by M C Beaton
Will again. “Only for a moment. Despard places the roast on the carving table outside the dining-room. He goes in and announces the roast is ready. Sir Philip nods, Despard turns and waves, and the whole thing is wheeled in with great ceremony.”
“Then you put the rat in the dish then, man!”
“I dare not,” said Will. “I’d be seen. And how do I hide a live rat about me person for the whole day?”
“Look, you milksop, I’ll do it,” said Mr. Boyle. “I’ll excuse myself just before the roast is to be served. Wait a bit, isn’t it one of those silver servers which slides up at one side, I mean the lid slides up at one side?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, there you are. You slide up the side away from the dining-room—you can always say you are checking if the meat is hot enough, I pop in the rat and you put down the lid. Over in a trice. You should be grateful to me, Bonnard.”
The hotelier’s voice sounded a trifle sullen. “Your apartments are not costing you anything, my friend. It is not as if you are helping me for nothing.”
The doorknob began to turn and Cassandra grasped her aunt by the arm and urged her back to the staircase. Once safely back in their sitting-room, they looked at each other, wide-eyed.
“We had better get some sleep,” said Cassandra firmly, “and then go and warn the others.”
“What if we are followed by one of the servants of this hotel?” asked Miss Tonks.
“They have no reason to suspect us, but to put your mind at rest, we will set out on a shopping expedition, and by the time we have been through Exeter ’Change, we will have lost any pursuer.”
Shopping in London was the great amusement of the leisured classes. One did not go necessarily to buy anything, but to pass the day, which was why the shop assistants were all men who were employed to cajole and flatter the female shoppers. On the Continent, the assistants were women, for there people went to buy goods. The English believed women had not the patience to cope with the time-wasting foibles of the idle rich. But it still struck Cassandra as strange that so many young men should be employed in London to recommend laces and muslins to the ladies, to assist them in the choice of a gown, to weigh out threads, and to measure ribbons.
It was early in the morning when she and Miss Tonks set out and so it was leisure time for the young men, who, immaculately dressed, with hair powdered to perfection, stood at their shop doors paring their nails and adjusting their cravats.
Many of the shops now had glass windows and some even had plate-glass windows, with the exception of such merchants as the sellers of woollen cloth, who still had their shops open and windowless to the street in the old manner. The upper classes demanded that their fashions were all purchased in the West End. If a lady found out that a pretty cap purchased for her had come from the City in the east, it would be immediately given to her lady’s-maid, who, being as high in the instep as her mistress, would promptly give it to the cook, who could be guaranteed not to be so fussy about the cap’s pedigree.
Every shop had its inscription above it and the name of the owner, and previous owner if the business had been so long established as to derive a certain degree of respectability from time. Miss Tonks never tired of the London shops. They had been her theatre in the days of her poverty: always something to see or marvel at.
In one window was a huge sturgeon, in another a painted piece of beef swinging in a roaster to exhibit the machine that turned it. The apothecary boasted a window full of bottles of worms collected from human intestines, and every bottle labelled to say to whom the worms had belonged, and testifying to the efficacy of the drug that had removed them. At a bootmaker’s, a boot floated in a basin of water so that people might admire its waterproof qualities, and, at the shop next door, the dummy of a small man sported a coat puckered up in folds, and the folds were filled with water to show the coat was proof against wet. Then, in another shop farther along, Cassandra and Miss Tonks were captivated by a display of exquisite lamps: lamps of alabaster to shed a pearly light, or formed of cut glass to glitter like diamonds in the drawing-room.
They finally made their way to the Strand and to Exeter ’Change. Exeter ’Change was a bazaar, or street of shops under cover, full of very cheap and useful items. Each item was clearly marked with the price and there was no haggling. The stalls were piled high with knick-knacks: walking-sticks, implements for shaving, knives, scissors, watch-chains, purses, and fans. At the far end was a man in splendid costume who was there to encourage people to pay to visit the menagerie of wild animals in the rooms above.
