by Joan Smith
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Chapter 17
The next day was fine enough that Fordwich had his open carriage brought out. Madeline drove with him to Westminster to hear his speech. Maybe she should set up a phaeton and take the ribbons herself. Many of the more dashing ladies in the city were doing so. It would give her a new interest. Eskott would teach... Oh, but Eskott could not be asked to do these little chores for her any longer. How difficult it was to break herself of the habit of thinking he could.
She was not the only spectator in the visitors' gallery, but she was one of a small handful. Folks had more interesting things to do on a fine spring afternoon than sit in that dusty, dingy eagle's aerie listening to dull speeches, without even seeing the speaker.
There was a long tirade by a member of the opposition, inveighing against the prince's hiring himself a private secretary at two thousand pounds per annum, before her father arose on a new order of interest, the Reform Bill. He was against it, of course.
It seemed wrong-headed of him to support a system that sent members of parliament to represent empty barns or a clutch of one or two families, while vast areas of densely populated terrain had no representation. The county members were elected, but they were outnumbered four to one by the borough members. And even some of the county votes were arranged by one or two great families. Surely that could not be right. Like a child, she had always accepted her father's dictum on it, without giving it a thought. How shallow Eskott must have found her.
When she roused herself from her reverie, she saw the visitors in the gallery had dwindled to a pair of young lovers, who were using the privacy of the room to hold hands, and stare out the window toward Vauxhall, probably planning some clandestine meeting at the gardens. She envied them.
Her father finally finished his speech, to mild, one-sided applause. She looked at her watch, wondering if she should wait and go home with him, which might mean sitting for another hour or more in the gloom, or go on alone and send his carriage back. She decided on the latter course as being slightly less boring. She arose and turned toward the staircase, to see Eskott standing, looking at her. It was not his old granite face he wore, but a sober, rather sad one. Her heart raced at the sight of him.
"I have a note from your father," he said, holding out a slip of paper.
"Thank you," she answered, startled. There were a dozen questions in her head. How did Eskott come to be running errands for her father? Had he offered to do it? Had it occurred to him she might be present today, when Lord Fordwich was to speak? She did not give voice to any of them, but unfolded the paper and read that she was to go home without her father, as he had a committee meeting with some other members.
"If you need a drive, I am leaving now," Eskott said offhandedly.
"No, thank you. I have the carriage. I'll send it back for Papa. He'll be here for some time."
"As you wish. May I escort you downstairs at least, call your carriage for you?"
"That would be helpful. Thank you."
Their footsteps sounded hollow on the echoing stairs, slow, measured treads. "You are loyal to spend such a lovely afternoon indoors," he remarked as they descended.
"My father expects it. I must compliment him when he gets home, you know."
"I cannot offer my compliments. He is dead wrong, as usual."
"Yes," she said unthinkingly, her mind busy to find some more interesting topic. She should apologize about her ball.
"Dare we hope you are coming to see the light of reason at last?" he asked with a surprised laugh. He sounded nervous.
"What do you mean?"
"It is not like you to agree with me in these matters, Madeline."
"Oh, but I do think Papa is wrong this time."
"Sure you won't come home with me?" he asked, as he opened the doorway into the sun, which seemed blindingly bright. "I have got a new team of grays I am eager to show off; that is why I persist."
"All right. I would like to see them. I am thinking of setting up a phaeton and pair myself."
"I expect Captain Townsend will be happy to teach you to handle the ribbons," he said, with a nod to the stable boy to bring his curricle.
"He has returned to Portugal."
"I had not heard it."
"He was wounded, which is why he was in England at all."
"I thought perhaps he was your new protégé."
The arrival of the curricle and team caused a little stir of excitement. The grays had to be complimented, their points extolled to Madeline. They drove up Whitehall and down Pall Mall toward St. James's Street, discussing politics, while Madeline wondered how to turn the chance meeting to better advantage.
"I was surprised to hear you criticize your father's speech," Eskott said.
