Lady Vengeance (12 page)

Rowsell’s carriage took them on to Derry House, where they found Mr and Mrs Boreland already arrived and looking out for them.

 ‘Why do you think they are so anxious for us to join them?’ Elinor asked her escort as they alighted from the coach.

 ‘It is most likely that they want company. They are not universally popular, you see, although
he
is so powerful no one dares to cut them direct. Nothing will persuade the ladies to show more than common politeness to his wife, though.’

 ‘I can understand that,’ murmured Elinor, fixing on a smile as they came up to the couple.

 ‘My dear,
such
a shocking squeeze,’ laughed Mrs Boreland as they moved through the crowded rooms. ‘I vow there is scarce room to breathe in here and so noisy, too!’

 ‘I had heard all of London was invited,’ remarked her husband, glancing about him. ‘It seems Derry has allowed the scaff and raff of the town to join us. Let us repair to the supper room.’

 Elinor took Rowsell’s arm and together they made their way to a large room which had been set out for the occasion with a number of small tables. The gentlemen led their partners to an empty table, Rowsell taking a chair beside Elinor and calling for a bottle of claret and one of champagne to be brought for the ladies. A servant scurried away, to return moments later with the refreshments.

 ‘You are in good spirits, George,’ remarked Boreland, smiling faintly through his beard.

 Rowsell held up his brimming glass to salute Elinor.

 ‘Oh I am James. I am the happiest man in London tonight!’

 Elinor could not meet his eyes and looked away, a faint blush stealing over her cheek.

 ‘I am glad to hear it, George,’ murmured Boreland. He looked at Elinor, then said slowly, ‘Your pardon, Madame, if I appear to stare, but – have we not met before? Your countenance seems so familiar.’

 She shook her head, setting her powdered curls dancing. ‘No, sir. I have never before been to London. Could it be that you were ever in Paris? No? Then doubtless you are thinking of someone else.’

 She held her breath for a few seconds as he continued to stare at her, then he shrugged and drained his glass.

 ‘Perhaps. I do not doubt it will come to me presently. Rowsell, the Rausan is excellent – let us have another bottle.’

 ‘I do so enjoy these evenings, Madame,’ said Mrs Boreland with her cold, glittering smile. ‘It is quite delightful to me to see so many people enjoying themselves, and to study how the ladies dress in Town these days. I vow I find it monstrous entertaining!’

 There was no shortage of entertainment for Mrs Boreland during their meal, the room was already quite full and a constant stream of guests flowed through the apartment, some looking for an empty table, others merely promenading through the lesser rooms whenever the ballroom grew uncomfortably warm.

* * * *

Among those fortunate enough to find a table was a lady in a blue silk gown trimmed with blond lace, who took one look at the crowded supper room and immediately bullied two mild-mannered young gentlemen into giving up their places. Her escort remonstrated with her as they sat down at the vacated table.

 ‘Really, Mama, it is a great deal too bad of you to browbeat people in that way,’ he told her, smiling.

 ‘Nonsense, Davenham,’ retorted Lady Hartworth, her blue eyes twinkling, ‘you are a great deal too sensitive. Those young men were only too pleased to move for us.’

 ‘Aye,’ laughed the viscount, ‘after you had informed them that, being well acquainted with their families, you had most likely bounced them both upon your knee when they were still in the nursery!’

 ‘Well, and why should you complain of it? We have our seats do we not? And as soon as I have had a glass or two of good wine to restore my energies, we shall quit this place with all possible speed. Whatever possessed Lady Derry to send me an invitation I shall never know. Such an odd woman, to be sure. I swear there are any number of
low persons
here. And why your father should think it a good thing that we come is beyond my comprehension. I have never enjoyed myself less, I can tell you that, for if there is one thing I dislike it is being jostled and herded like so many milch cows!’

 ‘I share your dislike of these affairs, ma’am,’ agreed her son feelingly, ‘and this one is worse than most, I’ll admit. I shall be happy to escort you home as soon as you are ready.’

 ‘I can see that!’ snapped the countess. ‘You have been as restless as a colt in a halter since we arrived here. But what of this man Hartworth wanted you to see, is he here? Oh don’t look so surprised, Jonathan,’ she continued, observing her son’s raised brows, ‘there’s very little of your father’s business I don’t know, and I am well aware you accompanied me to this, this
May Fair
for more than just the pleasure of my company!’

