by Janet Todd
Would she win tonight? Some people claimed that the bank at Lord Godring’s was thoroughly rigged, but she paid no mind to this. She hoped and always hoped again. She laid her bets on a card in the suit painted on the table. At once her heart began beating faster. Some minutes later the bank had won half the money and she had lost. But the night was only beginning.
Her luck did not improve. She felt too elated to play carefully; her bets were too high and she lost high. The bill from Reeve & Reeve would cover her losses; there was nothing to worry about.
Jack Fortuny was watching her. They had greeted each other when she entered the room. She realised how much she’d missed the familiarity of her old London friends, especially this one.
He didn’t play these days, as if his professional period – if professional it had ever been – was in the past. He was a strange man who often seemed to know her better than she knew herself. She’d never loved him but she was as fond of him as any person she knew and would have lamented his absence.
She would allow herself one more game. She played – and lost.
The candles were sputtering; she was aware of men in the shadows flickering in and out of focus. Once more she saw Jack Fortuny talking to someone whose body was partly hidden from her. Why did he not come over to her again? She was flirting a little with Lord Godring, who was leaning too closely over her bosom while he made his risqué puns. Jack Fortuny could not have been put off by this. He had often watched her with other men and comically remarked on honeypots. Why did he stay in the shadows? What did people hide there – secrets, sadness, just a clumsiness they didn’t want exposed? But Jack Fortuny was all grace and charm. None the less she wished she had better sight.
Then suddenly he was beside her and the man he’d been speaking to was no longer in the room.
‘I have hazarded too much,’ she said as she extricated herself from Lord Godring.
‘You have, your ladyship,’ Jack Fortuny replied with his arch smile. ‘But you have a draft that should cover most of what you have lost. And I’m sure that source can be touched for more.’
She was startled. ‘How do you know … ?’ she began, then stopped. For a moment she wondered. But, no, it couldn’t be. Jack Fortuny never commanded funds he could distribute so largely.
‘A guess, Lady Susan. I am a man of guesses and chance – as you know.’
Of course he was a man of secrets, she knew that, but she had assumed he shared them with her when they concerned herself. She shivered just a little. Her habit of averting her eyes from difficulty had served her well, but she sensed there was something she should look into. Did it concern Jack Fortuny, herself, her plans or her past? The uneasiness was unusual, unexpected, almost threatening. She let her mind rest on it. She now knew what it was: the money. There was something strange about these unanticipated bank drafts. Her letters to Burnett concerning the matter went unanswered. That in itself was odd considering how deferential the lawyer used to be to her family, although she did remember his ridiculous demeanour when revealing the will. She must know more.
A few hours later, when the morning was far advanced and she had rested, Lady Susan sent Jeffrey with a message to the offices of Reeve & Reeve in Chancery Lane, telling him to deliver it and to avoid speaking to anyone. He would only get muddled. Then she followed the message with herself. If Burnett would not answer her letters, she must make other enquiries.
Mr Reeve was a little round man with a tight waistcoat straining over a bulging belly. He nodded and smiled and told Lady Susan that coincidentally there was now another draft for her; it had arrived that morning.
‘From where exactly has it come?’
‘My lady, I am not at liberty to divulge this. Please to ask your lawyer, Mr Burnett.’
‘But my lawyer declines to reply to my letters and in any case he had informed me that my husband’s estate’ – she stopped – ‘that is, I understood there was a lack of immediate income from our estate.’
Mr Reeve looked up at her in what she assumed to be a meaningful way. ‘We can, of course, know nothing of that,’ he said in a low, almost cunning voice.
This was infuriating. ‘What can you mean?’ she cried. ‘The money is surely from the estate.’
Mr Reeve smiled a little nervously. ‘Just so,’ he said, ‘the money is at your ladyship’s disposal.’
There was nothing specific to be got from him. She suspected he didn’t in fact know as much as she’d supposed. She went down the steps of the offices with the new bank draft in her hanging pocket. It almost precisely covered her debts of last night. The remainder of the earlier money was still intact – as of course were a good many debts. That was something but, for life in London as she meant to lead it, the money would not stretch very far.
