The Constant Companion (4 page)

He ran Mr. Evans to earth behind the platform in the blue saloon. Both Mr. Rider and his secretary were weak and timorous men and found much solace in each other’s company. Mr. Rider gloomily outlined his duties for the evening, and for once found to his amazement that his secretary was prepared to take the burden from his shoulders.

“Lord Philip Cautry has been very kind to me,” said Mr. Evans, “and has, in fact, signalled me out from time to time in order to ask me kindly how I go on. I am not afraid of him,” said Mr. Evans puffing out his thin chest, “and I would be happy to do this service for you, sir.”

Mr. Rider looked at his secretary with dawning admiration. “But how will you get him to step aside with the sort of young female that my wife considers suitable?” he asked.

“I shall tell him I have been commanded to do so,” said Mr. Evans. “He will be annoyed but he will do it to oblige me.”

Mr. Rider eyed Mr. Evans doubtfully. “Very well then, Evans. I hear the carriages beginning to arrive. Do your best, man. But don’t blame me if Cautry gives you one of his set downs!”

Constance looked out at the flickering lights of London as Lady Amelia’s carriage picked its way through the West End. She felt very tired and very apprehensive. She had come to dread Amelia’s fickle and malicious humors. A week had passed since her arrival in Manchester Square, and already her duties seemed to be more burdensome than that of an overworked lady’s maid. She had to dance constant attendance on Amelia, who treated her with sugary sweetness in public and mocked her in private. Amelia delighted in shocking her well-bred companion, and there were many of the more sordid facts of life dinned into Constance’s red ears. Amelia had also found that her companion was an expert needlewoman; and noticing how skillfully the companion had altered certain dresses of Amelia’s for her own use, Amelia had plunged into an orgy of material buying, and poor Constance seemed to spend all her spare time sewing and stitching.

Constance enjoyed the visits to the theater or the opera the best, for in the darkness at the back of the box, she found she could catch up on some much needed sleep. The servants were frightened of Mrs. Besant and therefore treated the new companion with wary respect. She was elegantly dressed and well-fed for the first time since the death of her father, but she would gladly have changed it all for the strict rule of Maria Lamberton. On each social occasion, she had to suffer Amelia’s patronizing introductions, “Oh, this is a poor little relative of mine—old Edward Lamberton’s girl, you know—I couldn’t let her
starve
, my dears.”

Constance had also come to dread the presence of the Comte Duval who would pay court to Amelia, while all the while his snapping black eyes would watch Constance like a cat watching a mouse. Amelia encouraged the comte shamelessly to bolder gallantries, enjoying Constance’s very obvious discomfort.

One evening after the opera, it almost seemed as if the comte would stay the night, but Amelia had at last stopped his love-making and had said with a light laugh, “You must go, my dear Pierre. I am become respectable, you see, and plan to marry soon,” and then had laughed at the comte’s startled face. “Not you, stupid. I plan to wed Cautry.”

“Cautry!” Duval had sneered. “He will never have you!”

“Oh, but he will,” Amelia had mocked, her eyes swivelling to look at Constance who was sitting looking as uncomfortable as a gooseberry usually feels. “I have a plan, you see…”

Constance now wondered just what that plan was. She knew that Amelia planned to meet Philip Cautry that very evening. Amelia had dressed with great care for the occasion in a dress of spider gauze held with diamond clasps over an underdress of palest pink silk. The diamond pendant from Mrs. Besant burned at her throat and long diamond drops ornamented her tiny ears. She wore a magnificent fairy-tale tiara atop her heavy fair hair. Constance privately thought her mistress a trifle overdressed for such an occasion, but Amelia seemed thoroughly pleased with the dazzling picture she presented. Constance was demurely dressed in an old rose silk gown of Amelia’s, which had pretty puffed sleeves and three deep vandyked flounces at the hem.

Her only ornament was a seed pearl necklace belonging to her late mother, and her thick black hair was braided in a coronet on top of her small head. Regular feeding had added some much needed flesh to her slight form and, had Amelia not been so ridiculously vain, she would have noticed that her companion was becoming unsuitably pretty. But Mrs. Besant had noticed, and had rubbed her hands in glee. Constance’s well-bred air made Amelia appear rather overblown and showy by contrast, and Mrs. Besant did so hope that Lord Philip Cautry would notice that contrast.

