by May Burnett
“My dear girl, it is gauche to talk about money. And I might point out that ugly horses eat and cost just as much, except when you first purchase them. These two darlings were the result of a bet I won with Lord Dorlingham, so I only have to pay for their upkeep.
“Still – “
“Don’t worry about my finances, Charlotte, you have more serious concerns.” It irritated James that she seemed to consider him unable to afford his lifestyle.
“I was just trying to make conversation,” Charlotte retorted, stung. “You sound like a schoolmaster. Remember that we are the same age.”
“In terms of town bronze you are still a baby. But you are right; if I sounded churlish, please forgive me. You have presented me with quite a challenge, you know.”
“More than one, it would seem.”
“Indeed. I will send to you if I find out anything useful – first of all we must get rid of Conway, then we can turn back to your inheritance.”
“Weren’t we going to visit the solicitors’ offices tomorrow? I would like to go ahead with that, now more than ever.”
“Mother is not going to like it if we drive out together two days in a row.”
“I don’t really care what your mother likes, James. Are you afraid of her, by any chance?”
“Of course not! But as you yourself are living in her household as her guest, you can only defy her up to a point. You haven’t seen yet of what she is capable when her will is crossed. I do not fear my mother, but I have a healthy respect of her. So does George.”
“I see,” Charlotte said neutrally. James was conscious of a desire to shake her. Fortunately the horses made it impossible to act on this impulse.
“I think I am falling in love with you,” he told Charlotte conversationally as they rounded a corner.
She was silenced for a full minute.
“That is unfortunate,” she said at last. “You know my position; nothing can come of your attraction, or even your love. But I think it is mere infatuation. We have not known each other very long.”
“I disagree – time will show if it is infatuation or more; but something very delightful could indeed come of my feelings for you. If they are not one-sided, of course.”
“That is neither here nor there-”
“Are they? One-sided, I mean?”
“I am not going to answer that question.” Charlotte folded her arms.
James was content for the moment; if the answer had been negative, surely she would have said so, if only to put him in his place.
“We can continue this discussion when we have sorted out Conway.” He refused to refer to the scoundrel as “your husband”. Any husband or lover other than himself was clearly wrong for Charlotte; this conviction was growing on James all the time. He’d yet bring her around to his point of view. Hadn’t he always got what he really, truly wanted?
Chapter 12
Upon her return to Mount Street, Charlotte was reproached by Lady Amberley, yet again, for being “too much in James’s pocket”. Still fuming over her hostess’s words, she went to change quickly, as callers were expected. According to Lady Amberley, those gentlemen who had sent flowers were likely to come and pay their respects, in some cases accompanied by mothers or sisters, eager to vet the possible new prospect.
These courtship rituals were a monumental waste of time from Charlotte’s perspective; she was glad for Belinda’s sake that her sister was not exposed to this ordeal.
In their early teens, when they had been young and romantic, the two girls had at times yearned for a season in London, and wondered what it would be like to be admired by fashionable gentlemen. Now that Charlotte had finally got a taste of these imagined delights, she could have done without the whole. Of course, then she never would have met James, either …. Better that she never had, she scolded herself.
She already been dealt her hand when she’d been too young and callow to know what she was doing, and lost her chance at winning – but at least she was still here, and in good health, able to help out her sister. Other girls died young, in childbed, which was a lot worse. No use whining and indulging in impossible daydreams. She had to make the best of a poor hand and get on with her life.
A vision of chestnut-haired children fleetingly passed before her. She had always expected to be a mother eventually. Young as she had been at the time, this had been a major factor in her consent to marry Peter. Now that hope no longer seemed realistic, due to the betrayal of her husband. It was hard, but she would instead be the best of aunts for Belinda’s children. She expected that there would be at least half a dozen, enough to keep both her sister and herself busy.
With the help of the well-trained maid Lady Amberley had sent to attend her, Charlotte was quickly transformed into the picture of a charmingly domestic young lady, who would not dream of leaving the house in a phaeton on such a cold, wet, blustery day. Her dress was of fine white muslin embroidered with small bunches of violets, and trimmed with purple ribbons. Her hair, too, looked much more elegant than it had back in Yorkshire. There she normally put it up into a fat bun in the early morning, and forgot all about it for the rest of the day.
By the time Charlotte reached the salon, Lady Amberley was already entertaining two middle-aged ladies, to whom Belinda was duly introduced. They were Lady Berryhill and Mrs. Throckmorton, she learned. Despite the lack of a title, the latter seemed to have a great deal more consequence.
Charlotte had already noted that within the ton, titles were not the only mark of status. As far as she had been able to determine, a person’s birth, connections, and wealth were just as important, and personal qualities also counted to some extent, if the other elements were present. It was a confusing subject, since only the members of the ton themselves knew exactly where each of them ranked in their small world. And even they might be mistaken, as Charlotte’s acceptance in their circle proved.
