“I have an appointment with the Prime Minister,” he said as luncheon was ending, “at half after two.”
“I will order a carriage for you,” the Duke told him.
“That will leave you two young people free for an hour or so,” The McCraig said to his great-nephew and Shimona.
“What would you wish to do?” the Duke enquired.
He thought with a faint air of amusement that the answer was all too obvious.
What woman, especially from the world of the theatre, could resist such an opportunity to spend money? He waited with a mocking look in his eyes for Shimona’s answer.
She was, however, looking across the table at The McCraig.
“Would it be – possible, sir,” she enquired, “if you are – visiting the Prime Minister, for me to – see the House of Commons?”
“I am sure it could be arranged,” The McCraig answered. “You are interested in politics?”
“I read the Parliamentary reports every day in The Times,” Shimona replied, “and I have been deeply distressed by the reports of the Highland evictions.”
As she spoke, she wondered if she had been indiscreet. The McCraig might be one of the landlords who were prepared to evict their own people to make their land nothing but a sheep-walk.
But fortunately she had struck the right note.
“I am glad you feel like that,” The McCraig said. “It is a gross injustice, a betrayal of our own flesh and blood and those who perpetrate such atrocities should be shot!”
He spoke with a violence that seemed to boom out in the dining room.
Then he talked for ten minutes of the sufferings of the Highlanders who, uprooted from all that was familiar, had been transported to Canada and other parts of the world, without even adequate provision being made for them when they arrived.
“I do not expect,” he said at length, “to find much understanding and sympathy amongst the Sassenachs, but I might have known that your husband, being a McCraig, would have made you realise the iniquity of what is happening in the North.”
He beamed at his great-nephew as he spoke and luncheon ended in an atmosphere of mellow good humour.
The Duke’s carriage conveyed The McCraig with Alister and Shimona to the House of Commons and arrangements were made on their arrival for them to be shown to the Strangers’ Gallery.
They sat there for over an hour until they were notified that The McCraig had finished his business with the Prime Minister.
He was in somewhat of a bad temper when they joined him because the Honourable Henry Addington, who had replaced the brilliant William Pitt, was a weak man who found it hard to make a decision.
He was obviously not prepared to agree to implement the reforms that The McCraig advocated.
But as they drove back to Berkeley Square, Shimona managed to coax the old gentleman back into a good humour, which continued until it was time to change for dinner.
The bedroom she was to use at Ravenstone House was, Shimona thought, almost as impressive as the rooms downstairs.
Her mother had taught her to appreciate beautiful furniture and she exclaimed with delight over the French commodes in her bedroom, just as she was longing, when she had time, to inspect the exquisitely carved Charles II gilt tables that ornamented the salon.
There were two maids to wait on her and she enjoyed the hot bath prepared with jasmine, which was set in front of the fire and the lavender-scented towels she could dry herself with.
She kept wishing she could tell her mother all about the house and then wondered if her mother, like her father, would be very angry at her being a guest of the Duke.
There was something about him that was definitely frightening, she thought, and yet at the same time she found it hard not to admire him.
It was not only because of his good looks, it was also the way he walked, as if he owned the whole world and his air of distinction.
She found herself thinking continually that the house and its contents were a fitting background for him.
‘Why does he shock people so much?’ she asked herself, ‘and why does Papa say that he behaves like a devil?’
The Duke’s manners were impeccable and she knew that he was trying in every possible way to prevent her from feeling embarrassed or anxious at any question that The McCraig put to her.
She realised it was for his own ends and yet it was impossible, where she was concerned, not to think of him as being kind and considerate.
When she went downstairs holding on to the banister of the carved staircase, she felt an irrepressible little thrill of excitement at the prospect of spending the evening with the Duke.
She had glanced at her reflection in the mirror before she left her bedroom and thought that Alister McCraig would not be ashamed to own her as his wife.
Because she thought it made her look older, she was wearing one of her mother’s evening gowns.
It was a deep blue that matched the eyes of both of them and there was a shimmer of silver beneath the soft gauze with which it was made and sprinkled in the tulle that framed the bodice there were tiny dewdrops of glass that could pass as diamonds.
It was the sort of elaborate gown that could have been worn to a ball or a Reception and yet no one but Beau Bardsley had ever seen it.
“Why do you buy such elaborate gowns, Mama, when you never go out, but only dine at home with Papa?” Shimona had asked.
Her mother had hesitated for a moment before she replied,
“It is difficult to explain, dearest, but your father meets many beautiful women, not only in the theatre but also when he is invited to the houses of the Nobility.”
She gave a little sigh.
“I am not included in the invitations, but I wish him to see me looking my best, as I would if I could accompany him.”
There was something pathetic in the words, which made Shimona say quickly,
“You always look beautiful, Mama, whatever you wear. Papa has often said that to him you are the most beautiful woman in the whole world!”
