At the first interval, with barely a look or word to me, Richard got up and left the box. I asked Lizzie to watch for me and within a minute, she said, “He’s entered the Drury’s box. He’s bowing over Julia’s hand. Now he’s bowing over Eustacia’s. Horrid girl. Is he flirting with her?”
“A little more than that. There’s a strong rumour that Eustacia is his mistress. She’s encouraged it and the Drurys are fostering it too.”
“Poor Rose.”
“It’s not true.”
She laughed shortly. “I never imagined it was. Strang hates Eustacia. But why isn’t he denying the rumours?”
I gazed at a lady in another box, dressed in puce with rubies, for some time before I nodded to her and turned away. “Because it fosters the idea that we’re estranged. It gives it substance. We won’t let it continue for much longer.”
“He may destroy her reputation,” said Gervase.
“It’s her own fault,” I snapped. Gervase stared at me, his eyes wide with surprise but said no more. I didn’t like to admit, even to myself, that Eustacia had hurt me this time but she had.
Not wanting to watch, I asked Gervase to take us outside, to promenade along the wide corridor outside the boxes. My tension rose.
Richard didn’t return for the second act. Although I knew this was a masquerade, it still hurt. It shocked me to discover how deeply, particularly since this wasn’t real. My happiness was vested in the hands of this man, so unlike anyone I had ever known before. If he should tire of me for real, I would never recover.
The music swelled in intensity as Dido became aware that Aeneas would leave her, never to return.
They brought refreshments to us in the interval, then a knock fell on the door of our box. Glancing to where Richard was sitting next to Julia Drury, I knew who it was.
Steven entered and bowed low to Gervase and Lizzie, who returned the greeting frostily. They left shortly after, to promenade outside. Lizzie didn’t approve of our plan but she couldn’t do anything to prevent it. Since Nichols was standing silently at the back of the box, the proprieties were, for the moment, being observed.
I allowed Steven to sit next to me and kiss my hand. “Don’t you mind my husband sitting so familiarly with your wife?” I asked him.
“Don’t you?” he countered.
“Why should I?” I stared at them. Richard’s head was bent over Julia’s, smiling. Julia smiled back at him. Eustacia, on his other side, moved closer.
I looked back at Steven in time to see his expression of pleasure. Caught out, he smiled in sympathy. I was sincerely distressed and I deliberately let some of it show, although it was hard to allow this man to see my true feelings.
“Julia expects tribute,” he explained. “She wouldn’t have rested until she got it from him.”
“Is this public enough for her? Did she particularly want it to be in public?”
“Oh yes.” He sipped the wine I’d had served to him.
“Is that why you married her?” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice, anxiety and distress colouring it.
“Partly. But she did attract me and your ardour had so obviously cooled. For me, at least.” He smiled. “Well, well, it all happened for the best.”
“Why did she take you?”
He gave a little sigh. “She was in such a taking when Strang declared for you that she would have gone with anybody.” He took another sip of his wine. “She said she would win him back but as far as I can see, you got the best of the bargain. You have the title and his wealth. Is he wealthy?”
That was the last thing on my mind but I told him what he wanted to hear. “Not as wealthy as your Julia.” I watched the smile come, that triumphant curl of the lips.
“Then I win.” He touched his glass to mine. I didn’t drink. With a shrug, he turned his attention back to the box his wife occupied. “I detect trouble in paradise.” He watched Richard flirt with Eustacia Terry. “What can you have done to upset him?”
I swallowed. “I went to a masquerade at Vauxhall, if you remember. And he has done something to hurt me. I said I could go where I liked,” I improvised. After all, it could have gone like that and probably would have done if we trusted each other less. The thought of a true break with Richard fuelled the growing anxiety I was feeling. If he had taken a mistress, I would be in real misery, knowing my dependence on him, forced to share, knowing he was doing with someone else what he did with me.
The music increased in volume, swelling to a climax.
