The Love Knot

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘I never thought of you as anything but fine and lovely, I promise you. Of course you were innocent, but – I mean to say, we were so happy together – until – I went away. Until you sent me away.’

  Mercy flung open her fan and moved it impatiently up and down against her face.

  ‘Oh, never mind who sent you, me or you, or both of us, what does it matter? And never mind who went and hunted or who stayed behind with Mr Chantry and decorated – love should be stronger than that, surely? It should be stronger than everything – there should be no changing because someone has to go away. The truth is that your love for me, whatever it may have been, was not strong enough to resist returning to your old ways once you went hunting! I grew up in the country, I know there is more to hunting than flying the hedges and ditches, believe me. Hunting is a secret society. It is a way for gentlemen to meet fast ladies and enjoy hard drinking as well as hard riding. Lady Violet has a passion for you. It will never go. Just as you have a passion for her.’

  ‘Not any more, truly, not any more.’

  He stood up and started to pace about the room.

  ‘I did have a passion – of course I did, she is a very beautiful woman, and we liked the same things, shared the same things – but not, believe me, any kind of secret, at least not one that is at all interesting. I am not the kind of man to have secrets, and God knows I tried to act honourably as far as all this was concerned. It was only that you would keep putting me off from coming home, so that I became convinced that you were in love with that fellow Chantry, and then of course – Violet and I, well, we fell into our old ways, but they were boring old ways after what we had, here, we two.’

  Mercy looked at him, her head on one side, knowing that he was speaking the truth but finding that it made little difference to her now.

  ‘Everything a little too fast, or a little too slow, all the stories so old, the laughter a little too sharp. I longed for you. And then when it turned out at Christmas that you were having a baby – God forgive me, I was convinced that … much as I loved you, I was convinced that it had all happened in my absence, let us say. That Violet was right, and the baby could not be mine. And yet I still wanted to stand by you. That was how much I loved you.’

  Mercy sighed, somehow strangely unsurprised by what John had just said. She knew of course that she could, if she wished, spring to her feet and become quite indignant, but she had no real desire to shout about her honour being impugned and berate him for believing her to be ‘that kind of woman’. If he had been able to make love to Lady Violet it was only too likely that he would be quite able to believe that Mercy was the same kind of person as her stepmother. No, it was far too late for histrionics and anger, too late for anything except the dull grey of a certain kind of truth that can only come out of misunderstandings, explanations delayed, and misplaced love.

  ‘I am sorry you thought the baby was not yours, John. You must have suffered. And I am sorry that you fell into love again with Lady Violet, and that now, perhaps, you might be coming out of it. But, you see, all that – everything you have said – does not change anything, because the last few months have changed me so entirely, so utterly, that I can not see life in the same way as I once did, before I found out about you and Lady Violet.

  ‘Nowadays I see only deception in everyone. As people are talking to me I see only that they are lying – to me, to themselves. And when I look in the mirror I see only a stupid girl, who once believed everything that Society and the Church told her, but found it all to be just lies, and as a result is now – quite dead.’

  Fourteen

  Dorinda was certain that she must have lost her reason when she found herself seated in her carriage outside the door of her old residence in St John’s Wood waiting for an unknown maid to answer the door to her coachman’s knock. What was she doing there? And why? Why would she, Mrs Lawrence Leveen, be going to such trouble to see her former lover, when she knew very well it would matter not a whit to her dear Mr L if Lady Londonderry called on them or not. What did it matter?

  But the truth was that it did matter. It mattered a great deal to the daughter of a seaside landlady that her husband and herself be received by everyone. Besides, Dorinda refused to be denied the pleasure of standing at the top of her stairs, in her town house, and seeing the ghastly set expressions of that bunch of old aristocratic tigresses known as ‘Society’ having to come to her ball.

  And she did not just want it for herself, she wanted it for Mr L, for she knew only too well from living with Gervaise that the true aristocracy looked down their noses at men like Lawrence Leveen. However close they might be to the monarch, however dear to his heart, they were not one of them.

