Dangerous Decisions (22 page)

Dorothy arrived at Faraday House the day before the dinner party but brought with her news that because her mother was unwell, her stay would of necessity need to be short.

‘In all honesty,' she said to Helena as they relaxed over tea, ‘Papa is useless in the sick room. He hovers in the doorway for a couple of seconds and cannot escape quickly enough. Truly, he's much better with dogs than he is with people.'

‘But your mother's illness is not serious, I hope?'

Dorothy shook her head. ‘Not life-threatening, thank goodness. As you know, she was weakened by scarlet fever as a child and sometimes has these episodes of ill-health.'

‘At least you'll be seeing Peregrine tomorrow.' Helena smiled at her friend. ‘I still can't believe you're actually engaged.'

Dorothy held out her left hand, admiring the sparkling emerald. ‘Yes and there was I, the veritable bluestocking. But we're terribly well suited, Helena, and he's completely supportive of my work for the WSPU.'

‘What about Hugh, has he found a suitable wife yet?'

‘My dear brother has never recovered from his dashed hopes concerning you.'

Helena smiled. ‘You do talk tosh. But let us go up to the nursery so that I can show you Rosalind.'

The following morning after persuading Beatrice not to wear her favourite green dress that evening, Helena went up to the nursery to examine the pile of outgrown baby clothes she had instructed Nanny to lay out. Betsy greeted her with a shy curtsey.

‘I thought,' Helena said, ‘that while Nanny is out at the park, you and I could decide which of these Ida would find useful. I know you have never met her, but she was parlourmaid at Broadway Manor for years before she married a soldier from the nearby barracks. Her first baby is due next month.' She was hoping to build Betsy's confidence, which tended to be swamped by Nanny's stronger personality.

The young girl's face flushed with pleasure at having her opinion sought.

‘And afterwards,' Helena said, ‘perhaps you could make up the parcel and take it to Miss Beatrice's maid. And could you ask her to pass on a message?'

‘Yes, of course, Madam.'

‘Please could you say that I intend before the end of the summer to come to Broadway Manor for a few weeks. And that I'm looking forward to showing Rosalind to everyone.'

The dinner party was a resounding success. Jacob's two colleagues at the House proved to be good conversationalists and Angela Shirley discovered an earlier acquaintance with one of their wives. Peregrine's easy charm always added to any occasion, and afterwards taking a seat beside Dorothy on one of the deep-cushioned sofas in the drawing room, Helena decided that she was now free to relax.

‘I find the custom of “ladies withdrawing” extremely irritating,' Dorothy complained. ‘Why should it be assumed that serious topics are of no interest to us?'

‘And what serious topic would you raise?' Helena asked, smiling at her friend.

‘Women's suffrage of course – did I tell you that I'm going to hear Mrs Pankhurst speak tomorrow morning? There are four MP's in that dining room smoking cigars and drinking port, yet I have to sit here with the women. And of course the rule is no politics over dinner. You do know the reason given for depriving us of our right to vote – that as women we would be unable to understand how Parliament works!'

‘They can't really believe that, it's ridiculous.'

‘I suspect the reality is a fear of their wives' intelligence. If it were to appear superior to their own, where would be the deference they demand?'

Helena glanced across the room to see one of the parliamentary wives stiffen. ‘Dorothy, I think you're ruffling someone's feathers.'

‘I don't care, to be honest. What ruffles mine is that some
women
oppose our fight. Can you believe that?'

Helena bit her lip. ‘I know. Even Aunt Beatrice feels that giving women the vote will change the fabric of society.'

‘And how do you feel? I know you support us, but …'

‘They should never have inflicted prison on Annie Kenney for nothing more than trying to stand up for women's rights. Even I can understand why some are reluctant to be militant, but I fiercely defend their right to have that freedom.'

