A Hundred Thousand Dragons (3 page)

‘Rasputin, you mean? That's a bloke called Vaughan. You know him, don't you? He said he'd met you.'

Jack felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. He didn't know how, but he managed to keep his smile fixed in place. ‘Vaughan?' he repeated in as casual a voice as he could manage. ‘Yes, I've met him.'

‘I find him uphill work,' said Stuckley. ‘Goodness knows how Marjorie's coping. I'll see you later.' He strode off to the terrace.

Jack forced himself to look away from Rasputin and walk towards Lady Stuckley.

‘Goodness, Jack, what a time you took,' said Lady Stuckley as he put the drinks on the table. ‘I saw those silly girls of mine stop you and my heart sank.'

‘I pleaded a prior engagement.' He smiled. ‘After all, it was a royal command.'

‘Quite right too,' said old Lady Stuckley with a delighted smile.

He stood back and gave an elaborate bow, which made Lady Stuckley giggle like a schoolgirl. ‘My respects to Your Highness.' Adjusting his inconvenient array of weaponry, he lowered himself gingerly on to the seat. ‘Daggers and things are all very well,' he complained, ‘but you never know where they're going. If I can refrain from stabbing you, you will dance with me, won't you?'

Lady Stuckley chuckled in great satisfaction. ‘Once I sat down in this outfit, young man, I thought it might be as well if I stayed sitting for the rest of the ball.'

‘You can't possibly do that.'

‘Perhaps I could manage a waltz before the end of the evening.'

‘My life will be a blank until the moment comes.'

She smiled. ‘If I were forty years younger . . .'

Jack sighed. ‘What an opportunity I lost, by being born too late. We would have taken London by storm.'

‘I did take London by storm,' said Lady Stuckley complacently, which was nothing but the truth. ‘Do you know I was nearly your grandmother? Your grandfather proposed to me.'

Jack did know, for Lady Stuckley mentioned it virtually every time he met her, but he expressed suitable surprise. ‘Did he? I'm sure I would've been much improved.'

‘Well, your father certainly would have been,' she said dryly. ‘You haven't turned out at all badly, all things considered.' Lady Stuckley looked at him perceptively. ‘What's the matter?' she asked. ‘Something's upset you.' She paused for Jack to answer. When he didn't, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Ah well, it's none of my business and I'm a nosy old woman, only you're too polite to tell me so.'

‘It's nothing,' said Jack, chilled by Lady Stuckley's unexpected insight. He glanced up and saw Isabelle dancing with Arthur. He had to think of something to tell the acute old lady. ‘Isabelle wanted me to wear a different costume. She was a bit shirty when I refused.'

Lady Stuckley pursed her lips in disbelief, but, thank goodness, didn't contradict him. ‘They make a very handsome couple,' she said, following his gaze to Isabelle and Arthur. ‘Young Stanton has more nerves than are good for him but he's sound enough, like all his family, even if he is too inclined to think. Thinking's no good for a man. They brood too easily. Still, he should get on well enough with Isabelle Rivers. She's a clever girl. I wondered if she was too clever. Clever girls can see a man's faults and men don't like it.'

‘A really clever girl wouldn't point them out,' said Jack. ‘Or perhaps the man hasn't got any faults.'

Lady Stuckley gave a crack of laughter. ‘I've never met a man yet who didn't.' She looked at Isabelle once more. ‘Being clever's all very well but since she took up with Arthur Stanton I've had a far greater opinion of her sense. She suits that mediaeval dress. Marjorie and Phyllis told me she was going to come as some sort of Greek goddess. She doesn't look very Greek.'

‘No, that notion went by the board. She went for Camelot in the end. He's Lancelot and she's Guinevere.'

‘And very pretty she looks, too. I can't think the chain mail young Stanton's wearing is particularly suitable for dancing in, though.'

‘No, I don't suppose they had jazz at the court of King Arthur.'

‘Good for them. All these modern dances are far too energetic.' Lady Stuckley raised her lorgnettes and peered across the ballroom with aged but sharp eyes. ‘Goodness knows why young Vaughan chose to dress up as Rasputin. He cannot be comfortable, smothered by that beard.'

