Jane Ashford (16 page)

“She doesn’t,” answered Jack shortly. He pulled Laura away from Carstairs and led her toward the door. Behind them Laura heard the man make a remark, and the two gentlemen with him laughed. She flushed.

“Thank you,” she said faintly. “I was going to my carriage.”

Mr. Allenby made no answer, but merely led her along the hallway. Laura shut her eyes for a moment and swallowed. She did not feel particularly well, and she never had wanted anything so much as she wanted to go home now.

They stopped walking, and Laura opened her eyes, expecting to see the front door and a footman holding her cloak. But instead they stood alone in a small, darkened parlor. She could not tell in what part of the house it was. She looked at Mr. Allenby. “What is this room?” she asked. “What are we doing here?”

“I wished to speak to you privately,” he answered. “The breakfast room seemed the best choice.”

Laura stepped away from him and strove to gather her fuzzy wits. “I want to go to my carriage now, please,” she said as firmly as she could. “I am tired. We can talk some other time.”

Her companion laughed. “Tired? You are foxed, my dear, quite prettily foxed. It adds a wild color to your cheeks. In fact a touch of champagne makes you utterly entrancing.” He started toward her, and Laura backed away.

“What did you wish to speak to me about?” she asked quickly.

Mr. Allenby laughed and continued to approach her. “Why, I only wished to tell you that you have lost more than two thousand pounds tonight, my adorable Laura. I thought perhaps you had forgotten to tally your chits.”

Laura stopped dead, and the color drained from her cheeks. “Two thousand pounds!” she cried. “It can’t be!”

The man was watching her with amusement. “No? Ah, but perhaps you have forgotten that the last two vowels you signed were rather larger than the others. You made no objection, as all present can testify.” His eyes, usually twinkling with merriment, now held an excitement Laura found obscene.

“You know very well I did not see the figures,” she snapped, “and so I shall say.”

“Repudiate debts of honor?” inquired Mr. Allenby. “Oh no, I do not think so. You will see it differently when you are more clearheaded. Your scrupulously honorable husband would never allow it.” He saw her cheeks whiten further and laughed. “I shall not tell him, never fear.” He moved toward her again. “Or shall we say, I shall not tell him if you and I remain friends.” He was close to her now and slipped an arm about her waist. “
Dear
friends, perhaps?” Suddenly he pulled her against him and forced her lips to his, crushing them in a passionate kiss.

For a moment Laura felt frozen. All the embarrassments and unpleasantness of the evening combined to render her unable to move. Then she came to herself and fought desperately. Jack Allenby was amazingly strong for such a slight man. She could not get free, and his hold on her increased as he pushed her toward a corner of the room where Laura suddenly remembered seeing a divan. She twisted with all her strength and managed to bring them up short against a table in the middle of the room. It was only for a moment; then he forced her away, but that moment was enough for her to grasp a vase which sat there. Before she could think, she had raised it and brought it down with all her strength on Jack Allenby’s head.

The man’s grip slackened, and he fell heavily to the floor. Without waiting to see whether he would rise, Laura dropped the vase on the carpet beside him and fled. In the corridor, she was confused at first, but soon came to the staircase and saw into the hall. There was no one there but a footman. She glanced quickly in the mirror hanging above a small table across the corridor, straightened her hair and bodice, then walked carefully down the stairs. The footman saw her coming and went to fetch her cloak. In a moment he was bowing her out the door, and she was flooded with relief to see her carriage waiting on the opposite side of the pavement.

When Laura climbed in, the coachman said, “We was just about to knock, ma’am. Thought you might have forgotten the time.” Laura said nothing, but nearly fell into the coach in her eagerness to be away. When the vehicle started up, she huddled in the seat and thrust all thoughts from her mind.

***

When they reached her house, she stumbled on the top step, causing both servants to rush to help her. “I am all right,” she insisted. “Only rather tired.” But she swayed again even as she reassured them and had to cling to the banister going up the stairs.

Her mind was still fuzzy, and as she paused in the corridor outside her room, supporting herself with one hand against the wall, all her despair came flooding back. She had so wanted to talk to Eliot, to get everything clear between them. And what had she accomplished? Nothing. Trying to straighten, she looked at the door to his room. Perhaps it was not too late; perhaps she could still do so, before he had the chance to hear of her foolishness from someone else.

Trembling, she walked to the door, swallowed, then reached for the knob and turned it. The door swung open.

Warm light from the bedchamber illuminated her in the doorway. Eliot was standing before the fireplace, wearing only his shirt and breeches. He looked up, startled.

