Jane and the Sins of Society

by Sarah Waldock

  Jane was interested to note that the Marquess of Falkrington was talking to Miss Evans. And he was actually talking to her, not lowering over her as he often did to young women. Miss Evans had danced with him at Almack’s when he had led Cora back to her seat, and courtesy dictated that he ask the nearest lady to dance. Jane had been preoccupied, but she had received the impression that Miss Evans had been brave enough to give the man a set-down. It was an interesting observation that a man who was said to have little time for anyone was actually chatting to someone Jane almost considered as a protégé. She waited for the marquess to leave, but he did not seem inclined to do so, so she moved past, smiling at Miss Evans. The child looked very fine tonight, in a gown of gossamer thin grey muslin, embroidered in self colour, over a slip of dark amber paduasoy.

  “Oh, Lady Armitage,” the girl said, “Oh, please excuse me, sir, but I will be expected to sing, and I wished to ask Lady Armitage if I might presume on her good nature to play for me.”

  “I’d be delighted, Miss Evans,” said Jane.

  “Oh, my manners, Lady Armitage, this is Lord Falkrington, Lord Falkrington, Lady Armitage.”

  “Delighted, I’m sure,” said the marquess.

  “What lovely manners when you wish me to perdition for interrupting the only sensible girl in the room,” said Jane. “Her voice is worth listening to when she sings, I assure you, if you have not heard it. Pure gold.”

  “I have not, and I shall look forward to it,” said the marquess.

  “L ... Lady Armitage, you flatter me,” said Miss Evans.

  “I doubt it,” said Jane. “I never thought to say so, but it really is an insipid squeeze. And Cora is nice enough but not a conversationalist.”

  “And the rest are sufficiently identical to look as though they may be bought by the gross in Bond Street,” said the marquess.

  “I would have used a more tactful word than ‘gross’, myself,” said Jane. “Excuse me; I will ask our hostess if she needs incidental music.”

  Jane had moved to a quiet passage in her playing when she heard the comment behind her, masked from most by the music.

  “I wager my grandfather lives well into his nineties, you know.” She recognised the voice, but could not immediately place it.

  “Oh, and I wager he has not two weeks to live,” said another voice, the same which had replied last time she had heard this formula. “Although the late snow in February has gone, it is still inclement.” The mention of inclement weather was also what the other young man had said before. Jane could not turn round to see the owner of the voice, as that would give her away before she was ready. Jane moved into ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond hill’, catching Caleb’s eye. He knew how much she disliked the song, so it was a warning to him, as nobody was singing yet. He would not know what it was a warning about, but he would at least make sure to be more aware of his surroundings. She moved into the Irish ballad, ‘The girl I left behind me’, holding her foot on the loud pedal where the words ‘behind me’ would be, repeating that the second time. Caleb gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and Jane continued playing without any further abuse of the music.

  One of those behind Jane became apparent when he stepped forward. She recognised James Radcliffe by sight as well as by his voice when she saw him. He had bet on his grandfather living a long time.

  “I’d be obliged for accompaniment if you would be kind enough to play for me, my lady,” James Radcliffe said, very softly indeed.

  “I’m sorry, would you repeat what you said? The noise in here is confusing,” said Jane.

  He relaxed and smiled, repeating his request louder.

  “I’d be delighted,” said Jane. “You have the music?” She thought the young man looked strained; there was something in his eyes which reminded her of Caleb, when he could be induced to speak about his time on the Peninsula. The foolish young chub had acted in haste and was regretting it.

  Radcliffe handed over music, and Jane ran her eyes over it, nodding. It was a less complex trumpet voluntary than the piece he had played before, but called for the piano or organ to add to it, and would probably sound better, considering how he had sounded challenged by the horn concerto he had tried last time she had heard him. Jane noted that there were passages on Radcliffe’s copy which were marked, and noted the places mentally on her sheet. When he faltered, she picked up his music line flawlessly until he recovered, covering his mistakes.

