Vice and Virtue (9 page)

She was about to make a light-hearted comment on the choice, when she realized that the books she was handling were probably Edward’s. He or his father might have sought them out and placed them upon the chosen shelf in the library, the very room where she had waited downstairs.

She dropped the book she had been scrutinizing. It was the German tales, a thick volume that fell with a thud upon the wooden floor. Hastening to retrieve it, apologizing to Celia for her carelessness and trying to hide the flush that covered her cheeks, Aurora was unprepared for what she saw when she straightened up, the book in her hand.

Joe stood before the fire, his left hand on the hilt of his sword. His weight was over his right foot; the other rested upon the empty fire basket. He was smiling tolerantly, amused by her confusion. His unadorned coat and short wig told her he was on his way to some masculine business.

She spoke as lightly as she could. “Good afternoon to you. As you see, I am wrestling with this book, though I have not yet even opened it!”

Last night the flares outside the theatre had illuminated Joe Deede’s fair looks, but had deepened the shadows cast by his hat and the side-pieces of his wig. Today he was hatless, and in the daylight Aurora saw how fresh his face truly was. Like his sister, he smiled easily, and had the same blue eyes and freckles of the fair-skinned.

“Miss Drayton,” he said with studied courtesy, “how very delightful it is to see you again. I trust you are well?”

“Quite well, I thank you, Mr Deede.”

“Oh, call him Joe!” interjected Celia.

Her brother bowed his acquiescence, his complexion turning pink. Perhaps Edward was right, and last night’s meeting had not been by chance. Perhaps Joe Deede
had
been watching her all evening, and had sent his sister to cross the path of Mr and Mrs Fellowes and their young companion as they left the theatre. It was certainly flattering to imagine so.

“Then you must call me Aurora,” she replied.

He bowed again. His blush had subsided, but his embarrassment still showed in his inability to return her gaze. His sister, seeing all, rescued him. “I trust you had a pleasant walk from Covent Garden, Aurora?” she asked conversationally.

“I did, thank you. It is a fine afternoon. And I only had to ask the way once.”

“Oh!” cried Celia. “You are unfamiliar with London, are you not? If you had told us where you live, Joe would have collected you.”

Joe had recovered enough to look at Aurora. “It would have been an honour.”

“And yet I could not allow it, sir – I mean, Joe. My brother wishes to remain … not exactly in hiding, but…” She smoothed her skirt, feigning unease. “It is a long story. Perhaps after he has passed away…”

Joe and Celia were both looking at her questioningly. Aurora knew she would have to explain, as plausibly as she could, without slighting their hospitality.

“It is shameful,” she said, inventing as she spoke, “but my brother has creditors who have become impatient. He has instructed me to make sure that no one knows where our lodging place is exactly.”

“Is that why you have taken lodgings in such a…” began Celia.

“It is easy to lose oneself in Covent Garden!” supplied Joe quickly. “But we are not your brother’s creditors, Aurora. It would not matter if we knew where you live.”

She gave him a beseeching look. “Please, I must keep my promise to my brother. People in London know other people. They meet, they talk… He trusts no one. So no one, even you, must find us. I beg you, give me liberty to go to and fro alone.”

“I do not like it,” said Joe after a moment’s pause, during which the expression in his eyes grew warmer, “but I will agree to it. Not for his sake, but for yours.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Aurora.

Joe looked at her a moment longer, then turned and slapped the mantelshelf. “Dammit, I could pay his creditors three times over!”

“But he will not allow you to, sir,” insisted Aurora.

Celia pressed her hand. Her expression was so concerned that Aurora was ashamed. As Joe settled himself in a chair, she was glad to change the subject. “Are you not going out, sir?” she asked him.

“No, I am only too happy to be in the present company.”

“But your appearance seems to indicate otherwise.”

“Joe does not wear a house robe,” explained Celia.

“Indeed I do not,” he declared. “Why a man should not wear his coat and sword in his own house is beyond me. If I am to meet a lady I dress appropriately.”

“Oh, Joe, do not be so serious!” cried Celia. “A house robe is a perfectly practical way of being comfortable in one’s own house.”

