by M C Beaton
The headache she had thought of pleading to as an excuse to go home became a reality. Mrs. Duggan, noticing her white face and glittering eyes, readily agreed to go as well, and Mr. Donnelly and Lord Dunfear escorted them.
Outside the duke’s house, she politely invited them in for refreshment, but Mrs. Duggan said soothingly that she had done very well and should go straight to bed.
A footman who had been on the backstrap of the carriage had already hammered on the great door for admittance, and another footman was letting down the carriage steps. Betty, Alice’s maid, silently walked behind her mistress, carrying her fan and reticule.
Alice had been brought up surrounded by servants and so was used to them, but in that moment, she wished she could be somewhere entirely alone. Watching servants meant one could not betray any emotion—a lady never did so in any case—and for the first time Alice felt this lack of privacy acutely.
When she reached her quarters, she dismissed Betty, saying she had a mind to put herself to bed.
Betty studied her mistress’s face and then curtsied obediently and withdrew.
Wearily Alice sat down at the toilet table, took the gold ornaments from her hair, and began to brush it with long strokes.
The door behind her opened and her husband stood on the threshold. She stared at his reflection in the round mirror in front of her, the brush poised.
“It is late,” he said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. “But I would like to talk to you.”
Alice swung round on the stool. “Yes, Ferrant,” she said wearily.
He was formidable and remote in impeccable evening dress, dark blue coat, white waistcoat, white cravat, dark blue silk knee breeches, and clocked stockings. A dark red ruby blazed from among the snowy folds of his cravat and a larger ruby burned with somber red fire from an antique ring he wore on his middle finger.
Those odd, slightly slanting eyes of his studied her for a moment. His hair gleamed guinea gold in the wavering candlelight.
He pulled forward a chair and sat down, stretching out his legs, which were long enough to please even Alice’s mother.
“That was an unfortunate evening,” he said.
Alice sat, very still, waiting for him to go on.
“I shall explain matters like this. You were, I believe, in love with Sir Gerald Warby.”
Alice winced.
“I am not going to berate you. Do you love him still?”
“No. No, I don’t,” said Alice, the naive note of surprise in her voice betraying the truth of her statement.
“But I assume he was your first love. I want you to remember the sweetness of that for this reason. You, Alice, were my first love, and I loved you deeply and tenderly… and I never thought that you did not love me. I thought that only poets believed that love was blind. But think on that and then realize what my feelings were when I found you, on our wedding day, with Sir Gerald in the rose garden.”
“I am bitterly ashamed of myself,” said Alice in a low voice.
“But indulging in recriminations will not help us,” he went on. “I have not made Lady Macdonald my mistress. I flirted with her, yes, and I admit I was fascinated with her, but underneath it all I hoped to cause you as much pain as you had caused me. Tonight, I saw how ridiculous all these games were. I told Lady Macdonald that any feelings on my part toward her would, in future, be nothing other than friendship. This is a marriage in name only, Alice, but at least we can preserve our dignity. Do you agree?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” said Alice shyly.
“Then I will trouble you no more on the subject.”
“Society is malicious, Ferrant. Should you hear any rumors against me, please come to me with them rather than believe them, I beg of you.”
“That is a promise.”
Alice hesitated, and then said in a rush, “I, too, have been behaving badly. I have been ordering a great deal of expensive gowns and trinkets.”
He smiled. “I should hope you would. You are allowed to enjoy yourself.”
Emboldened, Alice said, “The drawing room is very depressing. Would it be possible… could I… refurnish it?”
“Of course. Ask my secretary. He will cope with the bills and tell you the best places to order what you want. Now, good night. Tomorrow is a new beginning.”
He raised her hand and kissed it and left the room.
Alice mechanically prepared for bed. She could not help turning what he had said over and over in her head—of how he had loved her, of how he had loved her—and she sadly felt that she had once owned something very valuable without ever guessing its true worth.
