The Emperor (13 page)

‘
Now do stop exaggerating, Horace,' Mary said calmly.
'You've just been complaining that Charles is dangling after
her, and now you're saying it is
she
who is on the catch for
him.
I agree it is a little soon to be paying such attentions to
a woman as to be talked about, but Charles knows what he is about, and I am perfectly sure he would not make her an
offer within the period of mourning. What he does after that
is his business.'

‘
Don't you see, he is making us all ridiculous!' Horatio
cried, exasperated.

‘
If anyone makes us ridiculous, it is more likely to be
you,' Mary said quietly. 'If you go on making your hostility
so obvious, people will say that you wish to stop the affair
because you are afraid of losing the title.’

Horatio turned extremely red. 'What do you mean?' he
spluttered. 'How dare you?'

‘
Oh, I know it isn't true, of course,' Mary said sweetly,
‘but there are always those who will put the worst construction on things; and it is common gossip that you have often
borrowed money on the expectation of becoming the
seventh earl.' This was a guess on her part, but she saw by
his expression that it had found the mark.

‘That's a damned lie,' he muttered feebly.

‘
Indeed? Well if I were you, Horace, I should be very
careful not to give people any idea you are jealous, because
that would tend to confirm the notion that you had been
banking on the reversion.’

*

The Aylesburys' first ball was a great success, with at least
twice as many people present as had been invited, and
almost twice as many as the rooms would comfortably hold. With everyone so eager to be invited, there was no need for
Chetwyn to provide anything more than the best of food,
wine, and musicians; though Lucy felt her reputation for
being outrageous was at stake, and wore a gown in the latest
fashion, of spotted Indian gauze with a deep embroidered
hem, so fine it appeared to be transparent, an effect which
her flesh-coloured under-garment did nothing to diminish.

She enormously enjoyed her own ball, which was not at
all the fashionable thing to do. Danby Wiske would have
danced every dance with her had she permitted it. He was
her constant companion, and she liked to have him at her
elbow, for he was reliable and undemanding. He left her
free to observe with amusement the growing crowd around
Mary begging her to dance, though she continued to protest
that she was too old a married woman to take the floor.

She also watched Charles dancing with
_.
Roberta Taske, looking down at her with an expression of such tenderness that for an extraordinary moment Lucy felt almost jealous,
almost sad that no man had ever looked at her like that.
They were a silent couple. It was evident to the most casual
observer that they danced in a world of their own, and that
gazing at each other left them in no need of words.

She was standing, just for that instant alone, as Danby
Wiske had walked off for a moment, when a voice close
behind her said quietly,

‘
Well well, if I don't mistake me, it's Mr Proom of the
Diamond.
I am glad to meet you, sir.’

Lucy started violently, and swung round, to find herself
looking up into the laughing brown eyes of a tall, handsome,
elegant young man, who took advantage of her speechless
ness to take her hand and how over it gracefully, saying,
‘You must allow me to say that you are the most versatile
ship's surgeon I ever encountered. I never saw another who looked as much at home in a ballroom as on the orlop deck
of a seventy-four.'

‘
Lieutenant Weston!' she cried, and in her excitement, retained his hand in hers and smiled at him more welcom
ingly than was perhaps quite proper.

‘Your servant, ma'am,' he said, shewing his admirable
white teeth as he returned her smile. 'And, let me add, I
never saw a ship's surgeon who looked more ravishing in a
gauze ball-gown.'

‘
Oh, hush!' she cried, reddening. 'That is all forgotten –
or at least, it is supposed to be. I am very respectable now,
you know.'

‘
Indeed, I do know. The Countess of Aylesbury, no less,'
he said, and there was a pleasant mockery in his smile. She
gave a puzzled frown.

‘
But how do you come to be here? I did not invite you.
Indeed, I would have, with pleasure, had I known you were on shore,' she added hastily, realizing what a social predica
ment she was initiating.

Weston laughed, and said, 'I am glad to find you are still
more Mr Proom than Lady Aylesbury! And now you may
have me thrown forcibly into the street, for I must confess
that I have no very good right to be here, having been
invited only at second hand. Lord Chelmsford – your
cousin, I believe? – met me in Fladong's where he was
dining with Admiral Harvey, and knowing of me from what
you told him of your time aboard the
Diamond,
he took the
liberty of inviting me to your ball, and I took the even
greater liberty of accepting.'

‘
Oh, but I am
so
glad that you did!' Lucy exclaimed
fervently. 'Oh those happy days on the good old
Diamond!
Why will such things pass away? I should like to talk with
you about it for ever!'

‘
But not, I hope, on the dance-floor, or everyone will be
in a stir,' Weston smiled. 'I have been watching you dance
this half-hour, your ladyship, and I am glad to find you
dance admirably, with all the grace and spirit of a senior
warrant officer in His Majesty's navy! But I am curious
about your last partner: surely that was not your husband?'

‘
Oh, no, that was only Mr Wiske, a friend. Here is my
husband now – I must introduce you! Chetwyn, may I
present Lieutenant Weston? Mr Weston, my husband, the
Earl of Aylesbury.’

