Rake's Progress (12 page)

They all looked at him in surprise.

I'm sure we are imagining things, Master Peter,' said Rainbird. He cocked his head to one side and then slid away from the table, walked quietly to the door and flung it open.

Manuel was standing outside.

‘Were you listening to us?' demanded Rainbird furiously.

‘Me,' said the servant contemptuously. ‘Why should I wish to listen to you?'

He turned and walked away, leaving the servants looking at each other.

*  *  *

Lord Guy was disappointed in his companion. He had pointed out various notables, he had talked of the theatre, he had talked about the success of her party, and all she had answered was curt monosyllables – yes, no, and oh.

He wanted to shrug off the whole idea of courting Miss Jones, but the physical attraction she held for him grew stronger by the minute, and as his impatience with her grew in strength, so did the intense longing to hold her in his arms.

Then a squadron of volunteers who were drilling in the park raised their rifles and fired a volley. His horses shied and he reined in, jumped down, and spoke to them soothingly until he had quietened them. He climbed back in and took up the reins. ‘Are you all right?' he asked Esther, and then two things happened at once.

For Lord Guy, Hyde Park receded, to be replaced with a battlefield. Cannon roared, horses screamed, and once again that little drummer boy, Jimmy Watson, barely eleven years of age, stared up at him with pleading, tortured eyes, crying ‘Shoot me, my lord. I cannot bear the pain.' Lord Guy's face turned chalk-white, and he covered his face with his hands.

At the same moment, Esther was looking appalled at a little carriage that had stopped alongside. It was pulled by a pretty milk-white mare and was in charge of a richly dressed brunette. The horse had reared and, like Lord Guy, the brunette had
stopped. But the minute her horse was quiet, she started lashing along its flanks with her whip until a long, savage scarlet weal showed where she had cut open its hide.

Esther did not pause to think. She leapt down, marched over, seized the whip out of the girl's hand, and threw it into the bushes.

‘You are a
monster!
' she cried.

The girl looked at her haughtily. ‘I am Lady Penworthy. Who are you?'

‘I am Miss Esther Jones, and I take leave to tell you, you are a cruel and unfeeling girl. How dare you treat that inoffensive animal in such a way?'

‘John,' called Lady Penworthy to her footman on the backstrap. ‘Fetch my whip.'

The footman jumped down. ‘If you raise that whip again,' said Esther, ‘I shall take it from you and whip
you
.'

The brunette cowered before the fiery blaze in Esther's eyes. ‘It's a stupid horse,' she said sulkily.

‘Then you have no further use for it,' said Esther. She tugged open her reticule and drew out a large sheaf of banknotes. ‘You will find a hundred pounds here,' said Esther coldly. ‘I will buy your horse.'

Lady Penworthy looked at her in amazement. The horse had cost fifteen guineas. A look of greed shone in her eyes. Jones! Of course, this must be the rich Miss Jones of whom everyone was talking.

The footman came up with the whip.

Esther wrenched it from him and stood like an Amazon. ‘Well, Lady Penworthy?' she asked.

‘Oh, very well,' said Lady Penworthy cheerfully. She jumped down lightly and snatched the money. Esther turned to the footman. ‘Take the mare out of the poles and tie it behind my carriage.'

A curious crowd was beginning to gather.

Esther looked at Lord Guy. Why had he not come to her aid? He was sitting very still, his hands over his face.
Probably pretending he isn't here
, thought Esther impatiently.

Arrangements were made for the collection of Lady Penworthy's carriage. Stiffly, Esther, casting a fulminating look in the direction of her silent companion, offered Lady Penworthy a drive home. But, cheerfully waving the sheaf of notes, Lady Penworthy was already heading towards a friend's carriage. She knew she carried with her, not only one hundred pounds, but the best piece of gossip in London.

Esther climbed in beside Lord Guy. The
ton
stayed to watch, openly and loudly discussing her charms, the gentlemen saying she looked magnificent, and the ladies tittering in a pitying way and saying all that money must have turned her brain. One hundred pounds for such a little mare!

‘Do you want me to drive
as well
, sir?' said Esther, between her teeth.

Lord Guy, surrounded by the dead and dying, did not hear.

Esther jerked his hands down from his face and then gazed at him in alarm. His face was deathly white and his eyes fixed in a blind stare.

‘Oh, my lord,' she cried. ‘You are ill!' She fished in her reticule, took out a bottle of cologne and a clean handkerchief, and proceeded to bathe his temples. Esther had a very strong maternal instinct. When he shuddered and murmured, ‘Oh, such death, such suffering. Will it never end?' she knew immediately he was in the grip of a nightmare. Forgetting about the staring, curious crowd, forgetting Lord Guy was a rake and a libertine, she put her arms round him and hugged him as she hugged the children when they had bad dreams and said softly, ‘Shhh! You are not at war. You are here with Esther. Everything is all right.'

Gradually his eyes focused on the beautiful face so close to his own. In a dazed way, he saw the tenderness in her eyes, he felt the warmth of her bosom and the pressure of her arms. He did not know where he was and he did not care. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately on the mouth, more passionately than he had ever kissed a woman in the whole of his life. Esther's concern for his welfare was so acute that she did not resist for one little first moment, and that moment was her undoing. She felt her body leap into flame, and if the deafening cheer from the onlookers had not brought her to her senses, she might have begun to kiss him back.

