The Shocking Miss Anstey

by Robert Neill

  ‘And what are you? You’re different from all--’

  ‘I know.’ She sounded as if it were obvious and did not interest her. ‘What were you asking me?’

  ‘I asked how old---‘

  ‘You shouldn’t ask that. Nobody ever does.’

  ‘All right. I did say I---‘

  ‘I’m twenty-three. That’s true, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The others don’t know.’

  ‘Then I’m even more---‘

  ‘Stop it.’ For an instant she looked petulantly at him. ‘Don’t be so polite to me. Anyone can be that.’

  ‘It’s more or less expected, at a first visit.’

  ‘I don’t expect a man to get hold of me and kiss me like that at a first visit. Not the first minute, anyway.’

  ‘Offended?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. If--if you can do that to me---‘ Again she was looking oddly at him, with the expression he could not interpret, and then suddenly she changed. She flung herself on the sofa, smoothed her dress, and then smiled up at him. ‘I think we’d better be sensible.’

  ‘If we know what that is.’

  ‘Ye-es. What’s that under your arm?’

  ‘Something I brought for you. It’s nothing very much.’

  ‘But how---‘ She stopped short, looking up at him with a sudden doubt in her eyes. ‘You didn’t bring it because you thought you had to?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t.’

  ‘Most men do. They come here because they want something, and they think they’d better start the right way. So they bring me a present. It’s expensive, and---‘

  ‘This isn’t.’

  ‘I hope not.’ She was looking at him with a strange earnestness. ‘Because I asked you to come, and that’s different.

  I wouldn’t take---‘

  ‘Don’t worry. I just thought it might please you. It’s something you asked about.’

  He began to unwind the scarf, with a quick fear that the fall to the floor might have broken the delicate rigging of the model. But all was well. The scarf and the thick soft carpet had saved it, and there was a quick squeal of delight from Anice as he held it out to her.

  ‘But it’s lovely. But what is it? Is it your ship?’

  He pointed happily to the gilded name, and he was still explaining details and answering a stream of questions when there was a discreet tap at the door and a careful pause until she answered. Then the prettiest of parlour-maids came in with a silver tray which had tea things and a decanter. She took it to the side-table and looked inquiringly at Anice, who nodded.

  ‘Yes, Susan, you may pour.’ She seemed thoughtful for a moment, and then turned to Grant. ‘I won’t ask you to drink tea, but I’m not having port. It isn’t good for me. It makes my head go round, and then I get all silly.’

  She fell silent, watching critically while the girl busied herself with teapot and decanter, and then came forward with a salver. Grant took the wine with a smile of thanks, and the girl dipped a curtsey and made for the door. Before she reached it she was called back.

  ‘Susan . . .’ The voice was quiet and level. ‘I told you that Captain Grant is my friend, and therefore a friend of the house?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Then don’t treat him, please, as part of the furniture. He might have been, for all the notice you took of him just then. Can’t he have a smile from you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’

  ‘Don’t apologize to me. Anyway, it looks as if you’re forgiven. But don’t forget to smile another time. Now run away.’

  Susan curtseyed and slipped quickly from the room. Anice stirred her tea and seemed to shake with silent laughter.

  ‘Poor Susan!’ she chuckled. ‘She’s always catching it somehow. Did you understand all that?’

  ‘I doubt if I’m supposed to.’

  ‘You aren’t.’ Again the chuckle came. ‘But Susan’s what you might call an apprentice. She wants to be--well, what I am, and I think she might do it. But, of course, she’ll have to learn manners first--the sort gentlemen expect--and to speak like them and eat like them, and know what to say. She’s all kinds of things to learn first--just as I had.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Well, of course. What do you expect, for a little village girl who didn’t know anything?’ ‘Anice!’

  ‘I’ve surprised you?’ She sounded defiant, and her face tightened as she watched him. ‘What did you think I was?’

  ‘I--I’m afraid I hadn’t thought.’

  ‘Nobody ever does. We’re just taken for granted. But that’s what I was.’ For a moment her hand pressed on his leg. ‘You won’t tell people?’

  ‘I won’t tell anybody, ever.’

