by A. O'Connor
Gwyneth linked Arabella’s arm. “I hate deception, but . . . yes, thank you, Arabella. His Grace has so many friends eager to meet Emily, it should be an easy job all round.”
“That settles that then. And it’ll be our secret.”
They continued to walk. “I saw in Tatler an article about Charles’ friend Hugh Fitzroy. He’s sponsoring a charity gala.”
“Yes, he’s always sponsoring something,” said Arabella. Usually Charles, she thought cynically.
“I believe he’s a regular visitor at your house?”
“Oh yes,” Arabella nodded resignedly. “Speaking of patrons, Mr Fitzroy found his very own patron in Charles to present him to society.”
chapter 36
It was evening time and Hugh was in the drawing room with Charles as Charles refilled his crystal glass with red wine.
“I meant to say – thank you for covering my loss last week at Tom Hamley’s card game,” said Charles, sitting down opposite him.
“My pleasure – as always,” said Hugh.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’ve been on such a losing streak with the cards. And I was doing so well last year.”
“Your luck will change soon,” comforted Hugh.
“Hopefully. I could do with a winning streak . . . I’m not leaving you any way short with those losses you’ve covered for me?”
Hugh burst out laughing. “No, not at all. It would need to be a lot more than that to leave me short of cash.”
Charles smiled and sat back and studied Hugh. “How much are you actually worth? Where did your money come from?”
“The stock exchange. I’ve told you before.”
“I know that’s what everyone says. But you didn’t just arrive in and start making money on the stock exchange. You must have had considerable money before,” said Charles.
“What makes you say that?”
“Let’s face it, Hugh, a man like you from your background, whatever your background is, wouldn’t even know how to find the stock exchange, let alone know how to invest in it.”
Hugh hid how Charles’ derogatory words insulted him. He suddenly stood up and downed his drink.
“What’s wrong?” asked Charles.
“You want to see where I made my money – then come and I’ll show you.” He turned and abruptly walked out of the room.
Charles stood up and followed him.
Charles looked out the window of Hugh’s carriage. Gradually the great Regency and Victorian buildings were being left behind, and the carriage was making its way through narrower streets.
“Where is this?” asked Charles, concerned as he saw they were travelling through streets that were becoming dilapidated and dimly lit.
Hugh’s eyes were staring at Charles. “Welcome to darkest London,” he said.
Charles looked out the window with increasing concern as he realised he must be in the East End. They passed by bars that were full to overflowing with music blaring out of them, and through streets that seemed full of rowdy drunken people.
The carriage stopped and Charles stared out at the sight before him. He spotted a young woman leering at him.
She came sauntering over. “Looking for some company, Mister?”
She looked into the carriage and saw Hugh and suddenly her face became scared and she backed off and disappeared into the crowd.
“What are we doing here?” demanded Charles, feeling unsafe.
“Answering your questions,” said Hugh as he opened up the door and stepped out. “Come on.” He beckoned to Charles.
The two men walked down through the narrow streets. Charles could only stare at the people who caroused and fought as they passed.
“You introduced me to your world, and now I’m introducing you to mine,” said Hugh.
A beggar came up to them and Hugh pushed him aside as they continued on their journey.
“Your world?” asked Charles.
“I was born and raised in a tenement like that.” He pointed to a rundown building.
“And how did you escape?”
“I fought my way out. I did everything I had to do. I made money any way I could. You wouldn’t understand that, coming from your background. You wouldn’t understand what desperation feels like.”
They turned a corner and started walking down some dark quiet alleys.
“Should we really be getting so far off the beaten track?” suggested Charles as the street gaslights disappeared.
“We’re safe,” said Hugh.
Suddenly three men came rushing out to them. One of them went to hit Hugh then stopped suddenly, apparently recognising him, and shouted at the others. They rushed back into the darkness.
The incident didn’t seem to bother Hugh who just continued on his way.
Charles saw they were approaching the docks. Feeling decidedly frightened at this stage, he said, “Arabella is going to wonder where I’ve got to. I should be getting back.”
“We’re nearly there,” Hugh assured him as they reached some big warehouses. Hugh walked up to one of the giant warehouses and taking out a key he opened a door and they stepped in. Hugh turned on the gaslight inside and the warehouse lit up.
Charles walked around. The warehouse was filled with boxes stacked high.
“What is this?” said Charles.
“Opium,” said Hugh.
“Opium!” said Charles, going over and inspecting it. “But this is illegal.”
“I know – don’t worry, it doesn’t belong to me. I don’t trade in opium, at least not any more. I own the warehouses, and most of the property around here. I rent it out. If the police ever discover what’s been shipped through, I’m clean as a whistle – nothing to do with me.”
“But you are making money from the drug trade then?”
“I prefer to see myself as a casual observer of the drug trade.”
Charles was amazed. “And this is where all your money came from?”
“In the beginning, yes. And then I got advisors who invested in the stock exchange and it went on from there. But money can’t buy me what you were born with. Respectability, acceptance, being part of society.”