She jerked away, her face flaming, and said between her teeth, ‘You seem determined to make a vulgar spectacle of me. Drive on!'

Lord Guy looked about him in a startled way,
cursed under his breath, and picked up the reins. He was in despair. About every notable in London society appeared to be on the scene. In even more black despair, he saw the florid features of the Prince of Wales, his corpulent figure perched high in a swan-necked phaeton. Lord Guy bowed, and Esther, her face the colour of beetroot, bowed as well.

‘What's going on, heh?' called the Prince.

‘Lord Guy Carlton at your service, Your Royal Highness. May you be the first to wish me well. Miss Jones has done me the honour to grant me her hand in marriage.'

‘Spring in the air, what!' cried the Prince with a jolly laugh. ‘It's the nesting season, heh. I said, the nesting season.'

Everyone about dutifully laughed.

‘Invite me to the wedding,' said the prince in high good humour. ‘Can't 'member when I was so entertained.'

‘We shall be honoured,' said Lord Guy easily, ‘to welcome Your Highness's presence at our marriage ceremony.'

‘Do not forget,' said the Prince. He moved on, and society clicked and urged their mounts as they followed in line behind him.

Esther and Lord Guy were left alone.

‘I could not say anything else,' he said plaintively. ‘Miss Jones, you can call it off, but we must send a notice of our engagement to the newspapers.'

‘Never!' said Esther. ‘You tricked me. You only pretended to go into a trance to get my sympathy.'

‘No,' said Lord Guy sadly. ‘I would that were true. It was that volley of shots that affected my brain. I am haunted by nightmares, even during the day. I came out of my nightmare to find you in my arms. The transition from hell to heaven was too fast for me. Miss Jones, you
must
forgive me.'

Esther clutched her head. ‘Oh, the shame of it all!' she cried. ‘After all my good intentions – to be tied to a rake!'

‘You are not tied,' he pointed out. ‘We shall be engaged this week, which will immediately make our scandalous behaviour respectable. Then, having satisfied the morals of society, we can be separated the next. I shall soon be going back to the wars.'

‘You, my lord, are in no fit state to go to any war.'

‘What else happened while I was out?' said Lord Guy. ‘Why, for example, is there a strange and bleeding horse behind my carriage?'

Curtly, Esther explained.

‘Then the least I can do is buy the mare from you,' he said.

‘Fustian,' said Esther roundly. ‘Since you are returning to the wars, you will not be able to look after a horse, let alone a wife.'

‘Oh, do not make me even more ashamed than I feel,' he said quietly.

‘What am I to do?' cried Esther. ‘The Prince of Wales . . .

‘Society will have something else to talk about next week,' he said. ‘An engagement for a week will
quieten scandal. You do not want Peter and Amy to suffer because of my behaviour – behaviour, I may point out, which was really no fault of my own. I did not know what I was doing.'

‘Oh,' said Esther bleakly, feeling very sad. Then she rallied with an effort. ‘One week, then, my lord,' she said firmly. ‘And during that week you will behave like a gentleman. Do I make myself clear?'

‘Yes, ma'am,' said Lord Guy meekly. He picked up the reins and turned his head away so that Esther should not see the triumphant smile on his face.

‘Morning Post' (‘The Times' won't trust me), help me, as I know you can;

I will pen an advertisement – that's a never-failing plan.

‘
WANTED
– By a bard in wedlock, some interesting young woman:

‘Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forthcoming!

‘Hymen's chains,' the advertiser vows, ‘shall be but silken fetters,

‘Please address to A.T., Chelsea. N.B. – You must pay the letters.'

SIR THEODORE MARTIN

‘What has our Lizzie been up to?' asked Rainbird as Mrs Middleton dragged the blushing scullery maid into the servants' hall.

‘Our Lizzie has a letter and refuses to let me see it,' said the housekeeper.

‘Now, Lizzie,' said Rainbird, ‘girls in your position are not supposed to receive letters without
telling their betters where they come from. You don't have any family, so who has been writing to you?'

‘It's private, Mr Rainbird, sir,' said Lizzie desperately.

Rainbird felt uncomfortable. Mrs Middleton was right, of course. On the other hand, it did seem terrible that Lizzie was forbidden any private life at all.

‘Let her keep it,' said Alice slowly. ‘Seems to me we do have some rights. Lizzie wouldn't do anything wrong.'

‘She's bin writing for jobs, that's what,' cried Dave.

‘You shouldn't ha' taught 'er to write.'

‘You haven't, have you, Lizzie?' asked Rainbird.

‘Not a job, no,' whispered Lizzie.

‘Here comes that Manuel,' called Joseph.

‘I'll speak to you later, Lizzie,' said Rainbird. The staff were united in their dislike of Lord Guy's servant and never discussed anything personal in front of him.

‘That ees that,' said Manuel furiously.

‘What ees what?' mocked Jenny.

‘My lord tell me to go to the
Times
and put an advertisement in to say he wed this Miss Jones.'

They all cheered, and Manuel looked at them angrily. ‘It mean he no' go back to Spain. I rot here in this stinking country.'

‘Watch your mouth,' said Rainbird. ‘If you've been told to put in an advertisement, go and do it,
and don't stand around here sulking and glooming. Off with you.'

‘One day, you be sorry you speak to Manuel with disrespect,' said the servant, charging out.

‘Good,' said Rainbird. ‘I'll say one thing for that Spanish onion, he don't stay around very long, always creeping here and there.'