by M. C. Beaton
The news that Deveney had boxed Bohun to a standstill had reached London on the wings of gossip as well. Bohun was disgraced, but not as badly as he might have been. The man was surely only taking revenge on the Deveneys for having tricked him and trying to get his money. His disgrace came from the fact that he had drawn a knife on Sir Charles and spoiled what might have been a good fight. Tommy was out gossiping with army friends to see if he could repair the damage. But she knew what they would be saying. Everyone would now remember all the conniving, cheating tricks of the Deveney and Page parents, and the talk would be of bad breeding and hereditary criminal tendencies.
What Miss Grimes had assessed of Sir Charles’s character, however, did not tie in with that of a man who had seriously tricked Miss Woodward. It was all very well to point out that he was deeply in love with her and that the unmasking had been none of his own choosing, but still, now that the day of cold reason had dawned, there was no denying that on the face of it, he had played a sad deception on London’s most prominent beauty.
Hoskins entered and said in a sepulchral voice, “Mrs. Woodward and Miss Woodward.”
“We are not at home,” said Miss Grimes sharply. Then she sighed. They deserved an audience, and the least she could do for Charles was to take the edge off any recriminations he would undoubtedly have to face from the Woodwards on his return. She held up a hand. “No, Hoskins. I had better see them. Send them in.”
As she rose to meet them, Miss Grimes reflected that at least there were no signs that Amanda Woodward had been weeping. Her beautiful eyes were as hard as glass.
Without preamble, Mrs. Woodward burst out into speech. “I have a good mind to take the lot of you to court. It only surprises me that the duns are not on your doorstep.”
“No bills are owed by anyone in this house,” said Miss Grimes, edging the gin bottle further under her chair with her foot. “Pray be seated.”
“You must have been party to this deception,” said Miss Woodward in a thin voice.
Miss Grimes opened her mouth to explain that the Deveneys had been tricked into marriage, that Sir Charles’s intentions toward Miss Woodward had been honorable, that he had intended to get an annulment, but she quickly realized that such explanations would only add fuel to the fire.
“My heart has been shattered,” went on Miss Woodward, taking out a lace handkerchief and dabbing carefully, first at one dry eye and then at the other.
“Then you know at last how it feels,” said Miss Grimes tartly. “And it may stop you from playing fast and loose with the affections of other gentlemen.”
“How dare you?” exclaimed Mrs. Woodward. “My daughter’s tenderest affections have been blighted. Her heart is broken. Dr. Mackenzie fears she may go into a decline.”
Miss Woodward immediately struck an Attitude. She put one limp hand to her brow and stretched the other out in front of her, as if warding off further humiliations, and threw her head back and stared at the ceiling.
That was when Sir Charles Deveney and Fanny walked into the room. Miss Woodward screamed and fell to the floor in a faint, or rather in a well-manufactured faint. Her mother stooped over her, crying, “Fetch the constable! Fetch the watch! Fetch the militia! Have these murderers locked up!”
“Fiddlesticks,” said Sir Charles wearily. He escorted Fanny to a chair and then sat down himself—and studied the distressed tableau with indifferent eyes. Miss Woodward promptly sat up, the healthy pink in her cheeks giving the lie to her “faint.”
“What did you say?” she demanded menacingly.
Mrs. Woodward helped her daughter into a chair.
“I will repeat a conversation between you and your daughter,” said Sir Charles, “that I overheard when I was about to join you in your box at the opera. You, Mrs. Woodward said, ‘You must show more warmth toward Deveney, Amanda. Goodness knows, you have flirted with enough men to know how to do it.’ To which you, Miss Woodward, replied, ‘I wonder if he is worth the effort, Mama,’ Mrs. Woodward rejoined, ‘As you do not and have not shown any interest in any gentleman, you may as well settle for wealth.’ And the beautiful Miss Woodward replied, ‘But it is all such a bore.’ Do not question the accuracy of my report. The words were burned into my soul. Had it not been that your only interest in me was because of my supposed money, then I would feel shame. As it is, I think you have learned a good lesson.”
