A Sister's Secret (15 page)

‘So anyone not high and haughty would stand out as unusual? Have you noticed anyone unusual lately?’

‘No, sir, I ain’t.’ Betsy wriggled amorously. ‘But I noticed Mr Erzburger’s been unusual, going out regular every day and carrying a bag.’

‘That’s unusual, sweet puss?’ They were conversing in murmurs.

‘It be unusual for him, sir, him being haughtier sometimes than His Highness.’

‘Does he go out at the same time every day?’

‘Thereabouts, sir. Say near to four o’clock.’

‘Four o’clock. I fancy our Lord Chancellor would commend you for being an observant young beauty.’

‘Oh, I be a young beauty to you, sir?’

‘And observant. Thank you, Betsy.’

‘You be off now, sir? Without no kissing? You be a confusion to a girl, loving her with words but not kissing her, and I hardly mind you kissing me at all.’

Business being his first consideration, Captain Burnside said, ‘If I need to see you again, how shall I let you know?’

‘Oh, push a note under this door when the evening’s dark, sir, and I’ll look each night to see if it’s there. Just put day and time, sir, evening time, like tonight.’

‘You can read and write, pretty puss?’

Betsy pushed herself against him and murmured, ‘That I can, sir, or I wouldn’t be working in His Highness’s household, would I? Mr Erzburger be very particular about them kind of things. Best you buss me now, sir, before I die blushing.’

There were no blushes that Captain Burnside could see, but there was a lifted, pouting mouth, and a bosom that pushed. Since she was invaluable as a thinking young accomplice, when she might have been a muddle-headed one, he kissed her pursed lips, several times. Betsy sighed like a girl gently languishing, and her warm breath left moisture on his lips.

‘That wasn’t too confusing, I hope?’ he said.

‘It were terrible weakening on my knees, sir, being so pleasuring. I don’t know how I could say no if you asked me to visit you in your lodgings, but I dare say you’d treat me fair with the presents you’d give me.’

He murmured with laughter and kissed her again. Betsy shivered with delight.

‘There, saucy puss, take that to bed with you.’

‘Oh, you be a rare pleasuring gentleman, sir, with the way you kiss, and if you wanted to set me up and be my
regular gentleman, I can’t think how I could bring myself to say no.’

‘Egad, that’s an enchanting proposition, Betsy, but an honest fellow must consider the feelings of his wife.’

‘Oh, you needn’t tell her, sir,’ whispered Betsy eagerly, ‘for I won’t, nor ever would.’

‘Not a word to anyone, Betsy, about anything, or the Lord Chancellor would lay the axe on our necks himself.’

‘I be able to hold my tongue, sir, for I couldn’t abide having my head chopped off, nor being hanged till I’m dead.’

‘Well, it’s unpleasant, being dead when one is so young. So?’

‘Yes, sir, I know. Not a word to no one.’

‘Splendid puss. Goodnight.’

Captain Burnside slipped quietly away, knowing the golden guineas ensured her discretion, since she would be hoping for more. And why not? The labourer was worthy of his hire. He was worthy himself.

Betsy was left sighing. She had never known a gentleman more pleasuring.

Arriving back at Lady Caroline’s house, Captain Burnside found her still up. Mr Wingrove had departed, and Annabelle, who had found the evening lacking sparkle, retired to dream of how determined she would be with the Duke of Cumberland tomorrow. Captain Burnside had given her so much confidence in herself that she imagined the impossible. She imagined she could be Cumberland’s equal in sophistication.

Caroline, reclining in languorous comfort on a long gilt Louis XIV sofa, upholstered in Cambridge blue, looked
up from the book she was reading. Her gown was a vivid crimson against the blue of the sofa, its hem hitched. Around her silken-hosed calves, a froth of snowy white petticoats peeped. The lacy flounces of her pantaloons flirted with the froth of the petticoats.

Captain Burnside coughed and lifted his eyes to the ornamental ceiling.

Caroline regarded him coolly. ‘You have condescended to return?’ she said.

‘I have returned, marm. I ain’t given to condescension, except if it’s a professional requirement.’

‘You, sir, in your impudence, can be more condescending than any man I know. Is something wrong with my ceiling?’

‘Nothing at all, marm. It’s an embellishment of gracious splendour.’

‘Really?’ Caroline, after an evening that had been annoyingly unsatisfactory, found herself quickening to the challenge of confrontation with her wretched hireling. ‘Is that why you are staring at it?’

‘It’s a work of art, marm. Yet there are prettier spectacles.’