"It seems wrong, little boroughs having their own member sent to London." Such members as Aldred, she thought, but did not say.
"They are owned by wealthy, influential gentlemen, who appoint their own man."
"Yes, owned by men like you," she answered, to introduce some levity into the talk.
"And Lord Fordwich," he retaliated. "Whigs and Tories alike—we are all active in this borough-mongering. It must be stopped, but till it is, you know, there is no point in not using it to our advantage. Rather ironic when you think of it: we are appointing men to vote themselves out of a job."
"Did you happen to be at the St. Patrick's dinner at the Freemasons' Tavern, Eskott? It turned out a debacle, I hear."
"It had Covent Garden beat all hollow for entertainment. The prince was booed and hissed, and old Sherry, drunk as a skunk, took to his feet to defend him, clutching the edge of the table to keep from falling over. The inebriated defending the indefensible. Marvelous comedy, but deemed poor politics, like so many of poor Sherry's efforts lately. He's a faithful dog—the last of us who do defend the prince. His remarks were drowned out in the general booings and hissings. They might have been worth hearing too. Dead drunk he's still a better speaker than most of us. He is dependent on the prince's charity, which is a strong goad to fidelity. Of course, your daily reading, the Morning Post, whitewashed the affair. Well, bought up lock, stock, and barrel by Carlton House, what can one expect? They found Prinney an Adonis of loveliness, as usual."
"I didn't know Prinney owned a paper!"
"You must have detected the whiff of Hanover in it before now! Pity you had not seen Leigh Hunt's attack in the Examiner; it brought the matter into perspective. 'A corpulent gentleman of fifty—a libertine over head and ears in debt and disgrace.' The Hunts were arrested immediately, of course. Brougham will have a field day defending them, with yours truly aiding and abetting him, and likely getting stuck to pay the fine into the bargain."
"I knew there was more going on than I hear at home. They never said a word about any of this."
"They would like to pretend it is not happening. There were upwards of ten thousand people in Pall Mall the day of the Queen's Drawing Room, and not one whisper of applause when Prinney went through. Dead silence, ominous silence even."
"I hear Forbes tried to resign."
"It was foolish of Prinney to make him stay on. He went to dinner at Taylor's next night with the prince's buttons and lining removed from his coat, and made a point for everyone to see it. Taylor has fallen out with the prince as well. There is a rumor running around that he tried to seduce Taylor's wife and got knocked down by the outraged husband, but it is only a rumor."
"It's nice to hear all the inside rumors again," she said, hoping to hint him into resuming his visits.
"Subscribe to the Examiner," he suggested.
"I will."
"Actually, it's been temporarily shut down pending the trial, but some other sheet will spring up to take its place. Listen closely to hear what rag is being denigrated at home, and you'll know what one to buy."
"I've finally gotten around to reading Byron, and can return it to you now."
"Keep it. I hinted for another from him, and
he told me with a pointed smile that the book was also for sale. So I bought a copy, and he autographed it."
They were at the corner of her street, perilously close to home, and still no real rapproachment had been made. "Shall we go on to Hyde Park, or are you in a hurry to get home?" he asked. "These grays need exercise, which is French for saying I want to show 'em off a little in the park."
"I'll be happy to go with you. I must observe all your fiddling tricks, as I shall soon be setting up my own team." This was a definite opening for him to volunteer his services, if he was looking for an excuse.
"Going to set up as a Lettie Lade, are you? I wonder you haven't done it before now," was all he said.
"Do you know of a good pair up for sale? Not too wild. I am just a beginner."
"Your father will find something suitable at Tatt's."
In the old days, she would have asked him on the spot to do it for her. The questioning eye he turned to her might have indicated some curiosity in the matter, but there was a little stiffness in him still that held her back. It would be so very humiliating if he refused. "Yes, I'll ask him to make inquiries for me."