Miss Woodward rose to her feet, her face flaming. “Take me away from these persons, Mama.” She stamped her foot. “You should never have brought me here.”
Sir Charles, Fanny, and Miss Grimes sat in silence as they hurried out.
“So you see the damage you have done?” cried Miss Grimes. “Oh, she deserved her comeuppance, I grant you. But did I? I am shamed by being party to your behavior. I am marrying Captain Tommy next week by special license, and no one will come to the wedding because of the disgrace.”
“Oh, Miss Grimes,” said Fanny, tears starting to fill her eyes. “Charles and I are so happy now. We are glad we are married to each other.”
“What?” screeched the outraged Miss Grimes. “Oh, that’s very fine. So we all went through all this for nothing! If the pair of you had the brains you were born with, you would have realized a long time ago that you were made for each other.”
“We are leaving,” said Sir Charles. “You will not have to bear the burden of our company any longer.”
“But where will you go?”
“We shall return to barracks and married quarters will be found for us. Come Fanny. I apologize to you, Aunt Martha, from the bottom of my heart. Fanny and I have been very silly, but you will be plagued with us no longer.”
They walked out together, and Miss Grimes scrabbled under her chair for the gin bottle.
“I will help you pack,” said Fanny.
Sir Charles shrugged. “The servants will do that.”
“I do not think so,” said Fanny gloomily. “We are in disgrace with the mistress, so that means we are in disgrace with the servants, particularly servants who will have learned we have no money to give them. Servants who know there are no vails coming to them can be very bitter. So no arguments, Charles.” She led the way into his room.
He sat down on the bed and pulled off his boots while Fanny threw open the lid of one of his trunks. “We have not tried this bed yet, Fanny,” he said.
She swung round, her eyes wide. “Charles! How can you think of … you know … at this time of the day—and when we are both in such disgrace?”
He smiled lazily and held out his hand. “T’would be very comforting, Fanny, to be disgraceful together. Besides, you need to get out of that gown anyway.”
She walked over to him. “It will look most odd.” He pulled her on top of him, caressed her breast, and said huskily, “Who will see us?”
Several ladies of the ton were at that moment calling on Lady Denham to lay the latest piece of gossip at the feet of London’s arch snob.
Lady Denham was gratifyingly appalled. To think she had actually entertained that precious pair in her home! It was no use, she said severely, everyone castigating poor Bohun for pulling a dagger on Deveney. The whole affair was enough to try the patience of a saint.
“I have heard,” said Mrs. Bidford, “that poor Amanda Woodward is quite heartbroken.
An unlovely light shone in Lady Denham’s pale eyes. “Well, that is no matter. She appeared to be nutty over my cousin, Raglin, last Season and led him on disgracefully—and then when he was about to drop the handkerchief, she started to flirt with Crumley, who is fifty if he’s a day.”
“But rich,” pointed out Mrs. Bidford caustically.
“I do not blame the Woodwards for concentrating on money,” announced Lady Denham. “Marriages are not made in heaven, as we very well know. One must look to the future of one’s homes and estates.”
And the loveless ladies clustered about her over the tea tray nodded wisely.
Lady Varney said, “They will be cut everywhere. That
goes without saying. And that poor creature, Martha Grimes, who is making a cake of herself over that army captain, will never raise her head again. The best thing she can do, the only decent thing to do, is to take herself off to foreign parts.”
“Foreign parts” for a lady was the equivalent of a pearl-handled revolver left discreetly on the study desk for a disgraced gentleman.
“One could forgive them for tricking La Woodward and that cur, Bohun. But to pretend to be wealthy!”
There was a murmur of approval. Mrs. Bidford clenched her hands on her gown, for her gloves were a trifle worn—and in order to “do” the Season and keep up a good front, it had been necessary to go in for many distressing and petty economies. She had a sudden flash of sympathy for the Deveneys.
“I might call on them,” she said airily.