‘Such as, sir?’

‘Ah,’ said Captain Burnside obliquely.

‘Speak, sir. Your tongue is usually facile enough to keep you from mumbling.’

‘Perhaps, marm, you’ll give me leave to retire?’

‘No, Captain Burnside, I will not,’ said Caroline in the firm manner she adopted whenever it was necessary to let him know hers was the right to command. ‘I require from you an explanation for your absence. Heavens, do stop looking at the ceiling. Show me your face, sir, for I suspect a shiftiness in you at this moment.’

Captain Burnside looked at her. It was impossible not to notice how her garments softly traced the lines of
her body and the long length of her legs. And her silk-stockinged calves and lacy flounces were indeed the prettiest of spectacles. He coughed again.

‘Faith,’ he said, ‘at this moment, marm, shiftiness apart, I can see that a ceiling is only a ceiling.’

‘Are you drunk, sir?’ she asked.

‘Slightly intoxicated, I confess, but not from London gin or French wine,’ said the captain, and coughed yet again.

‘Fiddlesticks,’ said Caroline, surprising herself in her enjoyment of the dialogue. She sat up, and noticed her hitched gown and her peeping petticoats. She did not blush. She gave Captain Burnside the coolest of looks. He raised his eyes to the ceiling again.

‘Ridiculous wretch,’ she said, ‘are you trying to make me believe you have never seen a petticoat before?’

‘Oh, I’ve seen a hundred, marm, and quite a few pretty pantaloons, but …’ He coughed a fourth time.

‘But, sir, but?’

‘I ain’t ever clapped my eyes on the petticoats and pantaloons of a lady patron before. You’ll forgive me, marm?’

‘So, you have another talent, have you, Captain Burnside? A talent for pretending coyness? That is hardly much of a talent in a man.’ Caroline slipped her feet to the floor. A little smile showed itself. Now why should that happen, why should she smile? She frowned. ‘We will dispense with the absurd, sir. Where have you been, and what was the business that took you out? I am entitled to know, I think, since I believe I have exclusive use of your services and your time at present.’

Captain Burnside observed the chandelier that cast light over her dark auburn hair and tinted it with fire. Her magnificence was unquestionable. Cumberland would never find a German duchess to equal Lady Clarence Percival, eligible widow.

‘Oh, an appointment with Betsy, our pretty go-between at Cumberland’s town house—’

‘I thought so!’ Her interruption was fierce. If she could not understand why she had smiled at his ridiculous behaviour over her petticoats, even less could she understand why she felt so angry over his meeting with some flighty maidservant called Betsy. ‘How dare you conduct one of your disgraceful intrigues when you are wholly committed to my employ?’

‘Gently, marm …’

‘Gently, sir, gently? How dare you!’ Flushed, she was more magnificent.

‘The point, marm, is that servants gossip. One never knows just how much useful information one can extract from a sweet creature eager to see the glint of a golden guinea—’

‘And to be kissed, no doubt, and fondled!’ Again her interruption was fierce. ‘You are disgusting, Captain Burnside, disgusting.’

‘Only in a professional way, marm,’ he said placatingly, and her green eyes burned. ‘Servants can put one in touch with appointments, and you’ll agree, I’m sure, that it would be useful indeed to know in advance any appointments Annabelle might have arranged with Cumberland.’

‘Very well, I will concede that,’ said Caroline, but was still flushed, still angry, and perplexingly so to herself. ‘But Annabelle, infatuated though she is, would never arrange a clandestine appointment with Cumberland, not while she is hoping he’ll marry her.’

‘My own feeling, marm, is that one can never be sure what infatuated ladies will get up to.’

‘My sister does not get up to anything.’

‘I thought, marm, that the reason you hired me was because you were afraid she would.’

‘I am afraid of what might eventually happen because of Cumberland’s lack of all decency.’

‘Well, sweet Betsy—’

‘Must you, sir? She reads like a flirtatious baggage to me.’

‘Quite so, marm. However, she had no knowledge of anything relating to Annabelle. I thought it worth a question or two, without, of course, naming your sister. With all respect, marm, may I ask how you yourself truly see the Duke of Cumberland?’

‘See him?’

‘He has a devilish fascination for many ladies,’ said the captain.

‘He has none for me, sir. I consider him close to a reincarnation of Caligula.’

‘You’d not, then, favourably regard a proposal of marriage from him?’

