My Dear Duchess (21 page)

Frederica found her voice too late. With an imperious wave of his hand, he hailed a passing hackney cabriolet and disappeared into the snow.

Frederica knew that it was useless to plead with the servants. Her husband was lord and master. They would not listen to a word that she said.

Even Worthing was meticulously correct as to the arranging and dispatching of her trunks. Only her maid, the stern Benson, broke down and cried as she shared her mistress’s disgrace. Frederica was not even going to be allowed to wait for morning. As soon as she had changed into her travelling dress, the coach was waiting outside with her trunks corded on the back and the horses of the outriders stamping and snuffling in the snow.

The coach rumbled off. She thought of Lawton, the Groom of the Chambers at Chartsay, and a picture of his fat white face seemed to swim in front of her eyes and she shuddered.

Pride had stopped her from writing an explanation to her husband. He had not trusted her. And in any case, she could not have produced the letter that had lured her to the club because, when she had searched in her reticule for it, it was gone.

A livid dawn spread over snow-covered London as Mrs. O’Brien waddled round the now-empty gaming room snuffing out the candles. She stood on tiptoe, reaching up with the brass snuffer to the last and tallest of the candles without success. She looked round for a chair to stand on and saw a piece of crumpled paper on the floor. Wheezing for breath she bent over to pick it up.

Never leave a piece of payer lying, she thought—it might always be an I.O.U. She smoothed out the parchment with her swollen and mottled fingers and then carried it over to the light of the one remaining candle. She read “If you wish to know where your husband spends his evenings—and with whom—pay a visit tonight to Mrs. O’Brien’s gambling house, 128 Cork Street.”

She shook her turbaned head over it. It must have something to do with the Duchess for the note had been lying by her chair. And why had Jack Ferrand misled her? Somewhere and somehow the two were connected and somewhere and somehow there might be money in it for Mrs. O’Brien. But she was too old and too weary to cope with the problem at that moment. Standing on a chair, she snuffed the last wavering candle and waddled off to bed as the pale dawn changed to blood red, turning the snow colored streets to crimson. For a few brief moments, the glare illuminated the empty gambling room with a hellish glow, fading to grey and then black as the snow began to fall and the dreary clang-clang of the watchman’s bell sounded down the early morning streets.

The same brief crimson glow awoke Frederica from a fitful sleep. She was chilled and cramped. The carriage swung into the long drive leading to Chartsay and as they approached the great house, the red glow faded, leaving the towers and battlements silhouetted against the heavy black sky.

Lawton, complete with cane, emerged onto the entrance steps to meet the carriage. He made Frederica a low bow and pasted a smile on his unlovely features. One of the footmen who had travelled with Frederica presented Lawton with a letter with the instructions that he was to read it immediately.

Frederica moved slowly across the great chilly hall towards her apartments. “Have tea brought to my rooms, Lawton,” she called over her shoulder.

Something in the quality of the silence made her turn round. Lawton was looking straight at her. He had just finished reading the letter with the Duke’s instructions and his face was twisted with malevolent glee. “I am afraid that will not be possible, Your Grace,” he said with a mock bow. “The servants are still abed.”

Frederica was too fatigued to argue. She turned her back on him and went to her rooms.

She slept heavily for three hours and awoke hungry despite her misery. She rang the bell and waited… and waited. Growing impatient, she sent Benson to see what was up with the servants. Benson bustled back after quarter of an hour, her mouth in a thin furious line.

“That fat slug, Lawton,” she cried. “He says the staff are all too busy to attend to your needs. I told him that the Duke would hear of his behavior and he said… he said…” here Benson burst into tears. “Oh, ma’am,” she sobbed, “he says the Duke won’t care what becomes of you.” Frederica’s face was as white as the powdery snow drifting and eddying on the terrace outside.

“He means to starve us,” said Frederica in a flat voice. “The steward, Benjamin Dubble, where is he?”

“In London seeing the Duke,” faltered Benson. “Oh what on earth are we to do?”

Frederica suddenly gritted her teeth. She was not going to spend the rest of her life being bullied. Mrs. Sayers had been enough. She got to her feet. “You’ll see, Benson. You’ll see!”

