Love Charade Part 19

Margaret stiffened her shoulders. "I do beg your pardon for intruding, Linton. I am most grateful for your kindness in sparing the time to listen to my woes." She managed a brittle little laugh.

Justin sighed and accepted his fate. Why was it that ever since that afternoon when he'd yielded to a ridiculous impulse to rescue a grubby brat from a baker's belt, he found himself unable to resist an appeal for help. He was now to take some wastrel stripling under his patronage. It would have to be done discreetly, of course. Open patronage of his ex-mistress's son would give the gossips food for their crying tongues and then he would have Danny's reactions to contend with. He shuddered slightly at the prospect.

"I will do what I can, Margaret. I may, at least, discover the extent of his gaming and how deep his involvement with Shelby. When I have done so, we will talk further."

"I shall be forever in your debt, Justin." Her smile was watery but so full of genuine grat.i.tude that the earl felt ashamed of his earlier sharpness. It was a small enough task to undertake for an old friend.

He left her then and turned his horse toward St. James's and his club. It was as good a place as any for discreet inquiry and with any luck he would find his cousin. Jules was close in age to Shelby and would be more cognizant of that rake's circles than Justin. Had Lord Linton been aware of his wife's whereabouts and activities on that March afternoon, he would have lost whatever scant interest he had in the affairs of Edward Mainwairing.

Danielle and the chevalier, after a halt at h.o.a.re's bank where Danielle had drawn a substantial sum, left the relatively clean, well ordered streets of central London for the backslums of the East End. The streets narrowed and their progress was slow as the chevalier's curricle drew uncomfortable attention from the area's inhabitants.

D'Evron glanced sideways to his companion and was amazed at her apparent calm. She carried some hundred guineas in her reticule but what the chevalier did not know was that she also carried a small, silver-mounted pistol. The filth, poverty, and hostile curiosity seemed not to trouble her in the least but, again, D'Evron was not to know that the Countess of Linton had once survived in circ.u.mstances as bad, if not worse, than those evident around them. The chevalier, in spite of frequent forays into this wasteland of squalor, was still ill at ease and could only marvel at the gently bred aristocrat sitting beside him, expressionless except for her large brown eyes that seemed to take in every minute detail of the scene.

They turned into a reeking alley, barely wide enough for the curricle. The grays stepped delicately over the uneven cobbles where every kind of filth had found a home. Children played in the running kennels, dodged beneath the horses' bellies; sad-eyed women with mewling babes at their shrunken b.r.e.a.s.t.s looked at them with the blankness of accepted despair; their menfolk, almost as scrawny, spat obscenities.

Danielle stepped down from the curricle, hoisting her velvet skirts to her knees, revealing the well chosen, st.u.r.dy riding boots. She splashed through the stinking soil of the kennel saying not a word to the chevalier as she beckoned an emaciated sc.r.a.p of tattered humanity. "You will hold the horses, mon pet.i.t." She handed him a s.h.i.+lling and the bright gleam drew a sharp breath from the watchers in the street. A group of men advanced as one body. Danielle did not stop to think whether they were threatening herself or the child. The group found themselves facing a silent controlled figure holding a pistol. They backed away and the chevalier decided that he need have no guilt about embroiling the Countess of Linton in these affairs. Aristocrat she might be, gently bred she was most certainly not. Was the so impa.s.sive earl aware of this side of his child bride?

D'Evron dismissed the interesting question. The chevalier was a pragmatist with a job to do and he used what tools were available. If they proved to be sharper than he had expected, so much the better.

He rapped on the half open door with the silver k.n.o.b of his cane. Receiving no answer, he stood aside to allow Danielle admittance. The narrow dark pa.s.sage stank of boiled cabbage and fish heads. The stench of poverty and Danny's nose wrinkled with remembered distaste as she returned her pistol to her reticule.

