A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance (13 page)

Zanthe,
sipping weak tea from a porcelain cup, could not help thinking that a glass of
champagne would be more in keeping with her mood and, she suspected, that of
several other persons in the room. The high, excited hum of voices revealed an
audience still transported by what they had heard.

Susanna was the centre of an ever-shifting
throng of admirers, all eager to touch her hand and to hear her speak
—
and
already rehearsing in their own minds how they would casually mention in the
future how they had been among the first to hear the great soprano sing. The
Signora had disappeared, generously leaving her daughter to enjoy her triumph,
unrivalled. There fell a sudden hush. Zanthe looked up to see that Lord and
Lady Fallowfield were making their way across the room towards their niece.

‘My dear, what a triumph!’ said Lord
Fallowfield, taking her hand between his. ‘Magnificent!’

His lady smiled and said in her cool way,
‘Quite remarkable.’

‘We are privileged to be among those to
be present at your debut.’

‘Thank you, but I do not consider this to
be my debut, Uncle,’ responded Susanna. ‘I intend to make my first professional
appearance at Covent Garden, not Bath. But, of course, I hope you will attend
then also.’

‘Covent Garden? But, my dear child, what
are you thinking of? A Fallowfield of Trenton Hall cannot sing in public.’

‘I believe I have just done so.’

‘Oh, I do not count such a concert as
this. I hope you will grace many such private entertainments in the future. But
to become a professional singer? No, I cannot allow it.’

Susanna merely smiled, sphinx-like.
‘But, Uncle, recollect I have not asked for your permission.’

Zanthe stepped forward and hurriedly
interposed, ‘We cannot discuss the matter here, Susanna. The second half is
about to begin. We are all eager to hear your—I mean—Signora Villella.’ She
turned to Lord and Lady Fallowfield. ‘I shall bring Miss Fallowfield to call
upon you in the morning, if that is agreeable to you?’

‘Certainly,’ bowed his Lordship. He and
his wife moved away to join Mr Fallowfield, who was chatting in a desultory way
with Lady Templeton.

‘Really, Susanna,’ scolded Zanthe in an
undertone, ‘That was rather rude, don’t you think?’

‘Not as rude as his thinking he has the
right to order my existence when he wasn’t even aware of it a month ago.’

Zanthe quite saw the force of this
argument. ‘I have every sympathy, my love, and I shall do everything I can to
help you, of course. But, really, you do not want to fall out with your family
when you have only just met them.’

Susannah merely shrugged. Zanthe could
only envy her steadfastness and reflected that she might have been a happier
woman if she had been gifted with it herself. At that moment, the bell rang,
and the audience, replete with tea, cakes, and little sandwiches, found their
places once more. She could not refrain from glancing towards the bench where
Launceston had been sitting during the first half, but it was empty. She
guessed that he had stayed only to hear Susanna and had left to keep his
appointment with Sir Marmaduke.

Although they had all talked glibly about
the second
half
, the remaining portion of the programme was, in fact, very
much shorter than the first. The prima donna’s accompanist, a notable musician
in his own right, was to give them a concerto, and the remainder of the evening
would be the Signora’s alone.

It would have been wrong to call the
Signor’s performance a disappointment. She sang divinely and looked very
beautiful. But then, she was expected to sing well. There was none of the
excitement, the thrill of the unexpected that had attended Susanna’s
performance. Perhaps only Zanthe and one other suspected that she had deliberately
banked down her own fires, holding back her considerable presence for her
daughter’s sake.

Nevertheless, the crowd demanded several
encores and, at the final curtain, a blushing little boy in nankeen breeches
and short blue jacket was pushed forward by his Mama to present the Signora
with a large bouquet.

Very few of the crowd seemed disposed to
leave the concert hall. They remained milling around, finished the refreshments,
and complimented the various artistes upon their performances. Signora Villella
was the centre of an admiring group, graciously responding to the extravagant
praise bestowed upon her when, all at once, her attention was caught by the
sight of Mr Fallowfield, who was standing beside Zanthe at the outer edge of
the circle, watching her with a singular smile upon his face.

