Escapade (3 page)

“Makes me a laughing stock!” Clare said angrily.

“Well, ‘pon my word, Clare, never knew you to pay so much attention to her before. What's gotten into you?"

“Assaults on my appearance, my habits, and my manners I can tolerate, but when she takes me to task for shirking my duty—when she turns
serious
..."

“Fact of the matter is you never did do a hand's turn in the House, outside of that one little speech you made, till she got after you."

“I am not interested in politics. I have other concerns about which Prattle knows nothing."

“How could she, when you're as close as an oyster on the subject, and never tell a soul about..."

“I don't want her praise!” He glared and set down his glass. Then he assumed an air of indifference again and continued, “It has got its needle into me, and I think I shall find out who it is. You were right, it is difficult to slay an invisible dragon. Now, how shall I proceed?"

“Ask Thorndyke,” Bippy suggested. “Editor of the
Observer
. He must know."

“Others have queried Thorndyke. He says nothing. Has promised it anonymity, or some such thing. Damme, I think I must buy the rag."

“What, buy the newspaper? Devilish silly thing to do, Pa'k. Cost you a bundle, and what do you want with a newspaper?"

“It would save buying one each day, and I could fire Prattle."

“No, really! Oh, you're gulling me,” Bippy said, with a sheepish smile when he realized he had been taken in. “Besides, no saying Prattle wouldn't just pick up her wages and leave when she heard you'd bought the paper out. Anonymity would still apply very likely, and you wouldn't even have the pleasure of firing her. Lord, Pa'k, you would look no how, buying a paper and finding the bird had flown."

“True."

“Everybody'd know you'd only done it to put a muzzle on Prattle."

“I should not like to give rise to vulgar tattle, but I was joking ... I think."

“Wouldn't satisfy her."

“It."

“Whatever."

“If only it would stop bestowing those damned cognomens on me."

“Eh?"

“Names, titles—those ones you mentioned. Even—oh really I could strangle it at times—it even had the temerity once to label me a Dandy. Me! Now you must own that is coming it too strong. I never wear a shirt point above my ears, or more than one ring, or padding in my shoulders, or sawdust in my stockings to give me a leg. Damme, the thing is a viper."

“Yes, she ought to know you're a Corinthian."

“But we have honored it too much already with such a discussion. Who do you back in the match Alvanley has set up with his new man and the champ? The champ will take it, I think. I mean to lay a pony on it."

“Too steep for me. I'll settle for a monkey."

Clare's brief interest in Prattle was forgotten, and he made no real efforts to discover her identity.

In a small but elegant mansion on Grosvenor Square, Lady Sara Mantel sat with her mama, embroidering a monogram on her husband's handkerchiefs. She was tall and dark, generally described as handsome rather than pretty, now that she was in her thirtieth year.

“I wonder if Ella has the column ready,” she remarked. “It is time it was sent off to the
Observer
. Did you give her the details of the do last night at Carlton House?"

Lady Watley, who considered needlework a dead bore, fanned herself and replied, “I jotted down a few details. She is giving two paragraphs to the Bradigan do you two were at, and one to Clare, so she only wanted the high lights.” She stuffed a bonbon into her pudgy red face and chewed vigorously.

“Clare again!” Lady Sara commented, snipping off a silk thread. “Lud, how she does harp on him. I declare I don't know why she has taken him in such aversion, for he is ever so amusing. We matrons all dote on him."

“He don't have to worry about you married ladies dangling after him, so he can act in a civil manner. Ella says he let fall a very nasty remark about us last night, and she means to tick him off for it."

“The corporate ‘us’ you mean?” Lady Sara asked.

“Yes—Miss Prattle."

“Oh, what did he say?"

“He says he is retiring to the country to be free of her, only he called us it, and he will conduct his amours at Clare Palace in Dorset in future to keep us at bay."

“Poor Ella. What will she do with her favorite subject beyond reach?"

“Talk will dribble back to London. We'll have to make do with hearsay. But what has upset her is that he called us FitzPrattle."

A silvery tinkle of laughter greeted this announcement. “Touché,” Lady Sara said.

“I'm sure I don't see the joke. Ella was most indignant, and now you fall into hysterics. What is so marvelous about adding a Fitz to our name?"

“You must know, Mama, it is the name usually given to by-blows of the great. He is calling Miss Prattle a bastard, but in his usual elegant style."

