The Regency (7 page)

‘
Oh no, ma'am — m'lady — not him' the girl said, seeming
unaware of the effect she was having, 'only that Miss Fanny followed him on her pony, ma'am, with her dog, and the dog
got run over, and they're all in a proper to-do, and wanting
you home this minute.’

Héloïse moistened her dry lips and took a firm grip of her
self. 'Yes, I imagine poor Fanny must be very upset,' she
managed to say. 'Mrs Shawe, if you would be so kind as to
send for my children, I will go at once.'

‘
Of course,' Valentina said. 'Dora, go down at once and ask
Mr Overton to have Brunty bring her ladyship's carriage to
the door.'

‘
Yes, ma'am,' said the girl, but lingered, reluctant to let so
promising a drama come to so little. 'The man says there was nearly a much worse accident, ma'am, for the dog was like to
make the horses bolt, and there'd have been no holding 'em,
and likely a terrible smash, but for Mr Skelwith coming up
just at that moment and stopping them, and leading them
home, too, safe and sound —'

‘
Dora, stop chattering and go at once!' Valentina said
quickly, and even went so far as to propel the girl through the
door with a hand in the small of her back.

The last words had meant nothing to
Héloïse
,, but Crosby
Shawe, who had been leaning against the door-frame listen
ing all this while, grinned maliciously and said, 'Oho! Now we
come to it! John Skelwith, hey? Is that what your husband
gets up to when you're not there, Lady M?'

‘Crosby!' said Valentina sharply.

‘
Ladybird, ladybird fly away home! Not quite so perfect
now, is he, eh? Soon as you're out of sight, he starts bringing
his by-blows home!'

‘Crosby, you don't know what you're saying. Be silent!’

"Course I know,' he said, pushing himself upright, and
curling his lip at his wife. 'I know you were in love with him
— and Lizzie, too! S'pose you're still hankering after him —yes, I've seen the look in your eye when his name crops up!
Well, if you're stuck with me, I'm stuck with you, too. And at
least I never forced my bastards on you.’

The last words seemed to shock even him into silence, as he
realised the lengths to which his drunken jealousy had led
him. The silence seemed horribly long, and bristled with the
unspoken and unspeakable. Héloïse felt her cheeks burning. It
was impossible to meet anyone's eye. She thought for an
instant that none of them would ever be able to move or
speak again..

Then Crosby Shawe turned with an abrupt movement and
went away. Lizzie's supporting hand was still under Héloïse's
arm. She removed it cautiously, as if not wishing to draw
attention to herself, and Héloïse, to her amazement, heard
her own voice saying almost steadily, 'Perhaps if you would
send for my children, Mrs Shawe
Valentina turned, her face white and shocked, but she
followed Héloïse's lead. 'Of course,' she said steadily. 'You
must be anxious to be off. Your carriage should be at the door
by now. But I hope you will find things at Morland Place
better than you fear. Servants always exaggerate.

Lizzie was only just recovering her voice. 'Oh God!' she
burst out, staring at them wild-eyed. 'How could Crosby say
such things! Oh 'Tina —!'

‘Lizzie, be quiet,' Valentina commanded.

‘But he —'

‘No,' Héloïse said kindly, touching Lizzie's hand. 'Nothing happened here. It's all right. Please, don't say any more.'
Somehow, she got away; took the children's hands and met
Sophie's too-penetrating glance of enquiry; endured the
butler's rambling explanation that her phaeton was not safe
for a lady to drive, and that he would have it sent back, with her ponies, that afternoon; climbed into the carriage that had
been brought round instead, and was driven home.

Sophie sat close, and slipped her hand into her mother's to
comfort her, and Héloïse felt herself comforted. She was
shocked, yes, but it was not as the other women probably
thought. She knew James had had a wild youth, but nothing
in his past impinged on her, or touched the deep core of love
and trust that was between them. The shock had been at the
words themselves, the spite and anger of them, and the dark,
violent forces which had brought those words to be uttered. Crosby Shawe's crime was that he had rent the social fabric
that bound them all and kept them in delicate equilibrium, an
exact and tolerable distance apart.

*

Edward took less pleasure in despatching Puppy than he
would have expected. The dog evidently had internal injuries,
and was suffering, though only the occasional whimper
escaped it, as it looked in pitiful entreaty from one face to
another and occasionally licked its lips placatingly. Edward
had often threatened to shoot the dog, and perhaps in a sort
of irrational atonement for that he now insisted on taking the
unhappy duty on himself.

