B006O3T9DG EBOK (61 page)

After Beecher’s coach was out of sight, Darcy’s coach, followed by the Millhouses, lumbered onto the road to London. On the seat next to Sally, Lady Millhouse sat in appalled silence, an attitude quite unfamiliar of her. Whaling away on a ne’er-do-well did not cause it. More likely she had time to recall the scandalous behaviour they witnessed and was displeased about it. For all her blustering, she had firm rules of conduct and they did not include roguery.

Lord Millhouse’s countenance did not display the same disturbance as did his wife’s. His sensibilities were not insulted by his wife’s timely beaning of Beecher. Nor could his injury at her thrashing of the horse seller be put at no higher than “surprised.” As for herself, Sally was rather impressed by her ladyship’s gumption. She would be a force to be reckoned with should she ever take up residence on Dyot Street. That set her mind to thinking of the common folk.

In the quiet, Sally reminded herself that the first spare minute in town she would pay her respects to Nell. Such a walk would also keep her from forgetting whence she came. As if aroused by the son of Odin, Lady Millhouse suddenly thundered, “Dare not forget we shall betake ourselves to Drury Theatre!”

It was not Sally place to make the observation, but she thought it important all the same. Once in London, tides could turn. She might not have another chance to speak her mind.

She said to Lady Millhouse, “Y’know, buyin’ more ponies won’t make any difference in them mines.”

Her ladyship did not look in her direction, but replied, “We must do what we can.”

Sally said, “In the Dials folks do a lot worse in the name of ‘feedin’ their families.’”

Her ladyship was silent only for a moment.

Then, she said, “A pony now, the world, in all good time.”

Sally knew to be satisfied by that.

When the outskirts of London were in sight, Lord Millhouse said, “I understand that London’s limits can be seen from the topmost gallery of St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

Sally responded, “It doesn’t look all that small when you’re afoot.”

He laughed at the truth of her remark. Lady Millhouse did too, announcing her interest in town reinvigorated.

“We shall go to Astley’s to watch the equestrian performances,” she said eagerly. “First we must get you a proper bonnet!”

“Yes’m,” said Sally.

———

As soon as she could sneak out the garden way from the Millhouses’ townhouse, Sally trudged up Ayliffe Street and through Goodman’s Fields to the cemetery where her grandmother lay.

In the few years she had been gone from town, she found it much altered. Indeed, a menace overtook the streets unlike any she had known before. Doorways were darker than smut and crafty eyes hid down alleys causing skeletal cats and mangy dogs to fend for themselves on the thoroughfares.

Most unexpected were the black-clad men who sat upon the gravestones. They were armed with sticks, as if they feared the corpses might climb from their coffins to threaten passers-by with death. Initially, she was alarmed, certain these were the ghosts of suicides wrongly laid to rest in the churchyard. Everyone knew they had to have a stake driven through their heart and be buried at a crossroads so the devil would be confused.

One ghoul raised a hand in her direction, bidding her have a good day. That meant it was unlikely that they were apparitions from beyond the grave.

The truth was far worse.

Chapter 81

Lucifer Lies In London

Colonel Fitzwilliam was happy for a single part of the whole stink.

He said, “At least Kneebone has not sullied his uniform with such an unhappy performance.”

Darcy did not reply. He was vexed. When he commenced upon his journey, he had promised Elizabeth that he would be only in the furthermost reaches of town. Now he was not only forced into Chelsea to return Kneebone to kith and kin, he was to suffer the abhorrent company of Lydia as well.

Fitzwilliam made another pronouncement. He would take upon his shoulders the task of scouring the countryside for the perfect colt for young Geoff. He left the coach to Darcy and went on his way with an air of self-congratulations. Darcy, however, was not fooled by such subterfuge. Fitzwilliam simply wanted to avoid the brouhaha. (Facing Napoleon’s Imperial Guard would be a preferable to witnessing the guilt and recriminations of a marriage gone to the bad.) Darcy did not blame him. Kneebone was not his kin; Lydia was not his sister-in-law. (Fitzwilliam was not kin to Bingley either, but was happy to keep him company at the fair.)

Was that not his unhappy circumstance, Darcy would certainly not be toting a drunken cuckold back to his unadoring wife

During the journey from Newmarket to town, Major Kneebone sobered. His head hurt and he had a need to talk freely of his many tribulations. By inclination uninterested in another man’s marital woes, Darcy found himself a captive to poor Hugh’s unhappy delineation of the milestones in the deterioration of his unpropitous marriage to Lydia Bennet Wickham. Darcy was not entirely unsympathetic. She was a young woman he had detested from the very moment they had first been introduced.

Moreover, jealousy needed no explanation. Darcy understood why Kneebone went after Beecher. He was only curious as to how he came to find him when and where he did. Caroline and Beecher were constantly on the move, most often one step ahead of their creditors. In the erratic political climate, gentlemen were unable to carry a tab as they once had. His extravagances were only exceeded by Caroline’s. It had been necessary for Bingley to keep Caroline’s money from them lest they squander it all.

“How did you come to know where to find Beecher?” Darcy asked.

“Mrs. Bingley told Lydia,” Kneebone answered flatly.

Darcy replied, “Of course.”

