Lady Madeline's Folly

by Joan Smith

  "You need not interest yourself in what partners I choose to reject, sir. It is really none of your business. Let us get our champagne now, Henry."

  Lady Margaret was fast advancing on them. "I see you are about to stand up with Maddie," she said, smiling her encouragement of this scheme.

  "Indeed he is not!" Madeline countered quickly. "I am not dancing this set. Get the champagne, Henry."

  "I'll go with you," Eskott offered, for his aim was to have a few private words with the young man. Henry did not object to this idea. In fact, he looked pleased with it.

  "I don't see Wellesley here tonight," Henry said, glanc­ing around the room. "I suppose you heard what the regent said of him? 'A Spanish grandee grafted on an Irish potato' he called him. It was presumptuous of Wellesley to aspire to the prime minister's seat after all."

  "Is that why you refused his offer of a position?" Eskott asked.

  "How the deuce did you know about that?" Henry asked, pleasantly surprised by the question.

  "I told you, you are much discussed in our ranks, Aldred. Was it a good offer Wellesley made you?"

  "It would have been good had he succeeded in his aim, but as he did not, he is expected to resign his seat in the cabinet. Certainly Lord Fordwich thinks so. I don't see how he can go on serving under Perceval after his complaints."

  "Lucky you didn't take his offer then."

  "There was more than blind luck in it. I waited to learn the outcome."

  "You don't want to wait too long to make your decision."

  "Now don't start tempting me again, Lord Eskott. You know my partiality to some of the causes you espouse. Catholic Emancipation, for instance, I feel strongly about, as many of us do, including Fordwich. It is the Old Lady of Manchester Square who has squashed the excellent idea."

  "Take care, Henry. Your talk is taking on a salty, Whiggish tone. It is more usually only we who refer to Lady Hertford as the Old Lady," Eskott said in an approving way.

  "Well, if you have an interesting offer to make, Lord Eskott, I am not irrevocably rooted to either side yet. This scribbling I do for my cousin is only a stopgap measure to keep body and soul together. I had not the good fortune to be born the eldest son."

  "What you need is a rich wife, my young man."

  "That would be my last preference, to establish myself at the cost of my personal happiness. I am too young to be thinking in terms of a marriage of convenience."

  "Not all heiresses are old and ugly."

  "No, some of them are young and ugly," he said over his shoulder, accepting two glasses of champagne.

  "Some few are young and beautiful," Eskott pointed out, hoping to hear from the man's lips some words regarding Madeline.

  "Yes, those are the unattainable ones," he answered sad­ly, with a noble smile.

  Eskott saw no hope of discovering more from this clever weasel. He took the wine back to Lady Margaret, and Henry and Madeline wandered off to be alone.

  "Did you learn anything?" Lady Margaret asked.

  "Less than will indict him; more than enough for sus­picion," he decided.

  "Exactly the problem. He says the right things, but what he does—that might be a different matter. If he approaches you directly for a job, that will be a good indication of his duplicity, for he spouts the Tory doctrine better than any of them now. If he turns his coat on Fordwich, there will be no possibility he will allow the match. It is only Aldred's parroting speeches that put him in such high aroma at home."

  "A pity he wouldn't spout off there as he does in my company."

  "Don't think to beguile him into it. He has more twists than a corkscrew. The pity of it is that if you offered him a good post, you would end up the villain of the piece. He has us bound wing and leg. I was never so vexed with anyone in my life. We must think of something to expose him."

  "We'll have to do it pretty damned fast too," Eskott added, looking across the room, to see Madeline and Henry just leaving. She was so wrapped up in him she failed to see two different sets of guests nodding and smiling at her. The ignored parties shook their heads as though to say, "She is in love. What can you expect?"

  Being a man of conscience, Eskott took himself severely to task that night, after he left the ball. How much was jealousy coloring his opinion of Henry Aldred? The actual facts were that the fellow had been turned off by one heiress, and was now dangling after another.

