by M C Beaton
He poured himself a glass of 1830 brandy with a liberal hand and settled back to wait. He suddenly realized that he was not wearing evening dress. He did not want to go all the way to Camberwell. Ah, that magic bell! Another footman appeared, and Basil stared at him with all the amazed pleasure of Aladdin finding out that the lamp really worked.
He pulled out his wallet. “Here, nip round to Henry Brothers in Covent Garden and hire me an evening suit and a set of studs. I’ll scribble down my measurements. Hurry back, fellow.”
Meanwhile Susie had received the brooch from Giles. She was wearing a severe black opera gown with a high neck and long tight sleeves, a relic of her mourning wardrobe. She hoped it would calm Basil down. She picked up the card and read it again. It simply said, “Best regards, Giles.”
She sighed a little. Better not to think of Giles. All he ever did was kiss her and then shout at her and think horrible things about her. Nonetheless she pinned the brooch at the neck of her dress and went slowly and reluctantly downstairs.
Susie did not see Giles at the theater, although he was in an adjoining box. She had eyes only for the stage. She had never enjoyed anything so much in all her life. The colors, the music, the dresses, the sheer delightful nonsense of it all, held her spellbound, while Basil tried to get her attention. And from the shadows of the adjoining box, Giles watched Susie’s face instead of the stage.
Giles suddenly felt savagely that he should have been the one to give Susie such a treat, not that masher fellow, wherever the hell she had dug him up from! He had forgotten, until he saw her again, the stunning allure of her half-childish beauty, her vulnerable femininity, which made her attract him in a way no other woman had ever been able to come near.
There were many women in the theater that night who were much more beautiful, more striking than Susie, but none with that delicate, dreamy charm. He wondered if Helen of Troy had in fact been a quiet, dreamy sort of girl that every man wanted to awaken.
He walked up and down outside his box at the interval, waiting for the couple to come out. He did not want to visit Susie in her box and maybe find out that she was engaged to that horrible fellow. He had hoped for a casual encounter.
But Susie, with glimmerings of social awareness, did not want to be seen in company with Basil in the foyer. She was uncomfortably ashamed of his leers and loud voice and perpetually stabbing finger. She did not know what was up with his suit, but his shirt-front snapped and popped every time he leaned forward, and his shoulders seemed to reach down to his elbows.
Giles, patiently waiting for them downstairs after the show, was foiled by a group of giggling debutantes and their predatory parents. By the time he had extricated himself, Susie was gone.
A thickening fog hung over the streets of London as Susie arrived on her doorstep. She firmly shook hands with Basil, thanked him for the evening, and wished him good night, walking past her butler into the drawing room with a sigh of relief.
She then turned around and found that Basil had trotted in after her.
Susie plucked up her courage. “I must ask you to leave, Basil,” she said firmly. “Lady Matilda is not yet back from the country, and I have no chaperon.”
“Oh, I’ll just stay for a minute,” said Basil breezily. “I say, you don’t happen to have any more of that brandy?”
Susie rang the bell and ordered the brandy. She decided to have a large one herself, not knowing that the sight of the large measure in her glass sent Basil’s evil thoughts soaring. He fortified himself with several large ones and then moved over onto the sofa next to Susie.
“You know, Susie,” he said, beginning to breathe heavily, “I’d never have guessed you’d turn into such a seductive woman.”
Susie stared down at her glass and said nothing.
Basil edged closer until his thigh was pressed against hers.
“What are you thinking…darling?” he breathed.
“I am thinking that I would like to go to bed,” said Susie in a small, chilly voice.
“So would I!” leered Basil. He put down his glass and took hers from her and placed it on the low table in front of them.
“Susie!” he cried, and lunged.
Now, Basil was a virgin, and there is nothing more octopuslike than the mad graspings of the virginal man in a state of high passion. No sooner did Susie manage to claw his hands off one part of her anatomy, when they emerged somewhere else to prod and cling. His mouth was wetly clamped over her own with such vigor that he had managed to cover most of her chin as well. His breath smelled of onions, brandy, and bacon grease from his morning’s breakfast, since the cavities of his teeth had retained all the fodder of the day in different stages of decomposition.
