London Calling (5 page)

Ruth leaned forward, rapping on the carriage window. “Drive on to King’s Street, if you please.”

Chapter 4

The mood at Almack’s, Susanna decided after they had been there an hour, was one of sedate boredom.

At first she thought it was merely her own preoccupation‌—‌in her present state she felt fully capable of finding a maharaja’s palace excruciatingly dull.

But the Almack’s assembly rooms were hot and crowded and had little to recommend them. The main ballroom was large and bare, the ceiling supported by gilt columns and the walls adorned with mirrors. Girls in pale, floating dresses, their flowers slightly wilting in the heat, sipped delicately at cups of lemonade and exchanged whispered confidences. Young men in the requisite black satin breeches and high starched collars stood about the room in awkward little knots.

It was better than being alone with the unpleasant company of her own thoughts, Susanna thought. But only just.

Aunt Ruth’s acquaintance‌—‌and their patroness for the night‌—‌Lady Sarah Villiers, Countess of Jersey, proved to be a dark-haired, vivacious woman of somewhere nearing thirty. She was‌—‌rather to Susanna’s surprise‌—‌very kind, and not unintelligent, as well. But before she had been in Lady Jersey’s company a quarter of an hour, Susanna had begun to understand the nickname of ‘Silence’ bestowed on the countess. The name was ironic‌—‌because Lady Jersey seemed to talk constantly, keeping up a steady stream of chatter with scarcely a pause for breath.

“My dear, I am so dreadfully sorry to hear of what your aunt tells me of your young man’s disappearance. It is quite abominable of him to have gone off without a word‌—‌though I cannot believe he can have gone voluntarily, as pretty as you are. Of course, we all know what men are. But still, we will make every effort to assist you in finding your James. And if you do not, I shall make it my mission to introduce you to some gentlemen who will enable you to forget all about him!”

The only blessing was that since the countess’s flow of talk never paused, Susanna was not required to give any replies save for the occasional murmur of assent.

But‌—‌though they circled the floor twice and heard not a word in response to Lady Jersey’s enquiries about a James Ravenwood‌—‌Lady Jersey also appeared determined to begin at once with her scheme of introducing Susanna to other eligible young men. She kept dragging Susanna over to present her to one gentleman after another and insisting that the gentlemen ask Susanna for a dance.

After dancing a set with young Lord Something-or-other‌—‌a thin, weedy young man looking half-strangled by the intricate folds of his neckcloth, who had stepped on Susanna’s feet no less than seven times‌—‌Susanna bowed to him, murmured something about having a headache and needing a moment’s rest. And then she ducked behind one of the gilded columns that outlined the room.

Her aunt was separated from her by half the room‌—‌she could just make out the top of Aunt Ruth’s purple-turbaned head amidst the plumage of the other ladies. Susanna leaned back against the pillar and let herself draw a slow breath, her eyes sliding momentarily closed.

“Brooke, you are a fool.”

The words, low and passionately spoken, sounded almost in Susanna’s ear, and made her jump. Looking round, she saw that the speaker was standing directly behind her own column.

There were two people: a man and a woman, and it was the woman who had spoken.

She was dark-haired, with dark eyes and strong, handsome features. She wore a dress of a deep turquoise material, and above it her face was white and angry.

“If I find you’ve been gambling again . . .”

Her companion took an involuntary step back. He was fair-haired and handsome, though slightly run to seed, as from years of indulgence and high living. There were marks of dissipation in his face, and there was something weak about the line of his mouth and chin.

Now he quailed before the blazing fury of her glare, but he stood his ground.

“And what then?” There was a hint of bravado in his voice. “It’s my own money, I suppose?”

The woman gave a scornful laugh. “Your own money? Yes‌—‌after you married me. You wouldn’t have had a penny if it hadn’t been for my father’s fortune.”

The weak, handsome face blanched, but the man still spoke with the same defiant bluster. “And what of it? A wife’s possessions belong to her husband. And I’m still your husband, whatever you may do.”

“Yes.” The woman turned away in a whirl of peacock-colored skirts, so that Susanna barely caught the next words. “Yes, you’re still my husband. For now.”

