by M C Beaton
He led her into a small anteroom and closed the door. The faint strains of a lilting Scottish reel filtered faintly into the quiet room.
“I do not think, Miss Snapper,” said Webb pompously, “that our little Alice will be able to refrain from telling her uncle that we have been… hem… a trifle rough with her. It was all for her own good but he may not see it that way and may forbid the marriage.”
“He cannot,” said Miss Snapper eagerly. “Alice told me he had left her papers allowing her to marry whom she chooses.”
“Well, she may use his support to cancel the engagement. Alice has not been happy of late,” said Webb. He spoke the truth. His daily hectoring criticism had reduced Alice to a quaking wreck. But Webb found Alice, shaking and frightened, infinitely exciting and did not want her any other way.
Miss Snapper lowered her eyes. “It could be, mayhap, that he might find it necessary to give his blessing to the marriage…”
“You mean?… She will not allow me intimacies and it did not seem to me necessary to press my suit since we are shortly to be wed.”
Miss Snapper fidgeted with the lace of her mitten. “There are ways it could be achieved.”
The reel finished with a crashing chord and the faint murmur of voices permeated the room and Lord Harold looked down at the companion with an unpleasant smile on his face.
“You hate her, don’t you?” he said.
Miss Snapper raised her black eyes to the ceiling. “As God is my witness, my lord, I have only the girl’s best interests at heart.”
“Oh, whatever way you want it,” he sneered. “How is this seduction to be achieved without her screaming the place down?”
“I never said…”
“Oh, yes you did in your own sweet way. Stow the hypocrisy.”
Miss Snapper cast down her eyes again. Her hand flew nervously to the jewels at her neck. She had been feathering her nest very well and unless she quickly swallowed her pride, then Alice might escape.
“She has not been sleeping well,” she said. “Some chloral in her milk…”
“Do it now,” he said urgently, “I’ll carry her to my bed and you tell… No, that will not answer. My servants will pretend to be shocked and will tell Alice’s uncle that she is abed with me. You keep to your own quarters. Quickly.”
Alice was tossing and turning on her bed when Miss Snapper crept into the room, a glass of hot milk in her hand. Alice was tormented by thoughts of the Duke holding that blonde hussy in his arms.
She had longed for him and dreamed of seeing him again through the long, lonely months and he had not even a thought to spare for her. Not that she was in love with him! That was ridiculous. She had looked on him as a, sort of father or as the uncle he pretended to be. He was not kind. He was heartless. A philandering phantom who did not know that fair hair was desperately unfashionable. Alice looked up and found Miss Snapper bending over her and cringed against the pillows.
“Here is something to help you sleep,” murmured Miss Snapper in a soothing voice.
“Milk,” said Alice wretchedly. “I do not want milk.”
“But it will help you sleep,” urged Miss Snapper.
Sleep! Alice realized that was what she longed for more than anything. To die, to sleep, to blot out the wicked world and its bullies for a few hours.
She drank the milk while Miss Snapper watched her with satisfaction.
In the shadows in the corner of the room, the Duke watched also. He had been hidden in the walls of the anteroom where Miss Snapper and Webb had had their enlightening conversation.
He watched grimly as Alice collapsed quickly into a deep drugged sleep, watched as Miss Snapper signaled to someone unseen in the corridor, and then Webb entered and picked up Alice’s slim body and carried her from the room.
The Duke quickly slid down through the floor and placed himself in a prominent position in the hall where the last of the guests were leaving. Miss Snapper, meanwhile, retired quickly to her own modest room. Some thoughtful servant had left a glass of warm milk by her bed. Miss Snapper gave a thin smile. It wasn’t drugged anyway. She picked it up and drank it down in one gulp and began to prepare herself for bed.
In his room, Webb placed Alice in his bed and slowly began to undress. The stage was set. By now his valet should be informing Alice’s uncle of his niece’s disgrace.
“What!” yelled the Duke in a great voice so that a few of the last guests and the Earl and Countess of Markhampton turned round in surprise. “My niece in bed with Lord Harold Webb! Is this what you encourage in your house?” he demanded of the Earl. “Seduction of innocent virgins?”
Without waiting to see the effect of his words, the Duke began to rapidly mount the stairs. The Earl and his guests hurried after, but as they reached the first landing, the Duke had mysteriously disappeared.
“Monsieur Le Comte moves quickly,” said the Earl in surprise. He had been apprised of the identity of his new guest. “Nonetheless, I must find out the truth of this matter. My Harold would never do such a thing. It will all turn out to be a hum, mark my words!”
He hurried on with his wife behind him and his guests pressed close behind.
Lord Harold Webb heard the rumpus coming along the corridor and smiled. It was just as well he wanted to be discovered, he reflected smugly, or he would have had time to make things respectable long before they appeared. The room was in total darkness. Well, might as well get as much fun as possible. Alice was, after all, lying next to him. He thought of the feel of her warm body through the thin material of her nightgown when he had carried her to his bed and his pulses began to race.
