Lady Vengeance (11 page)

 ‘My husband was French, Lady Thurleigh.’

 ‘I do not think I have seen you in London before.’

 ‘This is my first visit, ma’am.’

 Lady Thurleigh stared at her. ‘But you are English?’

 ‘My family moved to France when I was but a child.’

 Lady Thurleigh looked as if she would say more, but at that moment a servant announced that Madame de Sange’s carriage was at the door and the marchioness turned away and carried on up the stairs with her escort.

 ‘Pray, Madame, do not concern yourself over Lady Thurleigh,’ remarked Rowsell, leading her out to the carriage. ‘Her manners are a little odd, to be sure, but in the wife of so powerful a man as the marquis such things are overlooked.’

 ‘Oh. And – and is Lord Thurleigh in Town?’

 ‘I don’t think he can be, or his wife wouldn’t have that young pup as her escort. It’s common knowledge that my lady is very free with her favours, but she don’t usually flaunt her paramours under her husband’s nose.’ He handed Elinor into the coach. ‘Will you not let me come with you, Elinor? I do not like you to be alone.’

 ‘I have Hannah – Mrs Grisson. She will attend to my needs.’

 The door closed upon her but she leaned out of the window, holding out her hand for him to kiss.

 ‘But ‘tis a man’s attentions you need, Madame,’ he told her, retaining her fingers. ‘You are no innocent young maiden, who has never known a man’s caresses – your eyes tell me you want me – how much longer will you make me wait for you?’

 She shook her head at him, casting a warning glance towards the coachman.

 ‘Not now, sir. I cannot talk of such things here I…’ She broke off, searching for words.

 ‘You have promised to join my party for Drury Lane on Friday,’ he said urgently. ‘I will be denied no longer. My own carriage shall call for you. If you decline to come with me I shall have my answer and trouble you no further.’ He kissed her fingers once more before releasing them, and gave the word to the coachman to move off.

 ‘Until Friday, Madame!’

 Alone in the dark seclusion of her carriage, Elinor’s thoughts raced through her head, but even at a decorous pace, the journey to Knight’s Bridge was not long enough for her to unravel the tangle of her emotions. When the carriage drew up at the villa, she alighted in silence, and spoke not a word until she had discarded her heavy ball gown in favour of a light wrap, and had allowed her new English maid to brush the powder from her hair, leaving it hanging in thick, shining waves down her back. Then, in a quiet voice, she dismissed her servant. When the girl had withdrawn, Elinor went to her dressing table and drew out from one of its drawers a folded sheet of paper which she spread upon the table.

 She stared at the untidy lettering: the list of names seemed to dance upon the paper in the wavering candlelight. There were but five names written there, and that of Julian Poyntz had a neat black line drawn through it. She glanced down the page, her eyes coming to rest upon the name of James Boreland. She had recognized the big bearded figure immediately: it had been difficult to conceal her loathing of the man, and she found herself longing to be able to cross his name from the list, but her plans for George Rowsell were so near completion she dare not change course now. Lord Davenham’s lean and angry face intruded into her thoughts, but she quickly pushed the image away. What did it matter if he thought ill of her? She drew herself up, squaring her shoulders as she carefully re-folded the paper and replaced it in the drawer. She had set herself a task and nothing, no one, would divert her from her goal.

 Elinor awoke late on Wednesday morning to the sound of heavy rain lashing against the windows. She was forced to abandon her plans for a solitary walk, and instead spent the day pleasantly enough with Hannah, attending to her household duties. However, when the weather showed no signs of improvement the following morning, Hannah noticed a change in her mistress’s demeanour. Elinor was restless, unable to concentrate upon one task for any length of time and frequently going to the window to stare out at the sodden landscape.

 ‘Oh will this rain never stop!’

 ‘When the Lord wills it, Miss Nell,’ replied her companion, not looking up from her mending. ‘A little occupation would help you to bear with it. Why do you not take up your embroidery?’

 Elinor gestured impatiently.

 ‘I have not the humour for it today. I would prefer a more lively diversion.’

 At that moment a servant entered to announce that a visitor had arrived and wished to speak with Madame.

 ‘A visitor!’ cried Elinor. ‘Who would wish to drive here in this weather?’

 ‘The lady would not give her name, ma’am,’ replied the servant, ‘but begged to be allowed a few words with you in private. I have shown her into the small parlour.’