  And so she had determined that she would make him one of them in one great and fantastical evening. She would ensure that they all came tripping up his marble stairs. His rooms would echo to the sound of their slang, their asides, and their precious attitudes, and after that they could be done with it.

  Of course her dear little friend and confidante, Leonie, had advised against it, and most strongly. Dorinda was not quite sure from where Leonie culled her wisdom but she thought it might be from having to see so much of death, and illness, and all those maturing experiences that being all day, and sometimes all night, at a nursing home must inevitably provide.

  Or it might be that she knew it instinctively, for, without any doubt, it seemed to Dorinda anyway, Leonie was not the run of the mill personality to be attracted to the nursing profession, any more than Lady Angela herself. Dorinda knew, because Gervaise Lowther had taught her, that to comment on a person’s background or compare their looks to those of another person of your acquaintance was just not done. No-one in Society ever said, Oh, but you look so-o like Lord Clanmaurice, it was just not something that anyone said. Dorinda was glad that Gervaise had taught her this, and much else besides, of course.

  ‘Mr Lowther is in and will receive you, Mrs Leveen,’ her coachman told her, opening the carriage door and staring up at her from under his hat.

  Dorinda nodded, quite curtly for her, for she at once judged from the coachman’s expression that he did not approve of bringing a woman such as herself to a house in St John’s Wood of all places, and that as far as he was concerned they might as well have been in Tulse Hill, so renowned was the area as being a place where the nobility kept their mistresses, and the rich their girlfriends. But since she knew that Gervaise had divested himself of her successor – the famously endowed blonde lady with the flashing brown eyes – she felt quite able to call, albeit not in her own carriage with its proclamation of Vincit Quae Amat but in the family barouche, all done up in sombre dark brown paint – very respectable.

  The door was reopened by a very ugly maid. Dorinda could not help being entertained by this, for she remembered that she herself had, after all, kept on Blanquette not because she was particularly adept, but purely and simply because Dorinda had judged her to be no temptation to Gervaise. And yet, give the young Breton maid her due, she had finally defeated Dorinda and Dorinda had been, momentarily, the loser and Blanquette the winner. The famous blonde had doubtless chosen this one for the same reason. Gentlemen were ever susceptible when it came to maids. Dorinda had heard it was something to do with their uniforms, although why a healthy man would prefer fustian and serge to silks and satins she had no idea at all. Happily her Mr L was not like that. He liked only the best, and then only when it was dressed up, or down, to the nines, if not the tens.

  ‘Mrs Leveen, sir,’ the maid announced.

  Dorinda rustled forward, as ever thankful to Lady Duff-Gordon for her impeccable taste in styling Dorinda’s beautiful undergarments.

  ‘Dorinda!’

  Gervaise was by the chimneypiece, handsome, beautifully dressed, and as drunk as a footman on his day off.

  ‘Gervaise.’

  Dorinda kissed the air beside his head, and then backed away hastily. She hated the smell of drink on men in the morning. She did not
mind it in the least after luncheon. Then it could be quite attractive, particularly if the gentleman was ‘calling’ on you in the library or your upstairs rooms and you were in your tea gown on your chaise longue, but before that it was really very much not at all the thing. She noticed too that Gervaise had broken veins around his nose where he had never used to have them, and that his hands shook a little.

  ‘This is such a pleasure,’ he kept saying, ‘you have no idea. Since you married I have longed to see you again, to talk over old times, and to be a friend to you. And of course, I have been reminded of you as often as I have seen Leveen, and that is very, very often, seeing that the King does so dote on his company, and I am always around the King.’

  Gervaise was still the same charming person, but now he was old in a way that was sad, because he had matured himself in wine and not achievement, and the way he spoke, his whole conversation, was that of a man who had said the same words over and over again, time and time again, until really it was quite obvious that he knew no others.

  ‘I do not blame you in the least for returning to your husband when he was dying, and now that you have a new one I must congratulate you – for you have never, ever looked better. And besides, I have to say, having taken a part in your social education, I take a pride in your social elevation.’

