Twenty-three
Lady Lavinia Goes to the Play
Richard was away from home all next day, and his wife had plenty of time in which to meditate upon her situation. She had quite come to the conclusion that she must elope with Lovelace, and was only waiting for to-night to tell him so. She would never, never ask Richard to let her stay with him now that she knew he loved another. Truly a most trying predicament. The Carstares were going to-night to Drury Lane to see Garrick play one of his most successful comedies: the Beaux’ Stratagem. The monde that would flock to see the inimitable Archer was likely to be a very distinguished one, especially as the cast held the added attraction of Mrs Clive, and ordinarily Lady Lavinia would have looked forward with much excitement to seeing the piece. To-day, however, she felt that she would far rather go to bed and cry. But Lovelace had to be answered, and besides that, she had invited two cousins, new come from Scotland, to accompany her, and she could not fail them.
So that evening saw her seated in her box, wonderfully gowned as usual, scanning the house. Behind her stood her husband – when she thought that this was the last time she would ever go with him to the theatre she had much ado to keep from bursting into tears before them all – and in the chair at her side was the cousin, Mrs Fleming. Mr Fleming stood with his hands behind his back, exclaiming every now and then as his kinsman, young Charles Holt, pointed out each newcomer of note. He was a short, tubby little man, dressed in sober brown, very neat as regards his wrists and neckband, but attired, so thought Lavinia, for the country, and not for town. His dark suit contrasted strangely with Mr Holt’s rather garish mixture of apple-green and pink, with waistcoat of yellow, and Richard’s quieter, but far more handsome apricot and silver. His wig, too, was not at all modish, being of the scratch type that country gentlemen affected. His wife was the reverse of smart, but she was loud in her admiration of her more affluent cousin’s stiff silks and laces.
She had married beneath them, had Mrs Fleming, and the Belmanoirs had never quite forgiven the shocking mésalliance. William Fleming was nought but a simple Scotsman, whose father – even now the family shuddered at the thought – had been a farmer!
Lavinia was not over-pleased that they should have elected to visit London, and still less pleased that they should evince such an affection for the Hon Richard and his wife.
‘Well, to be sure, Lavvy, ’tis pleasant to sit here and admire all the people!’ exclaimed Mrs Fleming, for perhaps the twentieth time. ‘I declare I am grown positively old-fashioned from having lived for so long in the country! – yes, my dear, positively old-fashioned!… I cannot but marvel at the great hoops everyone is wearing! I am sure mine is not half the size of yours, and the lady down there in the stage-box has one even larger!’
Lavinia directed her gaze towards the box in question. At any other time she would have been annoyed to see that the occupant was Lady Carlyle, her pet rival in all matters of fashion. Now she felt that nothing signified, and merely remarked that she considered those absurd garlands of roses on the dress quite grotesque.
Behind, Holt was directing Mr Fleming’s attention to a box at the back of the house.
‘’Pon my soul, William! ’Tis the Duchess of Queensbury and her son – March, you know. I assure you there is no one more amiable in town. When I last visited her –’
‘Charles knows well-nigh everyone here,’ remarked Mrs Fleming ingenuously, and wondered why her cousin laughed.
When the curtain rose on the first act, Lovelace was nowhere to be seen, and Lavinia tried to interest herself in the play. But it is difficult to be interested in anything when one’s whole mind is occupied with something else far more overwhelming. She was not the only one of the party that Garrick failed to amuse. Richard sat wretchedly in the shadow of the box, thinking how, in a short while, he would never again conduct his wife to the theatre and never again sit at her side watching her every change of expression.
In the first interval Lovelace had still not arrived, but many other acquaintances had arrived and called to see the Carstares. Markham, Wilding, Devereux, Sir John Fortescue – all came into the box at different times, paid homage to Lavinia, were introduced to Mrs Fleming, laughed and cracked jokes with the men, and drifted away again.
How was it that she had never before realised how much she enjoyed her life? wondered Lavinia. She settled down to listen to the second act, and Garrick’s skill caught her interest and held it. For a moment she forgot her woes and clapped as heartily as anyone, laughing as gaily.
