Sir Philip's Folly (The Poor Relation Series Book 4) (10 page)

As he walked into the hotel, he met Lady Carruthers, who was dressed to go out.

She fluttered up to him. “Lord Denby! We have missed you.”

He bowed. “Your servant, ma’am. And Miss Carruthers?”

She frowned. “The child is poorly, I am afraid. A fever.”

“What does the physician say?”

“She has no need of a doctor. It will pass if she is left in peace.”

He bowed again and went on past her. Hovering on the landing was Miss Tonks, who gasped, “Is it not terrible?”

“About Miss Carruthers? But I gather it is nothing serious.”

“It is my belief,” said Miss Tonks earnestly, “that there is nothing up with her. I am convinced she has been locked in her room. Lady Carruthers was most displeased about the idea of the ball and said her daughter was not going to be brought out by tradespeople.”

He looked down at her with hauteur. “Does Lady Carruthers know that I have given the project my blessing?”

“Oh, yes. But she does not really believe that and she thinks you are interested in
her
.”

“Perhaps we should call on Miss Carruthers and see how she fares?”

“I tried and
tried
, but the outer door is locked, and when the servants are there, they will only say she is not to be disturbed.”

“But you have keys to all the doors. You must have!”

“We never use them when the guests are in residence. What if one of them should return and find us there?”

“Miss Tonks, no one seems to have been thinking clearly. The rooms are cleaned, as they are in any home by the servants in the mornings, whether the guests are in residence or not. The chambermaid comes in and draws back the curtains and opens the shutters, takes away the slops and anything that needs to be laundered.

“Oh,
servants
,” said Miss Tonks.

“Do not you yourself, as do the others, often act as a servant, Miss Tonks?”

Her face brightened. “Why, yes. When the maids are ill, I myself often see to the rooms. Without loss of dignity, too,” she added earnestly, “for no one notices a servant.”

“And a footman makes up the fires?” he asked.

“Yes, because although it is quite warm, we pride ourselves on supplying every luxury, and a fire in the mornings is so
cheering
.”

His blue eyes began to dance. “Do Lady Carruthers’s servants wake early?”

“I do not think so. There is no reason for them to awake early, as Lady Carruthers does not rise until the early afternoon. She takes her maid and footman with her when she goes out of an evening, and so they often do not get to their own beds until dawn.”

“So tomorrow morning,” said the earl, “I, as footman, and you as maid, will clean Lady Carruthers’s apartment. Bring the keys and we will call on Miss Carruthers.”

***

At first Lady Fortescue frowned on the idea. Why did the earl not tell Lady Carruthers his momentous news about the Prince Regent? But the earl, although he saw the wisdom of this advice, was perversely determined to play the part of footman so he could see Arabella in person. For he was sure that, even if Lady Carruthers agreed to let Arabella go to the ball, she would keep the girl indoors until then, and he wanted to see her… just to reassure himself that she was indeed fit and well, he told himself hurriedly.

Sir Philip was present in the office during this discussion. He was in a bad humour. He had just confronted Mr. Davy and told that gentleman to leave Mrs. Budge alone, to which Mr. Davy had replied that as Mrs. Budge was not affianced to Sir Philip, he saw no harm in taking that lady about. Adding to his temper was the fact that his three partners appeared to have accepted the fact that he was going to have nothing to do with the ball and were talking about it as if he weren’t even in the room. The knowledge that the Prince Regent might attend was a bitter blow, and yet pride stopped him from saying he had changed his mind. He thought he caught a look of amused contempt in Lady Fortescue’s black eyes when she looked at him. He gave a snort of disgust and walked out. He had been in bed with Mrs. Budge one afternoon when Lady Fortescue had walked in. She had seemed not in the slightest put out but had crossed to the bookshelves and extracted a volume, saying that as this sitting-room really belonged to all of them and was only surely a temporary bedroom for Mrs. Budge, she should feel free to come and go “at a reasonable hour of the day.” Although Lady Fortescue hailed from a coarser century and did not really belong to the new sentimentality and gentility of this new one, Sir Philip felt her underlying scorn for his liaison with Mrs. Budge. His angry thoughts turned to Mr. Davy. For a friend of the colonel, or rather the son of an old friend, he seemed to spend little time with him, nor, thought Sir Philip with sudden quickening interest, did they reminisce about Mr. Davy’s father. He bit his thumb and scowled horribly. Perhaps he should go over to the City and talk to a few friends and ask around the coffee-houses. If this Mr. Davy was as rich and successful as he claimed and owned so many ships and warehouses, then he would be well-known.