Chapter Five
When she called the following afternoon, Mrs. Duggan was pleased to see that her pretty friend, instead of being cast down, was busy studying books of paint colors with the duke’s young secretary, Mr. Shadwell.
“As you see,” said Alice gaily, “I have set about refurbishing the drawing room. If you could order the paint we have chosen, Mr. Shadwell, and engage the decorators, we can decide on the new furniture later.”
The young man bowed and withdrew. “Well?” demanded the Irishwoman eagerly. “You are in fine spirits.”
“All is resolved,” said Alice. “Ferrant has apologized for Lady Macdonald and we are to make the best of things. I feel as if an enormous weight of guilt has been lifted from my shoulders. And yet I am not going to the opera tonight, for I feel sure Lady Macdonald will be there and I do not want to see her.”
“Does Ferrant go?”
A shadow crossed Alice’s face. “I do not know.” She had hoped that her husband might begin their fresh life together by discussing his plans for the day, but her maid had told her that he had left early to ride in the Row and had not returned.
“So what can we do to amuse you?” asked Mrs. Duggan. “Donnelly and Dunfear are at our service.”
Alice glanced out of the long windows, where the sun was blazing down on the sooty London streets. “Such a fine day. Do you know, I would like to go on the river. Does it cost very much?” she added, not wishing to put their escorts to any great expense.
“Not a bit of it, unless the rogues try to cheat us. Crossing above London Bridge is twopence per person, and below the bridge is a penny each. A whole boat to Windsor is two shillings per person. We have not time to sail that far, but we could take a boat a little way upstream. I shall scribble a note and one of your footmen can run to Dunfear’s lodgings with it. Donnelly is residing with him. Wear a warm cloak, for it can become chilly on the water.”
In an hour’s time, they were standing at London Bridge Stair, at the end of a line of people waiting for boats. The watermen each wore their Doggett’s coat and badge as a sign that they were legally authorized to ply their trade and that they were expected to act on a “first come, first served” basis. But the greedy watermen scanned the line, looking for the most prosperous. To Alice’s dismay, they were claimed by a rough fellow ahead of shabbier-looking passengers who were waiting patiently in line, but Lord Dunfear said cheerfully it was the way of the world and ushered the party on board a rowing boat without a qualm of conscience.
Alice was enchanted to be out on the water among the scudding sculls and the brown sails of the hoys. Stately black and gold aldermen’s barges ploughed past. The river was crowded. Ships lay at anchor in midstream, discharging cargo and passengers, which necessitated a busy fleet of lighters and barges. The Pool of London was a forest of bobbing masts. Above the busy scene, the dome of St. Paul’s seemed to swim in the golden light. Government barges belonging to the customs and admiralty were as brave as gold and color could make them, the customs boats making their annual pilgrimage to the Trinity almshouses at Deptford Strand, all the people on board being armed with huge bouquets and bags of fancy cakes and biscuits. The river had an air of holiday. The banks of the river were lined with manufactories and warehouses: iron founders, dyers, soap and oil makers, glass makers, shot makers, and boat builders. In b
etween the factories, crazy wooden tenements, teeming with life, hung over the river, the rickety edifices looking on the point of collapse.
The waterman rowed them up and down while they chatted and watched the busy scene—until a cool little breeze blew up and Mrs. Duggan pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders and suggested they should return.
But as they disembarked at London Bridge Stairs, the waterman demanded five shillings. “What!” exclaimed Lord Dunfear, turning red with embarrassment because he only had three shillings in his pockets and doubted whether his friend, Mr. Donnelly, had any money at all. “I shall give you two shillings, fellow,” he said loftily, “and count yourself lucky.”
“‘Ere!” shouted the waterman to his fellows. “This ’ere buck is a-cheating of me.”
A nasty-looking crowd of watermen began to crowd round.
“Oh, let me pay the man,” said Mrs. Duggan.
“No,” said Lord Dunfear, looking scared but determined. “Nobody’s going to take me for a flat.”