  When Radcliffe had finished playing and bowed, he went to collect his music from Jane.

  “Thank you, Lady Armitage,” he said.

  “You are welcome,” said Jane. “You know, it’s none of my business, but I thought I heard you say something about making a wager. I know a lot of people do wager, but do you think it’s strictly wise for a young man to get into the habit?”

  “What, a Wesleyan, are you, ma’am?”

  “No, but a man who once wagers might be pestered by bad companions to make ever more foolish bets, and might find that he loses more than he has bargained for,” said Jane.

  “Well, I can’t take it back now, it’s against the rules,” he said.

  “You could, however, lay information against a gambler who leads young men who are half flash and half foolish into something too deep for them.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully.

  “No, I don’t think I could,” he said. “It would be betraying a trust.”

  “I personally think your trust is misplaced, Mr. Radcliffe, and would be better confided to your grandfather who will be angry but at least ready for any trouble.”

  “I believe I understand you,” said Mr. Radcliffe. “I ... should not have made the wager, I was angry.”

  “A bad time to make a wager,” said Jane. “I can arrange someone to guard the old man.”

  “How would I know if it was someone to guard?”

  “Because he would comment on music,” said Jane.

  “Then ... yes.” He looked as though a weight had been lifted.

  It was a job for Fowler, who could outdo any butler in haughtiness if he had a need to, and would impersonate a footman if he had to, or be a gentleman’s gentleman. It would be easy enough to arrange him a warrant card as a constable from Bow Street. And Fowler would delight in the cloak and dagger idea of a phrase to identify himself using something about music. The other fellow had said two weeks, so there was time before an attempt was made. This might be because someone else was to be killed in the meantime, but that could not be helped. This was an opportunity.

  Chapter 17

  Jane had to play for Miss Evans before she might retire to speak to Caleb, and she saw Falkrington sit up as Miss Evans began to sing. He had been sitting in the position of someone ready to show appreciation of someone they knew and liked, but the child’s golden voice plainly captivated him. Jane permitted herself a smug smile. Falkrington was, she had heard, a byword for being difficult to please. It would do Miss Evans no harm in her chances if he engaged in a flirtation with her. Jane just hoped that Miss Evans would not be hurt.

  A party piece of her own, and Jane was free. She moved over towards her husband, who was sitting with an older man.

  “Jane, let me make you known to Michael Strode, Duke Braxstrode. His youngest girl is about Cecily’s age: I’ve accepted an invitation to join him with all our children for a week in the summer. Sir, my wife, Jane.”

  Jane curtseyed to the duke, who rose to kiss her hand punctiliously.

  “Sir Caleb gave me some excellent advice when I first met him,” said he. “I’m retiring to the country tomorrow. And hopefully I will be able to implement his most practical plan. Did he tell you about it?”

  “Yes, my lord, and though it might be supposed to be too much like a novel for real life, you need have no fear that a governess will be anything but ladylike, and having feared I was destined for such a position myself, I can tell you that she will also be entirely grateful to have the sort of job security marriage brings. The thought of lavis
hing attention on other people’s children and continually moving to new families when they are deemed too old for a governess, and never watching them reach the fruition of adulthood cannot but wring a woman’s heart, especially if she does not have a sufficient portion to ever hope for the joys of motherhood herself.”

  “Most eloquently put, I do declare!” said the duke. “I believe I will not even wait to see my wastrel nevvy, but send a note to him when I have reached Braxstrode.”

  “I’d also, if I were you, employ a few ex-soldiers as bodyguards,” said Jane. “At least, if your nephew is also a gambling man.”

  The duke narrowed his eyes.

  “Are you implying what I think you are implying?” he asked.

  “I am. And I would also, in your shoes, marry as soon as possible, and let people think a happy event was pending for the early winter, whether it is or not,” said Jane. “One death can be an accident. Two deaths, well, it happens. Three start to become suspicious.”

  “You have no proof, I take it,” said the duke. His voice was icy.

