by M C Beaton
From the top of the table, Dolly’s shrewd eyes had noticed every little detail.
When the meal was at last over and the guests rose to walk in the gardens by the river, Sir Charles immediately went off in search of his “cousin.” Miss Woodward stood for a few moments, irresolute. Sir Charles’s sudden and seeming indifference toward her was something she was not used to at all and which heightened his attraction.
“Miss Woodward! Beautiful as ever.”
She became aware that Dolly was looking up at her. “Forget your admirers for a moment and walk with me a little,” said Dolly. “There is a breeze from the river. Most refreshing. Such weather. The gods have smiled on my little breakfast. Sir Charles seems enormously taken with you, my dear.”
“He was, until he suddenly seemed to see something about his cousin that alarmed him,” said Miss Woodward, stabbing holes in the grass with the end of her parasol.
“Ah, well, she is an heiress and he is very possessive. The poor little thing is quite enchanted by Bohun—and Deveney hates Bohun—and men are so irrational, there is no talking to them. Deveney will try to stop his cousin from having anything to do with Bohun by filling her head with a lot of nasty army tales. Deveney is a fine man, a brave man, but he was always jealous of Bohun—regimental gossip, my dear—but if you wish to get that little cousin, Fanny, out of your hair, do, my dear, tell her not to listen to gossip about Bohun. I never gossip. So damaging. And if things were to go swimmingly with Miss Page and Bohun, then Sir Charles would be free to pay attention to more important things … like you.”
“But Bohun has a bad reputation,” pointed out Miss Woodward.
“La, the man was a rake, and weren’t they all in their youth? No harm in that. Only look, there goes Sir Charles, he has caught up with poor Miss Page. And there joining them is that spinster, Grimes, and that odd army captain. Do, I pray you, put in a good word for Bohun with Fanny or they will have her a spinster for the rest of her days. Besides, as I said, Deveney should be concentrating on you.”
“You are my husband in name only,” Fanny was saying fiercely. “And you gave me your solemn promise not to stand in the way of my happiness.”
“But the man is a cur,” said Tommy.
“And such a reputation, my dear,” put in Miss Grimes.
“I do not know what we are arguing about,” said Sir Charles. “Fanny, you will do what you are told. You are not to see Bohun again or have anything to do with him.”
“Pooh! You are jealous of him.”
“You silly widgeon,” said Sir Charles, misunderstanding her. “Why should I be jealous of Bohun when I am in love with Miss Woodward?”
Tears stood out in Fanny’s eyes. “It is you who are deliberately misunderstanding me,” she said. “You all said you would help me to have a little fun, to enjoy myself, to find the man of my choice. To find the man of my choice, that’s what you said. If—if you go on like this … well, we may as well end this farce and leave London—and be miserable together for the rest of our lives, Charles. I tell you plain, if you do not allow me to see Bohun, then I will tell everyone we are married … and—and poor. So there!”
“I could shake you!” Sir Charles glowered at her.
“Think on’t,” said Fanny. She unfurled her parasol and walked off.
“Think you should have talked to her quietly,” said Tommy miserably. “Little thing, Fanny, but lots of spirit. Hard to handle, but not a bolter or biter.”
“Not a horse, either, for heaven’s sake,” snapped Sir Charles.
“We are all becoming overheated about nothing much,” said Miss Grimes calmly, although she felt far from calm. “She has only just met the man. If he’s such a black character, she will soon find out for herself. But so long as we stand in her way, and lecture her as if she is a child, and order her around, she will cling to him the more. She will be well chaperoned by me, Charles. There is no way she will be allowed to see Bohun on her own. Allow her infatuation to run its course.”
But if she does not find anyone decent, thought Charles, then I am indeed trapped in this marriage. But he sighed and said aloud, “Perhaps. I will not criticize Bohun to her again. In fact, I must quickly reestablish our closeness, for that way she will tell me what that scoundrel is up to.”
