A Strange Likeness (8 page)

‘Stuff,' Victor had said rudely. ‘I can't see his attraction myself. Fools say anything about a new face.'

‘He hasn't got a new face,' his friend had guffawed. ‘Only Ned Hatton's old one.'

Now, meeting him at last, Victor thought glumly that it was bad enough to have an unknown cousin disinherit him, but even worse to discover him to be so formidable despite his lack of years. Victor, at over thirty, felt himself to be juvenile beside him. Were all Australians so indecently mature? On the other hand, perhaps Caroline could be persuaded to charm the swine and get the money back that way. Now, there was a thought worth having!

As the evening wore on, however, it became apparent to Victor that, La Bencolin or no La Bencolin, Alan's attention was fixed on Eleanor, and that Eleanor sparkled when he spoke to her. This added to the dislike he already felt for his supplanter.

He also feared that Eleanor was not so attracted to himself as she had once been.

He was not wrong. Eleanor was beginning to feel an even stronger disgust for Victor's unkind remarks. Alan was shrewd, but he tempered his knowledge of the world with a half self-deprecating, half-teasing humour.

Drinking their port after dinner, the gentlemen indulged in male gossip.

‘Hear you spar a little,' said Victor, who was indulging himself with the Stantons' good port.

‘A little,' said Alan.

‘More than a little,' drawled Ned, determined to keep up with Victor. ‘Shouldn't fancy going a round with him myself.'

Victor refrained from making the cutting remark about
Ned's condition which trembled on his lips. Disappointment had made his speech reckless lately. If he wanted to retain some favour with Eleanor, however, then Ned had to be placated. He decided to turn on Alan.

‘Hear you are a little
épris
with La Bencolin.'

‘La Bencolin?' said Alan blandly. ‘Now, which was she? The blonde at Lady Ailesbury's, or the brunette at Lady Palmerston's? I don't remember a Miss Bencolin.'

Both Sir Richard and Ned gazed sharply at him, but his manner was as easy and cool as he could make it. Alan had no intention of allowing two strenuous afternoons with Lady Bencolin to queer his pitch with Eleanor, to whom he was becoming increasingly attracted.

La Bencolin was all very well, but her practised charms were boring, and Alan was beginning to recognise that he was one of those men who needed more than an easily available body to attract him—and then to rouse him. He also needed some genuine rapport. So far he had only come across it once, and, sadly, that had been with someone who was married and wished to remain chaste.

His imperturbability annoyed Victor. ‘You know perfectly well who I mean,' he said savagely. ‘Marguerite, Lady Bencolin, or are you so involved with the ladies that you can't tell one from another?'

‘Steady on, Victor,' said Ned indignantly. ‘Alan here's such a busy man, what with sparring with Gurney, ruining his eyesight in the City and dancing about with your lawyers, that he's hardly had time to get into bed with anyone, let alone such an exhausting piece as La Bencolin is said to be. He don't look dead wore out, do he?'

Both Sir Richard and Victor, despite themselves, gave Alan a good hard look. No, he didn't took ‘dead wore out'. But that proves nothing, thought Sir Richard cyni
cally. He wouldn't, not he. It was quite plain that Victor was making such a dead set at young Dilhorne because it was beginning to look as though the Hatton girl was slipping out of his hand.

He promptly turned the conversation to other matters, and fortunately a sudden access of good manners prevented Victor from turning it back. In revenge he took Ned off to Rosie's as soon as he could decently prise him away from the aftermath of the dinner party. Once there he cheated Ned, now more than half-drunk, out of more money, playing piquet, than Ned could ever repay.

If playing clean wasn't going to win him Eleanor, playing dirty might!

‘N
ed, a word with you,' said Almeria Stanton when he crawled downstairs well into the next afternoon after his misspent night.

‘Yes, Great-Aunt,' croaked Ned, ‘but make it short, please. I've a monstrous bad head on me.'

