Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1 - Louise Allen, Christine Merrill - Страница 22

It was a testament to the quality and thickness of the doors that Tallie had not heard the uproar from the dining room.

A young woman in modest, travel-stained but respectable clothing was weeping unrestrainedly on a hall chair despite the housekeeper’s efforts to calm her and wave smelling salts under her nose. William was standing back with the unmistakable air of panic of a man trapped by feminine emotion while his mother was alternating between anxious glances at the hysterical girl and attempts to con a letter she was holding. Lord Arndale, driving coat half-buttoned and hat and gloves in his hand, appeared to have given up trying to get out of the front door and was giving instructions to a footman who turned and hurried off towards the back stairs with unmistakable relief.

Rainbird, emanating disapproval of such a scene in the front hall, was trying to usher the entire party into the drawing room, but for once was being ignored by both family and staff alike.

Tallie decided she could either retire again, add to the chaos or attempt to be useful. With a sigh she stepped into the breach and touched Lady Parry on the arm. ‘I think she might calm down a little, ma’am, if there were not so many people. Shall I try and take her into the morning room?’

‘Oh, would you, Talitha dear? She just cries more when she sees me.’

Tallie was by now making out the tenor of the young woman’s plaint, which appeared to alternate between bitter self-recrimination that she should have so let Lady Parry down and inexplicable references to ‘that monkey being the last straw'.

‘What is her name?’

‘Miss Clarke. Maria Clarke.’

‘Come along, Miss Clarke … Maria. There’s a good girl. You come and sit down in a nice quiet room. No, Lady Parry is not at all angry … yes, this way. Mrs Mills, could you have some tea sent up, please?’

It took half an hour to calm the young woman and at the end of it Tallie was no wiser. However, Miss Clarke was red-eyed but subdued and had been sent off with the housekeeper to lie down and rest.

Feeling as if she had just emerged from Bedlam, Tallie emerged and found the butler surveying the quiet hall with austere satisfaction. ‘Where is her ladyship, Rainbird?’

‘Packing, Miss Grey.’

‘Packing? Is something wrong?’

‘I could not venture to say, Miss Grey. However, Miss Clarke, the young lady who was so afflicted, is the companion to her ladyship’s elder sister, the Dowager Marchioness of Palgrave.’

‘I see.’ Tallie saw nothing at all clearly, although it appeared that some domestic disaster must have struck the Dowager’s household. Could it possibly involve monkeys, or was that simply hysteria? ‘I do not believe I have met the Dowager,’ she began cautiously.

‘Her ladyship lives much retired.’ Rainbird hesitated and unbent further, dropping his voice in case any menial should overhear his indiscretion. ‘Her ladyship is considered … eccentric.’

Oh, dear, the monkey was probably real in that case. Tallie recalled hair-raising stories of Princess Caroline’s menagerie. ‘I had better see if there is anything I can do to assist Lady Parry. Have their lordships gone out?’

‘Lord Arndale has gone to arrange her ladyship’s carriage and outriders, Miss Grey. Lord Parry is, I believe, with her ladyship.’

As Tallie climbed the stairs she could hear William sounding plaintively defensive. ‘Of course I will escort you, Mama, I would not dream of doing anything else, but can I not put up at the Palgrave Arms when we get there?’

‘No, you cannot, William,’ his mother was saying briskly. ‘Goodness knows what we are going to find: monkeys could be the least of it. Remember last time?’

‘Surely not another zebra?’

‘Anything is possible with your Aunt Georgiana. At least she has got past the stage of unfortunate infatuations with pretty young men … Tallie dear, thank you so much for settling Miss Clarke. I must say I had not thought her the hysterical type, and after six months I was hoping she would prove ideal.’ Lady Parry heaved a sigh and sat down on the bed. ‘William, go and tell your valet to pack for at least four days. It took that long last time—and you are not putting up at the Arms.

‘Tallie, my love, I am very sorry about this, but I am afraid I am going to have to go down to Sussex and see what can be done about my sister, Lady Palgrave.’

‘Is she unwell, ma’am?’ Tallie sat on the bed too.

‘My sister, to be plain about it, is very strange—only, being a Dowager Marchioness, she is called eccentric. As a girl she was given to harmless but unconventional enthusiasms and regrettably her marriage proved unhappy, which only served to drive her further towards unsuitable obsessions. Her husband’s death has left her without any restraining influence and with a fortune large enough to indulge whatever fancy enters her head.

