by Carola Dunn
Gabrielle and Gerard, waiting wearily on hard chairs in the marbled entrance hall, were startled to see a large, half-dressed lady bearing down upon them, beaming. As they rose, she enveloped them both in a warm, scented embrace, pressed kisses upon their cheeks, then stepped back to look at them, retaining a hand of each.
“Mes chéris!” she cried. “You are quite grown up, I do declare. Que je suis heureuse to see you again! But where is le bon papa?”
“We don’t know,” said Gerard, pink-faced, extricating his hand with difficulty and making his bow.
Gabrielle curtsied, swaying a little. “It is good to be here, Madame Aurore. Papa told us to come to you.”
“And have I not invited you many and many a time? I am Lady ‘Arrison now, not Madame Aurore, but we will talk of that later. For now that I look at you, Gabrielle, I see that Roger was quite right and you do not look at all well. Come into the drawing room, my dears, and sit down while Marie prepares a bed for you.”
Gabrielle leaning on her brother’s arm, they followed her into a room strikingly decorated in pale blue and gold and white. The furniture was simple and elegant, but somewhat worn.
A young man was standing by the window, gazing out into the darkness of Russell Square. He turned as they entered, displaying dark, wavy hair, blue eyes and classical features, adding up to a face whose undoubted handsomeness was marred only by his moody expression.
“Alain!” exclaimed Lady Harrison. “Let me present you to Mr and Miss Darcy. No, wait a bit. Gabrielle, sit down, chérie, here on this sofa and put your feet up. You are very pale, mon enfant.”
“I am a little tired from the journey, my lady.”
“That sounds so strange! Perhaps you had better call me Madame Aurore after all, as you used to. Have you dined? Then no wonder you are pale. I ordered refreshments. Alain, mon ami, pray go ask Roger what is become of them. No, wait, let me introduce you first. Here are Gabrielle and Gerard Darcy, but now arrived in England. My dears, this is Alain de Vignard. I know you will all be friends, for Alain and Gerard must share a chamber, at least for the present."
The young man was dressed as elegantly as the room was furnished, and with the same hint of shabbiness. Looking at them with eager curiosity, he bowed politely and expressed his willingness to share his accommodation.
“Though indeed I can do no other!” he admitted, with a charming smile that robbed the words of any offence. “If milady had not taken pity on me, I should be living in a garret. If you will excuse me, milady, Miss Darcy, I shall go and clear out my things to leave space for Mr Darcy.”
“No hurry,” said Gerard. “My possessions are all on my back.”
“Then I shall make sure that the admirable Mrs Hodge is indeed preparing refreshments for the travellers.” With a slight bow he left.
“Poor Alain!” said Lady Harrison. “His parents died in the Terror and he escaped alone to England when he was scarce sixteen years old. He is some five years older than you, Gabrielle. He had a very difficult time before he came to us. but he has been living here for several years now. Dear Sir Cosmo was so generous in allowing me to help my countrymen! Alain is employed now as a secretary to le général Pichegru. But enough of that. Tell me, my dears, are you come direct from Switzerland?”
By the time they had given her a brief explanation of their arrival, Roger had carried in a tray with a silver teapot and a plate of plain biscuits.
“Oh dear, that will never do!” Lady Harrison said in dismay. “Roger, pray go back to Mrs ‘Odge and tell her to make some sandwiches, and some of the asparagus soup we had at dinner. It is all Marie’s fault,” she explained. “She has persuaded the good Mrs ‘Odge that I am not to eat between meals. You do not know Marie, of course. She was maid to la Vicomtesse de Brabant and was turned out when Madame la Vicomtesse arrived penniless in England. She is a treasure, but very strict!’ Her ladyship looked round guiltily and took a biscuit.
Following her example, Gerard soon cleaned the plate, while a cup of tea revived Gabrielle. Neither was surprised when Lady Harrison helped them demolish the pile of sandwiches that soon appeared. As there were only two bowls provided, she left the soup for them.
By the time they finished eating, Gabrielle was half asleep and even Gerard owned he was ready to retire.
