21 The Mysterious Maid-Servant (The Eternal Collection) Read online

  “No thank you,” she answered, “I think I have had enough to drink and doubtless Mr. Lynd will have ordered wine for dinner.”

  “I doubt if he can order a good meal, only an expensive one,” the Earl said disagreeably. “Fools always imagine that because a dish costs a lot of money it must be good. You and I, Giselda, know better.”

  “You have taught me so much since I have been here,” she said. “I always appreciated good food, but I did not understand the subtleties of sauces or the flavours that come from food being cooked properly and chosen correctly in the first place.”

  “There are still many things I would like to teach you, Giselda.”

  She raised her eyes to his wanting to say that there was so much she wanted to learn, then found the words died on her lips.

  There was an expression on the Earl’s face she dared not translate to herself.

  Yet it set her heart beating violently and made her feel as if something warm and wonderful moved up into her throat and strangled her very words.

  They stood staring at each other.

  Then, as if it was happening very far away, they heard the door open and Henry Somercote come into the room.

  *

  The Earl and Captain Somercote dropped Giselda at The Plough just before seven o’clock.

  She had sat talking to them while they ate their dinner and Henry Somercote had made her laugh at his stories of how the Duke had kept him running errands all day and how much the great man enjoyed finding work for other hands to do.

  The Plough had a frontage of over one hundred feet on to the High Street and had, the Earl informed Giselda, the most spacious yard of any inn in the town.

  “It has stabling for a hundred horses,” he said, “and a number of coach houses over which there are dovecotes, besides granaries.”

  Giselda learnt there were large rooms in the inn that were let out for parties and dances and it was where the Colonel held his committee meetings.

  But the ceilings were low and there was a cosiness about the narrow passages and the small dark staircases, which she found fascinating.

  She was rather surprised that Julius was not waiting in the hall when she arrived. But she was immediately led upstairs.

  The servant, who preceded her opened a door to announce,

  “The lady you were expecting, sir.”

  Giselda noticed as she entered the room that there was a table laid in the centre of it, but as Julius came forward to greet her she realised that he was not alone.

  As he kissed her hand, she saw that he was in evening clothes, but his appearance, while smart, did not compare with that of the Earl.

  ‘It is because he is self conscious about his clothes,’ Giselda told herself. ‘Whilst the Earl makes them a part of him and once he is dressed, does not fuss about his appearance.’

  It was just a passing thought and she turned her face towards the other occupant of the room.

  “I have a surprise for you,” Julius said. “We are not to be alone this evening for the simple reason that Mr. Septimus Blackett insists on playing chaperone.”

  Julius’s expression was unpleasant and his voice was rude and slurred and Giselda realised that he had been drinking.

  She noticed although she had not done so on arrival that his face was flushed and in fact his lips when he kissed her hand had been hot, moist and unpleasant.

  Now she looked at Mr. Blackett and saw that he was not in evening clothes at all, but was dressed as might befit a clerk or even, she thought, a commercial traveller.

  “Mr. Blackett, in case you have never seen the species before,” Julius was saying in an offensive tone, “is what, my dear Giselda, is known as a bailiff. He has travelled all the way from London – think of the discomfort – to inform me that either I meet his bills which amount to a quite astronomical sum, or else I shall undoubtedly travel back to London with him at His Majesty’s pleasure!”

  For the moment Giselda could think of no reply.

  Mr. Blackett, a thickset man of perhaps forty years of age, bowed to her somewhat awkwardly.

  “P-perhaps you would like me to – withdraw?” Giselda managed to stammer at length.

  “No, of course not,” Julius answered. “There is no necessity for that. I have already explained to Mr. Blackett that I shall be able to pay my bills easily and without any trouble before this evening is out, but he does not believe me and so I am afraid, Mrs. Barrowfield, we shall have to put up with his quite obnoxious presence while we eat our dinner.”

  Giselda took a step backwards.

  “I think – Mr. Lynd, it would be – better for me to – return to German Cottage. Would you be kind enough to order me a carriage? His Lordship and Captain Somercote brought me here and they have gone on to the theatre.”

  “You must not leave me!” Julius exclaimed. “I have planned our dinner together and not a hundred or indeed a thousand Blacketts shall prevent us from enjoying it.”

  He picked up a glass of wine he must have put down when he greeted her and drained it before he added,

  “Besides, the surprise I have for Mr. Blackett is one you too will enjoy. Later when we are alone together I can talk to you as I intended to do this evening.”

  Giselda looked from one man to the other in perplexity.

  If only the Earl was here, she thought, he would know what she should do, but he was at the theatre and it would be at least two hours before he was back at German Cottage again.

  She felt helplessly that if she insisted on asking for a carriage Julius would make a scene.

  He was pouring himself another glass of wine and she realised that he was already so drunk that he had forgotten to offer her a drink.

  With an effort she said to Mr. Blackett,

  “Were the roads very bad as you came from London?”

  “No, madam, they’re better at this time of the year than at any other time and I’m glad to say very much better than they’ve been in the past.”

