Black Sheep's Daughter (22 page)

“With Lord Carruthers!”

“A notable gull-groper, among his other faults.”  Seeing her look of blank incomprehension, he explained, “A Captain Sharp. One who fleeces the unwary at games of chance. I have persuaded Marco to confess to you lest you should hear rumours and worry about it.”

“I really went to watch them playing hazard.”  Marco patiently ignored the interruptions. “Mr Netherdale has been illustrating the laws of probability with the use of dice, you know. However, it was very dull, so I went to see some of the other games. Cousin John stayed behind at the hazard table. He was losing, I think.”

“I’ll have a word to say to John about this,” remarked Teresa, her voice grim. She was less and less able to understand Andrew’s amusement.

“Roulette is too dependent on chance,” Marco went on, “and piquet involves too much skill to be able to predict the outcome. Faro is perfect. I was just watching, honestly, Teresa, until Lord Carruthers invited me to join in. He was sneering so, it was unbearable, so I did. It looked very easy. All you have to do is remember which cards have gone already and work out the odds of the rest appearing at any given moment. Fascinating.”

“So you played.”

“Yes.”  Marco’s tone was matter-of-fact. “I won five hundred guineas.”

Andrew laughed aloud at Teresa’s expression. She snatched her hand away from him with a glare. “You won five hundred guineas?” she said incredulously. “I hope this has not given you a taste for gaming.”

“It was an interesting mathematical puzzle, but it is more amusing to do more complicated calculations, for which one needs a pencil and paper. The atmosphere of a hell is not conducive to serious thought.”

“I am glad to hear it!  Andrew, how could you let me think he was in deep water?”

To her surprise, Andrew frowned. “To tell the truth,” he said slowly, “I am concerned that it was Carruthers who lured Marco into betting. To be sure, it is nothing new to him, but suppose it was an attempt at revenge for the
Snipe? 
My informant was very clear that his lordship knew who Marco was and exerted all his wits to involve him in what he must have expected would be heavy losses.”

“You think Carruthers has spoken to Harrison, then?”

“Or received a message. It is most fortunate that he was foiled by Marco’s intelligence and common sense.”

“And luck,” said Marco unexpectedly. “Where probabilities are concerned there is no certainty.”

Teresa and Andrew laughed. Andrew took his leave, and Marco made Teresa promise not to rake John over the coals for taking him to a gambling establishment.

“I’m sure Papa would consider it part of my education as a gentleman,” he pointed out. “And I have no intention of going again.”

“Very well,” Teresa conceded with a sigh. “But promise me that if you meet Lord Carruthers on any other clandestine outing, you will not allow him to goad you into behaving foolishly.”

“I shan’t,” Marco promised.

* * * *

The next time Teresa saw Andrew was at a musical evening when her discretion was finally overcome by Lady Mary Hargreave's incessant taunts.

 Jenny Kaye had long since introduced her brother, Stewart, to Teresa. One afternoon they met in the Kaye's music room to play and sing together. Stewart had considerable skill on the guitar, and Teresa soon discovered that Jenny's voice was far better than her own. She taught her friend a Spanish song, then took out her ocarina and accompanied them.

 The next time they played together, Marco joined them with his ocarina. The Kayes were delighted with the plaintive sound, and soon the quartet had a repertoire of four or five songs. Teresa had no thought of performing before an audience. It was Jenny who grew impatient with Lady Mary's insinuations against her friend and persuaded her mother to hold a musical evening.

 Lady Kaye invited some forty guests, mostly matrons with daughters anxious to perform, and such male family members as they could force to come along. Among them were Lady Parr and Muriel, who had been practising on the harp since her return from Jamaica, and who looked angelic playing it. Lady Parr's brother proving adamant, Andrew was cajoled into squiring them.

 The invitation sent to Stafford House specifically requested the presence of Teresa and Marco, though it was open to all the family. Lord Danville decided to go with them. He had kept a close eye on Teresa since the shooting match. Though he could not imagine how she could fall into a scrape at a musicale, he did not consider her brother an adequate escort. After two harpists, three pianists (including Lady Mary's superior performance) and three sopranos (all singing Italian arias), the audience was ready for a change. There was a murmur of interest as the members of Miss Kaye's quartet took their places by the piano.

