Marrying Harriet (14 page)

On the afternoon of the day the ball was to be held, Lord Charles called on Harriet and heard the story of the ruined dress. ‘And I planned to go as a Cavalier to your Roundhead,’ he said. ‘Have you another costume?’

Harriet shook her head. ‘I am wearing a ball gown but I shall be masked, of course.’

He leaned forward and lowered his voice so that the Tribble sisters, sitting at the other end of the drawing room, should not hear. ‘And how go your plans for the Misses Tribble?’

‘Mr Randolph is courting Miss Effy most assiduously,’ whispered Harriet. ‘He sends flowers almost every day, but Mr Haddon remains much the same, and that is upsetting poor Miss Amy, who feels left out of all the romance.’

‘Should you try so hard? She must have given up all thoughts of romance a long time ago.’

Harriet gave an impatient cluck and, forgetting, raised her voice. ‘How can you be so blind?’

Amy watched the pair. She saw the way Lord Charles’s handsome face was very close to Harriet’s. His cat was lying on Harriet’s lap, purring sleepily. She heard Harriet say, ‘How can you be so blind?’ and stiffened with alarm. Harriet Brown was a very forthright girl. If Harriet had fallen in love with Lord Charles, then she would not hesitate to let him know it. And she must never do that, thought Amy. At the moment, Amy was sure, Harriet Brown was an amusing novelty to Lord Charles.

Now Lord Charles was leaning even closer, his voice a bare murmur in the quiet room. Harriet looked first startled and then gratified. What was that rake saying to her?

Lord Charles was explaining that he had received a letter from Monsieur Duclos, Yvette’s faithless lover. ‘In so short a time!’ exclaimed Harriet. ‘How can this be?’

‘I forgot to tell you. A friend told me that the Comte De Ville was residing at an inn at Dover, having suffered dreadfully from mal de mer. So I sent an express there. Duclos said he would travel to London as soon as his old master had recovered.’

‘That is splendid news!’ cried Harriet, and then her face fell. ‘It is not very lover-like, on the other hand. He should have set out immediately.’

‘He also says in his letter that he is afraid to face Yvette. He is sure she will never forgive him.’

Harriet frowned. ‘You must write again and very quickly,’ she said after a short silence.

‘And what would you like me to say?’

‘You must say that he has to call here first and see me. For if he goes straight to Yvette, he will blurt out about the baby and that would never do.’

‘How so?’

‘He must tell her he came expressly to see her, not because his master happened to be travelling to England.’

‘Have you not considered, Capability Brown, that Yvette might be better off without the scoundrel?’

‘Yes, but I shall make up my mind about that when I see him.’

‘You should let me interview the fellow for you. You do not have much experience of men.’

‘I can tell bad from good.’

‘Then why do you give me the time of day?’ he asked, his eyes teasing her.

‘Because you are of use and you came to find me and rescue me and you are kind to the cat.’

‘Alas,’ he mourned. ‘That shall be my epitaph. “Kind to cats.”’

He rose to take his leave. Amy followed him from the room and down the stairs. ‘I would like a word in private with you, Lord Charles,’ she said, and held open the door of the downstairs saloon.

‘After you, Miss Amy,’ he said with a slight bow.

When they were seated, Amy looked at him seriously. She looked at his fine slim figure, small waist, good legs, and then at his handsome, clever face and those mocking green eyes, so like the cat, which had followed them in and now sat on the floor between them, looking from one face to the other.

‘My lord,’ said Amy, ‘I must insist that your visits here cease.’

The humour left Lord Charles’s face. He raised his thin eyebrows and surveyed her haughtily and waited for her to continue.

‘I think you must know why I ask. Miss Brown has been sent to us so that we may find her a suitable husband. To that end, I have asked Mr Feathers to escort her to the ball.
He
is all that is suitable. I do not want false hopes raised in Harriet by your calls. Any gentleman interested in her, moreover, will be put off by your constant attendance on her. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, very clear, Miss Tribble,’ he said acidly. ‘And now, if you have quite finished, may I take my leave?’

‘Oh, do not think too hardly of me,’ said Amy. ‘Harriet is a fine girl, very moral, very sound. I know she amuses you for the moment, but what is a mere amusement to you might be serious to her.’

Lord Charles rose and bowed. He stooped and picked up the cat and tucked it under his arm.

‘Good day to you, Miss Tribble,’ he said.

