Sir Philip's Folly (The Poor Relation Series Book 4) Page 12

  The earl was not there when she walked in. She sat down next to Miss Tonks, who hurriedly vacated her seat and went to sit next to Sir Philip so that the earl would be able to sit next to Arabella when he arrived. Mr. Davy was not present and Miss Tonks missed him, missed his friendly face and courteous manner. Unfortunately, she voiced these thoughts aloud.

  “I have had enough of that mountebank,” complained Sir Philip. “Why don’t he get back to business, hey? Who’s paying for his keep?”

  “He is,” lied Lady Fortescue. “You have no reason to complain. We are paying for the horrible Mrs. Budge.”

  The colonel remembered that Mr. Davy was supposed to be the son of a friend and said, “He is a fine man.”

  “He’s in trade,” sneered Sir Philip.

  “As are we,” pointed out Miss Tonks.

  “Ah, here is Lord Denby,” said Lady Fortescue with an air of relief. “Now we can get down to business. The accounts, Miss Tonks.”

  The colonel passed round pieces of paper as the earl sat down next to Arabella. They all wrote busily while Lady Fortescue outlined the amount of money that had come in, the money they would have to lay out, and tried to calculate a reasonable sum to send to the army but which would still leave them in profit.

  Again the earl was amazed at the grasp of hard business that these hotel owners had.

  “We are finally agreed,” said Lady Fortescue at last.

  “Except for one thing,” said Sir Philip. “Why not make this our swan song and go out in glory? We have all worked hard at this venture. If we put the hotel on the market directly after the ball, we could secure a small fortune for it, divide up the proceeds and retire, me with my Mary, and the rest of you where you will.”

  Lady Fortescue glanced at Miss Tonks’ rigid face and said crossly, “I have no intention of selling this hotel. We will buy your share, Sir Philip, and you may go off with your… your… Mrs. Budge.”

  “You’d never manage without me,” jeered Sir Philip. “Who got Miss Carruthers here to be taken about by her mother? You couldn’t even manage that.”

  “We would have hit on something,” said the earl stiffly, “had you not volunteered.”

  “I would not have volunteered had you, sir, not flatly refused to help,” pointed out Sir Philip.

  “Mind your manners,” said the earl coldly.

  “Only pointing out the truth,” said Sir Philip gleefully—gleeful now that he had everyone riled up.

  “Why do you always spoil everything?” demanded Miss Tonks almost tearfully. “Oh, that Mr. Davy were here. He is always a gentleman.”

  “You silly, lanky spinster, are you saying I am not a gentleman?”

  Miss Tonks looked down her long thin nose at him. “That is exactly what I am saying.”

  “You can hardly call yourself a lady,” said Sir Philip, the top of his shining scalp turning puce with anger. “Whoever heard of a lady emptying the slops?”

  “It is not what we do,” countered Miss Tonks, “but what we are, and you, sir, are an evil, messy old man through to the bone.”

  Sir Philip stood up. “I’m going to get drunk,” he shouted. “A bottle is better company than you lot any day.”

  No one tried to stop him from leaving, which put him in an even greater fury.

  There was an uncomfortable silence after he had left.

  Arabella wished with all her heart that the old, informal atmosphere would return. The colonel said slowly, “Mind you, Sir Philip has a point. There is no need for us to continue with the hotel.” He took Lady Fortescue’s hand in his. “We could be married and retire to the country.”

  Lady Fortescue gently disengaged her hand. “We will see.”

  Arabella saw the look of hurt in the colonel’s eyes and thought with wonder, Why, he is in love with her.

  The earl, as if recollecting his social manners with an effort, turned to Arabella and asked her whether she had enjoyed a certain breakfast they had both attended, but as Arabella talked, she realized he did not appear to be listening to her, and felt it was all quite hopeless. And the earl, who had been watching the movement of those lips which he had kissed and the rise and fall of that excellent bosom and wondering what it would feel like under his hands was startled to be asked directly, “Do you not agree?”