The man who emerged from a door at the end of the pa.s.sageway looked well enough fed; brawny shoulders-their muscles turning to flab and the broken nose of the ex-heavyweight. Little piggy eyes, Danielle thought. But the eyes widened as they took in the sight of this lady. She was still holding her skirts high to avoid soiling them on her boots and her expression of distaste had Mr. Barkis rubbing his hands obsequiously as he asked how he could serve my lady.

"You may take me to your tenants," he was informed. "After I have spoken with them, I will speak with you."

The little eyes narrowed speculatively. Mr. Barkis had recognized the chevalier, but he was of no account, just another emigre frog eater of no power or influence. The lady, on the other hand, was icily English. If she had an interest in that pathetic group upstairs then perhaps there was something to be gained.

"Of course, my lady." He bowed low. "If you will be pleased to follow me." He opened a door without knocking and Danielle walked past him without acknowledgement. D'Evron followed, closing the door firmly in Mr. Barkis's face.

It was a small room; a minute fire of sticks and lumps of charcoal tried unsuccessfully to throw off some heat. There was no furniture, except for three thin pallets on the floor. But some effort had been made to sweep and dust.

A woman with pinched cheeks and a hugely swollen belly held a baby of about a year, three others tottered, crawled, and sniveled around her. Danielle bent to pick up one infant who was showing an unhealthy interest in her unsanitary boots. She wiped his nose on her cambric handkerchief and smiled at the child's mother.

"Bonjour, madame. Je suis Danielle de St. Varennes." It seemed simpler to introduce herself thus in the circ.u.mstances. When she accosted Mr. Barkis she would be the Countess of Linton.

Madame Duclos knew the name, what Parisian did not? Amazement flashed in the weary eyes but it died under the smiling regard of this young girl who was now sitting on the floor with the little Gerard in her velvet lap.

"The chevalier has told me something of your circ.u.mstances, madame. I am here to help you if you will permit . . . non, pet.i.t chou, you may not have that." Laughing Danielle removed the painfully thin baby fingers from her bracelet. "Votre mari, il nest pas id, maintenant?"

"My husband is looking for work, milady." Madame Duclos looked nervously at the chevalier who smiled his encouragement. Haltingly she told the pathetic story of panic and flight, the long days of waiting for the pa.s.sports, the sums expended in bribery, the need to leave everything behind except what cash and material goods they could carry easily. All their a.s.sets had been tied up in the small but growing shoemakers in St. Michel. The Ducloses had been solid, comfortable members of the bourgoisie, no great aspirations for wealth but contented with their lot. Jean Duclos had seen the danger clouds on the horizon and had thought only of his young family. They were neither aristocracy nor peasants, could identify with neither rich nor poor and, as a result, could well be amongst the first victims of the tide of insurrection that was still an ill-conceived bubble-a mountain spring waiting to trickle down the steep slope to become a part of the wildly rus.h.i.+ng river. He had thought he was doing the right thing by removing his family from potential danger, only to find that a hostile land had no succor to offer.

Danielle listened to the story, controlled hergrowing rage at the treatment they had received since reaching London, and asked a very few pertinent questions.

"When do you expect to be confined, madame?" It was her last question.

"In one week," Madame Duclos answered.

Danielle looked around the room and imagined giving birth. Children underfoot, petrified witnesses to their mother's pain and labor; water that could not be brought to the boil on the tiny fire; dust, dirt, blood, and agony. But for every Madame Duclos there were a hundred others. She could not rescue them all with her wealth and privilege and it was better to settle for what she could do. She could pay for the midwife, for heat, food, and a roof. There was no time to remove the family to Danesbury before the baby arrived and she certainly could not people Linton's estates with French refugees. After madame was confined then she could find room for this family, but if the rest were to be helped, she must accept the limitations of what she could offer.

D'Evron watched her face as she thought. The change was quite startling, as startling as the appearance of the pistol. She looked older, much older than her eighteen years, a wealth of experience, knowledge, and acceptance showing on the small face of the pampered aristocrat. What was she? He knew who she was, but all preconceptions now vanished into the mist. It was a question that would be asked many times by many people in the next several years.