‘Her house is a menagerie of the most unlikely creatures, although fortunately now they are from the animal kingdom. There was a time when she was entertaining one unsuitable young man after another. All in pursuit of her money, of course—and I probably should not be telling an unmarried girl about it.

‘Anyway …’ she sighed again ‘… she swings between relative normality, when all that is required of her companion is to humour her, and really wild excesses. Apparently she has acquired a number of monkeys—quite large ones, according to the housekeeper’s letter—and has established them in the guest bedrooms. I shall have to go and see what can be done to restore some sort of order.’

‘Will Lord Arndale accompany you? I imagine he would cope very well with this sort of crisis.’

‘And so he would. Unfortunately my sister has a tendresse for him and is given to the most embarrassing displays of, er … affection.’

‘Goodness,’ Tallie said blankly, trying not to giggle at the thought of Nick being pursued around an animal-infested mansion by a middle-aged lady with amorous intent. ‘I had better go and pack.’

‘No, dear, it is very sweet of you, but I could not possibly inflict that household on you. You will be quite all right here with Mrs Mills and Rainbird and if you want to go to any parties while I am away, I will drop a line to Lady Cawston and Mrs Bridling-ton—their girls are usually invited to all the events you are. Or you could stay with your friends at Upper Wimpole Street if you do not feel quite comfortable here while I am out of town.’

‘I will be perfectly easy here with Mrs Mills, I assure you, Aunt Kate. In any case, Mrs Blackstone and Millie and Zenobia are going to Putney for a few days. Zenna has found details of a house that sounds exactly right for the school and Mrs Blackstock has a cousin living nearby, so they are all having a little holiday. They went off this morning.’

‘Are you sure you will be all right?’ Lady Parry regarded Tallie distractedly. ‘It hardly seems fair, but I could not possibly take you with me—one never knows what one might find.’

‘Dear Aunt Kate, I will be perfectly fine, I assure you, and I promise I will send a note round to Jane Cawston or Sally and Lydia Bridlington if I wish to go out in the evening. Although I would not be sorry for a little holiday from parties myself. I will have a quiet evening or two and will doubtless be all the better for it.’

‘If you are certain, dear.’ Lady Parry smiled with relief. ‘I intend leaving as soon as possible. It will mean a late arrival, but the roads are good and there is a full moon tonight. As my sister rarely retires before three in the morning, I have no fear of arriving and finding the house in darkness.’

In a remarkably short time—a circumstance that Tallie had no difficulty attributing to Nick Stangate’s forceful methods of organisation—Lady Parry’s cavalcade set off. Tallie stood on the front step to wave goodbye to her ladyship’s travelling carriage, Lord Parry driving his curricle and Nick astride one of his raking hunters.

He reined back at the kerbside, obviously desiring a final word, and Tallie came down to stand by the big horse.

‘I will stay overnight at the Palgrave Arms, just in case the situation is beyond my aunt’s capabilities to resolve, and will return tomorrow. If you need to speak to me, send word to Brook Street and I will come and take you for a drive.’

‘Will you not call?’ Tallie asked, puzzled. Nick was such a regular visitor to Bruton Street that it seemed strange that he would not come there directly on returning from Sussex.

‘Given that you are alone in the house save for the servants, I do not think that you should be receiving gentlemen visitors.’ He touched his whip to his hat and gathered up his reins, then hesitated. ‘If there should be any problem while I am away … if you should feel in any way alarmed by this man who may be following you … send to Mr Gregory Tolliver, Pickering Place, off St James’s Street.’

‘Who is he?’ Tallie asked, remembering William mentioning meeting Nick leaving ‘his agent’s’ house in that same location. How frank was Nick going to be with her?

‘He is in my employ and will know what to do,’ he said curtly, then unexpectedly leaned down and touched her cheek with his gloved hand before spurring the horse into a canter after the retreating carriages.

Thoughtfully Tallie climbed the steps and went into the house. So, Nick’s agent—presumably the same man whom he had used to make his enquiries into her background—would ‘know what to do’ about the mysterious man. Which meant that Nick was confiding in him and was taking it seriously. A slight tremor of anxiety was replaced by one of irritation. Why could he not confide in her and tell her what he thought was afoot?

She answered her own question. Because he does not trust you, Tallie, she thought grimly. You will not confide in him, so neither will he in you. Stalemate.