Lady Watley swallowed her bonbon before her mouth fell open. “Sara!” she gasped. “What do you mean? I know a dozen Fitzes, and none of them are—what you say. There are the FitzGeralds—John and Margaret you know, and while they are Irish they are certainly not that, for his parents are personally known to me. To say nothing of the FitzHughs, who are quite unexceptionable."

Sara applied her needle and smiled to herself. “Yes, they are respectable now, but you may be sure there is a touch of scandal somewhere in their background. Oh, years ago, very likely. Some great-great ancestor. FitzPrattle! Well, Ella shall let him have his own back for that, I make no doubt."

“She is doing something on his remove to Dorset, a sort of mock encomium I believe, congratulating him for realizing he is scandalizing London and taking his black soul off into oblivion."

“I doubt he'll go."

“He goes, Sara. It is a settled thing. He has already invited his two favorite flirts and their mamas. Honor Sedgley won't be left out either; the Marchioness will see to that. Bippy Tredwell will be along to play court clown, and a few other gentlemen to make up the party."

“A pity,” Sara said, her needle poised in the air. “Ella could make something wonderful of it, if only she could get herself invited along."

“Oh, as to that, as well expect him to invite his tailor! He takes no note of Ella."

“Hmm, I wonder how it might be arranged. When do they go?"

“A week's time is what was being said last night."

“I see.” Lady Sara said nothing else but, as she worked her monogram, a look of concentration descended on her face. After perhaps five minutes, it was replaced by a sly smile. “Do you know, Mama, I have decided to go to Almack's tonight"

Her mother grimaced with loathing. “How you can stand that dull place, with Burrell and Esterhazy staring down their noses at you. No decent gambling, and nothing to drink but a glass of lemonade or orgeat. I tell you frankly, Sara, I considered a reprieve from Almack's one of the greater advantages of your match when you married Sir Herbert. You'll drag Ella along, of course, as an excuse for going yourself. She doesn't care for it either, though I daresay she'll tag along and see what she can pick up for the column."

“Yes, she will go. She knows Clare is more than likely to be there, and she is always happy to throw herself in his path and see what she can glean."

At this moment, Miss Puella Fairmont entered the room, two closely written sheets in her hand. “I've finished the column,” she said. “Do you want to read it?"

“I'll read it tomorrow in the
Observer
,” Mrs. Watley replied.

Lady Sara put down her embroidery and took the sheets, scanning them quickly. “Why have you signed it Miss F. Prattle?” she asked.

“The F stands for Fitz,” Ella replied. “I am acknowledging his hit quite openly. I haven't come up with a suitable revenge on him yet; I can scarcely question his legitimacy."

“Don't think of it, Ella! That would be going a good deal too far. Besides, Thorndyke wouldn't allow it."

“I know. But I take it as a promising sign that he has made a public utterance at last on my existence. He often pretends he doesn't know whom people are talking about, you know, when he is roasted about me. ‘I don't believe I have the honor of the person's acquaintance,’ he will say, or some such odious thing. Well, he has admitted he knows who I am now."

“Yes, and given a pretty good idea as to what he thinks of you, too.” She rang a bell and sent the papers off with a footman, who knew from long habit he was to remove his livery and proceed on his secret mission to the offices of the
Observer
in a hired hack, so that no one would remark on the daily trip of Sir Herbert Mantel's carriage to that destination.

“By the by, Ella,” Lady Sara said, “we are going to Almack's tonight."

Ella wrinkled her nose in distaste but made no verbal demur.

“Why don't you wear your new golden gown, and try that hairstyle we saw in the Belle Assemblée?” Sara suggested, regarding her niece critically as she spoke. She had a nice straight figure, if slightly thin. The hair was just brown, and she made no effort to be in fashion, but the face was rather pretty. If only she would look alive, and play up to any of the gentlemen who took an interest in her. She was shy, of course, but really it was too absurd of her to go on being shy for four seasons, while plainer girls nabbed every man out from under her nose. If she could be induced to say in public the sharp, amusing things she said at home and in her column, she would be taken up as an Original.

“Bickles is hopeless with hair,” Ella replied simply.

Sara sighed. How very typical of Ella! Her abigail had been accused of being hopeless with hair for four seasons, but no effort had been made either to replace her or teach her the rudiments of dressing hair. “I'll lend you Stepson,” she said.