  He was looking for a lucrative position, which was surely not immoral when a man was without independent means. He was being rather devious about it, playing one end against the other and misrepresenting the nature of his work for Fordwich. He knew of plenty who had done worse, and been called wily, or even plain clever.

  Not an admirable man certainly, but not really a villain at all. If it were anyone else but Maddie who was mixed up with him, Eskott knew he would not give it a second thought. As it was Madeline, he could not seem to think of anything else.

  The direction of his thinking tended toward exposing Henry's weaknesses. With this aim in view, he continued visiting the Second Court of St. James, where he became less welcome to Madeline with every visit.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  “Good gracious, not another white gown!" Lady Mar­garet exclaimed when the parcel from the modiste was un­wrapped.

  "Henry likes me in white," Maddie countered, lifting the confection from silver paper to hold it before her in front of the mirror.

  "That seems to be all that matters to you nowadays, what Henry likes. You make a laughingstock of yourself, returning to white gowns like a deb, when you have been in colors for close to a decade. It is only to make yourself look young for him. Well, it don't work, milady, I can tell you. You look a deal more attractive in deep shades, with your sallow skin."

  "Yes, Auntie dear. I know Eskott has been whispering in your ear his deep dislike of Henry, but I am not a deb, as you so frequently and kindly point out. As a well-seasoned old jade of twenty-five, I must be allowed to select my own colors."

  "Twenty-six next month, isn't it?"

  "Just so, and twenty-seven the year after, twenty-eight the year after that. Like the rest of mankind, I age a year every twelve months. Meanwhile, I am not quite over the hill."

  "You are beginning to look it, in those pale things you wear," Aunt Margaret said, striding from the room in anger, and rattling the door after her one more time.

  Madeline shook her head, mildly annoyed, no more. How was it possible to be angry with such a delightful world? She saw Henry every day, and nearly every evening. She worked with him over her father's correspondence, having a much better grasp of business matters after her long interest in Papa's work. They went to balls and routs and plays. She had made the acquaintance of Eskott's poet, the much-praised Byron, and found him charming. Had she not been so much in love with Henry, she might have man­aged to fall in love with him, as the rest of London was doing.

  Henry was also involved in seeing the disreputable side of London. Like any new young buck on the town, he wished to see the gambling dens, the green room at the theaters where the actresses and dancers met their patrons, the Comus courts where the fellows went after a night on the town, to top off with a sing-song.

  This was a part of his education that he considered necessary and she tolerated. She had learned that Henry did not like being bear-led. Once a week he was let off the leash to go slumming with Taffy or some other gentleman friend. If the spot to be visited were not too disreputable, he allowed her to tag along. She had accompanied him to Mrs. Bristol's private gaming hall, for instance, a spot on the fringe of accepted society, where you could lose your money in a high style, with a dinner afterward. The crowd was roisterous, not her own set, but interesting and amusing for one visit.

  On this particular evening in February, Henry's night to go slumming, he was taking her to the Pantheon for a mas­querade party. The white gown Auntie Meg disparaged would be partially concealed under a blue domino, and her face covered by
a mask of egret feathers. That she was going to the Pantheon at all was likewise to be concealed from her father and aunt, who would disapprove. Ostensibly, Henry was taking her to the opera, but concealed in her father's carriage would be a pair of blue dominoes and masks. She was as exhilarated as a schoolgirl sneaking a forbidden book into her dormitory as she passed the dominoes along to Henry for hiding. Her eyes were shining with pleasure.

  "I begin to think you are not such a well-behaved lady as I had thought," Henry teased, slipping his arm around her waist to steal a kiss.

  "Think again, sir. I expect you to protect me this evening. I hear the Pantheon has become disagreeably rowdy. I know I shall adore it."

  "Hoyden! So shall I, when I am with you."

  "Oh, and the opera we are not seeing is Martha, if the subject should arise when we return. Eskott recommended it highly."

  "Then it is bound to be a dead bore."

