The Belle Dames Club (7 page)

As the ladies of the Belles Dames Club made their way back to their carriages, they tried unsuccessfully to learn Lady Gaunt’s plans for the following night but she would tell them nothing, promising to reveal all only when they reached Norwell House.

‘But that is no good to me!’ cried Mrs Leighton-Kettering. ‘You know I am holding a dinner tomorrow night, so I cannot join you.’

‘Nor I,’ added Alicia Greynard. ‘Really, Dorothea, it is too bad of you to arrange these things before asking the rest of us.’

Lady Gaunt waved one languid hand.

‘Well, it could not be helped, the opportunity was too good to miss.’

Lady Wyckenham tapped her arm with her closed fan.

‘Come, Dorothea, surely you can give us some hint of what you mean to do?’

But Lady Gaunt was not to be moved and the ladies went their separate ways, still grumbling at their friend’s secretive nature.

Lady Wyckenham’s frustration was still simmering when they at last reached Charlotte Street.

‘It is just too bad of Dorothea!’ she complained. ‘I would very much like to know just what she expects to do. I cannot say that I like this. Dorothea can be so impetuous, and is apt to be a little wild at times. Good evening, Simmons, how good of you to wait up for us.’

‘Good evening, my lady. I thought I should, seeing as there’s a letter for you.’ He indicated a sleepy-looking footman
standing
behind him.

‘A letter?’ Lady Wyckenham held out her hand for it, tore open the seal and unfolded the crackling sheet as she walked across to the console table at one side of the hall, where a
cluster
of candles gleamed in a silver holder. Clarissa removed her domino and handed it to the butler, all the time keeping her eyes upon her stepmama. Lady Wyckenham read the note, her face impassive, then folded the sheet. She turned to the
footman
.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘There is no reply.’

The servant bowed and Simmons opened the front door to let him out. Clarissa frowned.

‘What is it, Mama-Nell? What was that letter?’

‘Nothing to worry you, my dear.’ Lady Wyckenham set off up the stairs.

Clarissa followed her.

‘But it has worried
you,
madam.’

Lady Wyckenham laughed.

‘Mama-Nell, was it from a man – is he, is he importuning you?’

My lady’s steps faltered but only for a moment.

‘Yes.’

‘Like Sir Howard Besthorpe and Julia?’

‘Not quite like that, my dear.’

She hurried up the stairs to her room, but at the door Clarissa stopped her.

‘Mama-Nell, will you not tell me? Perhaps I may help you.’

‘Bless you, child. It is nothing, a mere inconvenience that I must resolve.’

‘But Mama-Nell—’

Lady Wyckenham flashed her a brief, mischievous smile.

‘Do you know, I find I can be quite as secretive as Dorothea Gaunt? Go to bed, Clarissa, and do not worry yourself over me.’

It had been arranged that Lady Gaunt would collect Clarissa and Lady Wyckenham in her carriage the following evening, and shortly before the appointed hour Clarissa walked into Mama-Nell’s dressing-room.

‘Lady Gaunt said to wear something dark, so I thought this riding habit would suit, since it is midnight-blue. What do you think?’ She stopped, blinking in surprise to find her stepmother still seated at her dressing table. ‘Madam? You are not ready, you have not changed.’

‘Oh, Clarissa, my love – you must give my apologies to Dorothea. I am not able to come with you tonight.’ My lady did
not turn from her mirror, but her voice sounded unnaturally bright.

Clarissa crossed the room and stood behind Lady Wyckenham, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

‘Mama-Nell, what is this, what is wrong?’

Lady Wyckenham did not meet her eyes.

‘Why, nothing, my love. My, how suspicious you are grown! No, I-I have an appointment that I had overlooked and I cannot break it, so you will have to go without me. I am sure you will manage splendidly, whatever Dorothea has arranged, and you must tell me all about it when you return.’

Clarissa frowned.

‘This has something to do with the letter you received last night, does is not?’

Lady Wyckenham stood up.