“Thank you, Sara, and will you lend me your old white gloves as well? Mine have a finger out."

“Yes, love, but
do
buy a pair of gloves next time you are out."

“I know I am not stylish enough to please you, Sara, but I have just been reading in Hannah More a passage that expresses my feelings exactly. ‘Where your heart is, there will you store up treasure.’”

Sara stared at this irrelevancy, and said curtly, “No one will fear your heart is on your back then, will they?"

“What Miss More means is that you spend your time and thought and money on what is important to you, and people who gild and polish their bodies do so only because they think in
physical
terms, like the lower animals. It is the mind and spirit that are important. I would rather decorate my mind than my body."

“Let me tell you, Ella, Hannah More is a humbug. Your heart ought to be on finding a husband at this stage of your life, and if you think a decorated mind is going to be of the slightest use, you mistake the matter."

“I know that, but I don't want to marry a man who hasn't the sense to look below the surface.” This matter settled, Ella turned to speak to her grandmother.

“Will you take particular note tonight at Fenton's rout as to whether Lord Byron is present, and whom he talks to, and so on. Try to stand by him for a while and pick up a quote or two. He is highly quotable."

“Miss Prattle is finding a subject nearly as interesting as Clare, is she not?” Lady Watley asked. “You may be sure I'll be hanging on his every word, if he's there."

“I am planning a column on him. I will admire his beauty, deride his slovenly habits of dress, berate him for his affairs, and forgive him everything for his divine poetry."

“I am surprised his slovenly dress is to be derided,” Lady Sara said. “I made sure you and Hannah More would approve."

“But in his case it is all affectation, you know,” Ella informed her aunt. “They say he curls his hair in papers, like a lady, and I think it is true, for it is curlier sometimes than others."

“There is nothing in that,” Sara defended. “Rain makes naturally curly hair curlier."

“Yes, but Byron's is straighter when the weather is damp. And his limp is a little more pronounced too though, of course, I shan't mention that."

“I should hope not!"

“It is not his fault. But what I shall mention is the shameless way Lady Caroline Lamb haunts him."

“That is not entirely her fault, for he was used to sit in her pocket a while back, and it must be a blow to be losing him."

“Yes, he must be a sore temptation, but temptation was made to be overcome. Hannah More says..."

“Resist the temptation to quote Hannah More at me, love,” Sara said. “Nothing is more likely to put a gentleman off than to be forever preaching at him. And while you're about it, you might overcome the temptation to wear that pink gown as well. Have Bickles hem up that new golden dress, so that you won't look such a quiz at Almack's."

“Lord, Sara, you don't still hope to get me off your hands, do you?” Ella asked with an ironic laugh. “I am stuck on you and Sir Herbert like a barnacle.” She looked worried when her aunt frowned at this instead of smiling, as she had hoped.

“Oh, do you hate having me? I shan't mind going back home to mama. Truly I shan't. It is only Miss Prattle I shall regret, for she is fun, but I do plan to write my novel you know and can get on with it when I go back home."

“Nonsense! I am thinking of you. I love having you, and so do Herbert and the children. But it is unnatural the way you never make the least push to form an attachment."

“I have tried, Sara, but the older gentlemen are too wise to bother with me, and the younger are too stupid for me to bother with them, so what's to do?"

“Someone in between—a gentleman no longer young—say thirty or so."

“The good ones get snapped up young, and there aren't many gentlemen at the magic age of thirty or thereabouts."

That evening Lady Sara and her charge entered Almack's and made their bows to the Patronesses before joining the throng hovering at the edge of the dance floor. Both ladies had the same prey in mind—Lord Clare—but upon discovering that he was not present, the elder did not appear disappointed. She shepherded Ella to the far corner of the room, for no reason apparent to her niece. No one was there but Bippy Tredwell, standing alone in a pose denoting an advanced state of boredom. One could not but wonder why he had come. There were more gentlemen than ladies present, so naturally Tredwell was without a partner. With a greeting, Lady Sara sallied forth and engaged him in conversation. When the music began, he asked Ella to stand up with him. Ella had feared this very contingency, and felt she might have done better for herself from all the surfeit of black jackets standing about, but Sara was smiling quite contentedly. With a shortage of girls, Ella had a partner for every dance. It was while she danced with Mr. Peters that Lady Sara once again accosted Bippy Tredwell.