The terrified and sobbing maid followed close behind her young mistress who stalked out into the hall and up to the first landing of the grand staircase. Frederica seized the rope of the fire alarm and gave it a mighty pull. The clang-clang-clanging echoed through the great house and soon there were loud cries of fire and figures scurrying to and fro in the hallway. One by one, as they looked up to see who had been ringing the fire bell, they saw the small figure of the Duchess, standing on the landing, clutching the balustrade and looking down into the hall. One by one they fell silent. One by one they stopped. Frederica waited until she guessed that practically all the servants were gathered in the hall. Lawton looked insolently amused, some of the footmen sniggered, but the rest waited in silence.

Frederica’s voice was as chill and cold as the musty air in the hall.

“You have all, as far as I know,” she began, “been guilty of the most insolent and disloyal behavior. Whatever the situation between myself and my husband may be I think you should know him well enough to know that he would not tolerate such treatment of his wife.”

Lawton merely grinned and gave a fat wink to his sister who smiled back.

“I am sure however that there are some amongst you who realize the enormity of your behavior. If there are any among you who would serve me as befits my rank and as the Duke would wish… stand to one side. I would know my friends.”

There was a long silence. Benson thought that no one was going to move. Then amid jeers and cat calls, the small knife boy walked to one side of the hall and stood with his hands behind his back looking up at Frederica. Then the under butler, a man named Bond, moved to join him. He was slowly followed by several housemaids and six of the footmen. The smile began to leave Lawton’s face. The still-room maid suddenly scampered to join Frederica’s side. A pretty, mischievous-looking girl with a mop of fair curls, she seemed a general favorite.

Several more followed after her, including the two footmen from the Grosvenor Square household who had travelled down with Frederica.

When the ranks were divided and no more moved to Frederica’s side of the hall, she spoke again. “All those loyal to me will be rewarded. The rest of you will lose your jobs as soon as my husband hears of this affair. Furthermore…”

She broke off as the great doors burst open and the rector and his wife stood on the threshold. Mrs. Witherspoon ran forward and then stopped in amazement at the rows of divided servants, the grinning Lawton, and the small stern figure of the Duchess.

“My dear Duchess, what is the meaning of this?” cried Mrs. Witherspoon.

“Mutiny in the ranks,” shouted Frederica with a grin of relief.

Mrs. Witherspoon wheeled about, “This is all your doing, Lawton, you great fat
useless
man.” And before Lawton realized her intent, Mrs. Witherspoon had set about him with her red silk umbrella, beating him resoundingly about the head and shoulders until she was pulled away by her startled husband.

While the rector was explaining that they had heard the sound of the bell and rushed to help, Mrs. Witherspoon rounded on the rest of the servants.

“Leave and go about your duties, all of you,” shouted Mrs. Witherspoon. One by one they sheepishly filed out, those that had elected to be loyal to Lawton feeling as if they had just made a dreadful mistake.

Frederica ran lightly down the stairs and fell half weeping, half laughing into Mrs. Witherspoon’s motherly arms.

When breakfast had finally been served by the under butler, Frederica found herself pouring out all her troubles into Mrs. Witherspoon’s sympathetic ear. It was such a relief to talk to someone that she felt she would never stop. The rector had tactfully taken himself off to the library. When Frederica finally finished, Mrs. Witherspoon leaned back in her chair and surveyed her with amazement. “Marriage of convenience, be damned,” she cried and then was glad her husband was not around to hear her lapse. “It seems to me as if you two ninnyhammers are head over heels in love and don’t know it. And pride, my dear. Such pride! Not to tell your husband of your terrible experience in Barnet and to think poor Henry had anything to do with it is beyond belief.”

Frederica sighed, “You make it all sound so simple. But it was not like that at the time. If the Comte were to be believed then
someone
was trying to harm me and still is. And… and I believe Henry is still in love with Clarissa.”

“Pooh!” said Mrs. Witherspoon. “He does not look at Clarissa the way he looks at you.”

“Me?” faltered Frederica.

“Yes, you, I think his eyes were opened to Clarissa a long time ago. I think you will find that he only suffers her company because she is your sister.”

“What am I to do?” begged Frederica.

