Charlotte looked around the room which was furnished in the very latest aesthetic fashion. The wallpaper was festooned with peacocks and pomegranates and there was a collection of blue and white china arranged on a shelf that ran all the way around the room just above eye level. It was not a large room, but everything in it was pleasing to Charlotte. She liked the intricacy of the wallpaper and the contrast to the simple bamboo furniture. In most houses, Melton for example, Charlotte imagined herself rather like the drawings in Alice in Wonderland, always monstrously out of scale with her surroundings. But she was just the right size for this room.
Her trunk and cases with all her photographic equipment and plates stood in the corner of the room. Usually Charlotte unpacked her plates the moment she arrived at a new place – it was her way of asserting her own order in unfamiliar surroundings – but tonight she felt reluctant to open the leather plate case.
There was a tap on the door and Lady Dunwoody came in. She was ready for bed – the kimono had been exchanged for a paisley wrapper, and her hair was hanging down her back in a long grey plait.
‘Are you comfortable, Charlotte, dear? Have you got everything you need?’
‘Oh yes, Aunt Celia. It’s so lovely to be here.’ Lady Dunwoody’s eyes swivelled round the room and came to rest on the plate case lying on the bed.
‘May I have a look?’
Charlotte was minded to refuse but knew it would be useless. Lady Dunwoody always got her way.
The first plate the older woman pulled from its red velvet casing, was the tableau of the maids. She held it up to the light and examined it critically.
‘Good composition.’
The next plate was the group portrait of the house party that Charlotte had taken on the steps of Melton. Lady Dunwoody peered at it. ‘Goodness me, Edith Crewe has grown stout. This young lady must be your future sister-in-law – with that chin she has to be Crewe’s daughter. Fred looks wonderfully smug, but he has no reason to be: the Crewes have terrible tempers. How old is the girl, twenty-four? Edith must be relieved to have got her off her hands.’
Celia Dunwoody leant forward over the plate and peered at it more closely. ‘And I wonder which of these fine young gentlemen is the object of your affections, hmm? Is it this young buck with the splendid whiskers? No, I can tell from your face that he is not the one. Which leaves this elegant creature in the back row. Can this be the famous Captain Middleton?’ Aunt Celia’s tone was light but she looked closely at Charlotte.
‘I don’t know about famous, but yes, that is Captain Middleton,’ Charlotte said.
‘I can hardly make him out here, do you have another picture? I feel sure that you do.’
Charlotte hesitated, there was something in her godmother’s tone that made her reluctant to continue, but Lady Dunwoody was waiting. She reached over and pulled out the plate she had taken of Bay and Tipsy in the Melton stables. He was looking straight ahead, his profile aligned perfectly with that of his horse.
‘What a handsome animal. And Captain Middleton too is clearly a fine specimen.’ She laughed when she saw the expression on Charlotte’s face. ‘I don’t get many cavalry officers at my Thursdays. I had forgotten how splendid they are. Such good subjects for a photograph.’
‘Not all cavalry officers are like Captain Middleton, Aunt,’ Charlotte said, taking the plate from her and putting it back smartly into its case.
‘Oh, I can believe that. I saw him once at the Airlie ball, in the days when I used to go to balls. I believe he was making himself most agreeable to the younger ladies. He danced with Blanche Hozier three times; so fortunate that her husband wasn’t there. Hozier is exactly the sort of man who enjoys a scene.’ She paused and looked at Charlotte to see how she was reacting.
Charlotte said slowly, ‘I understand that Captain Middleton has a past, Aunt Celia. But I have also met gentlemen without pasts, and I prefer Captain Middleton. And he prefers me.’
‘Well, of course he does. You would make any man happy, not to mention your delightful fortune.’ Lady Dunwoody laid her hand on Charlotte’s and leant over so that Charlotte could feel her warm, clove-scented breath.
‘I have nothing against Captain Middleton. I can see that he is exactly the sort of man that a girl would fancy herself in love with.’ She saw the expression on Charlotte’s face. ‘He may be your first love, my dear, but that doesn’t mean he will be your last.’ She patted Charlotte’s hand and stood up.