He set out on foot, determined to get some exercise. He scuttled along the pavements with his odd crabwise walk. Could it be, he wondered, that this Mr. Davy was some sort of impostor
hired
by his faithless friends to dislodge Mrs. Budge from his side? The more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed.

Plans on exposing Mr. Davy to Mrs. Budge kept him so amused that he barely noticed the distance he had walked until he reached Ludgate Hill. He made his way up under the shadow of St. Paul’s to Child’s Coffee-House and pushed open the door. As his ambling over the years and his scrounging in the days of his poverty had taken him to many taverns and coffee-houses all over London, he had come to know people of all classes. He saw a wealthy merchant, Mr. Ezekiel Brandon, sitting in a corner surrounded by businessmen. Mr. Brandon was one of the few who had been cheerfully prepared to buy Sir Philip coffee or wine in the old days. He looked across the shadowy, low-raftered room and beckoned Sir Philip, who walked across the oyster-shell-scattered floor.

“Sit down, Sir Philip,” said Mr. Brandon. “You look very fine. I never thought a man like you would turn out to be so successful in trade.”

“Hotel’s doing well,” said Sir Philip, sitting down in a chair next to the merchant which had just been vacated by one of his cronies. “How’s business?”

Mr. Brandon discussed trade and stocks and shares while Sir Philip let his mind wander. He wanted to interrupt, to brag about the fact that they were to hold a grand ball which the Prince Regent was to attend but felt frustrated by the fact that he had sulked himself out of having anything to do with it. But if this Mr. Davy could be exposed as a fraud, then he would magnanimously forgive them after they had grovelled and apologized enough and
then
he would graciously say he would help them run their ball. He waited politely until the merchant had finished and then asked casually, “Heard of a merchant called Davy?”

He waited gleefully for the denial.

Mr. Brandon raised his bushy eyebrows. “Do you mean Mr. Davy of Pelham, Davy and Briggs?”

Sir Philip’s heart sank but he went gamely on. “I believe he’s the son of a friend of Colonel Sandhurst, my partner. Young chap, well—young to me, in his forties, slim, well set-up.”

“Oh, yes, that’s our Mr. Davy all right. I’m telling you, the ships and warehouses that company has, and they started from nothing. I think your Mr. Davy was the brains behind it.”

Sir Philip felt very small and crumpled and old. But in memory of past kindnesses, he insisted on treating Mr. Brandon to a bottle of the best burgundy and forced himself to make conversation with Mr. Brandon’s friends. He had been so sure that Davy would turn out to be a fraud. How could he, Sir Philip, compete with such riches?

He made his way out and sadly began to walk homewards.

Five minutes after he had left the coffee-house, Mr. Davy of Davy, Pelham and Briggs walked in and was hailed by Mr. Brandon. He was a slim man with a great beaky nose and his head was topped with an old-fashioned wig. “You have just missed a friend,” said Mr. Brandon. “Sir Philip Sommerville.”

“Never heard of him,” said Mr. Davy.

“Said you were a friend of Colonel Sandhurst.”

“Never heard of him either.”

“Never mind,” said Mr. Brandon. “Sir Philip’s getting deuced old and probably doesn’t know which day it is. Do you know, he asked me about my business and I’ll swear he then didn’t listen to a word I was saying. So how is your good wife, Mr. Davy, and the children? Well, I trust?”

***

Miss Tonks felt as giggly and conspiratorial as a schoolgirl as she went out to meet the earl the following morning. She was wearing a plain taffeta gown covered with a thin muslin apron. Miss Tonks saw no reason to “dress down” for the part, knowing that such guests who happened to be awake only saw a servant, not what he or she was wearing.

She scratched at the earl’s door. He opened it himself. He was wearing a dark coat and knee breeches covered with a baize apron.

“Jack is on the landing with the bucket for the ashes,” whispered Miss Tonks. “To be in character, as our Mr. Davy would say, you rake out the ashes and put them in the bucket and then lay and light the fire. You do not need to polish the grate or anything like that. Jack will come in when we are gone and do the proper work, and Mary, the chambermaid, will do mine. We will work a little in the sitting-room to make sure no one is going to be around to disturb us and then we will unlock Arabella’s door.”

