by Robert Neill
She stopped as the orchestra slowed for the closing chords and Sir Michael, much the best dancer of the three, went into a reckless spin with his unfortunate partner. Then it had ended, and Mr. King was watching keenly as he wondered what the response had been. Three ladies had walked out. Nobody else had taken the floor. Waverers might soon be swayed by the thought of Hildersham--and Almack’s; or they might not. Or had they stayed out only because they did not know the steps? He would learn from the talk tomorrow; and in the meantime he was far too professional to show any lack of confidence.
‘Ladies and gentlemen . . .’ He lifted his hand for silence. ‘We are most grateful. A strange dance and new, but accepted in the highest circles. If--er--any lady or gentleman should wish to be instructed in this dance, may I say that at the Academy of Dance, in Cambray Street, it is taught by the most skilled instructors, in private rooms, and at the most moderate charges? It is--er--now the interval.’
He bowed himself from the floor. Captain Curry appeared from nowhere in search of Marion. Hildersham announced that he needed a drink, and he was inviting them all to join him when Luttrell came striding across the floor. He nodded curtly.
‘ ‘Evening, Grant. Hope you’re enjoying it?’
‘Modestly.’
‘What a word! Must say you’ve a queer taste in women.’
‘What do you mean?’ He felt Marion quiver as she clung to his arm. ‘Are you trying to be offensive?’
‘Not in the least. Don’t want you to be made a fool of--that’s all. D’ye know what she is?’ His arrogant stare swept coldly over her as he looked her up and down. ‘She was Anice’s maid. Did you know Anice was at Brighton with me?’
‘I did.’
‘Quite a good time we had. And this was her maid. Run after her--fetch her shoes, wash her neck, tip the slops---that sort of thing. Wasn’t Mrs. Anybody.’
‘I find you insufferable.’
‘I’m only warning you. ‘Evening, Curry.’ He turned his head for an instant as Curry pushed forward, looking unwontedly taut and angry. ‘She’s all right to sleep with, of course. They’ll most of ‘em do for that. But to dance with in public!’
It was Hildersham who saved it. He had slipped forward with surprising speed, a little before either of the others, and now he was close against Luttrell, looking him straight in the eye. He seemed quite at ease, and he spoke in his usual lazy tone.
‘Tommy, you’re being a nuisance tonight. People don’t always want advice.’
‘They might need it.’
‘So might you, but not many of us give it. I don’t know why you’re here at all. You don’t like this sort of thing.’
‘Who the hell could?’
‘Most of this company, including the ladies. They don’t all prefer cards.’
‘I do.’
‘Then go to them. The club’s across the road.’
‘Two-penny stakes.’
‘Not last night, from what I’ve heard of your winnings.
If you’ve a mind to part with them, I might come across and help you--later.’
‘That would be a change--a gentleman in the place. All right, then--see you later.’
He turned abruptly, and he seemed just about to go when he jerked suddenly back, staring hard at Mary as if he had just caught sight of her.
‘Glad to see you,’ he said suddenly. ‘Can’t think who you are, but I’ve met you. Sure I have.’
He sounded puzzled, but he did not wait for an answer. He stared at her again, and then suddenly he bowed to her, as if recognizing that she was entitled to what he would not give Marion. Then he gave a nod, and without another word he went marching out. They stood in silence, and Hildersham turned slowly.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he was looking straight at Marion. ‘You should not have had that. But don’t take it too hard. Your friends won’t mind, and that’s what matters.’ He turned thoughtfully to the others. ‘The odd thing is that Tommy doesn’t seem to know he’s being offensive. It’s part of this Corinthian nonsense.’
‘Isn’t it a matter of manners?’ asked Mary.
‘Of course it is. But manners mean restraint, and restraint is just what your Corinthian won’t have. Anyway, he’s leaving in the morning, so we shan’t see him again for a while. Now, Marion, you’ll be better for that glass of wine. Come along, all of you.’
He led purposefully to the door, but Mary stayed firmly where she was. She linked her arm in Richard’s.
‘I came to dance,’ she said, ‘and I haven’t done it yet.’