‘Why—it’s never—it is! Johnny
Fallowfield!’

‘Hello, Fanny,’ he responded with a
grin. ‘I thought it was you.’

Ignoring her admirers, the Signora
sailed through the crowd, holding out her hands to him. ‘Well, this
is
a
surprise. I thought they’d packed you off to India.’

‘They did. But I came back.’

‘So I see. Are you one of these nabobs
now, then?’

‘That’s it. And what about you, Fanny?
Setting up as an Italian these days?’

‘Well, it’s no lie. My Dad was an
Italian.’

‘Go on! You never knew who your dad
was.’

‘Yes, I did, I just didn’t own to him.’ She
stepped back and looked him up and down. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes and no
mistake, Johnny.’

‘And you are as fascinating as ever. I
always told you that you chose the wrong Fallowfield.’

‘Ah, but Dickie loved me. You never
did.’

‘I was too much of a bingo-boy to be any
good to anyone back then. I learnt some sense out in India, though.’

 ‘Not too much, I hope,’ she smiled.
‘You were a lot of fun in them days.’

He took her hand and raised it to his
lips. ‘I am still a lot of fun, Fanny, as I hope to show you. Dare I hope that
you are not currently living under some fortunate gentleman’s protection?’

She laughed out at that. ‘I don’t need
no protector. I’ve a tidy fortune of my own, I’ll have you know. I haven’t even
got a
petit ami
as the French say. Not since young Lady Brookenby came
to town in any event.’

It occurred to Zanthe that she was quite
superfluous to this encounter, and so she retreated, leaving the two old
friends to converse in comfort. She saw Mr Fallowfield lead the Signora to a
chair and seat himself beside her. He seemed, thought Zanthe, to have much to
say.

Fascinating though this glimpse into the
Signora’s past might be, she had, as the vulgar saying went, other fish to fry.
Avoiding her mother-in-law’s eye, she went in search of Margery and found her
in the little salon used as a cloakroom putting on her pelisse and hat. Miss
Cholmondeley, already wrapped up in a cloak and old-fashioned calash bonnet,
was flushed and quivering with excitement.

‘Oh, Lady Brookenby, to think that at my
time of life I should be assisting at an elopement! So romantic! There is no
one I would rather have as my sister-in-law, I assure you, than dear Margery.’

Zanthe’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Indeed, she has been the best and sweetest sister to me, and I am sorry to
part with her. But I shall hope to receive all of you as my guests when—’ She
stopped suddenly, hesitated, and then continued, ‘—when I have an establishment
of my own.’

Margery was attempting to tie the strings
of her bonnet, but her fingers were shaking and so Zanthe did if for her. When
she had tied a skittish bow, she leant forward and kissed her sister on the
cheek and said in a choking voice, ‘You know all the happiness I wish for you,
don’t you? There is no need of words.’

‘Bless you,’ was all Margery could
manage to say. She thrust a folded and sealed letter into Zanthe’s hands. ‘This
is for Mama. I could not leave without a word.’

‘I will see that she gets it. But not
until it is too late to chase after you,’ she added with a dimple.

Margery’s eyes widened. ‘Do you think
she would?’

Zanthe laughed. ‘Perhaps, but what could
she do even if she caught you? Don’t give her another thought.’

The Reverend came in at the moment to
tell them that the post chaise was at the door. The three ladies hugged and
kissed and promised to write every day; then they all walked out of the Rooms
and into the street where the chaise was waiting.

‘Four horses,’ noted Zanthe approvingly.
‘No expense spared. That is the way to conduct an elopement.’

The two older ladies were handed up into
the carriage, and the gentleman sprang up after them. The horses rattled off
down the street, and the last Zanthe saw of them as they rounded a bend in the
road was a white handkerchief being waved from the window until they were out
of sight.

She became aware that Parry had strolled
out of the Rooms and was standing at her shoulder. ‘What have you been up to,
Zan? Where’s Margery going with that old spindleshanks?’