  "Very likely. It deals with two English ladies who pose as servants and get themselves jobs at a hiring fair, only to discover their contracts are binding."

  "Excellent preparation, Maddie. Better let on we went to one of the routs we have cards for afterward, as I don't expect we'll be home before two."

  "Milner's is likely to be a tight squeeze," she mentioned.

  "We'll say we went there, and no one will be the wiser. What are your father and aunt doing this evening?"

  "Papa stays home. He does not care for the opera, and is tired from all his work. Aunt Margaret never goes out if she doesn't have to. When I am so respectably occupied, she does not feel it necessary to accompany me."

  "What a blessed relief it will be to be free of her for once. She guards you as though you were a deb on preferment."

  "I know. She wearies me to death too, Henry, but I wish you would try to be a little patient with her."

  "I do try, my dear. I would have given her a piece of my mind long ago if I were not trying so very hard to behave."

  "About the expenses for tonight, Henry..." she began uncertainly. She knew Henry's stipend was small. As many of his expenses involved herself, she could occasionally induce him to take a little cash. But he disliked it.

  "I have money," he said quickly.

  "I know you have, but I turned in the opera tickets we are not using, and got a refund for them. Now do take it, please."

  "Oh, very well, but I shall add it to my tally and repay you in full when I am higher in the stirrups. I hate taking money from a lady."

  "I hope you don't take it from any other lady but me!” she teased, slipping him a larger sum than the imaginary refund of the tickets would have amounted to. He would so seldom take any that she was sure to give more than enough for the night's entertainment when he was in a taking mood.

  "How can you even suggest such a thing?" he asked, offended.

  "I didn't mean it, goose! I was only joking," she said, sorry to have hurt his feelings. Henry was so foolishly sensitive.

  By the time her father's carriage deposited them at the south side of Oxford Street for the masquerade, their dom­inoes and masks were in place. The others entering were similarly attired, so that no identities could be distinguished.

  "One would never take this for a haunt of the rabble," she said, glancing at the magnificent structure.

  "I daresay it is nearly as fine as Carlton House. Chan­deliers, gilt, and glitter everywhere. When are you going to get me a bid to the regent's palace, Maddie? You have been promising it for an age."

  "As soon as ever I can, but one cannot go there without an invitation, you know."

  They hired a box and sat for a quarter of an hour, watch­ing the show below while they sipped their wine. Their pastime was divided between holding hands and flirting with each other and making outrageous guesses as to what lofty personages were hiding behind the masks, and misbehaving below. "I bet that corpulent gent chasing the demi-rep in the low-cut gown is the Duke of Clarence," Henry said.

  "Impossible. He spends all his time chasing ladies of fortune, for since he has turned Mrs. Jordan off, he means to set up as a respectable married man. I bet it is one of his brothers."

  "You don't suppose the red-haired filly staggering toward the door is Caro Lamb?" was his next suggestion.

  "I shouldn't think so. She doesn't drink to excess. It is a lightskirt. In fact, I think all the women here are. Henry, I don't believe I shall dance after all. The place has got very rough and wild since I was last here a few years ago."

  "My dear girl, you don't go to France and not drink the wine. Of course we shall dance. Am I not here to protect your fair name and honor? Come, drink up your wine. They are playing a waltz."

  "But if anyone should recognize me and word got back to Papa..."

  "Don't be an old prude, Maddie."

  The word old could always prod her on to any foolish­ness, for it loomed much larger in her mind, that year's difference in their ages, than it should have. She was as sensitive about it as Henry was about the disparity in their social and financial positions. Not that he ever purposely brought the subject up; it was only at such minutes as this that it arose.

  "Oh, very well, but if I am found out and ostracized from decent society, I shall hold you to blame."

  They went below to join the dancers on the floor. With such a throng, even waltzing with Henry was no pleasure. Their elbows were constantly being hit; collisions occurred at every step. The heat too was unpleasant, while the level of noise was beginning to give her a headache. Henry, on the other hand, reveled in it all. For three-quarters of an hour it went on, till she could bear it no longer.

