Nadia’s fan wafted angrily to and fro as she gazed over the crowded theater, and then she stiffened in astonishment, staring across at the occupants of Guy de Lacey’s box opposite. “Milord?” she said quickly, touching Rupert’s arm. “Forgive me, but I have a dreadful headache and do not think I can endure this crush.”
“A headache?” He looked at her, but then almost immediately forgot all about her as the curtain at last rose on the second act.
A prolonged burst of applause broke out, followed at last by a breathless silence as everyone waited for Mr. Kean to make his appearance. He was greeted with the thunderous acclaim reserved for conquerors, and he responded to his audience, going from strength to strength, and dominating the whole theater as no actor had done before.
The brilliance of the performance made little impression on Nadia, who was too busy dwelling on Leonie’s apparent restoration to the finer things of life. Anger burned through her as she gazed across the auditorium, and she wondered if Leonie was not only a threat to her own plans, but to Imogen’s as well, for Guy de Lacey did not look as if he were there under duress, and nor did he exude an air of ennui!
Rupert had at last noticed Leonie. His handsome face revealed nothing of his inner thoughts, but the fact that he glanced time and time again across at the other box conveyed to Nadia that he still found Leonie far too interesting. Nadia sat stiffly, toying with her fan, her loathing for Leonie written clearly in her vindictive green eyes. Maybe Dorothea was not there to lend assistance this time, but there was a new ally now, for Imogen would not be at all amused to learn whom her future husband had escorted to the theater tonight.
Behind his two companions, Edward lounged lazily in his chair, not a single undercurrent escaping his attention. So Rupert was still intrigued by the little schoolteacher, was he? And the Russian cat was as green with jealousy as it was possible to be. Oh, what malice there was in the glances she sent across to that other box. He smiled a little, watching as Guy spoke to Leonie again and she smiled and nodded. There was a rapport there which would no doubt be of considerable interest to Imogen, thought Edward, his glance moving slowly over Leonie’s bare throat and shoulders. His blue eyes became even more thoughtful, and a faint smile touched his fine lips. He enjoyed making trouble, and what he had noted tonight offered infinite possibilities for following that favored pastime.
The Merchant of Venice
came to a triumphant ending, and the audience erupted into wild and appreciative applause. Afterward the crush in the rotunda was so great that it was barely possible to move, especially as many were leaving, not feeling in the mood for the farce,
The Apprentice
, after the strength and magnificence of Kean.
Nadia, Rupert, and Edward found themselves at the top of one branch of the staircase, and looking across, they saw Guy, Leonie, and Stella descending the other side. Rupert watched Leonie until she passed from sight in the crowded vestibule, and his apparent absorption stung Nadia more than ever. She had to say something derisory about her hated rival. “Rosebuds in her hair and not a diamond in sight—how very rustic she is become.”
For a moment he said nothing, but then he gave her one of his enigmatic smiles. “You must think me a dreadful boor, my love, for you told me earlier that you had a headache and I paid you scant attention. Allow me to make amends now. I shall, of course, be pleased to take you home. We will go immediately.”
She stared at him, taken completely by surprise. “Now? But…but will you be staying with me?”
“My poor darling, how very brave you are, but I wouldn’t dream of it, for I couldn’t possibly impose upon you when you are feeling indisposed.”
“But you wouldn’t be—”
“Don’t try to make me feel better,” he interrupted, raising her hand smoothly to his lips. “I have been a poor escort tonight, and for that I must beg your forgiveness. Edward and I will take you back to Harley Street immediately.”
Her green eyes fled to Edward’s face. He smiled, his glance moving deliberately down to the vestibule, where last they had seen Leonie. Nadia’s lips parted and then closed again, and she looked quickly at Rupert again. “Where will you be going after you leave me?” she asked.
“Why, to White’s, of course.”
It sounded so false, and she knew that that wasn’t his intention at all. He was going to look for Leonie Conyngham, in order to begin pursuing her once more! In a daze, she accepted the arm he offered, and they began to descend the staircase. Damn Leonie Conyngham, damn her! She would be made to pay dearly for this latest humiliation!