Susie finally managed to get in one frantic push. She darted over to the bell and rang it and rang it with such force that the butler and two footmen nearly got jammed in the doorway in their concerted rush.
“Mr. Bryant is just leaving,” said Susie.
“Can’t blame you,” said Basil, winking, his vanity supremely intact. “Phew! Hot stuff, eh? Got a bit carried away myself.”
“Please go,” said Susie, trying to mask her feelings of disgust.
“Right-ho!” said Basil cockily. “But I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, little girl. It’s been a marvelous day. Super evening. Give me something to remember you by, Susie. I know, that brooch.”
Susie raised a protective hand to the little brooch and then, with a resigned sigh, unpinned it. She would have given Basil the whole of the crown jewels to take himself off.
Basil cheekily pinned the brooch on the hard front of his rented evening shirt and went off whistling.
Outside, Giles watched him go. Despite the fog, the streetlamp flickered on the brooch on Basil’s shirtfront, and Giles felt himself beginning to shake with rage. He had hung around outside for a few minutes before Basil’s departure, plucking up his courage to call.
Now he was determined to call.
The butler, knowing his mistress was crying her eyes out in the drawing room, tried to bar his way, but Giles simply pushed him aside.
He hurtled into the drawing room, and Susie raised a pair of tear-drenched eyes to his.
“Oh, Giles!” she sobbed. “Your lovely brooch. He asked for it, and I was so sick and tired of him that I simply gave it to him to get rid of him.” She began to cry again, and Giles sat down beside her and took her hands in his.
His anger had evaporated. She was sick of that fellow, had wanted to be rid of him. That was all that mattered.
“Who on earth was that masher?” he asked.
Susie told him between sobs of Basil and the court case and Basil’s grasping, wet love-making. “It’s always like that,” she wailed.
“No, it isn’t,” said Giles crossly. “I never slobbered over you. Look here, my girl. You’d better marry me.”
“Marry you?”
“Yes, why not? You’re only going to get yourself into trouble. Marry me and come back to the castle.”
“I don’t know,” said Susie wretchedly. “I just want to be left alone.”
“That’s a fine way to receive a proposal,” said Giles huffily. “I don’t know if I really want to marry you. I was only thinking of a way to keep you out of mischief.”
“Oh!” said Susie in a small voice.
“Mind you,” continued Giles, who was in fact beginning to wonder why he had proposed to Susie, “if you prefer to let yourself be mauled about by chappies like Basil Bryant…”
“No! I couldn’t stand another!” wailed Susie. “I hate Basil. I wish he were dead!”
“I say, steady on,” said Giles. “I feel a bit cold when you say that. Here, let me have some of that brandy, and I’ll call on you tomorrow, and you can give me your decision.”
Basil Bryant walked gaily along the foggy reaches of the Vauxhall Bridge Road. It was the happiest night of his life.
It was also his last.
He had been too exhilarated to climb int
o a stuffy cab and had decided to walk all the way home to Camberwell. It was in the bag, he decided—fame, fortune, happiness.
He would marry Susie and live happily ever after. What Susie did ever after did not concern him in the least. The fog thinned slightly, and above him a gas lamp sputtered and flared. He stopped to light a cigar, the tiny flame of the match sparking prisms of light from the brooch on his shirtfront.
He tucked his cane under his arm and strolled toward Vauxhall Bridge.
He never knew what hit him. He never felt the grimy fingers tearing at the brooch at his throat, or the harsh breathing of his assailant on his white upturned face.
The shabby villain who had stunned Basil with a convenient beer bottle took the brooch, Basil’s wallet, and his watch and chain. Then he felt inside Basil’s waistcoat for his heart.
Basil’s vanity was indeed the death of him. He had donned a corset for his famous appearance in court. The villain was not used to his young gentlemen victims wearing corsets and therefore could not feel any heartbeat and assumed Basil was dead.
He hitched Basil over his shoulders in a fireman’s lift and carried him to the edge of the bridge. Basil slightly regained consciousness in this strange embrace and whispered, “Susie.”