‘I will not lie to you, Clarissa. Yes, it has. But as I told you last night, it is a mere inconvenience. I shall soon resolve it.’

‘Then let me help you!’

‘No; you are pledged to Julia Norwell this evening. Now, I hear someone at the door, most likely it is Dorothea Gaunt, so off you go now and do not keep her waiting.’ She smiled and came forward to give Clarissa a swift hug. ‘Go, Clarissa.’

Lady Wyckenham stayed only until she heard Lady Gaunt’s carriage drawing away from the house before she sent for her own coach. When it pulled up at the door some twenty minutes later, she was ready, attired in a mannish riding outfit of dark brown camlet with a matching beaver hat set on top of her gleaming curls, and a heavy veil hiding her face. She directed her coachman to a house off Piccadilly and when it pulled up she alighted, saying, ‘Wait for me here, Jacob. I shall not be long.’

A liveried footman bowed her into the house.

‘If madam would be pleased to wait in the drawing-room, his lordship will be with you directly.’

With her hands tucked inside her swansdown muff, Lady Wyckenham followed the servant into a brightly lit apartment, richly decorated in red and gold. A good fire blazed in the hearth but although she felt a little faint, she did not unbutton her tight-fitting jacket, nor did she put up her veil. She wandered restlessly about the room, looking up at the dark portraits that seemed to stare down haughtily at her from the walls.

‘You are admiring my ancestors.’

She jumped.

‘I did not hear you come in.’ She fought down her nerves as she turned to greet the Marquis of Ullenwood. ‘My lord.’

He bowed, the light glistening on the silver streaks in his dark hair.

‘My lady. I did not expect such a prompt response to my letter.’

She shrugged.

‘You wished to talk to me. I am here.’

‘Will you not sit down?’

‘No.’ The word was out before she knew it, and Lady Wyckenham cursed her nerves. ‘Ah.’ Lord Ullenwood smiled. Or, she temporized, his lips curled but there was no warmth in those dark eyes, no hint of gentleness. He continued, ‘Very well, madam, let us get to the point. I would trade with you.’

She gave him a scornful glance.

‘There is nothing to trade.’

‘Oh but there is,’ he said softly. ‘We both know that I have certain … letters, written in your own fair hand.’

She paled.

‘I thought you had destroyed them.’

The marquis spread his hands.

‘You asked it of me, I know, but I could not bring myself to do so. They were such touching letters, you see.’

‘I was very unhappy at the time.’

‘I am aware – you sought solace in my arms, did you not?’

‘Elliot, I trusted you. I thought you were my friend.’

‘Friendship is such a fragile thing, Helen. When you spurned me—’

‘I found I could not love you and I told you so: it was not meant cruelly.’

‘Your passion cooled,’ he said. ‘Mine has never died.’

‘Then I am sorry for it, but there is nothing I can do.’

‘Oh but there is.’

She shook her head.

‘Elliot, it is over. When Wyckenham died I was distraught; I turned to you for comfort, but that was a mistake.’

‘I cannot allow that.’

‘So what would you have me do?’

‘Come back to me, Helen.’

‘I cannot. I do not love you.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Surely that would make me a wretched mistress?’

The marquis walked towards her.

‘I would have you on any terms. Helen—’

As he reached for her, she retreated behind a chair.

‘Stay away, my lord. I have told you I am not for you.’

‘You might change your mind.’

‘Because of the letters?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think not.’ She pulled one hand free from her muff, her fingers gripping a small silver pistol. ‘You will give me the letters. Do not laugh at me: I will not allow you to coerce me.’

He looked down at the pistol in her hand.

‘What do you propose to do?’

‘I will shoot you if you do not give me the letters. I am quite serious, my lord.’

‘Then we have reached an impasse, for I do not have them.’

‘You lie!’

He spread his hands.

‘I mean they are not in this house. They are safely locked in a bank vault, my dear.’ Again that hateful smile. ‘So, shoot me
if you must, Helen, but it will not get you the letters. Are you sure you will not sit down?’

