Lady Susan Plays the Game (26 page)

Yet surely if she had been ruined, if she had suffered as Clarissa had suffered, her brain would by now be aware of it. She would be another person altogether. It would not be enough simply to feel fragile and miserable.

Then she remembered what the maid had said. A note. For a wild moment she thought her dead father had left her a message. Then sanity returned. Surely it could not be from her
mother
? No, her mother would not know where she was. Anyway the maid had said a gentleman, an uncle. She had only one uncle as far as she knew and that was Mr Vernon, but he didn't know her and she'd never seen him. It could not be he. Who could it be then? What did it all mean?

But before she thought further she must dress herself. This strangeness in her body might seem less if she were properly clothed. She would not be so vulnerable.

On unsteady legs she tottered over to the chair and found her gown. She pulled it on over her petticoat and chemise. Then she found her woollen stockings and with trembling fingers managed to roll them up her slack limbs. Her shoes were by the bed. She looked at them in panic. They were filthy and torn. Where had she been? But at least they were dry now. Someone must have dried them and the stockings or there had been a fire in the room. Indeed there was a lingering warmth by the bed.

With some difficulty she managed to pull on the shoes though they had shrunk with wetness and pinched her toes. Then, wrapping her cloak about her shoulders, she sat back exhausted on the bed. She was tired with the effort but more in control of her body now it was covered. She felt that the room was growing chilly. There had been a fire in the grate; she saw that now. It must have been burning while she slept, but it had gone out. Her eyes moved upwards from the grate and came to rest on a note propped against a blue glass bottle on the mantel.

Her head was clearing fast. She forced herself to stand up again and stagger over to the fireplace. She looked at the paper so neatly folded and sealed. It was addressed to ‘Miss Vernon'. Next to it was her father's miniature.

The sight of both shocked her. What had anyone to do with her father's picture? How could anyone know her name? Where was she?

Then in a flash she remembered her flight from Madam Dacre's and the walk through the streets, and the man who had taken her arm and forced her into a tavern. Was that the end of her memory? Everything after that was hazy but she could not grasp exactly when the haze began.

Anyway there it was: a letter addressed clearly to her with her name on it, next to a miniature that had once been in her purse.

She picked up the portrait and put it into a pocket tied to her gown. Then she looked at the note again. A dreadful thought struck her. Could it be from Sir James? The blood rushed to her face. This would be worse than anything. It couldn't be Sir James. It mustn't be. And yet still she did not open the note.

For a few more seconds more she looked at it, then, screwing up her courage, she broke the seal and spread out the paper with both hands.

The two flaps were empty and only the centre had any writing in black ink. She read:

Dear Miss Vernon

I have taken the liberty of giving you a sleeping potion so that you could sleep out your time here and, when you have woken and recovered, have the opportunity to think well of the step you have taken. Had I not met you in the Haymarket, it is possible that a sad fate would have been yours. As it is, be assured that no one has taken any advantage of your innocence. I have informed Madam Dacre where you are and I am sure she will send someone to fetch you shortly. After that I suggest you join your mother. Your account here has been paid in full.

You are inexperienced. It is unwise for a young girl such as yourself to be abroad alone. Seek the protection of your mother as soon as possible.

A well-wisher

A postscript added, ‘I have taken the precaution of naming myself your uncle here so that your reputation should not be compromised.'

Frederica read the letter through three times before she took in its contents. Who was this man? She believed him at once when he said nothing terrible had happened to her. And yet wasn't it terrible to be in the power of a stranger?

A further horror struck her. If the writer was not Sir James – and she was instantly sure that the style was not his – could this ‘well-wisher' be in league with him and have followed her from the school? But then he would not have alerted the headmistress. Why did he mention her mother twice?

The prospect of returning to Madam Dacre's was unpleasant. And yet, if Sir James was not there, it was not the worst thing that could happen. Bread and water and a solitary room would be her punishment, not beating: that was not Madam Dacre's way. But perhaps Sir James
was
still there. No, he couldn't be if she had been out of the school for so long.