After he had gone, Amy felt very low. She had hoped he would protest that his intentions were honourable. But Harriet was at heart a sensible girl. She had accepted the fact that Mr Feathers was to escort her without a murmur. He was a plain, boring man, but she had to marry someone, and a girl with a small dowry and aged twenty-five years could not hope to look any higher.

When Harriet saw Amy that evening, she wished she could have gone in costume herself. Amy made a magnificent Queen Elizabeth, complete with red wig and enormous ruff, and Effy was a dainty gypsy queen with a scarf embellished with gold coins on her head and a scarlet sash around her tiny waist. The effect was slightly spoiled by the fact that Effy had insisted on wearing blue muslin.

Mr Haddon was in ordinary evening dress, but little Mr Randolph had blossomed forth as the leader of a gypsy band, looking quite unlike himself with his face stained brown and a ferocious fake moustache. Mr Feathers, having been told by Amy about Harriet’s costume before it was ruined, was dressed as a Puritan.

Amy had been praying earnestly for charity and good will towards her sister. Why should not just the one of them find happiness? She was so intent on behaving herself that she barely seemed aware of Mr Haddon.

Desmond Callaghan sat before a toilet-table in the room allocated to the ladies and studied his appearance in the glass with satisfaction. He was wearing a severe black gown with a white collar and on top of a wig of black glossy hair was perched a white bonnet. He adjusted his black velvet mask. He was still glowing from his friend Sniffy’s praise. The feminine streak in him delighted in the masquerade and he was inclined to think he looked a much finer figure of a woman than most of the ladies about him.

He gave a final pat to his wig and then made his way up to the ballroom. ‘Name please?’ said the major-domo. Mr Callaghan thought quickly. He dare not give a strange false name and so alert the marchioness to the fact that there was a gatecrasher at her ball, and so he said calmly, ‘Miss Harriet Brown.’

For a brief moment a flicker of surprise showed in the major-domo’s eyes. He had already introduced a Miss Harriet Brown. But it was a common-enough name, and so in stentorian tones he announced Mr Callaghan. Jack Perkins, who had arrived just after the real Harriet, looked up. Jealousy had made him remember Harriet as a plain frump and this awful simpering creature was every bit as horrible as his imaginings. With a triumphant smile, he headed towards her. Two elderly dowagers had made their entrance just behind Mr Callaghan, and so he assumed they were the Tribble sisters – on the night he had first seen Harriet he had been too interested in trying to get a good look at her to take much notice of her companions.

Mr Haddon did not feel like dancing. He had decided to sit beside Amy and chat and leave the dancing to the others. To his annoyance, no sooner had he seated himself beside Amy than a vaguely familiar figure dressed as Sir Walter Raleigh and wearing a blue velvet mask bowed before Amy and asked for the pleasure of the first waltz.

‘Mr Lawrence!’ cried Amy, her quick eyes recognizing the old gambler under the fancy dress and mask. ‘How clever of you.’

Mr Lawrence smiled. ‘We make the perfect pair.’ Mr Haddon was left alone to watch the couple dancing. How elegantly Amy moved! Her eyes glittered wickedly behind her mask at something Mr Lawrence was saying.

Harriet, waltzing with Mr Feathers, who kept stepping on her toes with his thick Cromwellian boots, saw Lord Charles entering the ballroom. He was dressed as a Cavalier in blue silk and lace. On his arm, attired as a fairy queen, was Lisa Seymour. They seemed well pleased with each other’s company.

And why should I mind? Harriet chided herself. I introduced them.

Mr Desmond Callaghan was circulating in the arms of Jack Perkins. Jack was paying him very warm compliments and Mr Callaghan maliciously saved each one up in his mind to relate to an admiring Sniffy. His eyes searched the ballroom but he could not see another Puritan maid. He would have guessed the identity of Harriet if he could have recognized the Tribble sisters, but hard as he looked, he did not spot the handsome red-wigged Queen Elizabeth as Amy, or the small, dainty gypsy queen with a gold mask as Effy.

The garden outside the ballroom had been covered over by an enormous marquee for the evening, and tubs of trees and hothouse flowers lined the walks to create the illusion of a garden in summer. Paper leaves and lanterns decorated the bare branches of the winter trees.

Jack thought quickly. If he could get ‘Harriet’ out there, he might be able to have a go at her, as he described it to himself. He was convinced he was a success with the ladies, simply because the whores he paid for their attentions were good at their job and knew how to flatter and tease as part of their trade. Top prostitutes knew the competition was fierce in an overcrowded market and that they had to supply more than bare sex; they had to master the arts of how to charm and entertain as well. But Jack put it all down to his own irresistible attractions. He decided it would be better if he tried to get his lady tipsy first.

