‘Why, marry Lizzy, of course. Then we are safe.’
‘Edmund, you amaze me. I thought you had not spoken one word of love to her.’
‘And no more have I, for how could I take such advantage of the poor innocent? But I must be able to protect her. Have you forgot, Jenny, that when I marry I obtain control of my fortune and can snap my fingers at my uncle? It is but to obtain a special licence and we can marry tomorrow. I have no fears of Lizzy...’
‘A special licence? But are they not vastly expensive?’
‘Yes, and that is why I am so glad to see you, Jenny. If you could lend me £50, purely as a loan, of course, until I am in control of my own estate, I will be indebted to you for ever.’
‘£50!’ She looked at him in amazement. ‘But, Edmund, I have not £5.’
‘What! Jenny, you are roasting me. That hat you have on cost more.’
Jennifer coloured. It was as impossible as it was distasteful to explain her real circumstances to Edmund. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I suppose I do give an appearance of affluence, but truly Edmund it is deception, I am as much to pieces as you are.’
‘I must, of course, believe you.’ He clearly did nothing of the kind. ‘Then we are undone. My uncle will certainly reach town tomorrow and if we are not married by then my poor little Lizzy will never be able to stand up to him.’
‘No,’ said Jenny, ‘I do not suppose that she will. But wait a minute. I have an idea. I have my pearls with me. If I can but sell them. But how?’ .
‘Sell your mother’s pearls! Jenny, you must not. But you could borrow on them.’
‘No, I thank you Edmund. I am not such a gudgeon as that. If I sell them, it’s done; if I borrow on them, there’s no end to it. I remember too well the lecture my father read Richard when he went to Howard and Gibbs for money to pay his college debts: I never saw him so angry. No, I have quite made up my mind. I will take the pearls to Gray’s the jewellers. I have some acquaintance with Mr Gray and he will do the business for me. And I will visit you and Lizzy tomorrow and bring the money with me.’
He was too pleased at the idea of the loan to quibble over how it was to be procured. ‘I knew you would stand our friend, Jenny. I will never forget this. How overjoyed Lizzy will be when she hears my good news.’ He wrung her hand warmly and was turning to leave her when she called him back.
‘Stay a minute, Edmund.’ She had been thinking rapidly. ‘I believe it would be best if you accompanied me to Gray’s tomorrow. I could not easily explain such an errand, but if you will meet me here at this time it will be easy for me to find some pretext to send the groom home with Starlight and accompany you to Holborn. Then you will be able to take the money and obtain your special licence at once. And indeed I think that would be wise. I cannot believe that even politics will keep my uncle in the country beyond tomorrow.’
‘I very much fear you are right. Till tomorrow then. For here, if I mistake not, is your groom. You are mighty well attended, Jenny.’
‘Am I not?’ she smiled, said no more, and left him.
CHAPTER XIV
Back in Grosvenor Square, Jennifer found the Duchess visibly better. Mainwaring’s letter had acted as a tonic. The old lady was simultaneously teasing her maid, trying on wigs and considering whether to go to the opera, the play, or Lady Bessborough’s drum. Appealed to, Jennifer strongly recommended the opera. The crush at a drum, she said, would be the worst possible thing for anyone in the Duchess’s precarious state of health. This was true enough, but privately Jennifer was thinking that Mandeville was no devotee of opera and that even if he should, by ill luck, be there, it would be easier to avoid him there than at Lady Bessborough’s.
She found she had been mistaken. Mandeville’s quizzing glass was soon focused on the Duchess’s box and he joined them in the first interval. The Duchess was delighted. She had observed his attentions to Jennifer and thought that a proposal from him would be a most eligible way of rectifying what she felt to be Jennifer’s precarious position. With Mainwaring’s marriage a settled thing, it seemed to her more important than ever that his equivocal, if all too attractive protegée should be suitably disposed of. So, on Mandeville’s appearance, she said she felt faint and asked for her vinaigrette. Jennifer had already played into her hands by showing an unguarded enthusiasm for the opera. The Duchess wilted still more. She had been foolish to come; she should have had more sense; her cold was growing worse every minute; her head ached; in short, she must go home to bed. Only—she did not want to spoil Miss Fairbank’s evening. Mandeville was at once all eagerness to oblige. He would be delighted to see the Duchess safe home—still more delighted, he made it clear, to stay and keep Miss Fairbank company. And as to a chaperone—was not Lady Beresford in the very next box?