The next instant she remembered again, and sank back into unutterable gloom.
But Richard had heard her merry laugh, and his heart was even gloomier than hers. There was no help for it: Lavinia was delighted at the thought of leaving him.
As the curtain fell, Mrs Fleming suddenly demanded if it was not Tracy seated in the box over on the other side. Lavinia turned to look. In the box alone, sat his Grace, seemingly unaware of her presence.
‘Is it not Tracy?’ persisted Mrs Fleming. ‘I remember his face so well.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Lavinia, and waved to him.
Andover rose, bowed, and left his box. In a few moments he was in their own kissing his cousin’s hand.
Lavinia now caught sight of Lovelace standing on the floor of the theatre looking up at her. He, too, disappeared from view, and she guessed that he was coming to speak with her. He had evidently failed to perceive the Duke, who was just a little behind her in the shadow.
Richard and Mr Fleming had left the box, and only Charles Holt remained, engaging Mrs Fleming’s whole attention. If only Tracy would go! How was she ever to give Lovelace her answer with him sitting there so provokingly.
Captain Lovelace knocked at the door. Carelessly she bade him enter, and affected surprise on seeing him. His Grace looked at her through narrowed lids, and shot a swift glance at Lovelace, whose discomfiture at finding him there was palpable. Not a trace of emotion was visible on that impassive countenance, but Lavinia felt her brother’s attitude to be sinister, as if he divined her wishes and was determined to frustrate them. She watched him smile on Lovelace and beg him to be seated. Whether by accident or design, she was not sure which, he had so placed the chairs that he himself was between her and the captain. Skillfully he drew Mrs Fleming into the conversation, and rearranged his stage.
Lavinia found herself listening to the amiable Mr Holt, and out of the tail of her eye observed that Lovelace had fallen a victim to her cousin. She could find no way of speaking to him, and dared not even signal, so adroitly was his Grace stage-managing the scene. Lavinia was now quite certain that he was managing it. Somehow he had guessed that she had arranged to speak to Lovelace to-night, and was determined to prevent her. How he had found out, she could not imagine, but she was too well acquainted with him to be surprised. He would never let her disgrace herself if he could help it – she knew that. In whatever manner he himself might behave, his sister’s conduct must be above reproach; he would find some means of separating them until he could cause Lovelace to be removed. She did not in the least know how he would contrive to do this, but she never doubted that he could and would. And then she would have to stay with Richard – Richard, who did not want her. If only Tracy would go! Ah! he was rising!
His Grace of Andover begged Captain Lovelace to bear him company in his box. He would brook no refusal. He bore his captive off in triumph.
A minute later Mr Fleming re-entered the box. The third act had just begun when Richard re-appeared, and softly took his seat. On went the play. Neither Tracy nor Lovelace came to the box during the next interval, and from her point of vantage Lavinia could see that Andrew had been introduced to the latter. She could guess how cleverly his Grace was keeping the Captain by him…
Lord Avon, who had only a week ago returned from Bath, came to pay his respects. He had much to tell dear Lady Lavinia. How Cholmondely and Falmouth had dared to fight a duel in
Crescent Fields, and had been arrested. How furious the Beau was, but how his age was beginning to tell on him, and how it was whispered that his power was waning. All of which at any ordinary time would have interested my lady quite prodigiously, but now bored and even annoyed her.
On went the play. Scrub and Boniface kept the house in a roar; all but Richard and his wife were enthralled. The incomparable Kitty failed to hold Lavinia’s attention. Would Lovelace manage to speak to her in the last interval? A solicitous enquiry from Mrs Fleming roused her, and she had perforce to smile – to own to a slight headache, and to evince some interest in the play. One more interval: would he come? She became aware of a hand laid on her shoulder. Richard’s voice, gravely courteous, sounded in her ears.
‘You are heated, my dear. Will you walk outside a little?’
