in secret we could be together for a time.’
Having declared that he would not even consider her suggestion, Roger was unhappily compelled to leave the matter there; and Georgina took her departure for the country.
In October Roger spent a fortnight at Normanrood in Wiltshire, the seat of Droopy’s father, the Earl of Amesbury. His long talks with his best friend were one of Roger’s greatest joys; but one of Droopy’s was experimenting with Eastern drugs. He had recently discovered a new one which he had begun to take regularly, with the result that on several occasions he lay unconscious for as long as eighteen hours and, on coming round, was muzzy for a considerable time. It was only with difficulty and toward the end of his stay that Roger persuaded his friend to give up this dangerous habit and promise not to drug himself more than once a month in future. Meanwhile, for much of his stay he was thrown on the company of the other members of the house-party, none of whom was particularly congenial to him.
He had arranged for the end of his stay to coincide with Georgina’s return to London, and they spent two nights together. She then went off to make other visits, and again he had to amuse himself as best he could while living at Richmond.
Bored by his sojourn there, in mid-November he decided to go to Brighton. For a decade or more past, owing to the Prince Regent, it had taken the place of Bath as England’s most fashionable watering place. The ‘Corinthians’, as the young bloods were termed, frequently went down there in their spider-like phaetons, making huge wagers on their timing. ‘Prirnny’ had built for himself an exotic palace resembling those of Indian Rajahs. Here the beaux and belles assembled nightly, to dance and gamble. Roger, having been presented on a previous occasion, had the entrée and mingled with the gay company.
Although the Prince Regent was not popular with the masses or with the Tory nobility, he was with his own set, who cared little for their country and cheerfully overlooked the fact that he was a most undesirable character. By day Roger amused himself by going to races, cockfights, boxing matches and viewing the activities along the front at Hove, where long terraces of elegant houses were going up. The virtue of most of the ladies in the Prince’s set was decidedly easy, and he entered on a brief affair with a fair-haired charmer, by name Mrs. Peggy Wardell; but cut it short to keep another assignation with Georgina in London.
After three days she left again, and once more he tried to settle down at Richmond. Now that it was December, everyone’s thoughts were turning to Christmas, so he set about buying presents and preparing for the festive season. But his heart was not in it He kept on thinking of the months ahead. He was again to spend Christmas as Georgina’s guest at Stillwaters and during the ‘little season’ in January, he could look forward to a few weeks with her, but what then? She was a splendid horsewoman, so would go to the shires to hunt; and it seemed unlikely that he would see much of her until Kew House was reopened for her at the beginning of May.
It was on an afternoon in mid-December that, while riding in Richmond Park, he witnessed an accident from a distance. A closed carriage and pair was coming in one direction and, from the other, a cabriolet driven at great speed. The lighter vehicle took a corner too sharply and collided with the carriage, taking off one of the wheels; it then overturned in a ditch.
Setting spurs to his mare, Roger galloped over. A young buck was climbing out of the wreckage of the cabriolet, and Roger shouted at him:
‘You young fool! You deserve to be horsewhipped for your carelessness.’
The youth, who was unhurt, went red in the face and shouted back, ‘Dam’me, Sir. Mind your own business. I’ve a mind to call you out for that.’
‘By God, you’d better not!’ Roger roared. ‘I can pip an ace at thirty feet. And I eat striplings like you for breakfast. Look to your horse, and make yourself scarce before I trounce you.’
Dismounting, with his arm through the mare’s bridle he ran to the carriage. It had heeled over on one side and one window was smashed. The coachman had succeeded in clinging to his box, so was unhurt and was now endeavouring to open the carriage door, which had jammed. With Roger’s help he got it open. On the floor inside lay a young woman. Her forehead was bleeding where, when pitched forward, she had cut it on the glass of the shattered window, and she had fainted. As they lifted her out, Roger gave an exclamation of surprise. It was Mary.
Roger told the coachman that he lived nearby, so he would send someone to put the wheel back on the carriage; meanwhile he had better unharness his horse and follow him. He then hoisted the unconscious Mary on to his saddle bow and rode off with her to his house.
On arriving there, she came to when he lifted her down and, with equal surprise, recognised him. Quickly assuring her that the cut on her forehead was only skin-deep, and that after an hour or two of rest she would be able to proceed on her way, he carried her inside. There, as Mrs. Marsham and Susan were out visiting friends, he bellowed for his housekeeper, Mrs. Muffet.
Together they got Mary upstairs to a bedroom and laid her on the bed. Leaving Mrs. Muffet to bathe Mary’s cut and make her comfortable, Roger went downstairs and sent his gardener, his groom and Dan to get the wheel back on the carriage. Soon afterwards, Mrs. Muffet came down to report that the young lady’s condition gave no cause for alarm; upon which Roger told her to bring tea for two in an hour and a half s time, then go up and find out if their guest felt sufficiently recovered to join him, or would prefer to have tea taken up to her.
While the time passed, Roger revived his memories of Lisbon and wondered how Mary had fared since that most distressing night when he had ravished her.
