Suzanne Robinson (11 page)

Later that afternoon Mattie accompanied her mother to Catchpole’s Antiques, a vast emporium divided into rooms and galleries. Each room housed objects
that were related by period or function. Mama was anxious to acquire more fine art to fill the house on Fifth Avenue in New York and the cottage in Newport. While her mother visited the galleries containing old European paintings, Mattie wandered into a small room that held works by contemporary artists. She found paintings by Lucius Rossi, Julius Stewart, and Frederick Childe Hassam. There were even a few by Giovanni Boldini, who was going to paint Consuelo Marlborough.

Rain had kept most customers away from Catchpole’s, so Mattie was alone. She was studying a view of the Luxembourg Gardens by Sargent when she glimpsed a familiar figure in dark coat and top hat. Cheyne Tennant stood in the china room, by a Sèvres display case of stained oak that was taller than he was.

Don’t gawk at him like a maverick that’s spotted a rattler
, she told herself. She turned to the Sargent again, but a movement caught her eye. Tennant put his back to the display case and slid around it in a surreptitious manner. His attention was directed at something beyond Mattie’s view, and he suddenly darted from the Sèvres case to a much taller one containing Coalport and Rockingham services.

Mystified, Mattie walked to the doorway in time to see Tennant affect a nonchalant manner by opening the catalog he carried and holding it up to his face. Thus he was concealed as a woman left the Staffordshire display and walked into the sculpture
room. Mattie recognized her at once. She was Lady Augusta Darent, the wife of Lord James Darent, who held a post in the War Ministry.

Lady Augusta was one of those women who seemed to lead storybook existences. A fairy godmother had given her startling beauty and had bestowed upon her auburn hair that gleamed like silk in sunshine, summer-green eyes, and a height and figure that allowed her to wear the current sweeping fashions superbly. Lady Augusta had charmed Society from the day she came out, even casting her spell on the Prince of Wales. She had a unique ability to create amusement for those around her, which made her popular with an aristocracy cursed with too much leisure time.

Still beside the doorway, Mattie watched Cheyne Tennant lower his catalog slowly and peer over it at Lady Augusta. When she was well into the sculpture room he tucked the catalog under his arm and followed. Mattie frowned when he stepped behind a ten-foot statue of the Greek goddess Athena. Tennant was following Augusta Darent, and he didn’t want her to know it. Mattie trailed after the two, wondering why her adversary was skulking after a woman in an antiques emporium.

When Lady Augusta stopped beside a row of sixteenth century bronze busts, light from a window turned her auburn hair to fire. Understanding broke over Mattie and, with it, a fury and disappointment she quickly denied to herself. Cheyne
Tennant was this woman’s lover. He had reason to believe she was going to betray him with someone else, and he was following her.

The hypocrite. He’d been so contemptuous of her for trying to wed a titled gentleman when all the time he was carrying on with a married woman.

“Just like all the rest of them,” Mattie muttered.

She ducked into an alcove beside a statue of the first Duke of Marlborough when the two turned in opposite directions. He was a blamed polecat, slinking after the woman like that. She stepped back as Lady Augusta walked past her and into the first of several rooms of furniture. Mattie’s lip curled in disgust at the way Tennant now affected a casual air and strolled after his quarry. He knew how to seem like an interested customer and yet keep within easy distance of the object of his scrutiny. He must have done this often.

Mattie reddened at the thought of how many women he must have been with. Tennant was about thirty. He surely had had dozens of lovers—hundreds, for all she knew. It was disgusting. She didn’t want to see any more. Tennant vanished behind a French armoire, and Mattie stalked away, headed for the painting by Sargent. She didn’t care what he did.

But she did. “Land sakes.” She spun around and hurried after the lovers.

They were still in the room with the eighteenth century French furniture. It was a vast place that smelled of dust and that distinct scent of age. An elderly lady in mourning garments lifted a lorgnette to
survey Tennant, sniffed, and left the room. Tennant ignored her while he watched Lady Augusta from the shelter of the armoire.

