by M C Beaton
There was no answer to this, and, had there been, Lord Charles was saved from replying by the stopping of the coach.
Lord Charles suddenly remembered James Bentley’s frantic accusation that Jane was like her late mother, using men heartlessly for her own ends. He felt consumed with a sick disgust at his own weakness in falling for such a girl.
He opened the door of the house, standing back to allow Jane to precede him.
She stopped abruptly in the doorway, and he bumped into her, sending her catapulting forward into the hall.
“Bella!” screamed Jane.
That worthy maid was seated in the settle in the hall, looking as if she had been there forever.
Bella rose to her feet and dropped a curtsy. “I’m surprised to see you, my lady,” she said severely. “I understood this to be the residence of Lord Charles Welbourne.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” snapped his lordship, and in an undertone, “You arranged this, my lady.”
“Indeed I did not,” whispered Jane desperately. And then aloud, “You are supposed to be in Oxford Street, Bella.”
“And so I was,” lied Bella cheerfully; she had hired a carriage and gone straight to Hampstead as soon as she had left Mr. Anderson. “And Carter’s didn’t have the silk, so I returned home, and there was a message from my poor cousin what lives in Highgate, asaying she was poorly. I hadn’t no money for a hack, so I traveled outside on the coach as far as the top o’ the heath. I starts walking to Highgate, and it was so dark and I was afeared o’ footpads, and then I remembered how Cousin Amy was always asetting up such a scare about her health, and it was probably all a hum, and here was me about to be murdered or worse, and then I ’members how your coachman, my lord, says as how you has a house in Fresham Grove. I’ll throw meself on his lordship’s mercy, I thinks. There weren’t no reply to the knocker, but the doors falls open and there isn’t nobody at home, so I decides to set a while till I’m dry, so here I am,” she ended, quite out of breath.
With a face like thunder, Lord Charles walked back outside and slammed the door behind him. He could be heard shortly afterward haranguing his coachman.
Jane walked across the hall past Bella and pushed open a door that led into a small drawing room with a fire burning on the hearth and a tray of refreshments laid out on a table in front of it.
Bella bustled in after her, rubbing her hands. “Well, there’s a mercy, my lady,” she cried. “I wonder where his lordship’s servants are, for it’s like a fairy house to be sure.”
“Bella!” exclaimed Jane, almost screaming with exasperation. “I do not believe you have a cousin in Highgate.”
Bella threw her apron over her head and began to sob noisily, howling, “As if I would lie to you, my lady. How was I to guess you would be here? Oh, was ever a body misjudged!”
She suddenly dropped her apron, revealing a suspiciously dry face. “Well, I’ll just drop my curtsy to your chaperon, and then I’ll be on my way.”
Jane stood silent, looking at the floor.
“Was it that aunt of his lordship’s like the last time?” pursued Bella.
“My aunt is awaiting us in the carriage,” said Lord Charles severely from the doorway. “You take advantage of your mistress’s youth, Bella. You must remember to use her title when addressing her, and refrain from asking questions.”
“I shall introduce myself,” came a high, shrill voice somewhere behind Lord Charles.
“Good God!” muttered Lord Charles. “This is all we need. That sounds like the voice of London’s worst gossip.”
He stood aside to reveal a lady handsomely dressed in blond taffeta. She was in her middle years, with a thin, sharp face, beady eyes, and very large teeth. She was followed by a younger replica of herself, who was attired in pink satin and tittered quite awfully.
“Mrs. Campford,” said Lord Charles in a flat voice.
“Charles!” cried Mrs. Campford, sweeping him a curtsy. “My daughter, Belinda, who quite dotes on you. I was passing and was sore in need of refreshment and espied your crest on the panel of your coach. I did not know you had a house here.”
“I do now,” said Lord Charles shortly. “Allow me to present Lady Jane Lovelace.”
Mrs. Campford gave Jane a toothy smile and then turned back to Lord Charles. “I heard you say your aunt is in the carriage. Which aunt?”
Lord Charles raked through the branches of his family tree. “My Aunt Mary,” he said at last.
“Not Mary Wortley!” cried Mrs. Campford.
