Back in Society (The Poor Relation series)

by Beaton, M. C.

  Jane upset her glass of wine. A waiter darted forward to mop up the mess and pour her another.

  Now he had her full attention. Her eyes were magnificent, he thought appreciatively. ‘Marriage? What marriage? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I asked you to marry me and you accepted, very sweetly, too,’ he said, all mock patience.

  She coloured to the roots of her hair. ‘I know you are funning, Monsieur le Comte. I was abstracted. Worried. Thinking of other things. I thought I was replying innocuously to polite questions.’

  ‘So you are not going to marry me?’

  ‘No. I mean, definitely no. I would not sound so harsh if I did not know you were bamming me.’

  ‘Perhaps. But what do you have against my suit? I am rich, unmarried, good ton.’

  ‘I am not used to London ways or London gentlemen, Monsieur le Comte. Some other lady, most other ladies, would probably be considerably flattered by your attentions.’

  ‘Where is your home?’

  ‘Durbyshire.’

  ‘Do you know the earl?’

  ‘No!’ Sharply.

  ‘Why so vehement, Miss North?’

  ‘I . . . I have heard of this earl and do not like what I have heard. May we talk of other things?’

  ‘Gladly. Do eat something. You will offend your friends from the Poor Relation if you do not.’

  Jane looked across with surprise. She had been too abstracted to notice the presence of Sir Philip, Lady Fortescue, Colonel Sandhurst, Miss Tonks, and Mr Davy, but there they all were in various parts of the room, supervising the waiters, occasionally and graciously inclining to remove a plate or dirty glass with bejewelled hands.

  ‘I hope nothing has gone wrong,’ Jane heard the comte remark. ‘That horrible old Sir Philip looks as if he is about to have an apoplexy.’

  And Sir Philip felt so himself. For round the neck of Lady Farley lay a barbaric necklace he knew only too well. Somehow that perfidious jeweller must have sold it. What if Harriet knew that there could only be one like that? His heart was hammering with fear. Somehow he had to get that necklace from Lady Farley and replace it with the fake and put the real necklace back in the duke’s muniments room.

  When the supper was over he approached Harriet, who was being squired by an elderly military gentleman. ‘A word with you, Your Grace,’ he said and then glared at Harriet’s escort, who was staring down his nose at him as if wondering at the sheer impertinence of these hoteliers.

  Harriet murmured her excuses to her escort and walked off with Sir Philip. ‘I just wanted to be sure you were enjoying yourself,’ began Sir Philip.

  ‘Yes, I thank you. I heard nothing but praise for Despard’s cooking.’

  ‘Know Lady Farley well, do you?’

  ‘As much as one knows anyone in society.’

  ‘Funny old necklace she’s got on.’

  ‘I remarked it,’ said Harriet, ‘because my husband has one like it at home. He wants me to wear it, although I do not like it much. I think he will be surprised to learn it is not unique.’

  ‘I don’t think anything is these days,’ said Sir Philip. ‘But it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that Lady Farley’s necklace is paste.’

  Harriet laughed. ‘You are the expert on such things. It looks very real to me. Jane appears to have some little animation this evening. Everyone is remarking on her beauty.’

  ‘But you’ll need to stop that comte from hanging about her,’ said Sir Philip.

  Harriet looked over his shoulder to the ballroom. ‘Jane is dancing with Clarence Farley and getting on splendidly, by the looks of it. I shall endeavour to keep her away from the comte.’

  Jane was enjoying the company of Clarence Farley. He was a serious man with a calm, courteous air. She felt safe with him in a way she did not feel at all safe with the handsome comte with his glinting blue eyes. When Clarence suggested she sit out the next dance with him she readily agreed. They talked of innocuous things such as the weather and balls and parties to come. Clarence had thick brown hair and a not very memorable face, small brown eyes and a rather large mouth, but he was well dressed and seemed very much at ease in her company.

  ‘How long have you known de Mornay?’ he suddenly asked.

  ‘Not very long,’ said Jane. ‘And not very well.’

  ‘You are new to London, Miss North. I feel I should warn you that de Mornay has the reputation of being an adventurer.’