  “I have known them to be almost impassable in this part of the world,” Giselda said.

  “That’s true and I’ve had some very unpleasant journeys,” Mr. Blackett replied.

  They were both making an effort to behave like civilised human beings, but Julius, after pouring the wine down his throat said,

  “All your journeys, Blackett, are unpleasant for someone. That is your speciality, is it not?”

  There was no reply and he tugged violently at the bell-pull.

  “Let us have dinner. Blackett thinks it is going to be the last decent meal I shall have for a long time, but the laugh is on him! Tomorrow he is going back to London with his tail between his legs.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Lynd, I would rather have your money than your company,” Mr. Blackett said, as if he had been goaded into a response.

  “That is exactly what you will have!” Julius replied. “My money!”

  Giselda tried to think what this could possibly mean.

  Did he really imagine that if he proposed marriage to her, which she was quite certain he intended to do, she would immediately pay his debts?

  Surely no man could expect such a response from a woman, even if she was as much in love as poor Emily Clutterbuck?

  Then what could be the explanation?

  All through dinner she found herself becoming more and more bewildered and finding no answer to her questions.

  The meal was well served and not unappetising. It was English fare at its best and while Julius ate little and ordered bottle after bottle of wine and Giselda, because she felt so agitated, could only pick at her food, Mr. Blackett ate heartily.

  He was apparently quite unconcerned by Julius’s rudeness or the way he gibed at him continually throughout the meal.

  But it was very uncomfortable and Giselda longed to get away, to escape to sanity.

  But course succeeded course and she realised that Julius, when he ordered dinner, had been intent on impressing her.

  Finally, whe
n it seemed as if even Mr. Blackett could eat no more, dessert was put on the table, coffee was brought round and yet Giselda felt almost despairingly that it was not much after nine o’clock.

  ‘As soon as I have finished the coffee,’ she planned, ‘I will leave.’

  She looked at Julius as she thought it and came to the conclusion that now it would be impossible for him to prevent her.

  He was sunk low on the table. The servants had put a decanter of brandy in front of him and his hand went out continually to pour himself glass after glass.

  She began to wonder if anyone could drink so much and not fall insensible to the floor.

  She had heard about gentlemen who collapsed under the table after dinner, but she had never actually seen anyone do it.

  But now, she thought, it was only a question of time before Julius was unconscious.

  She had given up making any effort to talk, but, while Julius had been more or less silent at the beginning of the meal, he had now reached the noisy stage.

  In a loud, almost incoherent voice, he delivered a long harangue against the iniquities of debt-collecting and in particular those scurrilous people who forced gentlemen into prisons when they could not meet their obligations.

  “That is where you want to see me, Blackett,” he growled, “and that, old boy, is where you are going to be disappointed!”

  He took another drink.

  “In a few hours you’ll be grovelling in front of me, rubbing your hands obsequiously and asking me on behalf of your clients to continue to give my patronage to your cursed inferior shops.”

  He brought his fist down suddenly on the table making the glasses and cutlery rattle.

  “And that is where you will make a great mistake! I am damned if I will enter any of your stinking premises again and then you will learn what fools you have made of yourselves!”

  “How can you pay the money you owe, Mr. Lynd?” Giselda asked him cautiously.

  She felt as if it was a question that might have nasty repercussions on her.

  At the same time she was determined that now dinner was finished she would leave the room and ask one of the servants downstairs to fetch her a hackney carriage.

  “That is a good question, Mrs. Barrowfield, a very good question!” Julius replied. “You are a clever woman – I have always thought that, but I am not going to answer you – yet. No, not yet. I think we have another few minutes to go.”

  “Another few minutes?” Giselda questioned in bewilderment.

  “Another few minutes,” Julius said with a drunken leer, “and then you will see before you not poor Julius Lynd, not a wretched debtor with empty pockets, but – who do you think will be here?”

  “I have no idea,” Giselda answered. “Who will be?”

  “The fifth Earl of Lyndhurst – that is who I will be! The fifth Earl – do you hear that, Blackett? Now you know why you will go back to London alone.”

  Giselda was very still.

  “What do you mean? How is that possible?” she asked.

  Julius pointed an unsteady finger towards the clock.

  “Bang – bang!” he said. “Just one little bang – and the fourth Earl falls dead! Quite dead.”

  Giselda started to her feet.

  She moved so violently that her chair fell over backwards and crashed to the floor.

  Then she pulled open the door of the private room and ran down the dark stairs.

  She ran past several astonished servants, rushed through the front door and out onto the street.

  Then, lifting her gown with both hands, she ran faster than she had ever run in her life before.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The carriage, having dropped Giselda at The Plough, carried the Earl and Captain Somercote up the High Street towards the Theatre Royal.

  The history of Cheltenham’s theatrical prowess was a remarkable one.

  Originally a very small malt house had been converted into a primitive theatre.

  It was here that the young Sarah Siddons appeared in Venice Preserved and she moved the members of the audience so emotionally that her performance was reported to David Garrick.

