Reprise (2 page)

He shook the thought from his head reluctantly and grabbed a passing hackney cab to go to Berkeley Square to view the house for sale. It was the right size, the right address, and the right price. Needed work, but it was worth bringing Prudence to have a look at it.

He was so weary of looking that he was resolved to have the place unless she took it in violent dislike. But she never disliked anything he liked, or if she did, she was too nice to say so. She was enthusiastic about the house even before she saw it the next morning, and was vastly impressed with the splendor of twelve faded bedrooms, when he was a little afraid it was too few.

“The saloon wouldn’t hold above fifty comfortably,” he pointed out apologetically.

“Fifty! I’m sure we’d never be entertaining fifty people at once,” she answered. Twelve was a largish party at Elmtree’s home. It was on such occasions as these that Prudence felt a little trepidation regarding her future. Their pasts were really so very different that there would be a good deal of adjusting to be done, and she foresaw the majority of it would be done by herself.

“For balls you know--but we can hold them
chez
Hettie. She will adore it. The study is nice and spacious--room for two desks, and not too far apart either, just as I like.”

“My two shelves of books will fit nicely right
here,”
she pointed out, making a joking reference to her paucity of books. “And you can put your ten thousand on the other side,” she added.

“Shall we put an offer on it then? I’m dog-tired with looking, and the wedding’s only two weeks away.
Only!
That’s fourteen days too long to suit me.”

She nodded her agreement. “Your days are numbered, Dammler. Enjoy your freedom while you can, for in two weeks you will be leashed, and have to account to me for your time.”

“I do already--haven’t you noticed? Tonight I have a bachelor’s dinner at the Reddleston--some of my friends from Cambridge. I sha’n’t stop in later, for the thing will go on till dawn. I’ll put a down payment on the house this afternoon, which will involve long and very dull sessions with my banker--if you’re sure you're satisfied? The furniture goes with it. Half of it useless lumber, but at least we’ll have a table and chairs. And a bed--an item of considerable importance to the more libidinous among us. We can replace the rest by degrees.”

“Fine--I like it very much. It’s good to have it settled. And you mustn’t worry that the owner stripped the walls of paintings. Uncle will splatter us up a bunch of Mona Lisas or Rembrandts--whatever you fancy.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, and we’ll come back here and go over the place to see what you want done to it to make it habitable immediately. I’ll drop by Hettie’s place this afternoon. She’ll be dying to hear we’re settled at last. She’ll want to come around and see it for herself, but I’ll close the deal before she begins discovering watermarks on the ceiling and cracked walls. Personally, I don’t care if the ceilings are black and blue, as long as the roof stands over our heads.”

“You have to see Wills about your play this afternoon, too.”

“Not a minute for me to fall into the devil’s clutches, you see. From banker to Wills. Come, I’ll take you home. I don’t mean to let you walk the streets alone, my girl. Satan may have an eye on you, too, now that you’ve fallen into my orbit.”

They went happily off to Grosvenor Square discussing the future, without a single thought that Satan was lurking around the corner, planning the greatest mischief for them.

Chapter Two

Lady Melvine was not only
Dammler’s aunt, but his best friend in London outside of Prudence Mallow. He told her of his new house that afternoon, and she was eager to see it, but his visit with Wills made it impossible. The next morning she was up bright and early, had her carriage taken round to Grosvenor Square, and installed herself in Clarence’s saloon to await the trip to Berkeley Square.

When Clarence heard who sat in his saloon, he was soon pushing away his eggs half-eaten and dashing to see her. Prudence smiled across the table to her mother. “Good--this will give us a chance to finish our meal in peace. Hettie means to go and see the house, I suppose. Will you come with us too, Mama?”

“I’ll go another time, dear. Four in the carriage will be enough.”

“We are only three. Oh, Uncle Clarence! Of course he will want to come along.”

“It would be a nice gesture to ask him,” her mother replied.

Mrs. Mallow’s brother Clarence had for several years provided the two ladies a roof over their heads free of cost, and his wishes were always deferred to in these little matters.

