She could not help her character, she thought resentfully, she was trying to put the Duke’s desertion behind her; she would have been able to if she had believed that it was solely on account of his need to be married and his choosing of an innocent girl as his bride; but she knew that this did not cut as deep as the knowledge that, in all the time that he had been with her, she had never managed to drive the other from his heart. It was by the merest chance that he had run into his wretched love. An unlucky chance, Cassie thought grimly.
It was some days later that Mrs Farley arrived to escort Cassie to Vauxhall Gardens. They had been invited by Lord Furzeby to make up a small party of people who he thought would like to hear Mrs Childe sing. It had been arranged that they would meet him there, which, he had explained, would allow them to come and go exactly when they pleased.
Cassie, determined to present a confident and cheerful appearance, chose her outfit with more than usual care. Indeed, she spent a great deal of time trying on and discarding a number of gowns before descending the stairs tastefully arrayed in white muslin over a silk slip. The dress had a low-cut satin bodice of forget-me-not blue, trimmed with blond lace, the blue repeated in the tiny bunches of flowers encircling the hem, giving a sort of artless bergère appearance which Cassie thought appropriate for the artificially rural atmosphere of Vauxhall Gardens. She disdained wearing a turban since her hair remained one of her best features, being a deep gold almost matching the inner circle of the forget-me-nots. Newly curled and cut by her maid, it was confined with a blue satin fillet embroidered with tiny pearls which drew attention to her high round forehead and enhanced her still youthful appearance.
Mrs Farley arrived more or less exactly when she had said she would; she was a woman of her word, which was one of the reasons why Cassie found her such a tower of strength. She was, as usual, rather more extravagantly dressed than Cassie; this evening she wore orange satin, a colour which hardly anyone can wear without looking absurd, but which this lady knew suited her dark colouring to perfection. Since she was never anxious about appearing vulgar, it was ornamented with a great many frills and glittering jewels, most likely fake. Cassie, surveying her friend, thought that even the smallest beam of light from a lantern would set the lady’s outfit sparkling. She would, at least, be easy to find if she should wander off.
By the time they arrived at the Gardens, the evening was in full swing and they wandered along the avenues illuminated by lights strung between trees. They soon found their way to where Mrs Childe was performing, her voice leading them onward almost as though she were the Pied Piper of Hamelin. As they had both been singers at one time, they stood, entranced, while the lady’s voice soared into the night and the lanterns bobbed in the breeze around her. It was here that they had agreed to meet Lord Furzeby and his nephew.
Mr Harbury seemed distracted, his eyes searching the crowds in the hope of seeing Miss Sullington, although he managed to bring his gaze back to the ladies in front of him for long enough to greet them with every appearance of pleasure.
Cassie and Prue sat down beside Lord Furzeby, who said, “I will not interrupt the singing with idle chatter because I know how much you both appreciate music.”
“She sings too well,” Cassie replied. “It is quite lovely but I own to a degree of envy.”
He pressed her hand and gave her an understanding smile so that she felt able to sit back and listen without feeling the need to be amusing.
The singing did not last for long, Mrs Childe no doubt needing a rest after her efforts. As soon as she had curtsied and nodded in acknowledgement of the applause, Lord Furzeby suggested that they repair to the supper box which he had booked, enquiring jocularly whether Mr Harbury intended to accompany them or whether he preferred to continue to rake the crowds in search of his beloved.
“Yes, yes, indeed. I have been looking for Miss Sullington, but I don’t believe she can be here,” he explained to Cassie.
“Did she say that she would be?”
“No; I was merely hopeful.”
“I should not think,” his uncle said, “that Lady Sullington would allow her to come here at all, unless of course the Duke should invite her to make up a party; I daresay she would entrust her daughter to his care. Her ladyship is a great stickler and exceedingly careful of her daughter. Even if you were to see her, James, you would probably find it difficult to exchange more than the barest greeting with her.”
“Her ladyship is determined to deny me speech with her,” Mr Harbury exclaimed pettishly.
“I should think she would lose interest in you if you could bring yourself to hang about her daughter a little less,” Lord Furzeby observed.
“But then Miss Sullington would think that I had transferred my affections elsewhere.”
“If she did think that, it would no doubt concentrate her mind upon you. There is nothing so likely to propel her into your arms than an apparent cooling of ardour on your part. Dear boy, Lady Sullington is never going to favour you in preference to Rother – or any number of more eligible gentlemen. You have no choice but to wait until the crowd besieging her has dispersed a little. And, while you are waiting, you may find you feel less strongly than you believe you do at present,” he added hopefully.
“She will have been spoken for long before then!” Mr Harbury cried on a long note of despair.
“Nonsense!” Lord Furzeby said bracingly. “Your Miss Sullington seems a charming and unexceptionable girl but she is in possession of decidedly off-putting parents. A sensible man looks at the whole family before making an offer. It is said that Miss Sullington will have a sizeable fortune to bring to any marriage but she is also in possession of a spineless father, for whom nobody has any respect, and a disagreeable mother. It is the mother at whom you must look most carefully before making an offer, dear boy, for ten to one the girl will turn into her mama before she is forty. Lady Sullington is not a person of whom I am fond; she has an expression that makes one think she must eat a great many lemons and is, in addition, mighty top-lofty considering that her husband is only a Baron. Now, the girl fancies herself in love with you but, if you cannot provide adequately for her and be a better man than her papa, she will learn to despise you in time.”