The next morning Tallie was enjoying the novel sensation of having nothing to do, nowhere she was expected to be and no one to please but herself and was employing the holiday by trimming a promenade hat of Lady Parry’s from last season. It was restful to be able to employ her old skills again, to concentrate closely on what her hands were doing rather than having to think or talk.

There was a knock at the door, which she ignored, then looked up in surprise when Rainbird brought a letter in. She was rather enjoying the solitude and regarded him with well-concealed irritation when the butler proffered the salver.

‘The man is waiting for a reply, Miss Grey.’

Tallie turned the folded sheet over in her hands, then recognised the handwriting: Mr Harland.

Her hands froze, but her heart seemed to turn in their stead. Why should the artist be writing to her? Slitting the wafer seal with her sewing scissors, she found that his letter was lengthy enough to occupy two closely written sheets.

The artist had penned it in an obvious state of excitement to inform Tallie that he had sold all six of the large classical canvases in which she featured.

With an internal sensation of having eaten far too much ice cream, Tallie read on. Please do not suppose that there is the slightest danger of the works being seen by London Society, Mr Harland had written, obviously anticipating Tallie’s anxieties. The gentleman concerned tells me he is buying them to decorate his private rooms in his castle in the far north of Scotland. He has lately returned from the Mediterranean lands and wishes to have a tangible reminder of the classical landscape.

Tallie blinked at the closely written sheet. It seemed likely enough, she supposed—but how had this Scottish patron heard of Frederick Harland, and particularly how did he know he had classical scenes for sale?

She opened the door and looked into the hall. As she hoped, it was Peter who had brought the letter and who was sitting patiently on one of the hard shield-back hall chairs, hat on knee, waiting for the expected answer.

‘Peter? Could you come in here, please?’ With the door safely shut on Rainbird, Tallie asked, ‘Have you any idea how this gentleman who is buying Mr Harland’s classical canvases came to hear that he had them available?’

‘Why, yes, Miss Grey—he said he made enquiries for a painter of classical scenes at the Royal Academy. You know, Mr Harland talks a great deal about his ambitions for that style of art, even if he does not exhibit.’

‘Oh.’ That seemed plausible, but Tallie was still uneasy.

Peter appeared to understand. ‘He is genuine, Miss Grey, I’m sure of that. Gentleman with a strong Scottish accent and his skin deeply tanned by the sun—he’s been in the south, all right.’

Tallie turned back to the letter. The artist must want some sort of response from her, otherwise Peter would not be waiting.

As you know, none of the canvases is entirely complete and the purchaser—who does not wish to be named—requires to take them back with him in two weeks’ time. In most cases the outstanding work is architectural or landscape and I have every expectation of completing these before he leaves. However, the last canvas, the ‘Diana’ scene, requires one more sitting from the live figure. While fully appreciating your reluctance to be further involved with my work, might I hope that you will oblige me on this one final occasion? To think that six major pieces of mine will be hung together in a fitting setting is a matter of such importance to me it gives me the hope that you may find yourself able to oblige me.

Tallie dropped the pages onto the sofa and stared blankly at Peter. ‘Do you know what is in the letter?’

‘Yes, Miss Grey. Mr Harland wishes you to sit for him one last time.’

Tallie’s immediate reaction was simply to say ‘no', but then the recollection of how grateful she had been for the money Mr Harland paid her, the gentlemanly manner in which he had always treated her and his intense belief and pride in his classical paintings made her hesitate.

‘I do not know when I can sit for him, though,’ she said. ‘Lady Parry is away, but when she returns she will expect me to accompany her. It would be difficult to explain why I wished to spend several hours at the studio.’ She bit her lip. ‘I suppose this afternoon …?’

‘Mr Harland is painting a portrait this afternoon and the gentleman in question will be attending the studio.’

‘Oh, dear. Then I cannot say, for I do not know when Lady Parry will return—it could even be tomorrow.’

‘Would this evening be convenient, Miss Grey?’ Peter asked hopefully.

‘But the light—surely that would be impossible?’

‘Mr Harland has invested in some of the new oil lamps, Miss Grey—why, it is almost as light as day with those all lit up.’

Tallie bit her lip. It seemed that both circumstances and her own conscience were conspiring together.

‘Shall I tell Mr Harland a time?’ the colourman pressed.

