‘And who is sending you letters in the middle of the night, Middleton? One of your lady friends? Perhaps the Empress herself, eh Chicken?’ Hartopp made a noise from beneath his whiskers that sounded like laughter.
Bay smiled. ‘More likely a creditor.’ He turned to the door. ‘And now, gentlemen, I bid you goodnight.’ But Baird was not to be deflected.
‘Show me the letter, Middleton. I believe it could have been for any of us.’
‘But it was, in fact, for me.’ Bay put his hand on the doorknob.
‘So why won’t you show it here? Or do you have something to hide? Don’t want us to know that you are getting billets-doux delivered in the middle of the night?’
Bay knew that he should turn the handle and walk out of the room. He knew that once Fred got into one of his drunken rages, there was nothing to be done until the alcohol had subsided. But he hesitated for a moment, and in that moment Fred, with tipsy alacrity, had come round the billiard table and seized him by the shoulder.
‘I will see that letter.’ And he pulled it triumphantly out of Bay’s waistcoat pocket.
Bay stood perfectly still. Fred started pawing the letter – ‘Look at this, Hartopp, a fancy black seal. I reckon it is from the Empress. Well, I have to say, Bay, you’ve lost no time in securing the filly. Fine-looking woman too.’ Fred described the Empress’s curves with his hands and turned to Hartopp, who drunkenly imitated the same gesture. ‘Damn fine looking.’
‘Give me the letter, Baird,’ Bay said as lightly he could.
‘Why? Are you worried that I might tell Charlotte about your royal correspondence? Think it might spoil your romance?’
Fred waved the letter in front of Bay’s face, his eyes glittering with drunken malice.
‘She might not think so highly of you, if she knew you were getting letters from empresses at midnight.’ Bay could smell the brandy on Baird’s breath.
‘You flatter me, Baird. This letter is undoubtedly some message concerning the meet tomorrow. The Empress thinks no more of me than one of her horses, rather less, in fact, as she is uncommonly fond of animals.’
He spoke confidently, but there was a shade of doubt in his mind. Suppose the Empress made some reference to his presumption that afternoon, perhaps the letter was a note telling him that she no longer required his services as a pilot. He felt his heart lurch and he made to take the letter from Baird, but the other man was too quick for him and darted to the other side of the room.
‘Well, I think as my sister’s welfare is at stake here, Middleton, it is only right that I should find out whether you are speaking the truth or not.’ Baird picked up a cue and started to use it as an improvised letter opener.
Bay said very clearly, ‘Don’t touch that letter, Fred.’
But Fred was not listening. With one twist of the cue the seal broke. Greedily, he pulled out the letter, while Bay stood frozen. He knew that there could be nothing incriminating in the letter and yet he felt paralysed with guilt. The Empress had moved him today, he hardly knew how much; but he had come back and had proposed to Charlotte. If this letter contained some secret then he would only have himself to blame. In that moment, he knew himself to be a man without character.
Baird threw the letter across the billiard table, where it fanned out across the green felt.
‘It’s from the Empress’s chamberlain, requesting your presence at dinner tomorrow night.’ Fred paused, as if he had to adjust to this information.
‘Well, you are going up in the world. One minute she’s treating you like her groom, and the next moment she’s asking you for dinner,’ Fred said.
Bay could hear the envy in Fred’s voice. He realised, too late, that Fred had never thought for a moment that there could be anything between him and the Empress. It had simply been a drunken taunt. But now Fred was resentful, not for some slight to his sister’s honour, but because he had not been singled out for distinction himself. True, he was about to have an earl for a father-in-law, but he was not asked to dine with empresses. What had Middleton done to deserve such marks of distinction? Bay could see these thoughts forming themselves on the other man’s flushed face. He tried to keep his own expression neutral. He had felt an unreasonable jolt of pleasure at the invitation – she had not, after all, convicted him of lèse-majesté. But there was another part of him that knew that this dinner was the start of something. She had noticed him as a man, just as he had seen her that afternoon, with the gun in her hand, as a woman.