"Madame, I will arrange matters so that you may remain here until after your confinement." Danielle set the baby on his knees and stood up. "If your husband is willing to pursue some trade other than the one he knows, then I can perhaps arrange for you to move to my husband's estate in Hamps.h.i.+re. The air will be good for the children and you will have a little land." She smiled hesitantly, recognizing the paucity of her offer in the light of their previous existence in Paris and the other woman's hesitation at accepting what was, in the final a.n.a.lysis, charity.

But Madame Duclos had lost her pride many months ago. "We shall be most grateful, milady."

"Then I will talk to the bete, Barkis." Danielle was all brisk business as she turned to the chevalier. "Mon ami, you will accompany me." She counted out bills into Madame Duclos's lap. "This should suffice for your present needs, madame. Should you need me, you may send a message to this address." She wrote rapidly on a visiting card. "The chevalier will keep me informed of your progress and I will make the necessary arrangements for your removal to Danesbury."

Tears filled the other woman's eyes and Danielle averted her gaze and turned swiftly to the door. "You will be troubled no longer, madame."

Mr. Barkis, after three minutes in the company of the Countess of Linton, was happy to receive the past due rent and the following month's together with a substantial sum for his trouble. He promised to find a reliable midwife when madame's time came and decided that the presence of wailing tots upstairs was infinitely preferable to another encounter with this lady of Quality with the snapping eyes, the frigid tones, and the most clearly defined threats.

"We must make haste, chevalier." Danielle glanced up at the sky. It was now late afternoon and she wished to be home before Linton who would be bound to remark on the dust and mud splashes on her dress and the malodorous filth on her boots.

"Do you still have your s.h.i.+lling, pet.i.t?" she asked the tattered child who now relinquished the reins to the chevalier. When the boy shook his head, she slipped another coin into the grubby palm, discreetly this time so that his watching elders would not again relieve him of his earnings.

"I am most grateful for your a.s.sistance, comtesse," D'Evron said slowly as they picked their way across the cobbles. "I hope it will not be necessary to trouble you in this way again."

"On the contrary, chevalier, you will trouble me whenever you wish. There is much to be done and I will play my part most willingly."

"Your husband, milady . . . ?"

"Linton must know nothing of this," she said firmly. "I rely on your discretion." Danielle was in no doubt that Justin would forbid further excursions of the kind she had just made, and if he did so she would be forced to defy him. He had fulfilled his whispered promise on their wedding day and made it easy for her to keep her vow of obedience, but in this instance he would demand it of her and the consequences for their relations.h.i.+p of open defiance were not to be contemplated.

D'Evron said nothing and kept his own unpleasant reflections to himself. The earl was a noted swordsman and an even more noted shot, but the chevalier rather suspected that he might resort to a horsewhip on this occasion and no one would blame him.

It was almost six when they drew up outside Linton House. The young countess was now distinctly anxious. They were to dine at seven and go to the play afterward, a treat that Linton, knowing his wife's love of the theater, took care to provide regularly.

"We must contrive a little better next time," Danielle said as the chevalier handed her down from the curricle. "We will conduct our business before noon."

"D'accord, comtesse." He raised her hand to his lips and then watched as she ran up the well-honed steps to be received by an impa.s.sive Bedford. If the butler noticed anything untoward in his mistress's appearance or in her impetuous haste as she disappeared up the curving staircase, it did not show on his face.

Danielle exploded into her bedchamber. "We must make haste, Molly. Help me with these boots, if you please. No! Do not touch them with your hands." Molly knelt and took the boots in a towel and pulled, wrinkling her nose at the rank odor.

"Help me with my gown, Molly, and then take the boots away. They will stink out the room." Danny turned impatiently and the girl, quite accustomed to her mistress's inelegant expressions, unb.u.t.toned the velvet driving dress with due speed. "Merci" Danielle said swiftly. "I can manage now. Make haste with the boots."

