Finessing Clarissa (13 page)

The group blocking his way dispersed and instead of joining Angela, he went to sit next to the Tribble sisters.

‘Miss Vevian appears to be enjoying herself,’ he said casually.

‘Oh, she is very popular,’ said Effy complacently. ‘Lord Sandford is quite smitten with her.’

‘I must ask her to spare me a dance,’ he said.

‘She can’t,’ said Effy triumphantly. ‘Every space in her card is taken up for the rest of the evening.’

‘Good, good,’ said the earl, and immediately felt old and pompous and stuffy.

Something about his manner prompted Amy to say, ‘I know you have a
brotherly
affection for Miss Vevian, and so you, too, must be delighted at her success. And Lord Sandford! Such a personable young man, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, yes,’ he said, suddenly highly irritated. ‘But go carefully, ladies. What do you really know of this Lord Sandford?’

‘Only that he is rich and young and very, very handsome,’ said Amy.

The earl got to his feet and bowed. ‘I don’t know why I come to these affairs,’ he said crossly. ‘Cursed flat.’

‘Now that was
very
rude of him,’ said Effy, her eyes round.

‘Ye-e-e-s. Wasn’t it just?’ said Amy, watching the earl move away. ‘Now, I wonder . . .’

Let us drink and be merry, dance, joke, and rejoice,
With claret and sherry, theorbo and voice!
The changeable world to our joy is unjust,
A treasure’s uncertain, then down with your dust;
In frolics dispose your pounds, shillings and pence,
For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence.

Thomas Jordan

The earl rode out the next day to search for Jason’s father in Kensington. He should really have been paying a call on Chloris Deveney, the only lady he had danced with at the ball, but had sent his servant instead to present his compliments. How awkward it had been dancing with Chloris. He should not have asked her to waltz. She was so very small and dainty and yet he had not felt protective or manly in the least. She had talked a great deal and he had had to bend his head to catch what she was saying. Unlike Clarissa. But he hadn’t danced with Clarissa. Hadn’t had the opportunity. But he would have been able to look into her eyes and hear every word she said. He would have been able to confide his worries about Bella and Angela to her.

But at least Clarissa was happy now. She had her beau. She had written to her father to ask for money to buy the Tribbles a new drawing-room carpet. The viscount, grateful that his daughter did not seem to have committed any major follies, because the earl had taken full responsibility for the disaster to the coach, had sent a generous sum and Clarissa had ordered a very fine blue-and-rose Chinese carpet which had been delivered that very day while she was entertaining Lord Sandford. Amy and Effy had been thrilled and Lord Sandford had joined in the fun of helping Clarissa and the servants roll up the old damaged carpet and put down the new one.

If only he could forget that wink. If Lord Sandford had winked at Sir Jason – why?

The day was warm and gusty and the air of Kensington was scented with blossom. He asked at an inn for the whereabouts of a furniture-maker called Pym and was directed to an address near Kensington Gardens.

The furniture-maker’s manufactory was quite big. It had been an old farm, and now the buildings surrounding what used to be the farmyard had been converted into workshops.

He dismounted and presented his card to one of the workmen and asked for Mr Pym.

He had been expecting to meet an older version of Sir Jason, so it was with some surprise that he found himself confronted by a rotund little man wearing an old-fashioned wig and a baize apron over working clothes.

‘And what can I do for you, my lord?’ demanded Mr Pym eagerly.

‘I was thinking of buying some pieces of furniture,’ said the earl cautiously.

‘This way, this way, my lord,’ said Mr Pym, bowing low and then leading the way into one of the buildings. The earl looked at the furniture. It was very good, he noted with surprise, light and delicate in the latest mode. He needed furniture for the drawing room, and so he might as well order it from Mr Pym. The prices were reasonable, too. For a brief fleeting moment he wished Clarissa were with him to choose the colours for the upholstery. Mr Pym then begged his lordship to step into the office for a glass of wine.

The earl turned the glass in his long fingers and then said, ‘I think I know your son, Mr Pym – Sir Jason.’

