Vice and Virtue (7 page)

“Oh, you certainly have!” The woman – whose décolletage and short, lace-flounced sleeves seemed to Aurora more appropriate to a younger woman than their wearer – shifted in her seat, indicating her neighbour, a man older than herself, with an important wig and a face as round as hers was long. “This is where all the best people sit. May I introduce my husband, Mr Horace Fellowes? I am Mrs Anne Fellowes. And you are…?”

“Miss Drayton. Aurora is my name,” said Aurora, nodding a greeting. “I am very pleased to meet you both.”

Mr Fellowes opened his mouth, but his wife did not allow him to speak. “Aurora! Divine name!” she cried. “We shall take care of you, my dear Miss Drayton, and introduce you to whomever you wish to meet. We know everyone, do we not, Mr Fellowes? And Miss Drayton is all alone! Her brother is in ill health, you see…”

The play was beginning, but the spectators were more interested in one another than in the performance. Aurora, who had not been to the theatre since before her father died, could not resist watching the actors for a few minutes, and admiring the opulence of their costumes. But the play was not what she had come here for. She put up her mask and observed the audience.

Aurora was the only unescorted young woman present. There were plenty of girls whose behaviour left no one in any doubt of their husband-seeking intentions, but they were in groups, or at least pairs. As for the young men, whose interest in Aurora had been pointed out by Mrs Fellowes, they crowded noisily into seats as near as possible to, or even on, the stage.

“Women whisper and giggle; only men shout and guffaw,” was one of Mrs Eversedge’s favourite admonishments, particularly of Flora’s more exuberant behaviour. Aurora noticed plenty of all four activities, and the resultant hubbub which rose in volume whenever the audience showed its appreciation of something in the play.

She was amused when one of the actors, losing patience at the constant interruptions, invited a young man to come and play the part himself. The young man, whose seat was at the side of the stage, made to do so, but was pulled back by his companions. During the uproar, Aurora got a good view of the men Edward had referred to as the “bloods”.

Bewigged, gorgeously dressed in silk waistcoats, white stockings and silver-buckled shoes, with decorated sword sheaths at their sides and plumed hats on their heads, their behaviour was as flamboyant as their appearance. They conversed continually, turning or even standing in order to address a friend several yards away. One group was playing cards, ignoring the action of the play altogether. Aurora could not help feeling a little offended on behalf of the actors. Why did these wealthy young men not go to a coffee house, where they could be as noisy and objectionable as they liked with no trouble to anyone but themselves?

Edward had said that if Josiah Deede’s foppish son was anywhere in the theatre tonight, he would be amongst the bloods. He was probably one of the best dressed, having adorned himself using Edward’s money. If he were here tonight, she must make his acquaintance at all costs. But, she wondered, how could she possibly find out which one he might be?

“Did you enjoy the play, my dear?” asked Mrs Fellowes as the actors took their bow.

“Very much,” replied Aurora. “Especially the impromptu entertainment provided by our friend over there.” She nodded towards the unfolding comic scene as the young man who had tried to take the stage was hastened to the door, so drunk he was scarcely able to stand, but still protesting that he was as good an actor as anyone. “And it was quite free of charge!”

Mrs Fellowes laughed. “Oh, I have seen that fellow do worse than that. Once he tried to carry off the leading lady over his shoulder. He is always intoxicated, I am afraid to say. I do not know why the management of this theatre does not ban him.”

“Because he is rich, perhaps? And has many friends?”

“Aye, very likely,” smiled Mrs Fellowes.

Aurora seized her opportunity. “Do you know his name? Is he a titled gentleman?”

Mrs Fellowes tapped Aurora lightly on the arm with her fan. “You may be lately arrived in London, but I see you are quickly finding your way in society!”

Aurora smiled archly.

“He is indeed a titled gentleman,” continued Mrs Fellowes. “The younger son of the Earl of Strathnairn. Neither his father nor his elder brother can do anything to persuade him to be more serious. Or more sober, if you will forgive my little play on words.”

Aurora giggled obediently. “They evidently have a task on their hands! And do you know any of the young men who accompanied him tonight? If there is a ‘sober’ one amongst them I would dearly love to know his name!”

“Now, let me see…” Mrs Fellowes frowned and pursed her lips. “I saw Lord Meethorpe, and that awful man Henry Mathias who leers at all the women, married or not. He has even made eyes at
me
, my dear, if you can believe it!”