  “Yes, of course, Miss Carruthers,” he said quickly.

  She looked at him with hurt and contempt. “I just asked you if you did not think it disgraceful that Queen Charlotte should paint herself pink and jump in the pond in front of Buckingham House.” She rose to her feet. “You were not listening to a word. I am sorry to have bored you.”

  Miss Tonks followed her out of the room. “Now, Arabella,” she asked as they entered Lady Carruthers’s apartment together, “why are you so angry with Lord Denby?”

  “He did not even make a pretence of hearing what I said. I am just a silly little miss to him still and I went through all that humiliation at Sir Philip’s hands for nothing.”

  “You never did tell me what Sir Philip arranged.”

  And so, after swearing her to secrecy, Arabella told her. Miss Tonks raised one thin hand to her flat bosom and said weakly, “But I do not understand! I do not understand at all. Why should Sir Philip wish you to appear like a tart?”

  “To stop Lord Denby from thinking of me as a school miss.”

  “I am sure it had that effect, Arabella, but I was so sure, watching you both this evening, that he was listening to you intently. His eyes were firmly fixed on you.”

  “Oh, I sometimes firmly fix my eyes on Mama when she is giving me a jaw-me-dead and think of something else. All that this ball has caused is a great deal of expense and misery and no one is going to be happy or speaking to each other at the end of it. Mark my words, Letitia.”

  ***

  It seemed as if frayed tempers could not get worse, but they did. The hotel was in a constant uproar as decorators draped the downstairs walls with silk and gardeners carried in hothouse plants and guests moodily picked at the worst food they had ever had in the hotel as the temperamental Despard slaved over rehearsals for the menu for the ball supper.

  Miss Tonks began to fantasize about murdering Mrs. Mary Budge. Instead of keeping to the fastness of her room and stuffing her face as she had done before, Mrs. Budge began to take a proprietorial interest in the ball and was to be seen lumbering everywhere and attempting to give directions to the workmen. The colonel took Sir Philip aside and told him roundly that if his lady’s presence stayed too much in evidence, then certain of their guests might cancel. “And you know why,” pointed out the colonel, “or are you totally blinded by love?”

  “Mind your own business,” snarled Sir Philip. But he saw the force of the colonel’s remarks when he found Mrs. Budge talking to Lady Porchester and explaining how she, Mrs. Budge, was going to make the ball a success. Lady Porchester’s face was a frozen mask of hauteur, perhaps a little due to the fact that Mrs. Budge was pointing out various flower displays with a half-eaten chicken drumstick which she was holding in one hand.

  Sir Philip rushed her off into the office. “Look, sweetheart,” he said, “you don’t run this here place. You’ve got an invitation. I’ll take that away if you don’t keep clear.”

  “You said I was to be a partner,” complained Mrs. Budge.

  “Partners in this hotel put in work and money. Miss Tonks has embroidered the initials of each guest on the napkins to be used at the supper table, and Miss Carruthers was not too high in the instep to help her, either. Colonel Sandhurst has been running between the kitchens and the markets trying to find the freshest of produce. We’re all doing our bit. Now, is it too much to ask you to behave yourself?”

  “You don’t love me,” said Mrs. Budge sulkily.

  “Keep out of the road,” said Sir Philip in a flat tone of voice she had never heard him use before, “or I’ll take that invitation of yours and tear it up.”

  Later that day, he saw Mrs. Budge driving off with
Mr. Davy but he told himself he was too busy to care.

  ***

  The earl found his thoughts were turning more and more to Arabella. He had been to a ball the night before and she had not been there. He found he had immediately lost interest in the affair. In order to find out what had happened to her, he had taken Lady Carruthers up for a dance. Too late, he found it was the supper dance and so had to endure her company at table. She told him that Arabella was receiving the final fittings for her ball gown, and she, Lady Carruthers, had decided it would be as well if the girl cut down on social occasions until the ball—as the ball was her official coming-out. “And I believe young Fotheringay plans to offer for her,” said Lady Carruthers. The earl looked at her, alarmed. “Surely you can do better for Arabella than that!”