‘Margery is going to be married. And Mr
Cholmondeley is neither old nor spindleshanked. And, let me tell you, it is
only the most foolish and—and—callow—youths who make fun of worthy people who
have attained middle-years.’

He held up his hands in mock surrender.
‘All right, all right. Anyone would think you were in love with the old—the
worthy—gentleman, yourself.’

‘I regard him as a brother,’ she told
him loftily. ‘And one a good deal more to be depended upon than you, odious
boy!’

‘Why, what have I done now?’

‘Nothing, but only because you have been
too weak to cause any trouble. And it is thanks to you I became acquainted with
that—that—cur—Marmaduke Carlyle, who tried to—well never mind that.’

But Parry was looking like thunder.
‘Tried to do what, Zanthe? Damn it! Did he presume to touch you? I’ll break his
damn neck.’

‘Well, he did; but there is no need for
you to break his neck because Launceston is going to do it for you.’

A voice from the shadows interrupted her:
‘Well, my Lady, it’s to be hoped he will, but that Sir Marmaduke is a deep file
—
an’
I’m afeard your gentleman is walkin’ into a trap!’

‘Why,
is it Mr. Critchlow?’ Zanthe said, peering into the darkness.

‘Aye, Ma’am, it’s me. I come to see you
because it goes to my heart to see a cove like my Lord done down by as nasty a
villain as I’ve laid eyes on.
It
seemed to me I
should warn the cove, but I don’t know where to find ‘im
—
so
I come to your ‘ouse, and they told me you was ‘ere.’

‘What’s this?’ demanded Parry, regarding
Critchlow with disfavour. ‘Do you know this man, Sis?’

 ‘Yes, I do. And so do you, come to
think of it, but you do not remember because you were foxed. Pray be quiet. Now
tell me, Mr Critchlow, what do you know?’

‘Well Ma’am, I’d be much obliged if you
weren’t to tell my rib this, but I was having a wet at the Bird in Hand when,
all of a sudden, this swell, as we saw with this young shaver that day when you
comes to see my Martha, walks in. An’ he’s talking wild about this other swell
as he’s going to have a turn-up with. Anyways, I hears something I weren’t
meant to hear between the swell and a couple of the lads that made me think
this ain’t goin’ to be no fair fight. It’s an ambush, that’s what it is.’

 ‘Oh, Good God! I’ll come immediately.’

‘What? To the Bird in Hand? Not on your
life,’ said Parry decidedly.

‘To his lodgings first, but if he is not
there, to the inn. I must warn him!’

Mr Critchlow looked very much shocked.
‘No, my Lady, I never meant that! You tell me where to find ‘im an—’

Zanthe stamped her foot in frustration.
‘Oh, you are as stupid as my brother. Only I can stop this. He will listen to
me.’

Nothing Parry or Mr Critchlow said
—
and
they said a great deal
—
could change her mind. So, with a
good deal of reluctance, both agreed to escort her to Launceston’s lodging,
although, considering the time of night, it was most likely he had already set
off for Avon Street.

‘I must first just run inside and tell Mama-in-Law
and Susannah that I am leaving. I shall ask Mr Fallowfield to escort them
home.’

The crowd was very much diminished, and
Susanna was easily found sitting between the Dowager and Mr Templeton, smiling
rather wearily upon them both and stifling a yawn.

‘My dear, you are exhausted. I am so
sorry I have kept you waiting about in this chilly hall. Thank you for taking
care of her, Ma’am. She has been working so hard all day and must be longing
for her bed.’ She caught sight of Mr Fallowfield, who was talking earnestly
with his cousin.

‘Mr Fallowfield, Lord Fallowfield, poor
Susannah is very tired and must be taken home, but I am unable to do so at the
moment. Something urgent has come up. I won’t bore you with the details, but I
would be so grateful if you could convey her and Lady Brookenby to the Royal
Crescent. Did you come in your carriage?’

Both gentlemen bowed, and Mr Fallowfield
said, ‘Of course, it would be a pleasure. But can we not render you any assistance,
Ma’am. Forgive me, but you appear to be a good deal distressed.’