“How can you be so harsh?” the young man exclaimed. “I thought you liked her and surely I shall not need to provide for her since she will bring a fortune with her.”
“Well, I would advise you to be wary of that information. Lord Sullington has been badly dipped in the past and the fact that his wife has not been seen in London for years makes me wonder if the girl’s fortune is more imaginary than actual. Have a care, James.”
“None of those things seem to have deterred Rother,” James muttered sullenly.
“He is exceedingly well breeched; I don’t suppose he cares whether his bride has a fortune or not, although I own I find it odd that he should light upon a female from such a stable when he could presumably have any girl he chose. In any event, we cannot at this juncture be certain that he does mean to marry her. He may be dangling after her at the moment, but so is every other single man in London and I daresay he likes to put other men’s noses out of joint. He has never yet come up to scratch and I see no particular reason why he should this time. Forgive me, Miss Minton, if what I have just said is painful to you.”
“You have told me nothing I did not already know,” Cassie said. “It is my belief that Rother is looking for a wife but I should doubt that he has made up his mind yet. Most probably, when he examines the Sullington family more minutely, he will decide against allying himself to them.” She paused, before adding, “I was acquainted with Lady Sullington years ago, before she married. We came out the same year.”
“You must have met Lord Sullington too then,” Lord Furzeby said. They had by this time arrived at their supper box.
“Yes. He was hanging out for a rich wife and found one. Any money that family has came with Miss Forster, as she was then.”
Lo
rd Furzeby nodded and observed acidly, “The trouble is that no amount of money will last for ever in the hands of a spendthrift. Sullington was badly dipped before he married; if the girl does indeed have a fortune, it is only because her mama – or perhaps her papa before she married - must somehow have tied it up in such a way that even Sullington has been unable to break the trust.”
James looked horrified by these revelations and said miserably, “I don’t stand a chance, do I? If you are right and her fortune is imaginary, they will be obliged to hold out for one, will they not?”
“No doubt all will soon be known,” Lord Furzeby pointed out. “It is exceedingly difficult to keep a secret of that nature. Fortune hunters will be eyeing Miss Sullington and will not scruple to make extensive enquiries as to the extent of her fabled thousands as well as to whether, if they do marry her, they will be able to get their hands on it. If she does have one, it will prove that Sullington himself has failed to get his hands on the whole sum of his wife’s. That might make this generation of fortune hunters more wary. Not much point in marrying a rich girl if you can’t use her money, is there?”
Chapter 20
The reference written and her ladyship’s signature appended, the Duke himself dusted it with sand, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
“Have you counted your wages, Cousin?” he asked, moving away from Lady Sullington, who sat, bolt upright, her lips compressed into a thin line, exactly where he had put her.
“No. I am persuaded it is perfectly correct,” Sylvia muttered appeasingly.
“All the same, it would be as well to count it,” his grace admonished her.
Sylvia tossed her head. She was still holding the money in her hand; in a gesture of defiance, she opened her reticule and pushed it inside without counting it.
“It is unwise to be too trusting, Cousin,” the Duke said, holding out his hand.
She flushed but removed the bundle of notes and handed it to him without a word.
He counted it out loud. “Does that cover three months’ wages, together with what you are owed for this month?” he asked when he had done.
“Yes.”
“You have been grossly underpaid. However, since your employment here is mercifully at an end, we will not trouble her ladyship to make up the difference between what you have been paid and what you should have been paid. Come along, we will go now.”
At the door he turned once more to Lady Sullington, still frozen upon her chair at the small desk. “It is inconvenient to take my cousin’s trunk just now; will you see to its being sent to Mivart’s Hotel as soon as possible?”
Lady Sullington did move then. She jumped up as though scalded and screamed at Rother, “Mivart’s? You are taking your fancy piece to Mivart’s? I shall see that they are informed without delay of the type of guest they have staying there.”
“Indeed? Very kind of your ladyship but you need not trouble yourself. Miss Holmdale is perfectly capable of giving them her name herself. Everyone knows that she is my cousin. If you wish to make a cake of yourself, you are quite at liberty to do so, but I would strongly advise against it.”
“You do not fool me!” Lady Sullington cried. “I never yet saw cousins who looked so unlike each other!”
“Did you not? Well, there is a first time for everything, I suppose. Come, Sylvia, I will put you into the hackney; you will be quite safe and comfortable once you reach Mivart’s. They will look after you perfectly well.”
He opened the door to find the butler standing just outside. “Your grace is leaving?” this individual asked with barely a tremor.
They had not quite passed through into the hall when a heavy object came flying towards them, hitting Sylvia a glancing blow upon the shoulder before crashing to the floor and smashing into tiny pieces.
She stumbled, taken aback by the missile, which grazed the outer corner of her shoulder on its path to the floor. The Duke pushed her out of the room and turned to confront Lady Sullington.
