CHAPTER EIGHT
PADDINGTON STATION, LATE AFTERNOON
Steven Ashgrove left the hackney and made his way into the station. As usual the place was crowded. Being jostled did nothing to improve his foul mood which had been exacerbated by his unreasonable relatives; especially his wife, Catherine who he expected to support him in all things.
He walked to the required platform glad to see that the train from the West Country had not yet pulled in.
Initially he had been irritated and worried by Delia’s insistence in joining him in London. How would he manage to keep the two segments of his life from clashing? He decided he must play it by ear, although Delia’s demands of his time might be unmanageable.
He pictured her as he had last seen her, sitting at her dressing table, her lovely face and naked form for his eyes only. Remembering, his mood softened. He had not seen her for a week and now he realised how much he had missed her; too long to be without her charms.
He resolved that as soon as they had reached their suite of rooms at the hotel he would take her to bed. It was his reward. He deserved it. His excitement increased as the train began slowly to edge its way into the station.
Steven’s eager gaze scanned the first class passengers descending. Finally he saw Delia. She was being helped to step down by a tall man in clerical garb. The cleric signaled a porter who went immediately to take charge of her baggage.
Steven went forward quickly to meet her as the cleric doffed his hat and departed.
‘Delia, my darling,’ Steven began and went to clasp her in his arms to kiss her.
‘Don’t maul me, Steven!’ Delia almost spat the words out as she shrugged his arms away. ‘I have had the most horrendous journey, with no maid to assist me. A lady should not have to bear it.’
‘Delia, my sweet...’
‘You should have engaged a maid for me from the start,’ she complained, her lovely face etched with exasperation and ill-humour. ‘Even Mrs Dorkins would have been better than no one. Really, Steven! I am neglected, and it is too bad of you.’
‘Your new maid awaits you at the hotel, my dear. I will get a hackney immediately.’ He signaled the porter to follow them, and tried to take her elbow as they moved toward the entrance.
Delia pulled her arm free. ‘If it had not been for the kindness of a young man travelling in the same compartment, I don’t know what I should have done.’
‘Young man?’ Steven’s tone was sharp.
‘A young clergyman,’ Delia said. ‘He was an absolute brick; running backwards and forwards as the various stops bringing me refreshments. I tell you, I fancy I might have expired without his help.’
‘Delia, I think I do not approve of you associating with some strange young man...’
Delia stopped in her tracks, her face turning to him, her lovely eyes flashing her anger. ‘Then you should have had the decency to accompany me or at last provide me with proper companionship. Really, Steven, I am thinking you undervalue me.’
‘That is not true!’ he protested, taking her arm again and urging her forward. People about then were beginning to turn their heads to stare.
‘I have booked a suite at one of the best hotels in Town; the Carlton.’
Delia shrugged. ‘I suppose the Carton will be adequate.’
More than adequate, Steven mused and very expensive. He had hoped that Delia would have been content with a hotel in a less fashionable area, so that he visits to her would go unnoticed. But he knew she would never agree to it.
As he signaled for the next hackney queuing for passengers Steven saw a familiar figure just about to enter a cab lower down. He immediately recognised Sir Gerome Danvers with his valet. Danvers must have travelled on the same train as Delia. Steven straightaway felt his suspicions rise.
‘Sir Gerome Danvers travelled up on the same train as you, Delia,’ he said accusingly. ‘Did you associate with him, too?’
Delia glanced around eagerly. ‘Gerry, on that train! Oh, if only I had known I would have joined him in his compartment. Gerry would have taken very good care of me.’
Steven felt his fury rise and struggled to quell it. He did not want to quarrel with Delia at this time. She might make things even more difficult for him than they already were.
As the hackney wended its way to the Carlton, Delia prattled on about the coincidence of Sir Gerome taking the same train, and how much more comfortable she would have been in his company on the long journey. Steven was silent, holding his temper.
At the Carlton Hotel Mr and Mrs Wentworth checked into their suite consisting of two bedrooms, an en suite dressing room, and a large drawing room with tall windows overlooking the street. Steven reflected ruefully that it was even more sumptuous than the house the families had rented in Cumberland Square.
