Lady Susan Plays the Game (6 page)

She kissed Charlotte Manwaring on her powdery cheeks and intimated that she and her maid Barton and man Jeffrey, along with Frederica, would be ready to accept the invitation in the next few weeks.

‘It's so kind of you,' said her friend in parting. ‘I do hope you won't find us dull.'

In Lady Susan's view Frederica was confused about the role of mothers. Her ideas were sentimental, and sentiment was unsuited to women of their birth. How could Frederick have raised a daughter to be such a plague? Lady Susan was not used to taking the high moral ground but she reflected that, after all, there was a viciousness about this kind of self-absorbed virtue.

‘You want to be liked, don't you?' she asked one day as she finished saying goodbye to Lady Heton. The good lady had visited for the prescribed quarter of an hour: Frederica had said hardly a word except ‘thank you' and ‘very well'.

‘But isn't the way to be liked to like others?'

Lady Susan snorted and turned away. Where had Frederica learnt this mealy mouthed stuff? From her father, she assumed. The canting governess would not hold such ideas. Despite her suspicions of Methodism, Lady Susan had seen the look in Mrs Baines's eye when she spoke to her; it did not express the meekness Frederica seemed to have espoused.

She persevered. ‘You know, one has to put in some effort, especially to attract a husband.' She saw her daughter blush. ‘There's no need to be coy, you're quite old enough to consider the matter. A girl doesn't stand still to be taken like a deer or pheasant in the field. She
must do something for herself,' then added in an especially sweet tone, ‘especially if her attractions are modest.'

How long could she stay in the rooms before the landlady would become importunate? That sort of woman would change from obsequiousness to insolence in a twinkling. And she certainly didn't want to waste money on paying rent.

‘Good day, Mrs Stott,' said Lady Susan. ‘A clement morning I see. The light falls most pleasingly through the drawing-room windows.'

‘It was my husband's favourite room, madam.'

‘A man of taste,' smiled Lady Susan.

‘A man of extravagance or I would not have the pleasure of entertaining your ladyship.'

‘It is your loss, ma'am, but my daughter and I are the grateful beneficiaries.'

Lady Susan closed her eyes and nodded sympathetically as the landlady spoke. She could probably eke things out for another two weeks if she had to, but she had better not mention she intended to leave.

The night before, while Frederica was tucked up in bed she had played at Lady Harriet Dalton's. The game had been the three-card version of loo with eight at a table. As usual the game seemed timeless. When she had cards in her hand and candlelight on her face, clocks
stood still and all games merged into one. The repetitive actions, the rise and fall of hope, the quickening pulse of winning or losing. Rationally she knew that the bank had the odds on its side and yet, each time she played, it was like the first and she knew nothing of odds.

As so often, she had begun unlucky and continued so. Each time she lost she knew she should stop but she stayed and paid into the pool. The stakes became high: she might still win. But when she exchanged her hand, again she failed. She glanced around for Jack Fortuny but he wasn't there.

Looks were turned on her. Did she discern an unusual pity? Jack Fortuny had complimented her on her ability to lose stoically. It made her a welcome guest and player – unlike the histrionic Lady Glint – but it also meant that no one ever intervened. No fear she would be found on Westminster Bridge at midnight, whatever her loss. Perhaps she'd imagined the sympathy. Her affairs were not, after all, common knowledge.

To herself she could not deny that she needed money despite the unexpected bank draft. Frederica had not yet had the new clothes; Langford was country but the girl would be more in public than in Norfolk and must be ready for any eventuality. And she herself required a thicker short coat – country houses were always cold – as well as a better pelisse for strolling out of doors in the late autumn. Her old thinner one had long since graced Barton's back. She was content to
remain in black since it set off her light hair and pallor, but the ornaments that adorned weeds had to be expensive. She supposed there would be little competition in Hampshire, so perhaps she need not expend so very much.

