Rake's Progress (15 page)

‘What a terrible night!' said Rainbird. ‘I hope Joseph managed to find Lizzie. I don't like to think of any young girl wandering about in this fog. And there's my lord gone out, too. That's the bell. He must be back.'

Rainbird darted up the back stairs from the servants' hall and entered the front parlour. But it was only Mr Roger, calling for another bottle.

‘Wonder where Lord Guy is,' said Mr Roger. ‘It's curst dull sitting here alone. I told him the opera wouldn't be performed tonight, but he insisted on going in case Miss Jones might have had the same idea. Love is a wonderful thing, Rainbird.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Rainbird politely. ‘You have not
yet dined, Mr Roger, and the hour is getting late. Shall I tell MacGregor to prepare a supper?'

‘Yes. No. I don't know. Demne, forget that other bottle. I'll walk round to the club. Can surely find my way to St. James' Street. If Lord Guy comes back, tell him to join me.'

‘Yes, sir. Will that be White's or Brooks's?'

‘White's, of course,' said the Tory Mr Roger. Brooks' was for the Whigs.

After ascertaining that Mr Roger really meant to walk, Rainbird returned downstairs and asked Jenny and Alice to help him fill up the coal scuttles in the bedrooms. It was going to be a cold night. He heaved a sigh of relief as the kitchen door opened and Joseph and Lizzie came in, hand in hand.

Once the fires had been made up, the beds turned down, and fresh water put in the cans on the toilet tables, the servants returned to their hall and settled down to a late supper. Manuel slid in and took his place at the end of the table. He ate quickly and silently.

‘Care for a glass of brandy, Manuel?' asked Rainbird, winking at Angus MacGregor.

‘Yes,' said the Spanish servant ungraciously.

MacGregor, gathering that Rainbird wished to get the Spaniard drunk, poured him a large measure. Silence fell on the servants. Once the meal was over, Mrs Middleton retired to her parlour on the half-landing on the back stairs, Jenny and Alice took out sheets and began to mend them, and Lizzie cleared away the dishes and took them
through to the scullery to wash. Dave, the pot boy, who had his nose in a Gothic horror story, had to be cuffed and ordered to help her.

Angus MacGregor sat next to Manuel and kept refilling the servant's glass every time he emptied it.

‘These will need to be washed when we've finished,' sighed Jenny, putting delicate little stitches into a tear in the sheet spread on her lap. Alice nodded. ‘Terrible bad, this fog,' she said in her slow, warm voice. Fog lay in bands of yellowish-grey across the kitchen. ‘It does dirty everything so. Reckon I don't know why folks live in Town if they don't have to. That Miss Jones now. All that money and yet she lives the year round in Berkeley Square. Can't be good for the children. Do you have fogs like this in Spain, Manuel?'

‘No,' said Manuel, drinking brandy steadily.

‘Got no conversation,' said Jenny. ‘Most servants enjoy a chance to have a bit of a gossip. But not you, Manuel. No, yes, no, yes.'

‘My Engleesh, she is not good,' volunteered Manuel sulkily.

‘Now, there's an odd thing,' said Alice, putting down her needle. ‘Sometimes you sound like them Spaniards at the playhouse – I mean when someone English pretends to be Spanish – and then sometimes your English is as good as my lord's.'

‘I go,' said Manuel, getting to his feet and hanging on to the table for support.

He lurched to the door and then could be heard stumbling up the stairs.

‘What did you say that for?' said Rainbird
angrily. ‘Angus and me were trying to get him drunk so that when he passed out we could search him.'

‘Wait a bit,' said Alice placidly. ‘He's gone to his room, and from the look of him he won't stay awake long. Ain't it quiet? You would think the whole of London was dead. Not even a carriage passing. I wonder if my lord found Miss Jones.'

‘You had wandered quite a way from the theatre, Miss Jones,' Lord Guy was saying as he walked along beside her, keeping her arm firmly tucked in his.

‘I must apologize for my behaviour,' said Esther stiffly. ‘I am not in the way of hugging strangers. I was overset.'

‘Of course you were,' he said soothingly. ‘But we are hardly strangers now. And we
are
engaged to be married.'