‘Nor have I--with you. There hasn’t been a chance.’
‘There will be. But no more waltzes with Cyprians, please. It’s a good thing there aren’t any more of them here. And another thing--you’re not to quarrel with Luttrell or anybody else over Mary Ann. It isn’t worth it.’
‘Did I quarrel?’
‘Very nearly. So did George Curry, and you’re not to do it. A Cyprian must look after herself. It’s part of her trade, and I’m not having you going out with pistols again.’
‘I’ve no wish to.’
‘You seem willing enough to be pushed into it, all the same, and that’s what you’re not to do. Now I think we’d better go and say good night to Barford. He wants to be off. Goes to bed early.’
‘I wonder what he thought of the waltz?’
‘What do you think of it?’
‘It’s queer and it’s difficult, and I doubt if it will be much liked.’
‘Well, we’ll see what happens if they try it again. That might be interesting.’
It was certainly interesting, but not in the way that Mary had thought of. It came an hour later, at nearly ten o’clock, when Mr. King, having decided to risk it, advanced again to the centre of the floor. He bowed, raised his hands and then stood waiting while the talk was hushed. Then he took his professional tone.
‘My lords and my ladies . . .’
He stopped, almost testily, as the tall doors from the anteroom were suddenly pushed open. He was not used to interruptions, and he turned with a frigid stare as the footmen, in red-and-gold and powdered hair, came solemnly through the doors to make a frame of colour for the vision that appeared between: white and gold and blue; white of satin, gold of Brussels lace, deep-blue eyes, and corn-coloured hair. She advanced another pace and then stood, poised and waiting, while her brown face crinkled to a smile that would take the testiness from anyone. Mr. King found himself moving forward, conquered already, even if he did not know it.
‘Madame . . .’ His bow was of the deepest, and almost reverential. ‘I am desolated. I have not the honour to know . . .’
‘Of course not. I’ve only just come.’ She sounded gay, and there was enchantment in her cool fresh voice. Then the smile grew even brighter as he bowed again and she sank into a curtsey that was for him alone; and yet was for all the room.
‘I’m Anice Anstey.’ She let it sink in, and the blue eyes shone with mischief. ‘You’ll know me better soon.’
21 Resentments
For a moment there was utter silence, the silence of surprise. They had all heard of her. They had read the papers, heard the tales, joined in the gossip; and here she was, standing before them to be seen and known; and she did not fit what they had imagined. She was not hard and brazen. She looked, as they said afterwards, so young and innocent.
No one moved. Anice stood calmly waiting, more at ease than anyone, and in front of her Mr. King stood stiffly, a man in doubt. To give welcome to a flaunting Cyprian might offend the company, and to refuse it, if she had won their hearts, might offend them even more. He was perhaps dazed by her presence, and he did not know what to do.
He glanced quickly to the side, as if seeking help, and for the moment he did not find it. Richard stood rigid while resentment fought with longing, memory with memory. He could not even ask why she was here, or what had brought her. At his side he heard a gasp from Mary, a gasp almost of unbelief, but he did not even turn to look, and it was Anice hersel
f who moved. She seemed to have not a care in the world as she glanced round the room with a darting smile for Hildersham and something that was almost a wink for Sir Michael Murphy. An infectious crinkle was in her forehead as she turned again to Mr. King, and for a long moment she looked at him, while the radiance spread to her eyes and smile. Then she moved close to him and stretched out her hand.
‘Please,’ she said clearly. ‘You’re not frightened of me, are you?’
‘Madame ...’ Mr. King faltered, and seemed to catch at his breath. ‘Of course not.’
He was bowing now over her hand, compulsively, as if he had to. Anice kept her poise, but mischief was coming into her smile, and her head tilted as he looked again into her eyes, dangerously close.
‘That’s better,’ she told him. ‘I’m not as bad as they say. I’m really quite nice to know.’