Lord Charles was about to change his mind and think up another aunt, but he reflected that Mrs. Campford probably knew the names of all his relatives better than he did himself, and decided to stick to the original lie.
“The same,” he said. “Now if you will excuse—”
“Mary Wortley!” cried Mrs. Campford. “We used to play together as children. I have not seen her in years and years. I shall step outside and pay my respects.”
“Pray do not,” said Lord Charles. “Let me first ascertain whether she is well enough to receive company.”
Before Mrs. Campford could reply, he strode from the room.
Mrs. Campford eyed Jane with a gimlet eye. “Have you been acquainted with his lordship for long?” she demanded.
“No,” replied Jane.
“Then,” said Mrs. Campford in a stage whisper, “I must warn you he is not the kind of man—”
“I must go, my lady,” said Bella, deliberately interrupting whatever malicious remark Mrs. Campford had been about to make. Bella was feeling ashamed of herself. Obviously the aunt was very much in existence. She should have trusted her young mistress. Now she had been proved in the wrong, and perhaps my lady would be angry with her and dismiss her. “I shall proceed to my cousin’s,” went on Bella. “I only dropped in by chance,” she added to Mrs. Campford, her garrulous tongue causing her to say too much.
“Oddso!” exclaimed Mrs. Campford, staring from Jane to Bella avidly. “Then it is as well his lordship’s aunt is here as chaperon, or this would be quite a scandal.”
“If anyone were to hear of it,” said Bella grimly, sitting down again.
“Oh, indeed,” laughed Mrs. Campford shrilly. “I would not say a word, but my little puss here is such a tattletale.” Belinda changed her titter to a snigger.
“Where is Mrs. Wortley?” went on Mrs. Campford. “I suppose she is here.”
“I have sent my aunt back to London,” said Lord Charles from the doorway. “She is feeling exceeding poorly. After you have had some refreshments, Mrs. Campford, perhaps you can find room for us all in your carriage?”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Campford eagerly. She ran a pale tongue over her lips. That Lovelace girl was looking quite peaked. The maid had come only by chance. Mrs. Campford began to doubt the presence of Mary Wortley.
“Where is Mrs. Wortley residing?” she asked.
“With me. At my town house,” replied Lord Charles.
“Then I insist, absolutely insist, that I call on her directly we return to town,” said Mrs. Campford. “No, my lord, I know you are going to say that she does not feel at all the thing to receive anyone, but young men such as yourself can have no conception of the humors that do plague us ladies, and I am accounted a wonder at the sickbed. You shall not say me nay.”
Lady Jane shot a desperate look at Lord Charles, but he was looking at Mrs. Campford. “As you wish,” he said indifferently. “We have refreshments here. Bella, please offer the ladies a glass of ratafia.”
Bella handed Mrs. and Miss Campford their glasses as if she wished they contained poison. Jane approached Lord Charles and tried to say something to him in a low voice, but he walked away from her and stood looking down at the fire.
Mrs. Campford placed herself strategically in the middle of the room, where she could watch everyone, and remarked insouciantly, “How pretty this room is, my lord, and so clean! I declare, your servants must be hard workers. Apart from this woman”—she flashed a smile at Bel
la, baring all her teeth—“I do not seem to be aware of any other servants…?”
“Day off,” said Lord Charles, kicking a log in the fire savagely with his boot.
“All at once!” exclaimed Mrs. Campford. “How odd! Were it not for the presence—or rather the late presence—of your aunt, one would think this place perfectly arranged for an assignation.”
“You forget I’m here,” put in Bella stoutly.
“You just dropped in, as it were, and good servants should be seen and not heard, woman.”
“Let me put this straight,” said Jane in a chilly voice. “You are hinting that I came here with Lord Charles Welbourne for immoral purposes.”
“Never!” cried Mrs. Campford. “Oh, forgive me if anything I have said should give you such an impression. Mrs. Wortley is all the chaperon that is necessary. Ah, my wicked tongue. How I do run on! There! I declare I have given you a disgust of me!”
“Yes,” said Jane moodily.
“La! How you do fun! I am quite ready to leave, my lord, and as soon as we are in London, I shall put your mind at rest over the condition of poor Mrs. Wortley!”