“I want him always to think so,” Mrs. Bardsley said softly, “and that is why I dress to please him.”
Shimona had understood, but because there was often a shortage of money, the elaborate gowns were not as many as her mother would have wished.
Nevertheless, as they had been kept so carefully, there was, now that her mother was dead, quite a number for Shimona to choose from.
That her choice was a good one she knew as soon as she entered the salon.
The three men were waiting for her by the fireplace and, as she walked towards them, she found it impossible for her eyes not to seek the Duke’s. There was an expression in his that she knew she had wanted to see.
The conversation at dinner proved even more interesting than it had been at luncheon.
The McCraig talked of the difficulties in the Highlands and the Duke talked of sport.
Because Shimona listened wide-eyed and with interest to everything that was said, they drew her into the conversation and explained to her all that she did not understand.
Now, as dinner finished, she looked a little nervously at the Duke and asked,
“Should I – retire and leave you to your port?”
Her mother had told her that this was what happened at the end of a formal dinner and the Duke smiled as if she had done the right thing.
As they all rose to their feet, he said,
“We will not be long.”
Shimona went from the dining room down the passage to the salon.
A flunkey opened the door and, as soon as she was alone, she started to examine the treasures that the room contained.
There was so much to see, so much to admire, that she was in fact quite surprised when the gentlemen joined her.
She turned as they entered, holding in her hand a miniature of a lovely woman that had been lying on one of the tables amongst a collection of snuffboxes.
The Duke came to her side.
“I see you are admiring one of my miniatures,” he said. “I have a large collection in another room.”
“I am sure this is by Richard Cosway.”
“It is a portrait of my mother.”
“Oh, how strange, he also painted mine!” Shimona exclaimed.
As she spoke, she wondered if she had made a mistake, but The McCraig had walked to the fireplace and was talking to his great-nephew.
“That is another thing we have in common,” the Duke said in a low voice.
“Another?” Shimona questioned.
“There are many – we both love beauty for one.”
“Yes – yes, of course.”
She did not know why, but she found it difficult to talk naturally when he was standing so near to her.
There was also a note in his voice that made her vibrate just as she and the audience would vibrate to her father’s voice on the stage.
Because she felt shy, she put down the miniature and walked towards the fireplace.
The McCraig looked at her from under his eyebrows and said,
“I have been thinking that you have been extremely kind in listening to an old man talking about his hobby horses ever since I arrived. Tomorrow you must tell me something about yourself.”
“Everything you have said, sir, has been so interesting,” Shimona answered. “I feel that anything I could relate would pale into insignificance.”
The McCraig smiled.
“You are too modest,” he said. “But there has been enough talking for tonight. You will, I know, excuse me if I go to bed. I am used to early hours and I have travelled a long way.”
“I am sure you must be weary, sir,” Alister said.
The McCraig turned to the Duke.
“Goodnight, Ravenstone, I am enjoying your hospitality and thank you for it.”
“It is a very great pleasure,” the Duke replied.
The McCraig touched Shimona on the shoulder and smiled at her.
“I shall look forward to our talk tomorrow.”
He walked across the salon with his shoulders back and his head held high while Alister hurried after him to escort him to the foot of the staircase.
The Duke and Shimona were left alone.
“You have been very clever with him,” the Duke said approvingly.
“I think he is a very charming old man,” Shimona answered, “and so interesting.”
“Were you really interested in his tales of Scotland? Or was that part of the act?”
“Of course I was interested!” Shimona replied indignantly. “Who could fail to be?”
“And you enjoyed visiting the House of Commons?”
“It was thrilling! I have imagined so often what it was like, but hearing the speeches and seeing the Members sitting on the benches was quite different from what I expected.”
“Different?”
“They were so – casual about it,” Shimona explained feeling for words. “Sprawling with their feet up, their hats tipped over their eyes and half the time no one seemed to be listening!”
“That is the way we are governed,” the Duke smiled.
“Perhaps that is how democracy should be,” she said reflectively, “not regimented, but at ease until one is galvanised into fighting for something that is really worthwhile!”
The Duke looked at her in surprise, but before he could speak Alister joined them.
“God, but you were magnificent!” he exclaimed to Shimona. “You have the old man eating out of your hand. I would never have credited that a woman could be so clever.”
There was something about his enthusiasm that jarred on Shimona.
She turned to look at the fire feeling somehow as if he made her feel cheap and a fraud.
“What are the plans for tomorrow?” the Duke asked.
“There is a Military Parade that he wishes to attend in Hyde Park in the morning,” Alister replied. “Apparently one of the Scottish Regiments is taking part. In the afternoon he proposes to visit Kew Gardens.”
The Duke laughed.
“I can see you are in for a riot of fun and gaiety!”
“Am I to go with you?” Shimona asked.
“I am afraid you will have to,” Alister replied.