  ‘Good.’ Again her hand pressed quickly, and then she spoke impulsively. ‘I did three years as a lady’s maid--the nastiest little bitch of a mistress any girl ever had, and it seemed like thirty years. It was worth it, though.’

  ‘Because you learned?’

  ‘Yes. She taught me a lot, because it made me more useful, and I learned the rest by watching and listening. She always had men there, the right ones. Well--that’s what Susan’s doing now. Just the same.’

  ‘But with a better mistress?’

  ‘I hope so. I’m strict with her, mind you. I have to be, if I’m to teach her.’ The little head tossed imperiously for a moment. ‘Of course, she doesn’t always like it, but I can’t help that. She’ll never be any use if she doesn’t keep her mind on things. Now we aren’t going to talk about Susan any more. I think it’s lovely.’

  She had picked up the ship again, in its bottle, and she was holding it to the light, turning it about and peering keenly at it with little squeaks of delight. Then suddenly she jumped up and ran with it to the mantelpiece of fine cream stone. Half a dozen pieces of china were on it, possibly Dresden, and she swept them unceremoniously aside, crowding them to the ends to make the centre clear for the ship. She put it carefully into place, plucking hot wax from a candle to wedge the bottle lest it should roll, and then she stepped back, tilting her head as she looked critically.

  ‘Lovely,’ she said again. ‘How do you pronounce Amphion?’

  ‘Accent in the middle, and make it rhyme with lion.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘One of the sons of Zeus. But---‘

  ‘There’s so much I don’t know. I never went to school--much. I just got taught to read and write.’

  She came slowly back to him, looking down on him as he reclined on the sofa, and for a moment she seemed to stand in thought, her eyes very bright. Then she dropped gently on the sofa next to him, close to him, sitting with her knees bent and one leg under her. He twisted to face her, and before he could speak she had flung her arms round him and kissed him, deliberately and completely. He felt her lips on his, soft and relaxed, precisely placed, and then he felt her tongue. He turned further, trying to press closer, and suddenly she was holding him off.

  ‘You know what that’s for?’ she said. ‘It’s for being very sweet--and kind.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing to---‘

  ‘Oh yes, you have.’ She turned to glance quickly at the ship. ‘You wanted that. It was your ship, and you brought it home to remind you. You meant to keep it, and now you’ve given it to me--and that means something.’

  ‘It isn’t anything, really.’

  ‘I’ve told you it is. Do you think the other presents mean anything?’ She pushed herself close again as she spoke, with her head resting now on his shoulder and a scent from her hair helping to intoxicate. ‘Somebody brings me a brooch or something, and it cost a hundred pounds, or two hundred, and what does that mean, when a man’s so much money that he doesn’t know he’s spent it? So I sell it next week, and why not? It’s all it’s meant for.’

  Again she pushed back, blue eyes intent on his, and then again, for another short instant, she glanced at the mantelpiece.

  ‘I shan’t sell that, thou
gh.’ Her eyes came slowly back to his, and both her hands had taken one of his as she spoke. ‘I’m not going to part with it ever. It’s the first present I’ve ever had that’s real, and it’s going to stay there, right in the centre, always. And I hope Hillie likes it.’

  ‘Who’s Hillie?’

  ‘Hildersham, of course. At least . . .’ She sat back again, with another change of mood, and her eyes were twinkling with delight. ‘I say it when I want to tease him. He doesn’t like it, and he gets quite cross.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Now what does that mean?’ Her head tossed mischievously again, and her tongue showed between her lips for a moment. ‘You should have seen him tonight when he heard from Prinny. We were going to the Opera together, and there we were, just starting dinner--second spoonful of soup--when it came. Note from Prinny. Desires Hillie at dinner, and so on. At Carlton House. Of course, it’s a command, and the poor dear had to jump up from his dinner and rush off to eat another one. You should have heard his language.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t heard much to the credit of the Prince Regent, but I’ll remember this one.’

  ‘Horrid thing! What about poor me, left all by myself like that?’

  ‘That was when you sent for me, I suppose? Which was also a command.’

  ‘That’s better. You’re not jealous, are you?’ ‘How could I help being?’