Guy’s carriage was moving west along Piccadilly, and Stella gazed wistfully out at the wet streets and the great piles of melting snow which stood on every corner. She sighed. “I suppose this thaw means no frost fair after all, and I was so looking forward to seeing one.”
“Young lady,” said Guy firmly, “if you fondly imagined I would permit you to visit such an unseemly gathering, then you were very much mistaken.”
“Oh, but Uncle Guy—!”
“No. Frost fairs are the haunt of every disreputable part of society, and on no account would I have allowed you to go.”
She pouted a little, but then forgot the fair. “I wish tonight wasn’t ending,” she said. “I want it to go on and on.”
He smiled then. “It doesn’t need to end yet. We could have dinner at Grillion’s if you wish.”
She stared excitedly at him. “Oh,
could
we? A real French dinner?”
“As French as it’s possible to get outside France.” He glanced at Leonie. “You are, of course, included in the invitation, Miss Conyngham.”
“Oh, there’s no need to feel—”
“Obliged again? I don’t, I promise you. I would be pleased to have your company, and I’m sure that Stella feels the same.”
“I do, oh, I do,” said Stella quickly, looking urgently at Leonie. “Please say you’ll come too.”
Leonie smiled. “Of course I will. Thank you, Sir Guy.”
He lowered the window and ordered the coachman to turn north into Albemarle Street.
Grillion’s Hotel had in the space of eleven years become one of the most fashionable hotels in London. It had been opened in 1803 by Alexander Grillion, a French chef who had previously been in the employ of Lord Crewe, a nobleman renowned as a connoisseur of food and drink. Dinners at Grillion’s were very expensive indeed, costing between three and four pounds, as Leonie knew only too well, so Stella’s excitement now was understandable, for it wasn’t every day that small girls of only twelve were taken to such grand and exclusive establishments. Nor, if it came to that, thought Leonie a little dryly, were assistant schoolteachers.
The hotel was at number seven Albemarle Street. The rooms above the street door had grand balconies on which stood a row of pots containing bay trees, and on the pavement by the door two liveried footmen paraded importantly up and down. As Guy’s carriage drew up at the curb, they immediately hurried forward to open the doors.
Guy escorted Leonie and Stella into a very elegant and hushed entrance hall, from which rose a beautiful elliptical staircase. The maitre d’hotel hurried attentively to greet them. “Good evening, Sir Guy. Ladies. Do you wish to dine? Ah, excellent, please come this way.”
They followed him into the immense dining room, where ladies and gentlemen sat at candlelit tables and where a small orchestra played on a dais at the far end. The delicious smell of food hung in the air, and there was a drone of refined conversation. They were shown to a gleaming, polished table, in which the reflection of the candelabrum upon it could clearly be seen, and a small Negro boy dressed as a footman brought the menu card. Stella’s eyes shone and she practically trembled with excitement as she gazed all around. Her glance met Leonie’s for a moment, and without a word being spoken, Leonie knew that the girl was exulting in Imogen’s absence.
* * *
Nadia had been returned rather ignominiously to Harley Street—at least she felt she had been treated ignominiously, although in fact Rupert had been almost too polite and attentive. She had tried to tell him her headache was better, but he refused to believe her, telling her again that she was being noble on his account and he wouldn’t hear of it. He and Edward had then driven away again, evidently content that she was well and truly out of the way for them to go about whatever devious plan they now had in mind. Well, if they thought Nadia Benckendorff could be disposed of as easily as that, they were sadly mistaken. Taking a long, angry breath, she rang furiously for a footman, and was relieved to see when he came that it was the man who had so expertly stolen Leonie’s belongings from the seminary.
“I want you to find me a hackney coach,” she said.
He stared. “A hackney, madam? But there is a carriage—”
“I said a hackney, and I meant a hackney,” she snapped. “Do you think I want everyone in London recognizing one of the embassy coaches?”
His eyes cleared. “Ah, I understand perfectly, madam. I will attend to it directly.”
He hurried away, and in what seemed barely a minute he returned to tell her that a hackney was waiting at the door. She emerged again into the night, instructing the hackneyman to drive to St. James’s Street and go very slowly past White’s club. Then she sat back on the dingy seat, her hood pulled forward to hide her face from any passerby. One way or another she would find out where Rupert and Edward had really gone tonight.