On the journey back to town, Mrs. Campford gave her present prey a respite and entertained the company with several anecdotes of the London ton, amazing in their spite and horrifying in their malice.
Jane’s heart sank lower and lower. Lord Charles suggested that Lady Jane and Bella be escorted home first, but Jane stood firm. She decided that if Lord Charles was going to lose his reputation over the nonexistence of his aunt, then she would stand by him. She accordingly said that she was dying to meet his aunt as well, and Lord Charles thought she was suddenly hell-bent on ruining her reputation and loved her and hated her the more.
By the time the carriage stopped in Hessel Street, Jane was pale but brave, Bella sad and apprehensive, Lord Charles cursing the whole race of women, and Mrs. Campford and her daughter strung up like war horses before the fray.
To do her justice, Mrs. Campford was a very good gossip and went to endless lengths to verify the truth of her malicious stories. It was all the more fun humiliating people when the things you said about them were true.
Mrs. Campford champed at the bit as Anderson let the party into the hall. Before anyone could speak, she cried to him, “Where is dear Mrs. Wortley? Take me to her this instant!”
Janes closed her eyes.
“Certainly, madam,” said Anderson.
And opened them wide again in shock and relief.
“Ah, yes,” said Lord Charles smoothly. “Where is my—er—aunt, Anderson? Gone to bed after her journey from Hampstead?”
“No, my lord. Mrs. Wortley is lying on the day bed in the drawing room.”
“Very good, Anderson. I will show the ladies the way. This way, if you please, Mrs. Campford.”
Mrs. Campford, already feeling the first twinges of disappointment, entered the drawing room.
A great, hulking fat lady with a heavily painted face and enormous powdered wig was reclining on a day bed by the window. She wore a long white flannel nightgown and an enormous white flannel wrapper. On top of her wig was placed a tiny black tricorne such as ladies were beginning to wear on their afternoon promenades. On most ladies Jane had seen, the fashion looked saucy. But it made this lady look for all the world like a hanging judge about to pronounce the death sentence.
“Lady Jane!” cried Mrs. Wortley in a high, strangled voice. “Come and kiss me, my pet.”
Jane, wondering how Mrs. Wortley knew her, tripped forward to kiss the old lady on the cheek and found instead that she had been seized in Mrs. Wortley’s strong hands and kissed resoundingly on the mouth.
“And who are these other people?” asked Mrs. Wortley. “You shouldn’t ought to plague me with strangers, Charlie.”
“Ah, but this is no stranger,” said Lord Charles. “Don’t you recognize your old playmate, Mrs. Campford?”
“How are you, Mary?” said Mrs. Campford, heartily wishing herself elsewhere. It was all too respectable for words. “I hear you were took ill at Hampstead.”
“Course I was,” said Mrs. Wortley. “I’m better now. It’s my spleen. East wind affects it something awful. I never thought to see you again, Creepy Crawly—that’s what we used to call her, Charles, always sneaking and gossiping, and she hasn’t changed.”
Mrs. Campford turned a dull red. “You are the one who has changed, Mary,” she countered shrilly. “You used to be such a pretty little delicate thing. Now you’re as delicate as a whale.”
“I’d rather look like a whale than a horse. That your gal? Ugly little thing, ain’t she?”
Mrs. Campford decided to retreat. She took her daughter firmly by the arm and marched her out of the room, looking neither to right nor left. She would not be able to gossip about any of this without making herself look like a fool. She would need to forget about the whole thing.
But there were two angry spots of color burning on her cheeks as her carriage drove away. She had never liked Mary Wortley anyway, but who would have thought she would have grown into such an enormous, ugly old woman!
After Mrs. Campford had left, Jane looked curiously at Lord Charles. He simply bowed and offered to escort her home, as his aunt was tired.
Then Jane realized he could not explain the strange collusion of his aunt in front of Bella. He must have sent a letter to his aunt, asking her to help with the deception. But what an unconventional old lady she must be, to play such a role and not ask any questions or voice any censure.
Jane dropped Mrs. Wortley a curtsy and said she hoped the old lady would soon be recovered to perfect health.
“Why, I declare, I am restored already by the sight of your sweet face,” said Mrs. Wortley heartily. “Come and kiss me good-bye.”
