Lady Anne's Deception (The Changing Fortunes Series Book 4) (12 page)

Her red hair was brushed back off her forehead in a simpler style than she usually affected.

Mr. and Mrs. Bunbury were a bright young couple who adored giving balls and parties, and their mansion in Kensington always seemed to be full of guests. They had long ago left their stance at the top of the stairs to join the ball. Couples whirled around in the inevitable waltz. There was Marigold, looking enchanting in sky-blue silk and lace, in the arms of Harry Bellamy. And among the chaperones was Aunt Agatha, painted like a mask. Mr. Shaw-Bufford was dancing with Mrs. Tommy Winton. He saw Annie and bent his head to whisper something in Mrs. Winton’s ear, and Mrs. Winton threw back her head and laughed.

After some hesitation, and being unable to see her husband, Annie walked around the edge of the floor and took a seat beside Aunt Agatha.

Aunt Agatha promptly unfurled her large, ostrich feather fan and proceeded to grumble behind it.

“It quite ruins my evening to see you here, Annie,” she said. “Poor Marigold’s nerves were in
shreds
after that terrible scene in the park. Miss Higgins and old Nanny Simpkins are in town for the wedding—dear Marigold is always so considerate and had invited all the old servants from Scotland—and they tell me that you have always been terribly jealous of Marigold. I thought your silly behavior would have ceased when you married Torrance, for after all he
is
a marquess and a better catch than Bellamy. But no! You simply had to pick on the poor girl…”

“Aunt Agatha,” said Annie, grimly. “Cease this tirade immediately. I behaved badly, but the provocation was great. But I am a married lady at a ball. I am not a girl in the schoolroom. Now, where is my husband?”

“Torrance? Probably still in the supper room. But I must warn you…”

But Annie had left.

It was eleven-thirty. Supper had been served at nine-thirty, which was very early, but the Bunburys were proud of their French chef and liked to make sure that all of their guests were fed, even the dowagers who did not like to stay all night.

The supper room was nearly empty. A few couples were still seated at small tables shaded by lamps. In the far corner, by the window, sat her husband. He was entertaining a diminutive blonde who was laughing with delight at everything he said. Annie’s hands in their suede evening gloves clenched and unclenched.

He was wearing a new evening suit: a dress coat with a plain collar and silk-covered revers, worn over a white waistcoat, and long, narrow trousers trimmed down the side of each leg with braid.

He looked debonair, relaxed. He looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

He looked as if he hadn’t a wife.

Annie moved forward and put a hand on the back of his chair. The pretty blonde was telling him about some musical comedy she had just seen and did not even look up. The marquess did not turn around although Annie could have sworn that he was aware of her presence.

“Jasper,” she said, hoping her voice was not as shrill as it sounded to her own ears.

Then he turned around, smiled, and got to his feet.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” said Annie.

“Don’t worry,” said her husband. “I have been well entertained. Allow me to present Mrs. Freddie Bangor. Mrs. Bangor, my wife.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” said Mrs. Bangor, flashing a smile that started somewhere in Annie’s direction and ended up in the marquess’s. “My husband couldn’t come this evening, so dear Jasper and I were consoling each other.”

“Well, you don’t need to do that any longer now that I am here,” said Annie sweetly. “I see you have finished your meal, Mrs. Bangor, and I do want a word in private with my husband, so…”

“But there is plenty of room at the table for three,” said her husband, with maddening good humor. “I am sure whatever it is can wait.” He pulled a chair forward between himself and Mrs. Bangor. Annie reluctantly sat down. The marquess signaled to a footman and ordered supper for Annie.

“Now, Dolly,” he said to Mrs. Bangor, “do go on. It sounds quite a fascinating plot.”

“Well, it was fun, really,” said Mrs. Bangor. Her eyelashes were quite definitely false, Annie thought sourly. “You see, it turned out she wasn’t a simple village girl after all, but a Russian princess. Fancy! So of course it was all right for the prince to marry her. Oh, it was so moving. They hold hands and sing ‘Our Love Will Last Forever.’ How does it go? Let me see… tum-titty, tum-titty, tum, tum, tum.”

“Not a very good lyric,” said Annie nastily.

“Well, it’s not the
words
, dear. It’s the
tune
,” explained Mrs. Bangor, as if talking to an idiot.

“You must forgive my wife,” said the marquess blandly. “Annie is quite tone deaf, you know. More salad, my dear?”