Jack felt his knuckles tighten. ‘Young Vaughan?' he repeated.

She glanced at him. ‘Do you know him?'

‘I met him the other day,' said Jack in what he hoped was a casual manner.

‘Young Vaughan,' she said reflectively. ‘He was in the Diplomatic Service for a time. He never sits still. He's always rowing round something or shooting animals or climbing up a mountain somewhere.'

It was obviously expected of him to make some sort of comment. ‘Isn't he a bit old for that sort of thing? He must be at least fifty.'

Lady Stuckley laughed. ‘At my age, that's not old. Since his wife died he's only had himself to please, not that that ever mattered. He's always done exactly as he liked. I suppose everyone's got to have their amusements, but I find some of the things he does very odd.'

‘There's nothing odd about climbing mountains, is there?

Lady Stuckley sniffed. ‘When he was up at Cambridge, he started digging up dead people.'

‘Digging up dead people?' repeated Jack in surprise. It seemed a peculiar sort of pastime, even for the most wayward student.

‘Dead people and pots,' said Lady Stuckley with a sniff. ‘Treasure hunting, you know? He calls it archaeology but it boils down to dead people and pots. I believe his house is full of things he's dug up. I asked him once if he'd found any treasure and he told me he'd found a gold pin from a brooch. It'd be much easier to go and buy a gold pin, surely – and a brooch as well, if he wanted one – than try and dig them up. It seems a very haphazard way of obtaining jewellery.'

Despite his tension, Jack couldn't help laughing. He could quite see that the practical Lady Stuckley would find little point in merely academic pursuits. He finished his champagne and stood up. She stretched her hand out to him in a queenly gesture that went well with her costume and, much to her pleasure, he bowed gallantly and kissed her hand. ‘Your Majesty,' he murmured.

‘Don't forget you promised me a waltz,' said Lady Stuckley, highly gratified. ‘I don't know what the matter is but your manners haven't suffered.'

After that rather wearing session, all he really wanted to do was join Mark Stuckley on the terrace for a breather, but he was stopped by Isabelle. ‘There you are, Jack. I saw Lady Stuckley had nabbed you. She's a holy terror, isn't she?'

‘She thinks you're clever,' he said. ‘And she's got a good opinion of your sense.'

‘Has she?' Isabelle looked remarkably pleased. ‘That's quite something coming from her.' She took his arm. ‘Have this next dance with me, Jack. Arthur says he won't move another step.'

‘Have you ever tried to dance wearing armour?' demanded her glowing fiancé. ‘If I don't get a drink soon I'll boil.'

‘Perhaps your next dance should be the Lobster Quadrille,' said Jack with a grin.

‘Ouch!' said Arthur, smiling. ‘I'm going to find some fresh air.'

Jack held out his arm to Isabelle. ‘I'm all yours, Belle.'

They started round the room, expertly weaving in and out of the crush of dancers. Isabelle rested her head on his shoulder and looked at him with serious green eyes. ‘Jack,' she said quietly. ‘You do know Mr Vaughan's here, don't you?'

Unconsciously his arms tightened around her. ‘Yes. Why are you telling me, Isabelle?'

‘Because of the other day at Claridge's. I know what happened.'

They danced a few more steps. ‘Arthur promised he wouldn't say anything,' he said quietly.

She drew back slightly. ‘Don't look so grim, Jack. I knew there was something wrong. You were far too bright and brittle.' She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You're a bit like that now. You mustn't blame Arthur. I asked him outright what the matter was.'

They danced a few more steps in silence. ‘I thought I hid it rather well,' said Jack eventually.

‘Too well, Jack. I know you.'

He sighed and kissed her forehead gently.

‘So what was it about, Jack? Who was that horrible man?'

It was some time before he spoke. To an outsider it would have looked as if they were concentrating on nothing more than the steps of the dance, but Isabelle could feel the tension flowing through him. ‘You know who it was, Belle,' he said eventually. ‘If Arthur told you what happened, he must have told you who it was.'

‘It was a man called Craig, wasn't it?' She felt his hands tighten.