  Shortly afterwards she began her famous career on the London stage and many other great actors such as Charles Kemble, Dorothy Jordan and Harriet Mellon had played in the converted malt house where the ‘tiring room’ was a hayloft.

  The Theatre Royal, although small, was elegant and airy and the architecture and colouring were only exceeded by the blaze of splendour that adorned Drury Lane.

  There were two rows of boxes, one in the form of a gallery behind which in the most ingenious manner was erected another gallery for the servants.

  The seats here only cost one shilling and sixpence, while the price for boxes was five shillings.

  The Earl did not enter the theatre by the main door, but by a private entrance used by Colonel Berkeley leading almost directly into the stage box.

  The auditorium was already filled and, as he seated himself in the centre of the box with Henry Somercote at his right, leaving a seat for the Colonel to occupy later, he looked around and saw a number of people he knew.

  Sitting in what was known as the Royal Box was the Duc d’Orléans, with two extremely attractive ladies, one of who waved excitedly to the Earl. In other boxes there was a flutter of handkerchiefs and fans and red lips parted with a smile, for this was the Earl’s first appearance in public since he was wounded.

  He bowed an acknowledgement to their greetings, then opening his programme settled down to discover who the players were besides the Colonel himself.

  As the Colonel had told him, the part of the heroine was to be played by Maria Foote.

  “She is not really much of an actress,” Henry Somercote had said, knowing what the Earl was thinking, “but she is exceedingly popular on account of her dancing. I am quite certain that we shall have plenty of that in the play.”

  As soon as the curtain rose and Maria Foote appeared, the Earl could understand why the Colonel was infatuated with her.

  Of medium height, her oval face, light brown hair and lissom figure made her one of the most attractive women he had ever seen on the stage.

  She had a charming voice too and, if her acting ability would never equal that of Sarah Siddons, she at least looked the part of the innocent girl who was seduced by the dashing Rake played by the Colonel.

  The Earl found the First Act extremely amusing, while Maria’s stage father as a Parson declaimed in stentorian tones against the wickedness of men who indulged in duels and who took their revenge in violence on their fellow creatures.

  When the curtain fell, there was tumultuous applause from the packed theatre and the Earl, leaning back in his chair remarked,

  “The Colonel obviously has a success on his hands.”

  “If you ask me,” Henry added, “the audience are equally amused by the drama they suspect is taking place off stage. I understand one of the Colonel’s other cheres amies is making extremely vocal protests against his new obsession with Maria.”

  “Only the Colonel could contrive to keep so many women in play simultaneously like a juggler,” the Earl mused.

  They both laughed.

  Then the box was invaded by the Earl’s friends, most of them extremely beautiful women who told him eloquently with their eyes, as well as with their lips, how pleased they were to see him again.

  “Now you are well we must be together,” was the message they conveyed to him one way or another.

  When there was banging to notify the audience that they should return to their seats, the Earl remarked in an aside to his friend,

  “I think it will soon be time for me to leave Cheltenham.”

  Henry grinned.

  He knew only too well how the Earl managed to prove elusive even to the most ardent of the ‘Fair Amazons’ who hunted him.

  The Second Act was more emotional.

  Maria as the innocent maiden was seduced by her villainous lover and then becaus
e he would not provide for her was forced to earn her living as a dancer in the theatre.

  She kept her guilty secret from her father until, as the Act drew towards the end, he discovered her perfidy and the fact that she had been seduced.

  It was then, as he stormed on to the stage during a performance, he started to declaim against the wickedness of the man who had started her on the road to hell.

  As he did so the box door opened and the Colonel came in to sit down in the empty seat.

  He was looking very resplendent in the colourful embroidered full-skirted coat of the early eighteenth century. The white wig became his somewhat sardonic features and the glitter of diamonds in the lace at his throat made it easy to understand why any maiden would find it hard to refuse his blandishments.

  On the stage Maria Foote knelt and wept as her father cursed her for losing her purity and her hope of reaching Heaven.

  “As for your paramour,” he said, “he shall not escape my vengeance, for such creatures as he are not fit to live!”

  He turned round as he spoke, drawing a pistol from the pocket of his long black coat.

  The attention of the audience was on the Colonel as he sat in the stage box and the aggrieved father, pointing his pistol at him, cried,

  “I will kill you, for it is not right that you should continue to soil the earth with your wickedness and destroy the purity of the innocent. Die then and may God have mercy on your black soul!”

  He gesticulated with the pistol towards the stage box, but strangely enough it was not pointed at the Colonel but at the Earl.

  “Die, villain!” the actor cried, “die, and may you rot in the hell from which you came!”

  At the last word he should have pulled the trigger, but even as his finger tightened the door of the stage box was flung open and a woman flung herself forward to stand in front of the Earl with her arms outstretched.

  It took the actor by surprise and, although it was too late to withdraw his finger from the trigger, the pistol jerked as he pressed it.

  The explosion was followed by a bang as the bullet hit the gilded angel surmounting the centre of the box and poured a shower of plaster onto the heads of those beneath it.