  ‘Oh, Gervaise!’ Dorinda laughed her purposely pretty laugh and smiled at the same time. ‘How funny you are. We have not been elevated, by any means. Mr L is still a Mr and I am still a Mrs even when not travelling, as today, quite incognito.’

  ‘Dorinda, I fear, no matter how rich and powerful your husband, he will have a hard time of it refusing a title from the King. The King, I know, may wish it.’

  Dorinda rearranged her skirts, also in a purposely pretty way.

  ‘Well, quite so, Gervaise, but we must understand, must we not, that whatever the King may wish for Mr L, he wishes more than anything to make the right investments, and that Mr L will do, and does, for him, n’est ce pas? The King will not force Mr L to do anything he does not wish, he is too much the gentleman. He is a gentleman king, and that is why the populace likes him. That and the fact that the King enjoys himself, now he is over the Coronation and his appendicitis.’

  ‘Yes, it was a pity about the Coronation, so few countries able to attend the second innings.’

  ‘Gervaise, I am not here to discuss the King. The King is my husband’s business, and indeed your business, but I am here to ask you a favour.’

  Gervaise leaned across to the woman whom he had loved so thoroughly, and thought sadly of how he would never do so again.

  ‘For you, for all the happy memories that you have given me, which I still treasure, I would do anything. Oh, by the way, do you know that my poor wife died? I did so love her.’

  ‘Yes, Gervaise, I knew. Remember, I wrote you a letter of condolence? I always knew that you loved your wife, first and foremost, and she was what mattered. That she could not make love with you, that was the pity, but you both loved each other. I was a mere diversion.’

  ‘Yes, you are right, she was what mattered, but now my children are married I have no-one. Which is a hell of a pity, to be alone, with only one’s mistress or someone for company of an evening.’

  Dorinda laughed gaily. ‘Touché, Gervaise, touché. Was I such dull company?’

  ‘No, no, not you – just in general, you know? At any rate, here we are, and I must do my best for you, for you were the best of my mistresses, and I always said so.’

  ‘This is not the easiest of undertakings, believe me, Gervaise, and I will appreciate it in a great many ways if you can bring it about. And if you do, Gervaise, I think that it is within Mr L’s power to help you – help you with some sound advice.’

  Gervaise knew exactly what Dorinda meant. He was in need of sound advice. The cost of keeping up his houses, let alone a mistress, was beginning to be a strain, even for him.

  ‘Railroads, and such like, is that the way to go, Dorinda? I heard as much in the whisper at Whites.’

  Dorinda made a tut-tut noise. She knew that money was never discussed in Society, for the very good reason that no-one ever thought about anything else so really it was quite dull to talk about it.

  ‘We shall not speak between us again of business, Gervaise, but suffice it to say that I will advise Mr L to advise you. More than that I can not say. I do not understand business. I understand running a house, and making love, and ensuring that no-one steals your cook, that is all.’

  ‘I should be grateful for advice, Dorinda. Really I should.’

  Inwardly Dorinda sighed and putting her head on one side she smiled, because of a sudden she too remembered the old days when they had spent such pleasurable times together.

  ‘Well, Gervaise, this is how it is.’

  ‘Tell me how it is – God, it is so good to see you, Dorinda. Really it is.’

  ‘This is how it is, Gervaise. Lady Londonderry – well, all the famous three – we have no need to name them, have we?’

  ‘I should say not. They terrify the boots off me, I can tell you.’

  ‘I know, I know, Gervaise, and I do understand, but they are so important, you know, and none of them, not one of them has called on me, d’you see? And I cannot give a ball and have the King come, and so on and so on, unless they do. They have been known to hold out even against the King, you know, and the King to hold out against them too, and really it is for Mr L that I want it so much. I want everything to be as perfect as possible and all Society present at our first ball, not just the King and people like you, but everyone.’