Steven patted my hand sympathetically. “Well, there’s little he can do now. You’re married to him, so you have all the security you need.” The footman had left so he poured himself another glassful. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” He gazed out of the box at the company below, milling about in the game of courtship and scandal.
We had indeed. “It’s the same game they play everywhere. But the jewels are finer and the music is better, that’s all.”
“Oh no, you’re wrong.” I turned away from the spectacle in front of us to see him looking at me with some warmth in his handsome face. I was glad of Nichols’s silent presence. “The games here are far more interesting. Julia is inventive in her choice and I can add a certain amount myself.”
I suddenly saw him as a person, instead of an enemy. I thought about how wretched and humiliating to someone as self-centred as Stephen his life must have been as a poor curate at the beck and call of everyone, knowing he could do better with a patron, a rich wife, a fortune of his own. I understood how he could consider himself lucky now. He had everything he wanted, without stint. “We don’t play games,” I lied.
“Everybody plays games.” He looked across at his wife. “Look at him. Is he playing with Julia, or is he trying to make you jealous?”
I looked. I knew precisely what Richard was doing and he seemed to be having a modicum of success. He had drawn the girl from the back of the box to serve him some wine. He had kept her there and was evidently talking to Julia about her, since occasionally he glanced at the girl and smiled. That pang hit me once more.
“He wouldn’t stoop to that,” I told Steven grandly but whether he was stooping to it or not, jealousy twisted in my stomach. I was foolishly close to tears, made worse by Steven’s next words. “I thought you two were love’s young dream. I’m glad to see you growing out of it. You may come to bless this rift, you know. The beginning of something new.”
“You never know,” I managed. When the door opened I was never so glad in my life to see my sister. She didn’t hide her dislike of Steven and he soon bowed and left us.
I relaxed, letting my shoulders slump and Gervase leaned forward, anxious. “Are you well, Rose? Shall I fetch Richard back to you, or take you home?”
“No, Gervase, I’m well. I just found Steven to be so unpleasant. I can’t understand why I ever found him attractive.”
“He’s extremely good looking,” Gervase said. He would notice that, I thought, still a little under Steven’s baleful influence. “He seems to be intelligent, too but his experiences have perverted him into a schemer. He should do well in a certain sector of society.” His cold tones made his opinion clear.
As we settled down to the third act, Richard rejoined us. He sat in the place recently vacated by Steven and said quietly, “Some progress. Julia is maturing nicely. I wish Drury joy of her. Thank God I never fell into her clutches.” He put his hand over mine, briefly. I just stopped myself clutching his hand. The emotion of the opera, seeing my husband engaged so provocatively with someone else, all served to bring me near to tears.
We stayed to the end, as Lizzie enjoyed the endpiece more than she did the opera itself. So did the Drurys, Julia exclaiming and fluttering her fan to attract attention to herself. Richard wasn’t the only man to visit their box in the course of the evening but as their reconciliation was so public and our new frostiness towards each other equally public, she was in high spirits.
At the end of the evening, I left
on Gervase’s arm. He put his hand on mine and smiled warmly, as though in consolation and indeed I did feel defeated and low.
It wasn’t late but I decided to retire, while Richard went on to a reception somewhere, so I was surprised to find him waiting in the bedroom when I came out of my dressing room, ready for bed.
He was still dressed in brocade and satin, the solitaire pin he usually wore winking at his throat and all his rings still in place. He had taken off his heavy, elaborate coat and it laid thrown carelessly across a chair, his wig on another.
He took me in his arms and led me to the bed, where the covers had already been drawn down.
After he settled me, he covered me up, tucking me in as though I were a child, then he lay down on top of the covers, heedless of his fine clothes. He rested his head on his hand and studied me seriously. “I’m not sure I want to go on with this. You were distressed, weren’t you?”
“You saw?” Of course he did. I could no more hide anything from him than I could from myself.