  Stewart struck a chord on the guitar, Teresa and Marco raised their tiny instruments to their mouths, and Jenny's mellow contralto joined them in a song of unhappy love.

 As the sweet, sorrowful sound of the ocarinas died away, there was a moment's silence before the listeners applauded. Andrew judged the silence half tribute and half disapproval, the former chiefly from the genuine music-lovers, the latter from jealous mamas.

 The applause ended in an expectant hush, and he clearly heard Lady Parr, at his side, mutter, "I warned her that ridiculous instrument was not socially acceptable. Sir Archibald would be shocked."

 One or two nearby heads turned, nodding assent.

 "My dear ma'am," Andrew said with unnecessary loudness, "so very like a Scottish lament, do you not agree?  Instead of the Celtic harp, a guitar and ocarinas. It brings back memories of many a pleasant evening on my travels."

 Since Muriel was about to perform a Scottish ballad, Lady Parr murmured feebly, "So original."

 Muriel, overcoming her timidity in her friend's defence, stood up and went to Teresa, saying, "I thought it quite delightful. Do let me see your instrument. Can you play 'Flow Gently, Sweet Afton?'"  She hummed the tune and Marco picked it out.

 As Daphne Pringle and several others joined the group, Lord Danville decided his intervention on his cousins’ behalf was unnecessary. Fortunately Lady Castlereagh was not present, and Lady Kaye was stymied by her offsprings' complicity in Teresa's latest start. Danville saw Lady Mary approaching him and quickly made his way over to Sir Andrew.

 "Thank you," he said, shaking his hand. "I am glad of an ally in my struggle to keep my cousin within the bounds of respectability."

 "She means no harm," said Andrew with a frown. "It's her wretched upbringing."

 "I know. Your Miss Parr behaved with estimable loyalty."    

They nodded to each other in mutual admiration of Miss Parr, and both clapped loudly when at last she performed her piece.

 Muriel had her reward. The very next day Teresa received a note from her: Andrew had agreed to turn down the mission to China in favour of a desk job at the Foreign Office. They were to be married soon after the New Year.

* * * *

 Teresa grew increasingly discontented with the life of a society butterfly. The charm of novelty had turned to the tedium of oft-repeated scenes and faces and conversation. Her new friends had few interests beyond the latest on dits and the newest quirks of fashion. The high point of her days had been the early ride with Andrew, often cancelled by blustery autumn storms. Now he cancelled their outings altogether, saying that approaching winter made the mornings too dark and cold for comfort.

 Riding tamely within the confines of Hyde Park had in any case become irksome, Teresa consoled herself, and the leafless skeletons of elms and oaks depressed her spirits.

 On fine afternoons she still often drove in the park with Muriel, frequently accompanied by Andrew or Lord Danville, or both of them, on horseback. The hour of the fashionable promenade retreated before the encroaching dusk of autumn evenings, so they often found themselves surrounded by carriages and riders, though few pedestrians dared the muddy walks.

 One crisp, sunny afternoon in late November, both gentlemen had joined the ladies’ outing. Muriel was engrossed in plans for her wedding and chattered on, apparently unaware that all her companions were exhibiting signs of restless dissatisfaction. They reached the Serpentine, and Teresa ordered the groom to turn and drive back to the Grosvenor Gate.

 Coming towards them, still a hundred yards and several carriages away, was a high-perch phaeton. Teresa recognised Lord John sitting in it, with Marco at the reins. He had been teaching his young cousin to drive, and now it seemed the novice was ready to appear in public.

Marco appeared to be doing quite well. As his sister watched proudly, she saw John lean down to fiddle with something at his feet.

A moment later, Gayo was perched on his shoulder.

Startled, Marco glanced round, and lost control of his team. John grabbed for the reins. Gayo flew up, screaming imprecations, and swooped towards the driver of a nearby curricle.

 Horses plunged and reared, the phaeton capsized, shrieks and wails drowned the parrot's scolding.

 "How dare he!"  Teresa was white-faced with anger and worry. "Oh, I must go to them!  Quickly!"

 She stood up as the groom driving their landaulet shrugged. "No way through, miss."

 Andrew pulled his chestnut close to the landaulet, leaned down, and swept her up onto the horse in front of him. "Hold on," he ordered grimly.