“Why, Laura.”

She looked at him beseechingly. With the wild color in her cheeks echoed by the dress she wore, she was incredibly beautiful. She held out a hand. “Eliot, I… I am so sorry.”

Before she could go on, he was across the room. He pushed the door shut and took her in his arms. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. “We can make it all right.” And bending his head, he kissed her.

All that Laura could think about was how different this was from Jack Allenby’s hateful kiss. The things she had wished to say fled from her mind, and her arms automatically went round his neck. Without another word Eliot picked her up and carried her to the bed.

Laura woke alone, with the sunlight streaming through a gap in the bedcurtains. She sat up quickly, then sank back, putting a hand to her head. It ached abominably. She pushed aside the curtain and put her feet over the edge of the bed. It was late morning; no one had called her, and Eliot was up long since. She stood, then clung dizzily to the bedpost for a moment, her stomach churning. Too much champagne had left her feeling terrible. But in spite of this her lips curved upward as she walked carefully through the dressing rooms to her own bedchamber.

When Mary had brought tea, and Laura had washed and dressed, she felt somewhat better. But the lessening of her physical ills merely brought mental ones into sharper focus. What was she to do? She had lost two thousand pounds, Mr. Allenby had said. She shuddered a little as she thought of him. Where was she to get such a sum? And if Eliot should find out about her losses, after last night. Laura shuddered again. All would be ruined. He had forgiven so much already.

She went downstairs. She wanted no breakfast, but she ate a slice of toast to quiet her stomach. Clarissa was in the drawing room when she walked in and greeted her, but to Laura’s surprise she said nothing further. The older girl was grateful for the silence at first; then she recalled that Clarissa thought her angry, and she made an effort to speak. “Clarissa, I am sorry for our quarrel yesterday. Let us forget it, shall we?”

Her sister started and turned from the window. “What? Oh yes, of course. I am heartily sorry for the things I said, Laura.”

“Let us say no more about it.”

Clarissa nodded and turned back to the window absently. Laura frowned and was about to ask her what was wrong when Mr. Dunham came in. “There is a young woman to see you, ma’am,” he told Laura. “She says you are expecting her.”

Laura turned her frown on Mr. Dunham. “
Expecting
her?” She considered, then shrugged. “Send her up.”

Shortly thereafter Mr. Dunham returned, followed by a slender young woman neatly dressed in dove gray. He announced, “Miss Marston,” rather stiffly, and left the room.

“Marina,” said Laura. “How do you do?” She was not unhappy to see the girl, but she reminded her of the masquerade, and this only suggested her other follies as well.

Marina dropped a small curtsy. “I am sorry I was not here yesterday,” she said. “I could not get away.”

“Yesterday?”

“To return the money as I said I would. Here it is.”

This dialogue had aroused Clarissa’s curiosity, and her interested examination of the coins passing between them made Laura uneasy. “You needn’t have taken the trouble over such a tiny sum,” she said to the girl.

“It was not tiny to me,” replied Marina. “Indeed it was a godsend.”

“Do sit down,” said Clarissa. “We have been very dull this morning.” She was clearly intrigued by Marina. Looking at both girls, Laura judged that they were about the same age. And though Clarissa’s dark beauty overshadowed the other girl’s brown-haired prettiness, Marina had an air of distinction, and her clear blue eyes, which looked upon the world calmly and with an air of expecting nothing, lit her rather thin face.

“Thank you, but I cannot stay. I have only a few minutes away from the shop.”

“What shop?” asked Clarissa. Then she looked to Laura to see if she had made an error.

“I am employed in a dressmaker’s shop,” replied Marina without embarrassment.

Something in her straightforward manner attracted Laura. Here was an obviously educated girl who was forced to work, yet she seemed neither unhappy nor bitter. Laura suddenly wanted to know her better. “Do stay,” she said. “Couldn’t you say that you met me in the street and that I asked you in to discuss a dress I wish to have made? I will order one.”

Marina hesitated. She did seem a bit embarrassed now. “You needn’t… I do not wish to be the cause… I am not…”

Laura held out a hand. “Please.”

Marina’s calm detachment faltered. She looked distressed, gazed about the room, and finally bowed her head. “I do not know if I can bear it,” she murmured, “to be in such a house again.” But she did not resist when Laura took her hand and led her to a chair.

“Where do you come from?” asked Clarissa impulsively. “Pardon me, but surely you have not always been a dressmaker?”