In vain did Jennifer beg to be allowed to accompany the Duchess home. It was most unsuitable that she should go alone; she would catch more cold...The Duchess laughed at her; her company, though delightful, was hardly a specific against the cold. Besides, she had been joined by an old friend, a General Sir Somebody-or-Other Something (Jennifer never did catch his name) who had known the Duchess all her life, and her husband in happier times. He would see her home and they would talk about the good old days and that never-to-be-forgotten one when the Duchess smuggled herself into the House of Commons with his help. It was all most satisfactory—except to Jennifer.
Left alone with Mandeville, she rose at once to go and join Lady Beresford in her adjoining box. But Mandeville felt the opportunity too good to be wasted. He took her hand to detain her.
‘Charming Miss Fairbank, one word. You think me, I fear, your enemy; you must allow me this chance to tell you how truly I long for your forgiveness; how earnestly I wish to be considered your friend.’
She withdrew her hand. ‘You will best show your friendship, Mr Mandeville, by conducting me at once to Lady Beresford’s box. It is most improper for me to remain here alone with you.’
‘Divine Miss Fairbank,’ he had her hand again. ‘What courage! What spirit! I confess it is impossible not to admire you. To think that you, of all people, dare speak of impropriety.’
‘I do not understand you, sir.’
‘My dearest creature, I would not pain you for the world, but I must tell you that I know all.’
‘Indeed? You are pleased to be mysterious, sir. What, pray, does this formidable “all” of yours consist of?’
‘Why, of your inevitable disgrace, my dear, if I was not kindly disposed towards you. It is one thing to disport yourself with Harriette Wilson and her kind at Watier’s. That, though bad enough, might perhaps be glossed over as a girlish frolic. But to have let Lord Mainwaring pass you off—you, an ex-governess, a nobody, if not worse—upon his grandmother: that, I collect, my dear, could never be lived down.’
She made a gallant effort to rally: ‘I do not know what you are talking of, sir.’
‘I think you do. But I wonder if you have considered all the implications of your frolic—if it is no worse. Supposing that I was to whisper to a few of my friends that Mainwaring had passed his ladybird off on his grandmother as sterling ware. Imagine the talk of the town tomorrow. And imagine the effect on the Duchess! Scandal, I grant you, is the air she breathes, but to find herself the centre of so unsavoury a one as that! It would kill her, my dear creature; most indubitably it would kill her. And as for Mainwaring: it might not exactly kill him, but it would most effectively put paid to the political future he sets such store by. You are silent, my dearest life. I fear I have discomposed you. But do not fret, and pout, and stamp your little foot at me. You think me a monster, I can see, but I will prove to you that I am no such thing. I have no desire to kill the Duchess, nor yet to ruin Mainwaring, though, God knows, he has given me cause enough. Your secret is safe with me. But on condition...’
‘Oh, conditions?’ Jennifer, whose hopes had incorrigibly leapt up, despaired again.
‘Well, yes, I am a man of the world, my dear, and I do not give s
omething for nothing.’
‘Not even silence?’ asked Jennifer bitterly.
‘Particularly not silence. Only think what a nine days’ wonder it would be. What a story to have the starting of. What a revenge for this,’ his good hand touched the sling that still supported his wounded arm. ‘No, no, I must be bribed, my love, bribed and cajoled into silence.’
Jennifer’s hopes dwindled and died. ‘How?’
‘Why, in the oldest way, the pleasantest way in the world. Your situation, I apprehend, is not of the easiest. If I do not discover you today, someone else will tomorrow. There is nothing before you but disgrace and disaster. Avoid them by leaving the Duchess and accepting my protection now—this very night if you will. I promise you every comfort, every luxury, and my unqualified adoration.’
She looked at him very straight out of deep blue eyes. ‘You are not, I apprehend, proposing marriage.’