The Earl of Linton, mounting the staircase, narrowly missed being returned in an undignified manner to the foot as his wife's maid, clutching a pair of boots at arm's length, slipped against him. Molly's apologies were so profuse, her speech so scattered that he forebore to question her and continued on his way with a shrug. Danielle's unconventional ways had communicated themselves to the maid and it seemed unjust to take the servant to task for something that was not her responsibility.

Petersham was waiting for him, carefully brus.h.i.+ng invisible motes from a cream brocade evening coat.

Abandoning his task, he helped my lord out of top boots and deep blue superfine coat, easing it reverently over the powerful shoulders. A muttered expletive came from next door, and Justin with a smile went through in s.h.i.+rt and stockinged feet to find his wife struggling fiercely with her laces.

"Ah, milord, you are home," she said, showing him a face pink with her exertions. These so stupid strings have made themselves into a knot and I cannot undo them."

"How very inconsiderate of them," Justin murmured soothingly, coming up behind her. "But where is Molly?" He wrestled with the recalcitrant knot.

"Oh, she will return directly," Danielle said airily. "I asked her to bring me some tea. Ah, thank you."

She breathed a sigh of relief as the stays were finally released. Molly, unfortunately, chose that moment to reappear.

Justin's eyebrows shot up at the conspicuous absence of a tea tray.

"Molly, you have forgotten my tea," Danielle declared, shooting the girl a look pregnant with warning.

"But never mind, we have no time. I shall take a gla.s.s of sherry instead. You will bring me one, sir?"

Justin bowed his acquiescence and went through to his own apartments where decanters of sherry, Madeira, port and cognac were kept filled in his parlor. He poured sherry for Danielle and returned to her bedchamber. She was sitting at her dresser in a soft silk wrapper while Molly dressed her hair.

"Ah, thank you, sir." She gave him a radiant smile that somehow did little to dispel his unease. His brat, Justin strongly suspected, was hip deep in mischief. In the presence of Petersham and Molly he could hardly probe, but he would have her under his eye all evening, so investigation could safely be postponed.

As it happened, he lost all interest in her activities of the afternoon. Her conversation over the dinner table was too swift and witty to allow him the time for reflection, only for response; her pleasure in the play entranced him. One of his greatest joys these days was to provide her with the pleasures that she had missed during those long years in Languedoc and he sat through the farce, his gaze riveted on the small face, alive with laughter beside him. She was amused by every feeble sally, every vulgar piece of slapstick, her gloved hands clasped in her lap. During the tragedy her expression registered every emotion as vividly as that of the actors-a child experiencing the magical world of fantasy for the first time.

Margaret Mainwairing sat in her box, also ignoring the stage, watching instead the man whose mistress she had been for five years and she felt only envy for them both, an envy untouched by malice.

"Justin," Danielle whispered in the interval, "who is the lady in the gown with the tobine stripes? She seems monstrously interested in us."

"Where?" He raised his gla.s.s and examined the inhabitants of the neighboring boxes.

"In the third tier." Danielle lifted a finger to point, but her husband caught her hand in time.

"Unladylike brat," he chided. "One does not point in Polite Circles."

Danielle merely chuckled. "Do you see her. Her hair is a la capricieuse, I think."

Justin did see her and sighed. "The lady is Margaret Mainwairing, infant."

"Ah," Danny frowned. "Then you will introduce me, n'est-ce pas!"

"No, I will not," Justin stated.

"But why not?" Her smile was all sweet innocence that quite failed to deceive her husband. "Is she not perfectly respectable?"

"She is perfectly respectable, but it would not be appropriate to introduce my wife to my ex-mistress," she was bluntly informed.

"People will talk?" Her eyes sparkled.