She was sure now that there was a mystery. She thought again of Lord Gamestone. He had sent her word and, for old time’s sake, they had planned a supper à deux in the next few days. Could he actually be the source of the money? No, the notion was ridiculous. She had tired of him and he of her. Apart from old Lady Heton, who had only just caught up with the gossip and thought his lordship was being kind to a poor widow, no one bracketed them together any longer. Besides, hadn’t Alicia said he was with the Pulteney girl?
She set off back to the lodgings to rest for the evening’s entertainment. The party was to be a select one with the new Italian singer who had been brought to London from Rome through enemy country and over a Channel bristling with French warships. For this gala evening Lady Susan was particularly wanted, someone had scrawled on her invitation card.
She was being helped out of her outer clothes by Barton and preparing to put on something loose when Manwaring was announced again. He entered shrouded in a large greatcoat. Given the mildness of the day, she assumed this was supposed to be a disguise: it drew a good deal of attention to him.
So concerned had she been with her own affairs last evening and today that she had from time to time forgotten him. But she now felt a rush of affection, even though his arrival was unseasonable and his apparel a little absurd. She was tired but not too tired for what he promised.
They repaired to her dressing room. Barton took her mistress’s clothes away to check which items needed mending. She had had to mend many broken clasps and ties while at Langford, so many jagged rips, which argued much carelessness. There had been no such need in Churchill, for which she’d been grateful.
Her ladyship’s ribbons and ties could tell a tale, thought Barton wryly as she went downstairs to the basement where clothes were washed, ironed and mended. In general she had a pretty good idea how things stood with her mistress but it would be worth her place to make clear her knowledge; so she agreed readily to whatever unlikely errands were proposed for her when Lady Susan wanted her out of the way. She was still feeling the glow of being back in the London streets and away from the dirt lanes and disappointments of the country. Besides, she could see that her mistress was also refreshed, and Lady Susan tended to pay some of her arrears of wages whenever she was especially enjoying herself.
Afterwards, in the rumpled sheets and with a glass of canary wine in hand, Lady Susan and Manwaring chatted amicably together. Both were a little sore where they lay. As they grew calmer, Lady Susan’s mind reverted to her own affairs.
‘But really I have to get rid of her,’ she remarked abruptly. ‘Frederica must have Sir James.’
‘Don’t talk of the girl,’ replied Manwaring planting his finger across her mouth. ‘She has caused us quite enough trouble already.’ He closed further protest with his lips.
Lady Susan assumed there’d been other women in Manwaring’s life but she felt sure she was the only one now. His passion remained intense; she exhaled slowly with the pleasure of it.
Neither wanted to part, but Lady Susan insisted. She knew it made the next meeting more delicious. She doubted that Manwaring felt the same: he was so voracious, so insatiable. But he had to go – and go discreetly this time. Th
e day spread out before her. Ahead of the musical soirée, she was planning to meet Alicia Johnson at Ackerman’s, then bring her back for tea in her lodgings. Mr Johnson could not forbid his wife looking at fashionable prints and he need not know in whose company she viewed them.
Once Manwaring was out of the house, Lady Susan took a chair, arriving at the appointment just after her friend.
‘You have, I see, been with Manwaring.’
‘Do I reveal so much?’
‘You do to me,’ said Alicia Johnson smiling.
‘Hmm. Mr Fortuny once said something similar.’
They glanced cursorily at a few prints, bought nothing, and left in Alicia Johnson’s carriage. Soon they were seated in Lady Susan’s drawing room and Barton was bringing in the tea things. They resumed their talk.
‘You shouldn’t let this passion interfere with your real interest,’ said Alicia Johnson. ‘You cannot in the end rely on Manwaring, you know.’
