Letter From a Rake

by Sasha Cottman

  Lucy gave Millie a look of resigned disgust. Then she leaned over and caught her mother’s eye.

  ‘Would it be all right if Millie and I went upstairs to my room, Mama? That way you and Mrs Ashton can talk in peace without worrying about our sensitive ears.’

  The duchess raised her eyebrows and looked at Violet, who nodded her approval. The sooner the girls were gone, the quicker they could get on to discussing the real scandals of the past two decades.

  ‘Yes of course, my dear,’ the duchess replied.

  An hour later, the girls were sitting on the floor in Lucy’s bedroom, flicking through the pages of some fashion books.

  ‘I didn’t think you were interested in fashion, Lucy,’ Millie said, as she piled the books on top of each other.

  Lucy gave her a sly smile.

  ‘I noticed that you picked them up as soon as you got in here. Admit it, Millie, you and I are just the same: we like both bonnets and bayonets.’

  ‘And bloody barbarians,’ Millie giggled.

  ‘Sometimes, I wish I could ride through Hyde Park and lop off a few heads. Granted, it might get me barred from Ascot and all the good at-homes, but I think it would be worth it,’ Lucy replied.

  Millie shook her head. ‘Remind me not to get on your bad side.’

  Lucy laughed her best manic laugh, before gathering up her skirts and using the edge of the bed to pull herself to her feet. Millie watched as she went to the dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. Lucy took out a pair of plain slippers and after removing the pair she already had on her feet, she put them on.

  Millie looked at the clock and scowled. Was there some particular time of the day at which young English ladies changed their shoes, she pondered? Perhaps the other slippers simply hurt her feet and these new ones were her favourite comfortable pair.

  She turned to see Lucy smiling at her. ‘I have a dance lesson this afternoon, remember? These have a smooth sole for gliding gracefully across the dance floor. Well, that is the theory anyway.’

  Millie began to pack up the books. Her first visit to Strathmore House was now coming to an end; she hoped it would not be her last. ‘I have really enjoyed visiting today. Thank you for inviting me,’ she said, offering Lucy a grateful smile.

  Lucy’s face fell. ‘Oh, you are leaving? I thought you might stay for a bit longer,’ she replied. She reached out and, taking Millie’s hand, helped her to her feet. ‘I have another pair of slippers that are perfect for dancing.’ She looked down at Millie’s less-than dainty feet and frowned. ‘Well, even if you just come and watch me for a while. Please stay,’ she pleaded.

  The touching plea brought a tear to Millie’s eyes and at that moment she prayed that no matter what the future brought, she and Lucy would be firm friends forever. She beamed as her heart filled with joy.

  ‘I would love to stay. I am having the best fun, and even if I just sit and watch you practise, I am sure I will pick up on some of the finer points. Mama will wish to go home shortly, but I shall ask her to let me stay and meet your dance master. I am certain she will agree. If she sees that I am showing any interest in brushing up on my dancing skills, she will happily send the carriage to collect me later.’

  Lucy twirled around on the spot and gave Millie an elegant bow. ‘If you speak to Mr Roberts, he might even be able to find a time in his schedule to give you lessons.’ She let out a gasp. ‘Or, even better still, we could combine our dance lessons and you could come here every week,’ she announced excitedly.

  Millie’s left eyebrow lifted slightly. ‘I could do that, unless of course your Mr Roberts is far too exclusive for the likes of me. Who knows, he may only take on the finest of lead-footed ladies.’ They both giggled.

  Chapter 8

  It might have been a bitterly cold day, but Alex Radley did not feel it. Mired deep in self-inflicted pain, his brain was incapable of taking in much of his surroundings. The blinding light of the sun filled his entire field of vision.

  His bare hands were stuffed into the pockets of his unbuttoned coat, which flapped about in the icy wind, allowing the cold to pierce his shirt and chill his skin. With his body already in such a painful state, it was unable to register any further discomfort. It could snow for all he cared.