It was the last thing he ever said. The next minute, his body hit the cold, filthy waters of the Thames with an almighty splash, and he sank like a stone.
Chapter Nine
Susie woke up the next morning to find herself a celebrity. Pictures of her covered the front page of every newspaper. She was “The Beautiful Countess.” It was just like her dreams, except for one little item in the later editions. The body of Basil Bryant had been dragged from the Thames.
It was as well Basil hadn’t lived to read the newspapers. The press called his defense “gauche and amateur.” All the photographs were of Susie leaving the court, and Basil was only a shadow in the background. One paper had gone so far as to paint him out.
Lady Jessica was not popular. Society roared with laughter over the exploits of Dobbin and sent cards and invitations to Susie’s home. Hostesses vied with each other to see who would be the first to have the mysterious countess as a guest. Gloomily Susie ordered a wreath to be sent to Basil’s parents and waited for Giles to call.
But Giles was suffering from a fit of nerves. When Susie was not actually present, a little of her attraction vanished for him. Then he read of Basil’s death in the late editions and felt an almost superstitious qualm.
No sooner did that girl wish someone dead than—bingo!—off they up and died.
He decided to remove himself to the country. Having avoided a second marriage for so long, it would be silly to plunge into one now. And just think of her parents! Ten minutes in their company was enough to drive him to a frenzy of boredom.
Susie resolutely refused all invitations and went to Basil’s funeral, heavily veiled. Her mother was inclined to be tearful and to promote the late Basil to the right hand of God, until Susie confided to her mama of Basil’s amorous assault, at which point Basil fell like Lucifer, cast down into the darkest reaches of the worst hell that Mrs. Burke’s fertile mind could devise for him.
The days passed and still Giles did not call. He probably thinks I murdered Basil, thought Susie bitterly. He didn’t say he loved me, anyway. He said he wanted to marry me to keep me out of mischief.
It was not for nothing that Susie was Mrs. Burke’s daughter. She banished Giles from her mind as effectively as Mrs. Burke had banished Basil to hell. Then she began to accept some of the invitations.
She was pleasurably surprised. Society was pleasantly surprised with Susie as well. The women found her reassuringly quiet and unassuming, and the men were at first inclined to ignore the shy countess.
But before any of the gentlemen could wake up to Susie’s compelling charm, Susie was head over heels in love and engaged to be married.
The lucky man was a widower called Sir Arthur Ireland. Sir Arthur was a tall, thin, ascetic man in his late thirties of a somewhat monkish appearance. He had pale-blue eyes, pale cold hands, and a very thin mouth. His clothes were elegant and his manners perfect. On the day he proposed to her, he kissed her on the cheek with cold, dry lips, and Susie was enchanted with him.
His restraint charmed her. She was delighted with his cold appearance and built all sorts of fantasies around him to explain his reserve. He talked to her at length about politics, old china, food, and furnishings, and Susie drank it all in. When she tried to talk to him, he would wave her to silence. “My dear, when your mind is mature enough to have something to say, then I will listen.” And Susie gazed at him humbly and adoringly.
Giles read of her engagement and began to pack his bags. He could not remember being so angry in his life. He did not know whether he was angry with Susie or with himself. Susie had been supposed to wait in London until he, Giles, had made up his mind about her. She was certainly not supposed to go getting herself engaged the minute his back was turned.
He arrived on the day of Susie’s engagement party. He had not been invited, but that did not stop him from attending. The public rooms of Susie’s mansion were full of guests. The wines and food were of the best. For all her faults, Lady Felicity had trained Susie well. Her household was one of the best run in London.
Giles found Susie and her fiancé in the drawing room, accepting the congratulations of the guests. Giles stood for a moment, surveying Sir Arthur Ireland. He noticed the pale wide eyes and thin mouth. He heard Sir Arthur’s dry, condescending laugh and noticed the way he refused to let Susie speak. He was about to walk forward when he was hailed by an old school friend, Harold Blenkinsop. “Hallo, hallo, hallo,” said Harold breezily. “Didn’t think you’d let that little heiress escape from under your nose.”