‘I do know, dear Alicia. Of course it won’t do. You are however thinking of Reginald de Courcy; you believe I should have him. And, to tell truth, I think it sometimes myself. But,’ she paused, ‘at the moment there is money – perhaps some mistake has been made – it’s unclear. I know, I know,’ she said as her friend tried to interrupt, ‘I need something more definite to rely on. Reginald comes to town and he believes it’s for marriage. And yet’ – she leaned back in her chair and swung her foot, gazing at her dainty pearled shoe as she did so, ‘I cannot truly imagine it for myself. I must procrastinate, long beyond the date of my mourning. I must persuade him to spend more time in Parklands.’
‘I’m glad,’ cried Alicia Johnson, ignoring the last remarks, ‘glad indeed that you’ve come to this conclusion. It’s the best thing for you. You will grace a fortune.’
‘I’ve no doubt of it,’ replied Lady Susan. ‘If I could be sure the old man would die in the next months, the matter would wear a different complexion. But one really can’t count on it. He could go on and on. Imagine me having to pay court to Sir Reginald.’
‘And Manwaring?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Lady Susan, ‘dear Manwaring remains in the dark. At the moment there’s no danger. I’ve told him Reginald is brother to my sister-in-law, so must be received if he comes to town – which I hope he won’t. Manwaring claims to believe this despite his earlier suspicions. But he has a jealous eye.’ She paused, letting her face grow serious for just a moment. ‘Well, enough of men. Let me tell you, Alicia, how much I like these lodgings. Aren’t they pretty? The paper is exactly to my taste. You know me so well.’
Although Lady Susan wanted now to rest before the evening, once Alicia Johnson had left she knew she must write at once to Reginald and answer the impatient note she’d recently received. He really would be too inconvenient in London.
It was easy enough to appeal to propriety and widowhood, to stress the need for him to soften, soothe and persuade his disapproving parents as well as bring round dear Mr and Mrs Vernon at least to acceptance of the match. Lady Susan would hate to incur the displeasure of any of them. And of course Reginald himself must have time to be sure of so important a step. So, she ended, they must not meet for a while – in fact for several months. In this way all the relations would have time to get used to the idea and they would see that Reginald was constant through a long separation. Such a time apart would be agony to her but they would reap the social benefits later. The Manwarings were in town, she continued, and, as he knew, Mrs Manwaring was her particular friend. So she would be seeing something of her – that, she hoped, might explain the occasional indiscreet use of the Manwaring coach near her lodgings, which would certainly have been noticed: ‘I myself must be out of town for a short while,’ she concluded. ‘My husband’s estate demands my attention. It will be a pleasure to me to see my old home again.’
She sent off her letter. Without quite knowing why, she’d been reluctant to discuss with her closest friend Alicia the Norfolk trip which had been crystallising in her mind ever since her unsatisfactory visit to Reeve & Reeve. She had finally decided on it during her ride to Ackerman’s.
There was obscurity somewhere. Burnett had been so sure no money was left in the estate; otherwise he would not have dared to speak to her as he had in the study at Someyton. Yet now he was transmitting funds to Reeve & Reeve while neglecting to reply to her queries. It couldn’t be – it couldn’t be, surely – his own money.
Lady Susan knew her power over men. She was aware of her beauty and her charm, her way with words. But she’d never used this charm on lawyer Burnett. Indeed she’d been impatient with him, especially when he got above himself. It was hard to imagine him so suffused by love that he would squander the fortune he’d so carefully acquired. Yet what other explanation was there? She even wondered if he’d paid off the moneylender Jacob King. But, no, he’d said that those debts – and they were large – had been covered by the estate – or at least she thought that’s what he’d implied. At the moment she was not quite certain of anything.
She would go to Wymondham to see him in person. She would avoid Someyton and the unpaid servants who might still be in the district.
Two days later Lady Susan and her maid were on the road to Norfolk in a hired post-chaise. She was sorry to be missing a theatre party and rout ball at Lady Clementina’s but her business was pressing.
They stopped for the night in Bury. She had no inclination to revisit her old school building, now, according to Alicia occupied by three French émigré families who must have spirited out money under the very noses of the revolutionaries. Next day they travelled straight on to Wymondham as soon as it was light.
