Lady Susan Plays the Game (41 page)

‘I will not be humiliated,' she said at last.

‘I doubt that you can be, madam.'

It was said so serenely she could not be sure whether it was insolent or candid.

He was like a gigantic rat; she even thought she saw red in his eyes, and his smile was thin and cunning. Although she had recovered from the shock and now felt too heated, she shivered at the idea of this man creeping silently around the rooms where she'd been sitting and playing – and flirting. Had he watched her with Lord Gamestone, even with
Manwaring? She thought again of Jack Fortuny. If he were no longer or had never been a card sharper but simply this man's hired instrument, was she the only object he traded?

‘I must think, Sir Philip. I will leave you now and perhaps we will resume later.'

He inclined his head. ‘Let us not wait too long, Lady Susan.'

‘I'm not easily alarmed,' she replied with a smile.

Back in the coach alone she turned over and over the words just spoken. Although expressed so oddly she didn't doubt that this was passion: and passion was open to manipulation. She felt herself quickening at the idea of a contest. If this vile man did not absolutely demand the money now in return for silence, then all was by no means lost. She was a gambler with the last card to play, the last die to roll.

Generally Lady Susan did not indulge in introspection. She was used to dividing her mind, watching with one part the thought of the other. The remark on her husband's death – the apoplexy they'd all accepted – was strange, menacing even. Almost with amusement she noticed that her active brain had caught the implication and was contemplating Sir Philip's chocolate, his glass of red wine, a little arsenic – probably that would take too long – perhaps undiluted opium, nightshade?

She let this active brain play with the idea. No one was with her when she went to Hans Place and Sir Philip's servants would not know her name; she could go secretly again. She smiled to herself. That men should hint at, even perhaps do, such deeds suggested such poverty of imagination. For all their power – and perhaps because of it – they were poor things.

To her further amusement she found that with the more sensible part of her brain she was rehearsing the interview for Alicia's pleasure – but without mentioning Jack Fortuny. She would end her tale by informing her friend of her new decision: Lady Susan had determined to marry Reginald de Courcy at once.

She would go past the Johnsons' house and stop there to discover whether Mr Johnson still kept to his study leaving his wife free to receive improper guests in the blue and yellow drawing room, if they didn't stay too long. No one would expect to see Lady Susan in a hackney carriage, so she could simply pass on if the moment were inopportune. Meanwhile, she continued refashioning her story into something manageable and entertaining. She felt she had recovered much of her composure and bits of her experience might be used to enliven her fellow card players if delivered in sprightly mode. The journey to Norfolk could amuse Jack Fortuny providing some of its details were suitably excised.

As the carriage came close to No. 3 Edward Street, Lady Susan looked through the glass. To her surprise she saw that there was a smart black coach drawn up by the house. A thin woman in a green velvet cloak was stepping out attended by one of the Johnson footmen. With a start she realised it was the unmistakable figure of Charlotte Manwaring.

She ordered her driver to go on as quickly as he could. Indeed she tapped more than once against his box. But the traffic was heavy down Edward Street and he could not make much progress. Usually she liked the London busyness and often noted people in other carriages, storing up useful information. But now she leaned back in her seat to avoid being seen. She sat forward again only when they turned out of Edward Street and into Berwick Street.

So it was then that she glimpsed an even less welcome sight than Charlotte Manwaring by the steps of No. 3, one more dramatically unexpected. For passing on the other side of the road were two familiar grey horses pulling behind them a smart, though now mud-splattered, curricle. Without doubt it was Reginald de Courcy's – and it was travelling along the street clearly intending to stop at the Johnsons' mansion. Reginald and Mrs Manwaring would enter the house almost together.

Lady Susan breathed deeply. She must collect her thoughts. She pressed her fingers to her temples, closed, then opened her eyes. What could they both be doing here? She had explicitly told the one to stay away from London and the other was supposed to be estranged
from her guardian. But the evidence of her eyes could not be doubted. Reginald de Courcy and Charlotte Manwaring were in the same street and about to be in the same house. It was as maddening a circumstance as could be imagined.

