The Spider's Touch (20 page)

By that night, Harrowby had been comforted by the fact that no one on the Committee of Secrecy had once mentioned the former Earl of Hawkhurst. Exhausted by two strenuous days of sitting in fear, while the Lords debated charges of treason against their own members, he was primed for a bit of rowdiness.

Their party for Vauxhall contained only a few of the friends they had entertained the previous night, neither the Hobbeses nor Mrs. Jamison to be sure. After last night’s exhibition, it was doubtful that Sir Humphrey’s sister would risk her reputation as a matchmaker on Dudley, for despite what Lord Lovett had said, Sir William was quite capable of informing the other candidates’ families that she was conspiring to unload a madman on one of them.

Dudley had not been invited to join them. Harrowby was not yet ready to forgive him, and it would have been too soon to expect Sir Humphrey to feel at ease with his attacker along.

Nor did Mrs. Mayfield go, for she found strolling in the gardens tedious. She had accepted an invitation to play at cards. Now that she was presumed to have access to the Hawkhurst fortune, she was invited to card parties with what Hester could only consider an alarming frequency.

Before St. Mars had contacted Hester, she had even tried to persuade her aunt to join them in their exercise to divert her from losing his money, but the only result had been that Mrs. Mayfield had questioned her daughter on the need to have Hester accompany her and her friends.

“For you spoil her, Isabella,” she had said. Mrs. Mayfield never felt any compunction about discussing her niece in this manner, and had not evinced any discomfort when the subject had come up over the tea table a few days past . “I do not know why you persist in treating her so well. Hester is lucky enough to be a servant in this house. And so I remind her, whenever she gets ideas above her station.

“But when you constantly allow her to accompany you on all your diversions, you run the risk of giving her and others an elevated notion of what her situation is. Why, next—” she gave a snort of laughter— “you will find some poor, ignorant gentleman paying court to her! And you cannot tell me that you would ask Lord Hawkhurst to fund a dowry for her.”

“Why not?” Isabella said with her wide open eyes. “Why shouldn’t Hester have a husband?”

Before she was married, she never would have challenged her mother’s statements, but being a countess had given her the right to her own opinions. Not that these were ever very profound—in fact, often they were very silly—but on more than one occasion Hester had been grateful to Isabella for standing up for her.

Required to explain herself, Mrs. Mayfield was struck speechless. Before she could rally to reply, Isabella turned to Hester with an excited look in her eye. “What do you say to that, Hester? Should you like me to find you a wealthy husband? I think I can do it if he does not have to be very handsome. I’m sure I could talk Harrowby into giving you a dowry of some sort. He has so much money, we could never run through it all.”

Before Hester could respond politely, but negatively, to this, Mrs. Mayfield sputtered, “No!” Her colour threatened apoplexy at the very least. “You must never plague your husband for anything so foolish! You mustn’t wear out his generous nature.”

“But haven’t you asked him to contribute to Dudley’s settlement?” Isabella asked, in perfect innocence. She had never seen through her mother’s conniving ways.

“Dudley is your brother, which makes it right for your husband to do something for him. But you cannot be expecting him to throw his fortune away on every relation you have.”

“Not every relation, just Hester. Come,” She turned to Hester eagerly. “Don’t you think it would be fun? And as Mama says, you can amuse yourself with whoever you want after you are married.”

Hester had judged it the proper time to put an end to their argument. “You are very good to me, Bella. Very kind and generous. But your mother is right. You should not trouble yourself with a husband for me.” She had not added that Isabella’s notion of a good husband would never be the same as hers, or that she would not appreciate having to fend off Isabella’s candidates.

But her answer had appeased her aunt and for once had gained her a grudging compliment. Mrs. Mayfield had called her a good girl who knew what was due to her family, and she had left off her complaints about Hester’s attending the outing to Vauxhall.