“Whatever I say, you know what I was, what I used to do. What I used to be capable of doing. I can only convince you by my actions. My love, I felt your distress across the width of the Opera House. Julia Drury is poison.”
“Steven Drury could run her a close second. He hinted at things I don’t even want to think about.”
He frowned. “Has he propositioned you?”
“Not precisely but he’s trying to draw me back.”
His next words sent a jolt through me. “Julia propositioned me. In no uncertain terms, in front of Miss Terry. I think part of Julia’s objective was to shock her, which by the way, she succeeded in doing.”
“Did you accept?”
“What do you think?” There was an edge of exasperation in his voice. “She’s delighted at the rift she sees opening between us and she’ll do anything she can to widen it. I think—no, I’m sure of it—she wants to be the first mistress I take after my marriage. She knows I’m not with Eustacia Terry, much as she is fostering the rumour. It would be a triumph for Julia, something she could flaunt in front of you and everybody else.”
He must have seen something in my expression, for he touched my cheek with the backs of two fingers. His tone changed to an intimate purr. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ll have no more mistresses. You were the last, and the best.”
His touch was balm to me. “I don’t doubt you, it was the thought of the cold bloodedness of it all. If she loved you, it would be easier to understand, in a way. Do you think she loves you?”
“No. She has never loved anyone but herself. I’m sure she doesn’t love her husband. She took him because he was there for the taking and of course, because of his lack of fortune, she could own him.” He leaned back, still watching me. “I don’t think she’s entirely satisfied with her bargain though. He seems to be developing some independence of his own.”
I moved closer so that I could touch him and he smiled and put his arms about me, holding me close and safe. He kissed the top of my head and when I looked up, my mouth. “I’m supposed to be meeting her at Lady Cavendish’s but I’m tempted not to. Shall we throw the scheme to the winds and try some other way? I can’t bear the thought of you so upset and that I should cause it.”
“Certainly not,” I replied, although I was tempted to agree. “We have to talk to that girl.” His loving presence gave me the strength I needed. “What did you find out about her tonight?”
He sighed and stroked my hair, still damp from having the powder washed out of it. “She’s more than a trainee lady’s maid, more like a pet. I don’t know what Julia has in mind but she keeps the girl close. I spoke to her once but only to flirt. It’s as though Julia is tempting me with her. As though I would be attracted by a girl as young as that.”
“You were once,” I reminded him. I could have bitten my tongue out, knowing how much the thought of it upset him. It was my own foolish doubts that made me waspish.
He still held me, stroking my hair gently and in a steady voice he said, “I was younger than Lucy at the time.” He paused before going on, “I’ve always preferred experienced women since I came of age. Until you.”
I reached across to touch his shirtsleeved arm. “I’ll be here later, and tomorrow.”
“So you will,” he said, holding me close. He drew back and studied my face for a minute or two. “You’re sure about this?”
I pushed all my doubts aside. “Yes. We have to. It’s the only lead we have.”
He sighed. “All right then, kiss me once more and I’ll be off. Sleep well, my love.”
So we kissed and he left, picking up his wig and his coat and going through to his dressing room.
THE NEXT DAY I GOT up early and left Richard to his slumbers. He must have reached home in the small hours. He had come back to me, to my bed, just as he said he would.
The day was bright, a crisp November day and the sun streamed in through the windows of my dressing room as Nichols helped me to dress. I was so much more content here, in our own house, where we could have things precisely as we chose. Since I was in such a sunny mood, I chose to wear a yellow gown, with the pearls Richard had given me just before I came out of mourning for my cousins.
I had little to do before breakfast, then some visits to make, so I read and wrote some letters. The one to my Aunt Godolphin, I desired sent round immediately. I would visit her soon but she needed to know about our progress concerning her late servant. Or to be more precise, the lack of it.
I was surprised to find Richard had woken in time for breakfast. He joined me in the dining room, where I had thought I would breakfast in solitary state with the morning papers and my post. He glanced at me, one eyebrow lifted, so I sent out the servant. We were in a position to be aware of the knowledge a servant had and how powerful that knowledge could be in the wrong hands.