‘That royal rake? How dare you! You are surpassing yourself tonight, and coming close to a slap on your face. Dismiss from your mind, sir, any thought that I would marry Cumberland for any reason at all. I despise rakes, philanderers and all other men who are dissolute and promiscuous. I despise you, sir.’

‘Well, so you do, marm, and not without cause, but it ain’t likely you’ll require to marry me any more than—’

Caroline delivered the threatened slap, and stingingly. Captain Burnside received it manfully, rubbed his cheek and eyed her in rueful fashion.

‘Leave my house, sir,’ she said stormily, ‘your commission is at an end. If my secretary is still up, ask him to bestow a shilling on you. That shall be your quittance money.’

‘Very well, marm, but before I go, allow me to give you this.’ He extracted the letter he had come by with professional ease, and handed it to her.

‘What is this?’ she asked.

‘The letter,’ said Captain Burnside.

‘The letter?’ She gazed at the folded sheet of crisp paper as if it were an irrelevance. She was still too furious to comprehend, her gown still rustling from the angry vibrations of her body. It took long seconds for her mind to clear and for the impossible to dawn. ‘Captain Burnside?’ she breathed throatily.

‘I fancy you’ll find it’s the one Lady Russell has been so anxious about, though I assure you I ain’t read it.’

Incredulous, she opened up the letter. She glanced at the handwriting, with which she was familiar, and at the signature, the single letter ‘H’. Just as incredulous, she looked at Captain Burnside. He gave a nod that was both confirmatory and reassuring.

‘Am I to believe …?’ For once she faltered. Her bosom surged as extreme emotion engulfed her.

‘You may believe, marm, in a venture accomplished,’ said the captain. ‘That is, one half of it.’

In her emotion, born of the breathless wonder of knowing he had secured for her the means to deliver Hester from her anguish, moisture rushed to her eyes. Agitatedly, she turned her back on him, hiding her weakness.

‘Captain Burnside, I …’ Again she faltered.

‘Quite so, marm. I’ll go up to my room and pack.’

‘No, you will not,’ she breathed, ‘you will stay, I beg. Captain Burnside, how can I ever thank you? I declare myself in shame to have been so angry with you. Forgive me, please.’

‘The slap? Deserved, marm, deserved.’

‘No – oh, perhaps it was. But if you’re an unconscionable rogue, you have redeemed yourself in a way I cannot put words to. You have no idea what the return of this letter
to Lady Russell will mean to her. She will be overjoyed. Captain Burnside?’ She turned and faced him, and he saw the glitter of wetness in her eyes. She extended her hand. He lifted it to his lips. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, striving to regain control of herself. It was not to be. She was too overwhelmed, too sensitively conscious that he had returned her furious slap with a gesture entirely breathtaking. Unable to say more, she picked up her skirts and made blindly for the door. Interceding, he opened it for her and she rushed out.

‘H’m,’ said Captain Burnside thoughtfully. She had omitted to ask him how he had procured the letter. Perhaps that was just as well. He would have had to mention the sweet puss Betsy again, and she had taken a fierce dislike to Betsy.

Caroline, her mind clamorous with the glad tidings she was going to bring to Hester, did not get to sleep for hours. Consequently, she awoke late and took a late breakfast in bed. Afterwards, her toilet finished, she dressed herself in radiant primrose and descended to the drawing room in search of her hireling. Annabelle, about to go shopping, informed her that Charles had gone to keep an appointment.

‘What appointment, pray?’ asked Caroline, feeling she was suffering a setback. She had intended to take the captain aside, speak graciously to him and ask questions of him.

‘He did not say,’ smiled Annabelle, aware that her sister had clothed herself in radiance. ‘But perhaps it’s to do with regimental matters, for I dare say we cannot expect him to be permanently on leave, can we? I shall be quite put out when he’s recalled. He is of all things a sweetly entertaining man.’

‘I’m happy to hear you say so,’ said Caroline.

‘Alas, dear sister, that he’s not here to see you looking like a morning goddess.’

‘Ridiculous child,’ said Caroline. ‘I am lunching with Lady Wingrove and Mr Wingrove.’

‘How enchanting for Mr Wingrove,’ murmured Annabelle, drawing on her gloves. ‘How boring for you.’

‘Boring? Mr Wingrove is the most agreeable gentleman in London.’

‘Mercy me,’ said Annabelle, ‘is he to be my new brother-in-law?’ She floated out, laughing.

‘That, Your Grace, is as much as I know at present,’ said Captain Burnside to the imposing, dignified-looking gentleman who stood with his back to an empty fireplace, hands behind him.