‘Now I must leave you to get some rest. You will need all your reserves of strength to handle Mr Hewes in the morning. I guarantee that he will be here before you have finished your breakfast.’
* * *
Charlotte lay down in the narrow brass bed. She had unpacked everything, and now there was nothing to be done except sleep. As she closed her eyes she saw Bay standing on the steps at Melton, laughing. She turned over and pressed her face into the mattress, pulling the pillow over her head, trying to stifle her fears. She breathed in the downy sweetness of the feather bed and forced her thoughts elsewhere until at last they rested on the ungainly figure of Caspar Hewes loping along the pavement in a puddle of red velvet. The contrast with Bay’s precise silhouette was so absurd that she almost smiled before falling asleep.
Forest Green
Bay was having trouble with his boots. He liked them polished to a high shine, so at the beginning of the day, at least, he could see the red gleam of his coat reflected in the surface. Normally he left them outside his room at night, matt with grime and dust, and in the morning they were miraculously restored to shine and sparkle. But this morning his boots were dull. The boot boy had cleaned off the mud but had not spent the twenty minutes or so that was needed to bring the boots up to their full lustre. Bay was irritated. This was the boy he had protected from Fred’s drunken malice that night in the smoking room – it piqued him that this chivalrous act had not been repaid by devoted service. He attempted to polish them himself with the wrong side of his chamois leather waistcoat, but he could not coax a gleam from the cracked leather. He could ring the bell and summon the wretched boy, but then he would miss breakfast, and he was anxious to see Charlotte before setting off for the hunt.
He had come back to Melton the night before in a state of elation – the only time in his life he had come close to feeling like this before was when he had won the Viceroy’s Steeplechase in Dublin. He had ridden then with skill and daring that he had not known he possessed. He had taken the outside track, gambling that his horse could outpace the others and that he would not be caught in the melee of riders and men that followed every jump. The risk had paid off; he had jumped free and clear and had finished first. Last night he had been boxed in by those Austrian flunkeys and that sour sister, but he had outmanoeuvred them; he had sailed over all the obstacles and had reached his prize. He had risked everything and he had won again.
Bay did not reflect for a moment that his victory might have been engineered. It did not occur to him that the impediments to his progress had been deftly swept away, that he had been positioned so carefully before the last fence that he could only leap in one direction. Nor did he remember in his triumph last night, what had happened after the victory in Dublin. Agnes, the chestnut mare that had carried him so gallantly, had collapsed afterwards. Her heart had failed her. Bay had cried then. Even now his eyes would fill with tears when he remembered the way that Agnes’s legs had simply crumpled beneath her. She had been his finest horse and the race had killed her.
Bay was thinking of Agnes this morning. He could not escape the image of the chestnut mare’s crumpled body as he rubbed at the parched leather of his boots. He threw away the chamois leather. The boots would have to do. He must find Charlotte before he set out. He needed to see her small, anxious face.
He pulled the boots on; they were three years old at least and the leather had learnt the contours of his feet precisely. He could ride all day in them and never feel their grip. Most men had several pairs, but Bay had never foun
d any that were as perfect as these, so he wore them every day.
He set off down the long narrow corridor of the bachelors’ wing with its narrow oilcloth covering. As he reached the main part of the house, the floor covering grew progressively softer and more luxurious. By the time he reached the main staircase he was walking on fine red broadloom Wilton woven with motifs of gryphons and fleur-de-lis in the best Gothic style.
Bay put his head around the breakfast-room door, looking for Charlotte, but he could only see Augusta and her father eating in the kipper-scented silence. Walking back across the Great Hall he saw that the huge, studded oak door was open onto the porte cochère. He looked out of the window and saw Fred and Chicken standing on the steps. As he joined them outside, he saw a carriage setting off smartly down the drive.
Fred saw him first, and greeted him with a mock obeisance. ‘It is Sir Lancelot himself. Surprised to see you here, Middleton. Don’t you have royal duties to attend to?’
