The Regency (105 page)

‘
Oh, since I found my lucky sixpence, I have done famously
well,' he said airily. 'I told you at the time it would be a
harbinger of good luck.'

‘
Its former owner evidently thought so,' Lucy said, 'since
he drilled a hole in it. You had better take more care of it
than he did. I wonder what happened to him?'

‘
I know what's happened to me, and it's quite delightful,'
he said. 'And once the heroes are home, I may win enough to
even pay my tailor. Though really, when I look at the size of
his ridiculous bills, I feel he must be so rich it would make more sense for him to pay me.' Lucy laughed. 'The influx of
heroes will be good for you, too, ma'am,' he went on. 'You
will have a daughter to bring out next year, and a London
teeming with officers is the best way I know to ensure of getting
her off.'

‘
Oh, Rosamund won't care for any of them,' Lucy said
wryly. 'She's too much her mother's daughter, cares for
nothing but horses.'

‘
And her cousin,' Brun-mien suggested with a smile. 'Don't
tell me her
tendre
for Captain Morland has worn away? It
might not be a bad thing if they made a match of it at last.’

Lucy raised an eyebrow. 'Marcus thinks of her as a child.
Besides,
I
don't suppose he has any idea of getting married.'

‘
When he conies back from the war he will; and Lady
Rosamund is a child no longer.'

‘
Talking of matches, is it true, as I've heard, that you have
been hanging out for a wife?’

Brummell shook his head. 'I am not yet reduced to
that,
I
assure you. Charles Manners and I still have a scheme in
hand which may make our fortunes at last. Marrying an
heiress will be my last resort.’

Lucy said no more, but she was worried about her old
friend, as she had been for some time. A year ago his style of life had finally outstripped his means, to the point where his
unpaid bills were mourning daily. He was deep in debt, living
on what he could win at play, and on the horses, a precarious
sort of life at the best of times. It was true she had heard that
he had been winning lately — Alvanley said he had won
twenty-five thousand pounds in one evening at cards — but
such luck could not be depended on.

He had also quarrelled fatefully with the Prince Regent,
and they were now not on speaking terms, which made it
unpleasant for everyone who knew them both, as well as for
Brummell. Indeed, there had been a very upsetting incident
last year, when Brummell, Alvanley, Mildmay and Pierrepoint
had given a fancy dress ball at the Argyle Rooms. No
invitation had been sent to the Prince, but the Prince, hearing
of the circumstances, had simply written to say he would be
there. There was nothing to be done about it but to send him
an invitation.

When the evening came, however, and the four hosts lined
up at the entrance to receive the Prince, he had greeted the
other three, but pointedly ignored Brummell. An awkward
silence had fallen at this deliberate insult, in which Brummell
was heard coolly and clearly to ask, 'Ah, Alvanley, who is
your fat friend?' The story had gone rapidly round London,
and though most of public opinion was on Brummell's side, it
did not make his life any easier to be on bad terms with the
Regent of England.

The Treaty of Paris occupied Castlereagh and the allied
monarchs all through May, and was finally signed on the last
day of the month. France was given her boundaries as they
had been at the beginning of the war, in 1792, and her over
seas possessions were to be restored to her, with the exception
of Tobago, St Lucia and Mauritius.

‘
It seems much too generous,' Lucy said to John Anstey,
who had walked in to take tea with her one evening when she
was dining alone. 'When you think of all the trouble France
has caused for the last twenty years —'

‘
Yes, but don't you see, the only settlement that could last
would be one that the French themselves see as just and
reasonable — otherwise they'd just break out again. It's for
the same reason that France is to be allowed a five-year
period before abolishing the slave-trade. That's annoyed the
abolitionists, as you can imagine! They're calling Castlereagh
all manner of unkind names; but the fact is that France has to restock her colonies, and if she's not allowed to, she'll simply
break the treaty and we'll have it all to do again.’

Lucy looked unconvinced. 'I'd be happier if Bonaparte
were dead, and the French completely subdued.'

‘
So would the Prussians,' Anstey said, 'but Castlereagh's
after a settlement that leaves everybody at least content, and
nobody too strong. A peaceful France, and good, solid barriers
against anyone's future ambition. That's why the treaty also
insists that Belgium should belong to Holland. A new state of
the United Netherlands will keep France in check on her
northern boundary.'

‘
It doesn't sound like much of a barrier,' Lucy commented.
‘France has overrun Belgium and Holland before now.'

