When the Devil Drives (6 page)

‘One of them being the contessa's friend?'

‘Yes. She considers herself engaged to the gentleman.'

‘And he thinks otherwise?'

‘I understand that his father will not allow it. He comes from one of the highest families in Saxe Coburg.'

‘And a beautiful contessa isn't considered good enough?'

‘For them, no.'

‘And what about the gentleman himself? Has he just said “very well, papa” and abandoned her?'

He laughed. It rang round the room and made the footmen glance up at us. ‘You look as if you're prepared to go into battle on her behalf.'

‘No. But I'm certainly not prepared to go into battle against her.'

‘You think that's what I want, Miss Lane?'

‘I assume I'm being asked to befriend her and find out things this gentleman can use against her if she makes life embarrassing for him. The answer's no.'

‘That isn't what I'm asking. Quite the reverse.'

I was on the point of standing up to leave, but the way he said it kept me in my chair. His voice was quiet and sad. ‘Her friends are concerned that she may harm herself by doing something desperate. We want to prevent that at all costs.'

‘So you're not representing the gentleman in the case?'

‘No. It's her we care about.'

‘When you say she might do something desperate, what do you mean?'

‘She's determined to confront the man. When she heard that he'd be visiting England with the two princes, she immediately moved to London. I don't think she realized that the party would be staying at Windsor and how difficult it would be for her to see him. But she's a remarkably determined lady and has her own sources of information.'

‘So her friends are concerned that she might jump out from behind a bush in Windsor Park and throw herself at his feet? Is that likely?'

‘Something like that happened yesterday, Miss Lane. Only it was here in London, not at Windsor. That's why I decided to speak to you.'

I'd spoken lightly and his quiet reply seemed a reproach. ‘What happened?'

‘Prince Ernest and his brother had travelled up from Windsor to make a private visit to the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester at Gloucester House in Park Lane. The gentleman was accompanying them. The visit had not been announced in advance but somehow the contessa knew about it. When the party came out of Gloucester House, she was waiting by their carriage. Before anybody could do anything, she approached the gentleman and tried to thrust a note into his hand.'

‘What happened?'

‘People from the prince's retinue restrained her. The carriage drove away. To onlookers, it probably seemed no more than a case of a young woman overexcited by the presence of royalty.'

‘And you want me to stop her trying anything like that again?

‘Yes. At least, I want you to become her confidante, so that you can give me warning of anything she intends to do.'

‘Are the princes and their friends staying in England long?'

‘Six weeks. I'm quite certain she'll try again. She's becoming desperate and probably sees this as her last throw.'

‘Desperate?'

‘She's running out of money. She's sold all her serious jewels and is deeply in debt.'

I wondered fleetingly what it would feel like to live in circles where a spray of diamonds was not even counted as serious. Mr Clyde went on talking, dropping his voice so low that it was scarcely more than caressing the air. ‘Then there's a commodity even more important and fleeting than money.'

‘What?'

‘Beauty, Miss Lane. You're too young to have known this, but the contessa is approaching the age where she might be described as “still” beautiful. You'll understand, for a lady like her, there's a deathly cold sound in that “still”.'

The way he said it made me shiver too. I could see that he noticed.

‘So why do you need my services in particular?' I said.

‘Because I've heard about your resourcefulness and discretion. I believe you may win her confidence.'

‘Why? I can't see many things we have in common.'

‘She has few friends in London. She needs to find a foothold in society as soon as possible.'

‘I should be a very poor foothold. Besides, it looks as if she's doing very well on her own account.'

‘By being here this evening and letting men admire her? She needs more than that. She has five and a half weeks to find an entrée into the circles where the princes and their party move.'

‘But he'll be at court, won't he?'

‘Mostly, yes. She needs an introduction to court circles.'

‘Then I'm quite the wrong person. Even if I had any ambition to move in court circles, which I most certainly have not, I'm sure I'd never figure in Victoria's guest list.'

‘But the contessa doesn't know that.'

‘I'm sure she'd very soon find out. I suspect there's a shrewd brain there, under the . . .' I hesitated. He supplied the word for me.

‘Silliness? You're right. I'm not suggesting you should pose as somebody high in court circles, but unless I'm misinformed, you're clever enough to drop a hint or two that you know people who are.'

I still hesitated, knowing from experience how bad it felt to make somebody your friend for reasons other than friendship. Mr Clyde seemed to sense that.

‘You'd be helping her. If she continues in this way, she may do serious damage to her reputation.'

‘It sounds as if it's pretty badly damaged already.'

‘Or even her freedom,' he said.

I stared at him. ‘Are you hinting that they'd have her locked up?'

‘Stranger things have happened.'

The flatness of his reply brought me up short. Yes, stranger things had happened. A touchy but well-connected little dukedom might have enough power to keep her locked in some comfortable asylum until the light in those sea-violet eyes had faded to sludge. He saw his advantage and pressed it.

‘Miss Lane, if she can be stopped in time and made to realize the seriousness of her position, she might be saved from making a wreck of her life. I know there's a tolerant and well-born gentleman who would be more than willing to marry her at a moment's notice, in spite of everything.'

I looked at him, thinking, I understood now. I had very little doubt that the tolerant and well born gentleman who wanted to marry her was sitting beside me. A small spark of jealousy, of a woman who could be loved so much, flared and died in my sympathy for him.