“Well, you’re sure giving it a damned good try!”
“Only with your patronage. Without you pushing me, those people wouldn’t entertain me. But I want their acceptance. And I’ll get it.”
As Charles looked at Hugh he was unnerved by the mad determination in his eyes. Did Hugh not realise those people would never really accept him?
“Come on,” said Hugh roughly as he turned off the lights and started leading him through the maze of streets that led from the docks. They went down a long cobbled street with all the doors firmly closed. Hugh went up to one and knocked loudly with his cane. A minute later a window in the door opened and shut quickly. A moment later the door opened and Hugh walked in, followed by Charles.
Charles was immediately struck by the strong odours circulating.
“Good evening, Mr Fitzroy, how are you tonight?” asked a young Chinese woman who took their cloaks.
“Good,” said Hugh, following her down a corridor.
Charles was amazed by the inside of the building. Outside it looked like any other rundown tenement in the area. But inside was done up like the finest hotel with purple velvet drapes, and thick pile carpets. They were brought into a gigantic room in the centre of the building which was again decorated sumptuously. To Charles’ alarm there were people stretched out on velvet chaises-longues everywhere while they smoked through long pipes.
“An opium den! You’ve brought me to an opium den!” he said, shocked.
“Of course. Why not?” said Hugh, going to an empty chaise-longue and stretching out on it. He snapped his fingers and straight away two women came over and set him up with an opium pipe.
Hugh gestured to Charles to take a sofa across from him. Charles sat down on the sofa and observed all around him.
There were both men and women smoki
ng. What amazed him was the customers weren’t the same as the people out on the streets – instead they seemed affluent and well dressed. He remembered people talking about slumming. The rich going down to the East End to enjoy the drugs and free-for-all lifestyle there that contrasted so much to their own society’s late Victorian rigidness.
A Chinese woman came over and began to set him up with an opium pipe.
He started carefully to inhale as he observed all around him. A man got up from his couch and went up the stairs holding hands with a young woman. What kind of a place had he been brought to?
“Do you own shares in this business as well?” asked Charles.
“I own all the property on this street,” said Hugh.
The woman who had given him the opium pipe indicated Charles should lie out on the sofa and Charles stretched back as she undid his shirt.
“What made you trust me to bring me here?” asked Charles. “Why do you think I won’t tell everybody what you’re involved in?”
“Because I do trust you,” said Hugh. “Besides, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve come here with me – you’ve become part of this world now.”
Hugh looked on as another man went up the stairs with a young woman.
“Being here for a couple of hours doesn’t make me a part of this world,” said Charles.
Hugh looked over at him and smiled broadly. “Besides, you couldn’t possibly betray my secrets.”
Charles was curious. “And why not?”
“Because you owe me far too much money.” Hugh sat back and closed his eyes as the woman massaged his temples.
Charles felt a shiver go down his back as he heard these words. Hugh thought that he was in his power.
Charles suddenly stood up and pushed the opium pipe aside.
“I have to go,” he said.
“But I’ve just started to enjoy myself,” said Hugh. “Sit down and relax.”
“No, I really must go right now.”
“But you don’t know the way back.”
“I’ll find it,” said Charles as he headed for the door.
“If you can find my driver get him to take you home . . . if you can find him,” said Hugh and he started to laugh – a hollow laugh that echoed in Charles’ ears as he hurried from the building.
Charles seemed to take hours negotiating the maze of streets trying to find where the carriage was parked. The streets looked all the same and he was constantly accosted by beggars and prostitutes and jostled by people he suspected were thieves. Finally he found the carriage parked on a street corner.
“Take me back to Regent’s Park – quickly as you can,” Charles said to the driver, then added, “Mr Fitzroy has given his permission.”
Charles sat back in the comfort of the carriage, the images of all the things he’d seen swirling through his mind.
chapter 37
Emily was so thrilled to be going to London, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of the idea of exploiting being a debutante before. Margaret’s health was improving, but Emily couldn’t help being glad it hadn’t improved enough for her to accompany her to London. Four whole months away from Armstrong House beckoned, and now without the watchful eye of her mother correcting everything she did.
When she reached London she was brought to the Battingtons’ villa where Gwyneth gently explained that due to her pregnancy Charles and Arabella would assist with her during the season – did she mind?
“Mind?” said Emily. “Of course not!” She was over the moon. It meant she would be spending even more time with Charles.
“Of course we mustn’t tell Mama that Arabella will be involved for fear of upsetting her health,” Gwyneth insisted.
Emily readily agreed.
Emily was then deposited to Hanover Terrace where she embraced Charles tightly.
“Welcome to London, my dear,” said Arabella, kissing her on the cheek and smiling at her.
“I want to go to art galleries, museums and parks,” said Emily. “And restaurants, and I want to go on the underground – Mama never let me when I was here with her. I want to go on a boat down the Thames, and –”
“But your mother and Gwyneth have already put your schedule together for you,” said Arabella, holding up the paperwork.