He pulled the unconscious female body close to his own naked one, throwing the covers back first so that when Uncle Gervase burst in, he should have the maximum view.
He searched for the mouth beneath his in the dark. Just before the Earl and his party burst into the room, Lord Harold Webb was conscious of two bewildering physical sensations. Alice’s mouth, instead of soft and childlike as he remembered, was hard and thin. And he had noticed she had lost weight of late, but never would have believed she could have possessed so many hard sharp bones.
Also just before the door opened, a branch of candles on the mantelshelf immediately sprang into flame as if by magic, showing the stern and hard profile of Alice’s Uncle Gervase. He was standing by the fireplace, looking toward the door.
“Good God!” cried the Earl bursting into the room, “Oh, Harold, my son, what have you done?”
The guests crowded into the room behind him.
“This lady is my fiancée,” said Harold, sitting up in bed with great unconcern. “I do not think we have done anything vastly wrong.”
Then came the mocking voice of Uncle Gervase. “Alas! My poor Alice! To be cut out by a spinster.”
Harold stared at the Duke who had turned and was lighting another branch of candles. He had a sudden sick feeling of dread. He turned slowly and looked down at the face lying on the pillow next to him.
Miss Snapper was lying, snoring. Her mouth was slightly open, showing a glint of little, sharp teeth.
“There has been some terrible mistake,” babbled Harold, pulling the bedclothes hurriedly about his naked body.
Now, the Duke had made sure that the drug he had put in Miss Snapper’s milk was not very strong.
Under Lord Harold’s horrified gaze, she slowly came awake. Her dazed eyes stared up into Webb’s. Then she looked at the Earl and his guests, then at the Duke. And then she began to scream and scream and scream.
Chapter 5
Alice was alone in her drawing room in Manchester Square. She was lying on the sofa with her head buried in a new novel. She was completely and blissfully alone. No Miss Snapper. No sharp voices reprimanding her.
She was wearing a pretty sarsenet dress with a dozen flounces at the hem caught up in scallops. It had little puff sleeves and was fastened down the front with a row of little raised buttons. Her hair rioted about her head in artisti
c disorder. She had a little color in her cheeks. Her feet were comfortably encased in beaded slippers.
Alice put down her book and stared out at the fading light. She would not have much longer to wait.
It was two days since the ball, two whole days since the Duke had cleverly terminated her engagement to Webb.
Alice smiled as she remembered the uproar which had greeted her when she had descended the stairs the next day.
The Earl of Markhampton was as pompous as his son, but for once that pomposity had been deflated. He had told her in hushed tones of the disgrace of his son. Harold, he had said, would have to marry Miss Snapper. She was a gentlewoman and had been compromised under his roof. Alice’s uncle had left instructions that neither of the guilty couple was to approach his niece and that she was to pack her bags and return to London forthwith.
Alice, who did not yet know of the plot against her, could only assume that Webb had been nursing a secret passion for Miss Snapper all along. She did not know how miserable and trapped that young man now felt.
Neither Webb nor Miss Snapper could admit that it had been Alice who was supposed to be lying in his lordship’s bed. But to Webb’s horror, Miss Snapper, after she had recovered from her original screaming shock, had abruptly changed and had become the outraged maiden mixed with the coy virgin. For Miss Snapper’s agile mind had quickly grasped the idea of an advantageous marriage. She was impoverished, but of good family.
Unaware of all this, Alice had listened gravely to the Earl’s apologies and had quietly gone away to order her servants to make ready to depart as soon as possible. She found it hard to conceal her joy.
On her first night home, the Duke had briefly appeared. He had been formal and aloof, only remaining long enough to tell her he was going to advertise for another companion. Alice had tried to protest but he had answered sternly that she could not live alone.
Now she was awaiting him again as she had waited so many times before. She rose from the sofa and crossed to the window, looking up hopefully at the steadily darkening sky and at the faraway twinkling of the first star.
She tripped over to the looking glass and patted her hair. All at once, she saw him behind her, his face reflected in the glass.
“I did not think phantoms could see their own image,” she said, without turning round.
“A pox on all phantoms,” said the ghost crossly. “I am tired of these short nights. It is not at all odd to me that I should see myself in the glass.” He swiveled away from her and stared across the room at the open book lying on the sofa. “Novels! I thought as much. You have been reading rubbish.”
Alice swung around, too happy to see him again to be angry with him. “I have ordered a late supper for us,” she said. “I trust you have not dined.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said the Duke nastily. “How can I have dined when I have just materialized?”
“I forget, you see,” said Alice apologetically. “You look so human.”
He nodded his head, accepting the apology as his due. “Your servants will not be pleased at having to serve supper late,” he said, taking a delicately enameled snuffbox from his pocket and opening the lid with a deft twist of his wrist.
“Oh, no, they are quite delighted,” said Alice. “They are so pleased Miss Snapper is gone. I heard the chef tell the butler.”
“Listening to servants’ gossip, Alice?”