It was not an invitation but a summons, though Bay knew that he should not go. He remembered Charlotte’s soft, dry lips and her distress at the thought that she might have angered his patron.
He said aloud, almost without meaning to, ‘I can’t very well refuse.’ He realised his foolishness almost as the words left his mouth, but Fred’s rage was deflected in astonishment.
‘You can’t very well refuse? Why on earth would you? The Empress of Austria, who is also the Queen of Hungary to boot, asks you for dinner and you wonder if you should accept?’ Fred turned to Hartopp and said in a falsetto voice, holding out imaginary skirts with his hands, ‘Dearest Captain Hartopp, I am the Empress of Austria. Would you do me the honour of favouring me with your presence at dinner?’
Hartopp, who was relieved that the quarrel between Baird and Middleton seemed to have subsided, picked up his cue.
‘Well, that would be very nice, Your Majesty, but I promised the Queen of England I would see her tonight, and there’s the Empress Eugenie tomorrow. She used to be the Empress of France, you know. I might be able to accede to your most gracious request sometime next week. Would that suit?’
Baird said in tones of mock outrage, ‘But don’t you know that I am the most beautiful woman in Europe?’
Hartopp looked him up and down with lecherous scrutiny and said, ‘Well, that’s as maybe, Your Majesty, but the others asked first and you will just have to wait your turn.’
Bay made himself smile. He was grateful for the turn in Baird’s mood. Of course he had to accept the invitation. Nobody refused an invitation from royalty, even foreign royalty. Perhaps if the invitation had not been made public, he could have written back to say that the honour was too great for someone in his relatively lowly position, but to do so now would be impossible; Baird and Hartopp would consider it swank and would begin to ask themselves why.
He gathered up the letter and stuffed it back into his pocket.
‘Do you know what we need, gentlemen? Another drink. I have a flask of brandy in my room. I suggest that we put it to good use.’
As they variously walked and staggered back to the bachelors’ wing, Bay felt the awkwardness of his situation. If only Charlotte had agreed to marry him right away. But she had refused, and Bay could not blame her for that. He could not tell her the real reason for his urgency, and so they had agreed to wait until the end of the hunting season before announcing their engagement. Charlotte had been quite clear: ‘If we go to Fred now, he will feel bound to refuse, as he has given me so many warnings about your unsuitability. If we wait until the end of the season, then, who knows, maybe the Empress will have given you an Austrian dukedom and then he will have no reason to object to the match except on the grounds of jealousy. And if he won’t consent, then I will marry you in September when I am of age and no one can stop me. Of course, I won’t be able to touch my inheritance without my trustees’ consent till I am twenty-five, but I am sure we will manage. It will be much easier if there is no unpleasantness.’
Bay knew that Charlotte’s plan was the sensible course of action. One of the things he found so appealing about her was that strength of character; she was someone who knew her own mind. And yet he wished that he had been able to sweep her off her feet and gallop through the night to Gretna Green. It would be foolish, of course, but it would be irrevocable. There would be a scandal and he would be branded a fortune hunter and a cad, but he thought that he would not mind that so very much if he were actually married to Charl
otte. Instead he had received an invitation from the Empress which he could not refuse, even if he had wanted to.
As he climbed the stairs he caught sight of his face in a mirror, and as he turned towards the looking glass the candle he was carrying bathed his face in upward light, casting strange shadows so that his eyes and teeth gleamed and he looked almost devilish. Bay had never thought of himself as a bad person before, but now he wondered what sort of person he really was: the devil in the mirror or the noble-looking young man in Charlotte’s photograph?
But before he could decide, Chicken Hartopp lurched up behind him and said, ‘Admiring your handsome physog, Captain Bay Middleton, the famous ladies’ man?’
‘I hope, if I am famous for anything, it is my riding,’ said Bay evenly.
Chicken shook his vast head. ‘Any man can learn to ride, but not many can make all these women fall for you. How do you do it, Bay? Why can’t they see what a shallow feller you are?’