Charlotte decided that discretion was the better part of wisdom here and now. She answered questions about Yorkshire and her family with placid amiability, but did not assert herself in any way in the conversation, which gradually widened to include a number of new arrivals of both genders. Instead, she listened with apparent fascination to the most commonplace observations of their guests, and occasionally encouraged them to expand on their chosen subjects with leading questions. This modest reticence soon found favour in the eyes of the older ladies. She overheard Lady Berryhill referring to her as a “well-behaved, agreeable girl” as she was leaving the room.
Maybe she had inherited some of her mother’s acting ability after all, Charlotte reflected, and had to repress a sudden desire to laugh.
+++
In the meantime James was conducting some enquiries into his enemy, as he now thought of Conway. A few questions at his club elicited the information that the man had been hanging around the fringes of the ton for the last year or two, and was especially active at events where well-dowered debutantes were present.
“But I’ve also seen him at Denton’s, I think,” his friend Alphonse de Ville-Deuxtours told James. Alphonse, the scion of a noble French family in exile, was more English than the English now, except for his foreign name. They knew each other from Eton.
“Denton’s – that would not endear him to potential spouses or their families,” James mused. It was a high-stakes gaming club, not quite as exclusive as the ones he himself frequented. “A gambler? This could explain much.”
“Why are you so interested in this unimportant fellow?” Alphonse asked. Bob Nostruther and Alistair Monk, two other friends he had been consulting, also looked at him enquiringly.
“Conway has been pointed out to me as a possible bigamist and a certain scoundrel. I want to rid London of his presence. Call it a deed on behalf of the London ladies.”
“Oho, that sounds interesting!” Alphonse instantly responded. “Count me in!”
“Me also,” both Bob and Alistair chimed in.
“That would be very welcome,�
� James was grateful for their support. “First we need to find out as much as possible about the man – where he lives, what his background is, what he’s up to. Then we get rid of him.”
“Murder, James? Or a duel?”
“I doubt that violence will be necessary. If he gambles, that might offer a possible lever to pry him loose. I’ll go to Denton’s myself tonight to see what he has been doing there.”
“We’ll come along to keep an eye on you,” Alphonse said, and the other two nodded.
“Fine, then – let’s meet here at ten and go together. And maybe you could ask your servants to find out what they can about Conway. My valet is already busy on that task, but the more the better. This is quite urgent.”
“Urgent?” Alphonse sent him a penetrating look. ”I get the feeling there is something you have not told us about this man.”
“He may prove to be dangerous to a friend. That is all I can say for now.”
“Well, then, until later!”
+++
As he dressed for an evening in the gaming hell, James tried to envisage possible scenarios. He had little respect for gamblers, although he himself played quite frequently. James had a knack for figuring odds, and avoided strong drink while playing. For these simple reasons, he tended to win far more often than he lost, for he preferred the games where he needed his wits, rather than dicing and other games of chance. These merely bored him.
It would have surprised his solicitor and his family to learn that gambling provided a sizeable additional cash flow to James. Since the income from his estate and the funds his father had left him were sufficient for his needs, for the past three years James had established a habit of handing the extra moneys he had gained by gambling and betting to his friend Jonathan Durwent. Jonathan was working in the city since leaving university, and invested the sums for James in a variety of ventures, so far very successfully.
There had been handsome profits already, which were also re-invested. James liked the knowledge that he owned shares in ships and mines, shops and manufactories. Durwent had proposed shares in a new building venture recently, and James reflected that he might do worse than win extra capital at Denton’s tonight, to increase his stake. Lately he had not played much, finding it increasingly boring.
James knew when to cut his losses, if the cards occasionally ran against him, and was not worried about losing. He believed that he tended to win so often because he did not truly need the money on the table. Caring less allowed him to keep his nerve better than the more passionate or desperate gamblers around him.
Once he was married he would give it up altogether.
Married …? Where had that thought come from? The only woman he was currently interested in was already wed. Could it be his brother’s wedding that had put the idea of marriage into his head?
George was several years older, and the earl. He had to marry. James did not envy him the title, or the wealth and influence that came with it. But sometimes it irked him that so little was expected of him, the younger son. Even in his own mother’s eyes, he was merely the spare, the son who would take over if, God forbid, anything should happen to George.
Yet if his family did not truly need him, might he not therefore more easily please himself – in his lifestyle, friendships, and alliances?
His thoughts had circled back to the same novel idea. James impatiently called himself to order.
By the time he and his friends arrived at Denton’s, the hour was advanced to nearly eleven. They were admitted without question. Alphonse had been there before, but the doorkeeper would have recognized them for wealthy toffs in any case, just the sort to keep the establishment in business.
James slowly walked around the four large, interconnecting rooms, while Alphonse pointed out the different tables to him. In the third room, they ran down their quarry. He was sitting at a table playing dice. It was not James’s favourite game, but it would do. He joined the table.
Conway was dressed somewhat flashily in a bottle-green coat, with an elaborately tied pale green neck-cloth.
James raised the stakes.