‘So you should have,' she told him severely. ‘Arriving home at five in the morning and disturbing the sleep of the whole house with your drunken nonsense. If you can't behave any better than that, I shall have to ask you to find rooms elsewhere. Apart from anything else, it's a bad example for poor Charles.'

‘Good God!' Ned exclaimed, in a voice so loud and shocked that it set his poorly head thundering as though the Lifeguards were riding over it. ‘You can't do that to me, Great-Aunt. I can't afford to stay in London on what Sir Hart allows me if you don't give me a home. You know very well that he saw fit to cut my allowance by over half after last year's season—which, considering I am his heir, I consider dam'd bad form.'

‘He only did so because in your drunken folly you ran up debts playing cards which you could not afford to pay—as well as following a life nearly as dissipated as
your late wastrel father's was. I tell you plainly that hard living is beginning to leave its mark on your face. Why don't you take a leaf out of young Dilhorne's book and try to be a little more responsible? He even manages to earn his own living while enjoying himself.'

Now, this was tactless, which Almeria realised the moment she had finished speaking. Ned coloured up to his hairline and said indignantly, ‘He isn't such a paragon as all that. God knows what he gets up to in the City, if half I hear is true. What's more, he's Marguerite Bencolin's latest conquest—if it isn't the other way round, that is! You could really complain if I was dancing around with her!'

He realised as soon as he had come out with this that he should not have spoken so frankly before Beastly Beverley, who immediately began guffawing, Charles, who stared at him, eyes wide, and poor Eleanor, who suddenly turned quite pale. His great-aunt looked at him, acute distaste written on her face, but before she could begin to reproach him he added sulkily, ‘Of course, that's only the gossip Victor Loring is putting about. There's probably nothing in it.'

He was too late. Almeria said with cold disapproval, ‘I am only sorry, Ned, that you are too old to be sent to your room. Such conversation is quite improper when indulged in before Beverley, Charles and your sister. Besides, if it is only idle gossip you are repeating, it is quite disgraceful.'

At this Beverley roared, ‘Why?' at the top of his voice, and struck at Charles, who tried to silence him out of respect for his new friend Alan, who was always kind to him. He was not quite sure what cousin Ned was talking about, only that it was unpleasant.

Ned's unpleasantness was like the black dog of legend
riding on his shoulders. He felt so ill, and his memories of what he had got up to the previous night were so distasteful, that later that day, in an effort to clear his head, he made his way to Hyde Park where he immediately came across Victor Loring.

Since it was to Victor that he had gamed away what was left of his allowance, and a small fortune in IOUs on top of that, Ned dreaded speaking to him. Victor greeted him so cheerfully that Ned thought he must be mistaken about his gambling debts—perhaps they were simply part of a nightmare which had afflicted him after he had fallen into a drunken sleep.

This delusion was rapidly dispelled when Victor said, ‘You won't forget to pay me as soon as you can, will you, Ned? I'm a little strapped for cash these days, what with the Waring inheritance going wrong.'

‘The money,' said Ned dismally. ‘Oh, yes. Cards last night. How much was it? I don't remember.'

‘Made a note on your cuff, didn't you, old fellow?' said Victor cheerfully.

He knew that Ned had already run through his allowance, and that Sir Hart had said that he would not bail him out again, for Ned had obligingly told him so.

Victor did not want Ned's money. He wanted something else. And in his present state he knew that Ned would agree to anything rather than lose his inheritance from Sir Hart. Light in the attic, Ned—which created great opportunities for cleverer men, of whom Victor counted himself one.

He immediately told Ned how he could extricate himself from his present difficulties, before riding home, congratulating himself on his ingenuity in extricating himself from his own.

 

Eleanor, who had been looking forward to seeing Alan at the Leominsters' dance that night—for he was the pet of the moment—suddenly felt that she did not want to meet him at all if he were involved with someone of Lady Bencolin's known reputation.

Jealousy, she found, was a most unpleasant emotion.

