Letters to a Lady

by Joan Smith

  “Don’t worry your head about that. Markwell’s servant will produce the Waverley novel as evidence, Ron will pay his fine, and that will be an end to it.”

  “Yes, but Markwell will know by now that the letters were stolen, and—”

  “What can he do about it?” Harrup asked with satisfaction. “He can hardly report them as stolen. He won’t show his nose at Bow Street. Don’t worry. But I’ll keep a sharp eye on him, see how he acts toward me. I’m off now. Enjoy your day, Diana.”

  He gave her fingers a light squeeze and left. The sun shone brightly as he stepped out to his curricle. He had his letters back, and soon he would receive notice of his appointment. It had been enjoyable to have some female company at breakfast. Before long he would have the daily pleasure of Selena’s pretty face across from him. Selena was not quite so lively as Diana, of course, but when she became more at home with him, she’d open like a rosebud in the sun.

  She was still a child really, eighteen. Approximately half his age. When he was fifty, she’d be thirty-three. In her prime, while he was on the down road. Foolish to worry about that so soon. Selena wasn’t the sort of lady to cause her husband worries. A nice, docile child—lady!

  Diana’s day was busy. Ronald came directly to her from Bow Street. He had escaped with a fine of three guineas—a blow, but not crushing. Markwell had not been there, and best of all, he had had the wits to use an alias. Whether George Cuthbert would be happy that his name was the one that popped into Ronald’s head was a matter of some concern, but as he had no intention of telling Cuthbert, he soon forgot that detail.

  “I daresay Harrup was very grateful we got his letters back for him, once he settled down,” he said, looking hopefully to hear what form the gratitude had taken.

  “I didn’t ask him about the position for you yet, Ronald. Tonight we shall do it, after we come home from the theater. As it turns out, two of the letters are still missing. Harrup is not worried, but I am. I feel in my bones Mrs. Whitby means to make mischief with them. If we can save Harrup five thousand guineas, he cannot reasonably offer you anything less than the post as his assistant.”

  As Ronald was still at leisure, they spent the afternoon touring London. Diana purchased new gloves at the Pantheon Bazaar. Hers had been totally destroyed the night before. To make up for dragging her brother through the bazaar, Diana dallied at bookstalls with Ronald while he searched for a copy of Waverley. Once the two volumes were in his hands, it was hard to interest him in anything else. Diana directed the groom to drive them through all the parks. She spared not a glance for the newly leafed trees, the sun glowing through their branches and dappling the grass below. She could see that at home. Her interest was riveted on the fine gentlemen and ladies, their equipages sparkling, their matched teams groomed to perfection. Ronald stuck his nose into a book and read.

  They had tea at a country inn, Ronald still reading, which caused rather more spilling than usual, while Diana looked around at the other customers. She took the liberty of inviting Ronald to dine at Harrup’s, but with his nose firmly implanted in the book, he refused. She thought the word he muttered was “Cuthbert” and assumed Ronald was dining with this friend.

  Just before she left him at his flat, he said, “I have been seduced, Di. I never thought I would burn out my eyes on mere novels, but this is really something out of the ordinary. I think you must make my apologies to Harrup this evening. I shall stay home and finish this book.”

  “You will do nothing of the sort! You are my escort, and you will be at Belgrave Square at seven-thirty.”

  “Then I’d best hurry in. I can be done with this first volume by seven, and read the second tonight. Oh, damme, there is Cuthbert pacing the street, waiting for me. I’ll get rid of him.”

  Diana drove home and made her toilette for the evening. As her embroidered cape was a little spotted, she decided the elegance of her blue satin was required to compensate. At least she would look unexceptionable once she removed the cape. Harrup’s dark eyes made an appreciative tour of her toilette, admiring the white shoulders against the blue gown and thinking to himself that alabaster was the only word for them, but he dared not say it. “That should bring the octogenarians out of the woodwork” was his offhand compliment.

  “I wish you would quit staring at me as if I were beefsteak,” she complained, though she was actually surprised to see that glint of masculine admiration in his eyes, and not displeased, either.

  “Beefsteak is the wrong metaphor. You look more like dessert—delectably sweet.”

