“I find I do not care for your friends, Celia.”
“And so you mean to foist this female upon me! I thank you! Well, you’ve only yourself to blame if she finds that, after all, she is not suited for the post!”
The Earl raised his eyes to her heated countenance; they held a distinct menace. In many ways, Celia could bend him to her will, but there was a point beyond which she dared not go.
“She will remain,” he stated calmly, “for some months, at any rate. You may as well make up your mind to that, my dear.”
Celia saw that she must capitulate for the moment, but did not despair. On another occasion, Francis might be in a more pliant mood, and the companion would vanish as quickly as she had come. Managing the Earl of Bordesley was entirely a matter of choosing one’s moment.
“Oh, very well!” she said, with only a slight show of petulance. “What kind of female is she?”
The Earl considered before answering.
“She struck me as being a sensible, intelligent young woman, but that does not altogether convey her personality.”
He hesitated again.
“There was a warmth about her that is difficult to define,” he continued at last. “One felt that she might be someone to turn to in time of trouble. Also, I had the impression that she was possessed of a distinct sense of humour, though held discreetly in check.”
“She sounds tedious,” pronounced his wife. She eyed her husband shrewdly. Was it possible that he had his own reasons for introducing this woman into his household? She had thought that she had guessed his aim; namely, to add one more to the spies that surrounded her. There had been that in his manner and tone, however, that suggested a personal interest.
Almost she frowned, but checked herself in time; frowning had an ageing effect, and, moreover, it would be bad policy to allow Francis to see that she suspected anything other than appeared on the surface.
She must be losing her hold over him, though, if he was looking around for amours. Perhaps she had been a shade too petulant, too demanding, of late; that must be cured. He was at the dangerous age: let him once take a fancy to another woman, and Celia’s days as a Countess were numbered. It would not be difficult for him to find proof enough to divorce her. All that now prevented him from doing so was the fact that he still lay under her spell. He might spy on her, and makes jealous scenes, but she knew well that he did not really want to find conclusive proof of her infidelity. If it were presented to him, though, irrefutable proof — she turned hot and cold as she thought of the matter that had been in the forefront of her mind for the past week or more. With an effort that left no trace on the beautiful face, she mastered her thoughts.
“How old is this paragon?” she asked.
“About your age, I should say.”
“My age!” Celia’s alarm increased. “A companion of my age?”
“One supposes they must begin some time,” replied the Earl, amused.
“I hope she is a gentlewoman,” remarked Celia acidly, forgetting her good intentions.
“I did not question her concerning her ancestry. She had some excellent references from unexceptionable sources, and was obviously of good birth. I flatter myself, perhaps unduly in your opinion, that I am no mean judge of people.”
Celia had to admit this. Francis was remarkably shrewd in his dealings with everyone except herself.
“But you admitted yourself that she is a dowd,” she objected, in a milder tone. “How, then, do you expect me to take her amongst my friends — for I collect that you do?”
“Do you suppose,” countered the Earl, “that a smart, attractive governess would be welcome in most households? It seemed to me that this young woman had determined to guard against rejection on those grounds. Also, perhaps, a lack of means —”
Here he was interrupted by a knock upon the door. A servant entered and announced that a Miss Spencer was asking for his lordship.
“Show her up,” commanded the Earl.
Turning to his wife, he said, “Now, my dear, you will have an opportunity of judging for yourself.”
Celia turned her eyes impatiently towards the door. She was curious to see the woman who could inspire so much confidence in anyone as shrewd as my lord.
After an interval, the servant knocked once more. The door opened to admit a young woman, who greeted them in a soft, musical voice. She was becomingly, though not expensively, dressed in what appeared to be a new grey pelisse trimmed with yellow corded ribbon. Her bonnet was tied under her chin with strings of the same yellow. The colour brought out the hidden lights in the chestnut curls which framed her face.
Recognition was instant.
“Celia Walbrook!”
“By all that’s wonderful — Jane Tarrant!”
The exclamation was simultaneous: each started forward a step, oblivious of the Earl, who appeared equally surprised.
Celia, ever quick-witted, was the first to recover herself.
“Upon my word, this is extraordinary! Who could have supposed, my lord, that you would bring me an old schoolfellow as companion?”
Then, turning to Jane, who stood uncertainly by the door, looking more than a little dismayed; “But you have my name wrong. I am no longer Celia Walbrook, but Celia Bordesley. It seems that you, too, are no longer Jane Tarrant. Are you, then, married?”
Chapter VII. Encounter At The Play
“PRAY BE seated, Miss-er-Spencer,” said the Earl, smoothly, indicating a chair.
Jane sank gratefully into it, her colour a little heightened. “So you and my wife were at school together. Dear me, how very odd a coincidence!”
Jane agreed, somewhat breathlessly, thinking that it was a most uncomfortable coincidence. If she had known that my lady Bordesley was the erstwhile Celia Walbrook, nothing would have induced her to set foot in the Bordesley household. Young people at school together do not take long to learn the truth about each other, and nothing that Jane remembered of the girl Celia gave her any encouragement to hope for an amicable relationship with my lady Bordesley.