They reverted again to items of political and social gossip. The park was busy. They stopped at the barrier to chat with friends, at which time Madeline noticed how many of her lady friends were handling their own carriages. It was strange she had fallen behind them all; she was more usually a leader in matters of fashion. Lady Susan was there, with a tidy team of bays harnessed to a green phaeton.
"Eskott! You see how I am progressing! Driving all alone. Your lessons were most helpful," she said, drawing up beside him. "You were quite right about this pair too. They are a little more frisky than I like, but I am determined to master them. Hello, Madeline." Her eyes were bright with curiosity to see her new flirt with his old flame, but she was too civilized to betray her feelings.
"Is Eskott giving you a lesson?" she asked. "I expect you will be setting up your carriage one of these days."
"I intend to very shortly," Madeline answered, ignoring the first question.
"Is Eskott going to teach you?"
As Eskott said nothing, Madeline said, "No, I shall be learning in the country. I am going to Highgate soon."
"What—rusticating in the middle of the season? Whatever for?"
"For a change," Madeline replied, feeling a fool.
"You are just afraid to drive in the city," Susan chided. "There is nothing to it. I learned in a week. I'll teach you, if you like."
"I would not suggest so perilous a course," Eskott said, speaking to Madeline, but casting a swift, laughing smile at the other lady, indicating some shared incident during their lessons, Madeline was left to conclude. And still he did not offer his services.
"Wretch! How dare you deride my skills!" Susan laughed. "I didn't do a bit of damage to the mail coach."
"I think Lady Elizabeth wants to pass," Madeline was happy to point out, thus forcing Susan to continue on her way.
"See you tonight, Eskott," was her parting speech.
Madeline's heart sank. She understood now why Eskott had not volunteered to help her. He was involved with Susan, more seriously involved than she had heard. His smile, bordering on the sheepish, proclaimed the secret as clearly as words.
"I had better go home now," she said. "We are having company for dinner."
He made no objection, but turned the curricle around and drove her to her door. There was a moment of self-conscious restraint between them as she prepared to leave. Should she invite him to call? Would he suggest it himself?
"Nice seeing you again," was his only remark.
"Thank you for the ride. I enjoyed it." She turned and began to hurry toward the house.
"When are you going to Highgate?" he called after her, on an impulse.
Angry, disheartened, and frustrated, she called back, "Tomorrow. I leave tomorrow."
"Oh. Then I shall say good-bye now. Have a nice trip."
"Good-bye, Eskott." She blinked back a tear as she wrenched the front door open.
* * *
Chapter 18
Highgate Park, stuck off alone in the country, was suddenly the last place in the world Lady Madeline wanted to be. Why had she said such a stupid thing? She wanted to buy the liveliest team in town, set up a dashing high-perch phaeton, much higher than Lady Susan's. She wanted to buy six new gowns, none of them white, and find herself a handsome new flirt.
If she could induce Lady Margaret to come to town, it would be an excuse to stay. She wanted to break out of her father's fusty old Tory circle and make friends in the livelier Whig aristocratic group. Eskott was not the only gentleman who could educate her, let her know what was really going on in the city. There was the handsome new poet, Byron.
She took no conscious notice that her strange lethargy was dissipated. She only knew she wanted to be doing things again. The first thing to be done was to find an excuse to remain in town. She dashed off a letter to her Aunt Margaret, first outlining how enjoyable a season she was missing, then added a fact more likely to bring her aunt running: Lord Fordwich was not well. He was assigned a recrudescence of his cold, coughing dreadfully, poor man, and he would not curtail his work in the least, hard as his daughter tried to make him. "That should do it," she said aloud as she sealed it up and set it aside to await her father's frank.
If Lady Susan was seeing Eskott that night, as she obviously was, there was no doubt where they were going. Lady Susan's best friends, the Donaldsons, were having their annual ball. Madeline had cards for it, had even sent in her acceptance some days ago, when she was drifting around in a cloud, not knowing what she wanted.