The waterman, a burly fellow built like an ape, spat on his hands and approached the cringing lord. “You’ll pay me and be glad of it,” he snarled.
Young Mr. Donnelly sprang in front of his friend and put his fists up. “You’ll fight me first,” he said.
“What is this?” demanded an acid voice.
The crowd of watermen and spectators parted and the Duke of Ferrant strode to the front of the crowd. He was in his riding dress and top boots. His hair under his curly-brimmed beaver shone in the sunlight and he carried a gold-topped cane under one arm.
Alice breathlessly explained that the waterman was asking for too much money and had been offered two shillings, which he had refused to accept. The duke asked how long they had been on the water and then looked down from his great height at the squat and burly waterman. “Two shillings is a generous sum,” he said.
The waterman’s eyes gleamed as he took in the duke’s magnificence. “So you fight me,” he said, with a grin.
To Alice’s horror, the duke gave a curt nod and began to remove his coat. She had led a very protected life and did not know that in London, rank did not protect the aristocrat, who could be called on to fight by anyone who felt like it, something that appalled the emigrant French aristocrats.
“Ferrant, please don’t,” she whispered. “He will kill you.”
“I doubt it,” he said, with a smile. “He wants a fight, not a murder.”
Mrs. Duggan drew Alice back. The crowd was thickening. Lord Dunfear made a token protest, as did Mr. Donnelly, but both could not hide their immense relief that it was the duke who was going to take the punishment for them. The duke, in shirtsleeves and hatless, faced up to his adversary.
The waterman smashed a fist into the duke’s ribs, and the duke danced back and then began to hit out. Alice turned and buried her face in Mrs. Duggan’s ample bosom. Then she heard the sound of a terrific blow, followed by a sickening thud, and then a long silence. Then a great cheer went up. She opened her eyes. The watermen were throwing their caps in the air and cheering. Shuddering she looked down, expecting to see the duke stretched on the ground. But it was the waterman who lay there and, miraculously, his fellows were cheering the winning duke.
The duke put on his coat and hat as his adversary groggily sat up rubbing his chin. The duke tossed him a sovereign. “More than you deserve,” he said, “but you are a good fighter.”
And to more cheers from the watermen and the crowd, the duke took Alice’s arm and shepherded her to his carriage. “Hoskins told me you had gone to the river,” he said, “so I came in pursuit of you.”
“I don’t understand,” said Alice, bewildered. “I thought he would kill you! And why were his friends cheering you?”
“Because they like a fight and always cheer the winner. They are not bad fellows. If you want to go on the river in future, you had better let me arrange it.”
“I closed my eyes after he hit you,” said Alice. “Are you hurt?”
“I shall be a bit stiff and sore for the next few days, but I shall come about. What are your plans for the evening? The opera?”
He noticed a shadow cross Alice’s face. “No,” she said awkwardly. “I planned to spend a quiet evening at home.”
He wondered whether it would be a good idea to stay at home himself, to get to know his wife better. But she was very shy of him. An evening of stilted conversation would not help matters.
“How dull,” he said lightly. “We could go to Richmond for supper by the river and take your Irish friends with us,” and without waiting for her reply, he turned and issued the invitation, which was received with enthusiasm. The duke was glad to see that both the Irishmen regarded Alice as a friend. There was no sign of anything warmer.
The expedition was agreed on and all parties, for different reasons well satisfied, went home to change.
Lord Werford and the Honorable Percy Burke were waiting for a visit from Sir Gerald Warby while the duke and his party set out for Richmond. “Do you think he will come?” asked Percy fretfully.
“Bound to,” said Lord Werford. “Told him there was money in it for him.”
“Are you sure the stories about him and the duchess are true?”
“Had it from a most respectable source.”
“There he is,” said Percy, hearing a murmur of voices from belowstairs.
“Now, leave the talking to me,” said Lord Werford.