  Lady Carruthers appeared startled at the familiar use of her daughter’s first name but then decided that the earl probably saw himself as the girl’s future father. The fact that his courtesy to her was prompted by an interest in Arabella did not cross her mind. “Well, we will see what happens at the ball,” she said complacently, and then began to talk about all the gentlemen who had expressed a wish to dance with her. “Then you must favour me with one,” he said with automatic gallantry and did not notice the way her eyes began to glow.

  As soon as the supper was over, he made his excuses to his hosts and took himself off to his club where he found Mr. Sinclair sitting moodily in a corner, drinking steadily.

  “What has plunged you into the depths?” asked the earl, sinking into an armchair opposite. “And where did you come by that shiner?”

  For Mr. Sinclair had a black eye.

  “Tarry,” he said glumly. “Had the cheek to call at my home and throw some of the trinkets I had given his wife at my feet.”

  “I trust, for your sake, that Joan, Mrs. Sinclair, was absent?”

  “That’s the devil of it. She was there and heard the whole thing.”

  “Is she still with you?”

  “Only because she wants to go to that ball at that damned hotel. After that, she says she is taking herself off to the country and then she will consult her lawyers about divorce proceedings.”

  “So Tarry blacked your eye?”

  “Evidently,” said Mr. Sinclair sourly. “I tried to tell Joan that it was simply the fashion to give admired actresses trinkets. Everyone did it, I said.

  “She pointed out that Mr. Tarry evidently did not think so. She is threatening to go to the theatre to see him so that he can give evidence in the divorce case. What am I to do?”

  The earl looked at him thoughtfully. “Tell me exactly what happened, how he arrived at your house, where your wife was when he arrived, everything.”

  “I don’t see it makes much difference, but… Oh, well, my butler announced Mr. Tarry. Joan was not in the room. Before I could say I was not at home, Tarry pushed his way in. He began quietly enough, wanted to know what I had been doing with his wife, and so on. I answered that I was guilty of nothing but admiration. He began to become angry. Said his wife’s reputation was worth more than gold. I tried to reason with him. He began to shout. Joan heard the noise and came into the room. That was when he pulled the trinkets out of his pockets and threw them on the floor and then he punched me in the eye and left.”

  “Sheer frustration, my friend,” said the earl, beginning to look amused. “What does Tarry look like?”

  “Tall, thin fellow, with black hair and a gallows face.”

  “When I attended that rehearsal,” said the earl, “I saw what I now take to be Mr. Tarry standing a little way behind his wife, in the shadows. He saw you presenting that necklace to his wife and did nothing. By the way, was that one of the trinkets he handed back?”

  “No, just some little gewgaws I gave her, usually bracelets and things like that.”

  “What you were supposed to do was to buy him off. He said she was worth more than gold. That was the clue. If you pay him a healthy sum, he will tell your wife anything you wish her to hear.”

  “Are you sure of this?”

  “Why else would he wait so long? Were you on the point of demanding… er… your reward for all these gifts?”

  Mr. Sinclair had the grace to blush. “As a matter of fact, I had suggested it.”

  “So husband and wife got together to try to think up some clumsy scheme to get a good payment out of you. I am sure money will get you out of it.”

  “I hope you are right. Bye the bye, I gather this grand ball is to bring out that Carruthers chit.”

  “Miss Carruthers is a friend of mine and a very beautiful lady,” said the earl coldly.

  “Oho, so that’s the way the land lies. Going to steal a march on all the young fellows and take the prize yourself?”

  The earl got to his feet. “You are such a vulgar character, Sinclair. No wonder you become embroiled with actors.”

  He went out and walked through the dark night streets of London, oblivious to dangers from footpads. His brain seemed in a turmoil. Arabella married to someone would mean Arabella lying in someone else’s arms. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he could not bear it. And then he stopped short and burst out laughing, startling a passing watchman. All he had to do was to marry her himself. He felt quite dizzy with happiness, as if he had just turned a corner of the street and come face-to-face with love.

