Jane Ashford (15 page)

When they had gone and Clarissa had sat down again, Laura cocked her head at her sister. “Are you pushing poor Anne Rundgate into something imprudent?” she asked her. “She seemed very upset when you were talking.”

Clarissa looked very innocent. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” replied Laura, eyeing her suspiciously, “that you must not drive that poor girl to desperation with your mad schemes. She is not as strong as you, Clarissa. Her mother said that she is often melancholy lately and that you cheer her when you come. Have you embroiled her in something?”

Clarissa got up and turned away. “You do nothing but accuse me of foolishness these days, Laura. Do you truly think that I would harm Anne? Can you think me so unfeeling?”

Laura hesitated, looking at her sister’s back. “No, of course not. But perhaps you do not realize that others are not so adventurous as you.” She watched Clarissa for a moment, then said, “Mrs. Rundgate tells me that Anne is about to receive a very favorable offer from a Mr. Whinthorpe.”

Clarissa whirled. “Whinthorpe!” she exclaimed, in strong accents of disgust. “That spineless palaverer. He is nothing more than a zero, Laura. Anne cannot marry him.”

“Her mother believes that she would be happy with him. She told me that Anne needs a gentle, undemanding man.”

Clarissa colored slightly. “Perhaps that is true, but not Whinthorpe. She needs someone who truly loves her and whom she loves.”

“Perhaps Mr. Whinthorpe loves her. How can you tell?”

“Well she does not love him. In fact she holds him in the greatest aversion. He is a toad, Laura, all bowing and silly compliments.”

“This is Anne’s opinion?” asked Laura.

“Yes. She does not like him, I tell you.”

“Because you tell her not to?”

“No! I have nothing to do with the case. Anne fell in love with Captain Wetmore before I even came to London.”

Laura frowned. “Oh Clarissa, I wish…”

“You wish me to allow my friend to be forced into an unhappy marriage. I will not. I am not such a beast. Have I not seen how a match based on something other than love can be?” When she had said this, Clarissa looked surprised. The two girls stared at each other wide-eyed for a moment; then Clarissa clapped a hand to her mouth and ran out of the room.

Laura sank back on the sofa and continued to stare. Clarissa had meant her marriage, of course. She remembered tonight’s card party again and shivered slightly. If it could not be mended after that, it might be broken forever. She thought bleakly of thirty, perhaps forty, years spent in disputes and cold politeness. What would become of her then?

When she stood before her mirror later that evening, Laura nodded. She looked striking. If Eliot could ignore her in this gown, all was indeed lost. Her dress was red, not rose or dusty red, but crimson. It was made of an embossed brocade, which gave it a rich texture, and was cut with the utmost simplicity. Small puffed sleeves covered her shoulders, and the skirt fell in straight folds to the floor. The bodice was low, but not so low as to make her uncomfortable, and she had tied a slender red velvet ribbon around her white throat, a small white cameo in its center. The bright colors made her skin look particularly creamy, and her unadorned black locks gleamed. Her dark eyes sparkled as she took a last look, then turned to pick up her wrap.

Mary was in ecstasies. “Oh ma’am, you do look that beautiful. What a gown that is, to be sure. I’ve never seen its like. You will be the prettiest lady at the party.”

“Thank you, Mary,” answered Laura. Her maid thought that she was going to one of the numerous
ton
parties scheduled for that evening. Indeed invitations to three lay in the pile on her writing desk. “Will you ask them to bring the carriage around?”

Mary went out, and Laura followed more slowly. As she passed Clarissa’s door, she paused a moment, then went on. Her sister thought herself in disgrace after their words this morning. She had credited Laura’s unusual exclusion of her from the outing to their disagreement, and Laura had allowed her to do so, grateful for this excuse. She would let Clarissa brood until tomorrow.

The carriage was ready when Laura came down, and she went straight through the hall and out the door. But as she climbed up, she noticed that Mr. Dunham was standing at the back of the hall, watching her. Her eyes widened briefly, then she looked away from him. The footman put up the steps and sprang up behind, and they were off. Mr. Dunham shut the door behind them slowly, his eyes on the carriage.

For a moment Laura felt as though she were choking; then she shook her head. I cannot be silly, she thought—not tonight.

During the short ride, Laura thought over her plan. She would arrive at the card party after it was well under way; she had seen to that. When she got there she meant to go straight to Eliot and take his arm, remaining with him for the evening. Her message would be unmistakable, for he must understand that she wanted to separate him from Vera Allenby and become more of a wife herself. And there would be nothing that woman could do. Laura was, after all, Eliot’s wife.

An almost grim expression crossed Laura’s face. Eliot had not come in all day, even for dinner, so she had not seen him since she found Mrs. Allenby’s letter. Perhaps he had forgotten that he dropped it when he ran to her. In any case he would certainly not be expecting to see his wife at this party. For a moment Laura’s heart almost failed her, and she came near to telling the coachman to turn back. But then her chin came up once more, and she sat back. It was best to get it over.