Miss Tonks was happy. How many times had she passed her weary days amid the bustle and friendly noise of this emporium. But Cassandra, little used to Town, began to feel nervous and restless and tired of being jostled and so told the reluctant Miss Tonks rather sharply that no one was following them and they were wasting time.
A thin sleet was beginning to fall when they emerged and so they took a hack to Bond Street.
“I hope they will know what to do,” said Cassandra as they walked into the Poor Relation.
And to her surprise, Miss Tonks said comfortably, “Oh, Sir Philip will know what to do. He always does.”
Chapter Six
How now! a rat?
Dead, for a ducat,
dead!
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
“DOES IT need to be such a very large rat?” asked Mrs. Boyle anxiously, eyeing the cage her husband had placed before her.
“The larger the better. Finest specimen the rat-catcher could supply.”
“You had best hide the creature before Amanda sees it. As far as miss is concerned, we are having a pleasant dinner with Eston. And how will you carry it? You can hardly walk into the Poor Relation bearing a cage.”
“I shall wear my brown coat with the deep pockets. A trifle old-fashioned, I admit, but excellent for the purpose. The pockets have huge flaps which should keep the beast secure.”
“But it is such a lively rat.”
“I shall give the beast a dose of laudanum to keep it quiet until we get there.”
“Are you sure this is wise? Amanda knows nothing of this, and when a great rat leaps out, she will have hysterics.”
“We got her Eston, didn’t we, Mrs. Boyle? A few hysterics won’t kill her,” said Mr. Boyle heartlessly, conveniently forgetting that Lord Eston had fallen in love with his daughter rather than being coerced into the engagement.
“Better quieten this thing down.” Mr. Boyle picked up the cage.
Mrs. Boyle walked through to her daughter’s bedroom to find her surrounded by every item of her wardrobe, which was extensive. “I dare not appear unfashionable and be damned as a provincial, Mama,” said Amanda. “If only there were time to get something made.”
Casting an expert eye over the gowns, Mrs. Boyle said unhesitatingly, “The pale-blue muslin with the gold sprig and the sapphire necklace we gave you on your last birthday. The Juliet cap with the foil flowers. White kid gloves, blue satin shoes. Yes, that’s it. Bring out the colour of your eyes.”
“You are sure?”
“Oh, yes. Eston will be more in love with you than ever.”
Amanda blushed faintly and turned to her maid. “Leave us,” she ordered. When the maid had closed the door behind her, Amanda said, “I fear Lord Eston might be quite brutal.”
“What can you mean? He appears the perfect gentleman.”
“He kissed me yesterday and I didn’t like it one little bit!”
Mrs. Boyle looked impatiently at her daughter. “You’ll have to tolerate a great deal more than kisses after you are married. Think of the title you will have, the clothes, the jewels. All you need to do is grit your teeth and produce an heir and a spare and then lead your own life.”
“I don’t want to be kissed,” said Amanda stubbornly.
“Fiddlesticks.” A look of steel came into Mrs. Boyle’s eyes. “We have invested a great deal of money in you, my pretty, and now it is your
duty to pay us back. Have we affianced you to some toad, some hunchback? We have found you a handsome lord, so don’t you dare do anything to disaffect him.”
Amanda’s pug came snorting up to her and she lifted the little dog up. “Rupert loves me. He will bite nasty Lord Eston if he gets too rough. Will you not, my precious?”
“Just behave prettily and leave the rest to me,” said her mother.
A council of war had gathered at the Poor Relation. They all listened while Cassandra and Miss Tonks outlined the Plan of the Rat.
“We shall send a man round to Tupple’s to say that the Boyles’s booking for dinner was a mistake and cancel it,” said the colonel.
Sir Philip Sommerville looked at him with contempt. “And let the scoundrel get away unpunished? Let me think. He cannot carry a rat in by the tail, nor can he carry it openly in a cage. So it has to be in a pocket.” He narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I think I have a plan.”
“Do tell us,” said Lady Fortescue. “I must admit you are very clever when it comes to getting us out of predicaments.”
