The Shocking Miss Anstey (15 page)

‘Ha! I remember it. Grant!’ Luttrell spoke suddenly, in what was perhaps his usual tone, loud and confident. ‘You’re the fellow who rode her down that day, in the Park. My congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’

‘She was telling me about you. Wonders where you hide yourself.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Dammit, man, I thought you’d like to know it--if you haven’t found her out yet. What did she do
to you,
Jack? All love and kisses, and then slams the door?’

‘Something like that. She walked out--when she’d had what she wanted.’

‘Which was a good deal, I suppose?’

‘As girls go. But are you telling me that’s what
you’ve
had? I thought she was in your pocket.’

‘Dammit! She didn’t walk out. She just told me not to walk in.’

‘She’s back, is she?’

‘She damn well is, and
I
had the job of bringing her. Special packet from Calais. Then she turns the key on me. Which of us is the bigger fool?’

‘You. But we don’t need to fight about her.’

‘I’m not fighting anybody. I wasn’t thinking of it.’

He looked exactly the opposite, an angry and dangerous man, wounded in a pride that had perhaps so far been invincible. He must have dealt with many girls, and perhaps had his way with all of them, and he had now met his match in Anice. He did not sound as if he liked it.

‘All right,’ said Hildersham, who was quieter and much more under control. ‘Well--what’s for tonight?’

‘I’ve told you. I’ve to win something back.’

‘I said you were the bigger fool. Still--I’ll come and watch you.’

‘I might need a loan--just a hundred or two. That damn girl cleared me out.’

‘All right. But . . .’ He turned quickly, obviously remembering he had a guest. ‘How of you, Grant? Will you come along?’

‘No, thank you.’ He paused, not wishing to be less than courteous to this friendly Hildersham. ‘I’m grateful to you for bringing me here, but I mustn’t impose on you. Besides . . .’ He thought quickly, and then sailed to the far edge of truth. ‘I don’t play hazard, and I’ve an engagement later this evening. So if you’ll give me leave . . .’

‘Of course.’

There was a faint note of relief in the answer. Luttrell turned away, as if impatient for the dice again, but the better-mannered Hildersham stayed firmly where he was. He gestured to a footman, and then stood chatting easily until Richard’s coat and hat appeared. He sounded sincere as he invited him to call again.

‘Whenever I’m in Town,’ he said cheerfully. ‘And if you’ve any news of Anice, give it me.’

‘I will’

‘I can’t help liking her, whatever she does. She’s an original. Well, good night. . .’

It was nearly nine o’clock, cool and dark, and the lights seemed brighter for it as he walked slowly along St. James’s Street again, heading for Berkeley Square, where his hotel was. Yet that would not be his destination, as he well knew. Anice was home again, and that was what mattered. It was all that seemed to matter from an evening that had been wildly different from anything he had planned. He had supposed Hildersham to be abroad, and he had called at his house to see the butler. He had ended at Almack’s, and Anice was home.

Two men surged before him, hats a-flourish, bowing elegantly, and one spoke glibly, offering service in all things, and especially an introduction to the best of hazard tables. It was just what Hildersham had hinted, and it brought an answer in a quarterdeck style the tout had not expected. He recoiled, and a post captain strode grimly on, wondering if anyone else would cross his bow. But no one did, and Anice was in Queen Street, or might be. She might be out, or she might by now have attached herself to somebody else; who might be jettisoned also within a week. That seemed a habit of hers, and why should she be kinder to a sea officer? But he was heading for Queen Street just the same. There was no reason, in logic, why she should want him again; but this was not logic.

He passed through Berkeley Square, making no move towards his hotel, and then his stride quickened as the mood of action gripped him. He turned into Queen Street, with a quiver inside him as he remembered doing this before, and at once he distinguished her house, picking it from the others as if it were the only one. He marched to the door, and he was in no half-mood as he gripped the wrought-iron bell-pull.

There was no delay. In seconds the door swung open, and he saw the hall with its soft blue carpet and its stair of white-and-gold. The footman, the man he had seen before, bowed stiffly in his primrose jacket and lavender breeches.

‘Take my name to Miss Anstey, please. Captain Grant.’

‘I doubt if Miss Anstey is at home, sir.’