‘Well, no,’ he laughed, a trifle awkwardly, ‘be reasonable, my dear creature. It is hardly a case for that, is it?’
Jennifer was silent, fighting a mixture of rage and terror. It was all true. He had it in his power to ruin not only her but Mainwaring and, perhaps, his grandmother. This was not the moment to show the fury she felt; she must temporise, think, play for time. Her silence had lasted too long already.
‘Well, Miss Fairbank,’ he asked. ‘I await your answer. Come, my dearest creature, be reasonable. We will deal admirably together, you and I. Shall we go to Paris? You would, perhaps, be happiest out of London for a space, and, to be plain with you,’ again the sensitive hand touched his sling, ‘so will I. An apartment in the Rue St Honoré now; I can just see you there, and myself, the happiest of men, at your side.’
‘Can you?’ she looked up at him, thinking, thinking...
‘And moreover,’ he played what he considered to be a trump card, ‘I have it on good authority that your friend Mainwaring is to marry forthwith. You can hardly wish to remain in London and see some country nobody my ladying it at his side. You have played your cards ill, my dear, but trust me to make your losses good.’
There was, horribly, something in what he said. She let him see her waver. ‘I do not know; I had not considered...It is true that my position is not an easy one. Sir,’ she seemed to make up her mind. ‘You must give me time. Let me sleep on your...’ she hesitated for a word...‘on your proposition. Paris, it is true...Paris, they say, in the spring time...Send to me tomorrow for my answer. I must consider, you understand, how most honourably to remove myself from her grace’s protection.’
‘Oh, never trouble your pretty head about that.’ He was sure, now, that he had her. ‘You will care little enough for her, and such as her, when you are safe with me.’
That would, she was sure, be all too true, nor, of course, would they care for her. If she had needed it, these thoughts strengthened her resolve to escape him at all costs. But how to ensure that he should not, in his fury at being rejected, publish his slanderous story and destroy Lord Mainwaring? No time to think of that now: she must get away from him and, for the moment, continue to play his game. She smiled up at him: ‘And now,’ she said, ‘indulge, I beg you, my missish notions for tonight, and take me to Lady Beresford.’
He laughed and obeyed. The hand that guided her lay hotter and heavier on her arm than usual, but she pretended not to notice. For the rest of the evening, she sat in a daze, doing her best to return his gallantries, and all the time thinking, planning, rejecting one project after another, hardly aware of what went on around her. At last she was safely home in Grosvenor Square, grateful, for once, for Lady Beresford’s safe conduct home. Odd, she thought, dismissing her maid, that she had indeed come to think of the Duchess’s house as home.
The word, with its inevitable thoughts of her real home, gave her her cue. That was where she must go. She must give herself up to her uncle’s mercy and accept the match he had planned for her. Only thus could she at once escape Mandeville’s advances and tie his hands. Miss Purchas’s engagement had been given out; the marriage would follow immediately; Miss Fairbank would disappear as if she had never been. And at least, she consoled herself, it should be easier, now, to deal with her uncle, whose embarrassment must at least equal her own. Perhaps, by good management, they might be made to cancel each other out. Since Elizabeth had run away, Uncle Gurning must be in despair as to what to tell her betrothed. Well, he might tell him the truth: that a substitution had been planned but had failed. Here, he could say, and prove it, was the true heiress, the real Miss Purchas, fortune and all, ready, nay eager, to marry him. For it had come to this, thought Jennifer, pulling the comb savagely through her hair, after all her gallant attempts (for she still respected herself for them) she must be grateful if the wooer she had run away from would consent to marry her. For in marriage, it was clear, lay her only salvation, and, more important, that of Mainwaring and the Duchess. Only as a married woman, as—what was the man’s name?—as Mrs Ferris could she afford to snap her fingers at Mandeville’s threats. And, after all, why should Ferris complain? He had never pretended to want anything but a hostess and a fortune. He would get both. And, from what Edmund had said, she had not got the impression that he had been particularly pleased with Elizabeth’s timid charms.