Marina raised her head. Laura was shocked to see that there were tears in her eyes. “No, I have worked for two years. Before that I lived on King Street. Then my father, Colonel Henry Marston, was killed in the Peninsula, and we found that he left nothing. I was forced to find some means of supporting myself.” All this had come out in a rush, and now she finished. “There, now you know it all.”

“How terrible,” exclaimed Clarissa. “You poor thing.” She looked to Laura for support.

Laura was watching Marina with compassion and a shamefaced respect. Marina met her eyes directly; there was no self-pity or anger in her gaze. “Come to stay with us,” said Laura impulsively. “Let us help you.”

Marina was astonished. “I beg your pardon,” she stammered.

“Yes,” cried Clarissa. “What a splendid idea. Do come.”

“But I… You cannot mean this, you cannot have thought. You do not know me. You know nothing about me. Everything I have said might be sheer fabrication.”

Clarissa began excited protests, but Laura looked directly at Marina once again and said quietly, “No, it is not.”

Marina looked back at her, puzzled and confused. “It is the truth… but I still do not think you are being rational. I must refuse your offer.”

“Think about it first. And please believe that I mean it sincerely.”

“But your husband, your friends… they will object. No, no, it is ridiculous.” Marina rose as if to go just as Mr. Dunham entered the room again.

“The Earl of Stoke-Mannering,” he announced and then ushered the gentleman into the room.

The stocky, sandy-haired earl looked very pleased with himself. He had on a new coat and had inserted some whip points in its buttonhole. Bowing ceremoniously, he greeted his cousins and acknowledged an introduction to Marina with marked affability. As he lowered himself to the sofa beside Laura, he smirked a little. “The three graces,” he said.

Marina made as if to depart, but Laura restrained her.

It soon appeared that the earl’s jovial mood was due to a transaction he had completed that morning, which he described in great detail. He had managed to purchase a much coveted painting almost from under the nose of a rival collector.

“You are interested in painting?” asked Laura politely.

“Painting, sculpture, literature, all the arts, ma’am. You must come down to Stoke this summer. My collection is one of the finest in the land, I believe.” He crossed his legs with complacent pride. “This painting today… it is a Giotto. Very small, it is true, but unmistakably a Giotto, whatever Cummings may say now that he has lost out. A truly charming Madonna.”

“The blue one?” exclaimed Marina, “with those floating draperies and the cherubs over her shoulder?” Then she put her hand to her mouth as if shocked at her own temerity.

The earl turned to her eagerly. “You know Giotto? How unusual. No, it is not that one. Unfortunately that has never been for sale; I doubt it ever will be. This is another. Smaller and without the fine detail, but unmistakably Giotto, as I said.” He was very insistent on this point. “Are you a collector, perhaps?” he asked Marina.

She flushed. “Oh no, of course not. But I love paintings. My mother used to take me… That is, I am only an amateur.”

This stumbling reply seemed to gratify rather than annoy the earl. “Indeed. My cousins must bring you along to Stoke. I believe you would find my collection interesting. I have several Giottos and some Michelangelo drawings.”

Marina looked down, too embarrassed to say more.

“It is extraordinary to meet a young lady interested in art,” the earl went on. “I have never before done so. I wish I could show you my copy of Sidney’s works; it is a first edition and exquisitely illuminated. I purchased it from a bookseller here in London some years ago for a mere pittance.”

“It must be wonderful to read from such a book,” replied Marina.

He looked shocked. “Read from it! My dear young lady, this is an extremely valuable manuscript. It is kept locked up and is never touched. My entire collection is housed in a strong room I had built especially for that purpose.”

“But do you never see it then?” exclaimed Laura involuntarily.

He raised his eyebrows. “Of course. I often spend entire mornings there, looking over my things. It is one of my chief pleasures.”

Laura was silenced, and Marina said no more. The conversation was left to Clarissa, who was looking very bored. “How dreary,” she said rudely.

The earl turned to her. “You cannot picture it properly,” he said. “If you could just once see the collection, you would understand.”

At this moment Marina rose very purposefully, insisting that she must go. Laura followed her to the landing. “You will remember what we talked about?” Laura said as the girl started down the stairs.

Marina paused, gazing up at her. “It is a madcap scheme. You will think better of it, and I will think of it no more.”

“I meant it,” insisted Laura. “Would you feel better if I checked with my husband?” As she said this, Laura wondered suddenly whether Eliot might object, but she thrust this thought away.

Again Marina hesitated. “It is not possible,” she replied finally. And she went out.

When Laura came back into the drawing room, the earl was saying, “A charming girl, very intelligent. Who is she?”

