The Wicked Widow Page 6

  Nanny would never allow anything to hurt or upset her.

  They came nearer and she could see that Terry was chattering away.

  He was no longer the frightened, pale-faced boy who had sat beside her in the hired post-chaises when they had got away from London.

  ‘There is no need for me to be frightened anymore,’ she thought to herself.

  Then, almost as if the sun had suddenly gone out, she could hear her stepmother’s voice saying in a positively hard tone,

  ‘Then that is what we have to do!’

  She felt that she was reaching out towards them menacingly like a dark cloud.

  She thought that somehow, by some evil magic, she would catch them and destroy them.

  Then she would have the money that she wanted so badly for herself.

  All the fears that Kyla had tried to repress on the journey with Terry seemed to sweep over her. It was like a flood tide pushing everything before it.

  She could not wait any longer for Nanny and the children to reach her.

  She began to walk quickly towards them.

  It was only by a tremendous effort of control that she prevented herself from running to them.

  *

  The Earl of Granston rose from the over-scented and over-comfortable bed and started to dress.

  Lisette le Blanc, whom he had just left in the bed, did not speak.

  She only raised herself a little against the lace-edged pillows to watch him as he put on his evening clothes.

  He did so with a swiftness and expertise that had always infuriated his valet.

  It was when the Earl began to tie his cravat in an intricate manner in front of the Cupid-decorated mirror that she spoke up,

  “You are very handsome, mon cher.”

  The Earl, for the first time since he had climbed out of bed, turned his face towards her.

  “You are very beautiful, Lisette,” he said, “as you very well know.”

  “Must you leave me?” she asked.

  “It is nearly dawn,” the Earl replied, “and I need some sleep before I have to face a new day.”

  Lisette le Blanc laughed and it was a very pretty sound.

  She was in fact very attractive with her dark hair falling over her white shoulders.

  Her large eyes seemed to fill her small face and it was not only her beauty that had made her one of the most famous and sought-after courtesans in the whole of Paris.

  It was her amusing wit and a joie-de-vivre that was infectious.

  The Earl finished tying his cravat.

  It had been so skilful done that the points of his collar were neatly on his jawbone.

  Still in his shirtsleeves, he walked across the room to sit on the side of the bed, looking at Lisette.

  “You have enjoyed tonight?” he asked unexpectedly.

  “You have made me very happy,” Lisette replied, “et toi?”

  “You are just as you were the first time I met you,” the Earl answered, “and you must promise me never to grow any older.”

  Lisette chuckled.

  “What woman would not wish to keep such a promise? But, mon brave, don’t leave me for too long. When shall I see you again?”

  The Earl did not answer and after a moment she said,

  “Tomorrow night or rather tonight!”

  “I don’t know,” the Earl answered, “but I will send you a message sometime during the day. Now let me thank you for tonight.”

  He bent to kiss her hand as he spoke.

  At the same time he thrust a large number of banknotes under her pillow.

  Then he rose and put on his evening coat.

  It fitted, as had originally been decreed by Beau Brummell himself, without a wrinkle.

  He walked towards the door.

  “Goodnight, Lisette,” he said, “and thank you again.”

  “Au revoir, mon cher,” she replied, “and make certain that it is au revoir and not adieu.”

  The Earl raised his hand and then went from the room, closing the door behind him.

  He walked down the stairs and into the narrow hall.

  An elderly servant was dozing in a comfortable armchair.

  He rose as he woke up and saw the Earl descending and went to the front door and he did not, however, open it too quickly.

  He waited expectantly.

  He knew he would receive a pourboire if the gentleman who was leaving was as satisfied as he ought to be.

  He was not disappointed as the Earl put several gold coins into his hand.

  As the man murmured his thanks, he went down the. steps into the street.

  The stars were beginning to fade one by one overhead and the first faint light of dawn was shimmering behind the trees in the Champs-Élysées.

  The Earl strode quickly towards the Place de la Concorde.

  He had only a short way to go to the apartment where he was staying.

  It belonged to one of his friends, who had lent it to him before when he had come to Paris for a visit.

  He walked across the Place de la Concorde with its fountain still playing.

  It was then he knew that, however attractive Lisette le Blanc might be, he had in fact wasted his time and a great deal of money in coming to Paris.

  He had been with the Duke of Wellington at Cambrai with the Army of Occupation after the War against Napoleon was finally over.

  It was then that Paris had become a Mecca for the young Subalterns in the British Army

  They counted the days until they could obtain leave to go to Paris as they so wanted to enjoy all the Festivities to be found in the gay and scintellating City.

  The French with their usual shrewdness had started to provide these from the moment that hostilities had ceased.

  Restaurants and theatres opened and inevitably the courtesans, who had been forgotten during the War, returned.

  They seemed to be even more alluring, more attractive and more exotic than ever.

  To a young Englishman, they were a revelation and a delight that was totally irresistible.

  Yet now the Earl told himself that the old magic was no longer there.