“I have seen, I suspect, only a small portion of the violence of which you are capable,” he said in a glacial voice. “You have injured two people in the space of barely an hour and I give you warning that, if there should be a repeat of such conduct - or any poisonous tittle tattle concerning my cousin - I shall know precisely who is responsible and will not hesitate to take whatever action is required. You would do well to master your temper: such viciousness will do your daughter’s reputation no good at all. I should be surprised if anyone will be prepared to offer for her once the character of her parent is generally known.”
“You would not dare!” she cried, her voice so high that it hurt the ear. “Whatever you may choose to threaten me with, it is paltry and you have no proof – only your word against mine - and, when I let the world know that you are claiming your harlot as your cousin, even your reputation will be damaged.”
He shrugged. “I doubt it, but, in any event, why should I – or my cousin - care about ugly rumours? Neither of us has a marriageable daughter – and nor have we assaulted anyone. Come, Sylvia: are you badly hurt? Let us leave without delay. There is a hackney waiting outside.”
Stepping carefully over the shattered remains of what Sylvia suspected had been a valuable vase, he took her wrist and led her across the hall. She was so horrified by the turn of events that she could barely walk; her legs were stiff and her shoulder ached.
The butler opened the door.
“Miss Holmdale’s trunk is to be sent to Mivart’s,” the Duke told him. “See that it is done before the end of the day.”
“Yes, your grace. Miss Holmdale.” The butler, his face impassive, bowed.
“Good-bye, Collins,” Sylvia said.
“Good-bye, Miss.”
The driver, who was standing by the door of the hackney, opened it as soon as he saw his fare appear at the top of the steps. The Duke put her inside.
“Are you hurt?” he asked again.
“No, it is only a bruise,” she answered, but her voice shook and her face was paler than usual. “Not as badly as you, in any event. The vase only hit me a glancing blow.”
“I daresay it was quite valuable,” he observed, “but, judging by the colour of the shards upon the floor, excessively ugly.”
She smiled. “It was ugly; everything in that house is ugly, except Melissa.” Tears came to her eyes. “I do not like to leave her there.”
“You do not have a choice, but someone will no doubt rescue her soon.”
“In spite of the dreadful character of her mama?”
“In spite of that. Girls so often turn out like their mamas, do they not? But, when a man falls in love, he rarely remembers that.”
“I am certain Melissa will not turn out like her mama. She is an angel!”
He laughed. “You sound like a suitor yourself! Pray do not be exercised on Melissa’s behalf. I shall see that she does not suffer on account of her mama’s behaviour.”
“Will you marry her?” she asked in a small voice.
“No. Rest assured that I shall not. She does not want me – possibly due to your machinations - but someone will marry her and, let us hope, make her happy. I promise that I will not burden her with an offer which would, I conjecture, cause an even greater rift between mother and daughter.”
She nodded, too shocked and unnerved to argue with his accusation that it was she who had turned Melissa against him; so arrogant had he become that it seemed he was unable to imagine any woman simply not liking him.
“Are you cold?”
She was shivering violently, as though she had the ague. “No - only shocked. I shall come about.”
He took off his greatcoat and leaned in to the hackney to wrap it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said meekly, shrinking into its folds.
He gave her a sharp glance and said to the coachman, “I have changed my mind. I will accompany my cousin to the hotel.”
“No, you will not!” Sylvia, rallying, cried with some
force. “I would so much rather you did not.”
“Very well, if my presence is so exceedingly irksome, you shall go alone.” His tone, which had, since the scene with Lady Sullington, grown almost warm, reverted instantly to the glacial.
He turned away and spoke once more, at some length, to the driver. The hackney, pulling away from the pavement, set off at a brisk pace, throwing Sylvia back against the squabs with a jerk. She looked out of the window as it turned a corner and, as soon as its flying wheels had negotiated the turn, leaned forward and banged upon the dividing wall. She did not wish to be taken to an expensive hotel at the Duke’s bidding.
The driver gave no sign of having heard her and, thinking that he must be concentrating on his driving and not expecting directions to be given from inside, she banged again more loudly. The carriage was bucketing along at a terrifying pace. If coaches were given to tearing down the streets of London at this speed, she was not surprised that she had almost been run over earlier. She hoped no one else would have the temerity to step off the pavement.
“Stop!” she cried, banging almost frantically upon the partition.
Still suffering from the effects of the series of shocks she had sustained in the last few hours, she was afraid that she was being kidnapped. The driver must have heard her last assault upon the panels; he was ignoring her, no doubt because he had been ordered to do so. Judging there to be no point in continuing to hurt her fist, she subsided upon the seat and grasped the strap, which had thoughtfully been provided.
All sorts of horrid scenes unfolded before her inward eye: the coachman had been ordered to take her to the river and tip her in, or perhaps she was merely to be dropped in a dirty street in a noisome part of London where she would be set upon by footpads or dragged into a house of ill repute by a rapacious madam; or perhaps, and here Sylvia hoped she was merely indulging in a wild flight of fancy inspired by a too keen interest in reading Gothic novels, she was to be cast into a dungeon and never seen or heard of again.
Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground Page 18