At half past four, Mrs. Muffet came in with a hearty tea; sandwiches, scones, crumpets and cake, and said that the young lady was now feeling quite herself and would shortly come downstairs. A few minutes later Mary came in, looking as pretty as ever, except that her ringlets were partly hidden by a bandage round her forehead.
Roger was far too experienced a man to show any awkwardness, and so embarrass her. Smiling, he advanced to meet her, with both hands outstretched, and said:
‘My dear, I’m so glad you sustained no serious injury from your accident, and how glad I am that I was on hand to look after you.’
Returning his smile, she replied, ‘It was a horrid moment when I was thrown against the window of the carriage; but I was most fortunate in your coming to my assistance.’
They sat down before the roaring f
ire and she poured tea for them. Then, glancing round the drawing room, with its rich carpet, graceful Adam furniture and fine china, which Roger had collected through the years, she remarked:
‘What a lovely home you have here, Roger.’
Into his mind there flashed the empty months ahead, and Georgina’s advice on how best to fill the long intervals when they could not be together. Leaning forward, he said impulsively:
‘You like it, Mary? Then why not share it with me? I would love to have you as my wife.’
Her mouth fell open. Then she sadly shook her head. ‘Oh, Roger, had you only asked me when we were in Lisbon. I have been married these past three months.’
17
A Call of Conscience
Roger suddenly gave a hoarse, unnatural cackle of laughter. Mary stared at him in puzzled dismay, wondering from his totally unexpected proposal followed by this weird reaction if he had gone out of his mind. But recovering quickly, he said:
‘I’m sorry, Mary; but I really am beginning to believe that my late wife cursed me before she died. I have since been accused of two murders, and you are the second woman whom I should have liked to marry and who would have liked to marry me, yet could not do so because she had married someone else.’
‘Then you have indeed been unfortunate,’ Mary commiserated with him. ‘And atop of that you were grievous wounded by that brigand. I was told, too, that your wound reopened the night that … that night.’
‘Yes. But, as it turned out, that was a fortunate coincidence.’
‘Was it?’ she questioned. ‘Secretly, I formed the belief that you deliberately opened your wound in order to be taken quickly from the house and so spare my feelings.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll admit now that it was so. I had done you a great wrong; and it was the only way I could think of to accede to your wish that you should never set eyes on me again.’
‘You are a very gallant gentleman, Roger. I did not deserve such consideration, for I realise now that I brought what happened upon myself.’
‘It would not have happened had it not been for your cousin, George Gunston. Out of hatred for me, he led me to believe that you had already had several lovers, and himself among them one afternoon in a punt up the Thames. Believing that, and attracted to you as I was, I’d have been a poor sort of man had I not sought to have you pleasure me too.’
Her smooth forehead creased into a frown. ‘So that is what led you to it. You were, then, right about George. What a blackguard he must be. I will admit, though, that there was a basis for his story of the punt. He is a handsome, dashing fellow and I was attracted to him; so, one afternoon, I did allow him some liberties and repulsed him only when he attempted to go too far. I fear I have been given an over-passionate nature.’
‘Nay, Mary, I’d not subscribe to that. There is a big difference between passion and lust, and you are no victim of the latter. A natural warmth in a woman is a gift of the gods, enabling her to make happy the men she cares for, and in doing so derive much happiness herself. Do you know what has happened to Gunston?’
‘As far as I am aware, he is still in Portugal.’
‘In that case, as the war there shows no sign of ending, it may be several years before I run across him again. When I do, he’ll find himself faced with a heavy bill to pay for what he did to us.’
‘No, Roger, please. No good could come of your calling him out, and you might be injured yourself did fortune not favour you. Let bygones be bygones. Instead, let us rejoice that, owing to this chance meeting, we are again friends.’
While they were talking, they had begun their tea. Roger buttered a crumpet for her, put it on her plate and said, ‘Tell me now about your husband. What manner of man is he?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s well enough. ’Tis an irony that you should have declined to marry me because you considered yourself too old, for he is a year or two older than yourself and, both in mind and body, gives the impression of being still older. But he is kind, considerate and has ample money. He is a Mr. Jeremiah Wicklow, a merchant in the City and trades mainly with cities in the Baltic.’
Roger raised an eyebrow. ‘So you married into trade? That distresses me for you, as I fear it unlikely that many of your acquaintances will have proved willing to receive your husband.’
She sighed. ‘In that, alas, you are right. One could not expect them to. ’Tis a sad come-down for the daughter of an Earl, but beggars cannot be choosers. Since I left Mrs. Hoitot’s Academy, friends I made there, like Deborah, have been most kind to me. But one could not expect them to continue having me to stay indefinitely. The only alternative to marriage was to become the companion of some old woman, and be at her beck and call day and night. I preferred to stomach a man, providing he was of a pleasant and upright character, even if I had no love for him. And, that being so, it behoved me to keep an eye out for one while I still had my youth as an attraction. I was seated next to Mr. Wicklow at a dinner in the City, given for charity. I have never concealed my circumstances and when he questioned me about myself, I told him of them freely. He had recently been widowed and, no doubt, the thought of having a woman of title for his second wife appealed to him. Before the evening was out, he proposed to me. I said I’d take a week to think on it, then joined him one afternoon for a dish of tea at his house in Trinity Square, hard by the Tower of London. Finding it commodious and furnished with good, solid pieces that indicated him to be a man of some fortune, I accepted him.’