There was nothing to do but continue at a snail's pace to her lodgings in Upper Seymour Street and await events. Better to try for explanations afterwards than join the fray now. The trip to Norfolk had been taken exactly at the wrong moment. How utterly irritating, she thought, especially since it had been unnecessary. What a web she'd been caught in. She'd always seen herself at the centre of any schemes: had she lost her touch?

Mr Johnson was not entirely surprised to hear of Mrs Manwaring's arrival in his house. He had had much leisure to think; now he lay half reclined in his study, unsure quite how he intended to react. His foot throbbed and he would rather have received no one, but it would be too unkind to repulse his ward, however stupidly she'd behaved. So he sent to ask her to step up to his study. He intended to be cool and distant but not cruel.

When he saw her thin, drawn face and remembered how moderately pretty – not beautiful – she'd been as a young girl, he could not sustain the attitude. Charlotte Manwaring took one look at her invalid guardian and threw herself on her knees beside his couch. She had come to pour out the story of her wrongs, to appeal to the man whose warning she had so foolishly ignoring.

The tale ended with the present. She was now with her husband in town, at once hating and loving him. Mr Manwaring was no judge of servants and she'd had little trouble getting his man Robert to tell her where his master went every day. With this information she'd demeaned herself by following him in a hired chair – she blushed as she recounted it – only to find that he went up to the very house where Lady Susan lodged. She had to admit that he then walked away. But he could not have been repulsed – the lady must simply have been away from home. The act, the assurance, his ease and gaiety as he bounded up the steps, had filled her with more misery than she could cope with alone. She'd had had to seek out her guardian.

All this she poured out to Mr Johnson between sobs and much wringing of her hands and handkerchief. ‘Sir, you once cast me off for being so foolish as to marry a man you called
a fortune-hunter,' she paused to wipe her nose and eyes, ‘but I beg you now not to reject me. I am so very very distressed.' When her guardian did not at once reply, she resumed, ‘Mr Manwaring has been unfaithful to me before, I know it – he's so personable, everyone likes him – but this is different, that viper Lady Susan …' She couldn't go on; she was weeping uncontrollably.

Mr Johnson was more moved by the change in his ward's appearance than by her story, which held no surprises for him. Neither the lady nor the gentleman had acted out of character. He'd always said that, with such a husband, his ward would be either kicked or kissed out of her fortune, however tight the settlements. But perhaps something might be salvaged.

He calmed Mrs Manwaring as much as he could, pressed her to tea, perhaps a restorative brandy, and then questioned her more acutely on how things stood between herself and her husband, exactly how he had behaved in the past and whether, in her love for him, she had signed more documents than the lawyers he'd introduced to her had advised. In all this he retained a moderate tone, but when he came to speak of Lady Susan he became agitated: his excess comforted Mrs Manwaring more than his talk of financial rights and wrongs.

Reginald had come to visit Mrs Johnson as Lady Susan's particular friend to ask how long she intended to be in Norfolk. Since his mistress was out, the butler assumed the visitor would want Mr Johnson. So he showed the surprised young man into the library. While Charlotte Manwaring was drinking her tea and nibbling at a muffin, sniffing and occasionally sobbing between sips and bites, the butler interrupted to bring news to his master that Mr de Courcy waited below in the library. Mr Johnson had no idea why the man had come, but it was a wondrous coincidence.

For a moment he considered confronting one visitor with the other. Yet, as he looked at his ward sitting on a low chair close to his couch with her reddened, streaked face, he thought that just now she was not the best instrument to hand.

So he spoke to her kindly, called for her maid, and told her to see her mistress carefully to the carriage. She should go home and rest. They would meet again and talk when she was more herself and he had had time to think.