The man tried to catch hold of her arm, but she twisted away, and Susanna, not wanting to be seen, drew back behind the pillar. It was a common enough story, however unjust.

A wife was not legally entitled to any property. All she earned, inherited, or possessed belonged to her husband, to save or squander as he chose‌—‌or, as here, to gamble away at the gaming tables. Nor, short of her husband’s death, could a woman escape such a marriage. Only an Act of Parliament could grant a divorce, and then almost never to a woman.

“Susanna. There you are, my dear.” Her Aunt Ruth’s voice cut in on her thoughts, making her turn round with a start.

“The crush is terrible, isn’t it?” Ruth straightened her turban, knocked slightly askew by the jostling crowds. “Tell me, have you managed to learn anything of your young man?”

Susanna shook her head. Having found James already, her heart had not been in making any more enquiries. But she could not face explaining that to Aunt Ruth just yet.

Ruth went on, “I have mentioned his name to a few people, but no one seems to know him. It is rather difficult to question anyone‌—‌they are all so eager to tell you the latest gossip. At the moment, the place is in a positive uproar over the appearance on the premises of a Mrs. Charlotte Careme.”

“And she is . . .”

“
Decidedly
of the demimonde. No one can think how she even gained admittance to Almack’s. Not that she is quite openly a kept woman, but”‌—‌Ruth lifted her shoulders‌—‌“she keeps a very expensive establishment in town with no visible means of support. And she has a number of very wealthy gentleman friends.”

“I see.” Susanna’s excuse of a headache was actually becoming true; her temples had started to throb. But she tried to attend to what her aunt was saying.

“Her current protector is actually a retired navy man‌—‌an Admiral Tremain. It’s said he means to marry her,” Ruth went on. “I suppose that’s how she came to be at an affair like this one. The Admiral is a very respected man‌—‌his family is one of the oldest in Cornwall. Though why,” she added meditatively, “that should entitle anyone to respect, I do not know. I am sure a good many of the characters on these ancient family trees behaved themselves far worse than a common laborer off the street.”

She broke off abruptly and pointed. “There she is. That’s Mrs. Careme there.”

Susanna looked over‌—‌and then froze, sudden recognition jolting through her.

Mrs. Charlotte Careme stood just a few paces away from them. And her appearance was certainly striking. She was a tall, statuesque woman, nearing thirty, with curling auburn-colored hair piled high on her head and interwoven with a band of gold.

She also wore a dress of some filmy white material that clung to the curves of her figure and displayed to best advantage her snow-white shoulders and the graceful arch of her neck. And her toenails‌—‌set on display by the delicate Grecian-style sandals she wore‌—‌were painted gold.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Aunt Ruth put a concerned hand on Susanna’s arm. “Perhaps we ought to go home. You’re looking terribly pale.”

“I‌—‌yes, Aunt Ruth. I mean, I am perfectly well.” Susanna was still staring at Mrs. Careme.

It had to be she whom Sophia claimed to have seen with James. Her aunt’s description had not been very exact. But there could not be so many women in the rarified and exclusive Almack’s who would dare to copy the courtesan’s fashion of painted toes.

James must have‌—‌for some reason‌—‌been cultivating an acquaintance with Mrs. Careme.

Susanna felt the memory of her final sight of James walking away stab through her.

Did she even care whether James’s current mission somehow involved the woman before her now? She had no idea whether she would ever see James again.

Still, before she even realized she had come to any conclusion, Susanna heard herself say, “Aunt Ruth? I think that I should like to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Charlotte Careme.”

Chapter 5

The day was warm with the rich, golden sun of early autumn, and Susanna and her aunt stood on the step of Admiral Tremain’s London residence, listening to the echo of the bell chime on the other side of the door. It was a handsome house, located in the fashionable Mayfair district, built of yellow stucco and set back a little from the road in its own fenced-in garden.

“You’ll notice I have been very discreet, my dear. I have not asked you a word about the purpose of this visit.”

Susanna forced herself to smile at her aunt. And to ignore the fact that she was not entirely sure of the visit’s purpose herself. “I am grateful, Aunt Ruth. Truly I am.”

Ruth had responded to Susanna’s request the night before with a puzzled look. But she had said that nothing could be easier than to engineer a meeting with Mrs. Careme.