Helen was not listening.

‘You must have them. I could shoot you and search the house.’

Lord Ullenwood looked apologetic.

‘Ah – there is the little matter of my servants. I do not think they would allow you to do that.’

Her shoulders drooped: she gave a sigh and replaced the pistol inside her muff.

‘Oh do what you will! I was a widow when I wrote to you: it may cause a scandal for a week, but I have endured worse.’

She went to the door.

‘And what of the children?’ She stopped. ‘Your stepchildren, madam. How do you think they will like having the family name bandied about the clubs? Your letters were very detailed, my love. And these young people, they are not so broad-minded as we were in our day, eh?’

She turned towards him, the colour draining from her cheeks.

‘You would not.’

He stared at her, and she felt as if his eyes bored right through the heavy veil.

‘Oh, I would,’ he said softly.

‘To publish those letters would be the actions of a scoundrel.’

‘No, no, you wrong me: it would be the actions of a man very much in love.’

‘Fustian! This is no way to gain my regard.’

‘Perhaps not, but if it is the only way I can have you—’

Lady Wyckenham regarded him for a moment. She said quietly, ‘Very well. What must I do to have you return my letters?’

In the darkness of Lady’s Gaunt’s carriage, Clarissa wondered if she should tell Dorothea of her worries. Mama-Nell had told
her it was nothing: perhaps she should believe her. Clarissa decided to keep her own counsel, at least for the present.

They collected Lady Sarah from Dover Street and arrived at Norwell House some thirty minutes before ten o’clock. A nervous lady’s maid admitted them to the house and Julia informed them that she had sent the other servants to the servants wing.

‘I let it be known I have the headache and need silence – they have all retired for the present: Barnabus and his mama and sister will not be returning until midnight.’

‘Well we shall be done by then, my dear, so you need not look so anxious.’ Lady Gaunt put down the large portmanteau she had brought in and took off her cloak. ‘Send your maid away, Julia, and let us prepare.’

The clock in the stable tower struck ten and the ladies were gathered in one of the upstairs rooms at the front of the house. As the last chime died away there could be heard the clip-clop of hoofs on the drive. Lady Gaunt nodded.

‘Show yourself, Julia. We must make sure Sir Howard knows you are here.’

Obediently Julia picked up a branched candlestick and moved towards the window.

‘It is he,’ she gasped, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

‘Good,’ said Lady Gaunt. ‘Can you manage a smile, and perhaps a wave?’

Julia leaned forward, then jumped back with a little cry.

‘Oh – he has seen me!’

Clarissa heard Dorothea suppress a sigh of irritation.

‘Well, that is just what we want, my dear. You may relax now, Julia. You have done your part. Now I must play
my
role as your maid.’

Dismounting on the drive of Norwell House, Sir Howard looked about him in some surprise. By the light of the flaring torches burning on either side of the door he could see the grounds were deserted. He looked up as the door was opened by a lanky serving woman.

‘Ah – your mistress is expecting me,’ he said. ‘Is there
someone
to look to my horse?’

The woman bobbed a curtsy.

‘Madam thought it best to send the servants off for the night, sir.’ Sir Howard felt his excitement rising. The maid waved vaguely towards a hedge. ‘If your lordship will tie the reins to that bush he’ll be safe enough. Then if you’d be good enough to follow me.’

Sir Howard almost skipped up the steps. The door was shut firmly behind him and he found himself in a large, echoing hall.

‘Where is your mistress?’

Silently the servant picked up a single candle and led the way up the stairs. Sir Howard followed, his eyes dwelling on the shadowy figure. She was too thin for his taste – in general he preferred plump, rosy-cheeked maids – but the woman walked with a certain sway to her hips that was definitely alluring: he smiled to himself. Perhaps when he had finished with the mistress he would give her a tumble, it might be amusing.