  As he made his way on foot to his parents’ house, every step was agony. His eyes were like two tiny slits in his face, barely allowing him to see the path in front. Crossing North Audley Street, he did not bother to look left or right, he merely stepped into the road. The way he felt at that moment it would have been a blessed relief to be run over by a large mail coach.

  When he woke that morning, still in his evening clothes, Alex thought he had swallowed his shirt. It had taken several minutes to realise that the large cloth-like thing filling his mouth was actually his tongue.

  He had thought of crying off making the arduous journey of half a mile, but if he did, it would mean having to deal with David. After the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of his brother the previous night, this enforced death march was the far more pleasant option.

  ‘Fool,’ he muttered, as his feet hit the pavement. His nauseated stomach threatened to wreak revenge with every step. ‘I cannot believe he told everyone about what happened with Miss Ashton. How am I ever going to face them again?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ a voice said, and Alex turned his cat-like eyes to the sound. An arm came gently around his shoulder and by straining to focus he was able to see the pained look on the face of Hargreaves, the family butler.

  Alex had reached Strathmore House, and, with any luck, salvation.

  ‘My lord, I gather you are feeling rather poorly this morning, because you certainly do not look at all well. How about you come inside, before either of their Graces set eyes upon you? The last thing I think your head needs right now is the soothing sound of a lecture from your parents,’ Hargreaves said. Alex attempted to nod, but as his head was on the verge of falling off, he thought the better of it. He was content to allow Hargreaves to guide him around to the rear entrance of the house and down into the household kitchens.

  Once inside, the family cook plied him with tea and a greasy bacon and egg sandwich. It was her famous hangover cure. The tea helped to stop the pounding head and the sandwich took care of the acid burning the pit of his stomach.

  Alex sat quietly on a chair, nursing his second cup of tea and praying that no one from the upper household ventured into the kitchens while he was there. If they did, it would only be a matter of minutes before he received the summons to either his father’s study or his mother’s sitting room for a none-too-subtle reminder of his station and responsibilities.

  Meanwhile, the kitchen staff went quietly about their tasks, treating him as if he were no more than a cat perched on a stool. They knew he was there, but no one would speak to him. If they did then it meant he had been in the kitchens and they could not deny having seen him. He managed a weak smile as he thought of this strange below-stairs rule, which afforded protection to all those who abided by it. If they pretended he was not there, then he had never been there.

  The only person exempt was Cook; she ruled the kitchens during the day and only relinquished control when the family chef took over for a dinner party, and then under sufferance.

  ‘You really have made a mess of yourself, my lad. I have not seen you this bad in a very long time. It is a wonder you made it over here at all. Mr Hargreaves tells me you walked,’ she said, placing a cold, wet towel on Alex’s face.

  He closed his eyes and took hold of her arm to steady himself. ‘Oh, that is good, thank you, Cook. You always take such good care of me; I truly don’t deserve it.’

  She chuckled. ‘You are one of God’s poor creatures and I hate to see them suffer; besides, I didn’t say the towel was clean,’ she replied. Even in his delicate state, Alex could see the joke and laughed.

  Gingerly.

  Taking the cloth from his face, he handed it back to Cook, who wiped her hands on it and threw it in a
nearby basket of dirty washing. He took a deep breath. He was beginning to feel human again.

  ‘You’ll live,’ Cook said, giving him a gentle pat on the arm.

  He watched as she took a freshly-baked batch of scones out of the oven and stacked eight of them carefully on a fine china plate, which was then placed on a cotton-covered tray next to a collection of jams and a pot of cream.

  One of the kitchen maids hauled a large kettle off the fire and filled an elegant teapot with hot water. She pulled four matching cups and saucers from the kitchen dresser and arranged them next to the teapot. It was apparent his mother was entertaining visitors at home.

  Alex downed the last of his tea and then sat staring at the tea tray. Why had he come here today, when he could still be lying unconscious in his own bed? He swore and in an instant Cook had picked up a wooden spoon and rapped him over the knee. ‘Not in my kitchen, my lad. I don’t care how poorly you are feeling. If you want to use that sort of language then you will have to go upstairs and out into the yard.’