‘If I may, I’d like to call upon you there,’ Roger said after a moment.
Smiling, she shook her head. ‘No, Roger; I’d liefer you did not. I know where that would end. We would again go to bed together. And City merchants are very different from the people of our class. There are few complaisant husbands among them, or others who, feeling themselves outraged if their wives take lovers, cover their own mortification by fighting a duel on some pretext such as a quarrel over cards. Did Mr. Wicklow discover that I was unfaithful to him he would put me out into the gutter. Besides, I feel I owe it to him to be an honest wife.’
For a moment Roger had contemplated resuming his affaire with her; but he was quick to see the soundness of her objection and felt respect for her principles. Realising that it would be a wicked thing to jeopardise the security she had achieved, he refrained from endeavouring to persuade her to alter her mind, and changed the conversation by asking:
‘Whither were you bound when that young fool wrecked your carriage?’
‘To spend the night with cousins of Mr. Wicklow at Surbiton; and, if it be possible, I should soon now be on my way again.’
Roger stood up. ‘I am loath to let you go. But by this time my people should have repaired the wheel. I’ll go and find out.’
A few minutes later he returned to say that her carriage was at the door, her coachman had been given a meal, her horse watered and fed and was now being put between the shafts. Before leaving the room, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and wished her good fortune. Leading her out with the propriety he would have observed had they been strangers, he handed her into the carriage and watched her being driven away.
Two days later Roger received a letter from the Marquess Wellesley, saying that he wished to see him; so he rode up to London and called at the Foreign Office. In view of the Marquess’ haughty nature and retiring manner, he received Roger with unusual affability. After waving him to a seat, he said:
‘Mr. Brook, having been a member of Bonaparte’s personal entourage for so long, I take it you are well acquainted with Marshal Bernadotte, who a little above a year ago became Prince Royal of Sweden?’
‘I have, of course, met him casually many times at receptions and so forth, my lord,’ Roger replied. ‘But I could not say I know him well.’
‘But you do know him?’ the Marquess insisted. ‘I mean, should you meet him again, he would at once recognise you as one of Bonaparte’s people?’
‘Oh certainly, my lord; and I have known his wife sin
ce she was a young girl. She was daughter to a wealthy silk merchant of Marseilles, and is an old friend of mine.’
‘Good! Good! Now tell me, how well are you informed of affairs in Sweden?’
‘I know little about them, as for a long time past I have not been the confidant of anyone having access to secret intelligence.’
‘In that case I must bring you up-to-date. On the Marshal’s becoming, for all practical purposes, the ruler of Sweden, Bonaparte demanded that he should close all Swedish ports to British shipping, threatening, should he refuse, to invade Sweden. Bernadotte was most averse to doing so, because wars have reduced Sweden to a very poor country, and her only hope of recovery lies in a continuation of her commerce. But he has some reputation for duplicity, and in this matter resorted to it. He told Bonaparte that he would comply with his wishes, then secretly informed our merchant captains that while he could not any longer countenance their bringing cargoes to Sweden, he was anxious to receive British goods conveyed in American bottoms.’
Roger smiled. ‘There has never been any love lost between Bernadotte and Bonaparte. I felt certain that he would not allow the Emperor to make a puppet of him.’
‘He is far from becoming that, as is clearly demonstrated by a more recent matter. In June last Bonaparte demanded that Sweden should join him in his war against Britain. Again the Prince Royal complied and, as you may know, Sweden and Britain have since been officially at war. But before giving our Chargé d’Affaires, Mr. Augustus Foster, his congé, Bernadotte informed him that we should pay no regard to the declaration, as he did not intend to take any hostile action against us.’
The Marquess took snuff, then went on, ‘Now let us consider the situation in Russia. The friendship entered on at Tilsit between His Imperial Majesty the Czar and Bonaparte, is long since over. It cooled at Erfurt and is now moribund. You are doubtless aware that under the great Catherine, the Russian nobility adopted French culture, but ever since the reign of our Queen Elizabeth they have had commercial relations with us. During the past two centuries, our trade with Russia has increased a thousand-fold. They have no industry and have become almost entirely dependent on us for manufactured goods of every description. Thus, did they cease to receive them, it would cause almost unbearable hardship among all classes of their people. Bonaparte has brought all possible pressure on his ally to subscribe to his Continental System; but the welfare of his subjects being uppermost in the Czar’s mind, he has constantly refused to do so. This has angered the Corsican to such a degree that, I am now informed, he contemplates invading Russia.’
The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware Page 24