“How was Lady Cavendish?” I asked him first.
“Tolerably well. The reception was the usual crush and our news hasn’t filtered through to the majority of people yet, so the gossip wasn’t new. Louisa Crich took me to task about our rift, so I told her not to believe everything she heard. She understood.”
“I hope so. I know she’s a hoyden but I’m fond of her. She has a good heart.”
“She’s settling down this season.” He paused while he conveyed a portion of devilled kidney to his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “She’s declared her intention of marrying soon.”
“Who?”
“She’s not sure yet,” he answered with a grin.
After breakfast I found myself with an hour to spare, so I went into the smaller drawing room upstairs, where my harpsichord was kept and practised for a while. Carier interrupted me. He slid into the room, waited for my attention, then asked if I would step downstairs.
I assumed the matter was of some importance, so I closed the instrument and followed him downstairs. In the small parlour, I found Richard waiting. Resting on a table was one of the slim folders I was beginning to recognise as coming from Thompson’s. Richard saw me comfortably seated before he told me the news. “We’ve found the manservant.”
He didn’t need to tell me which manservant, the one who ran away after the murder. My heart lifted at the news. “Where did they find him?”
“In the stews at St. Paul’s.” My husband smiled. “Progress at last. They’re holding him at Thompson’s. Would you like to come and see him, or shall Carier and I interview him on our own?” I loved the fact he considered me his full partner in everything and that he was consulting with me before he took any action. I elected to go with them. The route to the office was a little longer from Brook Street than from Piccadilly but it still didn’t take long and I could recognise where I was, unlike on that first day. The streets held more interest now that I could track the changes from fashionable shopping and residential areas to the business and older parts, although there was little of the old left in the city since the Great Fire of the last century. The oldest parts wer
e probably the stews around St. Paul’s and the docks, where the dregs of London gathered in worlds of their own. I would be a foreigner there, just as I had been in Italy and would never dream of venturing alone into that district.
Chapter Seventeen
IT WAS A BUSY DAY AT Thompson’s, packed with clients and potential employees. The ubiquitous Barraclough met us at the door and took us directly upstairs, along the corridor to a small room at the end. This door was fastened by a larger lock than usual and had a small hatch let into it, like a prison cell. I put my hand on Richard’s arm, feeling the need of support when Barraclough produced a large iron key and unlocked the door. “He doesn’t seem to be dangerous,” he commented. However, Richard and Carier were both armed and they drew pistols out of their large coat pockets at almost the same moment.
Carier went in first, followed by Richard. I came last. It was a small room, furnished with a narrow bed, a table and a chair. A covered chamber pot sat under the table, reminding me forcibly of something I would rather forget. I suppressed a shiver. A barred sash window provided a source of natural light. If the occupant had been determined to escape, it wouldn’t have held him for long but the captive within showed no signs of wanting to leave precipitately.
Greene was a tall man with brown hair and eyes, obviously accustomed to wearing a wig, as his hair was so short as to suggest it had once been shaved off. He had the look of an aesthete, pale and wan but his strongly muscled body was easily discernible since he was in shirtsleeves. His coat was folded neatly on the chair and had obviously once been of good quality, as had his breeches but all his clothes were badly soiled and torn in places. He had cleaned himself, as the bowl of water on the table was ringed with grime and the towel lying next to it badly soiled. He’d been on the run.
He stood and bowed as we went in, a bow that betrayed his former profession. Richard glanced at Barraclough, who hastily left the room and quickly returned with one of the chairs from Alicia’s office. Richard settled himself on a corner of the table. He was as different from the exquisite of last night as could be, dressed in a simple dark green cloth coat and waistcoat, a plain hat and wig but still with that undeniable quality which was his own, imbuing his appearance with a basic elegance.
Harley Street Page 17