Steven’s eager mind was on the bedroom, but he had forgotten the new French maid he had engaged for his mistress. The woman came forward to greet her new employer’s wife.
‘Madame.’ The maid, a competent-looking woman in her mid-thirties dipped her knee respectfully. ‘My name is Marie. All is ready for you, Madame. I deduced you would be dusty after your long journey so I have just run a bath and it is waiting.’
‘Madame is not quite ready for that yet, are you Delia, dear,’ Steven said firmly. ‘Madame will not require you for the next hour, Marie. You are dismissed for the time being.’
He glanced at Delia and smiled significantly.
Delia stared back at him, her expression cold.
‘On the contrary, Steven, dear, I am very ready for my bath and then I intend to rest.’ She turned to the maid. ‘Marie, attend to me please. Mr Wentworth has business elsewhere.’
‘But I...’
‘Later you will take me to dinner, Steven,’ Delia continued in a haughty tone. ‘I will expect you at eight.’
The maid looked at him expectantly and he had no choice but to leave.
Steven was still fuming as he crossed the hotel foyer and to his further consternation he saw Sir Gerome Danvers enter the hotel bar.
Steven paused in his stride. A deep suspicion was forming in his mind. It seem more than a mere coincidence that Sir Gerome having travelled on the same train was now also staying at the same hotel. Had Delia and Sir Gerome cooked up this arrangement between them? Was he being taken for a fool? His anger mounting, he considered following Sir Gerome into the bar to confront him.
But he thought better of it. The hotel bar was too public a place. He would bide his time and watch carefully. If Delia was betraying him after all he had done for her; the embezzlement he had committed, the grave danger of ruin and disgrace he had put his family in, he did not honestly know what revenge he might take.
NEXT MORNING, CUMBERLAND SQUARE
Catherine Ashgrove paused at the bottom of the staircase on her way to the breakfast room, her mind troubled. Before descending she had called in at Steven’s bedroom to find it empty and the bed undisturbed. Had the chamber maids been at their work already? Usually they remained below stairs, waiting until the family were all at breakfast.
Had Steven been absent overnight? For a long time she had been suspicious that there was another woman in his life; nothing that she could prove, except his impatience and neglect of her. But he had never stayed away overnight before.
If there was another woman, had he brought her to London? Oh! How could he be so callous?
As she hesitated, her heart full of bitterness at the thought, Simons the butler appeared through the baize door on his way to the breakfast room carrying a tray with two coffee jugs.
He was a short, stout man, with a rosy-cheeked face. There was really nothing austere or off-hand about him, yet Catherine was nervous of these London servants.
Henrietta had immediately taken charge of the servants at Cumberland Square, making it clear that she was mistress of the household for the duration. Consequently, Catherine felt herself at a disadvantage.
It was rather embarrassing, but she had to know.
‘Simons!’
‘Yes, ma’am?’ He stopped immediately and turned to her. ‘What can I do for you, ma’am?’
Catherine wetted her lips. ‘My husband, Mr Ashgrove...do you know whether he has breakfasted already?’
Simons’ expression did not change. ‘Mr Ashgrove is not here, ma’am. He did not return home last night.’
‘Oh!’
Then it was true! Steven was betraying her. Catherine felt heat rush to her cheeks in her consternation and mortification.
Simons appeared not to notice her embarrassment.
‘Are you breakfasting, ma’am?’
Catherine gathered her wits and nodded and without another word she entered the breakfast room, Simons following behind her with the coffee jugs. He placed them on the nearby chiffonier and retreated.
Henrietta and Percy Swindale were already seated, as was their daughter, Rose. Catherine’s daughter Bernice was also there.
As was the custom in finer households, the servants did not serve the breakfast meal. Catherine went to the food-laden chiffonier and helped herself, although she did not feel very hungry.
Her husband was unaccountably missing and she fervently hoped that Henrietta had not heard of it already. She would not be able to withstand her sister’s triumphant carping criticism on the matter.
‘Good morning, Catherine,’ Percy Swindale said. ‘Steven not up yet?’
‘Good morning, Percy.’ Catherine glanced briefly at her sister. ‘Good morning Henrietta.’