Celia saw her discomforture, and pressed home her advantage.
“Then you cannot be married, Jane, for my husband calls you Miss Spencer. Do, pray, tell me what the mystery is!”
She had the satisfaction of seeing Jane’s embarrassment deepen.
“There is no mystery, my lady,” she replied, after a pause to collect herself. “After my father’s death, I found myself obliged to earn a living. I was christened Jane Spencer Tarrant: I decided it might be better to use only my first two names.”
“How discreet of you!” said Celia, sweetly. “But then you were always the soul of discretion, as I remember. I believe no one ever heard where you went when you left Miss Leasowe’s establishment, not even your nearest and dearest friends.”
Jane’s eyes flashed at the insulting tone of the remark. It was true that she had dropped all her friends when her circumstances changed, not wishing to be an embarrassment to them. It was for the same reason that she had changed her name.
“We all thought it most odd,” went on Celia, enjoying herself. “There were a good many rumours, as I remember. Some had it that you had made a runaway match; while others thought that you had gone to live with impoverished relatives, and were too ashamed to introduce them to our acquaintance.”
She did not think it worthwhile to add that she herself had started these rumours; but Jane’s previous knowledge of Celia enabled her to guess this. The colour flamed in her face.
“I see now that we were not so far out in our surmises,” finished my lady, with a malicious smile. “Indeed, it is a pity that you should have so much come down in the world, Jane — and Miss Leasowe’s seminary was so select, too!”
“I think that Miss Spencer may desire to be shown her room,” interposed the Earl at this point. He had no taste for watching Celia play cat and mouse.
He rose and went to the bell-rope. A servant appeared, and Jane took her leave with a hot cheek a
nd a grateful glance at his lordship.
“A very pretty exhibition of feminine behaviour, my dear,” he said drily to Celia.
“I owe her a few knocks!” exclaimed his wife, with a hard look in the blue eyes.
He raised his brows.
“I dare say you don’t know what it is to have someone held up to you as a paragon!”
“When I was at school, we had a short way of dealing with toadies,” replied his lordship, reflectively.
“Yes, perhaps, but the thing was, she was popular with the other girls: she might well be, for she used to help half of them with their tasks. She was one of those poor fools who cannot help involving themselves in other people’s scrapes!”
“I feel sure that is an error into which you would not be likely to fall,” said the Earl, drily.
Celia raised her brows. “Would you applaud me if I did? Bah, it is the worst kind of folly! If I am to be in a scrape, let it be one of my own contriving.”
“By all means,” he replied. “You contrive them so well.”
This was Francis at his most difficult. She went swiftly to his side, twining her soft white arms about his neck. Her voice took on a coaxing tone.
“Why do we talk of Jane Tarrant? I will not oppose you if you are set on keeping her here. Dearest Francis, let us speak of something else.”
He looked deep into her eyes, those blue, unfathomable eyes that had been used to enslave so many men. He touched the soft skin of her neck lightly: her lips curved and invited. He forgot about Miss Spencer.
That young lady had been shown into a room next to Celia’s boudoir, a room daintily furnished, and with a fire in the grate, for these last days of March were chilly. At any other time, she would have been full of appreciation, for the apartment was in a more luxurious style than those usually offered to her in her capacity as governess: but just at present, she felt that the meanest hovel would be preferable to sharing a mansion with Celia Bordesley. She would not stay here. Nothing should persuade her to do so!
What, then, would she do, she asked herself? Go to Mr. and Mrs. Sharratt or one of her aunts, until she could find another post? She could not bring herself to be a burden upon any of these good souls, ignoring the fact that they would never have thought of such a word in connection with her visit. What remained? Only to find some modest lodging, and do her utmost to procure another post. And that, she reflected sadly, she could not risk; for her slender means would not allow of protracted idleness, and she might wait many months before a vacancy offered.
Her chin went up resolutely. No, she would stay; she was not going to haul down her colours without showing fight. Before this, she had faced covert sneers and insults without flinching; she had developed a protective armour which had stood her in good stead. Why, then, had it been so easily pierced today? She knew the answer. It was because of the blow she had suffered yesterday. Well, there was no profit in thinking of that affair. It was best to forget, as Mr. Sharratt had counselled.
Surprisingly enough, she found Celia not unfriendly when next they met. True, she seemed to derive a certain pleasure in issuing Jane with orders, but such duties as the latter had appeared to be light. A ribbon that required matching at one of the shops, a stitch dropped in a piece of needlework, a book to be changed at the Circulating Library — such trivial tasks occupied her time for the next two days. Jane began to wonder what need my lady had of a companion, for she certainly did not lack for company. There were morning callers in plenty, and a chattering female who took tea on the first afternoon.
She was somewhat startled at being bidden to attend Celia to the play in the evening of the second day. She could not know that it was by the Earl’s expressed wish; and hoped fervently that the simple yellow muslin which she had bought to serve her for evenings, might not compare too unfavourably with the gowns of Celia and her elegant companions.