  “Stick to alabaster, Harrup,” she advised, and twitched away.

  Peabody joined them for dinner, and the compliments ceased. In a nostalgic mood, she regaled them with apocryphal tales of Harrup’s precocity in the nursery.

  “He knew where everything was kept,” she told Diana, shaking her head in wonder. “No one could believe it. I remember one day I was ill—the earache always plagued me—and Bessie McGill, who was replacing me, couldn’t credit her eyes. ‘Where does Peabody keep the nappies?’ she asked, just talking aloud to herself, you know, and what should Chuggie do but crawl straight to the cupboard and open the door. There were the nappies. It was no accident, for it was the same with everything she asked for. At nine months he recognized every word and knew where all his things were stored.”

  “Are you quite sure he crawled to the cupboard, Peabody?” Diana quizzed. “I’m sure you told me Chuggie was walking at nine months.”

  “Not when he was in a hurry. He could walk at nine months, but he had the cutest way of dragging himself across the floor, pulling one foot behind him when he was in a hurry. My, what a mess he made of his frocks.”

  Diana turned a mocking gaze on Harrup. “He sounds adorable. Remarkable how he has changed.”

  “She is only funning,” Peabody assured Harrup. “You never knew such a lively soul, Chuggie. How she makes fun of all the beaux at the assemblies at home. She can mimic the vicar’s droll tones to a T. Do the vicar for Chuggie, Di.”

  Harrup turned a laughing eye on her. “Turnabout is fair play, milady. Your turn.”

  “You show me the famous dragging crawl and I’ll do the vicar,” Diana bargained.

  When the meal was finished, Peabody informed Harrup she was going to her room to knit him a new pair of slippers, for she was sure those shoes must be uncomfortable after a hard day at work. “Now that you are about to settle into a married man,” she said coyly, “your days of running around town are numbered. You will want to spend the evenings with your lady by the fireside. I’m sure she has all accomplishments, Harrup. You were always so demanding in that regard—remember how you used to scold about your mama’s friends. ‘No conversation,’ you used to say, though I’m sure the talk never flagged a moment. It will be quite like old times, having the nursery occupied again.” She sighed happily.

  “Thank you, Peabody. You are too kind,” Harrup said, concealing his impatience as best he could.

  Peabody gushed happily and went to search out her woolens. Not till she had left did Harrup turn a leery eye on Diana. “My God, how long have you had to listen to tales of my ingenuity?”

  “For twenty-five years.” She sighed. “You may imagine our astonishment when such a paragon as dear Chuggie turned out to have feet of clay.”

  “Peabody was sadly disillusioned with me over the Whitby affair, I should think?” he asked.

  “You underestimate the height of your pedestal. It is all Mrs. Whitby’s fault. She preys on innocent young thirty-five-year-olds. Reality and Peabody’s memories run in separate channels. By the way, it was kind of you to go and visit her downstairs yesterday. I forgot to thank you.”

  “It is I who should thank you for drawing it to my attention. I should have thought of it myself.”

  “You’re very busy,” Diana said forgivingly. “Dear me, I’m beginning to sound like Peabody!” She smiled. “Let us go. Lady Selena may not be so understanding if we’re late.”

&nb
sp; They left to call for Lady Selena. Harrup asked Diana to go into the Grodens’ house with him, but she elected to wait in the carriage. It was there that she had her first view of Lady Selena. Even in the dim light she could see the girl was an incomparable. A wave of black hair swept from her high forehead. The color of her eyes was indistinguishable, but their large size and luminosity were apparent, as were the contours of her face. A high cheek, a small nose, the face tapering to a nearly perfect heart shape below. Yet with all this beauty and high birth, there was no sign of haughtiness in the girl. Diana waited to hear how the vision spoke. The soft, hesitant voice was childish.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Beecham,” she said, and for the remainder of the trip she said virtually nothing.

  Harrup prodded her to speech by making leading statements. “Miss Beecham is my neighbor at home,” he said.

  Lady Selena smiled shyly.

  “I hope we shall see a good deal of each other after you are married,” Diana said to fill the silence.