She smiled at him but shook her head. ‘Thank
you, Sir, for your concern, but, no. My brother and one other will be all the
escort I need.’

Susanna stood and said in her sweet low
tone that nevertheless carried effortlessly across the room, ‘Thank you, Uncle,
and dear Zanthe, but, if she has no objection, I would prefer to return home
with my mother.’ During the stunned silence that greeted these words, Susanna
crossed the room towards the Signora with her hand held out and a pleading look
in her big eyes.

‘I know you wish to protect me. You think
I should be ashamed to be known as your daughter and that you will drag me down
to the gutter. But, don’t you see, I am so proud to be your daughter, and if
you are in the gutter
—
why, then, so am I.’

The Signora gave a strangled sob, sprang
forward, and gathered her daughter into her arms. There was a collective sigh,
and then Mr Fallowfield began to clap his hands together in loud applause. The
rest of the company followed suit, and a few cheers were raised. Even Lady
Fallowfield, after glancing uneasily around the room, tapped two fingers of her
right hand against the palm of her left. Mother and daughter released each
other and, smiling through their tears, acknowledged the applause.

Mr Fallowfield, his own eyes a little
wet, held out a hand to the Signora. ‘May I have the inestimable pleasure, the
very great honour, of escorting you and your daughter home?’

The Signora laid her hand in his palm,
and his fingers closed upon hers possessively. ‘If that’s what you want,
Johnny.’

‘That is what I want.’

Zanthe whisked out her handkerchief,
wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. It seemed that Susanna would have her
career, her mother, and a new, and very delightful, father. No need to worry
about her anymore. And, for self would intrude, there could now be no room for
Launceston in Signora Villella’s life. If she could but save him from the
machinations of Sir Marmaduke Carlyle, he must realise where he belonged and,
like a cat with buttered paws, adapt to his new and comfortable abode.

Parry’s head appeared around the door
jamb. ‘I say, Zan, better get a move on. It’s half-past-ten now, and Launceston
is supposed to be meeting Duke at eleven.’

‘Yes, yes, of course, I’m coming now.’
She sniffed and put away her handkerchief in her reticule. ‘Lord Fallowfield, I
would be so much obliged if you could convey Lady Brookenby home.’

He bowed, but his attention was clearly
focused upon the sight of his cousin bending solicitously over the prima donna.
‘Certainly, certainly,’ he said absently.

‘Oh, are you going, dearest Zanthe?’
Susanna left the shelter of her mother’s side and ran across the room. ‘Thank
you, again and again for everything you have done for me.’ She bent forward to
kiss Zanthe’s cheek so that, for a moment, the gold and ebony ringlets were
intermingled. ‘I shall sing at your wedding,’ she whispered into Zanthe’s ear,
‘if you will let me.’

Zanthe embraced her lightly. ‘I’ll hold
you to that,’ she promised. ‘Parry, I’m ready, let us leave.’

‘One moment, Zanthe!’ The Dowager was at
her side, her face dark with suspicion. ‘Where is Margery? I have not seen her
since she went off with that Cholmondeley woman to the cloakroom.’

‘Ah—yes—well— Oh, I do not have time to
stay for this!’ She thrust Margery’s letter into her mother-in-law’s hand.
‘This will explain all! It is for the best, Ma’am. Truly it is, and it is too
late to stop them now!’ With that, she ran from the room, leaving the Dowager
staring.

As it was a fine night and but a short
walk to Launceston’s lodgings in Westgate Buildings, Zanthe refused a chair and,
instead, with one hand firmly tucked in Mr Critchlow’s arm, almost ran down
York Street, ignoring the stares of the few pedestrians still abroad in that
respectable locality. They drew a blank at the Viscount’s lodgings. The
respectable couple who kept the apartments and ‘did’ for the lodgers reported
that he had left the building much earlier in the evening.

‘Then we have no choice,’ said Zanthe.
‘He could be anywhere in Bath by now. We will have to wait for him at the Bird
in Hand.’