If Jane had been stirred at the sight of London by day, she found the Town even more fascinating by night. Dozens of smart equipages bowled along over the cobbled streets, passing great houses ablaze with light ready to receive guests, with gold-laced footmen lining the steps. Link-boys with their flaring torches and chairmen bearing elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen crowded the streets. An impression of glittering festivity remained with her long after she had taken her seat with the rest of Celia’s party in the box at the theatre, and the curtain had risen.
Jane had been privileged to watch an occasional private theatrical performance in the houses where she had been employed, but it had not before come in her way to visit the theatre. She was a little put out, therefore, at not being allowed on this occasion to concentrate upon what was going forward on the stage. Celia’s friends Lord and Lady Brettle kept up a constant low murmur of conversation; while Celia herself and her bosom friend Selina Breakwell had not even the good manners to keep their tones subdued. More than once, Celia’s musical laugh rang out during one of the more impressive speeches, and Jane felt she would have dearly liked to box her ears. It puzzled her to know why anyone should bother to visit the theatre, unless with the intention of hearing the play.
During the interval, all five walked up and down outside the box, in common with other members of the audience. Among these, Jane particularly noticed a tall handsome man with fair hair brushed in a seemingly careless style, and amused blue eyes. He checked when he came opposite to Celia’s party, and bowed. Celia’s companions returned the civility, but Jane noticed that Celia herself wore a cold, distant look on her face. The gentleman appeared to notice this too, for the amusement in his eyes deepened, and he stepped deliberately in front of Celia, thus forcing her to stop in her pacing.
“My lady Bordesley! ’Pon rep, this is a very pleasant encounter! What think you of the play?” Jane heard him say, before Lady Breakwell took her arm and urged her onwards. Lord and Lady Brettle also continued walking, leaving Celia alone to converse with her new-found companion.
She waited until the others were out of earshot, then turned on him in disdain.
“I wonder you have the effrontery to address me!”
He raised one eyebrow, a trick of his which gave him a slightly diabolical air.
“What, Celia? Sulking? Come now, play and pay is the rule, my heart’s life!”
“How dare you!” she said, in a low, fierce tone, clenching her small fists. “Leave me this instant, sir!”
“When you are so adorably in looks? Never! It is asking too much of human nature! Besides, why do you wish me to leave you?”
“You may well ask,” she replied, in a somewhat milder manner. Try as she might, she could never quite resist his impudence. “Do you think you have behaved in a gentlemanlike way towards me?”
“No,” he said softly, leaning nearer to speak in her ear. “Let us say rather in a loverlike way, fairest Celia.”
“Do you call it the action of a lover to extort money from me?” she whispered back, furiously.
“But I could not persuade you to make me a gift, my heart’s angel; I did beg you to do so, but I found you adamant. What could I then do but turn to barter, and offer to sell you the only thing I possessed which might possibly be of interest to you?”
“I am not made of money,” said Celia, with an angry frown. “I have given you quite enough in the past. It was time to call a halt, unless Bordesley were to become suspicious.”
“My soul’s delight, I have been embarrassing you!” he cried in a contrite tone. “Why did you not tell me so before? I would have found some other means of settling my affairs.”
“Tell you before! —” Celia broke off, aghast, then burst out laughing. “ ’Pon rep, Julian, your impudence passes all bounds!”
A slow smile spread over his countenance as he watched her anger fading. Even with Celia, his charm never failed to produce the desired effect.
“But what are you doing in Town?” she stopped laughing to ask. “I understood your pockets were to let, and therefore you were obliged to remain in Kent.
If I had known, I need scarce have gone to so much trouble — this alters all my plans!”
“I am flattered to think I have the power to alter your plans. I am able to be once more in Town because of your — er — generosity.”
“My? —” Celia stared. “But then —” realising the full implication of his statement — “where is my letter?”
He paused in the act of taking a pinch of snuff, and looked keenly at her.
“Have you not received it?”
She shook her head. “What can it mean? You saw Richard, I imagine?”
His face took on the satanic look.
“Yes, I saw him.” He shut the snuff box with a snap, returning it to his pocket. “Has he not waited on you, then, to hand you the letter?”
“No, Julian, he has not. What do you suppose it can mean? Of course, there is Francis — but then, Richard might have contrived to send me a message to let me know that all was well. When was he with you?”
“Let me see,” he said, carelessly. “Five — no, four days since; very likely he has forgot. You will hear from him soon.”
“Four days!” echoed Celia, alarmed. “He would never allow all that time to elapse before sending me word — I know Richard too well! Something must be wrong!”
“You may not know him as well as you think,” he said, sardonically. “Perhaps the noble Richard means to turn the document to his own account.”
“But no, Julian! He is not in need of money!”
“One may barter with a woman for other things than money,” he said, significantly.
She shook her head. “Not Richard,” she said, decidedly. “He could not be such a —a blackguard.”
He bowed ironically.
She caught his eye, and laughed.
“Oh, well, you are a law unto yourself, Julian! You believe that the end justifies the means, and although you are a thorough rogue, somehow I cannot for long be angry with you!”
“We are two of a kind, my lady,” he said, taking her hand and pressing his lips to it; for by this time, the passage was deserted, the interval having ended some minutes since.
The Jewelled Snuff Box Page 6