  A faint “Yes” was whispered in the darkness.

  “Do you ride? There are some lovely rides at Harrup Hall,” Diana said. Her voice sounded loud and harsh to her own ears.

  “A little. Not much,” Lady Selena replied. Her tone was apologetic.

  Harrup clapped his hands and tried another tack. “So we are off to Drury Lane. I always enjoy Sheridan. Such a wit the man has.”

  “Do you like Sheridan, Lady Selena?” Diana asked.”I—I don’t think I have seen him act before,” Selena replied.

  “Sheridan is the playwright, Selena, not the actor,” Harrup told her.

  “Oh.”

  “The School for Scandal is one of his best. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” Diana said.

  Another quiet yes hung on the air.

  Harrup, not a patient man, gave up and turned his talk to Diana. “We should have asked Peabody to join us. Why didn’t you remind me?”

  “Peabody doesn’t like going out. The fates can find her better at home.”

  “She is still the target for all malign forces, is she?” he asked, smiling.

  “Certainly. The day before we left home the postman purposely ripped the cover from her favorite periodical. It was only my vigilance that kept Jennie from destroying her blue muslin with bleach.” Diana turned to try to include Lady Selena in the conversation. “Peabody was Harrup’s nursemaid and mine. She is now my chaperon,” she explained.

  Lady Selena smiled and nodded.

  “You might as well learn her oddities,” Diana added. “Very likely she will end up running your nursery.

  Lady Selena squirmed uncomfortably. She didn’t honor this effort with a smile. Diana thought perhaps her remark was in bad taste and quickly changed the topic. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Selena has two brothers and three sisters,” Harrup added, and filled the next few blocks with an enumeration of them and their position.

  “I have just one brother, Ronald,” Diana said, and took her turn at talking till the carriage reached Drury Lane.

  “Oh, there is Ronald now, waiting for us,” she exclaimed.

  Selena glanced out the window with moderate interest. She was surprised Miss Beecham should have such a nice-looking brother. She was afraid he would be big and old and brusque like Harrup, but he looked very sensitive and not of an overwhelming size. They alighted and Harrup made the introductions. Lady Selena cranked her courage up to curtsy and say, “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Beecham.”

  Diana waited on thorns for Ronald to trip or step on Lady Selena’s gown or knock her evening bag from her hand. He did none of these things as he stood motionless as a stone, staring at the vision of loveliness before him. The only little embarrassment was that he fell utterly speechless. He stared, with his lower lip fallen, and didn’t say a word. He had never seen or imagined such exquisite perfection existed in the real world. She was the embodiment of Mr. Scott’s heroine, the gentle Rose Bradwardine.

  Diana took his arm, Harrup placed his hand on Lady Selena’s elbow, and the four entered the theater. Harrup had a box on the grand tier. Diana was so thrilled with the glamour of the occasion that she forgot Lady Selena. She looked around at the crowd of bejeweled ladies and elegant gentlemen and smiled happily. How wonderful it was to be in London, rubbing elbows with the tip of the ton.

  “You must be very successful, Ronald,” she said. “I want you to hire a grand house and let me be your hostess. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live here?”

  “Did you mention the position to Harrup?” Ronald asked in a low voice.

  “Not yet. He’s still considerably worried about the missing letters.”

  “That’s odd,” he said. “Cuthbert made me go out to dinner with him this evening. I hardly got a chapter read, for he chattered like a magpie all through dinner. He got an increase in his allowance from his papa and hired one of the top floor flats on Glasshouse Street—Markwell’s place, you know. I told you he had been looking at it. The strange thing is, he told me a very beautiful lady had just taken the other flat. A lady of a certain age with black hair. He didn’t mention her name, but I wonder if she could be Mrs. Whitby.”

  “I’ll wager she is,” Diana said, her heart racing in excitement. “Markwell would let her know the flat was for hire, and they would want to be close together, yet maintain a semblance of respectability.” She wanted to inform Harrup and looked to the front of the stall to see if he was engaged in conversation.