‘
Ah, but Prussia and Hanover will be behind them for sup
port; and we're hoping to make stronger ties with the new
state by a marriage treaty — our Princess Charlotte and the
next Prince of Orange.'

‘And what about a barrier in the south?'

‘
Piedmont,' John said promptly, 'with Austria at her back.
It's all going to be a system of checks and balances, as neat as
a clock. When Castlereagh's finished his job, we shall have a
peace in Europe that will last for ever. Or as nearly for ever as anything can be in this uncertain world.'

‘
I hope you're right,' Lucy said. 'But I'd still feel happier if
Boney were dead.’

*

One day in June, Fanny had herself driven into York to do some
shopping, and met Hawker by prearrangement in Pavement. The market for corn, poultry, eggs and butter which thrived
here made the street extremely crowded and noisy, and Fanny
had protested a little at such a meeting-place. Shouldn't
they rather meet somewhere quiet and secluded?

‘
Foolish!' he chided her. 'In a crowd, no-one can hear what
you say, and you can see everyone, and everyone can see you.
Who can lay a charge of clandestine behaviour against you?
But in a quiet, secluded place, you never know who might be concealed, and listening.’

They strolled along, with Beaver behind them, chatting, or
enjoying the silence of each other. Fanny could see his point
now — they were both completely public, and completely concealed; and even sometimes, when the press of bodies
forced them together, able to touch each other. She was
happy. In the months since he had come back to York, she had seen him often, latterly almost every day, and she had
ceased to struggle against the inevitable. She was in love with
him. From the tiny acorn of that first meeting on the chapel
stairs at Mathilde's ball, the most unlikely great oak had
flourished. What would happen next she had not contem
plated; it was enough to enjoy the richness of colour and taste and texture that life now had, and to remember with a grateful
shudder the grey monotone of the time when she had not
been in love.

She had no doubts about him. When they had first met,
she had been a child, and he an adult; but the passage of years had allowed her to catch up with him. She was his
match, and his equal. He had seen and done more than she, of course, but she was sharp-witted and intelligent, and she
could hold her own with him. They were right for each other,
as he himself had said not long ago.

‘
We're both villains, Fanny, and we're both selfish. People
will never like us much, because we say what we think, and we aren't sentimental, or hypocritical. We care most for our
own skins and our own comfort, and so do they, but we aren't
afraid to admit it. We aren't really very likeable, you know,'
he added thoughtfully, 'except to each other.’

He had said many things, but he had never said he loved
her, and it piqued her that she could not wring or trick the
admission out of him. Sometimes, out of pride, she would be
haughty with him. 'Dozens of young men are in love with me.
I have more beaux than I can count on my fingers,' she would
say. 'Why should I waste my time on you?'

‘
Because I understand you, my Fanny,' he would say with
his piratical smile. 'They love you — if they love you at all —
for qualities they think you have, or hope you have, or think
you ought to have. But I value the qualities you really have —
your ruthlessness, am'. shrewdness, and quick wit, and your
bold temper, and your bold, bad eyes!’

Value —
not
love.
It made her angry, and he would watch
her with that knowing laughter in his eyes which always
defeated her.

Today, however, she could tell he was preoccupied. He
talked to her rather absently, and fell from time to time into
silences that were not warm and companionable as usual, but
distant and unhappy.

‘
What is it?' she asked after a while. 'Won't you tell me
what's troubling you?’

He looked up. She knew he wouldn't insult her intelligence
by telling her that nothing was wrong. 'Very well,' he said.

They were just passing the opening into the Shambles on
their left, and with a little nod he turned her into it. There
was a bench against the wall of the ruined church there, and
he sat down and drew her down beside him. Beaver looked
her astonishment, and took up an awkward position like a
sentry at a little distance, looking this way and that and
fiddling with her gloves.

‘
We're very conspicuous here,' Fanny said. 'We should not
sit long.'

‘
If I had my way, we would sit where we liked and do what
we liked,' he said savagely, 'and be damned to the old pussies.'
She looked at him in surprise, and he gave her a rueful
smile. 'Oh, you know my reaction to difficulty is always to
take up cudgels. I haven't the patience to sit things out.'

‘
You've plenty of patience when it suits you,' Fanny said.
‘Like a cat at a mouse-hole.'

‘
I'm afraid my days of watching for mice are in the past,'
he said. He took her hand and held it between both of his.
‘Listen Fanny, I know that you care for me, but I wonder how
much?'