As the waltz came to an end, he said, ‘What about some champagne, my fair one?’

Mr Callaghan glanced towards the side room where refreshments were being served. Perhaps Harriet was there. Besides, he longed for a drink.

‘Thank you, kind sir,’ he said in a high falsetto.

Soon they were sharing a bottle of champagne, and then another. Jack Perkins was cursing this hard-headed woman who seemed able to sink glass after glass without it having any visible effect.

But unknown to him, his partner was becoming tipsy, and the more tipsy he became, the more Mr Callaghan began to enjoy the situation. He was determined to lead Jack on, simply to furnish wide-eyed and admiring Sniffy with the best story he had ever heard.

After the third bottle of champagne, Jack suggested thickly they take a stroll in the gardens. The gardens! That was where she might be, thought Mr Callaghan woozily. He rapped Jack on the arm with his fan and said flirtatiously, ‘La, sir. I hope you will behave yourself.’

‘I will try to restrain myself,’ said Jack, propelling Mr Callaghan towards the garden. He noticed there were dark walks and secluded arbours. He marched Mr Callaghan in the direction of one of these arbours made from potted plants.

Mr Callaghan sat down, adjusted his mask, and lowered his eyes modestly. Jack sank on one knee in front of him and grasped his gloved hand.

‘Fair one,’ he breathed. ‘You set my senses reeling.’ Mr Callaghan stifled a laugh and said, ‘Naughty! You are become too warm.’

‘It is my passion for you,’ said Jack. ‘A kiss is all I ask.’

Suddenly sobered, Mr Callaghan rose to his feet and backed away. ‘I am going to the ballroom,’ he said firmly.

Jack leaped up and seized Mr Callaghan around the waist.

They were now out of the arbour and in full view of the ballroom. The dance had finished and the guests began to stare at the couple.

‘Leave me alone, damn you,’ muttered Mr Callaghan, trying to wrench himself free.

‘So you want my leg across you,’ shouted Jack, sure that he was ruining the reputation of Harriet Brown. ‘Then, demme, you shall have it!’

‘Let me go!’ shouted Mr Callaghan. He struck Jack across the face.

Jack tore off Mr Callaghan’s mask, determined that everyone should see it was Harriet Brown. Mr Callaghan reeled backwards and his wig and bonnet went flying.

Amy Tribble’s voice, loud with amazement, sounded from the ballroom like a clarion call. ‘Good heavens! It’s that dreadful Mr Callaghan masquerading as a woman, with some fellow trying to seduce him.’

White with fury, the Marchioness of Raby was calling to her servants to throw the pair out. Lord Charles walked up to where Jack stood, gazing in horror at Mr Callaghan.

‘You fool, Jack,’ he said. ‘From the costume that creature is wearing, I have the mad idea you thought that was Harriet Brown and planned to ruin her.’

‘It’s all your fault,’ howled Jack, and he was still howling threats and accusations as he and Mr Callaghan were bundled out into the street together.

Jack swung round on Mr Callaghan. ‘You backgammon player,’ he said.

‘How dare you call me a homosexual,’ raged Mr Callaghan, close to tears. ‘I demand satisfaction.’

‘And you shall have it,’ growled Jack. ‘Here is my card. Send your seconds to see me in the morning.’

Mr Callaghan was suddenly aware of the laughing, jeering faces about him as coachmen and grooms gathered to look at this man in woman’s clothes. He ran off down the street, bolting towards his lodgings like a hunted animal.

Lord Charles was worried. Harriet was still surrounded by threats, and Amy Tribble had ordered him to leave her alone. But who else was capable of looking after her? Not that idiot, Feathers. It was not Harriet’s bosom in which he had raised false hopes, but that of that tiresome creature, Lisa Seymour. Did Harriet think so very little of him that she should consider such a female good enough for him?

But he was still hurt and furious at Amy and did not go near Harriet. Instead, he asked Lisa Seymour for another dance, hoping Harriet would notice, and then, after he had asked Lisa, wondering at his own childish behaviour.

Meanwhile, the Marchioness of Raby, recovered from her shock, took Mr Feathers aside and commanded him ‘to get on with it’, meaning to propose to Harriet Brown. So Mr Feathers dutifully asked Harriet to walk with him in the garden.