‘Maybe that’s what they like about me,’ said Bay.
An Invitation
The room was so dark when Charlotte woke up, that she thought it was still the middle of the night. But then her door opened and the maid came in with her fire lighting equipment. Charlotte put on her shawl and went over to the window. There were fingers of light just appearing over the hill, turning the temple of Diana a pearly pink. Charlotte put her hand to her lips and felt the dry skin there that yesterday Bay had kissed.
She had gone to bed directly after dinner the previous night, claiming a headache. Part of her, the ignoble half, would have liked very much to have sat in the drawing room with Bay at her side, bursting with the knowledge that this famous Lothario and breaker of female hearts had proposed to Charlotte Baird, the girl with stains on her fingers. But she knew that it would be a short-lived triumph, for if Augusta suspected the truth it would lead to exactly the sort of scene that Charlotte was hoping to avoid.
It was a shame, she thought, that Bay had never flirted with Augusta. If only her future sister-in-law had been able to dismiss Bay as a beau she had toyed with and discarded, then his interest in Charlotte would be much easier to bear. The only way Bay could redeem himself was through the Empress. If he could persuade Elizabeth of Austria to notice Augusta, then anything was possible.
So she had avoided Bay’s eye at dinner, only glancing at him briefly as the ladies withdrew, and was rewarded with his most brilliant smile. She had been in her bedroom for a full ten minutes before the blush had subsided.
The maid had got the fire lit at last. The new wood was crackling and spitting. A spark flew out and landed on the hearthrug and smouldered there until the maid stamped it out with her boot. Another spark landed and the smell of burning wool filled the room. The acrid smoke shocked Charlotte out of her reverie.
She plunged her face into the icy water of the hand basin. The maid protested, ‘Sorry, miss, I was just going to bring you up some hot water, but I wasn’t expecting you to be up and about so early.’
Charlotte felt her skin tingle. ‘Sometimes cold water can be just what is needed.’
There was a noise from the corridor, a voice raised, some laughter.
‘That’ll be the hunting party, miss. The meet’s at Greystock today, which is twenty miles off.’
Charlotte looked out of the window; the pink-tinged dawn was now overcast with black rain clouds.
‘It’s a long way to go, to get wet.’
At breakfast there was a letter waiting for her. It was from her godmother Lady Dunwoody. She was, she wrote, preparing for an exhibition at the Royal Photographic Society in March.
It is both a great honour and an undertaking. The Queen herself is to open the gallery, which is quite an event because, as you know, she hardly goes out these days. But then the Prince Consort was such a keen photographer. I wondered, dear Charlotte, if you would help me in my preparations. You are without question my most talented pupil. Your eye is so good. I would love to include some examples of your work in the exhibition.
Of course, you may be reluctant to leave Melton if the rumours I hear of an understanding between you and a certain gentleman are true, but then this is an opportunity that you could hardly avail yourself of as a married woman.
Celia Dunwoody was her mother’s cousin. She had married a wealthy baronet, Sir Alured Dunwoody, who was rather older than herself, and had used his money and influence to set up an artistic salon in her house in Holland Park. Celia Dunwoody’s Thursdays were famous as a place where up-and-coming artists could meet their society patrons. In the last few years Celia had taken up photography, and her soulful tableaux of young girls dressed as Circassian slaves, or characters from the Idylls of the King, were much admired in her circle, and as her circle included everyone of taste, her reputation was assured. It was true that some of her guests had preferred Lady Dunwoody’s Thursdays before they included viewings of her latest photographic compositions, but given the lavishness of her hospitality and the high quality of the lions that she attracted, these thoughts were only uttered in the privacy of the carriage going home from Holland Park.
Lady Dunwoody had offered to bring Charlotte out in London, but Fred had not been happy with idea of his sister becoming part of ‘the Holland Park set’; he had heard too many stories about the kind of ‘artists’ that frequented the famous Thursdays. So Charlotte’s debut had been overseen by her paternal aunt, Lady Lisle – whose artistic ambitions did not extend beyond the odd watercolour of the Cathedral Close. Charlotte would have very much preferred to live with Lady Dunwoody in Holland Park, where she could have spent all day in the studio or the dark room, instead of being dragged to balls by Lady Lisle. But, of course, she had not been consulted.
