After eleven years in Lord Verne’s service, Samson had become used to the mercurial changes of direction, plans made and unmade, instructions implied rather than specified. His master was to attend a ball, that much was clear, though hardly a word was exchanged between them.
* * *
Lady Sindlesham’s house in Mayfair was not unfamiliar to Verne. On that night, it was transformed for the benefit of her royal guests, and others, who had cause to be thankful that General Bonaparte was at last in safe custody. With one ear tuned over the general hum to the rise and fall of various European languages, Verne chatted to his hostess, nodded and bowed to the foreign dignitaries and their wives who sparkled and shimmered beneath twinkling chandeliers while his sharp eyes sought out his employer, the Prince of Wales, who had been appointed Regent three years ago during his father’s serious illness. Verne sauntered across to meet him, awaiting the royal attention. Then, a few quiet words, a smile and a nod, a gentle pat on the shoulder from the pudgy royal fingers, and Verne moved away again, this time to ascertain the whereabouts of a certain Mrs Cecily Cardew with whom he had dined only that evening. Biding his time until young Marguerite Benistone had been drawn into the set by a uniformed Prussian officer, he approached as if quite by chance and, with an impeccable bow, took the lady’s jewel-laden hand in his. ‘Mrs Cardew, what a delight. Such a crush.’
Her surprise was only to be expected, but she concealed it well behind a quick survey of the immaculate long-tailed coat, white vest and knee-breeches that Lady Golding would have preferred to have seen earlier. ‘Lord Verne, you’ve just missed her. Look, there she is. Over there.’ She waved an outsized feathered fan towards Marguerite and Verne caught the ice-blue flash of diamonds on Mrs Cardew’s ear-drops that almost reached her shoulders.
‘Enchanting,’ he replied. ‘May I procure a glass of punch for you?’
She knew at once that this was not a chance meeting. ‘Might be a little dangerous with so many jostling elbows. I expect you know most of these people, my lord?’
Her silver-grey gown rippled softly as he led the way to a covered long seat between two massive curtains where tassels hung as big as chimney pots from cords like ships’ hawsers. As they sat, she inclined her head towards him as if she knew the reason why he’d sought her out immediately after his briefing from the Prince Regent. Here was a man she could trust, at last, an ally in her quest to bring some light into Annemarie’s shadowy life. Mrs Cardew missed little that went on around her. Even now, Marguerite’s every move was being monitored.
‘Many, not most,’ Verne said. ‘Sindy’s good at this kind of thing, isn’t she?’
‘She’s had plenty of practice.’ Realising how that might sound, she shot him a mischievous blue-eyed smile. ‘Oh, I don’t mean it that way. Sindy and I are old friends. Her granddaughters are Miss Marguerite’s age. They go about together, you know. That’s why she was so determined to be here.’
‘Or she would have gone down to Brighton with her sister?’
‘Oh, I doubt that very much, my lord. There’s too much going on in London this year. Marguerite would never miss all that just to keep Annemarie company. It’s perfectly understandable. She came out only last year and the purpose of that is to make contacts, not to hide oneself away...’
‘In Brighton?’ Verne said, stepping into the pause.
Cecily’s sigh could hardly be detected over the music. ‘You were away when all that happened,’ she said, ‘or you’d have known about it. Most people have put it quite out of mind now, after a whole year, but Annemarie believes it has ruined her, you see. To her, it’s still happening, in a way.’
Verne decided to take the bull by the horns, time being in short supply. ‘Apart from yourself, ma’am,’ he said, ‘there is no one else I would ask and, even now, I am aware that an event such as this is hardly the time or place to be discussing such matters. But...’
‘But perhaps it’s better to hear uncomfortable things at first hand rather than the embellished accounts of others. Don’t you agree? At least then you’ll be in possession of the facts before you...well, I was going to say before you begin manoeuvres, but that sounds rather too military. Annemarie may have fallen short of her duties as hostess this evening, but that’s not to say she was unaffected by your presence. I’ve never known her use the wrong knife to butter her bread roll before.’
‘Slender evidence of regard, Mrs Cardew.’
‘I know, but it’s in the eyes too, isn’t it? Hers and yours.’
‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘So may I ask what did happen, ma’am?’
‘Indeed. You may already have heard that Lady Benistone was once a very lovely and successful courtesan. Well before your time, young man.’
At thirty-two, Verne could recognise an older woman’s kindly flattery when he heard it. ‘I had heard something to that effect,’ he said.
‘She was twenty-two years her husband’s junior. I say was, but of course she still is. We don’t know where she is. Even your employer, before he became Regent, pursued her without success. Lord Benistone kept her in some style and eventually she agreed to marry him. The trouble was...’ she said, lowering her voice.
‘Please don’t continue if you’d rather not. I shall understand.’
‘The trouble was...well, you’ve seen how things are there, haven’t you? It’s no kind of mess to keep a lovely woman and their three daughters in. She was a top-drawer courtesan, so you can imagine how she felt. Collecting was, and still is, my cousin’s passion. He’s not going to change now. No shortage of money. He’s always been able to buy anything he wanted.’
‘Including his wife.’
‘Even Esme Gerard. And she loved him, too. But only for so long. He gives his entire attention to his collection and then wonders why he’s lost the only woman he ever loved. Everyone can see it but him, although I think he’s coming to realise his failings more now. Lovely man. Wrong priorities.’
‘It’s not uncommon, ma’am.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s not. Lady Golding...Annemarie...was widowed only a year when it happened. Not long out of mourning and being courted by a smooth-tongued young rake who promised her the world.’
‘Sir Lionel Mytchett.’
‘Yes, him. And if her father had taken the trouble to investigate him, he’d have seen what was happening. The young blackguard! Playing on her emotions.’ Cecily’s voice lowered again, this time in anger. ‘Wooed her for close on three months and led her to believe he was about to make an offer for her.’
‘So she was in love with him?’
The pretty fair curls shook in denial, but the reply was less certain. ‘Who knows? I believe it was too soon after Richard. I believe she was probably more in love with the idea of being a married woman than with Mytchett himself. I had offered to hold Miss Marguerite’s coming-out ball at Park Lane. Well, they couldn’t possibly have held it at Montague Street and I’d done the same for Annemarie’s wedding. What none of us had quite appreciated was the growing attraction Mytchett had developed for Lady Benistone and what I think,’ she said, emphasising her own interpretation of events, ‘is that he’d seen in the mother something he could get without bothering to marry the daughter, if you see what I mean.’
Verne