Aurora bowed her head politely. “And who else?” she prompted. They had left their seats and were being carried, it seemed to Aurora, upon the lava-flow of the departing audience. She had seldom felt so hot and in need of fresh air.

“Oh, Mr Thomas Field was there as usual. He is some sort of writer, I believe, though like all of them he never seems to do any work. My husband, who knows his father well, says the family despairs of him.”

Aurora was beginning to despair too. Mrs Fellowes had said that she and her husband knew everyone, and would introduce Aurora to whomever she liked. But here they were, surrounded by people, and she had not met anyone. She decided to clutch at a straw. “May I be introduced to Mr Thomas Field, if we can locate him?” she asked. “Since Mr Fellowes knows the family. My brother is a writer, you see, and writers always like to make one another’s acquaintance.”

“You are so right, my dear!” The crowd was thinning out. Mrs Fellowes stood on her toes and scanned the remaining faces. “Oh! That might be him, with the brown hat. No, it is not.” She turned to Aurora, dismayed. “I fear we are too late, and he and his friends are already in some inn, carousing, I dare say.”

“Alas, but no matter,” said Aurora. “I shall come to the theatre again soon.”

“Then you must come with
us
,” said Mrs Fellowes kindly. “Mr Fellowes, tell Miss Drayton where she will find our house. You are welcome to call, my dear. I am always at home in the afternoons.”

By this time they had reached the steps in front of the theatre. Flares lit the bluish May night. Despite the lateness of the hour, Covent Garden was still noisy with carriages, horses and the hum of conversation. Aurora could smell the familiar stench of the wagons carrying the contents of each dwelling’s “house of office”. Aurora had no use for this polite term. At home they always called it the privy.

“You will find us in Tavistock Street,” Mr Fellowes informed her. “The house next to the shop at the sign of the Sun and Falcon.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Although her companions had not yet departed, Aurora felt very lonely. This evening’s escapade had not proved entirely fruitless, but she wished she had something more newsworthy than her meeting with this friendly couple to report to Edward. At least she could assure him that he had been right to choose a young girl as his accomplice. How quickly her lack of companions, female or male, had been noticed!

“Why, Celia, my dear!” came Mrs Fellowes’s excited voice. “Have you been here all evening? How ever did I miss you?”

Aurora turned to see her new acquaintance enthusiastically embracing a fair-haired girl. This girl, who was shorter of stature than Aurora, was finely dressed in a beribboned yellow gown and embroidered underskirt, and gazed upon the world from blue eyes in a heart-shaped face.

“Yes, we were here,” she said, smiling. “I saw you from the balcony, Mrs Fellowes, but you were so busy speaking to your companion I did not call to you.”

The thought flitted across Aurora’s mind that Mrs Fellowes’s company, useful though it was to Aurora herself, might not be so desirable to other young people. But this girl maintained her countenance and regarded Aurora with a very engaging air.

“Is this young lady a relative of yours, Mrs Fellowes?” she asked. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”

“No, we are not related, more’s the pity, considering her beauty.” Mrs Fellowes grinned at both girls, who smiled obligingly in return. “This is Miss Aurora Drayton, who is recently moved to London and is tonight making her first appearance at the theatre.”

Aurora curtseyed self-consciously, aware that her dress was not so near the height of fashion as that of the golden-haired girl, nor her hairstyle so intricate, nor her hat so gorgeously trimmed. But the torture of the tight corset had been worth it; the boldness of her décolletage and the smallness of her waist could stand up to any scrutiny.

“Aurora,” said Mrs Fellowes, “this is Miss Celia Deede, the daughter of my late good friend Mrs Philomena Deede. Celia and her family live in Tavistock Street too.”

Aurora’s heart had leapt so suddenly that she almost missed Celia Deede’s next, gently spoken words.

“I must correct you there, my dear Mrs Fellowes. We have not been your neighbours for several weeks. We live in Mill Street now.”

“Of course you do! I had quite forgotten. And do you like your new house?”

“Very much, thank you,” said Celia sweetly. “Oh! Here is Joe.”

A gentleman approached. Aurora needed only one glance to absorb his well-kept coat decorated with wide bands of gold at the cuffs, his polished boots, his unostentatious wig and white-plumed hat, tall stature, confident bearing and fair face. He was certainly the most handsome man she had seen tonight.