“Oh, I am glad!” she cried. “It sounds so exciting and I have never seen a Military Parade.”
“I will make arrangements for you all to be at the saluting base,” the Duke said.
“You will not be able to come with us?” Shimona asked. “How disappointing for you!”
“Indeed it is most regrettable, but I have a previous engagement,” the Duke replied and his eyes were twinkling.
“Please come with us in the afternoon, Uncle Yvell,” Alister pleaded. “You know a lot about gardens because of your fine ones at Ravenstone, but I can hardly tell one flower from another.”
“Then I see I shall have to sacrifice myself,” the Duke replied. “Would you like to tell Captain Graham of our intentions so that he can make arrangements regarding the carriages and, of course, the seats at the Military Parade?”
“I will tell him at once,” Alister agreed. “He will not have gone to bed?”
“Captain Graham never goes to bed,” the Duke answered and his nephew laughed.
“I am sure that is true. Who except a superman could be the comptroller of your household?”
He walked away and the Duke said in explanation to Shimona,
“Captain Graham is my secretary and general factotum. You will find he can procure everything you want, everything you need and, if necessary, at a moment’s notice, arrange a journey to the moon!”
“I have no wish to visit the moon,” Shimona answered. “It always looks such a cold and empty place. One of the twinkling stars would be far more exciting!”
“That is what you have been the whole evening,” the Duke replied. “A twinkling star. Do I have to tell you that you have been quite wonderful?”
Her eyes dropped before his and she said a little incoherently,
“I think – Your Grace – it is time for me to – retire to bed.”
“So early?” the Duke questioned. “Would you not wish to dance, to seek some of the many amusements with which London abounds?”
“No, no, of course not,” Shimona replied quickly, thinking how horrified her father would be. “Your Grace will understand that like The McCraig I also am – tired.”
“You don’t like to dance?”
Shimona was just about to say that she had never been to a dance and then she remembered that would not be in keeping with the actress she was supposed to be.
“It is – sometimes very – pleasant,” she said after a moment.
“But you don’t wish to dance either with Alister or with me?” the Duke persisted.
There was a perceptible pause before Shimona replied,
“I think, Your Grace, it would be a mistake for me to be seen in – public with Mr. McCraig, when many people must be – aware that he is – married.”
The Duke smiled as if he realised that she had just thought up the excuse.
“You are a very strange person,” he said slowly, “and I am being completely honest when I say quite unlike anyone I have ever met before.”
She looked up at him to see if he was mocking her and then found it hard to look away.
“Tell me the truth. Are you really looking forward to seeing a Military Parade tomorrow and going to Kew Gardens?”
“I especially want to see Kew Gardens again,” Shimona said in a low voice, “I have not been there since – ”
She stopped.
She had been about to say that she had not been there since her mother’s death. Then she wondered if it was wrong to say too much about herself.
She did not realise how expressive her eyes were.
“You have not been there since you were with someone who mattered a great deal to you,” the Duke said.
Shimona did not reply.
She was thinking how unexpect
edly perceptive he was.
“Who was that person?” he enquired and there was a note in his voice that she did not understand.
Because she felt compelled to answer him, she said,
“My – mother.”
“And she is dead?”
“Yes. She – died two years – ago.”
“And you loved her very much?”
“More than I can ever say.”
“But you have other members of your family?”
“Yes – ”
Shimona felt embarrassed by his interrogation and glanced towards the door. But there was no sign of Alister McCraig.
“May I – retire, Your Grace?”
“Are you running away from me or my questions?”
“Perhaps – both, Your Grace.”
“But you are not so afraid of me as you were when you first arrived?”
She looked at him in surprise. She had hoped he had not realised how frightened she had been.
Unexpectedly she smiled.
“I am still frightened – Your Grace, but now my legs will support me and my heart has stopped turning – somersaults.”
He laughed.
“The question I would like to ask you,” he said after a moment, “is whether you judge people by what you have heard about them or by what you yourself feel?”
Shimona tried to find words to answer him.
Then before she could do so Alister McCraig came back into the salon.
“Everything is arranged,” he said, “and now, if you will forgive me, Uncle Yvell, I am going back to Kitty. I told her I had to be with you to discuss financial matters with your Attorneys. She knew I would remain for dinner, but she will certainly not expect me to stay the night.”
“Very well, Alister,” the Duke replied, “but you had best be back in time to breakfast with your great-uncle.”
“I will not be late, that I promise you,” Alister answered. “I certainly do not wish to disrupt the excellent impression our brilliant little actress had made on him!”
Once again Shimona felt his words were slightly degrading.
She curtseyed low to the Duke, but not so low to her supposed husband.
“Goodnight, Your Grace. Goodnight Mr. McCraig.”
Then she went quickly from the salon before they could escort her.
The Disgraceful Duke Page 6