Finessing Clarissa (11 page)

‘In the direction of the window?’ asked the earl.

‘Why, yes. But I am not quite clear in my mind. Suddenly there was this roaring sheet of flame and you know the rest.’

‘Yes, I do know the rest,’ said the earl, obviously furious.

Amy got to her feet and stood between the earl and Clarissa. ‘Careful, my lord,’ she said quietly. ‘Miss Vevian is at the end of her tether as it is.’

‘And I am at the end of mine,’ he raged. ‘Do you not see what happened? No, of course not. How can you? Angela had been plaguing me to buy new furnishings for the drawing room, which she regards as her preserve. I refused. I think she soaked the floorboards and curtains in oil and then staged that so-called accident. It shames me to tell you this, ladies. Miss Vevian, I beg you to forgive me, or rather to forgive my wretched family.’ He moved round Amy and knelt in front of Clarissa and looked into her tearful face.

‘You mean I am not responsible?’ asked Clarissa.

‘No, Miss Vevian. You are the victim of a malicious plot.’

Clarissa started to smile, a wide happy smile.

He got to his feet. ‘Excuse me, ladies,’ he said. ‘I must see my relatives immediately.’

He went out and closed the door. There was a long silence.

Then, ‘Hurray!’ cried Amy, slumping down in a chair and kicking off her shoes. ‘Champagne! Get Harris and bring champagne. My dear Clarissa, I may call you that, may I not? My dear, dear Clarissa, the bad days are over for you. We shall drink to your success at the Season. Think, my chuck, in all your misspent life, you must admit you have never done anything half as bad as the Dowager Countess of Greystone.’

Harris brought in champagne. The three ladies raised their glasses. ‘To the best Season the Tribbles ever had!’ cried Amy.

They solemnly drank the toast while from above came the sound of noisy weeping and the Earl of Greystone’s voice raised in anger.

O never let the lying poets be believed,
who ’tice men from the cheerful haunts
of streets . . . A garden was the
primitive prison till man with
promethean felicity and boldness
luckily sinned himself out of it. Thence
followed Babylon, Nineveh, Venice,
London, haberdashers, goldsmiths,
taverns, playhouses, satires, epigrams,
puns – these all came in on the town
part and thither side of innocence.

Charles Lamb

Sir Jason Pym heard about the fire, as did everyone else in the West End of London. He strolled past the earl’s house the next day and saw squads of workmen and servants already busy cleaning up the mess.

By gossiping to various aristocratic passers-by, he was able to learn that Clarissa and the Tribbles had been guests of the earl’s, and that the earl and his family had been taken to reside with the Tribbles in Holles Street.

He felt his luck was in. Some way and somehow, Clarissa had not discovered those papers. Now that Bella was in the same household, it should surely be easy to persuade her to get them for him.

Sir Jason’s one chink in his selfish armour was to believe himself irresistible to women. Bella had sent him a pathetic little note the day before to say how much she missed him and how terribly harsh she thought the earl’s behaviour was. She begged him to meet her in St James’s Park at three o’clock tomorrow – now today. Blinded by vanity, Sir Jason did not realize that Bella was fickle and that she would probably have spurned him had not her brother’s interference added a necessary spice of intrigue to the liaison.

He dressed in his dandified best, from high starched collar to gleaming boots and clouded cane, and waited in the park at the spot where the dairymaids sold fresh milk, which was where Bella had said she would meet him.

Promptly at three o’clock, he saw her hurrying towards him. He recognized her figure, for Bella, alive to the dramatics of the situation, was heavily veiled. Bella flicked a gloved hand at her maid to indicate the woman was to make herself scarce for a short while.

‘I am glad you are safe,’ said Sir Jason in what he prided himself was a voice throbbing with passion. ‘I heard about the fire.’

Bella put back her veil. ‘The most horrid thing,’ she said. ‘It was all the fault of that great lummox, Clarissa Vevian. She set her scarf alight and in doing so set the whole drawing room burning. Crispin then accused me and Mama of having deliberately engineered the fire so as to get the drawing room refurbished. He is a monster! He is not even in love with this Miss Vevian, for I observed them closely. He is sorry for her.’