“This is my brother Josiah,” said Celia to Aurora. “He is always called Joe, as Josiah is also my father’s name. Joe, this is Miss Drayton.”

Joe Deede looked at Aurora with undisguised admiration. So undisguised that Mrs Fellowes lost no time in acting upon it.

“Miss Drayton is without an escort, Joe, if you can believe it. Her brother is in ill health and does not leave the house, but she craves company. And who can blame her? Such a pretty thing!”

Joe Deede bowed. “Miss Drayton, if you will allow me, may I offer to convey you home in our carriage?”

“I thank you, sir,” said Aurora, “but I have no need of a carriage. I live very near.”

“But you cannot walk alone through dark streets!” protested Celia. “Please allow us to accompany you.”

“Thank you,” said Aurora again, “but there is no need. I insist.”

Celia Deede gave her a curious look, though not, Aurora thought, an offended one. “Very well.” Her gaze touched her brother, then came back to Aurora. “As you please. But will you call on us in Mill Street? Come tomorrow, for dinner at two o’clock, and meet my father. Since you are newly arrived in the city you must be in need of friends, and we have hundreds! It is the house on the corner of Conduit Street and Mill Street in Mayfair. There is a stone horse-trough outside, with an inscription to St Christopher.”

Aurora curtseyed. Her mouth had dried so much that she could not immediately utter her thanks. This opportunity to ingratiate herself with the Deedes had occurred so swiftly she could hardly muster her thoughts. Celia Deede had taken a fancy to her and, for her part, she warmed to the girl’s smiling, audacious, but courteous, manners. To make further acquaintance with this smooth-complexioned girl and her utterly un-foppish brother was vital, though she must do it without revealing anything of her true self. “Thank you, Miss Deede,” she said. “You are very kind.”

Celia Deede dropped a small curtsey, her eyes on Aurora’s face. “The pleasure, Miss Drayton, is all mine.”

Edward must have heard Aurora’s footfalls on the stairs. Wigless, in his nightshirt and house robe, with a candle in his hand, he was waiting for her at the open door.

Aurora walked in, removed her gloves, untied her hat-strings and faced him. “I met them.”

Edward closed the door. “Father and son?” he asked, bright-eyed.

“No, son and daughter. Celia Deede is not scarred. Neither is she a recluse. Indeed, she told me she has hundreds of friends. ”

Edward’s mouth opened, but he did not speak.

“Celia is a delightful name, is it not?” observed Aurora. “As delightful as her countenance and clothes, both of which are of the greatest beauty. Her brother is handsome too, as you no doubt know, and they are both very well-mannered. They insisted I did not go home alone.”

His eyebrows rose and his jaw fell. “You did not allow them to escort you here?” he exclaimed, horrified. “Of all the—”

“Of all the imbecilic things to do? Good God, Edward, how little you think of me!”

Exhausted, she sat down at the table. She removed her hat and rested her forehead upon her fingertips, rubbing her temples in the hope of relief from an insistent headache. “Of course I did not lead them to this place! I insisted I be permitted to return home alone. What Joe and his sister made of my obstinacy I do not know, but they showed me nothing but kindness.”

Edward sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the dirty floor.
“Joe?”

Aurora’s shoulders drooped. Her body felt numbed by the enormity of the subterfuge she had embarked upon at the expense of such amiable people. How bewildered they must be at her refusal of their protection!

“Very well, you did not give them your address,” said Edward, looking up. “But did they give you theirs?”

“They told me they live in Mill Street, off Conduit Street, in Mayfair. At the house by the stone horse-trough.”

Aurora watched Edward absorb this news. The Deedes had recently moved, of course, to the address which was rightfully his own. But his voice and countenance remained steady. “How long will you wait before you call?” he asked.

“I am to go tomorrow, to dine with them and their father.”

“And if they wish to return the call?”

“I will explain that my brother is in poor health and we do not receive visitors.”

The candlelight licked Edward’s face. His lips were compressed into a line. Neither he nor Aurora spoke for a long time. At last, she could bear it no more. “Edward, I confess myself baffled,” she said. “How could your father have hated these people so much? They are pleasant, I assure you. And they have many friends. I cannot understand how you have not met them before. You must have been kept apart by the unceasing vigilance of your families.”