She felt a mad desire to cling to his hand, and suppressed it forcibly. She rose, hesitating. Mrs Fleming decided the point.
‘The very thing. How considerate of you, Mr Carstares! I shall like to walk amongst all the people, to be sure! Here is Charles offering to escort us, too! What say you, Lavvy?’
‘I – oh, I shall be pleased to do what suits you best, cousin,’ she answered.
‘Then let us go, my love. Charles has an arm for each, so we may leave our husbands to chat.’
They went out into the broad passage and walked towards the foyer. There Lord March espied Lavinia, who was always a favourite with him, and came forward, offering his arm. Lavinia took it, thankful to escape from Mr Holt’s vapid conversation. She let March conduct her to where his mother was sitting, with Mr Selwyn at her elbow. Someone fetched her a glass of ratafie, and Montagu came to talk to her.
Stepping out of his box, Richard fell into the arms of his Grace of Andover.
‘Ah! Dick!’
Richard eyed him coldly.
‘You wanted me?’
Tracy saw Mr Fleming approaching.
‘Only to ask if I may return with you to Grosvenor Square. I have something important to say.’
‘Certainly,’ bowed Richard, and turned aside.
Lovelace who had succeeded in escaping from the Belmanoir claws, hurried in search of Lavinia. Not finding her in her box, he gathered she must be in the foyer, and made his way towards it. As soon as she saw him coming she set down her glass and rose to her feet.
‘Oh, Captain Lovelace! Have you come to fetch me back to my seat? I have scarce set eyes on you this evening. No, Markham, you may not come! No, nor you, my lord! Madam –’ She curtsied low to the old Duchess and walked away on Harold’s arm.
When they were once in the deserted passage behind the boxes, he turned eagerly towards her.
‘Well, my dearest? Well?’
Lady Lavinia’s mouth drooped miserably.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I shall have to come with you.’
The tone was damping, to say the least of it, but he did not seem to notice it.
‘Lavinia! You mean it?’
‘Yes,’ she assented, still more dejectedly.
‘My beautiful love! You will really come? When? At once?’
‘At – Oh, no, no!’
‘Darling, the sooner the better. I understand ’tis a great step to expect you to take in a hurry, but I assure you ’tis wisest. Can you come to-morrow?’
Her big eyes dilated.
‘No! No! I – oh, I cannot leave Dicky so soon!’ She ended with a sob.
‘But, Lavinia, my dearest! You surely do not want to stay with him?’ he cried.
‘Yes I do!’ she answered. ‘I – I don’t want ever to leave him!’
This blighting speech left him gasping.
‘You – but – heavens! what are you saying? You love me!’
‘No, I don’t!’ she contradicted. ‘I always s-said I d-didn’t. I love my husband!’
‘You are distraught!’ he exclaimed. ‘If you love him, why do you consent to elope with me?’
She looked at him reproachfully.
‘There is no one else,’ she said mournfully.
‘Good Lord! What –’
‘I have to elope with someone – because – Dick – d-doesn’t love me any more – you see. I will come with you, and I will try to be good.’
He kissed her hand quickly.
‘Sweetheart!… I still think you are not yourself. You will think differently to-morrow – you do not really love Carstares.’
She shut her mouth obstinately, tilting her regal little head.
He watched her anxiously.
‘If you really do love him, ’tis ridiculous to elope with me,’ he said.
Her fingers tightened on his wrist.
‘But I must! You don’t understand, Harry! You must take me! Don’t you want me?’
‘Of course I do, but not if you are longing to be somewhere else all the time. The whole thing seems preposterous!’
‘’Tis all dreadful – dreadful! I have never been so unhappy in my life! I – oh, I wish I had not been so heedless and selfish!’
Lovelace pondered for a moment, as they stood outside her box; then, seeing that people were returning to their seats, he opened the door and took her in.
‘Listen, dear! This is the maddest scheme ever I heard; but if you are determined, you shall carry it through. Come to my lodgings to-morrow evening! Bring as little baggage as possible; I will have all ready, and we will post at once to Dover. Then in time I hope you will forget Richard and come to care for me a little.’