“I am
not
tone deaf, Jasper, and I do not want any salad. I want…”

“Oh, here’s Lady Marigold. And Harry! Well, that’s splendid,” said the marquess, getting to his feet. “Marigold and I have the next dance, Annie. Harry, be a good chap and sit with my wife. You know Mrs. Bangor, of course. Dolly, do tell Mr. Bellamy about that simply splendid musical….”

He walked off with Marigold, who threw a mocking look at Annie over her shoulder.

Annie sat and fumed. She was very hungry, but she thought that the food would choke her.

Mrs. Bangor had started to tell them all about the musical from the opening scene to the grand finale. At last Annie felt that she could bear it no longer. She muttered an excuse and left the table.

As soon as Annie entered the ballroom, she was accosted by her hosts and had to stand and chat with them for several moments, while all the time she was aware of her husband with Marigold in his arms, dipping and swaying and pirouetting.

“They make a handsome couple,” said little Mrs. Bunbury, and then she giggled. “Oh, I say, I quite forgot he was your husband!”

Annie’s head felt hot and heavy, and she realized she had caught a chill.

And then Mr. Shaw-Bufford was at her side, begging for the next dance.

“I don’t feel like dancing,” said Annie, looking at the chancellor with some distaste. “In fact, I think I have caught another cold, Mr. Shaw-Bufford, and I would rather sit down.”

“But, of course,” he said, smiling. “What about some cold champagne? An excellent remedy.”

Annie nodded weakly and allowed him to lead her back to the supper room. She did not want to be in his company, but, on the other hand, she did not want to stand at the edge of the ballroom watching her husband flirting.

Mr. Shaw-Bufford found her a secluded table in a corner far away from where Mrs. Bangor was still entertaining Harry Bellamy.

After two ice-cold glasses of champagne, Annie began to feel quite warm toward the chancellor. He had talked easily and pleasantly of this and that. He had told her that she was looking very beautiful, and that was balm to Annie’s wounded esteem. And Scotland Yard had said that he was genuine in his support of the feminist movement.

Suddenly she realized that his voice had taken on a more serious tone and he was saying, “Well, I gather we are no longer considered murderers by the gentlemen of the Yard.”

“Murderers!” squeaked Annie. “They couldn’t have possibly considered me a murderer.”

“They had found out about your fight in the park with your sister, and I think they considered that, were you in a rage, you might have exceptional strength.”

“But that’s ridiculous. Did you say they suspected you? But surely your high position should—”

“Protect me? Alas, no. That was what gave me the motive in their eyes. You see, with Jimmy Macleod gone, I would then be in line for prime minister. They may have wondered if I had put Miss Hammond up to the shooting, and, when she failed, well, I simply got rid of her. Fortunately for me, I was in my club at the time the murder was taking place.”

Annie shivered and sneezed. “I often wonder who did it,” she said.

“Oh, some fanatic. Let me fill your glass.”

“I also wonder about poor Miss Hammond. What drove her to take such a crazy action? I suppose there is no hope it was really suicide?”

“Well, of course, I think it was,” said the chancellor. “I feel the police have bungled and are too pigheaded to admit their error. Some women are born to be martyrs, and Mary Hammond was one of them.”

Annie sat very still. Her head was hot, and the room was becoming blurred. She had a sudden flash of total recall. The supper room spun away and she was back again outside the study door, listening to the voices of the chancellor and Mary Hammond.

“
If I am caught, I shall at least be a martyr….
”

“
You will not be caught, Miss Hammond. Remember, my name must never be mentioned. Never!
”

Gradually she returned to reality. The chancellor was looking at her oddly. Mrs. Bangor over at the other end of the room had reached her favorite song. “Tum-titty, tum-titty, tum, tum, tum,” she sang.

“Jolly good that, what!” Harry Bellamy chortled.

“Are you ill?” Mr. Shaw-Bufford was leaning forward, looking at Annie intently.

“What,” said Annie, “did you mean, Mr. Shaw-Bufford, when you told Miss Hammond that she would never be caught—and that your name must never be mentioned? It was after she said that at least she would be a martyr if she were caught.”

“I am sure I said nothing of the kind,” said the chancellor smoothly. “Your glass is empty, Lady Torrance. A little more?”

“But you
did
,” said Annie fretfully. “I heard you. I was outside the study door when you were talking.”