Mattie crept to a boulle and lacquer cabinet from behind which she could see them both. Augusta appeared to be absorbed in her study of an oval table with a polished granite top. Then she suddenly moved around the table to a tall ebony and lacquer secretaire that concealed most of her body. Just as swiftly she left the secretaire to open the doors of an armoire and shut them again. Without another glance at the furniture, she strode out of the room.

This time Tennant didn’t follow her immediately. He rushed to the secretaire and opened its drawers, searching in its slots and feeling around as if he expected to find something. Then he hurried to the armoire. He searched it, but evidently found nothing, for he scowled at it and bolted after Lady Augusta. Mattie had to walk quickly to keep him in sight. She followed him through rooms containing porcelain and tapestries, and one devoted entirely to candelabras, chandeliers, and sconces.

Mattie realized he was trying to catch up with Augusta Darent, and that she must have decided to leave Catchpole’s. Mattie was almost trotting when she crossed the arms and armor room. Near the door that led to the reception hall she nearly impaled herself on the tip of a lance held by a model of a knight in armor. The knight was mounted on a stuffed horse. She sidestepped the lance, which was well over three times her height, and peeked around the
open door. She almost yelped when she beheld Tennant rushing across the reception hall. He was headed straight for her.

Mattie scrambled around the mounted knight and took refuge behind an enormous suit of armor labeled as ceremonial armor of Henry VIII. It had what was called a tonlet, which looked like a metal skirt that flared out from the waist and ended above the knees. As she settled behind the wide bulk of steel, she saw Tennant plunge through the doorway and flatten himself against the wall beside it. With his back to the room, he watched Lady Augusta.

A few minutes passed during which Mattie grew more and more disgusted at having to watch him make a fool of himself. Mattie had almost decided to leave when Tennant moved. Removing his hat, he backed up while keeping his gaze fixed on the lady. She was talking to old Edwin Catchpole, the proprietor.

Folding her arms over her chest, Mattie waited to get a look at the expression on his face. Then she noticed he didn’t seem to be aware that he was headed for the mounted knight. Another step would send his head knocking against the lance tip.

“Look out!” Mattie cried.

Tennant whirled around, nearly jabbed his eye on the lance and swerved. His movement brought him up against the horse, jarring the armor. The lance crashed to the floor, further unbalancing the whole display. The entire suit of armor toppled off the horse and onto Tennant, knocking him off his feet.
Several visitors who had come into the room as the accident happened rushed to him. Mattie was there first. She cast aside a great helm and shoved the cuirass off Tennant, who lay on his back. When he saw her, his eyes widened in shock. Then he glared at her.

“You again!”

“I tried to warn you.”

Tennant struggled to his feet in time to confront Catchpole.

“Are you hurt, sir?”

“No, no. I believe the lance had become insecure, so when I brushed it, the whole contraption toppled.”

“Oh, I do apologize, sir.”

“It’s nothing,” Tennant said, staring at Mattie while he straightened his frock coat.

Lifting one eyebrow, Mattie picked up his top hat and handed it to him.

“Tennant?” Lady Augusta came toward them, all concern and grace. “I didn’t know you were here. Has there been an accident? Are you hurt?”

Bowing, he kissed Augusta’s hand. “Dear Lady Augusta, how kind of you. No. Just a bit of bad luck, I’m afraid.”

The two conversed like old friends, in half sentences and with references to people Mattie didn’t know. She felt excluded from their intimacy. Not knowing what to do with herself, she wandered over to a display of shields.

Determined not to look at the lovers, she forced herself to read the label on one of the older shields.
“ ‘Per pale or and gules, a chevron countercharged.’ What the hell does that mean?”

“It means the shield is divided in half in gold and red and has chevrons on it,” snapped Cheyne Tennant.

Mattie turned to find Lady Augusta gone and Tennant standing behind her with an air of righteous fury. “What are you so all-fired stirred up about?”

