The Romance (12 page)

‘She understands me,’ said St. Clair moodily.

‘A whore’s trick.’

‘You say anything insulting about Mrs. Ingram and you are no longer my friend, Mirabel.’

‘I apologize. But there was the Chalmers chit. All you had to do was drop the handkerchief, delight your pa, and spike Perry’s guns. Before you even see the old man,
you should go round to the Beverleys and propose. Then Perry will be left high and dry.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ said St. Clair sulkily.

*      *      *

Mrs. Ingram looked out at the passing landscape and wondered whether to carry on with the game or let it drop. But the thought of letting Perry Vane make all the running went against the grain. She was sure she could ingratiate herself with Earl Durbridge. But how? He was hardly going to ask her to tea. As it approached evening, she let down the glass and leaned out. They were approaching The Pelican, a posting-house where they were to stay the night, and as her carriage swung in under the arched entrance, she saw St. Clair’s carriage being led off to the stables.

Her eyes gleamed. She suddenly thought of a way of spiting Perry.

She learned that St. Clair and his friend Mirabel were dining in a private parlour and decided to dine herself first before making a move. She debated whether to send her maid, Agnes, to St. Clair’s room with a note summoning him. But he might be sharing a bedchamber with Mirabel Dauncey and Mirabel might talk him out of seeing her.

‘Agnes,’ she said, ‘do go and find out discreetly if Lord Saint Clair has his own room or if he is sharing it with Mr. Dauncey.’

‘And I think madam should go to bed and get a proper night’s sleep,’ said Agnes with all the freedom of speech of an old servant.

‘Do as you are told!’ snapped Mrs. Ingram.

After about fifteen minutes, Agnes returned and said crossly that Lord St. Clair was in the Nelson Room and Mr. Dauncey in the room next door, the Trafalgar.

‘Thank you, Agnes, you may retire. I will put myself to bed.’

Agnes opened her mouth to say something and then obviously decided against it. Mrs. Ingram sat by the window to wait. She waited until the noisy sounds from the taproom below began to diminish and a few drunken good-nights echoed along the old corridors of the posting-house.

Then she sat down at the toilet-table and brushed her thick red hair down on her shoulders, then applied make-up with a skilful hand, finishing by rouging her lips. Then, draping a brightly coloured shawl about her shoulders, she made her way out and along the corridor, checking the names of each room on the brass plates nailed to the door of each. When she reached the Nelson, she pressed her ear to the door to make sure Mirabel was not in there.

After a few moments, she scratched at the door. There was no reply. She tried the door handle. The door was locked. She was about to give up, but the sound of someone ascending
the staircase prompted her to further action. She hammered on the room—loudly.

‘Who’s there?’ demanded a voice from within the room.

‘It is I, Mrs. Ingram.’

She heard him grumble and then the door swung open. He blinked a little at the vision that was Mrs. Ingram with her hair down.

‘Let me in,’ urged Mrs. Ingram, ‘someone is coming.’

He stood aside and she slipped into the room. He closed the door. She put her bed candle down on the toilet-table.

Saint Clair, wrapped in a gaudy dressing-gown, eyed her suspiciously, seeing her now as the reason he was in the suds.

‘I came to help you,’ said Mrs. Ingram calmly.

‘You can’t help me.’ Saint Clair sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘No one can help me. That damned Perry has informed on me and my father has summoned me.’

‘And you are rushing to see him as soon as you get to London?’

‘Got to. Else he will disinherit me and give all to Perry.’

‘That would be a mistake. Do you not think it would be better if someone interceded for you first? Someone who could tell your father that there was nothing in it?’

‘You mean Mirabel?’

‘No, that would not answer. You gave me the
impression that your father does not approve of your friends. Mr. Dauncey is not exactly persuasive—but I am.’

‘You!’ said St. Clair rudely. ‘You’re the reason I am being called back.’

‘Exactly. And therefore I am exactly the person to persuade your father that you were on the point of proposing to Belinda Beverley and would have done so had not Mr. Vane’s malice stopped you from doing so.’

‘But he would not receive you!’

‘He must leave the house sometimes. Where does he go?’

‘To his club. White’s.’

‘I can hardly go there. Nowhere else?’

‘Yes, he rides in the Row at nine o’clock every morning.’