The Allenbys’ narrow townhouse was brightly lit, and the door was open when Laura arrived, light streaming out into the street. She climbed down, instructing her coachman to return at midnight, and walked up the steps to the hall. A footman in blue livery took her cloak. She looked about her with some curiosity, but there was nothing to criticize in the marble-floored hall and the gracefully curving staircase. A vase of exotic pink-and-purple flowers, whose type Laura did not recognize, sat on the hall table.

She started up the stairs resolutely, and the noise mounted. A buzz of chatter and the clink of glasses came from the large salon on the first floor. Laura stood for a moment on the threshold, scanning the crowd for Eliot, but she did not see him. The air was rather smoky from the many candles in great silver holders scattered throughout the room. The mass of people seemed very closely packed, and the glitter of jewels and fobs was dazzling.

At first Laura thought that there was no one she knew present; then she saw the woman Sybil sitting in the corner. Beside her was another very young man, not the one from the ball, but one who was gypsy dark and rather nervous looking. She also recognized Lila, her hostess that night, and some others, but there was no one she knew well. A little taken aback, she started to move out of the doorway. Suddenly Jack Allenby was at her elbow.

“My dear madam,” he said, bending close to her. “You arrive at last. I had nearly given you up. How cruel you are. I was overjoyed when I received your kind note, but then you toy with me in this way. The party has been in full swing for two hours.”

Laura moved away a little, saying, “I am sorry. I could not get away.” She was still surveying the crowd for Eliot.

Mr. Allenby cocked an eyebrow. “Ah. The jealous husband, perhaps? So fatiguing.”

Laura ignored this remark and made as if to move into the room. Mr. Allenby took her arm. “Some champagne?” he asked. “It is the very best, I assure you. We provide only the finest at these little gatherings. People expect it when they are losing money.”

Laura allowed herself to be guided to the side of the room and given a glass of champagne. She had sampled it only a few times in her life and frankly preferred less strong beverages, but she did not say so tonight. The pleasant warmth it spread through her limbs was welcome. It dissolved the cold fear that lay in the pit of her stomach.

She continued to watch the people around them. There was still no sign of Eliot, but she did not dare ask for him. “Your party is a great success,” she said to Mr. Allenby. “What a crush.”

“Oh Vera’s card parties are legendary,” he replied lightly.

Laura looked around. “But why do you call them card parties?” she inquired. “No one is playing.”

Her companion laughed delightedly. “Ah, here speaks the gamester. No one is playing here, my dear Mrs. Crenshaw. The cardrooms are behind us.” He gestured, and when Laura turned, she could indeed see into a smaller room at the back of the salon where card tables had been set up. It was much less crowded and appeared quieter.

That is where Eliot will be, she thought to herself. “May I watch the game?” she asked Mr. Allenby.

He laughed again, rather recklessly. Laura wondered how long he had been drinking champagne. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “I shall find you a seat. What is your game?”

She did not answer him but moved instead toward the cardroom. He followed quickly, his hand under her elbow. Several people greeted him as they made their way through the mass of guests, and Laura thought one man leered at her offensively. She was glad to reach the other room, where no one even looked up.

“So,” said Jack Allenby in her ear, “what shall it be? Whist? No, too slow and old fashioned. Piquet? No. I daresay you are not quite so practiced as some of our players. Ah, I have it. The newfangled game,
vingt
et
un
. You will like that.” As Laura tried to examine the players at the various tables, he led her to one in the far corner and tapped a gentleman there on the shoulder. When this man looked back inquiringly, Mr. Allenby gave an unobtrusive signal, and suddenly the chair was vacant. He pulled it further out and seated Laura, who was still scanning the room. “There you are, my dear,” he said smoothly. “You are set up for the evening.”

Recalling herself, and swallowing her disappointment at not finding Eliot among the gamblers, Laura turned and looked at the strange faces around the table with dismay. She started to rise. “Oh but I do not know how to play. I do not wish…”

“No need to worry,” Mr. Allenby said and pushed her down again. “I shall help you, at first. There can be no objection to that, I think?” He looked around the table, and though one young man across from Laura smirked, there was no protest. “You will get the hang of it in no time,” finished the host.

Laura turned to him, her face flushing, and murmured, “But I have not brought any money. I have only about three pounds in my reticule. I did not mean to play. I do not wish to…”

“But of course you must,” cried Mr. Allenby, embarrassing Laura. “It is perfectly easy.” He signaled a servant, who brought pen and paper, and he showed her how to write out a vowel. “Your credit is good with us, my dear,” he said. “Everyone plays so.”