  “We have only suspicion based on ... other events,” said Caleb.

  “And I have a lead to discuss with you, my dear, and a means of trapping a villain,” said Jane, “but in the meantime, your grace should err on the side of caution. Even if we wrong your nephew, taking a few extra precautions cannot hurt.”

  The duke nodded.

  “Very well, I will do as you suggest again. Sir Caleb’s idea is an uncommon good one, and you expand upon it well, ma’am. I will not refuse to listen to your other ideas. Indeed, I will leave for the country tonight, if you will excuse me.”

  “I think it wise,” said Caleb, with a bow.

  “Slip out and have Jackie follow him home,” said Jane as the duke left. “Once home, not being looked for, he should be safe.”

  Caleb nodded, and slid out of the room.

  Well, thought Jane, that was hopefully another death averted, three this evening by warning Rosalind off, and arranging a guard for old James Radcliffe.

  When Caleb returned, she drew him into a parlour, and spoke to him quickly, in a low tone, explaining what she had arranged with John Radcliffe.

  “I think you should be the Bow Street officer, my dear,” said Caleb. “You have done an amazing amount.”

  “I am a woman, and the proper milieu of a gentlewoman is in society,” said Jane. “Women babble to and in front of other women, and men are unguarded. Did you get a good look at the other fellow who was behind me when I was playing?”

  “I believe so, although I have not yet ascertained who he is, as he dresses unremarkably, and is not out of the ordinary to look upon. He might even be the mysterious footman himself.”

  “It would be hard to maintain a position in society whilst living in as a footman, even if only for a week at a time,” said Jane. “Perhaps they are brothers, though.”

  “It’s a thought,” said Caleb. “Here, Jane-girl, have you been asked to play for anyone else?”

  “No, not yet,” said Jane. “I was ready to oblige Miss Evans, and there was an opportunity to be had in accepting the request from Mr. Radcliffe, but I have no reason to be obliging to anyone else.”

  “Good; let’s emulate Braxstrode then, and shab off early,” said Caleb.

  “I am satisfied,” said Jane. “Wait!” she pulled Caleb behind a screen as the door to the parlour, in which they were lurking, opened. Mrs. Fielding’s voice was to be heard.

  “I like you, Mr. Brasenose, and I think you’d do well by Cora. But you need to know a few things, and make me a few assurances,” said Mrs. Fielding.

  “Anything!” said Mr. Brasenose.

  “Don’t go saying something daft like that, or I’ll feel a wicked urge to tell you to hold up a stage-coach and demand forfeits from all the passengers,” said Mrs. Fielding.

  “By Jove, it might have been a good lark when I was younger,” said Mr. Brasenose.

  “Not if you met someone like Lady Armitage, who is in the habit of shooting highwaymen,” said Mrs. Fielding, dryly.

  “No, is she? Terrifying woman, ain’t she? Haven’t exchanged above half a dozen words with her, but I’m not sure if she reminds me most of m’grandmother the dowager, or my governess, but I always feel I should mind my P’s and Q’s and call her ‘sir’.”

  “There you are, Jane-girl, they say eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves,” Caleb murmured into Jane’s ear.

  “I consider it a compliment,” Jane replied demurely, into his ear.

  “I would say she is a good friend but it would not be well to cross her,” said Mrs. Fielding. “She takes an interest in Cora, so you may have my assurances that she, like me, has the girl’s best interests at heart. I know you are attracted by Cora’s beauty and gentle nature.”

  “She’s such a kind girl,” said Mr. Brasenose.

  “Quite; she is kind, gentle, and not very clever,” said Mrs. Fielding. “I want her protected. The man who marries her will have the greater part of my not inconsiderable fortune as her dowry. And I do not talk of three zeroes,” she added.

  Jane’s eyebrows went up. Presumably if blackmailing Lady Caroline was the solution which had come to mind for the ex-Abbess, she had used judicious blackmail in the past. Well, it was too late to worry about that, and anyone who used a brothel for their dubious pleasures opened themselves up to coercion of some kind.