So tonight Hester was relieved that Mrs. Mayfield was not to accompany them. Her aunt would have been sure to notice the care Hester had taken with her dress and grown suspicious, and she would not have been likely to let her out of her sight. Hester had chosen one of Isabella’s tossed-off gowns, in a becoming shade of greenish blue with pale yellow embroidery on both the bodice and skirt, with three-quarter bell sleeves. She did not think St. Mars would recognize the dress, for the chemise lace had been removed from the sleeves to be used on another of her cousin’s gowns. Besides, Isabella had filled the garment in an entirely different way. For Hester, the bodice had had to be taken in and a modesty piece attached.

Isabella’s motive for including Hester was not entirely unselfish, she learned, as she helped Isabella prepare to descend the stairs. She straightened Isabella’s new satin cloak over the back of her skirt and took up the old one for herself. Then, as they went down, Isabella turned and said, in an urgent whisper, “I need you to keep Harrowby and Sir Humphrey busy, should Lovett and me wish to go off by ourselves. Can you to do that, Hester?”

Hester’s heart sank. How was she to keep the two gentlemen occupied and still slip away to speak to St. Mars?

She could not object to any request Isabella made on her own account, but the protest she finally did make was sincere. “Do you think that wise, Isabella? What if your husband begins to suspect you of something
...
not quite
comme il faut?
”

“Oh, he won’t mind overmuch. He might even think it’s rather diverting! All the fashionable ladies have affaires. Look at the number of mistresses the Prince of Wales has! And if their husbands don’t care, why should Harrowby mind? It’s not as if he cannot amuse himself without me.”

An ache began to grow in Hester’s breast. She could not deny that the morals of the new king’s court left much to be desired. Queen Anne had tried to improve the conduct of her subjects, but if King George were ever to suggest better behaviour than he set for himself or his family, he would be justifiably ignored. As far as Hester had been able to tell, nothing was farther from his mind. But her concern was not for all of George’s subjects. Just for Isabella who, in spite of her flaws, was still dear.

She could see that her reluctance would harm the confidence with which Isabella treated her, however, and she had no right to dictate to her cousin. What had waiting-women been used for always if not to ease their mistresses’ affaires? It was not a duty she relished, but neither did she have a choice.

“I shall do what I can to see that they are occupied,” she finally said.

Radiant with anticipation, Isabella led the way down to the antechamber where Harrowby, Sir Humphrey, and Lord Lovett waited for them. Recalling the manner in which Lord Lovett had parted from her on the previous evening, Hester could not help wondering if he would betray any sign of a friendship between them.

Her own feelings about the way he had acted had undergone a series of changes. At first, as soon as the initial shock had worn off, she had felt gratified. In the loneliness with which she faced every day, being in perfect harmony with no one around her, unable to share either her opinions or her innermost secrets, she could not help but welcome the friendship of an intelligent and attractive man. Uneasiness had soon stolen away this feeling, however, for both Lord Lovett’s manner and his words had suggested that he was offering something a shade beyond friendship. Hester was not at all certain how she felt about the prospect of his admiration. And, if he had meant to imply that he found her preferable in some way, why was he always flirting with Isabella?

She quickly discovered that she would not have to worry about a transfer of  his attention from Isabella to herself. Lord Lovett betrayed not the slightest recollection of their conversation the night before. His gaze might have lingered on her face a second more than usual, but, as always, he turned the full force of his charm on her cousin and there it remained.

He and Sir Humphrey had secured the use of a hackney coach to bring them this way. They chose not to disturb the arrangement, so the three from Hawkhurst House followed in a second carriage to Whitehall Stairs, where Lord Hawkhurst’s private barge was docked.

The bargemen had been alerted to their coming and stood ready in their livery of brown broadcloth, trimmed in golden baize. Hester had never ridden in a private barge and could not help being excited as she was handed in. She would have infinitely preferred to receive the privilege from St. Mars, to whom the barge belonged in justice, if not in law. But since she was on her way to see him, she could almost persuade herself that the treat was truly his.