She did not normally wear the same gown twice within a short space of time; but as Eskott had not seen her new emerald green, she wore it again, with again the diamond clasp in her hair, and the elbow-length white gloves. She admitted modestly, as she whirled in front of her mirror, that she looked quite ravishing. It was ridiculous to feel old when she was only twenty-four, going on twenty-three.
She went to the ball with her spirits soaring, determined to win Eskott back, and received two surprises. Eskott was not there, and Henry Aldred and his bride were. The trip to Scotland must have been canceled. Such a lack of decorum in Henry did not surprise her. Once he had landed his lady, fulfilling any promises made would not occur to him. The creature had the gall to present his simpering wife to her, to tell the girl this was his former patron "about whom you have heard so much."
"Don't believe all you hear, Mrs. Aldred," she advised, in the coolest accents she owned.
Henry laughed lightly, refusing to take offense. "I have told Agnes she must call on you," he persisted.
"What poor advice to give your bride," she answered. "You know we only receive Tories at the Second Court of St. James, Mr. Aldred."
"You receive Lord Eskott," he pointed out, making a joke of it.
"True, but his advanced years appeal to me. We old ladies, you must know, insist that all our callers be dry behind the ears. Good evening, Mr. Aldred, and Mrs. Aldred." She turned and strolled nonchalantly away.
"She's marvelous, isn't she?" she heard Henry say in a loud voice. Demmed jackanapes!
Her next item of business was to discover why Eskott was not present. She walked up to Mrs. Donaldson and asked in a spirit of polite disinterest, "I thought Lady Susanwould be here, ma'am. She must be ill, if she is missing your ball?"
"Ill? Oh no, she is acting hostess for Eskott's dinner party. They will all be along shortly."
Madeline had suddenly had enough of the ball. She should have been his hostess. The honor was always offered to her when his aunts declined. That the role was Susan's was too ominous an event to be considered in this public place. She must find Papa and go home.
"It is hardly worth having the horses put to, if we are to stay for under an hour," he grouched.
"I have a headache. Papa, I'll go home alone if you want to stay."
"I don
't want to stay. I told you I did not want to come at all, but you insisted."
"If you don't want to stay, then let us leave," she said, resigning in her temper.
She wished she had not posted her letter to Aunt Margaret. She would go home tomorrow. She would not stay in town and have to smile her congratulations when the match between Eskott and Lady Susan was announced. Humankind could bear only so much in one season.
"Wait till Saturday and I'll run down with you for the weekend," her father suggested when she told him of her decision in the morning.
"Very well."
The team and phaeton were a diversion. She'd get them when she went home, if she got them at all. One of the grooms would teach her to handle the ribbons, on the privacy of country roads. She had the modiste in to discuss designs for a new outfit to wear when she set up her carriage, to get in the day. She took lunch alone, rifling through copies of La Belle Assemblée to select other patterns for autumn wear. She was just arising from the table when Eskott came pelting in, without disturbing the door knocker.
He looked pale, shocked, awful. "What's the matter, Eskott?" she asked, running forward.
He took her two hands in a tight grasp. "You haven't heard?"
"No, nothing. What is it? Is it Papa?" she asked, deciding that only death could have shaken him so.
"No, Perceval. The prime minister has been assassinated, shot through the heart."
"Oh, my God! Who did it? How did it happen? When?"
"In the lobby of the House of Commons. I saw it. A man ran up to him, a madman, deranged. Before anyone could stop him, he raised his pistol and shot him through the heart. He didn't get away. He was apprehended before he could run. I can't believe it. It's—it's like a melodrama on the stage. It was awful."
"The poor man. Oh, this is dreadful. What a confusion Parliament will be thrown into, again."
"Bellingham is the assassin's name, they say. He had been in prison in Russia, it seems, and our representative there did not help him. He was bankrupted over the business. It affected his brain certainly. It was our representative from Russia he wanted to kill, but he was not around, so he shot Perceval instead. It's incredible. I hoped I would catch you before you left. You are going to Highgate today..."