‘You are very, very good, Harry! Yes, I will do just as you say – and, oh, I am sorry to put you out like this! I am nought but a plague to everyone, and I wish I were dead! You don’t really love me, and I shall be a burden!’
‘I do indeed love you!’ he assured her, but within himself he could not help wishing that he had not fallen quite so passionately in love with her. ‘I’ll leave you now, sweet, for your husband will be returning at any moment.’ He kissed her hands lightly. ‘A demain, fairest!’
How she sat through the last act Lavinia could never afterwards imagine. She was longing to be at home – so soon to be home no longer – and quiet. Her head ached now as Richard’s had ached for weeks. More than anything did she want to rest it against her husband’s shoulder, so temptingly near, and to feel his sheltering arms about her. But Dick was in love with Isabella Fanshawe, and she must sit straight and stiff in her chair and smile at the proper places.
At last the play was ended! The curtain descended on the bowing Archer, and the house stamped and clapped its appreciation. The curtain rose again – what! not finished yet? Ah, no! it was but Garrick leading Mrs Clive forward. Would they never have done?
Mrs Fleming was standing; she supposed they were going, and got up. Someone put her cloak about her shoulders; Richard – for the last time. Mr Holt escorted her to her coach, and put her and her cousin into it. He and Mr Fleming had their chairs, so only Richard and Tracy went with the ladies. The Flemings were staying with friends in Brook Street, just off Grosvenor Square, so that when they had put Harriet down, only a few more yards remained to be covered.
Lavinia wondered dully why Tracy had elected to come with them. What did he want? Was he going to warn Dick of her intended flight? He little knew the true state of affairs!
At the foot of the staircase at Wyncham House she turned to say good-night.
She merely nodded to Tracy, but to Dick she extended her hand. He took it in his, kissing it, and she noticed how cold were his fingers, how burning hot his lips. Then he released her, and she went slowly up the stairs to her room.
His Grace watched her through his eyeglass. When she was out of sight he turned and surveyed Richard critically.
‘If that is the way you kiss a woman, Lavinia has my sympathies,’ he remarked.
Richard’s lips tightened. He picked up a
stand of lighted candles and ushered his Grace into the drawing-room.
‘I presume you did not come to tell me that?’ he asked.
‘Your presumption is correct, Richard. I have come to open your eyes.’
‘You are too kind.’
His Grace laid his hat on the table, and sat down on the arm of a chair.
‘I think perhaps I am. It may interest you to hear that Lavinia intends to elope with our gallant friend the Captain.’
Richard bowed.
‘You knew it?’
‘Certainly.’
Andover looked him over.
‘May I ask what steps you are taking to prevent her?’
‘None.’
His Grace’s expression was quite indescribable. For a moment he was speechless, and then he reverted to heavy sarcasm.
‘Pray remember to be at hand – to conduct her to her chair!’ he drawled. ‘Upon my soul, you sicken me!’
‘I am grieved. There is a remedy,’ replied Carstares significantly.
Tracy ignored the suggestion.
‘I suppose it is nothing to you that you lose her? No. It is nothing to you that she disgraces her name? Oh, no!’
‘My name, I think.’
‘Our name! Is it possible for her to disgrace yours?’
Richard went white and his hand flew instinctively to his sword hilt.
Tracy looked at him.
‘Do you think I would soil my blade with you?’ he asked very softly.
Richard’s hand fell from the hilt: his eyes searched the other’s face.
‘You know?’ he asked at last, quite calmly.
‘You fool,’ answered his Grace gently. ‘You fool, do you think I have not always known?’
Richard leaned against the mantel-shelf.
‘You never thought I was innocent? You knew that night? You guessed?’
The Duke sneered.
‘Knowing both, could I suspect other than you?’ he asked insultingly.
‘Oh, my God!’ cried Carstares suddenly. ‘Why could you not have said so before?’
The Duke’s eyes opened wide.
The Black Moth Page 25