  ‘Well, but Dorinda, I am nothing much, you know. I can not force the old battleaxes to call. They do as they wish, and that is all there is to it.’

  ‘Surely you must be related to someone who will, let us say, be persuaded, I mean in exchange for the kind of advice that Mr L is disposed to give you?’

  ‘Completely see what you mean, Dorinda, but to tell you the truth whom I’m related to and why has really always rather bored me, and, not to put too fine a point on it, I am now really too mummified by midday to remember anyway.’

  Having expected just such a reply, Dorinda nodded. Opening a little silk case she had brought with her as an aide memoire, she settled back against the brocade fabric that she herself had chosen, and smiled.

  ‘Oh, I know, Gervaise. Men hate ancestors and everything like that, not nearly as interesting as a hot tip from Newmarket, so before I called this morning I wrote it all out from the book of books to which my secretary is devoted, I have to tell you – and there we are.’

  She pushed a piece of clearly written paper towards Gervaise who peered at it in a bleary way, and then gave it back to her really rather too quickly.

  ‘No, no, just tell me, Dorinda, because really I have trouble with that kind of who married whom stuff and nonsense. So common to know anything about one’s ancestors, unless it is something amusing, I always think. You know, unless they have called a cavalry charge at the wrong time, or split their hose in front of Elizabeth I, something of that nature.’

  ‘Well, the exciting thing is that Mrs Goodman – she’s my secretary – found that you are related to all three of the big three, Gervaise. Imagine? Lady Londonderry is just the beginning, and you are quite definitely related to her.’

  Gervaise groaned. ‘But they’re such blown roses, Dorinda. You can’t think that I can make love to them – can you?’

  Dorinda glanced at the ormolu clock that she remembered all too well, and then across at Gervaise.

  ‘My, my, my, Gervaise, look at me. I have outstayed my twenty minutes.’

  ‘Don’t matter, Dorinda. So lovely to see you. Besides, when you’ve been in a man’s bed, does it matter how long you call on him? I should think that is taking etiquette too far, isn’t it?’

  Having said this Gervaise tried to take her in his arms, but Dorinda stepped neatly backwards to avoid him, saying, ‘Now, Gervaise, it was you who taught me never
to stay for more than twenty minutes on a call, and preferably fifteen!’

  ‘Just tell me, you don’t expect me to make love to one of those old trouts, do you? I mean have you seen any of them? They could crack ice at a glance.’

  Dorinda paused by the door. ‘I don’t expect you to do anything.’

  Gervaise sighed with relief.

  ‘I know you will make sure that one or all of them call on me, Gervaise, that is all. And don’t worry about ringing for the maid – I think I know my own way out!’

  Dorinda gave a laugh rich with the humour of the situation and skipped back down the steps of the house to her waiting carriage, and to her coachman, whose expression, Dorinda realized, as he shut the carriage door, was one of speaking relief that they were about to be leaving an area of London to which he remained stubbornly, and snobbishly, unaccustomed.

  Dorinda settled back against the rich, faded, ruby red velvety interior of the coach, and thought suddenly how much she now hated blue. Dorinda Blue, like the house at which she had just called, was part of a past that she was more than willing to forget. Not because she thought of herself as having been particularly immoral, but because she was ashamed that she had ever thought that she loved Gervaise Lowther. He was really very uninteresting compared to her Mr L.

  But of course, Gervaise did, in common with so many of his kind, have a tendency to overspend. She happened to know from Mrs Goodman who knew from a man at a certain royal bank who had, it was rumoured, imbibed too much at a party given by a cousin of that excellent secretary, that Mr Gervaise Lowther was in Carey Street (rather a frequent address for the aristocracy) and badly in need of some sound advice which would lead to fortunate investments, the kind of investments that would pay off his steadily accumulating debts and make his bank very happy indeed.

  Gervaise would find a way to make Lady Londonderry, or Lady Elcho, or whoever, call on Mrs Lawrence Leveen, and in calling they would have had to capitulate to the fact that Dorinda Blue was now just as good as them – or just as bad!