‘That's right.' He took a deep breath and repeated the name in a whisper. ‘Craig.'

She looked at him blankly.

‘For God's sake, Belle, you can't have forgotten,' said Jack, suddenly impatient with her lack of understanding. ‘Durant Craig. Don't you remember what I did?'

‘Craig? I don't . . .' She stopped and held him closer. ‘Oh, Jack. I understand now.'

A sudden, vivid picture formed in her mind of an autumn day at home, a cold clammy day with mist shrouding the trees in the park. She had forgotten it. It was in the war and seemed so long ago.

She had been coming down to breakfast when the doorbell rang. Egerton, the butler, walked down the hall to answer it and she'd paused at the foot of the stairs to see who it was. In those days they were used to all sorts of men turning up. Hesperus, like many other big houses, had been turned into a convalescent home for wounded soldiers, but the house was full and they weren't expecting any new arrivals.

Outside stood a thin, nervous-looking man, hardly more than a boy, twisting his cap round and round in his hands. He wore a Flying Corps jacket over dirty khaki and he had a few days' growth of stubble on his chin. In a barely audible voice he asked if Lady Rivers was at home. Egerton hesitated and the boy made a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a sob.

‘Don't you recognize me, Egerton?'

And then she had flown across the hall to him. ‘Jack! Jack, what's happened to you?' She tried to kiss him but he fended her off.

‘Don't come too close. I was on a troop ship. I'm crawling.' He spoke in little jerky sentences. ‘Vermin, you know.'

She laughed, happy to see him again after his long and silent absence. ‘Is that all? Don't worry, we're used to it.' She heard her mother come out of the morning-room and turned. ‘Oh, mother, it's Jack! He's got a creepy-crawly problem but we can deal with that, can't we?'

Her mother reached out and, regardless of his mumbled protests, put a gentle hand under his arm. ‘We'll soon have you cleaned up, Jack, and find some decent clothes for you. But that's not all that's wrong, is it?'

He half-stumbled against her. ‘No, Aunt Alice. I wish it were.'

He'd been given two weeks leave, a long time when leave was usually measured in hours and days. At the end of that time he talked longingly of flying once more and his hand was steady enough to hold his own razor. He even made the occasional joke. But he still had nightmares and once, when a log had cracked on the fire, Isabelle thought he was going to scream.

She came back to the present to find his black eyes fixed on her. ‘I'm sorry, Jack. It was all so long ago. Surely it can't still matter?'

He gave an ironic lift of his eyebrows. ‘It mattered to him. And to me,' he added in an undertone.

‘But he can't make trouble for you, can he?'

‘He very well might. He's not a very forgiving sort of man.'

‘Well, I think he's horrible,' said Isabelle robustly. ‘Forget him, Jack. He's not worth thinking about.'

He held her tightly once more, but this time in a hug of gratitude. He knew she wanted him to say something ordinary and everyday, to show that they were just two people at a dance amongst friends, enjoying the here and now.

For some reason a poem, one of Browning's, came to mind. It was set to the rhythm of a toccata, played while the people of Venice danced. Masked by their brilliant, increasingly artificial fervour, death (the plague?) drew closer and took them one by one.
Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what Venice earned. The soul, doubtless, is immortal, where a soul can be discerned. Here on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop. What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

He shuddered. That wasn't everyday, for heaven's sake, however relevant it might seem. He forced himself to smile and, even though he felt it was a bit of a death's head grin, Isabelle squeezed his arm, to show she appreciated it. ‘Damn the past. Let's tie a can to it.' They danced a few more steps then applauded as the music stopped.

‘Let's join the others, shall we?' said Isabelle, taking his arm.

Arthur was standing by an open window with Marjorie and Phyllis Stuckley. Jack felt a sudden warm affection for all of them. These were his friends. They were ordinary, they were everyday, they were happy and they were all good sorts. Even, he added to himself, if Marjorie did make him feel slightly hunted on occasion.

‘What about our dance, Jack?' asked Marjorie.

‘Let me have a drink first,' he pleaded. ‘And I did promise your brother I'd join him on the terrace for a breather. Can we have the first dance after supper?'