So Fanny was left in peace to stroll with Lord Bohun in the gardens and to dance with him later, glad to see that Charles was once more engrossed with pretty Miss Woodward. Occasionally friends of the Marsdens would introduce themselves to Fanny and tell her what a fine man Lord Bohun was, how brave, how good, and Fanny would glow with pleasure.
Then there was the beautiful Miss Woodward, who kindly added her bit of praise for Lord Bohun. Fanny was a little disappointed to find her beloved Charles had such petty feelings, for she had begun to think him a saint, but he was only human, she told herself, and felt very old and wise.
Mr. and Mrs. Woodward invited Charles to their box at the opera the following evening, which he accepted, an acceptance that Dolly heard.
“So how goes the romance with Miss Page?” she asked Bohun. He was standing watching the dancers. Fanny was dancing with Tommy Hawkes, his clumsiness accenting her grace.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall now leave her to worry about me for a week, a week during which you, my heart, must see if you can find any weaknesses in her to indulge. I wonder if she gambles …?”
“Most ladies play cards.” Dolly looked up at him thoughtfully. “I have one of my little parties tomorrow night,” she said, “parties” being a euphemism for private gambling club. “I overheard the Woodwards asking Deveney to the opera tomorrow night. I shall ask Fanny to come here and see if I can get her to agree to slip out without saying anything to the others. It might work both ways. I might be able to instil a love of the tables into her, and also relieve her of some of her fortune.”
“Do that. And see she drinks a lot. She sips at her wine like a bird and leaves most of it in the glass. I don’t want to have a clearheaded heiress to pursue.”
Sir Charles had just finished waltzing with Miss Woodward. She curtsied and he bowed, then bent over her hand and kissed it. She gave his hand a brief little squeeze, a tiny little pressure, but it made his heart turn over. He put Fanny to the back of his mind. He wanted to live for the moment and not let the thought he was married and quite poor spoil anything.
Later, when he was to think about that evening, that beginning of all their troubles, he could only marvel at his own temporary insanity.
The journey home was silent. Fanny had a qualm of doubt about having accepted Dolly’s invitation to meet “just a few friends” on the morrow and “no need to tell Deveney.”
Fanny had pointed out that as she had no carriage of her own—and could hardly ask Aunt Martha for the use of hers without betraying where she was going—there was no way she could keep her visit a secret.
Dolly had pooh-poohed that. She, Dolly, would send her own carriage, which would wait outside for Fanny at nine o’clock. Still, Fanny had been about to protest, but when Lord Bohun had smiled down at the lady with whom he was dancing, she had known raging jealousy for the first time in her life. And it was all Charles’s fault that she had to be so secretive. Dolly had said Charles did not approve of her because she was a friend of Bohun’s. It was too bad of Charles.
Sir Charles sat across from her and worried. Now that he was no longer in the magical presence of Miss Woodward, he was unable to live in the moment. He had overheard one of the ladies saying to another that Miss Page did not look at all like an heiress, as she had no jewelry to speak of.
He decided to ask Rundell & Bridge to send him a selection of their best jewels on approval. Then he would tell Fanny to wear the finest of them on their next social engagement—but to say loudly that she had quite made up her mind jewels were vulgar. There should be no half measures in tricking society. Suddenly a smile curved his lips as he again, in his imagination, felt that slight pressure of Miss Woodward’s han
d. She would forgive him all. She was all that was sweetness and beauty. He had learned her first name was Amanda, and he murmured it soundlessly, over and over again.
Miss Grimes was wishing the pair of them at the devil. She and Tommy could have such a pleasant time if their days were not taken up in worrying what would happen when one or other of the young Deveneys decided to tell the truth. Why did I ever agree to all this? wondered Miss Grimes dismally. True, she would not have met Captain Tommy otherwise, but he would return to the wars and she would be left again, a lonely old spinster, and a spinster noted for being at the center of a scandal.