Privately he felt that a separation from her despicable husband would be best for her, the only hope of saving something from the wreck of his old friend's large estate. But he feared that poor Charlotte was still lovesick. He had no great respect for women. They were too weak to act rationally. Lady Susan was cleverer than his ward but she had wasted her husband's fortune. All in all, the only way to deal with the sex was to make sure they never controlled a purse, let alone an estate.

When he heard the front door close on his ward, Mr Johnson sent to Reginald de Courcy, who was striding up and down the library, impatient to be summoned by someone. He assumed from the delay that Mrs Johnson must be about a very elaborate toilet. The butler apologised for the delay in receiving him but requested him now to have the kindness to step along to Mr Johnson's study, where as a poor invalid the master was confined.

Reginald was surprised. However he was courteous and went up the stairs with no particular expectations.

It was at this moment that Alicia Johnson arrived home with her new Bond Street bonnet in a large round box – just in time to see Mrs Manwaring's carriage pull away from her doorway. She entered and learnt from the butler that her husband was closeted with a Mr Reginald de Courcy.

She repaired to her own room, sat down heavily, fortified herself with ratafia, then wrote a note to Lady Susan. She sealed it hurriedly. She was so shocked she had difficulty lighting the candle to melt the wax; when it was hot she dabbed the paper a couple of times. Then she ordered the under footman to rush the note around to Upper Seymour Street and deliver it personally.

Lady Susan was in her bedroom; it was just after midday. She had a visitor and had given orders that she should not be disturbed. Barton and Jeffrey knew well what their mistress was doing and agreed that it was indeed better to leave them alone. She had come home earlier in the day in a rather strange mood.

The Johnsons' footman arrived with speed at the lodgings in Upper Seymour Street. There he encountered Barton. He had, he said, to deliver a note into Lady Susan's hands: he was a slow lad but he was quite sure on this point for Mrs Johnson had twice repeated her instructions. He was resolute; it was not worth his place to disobey.

Barton was equally sure that her mistress must not be disturbed. A tussle ensued, which the maid won. She herself would give the note to Lady Susan she said, into her very hands as soon as ever she got up from her rest. There were noises as if furniture were being thumped on the floor, which suggested her rest was not peaceful but Barton ignored this and insisted. The poor man was still worried about leaving the note without delivering it personally, but the maid remained firm.

‘It will be delivered,' said Barton yet again. ‘I promise you.'

One further attempt and the footman left, anxious as to what his mistress would say when he told her, and dimly thinking he might not exactly tell her what he had done. But he had no choice here: the woman before him was nearly as insistent as Mrs Johnson, and closer at hand.

When he was gone, Barton held the note by its edges. The seal was coming away from the paper: with a little agitation she could wrench it free. She did so, then carefully opened the folds. She read the contents scribbled across the central panel. They gave her much to think about.

Could the magnificent Lady Susan be at last a sinking ship? She, Sally Barton, had not been paid for some time – for she didn't count a few cast off dresses and a pelisse as payment, rather as the due of any good lady's maid – but she had till now always believed in her mistress's prospects. While these were good the arrears of wages were like savings in the bank. But if Lady Susan really were facing ruin – and the trip to Norfolk had perplexed Barton a good deal – then a maid had better look to herself and her future.

But, she reflected, it was not yet quite time to desert Lady Susan. She had seen her mistress extricate herself from many situations that would have sunk a less robust lady. Forces did seem to be combining to thwart her on this occasion, but it might be best to wait just a little longer. Barton had vivid memories of the staleness of country living and with Lady Susan the town would always be a draw. After reading the note she doubted anything could
come of Mr de Courcy, and it would be as well if he were now out of the way. Then Lady Susan would look about her for someone equally appropriate.

As soon as he'd arrived in her apartment Manwaring had blurted out, ‘Charlotte is having me watched, I know she is, the bitch. She first said she was going to stay in the country but she had to come with me; she won't let me out of her sight though she says she detests me.'

‘How provoking,' replied Lady Susan. ‘Why could she not stay in Langford?'

‘Why indeed, my dear. But we will find a way to avoid her spies. And let's not omit to benefit from this moment.'