“In that case,” said their hostess buoyantly, “I believe I shall go to Lady Boniface’s after all, for I am sure the supper will not tempt me now. I shall see you tomorrow, my dears!”
* * * *
Gabrielle slept till nearly ten o’clock the next morning and woke feeling very much refreshed. Her side still ached a little when she moved, but she was ready to abandon Dr Hargreaves’s voluminous bandage in favour of a small court-plaster over the scar of her wound.
She pushed back the bed covers and, going to the window, drew the curtains. Russell Square was rain-slicked and deserted, the trees in the central garden collecting grey moisture from the sky and dispensing it in larger drops upon the brilliantly green grass below.
Hearing no movement in the house, she went to the door that had been pointed out to her as that of Lady Harrison’s bedchamber, and listened. Silence. She opened it a few inches and peeked in.
The widow of the late Sir Cosmo Harrison, and of his predecessor, Monsieur le Comte de Lavardac et Casteljaloux, lay fast asleep in her fourposter hung with pink silk. On her head, a nightcap of Valenciennes lace was tied with a matching pink ribbon. She looked like an overgrown cherub.
Gabrielle looked again at the clock on the mantel. Ten o’clock it was, and the church bells were beginning to ring out their urgent summons all over the city. Lady Harrison slept on.
A pier-glass caught Gabrielle’s attention, and she examined her reflection. Her brother was right, the Parisian nightgown was anything but decent! She blushed to think of the long conversation she had had with Mr Everett while wearing nothing more. Except, of course, for a sheet and a couple of blankets, she reassured herself. And she did look quite pretty in it.
A forget-me-not painted ewer on the marble washstand held a little cold water, so she washed in the matching bowl and put on her only clothes. The maid at the King’s Head had bought her a cambric round-gown in a disagreeable shade of yellow, a green spencer which went with it abominably, and a poke bonnet at least a size too large. Perhaps it was just as well she had woken too late for morning church, as she would not dare show herself in fashionable London dressed thus. Nor were her garments in the best of condition after two days on the stage from Dover.
Looking in the mirror again, she decided she looked bilious. Tomorrow Gerard must present their draft at Hoare’s Bank, and then she must persuade Madame Aurore to take her shopping.
* * * *
Madame Aurore needed no persuasion. When Gerard returned from the bank with a pocket full of what he referred to as ‘flimsies,’ she sent for her carriage and the two ladies set out for Bruton Street. Madame knew all the best modistes, and had for some years been unable to indulge to the full her penchant for the latest fashions. She was delighted to help, and had not lost the elegant taste of the true Parisienne.
Gabrielle, however, had been parted in early youth from the extravagant frivolity of Paris and brought up in the thrifty atmosphere of Switzerland. She was shocked by the prices, and no amount of urging from her ladyship would persuade her to buy on tick.
“But your papa will certainly pay!” exclaimed Lady Harrison.
“I expect he would if he were here,” agreed Gabrielle mildly, “but he is not and we have no idea when to expect him. We have limited funds, and Gerard wishes to purchase a commission in the army, which will certainly be expensive, will it not?”
Her ladyship sighed and took her charge to Grafton House.
“Fortunately,” she said, “the season is nearly over. One ball gown, a promenade dress and a simple toilette de soir will do for now.”
“But I have no intention of going to parties!” cried Gabrielle. “I shall just live quiet
ly until Papa comes.”
“Nonsense, chérie. Believe me, Papa would wish it so. And it will be such a pleasure for me to chaperone a pretty girl instead of going about by myself. Sir Cosmo was a pillar of the Foreign Office and he had friends in the very best society. They are kind to his poor widow, so we shall not want for invitations.”
“Tell me about Sir Cosmo, madame.”
With a mixture of complacency and becoming modesty that made Gabrielle want to laugh, Lady Harrison described how she had found herself a second husband within six months of her arrival in London.
“I had rather have wed your Papa,” she admitted with a deep sigh, “but I could not abide Neuchâtel and he refused to come to England, or even to go to Vienna. I was so sorry to leave you two little children, but you had still the admirable Mademoiselle Wilford.”