There were no lights burning on the half-landing, and by the time they reached the first floor the only illumination came from the maid’s single candle She led Sir Howard through a series of passages, twisting and turning, then down another set of stairs until he was quite bewildered.

‘How much further?’

‘We’re here now, sir. Madam was not wishful that you should be shown into her husband’s chamber, her being a very modest lady, you understand.’

‘No, no, of course not.’ Sir Howard licked his lips at the thought of the treat before him. He adored modest ladies, and enjoyed discovering the charms previously reserved for their husbands.

The maid opened a side door and led him into a small bedchamber.

‘Now, sir, if you please. Mrs Norwell wishes me to undress you.’

‘Undr – oh, aye, aye.’

‘She is wishful to come to you as any bride would do,’ muttered the servant, helping him out of his coat.

‘A b-bride?’ breathed Sir Howard, and felt almost giddy at the thought. Bless the little angel! He struggled out of his waistcoat and gave a yelp when he felt the maid’s hands at the waist of his breeches.

‘Everything is to come off, sir. Madam was very particular.’

‘Yes, yes, I will do it.’

His fingers trembled as he fumbled with the buttons of his breeches while the maid unfastened the ribbons at his knees and began to roll down his stockings. Then he was standing on the cold boards, naked except for his fine lawn shirt. He shifted from one foot to the other, his eagerness barely concealed.

‘Well, tell your mistress I am ready for her.’

The maid scooped up the discarded clothes and tucked them under one arm.

‘Aye, I’ll tell her.’

She picked up the candle and whisked herself out of the room.

Sir Howard stood very still. The room was dark and his eyes did not seem to adjust to the gloom. He realized that the
shutters
had been closed, allowing only a faint grey line to show the outline of the window. It was impossible to see across the room.
He gave a little cough.

‘Mistress?’ He called tentatively. ‘Mrs Norwell, my little bird? Are you there?’

He heard her voice. It was very faint, and seemed to be coming from the far side of the room. Bless her, she sounded nervous.

‘Oh sir … I am here, in the next room … can you find the door?’

Sir Howard stepped forward, cursing as his shin collided with a small stool and sent it skittering across the floor. He stopped, then began to move forward again, his hands stretched before him as he felt his way across the room. He found he was shaking with excitement, picturing the lovely Julia: would she be
en
negligée
, as he had seen her at the window when he arrived, or was she already undressed? He felt himself growing hard at the mere thought of it. She must be such a romantic little puss to go to so much trouble. Here was a pleasure he had not anticipated.

‘Oh hurry, sir, where are you?’

Again the breathless voice sounded from the next room, and the soft scurrying sound of movement. Two more steps brought him to the wall, a little fumbling found the door and he grasped the handle. It turned easily and opened on to more darkness. He frowned.

‘Madam? Are you there?’

‘Yes, yes, at the end of the passage – hurry, dear sir!’

A passage! Despite his excitement he felt his patience
growing
a little thin.

‘My dear madam, is this really necessary? Pray bring a candle out to me.’

‘Oh I dare not risk any of the servants seeing you. Perhaps I should not have given in to the temptation….’

‘No, no, my love, wait there – I shall be with you directly.’

Sir Howard reached out his hands to each side. Yes, he could feel the wall on his right and, yes, if he reached a little to the
left he could touch the wall there. He moved a few steps forward, his bare feet padding on the wooden boards. He began to move with more confidence. Ahead of him was a dim bar of light beneath a door. At last. His outstretched hands touched the solid wood and he hurriedly felt around for the handle. Moments later he was pulling the door open. He blinked.

‘What is this, madam – are you outside?’ He stepped out of the door and found himself in a paved yard at the back of the house. ‘Madam I—’

The door slammed shut behind him. As he swung round he heard the bolts scrape into position.

‘Julia? What is this – enough of this jest, madam, let me in.’

‘’Tis no jest, Sir Howard.’

He frowned. It was a woman’s voice, but not Julia’s sweet tones. This was a much stronger voice, and full of laughter.