“She is the daughter of Colonel Henry Marston,” said Clarissa before Laura could speak. The older girl frowned, but Clarissa merely grinned at her.

“Marston,” cried the man, surprising both his companions, “not Marston of the Eighth Foot, the hero of Marengo?”

Laura and Clarissa looked blankly at one another. “I do not know,” said Laura. “She has told me only that he was killed in the war.”

“But it must be the same man then. He saved a great many English soldiers by flinging his troops into a rearguard action. Why, it was mentioned in all the dispatches. I wish I had known. Perhaps I shall call on Miss Marston.”

“She is coming for a visit with us very soon,” Clarissa broke in. “You may see her here. Her mother died only a few years ago.” She added this as if it explained everything.

“Oh. Ah, how unfortunate,” said the earl.

There followed some minutes of commonplace talk; then the earl took his leave. As he went out, Mr. Dunham came in. “Lord Timothy Farnsworth and Sir Robert Barringfors,” he announced.

Laura sighed, and Clarissa looked up impatiently as the two slender blond young men strolled into the room. They were dressed with their usual magnificence and immediately began chattering. But it was not until Lord Farnsworth embarked upon a story of a young man who had lost his fortune at the tables that Clarissa looked up and asked, “He lost all his money? What did he do?”

Lord Farnsworth turned to her. “Do? Why, the worst possible thing, of course. Nicholas never had the least particle of sense. Ended by putting a pistol to his head. Foolish, but there you are. He went all to pieces. Even the tradesmen wouldn’t give him credit.”

Laura’s eyes widened. “He shot himself because he had lost his money?”

Sir Robert looked embarrassed. “Here, Tim, not the thing to talk of in a drawing room. You’ll upset the ladies.” He kindly turned to Laura. “Didn’t manage to kill himself, you know. Botched it. His family has him up in York or some such place. They say he can’t speak or…”

“How horrid!” exclaimed Clarissa. “The poor man.”

Lord Farnsworth was looking at his friend disgustedly. “And you say I am being loose-tongued. What kind of thing is that to say?” Sir Robert was effectively
silenced by this stricture, but Clarissa remained interested.

“But was there no place he could go for money?” she asked.

Lord Farnsworth shook his head. “Family’s not at all plump in the pocket. Quite the contrary. They say his sister’s gone for a governess or some such thing. Shocking scandal; it’s all over the
ton
.”

“Could have gone to the Jews,” put in Sir Robert helpfully.

His friend’s eyes bulged. “The deuce he could. What’s wrong with you today?”

“What do you mean, the Jews?” asked Clarissa.

“Nothing at all, Miss Lindley,” sputtered Lord Farnsworth, “not a proper subject… Young ladies do not know… That is…” He faltered, staring at Sir Robert balefully.

Clarissa smiled at him. “Are you afraid I too will go to them if you tell me?” she said playfully.

The gentlemen laughed. “Oh that is a corker, Miss Lindley.
You?
Go to a moneylender?” said Lord Farnsworth.

“Well if you are not afraid of that, can’t you tell us about them. I am very curious.”

Laura looked at her sister narrowly. Could Clarissa somehow have found out about her plight? But Clarissa avoided her eye.

“Well,” said Lord Farnsworth slowly. “I suppose there’s really no harm. But you mustn’t mention that I told you, mind. Bad
ton
.”

Clarissa dutifully promised to keep his secret.

“There’s not much to it, after all,” he went on. “The moneylenders live in the city, roundabout Gold Street and so on. They lend out money to poor chaps foolish enough to ask them, and once they get a hold on a fellow,” he shook his head, “well it’s the devil to pay. Levy is the chief one, a hard man.”

Clarissa considered. “But why? If one pays back the loan, what harm can there be?”

Lord Farnsworth smiled with a superior air. “
If
one pays it back. You simply can’t understand such things, Miss Lindley. It is not so easy to repay a loan, especially to the Jews.”

“Are the terms unfair?” insisted Clarissa. Then she realized that the other three were looking at her curiously. “I am interested in the question,” she finished lamely.

Sir Robert frowned. “Shouldn’t be. Not at all the thing. Sorry I mentioned it.” He turned to Laura. “My apologies, ma’am. Cork-brained thing to do. Best to say no more about it.”

Clarissa was forced to drop the subject, and the talk turned back to the latest
ton
parties and fashion. After a correct quarter of an hour, the gentlemen departed, leaving two thoughtful sisters behind them. Laura was wondering what was wrong with Clarissa and also pondering a plan that had begun to form in her mind. Perhaps she had found the answer to her dilemma. Clarissa stood frowning by the window once more.