“Whom I must go and see,” Gabrielle murmured to herself.
“And now,” my lady continued sadly, “your Papa is coming at last, and I have grown so fat since Sir Cosmo died that he will not like even to look at me!”
Unable to deny that Madame Aurore had lost the sylphlike figure she remembered, Gabrielle asked hurriedly, “I suppose my grandfather is dead, or Papa would not be willing to come here now?”
“La, child, has he not told you?”
“No, he never told us anything. He is the most abominably secretive man you can imagine, and we know nothing about his family. So you can begin at the beginning and tell me everything you know.”
“Oh dear,” said Lady Harrison. “I should like to, of all things. But if Maurice does not wish you to know, I must not. Maurice never does anything without a very good reason. You will have to wait until he arrives.”
No amount of pleading would change her mind, though Gabrielle returned several times to the subject as they pored over silks and satins, laces and ribbons. At last, surrounded by packages neatly tied in brown paper and string, they drove back to Russell Square.
The front door of Lady Harrison’s house stood open. As they alighted from the carriage, they heard loud voices within. Her ladyship laid a trembling hand on Gabrielle’s arm, but trod bravely up the steps.
The footman met them at the door.
“It’s the chandler, my lady,” he whispered. “Says the bill for candles hain’t been paid in six months.”
Peering past him, Gabrielle saw Gerard confronting a burly individual with a very red face and bristling mustache.
“Thank you, Roger,” said Lady Harrison with dignity. “Please fetch our parcels from the carriage. I shall deal with this person.”
“I dunno, my lady. Looks nasty to me. Maybe I better stay.”
“My brother and I will be here,” reassured Gabrielle. “But hurry!”
Her ladyship sailed into the hallway, looking the very picture of outraged virtue.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” she demanded. “Gerard, what goes on here?”
Gerard and the stout chandler both spoke at once, but the tradesman’s louder voice prevailed.
“It’s me bill, my lady. Hain’t bin paid in ever so long and I’ll thank you to see to it, for I’ve babes to feed same as the next man.”
“It must have been mislaid,” declared Lady Harrison. “It shall be paid promptly at the quarter, I promise you, my good man.”
“Oh no, I hain’t budging till I got the blunt, and that’s the truth, my lady.”
Gerard pulled a much diminished roll of notes from his pocket. "How much?” he asked briefly. He whistled when he heard the figure, and glanced at his hostess. Her plump cheeks trembling, my lady nodded. Gabrielle helped her into the drawing room as Gerard handed over the money.
Lady Harrison sank onto a sofa and burst into tears. “I simply do not know where the money goes!” she moaned. “Sir Cosmo left me an excellent income as well as the use of the town house. But, every quarter, Oswald sends back half the bills unpaid and says I have overspent again. And I will not call him Sir Oswald, for he has always been most disagreeable to me and I am sure he does not deserve to have inherited poor Sir Cosmo’s title!”
“Sir Oswald?” Gerard followed them into the room.
“My stepson. He has a wart on his chin and his eyebrows meet in the middle, and try as I may, I cannot trust a man whose eyebrows meet in the middle.”
“Sir Cosmo left your jointure in his charge?” asked Gabrielle.
“Yes. Every quarter he sends me a certain amount for small expenditures, and I send him my bills, and he is supposed to pay them, but there is never enough money. It is all my fault because I cannot refuse shelter to my friends. But I shall pay you back, Gerard, I promise, on the first of July.”
Gerard and Gabrielle exchanged glances. “Certainly not,” Gabrielle said gently. “If you offer us shelter, you must let us help with expenses, or we cannot accept your hospitality.”
“But we cannot have burnt a hundredth of those candles since you arrived! And besides, you are practically family.”
Gabrielle patted her hand. “Come, dry your tears, dear Madame Aurore. I have no head for figures, but Gerard has always kept the family accounts. He will go through your expenditures, if you should like it, and find out just why you are in such difficulties.”
Gerard pulled a face but nodded.