“I am comfortable enough,” said her brother, as seriously as before, “in plain clothes such as these, and with a serviceable sword at my side.”

Celia made a face. “My brother is very proud of his swordsmanship, Aurora, and loses no opportunity to exhibit it.”

“I make no apology for my desire to wield a blade well,” said Joe confidently. “It is the mark of a true gentleman.”

“As are horsemanship and the ability to call a hawk,” added Celia. “Joe likes nothing better than country pursuits. Do you ride, Aurora?”

“No, I confess I do not.”

During the pause that followed Aurora marshalled her thoughts. She had not come here to make small talk with Joe Deede and his sister. She must not lose sight of the true reason for her visit, nor of her obligation to her husband. “May I enquire, is your father from home?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Joe. “He goes out to business, but he will be back for two o’clock dinner.”

“And what is his business?” asked Aurora.

An almost unnoticeable glance passed between Joe and his sister before he answered. “He is an attorney at law. He deals in the transfer of property.”

“I see.” Aurora was aware of something unsaid, hovering in the air. “Well, whatever Mr Deede’s business may be, he is clearly a man of means,” she said, making sure her tone was that of a lightly cast remark.

Neither Celia nor Joe spoke. Aurora knew their father had two other sources of income apart from that of an attorney. One was the legitimate proceeds of his marriage to an heiress, the other the more dubious inheritance of Henry Francis’s estate. But his children were hardly likely to share this information with a stranger.

Aurora glanced at the clock. It said five minutes to two. “Anyway, I anticipate with great pleasure the honour of meeting Mr Deede,” she said, equally lightly. “A man with two such handsome offspring must be extremely well favoured himself.”

“Flattery!” trilled Celia, smiling again. “I believe we take after our mother in
looks
, though I cannot vouch for how much of our father’s
character
we have inherited. It is impossible to judge oneself.”

“It is indeed,” said Joe. “But all too easy to judge others.”

Another silence threatened, but was averted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a shouted command to a servant, followed by the opening of the door.

Josiah Deede had neither the stature nor the fair complexion of his son. He was of no more than middle height, and carried the undefined waistline of the middle-aged and well fed. His clothes and hat were more decorative than Joe’s, and he wore sashes across his chest and a long wig. His dark brown eyes were set deeply beneath heavy brows. Although he had something of the look of his son around his mouth, well favoured he was not.

“So this must be the famous Miss Drayton!” he exclaimed, bowing. His voice was friendly enough, but blustery and confident. He had the air of a man used to telling others what to do. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam.”

Aurora extended her hand. “The famous Miss Drayton?” she repeated, smiling. “Why, you had surely never heard my name until yesterday!”

Josiah Deede shook her hand energetically. “That is true, but my daughter has not stopped speaking of you since. Miss Drayton this, and Miss Drayton that. And my son” – with a meaningful look at Joe – “does not lag far behind her in singing your praises.”

Joe braved his embarrassment. “And do you not now understand my enthusiasm?” he enquired of his father.

“Aye,” said Mr Deede in a softer tone, gazing at Aurora’s face. Then he addressed his daughter at his accustomed volume. “Is dinner ready? I am as hungry as a lion.”

“And you make as much noise as one!” scolded Celia, opening the door to call the servant.

Joe was smiling at Aurora. “Come,” he said, offering her his arm. “We must not have you stumble on the stairs.”

The dining room was as well appointed as the salon, with two large windows, elegantly draped with dark-patterned curtains, and a polished floor. The only decoration Aurora was certain had not been placed there by the late Mrs Elizabeth Francis was a large wall-mounted crucifix, the blood drops from Christ’s wounds painted a lurid red. Beside it, the candle-holders contained new beeswax candles, ready to be lit when the light faded.

As Aurora took the place indicated by Celia, between her and her father, opposite Joe, she pictured her mother’s careful hoarding of beeswax, melting and making, melting and making, using every last drip so that there would be sweet-smelling candles to burn when customers came. Otherwise, she and her daughters made do with the foul odour and eye-smarting smoke of tallow candles. Aurora wondered if Joe and Celia Deede even knew the difference.