The colonel glared.
“First,” said Sir Philip, “is we get Despard up here and tell him what is going on. That fellow, Will, must be dismissed. Can’t have spies in the kitchen. Our reputation hangs on Despard’s cooking.”
Soon Despard appeared before them. Cassandra thought he looked villainous. He was a skinny man with a white face and his mouth was twisted up on one side in a perpetual sneer.
“The situation is this,” said Sir Philip. “There’s a party by the name of Boyle who will be dining here with Lord Eston. Mr. Boyle is in league with Tupple’s. That fellow, Will, you have in your kitchen is a spy for them. Anyway, Boyle plans to pop a rat in with the venison roast tonight just before it is wheeled into the dining-room for me to carve.”
“I kill him,” said the cook in the same flat indifferent voice in which he discussed the day’s menus.
“Here, none of that,” exclaimed the colonel, alarmed. “Nor do we want Tupple’s to know we are on to them. You just say you don’t need him and send him packing.”
“But what about this ’ere rat?” demanded Despard, whose French accent was now mixed with broad Cockney.
“I have everything in control,” said Sir Philip.
Despard bowed. Sir Philip was the only one he held in respect, Sir Philip having rescued him from the gallows by intervening in his trial at the Old Bailey.
“Why I brought you up here,” Sir Philip went on, “was to tell you to get rid of Will. Don’t look surprised at anything that might happen when you wheel that venison in.”
“Very good, sir.”
“That will be all.”
“Well, that’s that,” said Sir Philip when the cook had left. “You ladies had best return to Tupple’s and keep up the good work.”
“A moment!” Lady Fortescue held up a hand. “You have forgotten something, Sir Philip. Miss Tonks, please wait downstairs. We have something to say to Miss Cassandra.”
“Whatever you have to say to my niece, you can say to me.” Miss Tonks stood in front of Cassandra and spread out her skirts in a protective gesture.
“Miss Tonks.” Lady Fortescue’s voice was steely. “I must insist! You may take Mrs. Budley with you. Miss Cassandra has our permission to tell you of what we have said afterwards if she is so inclined.”
“Well …”
“Oh, do go along,” Cassandra urged her aunt. “I am quite capable of looking after myself.”
So Miss Tonks and Mrs. Budley reluctantly left.
Cassandra’s eyes roamed from face to face. The colonel’s colour was slightly raised and he was looking steadily at the floor; Sir Philip appeared amused. Lady Fortescue’s black eyes were steady and concerned.
“You are fond of your aunt, are you not, my dear?”
“Yes, very fond, indeed.”
“As are we all.” Lady Fortescue hesitated and then went on firmly. “Do you know that there are ladies who prefer their own sex?”
Cassandra looked surprised. “And I am glad of it,” she cried. “I have no time for those silly misses who affect to despise their own sex.”
“That is not quite what I mean.”
Lady Fortescue’s eyes flew instinctively to Sir Philip for help, and Colonel Sandhurst could not bear that. “What Lady Fortescue is trying to say,” he pointed out gruffly, “is that there are certain females who make love to their own kind.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened in surprise and Lady Fortescue thought that it might be a good idea if young ladies were given more of a classical education. A classical education made a lot of things clearer. “How odd,” said Cassandra. “What has that got to do with me?”
Lady Fortescue took over again. “When that highwayman kissed you, you said you liked it.”
Cassandra blushed and laughed. “Yes.”
“We have discussed this matter among ourselves and we have come to a decision. We suggest that you ask Miss Tonks the identity of that highwayman, and as soon as possible.”
“But why?”
“Because she knows his identity.”
“What! How on earth can she? Aunt Letitia know a highwayman? How ridiculous.”
“You will find we are all putting ourselves at peril by suggesting this to you. But you are far from home and parents and it is our duty to take care of you. Pray, I beg you, ask Miss Tonks who that highwayman was.”
“Very well,” said Cassandra, “but you will find she knows nothing of it.”