“I’m sure I never spend a penny on my dress, nor on furnishings,” wailed Lady Harrison, wiping her eyes, with disastrous effects on her rouge. “As you may very well see for yourselves, and it is excessively mortifying to appear so shabby when people call.”
Gabrielle stood up. “Speaking of dress,” she said, “you promised to show me a picture of a ball dress that will suit me to perfection, so that Marie and I may start sewing.”
“Yes, indeed! It is in the latest Ladies’ Magazine, in my dressing room. The apricot crêpe lisse will be perfect, with a white satin petticoat. Was it not fortunate that we found the matching slippers?” Prattling gaily of fashion and fabric, her ladyship forgot her sorrows as she led the way above stairs.
Chapter 6
Lady Cecilia Everett’s drawing room was crowded with morning callers. Muslin-clad debutantes scarce out of the schoolroom chattered like a flock of sparrows, while matrons in silks and satins exchanged the latest on-dits in lower tones. Gentlemen leaned on the backs of sofas, joining in, or posed in solitary splendour, displaying either a new waistcoat or a superior degree of lovesickness.
Usually Mr Lucius Everett was highly gratified by this evidence of his half-sister’s popularity, but today he desired a word in private with his stepmama, and in consequence wished the crowd to the devil.
He stood leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed critically on Dorothea Everett’s ethereal beauty. For the first time, he wondered what her many suitors found to admire in that air of fragile docility, which he had always thought highly appropriate in a young lady.
Judging by the sample in the drawing room, Dorothea’s friends were all equally well-bred, insipid females, though none compared with her in looks. Her suitors ranged from infatuated youths, who found her gentleness unthreatening, to a wealthy earl in his forties on the lookout for a conformable bride. For leavening, he noted, there were one or two out-and-outers, with rakish reputations. He was not worried. A word in Dorrie’s ear and she would unquestioningly drop their acquaintance.
There was something to be said for docility, after all.
At last, the last visitor took his leave. Mr Everett strode across the room, bowed to his stepmother and kissed her hand. She was no more than three or four years older than he, but he made it a point to treat her always with punctilious courtesy when anyone else was present, even her daughter.
“Good morning, ma’am. I trust I did not wake you when I came home last night? Morning, Dorrie. You are a little pale today. Do not wear yourself to a shadow with gadding about!”
“Oh no, Luke!” She looked up at him apprehensively. “I am very well, truly.”
“I did not like to see Sir Hubert here, nor Lord Aintree. You
must not allow them to dangle after you. I know you will do your best to discourage them.”
“Yes, Luke.”
Satisfied, he turned back to Lady Cecilia. “I need your help, ma’am,” he requested. “You are better acquainted with the ton than I. Do you know of a lady who goes by the name of Madame Aurore?”
“Madame Aurore? A Frenchwoman? I have never heard of such a person, but I am not widely acquainted with the émigré community. Dorothea, pray go and fetch my embroidery.”
“Yes, mama. Luke, if you have the time, I should like to speak with you before you go out.”
“Of course, little sister. I have an appointment with the Foreign Secretary at two, but there is plenty of time before I need leave.”
As Dorothea closed the door behind her, he once again turned to his stepmother, with raised eyebrows.
“Luke, are you sure this Madame Aurore is a lady? Such an odd name!”
“I believe it to be a nursery name, such as young children might call a friend of their parents. I most sincerely hope you are not about to tell me of someone by that name who is less than respectable!” Mr Everett’s brows were drawn in a forbidding frown.
“Oh no, Luke, I have never heard it in any context, I promise you. Can you tell me no more about her?”
“Only that she is a widow who came to this country some eight or nine years ago.”
“A widow!” exclaimed Lady Cecilia with evident relief.
“Cecilia, you thought me entangled with an unknown charmer, confess it!” Luke laughed, and she smiled in reply.
“Of course, there is no reason you should not be ‘entangled’ with a widow, but you would surely have a little more recent information about any ‘charmer.’ However, it is past time that you fell in love, Luke!”
His mouth took on its usual stern line, and his searching eyes held hers. “I was in love once,” he reminded her.
