Talk of the Town (11 page)

Left alone, Miss Ingleside sat down with a pensive face. Now should she go to Lady Elizabeth’s tea party or not? Having refused made it difficult, and having pretended she would have Mr. Brummell’s escort made it almost impossible to go, as she wished to, without him.

But Fate, so kind to us in our less noble schemes, gave her a hand out of the latter difficulty. Having learned from the tattle-mongers that he had induced his fat enemy to call at Upper Grosvenor Square, Brummell must make sure the Prince continued his calls by a few more outings with Mrs. Pealing himself. He came the next morning with a bouquet of blue roses. That was impossible, but by purchasing white ones and leaving them stand in a solution of ink and water overnight, he had got a little of the liquid to go up into the petals and give them a blue veining.

“Oh, Daphne, only look at this!” Effie gurgled, excessively pleased at the tribute. “Blue roses. It is a miracle. However did you think of it, Mr. Brummell?”

“More to the point, how did you do it, Mr. Brummell?” Daphne asked, intrigued.

“Roses are sweet, obliging things,” he answered with one of his sardonic smiles that promised a compliment so elaborate as to amount to an insult. “When I whispered into the petals’ ears that Mrs. Pealing’s favourite colour was blue, they grew so sad at their white tint that they turned blue in grief.”

“You are absurd,” Daphne laughed, amused in spite of herself.

“My absurdities are the making of me, Ma’am,” he agreed solemnly.

“I have wondered what has made you the King of London. It wouldn’t do to suggest your tailor had anything to do with it.”

 “Oh, no, I made Weston, and quite a few others, respectable. Even that fellow, ah, Prinney, was accepted in Society for a few years while I extended my patronage to him.”

“Absurd and dangerous,” Miss Ingleside warned him.

“In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. When I came to the city, it was struggling blindly for something. I surveyed the scene and could only deduce from the symptoms that absurdity was its goal. Having a certain knack for it, I raised it to an art form, and have been crowned King of the Land of Fools. But you and your aunt run me a close second,” he added.

Effie looked offended, but the quick-witted Beau had been bored with this stuffed cushion since he had met her and sensed a mind more to his liking in the niece. “We entered the race quite inadvertently,” Daphne replied, understanding precisely what he was getting at and gaining a little more respect for the dandy by his assessment of himself and the world of London Society.

“I believe you did, but, having entered it, you seem in some danger of beating me at my own game and I think we ought to join forces.”

“Why not? London requires a Queen of Fools as well as a King.”

“And as the Prince has two princesses, I shall have two queens,” Beau smiled.

“We shall share the honour at the Queen’s Drawing Room, Auntie,” Daphne said.

“Queen Charlotte runs the Drawing Room,” Effie pointed out, sitting perplexed in a corner. When Daphne became James’s daughter, she was incomprehensible.

“We are only funning,” Daphne consoled her.

Mrs. Pealing found no fun or sense in the discussion, and the Beau turned his charm on her, soon guiding her out the door to his carriage. But after tooling her through a few well-crowded streets, he returned to have a word with Miss Ingleside and to enquire whether she would do him the honour of accepting his escort to a showing of paintings at Somerset House that same afternoon.

She was delighted and added offhandedly, “And perhaps you will escort me to a tea party afterwards. Lady Elizabeth Thyrwite has invited us...“ She looked to Mrs. Pealing to see how the idea went down. She read stark horror.

“Not me!” Effie said loudly.

“I will be very happy to. I promised Lady Elizabeth to drop in,” the Beau said graciously and left, well pleased with his morning’s work.

His original aim had been to bring about a liaison between the Prince and Mrs. Pealing, but it would add a fine feather to his cap to show the world that while Prinney favoured the dull, stupid old lady, he had walked off under his nose with the young Beauty. They would be in each other’s company, he and the Prince, and he was honing up a few sharp aphorisms to stun the world.

When he had left the apartment, Mrs. Pealing asked, “What made you change your mind?”

“St. Felix particularly mentioned the tea party yesterday, Auntie, and I dislike to disappoint him when he is quite sure I, at least, shall attend.”

