The Shocking Miss Anstey (14 page)

‘I can’t say I do.’

‘I like you better when you don’t. Damn it, man--handling your horses is all very well, and I’ve fairly good hands myself, but I don’t on that account take my coachman as a model--drink like him, dress like him, and swear like him. I don’t like fisticuffs with a sweaty street-clod either.

But that’s Tommy--and he’s a gentleman, mind you. He really is. There’s no pretence about it.’

‘Ye-es. It seems to be quite a fashion today. Did it come from the war, do you think?’

‘How should it?’

‘I don’t really know. But so many of us had to hold in for so long that I did sometimes wonder what would blow out afterwards. I suppose he
was
in the war?’

‘He was a Black Hussar, and I can’t say more than that. You know their record? I’m not saying we liked them much. The Devil’s Own is what the Peer seems to have called them, but they could certainly fight. You can just see him in that lot, can’t you?’

‘I can’t see him anywhere. I haven’t met him.’

‘Oh no.’ Hildersham glanced at the clock. ‘Perhaps you’d better. You might be able to tell me what Anice sees in him.’

‘She did see something?’

‘She went off with him. At least . . .’ The chuckle was certainly of amusement now. ‘Yes, she went off with him, and if you meet her you can ask her how.’

‘Do you know where they went to?’

‘I didn’t ask. But I’m told she’s back here with him now. Ever been to Almack’s?’

‘Of course not. I’m just a sea officer.’

‘Oh, well . . .’ His smile was deprecating and courteous. ‘I’ll admit Almack’s is pretty difficult, but I can take you in. I think he might be there.’

‘Luttrell?’

‘Yes. He’s a member--before he went coachy, of course, and I’m not sure they like him much now. Doesn’t put him off, of course. Well, shall we go?’

‘Now?’ He had no real wish to meet this Luttrell, but the thought of Almack’s tempted. It had roused his curiosity; and then another thought came. ‘Will Anice be there?’

‘Good God, no!’ Hildersham’s deep laugh came rolling suddenly. ‘You don’t get Cyprians where there’s a Ladies’ Committee. My wife’s one of them. It’s a place for news, though, even news of Cyprians, so shall we---‘

‘Thanks.’ He said it quickly, and he was beginning to warm to this friendly courteous Hildersham. ‘I’ll be glad to--and grateful.’

They walked with two stalwart footmen watchfully behind them, and in Piccadilly the precaution seemed hardly necessary. Nobody took notice of them. But in St. James’s Street there were lights in every window to show that the clubs and gaming rooms had begun their evening, and in the street were men who stood about and noted passers-by. They noted Hildersham, and some of them raised their hats, a salute which he acknowledged curtly.

‘Do you know these fellows?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Because it’s you they’re looking for. They’d like to draw you in.’ He gestured for an instant at the lighted windows. ‘This isn’t all clubs. Most of these places are just gaming hells, not clubs at all, and they keep an eye for pigeons. These are the eyes, and you, by the way, are the pigeon--or so they hope. They’re very polite till they’ve drawn you in and fleeced you. Then there’s a bruiser at the door to see you don’t get in again. Well, here we are.’

The door-keeper at Almack’s did not look a bruiser, though he certainly had some burly subordinates unobtrusively behind him. Certainly he looked hard at Grant, but he obviously knew Hildersham. He greeted him deferentially, and then his eyebrows seemed to ask the question.

‘My guest,’ came the brusque reply. ‘I vouch for him. Captain Grant.’

‘Certainly, my lord. If he will sign the book . . .’

He stepped back as if to invite them in, and then it went very smoothly. Footmen took their coats, and another, with the visitors’ book, held out a pen. Hildersham inspected his cravat in the gilded mirror and then moved to the foot of the stair.

‘Better go up,’ he said briefly. ‘The ladies expect it, and they count for something here. Run the committee. Did I say my wife’s one of them?’

He had one foot on the stair when a tap of drums and a lilt of violins came suddenly from above. Hildersham paused, and then became sardonic.

‘That’s it, you see? Dancing. They do it every night, with a full-dress ball once a week. About fifty people, and the rest of the Town would sell its ears to get in. I don’t think they’d have even Prinny without discussing his credentials.’

‘Very pleasant, no doubt.’

‘That’s what the ladies think. The trouble is, of course, they expect
us
to do it with them, and some men prefer cards. Do you know this dance, by the way? The music, I mean.’