“Who?” exclaimed Lady Varney. “The Woodwards?”
“No, the Deveneys.”
“Why?” demanded Lady Denham awfully.
“They are at least interesting,” drawled Mrs. Bidford, with fashionable languor. “It is all really very amusing when you think of it. Besides, I am desperately curious to hear their excuses.”
“They will not receive you,” said a plump matron, Mrs. Dark.
“Oh, I think they will,” said Mrs. Bidford. “I am sure the poor dears will be glad to see anyone.”
“As one of society’s most fashionable leaders,” intoned Lady Denham, “it is my place to call on them and tell them what I think of them.”
“Well, really,” said Mrs. Bidford huffily, “my reasons were to be kind.”
Lady Denham fixed her with a cold stare. “They are not deserving of kindness. That would only make it look as if society were condoning their disgrace. No, I shall go. In fact”—she rose to her feet—”I shall go now.”
Lady Varney’s eyes lit up with malicious amusement. “My dear Lady Denham, not one of us here is going to let you face them alone. We will all go.”
“So much for packing,” said Fanny sleepily. “I am going to be good. The sooner we are out of here, the better for Miss Grimes. No, do not try to stop me.” She collected her underwear from the floor beside the bed and put it on, then pulled on her crumpled gown. “I will wash and change as soon as my conscience is easier, and it is not going to be easier until we are packed.”
The sun shone into the room and lit on a dusty brass-bound trunk in the corner. “What is this?” asked Fanny, going over to it.
“Oh, that,” said Sir Charles. “That’s the Spanish woman’s papers.”
Fanny gave the trunk a tug to try to move it toward the center of the room. “It is very heavy.”
“It weighs a ton, my sweeting, and is no doubt full of ledgers every bit as brass-bound and locked as that trunk.”
“Can I see inside?”
“Why, my Pandora? Can you read Spanish?” “No, but you said you could. It might be very interesting.”
“And stop us packing.” “Just one peek.”
“Very well. I have the key somewhere.” He got out of bed and stretched his naked body.
“Hardly on your person,” said Fanny, with a giggle. “Do put some clothes on. Where did you get that dreadful scar.”
“A saber cut at Corunna,” he said, pulling on his small clothes. “Now, where did I put that key? Must you look inside now, Fanny?”
“Yes!”
He went to a trunk and fished inside, and at last produced an oilskin packet and carried it over to the bed and shook it out. Various objects fell on the bed cover: a tinderbox, several seals, a nail buffer, and a brass key.
“That is it. You are going to be very disappointed.”
He knelt down and fitted the key in the lock and turned it. He threw back the lid. Across the top was a gold silk shawl embroidered with silk scarlet roses. It had a deep fringe. Fanny snatched it up. “How beautiful!” she cried. She stood up, swung it about her shoulders, and did a pirouette.
“Fanny,” said Sir Charles in a hoarse whisper. “Come here.”
She went to him and knelt down beside him.
They both stared into the trunk.
Myriads of jewels flashed up at them: the fiery prisms of diamonds, the slumbering blue of sapphires, green glow of emeralds, burning flame of rubies, and the heavy shine of gold, and more gold.
There was a folded piece of paper in one corner of the box. He opened it and read it.
Fanny found her voice. “What does it say?”
“It says, ‘All my worldly goods I leave to Colonel, Sir Charles Deveney, with thanks to him for his bravery, courtesy, and kindness. I told him this contained only papers and family records in case his servants should learn of the worth and steal from him. I go to God. Elvira de Santos y Parva de Castille.’ And her signature is witnessed.”
Fanny said in a weak voice, “Does this mean we are rich, Charles?”
“Very rich. Even after we build a monument to our gracious Spanish lady and light candles for her.”
“Oh, look, Charles. Look at this diamond-and-sapphire comb.”
“Your curls are still too short to wear a Spanish comb.”
“Not a bit of it. I fit it here … like so.”
