The Bride Hunt

by Jane Feather

  “But her brother, Lord Winthrop, will support her admirably, I’m sure,” Prudence said. “And of course she will have David waiting for her at the altar.” She smiled at Lady Lucan. “It must gladden your heart, Lady Lucan, to see your only son so happy.”

  “I won’t say that it doesn’t,” the dowager countess allowed herself to say. “And Hester’s a good girl.”

  How to prod these two dowagers for the promised fifty guineas apiece?

  “Let me get you some tea,” Prudence said with a nod at Jenkins, who was circulating with the silver teapot. She steered the dowagers to an empty sofa beside the French windows opening onto the terrace and sat down on a lower chair beside them. When they had teacups and cucumber sandwiches, she said, “I had a wire from my sister Mrs. Ensor. She’s having her honeymoon in Egypt—”

  “Egypt!” Lady Bainbridge exclaimed. “What a strange place for a honeymoon . . . all that sand and dust.”

  “Yes, quite ruinous for the complexion,” put in Letitia. “And dear Constance has always had such a lovely skin.”

  “I doubt it’s suffered, Letitia,” Chastity said, guiding Pamela’s rather wavering hand wielding clotted cream. “But we shall discover soon enough. They’re on their way home.”

  “Oh, how delightful it will be to see dear Constance again, and Pammy misses her uncle most dreadfully, don’t you, Pammy dear?” The mother smiled fondly at the child, who rather firmly shook her head and licked the remnants of clotted cream from the serving spoon.

  “Constance has always been so devoted to the charity she supports.” Prudence doggedly turned the conversation in a more useful direction. “She said in her wire that she has been gathering support from diplomatic circles in Paris and Rome, and, of course, in Cairo.”

  “Oh, yes . . . yes . . . of course. The charity.” The Dowager Lady Winthrop opened her tiny silk reticule. “I was forgetting, dear. I had promised a donation . . . such a worthy cause. Fifty guineas, wasn’t it?”

  “Thank you,” Prudence said in an undertone, taking the bank draft. “I cannot tell you what a difference this will make to the lives of these poor gentlewomen. They are destitute through no fault of their own. Without what little we can give them they would be obliged to sell themselves on the street.”

  Lady Lucan put up her not inconsiderable chins and opened her own reticule. “Well, I had thought fifty guineas at first, but in the circumstances, I decided seventy would be more appropriate.”

  Lady Winthrop stared into space as her neighbor with an air of quiet triumph handed a bank draft to Prudence.

  “You are both so kind and generous,” Prudence said, rising gracefully, both drafts tucked into her palm. “I can’t thank you enough . . . and these poor women will be eternally grateful.” Smiling, she moved away to the sideboard, where surreptitiously she opened the linen drawer and dropped the two drafts softly among the tea napkins.

  “Outrageous,” whispered Chastity at her ear.

  “The devil drives, sister dear.”

  Chapter 3

  Gideon laid aside the copy of The Mayfair Lady with a frown. He reread the solicitor’s letter and glanced again at the broadsheet before reaching for a silver cigarette box. He took a cigarette, lit it, and pushed back his chair, going over to the narrow window that looked on the street. He smoked thoughtfully, gazing down at the few pedestrians still about at this hour of early evening. Law clerks for the most part, hurrying home to lonely garrets or wives and children in humble terraced houses on the outskirts of London. It was not a profession that paid well.

  As if prodded by the reflection, he left the window and went into the outer office, where Thadeus was sifting through a pile of paper on a small table. “Do I have an opening for an appointment with this Mayfair Lady?”

  Thadeus abandoned one pile of paper in favor of another and unearthed the appointment book. “The case interests you, Sir Gideon?”

  “Not so much interests as irritates me,” the barrister said, throwing his cigarette into the fire. He tossed the broadsheet on the table. “I’ve seen this publication lying around, of course, but never bothered to look at it. I assumed it was full of female gossip and clothes talk.”

  “And is it, Sir Gideon?”

  “It has its share of that,” Gideon said. “But it also seems to be some suffragist tract as well.”