“Of course,” said Alice. “I am a servant, remember.”
“No, I will not remember,” he said harshly. “I have gone to considerable pains to establish you as a lady of the ton. But if, in your sheer peasant ingratitude, you prefer to forget it, then that, my dear, is something you will have to overcome.”
Tears started to Alice’s eyes at the cold cruelty of his voice, but the butler was at the doorway announcing dinner.
The Duke imperiously held out his arm and she could do nothing but blink away the tears and try to swallow the lump in her throat.
It was a silent meal, Alice picking at her food and the Duke seemingly totally absorbed in making a hearty meal.
When the servants had at last retired, he looked across the table at her. “I was hungry,” he said.
Alice sighed. “Why does everyone bully me and snap at me so?”
“Because,” said the Duke pouring himself a glass of port, “you have a cringing air about you, Alice, a very emanation of timidity which brings out the beast in people. You are eminently bullyable. You want spirit.”
“How can I change?” wailed Alice.
“Oh, look in your glass,” said the ghost testily. “You are a beautiful woman, Alice. Forget that scullery maid. She is as dead as… as I am.”
“But there was no need for you to be so cross,” said Alice in a low voice. “We have not really talked in so long. Have I done something to make you angry?”
“Have you done…? Of course you have, you hen-witted brat. What on earth made you even consider wedding such a fool as Webb?”
“He was pleasant… at first,” said Alice. “And he seemed so handsome. I was flattered that he should show an interest in me.”
“Did he make love to you?”
“Yes,” whispered Alice.
“You have lost your virginity,” stated the Duke with contempt.
“NO!” shouted Alice, and then in a lower voice, “No, not that. He k-kissed me and f-fondled me.”
“And that did pleasure you?”
“No,” said Alice, raising her large eyes to look fully at him. “I felt nothing.”
“I’Faith, that was an excellent dinner,” said the Duke cheerfully. “I do not know why I was so much at odds with the world. Come, dear child, we shall forget Webb and Snapper. They shall be the wicked phantoms of thy life—gone now to haunt thee no more. I have found a lady companion.”
“Oh, dear,” murmured Alice.
“I have taken care with this one. Nonetheless, it is for you to decide whether you want her. Her name is Cassandra Fadden. I shall tell you no more about her.”
“Do you like my gown?” ventured Alice, not wishing to discuss this companion who would surely bully her.
“Stand up,” he ordered, and when she complied, “Turn around.”
He studied her thoughtfully for a long moment “Pretty,” he said at last. “Vastly pretty. Trust your own taste in clothes, child. You looked the veriest quiz under the tuition of the Snapper.”
She flushed with pleasure and shyly resumed her chair and gathering all her small stock of courage she said, “Mayhap it would please you to stay in London with me for some days?”
“Mayhap it would,” he drawled. “I have, however, started writing my memoirs. So far I am doing very well,” he said with simple pride. “Whether anyone will believe them or not is another matter.”
“Do you still wish me to get married?” asked Alice.
“What other future is there for you?” asked the Duke. “The money from the jewels will not last forever. You are young and healthy and normal. Of course you wish to have children and a home of your own.”
“But my husband, he must never know my secret,” said Alice. “How do you keep secrets from someone you love?”
“Well, you’d better learn to keep a still tongue in your head,” he said acidly. “If you start babbling on about ghosts you’ll end in Bedlam.”
“I may not be able to fall in love with anyone suitable,” pleaded Alice.
“What is love?” demanded the ghost, refilling his glass and settling down to a pleasurable dissertation. “It is frustrated lust, nothing more. What is marriage? Legalized lust. People fall in love because they do not know how to keep their lives simple. They have to go and mess it up by not only taking themselves too seriously but someone else as well. It is a bad basis for marriage for, after the first dizzy raptures are over, what do we find? A man and a woman, disillusioned and bored. That is what makes them seek extramarital affairs. That…”
“Stop!” cried Alice, putting her hands ov
er her ears.
“I beg your pardon,” said the Duke haughtily, “but I was in the middle of explaining one of my pet theories. You lack manners.”
“Have you no heart?” cried Alice.
“Of course I have, you silly chit. I have that same organ that I took to the grave with me. It beats. It pumps blood. It did not fall in love when I was alive, so I think it is safe to assume it will not now I am dead. Now, where was I?”
“You were talking about disillusionment,” said Alice in a dead voice. “Tiens! Quelle bětise!”
“There is no need to be rude in French as well as English. Obviously you do not share my views. Yes, I shall stay with you for a few weeks. I think I should guide you in your choice of husband. There is not much to choose from here until the beginning of the Little Season but we shall do our best. While I am on the subject, it is not a good idea to let your swains kiss you and fondle you as you say young Webb did. Familiarities breed contempt. Keep a respectable distance until you are wed. It is strange to me to think of any man wishing to be intimate with you. Perhaps it is because I view you in the light of the niece you pretend to be. You are looking quite white and exhausted, my child. Do you wish to go to bed?”