‘Eight o’clock?’ Tallie suggested faintly. She could have an early dinner and take a hackney. Rainbird would suppose her to be going to Upper Wimpole Street, for she had not mentioned to him that the household was away.

In the event it proved almost too easy to evade difficult questions, for Rainbird had not been in the hall when she asked a footman to call her a hackney carriage. She remarked carelessly that she was going to meet friends and the sight of her evening dress and opera cloak was obviously sufficiently usual for the young man not to make the sort of more probing enquiry that the butler in his more privileged position would have had no hesitation in making.

Tallie checked nervously up and down Bruton Street but could see no one lurking suspiciously in the evening drizzle and she sat back against the squabs feeling slightly reassured. It appeared that her mysterious follower had gone—or she had refined too much upon a series of coincidences.

As they neared Panton Square, however, she discovered that her stomach was a mass of butterflies. Somehow there was all the difference in the world in sitting for Mr Harland when it was a routine matter of earning her living. Now—with no excuse other than a sense of obligation that she was certain any respectable lady would tell her was misplaced—she was creeping out alone in a cab, dressed up to deceive the servants and feeling thoroughly uneasy about the entire enterprise.

The hackney turned into Panton Square. Too late to go back now, she told herself firmly, paying the driver. She would insist that Peter found her a cab for the return journey before she left the house, she decided, glancing up nervously from returning her purse to her reticule as another cab drew up a little further down. But the short, middle-aged man who climbed down bore no resemblance to her sinister follower and she watched in relief as he opened an area gate and vanished down the steps after a word with the driver.

Once she was inside a sense of familiarity took over from the nervousness and she climbed the stairs to the attic studio, feeling calmer. The artist had the large canvas already set up and his palette set and was busily adjusting the bright new lamps around the model’s podium and the old blue screen.

‘My dear Miss Grey, I cannot thank you enough,’ he exclaimed, bustling forward to shake her hand. ‘I understand how difficult it is for you now, but to be able to complete the canvases … to know that they will be fittingly hung, even if it is in remote and private rooms, not in a gallery … I cannot begin to explain …’

‘I quite understand,’ Tallie assured him. ‘I will just go and change.’

‘I have set up screens, in the corner.’ Harland gestured to a set of old Spanish leather folding screens from which hung a length of white linen. ‘With the new lamps it is so much warmer up here, I thought it would be more convenient.’

Tallie found the screened area contained a chair, a mirror and a clothes stand and began to undress. She had chosen the evening gown for its ease of removal and was soon draped in the linen and unpinning her hair. The gold filet hung from the mirror and within a few minutes Diana stared back at herself in the fly-spotted glass. Forcing herself to be practical, Tallie flicked her hair into the style of the portrait, gathered the linen around her as modestly as she could and went to stand on her mark.

After the first few, strange, minutes it simply became ordinary and familiar again. The attic still creaked, mice still scuffled in the corners and the familiar drafts penetrated even the warmth created by the powerful spermaceti lamps. The artist paced and muttered behind her, once hurrying down to twitch the hem of the linen drape, again to adjust the angle of the lights.

After an hour he observed, ‘Splendid! Splendid. Now, Miss Grey, if you would like to take ten minutes to rest, then I believe another half-hour will see all complete.’

Tallie swathed the drape around her and turned, flexing her shoulders gratefully. ‘How are the other canvases progressing, Mr Harland? Are you—?’

She broke off at the sound of thunderous knocking on the street door and froze, gazing at the artist in wild surmise. What was happening? It seemed just like that terrifying afternoon when Jack Hemsley and his friends had invaded the studio.

Harland threw open the attic door and once again, just like that nightmare day, Peter’s voice rose up the stairwell. ‘No, sir! You cannot go up there! Mr Harland is occupied.’

Tallie grabbed his arm. ‘Who is it? Are you expecting anyone?’

‘No! Get back inside, I will go down …’

But the sound of footsteps was clear on the stairs. Someone with a long stride was taking the stairs at the run. Frantic, Tallie spun round and began to flee across the dusty floor towards the only hiding place, the closet.

But she was only halfway there when the attic door crashed open behind her. She turned again, clutching the illusory protection of the linen drape around her and stared wild-eyed at the doorway where a man was thrusting the protesting artist aside with a peremptory hand.

Mr Harland staggered back and, trembling, Tallie braced herself for humiliation, disgrace and the ruin of her reputation.