  “I am not marrying Cora for her money!” cried Mr. Brasenose.

  “You misunderstand me. It is partly to make sure you will have no worries in making sure that Cora has enough servants to look after her, and any children who come along, and partly a gift of gratitude to you in advance for tender care of her. I can see that her lack of conversation might come to irk you, and rather than be brusque with her, I would suggest that you take a mistress, the proviso being that Cora never finds out, and never has any cause to complain of your treatment of her. And in case I am not around to keep an eye on her, my will states specifically that if you ever give her a disease, or lay a finger on her, other than a gentle slap if she is hysterical as anyone might do, that my solicitor is to use any and all means to ruin you, and the dowry becomes forfeit as part of that. I have a prenuptial agreement drawn up to that effect; will you sign it?”

  “Yes, of course, I would never hurt Cora!” cried Mr. Brasenose. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “Very young,” said Mrs. Fielding, dryly. “Mr. Brasenose, I had this agreement drawn up for anyone for whom Cora developed a tendre who was willing to marry her, it is not specifically any mistrust of you. However, I have reason to believe that I have a fatal canker within me, and I want to make sure Cora’s future is tied up right and tight.”

  Mr. Brasenose was audibly pacing, but he stopped.

  “I see, and yes, I can understand that you want to make sure she is protected. Very well, if my word as a gentleman is not sufficient ....”

  “It is not your word as a gentleman, it is the fact that circumstances can change, and Cora, sweet as she is, can be enough to make a saint feel like raising a hand to her when she is being dense. I’ve fought the urge often enough, so I recognise that if I can have that fault, so can other people. You have not seen that when she gets an idea in her head, she can be stubborn. And working through finding out what has put such an idea into her head, in order to get round it, can be very, very wearing.”

  “Poor Cora. I know her understanding is not superior, I will do all I can to help her.”

  “Good. And the prenuptial settlement will help you to help her. If you still wish to marry her?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you may call on her on the morrow with a betrothal gift, and sign the papers then, and we can set up the banns right away.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The door opened and shut again, and Jane peeked round the screen to check both had left. They had.

  “Well, that was very enlightening,” said Jane. “I’m glad she has it all sewn
up. And is sensible about him taking a more interesting mistress. Though, in the general way, I disapprove heartily of the habit of taking a mistress, I can quite see in this instance that it might save the marriage from becoming intolerable for both husband and wife.”

  “I have to agree with you,” sighed Caleb. “I hope we won’t be called in to rescue Cora if he breaks the terms of the agreement; it would not surprise me to learn she named us to be called on in that instance.”

  “Almost certainly,” said Jane. “Indeed, it would not surprise me if she knew we were in here, and chose this room for her tête-á-tête deliberately so we would know the terms under which Cora is to marry. She’s a manipulative woman, used to it, in order to protect herself and her daughter.” She sighed.

  Fowler was a happy man.

  He enjoyed being valet and bodyguard to Mr. Caleb, Sir Caleb, he should say, or even bâtman as an army man would have it. However, it was very nice when Sir Caleb gave him a task to complete, and left it entirely to his own initiative. Fowler knew it was potentially risky, but he had a good pistol with him, and a ladies’ pistol as well, inside his coat, the way Sir Caleb wore his, to have on him in case he ended up as a footman, in fancy duds, and needing to have a smaller concealed weapon. A footman’s coat would never be as skin-tight as a gentleman’s coat, so there would be room for it, without having to have it tailored in the way Sir Caleb did.

  Fowler was confident of fulfilling whatever role Mr. John Radcliffe wanted him to undertake to be close to the young man’s grandfather, but it was as well to look like some footman, who might aspire to be a valet. Fowler dismounted from the Hackney carriage which had brought him to Grosvenor Square, composed himself, placed himself into the character of a footman, and positively minced down the steps to the area, where he knocked on the kitchen door.