‘Is
it a dance?’

‘That’s where opinions differ.’ The deep chuckle came softly from Hildersham. ‘It’s that new thing from Bohemia you may have heard of--the waltz. I suppose it really came from Vienna. Some men took their wives to the Congress there last winter, and this is what the wives brought back.’

‘I’ve never seen it.’

‘I’m getting to like it. But it’s damn well shocking.’

They were up the stair now, coming to double doors that were flung open by footmen, gorgeous in scarlet and gold. Hildersham sauntered in, with Richard at his side, trying hard to be casual and not have his quarterdeck stride. He knew that Hildersham had not exaggerated. This, to social London, was the holy of holies, and in the crowds who paraded in Rotten Row there were few who would not have sold their ears, as Hildersham had put it, to get here. It was a small room, perhaps only fifty feet square, yet big enough for the few who had entry, and at this moment it was not even full. No more than half a dozen couples were dancing, clinging to their partners as they gyrated in a style that set Richard staring. If this reminded him of anything it was of the scene he remembered aboard
Amphion
when ‘Hands to dance’ had been piped by the bosun’s mates. But this was not
Amphion,
and these were not foremast hands in an hour of noisy freedom. These were the most favoured of Society, and they were at Almack’s, the most exclusive club in England, dancing on a floor like polished glass, under chandeliers that sparkled like the sun. It was not what he had expected, not what he had thought such high-born people did.

‘Odd, isn’t it?’ said Hildersham. ‘Good country fun, I suppose, for haymaking or a rustic wedding, and that’s probably what it was, in Bohemia.’

‘But here?’

‘Well, wars upset things, and if gentlemen can look like coachmen I suppose their wives can romp like dairy-maids. Would you like to try it?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Because here’s my wife, and she’s rather good at it.’

He turned, smiling, as a woman came down the room to join them, and Richard wondered if this would be an awkward moment, with husband and wife perhaps on difficult terms. But it went quite easily, and he found nothing intimidating in the Countess of Hildersham, a tall straight-backed girl in a gown of gold point-lace over sleek black satin. She was toying easily with a gold-and-ivory fan which she held very still as Richard was presented. Then she smiled as he bowed over her hand.

‘I’m glad to see you, sir.’ Her voice was clear and pleasant. ‘We see a lot of the Army here, but less of the Navy.’ ‘We are not so honoured, ma’am.’

‘Then perhaps you should be. It’s a debt we owe you. But pray, Captain ...’ The fan pointed gracefully. ‘Do you know this dance?’

‘Hardly, ma’am.’

‘I’ve just been telling him,’ said Hildersham, ‘that it’s rustic’

‘Of course it is. That’s why it’s amusing.’ She turned quickly back to Richard. ‘I don’t say we shall continue it. These things fade, and, of course, our older members don’t like it.’

‘No?’

‘Not in that tone, Captain, or I shall think you’re old-fashioned. It’s too active for them. That’s all. You can’t expect a man of forty to move like that. However---‘

She broke off as the waltz came to an end. She watched for a moment as the dancers moved from the floor, and then let her fan droop gracefully down.

‘But how may we serve you, Captain? There’ll be quadrilles before long, of course. Or do you prefer the cards? I hope not.’

‘Why?’ put in her husband.

‘Because we like a man better who dances with
us.’

‘I’ve heard that before.’

‘But not understood it. Few men do.’

‘So I’m told. But if you’ll forgive me for this once ...’ He had a smile that was perhaps of amusement but seemed to be of affection too. ‘We really came for a word with Tommy Luttrell. Have you seen him?’

‘Tommy?’ An eyebrow lifted deliberately. ‘I’d have expected you to avoid
him
--just now. Hasn’t he--er--made a conquest lately?’

‘Anice, you mean? Well, that’s precisely why we want a word with him.’

‘Jack! You don’t---‘

‘Steady!’ He cut her short, his tone reassuring as he saw the quick concern that had come to her face. ‘You don’t think I’d quarrel for a chit like that? It’s all right, my dear, perfectly peaceful, but we want a word with Tommy. So have you seen him?’

‘He’s probably at the hazard table. He said something about his luck.’

‘He hasn’t any--except with women. Well, we’ll go and look for him. Are you ready, Grant?’