‘Then you must delay your journey back by one day, that is all, and leave things to me.’

Saint Clair looked at her. ‘But what will you do when you introduce yourself and he simply rides off?’

‘He will not ride off. Trust me. But you must not tell any of this to Mr. Dauncey. A charming man, but he has neither your wit nor intelligence, my lord.’

Saint Clair visibly preened. The longing to have matters smoothed for him before he saw his father was beginning to make him look on Mrs. Ingram as a saviour.

‘Simply tell Mr. Dauncey that you need to gather your strength before facing your father
and wish to reside here one more day.’

‘I can do that. Demme, I have nothing to lose.’

‘I am sure your father has heard nothing of the damaged rowing-boat. I could of course portray it as an attempt on your life.’

‘That might get his sympathy.’

‘And then I could tell him that Lord Gyre and everyone suspected Mr. Vane of doing the damage.’

‘Oh, famous! Wondrous! If only I could see my father angry with his sainted Perry just the once!’

‘You will…if you will be guided by me. And now I must go to bed.’

She curtsied to him formally, knowing instinctively that to flirt with him at this point would frighten him away.

*      *      *

The next day Mirabel listened suspiciously as St. Clair airily said he had decided to rack up at the posting-house for another night.

‘Shouldn’t you ought to press on to your father’s and get it over with?’ demanded Mirabel.

‘Give the old man time to cool off.’

‘And Perry Vane time to drip more poison in his ear!’

Saint Clair wavered and then said firmly, ‘I know what I’m doing, and if you don’t like it,
get your own carriage and go on to London.’

‘I saw that Ingram woman leaving this morning,’ said Mirabel. ‘Didn’t speak to her, did you?’

‘Not I. I’m in deep enough trouble already.’

*      *      *

The following morning, followed by his groom, Earl Durbridge was trotting along Rotten Row on his mare, Sally, when he saw an elegant lady on a black stallion approaching, also at a sedate trot, from the other direction. As they came abreast, she suddenly swayed in the saddle and put a hand up to her forehead.

‘Whoa!’ cried the earl, reining in his horse. ‘Are you all right, madam?’

With an expertise amazing in a fainting woman, she reined in her own horse after backing it so that she and the earl were side by side.

‘I think I will dismount,’ she said weakly. ‘I feel a trifle dizzy.’

‘Where is your groom?’

‘The silly man is about somewhere,’ said Mrs. Ingram, looking about her vaguely. ‘No matter, I will dismount myself.’

‘Can’t have that,’ said the earl gallantly. He called to his groom to hold their horses’ heads and then assisted Mrs. Ingram from the saddle.

‘I thank you,’ she said. ‘I should not have gone riding after so much recent travel.’

‘I think we should introduce ourselves,’ he said bracingly. ‘I am Durbridge.’

To his consternation, this attractive woman looked at him in shock, and then, drooping her head, began to sob bitterly.

‘My stars, ma’am. Whatever can be the matter? Come now. There is a bench over there where we may sit down until you recover yourself.’

Once they were seated, Mrs. Ingram looked at him with eyes swimming with tears. She did hope the earl would not notice the strong smell of onion juice coming from the handkerchief which she clutched in her hand.

‘My lord,’ said Mrs. Ingram, throwing back her head, ‘I regret to tell you that I am Mrs. Ingram.’

He half-rose, his face becoming mottled with anger. But her next words stopped him. ‘Yes, I am the one that your nephew, Mr. Vane, most cruelly used to put you against your own son after his attempt to kill him failed.’

The earl slowly sat down again and gazed at her open-mouthed, like a stuffed pike.

‘What is…what are you…what the deuce are you talking about?’

So she told him about the rowing-boat and about how the house party had joked about Mr. Vane’s obsession with Mannerling, and how they had all ceased joking when they became aware that Mr. Vane was prepared to go to quite considerable lengths to discredit St. Clair.

‘And so your son turned to me, a lady old enough to be his mother,’ said Mrs. Ingram in a low voice. She was only eight years older than St. Clair. ‘I immediately said that he must go straight to you and tell you of Vane’s perfidy, but he said you would shout at him and would not believe him.’

‘And why should I believe you, madam?’

‘You do not have to. You have only to speak to the Marquess of Gyre. He examined the rowing-boat and found it had been deliberately damaged.’