  "Let us go back to our box and have another glass of wine," she begged, hoping from there to have him take her home.

  When they got upstairs, their box had been taken over by a merrymaking group of bucks, accompanied by three females who looked like actresses, or worse.

  "I'm afraid this box is taken," Henry said, in no impolite way, but firmly.

  "So it is, my good man, by us," one of the bucks replied. The crowd was tipsy enough to find this rejoinder highly amusing.

  "I must ask you to leave. We were here first," Henry told him.

  "First come, first served," one of the girls said, hopping up to vacate the box.

  "Sit down, Belle," her escort ordered, grasping her wrist and pulling her roughly to her seat.

  "Let us go, Henry," Madeline said at once, happy for an excuse to leave.

  "We paid for this box, my dear, and we shall have it," Henry informed her. It may have been the wine, or perhaps anger, which caused his voice to deepen menacingly.

  "Really, I do not want to stay at all. I have had a headache this past half hour."

  "There, your ladybird has more sense than you," the first speaker said, talking over his shoulder to Henry in a dis­missing way, as he reached for the bottle of wine.

  Henry's hand went out, quick as a lizard's tongue, and snatched the bottle. "You can have this in another box, or you can have it over your head in this one, sir. Which is your choice?"

  "Well, well, and just when I feared the party was about to get dull," the man said, arising with a slight wobble to face the challenger.

  "Please come away, Henry," Madeline begged, clutching at his sleeve.

  Henry pulled free of her fingers and struck the first blow, square on the man's nose. The women hopped to their feet, chirping in glee. Madeline had some fear the other two men would join in and thrash Henry soundly, but they considered themselves gentlemen, though she did not recognize them, and limited their support to shouts of encouragement.

  A crowd had soon gathered at the door of the box, to heighten the commotion into a regular carnival. She did not know whether to be relieved or horrified when six waiters came struggling through the throng and pulled the brawling men apart. Henry's face was red from anger and blows, his hair disheveled, his jacket all askew. He looked like nothing so much as a belligerent, sulky young boy.

  "I demand a constable," the opponent dec
lared. "This man assaulted me."

  He was roundly supported by five noisy patrons, while Madeline tried to hide herself in the throng, fearful lest she be discovered. Watchmen were never far from the Pantheon, where half a dozen brawls a night required their services. Before she could escape, one came forward to herd them all off into a more private room, the manager's office. She went along, mortified, but unwilling to strike out all alone through the unsavory crowd. It was the word of six against one, and in fact Henry had struck the first blow, though with some justification.

  "Do you know who I am?" he demanded stiffly. "Lady Madeline, will you be kind enough to go home and inform Lord Fordwich what is going forward here?"

  He did not read her appealing glances, meant to convey he should at all costs keep their true names out of the scandalous affair.

  "Aye, tell the prime minister while you're about it, mi­lady," one of the girls laughed.

  "'Twould be better to tell them at the watch house," the constable answered, unimpressed by fine boasts. Without more ado, Henry and his opponent were hastened off to the closest watch house, while the other five returned to occupy Henry's box and discuss the marvelous entertainment they had just viewed. Madeline stood alone in the manager's office with a clerk.

  "Can I call you a hackney, mum?" the man offered.

  "Call my carriage, if you please. Lord Fordwich's car­riage," she added, wishing she had thought to use a different name when they had stabled it.

  The clerk sprinted forward with the greatest alacrity when he heard the name. When he returned to accompany her to the door, she asked, "Where did they take the gentlemen? What will be done to them?"

  "Now you must not worry your head, mum. It'll be a night in the watch house for your friend. He'll be admitted to bail, present himself with his solicitor or some character reference in the morning at Bow Street, pay his fine, and that's all there is to it. Never fear they'll imprison him. We get a half-dozen cases a week worse than this little scuffle. It's the wine that causes the mischief."

  "What watch house?" she inquired, and got the address of the closest one.