  The clerk’s upper lip curled in an involuntary gesture of disdain. “What would women do with the vote, Sir Gideon?”

  The barrister shrugged slightly. “As far as I’m concerned, Thadeus, the jury’s still out on that question. But this article . . .” He tapped the paper with a forefinger. “It seems to me Barclay’s well within his rights to sue. This is a piece of unadulterated malice.”

  “But what if it’s true, Sir Gideon?” The clerk tilted his head to one side like an inquiring hedge sparrow.

  The barrister waved a dismissive hand. “Maybe there’s no smoke without fire, but this kind of sensationalist trash is worse than the sins it’s intending to expose. I am going to tell whoever wrote this piece of scandalmongering libel exactly what I think of this Mayfair Lady. The very idea that they would approach me to defend such a disgraceful malignant torrent of slanderous rubbish is insulting. Who the hell do they think I am? Some half-trained lawyer grubbing for clients in the gutter?”

  Sir Gideon had quite a head of steam up, Thadeus reflected as he consulted the ledger. He was beginning to feel sorry for the woman who was going to walk unknowingly into that wall of fire. “Next Thursday afternoon, Sir Gideon. You have an opening at four o’clock.”

  “Then send a message to that Bayswater address requesting the presence of the Mayfair Lady in my chambers at that time.”

  “As you say, Sir Gideon. I’ll send it by messenger right away.”

  Gideon reached for his greatcoat and muffler on the coat rack. “Oh, and make sure they’re aware that my fee for an initial consultation with no guarantees is fifty guineas.”

  “I would have done so anyway, Sir Gideon.” Thadeus sounded faintly reproving.

  “Yes, of course you would,” his employer said, heading for the door. “I’m on my way home now, Thadeus. Sarah invited some school friends for supper and I have strict instructions to be home in time to be introduced. I gather their parents need to know that even though Sarah has no mother, her father is perfectly respectable. Don’t stay overlong yourself.” He raised a hand in farewell and hurried out into the dusk.

  The shiny green motor drove around Manchester Square and drew to a halt outside No. 10. Max Ensor turned to his wife with a slightly quizzical smile.

  “Don’t forget you don’t live here anymore, Constance.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “As if I would.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said, still smiling. “You haven’t seen your sisters for six weeks. I’ll lay odds that the minute you’re in their midst you’ll forget everything that’s happened since you saw them last.”

  Constance shook her head again and laid a gloved hand on his as it rested on the steering wheel. “That I could never do, Max.” Her dark green eyes were serious now, although they held a sparkle in their depths. “Every moment of the last six weeks is indelibly printed on my memory . . . and not just my memory,” she added with a quick and slightly mischievous grin. “My body bears its fair share of imprints.”

  Max laughed and got out of the motor to come around and open the passenger door for her. “You’re not alone in that, my love. There’s something of the female leopard about you on occasion.”

  “The female leopard?” she inquired with raised eyebrows. “Now, why would that be?”

  “I read once a very vivid description of the mating habits of the leopard,” her husband informed her solemnly as she stepped to the pavement. “It seems to be a very violent coition, in which the female spends most of her time growling and scratching her mate, finally flinging him off her back with an open-clawed wallop.”

  “Did I do that?” C
onstance said in mock awe. “I have no recollection. It doesn’t sound at all like me. I have such a mild temperament.”

  “Now, that, my dear wife, reveals a staggering level of self-deception,” he scoffed. He lifted her chin with his forefinger and looked down at her, not so very far since she was almost as tall as he. “I’ll come back for you in two hours.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Max. I’ll take a hackney home.”

  “No, I’ll come and fetch you. I don’t trust you in your sisters’ company. Besides,” he added, silencing her incipient protest with a finger on her lips, “I’ve missed them too, and I should certainly pay my respects to your father.”

  Constance considered this, then shook her head in resignation. “Very well, but there’s no need to hurry your business at Downing Street.”

  “I won’t. I merely intend to bring myself back into the Prime Minister’s sights, just in case I slipped his mind during the summer recess.”