“Wait until the roads are clear,” said Mrs. Witherspoon, “and give me a letter and I shall have the rectory boy sent to London with it. Explain everything to your husband. Leave nothing out… including your love for him. It will be all right, you’ll see. One of you has to break down these barriers of hurt pride and I am afraid, my dear that in this present world that that is usually the lot of the female.

“Why, even now, the Duke will have realized his dreadful mistake!”

But the Duke had not, although he was becoming increasingly worried. He had just returned to Grosvenor Square after a distressing meeting with his sister, Emily, and her fiance, Archie Hefford. Both had been shocked at Frederica’s behavior but Emily insisted there must have been something behind it.

“She came here to see me that evening,” said Emily. “And she was very upset and nervous and near to tears. She would not tell me what was the matter or where she was going. She simply kept repeating that she had a pressing engagement.”

Even Aunt Matilda Cholmley had waved aside Stafford’s “yea verily” translations to remark abruptly, “That gel’s in love with you, Henry.”

All looked at her in surprise but after that one sentence, Aunt Matilda had retreated back into her silent world and would say no more.

The Duke was pacing up and down in his study when Mr. Pellington-James was announced.

Chuffy had dark circles round his eyes but looked remarkably like a large cat that had just swallowed a particularly delicious canary.

“I’ve got tremendous news,” he cried cheerfully. “Where’s Frederica?”

“My wife is at the moment resident in the country where she will remain for some time,” remarked the Duke stonily.

Chuffy’s large face fell. “What a disappointment. She would be so thrilled at my news.” He looked hopefully at the Duke who was still pacing up and down and then asked plaintively, “Well, ain’t you even goin’ to
ask
me what my news is?”

The Duke stopped his pacing and regarded him with some irritation, “Oh, very well. What
is
your news?”

“I don’t know as I want to tell you now,” said Chuffy sulkily. “I come in here all happy and all you can do is march up and down like a demned Friday-faced Bengal tiger.”

That brought an unwilling smile from the Duke and he sat down. “I have been called a lot of things in my time, Chuffy, but never, until now, a Friday-faced-Bengal tiger. Out with it, man.”

“’I’m engaged to be married,” Chuffy burst out proudly.

The Duke raised his thin eyebrows in surprise. “Married! To whom?”

“Priscilla Wheatcroft.”

“Congratulations, Chuffy. You’ve kept your affairs very quiet. I did not know that you had been seeing much of Miss Wheatcroft.”

“Oh, I have been seein’
a lot
of Miss Wheatcroft,” said Chuffy with a wicked grin. “Y’know, Henry, she’s a most surprising girl. Why you’d never think to look at her that she… that she could… that she would ever… anyway, what I mean is, she’s full of surprises.”

The Duke smiled but said nothing so Chuffy went on, “Fact is, I was lookin’ forward to tellin’ Frederica about it all. Why is she in the country?”

“Because I sent her there,” said the Duke heavily. For the second time that morning, he found himself telling his story.

Chuffy looked at him goggle-eyed. “Frederica! Consorting with a lot of bucks in a gambling hell! There must be something behind it. Why, Frederica is Mrs. Propriety herself! That’s why she liked me as an escort. Knew I was safe and that no one would take it seriously, what with my ridiculous clothes and demned accidents. You know, I haven’t had one accident since I changed from the Dandy set. Look! I’m even growing my own hair.”

He raised his wig to reveal a head of tiny light brown curls.

The duke had not even seemed to have noticed Chuffy’s new wig. He was sitting back in a high winged chair staring moodily into the flames.

“There was something havey-cavey about that Barnet business,” said Chuffy suddenly. The Duke looked up quickly. “‘Member that day when she was crying in St. James’s Park and I thought it was because I was borin’ her to tears with tales about old Pegasus, y’see, some ladies don’t
like
horses. Now that may seem strange to you and it seems downright strange to me. Now take old Pegasus.…”

“Chuffy,” said the Duke between his teeth, “get on with it.”

“Oh, yes, where was I? Ah, I’ve got it. Well, y’see, before yesterday, I didn’t know that much about the gentler sex but now I’ve got a bit more experience. I think she was cryin’ about you chasin’ her to Barnet and not about horses.”

“That doesn’t help me,” said the Duke. “On the contrary that leads me to believe that there was something deeper in her relationship with the Comte than I had been led to believe.”