“Perhaps Sir Arthur has charms that I can’t see at this moment,” commented Giles dryly.
“Ain’t got any as far as I can see,” said Harold. “We’re all mystified. Y’know, rumor went around when he was married to Margery Mannering that he never laid a finger on her. Fact! I mean, no hanky-panky. Say Margery went to her grave a virgin.”
“Must be twaddle,” said Giles, but his heart had begun to beat hopefully. He suddenly felt an imperative tug at his sleeve.
“Giles!” hissed Lady Matilda. “You must come through to the conservatory with me. I’ve got to talk to you.”
Giles meekly followed her through to that room, which was at the back of the house. “Now,” he said, shutting the glass door behind Lady Matilda and breathing in the hot, damp air, “what’s all this about?”
“I never thought she would marry him in a hundred years,” wailed Lady Matilda. “I was taken up with a cunning bit of tapestry, and I kept thinking to myself, ‘I’ll just finish embroidering this bush and then I’ll see what Susie’s up to,’ but, oh dear, one bush led to another bush and then to some tricky roses, and when I finally looked up, there they both were, asking for my blessing.
“But that’s not the worst of it. Sir Arthur is said to be desperately in need of money. He only wants her fortune, and she, she’s in love with him.”
Giles felt a hammer blow over his heart.
“You must elope with Susie this minute,” urged Lady Matilda.
“I can’t,” said Giles crossly. “You say she’s in love with this bounder.”
“And she’s in for a bad shock,” said Lady Matilda, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I remember his late wife, Margery, you see. She got a bit tiddly at some house party I was at, and she staggered up to her husband, Arthur, you know, and kissed him full on the mouth.
“Well, he just looked at her so, and then he took out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth and threw the handkerchief away, right in front of everyone, and Margery burst into tears and cried, ‘You never want to touch me. You never have.’”
“If Susie has a hard time of it, it’ll serve her right,” said Giles nastily. He could hardly believe that with the glorious Giles around, Susie cou
ld actually fall for another man.
“Oh, don’t be so pompous,” snapped Lady Matilda. “I’m fond of Susie. Go and put a spoke in that bounder’s wheel.”
“All right,” sighed Giles. “I’ll try. But Susie is not the easiest of people to talk to. Her mind’s always somewhere else.”
His heart sank when he saw Susie. She looked absolutely radiant. The Sleeping Princess was in love but had not yet come to life, he thought as he noticed the still-dreamy look in her eyes.
He shook hands with Sir Arthur and managed to edge Susie away into a corner.
“Aren’t you happy for me, Giles?” said Susie, laughing. “Oh, I know you said all that rubbish about marrying me, but you only wanted to keep me out of mischief. Arthur will take care of me.”
Giles took a deep breath and sent a prayer up to the gods to forgive him for what he was about to do.
“You know, Susie,” he said in an urgent whisper, “since your mother’s not going to tell you, I had better give you some advice.”
“Tell me what?” Susie glanced to where her mother and father were boring a bishop.
“Sir Arthur is a very experienced man, and experienced men don’t like cold virgins on their wedding night.”
Susie blushed. “I shall not be cold,” she said angrily.
“But have you ever really kissed him?” whispered Giles. “A man like that could get very, very tired of just holding hands. Look at him now!”
Sir Arthur had been talking to the notoriously dashing Mrs. Hunter, a redhead of impeccable lineage and doubtful morals. As Susie watched, Mrs. Hunter moved close to Sir Arthur and pressed her left bosom against his austere arm. Susie began to burn with jealousy. Also, Giles’s nearness was upsetting her in a way she did not like.
She turned and walked away from Giles to put a possessive little hand on her fiancé’s arm. But for once she did not hang on his every word. She was too busy turning various anguished thoughts this way and that. Arthur had never shown the slightest sign of passion. She had been grateful, extremely grateful, for the lack of fumbling and grabbing. She loved when he took her hand in his cold, dry one. Susie felt that there was something almost holy in her love for Arthur, and in that she was almost right.