  “I doubt you did that,” Constance declared. “Once met, Max, you could never slip anyone’s mind.”

  “You flatter me,” he returned with a dry smile. He kissed her mouth, his lips lingering for a moment despite the fact that they were standing on the open street. Then reluctantly he raised his head. “I’ll be back in two hours.”

  Constance turned to the steps leading up to the house. “Don’t hurry,” she said, blowing him a kiss over her shoulder as she walked quickly to the door.

  He watched as she used her own key to let herself in, and when the door had closed on her he returned to the motor and drove off towards Westminster and the Prime Minister’s residence at 10 Downing Street.

  Constance had barely closed the door before Jenkins appeared from the shadows of the staircase. “Why, Miss Con . . .” He coughed. “Mrs. Ensor, I should say.”

  “No, no, Jenkins, I couldn’t get used to anything but Con,” she said, coming towards him with swift step and kissing his cheek. “How have you been? It seems I’ve been away an eternity. Is Mrs. Hudson well?”

  “Everyone is well, Miss Con,” the butler stated, his delighted smile belying the formal tone. “Miss Chas and Miss Prue are in the parlor upstairs.”

  “No, we’re here,” Chastity’s light and cheerful tones chimed. “Con, we didn’t dare to expect you so soon.” She came flying down the stairs, followed with as much haste by Prudence.

  Constance disappeared into their embrace and Jenkins nodded his satisfaction as he watched the three heads of various shades of red bob and blend in the way he knew so well. “I’ll bring coffee to the parlor,” he announced.

  “Oh, and some of those almond slices that Mrs. Hudson made yesterday,” Chastity emerged from the tight circle to call after him as he walked back to the kitchen.

  Constance hugged her. “I didn’t expect you to have lost your sweet tooth in six weeks, Chas.”

  Her youngest sister gave an exaggerated sigh. “No, I’m a lost cause. And I seem to be getting rounder.” She pulled a comical face as she traced the swell of her breasts beneath her muslin blouse and plucked at her hips that curved voluptuously beneath the wide belt of her striped grosgrain skirt.

  “Sometimes, sister dear, I think you suffer from the besetting sin of vanity,” Prudence stated, even though she was laughing. “You know perfectly well it suits you.”

  “For the moment,” sighed Chastity. “But soon it will turn to fat, and then, alas, what shall I do?”

  “Give up cakes,” Constance said, linking arms with her sisters. She looked closely at Prudence and saw that she had a drawn look about her eyes. She looked again at Chastity, and realized that the light banter had merely masked a similar unquiet air.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” she said. “I want to hear everything that’s happened since I left.”

  “First we want to hear everything about your honeymoon,” Prudence said as they went upstairs. “Your telegrams were so brief. Did Max really take you to the pyramids?”

  “Yes, but we visited them on horseback, not by camel. Could you imagine Max on a camel? And we went down the Nile on the most luxurious riverboat all the way to Alexandria.” Constance opened the door to the parlor and gave an involuntary smile at the welcome familiarity of the room. “Oh, I’ve missed home,” she said.

  “We’ve missed you,” Prudence said, hugging her. “But I have to say, Con, that there is nothing Egyptian about that dress.” She regarded her sister’s outfit with a knowing eye.

  “Well, we did go to Cairo via Paris and Rome,” Constance reminded her.

  “That would explain the unmistakable mark of a Parisian modiste.” Prudence closed the door behind them. “I saw in one of the fashion magazines that those straight skirts are becoming all the rage on the Continent. Do you have trunksful?”

  “Not quite.” Constance drew off her gloves and tossed them onto a console table. “But I do have several for you both. The trunk’s following me here in a hackney. There wasn’t room in the motor.” She examined her sisters. “I don’t think they’ll need altering, although Chas might have grown a little rounder since I last saw her.”

  “Calumny!” Chastity exclaimed, laughing. “But I can’t wait to see them. And that hat, Con! Is it a hat?”

  Constance unpinned the small pillow of mink that sat atop her head. “They call it a hat on the Rue de Rivoli, but I think it looks more like a rabbit’s scut. Max liked it, though.”