Fanny, who could see no external damage to her dog, and
who could not therefore believe that it was all up with him,
screamed and fought when she understood what Edward
meant to do, and had to be carried bodily away. Ned waited
until she was out of earshot before doing the deed. He made
the mistake of stroking Puppy's head before raising the gun,
and the brute licked his hand and wagged its tail apologet
ically, as if it supposed the pain were punishment for a
misdeed. Ned had had to despatch many animals in the course
of his life, and he was damned if he could understand why this
one was so hard. Puppy kept on looking up at him trustfully,
so that his eyes actually misted over, and he had to wait a
moment until his hands stopped shaking, before he could pull
the trigger.

When he went outside again, the Skelwith boy was still
there, looking troubled and at a loss.

‘
I'm sorry it had to come to that, sir,' he said. 'The little
girl will be very upset.'

‘
It always was a useless dog,' Edward said shortly. 'Impos
sible to train it. I've threatened to shoot it many a time,
but —' His voice disappeared.

‘
It doesn't make it any easier, though, does it?' Skelwith
said with quiet sympathy. 'I remember when my mother's
spaniel got too old, and I had to do the job for her. It's always
hard.'

‘
Yes,' Edward said, and met the young man's eyes. He saw,
with distant shock, how like Jamie he was. He's grown hand
some, too, he thought, the way these things are measured; and he has Mary Loveday's quiet dignity. He remembered
the day old Skelwith had come up to Morland Place to
demand reparation and punishment for James. The scandal
of this young man's birth had, Edward thought, broken their
mother's heart and, he believed, shortened their father's life.
One of James's many youthful indiscretions. Oh, the conver
sations he and his mother had had about Jamie over the years!
She had always loved James best. Edward could hear her
voice now, saying 'Dear Ned, you never give me a moment's
unease: best of my children!' And he had tried not to; but in
her heart it was Jamie, wicked Jamie, who held first place.

Now Mother was dead, and Chetwyn was dead, and
Edward's life held nothing any longer of colour or warmth or
joy. He filled his grey days with work, just to make himself tired enough to sleep; while Jamie had a new wife, his life's
love, and his children. Where was the justice in that? And
young John Skelwith was standing here in the yard of
Morland Place, looking like a taller, younger James — that
was extraordinary! What would Mother have thought, he
wondered? The boy had grown up well, a pleasant, steady-
looking young man, the sort you would instinctively trust.

‘
Would you like me to help you bury him, sir?' Skelwith
said, and Edward realised he had been staring him out of countenance for some minutes. Not polite! And with this
young man's quickness of mind, not safe!

‘
Thanks, but the grooms can do that. No need to trouble
you with it. You've been more than kind already.'

‘
It was nothing, sir.' Still he stood, regarding Edward
steadily, like a good soldier waiting for orders.

Edward felt suddenly lost, wanted to reach out to this
young man in some way, make contact with him. 'I knew
your mother, of course,' he blurted out, and it sounded
foolish, even open to misinterpretation. 'I mean, we were all
the same age, you know. She came to dances here — and the Fussell girls, and the Ansteys. My friend, the Earl of
Aylesbury, danced with her once. Before she was married,
of course.’

He stumbled to a halt, feeling astonished at his own stupid
ity, and suddenly John Skelwith smiled, a wide, friendly smile
that made everything seem all right, and which held the ghost
of that sidelong, enmeshing charm that had made Jamie so
irresistible when he was one-and-twenty.

‘
I know,' he said. 'My mother was very handsome, I
believe. Everyone was in love with her, so my Uncle Tom used to say. Well, if there's nothing more I can do, sir, I'd
better be on my way.'

‘
Thank you again for all your help,' Edward said. Skelwith
began to turn away, and suddenly he added, 'It's Mathilde's
— Miss Nordubois' birthday next week. We're having a dance
here on Tuesday for her — nothing grand, just a few young
people, and a supper. I know Lady Morland would be
delighted if you would come.’

It was a worse piece of clumsiness than the last, but
Skelwith smiled again, and looked genuinely pleased.
'Thank you, sir, I should be honoured.'

‘
Good. Good,' Edward said helplessly, and Skelwith bowed
and turned away to mount his stolid horse. He had Jamie's
hands, too, Edward thought watching them firm and sensitive
on the rein as he turned the horse towards the barbican.

Jarnie's hands and Jamie's face, and I asked him to Mathilde's
ball. Lord, what have I done?

*

By the time Héloïse reached home, Fanny had been
quietened at last by a dose of laudanum which had sent her
into a troubled sleep, but the atmosphere in the house was no
easier for that. James was upset by his daughter's grief and
pain, disturbed by the unexpected meeting with John
Skelwith, and angry with Edward for having invited the boy
to the ball.

‘
What the devil did you do it for?' he demanded, and
Edward could not adequately explain it. The invitation could
not now be withdrawn without explaining to everyone why
contact between that particular young man and Morland
Place ought to be avoided at all costs.