Charlotte was aware that she was being watched across the table by Augusta, who was clearly waiting for her moment to pounce. Augusta had not received any letters that morning. She did not like the sensation, however brief, of being less popular than her mousy sister-in-law-to-be. They were alone in the breakfast room: the men had gone hunting and the older ladies had gone to visit the wife of one of the gamekeepers, who had just had her tenth confinement. The delivery had been complicated and the details had not been thought suitable for the ears of young ladies.
Charlotte kept her head down, studying the letter, hoping that Augusta would leave her alone. But only a minute or two passed before Augusta said in her affected drawl, ‘Looks like a very satisfyin’ letter. You must have read it through five times at least.’
Charlotte looked up. She saw that she could not escape.
‘It’s from Lady Dunwoody. She is to be part of an exhibition at the Royal Photographic Society and she has asked me to go to London to help her prepare her prints.’
‘The Royal Photographic Society? I never knew such a thing existed. What next, the Royal Hot Air Ballooning Society?’ Augusta smirked.
‘The Queen and the late Prince were very keen photographers. The Queen is going to open the exhibition herself.’
‘Well, I hope Lady Dunwoody won’t be too disappointed that you can’t go.’ Augusta’s smile did not reach her eyes.
Charlotte said nothing. Until that point, she had not thought seriously of accepting. But suddenly she saw the next six weeks stretching ahead of her – full of her brother’s condescension and Augusta’s malice. Bay was the only reason to stay, but he would not be at the house for much longer. He and Hartopp had rented a hunting lodge in Rutland for the rest of the season. And now she had made it clear that she would not elope with him, perhaps it would be better if they did not remain under the same roof. She did not feel very confident of her power to resist him; there had been something unsettling about his urgency yesterday. Furthermore, there was the very appealing prospect that if she were to leave Melton now, it would not only confound Augusta’s suspicions about her relationship with Bay, but it would also annoy her very much. Charlotte knew that her main role at Melton was to be the unmarried foil to Augusta’s triumphant young bride-to-be.
So with these thoughts running through her mind, Charlotte lifted her chin and said, ‘But I have no intention of disappointing her. Lady Dunwoody is my mother’s cousin and she has always been extremely kind to me. As she has asked for my help I don’t very well see how I can refuse it. I shall go to London tomorrow. The exhibition is in March and I am sure there is a great deal to be done. I am sure your mother will understand how I am placed.’
‘I think that Mama will think it very odd, as do I. Why would you go down to London to mess about with some smelly chemicals when there is so much to be done here? Never mind the exhibition, I am getting married to your brother in March. Forgive me if I consider that to be rather more important.’
‘But Augusta, as you have often pointed out, I know very little about the fashionable way of doing things. Why do you need me in attendance when I am clearly not qualified? Forgive me, if I would rather go somewhere I can actually be of use.’
Augusta looked at her in surprise. She had never heard Charlotte speak with such vehemence.
‘And what will Captain Middleton say, I wonder, to your sudden departure? I thought you were such great friends?’
‘I am sure that he will understand.’
Augusta looked puzzled for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed as she took a new tack.
‘I suppose Captain Middleton is very busy with his own obligations. My maid told me that a letter came for him last night, hand delivered.’ She paused for effect, but Charlotte said nothing.
‘It was from the Empress, summoning him to dinner tonight. He has clearly made quite an impression on Her Majesty.’ Augusta emphasised the last two words.
‘How fortunate,’ said Charlotte, trying to hide her surprise, ‘as he is her pilot. I hope that the association will be of some use to him. It must be a good sign that she has asked him to dine with her.’
Charlotte spoke with a shade more confidence than she felt, but now she had declared her intention of going to London she was not going to allow Augusta’s insinuations to derail her.
The Fortune Hunter Page 15