“You misunderstood,” said Mr. Shaw-Bufford. “I hope you didn’t tell any of this nonsense to the police?”

“I couldn’t,” said Annie simply. “I’ve only just remembered. Mr. Carton is calling tomorrow to see if I can remember anything more.”

“You must not trouble him with things you only think you heard.”

“Oh, but I did hear it,” said Annie wearily. “I won’t tell him what you said. Just the bit about Miss Hammond expecting to be a martyr. They might find that important.”

Mr. Shaw-Bufford took a deep breath. “You must do as you see fit. You look unwell, Lady Torrance. Perhaps I should fetch your husband.”

“Please,” Annie said in a small voice. She now felt very ill. She knew vaguely that she had said something she should not.

The chancellor stood up. He seemed to loom over her. “Lady Torrance,” he began urgently. Then he gave a shrug and was gone.

After a few moments he was back. He pulled his chair close to Annie’s and took her hand in his.

“I am afraid your husband is otherwise occupied,” he said in a low voice.

“What?” asked Annie, dizzy from the effects of the champagne and a rising temperature. “What do you mean?”

“I hate to see a lady such as you—a lady I have come to care for deeply—being so deceived. Your husband was not in the ballroom. I questioned the servants and found him in a small room leading off the ballroom at the far end. He had your sister in his arms and he was kissing her—passionately.”

Annie’s world fell apart. Gone was the Marchioness of Torrance. In her place sat little Annie Sinclair, humiliated again.

“Take me home,” she said through dry lips.

“Certainly,” he said in a low voice. “We will leave through that door at the other end. That way we will avoid attracting notice.”

Blindly, Annie let him lead her away down a back staircase, out of a side entrance, and into his waiting carriage.

Ill as she was, it dawned on Annie after a time that surely they should have been turning into St. James’s Square by now. She looked out of the carriage window and recognized Trafalgar Square.

“Where are we going?” asked Annie.

“I have left some important papers at my flat,” said the chancellor. “I must pick them up and then I will take you home.”

“Wouldn’t it have been more sensible to have dropped me off first?” said Annie, shivering and sneezing.

“You are right. Forgive me,” he said. “I was so concerned about the papers that I did not think. It will only take me a moment, and my man can give you something for your cold.”

“Oh, very well,” said Annie. “Only make it quick.” All she wanted to do was to sink in between nice, cool sheets and go to sleep, shutting away all the misery and hurt.

How could she have ever believed that she could have attracted the catch of the Season? Yet why did he marry her? Why? Why? Why?

The carriage lurched to a stop. Had she not felt so ill, Annie would never have dreamed of entering any man’s lodgings without a chaperone.

The chancellor’s flat was in a quiet street in the shadow of the Houses of Parliament. Big Ben chimed one o’clock, a long, slow note like a death knell.

“Ah, Hodder,” said Mr. Shaw-Bufford, as he handed his cloak to his thick-set butler. “Give her ladyship one of your special potions. Her ladyship has a bad cold. I won’t keep you long, Lady Torrance.”

He ushered Annie into a book-lined room and lit the gaslight in the gaselier and then the gas fire in the grate, which came alive with a loud, noisy pop.

“I shall be back presently,” he said. “Do drink Hodder’s remedy. There’s nothing like it, I assure you.”

After he had gone, Annie sat shivering by the fire and looked about her. It was a depressing room with heavy Victorian furniture and dusty birds in glass cases. The books were great tomes that looked as if they had never been opened. A heavy Wilton carpet covered an area of hard, shiny green linoleum. The lace undercurtains at the window were still dirty from the recent fog.

When Hodder came in bearing a tray, Annie looked at him uneasily, remembering his unlovely features from Britlingsea.

“It’s a recipe I got from me mother,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“What’s in it?” asked Annie, taking the steaming cup.

“Just herbs and things like that. You’ll feel ever so different after you’ve drunk it, my lady.”

“Just leave me and don’t loom over me, Hodder,” said Annie. “Don’t worry. I shall drink it. And thank you very much.”

Hodder bowed and, to Annie’s relief, withdrew. She found his personality strangely unpleasant.

She raised the cup to her lips but found that she could not drink it. Her stomach was beginning to feel upset with all that she had drunk at the ball. She looked around her, wondering what to do with it. There was a depressing-looking aspidistra in a brass bowl on a cane table. After some hesitation, she rose and dumped the contents of the cup into the earth around the plant.