  For some obscure reason Jane could not fathom, she felt slightly annoyed at hearing the comte criticized. ‘He is accounted well-to-go,’ she said defensively.

  ‘I did not mean adventurer in the sense that he pursues heiresses,’ said Clarence. ‘Only that he is flighty and breaks hearts.’

  ‘My heart is quite safe, sir,’ said Jane in a cold voice.

  ‘Ah, now, Miss North, I would not offend you for the world. I feel we might be friends. May I ask Her Grace’s permission to take you driving?’

  ‘By all means.’ Jane suddenly liked him again. ‘When?’

  ‘You will be receiving callers tomorrow, myself included. Shall we say the day after that?’

  ‘Delighted.’

  ‘The next dance is about to begin and here come your courtiers. Until then, Miss North.’

  Jane, performing the cotillion with her next partner, was pleased to see Frances was on the floor. In fact, Frances had not been left sitting out once since her conversation with Lady Dunwilde. It was, thought Jane, because of her ebullience and friendliness. Little Frances would be engaged to be married before any of the belles.

  Frances smiled and talked to her partners, prattling away as if she did not have a care in the world, when all the time she was aware of Jamie. He had not approached Lady Dunwilde. And then, just as the dance was finishing, she became aware of him edging around the ballroom floor in the direction of Lady Dunwilde. She suddenly could not bear it. What if he found out so soon that she, Frances, had lied to him about what Lady Dunwilde had said?

  Just as Jamie had nearly reached his quarry, Frances pretended to turn her ankle and let out a piercing shriek and swayed dizzily. Her partner, a shy young man, stared at her helplessly. Jamie, with a mutter of annoyance, ran to Frances’s side and caught her in his arms.

  ‘My stupid ankle,’ whispered Frances, tears starting to her eyes, because all the feelings she had for him welled up in her and overset her senses. She could feel his arms around her, smell the light scent he wore, feel the heat from his body.

  ‘There now,’ he said. ‘Lean on me. Where is your mother? I fear your dancing is finished for the evening.’

  He had quite forgotten Lady Dunwilde for the moment. Frances was a silly child and needed someone to look after her. Jane came up, full of concern. She had thought Frances was pretending to twist her ankle but became alarmed at the strain on her face. ‘I will find your mother, Frances,’ said Jane, ‘and then I think your parents should take you home.’

  ‘I would like to sit quietly and perhaps drink a glass of lemonade,’ said Frances.

  ‘I’ll fetch it for you,’ said Jamie. When he returned with the lemonade, he noticed that Lady Dunwilde had been joined by her elderly husband. She cast a languishing look in Jamie’s direction, but he was still smarting from what he believed to be her cruel remark to Frances, and so he turned away and bent solicitously over Frances with the lemonade and then sat down beside her, so that when Mrs Haggard came hurrying up, it was to find a radiant daughter who said that she was quite recovered and would sit quietly with Mr Ferguson. Mrs Haggard was so pleased with her daughter’s unexpected success at the ball, for she had expected her to be totally extinguished by such dazzling beauties as Jane North, that she smiled indulgently on her and said they would take her home when she wished to go.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ said Frances to Jamie when they were alone. ‘You must join your beloved.’

  ‘I have no intention, Miss Minx, of joining my – as you call her – beloved. Her husband has arrived.’r />
  ‘Do you mean to say she settled for that old man when she might have had you?’ Frances’s eyes over her fan were large and melting.

  He laughed. ‘You restore my amour propre, which has been sadly damaged. Why do you tap your little foot to the music? I thought that was the injured one.’

  ‘It is,’ said Frances quickly. ‘It is when I stand on it that it hurts. Do you want me to convey any message to Lady Dunwilde for you when she calls?’

  ‘I should hate her,’ he said gloomily. ‘But, in truth, you may tell her that I still love her with all my heart.’ The light went out of Frances’s face and she said sadly, ‘My foot hurts rather a lot after all. I would like to go home.’

  She looked around to say her goodbyes to Jane, but Jane was waltzing with the Comte de Mornay. Despite her misery, Frances could not help noticing that Jane was smiling at something the comte was saying to her while Clarence Farley leaned against a pillar and watched them both closely. There was something in Clarence’s look that Frances did not like, but she put it to the back of her mind. When Lady Dunwilde called on her, she should tell her the truth, that Mr Jamie Ferguson was still in love with her. Frances’s lips set in a firm line. She had no intention of doing what she ought to do and she was suddenly determined to lie and lie until all hope was gone.