Oliver was finding the evening a welcome distraction. The seedy hotel, the furtive meetings at St John's Church gardens seemed a world away from this civilised gathering of well-dressed men and stylish women. Even Beatrice seemed to have made an effort and looked almost passable in a pink-coloured gown. Now, as he entered a drawing room alive with the murmur of conversation and the sound of laughter, he saw that Helena was leaving Dorothy's side and going to converse with Mrs Shirley. It was then as he saw Jacob stroll over to join his daughter that Oliver realised how much he missed Johnnie's artless chatter. His last postcard from Tuscany had mentioned ‘the delightful Selina', and Oliver was hoping that at last his friend might cease hankering after Cora. Once he had paid her off, Oliver was hoping neither to see her, nor hear her name mentioned ever again.

As he stood leaning nonchalantly against the mantelpiece he returned his attention to his young wife. In shimmering blue silk with a revealing décolletage, she would be a temptation to any red-blooded man. As she had been to the music tutor – it had not been difficult to use his influence to make the fellow's life untenable; the man would never return to England. And if all went well, very shortly neither would his bastard. No, that regrettable episode could now be relegated to the past; not that Oliver would not find some subtle way of causing Helena to regret it.

It was then that she turned and saw him staring at her. For one moment she hesitated, and then gave a small smile. Oliver inclined his head, aware with satisfaction of a definite thaw in her coolness towards him. However, it was true what they said – revenge was better cold. When stricken with grief she would turn to him for comfort and affection – then he would take her.

On that same evening, Nicholas was also enjoying a dinner party where he found himself the centre of attention of not only one, but two attractive young ladies. The whole scene was being watched with considerable amusement by Andrew Haverstock, whose motive behind the invitation to dinner had, Nicholas now realised, been far from an innocent one.

Elspeth and Louise Murray were the twenty-year old daughters of Mrs Haverstock's cousin who together with her husband, a professor at Aberdeen University, were spending the summer in London. Nicholas supposed that as he was a bachelor becoming established in his profession, he would naturally be regarded as a possible and eligible husband. And even he had to admit that the light-hearted repartee and flirtatious teasing being directed at him was rather a pleasurable experience.

So in the drawing room while the two cousins indulged in gossip, Andrew and the professor settled down to concentrate on the Oriental ebony chess set that had belonged to Andrew's father. Nicholas, seated between the two girls, was forced to indulge in the type of conversation he had always considered vacuous socialising.

‘Tell me, Dr Carstairs, do you think we are alike?' Elspeth smiled at him, her lips curving in a way that hinted at humour.

‘If you mean would I describe you as identical twins, then I have to admit that I wouldn't.'

‘So,' now it was Louise leaning forward, ‘please do describe to us what you see as our differences?'

Nicholas, glanced helplessly at his nearby colleague, but Andrew merely stroked his beard and moved his knight to a threatening position.

Louise said, ‘Don't you think that my profile is more appealing?' She turned her head sideways.

Nicholas laughed and decided to join in the spirit of the thing.

‘I'm not sure. Perhaps Miss Elspeth would care to adopt the same pose?'

She promptly obeyed.

‘No,' he said, ‘I think you are both equally perfect.'

Elspeth raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. ‘But as you don't consider us identical there must be something you consider different.'

Nicholas smiled at her and then studied them, thankful that they were not dressed alike, a practice he thought ludicrous in adults. ‘I think it's more a matter of character.'

They spoke simultaneously. ‘Oh, please do explain.'

Nicholas turned to see both the professor and Andrew grinning at him. Then he looked at Elspeth and Louise and saw that their flirtatious manner belied two pairs of rather fine eyes. ‘Would you like me to be completely truthful?'

They both nodded. Nicholas looked first at Elspeth who he considered the more handsome of the two, seeing a determination in the set of her mouth, a tilt to her head. ‘I think you are a young lady of perhaps strong opinions and even a little temperamental?'

Louise said eagerly, ‘But that's exactly right! Now Dr Carstairs, please describe the way you see me.'

Nicholas regarded the candour in her gaze, the way her hands were folded neatly on her lap, ‘And you, Miss Louise, I feel would be rather a tranquil person to be with.'