‘Let it be a lesson to you not to prey on young women who do not wish for your attentions.’

‘What is this – what game are you playing? Let me in, I say, and give me my clothes.’

‘No, sir – you will get nothing here tonight. You had best go home.’

‘I cannot ride without my breeches!’

Sounds of smothered laughter came from the house and Sir Howard realized there was more than one voice behind the door. He cursed roundly and stamped his foot, stubbing his toe as he did so.

‘God damn you – I will not leave without my clothes.’

‘Your horse is where you left him.’ The reply was curt,
indifferent
. ‘Go now before Mr Norwell and his party return. You might find it difficult to explain why you are wandering around his house half-naked.’

Sir Howard stared at the door. His earlier excitement had gone, replaced with a growing sense of desperation. The door looked too solid to give way, and the windows were all
shuttered
. There was no way he could get back into the house.
Cursing, he began to make his way round to the front drive. The gravel was sharp beneath his feet, making him gasp, and the cool night air seemed to taunt him as it fluttered his shirt. He had just reached his horse when he heard the sound of a carriage approaching. Turning, he saw the bobbing lights of the link boys running down the drive ahead of the horses. He pulled at the reins, but instead of coming free they tightened themselves into a knot. In desperation he tugged again, harder this time, snapping the branch so that the reins came away, still knotted around a leafy stick.

The carriage had come to a halt by now and Sir Howard heard a smothered exclamation as Barnabus Norwell jumped down on to the drive. Sir Howard wished the link boys would move away with their flaring torches, but they stood their ground, grinning. They seemed intent on illuminating him as fully as possible.

‘What the devil is going on here? Marius – your pistol. We have an intruder. Ladies, please wait in the coach.’

Sir Howard abandoned his attempts to mount his horse and turned.

‘Norwell, d-don’t shoot – I am not a robber!’

His voice came out in a squeak. The wind decided at that moment to blow a little stronger and Sir Howard had to give his attention to catching the edge of his shirt and holding it down.

‘Besthorpe?’ Barnabus’s jaw dropped. ‘What the deuce are you playing at?’ he demanded, trying not to laugh.

Sir Howard’s anger boiled over. He pointed accusingly towards the house.

‘They tricked me!’ he cried shrilly. ‘They took my clothes, exposing me to ridicule – it is not to be borne!’

Mr Norwell looked bemused.

‘Who tricked you?’

‘Your wife sir! Your wife and her friends!’

‘You have been here trying to seduce my wife?’

There was no trace of humour in Mr Norwell’s face now.

Sir Howard eyed his clenched fists with trepidation, but he could not prevent himself from screeching, ‘She tricked me! The little vixen told me to come at ten o’clock, because you would be from home, and she has led me a merry dance through the house, stealing my clothes, the doxy—’

He got no further. With a roar Barnabus launched himself forward and Sir Howard felt two strong hands around his throat, squeezing until the blood thrummed in his ears. He felt a hot searing pain behind his eyes, his hands scrabbled in vain to prise the fingers from his neck, then the next instant he was released and he fell to his knees, coughing and spluttering. Through his watering eyes he saw Lord Alresford gripping Norwell’s arms.

‘Enough, Barny, it would not do to kill him.’

‘You are right, Marius, though at this moment I would dearly love to give him a thrashing. If you have harmed my wife, sir—’

Sir Howard struggled to his feet.

‘No, no, I didn’t touch her – never saw her, save through a window.’

Lord Alresford stepped between them.

‘I suggest, Besthorpe, that you go home. I’d wager you have been up to mischief here and if you have been bested then all the better.’

‘Aye,’ growled Mr Norwell, ‘Get off my land, before I put a bullet through your sorry hide.’

With a whimper Sir Howard scrambled up into the saddle. He heard muted giggling coming from the interior of the carriage, and hurriedly tucked his shirt about him before setting his horse at a canter along the drive, his exit spurred on by the sounds of laughter carried on the night air.