Her first impulse when she saw him coming towards her at Leominster House was to turn and run—like the Nell Hatton she'd used to be. Common sense told her to speak to him graciously and coolly, as though her acquaintance with him was only slight.

Alan was sensitive enough to detect the reservation in her manner to him, and to wonder what had caused it. He found out soon enough, for after he had left her with one dance booked, where he had hoped for two, Ned came up to him, looking shame-faced.

‘Sorry, old fellow,' he muttered. ‘I did rather a rotten thing this afternoon. Great-Aunt provoked me and I had no more sense than to rant in front of Eleanor about you being involved with La Bencolin. I did say later that it was probably only Victor Loring's gossip—but you know what women are…'

Yes, Alan knew what women were, and he knew what Ned Hatton was, too, and was not surprised that he had blabbed about La Bencolin—which was probably what Victor had hoped for. Well, it was too bad, but there was no use in crying over spilt milk. Patience was everything in this life, and if fences had to be mended with Eleanor, then so be it.

It was perhaps unfortunate for Marguerite Bencolin that she approached him a few minutes after he had learned of Ned's indiscretion. She had seen him with that fresh young beauty, Eleanor Hatton, and was a little wor
ried because the two pleasurable afternoons which she had spent with him had not been followed up.

On his second visit to her he had pleaded the need to work at Dilhorne's while it was being reorganised, and had promised to visit her later. Later, however, had never come.

She turned her fine eyes on him. ‘You are neglectful, Mr Dilhorne. When may I have the pleasure of entertaining you again at Connaught Street?'

Alan bowed over her hand. ‘It will not be soon, I fear. My affairs are involved at present, and my afternoons are consequently busy—for the moment duty must come before my pleasure.'

His smile was gallant and his lips had lingered on her palm, but he saw that his answer displeased her. Had she known him better she would not have replied to him as she did.

‘Why, I do believe that it is nursery matters which engage you, my dear.' She looked meaningfully across at Eleanor, who was talking to Victor Loring. ‘I had supposed that you were attracted to more adult games!'

He looked her full in the face and she saw at once that she had lost him. His bright blue eyes were as hard as stone.

‘As to that, Lady Bencolin, I have fond memories of childhood. Milk pudding is sometimes more of a treat than spicier foods. The stomach can so easily be overset.'

She was not used to being refused, and she had entertained hopes of a permanent liaison.

‘You surprise me, sir,' she bit back at him. ‘Are all colonials so naïve?'

‘This colonial is but a simple fellow, I fear.'

Now that is a lie if ever I heard one, she thought bitterly. It is plain that he intends to cut line. I must not be
importunate, nor let him see that I feel humiliated because he prefers the pretty debutante to me.

She bowed coldly to him and began to move away.

Alan was suddenly sorry for her, and for the first time regretted having started an affair so lightly. He had been told that she took her pleasures where she found them and was never serious in pursuing them. It was, however, obvious that what had passed between them had come to mean more to her than it had ever done to him.

There was a lesson to be learned here: not to be tempted too easily. For he had not meant to hurt her, merely amuse himself a little and please her whilst he was doing it. But the damage had been done, and he would remember to be more careful in future.

Marguerite Bencolin's brief moment with Alan was noticed by many, as was his apparent dismissal by her and his ready acceptance of it.

‘Another piece of nonsense,' said Frank Gresham to a friend. ‘Nothing in it after all.' It was one such comment among many, but unfortunately none of them reached Eleanor's ears.

She was charming but cool to Alan when he came over to her shortly before their dance to sit beside her. Her worries now were not over him, but over Ned, who had been approached by Victor shortly after they had arrived.

He had announced that ‘This is a dashed dull do,' and had persuaded Ned to leave with him to visit other delights of a more racy kind. He had carefully waited until Almeria Stanton—and Alan—were otherwise engaged before he tempted his victim away.