‘And that is true too,' Elspeth said. ‘Really, Dr Carstairs, you are quite brilliant.' As she smiled at him, something in her manner reminded him of Helena. Elspeth's hair might be auburn rather than honey-gold, she might have a scattering of light freckles, but he could sense that same underlying strength.

Andrew, in a triumphant mood from having achieved a rapid checkmate, was now rising from his chair. ‘I think, my dears, that you have monopolised my colleague quite enough. Would you care to equal my performance, Nicholas? Although the professor will now be on his mettle'

‘That is a challenge I cannot resist.' As Nicholas got up to move to the low chess table, he found his gaze lingering on the two young women. And later that evening, as he sat in a cab listening to the rhythmic sound of trotting hooves, Nicholas stared out of the window at the passing London streets and thought that perhaps there came a time in a man's life when comfort and clean laundry were not enough. He had never felt like this before, always there had been his work to occupy his mind, his ambitions to realise. And in fact from the first moment he had seen Helena, he had never had any inclination to seek other feminine company. Surely now the time had come to abandon what had always been a futile dream.

It was with a jolt that he realised the driver had drawn to a halt, and after paying him, Nicholas inserted his key in the heavy door, glanced at the one on the other side of the wide hall that belonged to a reclusive writer and went into his own silent rooms. Perhaps it was because of those tender moments he had spent with Helena, the wonderful sense of closeness and warmth he had felt, that the old saying ‘man is not meant to live alone' suddenly seemed a poignant one.

When on Saturday night Cora left Ned outside St John's Church gardens, she kept close to hedges and walls as she began to make her way back along the deserted road. The guineas were heavy in the small hessian sack she'd hidden in the carpet bag she was clutching to her chest. Part of a soiled blouse protruded from the top and it was her hope that it would look as if she was carrying dirty laundry. London born and bred, and used to living in what many would consider risky areas, she had long overcome any tendency to feel nervous when walking its streets; but tonight her heart pounded with apprehension. Forcing herself not to hurry or to lower her head in a furtive or timid way, nevertheless her gaze was wary, her shoulders hunched. And up one sleeve, easily accessible, Cora had secreted a knife.

But she received few curious glances, dressed as she was in her sober skirt and her face devoid of paint, and with profound relief she reached her apartment building safely and seconds later was inside her own door. She secured the apartment and only then took out the hessian bag, carefully tipping out the golden stream of guineas on to the square mahogany table. Some rolled and some scattered, but most lay in a gleaming pile. She picked one up and putting it between her front teeth, bit hard. Then she began counting. The amount was exactly as Ned had promised. Fifty guineas for her, and twenty-five – Cora would give her twenty – for Sybil.

Cora took a deep breath and went over to the sideboard where a decanter and glasses stood in readiness for whenever Johnnie decided to return. She didn't care much for brandy, but tonight she welcomed the burning sensation in her throat of the golden liquid, hoping it would steady her nerves. Now desperate for sleep, she needed the unwanted thoughts to stop circling in her mind. Tomorrow she would meet Sybil and pass over her share of the money, because her friend's conscience might be more fragile, but once she had taken the guineas then there could be no going back.

Oliver hadn't walked away from St John's Church gardens immediately. He had watched Cora make her way along the pavement, remembering the glitter of avarice in her eyes when he had, as she demanded, allowed her to look inside the hessian bag. He had no fears that she would not reach her apartment in safety; Johnnie's paramour was a young woman who knew how to look after herself. He had agreed to her demand that the final payment should be made immediately once she had fulfilled her part of the bargain. There would be only one brief time he would stand outside these gardens, one more time he would have to wear these disgusting clothes. Oliver knew that he had been fortunate at the hotel, the late hour of his arrival and departure had so far meant that he had never encountered any other guest. All he would need to do was to change into his own clothes, settle his final bill and take with him the leather weekend bag, which together with its contents he would dispose of with stealth. He could foresee no problems. At least not here, he thought with grim trepidation. But within a few days from now Faraday House would be in turmoil.