Her crisp young voice, coming clearly through the room, seemed to break the spell. There was a sigh from someone, then a stir of movement and a soft buzz of talk. Mr. King was smiling now, and Sir Michael Murphy stepped quickly forward to make his bow and pledge devotion yet again. Hildersham went with him, and Captain Curry, and in another moment she was in laughing talk with the three of them. Only Richard did not move. He was still remembering that journey to Brighton with Luttrell, and he was thinking no better of it for the man’s display an hour ago. Anice had not even written to him, or given a word of explanation, and he was in no mood now to join in welcome. He stayed stiffly at the side of the room, taut and impassive.
‘Am I going mad?’
It was Mary, close at his side, and her words startled him. He had completely forgotten her, as he had forgotten everyone but Anice, and now he turned sharply.
‘That is your Anstey?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘Am I quite mad?’
‘No. I mean . . .’ He had understood it now. ‘You’ve recognized her?’
‘It’s Ann Atkins. You never told me.’
‘My lords, my ladies . . .’ The ringing tones of Mr. King’s professional voice announced the second waltz, and even Mary turned to look. Anice, having arrived in a ballroom, was wasting no time. She was ready to take the floor with Hildersham, and she was gay and welcoming as the orchestra began the strange pulsating music. Sir Michael Murphy found consolation with Marion, who had shown no obvious sign of pleasure at the arrival of her late mistress, and they went whirling away together. Captain Curry, whose dancing did not extend to the waltz, came wandering back to Mary.
‘Wonderful woman. Does everything,’ he told her. ‘Nobody else at it, though.’
His glance round the floor told his thought. The two gyrating couples had the floor to themselves. No one else had attempted it, not even the few who had seemed interested before, and there were some disapproving looks from ladies, perhaps for the waltz, or perhaps for Anice. Mary looked carefully round, and then she had to step quickly back to give way for the Marchioness of Malloch, who was making a frigid progress to the door. Her daughters followed, looking as annoyed as she, and after them came the Marquis, with a glance or two over his shoulder as if he would sooner have stayed with Anice. But he followed loyally, to be intercepted at the door by Mr. King, who was looking worried and apologetic. He disappeared into the anteroom with them, and Mary gave a nod as if she understood. Then, as Curry moved nonchalantly away, she brought her attention back to Richard.
‘I was asking who she is?’
‘You know who she is.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded emphatically. ‘I did once ask you how Mary Ann knew Miss Anstey. I can see it now.’
‘Did they know each other well?’
‘Of course they did--in a little village. Ann was always the leader, though.’
‘She’d be that anywhere.’
‘You seem impressed.’ She looked thoughtfully at Anice, whirling round with Hildersham. ‘I suppose you’re right to be, really. She gets it from her grandmother.’
‘Your village witch?’
‘So they said. We had a sort of family charge of her, because my grandparents seem to have owed a lot to her.’ She stopped short and again her eyes turned to Anice. ‘I helped in that girl’s upbringing, and this is what she’s turned into.’
‘Not what you’d expect?’
‘I don’t know what I’d expect, but this is awkward.’
‘Need it be? For everyone’s sake, couldn’t you let it pass? Treat her as you did Mary Ann?’
‘I’ll have to. Even for her grandmother I’d have to do that, but how about Barford? He hates the sight of her. You know why?’
‘His son?’ A face in ivory was before his eyes for a moment. ‘The same mother, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. She died--you know the tale--and he’s hated Ann for it ever since.’
‘Silly of him.’
‘People are silly, and it’s no good arguing about it. That’s his blind spot, and it’s no use expecting that he’ll treat her like Mary Ann, because he won’t.’
What will he do?’
‘I’ve no idea, but we’d better think before we tell him. So will you take me home, please?’ ‘Now, do you mean?’
‘Yes. I don’t want to be caught by Ann or anybody else till I’ve had time to think. Are you ready?’
It was not altogether welcome, but there was no help for it. He was Mary’s escort for the evening, and if she wished to leave early she was entitled to. It was not a thing to argue about, and he would have to look pleasant.
‘Very well,’ he said quickly. ‘Will you get your cloak?’
‘Yes.’ Again, for an instant, she glanced at Hildersham and Murphy, still circling with their partners. ‘I’m glad, by the way, that you didn’t rush away from me, to dance with someone else. Now let’s be off, before this country dance ends.’
