Miser of Mayfair (12 page)

‘By that, I suppose, you mean what are my impressions of society,’ said Fiona. ‘I do not really know. It is all so bewildering. So divorced from reality.’

‘In what way?’

‘The government fell in April, the slave trade was abolished, Napoleon controls most of Europe and plans to invade Britain or starve her to death, and yet none of these things seem to trouble or amaze anyone. The gentlemen lay bets on everything, and the ladies try with all their wiles to find the name of my dressmaker.’

‘And all these things would be discussed in polite society in Scotland?’ said the earl sarcastically.

‘As to the discussions that go on in polite society in Scotland, I do not know. But even at the orphanage matters of politics and state were discussed by the staff.’

‘At the . . . ?’

‘Oh, I hear Joseph and now I can leave,’ said Fiona, showing every evidence of relief. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, my lord, and for your gallant attempt to catch the malefactor. Good day to you.’

Never before had the earl felt so furious or had he been so put down. Although he had persuaded himself any feminine interest in him was motivated solely by a desire to gain his title and his fortune, it was maddening to have this belief underlined by the beautiful Miss Sinclair, who did not seem to notice him either as a man or as a desirable fortune.

He gave her a stiff bow and pointedly turned away before she had even reached the door of the library. Fiona sailed out into Hanover Square with Joseph walking behind her, carrying the basket.

‘That should fetch him,’ she said.

‘Beg parding, miss?’ demanded Joseph.

‘Nothing, Joseph,’ said Fiona. ‘I was merely speaking to myself.’

Which all went to show, thought Joseph nastily, just what an addle-pated, hen-witted female she was. He almost forgot about the pain in his feet as they approached Number 67. He was already rehearsing the drama of the attack to tell the other servants. To his annoyance, Fiona walked with him across the hall and started down the steps leading to the basement.

The servants had just finished their evening meal when Fiona and Joseph walked in. All got to their feet and stood looking at Fiona with sullen eyes, wondering whether she was going to irritate them again by prattling on about money.

‘Joseph has a basket of cakes and sandwiches for you all,’ said Fiona.

She put her reticule on the table, opened the draw-string and shook out the money. ‘Now, let me see,’ she said, while the servants stared and gasped. ‘Ah, Mr Rainbird. Here is about two hundred pounds to buy food and coals and livery. I will take the rest to my father.’

She smiled sunnily on them all and swept out.

Rainbird was the first to spring from the stricken trance that had frozen them all. He ran to the door of the servants’ hall, wrenched it open, and stumbled up the stairs after Fiona.

‘Thank you, miss,’ he babbled. ‘Oh,
thank
you.’

‘Do not sound so surprised, Mr Rainbird,’ said Fiona severely. ‘I told you I would find you the money.’ She opened the door to the hall and disappeared through it.

Rainbird went slowly down the stairs. He hardly heard anything Joseph said, Joseph who was holding forth about the attack. As he spoke, Seamus became larger and stronger until he was quite seven feet high.

‘Well, Lizzie,’ said Rainbird when Joseph had finally talked himself dry. ‘It seems miracles do happen. There’ll be a new gown for you after this.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ cried Lizzie, but she looked at Joseph as she spoke and not at Rainbird.

Alice raised her well-rounded arms to pat the buttery curls under her lace cap. ‘It do seem to me,’ she said slowly, ‘as how Miss Fiona is a most unusual lady.’

‘After this, I would do anything for her,’ said dark and intense Jenny fiercely. ‘
Anything
’.

‘Oh, the dishes I will prepare for them,’ sang MacGregor. ‘The sauces, the jellies, the cakes.’

Mrs Middleton opened the basket and carefully began to arrange the cakes and sandwiches on plates. ‘Of course, I knew she was a real lady as soon as I set eyes on her,’ she said.

Dave stretched out a little hand and took a pink fondant cake ornamented with an iced cherub. ‘Coo’er,’ he said. ‘Don’t it look too pretty to eat!’

‘That’s enough of that,’ said Rainbird, slapping his hand. ‘You wait until your betters have had first choice, young man.’

They slowly resumed their places at table but this time in the correct order. They were real servants again and not an odd sort of family, bound together by poverty.

Lizzie sat at the end of the table next to Jim. She hoped the others would leave her at least one of the cherub cakes.

Upstairs Mr Sinclair was still goggling and exclaiming over the money and Fiona’s tale of gambling. ‘You’re a downy one,’ he said finally, bursting out laughing and slapping his knee. ‘Lor’, I’d give a monkey to see Lady Disher’s face. But mark my words, she sent one of her servants after you to seize that money back. You must never go there again. D’ye hear?’

‘Yes, Papa. I hear,’ said Fiona meekly. ‘I am very tired. Please forgive me. I must go to bed.’

It was only after she had left that Mr Sinclair remembered he had not asked her whether she had stage-managed the whole thing. Fiona was either a very lucky innocent or a very cunning young woman indeed!

The only talent I could ever discover in this beau (George Brummell) was that of having well-fashioned the character of a gentleman, and proved himself a tolerably good actor; yet, to a nice observer, a certain impenetrable, unnatural stiffness of manner proved him but nature’s journeyman after all; but then his wig – his new French wig – was nature itself.

HARRIETTE WILSON’S MEMOIRS

Mr Sinclair was surprised to receive a call from the Earl of Harrington the following afternoon. Fiona had disappeared to ‘a little tea party’ with Mrs Carrington. Mrs Carrington had in fact called to lure Fiona to a new gaming house for ladies in St James’s where Mrs Carrington was allowed free refreshments if she brought in new blood. Although she was still a very wealthy woman despite losing thousands at the tables, Mrs Carrington prided herself on her economy – which meant saving on everything other than cards.

