The Regency (94 page)

‘
Do you mean to tell me, Mr Hawker, that you live by
gaming?' Fanny said, shocked.

He smiled. 'I do tell you so, Miss Morland. Why so surprised?
It is not an uncommon thing. Your aunt's great friend
Mr Brummell does the same, and no-one, surely, could be
more respectable than he? Of course,' he added thoughtfully, 'he plays only in his clubs, where the bank passes from hand
to hand, and a man with a cool nerve, like Mr Brummell, may
win more often than he loses.' He eyed her questioningly. 'I
told you that I had left the militia. How did you suppose I
lived?'

‘
I never thought about it,' she said. She hardly ever
thought about money — money was something that one gave
to the lower orders in return for goods and services. All the
adults she knew had plenty of it, without appearing to do any
thing for it. Of course, her grandfather went to his mills every
day, and Uncle Ned went about the estate, but she did not
associate these things directly with earning money. They were
simply things they had to do, like going to church on Sunday,
or visiting the sick, duties associated with their station in life.
She knew Hawker was not rich, but she assumed he had
an
income from somewhere, like everyone else.

‘
No, I don't suppose you did,' he said. They walked on, and
he did not speak, remaining deep in thought. Fanny grew
restless, then peeved. She did not risk her aunt's wrath for the
sake of being ignored.

‘
If you have nothing to say to me, Mr Hawker, I may as
well leave you and drive on,' she said coolly.

‘
Very well,' he said absently. The hundred guineas he had won last night came nowhere near releasing him from worry, and his mind was deeply occupied in wondering how he was to manage, rather than in Fanny's sensitive vanity. It amused
him to torment and flirt with her, but though he knew she
was a great heiress, she was still too young to tempt him. Her
fortune would not be released until she was twenty-one, and
he had no illusions that her father would think him a good
enough match to release it earlier.

Fanny gave a little gasp at his reply, withdrew her hand
sharply from his arm, and was about to flounce away when he
caught her back, looking down into her flushed and angry
face with amusement.

‘No, no, Miss Morland, don't leave me in anger. That is not how friends part.'

‘Friends? We are not friends, Mr Hawker, and I will leave you any way I wish,' she retorted a little breathlessly.

‘
Are we not, then? I hoped we were. Well, I see I cannot
keep you — goodbye.' She hesitated, and he smiled his
piratical smile. 'You do not take your leave. Does something remain to be said?' She bit her tongue to keep herself from asking, and seeing it, he chuckled and said, 'Where shall we
meet again — that still remains to be asked. Who shall ask it?
You or I?'

‘Be assured I shall not,' she flung at him.

‘No? Then I must. Or rather, I shall not ask you, I shall tell you. You have never been to Vauxhall Gardens, I believe? I
think it's time you saw them, and the sooner the better.
Tonight, Miss Morland, shall be the night.’

She gasped. 'I can't! They wouldn't let me.'

‘Don't ask them, fool! All you need to do is to get out of the house. I shall meet you by the park railings opposite the end
of your street, with a closed carriage, at half-past nine. I'll
bring a domino and mask, and undertake to have you safe home by one o'clock.'

‘How can I get out of the house?' she protested.

He shrugged. 'That's your affair. Your cousin managed it.
Have you not the spirit for the adventure, Miss Morland?
Perhaps I have invited the wrong girl. Perhaps Miss Haworth
is more of a kindred spirit.’

Fanny glared. 'I am worth ten of her!'

‘So I thought, or I would not have asked you. Will you be there?'

‘Yes,' she snapped, and he laughed.

‘I wonder. Time will tell. And now, goodbye, ma'am.’

*

Fanny had been fascinated by the idea of Vauxhall Gardens ever since she came to London, as Hawker well knew, but to slip out of the house unknown and to go there alone with a
man was something she knew to be so wicked that she quailed
at the prospect. It was far worse than what Africa had done.
If she were discovered, she would be ruined for ever. And yet she wanted to go: she wanted the adventure, and she wanted to be with him. She hated him to think her poor-spirited.

All day she turned the idea over in her mind, tugged this
way and that, and her preoccupation was such that at dinner even Lucy noticed she was pale and quiet.

‘Are you unwell, Fanny?' she asked.

Fanny took a deep breath. 'I'm afraid — I think I am,
Aunt. I have the headache, a little.'

‘Then you should not go to Mrs Underwood's this evening,' Lucy said, preparing for protest.

‘No, Aunt. I think I would like to go early to bed. I do feel rather tired,' Fanny said.

That was enough to convince Lucy that she really was
unwell. 'I hope you aren't sickening for something. If you're
not better in the morning, I shall make up a dose for you.'

‘
Thank you, Aunt. If you will forgive me, I think I'll go to
my room now,' Fanny said meekly, though her heart was pounding as she rose from the table and drifted away.