  “How is Max?” Prudence asked, trying not to put too much emphasis on the question as she geared herself for the revelations to come.

  Constance smiled and tossed the fur pillow to join her gloves on the table. She perched on the wide arm of the chesterfield, smoothing out the creases in the tawny silk skirt that stretched tight across her thighs, and unbuttoned her wasp-waisted black jacket to reveal a lace-trimmed blouse of ivory silk. “I believe him to be in fine health.”

  Chastity threw a cushion at her. She ducked, caught it, and threw it back. “We had a wonderful time.”

  “So, we can assume he’s in a relaxed frame of mind,” Prudence said.

  Constance swung her gaze sharply towards her sister. “What is it? I knew something was wrong the minute I walked in.”

  She paused as a knock at the door heralded Jenkins’s entrance with a tray of coffee. “How’s Mrs. Beedle, Jenkins?” she asked as she rose to clear space for the tray on the paper-littered table.

  “Very well, I thank you, Miss Con.” Jenkins poured coffee into three cups and judiciously added sugar to the one that he handed to Chastity.

  “I hope she’s received lots of letters for The Mayfair Lady.”

  “Prue collected the last delivery a couple of days ago.” Chastity selected an almond slice from the plate as the door closed behind the butler. They couldn’t wait forever before putting Constance in the picture.

  “Yes,” Prudence said. “Some quite interesting correspondence.”

  Constance’s expression was serious. “What is it?” she asked again.

  Prudence went to the secretaire, where a mountain of paper threatened to tumble to the carpet. “You remember the piece you wrote about the earl of Barclay?” She removed a sheet from the pile.

  Constance rose to her feet too. “Yes. How could I forget?” Her tone was hesitant. “I knew it would cause a stir . . . we all knew that it would.”

  “He’s suing us—or rather, The Mayfair Lady—for libel,” Chastity told her, getting to her own feet.

  “But he can’t. It was all true and well documented,” Constance said.

  “Here’s a copy of the solicitor’s letter.” Prudence handed her the document that she had painstakingly copied before leaving the original with Sir Gideon’s clerk.

  “He doesn’t have a leg to stand on,” Constance said. “I had the names of three women whom he’d seduced and abandoned.”

  “And the Pall Mall Gazette picked up on it as we’d hoped,” Prudence said. “But their article has only just come out. It’s going to put Barclay in the pillory.” She leane
d over her sister’s shoulder and jabbed with a forefinger at the paragraph at the bottom of the letter. “I think that’s where the real trouble lies.”

  Constance read it. “Oh, God,” she murmured. “The financial stuff. I should have left that out. I didn’t have any hard evidence, and yet I know it’s true.” She steepled her fingers at her mouth as she looked at her sisters. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Prudence said, removing her glasses and wiping at a smudge with her handkerchief. “Chas and I stand behind what you wrote. We know he reneged on gambling debts and we know some of his financial dealings have been suspect.” She replaced her glasses.

  “But we had no evidence,” Constance said. “I got carried away by the excitement of exposing his philandering and I thought I could throw in the dishonesty and no one would question it because the rest was incontrovertible.”

  “Well, he questioned it,” Prudence said flatly. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a jab of her forefinger. “Obviously he thinks that if he can sue us successfully for libel on this, then he’ll be vindicated on the other accusations as well. And then he can go after the Pall Mall Gazette. After a court triumph, no one will dare to whisper about his sexual peccadilloes.”

  Constance tossed the document back onto the secretaire with an air of disgust. “Any ideas?”

  “Well, we’ve got the ball rolling,” Prudence said, and explained about Sir Gideon Malvern. “Amelia Franklin came around this morning with a message that he’ll see us next Thursday at four o’clock,” she finished. “Obviously, I didn’t want to give him this address, at least not at this stage, so I gave him Amelia and Henry’s as a contact.”

  Constance nodded. “I’m sure they didn’t mind.”

  “No, quite the opposite. Amelia’s always offering to help with The Mayfair Lady.”