‘If you mean eating cold soup at the end of the table with only an old Hungarian governess with a beard to talk to and those Austrian popinjays sneering across their moustaches at me, then I am quite prepared to join the Republic.’ Bay felt a moment’s disloyalty to the charming Countess Festetics, but he had to diffuse the envy that he could see on Fred’s face.
‘What a disappointment. We thought that you would come back with the Order of the Golden Fleece at the very least.’
Bay shrugged. ‘The only royal decoration I have is this catch on my sleeve where the Empress’s spur caught me when I was helping her onto her horse. Not the highest order of chivalry exactly.’ He laughed and Fred and Chicken joined in. This was the laugh that Charlotte had seen as she looked back out of the carriage window and saw the three men together on the steps.
Encouraged by the laughter, Bay went further. ‘Do you remember the Queen of Naples, Chicken? The one who asked me to be her pilot at the Spencer ball? And I turned her down. Well, she was there last night and not at all happy to see Bay Middleton. Of course, she is the Empress’s sister. So I suspect my days as the imperial pilot are numbered.’
Fred looked rather pleased by this admission and Chicken clapped Bay on the back. ‘Never mind, old man, we plebs will stand by you. Never thought you were cut out be a courtier.’
‘No indeed. Don’t have the knees for it, or the stomach.’ Bay turned to Fred. ‘I was hoping to speak to your sister. Have you seen her this morning?’
Fred and Chicken looked at each other, and Bay saw something pass between them that he did not understand.
‘You’ve just missed her,’ Hartopp said. ‘We were seeing her off. Shame you didn’t wake up a bit earlier. But I suppose you must be exhausted after your royal visit.’
Bay saw the look of pleasure on their faces. They were enjoying his ignorance. Fred would welcome any setback to Bay becoming his brother-in-law and Chicken Hartopp resented Bay’s success with Charlotte. He was torn between his desire to know where Charlotte had gone and why, and his reluctance to admit that she had left without letting him know. He felt his hands grow clammy despite the chill of the morning. Could Charlotte have somehow found out about the scene in the stable? But that was impossible. Besides, in this bright morning air he himself was having difficulty in believing in the events of last night.
He tried to keep the smile on his face, but without success.
‘Oh dear, Bay, it looks like you have fallen out with all your lady friends,’ said Chicken, grinning broadly. ‘You must be losing your touch. Stick to horses, that’s my advice. You know where you are with a horse.’
‘Well, you should know, Chicken old boy.’
Bay could not resist the retort, but regretted it when he saw the flush creep up behind Hartopp’s dundrearies.
The three men stood in silence for a moment until Fred spoke. ‘Well, I am going down to the stables. Morning prayers are just about to start and I don’t want to be caught by Lady Crewe. Yesterday she made me read the collect for the day, and then told me off for going too fast.’ He set off down the steps, followed by Hartopp. Bay could see that the back of Hartopp’s neck was dark red.
Bay hesitated for a moment. He needed to go to the stables too, but he did not want to encounter Fred and Hartopp again so soon. He went back into the house, thinking he might find a cigar in the smoking room, but he was intercepted by Augusta so neatly that she might have been waiting for him.
‘Did you have a pleasant evening, Captain Middleton? We missed you here, of course, but I am quite sure you didn’t miss us.’
Bay bowed stiffly. ‘It was a big party, certainly.’
‘Oh come, you can do better than that. I think if you desert your friends for the charms of royalty, the least you can do is to come back prepared to recount every last detail.’
‘Then I am bound to disappoint you, Lady Augusta. If you wanted me to describe the Empress’s horses I could do a creditable job, but when it comes to dresses and jewels you are going to find me sadly deficient.’
‘But I thought you had such an eye for the ladies, Captain Middleton. What did the Empress look like in her evening clothes? Was she very splendid? She is a grandmother, after all, so she probably looks better by candlelight.’
‘I think all women look better by candlelight, don’t you?’ Bay said.
But Augusta was not to be deflected. ‘Did you see her pet monkey? My maid told me that all the servants at Easton Neston are giving in their notice because the animal is allowed to go round biting people.’