The carriage drew up at last in front of a very elegant mansion in Berkeley Square.

Lady Eleanor stood at the top of the steps leading to the blue saloon and watched Amelia moving up the red-carpeted stairs towards her. She gave the infuriated Amelia a mere two fingers to shake and then turned her frosty glare on the figure of Constance. “And who is this?” she demanded.

“My companion, Miss Lamberton,” murmured Amelia. “You know, old Edward Lamberton’s girl. Absolutely starving and no home of her own. I had to take her in. It was the least I could do.”

“Indeed!” Lady Eleanor glared awfully at Constance who blushed miserably and wondered what she had done to offend. She did not know that Lady Eleanor blamed Sir Edward Lamberton for introducing her young brother, Philip, to all the wild and rakish sports that she so much deplored.

“Indeed!” she said again. “Then I am afraid Miss… er… Lamberton will need to wait in some anteroom. I was not expecting you to bring anyone, Lady Godolphin, and I only have space in the saloon for the guests who were
invited
.”

“Oh, very well,” shrugged Amelia. “Put her where you will.” And without turning to see whether anyone was taking care of Constance, she sailed on into the blue saloon.

Lady Eleanor half turned and summoned Mr. Evans with an imperious wave of her hand. “Ah, Mr. Evans, this is Miss Lamberton. We do not have a chair for her at the
musicale
, so please put her in some room to wait until the entertainment is over.”

“Very good, madam,” beamed Mr. Evans. He thought Lady Eleanor had said “Miss Limrighton,” and that Lady Eleanor was helping with the plot. He would put her in the library and send Lord Philip to her!

Constance, who had been feeling miserable over the coldness of her reception, brightened considerably under Mr. Evans’s care. At least here was someone who seemed absolutely delighted to see her. He ushered her into the library, rang for a footman, and demanded that a selection of the
best
of the supper be brought in along with a bottle of champagne.

“I shall leave you now, Miss Limrighton,” he said, bowing low, after he had seen all her wants attended to.

Constance gave him a dazzling smile, and Mr. Evans went off to wait in the hall to waylay Lord Philip Cautry. Who would have thought old Ma Rider would have picked out such a lovely girl, thought Mr. Evans disrespectfully. At least Lord Philip would be pleased. Now, there was a man with an eye for a well-turned ankle.

Left alone in front of the library fire, Constance ate an excellent supper, her appetite seeming still to be enormous. She looked doubtfully at the, as yet, untouched bottle of champagne. She had not taken any wine during her stay in London, remembering her aunt’s strictures about it stinging like the adder and biting like the serpent. But she suddenly felt a small spark of rebellion. No one was here to see her. It would be discourteous not to drink any. She would just take one glass. How amusing that Mr. Evans had called her Miss Limrighton! She wondered if he was in the habit of mistaking people’s names. The champagne tasted refreshingly innocuous.

She looked around the library with a sudden pleasant feeling of well-being. A small pile of books with marbled covers lay on a table beside her. She idly picked one up and then let it drop. Novels! Constance had never read a novel—had never been allowed to read a novel. She drank another glass of champagne and warily picked it up. It was called
Cecilia
. She idly glanced at the first paragraph, looked closer, read—and then was lost in a dazzling world of fiction.

Down below, Mr. Evans paced uneasily up and down the hallway. Lord Philip Cautry had not yet arrived and the
musicale
had begun, the high sexless voice of the male soprano echoing through the glittering rooms of the mansion.

He was just about to give up hope—Lady Eleanor had already done so—when the door was opened and Lord Philip Cautry strolled in.

“Evening, Evans,” he remarked to the hovering secretary as the butler relieved him of his cloak and chapeau-bras. “I have arrived at last, you see. Is my sister very angry?”

“Well, yes,” smiled Mr. Evans. “She had decided that you were not going to come.”

“Well, I am here at last and prepared to suffer the caterwauling. Lead the way.”

Mr. Evans eyed him nervously. His lordship seemed in an unusually good humor. His normally harsh features were softened in a pleasant smile of unusual sweetness.