The two men bowed, and eyed each other consideringly
as they straightened up. 'Servant, sir,' said Chetwyn. 'I've
heard a lot about you.'

‘
Then you have me at a disadvantage, my lord,' Weston replied. 'But you arrive most opportunely: I was just about
to solicit the honour of leading Lady Aylesbury to the set.'

‘
Do, if she wishes. Do you want to dance, Luce?'
Chetwyn said languidly.

Lucy's smile was all the answer he needed. Weston led
her to the set, and as they took their places, he asked, 'Why
do you call him Chetwyn? Is that his given name?'

‘
Oh no, it's his family name. When he was at school with
my brother, we all knew him as Chetwyn, and I got so used to calling him that, I have never left off,' Lucy replied. 'He doesn't mind me dancing with other people, you know,' she
added carefully. 'He doesn't care to dance himself.’

Weston looked across to where Chetwyn was standing at
the edge of the dance floor, chatting to some other young
men of fashion, and a thoughtful expression crossed his face
for a moment. 'Yes, I understand,' he said.

Lucy found Mr Weston a graceful dancer, and a most
satisfactory partner, able to talk amusingly on a great many
subjects, and she was sorry when their two dances were
over, and he led her back to her husband. One subject in
particular she longed to discuss with him, but it was the one
he had already banned from the dance-floor. That it was on
his mind, too, was evident from his saying, just before they
reached the group where Chetwyn was standing, 'You can't
imagine, Lady Aylesbury, how very dull the wardroom
seemed after you had left it.'

‘
And you can't imagine how dull my life seemed, after I
had left you – and the other officers. To be expected always
to talk about sewing and such ladylike subjects! ‘

He paused and took her hand again, and looked down at
her with a quizzical expression. ‘Then, may I hope to be allowed to give you the opportunity to talk once more of
professional matters? Dear Lady Aylesbury, may I do
myself the honour of calling on you? Will you be at home
tomorrow morning?'

‘
Oh
yes,'
said Lucy, comprehensively, her eyes shining
with pleasure, and Weston, as he bowed formally over her
hand, allowed his lips to brush it before releasing it, and
yielding her up to her husband.

 
Héloïse
stepped out of the house into Yeman's Row, and
closed the door behind her, shutting herself into the dark
ness of a frosty night lit only by stars and the dim gleams of
light filtering through the shutters of the houses. She
shivered as she adjusted to the cold. There seemed to have
been so little summer that year. Late spring frosts had
spoiled the young wheat, and now winter had come early,
and there had been no relief from the high prices. The price of bread had more than doubled since last year – because of
the war, they said. A quartern loaf cost a shilling now; meat,
even the cheapest, most indigestible cuts, fivepence a
pound; coals sky-high at five pounds a chaldron.

Coals were her greatest problem. She glanced involun
tarily over her shoulder at the tiny, sluttish cottage she had
just quitted. The doctor said that Vendenoir must be kept
warm at all costs, and though the cottage was only one room
below and one above, it was hard to keep it warm when it
had only an earth floor and the roof leaked like a sieve.

Two small rooms; a stair, so narrow and precipitous that
she had to descend it sideways for safety; a tiny, beetle-
infested scullery: of this she was mistress. Behind was a
common yard which gave access to the common water-
pump and the common privvy. She gave a quirky smile as
she thought of the house in Paris she had once owned. Even
in England, she had known glory: King George had once
kissed her cheek, and acknowledged her title of Countess of Strathord. Now she and her faithful Marie ate lentil porrage
and rice pudding so that Vendenoir could have the little bit
of stewed mutton they could afford.

The contrast was ridiculous, and made her laugh more often than repine. She was of a cheerful, trusting nature,
and believed that God had not lost sight of her, and her sense of humour saved her when things seemed darkest.
There were things that tried her severely. It was not the loss
 
of those luxuries she had been used to, nor even the hard
work and poor food. She had learned to be an inventive
cook, and to make surprisingly tasty dishes out of very little.
Marie brought the provisions, trudging all the way to the
market at World's End to find the best bargains; and
Héloïse, troubled with guilt over the hardships her former
maid endured, would sometimes joke that though Marie had
promised to follow her to the ends of the earth, it was rather
too much to ask her to go to World's End twice a week.

She didn't mind having to work for her living, either, for
she had been brought up to be useful and active, and
teaching French and music and Court etiquette to the
daughters of the bourgeoisie was not exacting work, and was
occasionally even enjoyable, when a pupil shewed aptitude,
or succeeded at last in understanding something that had
been eluding her.

What did trouble her was the cold and the dirt. She had
not been brought up to clean houses or wash clothes, wash
dishes, lay fires, pump water. Marie did these jobs as far as
she could, to save her mistress, but Héloïse would not let her
entirely shoulder the disagreeable burden. It was very hard
to get things clean, when the water itself was far from pure,
or to dry them, once washed, on any but a hot, sunny day.
The smell of poverty was something that Héloïse had found
very difficult to bear; now she worried even more that she
had stopped noticing it.