But as the anonymous little coach drove past White’s, she feared straightaway that her suspicions had been correct, for there was no sign of Rupert’s carriage outside. In order to make sure, she instructed the hackneyman to drive past again, but still there was no sign of the other carriage.
She sat back angrily. So, he
had
lied to her. Maybe he was with Leonie even now! For a moment her fury threatened to get the better of her, but then she struggled to regain her lost composure. She must be logical about this. Rupert wasn’t at White’s, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was yet with Leonie, for she had been with Guy. So the wisest thing to do now would be to see if Guy had taken his guests back to his house in Berkeley Street. After that, the seminary itself would have to be watched, to see who arrived back there with whom. Leaning out, she instructed the hackneyman to drive to Berkeley Street, and to draw up by Lansdowne Passage.
He looked curiously at her, but then nodded, cracking his whip at his tired horse.
Guy’s house was in darkness, no lights in the drawing-room windows. Nor was there a carnage waiting at the door. Nadia gazed across, a little perplexed, and then quickly leaned out again and told the puzzled hackneyman to drive on to Park Lane and to stop opposite the seminary. Wearily he urged his horse forward again and set off in the direction of Piccadilly.
Turning the corner into Park Lane, the horse trotted steadily past the park wall, and came to a halt opposite the seminary, as directed. Nadia looked out once more, but there was no carriage. There were, however, some small boys playing marbles on the corner of Curzon Street, and somehow they looked as if they had been there for some time. She leaned out and told the bemused hackneyman to call the boys over. He earned out this latest instruction and watched as Nadia held up a coin to the boys.
“How long have you been on that corner?”
“An hour, maybe two,” said the largest boy, his eyes on the coin.
“Has a carriage returned to the seminary?”
“A carriage? No miss.”
“You are sure?”
“Positive, miss. We always wait around, hoping to be asked to look after horses and such-like, and so we’d know if a carriage came to the school.”
She surrendered the coin and the boys hurried back to their post on the corner. The hackneyman looked down at her. “Where to now, ma’am?”
“Nowhere. We wait here.”
“Here? Yes, ma’am.” Wearily he put down his reins and drew his damp blanket more tightly around his cold knees.
Foreigners
, he thought darkly. Strange lot, all of ‘em!
Nadia sat back in the darkness, but almost immediately she sat forward again, for a carriage was approaching down Park Lane from Tyburn. It didn’t halt at the seminary, but drove on to Curzon Street and vanished from sight; it was Imogen. So she had returned at last from Oxfordshire. For a moment Nadia contemplated going straight to Longhurst House to tell her friend what had been going on in her absence, but then almost immediately she discarded the thought, for it would mean probably missing Leonie’s return to the seminary. It was important to see who brought the schoolteacher and her wretched charge home, and so Imogen would have to wait for the time being. Shivering in the damp, cold darkness, Nadia settled back again to continue her vigil. She could hear the steady drip-drip of water in the darkness, and she thought longingly of the continuous hard snow of a Russian winter. This in turn brought thoughts of the imminent arrival of her troika. How foolish she would look now, taking delivery of a sleigh when there was no snow to be seen! Disgruntled, she shifted her position and started angrily out at the seminary’s discreet dark green door.
* * *
Nadia had been mistaken when she thought Rupert and Edward were not at White’s, although she could be forgiven for so thinking, since they had gone to some lengths to conceal their presence from her. Guessing that she would follow them, Rupert had left his carriage outside Almack’s, in nearby King Street, and then he and Edward had walked to White’s. Since arriving, they had been playing cards at a crowded table, but Rupert found no pleasure in the play. Throwing down his hand and tossing in his lost bets, he got up and went into an adjoining room, flinging himself down on a sofa and snapping his fingers to a footman to bring him some cognac. A moment later Edward left the table and joined him. “Your mind wasn’t on your play tonight. Are you regretting dumping the fair Benckendorff after all?”
“If that was the case I could go to her swiftly enough. The lady has made herself tediously available.”