A reflection of the moon lit the water. Ripples glistened behind them as the bargemen expertly plied their oars. A late spring breeze blew refreshing air off the cooler Thames. Dozens of wherries, tilt-boats, and barges made their way up and down the river, crossing in one another’s paths. It was hard for Hester to imagine a more beautiful evening.

In the distance they could see the dark outline of the City of London with its many steeples and the new dome of St. Paul’s. A celebration of something seemed to be going on. The faint sound of bells came from a far-away church, and the glare of bonfires showed from some of the streets.

Hester was about to ask what the occasion was, when a man called out from one of the shadowy boats, “Long live King James!”

He was booed and hissed from some of the other boats, but a Jacobite ditty was taken up in others.

“Damn fools!” Harrowby growled. “They’ll be celebrating the Pretender’s birthday today. Well, we’ll see how happy they are when the lot of them are packed off to gaol!”

No one else in their barge said anything, but the incident seemed to cast a pall on their mood.

The bargemen rowed them up river and deposited them on the opposite side at Vauxhall Stairs. Lord Lovett leapt out first and gave his hand to the rest. When her turn came, Hester was startled to feel his other arm come around her waist in what seemed unnecessary support. He drew her near enough to feel his breath in her hair, before letting her go.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She did not know what game he could be playing. And she was not certain that she wanted any part of it. How could she trust a man who played court to two women, under both their noses?

As Harrowby and Isabella led the way up the bank amidst a throng of debarking ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were masked, Hester fell back with Sir Humphrey and was surprised when Lord Lovett did the same. He made no attempt to engage her in conversation, as they made the short walk up the lane to the gate of Spring Gardens.

Once inside, Isabella turned to insinuate herself between Lord Lovett and the others. He gave her his arm, and they continued up the main promenade, surrounded by arrivals on all sides.

It was far too soon to draw the gentlemen away, but Hester wanted to be ready for the best opportunity. Her only hope was to engage them both in the sort of conversation from which gentlemen were accustomed to excluding their female companions, before dropping back and out of sight. Only now did she realize how foolish her suggestion of a meeting place had been, for she had not appointed a specific place within the gardens. Even should she be able to escape her companions, she could do nothing but wander the dark lanes alone and pray that St. Mars found her before someone else did. And that no drunken men would intrude on her solitary state.

Harrowby raised his lorgnette to ogle the women they passed, some of whose gowns had been cut very loosely at the neck. On those who were masked, a glimpse of pink nipple above the neckline was not at all rare. An occasional shriek as a gentleman availed himself of this invitation could be heard up and down every lane. Giggles, oaths, and grunts came to them from behind the shrubbery. Hester saw that Isabella had chosen the perfect place to deceive her husband, if Lord Lovett had a mind to the same.

He seemed in no hurry to lead her away from the rest of their party, but kept turning to include Sir Humphrey and Harrowby in their conversation. Hester wondered how late it would be before she could lose them. She studied the face of every bewigged gentleman, young and old, thin and fat, hoping to recognize St. Mars behind a disguise, but all she saw were strangers. And she quickly learned that it was a mistake to show too great an interest in any gentleman’s face, if she did not wish to attract their impudent remarks.

Tall trees with their fresh springtime growth widened overhead as they slowly made their way to the center of the gardens. Attracted by the sweet notes of the wandering musicians, Lord Lovett led them to an alcove where they could sit and eat. Waiters brought them slices of hung beef, with glasses of Burton Ale for the gentlemen and mead for the ladies.

Sitting there, trapped, Hester felt as nervous as a bee, searching for a way through a pane of glass. She would never find St. Mars if she had to stay at the table. The only good thing about her situation was that Isabella could not expect her to distract the other two gentlemen when Lord Lovett had led them all here himself. She could do nothing, but bide her time and hope for a change in her circumstances before it was time to leave.

Chapter Nine

Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes;

And when, in act, they cease, in prospect, rise:

Present to grasp, and future still to find,

The whole employ of body and of mind.

All spread their charms, but charm not all alike;

On different senses different objects strike;