‘But Gyre would back your story because it’s well known that…harrumph!’

‘You mean it is well-known that I once had an affair with Gyre? I had a very unhappy marriage, my lord. My late husband was a brute.’

And that, thought Mrs. Ingram bitterly, was nothing but the truth.

‘When he died and I was out of mourning, my freedom went to my head. I had a brief liaison with Gyre, and only Gyre. The marquess urged me to be discreet, but I somehow felt by behaving disgracefully, I was getting my revenge on Ingram. But there were other people there at the house party who will confirm my story. It is my belief that your son was on the point of proposing marriage to Belinda Beverley when your letter, summoning him back to London, arrived. I have been very frank with you, my lord, and I do not like
discussing my private life with anyone. I feel that due to one unfortunate affair I have been unfairly damned as a member of the demi-monde and yet, you should know, if I really were, I would not be invited to the best houses, and I go everywhere, even to Almack’s. I simply do not see why the ambitions—evil ambitions—of your nephew should be so transparent to everyone but you, my lord, for I can see you are a shrewd man of honour and intelligence.’

‘I will reserve judgement,’ said the earl slowly, ‘until I have seen Toby.’

‘Before you see Lord Saint Clair, why do you not see Mr. Vane and, armed with the information I have given you, try to look at him with new eyes and see what you can see?’

‘I will do that, madam. I owe my son that much. But Toby Saint Clair has always been useless and foppish.’

‘He has not your strength of character, my lord, but then few young men these days do.’

‘You have the right of it. Well, well, do not distress yourself further.’

Mrs. Ingram gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Your son is most fond of you, are you aware of that?’

‘So he should be,’ said the earl, amazed. ‘I’m his father, ain’t I?’

*      *      *

Perry Vane waited eagerly for the earl to return
from his morning’s ride. He rubbed his hands together nervously. He felt Mannerling was as good as his. He could hear the wide quiet rooms and long green lawns calling to him. He felt like a man who had been temporarily separated from the love of his life.

At last he heard the bustle below stairs which heralded the earl’s return. Soon the door of the earl’s study, where Perry was waiting, was flung open and the earl strode in.

‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ he snapped.

Perry meekly dropped his eyes. ‘I am distressed I had to send you that letter about Toby, but it was imperative you knew what was going on before that harpy got him in her clutches.’

‘I happen to be acquainted with Mrs. Ingram and think her a fine lady.’

Perry’s eyelids blinked rapidly. ‘But, my lord, she is much older than your son, and her reputation—’

‘Enough! I am more interested in why the rowing-boat my son was in sank, and why it showed all signs of having been tampered with.’

‘I know nothing of that.’

‘I also want to know why it is that everyone except me seems to know that your sole aim is to discredit Toby and get Mannerling for yourself.’

It was the age of sensibility, and so Perry decided the only sensible thing to do was to burst into tears. This was not difficult for him
for he was upset and outraged. He could feel Mannerling swirling away from him. It should belong to him, not to some useless fop who would run that glorious place into the ground.

‘Come now, boy, dry your tears,’ said the earl gruffly. ‘Perhaps I have been too harsh.’

Perry dried his eyes and said in a choked voice, ‘Have I not always tried to serve you? You have always praised my common sense. Would I do such a childish thing as to damage a rowing-boat that I did not even know your son would be in? Do you think I tried to
drown
him with so many servants and guests around?’

The earl frowned. Mrs. Ingram had been most persuasive. And whom should he find to corroborate her strange story? Gyre had been her lover, so he would surely agree with her. Belinda Beverley and those other Beverleys would probably agree because their ambition was to get Mannerling, and so they would only be interested in the owner. Mirabel Dauncey was his son’s friend and would say anything he wanted; Gurney Burke was a friend of Gyre. There were Miss Chalmers and her mother, and the Hartley twins and their parents. Perhaps it would be as well to reserve judgement until he had talked to either the Hartleys or the Chalmers.

‘I will wait and see,’ said the earl. ‘You may go.’

‘When did you meet Mrs. Ingram?’ asked Perry.

‘Oh, some time ago,’ said the earl, not wanting to say he had only met the lady for the first time that morning, or Perry might think she had deliberately engineered the meeting. The earl was beginning to think that perhaps she had.