“Certainly I’ll ask him,” Prudence said happily. It was one of life’s little mysteries to her that Clarence rubbed along so well with all Dammler’s relatives. Truth to tell, she had been half ashamed to produce him for inspection, but from the first he had made a hit. It was his lack of any sense of inferiority in himself that put him over. He was as undaunted by public opinion as those exalted personages who considered themselves well above public censure. He
cared
for approval, but never once was bothered by the idea that he might not attain it.

Her breakfast finished, Prudence went to the saloon to find Clarence already dressed for the street, with his hat in his hand, his gloves on and malacca walking stick at the ready.

“Good morning, Lady Melvine. Are you coming with us to Berkeley Square?” she asked.

“Indeed I am. What time is Dammler calling for you?”

“No hour was set actually. He expected to be up late after the bachelor party.”

“He said
early!”
Hettie advised her.

“We’ll go and wake him up,” Clarence said at once, very eager to be into Lady Melvine’s carriage. More eager for this treat than to see the house, actually.

“I wouldn’t like to do that, Uncle,” Prudence said, hoping to restrain him.

"
I’ll
take the responsibility,” Hettie said. “He told me early, the wretch, and I had myself called at the ungodly hour of eight-thirty on purpose.”

Clarence, who never arose later than eight, said “Eight-thirty! You are an early riser!”

“Not usually, but as the villain got me up at the crack of dawn, I’ll haul him out by the ear. See if I don’t.”

After a few more attempts at stalling, Prudence was talked into going by the others, and they all three set off to Dammler’s rooms at Albany. When the carriage pulled up to the door, Clarence alit to open the door for the ladies, but said he would “just wait outside,” for he had high hopes that some friend would chance by and see him lounging at his ease inside a crested carriage, and he would be able to tell him he awaited his nevvie, Lord Dammler, the poet.

Prudence and Hettie went inside, their eyes accustomed from a few visits to the eastern decor of the place. Ottomans and leather hassocks stood in lieu of sofas and chairs. The tables, too, were brought back from Persia, short tables with nacre inlays, and one trivet table made entirely of brass. It was odd and interesting rather than beautiful. “The brothel,” Hettie called it quite bluntly.

The butler appeared not only surprised but acutely uncomfortable to see them in, and asked them to await his lordship in the saloon. They accepted this, but had not been seated a minute until Hettie arose saying, “I’ll go and hurry him along. He’s probably sound asleep.” Prudence nodded and remained where she was, but after a few minutes she decided to continue her wait in Dammler’s library, always a place of interest to her.

The library took her next door to Dammler’s bedroom, and as the door stood partially open, she could hear very distinctly what was being said.

“How did you come to do such a thing!” Hettie exclaimed, in a very shocked voice, and she was not a lady who was easily shocked.

“It just happened. I can’t explain now. For God’s sake get rid of her, Hettie. Get Prudence out of here.”

“What excuse can I use?”

“Say I’m sick--say what you like, but get her out of here!”

Prudence stood listening, thinking she must have misheard, misunderstood. Dammler was
furious
that she had come. Why should he be?

He spoke again. “I’ll meet you at Berkeley Square in half an hour. Now
go,
before she comes in and catches me like this.” His voice sounded deranged.

She didn’t know what to think. Within the space of seconds she envisaged him ill, wounded, suffering from some disfiguring disease or accident. She took a step towards the door, her heart in her mouth, prepared, she thought, for anything. She found she was mistaken. She certainly was not prepared to see him standing hale and hearty in a flamboyant dressing gown with a cup of coffee in his hand and a voluptuous blond lady in his bed, with a table set for two beside it. The female wore next to nothing--some scanty bit of white diaphanous material, possibly an undergarment.

Prudence took one step into the room and two back. Then she advanced again, slowly, looking around at the disorder of the chamber--an evening gown thrown over a table, silk stockings on the floor, Dammler’s coat hanging on a door knob. Then she looked at the female. She was exquisite. A cloud of platinum curls, a pair of large green eyes, a heart-shaped face. The girl opened red lips and laughed inanely, revealing perfect teeth. “Who are you?” she asked in a sweet, childish voice.