  SIX

  Marriage is a step so grave and decisive that it attracts light-headed, variable men by its very awfulness.

  ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

  The comte, being barbered by his valet the following day, roused himself from thought. ‘You know I trust you, Gerrard?’

  ‘As you have every reason to do, Monsieur le Comte.’

  ‘I wish to send you on a mission of some delicacy.’

  ‘Do you mean we return to France, milor?’

  ‘No, I shall not be going. I wish you to travel to Durbyshire and find out what you can about a certain Miss Jane North who is being sponsored here by the Duchess of Rowcester. She is unforthcoming about her background and is quite vehement about the fact that she does not know the Earl of Durbyshire. I suggest you start with the earl’s household. If he has a secretary, seek the man out. It will be he who knows all the ladies of the county who are invited to balls and parties. Do we know an artist?’

  ‘There is a certain gentleman of some little talent known to my brother Lucas.’

  ‘Find him today. Miss North is of outstanding beauty. She has black glossy hair and large grey eyes fringed with heavy lashes. He is to position himself outside the Duchess of Rowcester’s town house in Park Street, wait until the lady emerges, and do a lightning sketch. She will probably go out this evening, and it is light quite late. He must give the sketch to you and then you may take my travelling carriage and go north.’

  ‘Yes, milor. An affair of the heart?’

  ‘An affair of the curiosity, mon vieux!’

  Jane awoke as Frances bounced into her bedchamber. ‘What brings you here so early, Frances?’ she asked, struggling up against the pillows.

  Frances perched on the end of the bed. ‘I have done a wicked thing and it is on my conscience.’

  ‘Then you had better tell me.’

  Jane listened wide-eyed as Frances told of her lies of the evening before.

  ‘But Frances,’ she exclaimed, ‘sooner or later they will meet and will find out you have lied and both will despise you!’

  ‘I don’t care about her despising me,’ said Frances, taking off her straw bonnet and swinging it by its satin ribbons. ‘She is determined to be my friend because she wants my Mr Ferguson as her lover. So immoral! Such women should be hung, drawn, and quartered, and whipped at the cart’s tail.’

  ‘All at once, Frances? Now, be sensible. The next time she gives you a message for Mr Ferguson, or he for her, tell the truth and then forget about Mr Ferguson. You were in demand last night. You should be at home preparing for your gentlemen callers.’

  It was the custom for gentlemen to call on the ladies they had danced with the night before, although some merely sent a card with a servant.

  ‘I am sure Mr Ferguson will call on me.’ Frances pouted. ‘And all to give me further messages for his lady-love. But what of you and Mr Clarence Farley? Solid, dependable, although I do think, dear Jane, your rakish comte puts all others quite in the shade.’

  ‘Even Mr Ferguson?’

  ‘With the exception of Mr Ferguson. You are so sad and serious, Jane, perhaps a rattle is just what you need. Still, I suppose everyone has warned you about him.’

  ‘Nearly everyone, I think, including Mr Farley, who is, by the way, to take me driving tomorrow.’

  ‘Do be careful. There is something about Mr Farley I cannot like.’

  ‘He seems a kind and sensible man,’ said Jane wistfully. ‘Just the type of man I always imagined would make a good husband.’

  ‘My nerves were overwrought last night,’ said Frances, ‘so I am probably mistaken about him. Now I am so tired, for I did not sleep well because of an uneasy conscience, don’t you know.’

  ‘So you will not lie again?’

  Frances got off the bed and tied on her bonnet. ‘I probably shall, dear Jane, but perhaps I should not feel guilty about it. I am protecting Lady Dunwilde from committing adultery, after all!’

  That same morning, Lady Fortescue summoned Mr Davy to her bedchamber. ‘I am sorry to disturb you so early,’ she said as he entered wearing a dressing gown and nightcap. ‘I need your help. Jack, the footman, came to me to say he had a message from Limmer’s that Sir Philip is there and imbibing freely. It is bad for a man of his years to start the day drinking so early. Pray go and see if you can make him desist and get him to bed.’