Effie took on the posture of receiving a feeling, but in somewhat diminished form. “What is it?” Daphne enquired. “Do you sense disaster? Pray tell me if you do and I shan’t go to the tea.”

“No, it was more an idea than a feeling. I was just thinking, wouldn’t it be fine if you could land St. Felix?”

Daphne turned a pretty shade of pink and declared there was nothing less likely in the whole world.

“Don’t say so, my child. His father was quite a fool over me, I assure you, and everyone who knew me in the old days says we are much alike. And what glimpses I have had of young St. Felix tell me he is not so very unlike his papa. It is a very good notion, and I think you should go to the tea party and be friendly to him if he is there.”

“Well, I don’t think he means to be there.”

“Why did he want you to go then? He will be there, depend on it. The whole clan stick as close together as peas in a pod. It is St. Felix’s doings that Larry is to be made a minister, you know. The head of the family always runs the show in that tribe.”

“Yes, I think he tries to in any case. Well, if he is there, you may be sure I shall say ‘how do you do’ to him.”

Chapter 8

After his fight with Miss Ingleside, St. Felix posted directly back to his sister’s house to enquire of her if she had ever heard anything of an affair between their father and Mrs. Pealing.

“Of course not. The idea’s ridiculous!” she declared. “Who is saying such a thing?”

“Pealing’s niece. She claims father asked the woman to marry him.”

“What nonsense!”

“I knew it could not be true. Father was always so—well, almost holy. He never looked at another woman for as long as I knew him.”

“Yes, he straightened out remarkably,” was the frightening response to this.

“What do you mean? He
never
ran around— there was never any talk of that sort attached to him. I don’t know of any gentleman of whom more good was spoken than Papa, unless it were Uncle Archie, the Archbishop.”

“Ages ago—oh, years and years ago, Dickie, when you were hardly born—he had a few affairs; nothing to signify. And your Uncle Archie, too, for that matter. But it was opera dancers with him, as a rule. Papa’s girl was an actress, I think, and some other woman. But I was very young myself and only remember listening to Mama and Papa fighting behind closed doors.”

“An actress?” he asked. She didn’t care for the little actress he kept on the side, he thought to himself.

“Yes, a redhead, I think she was, from the Theatre Royal; but it was the other one Mama was really concerned about. It was not Mrs. Pealing, for Mama called her Lady something or other. They even mentioned divorce. I remember lying in bed trembling lest it should happen. How selfish children are. I was due to make my bows in a year or two, and all I thought was that I would be disgraced, and never gave a thought to what poor Mama must be going through. And Papa, too, for that matter. I don’t suppose he relished the idea of divorce; and he must have been dreadfully in love to have even thought of it, for in general all he ever spoke of was keeping the family together, and everyone doing his part, and so on.”

“You don’t know who the woman was? Mrs. Pealing was once a Countess. Mama could have meant her.”

“It couldn’t have been Mrs. Pealing.”

“Why not?”

“Because they haven’t mentioned it to you, and they’d be demanding a couple of thousand pounds if they had such a story as that in their book.”

“Or a voucher to Almack’s,” he added, chagrined.

Elizabeth ignored this aside. “I don’t know what I am to do about that pair. They have sent in a refusal to my tea. They are clearly holding out for a larger party. And now with Prinney calling on them I daren’t refuse. I shall have to send tickets to my ball.”

She thought she would hear an argument against this plan, but Richard was sunk in some deep reverie from which there was no rousing him, and he hadn’t heard.

“Uncle Algernon!” he said, out of the blue.

“Yes, I asked him, but with his gout, you know, I don’t look to see him. He usually hobbles to my balls, but he won’t bestir himself for a tea party.”

Her brother arose and walked from the room in a brown study. Before many minutes he was sitting at his uncle’s bedside. Algernon Percival was his father’s younger brother by two years and presumably well aware of all the amorous history of the late Duke. Algie had always been a grouchy old fellow and no favourite of any of the nieces or nephews. He complained for a while of his negligent treatment at the hands of his family; then, giving the cap on his head a poke that sent it sliding at a rakish angle over one eye, he said, “And why are you come, eh? Run into debt, I suppose, and with I don’t know how many thousands a year coming to you. Don’t expect me to bail you out. I have two sons of my own to provide for. Not that I ever see hide or hair of them."