 ‘You were seeking some diversion from this dreary weather,’ remarked Mistress Grisson, smiling faintly, ‘so you had best see the lady. Do you wish me to come with you?’

 ‘No, thank you, Hannah. I shall go alone.’

 Elinor crossed the hall and quietly entered the small parlour. Upon recognising her visitor, her brows rose.

 ‘Lady Thurleigh! Forgive me, I did not expect -’

 ‘No, it is you who must forgive me.’ My lady smiled, holding out her hand. ‘It is very bad of me to descend upon you so suddenly.’

 ‘No, no, not at all, ma’am. Won’t you sit down?’

 Lady Thurleigh chose a straight-backed chair by the window, giving Elinor the opportunity to study her visitor more closely. In the daylight Lady Thurleigh looked older than when Elinor had last seen her. Without its heavy coating of powder, her skin looked sallow and lined, but the green eyes still sparkled luminously, and the copper curls piled artlessly around her cap of finest Brussels lace may have faded over the years, but they were only faintly streaked with grey.

 ‘You will be wondering why I am calling upon you,’ she began, her fingers nervously playing with the sticks of her fan. ‘You see, Madame, when I saw you the other night, I was struck by your resemblance to – to an old acquaintance of mine.’ She smiled at Elinor. ‘You will think me very impertinent, but I would be honoured if you would tell me just a little of your history.’

 Elinor stared at her in surprise.

 ‘My parents lived very quietly, ma’am, and I cannot think that you could have known them.’ Her response was stiff and uneasy, and my lady threw up her hands.

 ‘Oh I have offended you! I beg your pardon. Pray, Madame de Sange, I realize it may seem very odd to you, yet if you would but tell me your father’s name, and in which part of England you were living before you moved to France….’

 Elinor eyed her guest warily.

 ‘Forgive me, Lady Thurleigh, but does the marquis know of your visit here?’

 Lady Thurleigh looked startled.

 ‘My husband? He is not in Town, and does not even know I have seen you. Why do you ask?’

 ‘Oh, it does not signify. You asked my father’s name, did you not? It was Burchard.’

 ‘Was?’

 ‘Both my parents are dead.’

 ‘I am sorry. Burchard,’ my lady murmured the name slowly, as if committing it to memory. ‘And where were you living?’

 Elinor told her of the small village in Bedfordshire. Lady Thurleigh said quickly, ‘But you were not born there?’

 ‘No, ma’am. I was born in Oxford.’

 An expression that was impossible to read flitted across the older woman’s face and she stared hard at her hostess.

 ‘And did you have a happy childhood, Madame?’ she whispered.

 ‘Until the death of my father I was extremely happy,’ replied Elinor coldly, ‘but I do not see –’

 ‘No, no, you must think me impolite to question you so!’ the marchioness sat very still, tapping her foot, and just as Elinor was wondering what to say next she rose quickly, holding out to Elinor a hand that was not quite steady. ‘I am sorry, Madame de Sange, to have troubled you. I must go. Pray do not think too hardly of me!’

 After the briefest touch of fingers Lady Thurleigh hurried from the house, leaving Elinor in speechless amazement.

 Came Friday evening, and Mr Garrick’s theatre in Drury Lane was overflowing with people from all levels of society. George Rowsell’s party arrived only minutes before the performance was due to commence. There could be no doubting that gentleman’s happiness as he escorted Elinor to the box he had secured for the evening. The lady had done justice to the occasion with a new gown of green watered silk, laced with silver and falling open to reveal a white quilted petticoat delicately embroidered with silver thread. Her powdered curls cascaded about her bare shoulders, and she wore no jewels save for one brooch, a single large ruby that was pinned to the lace of her bodice. There was little time for Elinor to become acquainted with the couple that Rowsell had invited to share the box: the brief introduction made it plain that the young matron, one Mrs Shaw, was not escorted by her husband, although the gentleman’s attentions soon gave Elinor a firm indication of their relationship. This was confirmed when Rowsell leaned closer to whisper in her ear that their companions had a dinner engagement, and would be leaving them after the play.