  She saw him staring off at the crowd, completely neglectful of his companion, who stared the other way, equally bored. She looked from one profile to the other. Harrup’s jaw was clamped, giving him an angry look. Lady Selena appeared all of ten or twelve—a veritable child, though undeniably beautiful.

  Following his sister’s gaze, Ronald said, “Isn’t she exquisite?”

  “Talk to her, Ronald. I want to speak to Harrup.”

  Ronald leaned forward and said in his gentle voice that couldn’t frighten a mouse, “Have you read Waverley, Lady Selena?”

  She appeared flattered at this slim attention. “I have been meaning to,” she answered, and smiled. Mr. Beecham had lovely eyes, all soft and glowing. They didn’t pierce right through like Harrup’s, nor look so closely at your bosom, either. For his part, Ronald had the strangest sensation of hearing celestial music when he beheld the vision.

  Her answer was sufficient encouragement for him to burst forth into raptures over Walter Scott. Diana poked Harrup’s shoulder and when she had his attention told him her suspicions about Mrs. Whitby. He appeared interested. “I’ll drop around tomorrow and see if she’s there. Best say no more at this time,” he cautioned, glancing to his fiancée.

  Lady Selena was engrossed in Ronald’s story of Edward Waverley and Rose Bradwardine. The complications of Hanoverians and Jacobites sounded confusing, but she listened to the soft-spoken young gentleman with the shy smile and was emboldened to tell him it sounded very exciting.

  “You must read it,” Ronald told her. “I’ll lend my copy to you as soon as I’ve finished. Not later than tomorrow.”

  Lady Selena found no folly in this suggested time. “Will you finish it in one day?” she asked, batting her eyes in admiration.

  “It’s too good to put down. I didn’t want to come here tonight. But I’m glad I did,” he admitted. “The best of men cannot suspend their fate,” he added with a curious smile.

  Lady Selena blushed and glanced fearfully at Harrup, who displayed no evidence of jealousy. The curtain was rising. He turned aside and said “Hush” as though she were an infant. Selena obediently fell silent and turned her head to the stage.

  When the audience roared with laughter, Selena smiled in confusion and thought this was rather a warm play for Harrup to have taken her to. When the first intermission came, Harrup offered to take the ladies out for wine. “Or you and Ronald can stay here, Di, and I’ll have it brought in,” he
offered.

  She was happy to sit and watch the audience move about. Ronald wasn’t much company, but the wine was excellent, and the break passed quickly. She noticed Harrup had taken Lady Selena to visit another box. The gentlemen were ogling Selena, and Harrup stood like a proud father, preening himself at his conquest. They certainly made a handsome couple, she had to acknowledge that much.

  They returned when the bell rang and took up their same seats as before during the second act. At the next intermission, Harrup turned to Diana and said, “Would you like to stretch your legs?”

  “You’ve already shown your fiancée off. I guess your reputation can bear being seen with me.”

  “I was hoping to have some private conversation with you. I’ve discovered something of interest that I don’t wish Lady Selena to hear.

  “Excuse us. Miss Beecham wants to get some exercise,” Harrup said to his fiancée before leaving.

  Lady Selena breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Ronald as the others left.

  “She’s here,” Harrup said, as soon as they were out of the box.

  “Who is? Mrs. Whitby?” Diana asked. Her eyes sparkled with interest.

  “Yes, I spotted her at intermission. She’s not with Markwell, but he’s here, too. I expect they’ll meet now. I’m sure she saw me—she knows where my box is—but she didn’t once glance in my direction.”

  “She’s ashamed to,” Diana told him.

  “I really begin to wonder if you’re right about her. Now would be the perfect time to slip into her rooms and get the letters,” he suggested.

  “She wouldn’t have left them there after what happened to Markwell’s,” Diana said. “Some people learn by experience.”

  “Thank you for that barb, but I never had the experience of being blackmailed before.”

  They ordered the wine and strolled through the throng, looking for their quarry. Both Mrs. Whitby and Markwell were spotted, but not together. Harrup knew it was ineligible to accost a lightskirt when he was accompanied by a young lady, but he tried to catch Mrs. Whitby’s eye. After five minutes he knew she was purposely avoiding him and assumed a guilty conscience was the reason.