With the letter still in her hand Frederica sat on the edge of the bed once more. Now dressed and with her tight dirty shoes over her stockings she wondered whether she should try to escape again. Would she be prevented if she did? Perhaps someone was stationed outside the door to see that she stayed within. That would imply that she was a prisoner. Who was her gaoler?

She tried to think clearly but weariness was overwhelming her. She wondered now what she could have intended when she fled from the school – beyond getting away from Sir James. She hadn't then and couldn't now form any plan of action. At this point she could hardly keep her eyes focused on any object in the room.

So as the light faded from the tiny uncurtained window she continued to sit on the bed, waiting for what would happen to her next.

It was time to tackle Reginald. For most of his life Mrs Vernon had been taught to defer to her brother as a man, though she was as aware as her mother had been that she herself had more judgement. Reginald had become used to female deference and she approached the interview with trepidation.

‘My dear brother,' she began.

Her gravity made Reginald laugh out loud. He took her arm in his as they walked towards his chamber. ‘My dear Catherine, why this serious face?'

She disentangled herself and followed him into the room, ‘Brother, I really feel I ought to say something to you about our guest.'

‘Ah, so that's it. Surely you've said enough in the past concerning Lady Susan.'

‘You'd heard of her from many more people than me, Reginald,' replied Mrs Vernon, ‘and you yourself told me that at the Marchmonts you learnt of extraordinary events at Langford, though you never told me exactly what you'd heard.'

‘And it was as well I didn't, Catherine, for it would have been wrong to repeat such stories.'

It was his sister's turn to smile. ‘You used not to be so nice, Reginald.' Then she went on seriously, ‘Mama told me you were shocked to learn that Mr Vernon had received the lady at Churchill.'

‘Perhaps then I had listened to too much gossip. But' – and he looked intently at his sister – ‘what is it you want to discuss? You cannot be thinking of turning your visitor out of your house. You have done her enough damage already.'

‘No, of course not Reginald,' responded Catherine Vernon ignoring the last remark. ‘But I am worried that she seems to be imposing on you more …' She trailed off as she saw her brother's expression.

‘And my big sister is jealous. Is that it? The lady has taken the attention that should rightly have been hers.'

‘Don't be silly Reginald. I am not joking.'

‘I can see you're not.'

‘But,' Mrs Vernon persisted, ‘I am concerned to see that she is exerting her … her charm on you.'

‘My dear sister,' he cried in reply, ‘what is this “charm”? What an odd word to use. Have you ever seen any impropriety in Lady Susan's actions or manner, the slightest deviation from how a lady should behave?'

Mrs Vernon had to agree she had not. ‘But, you know, everyone has said—'

Reginald came close and raised his finger, ‘Shsh,' he whispered. ‘All just rumours. And if there has been some faultiness in her conduct in the past, surely we who have had such a good upbringing ourselves can understand how one might stray without proper guidance. You remember she was left very much alone in the world.'

The information vexed Mrs Vernon; it suggested intimacy. ‘But, brother, even if what you say is true, she was notorious for not living with her husband and for treating him with some contempt. You know people said—'

Again he interrupted her. ‘I'm sure, Catherine, that this is embellishment. Lady Susan could never have behaved so improperly.' He took some quick strides round the room as if to suppress what he would say, then turned again to his sister, ‘You have seen her, can you imagine it? Her manners are impeccable.' He came closer and once more took Catherine Vernon's arm, looking directly into her face. ‘But remember too that she did not marry like you, for love. She was married off so young before she could possibly know her own mind.'

Can this be tending where I fear it is?
wondered his sister miserably.
Surely he cannot be thinking … pray God he is not. No, that was impossible. If only Mr Vernon hadn't asked him to stay for the hunting, he would not now have such an excuse.

Reginald was still talking, although his sister was hardly minding him. ‘Whatever you in your naughty mind might suspect,' he was saying cheerily, ‘she has not allowed the slightest familiarity – although I do admire her, I admit it freely.'