‘That’s not for you to say. Take my name, and smart about it.’

For a moment the man stared. Then, as if he could not help it, he stiffened with a click of heels. His shoulders went back, and for an instant he was not a footman standing there but a soldier from the Peninsula who had heard that tone before. Then he stepped aside, and his heels clicked again.

‘Very good, sir.’

This was not a footman’s answer, and Richard was grimly amused as he stepped into the hall and put his back to the fire. The man went quickly up the stair, and Richard waited. From somewhere above him a clock chimed the half-hour on a soft and tinkling note, and he strained his ears to a faint murmur of voices. Then she burst upon him, overwhelming him by the speed of it and the fragrance of her presence. She was at the head of the stair, suddenly and without process of getting there, and she seemed younger than before, her eyes of a deeper blue, as she looked excitedly down at him.

‘Where have you been? I thought you’d forgotten me.’

‘I couldn’t--ever.’

‘That’s better.’ Her smile widened and her head took an alluring tilt. ‘You’re not frightened of
me,
are you? Aren’t you coming any closer?’

He never took his eyes from her as he slipped out of his coat and let the footman have it; and he had forgotten coat and footman alike as he went running up the stair.

She was as impulsive as ever, and as unrestrained. At the top of the stair she flung her arms round him as if she could wait no longer, and once again she surprised him by the warmth of it. She threw his thoughts into the confusion that delights, and then led him into the sitting-room that was cream-and-gold, and was at the same time both feminine and inviting to a man. She all but pushed him into a corner of the cushioned sofa, and then she perched herself on one of the satin-covered chairs, sitting without thought of dignity with one leg pushed under her. He stared at her, half bemused, fascinated by all she was, and wondering why she should seem so pleased. She was an actress, of course. He could hardly doubt that, and perhaps she did this for every man she met. That would be her stock-in-trade. But he looked again, and saw the sparkle in her eyes. Could she do
that
by merely willing it?

‘I’ve never seen you. Where have you been?’

It was her childish voice, the one he had heard before, and he saw the little pout that came with it, and her general air of being seventeen. He tried to collect himself, wondering indeed where he
had
been.

‘Oh, I---‘

He stopped when he had hardly started. He had just caught sight of the mantelpiece, the fine cream stone with the glow of the fire below and the display of china above, which he had thought was Dresden. The pieces were still there, set carefully to the left and right, but in the centre, just where he had seen her put it, was the gift he had brought from the sea, the sailor’s ship-in-a-bottle. He looked at it delightedly as he saw that she had not put it aside. She could not have known that he would call this evening, and it was still there, still in her place of honour--
Amphion,
black and yellow, with guns run out and white sails soaring above the sea of blue. Even the name was on the taffrail.

‘What is it? What are you looking at?’

‘It’s still there. It---‘

‘The ship?’ She was suddenly indignant. ‘Well, of course it is. Didn’t I say it would be?’

‘Well--’

‘Don’t be silly.’ She leaped suddenly from her chair and landed on the sofa at his side, crouching next to him on her knees. ‘I love it, and I wouldn’t part with it to anyone.’

‘I’m so glad.’

‘So you should be--because it’s partly for you. Oh yes, it is.’ For an instant she glanced again at
Amphion.
‘I love the ship, though. They all ask where it came from. And I tell them.’

‘Anice!’

‘Silly! Do you think I’m not proud of it?’ She leaned quickly forward, and before he knew what was happening she kissed him firmly. Then she went leaping back to her chair, pushing her leg beneath her again, and reducing herself to seventeen. Her head tilted wickedly.

‘Now, Captain Grant . . .’ It was an exact mockery of a School for Ladies. ‘I was asking where you have been of late?’

‘So you were. I’ve been in the country, looking at a village.’

‘I don’t mind what you’ve been looking at. I want to know
who
you’ve been looking at.’

‘Do you, indeed?’ He laughed, still under the spell of her, and then gave an incautious answer. ‘I’ve been in Dorset, staying with a friend from the war--John Wickham.’

He saw it as he said it, tried to stop it, and was just too late. There was nothing slow about Anice, and already her eyes had sharpened. She sat utterly still, betraying nothing, yet in some way he could not define she had changed. The childish look had left her, and for the moment she seemed to age, or perhaps a little more. But she was the first to speak, and she was quite easy about it.