“No,” said Lord Charles gently. “I think not. You may have some infection, and I would not like Lady Jane to contract anything. I shall escort Lady Jane and her maid home, and then I shall return and give you your medicine.”
Jane hoped that Lord Charles would ask to see her alone so that he could explain about his aunt, but he refused to enter the house in Huggets Square and drove off. He had not said anything about seeing her again.
Lord Charles strode into his drawing room and glared at his aunt.
“I ought to run you through, you old lecher,” he snapped. “‘Come and kiss me!’ Faugh! You made the most of it!”
Mrs. Wortley tossed her hat and wig into the corner and began to scrub the heavy paint from her face with a towel. Then she divested herself of her voluminous nightclothes to reveal a very elegant suit of brocaded satin. Sir Anthony Blake was himself again!
“Had to get something for my pains,” said Sir Anthony unrepentantly. “Is it any use asking why you send me a letter asking me to masquerade as your aunt because Mrs. Campford is on the warpath and I’m to lay up and say I was in Hampstead but went home on account o’ poor health?”
“No.”
“Thought not. By Jove, that Lovelace girl is a fine filly. Her lips taste just like—Zounds! Put up your sword! I shall not mention her name again, on my honor. But I felt like exacting some payment for my services. Come, my friend, ’tis not like you to be always so black-visaged. What’s amiss?”
Lord Charles gave a reluctant smile, the anger dying out of his face. “I think the weather has addled my wits, Anthony. Let’s to the play this evening and forget our troubles. I do not wish to stay for the farce, however. I have been living in one this past few days!”
Lady Jane lived in a mixture of fear and elation, waiting to hear from Lord Charles again. But as she set out for Vauxhall Gardens the following evening, that revengeful gentleman had been strangely silent.
The downpour had ceased late on the previous evening, as a warm, drying gale swept over London, roaring in the chimneys and sending slates hurtling down from the roofs.
By midday on Saturday, the high winds had departed, leaving London spread out to dry under a blazing sun and cloudless sky. He
tty had been all set to accompany Jane to Vauxhall, but a letter had arrived from the Marquess, a very disturbing letter indeed. He wrote in an insanely cheerful manner that divine retribution had finally overtaken him. He had succumbed to the lusts of the flesh, and, since he considered himself unfit for this world, he was preparing himself for the next and felt quite excited and happy as he considered the great step he was about to take. He was sure Hetty and Jane would be happy for him and would pray for his soul. He then went on to describe the building of the east wing in quite a sane manner, and to say that Farmer Mannering’s prize pig was in farrow.
“Odds bodikins!” exclaimed Hetty, reduced to antique oaths by sheer exasperation. “What has your pa been about? Farmer Mannering’s sow, indeed! It’s what else around Westerby that’s in farrow that interests me. Who do you think it was, Jane? That slut Peabody—you know the one—Bessie?”
Jane blushed. “Perhaps he had not been philandering, Hetty, but considers something quite innocent to be a crime of the flesh.”
Hetty snorted. “Well, he says all this stuff about preparing himself for the next world. I don’t like it. I’m agoing to Westerby drecktly.”
“Of course, Hetty,” said Jane warmly, “and I shall accompany you.”
“No,” said Hetty. “I would rather deal with this alone. You stay with my gels, Jane. Miss Armitage can look after ’em while you’re at Vauxhall, and Bella can accompany you. And why not choose one of your other gallants—other than Welbourne, that is?”
Jane flushed slightly but said, “Of course. Which one shall it be?”
“Lud!” exclaimed Hetty. “Any of ’em. What about young Felix Beaton?”
Sir Felix Beaton was a small, neat young gentleman who had to date been the most persistent caller.
“Oh, very well,” sighed Jane. “I suppose he will do as well as any of them.”
And so it was that Hetty went to Eppington Chase and Jane and Bella and Sir Felix took a pleasure barge to Vauxhall as the sun burned down low on the Thames, turning the water to blood. Jane was not overly worried about her father. She put his odd letter down to his strange humor. She firmly believed that when Hetty arrived, the Marquess would be cheerfully quoting the Bible and would have forgotten whatever it was that had caused him to think he had sinned.