The jovial little man’s face grew hard, but he said politely, ‘Sir Jason is indeed my son.’

‘You must be very proud of him,’ said the earl.

‘Why?’ asked the furniture-maker sharply.

‘He is a knight and has been a friend of the Prince Regent.’

‘And full of a great deal of nonsense and folly,’ said Mr Pym. ‘Oh, it is all my own fault, my lord. I wanted him to go to Oxford and meet the grand folk and so have a good connection for the trade. I am old now and he was to succeed me. He not only refused to have anything to do with the business, he told his grand friends I was dead. He told lies about me, about his upbringing. I finally refused to give him a penny, hoping that would bring him to his senses. He robbed me while I was asleep and then disappeared. I could not go to the authorities, I could not see my own son hang. Then I heard he had found royal favour. The Prince Regent must have given him great sums of money, for I gather from my spies he has been living in a very grand style for quite some time.’

‘I am sorry,’ said the earl. ‘It must have been a sad blow to you.’

Mr Pym sighed. ‘I do very well now. I have built up a fine business. But it breaks a man’s heart not to have a son to leave it to.’

The earl and Mr Pym talked for some time, Mr Pym promising to have the furniture delivered. Then the earl rode off, deep in thought. Surely here was the type of man he was supposed to be looking for, someone who had a great deal of money and yet no visible means of support. As he rode past Kensington Gardens, he would have been surprised to know that the subject of his thoughts was quite close, strolling in Kensington Gardens, waiting for Mrs Loomis, the Tribbles’ housekeeper.

Sir Jason had previously managed to strike up an acquaintance with the housekeeper. It was she who had tried to get the packet from Clarissa’s jewel box for Sir Jason. She knew Sir Jason as Mr Kennedy, a respectable merchant. She was not a bad woman, nor had he bribed her, but he had said he was a widower and had hinted he was looking for a wife. Mrs Loomis was a spinster – as was the case with most housekeepers, the ‘Mrs’ was a courtesy title.

After her failure to retrieve the letters for him, she had felt so guilty and been so frightened that she had begged him not to ask her to do such a thing again, and so he had been forced to recruit Sandford.

Then she had sent him a note to a perfumer’s in the Haymarket where he sometimes collected letters addressed to the fictitious Mr Kennedy, as he used that name for various other schemes.

He did not want to see her, but was afraid that if he did not, she would speak to the Tribbles about him. Certainly they would never connect Sir Jason Pym with the Mr Kennedy she would talk about. He wore his hair unpowdered, had put wax pads in his cheeks to alter the shape of his face, and his clothes were sober and correct. To complete the disguise, he wore a pair of green-tinted spectacles.

Mrs Loomis came hurrying up to him. She was a small, fat woman, scarlet in the face with the effort of hurrying.

‘Oh, Mr Kennedy,’ she gasped. ‘I’m that glad to see you.’

‘Gently, my dear Mrs Loomis, gently, I pray you.’

‘It’s that Harris, the butler. Everyone else thinks Miss was having a bad dream when she surprised me in her room, but Harris, he wrote again to my previous employer to check my reference again and he looks at me in such a way.’

Sir Jason reflected sourly that butlers and housekeepers were usually at loggerheads and that the efficient Harris had probably rechecked the other servants’ references as well.

‘I am sure it is all your imagination,’ he said soothingly.

‘What I wanted to ask,’ said Mrs Loomis, ‘is if you wouldn’t mind me telling Mr Harris about them letters. It’s innocent enough. I’ll just tell him what you told me.’

‘No!’ said Sir Jason fiercely. ‘Look, Mrs Loomis, as housekeeper, surely you have ample opportunity to go into the girl’s room. It would only take a minute.’

‘I daren’t risk it, Mr Kennedy,’ said Mrs Loomis. ‘When Miss is out, her maid is usually in her room, sewing or checking things. No, trust me, Mr Kennedy, honesty is my motto. Much better to make a clean breast of things.’

They walked in the direction of Hyde Park, Mrs Loomis arguing and Sir Jason protesting.