‘Why is he sorry for her, my heart?’ asked Sir Jason. ‘She is a very rich young lady of good family.’

‘She is notoriously clumsy and endangers the life and limb of all who come near her. That is why she has been sent to the Tribbles for schooling. They are an odd frowsty couple, terribly old. Mama is to try to persuade Crispin to let us go to a hotel until the town house is ready. She will find it difficult, for he has employed builders and carpenters and decorators to work night and day and says he expects the house to be habitable again in a week.’

‘My poor crushed blossom,’ said Sir Jason huskily. ‘Would I had the right to protect you. Would I could make you mine.’

Bella thought it was all very romantic. She fluttered her eyelashes at him and sighed. ‘Alas, that can never be so.’

‘My heart is breaking!’ cried Sir Jason, putting a white hand to his enamelled brow.

Bella quite warmed to him. He was behaving just as he ought. ‘Dear Sir Jason,’ she said, allowing him to press her hand, ‘I wish there was something I could do to alleviate your pain.’

‘There is, my life, a trifling service it might be easy to perform for me.’

‘And what is that, sir?’

‘A servant of mine, a thief, had taken some of my belongings and was hiding out at an inn. Miss Vevian stopped at that inn on her road to London. The authorities came to search for my wicked servant and he hid my belongings in various rooms about the inn and made his escape. All things belonging to me were recovered except for a packet of love letters. I caught the fellow myself and got him to confess. He said he hid the letters in the bottom of Miss Vevian’s jewel box.’

‘Then you have only to ask her for them,’ said Bella pettishly. Love letters, indeed. Men in love with Bella were not supposed ever to have been in love with anyone else.

‘I cannot trust her not to read them,’ he said, ‘but I can trust you’ – which all went to show what a bad judge of character Sir Jason was when he thought some female was besotted with him.

‘What are these love letters?’ asked Bella.

‘I had an indiscreet affair with a certain royal personage. She wrote me passionate letters. It would ruin her if they were found. The packet is stitched tightly closed. It is an oilskin packet.’

Bella looked at him with cold eyes. The nerve of the man. To drag her out to this dingy park – Bella had forgotten it was she who had suggested the meeting – and to tell her lies about letters from some royal person! They were probably from some tart like Harriet Wilson and he wanted to destroy them. To dare to ask
her
to get back his love letters when he was supposed to be in love with her!

She dropped her veil. ‘I must go,’ she said, turning away.

‘But the letters?’

‘I suggest you ask Miss Vevian for them yourself,’ said Bella huffily. ‘You had better not come near me again. Crispin would not like it.’

She summoned her maid and tripped off down one of the walks, leaving him glaring after her.

Sir Jason walked up and down the park for some time, fretting and fuming. Then he remembered his latest recruit and his face lightened. Young Lord Sandford was the answer. None but Sir Crispin knew how badly in debt the young man was. He was handsome, of good family, and had a charming manner. He had lazily said he would do anything at all for money. He should start to pay off his debts by dancing attendance on Clarissa.

Clarissa was searching in her jewel box for a set of clasps to give to Yvette to put on a dress. Her fingers touched the oilskin packet at the bottom, but it was a large packet that exactly fitted the bottom of the jewel box and so she thought it was some sort of padding her maid had put there.

Bella appeared in the doorway of Clarissa’s bed-chamber. ‘Found anything?’ she asked.

‘I am looking for some sapphire clasps,’ said Clarissa. ‘I think I must have left them at home.’

‘I suppose you hide your love letters in there,’ teased Bella, moving into the room and looking down curiously at the contents of the box. ‘There is nothing in here but jewellery,’ said Clarissa. ‘I am not fortunate enough to have love letters.’

‘Were there ever any love letters in that box?’ pursued Bella.

‘There never were and there are certainly none here now. See for yourself,’ said Clarissa crossly. She raked aside the jewels. The oilskin packet was black and so Bella thought she was seeing the bottom of the box.

‘I was only funning,’ she said. ‘You should be grateful I am speaking to you at all, after the way you behaved.’

‘Lord Greystone is convinced the fire was not due to my clumsiness,’ said Clarissa.

‘Well, he
would
say that, would he not?’ said Bella, her eyes bright with malice. ‘He always did have a penchant for lame ducks.’