  Alex sat shamefaced, looking at his knee, which now hurt more than the rest of his body.

  ‘Sorry, Cook. I just remembered who the visitors are and why I was supposed to be here today,’ he replied. He let out a sigh and silently berated himself for having got so terribly drunk last night. After David had drunkenly revealed Alex’s sexual response upon meeting Millie Ashton to anyone who would listen, he should have gone home and got some sleep.

  Instead, he had stormed out of the Silken Slipper Club, the laughter of his friends still ringing loudly in his ears, and found the nearest public house in which to drown his sorrows. He had fallen in with a bunch of sailors whose ship had just docked in port following a rough sea crossing from the West Indies.

  If the sailors had thought they could drink this foolish young man under the table, they were sadly mistaken. Alex had offered to fight the bar, but instead they convinced him to pay for their drinks.

  ‘Gentlemen and scholars,’ were the last words he remembered slurring at some fellow who had a large gold ring through his nose, before he’d managed to stagger home and pass out.

  He looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking. He really had made an awful mess of himself.

  ‘I most certainly will not make a good impression in my current condition,’ he lamented.

  ‘No, and you smell like the bottom of a brewer’s barrel,’ Cook replied tartly. ‘If I were you, I would forget about seeing the visitors and find a spare bed to crawl into. Lord Stephen has gone out for the day, so his room will be empty. I shall have a word with Mr Hargreaves and make sure you are not disturbed.’

  Cook took the empty cup from Alex’s shaking hands and placed it on the table.

  ‘While you get some sleep, I shall get one of the footmen to locate Lord Stephen’s valet and ask him to help clean you up in an hour or two.’

  Alex nodded, and thankfully his head stayed on his shoulders. He slid slowly off the stool and, after stealing a stray scone, headed upstairs in search of his younger brother’s bedroom and, he prayed, some sleep.

  After Violet had made her farewells and thanked Lady Caroline for the invitation, she went home, promising to send the family carriage back to collect Millie later that afternoon.

  As soon as her own mother had turned and gone back upstairs, Lucy dragged Millie into a large ballroom that ran off one side of the main front hallway.

  Millie stood in awe as she surveyed the size of the ballroom; the Ashton House ballroom could have easily fitted into it with space left over. When Lucy took her by the hand and pulled her toward a second door, Millie gave her a quizzical look.

  ‘I thought you were having a dance lesson in the ballroom?’ she said, as Lucy opened another door and stepped into a second room.

  ‘I am,’ Lucy replied, as she pulled Millie through the doorway. ‘This is the winter ballroom: it is too small to practise in. We will be using the summer ballroom.’

  As soon as she saw the size of this second room, Millie’s jaw dropped. Strathmore House was so huge it contained not one but two enormous ballrooms.

  The summer ballroom was the largest room Millie had ever seen in a private home. It could have housed two of her uncle’s ballrooms. When Lucy let go of her hand midway across the floor, Millie stopped and looked up. Above them soared an ornately decorated ceiling, so high that it gave the illusion of stretching to reach to the heavens.

  ‘Gosh,’ she murmured.

  From across the other side of the room she could hear someone practising on a piano.

  A smile came to Lucy’s lips.

  ‘I must go; Mr Roberts does not allow my lessons to run over time. He has several more lessons after me.’

  She gave Millie a wave and hurried across the floor to meet up with the dance master.

  ‘There are some chairs over there if you want to sit and watch,’ she called out, pointing to several chairs against the wall at a midpoint of the room.

  ‘Thank you. I might just have a look at this magnificent ceiling before I come over to watch, if that is all right?’ Millie replied.

  Lucy glanced up at the ceiling and shrugged her shoulders. She had lived in this house all her life, so the roof of the summer ballroom was nothing for her to get excited about. Then a smile appeared on her lips. ‘You do know your Aesop’s fables, don’t you? Let’s see how many of them you can identify before you check the answers,’ Lucy called out, laying down a challenge.