Miss Tonks fumbled at the ring of keys hanging from her belt until she found the right one. Then she opened the door to Lady Carruthers’s apartment. She then had to chide the earl softly on the noise he was making clearing the hearth. “Good servants
never
make a noise.” Miss Tonks herself did some perfunctory dusting and cushion-plumping until the fire was set.

She beckoned to the earl and selecting another key, turned it softly in the lock to Arabella’s room.

Arabella was not in bed. She was standing by the window looking forlornly down into the street. She turned round as Miss Tonks said, “Arabella,” and her eyes lit up.

The earl was furious to see how wan and pale she looked. Her hair was not braided or in ribbons but cascaded to her waist in rippling waves and curls.

“You are not ill, are you, dear?” asked Miss Tonks.

“No, Mama was so annoyed because I put my hair up and wore her gown. I am so bored and weary. Look at the sunshine outside. I feel like a prisoner.
I am a
prisoner.”

“You need feel like that no longer,” said Miss Tonks eagerly. “See, here is a spare key to your room and one to the outer door. I notice your mama’s servants do not leave the key in the door when you are locked in and so you can easily escape anytime you want.

“Come out. Come for a walk with me now,” urged the earl. “You look sorely in need of fresh air.”

“Mama will not be awake for another few hours,” said Arabella, her spirits soaring. “All I need to do is to lock the door behind me.” She quickly swung a cloak about her shoulders.

“I need a hat,” she suddenly exclaimed. “And my hair is loose. I need ribbons.”

“Leave it,” said the earl. “We will look like a servant walking his young lady.”

Oh, please let Letitia stay behind, Arabella silently prayed. I want him to myself. To her dismay, Miss Tonks gave a little cough and whispered, “You must not go out unchaperoned. I will fetch my bonnet and pelisse.”

“I do not think that will be necessary,” said the earl with a smile. “No one fashionable will be about at this hour.” He took off his baize apron and handed it to Miss Tonks.

“Come along,” hissed Arabella, fretting with impatience in case her mother or one of the servants would awake.

She did not relax until she and the earl were outside the hotel and walking down Bond Street towards Piccadilly. There was a brisk breeze and a strand of her flying hair blew across the earl’s mouth.

Arabella apologized and hurriedly braided her hair into a pigtail which she fastened with a handkerchief. The earl glanced at this tidying up of all that glorious river of shining hair with regret. He had a sudden vivid picture of what this high-breasted girl would look like naked with her hair tumbling around her body and then he angrily brushed the thought from his mind. She now looked once more like the schoolgirl her mother wished her to appear.

“You have not heard my momentous news,” he said. “I had an audience with the Prince Regent and His Royal Highness graciously said he would try to attend. We must just hope he does not find a more pressing engagement when the time arrives.”

Her eyes shone. “But don’t you see!” she cried. “Mama must surely be delighted to let me attend the ball. She cannot refuse.”

“I considered that. I think Lady Carruthers is so determined to marry again and so determined not to let anything stand in her way that she may find an excuse to keep you in your room. I must think of some plan before I approach her.”

“Mama views you in the light of a future husband,” said Arabella. “Perhaps… perhaps if you were to
imply
that as my future papa you would… you would like to see me at the ball, to see me being brought out, then… then she might just let me go.”

The idea of being a father to this girl made him feel jaded and old, but he had to accept the good sense of what she was saying. But he hesitated. “Perhaps I will put this idea of yours to those odd people at the hotel. They have a great deal of good sense.”

They walked into Green Park past the lodge. The sunlight sparkled on the waters of the reservoir. There were no Fashionables about. The hour was too early. “There is a certain freedom in being a servant,” commented the earl.

“Only to pretend servants,” said Arabella. “Were I a real servant I would hardly ever get out. There is no real freedom for any woman.” She gave a little sigh. “I am plotting and planning with you and the others to make my come-out without ever considering the end of it.”

“Happily ever after?”

“Only in rare cases, I think. I will need to reward Mama for my clothes and my dowry by marrying well. Provided the gentleman is willing and rich enough, I will not be allowed to refuse his offer. Then I will be led to his bed to bear his children, one after another, until I am too old.”