“I’m not here for money, and never have been, Uncle. That shot was unworthy of you. I want you to tell me something.”

"There’s a change, then, for you to let anybody tell you anything. What is it?”

“Who is the woman father was running around with thirty years ago?”

“Mrs. Robinson,” the uncle answered unhesitatingly.

“You can’t mean Perdita?” Richard asked, incredulous. The shock of the revelation was great enough to knock Mrs. Pealing temporarily from his mind. Though it had happened so many years ago, it was still spoken of as a legend, the Prince of Wales' first public affair with the pretty actress, Mrs. Robinson, who appeared at the Theatre Royal as Perdita in
A Winter’s Tale
and soon appeared in public with her Florizel, Prinney.

“She was over being Perdita when Arthur took up with her. She received pretty short shrift from that commoner of a Prince, if you want the truth of it.”

“I’m not sure I can take any more truth. You mean to say
my
father
took that notorious whore for a mistress? The whole town must have been buzzing with it.”

“I don’t care for your language, St. Felix. There was nothing wrong with Mrs. Robinson. The town was talking, all right, but it didn’t last long. Your father found someone he liked better. He wasn’t always the cardboard character he was after you were born. I guess
having a son to keep an eye on him smartened him up.”

“Oh, that is what I am really come about,” Richard said, recalled to his business. “I knew about the actress, though I didn’t know it was Perdita. My God...  But who was the other one?” His fists were clenched in dreadful anticipation of what he would hear.

“I don’t know,” his uncle said.

“You’ve
got
to know!” Richard shouted in frustration. “Think! Try to remember.”

“Keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll have you shown out. I ain’t senile. I haven’t forgotten. I never knew. He kept it close as an oyster, to protect the woman’s name. Though from what I remember, she didn’t have much name to protect. Reputation, I mean. He was afraid of making bad worse was what he actually said. Something to that effect.” He gave the cap another clout that sent it off his head entirely.

“A divorcée, by any chance?” Richard asked.

“It wasn’t Richmond’s wife, if that’s what you mean. She was run well to seed by then. I wondered at the time if it wasn’t Lady Standington. You wouldn’t know her, but she was..."

“I know her. What makes you think it was she?” he asked through clenched jaws.

“Everyone in town was trailing after her, and that old fool of an earl so busy raiding everyone else’s nest he didn’t see what was going on in his own. I knew her a little myself, and I know George used to call on her; but he might have done it to throw me off the scent. He knew I was trying to find out what he was up to, and wouldn’t I have keel-hauled him if I’d managed to discover it. Something gave me the idea it was Lady Standington.” He sat frowning, trying to recall.

“Who would know for sure?” Richard asked.

“Nobody except your mother. If
I
didn’t find out, you may be sure no one else did. And I
trust
you are not proposing to pester her with your questions. Oh, it was no secret he was one of her court, but I don’t know how far it went.”

“I have to know.”

“Why? Why the devil do you want to go raking up that scandal? George settled down and behaved himself for close to thirty years. Seems to me you could show a little respect for your father’s memory. Your maternal uncle an Archbishop—another reformed character.”

“I am depraved on both sides,” Richard said, sunk in gloom.

“Ho,
depraved!
Archie has become holier than the Pope, I’ll have you know, and never did have any bit of fluff worth a second look either.
He’d
have been glad enough to take up with Lady Standington.”

“Oh, my God! How did she find time to juggle so many lovers.”

“She was quite good at it!” Algernon laid his head back on the pillows and laughed in happy memory. “What a girl she was. But not too bright. I often thought if she’d had half as many brains as she had looks she could have nabbed one of the royal dukes, and for a husband, not a lover. All she lacked was a tupporth of brains, poor girl. But they never have both, worse luck.”

“She has, worse luck,” Richard said, but in such a low tone that it escaped his uncle’s failing ears.

“How does Larry’s promotion go on? Any word of that?” Algernon asked.

“Nothing definite has been announced. Wouldn’t anyone know about father’s lover except Mama?”

“Yes, the lady herself, whoever she is."

“I can hardly go about asking every lady over fifty if she had the honour to be my father’s mistress.”