‘I saw royalty, but no monkeys, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, I think you are very dull. You must have seen something worth repeating.’
‘Could you possibly entertain the notion that I might well have seen something worth repeating, as you put it, but that I might prefer to be dull than to be indiscreet?’
Augusta narrowed her pale blue eyes in disbelief. ‘Goodness me, how very pompous you are, Captain Middleton. I had no idea you were so attached to the Empress.’
‘Perhaps I have a weakness for grandmothers,’ Bay said. He took out his pocket watch. ‘Is that the time already? Will you excuse me? I don’t want to keep the Empress waiting.’
‘No, that would never do. How lucky she is to have such a devoted and loyal servant.’
Bay paused. He should, of course, have asked Augusta where Charlotte had gone, but he knew that she would enjoy the fact that Charlotte had left without telling him even more than Fred and Hartopp had done. But it would be foolish to antagonise her completely.
‘Perhaps it wouldn’t be betraying a confidence to say that the Empress was wearing a green dress and she had some diamond ornaments in her hair. Her sister, the Queen of Naples, was in red.’
‘What kind of green?’ Augusta said.
‘Oh, very dark, the colour of a Scotch pine. The combination of the diamond stars against the dark brown hair and the green put me in mind of a forest at night.’
‘A forest at night? Captain Middleton, you are quite the poet. I now have a very vivid picture of your dinner. You must be sure to tell Charlotte. It is the sort of detail we young ladies relish.’
Middleton realised that he had said too much. But he could at least find out where Charlotte had gone.
‘I was hoping to see Miss Baird this morning, but I was too late. Her carriage was leaving, just as I arrived.’
‘She didn’t wait to say goodbye? I am surprised.’ Augusta opened her eyes wide. ‘I thought you were such good friends. Do you mean she went off without a word?’
Bay said nothing and Augusta continued, her eyes shining, ‘I can understand her not wanting to say goodbye to me. She knows I am excessively annoyed with her for deserting me on the eve of my wedding. But you? You must have blotted your copybook, Captain Middleton.’ She put a finger to her forehead. ‘I wonder what you could have done to upset her? Surely she can’t resent your having dinner with the Empress in her forest green dress? What a shame you were back so late last night, as I re
member that Charlotte was quite the last lady to retire. The butler found her wandering the Great Hall at midnight pretending to look at the Canalettos.’
Bay said, as evenly as he could, ‘Do you know where she has gone? I should like to write to her.’
‘I wonder if I should tell you though, Captain Middleton?’ Augusta put her head on one side. ‘As the lady has left without saying goodbye, it may be that she doesn’t want any further communication from you.’
Bay found himself clenching his fists and put them behind his back.
‘I find that hard to believe but I won’t ask you to betray a confidence. Good morning, Lady Augusta.’
He turned away from her and made his way towards the stables, kicking the paving stones as he walked. He was so full of rage that he took no account of the damage he was inflicting on his favourite boots. He knew that Augusta had been toying with him and that with some cajoling he would have found out where Charlotte had gone, but he could not bear to give her the satisfaction. He was angry with Fred and Hartopp, angry with Augusta and even with Charlotte. Why had she gone away without letting him know? There was probably an innocent enough explanation but still he was angry. He had been quite ready to run away with her, and she had persuaded him that they must wait, and that he should cultivate the Empress to boot. He had merely been doing what she had asked him. It would almost be fair to say that the scene in the stables had been Charlotte’s doing.
He would not have been there alone with the Empress if Charlotte had agreed to elope with him. And now, just when he needed to see her, she had disappeared.
Bay had worked himself up quite successfully by the time he reached the stables. Tipsy was waiting for him all tacked up. But as he patted his horse’s nose and rubbed her flank in greeting, he remembered the photograph that Charlotte had taken of the two of them in this very spot, and his indignation faltered. He swung up himself up into the saddle and urged Tipsy into a gallop. It made no sense to tire the horse so early in the day, but he needed to shake himself out of his mood.
The Fortune Hunter Page 19