When Cassandra had left, Sir Philip said waspishly, “I was against this, you know. She will find out her aunt is one of Sappho’s daughters and that her aunt stole her mother’s jewels and gave them to us. If she tells that dreadful Honoria Blessop, we are lost.”
“Should that threat arise,” said Lady Fortescue, “then we shall be obliged to tell her that she herself, by virtue of accepting our hospitality, is implicated in the plot. I am glad we sent Mrs. Budley away. Such practices might puzzle her. She is an innocent.”
Sir Philip surveyed her with admiration. “You can be quite ruthless when you have to be, dear lady.”
“Tcha!” said Colonel Sandhurst.
Miss Tonks eyed her niece uneasily. To questions as to what the others had said to her, Cassandra would only reply, “When we are private.”
Reminded of her days at a seminary in Bath when she had to wait for an interview with the principal, Miss Tonks grew increasingly nervous as Tupple’s Hotel appeared outside the windows of the hack. Like a guilty schoolgirl she followed her niece indoors and up the stairs. There was an air of suppressed excitement emanating from Cassandra. She had discounted all those odd remarks about women. The one thought in her mind was that Aunt Letitia must surely know the identity of that highwayman. She had not thought so in the sitting-room of the Poor Relation. But she had come to the conclusion that they must have been telling the truth.
She had never forgotten that kiss. Although the road had been dark, the light from the carriage lamps had given her a view of that smiling mouth and glittering eyes behind a black mask.
“Now, Aunt,” she said firmly, “pray be seated. Lady Fortescue and the others assure me that you know the identity of that highwayman.”
Startled, Miss Tonks stared at her. Why had the others not told her? What if Cassandra was so furious at the robbery of her mother’s jewels that she told all to the authorities? But the cat was well and truly out of the bag.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Cassandra’s large eyes flashed with triumph. “Who is he?”
Miss Tonks bent her head. “It was I,” she said. “We desperately needed money for the hotel. Honoria has kept me on short commons, just above starvation, for years. I shall pay her back, every penny, when we are in funds.”
Cassandra’s face was blank with shock. “Why … why d-did you k-kiss me like that?”
“I was acting out a part,” said Miss Tonks wretchedly.
“Lady Fortescue told me
that there are ladies such as you,” said Cassandra, “who prefer their own sex. But your own niece …!”
Miss Tonks began to cry. Cassandra walked to the window and stared down bleakly into the sooty London street. For the first time since her escape, she wanted to go home. She had been sustained in her adventures by the memory of that kiss, had thought she was emulating the highwayman by spying on Tupple’s.
“I must tell you the truth,” said Miss Tonks in a choked voice.
“I thought you already had.” Cassandra continued to look down into the street.
There was a knock at the door and then a servant entered with a card on a tray. “Lord Eston’s compliments.”
“Not now,” said Cassandra curtly. “Tell his lordship we are not at home.”
“Stay!” Miss Tonks stood up and firmly dried her eyes. “Tell his lordship we shall be pleased to receive him.”
“I know you are distressed and embarrassed, Aunt,” said Cassandra in a thin voice, “but hiding behind the company of Lord Eston does not alter matters.”
“There is something he must explain,” said Miss Tonks.
Lord Eston came in, bowed, and then looked in slight surprise from Miss Tonks’s tearful face to Cassandra’s hard one. “If I have come at the wrong time …” he began.
“No, no,” said Miss Tonks. “Pray be seated. My lord, Miss Cassandra asked me the identity of the highwayman who robbed my sister of her jewels. I said it was I.”
His eyes began to dance. “How very awkward for you.”
“I cannot tell her anything more without your permission. You see, my colleagues believed it to be me and when they found out that this highwayman had kissed my niece, they were naturally concerned.”
“I suppose now that Miss Cassandra knows so much, she may as well know all,” he said, “and then we must rely on her mercy and understanding.”
“The fact is that your aunt meant to hold up her sister’s coach, but held up mine by mistake. I offered to do the job for her and I did. I regret, Miss Cassandra, that it was I who kissed you.”