Mrs Vernon had once watched the pair from an upstairs window and seen two gloved hands in black and tan together on a balustrade. The image had been seared onto her brain. Could she have imagined it? She doubted it.

‘ … not the slightest,' he was repeating. ‘She is still in mourning and carries herself with the dignity I would expect from such a lady.'

Catherine Vernon had lost control of the talk. Without meaning to, she had given Reginald a chance to speak at length about the woman.

‘She keeps a respectful distance and rarely intrudes her opinion,' he was continuing, ‘but understands what one is saying almost before one has said it. She remains modest and perfectly feminine.'

Mrs Vernon could stand the reverie no longer. She spoke quickly, ‘But Reginald – Reginald …' then hesitated.

She was desperate to touch on the crucial subject of those twelve years but frightened of the effect she might have if she did so. The gap between Lady Susan and her brother was so huge and in the wrong direction that, before Reginald had arrived, Catherine Vernon had never for one moment entertained the notion of so ill-assorted a pair. Even now, confronted with the evidence, it was hard to believe that her own brother could be so drawn in.

Did she dare raise the matter? Perhaps not. It was too raw. It might make Reginald so defensive there'd be no saying anything more to him. She tried to think how she might hint. All those years in London: surely she could mention these and let Reginald draw his own conclusions.

‘Reginald, she has been exposed for rather longer than you to—'

He spoke over her at once. ‘You make her sound like fancy goods for sale. This isn't worthy of you, Kate, I have never known you spiteful.'

‘No, Reginald, really,' Mrs Vernon hurried on, ‘I meant only that she has moved in town circles.'

She stopped. She saw it would do no good now to draw attention to those extra years Lady Susan had had to learn the ways of the world. Reginald was too warm not to take immediate offence.

‘Yes,' he said gently, ‘the wonder is that, despite living in these circles as you put it, she is so unspoilt, so truly innocent and untouched.'

It is almost useless
, thought Mrs Vernon falling silent for a moment.
But I must urge myself forward.

‘Reginald, she was said to have made havoc at Langford – you told me yourself. We both heard she made somebody in the house – it was sometimes said the vicar but it was, I admit, vague – and the daughter's suitor in love with her. You yourself were quite convinced of the truth of this when you first wrote to me about her.'

‘And I am truly sorry for it,' cried her brother. ‘I'm shocked at myself for having ever believed such vile inventions. My only excuse is that then I didn't know her. If the supposed polygamous suitor was the Sir James she spoke about, surely she has explained the situation to us.'

His anger got the better of him and he strode round the room once more. When he returned he looked directly at his sister. ‘I now see that all that' – he waved his right hand in the air – ‘that talk was the result of an envious world.' He paused, then moved closer and looked straight into her eyes. ‘And I'm dismayed that you who now know Lady Susan should still believe in such false tittle-tattle. After all you yourself have suffered in this way.'

Mrs Vernon was stunned, then the blood rushed to her face. He was referring to Lady Susan's quite incredible story to explain why she'd opposed Catherine de Courcy's match with Charles Vernon so many years ago. Supposedly she'd heard gossip and this had prejudiced her against the marriage. But Mrs Vernon knew full well that it was Lady Susan's desire to keep Charles's increasing fortune within her sight that had been her motive, nothing more. Even Charles, when his new wife had pressed him, had – reluctantly – accepted this might be the case.

She felt weak and outgunned. Reginald had excited himself and nothing could be done with him. She summoned a thin smile, nodded slightly and left the room.

The result of the conversation was more pain. From the remark about a husband and love, it had been borne in on Mrs Vernon what she could once not have believed possible: that Reginald, her dear, clever brother, was actually thinking seriously of this woman. Could he – surely he could not – could he actually be thinking of marrying her? The outrageous thought began to take root in her mind. Lady Susan was aiming to catch her brother. Had Catherine Vernon made things worse by pressing her points? Of course anything like that would break her parents' heart, as well as her own. And in due course it would break her brother's as well.