‘Lord Barford’s neighbour?’

‘Yes.’ He tried to be as easy. ‘I hadn’t met him before--Barford, I mean--but he was very pleasant.’

‘He knows too much.’

‘Oh, he’s seen the world. But why talk of Barford? It’s
you
I want to hear about, and what you’ve been doing. I thought you were in Paris?’

‘I was.’ There was a change of tone, and for an instant she looked steadily at him, as if to say that she would agree, for the moment, to talk of something else. ‘I went with Hillie--and that was business, so don’t sit there looking as if you don’t like it.’

‘It doesn’t seem to have lasted, so it looks as if you didn’t like it either.’

‘I’m glad you don’t say
he
didn’t--because he did.’

‘Then what went wrong? Come over here. Don’t sit by yourself like that.’

‘Oh?’ The eyebrows lifted for a moment. ‘If you want me to.’

She slipped out of her chair and came obediently to the sofa, sitting herself at his side and snuggling close against him. He put an arm around her, and she looked up at him with an expression that was different once again. He had not quite seen it before.

‘You’ re not like anybody,’ she said simply. ‘Why aren’t you?’

‘I don’t know. Am I different?’

‘Yes. I don’t have to pretend. I can just be myself.’

‘Anice, dear!’ He looked down at her in thoughtful silence while he fondled her shoulder. ‘What went wrong in Paris?’

‘Oh, it was me. It always is.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not being.’ She sounded sharp, and the blue eyes looked straight into his. ‘This really isn’t pretending. I’m no use to anybody, really.’

‘I still don’t believe it.’

‘You’ll find out, though.’

‘What happened in Paris?’

‘Oh, Hillie was too good to me. He’s too good to everyone.’

‘Quite likely.
How
was he too good?’

‘Oh ...’ She had a little frown for a moment, as if she had to think it out. ‘Always doing what he thought I’d like. Always sweet and polite. You know how he is?’

‘And didn’t you like it?’

‘Oh yes--to start with. But it got a bit dull after a week or two. Like eating apricots all day. They get too sweet.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I started looking round.’

‘I can guess what that meant. Did you really want to leave him?’

‘Not really. But I thought it might wake him up, if he got a bit jealous. I started picking a quarrel, too.’

‘With him?’

‘Well, I wanted to see him when he
wasn’t
being polite.’

‘Why?’

‘Always try your horses. They’ve to canter, as well as trot.’

‘You seem to have been looking for trouble.’

‘I got it, too.’

‘Serve you right.’

‘You needn’t tell me.’

‘It won’t harm you to be told. Do you mean Luttrell?’

‘Oh, you’ve heard it too, have you?’ For a moment she half sat up, and then let herself sink back again.
‘What
have you heard?’

‘That you ran off with him.’

‘I didn’t.’ She lifted herself with a sudden jerk, and stared at him indignantly. ‘I didn’t have any choice, and he’ll have the whole town laughing at me.’

‘What
are
you talking about? I haven’t heard of this.’

‘Then you soon will. It’ll be the toast of the clubs.’

‘All right. But what
is
it, please?’

‘It was Tommy. And he isn’t polite any time, the great brute!’ She was again indignant, and then it slowly faded from her face and she began to laugh, half ruefully and half from amusement. ‘I’d been looking at him, of course.’

‘And he looked back, I suppose?’

‘Well, I haven’t had a man yet who didn’t. But I don’t know what he’d been up to with Hillie. They might have played cards for me, or staked me at hazard. You never know.’

‘Now have some sense.’

‘I’ve lots--that way. And don’t you think it’s beyond them, because it isn’t. They wouldn’t think any more of staking me than they would of staking a horse. That’s how they think of me, really--fine little filly--spirited--fast for her age.’

‘Distinctly.’

‘What’s that?’ She chuckled happily as she took the point. ‘Well, we’d been to a ball together--I think it was some sort of club, but I’m not sure--and I don’t think Hillie enjoyed it much.’

‘Because you’d been quarrelling?’

‘Well, of course, poor lamb! How could he? But the point is, I didn’t either, and I had to dance with all sorts of people. Mostly English, of course. It was that sort of place--run for visitors--and it was full of them.’