‘Beggin’ your pardon, but you will do no
such thing, my Lady.’ Mr Critchlow was polite but determined. ‘You’ll wait with
my Martha in the ‘ouse and trust me to see your gentleman don’t come to any ‘arm.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but he did not let her speak. ‘Lor’ Ma’am, the
poor cove‘d never live it down if you come runnin’ in to rescue him, a little
slip of a thing like you. He’d a good deal rather be dead than a laughing
stock!’

Appalled, she looked to Parry for
confirmation. He nodded, ‘Good God, yes. You’ve got to keep out of it, Zan.’

She sighed. ‘Very well, but—’ in
minatory tones, ‘I am trusting you to look after him.’

Westgate Buildings was a respectable, if
unfashionable,
neighbourhood
, but it was a mere step from thence to a
decidedly insalubrious quarter of the town. Zanthe, who had never ventured into
this vicinity at night, was shocked and a little frightened despite the
reassuring bulk of Mr Critchlow at her side. She had, at Critchlow’s
insistence, stripped off the earrings, necklace, and bracelets she had worn for
the concert; and they were now concealed in the breast pocket of his waistcoat.
She pulled the hood of her cloak forward to cover as much of her face as
possible, but she was still aware of the bold, admiring stares of men they
passed along the way whenever her charming countenance was illuminated by a
street lamp or flambeau.

She was relieved beyond measure when
they finally reached the sanctuary of the tumbledown building where she had previously
visited the Critchlow family.

‘Critchlow, is that you?’ called Martha
as her husband turned the handle and found the door bolted on the inside.

‘Aye, it’s me. Let me in, my lovely, you’ve
got a visitor.’

‘Well, if that isn’t just like a man?’
said Mrs Critchlow as she pulled back the bolts. ‘What did you want to bring
the young lady here for? It’s not fit.’

Zanthe entered the little apartment,
pushed back her hood, and said impetuously, ‘Oh, pray do not blame poor Mr
Critchlow. He tried to stop me.’ She took her reluctant hostess’ hand. ‘Please
let me stay here with you. Indeed, I could not sit safe at home knowing he is
in danger.’

‘Well, I don’t have to ask who
he
is, I daresay. What a sweet, pretty lady sees in a— Oh, well, mum for that!’

Zanthe clasped the other woman’s hands.
‘Thank you!’ She turned to Critchlow. ‘Don’t wait, please don’t wait. Find him
and warn him!’

Critchlow turned towards the door with
Parry at his heels. ‘Parry! Where are you going?’

‘With Critchlow, naturally.’

‘But you cannot. You are still weak. You
must stay here with me. I won’t have you putting yourself in danger.’

Parry laughed. ‘You don’t think I’m
going to miss this turn-up do you? Duke’s a famous bruiser, but I’ve heard
rumours that Launceston’s a better one.’

‘Parry, this is serious! It is not a
fight between a rat and a ferret but between the man I love and the man who—who
tried—you know what I mean!’

He came back to her, put an arm around
her shoulders, and hugged her. ‘I know, Zan, I know. I’m not making light of
it, but I might be able to help, you know.’ He indicated the stick he still
used to help him walk. ‘I can trip the villains up with this thing if nothing
else.’

Her lip quivered, but she managed to
smile and patted his arm in a motherly way. ‘Thank you, dearest Parry.’

Alone with Martha Critchlow, Zanthe
accepted a glass of warm milk and sat by the window, alternately sipping and
sniffing. Glancing around the room, she was pleased to see that the work she
and Margery had sent out to Martha had already made a difference. There was an
air of comfort about the little room, and even a bunch of flowers upon the
table, now covered with a snowy cloth.

‘Don’t fret, Ma’am,’ Martha said kindly.
‘Critchlow won’t let any harm come to your young gentleman.’

Zanthe chuckled. ‘Which one?’

‘Neither of ‘em. Sometimes, you know,
you just have to let men be men.’

‘Let them go, you mean?’

‘Aye, then likely they’ll come back o’
their own free will.’

‘It is very hard.’

Martha nodded. ‘I know.’