“I have a daughter,” Kneebone said miserably. “If it was but me, I would have taken my leave long before now. I dare not leave a defenceless child in the sole custody of a mother who....” He paused and then said, “I beg forgiveness of all of my many shortcomings, for they have been on goodly display today.”

Darcy gave a nod. He did not say more, fearing any comment might encourage further divulgements of an intimate nature. When such was made by anyone, he was always left with the uncomfortable choice of either commiseration or encouragement. As he was unused to offering them, when he did, his words sounded stilted and insincere. Upon those occasions, he could hear Elizabeth’s voice gently chastising him to take the time practise that which did not come easy to him.

“Shall I take my leave of her, Mr. Darcy? I have just cause,” Kneebone queried wretchedly.

Advice was not Darcy’s strong suit either. This was not because of a lack of opinion (for he did have that), but his belief that offering another counsel should be the sole office of the clergy. In place of a recommendation, Darcy offered him only an observation.

“It has been my experience that even a bad mother is better for a child than no mother whatsoever. Protection from such ills is the foremost duty of a father.”

“Is it that simple?” Kneebone replied.

“Simple? I think not,” mused Darcy.

Kneebone grew quiet.

As they drew nearer to Chelsea, both gentlemen’s thoughts were alike. It remained to be discovered whether Lydia was at home or had fled elsewhere. She might well have fled, for Kneebone said that he had spent many days drinking and thinking of nothing but her infidelity—and railing against the cur who connived to break his semi-happy home asunder. Alas, in the end, Kneebone took more of the blame upon his shoulders than he should have and lay none whatsoever on Lydia.

When they gained the steps leading to Kneebone’s house, Darcy did not accompany him inside. Was he to do so, he could not trust himself to remain civil to Lydia. As far as he could discern, Major Kneebone had been a good husband to her. He had loved her well when she was inconstant. What sort of husband would he have been, had she been a faithful wife? He knew that Elizabeth had penned similar words of wisdom to her. Would that she had simply heeded them.

To Darcy’s surprise, Lydia had not fled. She greeted her husband on the doorstep, her eyes bright with excitement.

“Hughie! Hughie, my love! How could you? You might have been killed! Did you do him harm? They shall take you away, you know—and where shall your poor wife and daughter be without you? I promise you never to drive you to such madness again! I
promise
!”

With that, the door was closed. It was just as well, Darcy had no interest in hearing those protestations and promises that were unlikely to be recalled from this day to the next. He also disliked knowing that the day’s misadventure would have to be related to Elizabeth. She always despised the cost her family caused his dignity. He vowed to be more reassuring to her on that count.

Across the country from his family and without a horse for his son, he was in the one place he did not care to be. Gloom threatened his mood. It was late in the day. He vowed to leave London at first light. Although he did not look favourably upon an overnight stay, he resigned himself to make good use of his time. With the present unrest permeating all levels of society, he would satisfy himself that his own accounts were well-watched. That would mean a trip to Threadneedle Street. He would stop there first ere he betook himself on the road home.

Rapping his walking stick on the roof of the coach, he directed his driver to Mayfair.

As he travelled the familiar cobbles, he looked out the window impassively. Whilst he in no way felt menaced, there was an undercurrent of discontent apparent through placards and notices weighing down every fence and post along the way. From his vantage, London seemed even less orderly than it had been when he last occasioned it. For all its blathering, the government had done nothing to help, and managed to enrage the masses in the process.

He was still pondering that as he entered his house. It was a reassurance to think of his family safe in Derbyshire.

As his road-weary coat was taken, a footman extended a silver tray. Upon it lay several cards and a letter. The cards were of no interest to him. In some ways London was still not above a country village. Everyone in town still knew who had arrived and where they were to dine before the horses were unhitched. The letter caught his attention. It was addressed by the increasingly familiar hand of Lady Howgrave.

He gave an inward sigh. Whether it reflected badly on his manners or not, he meant to ignore Juliette’s letter. No doubt it would contain more of the entreaties that he had hitherto turned away.

He had waffled far too long before (and in) telling Elizabeth of the business with Juliette and his hat. For all that, he still had not told her that Lady Howgrave had importuned him with a lewd request. Whether to add to Elizabeth’s agitation troubled his conscience, his scruples, and his sleep. He abhorred speaking of such unsavoriness to anyone, much less to his wife. If he did speak of it to her, any further acquaintanceship with the Howgraves would certainly be compromised. To his mind, it had already been fractured.

Whatever Juliette’s design, she must find a more willing accomplice somewhere else. He did not doubt for a moment that she would. Yet unopened, he dropped Lady Howgrave’s missive onto on the table. There were more pressing matters at hand.

———

The next morning he had a quick cup of tea and girded himself to wade back through the street traffic.

Unsurprisingly, the town was not much improved from the day before. What he saw upon Threadneedle Street that day told him a great deal about the temper of the times. It was thick with coaches, but very few open carriages or lone horsemen were to be seen. (Darcy surmised that gentlemen were going to great lengths not to attract attackers.) Despite the congestion, he made good time. As he meant to be on his way, he too was in his coach. He alit from it just steps from the bank’s offices. Before he could enter, he was hailed.