Black-browed and a bully, Edmund had said...Resolutely, she put away the thought of someone else who was black-browed and, often, bullying. Mainwaring’s marriage was a settled thing. She might just as well have this Ferris. But she must lose no time...It was of the first importance that she reach her uncle before he discover Elizabeth and Edmund. What was best to do?
Then she thought again. Her uncle had no terrors for her now. He was still more deeply embroiled than she. Why not go to Elizabeth in Holborn, explain the situation to her, and wait there for Uncle Gurning to arrive, as doubtless he would, breathing fire and fury, in the course of tomorrow. Her unexpected presence would quite take the wind out of his sails. He would, no doubt, be only too relieved to hear that she was prepared to ignore his double-dealing and marry Ferris at last, and would, she thought, in all probability give his consent to Elizabeth’s marrying Edmund. On this thought, she fell asleep.
Rising early next morning, she wrote two notes. The first, to the Duchess, was comparatively easy. It expressed her heartfelt thanks for all the kindness she had received, then went on to say that she had recognised, she feared rather late in the day, how odd her presence in Grosvenor Square must seem to the world. ‘I do not blame people for thinking ill of me,’ she went on. ‘My dear madam, I should never have so trespassed on your great kindness. I am doing now, what I should have done at first, going back where I belong.’ With further protestations of gratitude, she signed and sealed the letter, refusing to let herself add any message to Mainwaring, then turned to the more difficult of the two—that to Mandeville.
This one called for much diplomacy and some pen-chewing. He must not be enraged into precipitate action. She drafted and redrafted, finally achieved a version that almost satisfied her. ‘Sir,’ she wrote, ‘I must do myself the honour of declining your proposals. But at the same time, let me thank you with all my heart for the plain speaking that has brought home to me the true danger of my position. I tell you solemnly that I am innocent of all but folly, and my lord and his grandmother of all but ill-placed kindness. I am returning to those whose duty it is to protect me and I warn you that I hope soon to have a husband who will take any action necessary to defend my good name. If you carry out your last night’s threats, you will regret it most bitterly.’ She stopped and reread it. It would do, she thought, remembering his cowardly behaviour over his duel with Lord Mainwaring. It would frighten him...Anyway (she signed and sealed it, then addressed it in her neat small hand) it would have to do.
For time was passing. The Duchess would soon awaken and send for her. She wished, at all costs, to avoid the pain of a final interview. Ringing, she gave the two notes to a puzzled footman, and ordered the groom and Starlight to be summoned.
She would be early for her rendezvous with Edmund, but that did not matter. It was, to be sure, slightly inconvenient that she would have to face the world equipped with nothing but her favourite green riding habit, but Elizabeth or her aunt would doubtless lend her whatever she immediately needed, and as soon as she had had her éclaircissement with her uncle she could go home to Sussex.
It was a happy thought. In the park, birds were singing, trees in leaf. In Sussex, summer would be in full splendour, with sunshine heavy on the hills. It was time she went home. She put Starlight to a canter, partly to banish less happy thoughts, partly to avoid any of her acquaintance who might have been lured by June sunshine to come out so much before the fashionable hour. This was no day for the rubbed coin of society small talk. She wanted to be alone to face alike her past and her future.
Lucky for once, she saw no one. Edmund appeared, meticulously prompt upon his hour, his plain, conscientious face red with hurry. Seeing him, she felt her first qualm. Would it all be so easy as she had thought? But the die was cast now. The Duchess was no doubt sitting up in bed, sipping chocolate and reading her note. Mandeville might well have received his. There was no going back. Instead, she must go forward as rapidly as possible. This was no place to be loitering.
She turned to the groom: ‘I have recollected an errand which I must do on foot, James. My cousin will accompany me. Do you take Starlight home.’
He looked at her doubtfully. All his training indicated implicit obedience, but it seemed to him that there was something very smokey indeed about this behaviour of Miss Fairbank’s. And he had grown to like her. He ventured a protest. ‘But, Miss Fairbank, I doubt her grace will be displeased.’
‘I have explained everything to her grace,’ Jennifer interrupted him. ‘Do as you are bid, James, and do not come the old family retainer with me.’
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