She led towards the anteroom, but before she could reach the door Mr. King came through it, looking harassed and unhappy after hearing the views of the Marchioness of Malloch on the company to be found in the Assembly Rooms. He looked even more harassed at the sight of Lady St. Hollith making so firmly for the door, but he was still a professional, with a smile at command and his suavity undiminished. He put himself precisely in front of her, so that she had to stop, and he hoped that she was not ill, since she was leaving so soon?
‘No.’ It was her slightly sardonic tone, as if she had entirely understood this manoeuvre. ‘I’m perfectly well, thank you, and not in the least offended either.’
‘Ah! If I can be assured of that?’
‘You may be quite assured of it.’ She was smiling as the waltz came suddenly to an end, and then she glanced quickly at the breathless dancers. ‘I’m not offended at the waltz, and not even at these--er--ladies of fortune.’
‘Ah, thank you. I wish everyone would take the same wise view. But I do assure your ladyship I did not expect this--er--Miss Anstey. I had no idea---‘
‘I’m sure you hadn’t.’
She had spoken a little sharply, and her eyes were on Hildersham and Anice, who were making across the floor towards her, and then she seemed to brace herself for an encounter she could no longer avoid. Mr. King had kept her a moment too long.
Hildersham was as confident as ever, but Anice let him speak first, and the look of delight had left her. She stayed behind him, and she seemed to stand carefully, as if she were now having to control her poise.
‘Mary,’ he said quickly. ‘You’re not going, surely?’
‘Yes, I am.’ It was the tone she had used to Mr. King. ‘But it’s all right. I’m not in a temper.’
‘Good.’ He watched her carefully. ‘I did notice the Mallochs going---‘
‘Do you wonder?’ The sardonic tone deepened. ‘You and Murphy promised that waltz to those two girls, and then you forgot all about them and rushed off to dance with--someone else.’
‘Oh hell!’
‘Precisely. So you can make your apologies to them tomorrow. Grovelling.’
‘Damn!’
‘As you say. And as for--someone else . . .’ For the first time she looked straight at Anice. ‘I think I know her.’
‘That’s why I’ve brought her to you. I said she couldn’t avoid you.’
‘No.’ A little nod seemed to dispose of it. ‘How are you, Ann? Do I say I’m glad to see you?’
‘I don’t know--milady.’ Anice spoke carefully. ‘I wish you could.’
‘Well--perhaps it lies with you, and what you mean to do next. I’ve heard of Miss Anstey, of course, but I never dreamed that it was you.’
‘And I shouldn’t have done it?’
‘Of course you shouldn’t, but I can guess who told you to. It will have been your grandmother, and she probably told you how to do it, into the bargain.’
‘She was wonderful.’
‘In her own way, she was. But at all events, Ann, if it’s only for her sake, I’ll wish you well--here and elsewhere.’
‘Thank you ma’am.’ Anice spoke earnestly, and was looking her straight in the eye. ‘You were always good to me.’
‘You were always well behaved--to me--but that was years ago, Ann, and we’ve done with it now.’ A slight nod seemed to point to the end of this. ‘I don’t suppose we shall meet much while we’re here, but if we do we’ll be civil to each other. Keep off my friends, of course.’
Her tone had hardened a little, and for a moment Anice did not answer. She stood quite still, grave and composed, and then suddenly, for a fleeting moment, she turned her eyes to Richard, who had been standing through it at Mary’s side, wondering when Anice would notice him. She had not seemed even to be aware that he was in the room at all, and suddenly, from that glance, he knew that she had been intensely aware of him. She came at him in a flash of colour, deep blue against corn-coloured hair, blue as the paint that held Amphion in her room, and memories of that happiness came flashing with it. Then, before he had thought at all, or had understood anything, the colour faded. She had turned back to Mary and was answering quietly, even submissively.
‘Of course, ma’am.’ She inclined her head for an instant, and then a little smile came to her. ‘I don’t know yet who’s in Cheltenham, but I expect I shall learn soon.’