‘I am not a lame duck!’ cried Clarissa.

‘Oh, no? Then why are you with the Tribbles? In any case, Crispin has better fish to fry. He has taken Chloris Deveney and her mother driving.’

‘Then I trust he enjoys a pleasant outing. Do go away, Lady Bella. You do not like me one bit, so don’t waste my time by trying to goad me.’

‘Tut, tut. Temper, temper. Chloris is divinely fair, is she not?’

Clarissa looked ready to throw something, so Bella nipped quickly from the room.

So that’s that, thought Clarissa. He is fond of me as he would be fond of a stray dog. I wish this Season were over. Mama and Papa must come to terms with my spinsterdom.

Clarissa did not know that the ambitious widow, Mrs Deveney, had been promenading up and down Holles Street with Chloris until they saw the earl emerge. Mrs Deveney had begged him to drive them to Pall Mall, saying her carriage was being repaired.

She went down to the drawing room to see Amy and ask when her lessons, which had been cancelled for that day, were to be resumed.

Not only was Amy in the drawing room, but Effy, Mr Haddon, Mr Randolph . . . and Lady Angela.

Angela was sitting in the middle of the sofa with a gentleman on either side. Mr Randolph was carding wool for her while Mr Haddon was pouring tea. Amy and Effy stood forgotten by the window.

Clarissa cast them a quick look of understanding sympathy and then went to stand in front of Angela. ‘Lady Angela,’ she said, ‘you must not embarrass our poor guests by making them work.’ She deftly lifted the wool from Mr Randolph’s fingers. He rose and bowed and went to join Amy and Effy. ‘And Mr Haddon. I am perfectly able to pour tea as well as to card,’ said Clarissa.

In a fury, Angela watched Mr Haddon escape as well. Clarissa smiled at her sweetly. ‘What a pretty shade of wool,’ she said.

Angela was seething. She had quickly discovered that both Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph were rich nabobs and was determined to secure one or the other for herself. A doting husband would buy her all the fripperies that Crispin would not. Crispin had declared that he would choose the colours, curtains, and furnishings for the ruined drawing room himself. He had been acid, biting and humiliating about the fire. Angela shuddered when she remembered that row. Then there was the worry that Crispin might find Clarissa attractive. Clarissa made Angela feel dull and faded. There was just too much of Clarissa. Her fingers holding the wool were long and slim and white. Her bosom was generous, and her figure, tall and slim. Her generous mouth was too large for beauty but her eyes were fine and well-spaced. Admittedly she had a great amount of luxuriant hair, but it was
red
– most unfortunate for Clarissa, thought Angela, trying to comfort herself.

Angela turned her head and smiled at Mr Randolph. ‘La, sir,’ she said, ‘I feel I should beg you to return to my side. Miss Vevian is such a great giant of a creature that I feel quite dwarfed.’

Mr Randolph had been talking to Effy. He broke off and said, ‘You, like me, Lady Angela, envy people of height. How I long to be as tall as my friend, Haddon. He makes me feel an insignificant little dab of a fellow.’

‘Height in a man is very well,’ said Angela, ‘but a great disadvantage in a woman.’

‘We are trying to train Miss Vevian in correct social behaviour, Lady Angela,’ said Amy. ‘I fear if you go on like this, she will think veiled malice is the order of the day.’

‘Well, really!’ said Angela, leaping to her feet and knocking over the sugar bowl. ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she snapped at Clarissa. ‘Pick it up. I am going to my room and I shall tell Crispin on his return that I am not wanted here!’

She burst into tears. Mr Randolph made noises of distress and ran forward to comfort her. Amy got there first and put a firm arm around Angela’s shoulders and urged her from the room.

Soon Angela was confiding her troubles to Bella. ‘Those two old frumps will not let me get nigh one of their precious nabobs. Darling Bella, one of us must marry soon. Crispin holds the purse-strings much too tightly. You know my gown for the Pomfreys’ ball? Well, I wanted to purchase fine lace for the edging, and do you know what Crispin said? He said I already had yards and yards of priceless lace and did not need to buy any more. Miser! But we must not make him angry again. You have not been seeing Sir Jason, have you?’