Sir Gerald was announced. The elaborate ritual of bows, handkerchief nourishing, snuffbox snapping had to be gone through before Sir Gerald sat down and looked at the pair curiously. “What is your pleasure gentlemen?” he asked.
“Hear you’re in love with the Duchess of Ferrant,” said Lord Werford.
“Alas, she is wed to another,” sighed Gerald.
Percy went to the window and stood looking down into the street as if disengaging himself from the proceedings.
“Not necessarily,” barked Lord Werford.
Gerald, unused to his lordship’s elliptical method of talking, said, “I beg your pardon?”
“Ferrant dies. Get the widow.”
“Lord Werford, much as it distresses me to point out such an obvious fact, Ferrant is in the prime of life and as fit as a flea.”
Lord Werford laid a finger alongside his nose. “Accidents do happen.”
Gerald looked at him, his black eyes narrowed to calculating slits. “Let me see,” he said, “if Ferrant dies, who inherits?”
“Him,” said Lord Werford, ungrammatically but succinctly, jerking a thumb at Percy, whose neat little shoulders gave an infinitesimal shrug.
“Ah. What sort of accident?”
“Accidents will happen,” said Lord Werford. “Oh, riding accidents, bits of masonry falling, guns popping off all over the place these days—antiwar riots, bread riots, Irish thugs wanting their country… lots of things.”
“And you are prepared to wait and see if one of these… er… accidents happens?” asked Gerald.
“We thought you might be interested in helping fate.”
“And how much is my interest worth?”
“A king’s ransom. A tenth of the dukedom.”
“Let us not beat about the bush.” Gerald leaned forward. “You are prepared to pay me a vast sum for murdering Ferrant?”
“Trifle blunt put like that. But, yes.”
“And if I refuse?”
“That’s that, I suppose.” Lord Werford leaned back in his chair, but Gerald was aware of Percy turning round from the window. There was a heavy air of menace in the room.
So, the hard fact is, I take the offer or they murder me, thought Gerald.
“Let me think,” he said aloud. He calculated, as they sat there and watched him, that he could at least try. If he failed, however…
“To show goodwill,” he said cautiously, “you would need to pay money in advance.”
“We have already thought of that. Ten thousand pounds.”
&nbs
p; All scruples fled from Gerald’s brain. With ten thousand pounds, he could flee the country if the undertaking appeared to be too difficult. And he wanted Alice. With a tenth of the value of the dukedom, he could have Alice and all his pleasures as well.
“Agreed,” he said.
“There is one other thing to consider, however,” said Percy suddenly. “Gossip has it that the couple live separate lives. My man is walking out with one of the maids from Ferrant’s town house and says this is the case. It is well known that Ferrant is having an intrigue with Lady Macdonald. And yet a rumor has just reached us that perhaps Ferrant has ended his relationship with Lady Macdonald. At the Taylors’ ball, it was noted that he kept watching his wife. You will need to move quickly. If the couple become reconciled to each other, then you may find the duchess is with child, which would defeat the purpose of the murder. To that end, I think we should spread rumors about Sir Gerald here, and the duchess, saying that they are still enamored. You will need to work quickly, Sir Gerald.”
“This maid of yours,” said Gerald, “she must furnish you with details of the duke’s comings and goings.”
“Agreed,” snapped Lord Werford.
“In that case,” said Gerald silkily, “the sight of your money would strengthen my arm greatly.”
Lord Werford nodded to Percy, who went over to a bookcase, one of those glass-fronted ones where the books were carefully shrouded by green curtains in case the very sight of literature should put a gentleman off his port. Underneath the books was a cupboard, and out of this cupboard Percy drew a large, thick, black leather wallet.
He rose and dropped the wallet on Gerald’s lap. Gerald flipped it open. It was stuffed with notes.
Paper money, he thought ruefully. Gold would have been more satisfactory if he had to leave the country quickly. But with this money, he could buy new clothes and jewels and keep a carriage. He would go to Tattersall’s in the morning and bid for a pair of matched bays. He would…