The lawyer’s house was what she’d expected, a smart showy place just on the edge of town. Pretending to be a gentleman’s residence, it yet had no land to speak of. It had shiny black railings and a sweep created for effect at the expense of the front garden. Burnett had presumably amassed his money from fleecing clients, among them poor Frederick, who had trusted him. But then, her husband had trusted everyone. She wondered how much exactly the lawyer had made out of the Vernon estate over the years. Could she have inspired a passion in this dreadful little man, one that he expressed in the only way he knew how: by money?
There was a bustle as the coach approached the door and a parlourmaid, all dressed in bibs and flounces, opened it before Lady Susan could order the coachman to rap the polished handle. ‘Wait for me here,’ she told Barton. ‘I shan’t be long.’
She was ushered into a mirrored hallway where she met a thin woman she assumed to be the lawyer’s wife, all smiles and curtseys. Then her husband appeared from his study. He looked startled, almost wary. Lady Susan stared into his face. It was as shifty as ever – it was not the face of a lover. The idea had been foolish.
‘Mr Burnett, I should like if I may to have a private conversation with you.’
‘Of course, your ladyship. Will you take tea with me in my study, or perhaps some other sort of refreshment?’
‘Yes, yes,’ added his wife quickly, ‘please do command us.’
Lady Susan waved her aside and followed Burnett into his study. It was less ordered than she’d expected, papers in some disarray. Hadn’t the man a clerk to tidy up after him?
‘Do please sit down, your ladyship.’ He pointed to a dark red chair from which he had hastily removed a pile of documents.
She perched on the end of it, not quite wanting to lean back into what she suspected would be soft plush. ‘I will speak at once concerning my business.’
He inclined his head.
‘The money that Reeve & Reeve have received for my benefit. The bills of exchange. I believe that they ultimately derive from you. Am I correct?’
Burnett looked surprised. ‘I took it that your ladyship had organised the transaction. I am amazed. The bills for Reeve & Reeve, I mean.’
Irritated at being caught unawares, she spoke brusquely. ‘Of course, the bills of Reeve & Reeve. On whom are they drawn, if n
ot on you?’
‘On me, your ladyship?’ said Burnett with unfeigned surprise. ‘I surely, much as I would …’ He faltered and stopped.
‘No, of course, I did not mean to suggest anything of that sort,’ she waved her hand with a gesture Burnett later described as regal when he recounted the conversation to his wife. ‘I ask again: on whom are they drawn? You had told me the estate was diminished, indeed more or less bankrupt.’
Burnett looked at her levelly for a moment, then lowered his eyes. ‘Why, Mr King of course.’
‘Mr King? Mr Jacob King?’ She was glad that she was sitting down and now she even dared to lean against the back, which did indeed sink softly with her weight.
‘Mr King,’ she said again. ‘But I am indebted to him. Surely you must be wrong.’
Burnett had regained his composure. He felt subtly bullied every time he dealt with this woman; he would not put up with it.
‘I doubt that I can be wrong in a matter such as this,’ he said. ‘I had assumed that your ladyship had made arrangements with this gentleman and that his generosity was a private transaction between you, with myself simply as humble go-between, who for reasons of your own you wished to employ. As we both know, you have dealt with Mr King before, as had the late Mr Vernon.’
Lady Susan flushed slightly. ‘What can you mean? What are you implying?’
Burnett wore a pleased expression on his face. Lady Susan was conscious that he was enjoying her discomfiture. ‘I imply nothing, Lady Susan. It is not my place. I merely mention to you that Mr King, the moneylender, is the source of the drafts which you have honoured me by inquiring about, and that the gentleman has been known to you and your late husband for some time.’ He bowed in a courtly manner that Lady Susan found contemptuous.
It was impossible to bear. Lady Susan rose to leave.
‘Thank you, Mr Burnett. I shall trouble you no further. I will go to see Mr King at once and get to the bottom of the matter. You will please remind me of his direction.’