“Now you look like a princess you ought to be. Here is a diamond-and-sapphire necklace.” He clasped it about her neck. Fanny laughed and took out an emerald brooch and pinned it on her gown. He found a belt with a huge ruby clasp and she stood up and put it about her waist.
They seemed to have been overtaken by a temporary madness as he fished out more jewels, rings for every finger, bracelets for her arms, more necklaces about her neck, until she laughed and said, “I am so weighted down with jewels, I can hardly move. Take something yourself!”
He fitted rings on his long, slim white fingers, and then, putting on his shirt and cravat and waistcoat, proceeded to star his cravat with jeweled stickpins and ornament his waistcoat with diamond studs.
“Now take my arm, Fanny,” he cried. “We will go to Aunt Martha—and just you wait until you see the look on her face!”
Aunt Martha was looking bleakly at the faces of the visiting ladies, headed by Lady Denham. Those faces showed malice, avid curiosity, and spite. Only Mrs. Bidford looked on her with anything approaching pity.
“We are come,” said Lady Denham, “to tell Sir Charles and Lady Deveney what we think of their infamous behavior.”
Mrs. Bidford clenched those soiled gloves again. She looked from Miss Grimes’s haunted face to the faces of the other ladies. Suddenly she said, “I only called, Miss Grimes, to see if there was anything I could do to help, and to tell you that you, and Captain Hawkes, and Sir Charles, and Lady Deveney can expect to receive a welcome from me at my home any time any of you care to call.”
The other ladies looked at her in horror.
“I don’t care,” said Mrs. Bidford almost tearfully, for she was wondering whether her husband would ever forgive her when he got to hear of her shameful behavior. “Whom have they tricked? Greedy society. Whom have they shamed? Only one silly flirt who needed a lesson … and one ornament of the Fancy with the morals of a trull.”
Lady Denham gathered her shawl closely about her shoulders—as if a cold breath of unfashionable behavior should give her the ague. “In all the years I have known you, Mrs. Bidford, I have never seen you behave so badly. No one who wishes to be my friend will ever speak to the Deveneys again.”
“Good,” said Miss Grimes in a harsh voice. “If no one wants to speak to either of the Deveneys, you may take your leave … and as quickly as possible!”
The ladies, with the exception of Mrs. Bidford, rose.
At that moment the double doors to the sitting room were flung open by a broadly beaming Hoskins—and all goggled at the glittering spectacle that stood on the threshold.
“Fanny! Charles! Where did you get those jewels?” screamed Miss Grimes.
Sir Charles’s eyes ranged round the ladies’ faces. “Why, Aunt Martha,” he said. “I am afraid we have b
een playing with my fortune like two children. What a spectacle we must look. But Fanny begs you to come with us and take your pick of whatever you want.”
Miss Grimes thought faintly that Charles had tricked some jeweler into lending them a fortune, but her loyalty lay with them and not these ladies of the ton. “How very kind of you,” she said weakly. “These ladies are on their way out. You must not receive them, for they are here to give you some tiresome jaw-me-dead, with the exception of Mrs. Bidford, who stood out against them all with her offer of kindness.”
Fanny unclasped a glittering diamond brooch from her gown, ran to Mrs. Bidford, and pressed it into that startled lady’s hand, exclaiming, “Take this trifle, although your offer of kindness is worth more than any gems.”
Lady Varney glared at Lady Denham. “You had no right, Lady Denham, to speak for all of us. Why, I was just on the point of offering the Deveneys the hospitality of my home!” The others pressed around Fanny, each shouting above the other with offers of friendship, while Fanny stood in the middle of them, laughing with surprise, a small and glittering figure.
After the visitors had been got rid of—with some difficulty—Captain Tommy arrived and listened to the chorus of voices telling him about the Spanish fortune. The servants were sent to carry in the trunk and they sat around it on the drawing-room floor, taking out jeweled items, one after the other, until it seemed as if the whole carpet was covered in a blaze of light.
“You can sell out now,” said Tommy, “and buy a fine place in the country.”
“I will sell out eventually,” said Sir Charles, “but only when this war is over.”