It took the contrivance of both her allies to get her out of
the house. Firstly Beaver had to help her dress, and had to promise to convince anyone who asked that she was asleep in bed and mustn't be disturbed. When the time came to leave,
Beaver smuggled her down the backstairs, where Gregory was
keeping watch, to pick the right moment when all was quiet
to slip her out into the service courtyard which gave onto the
street. They were both to wait up, to reverse the process when
she returned: he to smuggle her across the yard, and Beaver
to open the door from within and escort her up the backstairs. Fanny was glad her father's allowance to her was so generous,
for she knew from experience that servants' loyalty needed to
be encouraged, especially when it involved staying awake
after midnight.

The escape went so smoothly that her spirits rose, and she began to feel it was rather a good adventure after all. She had
a moment's qualm that the carriage might not be waiting,
that he might have forgotten or changed his mind, but there
it was, standing by the railings with its lamps covered, a
darker shape in the darkness under the trees. The driver
made no sign of recognition as she approached, but the door
opened silently and the step was let down, and a hand she
knew reached out of the dark interior to help her in.

‘
Good girl,' Hawker said out of the shadows. 'You have
spirit after all.’

She said nothing. She was half afraid that he might try to
kiss her, but having put up the step, closed the door, and
rapped on the ceiling, he settled back against the seat without
touching her and said, 'Did you have any trouble getting out?'

‘None at all,' she said proudly.

‘
What a shocking thing!' he said. 'It is scandalously easy for
young women to escape supervision these days. No wonder so
many of them are going to the bad.' She made no reply, puzzled as to whether he was serious or not. 'So, Fanny
Morland, you have slipped the leash,' he said at last. 'Well,
we shall have a merry evening together, and be damned to
all cares and considerations!’

Then he lapsed into silence, and seemed so obviously disin
clined for conversation that she would not expose herself any
further, and was silent too. If he doesn't want to talk to me,
he might as well not have brought me here, she thought,
offended. The silence lasted all the way to Vauxhall, where,
when the coach stopped, Hawker roused himself to give the
driver instructions to be at the gate again at half-past twelve.
Then he turned to Fanny.

‘
Now is the time to put on your mask, my dear Miss Morland.
I think, as your cloak is plain and dark, we need not bother
with the domino.’

She looked at him doubtfully, and he smiled more
pleasantly than before. 'Come, we shall enjoy ourselves, I
promise you. Or would you prefer to go home? We can turn
round this minute if you do not like it.'

‘
That would be poor-spirited,' Fanny said with dignity.
‘Give me the mask.'

‘
Brava! Spoken like a hero — or rather, heroine. Do you
not think this is like an episode out of a novel?' She didn't
answer. 'There will be fireworks later, you know,' he said
cunningly. 'I should have hated you to miss them.’

Fanny loved the gardens from the first moment. The
avenues of trees and shrubs, punctuated here and there by
miniature summer-houses and temples, each containing a
seat where lovers could sit and talk in seclusion, were lit by
hundreds of coloured lanterns, and lamps contained in golden
globes, like captive harvest moons floating in the dark foliage.
At the centre in a large open space an orchestra was playing.
Small private booths were arranged in a circle around it,
where people could sit and take supper and watch the passers
by. There was dancing, too, in one rotunda, and a concert in the other, but it was evident that seeing and being seen, and pursuing assignations, were the principal occupations of the
place.

Hawker had hired a booth to which he now conducted her,
and soon a waiter brought them supper, featuring the wafer-
thin slices of ham for which the gardens were famous.
Hawker had evidently consulted her taste in ordering, for
there was also cold chicken, oyster patties, little cakes, and
an orange cream, and despite her earlier dinner, Fanny ate
heartily of everything, enjoying the novelty of eating at such a
time and in such a place. Hawker had ordered lemonade as
well as champagne, and she was glad of the former, for the
latter, though delightful, made her thirsty.

Afterwards they listened to the orchestra, and he talked
amusingly about the passers-by, pointing out various people
to her, criticising their
toilette,
telling her scandalous stories
about them, and recognising masked people with an ease that
made her anxious about her own disguise. The time flew past,
and soon it was time for the fireworks to begin, after which
they would have to leave. Hawker proposed strolling through
the gardens to the water's edge where, he said, the view of the fireworks would be clearer.

They passed from one walk to another, increasingly
secluded, until they came at the end of an alley to a white
stone balustrade, beyond which the river glittered dimly in the light from the lanterns. It was very quiet, and Fanny felt all at
once a little nervous. Now he will kiss me, she thought, and
she didn't know whether she wanted him to or not. The
champagne was singing in her veins, yet oddly her head felt
quite clear. It was as if she were two people, one reckless and
excited, the other cool and calculating.