Charles went to Fanny’s room that night, forgetting again Miss Grimes’s lectures that he was not to be seen anywhere near her bedroom. Fanny was sitting at the toilet table dressed in a nightgown and lacy wrapper. She was brushing her hair with brisk strokes so that it shone in the candlelight.
“Oh, Charles,” she said bleakly, “do not read me a jaw-me-dead. I have had enough this evening.”
The bench she was sitting on was long enough to accommodate two. He sat down beside her and stared at their reflections in the mirror, Fanny with her hair tumbled about her shoulders, he in a peacock blue silk banyan. The oval mirror framed their reflected faces—Fanny and Charles—like a portrait of a married couple, he thought. But then they were married. There was a faint light scent of perfumed soap from the warm body next to his own.
“Dearest,” he said. “I do not want to stand in your way. I gave you my promise. But Bohun is not for you. He is cruel and vicious.”
“Charles, everyone seems to know you are jealous of him, even Miss Woodward!”
“She never said so!”
“Yes, she did, Charles—and Dolly, too.”
“So it’s Dolly, is it? She’s a slut, Fanny.”
“I do not think I know you at all, Charles,” said Fanny in a voice that shook. “I could be so happy—we could be so happy—if you would mind your own affairs.”
He sat in silence, thinking hard. Bohun had cleverly put about the gossip of his, Sir Charles’s, jealousy. He would have to trust the goodness that was in Fanny to discover for herself the type of man Bohun really was. He and Miss Grimes and Tommy could keep a close watch on her. One thing was certain, she would never be allowed to see Bohun alone, and, therefore, any protests or complaints from him would only prolong her blind adoration of the man.
“I’m tired,” he said. “I go to the opera with the Woodwards tomorrow. Oh, and I have decided to borrow some jewelry for you, Fanny, so that you may look like the heiress you are supposed to be. You have nothing planned yourself for tomorrow?”
“I am making calls with Miss Grimes in the afternoon,” said Fanny, “and then—and then I shall probably read in the evening.”
“Good night.” He stood up and bent forward, holding her gently by the shoulders and kissing her cheek.
He was no sooner out of the room than Fanny’s vivid imagination replaced him with Lord Bohun. It was Lord Bohun who had taken her gently by the shoulders and given her that kiss. He had not said anything about seeing her again, but Dolly was his friend—and seeing Dolly was the next best thing.
True to his promise, Sir Charles presented Fanny with a dazzling array of jewelry sent “for her approval” from Rundell & Bridge the following day. “I think you can safely keep them for a couple of days, Fanny,” he said. “We are going to Lady Denham’s ball tomorrow evening, so you can wear some of the stuff then.”
Fanny turned over the brooches and necklaces, privately deciding to wear some of the best to Dolly’s. But how was she going to escape from Miss Grimes? she thought, as she went on calls that afternoon.
She smiled at various hostesses and murmured inanities. These calls, Miss Grimes had said, were all important to “nurse the ground,” that was to get on the good side of London’s most prominent hostesses, preferably those with marriageable sons.
Miss Grimes, who had discussed the matter long into the night with Tommy, had decided not to mention Lord Bohun’s name.
“And so we will have a quiet evening without Charles,” said Miss Grimes when they arrived home again. “Perhaps we could all play cards.”
Fanny bit her lip. It would be hard to escape from the house.
She thought long and hard about what to do, and then at dinner suggested that as it was a fine evening and Charles would not be with them, they could perhaps drive down to Westminster Bridge and look at the view. “It would make a quiet change from racketing about,” said Miss Grimes. “What do you think of that idea, Captain Hawkes?”
“Might be fun,” said Tommy lazily. “Might take you ladies out in a boat.”
“I have never been in a boat before,” cried Fanny, clapping her hands with every evidence of delight.