"A great deal." He turned with some relief to greet the arrival of agroup of Danielle's admirers. He had little hope that she would allow the matter to rest there and his forebodings were proved lamentably correct when, at the end of the play, in the press of crowds in the foyer, she disappeared from his side. When he found her, she was engaged in an animated conversation with Lady Braham with whom she was but slightly acquainted. Margaret Mainwairing, however, was a member of Lady Braham's party.

He arrived at Danielle's side just in time to hear her say, "I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Mainwairing. I understand you have been a friend of Linton's this age."

"Yes, indeed," Margaret murmured, an appreciative smile in her eyes as she saw Justin's expression. "May I offer you my felicitations, Lady Linton." She then extended her hand to the earl. "Good evening, Linton."

"Ma'am." He bowed low over the hand before turning politely to greet the rest of the group whose well-bred faces barely concealed their shocked astonishment. "You will excuse us," he said with a smile. "Our party awaits . . . Danielle?" He gave her his arm and she laid her hand on the cream brocade sleeve, two irrepressible dimples dancing in her cheeks.

Once out of earshot, she said, "You cannot be cross, Justin. You did not introduce me, yourself, so it was all quite proper. But I thought Lady Braham was like to swoon when she was obliged to introduce me." She chuckled delightedly but her husband maintained a severe silence as he handed her into the chaise which bore them to the Piazza where he had arranged a small supper party for his wife's entertainment. The temptation to take her straight home at this point was considerable, but he could not disappoint his guests.

His cousin, Sir Anthony Fanshawe, Lord Philip Courtland, and the young Viscount Westmore were waiting for them as the earl, still in stony silence, escorted Danielle to the table.

"Justin is most annoyed with me," Danielle announced, sitting down with a swish of skirts. "I contrived an introduction to Lady Mainwairing-she was his mistress before he was married as I'm sure you are aware." She smiled around the stunned circle of faces. "It seemed to me necessary that society should be aware that I know of these things and I have only friendly feelings for Lady Mainwairing. Now all is convenable, n'est-ce pas?"

"Odd's blood," Lord Julian said in shaking accents. It was a sentiment echoed by his companions. "What will you think to do next, Danny?"

"'Twas not at all the thing, Danny," Sir Anthony agreed. "A man's wife is not acquainted with his mistress."

"But Lady Mainwairing is no longer Justin's mistress," Danielle said tranquilly, sipping her champagne. "Have I not just demonstrated that fact? It was my object, you understand. You are not being at all wise." She dismissed their stupidity with an airy wave. "If Lady Mainwairing were still Justin's mistress, then of course I would not know her. Since I do, she cannot be."

"Logical." Lord Philip nodded, most struck with this reasonable statement. "She has a point, y'know."

A short reflective silence fell around the table and Justin, who to his surprise was now enjoying himself hugely, sat back twirling his quizzing gla.s.s on the narrow silk riband. Danielle, in her usual fas.h.i.+on, had cut through the hypocritical layers of society's conventions and had most effectively put the kiss of death to any malicious scandal-mongering. Who would whisper to her about her husband's erstwhile mistress when she had so clearly demonstrated that there was nothing they could tell her?

"Let us put aside Danielle's regrettable want of conduct and address ourselves to our supper," he said. "I do not think that the Piazza is a suitable forum for such a discussion."

"No, no indeed not, 'pon my soul," Viscount Westmore agreed heartily. "Not a subject for the ladies either."

Danielle went into a peal of laughter, "But I raised the subject, Westmore."

"We were talking about ladies," Julian said severely.

"Oh, infamous, Jules! Justin, will you not defend me from such rudeness?"

"On the contrary, brat," her husband drawled. "I will endorse it. Eat your supper."

It was a riotous party and Justin resigned himself to the now familiar role of schoolmaster presiding over a rowdy schoolroom. In Danielle's company the four young men who fancied themselves as sophisticated, blase members of the haul ton lost their world-weary airs, treating Danny as they would a favorite sister, but with the added spice of light flirtation with a beautiful woman securely married to the Earl of Linton who himself regarded the proceedings with patent amus.e.m.e.nt.