That Eleanor was distressed about something, despite her bright chatter about nothing was plain to Alan. He feared that it might be his association with La Bencolin which disturbed her, and he decided to risk all by saying
gently, ‘You are troubled tonight, Eleanor. Is there anything I can do?'

It was not the first time that Eleanor had thought he was a mind-reader. Yes, she was troubled, but how could he tell?

‘Yes, I am a little distressed.' She looked hard at him. ‘Perhaps you might be able to help me. It's Ned. I don't know why, but he's beginning to worry me. He's gone off with Victor again, and every time he does that he's like a bear with a sore head the next day. I have a dreadful feeling that he's losing money—and heavily.'

I shouldn't be telling Alan this, she thought feverishly, especially after learning about La Bencolin, but somehow he radiates a kind of strength which is pleasant to lean on. Besides, who else can I confide in? I fear that Great-Aunt Almeria will cut Ned off for ever if what I believe about him and Victor proves to be true.

Alan said gravely, ‘I can't reassure you. It would be insulting your intelligence for me to pretend that all is well. You are not Ned's keeper, though. He is of age, and is older than you are.'

‘I know that it's stupid for me to worry about him,' she said miserably. ‘What troubles me most is that I'm sure Sir Hart won't bail him out again, as he did last year. I never realised before what irresponsibility meant. Oh, dear, I must stop. We're not supposed to talk about such things at balls.'

Touched by her concern for her flighty brother, Alan decided to try to comfort her.

‘Indeed, no. We are meant to chatter sweet nothings until dawn comes to relieve us. As, for instance, allow me to praise your turn-out this evening, Miss Hatton. Only elegant and beautiful young girls like yourself may
dare to appear in pure white with few trimmings. All is of the most charming.'

He then offered her a simper of the kind with which more than one man had favoured her that night. On him, with his size and strength, it looked incredibly foolish, and Eleanor could not repress an unladylike laugh.

‘There, that's better,' he said, leaning towards her, giving her a genuine smile this time, causing her to forget her jealousy of La Bencolin and to feel—oh, to feel she knew not what. A kind of paralysis of will, something which she had never experienced before: sweet, but dangerous.

Bother La Bencolin, she thought. If she is what he wants, it's too bad, but I do so like talking to him, and being near him, for he never patronises me, and I might lose all that by giving way to silly folly. After all, he has never tried to court me!

She smiled back at him and stood up, giving him her hand, for her dance with him was about to begin. He bent his head towards her and said in his most sober voice, ‘I'll try to keep Ned away from Victor, but you must know that he will resent me if I make what I am doing too obvious, and rightly, too. I cannot be his bear leader.'

Despite his reservations, this limited reassurance served to improve Eleanor's evening. The discovery that Alan, like many big men, was an excellent dancer, light on his feet, with a feeling for the music, also pleased her, and she readily granted him the second dance for which he asked, and went home, happier than she had felt since Ned's indiscretion in the hall.

She left behind her a man who was beginning to discover that his chance meeting with his double was giving him obligations as well as pleasures. The memory of her anxious face stayed with him, causing him to ask how
and why it was that Eleanor Hatton and her worries about her wastrel brother should concern him so greatly.

He could find no easy answer. Eleanor did not rouse in him the immediate lust which he had felt for Marguerite Bencolin; rather he was finding in himself a quite different desire: a desire to protect her.

Yes, that was all it was. Ned's face must lie between them, he thought, preventing anything stronger. A bar which prevented her from seeing him as other than a new and more responsible brother. On the other hand she was the only person whom he had met who could easily and instantly distinguish between them—which told him what?

Certainly it was Eleanor, and to a lesser extent her great-aunt, rather than Ned, who had drawn him to Stanton House after his first days in London. He could only hope that her fears about Ned were ill-founded.

 

That they were not, Eleanor discovered the very next morning. Ned came down early for breakfast for once, looking ill, his hands trembling. Almeria had already retired to her room to prepare for a morning visit to an old friend. She had arranged for Eleanor to accompany her.