‘I'll try to befriend her, if that's possible.' I said. ‘How am I supposed to set about it?'

He smiled, the brown eyes bright now that he'd got his way. Still, an attractive smile for all that, with just a hint of teasing in it.

‘An appointment has been made for you at Madame Leman's, at eleven thirty the day after tomorrow.'

He took it for granted that he didn't need to explain. Madame Leman was currently the most fashionable dressmaker in London. Nobody ranking lower than a countess, a famous beauty or a royal duke's mistress could count on admission to her salon in Piccadilly. Even if I'd wanted to be one of her clientele, which I didn't, her prices were far out of my reach.

‘I have my own dressmaker,' I said.

In fact, an ingenious lady's maid with an enthusiasm for the latest modes, making some pin money in her spare time.

‘I'm sure a lady can always use a new gown,' he said.

I felt his eyes on the silk facings on my bodice, then sliding down my sleek velvet skirt to my feet in their wrong-coloured shoes. I drew them under the hem of my skirt, feeling myself blush.

‘Of course, the bill will be met,' he murmured.

I fought to keep the blush down, playing over a few cool bars of the Beethoven in my mind.

‘The contessa has an appointment for the same time,' he said. ‘These little slips will occur sometimes, won't they?'

He looked into my eyes. Although he hadn't stirred in his chair by as much as a feather's width, I felt as if he'd suddenly come much closer to me. We were conspirators.

‘How am I to get word to you?' I said.

‘Your maid will carry messages.'

‘My maid?'

‘Yes. Suzette, at your rooms at number four, Grosvenor Street.'

I stared, thinking he must have mistaken me for somebody else.

‘The contessa has rented a house just round the corner in Grosvenor Square,' he said. ‘You'll be nicely within calling distance.'

‘As it happens, my real home is within calling distance too,' I said.

His smile said two things that didn't need words: he already knew where I lived, and the delicate contessa should not be expected to set foot among the cobbles and chicken droppings of Abel Yard.

‘You might care to call at number four tomorrow,' he said. ‘I hope you'll find everything to your liking. Now, if I may escort you home.'

He stood up, offering me his arm. I stayed sitting. ‘Thank you. I shall see myself home.'

He didn't insist and simply bowed his head and wished me good evening. I gave him five minutes' start then followed him into the hall, where a yawning footman was waiting with my cloak folded over his arm.

‘Has madam a carriage waiting or shall I call a cab?'

I said there was no need, thank you, and walked into the drizzling dark. Defiant both of Mr Clyde's courtesy and Mrs Martley's superstitions, I walked home, seeing nothing more alarming than the usual drunkards, several carriages of people bound for late dinners and a pair of police constables leaning against railings and smoking clay pipes, in defiance of the regulations. At home, Mrs Martley had already retired to her bedroom. I took off my cloak and gloves, stirred up the embers of the fire and found pen and inkwell.

The Disraelis lived in his new wife's house, just round the corner and facing onto Park Lane. A man so avid of news and gossip would certainly have made arrangements for forwarding mail. If I were lucky, I might even receive a reply within two weeks or so. By then, I'd probably be too deeply in to draw back, but for the present it was the best I could do.

FOUR

E
arly in the morning, I went for my usual ride with Amos Legge. He had my mare Rancie waiting for me in the yard when I came down and as usual my heart rose at the sight of them and the sound of Amos's soft Herefordshire voice wishing me good morning. If Amos Legge and Rancie were not in my world, then it might stop turning. We crossed the road into the park and cantered along the carriageway, Amos riding a big skittish liver chestnut. When we slowed to a walk, we talked about the disappearing Miss Dora Tilbury. I always discussed my cases with him when I could, partly for his robust country common-sense, but more for his knowledge of fashionable London. In not much more than two years in the capital, he'd become one of London's best-known grooms. Sporting gentlemen respected him for his skill. He could sit on a horse that even crack riders from the cavalry regiments had rejected as uncontrollable and make it see reason by sheer persistence and a calm refusal to be thrown. He was never cruel, wouldn't wear spurs and carried a whip only for show. His wages at the livery stables in the Bayswater Road where he worked were supplemented by some high-class horse dealing. A gentleman might describe his new horse as ‘one of Legge's', just as he'd drop the name of his Burlington Arcade boot or glove maker.

As for ladies – friendships had been broken by quarrels among female customers of the livery stables over whose turn it was to ride in the park with Legge as groom. Skill in horsemanship mattered to them too, only not so much as his height of six and a half feet, his broad shoulders and blue eyes. To have Amos Legge riding behind her in his faultless riding clothes and black top hat with a silver cockade complemented a lady's outfit very well. Often he'd be invited to come up alongside and chat. Amos loved gossip. He was careful about passing it on and listened more than he talked, but he had a way of listening that always made a story seem better. As long as the world moved around on hooves, Amos would be at the centre of things.

He agreed with my theory about Miss Tilbury.

‘I'm not sure how far I trust that Braintree coach driver,' I said.

‘You think he might have seen her go off with a man and been paid to keep quiet?'

‘Yes. Or even that a man was with her in the coach all the way from Boreham and he'd been paid to keep quiet about that.'

‘I'll ask a few people about him, if you like,' Amos said.

I was grateful for that. Aldersgate was a long way from Hyde Park, but the horse world spread a broad network.

‘If they wanted to get away quickly, they'd probably have gone in a cab,' Amos added.

‘Yes, I thought that. A pity.'