  Mr Davy held Lady Fortescue in high esteem, which is why he did not protest, for he would dearly have liked to refuse. He went gloomily back to his room and shaved and dressed and then made his way to Limmer’s Hotel.

  Sir Philip was in the coffee room glaring morosely at a half-empty bottle of wine.

  His pale eyes focused on Mr Davy and he remarked, ‘Why are you inflicting your presence of me, son of a whore, you bag of shite, you scum from the kennels?’

  ‘I would gladly leave you to rot,’ said Mr Davy amiably, ‘were not Lady Fortescue concerned for your welfare. As a matter of interest, what drives you to the bottle at this early hour?’

  Sober, Sir Philip would not have dreamt of telling him, but worry, drink, and a sleepless night had loosened his tongue. He had studied the doors and windows of Lady Farley’s mansion before he had left and knew there was no way an elderly gentleman could play burglar and get through the many bolts and locks on the doors and windows. He felt everything was lost, and shame and exposure would result.

  He made to pour another glass of wine but Mr Davy reached forward and caught hold of his hand. ‘Drink coffee,’ he urged. ‘I might be able to help you.’

  ‘You!’ declared Sir Philip in accents of loathing. But he allowed Mr Davy to order a pot of coffee. All at once he had an urge to tell this actor his troubles, motivated by the knowledge that Mr Davy was not a gentleman and therefore would have no right to express shock or moral outrage had he belonged to that exclusive breed.

  Mr Davy maintained a sympathetic silence until Sir Philip had drunk two cups of coffee. Then he said, ‘Go on. What’s it all about?’

  So Sir Philip, in a flat, slightly slurred voice, told him all about the theft of the necklace to found the hotel, and its subsequent appearance on Lady Farley’s neck, ending up with a moan of ‘And how can an old man like me expect to broach the locks and bars of Lady Farley’s house?’

  ‘As to that,’ said Mr Davy, ‘I could help you.’

  ‘You?’ said Sir Philip contemptuously. ‘How?’

  ‘I still have many friends among the acting profession. Society is much given to amateur theatricals and like to employ people versed in the craft to show them how to go on. Were it to be suggested to Lady Farley that a little theatrical soiree would be just the thing, and y
ou know the man to arrange it, then I can fix things so that you will be there. Once indoors, when all are watching the play, you should have an opportunity to slide away. I have noticed at these events that the servants are allowed to watch as well. You should be able to get to my lady’s bedchamber unobserved. But in order to arrange this for you, I expect something in return.’

  ‘How much?’ sneered Sir Philip.

  ‘No money. I simply want your promise that you will not interfere in my friendship with Miss Tonks.’

  Sobering rapidly, Sir Philip studied him, his brain beginning to work quickly. Say yes, promise anything, he thought. He could propose to Miss Tonks himself after it was all over, and claim that was hardly interfering in their friendship; he hoped they would still be friends, yes, all that. And call on Harriet and try to steal one of her seals and copy her handwriting, for he would need a letter, supposedly to have come from her, giving permission to take that fake necklace to London, ostensibly for cleaning. The duke’s servants had met him when he had called on a visit before.

  ‘Very well,’ said Sir Philip. ‘You have my promise. I must go to the country and get that necklace. Do you think you can have all arranged for the play by the time I return?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Davy, rising to his feet. ‘You must accompany me back to the hotel to put Lady Fortescue’s mind at rest.’

  ‘Do not tell the others any of this,’ said Sir Philip.

  ‘You have my word.’ Mr Davy looked at him curiously. ‘But I do not understand why you never did tell them. They must have known it was something of extreme value to raise the necessary sum to get the hotel started.’

  ‘They would have been too afraid,’ said Sir Philip as they walked together out of Limmer’s. ‘It all seemed like a joke then. Harriet was not yet married to Rowcester, and he seemed then like such a pompous idiot . . . well, I thought he deserved it. Then I let time slip by and slip by, and the longer time went by, the harder it seemed to tell any of them of what I had done.’ He raised his cane and hailed a hack. ‘Tell Lady Fortescue I am well. I must call on Harriet.’