  ***

  Arabella was sitting with Miss Tonks the following afternoon working out chalk designs. It was not enough at a grand ball to simply chalk the ballroom floor with ordinary white French chalk. The floor had to be chalked in many colours and the designs had to be as perfect as the design on an Oriental rug.

  And so, as Arabella bent her head over the paper, she was unaware that the earl was calling on her mother.

  Lady Carruthers was very red, for she had been in her bedroom when he was announced and had slapped on too much rouge.

  His dislike for this woman made the earl wish to get his business over with as soon as possible.

  After exchanging the necessary courtesies, he began, “You will have gathered that I am far from indifferent, my lady. I wish to announce our engagement at this ball, a fitting occasion, I think.”

  Lady Carruthers, who did not know he was talking about Arabella, let out a faint shriek and supported herself by putting one trembling hand on a chair-back.

  “My lord,” she said faintly. “Oh, my lord.”

  “I have a mind to keep it a surprise until then,” he said. “I trust you agree.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”

  “Then, after the ball, we will arrange for my lawyers to meet your lawyers and draw up the necessary settlements. Thank you. You have made me the happiest of men.”

  He bowed and withdrew. Lady Carruthers sat down suddenly. It was the answer to all her wildest dreams. No, she would not tell anyone, not even Arabella. The minx had taken up too much of Denby’s attentions. Let her find out in the most dramatic way possible that her own mother’s mature charms had secured the prize.

  ***

  On the day of the ball it seemed at first as if everything would go wrong. The servants, infected by the bad temper of their masters, cursed and swore, tripped over each other, shouted and punched. But all at once, by six in the evening, the rooms were magically ready, the whole of the downstairs of the hotel turned into a glittering ballroom lined with long mirrors, banks of flowers, swaths of silk and tall candelabra.

  Miss Tonks and Arabella worked feverishly with their coloured chalks, screaming with dismay when a servant crossed the floor to put some last-minute arrangements to the decorations. Arabella was just putting the finishing touches to the last corner when her mother’s footman summoned her, saying she was to go above-stairs and be prepared for the ball.

  Lady Carruthers had spared no expense on Arabella. Her ball gown of white muslin was ornamented with seed pearls and gold thread. A coronet of seed pearls and thin gold wire had been hired to decorate her head after Monsieur A
ndré had finished with it. A lady’s-maid had been engaged to help her get ready, Lady Carruthers needing the sole services of her own lady’s-maid. At last Arabella was ready. She knew, looking in the glass, that she had never looked so well. Monsieur André had burnished her hair so that it appeared to glitter in the candle-light as much as the fairy-tale coronet on top of it.

  She entered the sitting-room at the same time as her mother. Lady Carruthers was also in white muslin, although her head was bedecked by tall ostrich plumes. She stood for a moment looking at the glory that was her daughter, and instead of being filled with maternal pride she experienced a bitter pang of envy and then reminded herself that Denby was to make that dramatic announcement this evening. She could not keep her secret any longer.

  “You must wish me happy, Arabella,” she said.

  “I do. I wish you every success at the ball, Mama.”

  Lady Carruthers gave a little trill of laughter. “You do not understand. But of course he swore me to secrecy. My engagement is to be announced tonight.”

  “To whom?” asked Arabella, her mind quickly ranging over the number of middle-aged men with whom her mother had flirted at balls and parties.

  “Denby.”

  Arabella closed her eyes. The pain was almost too great to bear.

  There was a scratching at the door. “Lady Fortescue,” announced the footman after opening it.

  Lady Fortescue’s black eyes flew from Arabella’s stricken face to her mother’s triumphant one and she wondered furiously what Lady Carruthers had been up to.

  But she said, “It is time to welcome your guests, Miss Carruthers.”

  “We are ready,” said Lady Carruthers.

  “As we are bringing your daughter out, so we will be with her on the reception line, not you, Lady Carruthers. Come, child, you look very beautiful although a trifle pale.”