For some reason Fiona had not told Mr Sinclair where she was going, or rather she did not give the lie to Mrs Carrington’s mendacious statement that it was nothing more than a ladies’ tea party.

On seeing the earl again, Mr Sinclair thought afresh that his poor Fiona had certainly no hope in that quarter. The earl looked hard and handsome and austere. He seemed almost relieved to learn that Fiona was gone from home, merely saying with chilly civility that he had come to present his compliments to the Sinclairs and make sure there had been no further assaults.

Mr Sinclair assured him there had not, and then, to the earl’s extreme irritation, added with surprise, ‘Gossip certainly travels fast in London. How did you come to learn of the attack on Fiona so soon?’

‘I was there,’ said Lord Harrington frostily. ‘In fact, I pursued the assailant and subsequently entertained Miss Sinclair to refreshments in my home.’

‘She didnae say a word to me,’ said Mr Sinclair. ‘Ah, weel, it probably slipped her wee mind.’

Not knowing Mr Sinclair became more Scottish in accent and bluff of manner when he was embarrassed or distressed, Lord Harrington began to feel that his rank and fortune were as of little consequence to Mr Sinclair as they were to his daughter. He asked Mr Sinclair many polite questions about his London experiences and began to form a picture of a lonely old man who was longing to return to Scotland as soon as possible.

The refreshments offered him were surprising in view of Mr Sinclair’s reputation as a miser. The wine was of the best, and the cakes were as light as thistledown.

‘Shall I see Miss Sinclair at Almack’s?’ he asked, rising at last to take his leave.

‘I should not think she would get vouchers,’ said Mr Sinclair. ‘I have only just applied, but I do not know any of the patronesses of the assembly rooms and the Season has already started.’

‘Perhaps I might be able to do something to help,’ said the earl lightly, and then cursed himself as soon as the words were out because he was sure he had no wish to know the Sinclairs further. He was just making his way out of the door when he remembered what Fiona had said that had so tantalized him.

‘What orphanage?’ asked the earl abruptly.

The effect of his words on Mr Sinclair was startling. The old man clutched at his heart and turned a muddy colour.

‘My dear Sinclair,’ exclaimed the earl, helping him into an armchair. ‘Whatever has happened?’

‘Naethin,’ gasped Mr Sinclair. ‘My heart is weak. You had best go, my lord.’

‘Let me at least ring for a servant.’

‘No, no!’ cried Mr Sinclair so desperately that Lord Harrington felt the old man would have a seizure if he did not take his leave.

There was a mystery about the Sinclairs, thought the earl, as he made his way out of Clarges Street and across Piccadilly to Green Park. Lord Harrington had property in East Lothian in Scotland. He decided to write to his lawyers in Edinburgh and ask them to find out all they could about a certain Mr Roderick Sinclair and his daughter, Fiona.

He was bound to find out something unsavoury about their background and discover the girl was quite unsuitable. Unsuitable for what? jeered a voice in his head. He walked more quickly as if to escape it. He was glad Fiona had been out. He was
sure
he was glad. The weather had turned brassy and hot. Most unusual in England. That must be the reason he was feeling so flat.

When Fiona returned, Mr Sinclair, who had meant to chide her for not having told him about her visit to Lord Harrington, who had meant to demand why the earl had asked about an orphanage, was completely thrown by the sight of the amount of money Fiona pulled out of her reticule.

‘You’ll get us both killed,’ he gasped. ‘You’ve been gambling again.’

‘And so I have. And how exhausted I am,’ Fiona replied, sighing. ‘It’s no use looking cross, Papa. I cannot help it if it is the fashion to invite me to tea and then almost
force
me to play cards. Ugh! What leathery ladies! They were quite furious with me for winning so much. I cannot understand it. The ones who were
not
playing with me lost thousands anyway.’

‘Were you cheating again?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Fiona, opening her eyes very wide. ‘Cheating is sinful.’

‘There’s enough here, more than enough to keep us,’ said Mr Sinclair. ‘Don’t play anymore. I feel it is dangerous. Look here, gambling isn’t natural in women. It turns them vicious.’

‘I will give Mr Rainbird some more money for the staff,’ said Fiona. ‘Poor things. They have so little.’

‘You haven’t been spoiling them?’ asked Mr Sinclair.

‘No. Grateful servants can be so useful.’

‘You having been used to servants all your life,’ sneered Mr Sinclair.

Fiona yawned and did not reply.

‘Harrington was here,’ said Mr Sinclair. Fiona showed no interest.

‘He nearly gave me the apoplexy. He turned as he was leaving and asked, ‘‘What orphanage?’’’

‘And what explanation did he give for having asked such an odd question?’

‘None. I was that upset. What were you saying to him, lassie?’

Fiona wrinkled her brow. ‘I was merely wondering why no one in society discussed anything of importance with me – like politics or the war or anything.’

‘Here! Don’t start getting clever. There’s nothing your
tonnish
fellow dislikes more than a clever female.’

Fiona laughed. ‘You are always calling me addlepated. Stupidity does not seem to please you.’

‘Never mind about me. The gentlemen consider it a fine thing in a woman. Harrington is no exception. I have heard it said he detests clever women,’ said Mr Sinclair, who had heard nothing of the sort, but was sure Fiona would dim her hopes of marriage if she suddenly decided to pretend to be intelligent.

Fiona went quite still. Her eyes narrowed a fraction. Then she said, ‘I feel sure you will find Lord Harrington did not say anything about an orphanage. We are both so worried about being found out that it is only natural we should sometimes hear the wrong thing.’