 ‘George Rowsell might be here tonight. Father thinks he could tell us something of Thurleigh’s plans. I intended to speak with him at the Templeshams’ the other night, but it did not prove possible. Now I am to try again.’ He gave a sudden laugh. ‘A fruitless task in this crowd, Mama! There’s little chance of learning anything of note tonight. The sooner we leave the better.’

 Across the room, Mr Boreland was commenting to Elinor upon the excellence of the suppers, but although she nodded in agreement, Elinor tasted nothing of what was before her. She forced herself to eat a little to prevent her escort becoming concerned. The gentlemen were both in good spirits and it seemed to Elinor that she had scarce finished her second glass of champagne before they had started upon their third bottle of claret. Conversation was now flowing as freely as the wine, but Elinor bore very little part in the pleasantries; while the others were laughing at some joke, she slipped her hand through the folds of her gown and into the embroidered pocket beneath, where her fingers curled around a small glass phial. She drew it out, her heart pounding hard within her as she held the little container tightly in her hand below the table, waiting for a suitable moment to make her move.

* * * *

 Within seconds there came a diversion. A gentleman who was patently the worse for wine cannoned into a footman and they crashed to the ground, taking with them any number of dinner-plates. The resulting confusion drew all eyes, including those of her companions, and Elinor took the opportunity to uncork the phial, then she leaned forward to reach across the table towards a dish of sugared fruits. As her hand passed over Rowsell’s half-filled glass, she allowed the inky black liquid from the phial to fall into the wine, where it remained for one heart-stopping moment in a small cloud before dispersing into the claret. Scarcely daring to breathe, she carefully returned the phial to her pocket as Rowsell turned back to her, a fiery glow in his eyes.

 ‘I vow, Elinor,’ he muttered huskily, ‘we must be going soon, if I am not to disappoint you tonight!’

 ‘Oh, but I have not yet finished my champagne,’ Elinor forced her dry lips into what she hoped was a persuasive smile. ‘Also, my dear, your own glass is not yet empty.’

 Rowsell laughed gaily: ‘You have the right of it, my sweet,’ he declared, ‘we shall not leave until I have drunk one more toast!’ he picked up his glass and held it aloft. ‘Boreland, we must honour our delightful ladies. Fill your glass sir, and join me in drinking to the source of all our happiness.’

 James Boreland looked amused.

 ‘But of course, my dear fellow.’

 Elinor sat very still, outwardly calm, while inside her raged a tumult of emotion. Rowsell had turned in his chair to face her, his eyes glowing with happiness, his glass held up in readiness while he waited for Boreland. The seconds ticked by, Elinor summoning every ounce of willpower to remain still. The noise of the supper room seemed very distant, unreal: she watched in fascination as Boreland poured his wine, taking what seemed to Elinor an inordinate amount of care in pouring the claret and setting the decanter gently down upon the table while his wife chattered ceaselessly. At last he was ready and the two gentlemen faced their ladies. Rowsell smiled lovingly at Elinor.

 ‘To you, my dear. To us!’

 Elinor held her breath. She was surprisingly calm now. She watched while he raised the glass closer to his mouth, then suddenly she wanted to scream at him to stop, but it was too late, the words would not come and the glass was at his lips.

* * * *

 Yet before he could taste one drop of the sweet, deadly wine, a group of revellers passed the table, one of them losing his balance and falling heavily against Rowsell. The glass flew from his hand and Elinor gave a small cry as the poisoned claret spilled over her petticoat. She watched in horror as the blood-red stain spread slowly across the white silk. With an oath Rowsell jumped to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the ground.

 ‘You drunken oaf. I’ll have an apology for the lady!’

 The man swayed on his feet, supported by a companion in much the same condition. He shook his head at Rowsell’s furious ranting.

 ‘T’morrow, sir – I’ll talk to you ‘morrow –’

 ‘No, by God, we shall settle this now!’ cried Rowsell in a towering rage.

 ‘George, my dear boy – give him your card,’ advised Boreland. ‘Can’t start a brawl in Derry’s supper room!’