“I’m out”, the man sitting to James’s right said. As he left, Alphonse replaced him. It was good to have an ally at his side.
An hour passed. They diced, paid, won, lost, and diced again. Normally James would have found it dull, but now he was watching the man across the table as a tomcat might watch a mouse. Conway did not quite have the glassy stare of the inveterate gambler yet, but he was getting close.
To his annoyance, James was not winning as usual, probably, he thought, because for once it mattered. Fortunately it was Alphonse who raked in his money, while Conway was losing even more heavily. Conway began to write I.O.U.s, which Alphonse accepted without comment after exchanging glances with James. The owner of the establishment, Rupert Denton, came to their table and hovered for a while, looking on in concern. One word from him or Alphonse, James knew, and Conway would be asked to leave. They continued dicing. In the end, Conway himself pushed back his chair.
“I have to be off – how much is the reckoning?”
Alphonse handed the sheaf of I.O.U.s to James.
“You add them up, you’ve always been better at maths.”
James quickly toted up the tally. As he had been able to pay his own more modest losses in cash, the notes all were from Conway.
“Eight hundred and forty-two pounds, I make it,” he announced. He turned to Conway, who looked slightly ill. “Would you like to double-check?”
“No need,” Conway said in a strangled voice. “It might take a day or two to send you the money.”
“That’s no good,” Alphonse said, enjoying himself. “I am leaving town tomorrow afternoon, as the season is nearly over. It would be better to settle this beforehand.”
“You know what,” James helpfully offered, “I can buy them off you and Conway can pay me back, I’m in town for at least another week.”
“Fine, then.” Alphonse handed the papers back to James. “Here you are.” He winked at his friend.
“Let me give you my direction,” James said to Conway, handing him his card. “And your own?”
“22 Ancester Lane, Bloomsbury,” Conway said after a momentary hesitation. James noted the unfashionable address without comment. “Well then, good bye for now!”
Conway left. Alphonse and James stood for a moment looking after him. As they were both heartily sick of dicing they began of common accord to move in the direction of the whist room, where their companions were also ready to call it a night.
“I found out from Denton that Conway has debts in the region of four thousand pounds already,” Alistair told the others as they left. “No visible means of support, so I wonder how he is planning to pay off his debts. So far, apparently, he has always managed to do so.”
“A rich marriage, maybe?” Bob said doubtfully. “But how is he to pull that off, without a title and important family behind him?”
“The address in Bloomsbury is not going to impress prospective in-laws, either,” James agreed. “He must have another income from somewhere.”
“Do you suppose the direction he gave is accurate?” Alphonse wondered.
“Most likely. If he were going to lie, he could have found something more impressive than that.” James was already planning to stake out the house and conduct enquiries all over Bloomsbury, if necessary.
“Are you really leaving town tomorrow afternoon?” he asked his friend. “You had not mentioned it beforehand.”
“No, I think I’ll stay on a bit. I just wanted to increase the pressure on Conway, and see how he would react. I’m not sure it was a good idea for you to take over his debt – you should have remained in the background until it was time to pounce.”
“I cannot wait very long. The man knows something dangerous that he must not be allowed to make public.”
All three of his friends regarded James with mild surprise.
“Oho! Are you being blackmailed?�
�� Bob asked.
“No, - at least not yet.” James regretted that he had said so much, and was determined to avoid any mention of Charlotte.
“Maybe blackmail is Conway’s secret income source,” Alphonse said meditatively. “But knowing our James, how bad could it be? He’s not exactly a Bluebeard or Casanova.”
“You must have hidden depths,” Alastair teased.
James had to repress a scowl. It was too late at night to be so playful, he felt. Was he getting stodgy, at the ripe old age of twenty-four?
After thanking his friends for their support and writing out a bank draft for Alphonse, he made his way home, while the other three went on to a discreet establishment catering to the tastes of rich young gentlemen. James felt little desire to join in. His desire for intimacies was entirely focused elsewhere these days.
No doubt about it, his life was changing, and he could only hope that he would like the eventual destination.
Chapter 13
His valet served James some welcome information together with the morning tea.
“Mr Peter Conway is recently married, Sir, to a Miss Miranda Bessemer, the eldest daughter of a rich businessman in the city. He’s in tea and cotton. Her dowry is said to have been twenty thousand pounds. They have a house on Half Moon Street, but Mrs. Conway rarely goes out. He frequents ton events by himself, especially the very crowded ones.”
“That is strange,” James commented. “I played with him last night and he gave me a direction in Bloomsbury, much less respectable than Half Moon Street.”
“Maybe he does not want his wife and her family to know about his gambling, Sir?”
“I suppose that could be the reason.”
“Gentlemen have been known to have another, less public establishment in places like Bloomsbury, Sir, for their liaisons.”
“A mistress, you mean? I should have doubted he could afford that. We need to find out more.”
“Bloomsbury is a bit out of the way for you or me to make inquiries there ourselves, but I happen to know some boys lounging about the streets, who could find your long-lost grandmother for a shilling.”