Prudence didn’t answer the question, nor was it necessary for her to return it. She knew well enough who this vision was. Cybele. Dammler’s former mistress, still current mistress, as well. She had seen them together before at the opera. Cybele was not the sort of apparition one could forget, hard as she might try. Prudence stood a long minute staring at her, longer than she wanted to. While she kept her eyes riveted on Cybele, she didn’t have to look at Dammler. She couldn’t bear to look at him, but as though her eyes had a will of their own, they turned to him, pulling her head with them. He looked awful--sick and frightened, the way she felt. Her lips moved but no words came out.

“Prudence,” he said. It was hardly even a whisper-- just a low sigh of regret.

“Why?” she asked him, the one word all she could utter.

He couldn’t manage an answer. He just stood, looking at her, as guilty as sin. Then he closed his eyes and squeezed them shut hard, as though to block out his vision of her. When he opened them half a minute later, she was gone. With the last vestige of her strength and wits, she had turned and fled the room, fled the apartment and the building. Clarence was still in the carriage. She got in and said, “Take me home.”

He thought she was ill; she looked so white, her eyes moist and staring. He shouted to Lady Melvine’s groom to “Spring ‘em.” He would have liked to ask her questions, but deemed her too sick to answer. The novelty of this rather pleased him. Dammler would be dashing over in a minute to see how she did. He would send for Knighton, the royal family’s and his own physician. A little notice in the
Observer,
perhaps, would not go amiss.

Back at the apartment, Hettie took Dammler in hand. “Go after her. Make up some story,” she advised him.

“Hettie, I don’t have to
lie!
It’s not what you think.”

“My dear, it is not in the least necessary to sham it with me. I recognize your ladybird.” She smiled quite cordially at Cybele, who smiled back, then hopped out of bed, revealing her gorgeous body, only nominally covered by the wisp of chiffon.

“Get back in there!” Dammler shouted. She pouted, but obeyed him on the instant.

Hettie fairly swooned with delight. She hadn’t had such fun in months, and it cheered her to discover Miss Mallow didn’t have such a tight line on Dammler as she had thought. Really it was a shame for him to go getting married so soon. While these thoughts flitted through her mind, Dammler was pulling off his dressing gown, tossing it to the floor, grabbing up a jacket, all in a state of terrible distraction.

“Stay here!” he called to Cybele, then flew out the door with his black hair falling across his forehead. The carriage was gone. He rushed into the street, hailing a passing cab. He hopped in and directed it to Clarence Elmtree’s address, assuming Prudence had gone home, as indeed she had, arriving there five minutes before him. She hadn’t said a word to Clarence, who thus ushered Nevvie straight into his best saloon, where she had succumbed to shock on the sofa.

“Nevvie is come to see how you go on. I have sent a boy off for Knighton. He will have her up and about in no time,” he said aside to Dammler. “A very sudden fit came over her. Gave me quite a turn. A weakness--I suppose it is nerves. She was always nervous,” he rambled on. Then as the two remained rigid, glaring at each other like gladiators about to enter combat, he decided to leave them to it. A little lovers’ tiff. They would patch it up better without an audience.

Dammler was the first to speak. “I can explain everything, Prudence!”

“I’m not a moron. When I see your mistress in your bed, I know what to think.”

“I was drunk,” he said, a desperate note creeping into his voice. “You know I had a bachelor’s party thrown for me last night. It’s part of the ritual to try to drink the groom under the table.”

“Is it part of the ritual to drink him under the sheets, too?” she asked.

“There were no
girls
there, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Where was Cybele? At home waiting for you?”

“No! Well--yes, in a way she was. She came to the apartment while I was out, and my butler let her in. She had run away from her latest patron. He was drunk as a skunk and threatened to beat her. She didn’t know where to go, poor girl, and ran back to me.”

“She knew where to go, all right! She knew where she’d be welcome.” She suddenly noticed her voice was high, strident. She hadn’t thought she’d be able to say a word, but found she was glad to vent her anger on him. How
dare
he ruin her life?

“She wasn’t welcome! Drunk as I was, I knew she shouldn’t stay.”

“But she
did
stay, didn’t she, Dammler? She stayed and spent the night with you!”

“Yes, she stayed. What was I supposed to do--turn her out in the streets at three o’clock in the morning? Have a heart, Prudence.”