After Josiah Deede had spoken grace, he spooned soup and forked roast pork into his mouth with speed and enjoyment, tearing and offering bread, mopping up gravy, concentrating more on the food than on his guest. But when the plates were empty and the servant was pouring more wine, he turned to Aurora.

“My daughter tells me you went alone to the Theatre Royal last night, Miss Drayton. Is that correct?”

“Oh, Father!” protested Celia. “She is not
your
daughter, you know!”

Mr Deede held up his hand. “Peace! I merely wish to ask Miss Drayton if she enjoyed the play. A young lady who braves that rabble without an escort must have, in my opinion, a strong reason for it.”

“I did enjoy it, very much indeed,” said Aurora, “though I confess that I was led to the Theatre Royal less by its reputation for fine drama than as a meeting place. I have little opportunity for entering society, but I
must
be amongst people. It is my nature.”

Josiah Deede looked sympathetic. “My dear girl, your situation, and that of your unfortunate brother, is to be pitied indeed. But now that you have made our acquaintance, there is no reason for you to be at all lonely. You must regard our house as your own.”

Aurora bowed her head. “You are very kind, sir, to provide me with such excellent hospitality. And as for the attentions of your son and daughter…”

“But we
want
to pay you attention!” said Celia eagerly. “After the play, Joe said to me, ‘Look at that girl with Mrs Fellowes. I wonder who she is?’ I wondered too, as I did not think Mrs Fellowes had any nieces, or at least any pretty ones. So we got in your way as you left the theatre, and sure enough, you were all alone, and in need of befriending. And I am so glad we
did
befriend you, and so is Joe, are you not, Joe?”

“Guilty as charged,” said Joe, smiling, with his hand over his heart.

Celia clapped her hands in approval. Even Eleanora did this only when she forgot herself. Aurora’s youngest sister considered such behaviour too childish for a thirteen-year-old, and Celia Deede was at least five years older. It was clear that as the baby of the household, Celia had been indulged since her mother’s death by a doting father and brother.

“You see, Aurora?” She pushed back her chair. “Now, if you have eaten sufficient, come upstairs and drink some tea with me. Father will want to smoke a pipe” – a look of mock disapproval – “and he likes Joe to join him in a glass of Madeira after dinner. We have half an hour in which to speak of
interesting
things.”

“Very well,” said Aurora, rising from the table. The gentlemen rose too, and she regarded them apologetically. “If you will excuse us, I confess I like nothing better than
interesting
things.”

“Then you are made in my own image!” trilled Celia joyfully. “Except that you are prettier, of course.”

Aurora knew she was not. “You are modest, Celia, and it becomes you.”

“So are you, Miss Drayton,” said Josiah Deede unexpectedly. “And modesty in a woman is the more becoming, the more beauty she possesses.”

Aurora accepted the compliment with a dip of her head. But as she turned from the table her glance caught Joe’s. His eyes were bright with approval.

Celia chattered all the way up the stairs, but Aurora was not listening. She knew that what was meant by
interesting
conversation was gossip about courtship, marriage, infidelity and illegitimacy. How could she make such things into something worth reporting to Edward?

“That will be all, Missy,” said Celia to the maidservant who brought the tea tray. When the girl had gone Celia sat down on a footstool. Drawing it near to Aurora’s chair, she leaned forward and kept her voice low. “May I ask, my dear Aurora, if you have any suitors?”

Aurora had not expected this. But she responded in kind, leaning towards Celia and speaking softly. “No, none at all. Have you?”

Perched on the footstool, hugging her knees, Celia turned her translucent blue eyes upon Aurora. Her face had taken on the earnestness of a child about to betray a secret. “No, but we are not discussing
me
. Aurora, you surely cannot have failed to notice my brother’s attraction to you?”

Aurora obliged with an arch look, though her brain raced with unlooked-for pictures of Joe’s blush when Celia insisted on the use of his first name, and his admiring glance as Aurora had left the dinner table. “He may be attracted to me if he so chooses,” she said. “I have no objection. But I have not noticed any particular attentions, I must say.”

“You are dissembling, Aurora! Confess it, when you look at him you are already measuring your wedding gown!” Celia hugged her knees tighter, squirming with delight. “We shall be sisters!”