  ‘I don’t see why.’ Her tone changed again, and the amusement had gone from her eyes. ‘It’s quite different. It’s what I have to do, but this isn’t. I asked you because I wanted you, and I haven’t done that with the others. It’s Hillie who could be jealous.’

  ‘Must you go to Paris with him?’

  ‘I’ve promised. Besides--I’ve told you, it’s what I have to do.’

  ‘Then it shouldn’t be.’

  ‘But it is. I have to do what I can do, and there isn’t anything else.’ She was facing him truculently now. ‘Did I tell you what I was before I was a lady’s maid?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I was a chamber-maid in an inn--making beds and emptying slops--at a shilling a week and what I could pick up. I’m not going back to that.’

  ‘No, but---‘

  ‘And Hillie’s rather nice. They haven’t all been, and one was a perfect beast. But it’s all right now, and I’m not going to spoil it. You shouldn’t ask me to spoil it, and you needn’t think I’m unhappy or not enjoying it, because I am. I’m doing what I can do, and we all like doing that, when we can do it well.’

  ‘I wish I’d called on you before Hildersham did. You’d have been going with me, if I had.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t have worked. You don’t know that, but I do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re different. You aren’t like the others. You---‘

  ‘I’m just like other men.’

  ‘Not like those, or you wouldn’t be talking like this. They don’t see anything wrong. But I should drive you mad inside a week. I’m never steady at anything. Besides, I’m expensive--very expensive, and getting worse.’ She stopped again, looking at him searchingly for a moment, and then her tone changed. The note of argument went out of it, and she was caressingly soft and quiet. ‘Now you’re not to be jealous. And you’re not to look miserable. I didn’t bring you here to be miserable. I wanted you to be happy tonight, with me. You’re going to be happy.’

  The eyes seemed suddenly to be a deeper blue as they gazed into his, calm and untroubled. Then she came to him, moving close till he could feel the softness of her leg pressing into his. She was smiling, and then she lay back, quiet and unhurried, so that she was below him, looking up at him. His arms were round her now, and Hildersham forgotten as he pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. She came at once, pliant and willing, and his hand rubbed over her shoulder, bare above the low-cut dress. For a moment she seemed to resist, jerking abruptly, and he heard a little crack as the shoulder seam broke open with what could have been suspicious ease. She wriggled again, and the primrose satin fell away to show nothing of any undergarment. The light fell on her breast, smooth and firm, and his hand moved down from her shoulder. Again she twisted, and he heard the seam rip on the other shoulder. Then abruptly she wriggled away, with a lithe strength that surprised him, and he saw the flush of excitement in her cheeks as she sat erect and began to sound indignant.

  ‘See what you’ve done.’ The tone was right, but there was dancing mischief in her eyes. ‘It’s my best gown, and look at it!’

  ‘Well, it’s done now, so---‘

  ‘I’m not going to have it done any more. If you’re going to pull it about like this I shall take it off.’

  ‘Do. I’ll help you.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ She twisted quickly away, jumping to her feet as he tried to catch her. ‘Just wait a minute--wait.’

  A pout of her tongue seemed to push the word at him, and then he saw her laughing as she turned about with one hand on her shoulder and the torn dress falling from the other to show the white of her back. She ran lightly across the room to the other door, smooth cream panels and a gilded handle, and flung it open. She disappeared round the edge of it, perhaps to where the fireplace was, but she left it wide open and the room was lighted, with candles ready burning. He came to his feet, moving a little closer, and he could see a tall window with the curtains of gold brocade, and the bed on the wall that faced him, a bed set ready with quilt turned back to show the lace of pillows. From somewhere out of sight he heard her laugh, and then her earlier voice, the childish one.

  ‘You’re not to come in. I’m doing things you shouldn’t see.’

  ‘It seems a habit of yours.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I’m taking this dress off. I won’t have it torn any more. Now then----’

  She came running into view, standing in the doorway, up on her toes while her dancing eyes looked into his, and for a moment he was speechless, almost up on his own toes too. Certainly she had taken the dress off, but she had taken everything else off with it, and she was as naked as she was unconcerned. She stood quite still, poised on her toes, seemingly pleased with all of it, with herself, her body, and her looks. Then suddenly she pouted at him again, turned quickly round, and went scrambling into the bed, twisting like a playful kitten. She sank her head into the pillows and then peered at him above the sheets.