She carried her plate to the table and sat opposite her daughter.
‘Steven breakfasted early,’ she lied as she took her seat. ‘He has gone off to see his broker again.’
‘Busy man!’ Percy said. ‘This London air must be doing him good.’
‘It’s just the sort of morning to ride in Rotten Row, Papa,’ Rose Swindale exclaimed excitedly. ‘Could we not go there this morning?’
‘Certainly not!’ Henrietta said decidedly. ‘Young ladies cannot parade themselves in public until after the presentation. You have only a few days to wait. Content yourselves.’
‘Besides,’ Bernice Ashgrove spoke up. ‘We have the final fittings of our gowns this morning. I would much rather do that than ride.’
Simons re-entered the room carrying a small silver salver. Catherine could see that there was a letter on it. The butler presented it to Percy.
‘I’ll take that, Simons!’ Henrietta said loudly and reached out a hand imperiously for it.
The butler presented the salver to her and bowed before leaving the room.
‘Is that an invitation to a ball, Aunt Henrietta?’ Bernice asked eagerly.
Henrietta squinted at it. ‘It has Lady Gertrude’s family crest on it,’ she said, breaking the wax seal and opening out the letter.
She read for a moment and then gave a loud snort of fury.
‘This is outrageous!’ She thrust the letter across the table to her husband. ‘Percy! What do you propose to do about this insult?’
‘What?’ Percy took the letter and read it through. ‘Well, really! I must say this is discourteous of Lady Gertrude to say the least.’
‘What is it?’ queried the girls simultaneously.
‘Lady Gertrude has the effrontery to postpone your court presentation,’ Henrietta exclaimed with fury, her face reddening alarmingly.
Both girls jumped to their feet with cries of consternation and disappointment. Rose Swindale immediately burst into tears.
‘Mama! We are not to be presented! Oh! What are we to do?’
‘It is not as bad as that,’ Percy said quickly. ‘It is simply postponed from next Wednesday to the following day, Thursday. She offers no explanation.’
‘It is a slur on us; on our families,’ Henrietta maintained loudly. ‘She would not treat a titled family so. Percy, what steps will you take to rectify this affront?’
Percy Swindale threw down his napkin. ‘I shall do nothing,’ he said angrily. ‘Steven must deal with this. After all, it was he who engaged the blasted woman!’
‘Percy!’ Henrietta cried. ‘While the matter is of great import I will have no bar-room language here.’
Catherine remained silent throughout. When...or if Steven returned, he had much to explain. At all costs, though, she must keep his duplicity as regards their marriage a secret, or her humiliation would be complete.
AT GROSVENOR SQUARE
Esther sat at her dressing table, viewing her reflection. The new hat she had bought yesterday in Bond Street was rather fetching, even though her dark hair was still in a pigtail. It would look better when she had her hair up, of course, but that would not be proper until she was eighteen.
She smiled as she adjusted the angle of the hat, and put another hat pin through it. To her surprise she had enjoyed the day of shopping for what Archie had described disparagingly as fripperies.
She had enthusiastically chosen gloves, stoles and hats. When she had viewed the vast array of fabrics and materials for gowns; damask, silk, satin and organza, she had been enchanted and dazzled by the varying colours and shades. Somehow, lines of poetry twirled in her mind as she had viewed them, and she had let herself go to enjoy the new experience.
‘Are you not ready yet, Esther?’ Phoebe asked her now, bringing her out if her reverie of shopping. ‘Mama is anxious to be off to Mrs Topping’s workrooms.’
‘I am ready,’ Esther said, picking up a new pair of gloves from the dressing table.
‘We will have our first sighting of our presentation gowns,’ Phoebe went on. ‘I’m so excited.’
They went downstairs to where Mrs Peacock was waiting impatiently in the hall.
‘Come along!’ she scolded. ‘We have much to do today. First the workrooms and then to see Lady Gertrude at her house in Portland Place. We must not keep her ladyship waiting.’
They went out to where the hired coach and pair were waiting. The groom got down hurriedly to help them into the small coach.
‘Take us to Marshalsea Road, my man,’ Mrs Peacock said imperiously.