  ‘If you read the writing that is upside-down at the top of the picture, it will give you an obvious clue, and if you still don’t know the fable, the answers are in order on the two main wall panels in the middle of the room. Good luck.’

  Millie was captivated by the ceiling and she took to the challenge of examining the amazing baroque artwork with relish. The ceiling was decorated with a gilt grid, and in each section, a variety of animals and people enacted a series of ancient fables on a coloured background. Every so often smaller pictures of laughing cherubs, unicorns and angels had been painted between the stories. Whoever had commissioned this ceiling certainly had a liking for filling up every inch of available plaster with colour.

  In the first section she was delighted to see a fat white goose sitting on a golden egg. ‘That one is easy,’ she said.

  As she slowly made her way around the room, gazing up at the ceiling, she identified the more famous of the fables, including the tortoise and the hare, and the boy who cried wolf. Having guessed those without checking the answers, she continued across the floor.

  She was busily staring at a picture of a beautiful woman and a cat, trying to recall the story, when the pianist struck up a waltz. She looked over and saw Lucy and Mr Roberts begin to dance. Millie smiled when she saw how graceful a dancer Lucy was, and reminded herself to ask for Mr Roberts’ card so her mother could speak to him about lessons.

  She turned from the dancers and resumed staring up at the ceiling. As she listened to the music, her eyes slowly closed and she began to sway in time.

  Alex was immensely proud of himself. He had managed to slip into his parents’ house and have a solid three hours’ sleep in his younger brother’s bed, and only a handful of servants knew he was here. And not one of them was about to reveal the whereabouts of the future head of the family to anyone. All those who worked in the households of the ton knew that the Radley family was one of the best employers in England and when the servants of an estate were promptly and well paid, they made sure to protect their future livelihoods.

  He stood at the top of the stairs and peered over the balcony. A few hours ago, he would not have been able to accomplish such a simple task, but his head was now clear. The front entrance was empty, so he made his way downstairs. His plan was a simple one. Quietly open the front door, close it, go around the block and arrive at the front door once more.

  He had borrowed a shirt from Stephen’s wardrobe, grateful that his brother had had the good sense to sprout tall and large in his fourtee
nth year. The shirt fitted him well enough.

  Stephen’s valet had helped make him presentable. After a hot towel and a quick glide over his stubble with a cutthroat blade, Alex finally admitted he looked more like his usual self. Though as he sat and stared into his brother’s mirror, he realised there was little he could do about the dark circles under his eyes. The nights he had spent having fitful dreams of Miss Millicent Ashton, followed by the drunken indulgence of the previous evening, were reflected back at him in his tired and drawn face.

  ‘I look a million years old,’ he muttered to himself as the valet took the shaving bowl and brush back to the washstand.

  Certain that no one was about downstairs, he began to cross the tiles of the front entrance, a cheery greeting and a ready-made story on his lips for any family member he might encounter before he made it out onto the street. Strathmore House had over thirty rooms and the Radley family were forever losing each other both upstairs and down. Alex fancied his chances. But just in case anyone did happen to be in the vicinity of the front door, he slowed his steps so as not to make a sound with his boots.

  As he opened the door, he heard music coming from the summer ballroom. He stopped and turned towards the source of the music. Odd that someone would be in the ballroom playing the piano. Then he remembered it was Wednesday: Lucy had her dance lessons on a Wednesday afternoon.

  He also remembered he had promised he would come and watch her practise. That had been the excuse he had given Lucy for coming today, his original intention being, of course, to arrive some time earlier to arrange a purely coincidental meeting with Miss Ashton. He felt he still had more apologising to do before she truly forgave him.

  As it was now late in the afternoon, Mrs Ashton and her daughter would be long gone, but at least the journey would not have been a complete waste of time if he managed to sit through Lucy’s dance lesson. Spending time with her would ensure he was firmly back in her good books.