  ‘You can blow out the candles in there,’ she said.

  He hardly trusted his breath, and he snuffed them with his fingers before he went to join her.

  5 Lord Barford’s Guests

  The yard of the Angel, behind St. Clement’s, seemed a different world the next morning. The chariot was standing on the cobbles, gleaming in the sun while it waited for the horses, and Grant, who was feeling uneasy now about this visit to the country, tried to give his attention to it. It had been built, he remembered, for Lord Barford, and it might therefore reflect his tastes. It was beautifully made, solid and dignified, built like a coach on a heavy perch, differing only in being shorter, seating two instead of four, and in having no box for a coachman. This was for the open road, not the town. It would be driven by a postillion, astride the near-side wheeler, and the absence of a coachman’s legs would give the occupants a view ahead through the heavy plate-glass window in the front. They would sit in comfort, too, and Grant peered in, noting the soft brown leather of the seat, the silk head-lining, the two silver lamps, the recesses for pistols, and the locker for cake and brandy. It was certainly for a nobleman, and it would have suited Hildersham--and Anice with him.

  That thought came suddenly, and he tried to push it back. He looked at the chariot again, seeing the mahogany doors with the silver handles and plate-glass windows, the deep maroon of the side-panels, the black wheels with the yellow lines and silver hubs, and he began to make a guess at Lord Barford; a man, surely, of wealth and taste, a quiet conservative taste, a man who liked comfort and perhaps prestige as well. He would drive the chariot to his own horses, whic
h might be a team of four. The pole had the hook for the leaders.

  ‘Pretty good, isn’t it?’ said Wickham.

  He was standing by the chariot, wrapped in a long travelling cloak above his brown frock, and he had been watching a servant stow the bags between the big front springs. Now he stepped quickly back as the horses were brought up, ready harnessed, and the traces hooked to the swingletrees. The postboy checked them carefully and then touched his hat.

  ‘Ready, sir.’

  They took their places, soft and comfortable, and wrapped their cloaks round their knees. The postboy mounted the near-side horse, the servant jumped into the rumble, and then the horses pawed, the iron tyres ground on the cobbles, and the chariot went slowly from the yard. They turned west, for Pall Mall and St. James’s Street, and Wickham stretched back and opened his cloak. He seemed in good spirits, this warm September morning.

  ‘Have a good night?’ he asked cheerfully.

  ‘Excellent, thanks.’

  ‘So did I--after a fashion.’ He laughed softly, as if he were remembering. ‘I’d an appointment with a charmer I’d met the other day. We were to meet at Bond’s Hotel, and when I got there I found two of the Rifle Corps. Quite a reunion. They’d two sparkling little creatures with them, or course, so we all joined forces. Hmm!’

  ‘Wine flowing freely?’

  ‘Everything flowing freely. I don’t remember the details, though. I got a little mixed. Well . . .’ He glanced over his shoulder as they turned into Piccadilly. ‘That’s that, and there goes St. James’s Street. I wonder when I’ll see it again. I must say I like this chariot. It follows well.’

  ‘Doesn’t yaw at all.’

  ‘You are a bit short this morning. Mind on something else, I suppose.’

  He fell silent, as if his own thoughts had drifted off, and Grant’s were with Anice again. He did not know where he was, or what he should do. He knew he wanted her, and she was going to Paris. He had not been able to move her from it, and she had seemed to think it was nothing. He could not understand her.

  They were at the turnpike now, and then in Knightsbridge, running along the boundary of the Park, and that brought her to his mind again. A phaeton was turning in, as a curricle might have done. But not today. She was going to Paris, and he to the country. Yet last night she had been more than willing. She had been eager, and it had not seemed to be part of her profession, as she called it. She had not asked for anything, and he knew she would have flamed at him if he had offered it. Yet he had not the experience and skills of some who must be after her, and he did not think he had the attractions either. It was another point he did not understand.