 But Rowsell did not hear him: he flew at the offender, knocking him down with the first blow. For a few moments confusion reigned, ladies screamed and Lord Derry’s servants looked helplessly at one another, not at all sure what was to be done. As the reveller picked himself up from the ground it seemed that some of his intoxication had left him. A crafty gleam came into his eyes as he looked at Rowsell standing over him, fists clenched. The man came slowly to his feet, keeping his head bowed, then with a lightning move he snatched up a carving knife from a tray of ham on a nearby table. With a cry of warning, Boreland leapt to his feet and ran forward, but he was too late. Rowsell had closed with his opponent and even as Boreland and several of the footmen pulled the protagonists apart, Rowsell sank to his knees, the carving knife having been driven to the hilt up under his ribs and into the very heart of him.

* * * *

 For a full minute there was silence, then several cries of Shame! Coward! As the killer was led away, Rowsell was laid upon the floor, but there was no flicker of life from his inert form and Boreland called for a cloth with which to cover the bloodied body. Some of the ladies in the room were crying, but looking up, Boreland observed that Madame de Sange was still sitting rigidly in her seat, her face immobile and those green eyes staring blankly at Rowsell’s lifeless form. He switched his gaze to his wife.

 ‘Take Madame de Sange away, Isobel. I will arrange matters here, and follow you when I can.’

 Mrs Boreland rose and went to Elinor, keeping her eyes averted from the still form lying not six feet from their table. Silently she helped the widow to her feet and guided her gently out of the room. As they neared the door, a gentleman stood before them. Viscount Davenham bowed slightly, but Elinor’s stunned gaze went through him, unseeing, and he stepped aside to let the ladies pass.

 ‘Poor child,’ murmured Lady Hartworth to her son, ‘how very distressing for her to lose an admirer in such a way.’

 ‘Really ma’am?’ he replied coldly, ‘I begin to think she is making a habit of it.’

 The journey to Knight’s Bridge seemed an endless one for Elinor. She sat in the carriage, staring fixedly before her, while Mrs Boreland remained at her side, patting her hands and making soothing noises. Not by nature a compassionate woman, she found it difficult to give succour to the young woman, who was obviously distraught by the death of George Rowsell. Had she but known it, the grieving widow was quite oblivious of her attentions, and was conscious only of a desire to reach the seclusion of her own room. At last they arrived at their destination. Madame’s footman was on hand to hold open the door, and Mrs Boreland led her charge gently but firmly into the lighted hallway. Almost immediately Hannah Grisson appeared, looking drawn and anxious.

 ‘God in heaven – what has happened!’

 ‘Your mistress has sustained a shock,’ Mrs Boreland led Elinor into the drawing room and guided her towards a chair. ‘There was a most distressing incident at Lord Derry’s supper party. Poor Mr Rowsell is dead.’

 ‘Lord have mercy on us!’ gasped Hannah, sinking onto a sofa, her face as white as her kerchief.

 ‘Yes,’ affirmed Mrs Boreland. ‘A group of monstrous low, rough fellows was in the supper room – I cannot think what Lord Derry was about, to let such people into his house. There was a most unseemly fracas, and poor Mr Rowsell was fatally wounded, struck down by a carving knife.’

 ‘He – he was
stabbed
?’

 Mrs Boreland looked impatient.

 ‘Have I not said so? Come, woman, your mistress needs attention. Will you not fetch her a cordial, or a little brandy – ‘

 For the first time since entering the house, Elinor spoke. ‘No, please, that is not necessary.’

 ‘But Madame, you are in distress. I would urge you to take something – perhaps a sleeping draught – ‘

 ‘No, I thank you for your concern, ma’am, but I swear I am much better now. Hannah shall fetch me a cup of hot chocolate, but I need nothing stronger.’

 Muttering anxiously under her breath, Mrs Grisson rose and went out of the room, leaving Mrs Boreland to hover solicitously around Elinor, who was still deathly pale, although the blank look had now left her eyes and after a short while she spoke again.

 ‘I must thank you for accompanying me, ma’am. I am most grateful for your support. Shall I order my carriage to take you back to Town, or would you like me to have a room prepared for you here?’

 ‘No, no my dear, there is no need for you to put yourself out at all.’ Mrs Boreland’s words were warm enough but, as ever, her smile was fixed, never reaching her eyes. ‘Mr Boreland said he would follow me here and take me up. But there is no need for
you
to sit up waiting for my husband to make an appearance. Here is your servant returned with the chocolate. Pray, Madame de Sange, will you not drink it and go to bed? A goodnight’s rest will help to ease your distress.’