He hoped to get her to swear to keep quiet, but the more he tried, the more stubborn Mrs Loomis became. If only Sir Jason had remembered to hold out those delicately hinted promises of marriage, then things might have gone his way. But as the housekeeper argued, gradually Sir Jason dropped his role of Mr Kennedy and became more arrogant and bad tempered.

‘Pray sit down for a moment, my dear Mrs Loomis,’ he said, all but thrusting her down on an iron park bench.

‘I’ve made up my mind, honesty is the best policy,’ said Mrs Loomis for what was – or so it seemed to Sir Jason – the hundredth time. ‘Only see how my poor heart beats.’

She put a chubby gloved hand to her bosom.

‘So it does,’ marvelled Sir Jason. ‘Good gracious. I can see it beating from here.’

‘You can?’ Mrs Loomis removed her hand and stared down at her own bosom in awe.

Sir Jason drew a flask from his pocket. ‘Quickly, a good mouthful of brandy, Mrs Loomis, to restore you.’

Gratefully, the housekeeper took a hearty swig. She began to talk again about her honesty and her good character and Sir Jason patiently listened while the heavy dose of chloral she had just taken mixed in the brandy began to take effect. In no time at all, she was unconscious and snoring horribly.

He looked quickly about. There were plenty of people in the Park but no one near the bench on which they sat. He drew a long thin knife from one capacious pocket and gently eased it out of its sheath. Another quick look around and then he struck like a snake, driving the thin point of the knife into the housekeeper’s heart.

He pressed her body firmly into the support of the arm rest so that she would look as if she were asleep. He draped a fold of her stole over the handle of the knife. It was a good knife but he would need to leave it. If he pulled it out, then blood would spurt all over the place.

He got to his feet and walked quietly away.

Stupid woman, he thought.

Angela was delighted to find herself alone in the drawing room with Mr Haddon later that day. He smiled at her and said the ladies had gone upstairs to change. Angela got to work. She flattered him, she flirted with him, but he remained polite and a trifle distant.

Angela hated the Tribble sisters. They must have poisoned this man’s mind against her. They had no hope themselves and so they were determined that no one else should have any hope either. If only she could give them a fright.

It was when she heard them moving about upstairs, making sounds preparatory to coming downstairs, that she hit on a plan.

She waited until she heard the footsteps move to the landing above and acted quickly. ‘Oh, Mr Haddon,’ she cried, ‘I have dropped my diamond pin. My eyes are not very good and that new carpet is so thick. Can you see if it is under my chair?’

Mr Haddon stood up and bent down and looked under her chair. ‘I am sure I can see it,’ said Angela. ‘There!’

Looking puzzled, Mr Haddon got down on his knees. Effy and Amy appeared in the doorway.

‘Oh, Mr Haddon,’ breathed Angela. Still kneeling, he looked into her face in some surprise. She took his hand in both of hers and smiled at him mistily.

To the Tribble sisters it looked as if Mr Haddon had just proposed and had been accepted.

Amy turned and ran up the stairs. Priding herself she was made of stronger stuff, Effy went into the room, only to hear, to her amazement, Mr Haddon saying very crossly as he snatched his hand away, ‘I cannot find your diamond pin anywhere under your chair, Lady Angela.’ He got to his feet and bowed to Effy. ‘You seem to have been away a very long time.’

‘Mr Haddon and I have been sharing secrets,’ giggled Angela.

‘No, my lady, we have not,’ said Mr Haddon, looking at Effy’s distressed face.

And then Amy erupted into the drawing room like a fury.

The Earl of Greystone let himself into the house in Holles Street. As he mounted the stairs, he wondered if there had been a death in the house, it was so hushed and quiet. A housemaid cast him a scared look and backed against the wall of the stairs to let him past.

He went into the drawing room. There was only Clarissa there, sitting on the sofa, reading.

‘Where is everyone?’ he asked.

Clarissa put down her book. ‘The most frightful scene has taken place, my lord. Miss Amy is in disgrace and Lady Angela has just left off having hysterics.’

‘What on earth has happened?’