 As they galloped towards the tangled mass of carriages, Teresa whistled. Gayo heard the whistle above the commotion and flew to meet them.

He landed on Sir Andrew's shoulder and gently pulled on his earlobe. "Hello, dinner," he said lovingly.

Andrew somehow controlled his startled mount. He reined in beside the wrecked phaeton. John was standing there holding his head, while Marco sat on the ground looking dazed.

“Are you all right?” Teresa demanded urgently of her brother.

“Just a scratch,” John answered, lowering his hand and glancing at it. His glove was bloodstained.

“Not you. Marco!”

“I’ll do,” said the youth, blinking. He took John’s proffered hand and pulled himself to his feet. “Truly!  Don’t fuss, Teresa.”

“Game as a pebble,” said John approvingly.

“The sooner I get you out of here the better,” said Andrew through gritted teeth, and turned the chestnut towards the park gate. As they cantered on, Teresa glanced back to see what appeared to be a good five thousand of the Upper Ten Thousand watching them, gaping and pointing and whispering to each other. Among them she caught a glimpse of Lord Danville, leaning consolingly over Muriel, her hand in his, her agitated face turned up to him.

Teresa wound her hand in the chestnut's mane and fought the impulse to lean back against Andrew's chest. Muriel’s conduct with Cousin Tom did not allow her to relax hers with Muriel’s betrothed.

 Moments later they reached Stafford House. Teresa slid down onto the mounting block, stepped to the pavement, and turned to look up at him. He was scowling.

"Thank you," she said uncertainly, offering her hand. "I cannot say..."

He ignored her hand. "Why the devil I let your father persuade me to bring you to London, I cannot think," he snapped. "You are no more fit for society than is your Indian witch doctor."

Stunned, she let her hand drop as he rode off. With an indignant squawk Gayo rejoined her. She smoothed his ruffled feathers but her mind was on the bitter injustice of Sir Andrew's blaming her for Lord John's escapade. Shoulders drooping, she went into the house.

Boggs met her in the hall and handed her three thick letters. “These were delivered by messengers,” he told her with a conspiratorial wink. “Something to do with
coffee,
I believe, miss, if you take my meaning. I made sure no one else saw them.”

She took the packets without interest and thanked him mechanically. He looked offended. She was sorry and hoped her unintended rebuff would not cause the butler to disclose her secret, but she was too blue-devilled to soothe his ruffled feelings.

Reaching the haven of her dressing room, Teresa leashed Gayo, slumped into a chair, and opened one of her letters. As Boggs had hinted, it was a coffee contract. She skimmed through it, then a second. Both bettered the terms Don Eduardo had told her to hold out for. She tossed them all aside, the third unopened, and sat staring blankly at the window until Annie arrived to draw the curtains and build up the fire.

“I came early,” the abigail announced, “because his Grace wants to see you in his study before dinner, and the duchess is calling for you to her chamber right now. In the vapours again, Miss Howell said.”

“Then I must change very quickly,” Teresa said, smiling with an effort.

As she dressed, she wondered whether her aunt would continue to sponsor her after this latest scandal. Half the Ton had witnessed it, and the other half would soon hear about it. Somehow she could not bring herself to care.

Howell admitted her to the duchess’s apartments with a grim face. “Her Grace is that upset, miss,” she reported in a whisper. “Mr Boggs just happened to mention to Miss Carter as you’d received papers from some City merchants or other, and Miss Carter let it slip to her Grace, not meaning any harm, but you know how she does rattle on, miss. Her Grace’s nerves is quite overset, thinking you might be engaged in trade.”

“Thank you, Howell. I shall go in to my aunt at once.”

The pink chamber seemed to Teresa particularly oppressive today. The duchess was reclining on her bed, a vinaigrette clutched in her hand, but she sat bolt upright when she saw the culprit.

“Can this be true?” she demanded in a vigorous voice, then remembered her role, sank back against her pillows, and added faintly, “I cannot believe it of you, Teresa. Engaging in trade!”

Teresa had no thought of dissembling. “I’m afraid it is true, aunt,” she admitted listlessly. “Papa desired me to arrange for the export of the coffee he grows on the hacienda.”

“I understood that Lord Edward sent you to catch a husband. That may well prove excessively difficult if you are seen consorting with Cits.”