“The Admiral is an old acquaintance of mine. His late wife Anne and I were at school together. I have not seen him in years‌—‌not since Anne’s death. But I understand that his residence in London is just a few streets away from our house. We can easily call there tomorrow. Mrs. Careme is actually staying under his roof until their marriage. And,” Ruth had added with a wry smile, “you can imagine what the gossips have to say about that.”

And now they stood at the Admiral’s door.

“Thank you, Aunt Ruth,” Susanna said again. “I will tell you everything as soon as I am able. I promise you.”

The door was opened by a footman in powdered wig and green satin livery, who looked them over and asked their business in frostily accented tones.

He warmed slightly at the mention of Aunt Ruth’s name, and soon they were being shown into the morning room, where, the man informed them, the family was at home.

The morning room was a handsome, slightly old-fashioned apartment, with heavy mahogany furniture upholstered in gold and dark maroon hangings at the windows. Several of what Susanna took to be family portraits hung from the walls: men in crimson doublets and hose, ladies in blue satin panniered dresses.

A big, grey-haired man was seated before the fire, and he rose and came forward as they entered, hands outstretched.

“Ruth. This is a delightful surprise.”

Admiral Tremain bowed low over their hands while Ruth performed the introductions.

As Susanna made her curtsy and murmured the proper rejoinders to his greetings, she studied him curiously from under her lashes.

He was a large, well-muscled man, tall, with broad shoulders and an air of vigorous energy, as though more suited to action than reflection or thought. His hair was close-cropped and curling, and beneath it his face was bluff and weather-beaten with years of ocean living. His eyes were dark, and his nose classically Roman, and Susanna thought there was something a little pugnacious in the set of his jaw, and the line of his thin, hard mouth. Not a man to cross, the Admiral, or a man to readily admit himself wrong.

“And may I present my daughter? Miss Marianne Tremain. Marianne? Come here and greet our guests.”

He turned, slightly impatiently, to the girl who still sat in a chair by the window, head bent over a book. Susanna might have imagined it, but she fancied there was something deliberately slow in the way the girl shut her volume, and, with the same lingering deliberation, put it to one side and rose from her seat.

The Admiral’s jaw tightened angrily. He would be used to wielding the same authority in the family that he had done on his ship. No doubt he expected his family to leap to obey him with the same alacrity as his fighting men. And small doubt, either, but that this girl would bitterly resent it, and do everything she could to defy his authority.

Marianne Tremain was, Susanna judged, about eighteen, tall, but appearing younger than her years, with blue eyes, a square, determined chin, and skin that would flush readily in moments of emotion‌—‌as it was doing now. In a few years’ time, perhaps, she might grow into a handsome woman, but now she had a slightly coltish air of clumsiness about her height, and she peered from under an unbecoming fringe of untidy wheat-colored hair.

Standing there, cheeks burning, head thrown back a little defiantly, she looked very young and somehow appealing, and Susanna felt a sudden sympathy for her. It could not be easy for her‌—‌suddenly asked to share her home with a stepmother closer in age to a sister than a parent.

“Come here and meet our visitors,” her father said again, and again Susanna saw the quick, angry flush of color sweep up from the girl’s neck to the roots of the fair hair.

Awkwardly, with a self-conscious, stumbling motion, she came forward to stand beside her father as he performed the introductions. After the first look, she kept her gaze riveted on the floor, and muttered her greetings in a sullen, surly voice, lips tight, jaw set.

The Admiral, too, looked angry, but he evidently decided against further rebukes. Instead, he turned back to Ruth.

“And may I also present my sister-in-law? Miss Fanny Steele, my late wife’s sister.”

He gestured, and Susanna realized with surprise that there was a third person in the room. The back of the high armchair in which she sat had partially concealed her from view, but now Miss Fanny Steele started and looked up from an enormous screen of tapestry work that had covered her lap.

She was a thin, faded woman in a gown of unbecoming grey, with a stringy neck and slightly protruding blue eyes, and a quantity of wispy brown hair untidily tucked under a spinster’s cap. Her eyes had a worried, peering expression, and she carried her head slightly forward, like a turtle poking out from its shell.