Mr. Evans plucked up his courage. “There
is
a little problem, my lord. There is this young lady, a Miss Limrighton, in the library and Lady Eleanor
commanded
me to arrange that you should meet this lady.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” drawled his lordship. “Well, I ain’t passing the evening with any Friday-faced, simpering miss of my sister’s choice. Odd’s life, Evans, you should know better than that.”

“Just so,” pleaded poor Mr. Evans. “But I have been
commanded
, my lord.” He looked up into Lord Philip’s face like a whipped spaniel and his lordship sighed. Lord Philip could never bear to see anyone weak being bullied.

“Very well,” he sighed. “I shall spend two seconds flat with her which means you will have fulfilled your part of the bargain.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Evans fervently. “Oh, thank you, thank you very much, th.…”

“Are you going to stand there all night thanking me?” demanded his lordship testily. “Go on, man. Let’s get it over with!”

Mr. Evans hurriedly led the way to the library and threw open the door. “Lord Philip Cautry,” he announced in a triumphant voice and, as Lord Philip walked passed him into the room, he gleefully closed the door behind him and ran off to tell Mr. Rider the glad news.

Lord Philip raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the young lady seated beside the fire. She was so engrossed in the pages of a book that she had not even heard him being announced or was aware that anyone else was in the room.

He strolled lazily over to the fireplace and stood looking down at her. Constance suddenly became aware of another presence and her eyes flew upward from the page and, with a frightened gasp, she let the book drop to the floor. She rose nervously to her feet and surveyed the man in front of her.

He was very tall with harsh, yet handsome features. He wore his black hair long and confined at the back of his neck by a thin, black silk ribbon. His evening coat appeared to have been moulded to his broad muscular shoulders. His cravat was a miracle of sculptured perfection, and diamonds sparkled on his shoe-buckles and on his long white fingers. His eyes were heavy-lidded and as green as grass. There was no flicker of brown or hazel to mar his emerald stare, which was catlike, unwinking and thoroughly unnerving.

Constance’s eyes flew to the closed door and she gasped. “Sir, we must observe the proprieties,” she said. “The door is closed and I am unchaperoned.”

“That,” he said coldly, “was, I gather, the idea, Miss Limrighton.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me Miss Limrighton?” said Constance. “My name is Lamberton, Constance Lamberton.”

“Not Sir Edward’s daughter?”

“Yes,” she said dutifully, “Sir Edward was my father, and Lady Amelia Godolphin has given me the post of a companion to her, which is very kind and generous of her ladyship because without her charity I would starve,” she ended thankfully with the air of a child successfully reciting a lesson.

“You amaze me,” he said coldly. “But it seems there is some mistake. Poor Evans. He always does make a mull of things. You see, my sister wished him to arrange for me to meet a certain Miss Limrighton in private with a view to fixing my interest. It appears he fixed on the wrong lady. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cautry, Lord Philip Cautry, at your service.”

Constance gave him a stricken look. “Oh, I feel sure neither your sister nor Lady Amelia would wish me to be alone with you.” She threw another anguished look at the closed door.

“Do not fuss so,” he said testily. “I am not in the habit of seducing virgins.”

“Why not?” asked Constance naively, the champagne suddenly rushing to her head and remembering all she had heard of the rakish Lord Philip. “You seem to seduce everything else.”

“Bite your tongue, miss,” admonished his lordship with an amused glance towards the champagne bottle. “Tell me instead how you came to have this post as companion.”

Constance was still wondering whether she had actually said the dreadful thing she thought she had just heard issuing from her own lips, but she marshalled her wits with a heroic effort and plunged into a long tale of the death of Aunt Maria and Lady Amelia’s letter. Then she put a faltering hand up to her forehead as the full effect of the champagne hit her. “I-I f-feel very faint,” she stammered. “It’s so hot in here.” She swayed and he caught her in his arms, looking down with amusement at the wide, magnificent hazel eyes which were staring dizzily up into his own, and despite himself he tightened his grip.

A faint seductive perfume came from the slight body in his arms and he realized with a slight shock that she smelled of soap. Extreme cleanliness in a female was a refreshing and exciting novelty, and it was only when she began to tremble slightly that he came to his senses and held her away from him.

“You are lucky, Miss Lamberton,” he said, “that I am used to dealing with slightly tipsy debutantes. Sit down and calm yourself. We shall talk together until you feel more the thing.”