“You deliberately startled me.”

“What?”

“How long had you been standing there spying on me? Never mind. It’s clear you tried another of your childish tricks. I’ll thank you to refrain from such absurd conduct in the future, Miss Bright.”

Seething at the unjust accusation, Mattie planted her hands on her hips. “Just you hold on, Mr. Tennant. I’ll have you know I got better things to interest me than your doings.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I know it’s hard for you to believe, but Mama and me like this stuff, and we’re looking for some to take back to New York. Mama’s going to buy a couple of Van Dycks and a Ruebens. Me, I’m partial to Vermeer and Rembrandt. Kinda like one by Albert Cuyp I saw back there, too. So, you see, I really don’t have time to waste making you look foolish.” Mattie looked him up and down. “Seems to me you got that figured out already.”

Tennant turned a brilliant shade of red. His fingers gripped the brim of his hat. “If you weren’t spying on me, why were you hiding behind that armor?”

“Wasn’t hiding. I was looking at it.”

“Do you know that when you’re lying you bite your lower lip?”

Mattie compressed her mouth into a straight line.

“This absurd behavior must cease, Miss Bright. Please confine your attentions to other gentlemen. You’ve managed to interfere in business that doesn’t concern you.”

“Why, you uppity tinhorn. What in all creation makes you think I’d want your attention? And don’t stand there and gibber at me about spying when you’ve been skulking all over this place after Augusta Darent. I never saw a more disgusting sight.”

Tennant cocked his head to one side and frowned. “Skulking all over? By Jove, you have been following me.”

“Have not.” Mattie tossed her head, wishing she’d held her tongue. She’d revealed herself, and there was nothing she could do but lie her way out of it. “Dang it. I just happened to be going the same way you were, and when I notice you slinking around the place like a weasel, I got curious. You got no call to—”

Tennant made a slashing motion with his hand. “Spare me more ranting, Miss Bright. I suggest we refrain from discussing this incident further. No good can come of it. I simply ask that you also refrain from speaking of it to anyone else.”

“It may surprise you, but I don’t find your goings-on all that interesting, and I sure don’t find them an entertaining topic of conversation.”

“Miss Bright,” Tennant said with exaggerated
patience, “is there any possibility that you might give me your word, and that I might trust you to keep it?”

He said it in such a chilly manner, as though his mind were on something much more important. Mattie flushed and realized how ridiculous she seemed, and again how utterly she’d failed to keep her promise to reform. He was used to Lady Augusta, the beautiful Aggie Darent with her cultured, sweet voice and witty ways. She, on the other hand, was a gauche little savage from America whose speech brimmed with countrified expressions and whose culture was a thin layer on top of a rancher’s daughter’s upbringing. Well, let him go to blazes if he was going to look down on her.

“You want my word?” she asked quietly.

“If you please.”

“You got it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must bid on a Reynolds that’s a sight more pleasant to be around than you are.”

Not waiting for him to reply, Mattie marched back the way she’d come. Tears nearly blinded her, but she found the doorway that led to the eighteenth century picture gallery. Luckily there was no one else in the room. She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief she’d tucked into her sleeve and stood in front of the Reynolds until Mama came to get her.

By the time they got into the carriage to go home, she’d made up her mind. She was going to ignore Cheyne Tennant for the rest of the Season. No matter what he did to provoke her, she wasn’t going to retaliate. People were already talking about
their antics and betting at the clubs on when the next explosion would take place. Well, they could just wait. She wasn’t giving Tennant the satisfaction of thinking she was trying to get his attention. She wasn’t going to have anything more to do with that rotten man.

 
8
 

Cheyne stalked out of Catchpole’s, jumped in a hansom cab and barked at the driver to take him to his club. He was meeting Balfour there to report on his surveillance of Lady Augusta. Still fuming from his quarrel with Miss Bright, he spent the entire journey trying to calm down.