“Yes,” said Charles. “Breakfast on Monday at the Hansons’, lunch at the Whitbreads’ – they’ve a second son they want to marry off. Then a dance at the Howards’. Tuesday, breakfast at the Lascelles’ – they have a French cousin they want you to meet.”
Emily crossed over the drawing room and took up the paperwork.
“Mama has organised this with military precision!” objected Emily. “When do I ever get any time to do the things I want to do?”
“I believe you are here for a purpose,” Charles pointed out, looking bemused.
Emily flung the paperwork on the table. “Well, I can’t possibly go to half of these – I’d be exhausted! Where’s my room? And where’s this French chef I hear all the talk about – can he cook me steak with Béarnaise sauce for my dinner?”
As Arabella looked on she realised that dealing with Emily as a house guest was not going to be an easy feat, and the girl had obviously come to London on false pretences. She had no interest in finding a husband.
Arabella did try to take a firm hand with Emily and force her to go to the events arranged. But Emily was headstrong and, if she didn’t want to go, then she didn’t. Arabella realised that if the indomitable Margaret had failed to marry Emily off so far, what chance did she have?
Emily was presented at court, together with the mandatory ten-foot train on her debutante dress.
“At least the curtsy was correct,” said Gwyneth who had managed to make it to the palace to observe.
The ironic thing was that Emily was in great demand from her first event on. News quickly spread about Lord Armstrong’s beautiful young daughter who had everything going for her, from her rounded education to impeccable relations. The trouble was, Emily found them all a bore.
Emily had been invited to dinner at the Lascelles’ and Arabella and Charles accompanied her. The Lascelles were trying to match her with their cousin Henri from France. Emily sat bored as both Henri and his family discussed his merits and qualities.
“My father is the Count de Chavan. We are one of the oldest and most respected families in France,” said Henri.
“How did your family escape the guillotine?” questioned Emily, causing a surprised murmur around the table.
Henri continued undaunted. “My father is a very wealthy man. He owns the de Chavan vineyard in the Loire. Our wine is the best in France.”
“In fact,” interrupted Mrs Lascelle, “this wine is from the vineyard.”
“Oh? It’s just a little bitter for my taste,” said Emily.
The table fell into silence for a while before it was broken by Arabella. “Emily speaks fluent French, Henri. Perhaps you would like to speak in French together for a while?”
“Oh no, you’re mistaken, Arabella. My French teacher said I had the worst pronunciation she had ever heard . . . my German isn’t bad though. Do you speak German, Henri?”
“Non!”
“Not surprising . . . the French lost the Franco-German war, didn’t they?”
Henri looked insulted but continued unabated. “My family have one of the largest châteaus in the Loire, and I as their only son and heir –”
“I’m sorry!” said Emily, holding up her hand. “I’m sorry – but if you are so wonderful, then why haven’t you been taken already?”
The whole table looked on shocked, except for Charles who burst out laughing.
One part of being a debutante Emily loved was Saturday afternoons when the debutantes were expected to ride through Hyde Park with a male relative to show off their riding skills and beauty to passing suitors. She had Charles all to herself for a few hours as they rode side by side.
“This is like p
utting yourself in a shop window,” said Emily as she trotted beside Charles.
She was attracting a lot of attention from the passing people and Charles expected they would have many calling cards and invitations left in on Monday for Emily.
They stopped along the way to chat to passing people and for Charles to introduce Emily.
“Isn’t this just like the old times, Charles? Remember when I was your confidante?”
“I remember well,” he said, nodding, remembering the unfortunate hand Emily had in the start of his relationship with his wife.
Suddenly Charles saw Hugh Fitzroy riding towards them on his stallion. Charles had tried to keep a distance between himself and Hugh since their journey that night to the East End. The whole experience had unnerved him considerably. He realised there was a lot more to Hugh than he had imagined. And that lot more was unsavoury and could be dangerous. The trouble was he had so ingratiated himself with Hugh by this stage that keeping that distance was proving very hard.
“Hello, Charles,” said Hugh, stopping beside them.
“Good afternoon, Hugh. I didn’t realise you’d taken riding lessons?”
Hugh looked at Emily quizzically.
“Hugh Fitzroy, may I introduce my sister, Lady Emily,” said Charles.
Hugh looked at Emily, surprised.
“Delighted to meet you,” said Hugh.
“A pleasure,” said Emily.
“I didn’t know you had another sister,” said Hugh.
“Yes, I’m the youngest,” said Emily. “I’m usually buried away in the Irish countryside, but they let me out for the season, on the promise I’m on my best behaviour.”
Hugh stared at the girl, taken aback by her cheeky talk. “And how are you liking your time here?”
“Oh, I’m liking it very much, Mr Fitzroy. I feel like a prisoner let out after a life sentence,” she said lightly.
“I’m afraid we have to get on – Arabella is expecting us back,” said Charles.
“Of course,” said Hugh. “Are you both free next week for lunch, my treat, Fortnum and Mason?”