  It was not the fault of Lisette and those like her.

  It was simply because he had grown older and more fastidious.

  As he reached the apartment, he told himself that the sooner he returned to England the better.

  In the future Paris would not be included in his itinerary.

  As he walked up the stairs, where he knew his valet would be waiting, he wondered what he wanted of life.

  While he did not like the word, he was unexpectedly disappointed with Paris.

  He recalled how exciting it had been to get away from all his Regimental duties after the War had ended.

  Paris was a world which was so different from anything that he had ever known before.

  He remembered only too well the dinners, the wine and, above all, the women.

  They seemed to glow like flares in the darkness and they ignited a flame within him that was irrepressible.

  It had all been a magic that was like a Fairy story and had nothing to do with reality.

  All the trappings were still there, the food, the wine, the wit, the laughter and the soft exotic body of Lisette herself.

  Yet he knew at once that there was something missing.

  He undressed without speaking to his valet, who had been with him throughout the War.

  He was wondering what was wrong with his Master and why was he not floating on a cloud as he had felt he was in the past?

  He turned towards the comfortable bed that was waiting for him before he said,

  “Pack up everything in the morning, Jenkins. We are going back to England.”

  The valet’s eyes lit up.

  “That’s what I thinks your Lordship’d say,” he exclaimed. “And far as I’m concerned, my Lord, the quicker the better.”

  Tired though he was, the Earl was intrigued.

  “Why do you say that, Jenkins?”
he asked.

  “Paris ain’t what it used to be, my Lord,” Jenkins replied. “And if you asks me, there’s nothin’ like home.”

  He opened the door, carrying the Earl’s evening clothes over his arm.

  “I’ll let your Lordship sleep till I has everythin’ ready,” he said. “I expects you need it.”

  He grinned and, before the Earl could reply, he had closed the door.

  It was an impertinence, the Earl thought, as he got into bed and pulled the sheets over him.

  But Jenkins was irrepressible.

  He allowed him liberties that no other servant would take.

  But then they had fought together side by side at the Battle of Waterloo.

  It had created a closeness between man and man which was difficult to understand in civilian life.

  The Earl knew without being told that Jenkins would have died for him at any moment if it had been a question of saving his life.

  When a cannonball missed them both by a hair’s breadth, they had looked at each other and smiled.

  There had been no question of Master and valet, but of two men who faced an enemy together and had survived.

  ‘Jenkins is right!’ the Earl told himself. ‘I will go home and I will not come back to Paris again.’

  At the same time, because he was very intelligent, he was asking himself why the magic was no longer there.

  Had he really thought it would be?

  ‘What do I want? What am I looking for? What do I hope to find?’

  He asked the questions of himself several times before he fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Four

  It took the Earl four days to reach London.

  When he arrived in the afternoon on Thursday, he was thoroughly bored with travelling.

  He went to his house in Berkeley Square, where he was received with some surprise by his large staff.

  “We didn’t know that your Lordship was a-coming back so soon!” the butler exclaimed. “You knows, my Lord, that Mr. Whitchurch is away?”

  The Earl frowned.

  Mr. Whitchurch was his excellent secretary, who was adept at seeing to everything in the house including his endless invitations.

  He would find things difficult without him, but he had to admit in all fairness that he had told Whitchurch that he did not expect to be back for three weeks or a month.

  He could understand that the secretary thought that it was a good time to take a holiday.

  He walked into his study.

  As he had expected, there was a large pile of letters on his desk, including a number of invitations that must have come as soon as he had left for Paris.

  He was quite sure that there would be a similar number, if not more, on Whitchurch’s desk which had not even been sorted.

  The butler, without being told, brought in a bottle of champagne.

  But because he had not been expected, it had not been cooled as it should have been. It was, however, standing in a wine cooler.

  After taking a few sips, the Earl decided that he would wait until the ice that surrounded the bottle had done its work.

  He was wondering what he should do and where he should go for dinner.

  He was aware that the chef would not be at all pleased if he dined in at such short notice.

  Then, as he looked at the sun shining on the trees in the centre of Berkeley Square, he thought of Lilliecote Castle.

  ‘I will go to the country,’ he decided.

  He knew that he had made this decision because he had been disappointed in Paris.

  He had no desire at the moment to be social and he was certain that there were a dozen different parties taking place that night, which he would be warmly welcomed to.

  But it was too much effort to open all these invitations.

  Nor would he bother to read the notes which Whitchurch had left for him on his blotter.

  He turned from the window and went upstairs to his bedroom.

  Jenkins was already there unpacking the trunks that he had brought back from Paris.

  “I’ll get your Lordship’s bath ready in half-a-jiffy” he said. “Will you be goin’ out then, my Lord?”

  The Earl made up his mind.

  “I’ll go to White’s Club,” he replied. “At least there I shall hear the latest news of what is happening in London.”

  “If you would ask me, my Lord, it’ll be much the same as afore we went away,” Jenkins muttered.