 ‘So it will be just a quiet little dinner for you and me, my sweet,’ he murmured, ‘and afterwards –’ he broke off, taking advantage of some lively entertainment on-stage to place a kiss upon the white skin of her shoulder, while one arm slid around her waist, his fingers moving up until they reached the softness of her breast beneath its covering of lace. Elinor felt a sudden panic, but she forced herself to remain still, not to repulse him. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the actors, she reached up one hand to touch Rowsell’s cheek: for her purposes, dinner alone with George Rowsell would be an ideal situation.

 At the interval, Mrs Shaw slipped away with her paramour to take a stroll in the lobby. As soon as they were alone, Rowsell turned to Elinor, taking her hands in his own strong grasp.

 ‘Madame – Elinor! I thought this day would never arrive, and when it dawned, I was even then afraid you would not come.’

 She said nothing, but allowed him to press kisses onto each of her gloved fingers, while a faint blush touched her cheeks, for she was very conscious of their situation. She was relieved when the door of their box opened and she looked around, expecting to find Mrs Shaw and her escort had returned, instead of which she found herself staring up at the towering figure of James Boreland. The gentleman bowed, explaining that Rowsell had promised an introduction to Madame de Sange, and he wished to present his lady. Gripping her fan to conceal her trembling fingers, Elinor forced a smile to her lips. She repressed a shudder as Boreland took her fingers and bowed over them. With no little relief she turned to greet Mrs Boreland. She found herself facing a woman of medium height, strikingly dressed in a robe of turquoise silk with such a wide hoop beneath her skirts that she had difficulty in moving about the box. She wore a fixed smile and her cold blue eyes held a calculating look that made Elinor think her affability as doubtful as the jet black curls that covered her head. After the introductions, Mrs Boreland took a seat beside Elinor and asked her a number of questions concerning her history.

 ‘Is your son in Town with you, ma’am?’ enquired Rowsell.

 Temporarily silenced, Mrs Boreland glanced anxiously towards her husband.

 ‘No, not this time, ‘ Boreland said smoothly. ‘Andrew’s health has been a little troublesome during the summer and we thought it best to leave him at the Hall.’

 ‘And how are you enjoying the entertainment, Madame?’ Mrs Boreland hardly waited for her husband to finish, ‘I do think this theatre is so much better since dear Mr Garrick has had the running of it. We shall not stay to see the farce, however, for we are going on to Derry House.’

 Boreland turned to his friend. ‘Do you intend to go, Rowsell? Derry told me you were invited.’

 Rowsell hesitated. ‘No, I think not –’

 ‘Oh Madame de Sange, pray
do
say you will come!’ Mrs Boreland laid one gloved hand upon Elinor’s arm. ‘It promises to be
quite
delightful and the Derrys are renowned for their delectable suppers.’

 Elinor shook her head. ‘No, I am sorry, we cannot –’

‘Oh come now, Madame,’ James Boreland stepped forward and it took all Elinor’s strength of will not to shrink away from the man. ‘Surely you will not deny my wife the pleasure of your company for a little longer this evening? It is obvious that Mrs Boreland has taken a liking to you and as she is returning to Weald Hall in a very few days, there will so little time for you ladies to become acquainted.’

 Elinor hesitated, glancing at Mr Rowsell, who gave the smallest of shrugs, saying: ‘Perhaps, ma’am, we could look in for an hour.’

 Mrs Boreland clapped her hands together. ‘That would be
most
enjoyable!’ she cried, with what Elinor considered to be an unwarranted show of delight. ‘If you would but have supper with us there, Madame, I should be most grateful, for I have so few real friends in Town these days that I confess I quite
dread
attending these parties. But look, Mr Boreland, we must get back to our seats, for the players are coming onto the stage even now.’

 They rose to take their leave and Boreland stepped closer to bow over Elinor’s hand. His eyes rested briefly upon the ruby brooch. Elinor held her breath.

 ‘I look forward to seeing you at Derry House, Madame. Until then,
au revoir
!’

 There was a general confusion as the Borelands left the box and Mrs Shaw and her partner resumed their places. Rowsell, observing his lady’s troubled countenance, took advantage of the noise to speak to her.

 ‘I am sorry, my love. Boreland was quite insistent that we go and he is not a man one can easily refuse! We need not remain above the hour, my sweet.’

 She nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. She was resolved upon her course of action, and determined to carry it through, but this sudden change of plan had unnerved her. However, by the time they left the theatre she had regained her composure and had reconciled herself to having supper with the Borelands.