It seemed all settled, but no sooner was the carriage at the door that Fanny suddenly pleaded a headache and said she simply had to lie down. Miss Grimes promptly exclaimed they would stay as well, but Fanny said it would only make her headache worse to think they had foregone such a pleasure as a sail in order to stay at home. She would ring for the servants if she needed anything. And with that, she practically shoved them out the door.
Miss Grimes and Tommy continued on their way. Soon the broad expanse of the river was spread out in front of them. The view from Westminster Bridge was very fine. On one side of the river were the groves and palace of the Primate of Lambeth; on the other side, the residence of the Parliamentary Speaker, under repair, and the huge bulk of Westminster Hall. The boats that plied the Thames were long, light, and sharp, and seemed to fly through the water. The banks of the river were not very ornamental. A few streets came down to it at right angles, but none ran parallel to the water.
Tommy hailed a waterman and asked him to ferry them along the river. The most handsome buildings, Miss Grimes decided, were in the long range of buildings called the Adelphi. Somerset House looked as if it might one day be magnificent, but as Tommy pointed out the work was going on so slowly that one half looked in danger of falling into ruin before the other half was finished.
Miss Grimes caught a glimpse of the gardens of the Temple, or Inns of Court, but mostly the view was generally dismal, the shores on either side choked with barges laden with coal.
At Blackfriars, the second of the three bridges that spanned the Thames, the view of a fine sweep of steps down the river was spoiled for Miss Grimes by the simply appalling smell. For here the common sewers of London discharged into the river.
“When you consider that all the filth of this metropolis is emptied into the river,” said Tommy cheerfully, while Miss Grimes held a scented handkerchief to her nose, “it is perfectly astonishing that any of the people consent to drink it. One week’s expenses of the last war with the French would have built an aquaduct from the Surrey hills and covered London in fountains. But there you are. We always seem to be fighting someone.”
Miss Grimes hung nervously to the side of the boat, for they were about to “shoot” London Bridge. The passage under London Bridge was made precarious by the “starlings,” or wooden platforms that protected the piers and created a swirling race under the bridge.
The boat lurched perilously and she was thrown against Tommy, who put an arm about her shoulders. She felt quite dizzy at the contact and was relieved—and at the same time lost and shaken—when he took his arm away.
Below the bridge, the bulk of the Tower of London cast its great shadow over the water. There were gloomy wharfs and warehouses on either side, and Tommy called to the boatman to take them ashore, where their carriage, which had followed them down the length of their sail, was to meet them.
As they stood waiting for Miss Grimes’s coachman to arrive, she said suddenly, “I am now uneasy about that headache of Fanny’s. She is, I would judge, not normally given to lying, and when she talked about that headache, there was almost something actressy in her manner.”
“We’ll soon be home,” said Tommy reassuringly. He sighed a little
as he looked over the forest of masts in the river. The evening sun was golden. Everything swam in a hazy light, in the slight fog that hung about the corners of the streets of London even on the best of days. He felt so at ease with Martha Grimes, so far from war. He was war-weary, but unlike Bohun he could not afford to sell out. Like Miss Grimes, he often wished the irritating Deveneys would settle down to being comfortably married so that he and Charles could enjoy this rare holiday.
When they both finally alighted in Hanover Square, Miss Grimes said, “I am sure Fanny will be lying down in her room. Where could she go? She does not really know anyone in London apart from us and cannot attend any social occasion unescorted.”
“Just go and see if she needs anything,” said Tommy, ever practical, “and then we can have a comfortable game of cards.”
Miss Grimes went up to Fanny’s room and pushed open the door.
The room was empty. Clothes were strewn all over the place—reminding Miss Grimes of days in her youth when she turned her wardrobe upside down looking for the prettiest gown. And the jewel box from Rundell & Bridge! It was lying open, and a quick examination informed the bewildered Miss Grimes that some of the best items were missing.
She ran downstairs to the drawing room, where Tommy was opening up the card table.
“Fanny! She’s gone!” she cried. “She tricked us. And she is wearing some of that jewelry.”