  Two hours later, the Earl, having bathed and put on his evening clothes, drove in his closed carriage to White’s Club.

  As he had expected, as soon as he entered, he saw a good number of familiar faces.

  The one man he really wanted to see detached himself rapidly from the crowd.

  It was Charles Sinclair, his closest friend, who he had been at Eton with.

  They had also served in the same Regiment at Waterloo and in the Army of Occupation.

  Charles Sinclair hurried to the Earl with outstretched hands.

  “Rollo. I had no idea you were back,” he exclaimed.

  “I have only just returned,” the Earl said. “What has been happening in my absence?”

  Charles Sinclair laughed.

  “Quite a lot and, at the same time, nothing,” he replied, “except that I have missed you. Tell me about Paris.”

  They sat down in two comfortable leather armchairs while Charles Sinclair ordered the drinks.

  The Earl looked around him with an air of satisfaction and he felt as if he had been away for a very long time.

  There was something comforting in being surrounded by men he had known for years and they were as much a part of his life as his possessions.

  The Steward hurried away to fetch the drinks and Charles looked enquiringly at the Earl.

  “Why are you back so soon?” he asked. “Did anything go wrong?”

  “The only thing that was wrong,” the Earl replied, “is that I have grown older and more fastidious and more difficult to please.”

  Charles threw back his head and laughed.

  “You are talking as if you were Methuselah!”

  “That is how I feel,” the Earl answered. “Quite frankly, Charles, it was a mistake to try to move back into the past.”

  Charles Sinclair looked sympathetic.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” he said. “I regretted bitterly that, because my mother needed me, I could not come with you. But now I am glad I stayed behind.”

  “You certainly saved yourself a great deal of money,” the Earl remarked grimly.

  “It was expensive enough when we were in the Army of Occupation,” Charles said. “I expect those greedy little hands dug deeper into your pocket than ever before.”

  The Earl knew that this was true and he replied almost irritably,

  “I don’t want to talk about it! Tell me what has been happening here.”

  “Prinny, now the King, for one, will be so pleased you are back,” Charles said. “I dined with him two nights ago. He ask tenderly after you and was, I think, somewhat annoyed that you had gone to Paris without telling him where you were going.”

  “He would have prevented me from going at all,” the Earl replied, “or would have given me a lot of things to do which would have interrupted my enjoying myself.”

  Charles laughed.

  It was well known that since he was Prince Regent, he always made anyone who was going abroad bring him back some objets d’art for his collection at Carlton House.

  What was more, he invariably forgot to pay for them.

  Therefore to be what the Earl called one of his ‘errand boys’ proved exceedingly costly.

  “Any new charmers?” the Earl asked.

  “No one in particular,” Charles replied. “Now I think of it, like you, I am becoming more difficult to please.”

  The Earl did not answer and he went on,

  “At one time I thought that each Incomparable was Aphrodite herself. Now I find myself being critical and
finding fault with them.”

  The Earl was smiling and his eyes were twinkling as he said,

  “You mean their necks are too long or too short, their noses turn up instead of down and their hair is not silken to the touch as it was when we first found women irresistible.”

  Charles clapped his hands.

  “Rollo, you are becoming a poet! It is exactly what I was feeling and could not put into words!”

  They sat laughing and drinking until Charles suggested,

  “Why do we not have some dinner here and then go on to one of the balls taking place tonight? I promised to look in at the Duchess of Bedford’s. I know she will be thrilled to see you.”

  “I expect her invitation will be somewhere on my desk in Berkeley Square,” the Earl answered. “Doubtless Whitchurch has said that I am away and will have refused it.”

  “Which means the Duchess will be all the more delighted to see you,” Charles said. “Do not forget, Rollo, that you are a very eligible bachelor and all the pushy Mamas sitting on the dais get excited the moment you come in sight.”

  “Oh, shut up!” the Earl exclaimed. “As you well know, you are just as eligible as I am.”

  “Nonsense!” Charles replied. “I am only the son of a Viscount. As my father is hale and hearty at just over fifty, it will be half a century before they see me in the House of Lords!”

  “Where doubtless, unless you are then blind and deaf, you will enjoy hearing the sound of your own voice,” the Earl retorted.

  Laughing and teasing each other, they walked up the stairs to the dining room.

  They could have easily joined a number of other friends at other tables.

  Instead they chose a table to themselves and by the time that they had finished dinner, the Earl was in a good humour.

  He knew that he had enjoyed the evening so much more than he had enjoyed himself in Paris.

  They drove to the Duke of Bedford’s large and imposing house in Islington Square.

  They found, as the Earl had expected, that the dance floor was very crowded and almost everyone of any social consequence was present.

  The Duke and Duchess greeted him enthusiastically.

  Almost immediately he was surrounded by a number of attractive women, welcoming him back as if he had been on a trip to the moon.

  “How could you desert us?” one lovely Marchioness asked. “What is worse, you never said ‘goodbye’ to me.”