Looking about her, Laura saw that indeed many of the players had piles of paper before them rather than money. She hesitated one more moment, thinking miserably that she did not wish to play this unknown French game and that she certainly did not want to sign away her allowance for such a purpose. But everyone was looking at her expectantly. Mr. Allenby had put her in an impossible position. She bent and rapidly wrote out the note. She made it for fifty pounds, thinking that she would thus avoid the necessity of doing this distasteful thing more than once. She would play for a short time, until this sum was gone, and then go to find Eliot.

Mr. Allenby explained the game to her, in what he seemed to think were very clear terms, but Laura did not really grasp the rules. She let her host manage her funds, as his interest in the game far surpassed hers, and let her eyes wander about the room. She never had seen such a solemn party in her life. The people at the tables, chiefly men but with a liberal sprinkling of women as well, were intent and deadly serious for the most part. Only here and there did one smile, and in many cases these smiles held only the feverish gaiety of the winner.

Mr. Allenby turned up the corners of her cards and made a bet. The stakes seemed very high to Laura; her fifty pounds would not last long at this rate. He pulled up a chair next to hers and was becoming engrossed in the cards. He again tried to interest Laura in the progress of the game, but she could not care about the odds.

They lost that hand, and the next, and Laura’s money was gone. She started to rise, but Mr. Allenby pulled her back. “You must not abandon the game now,” he exclaimed, “just when your luck is about to turn. It must, you know.” He signaled for more champagne and persuaded her to write just one more vowel. “Another fifty pounds,” he insisted. “You will double that in no time and soon be ahead, you will see.”

Reluctantly she did as he asked, taking the pen and the glass he handed her. She would give in this time but would insist upon leaving the table when this sum was gone. But she did not do so. Each time her champagne glass was empty, Mr. Allenby quietly saw that it was filled, and soon she had no clear idea of what was happening. She signed several chits, each she thought for another fifty pounds, but she was not certain of how many. The cards began to blur before her eyes, and she blinked. Mr. Allenby still managed her hand; indeed he had become almost oblivious to anything but her cards and her glass. Laura shook her head fuzzily. There was something she must do here, but she had forgotten what it was. She put down her glass and stared at it accusingly.

Several hands later Laura felt someone behind her and turned to see Vera Allenby standing there, smiling. She started to rise, but the other woman put a hand on her shoulder. “No, no, I would not think of interrupting your play. I am merely acting the hostess for a moment between hands.” Her smile seemed hateful to Laura.

Mr. Allenby had looked up at the sound of his wife’s voice. “I am managing Mrs. Crenshaw’s cards for her,” he put in.

“Ah,” replied Vera. A signal seemed to pass between them. “Well then,
bon
chance
to you both.” She started to turn away, then looked down again. “But you have no champagne, Laura. What are you thinking of, Jack?” She summoned the servant, who filled Laura’s glass again.

Laura thought of protesting, but she was too tired, and the glitter in Mrs. Allenby’s eyes seemed to suggest that she hoped Laura would make some outcry. She allowed the other woman to turn away without speaking, but as she watched her make her way around the tables, stopping here and there to chat for a moment with her friends, she suddenly remembered Eliot. She had come here to find Eliot, in the house of his mistress.

Laura pushed back her chair and got to her feet. The effort was more than she had imagined it would be, and she stood swaying for a moment. Mr. Allenby turned quickly and said, “Where are you going? A new hand is just starting. This one will bring you luck, I am sure.”

But Laura shook her head. This, at least, she knew—she did not wish to sit here and watch cards spin dizzily before her any longer. She turned carefully and headed toward the salon. The room was less crowded now, and as she leaned against the doorjamb, she could see everyone there. Several people looked amused at the sight of her, but there was no sign of Eliot or of anyone she knew. She turned back to the cardroom once more, but he was not among the players either. She had made a terrible mistake. Eliot had not come here, or if he had, he had left without speaking to her. The small comfort that he had not obeyed Mrs. Allenby’s instructions was lost in her overwhelming regret for having been a fool.

In despair she started unsteadily across the room. When she passed the fireplace, she glanced at the mantel clock. A quarter past twelve! Her carriage would be waiting. What had she been thinking of to stay so late? She tried to hurry and brushed against a man standing nearby. He turned with a frown, but this faded to a smile when he saw her.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he said. “Hello my fine ladybird. How may I serve you?” He grasped her arm, and the number of teeth showing in his smile made Laura feel faint.

How ridiculous, she thought. Whatever is the matter with me. She tried to pull away, but her weak efforts only made the gentleman smile more broadly.

“Do you wish to lead me somewhere, darling?” he asked. “I will follow anywhere.”

Providentially another voice broke in. “She’s run off her legs, Carstairs. I’ll take her.” It was Jack Allenby, and Laura looked up at him with real gratitude.

The other man did not release her and looked at her now with even more interest. “Is this the little Crenshaw then?” he asked his host. “They say you have her constantly in tow these days. A pretty piece. But you mustn’t be a dog in the manger, Jack. If she wants other company, you must efface yourself.”