‘Only for a week,' said Esther firmly.

‘Since you plan to go about in society, you will no doubt be asked why you found me unsuitable. What reason are you going to give?'

‘I do not need to give a reason,' said Esther. ‘The world will simply think I have come to my senses. You are a well-known rake.'

‘On the contrary – I gave one wild party . . .'

‘And
such
a party. That was enough to ruin anyone's reputation.'

‘Not a member of the peerage,' said Lord Guy. ‘Society will forgive me all, particularly when they see how well you have reformed me.'

‘Rakes never reform,' said Esther.

‘What gives you such knowledge of the breed?'

‘My father led my mother a most unhappy life.'

‘Ah, but perhaps he
became
a rake after marriage. Now, I have
been
a rake. That is a different thing entirely. I am determined to marry you, Miss Jones. I may not have made that point clear.'

‘Why?'

‘Because, like all my breed, I am mercenary. I believe you have a rare talent for making money on 'Change. I would avail myself of such a talent.'

‘That is what I expect of you,' sighed Esther. ‘You may avail yourself of my services, my lord, without having to marry me.'

‘Of course, there
are
other things.'

‘Such as?' asked Esther drily.

‘Your hair is like fire, your eyes are the eyes of a witch, your figure excites my senses, and you have an odd toughness of mind which stimulates my own. Furthermore, I love you. Shall I go on?'

‘No. Enough. I do not believe a word of it,' cried Esther, shocked because her treacherous body was reacting physically to his words as if he had caressed her. ‘Where are we going, my lord? We appear to be wandering aimlessly.'

‘I have not the faintest idea where we are,' he said easily.

‘Oh, I have been following you blindly. Poor Miss Fipps. She must be mad with worry.'

‘Not she. I came across her and your servants outside the theatre. I told her to be easy in her mind
as I was sure I would find you. I told her to wait for half an hour and then return to Berkeley Square. She is not as strong as she appears.'

‘You
do
know her,' said Esther. ‘You have known her before. I see it all now. Deceitful Rainbird. And I so grateful to him for having provided me with a companion at such short notice. She is one of
your
poor relations!'

‘She is my cousin.'

‘And you foisted her on me!'

‘Come, my excellent and sensible Miss Jones. I would not have you companioned by any silly woman. I care for you.'

‘It also saved you from having a poor relation in
your
own household.'

‘True.'

‘Miss Fipps may leave tonight.'

‘Why? She seems to fill the post excellently. And would you deny that she has an affection for you?'

‘How can I tell?' said Esther wretchedly. ‘You have been plotting and scheming behind my back. I know what it is! You do not have any money.'

‘On the contrary, I am very rich.'

‘Why don't you leave me alone?'

‘Alas, I cannot.'

‘You want me to stay alive, I presume. Then . . .
GET ME HOME
!'

‘You are shivering,' said Lord Guy. ‘It is quite amazing how a spleenish temper can reduce one's temperature.'

‘I am
not
in a temper,' said Esther. ‘I want to get out of this fog.'

‘And so you shall. We shall repair to some tavern or coffee house and find out where we are.'

Esther tried to see his face, but the fog was so thick, she found it was like being blind.

‘Are you
sure
you do not know the way?' she asked.

‘On my honour. There are sounds coming from the left. Let us go that way.'

A dim blur of light suddenly appeared a few inches before their eyes.

‘In here,' he said.

Esther drew back. ‘I cannot go into a common tavern, my lord.'

‘Then let us hope it is an uncommon one, for I cannot walk around in this fog much longer.'

Lord Guy ushered Esther into a dark, foggy taproom. There were two men sitting in a corner, half asleep, but apart from them, there were no other customers.

They sat side by side on a settle in front of the fire. The landlord came bustling up. ‘Where are we?' asked Lord Guy.

‘You're in George Yard, sir, off of Long Acre, sir.'

‘Oh, we
have
wandered. Fetch me the ingredients for a punch.'

‘I would prefer lemonade,' said Esther after a few moments' silence.

‘Punch will warm you,' he said.

‘Punch might make me drunk.'

‘That I should like to see – the disintegration of the stony-faced Miss Jones.'