The groom looked taken aback. ‘Marshalsea Road, ma’am! What? In Southwark?’
‘Those are my instructions. Why do you hesitate?’ Mrs Peacock frowned at him. ‘What is your name?’
‘Tibbet, ma’am. Begging your pardon, ma’am, you being a stranger to London and all, you don’t know Southwark. It is not a suitable area for ladies to set foot in.’
‘Nonsense!’ Mrs Peacock waved a dismissive hand. ‘We are visiting the dressmaker’s workrooms. Mrs Topping is a very respectable person.’
‘But ma’am...’
‘Get to your seat at once and set off,’ Mrs Peacock said sharply. ‘I shall have words with your employers about your insubordination.’
The groom climbed up quickly, muttering to himself.
They traversed the varying streets of London. It seemed a long journey to Southwark and gazing out of the coach window Esther saw that at time passed the fashionable streets gradually gave way to drab tenements and rundown looking houses. The people too, abroad in the streets, were poorly dressed, some even ragged.
She looked across at Mrs Peacock and saw dismay on that lady’s face.
‘Perhaps we should have heeded Tibbet’s warning, Mrs Peacock,’ she ventured.
‘I am certain he makes too much of it,’ Mrs Peacock retorted stubbornly. ‘I have every confidence in Mrs Topping.’
At last the coach pulled up outside a tall dingy-looking tenement which seemed squashed between two others of like ilk.
The groom got down and opened the coach door. Esther saw that he glanced around him anxiously as he did so. The pavement in front of the doorway they were to enter was filthy and there was a suffocating smell of bad drainage.
‘Are you sure this is the right address, Mama?’ Phoebe asked nervously. ‘I cannot believe it.’
Mrs Peacock looked around at the squalor of the area and her face paled. ‘I am not mistaken,’ she said firmly. ‘Let us get inside quickly.’ She turned to the groom. ‘Wait here!’
He climbed back up onto his seat and Esther heard him mutter. ‘I wish I’d brought me pistol.’
They went in through the doorway to find a long shadowy malodourous passage stretching before them towards the back of the building. On the right hand side of this was a narrow grimy-looking staircase.
Esther could not help crinkling her nose. The stale air inside stank of boiled cabbage and fried onions, and other noisesome odours to which Esther could not give a name.
On the newel post was affixed a brass plate which bore the name Eliza Topping, Dressmaker, Second Floor. With a sniff Mrs Peacock lifted her skirts and started to climb. Esther and Phoebe followed suit.
As they reached the second landing suddenly a figure came hurtling down from the next flight of stairs and careered into them.
Mrs Peacock gave a screech. ‘We are being attacked! Heaven preserve us.’
There was confusion for a moment. The ladies drew back against the grimy wall ready to face their attacker. Esther blinked with astonishment to see a tall well-built young man of handsome features who was impeccably dressed in the latest of fashion.
‘Ladies!’ he exclaimed stepping back a pace ‘I do beg your pardon. I am a lout of the first order for treating you so discourteously,’ he continued in a deep pleasant voice. ‘Please forgive me.’
He swept off his hat and bowed low, his soft brown hair falling charmingly over his eyes. Esther suppressed a bemused smile while Phoebe, eyes wide, stared somewhat overwhelmed.
Mrs Peacock appeared unimpressed. She had recovered her composure. ‘You are an unmannered knave, sir,’ she said sharply. ‘Lout is too good a word for you.’
‘Oh, I say, ma’am! You wound me.’
‘I should give you over to the constable to be horsewhipped for your behaviour,’ Mrs Peacock said sourly. ‘But I haven’t the time.’
The young man bowed again. ‘I am chastened. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?’
‘Your betters!’ Mrs Peacock replied haughtily. ‘Now, stand aside, sir!’
The young man stood aside as bid but Esther saw a smile curl his mouth.
Mrs Peacock sallied forth towards a door marked ‘Topping’ and without ceremony opened it and stepped inside.
Esther and Phoebe followed, but with backward glances at the young man who still stood with his hat humbly against his chest. Despite his respectful attitude, Esther was confused to see laughter bubbling up in his startlingly blue eyes.