They took careful leave of the Countess, and then went quickly down the stair and across to the hazard room at the back of the hall. Its door was ajar, and Hildersham moved almost on his toes, careful to avoid that sin of the gaming room, the noise that might disturb a player and spoil his cast. Richard followed, curious to see a game of which he knew nothing except that it was aptly named. Larger sums changed hands at hazard, and more quickly, than at any other game.

The room was of some size, brilliantly lighted and softly carpeted, and it offered no more than a long table, space to stand round it, and some chairs by the wall for those in need. At the head of the table stood the player who for the moment was the caster. The setters, a dozen of them, stood along the sides, each with a heap of coloured counters pushed forward on the table. The caster, dice box in hand, held himself very still as he seemed to gather his forces. Then he nodded, and at the foot of the table one of the setters reached for another dice box. He shook it, and an expert flick of the wrist sent two dice spinning on the smooth green cloth. Heads craned forward intently.

‘Four--three,’ said a quiet voice.

‘Seven. Seven’s the Main,’ said another.

Silence returned. Hildersham moved forward, nearer the table, and Richard went with him, their feet making no sound on the thick soft carpet. No one heeded them, and the caster seemed intent only on his dice box as he slowly shook it. The dice went spinning, and again the heads craned forward.

‘Five,’ said a voice.

‘A chance,’ whispered Hildersham. ‘Five’s a chance for seven. Now he can cast for it.’

The silence seemed to press on the room. Everyone was utterly still as the caster dropped his two dice back into the box. He held it up, looking at it intently, and for an instant he seemed to hold his breath. Then the cast came, and Hildersham leaned forward with the rest to look.

‘God!’ he said. ‘He’s nicked it. Thrown the Main.’

The dice were vivid on the green, a five and a two to make the Main, and there was a buzz of noise among the setters, except for one or two of them who were standing very still and quiet. The caster leaned forward, smiling now, as he scooped every counter on the table into a pile beneath his hand. Hildersham glanced at the pile with the eye of experience.

‘They’re playing high,’ he murmured. ‘That’s a thousand or so. A nick takes all.’

He turned suddenly aside to tap the shoulder of one of the setters, a tall slender man with raven-black hair, a black tail-coat, and breeches of bottle-green.

‘Tommy!’ was his greeting.

The man spun round, perhaps startled, and then saw who it was. He nodded curtly.

‘Hello, Jack! What’s the matter?’

‘A word with you.’

‘By and by.’ He was sorting counters as he spoke, and preparing to push them out. ‘I must get a little back first.’

‘Or lose some more. Haven’t you lost enough?’

‘He’ll cast a deuce-ace soon. He can’t go on like this.’

‘Don’t play with a man in luck. Don’t you know even that?’

‘Oh, all right.’

He sounded none too pleased, but he turned again to the table, scooping up his remaining counters and stuffing them carelessly into his pockets. His place at the table filled at once, and the setters were ready for another game as he turned his back on them. His long-legged stride took him quickly from the room, and in the hall he looked hard at Hildersham.

‘Well, what is it?’ he asked.

‘Congratulations, perhaps--on a conquest in Paris.’

‘Oh, that?’ A boisterous amusement showed for a moment. ‘It comes very decently from
you,
Jack.’

‘Doesn’t it? But I want you to meet another of her admirers. Permit me--Captain Grant--Sir Thomas Luttrell.’

‘Grant?’

The question came quickly, and the bold truculent eyes were suddenly sharp, as if he remembered something. Richard stared back, not much liking the man, yet trying to appraise him fairly. Sir Thomas was obviously the Tommy that Hildersham had spoken of--and described as a Corinthian, with some hints that he looked like the coachman. He did not look it now. His dress tonight was impeccable, but that could be understood; otherwise he would not have been admitted to Almack’s at all, member or not, as even the Duke of Wellington had once learned. Richard put the point aside and brought a formidable experience to bear. He was giving the man the scrutiny he would have given to an officer just joined, or to a seaman who asked to be rated petty officer, and impressions formed quickly. The first was of the force and virility of the man. He was intensely masculine. It was not only the bold and arrogant eyes. It was the set of the face as well, even to the black hair and the touch of blue on his chin that a razor could not take away. It showed strength and force, and an unquenchable courage. The man could be a dangerous fighter, wild and fearless, and perhaps exultantly brutal--and the memory came that he had been a Black Hussar, which exactly fitted. They had been that sort of regiment, and the man had not changed. He did not at the moment look like the coachman, but he very easily could--a noisy nuisance of a coachman, and only a change of clothes would be needed.