‘I am not stony-faced!'

‘Yes, you are. Quite like a statue, down to the smear of soot on your nose.'

Esther gave an exclamation of distress. She pulled a steel mirror out of her reticule and dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief.

‘Here. Allow me,' he said softly. He took the handkerchief from her hand and put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. He rubbed at the spot of soot, and smiled down into her wide eyes. Her lips, he noticed, were very soft and pink. He remembered how they had felt when he had kissed her in the Park. That memory gleamed in his eyes, and Esther jerked her head away as the landlord came up carrying a tray with two lemons, half a pint of rum, half a pint of brandy, a quarter of a pound of sugar, half a teaspoon of nutmeg, and a kettle of hot water and a large bowl.

‘Would you like me to prepare it?' he asked, but Lord Guy waved him away.

Esther watched him prepare the punch, first rubbing the sugar loaves over the rind of the lemons until they were yellow. He appeared completely absorbed in his task. She noticed again the mocking droop to his eyelids and the humorous twist to his mouth, the aristocratic nose, and the glint of his golden hair. Although he looked remarkably clean and fresh, as if he had come straight from the hands of his valet rather than out
of a London fog, she persuaded herself he had a shop-soiled,
used
look. No one could live the life he had led without that life corrupting his very soul. Her lip curled in distaste, and then she found he was looking at her curiously.

‘You sit there, making me feel like a piece of rotting meat,' he said. ‘Have I such a bad smell?'

‘I was thinking of your immortal soul, my lord.'

‘To err is human, to forgive divine, Miss Jones, or had you forgotten?'

She compressed her lips into a disapproving line and did not reply.

He finished preparing the punch and handed her a glass. Esther sipped it cautiously, but it tasted sweet and tangy and remarkably innocuous.

‘Why do you persist in living in Town?' he asked.

‘I do not like the country.'

‘Why, pray?'

‘What a lot of questions you do ask,' sighed Esther as he refilled her glass. ‘I like the Town because it is ordered and tame. One can remain anonymous. In the country, everyone gossips and everyone knows one's business.'

‘You will find, as you mean to join the ranks of society, that people here gossip much more. You see, they have nothing else to do. They watch each other the whole time, searching for scandal, searching for weak spots in the social armour. But I would have thought the children might have benefited from country air. Have you never even taken them to Brighton?'

‘No, my lord.'

‘You cannot go on forever inflicting your fears on your little brother and sister. They should have the company of other children . . .'

‘Like those monsters at the children's party?'

‘Those monsters were with their mamas. With their tutors and governesses, you will find them quite different. And Peter should have a tutor. Can he ride or fish or hunt?'

‘There is no need to do any of these things in London.'

‘I wish someone would tell that to the Berkeley Hunt.' Lord Guy laughed. ‘They hunt up to the very walls of Kensington Palace, crashing their way through gardens and cucumber frames after a bag fox.'

‘Peter is being taught to ride Snowball, that little mare I rescued in the Park while you, my lord, were in a trance. Do you really think I ought to drink any more of this stuff?'

‘Yes. I apologize for my fit in the Park. It seems I have only to hear or see anything which reminds me of battle and I find myself whirled back among the dead and dying.'

‘But surely you need not fear the sights and sounds of war any more,' said Esther.

He looked puzzled. ‘You mean I shall become hardened like a proper soldier?'

‘I mean you will not be returning to the wars . . .'

‘On the contrary, my love. I have every intention of going back to take up my command as soon as our honeymoon is over.'

‘Ah, so you are like all other men. You would marry for the sake of a nursery and then leave your wife while you lead an entirely separate life.'

‘I had hoped you would come with me. Wellington will not stay in Portugal forever. We will soon be in Spain.'

Esther stared at him, round-eyed.

‘It is not unusual,' he said. ‘Many men have their wives with them.'

‘If you loved me, you would not expose me to danger.'

‘I would not expect you to join me in the front lines, my amazon.'

‘And what of Peter and Amy?'

‘Peter would go to school – which would delight him. Amy would go to my father's with Miss Fipps, where she would play all day long with all my little nieces and nephews.'