Her horses had been stabled near Hyde Park while she was marooned in Norfolk; now she ordered them to be sold off. There would be no profit since she owed as much for their stabling. It was best also to dispose of a few trinkets – little boxes and ornaments and some out-of-date jewellery – before they left; most were from Lord Gamestone. She had seen him a few times during these weeks, once in the Duke of Devonshire's soirée where they had flirted discreetly. Then they had done a little more at her lodgings, due care being taken both of Frederica and the landlady. His lordship seemed as fond as ever, claiming he had withered away in her absence. Yet he did not look diminished and his presents were, she thought, a little less substantial.

He had lost some of his allure with absence. Perhaps they were simply tired of each other, or perhaps he had found a replacement. Jack Fortuny was often with him: she would enquire.

She was pleased at the draft from Reeve & Reeve but dissatisfied that it was not bigger. How did a woman make money for herself? How did a man? Sometimes, as now, she chafed at the constraints of her sex. A man with half her energy and skill could make a figure in the world. Look at Charles Vernon. Men grew rich moving money round in
bonds or shares; some sneered at them, but only behind their backs. Might she borrow and try her hand? Poor Henriette was rumoured to have lost money in overseas speculation at the Palais-Royal. There had been, and still was, more leeway in France. Here in London she would have to work with a man – Jack Fortuny, perhaps. But no, nothing out of the common way took; in England there was but one way for a woman to flourish.

Several acquaintances had only just arrived in town from the country and it was a good time for balls, concerts and the theatre, as well as gaming. The Prince of Wales was at Carlton House with his usual gay set but Lady Susan had sufficient self-control largely to avoid his circle – the sums of money won and lost there were quite beyond her. Yet there was some overlap and in the past she'd enjoyed occasionally being at Carlton House, usually with Lord Gamestone, who affected to be bored by the Prince but lost no opportunity of attending him.

Not long before the two weeks were up Lady Susan was at Lord Cawton's tables. Jack Fortuny was there. He was losing just enough to make himself credible to those who sometimes doubted his character. She was glad to see him.

‘Lovelier than ever, but perhaps a little thinner?'

‘Possibly so, Jack, the country is wearying.'

‘It has been a desert here without you, Lady Susan. You cannot surely be going to leave us again so soon.'

She sighed. ‘I wish it were not necessary, but you understand …'

‘I believe I do. And I'm sorry. You go to Langford with the Manwarings, I think. You will miss this.' Without quite smiling he gestured round the room with its bunches of candles, deep shadowy corners and bright central bustle.

‘You know everything, Jack. And, yes, I will. Play keeps the spirits lively. It has become, I own it, something of a passion.'

‘That would be a pity if true,' he replied, ‘a business, a fascination, not a passion. Cards are pieces of paper after all. But I fancy what you call passion has not entirely conquered you. Not like some ladies.' He looked over at the elderly Countess of Glint. She was famous for the size of her jointure, which she managed to lose long before it was paid each year by a family who begrudged every farthing and waited hungrily for her death. The central candles on her table cruelly displayed the wrinkles beneath the rouge and caught the pursed lips and glistening eyes below the hooded brows. Lady Susan looked at her, then turned away.

‘The good countess avoids some vices. There are women who pay in counterfeit coinage or in more intimate ways. I'm told some gambling mothers find their newborn marked by the five of clubs.' Jack Fortuny gave a staccato laugh. ‘But none of this is near your case, madam.'

They smiled at each other; they seemed conspirators without a plot. Then he was called away. Lady Susan moved slowly back to the table to re-join the game.

Why had Jack Fortuny talked so seriously? Usually they enjoyed badinage. The exchange again brought up unwonted memories – dwelling in the past was becoming a bad habit. To herself she had sometimes called her love of cards an obsession, but Jack was
right, it was not quite that. When small she had found
Hoyle's Games
in her father's lodgings in France. She'd read the book understanding little but intrigued by the alien terms and magical diagrams. When even younger, she'd watched the excitement on her mother's face as she looked at her cards and the players. It was one of the few memories she had of this woman who had otherwise shrivelled in her mind to a sense of silk and scent, a flushed face near hers with eyes switched elsewhere.

At Lord Cawton's house the bank never rotated and everyone, including herself, saw how his lordship grew richer and richer. Yet even in his saloon she had a sense of winning and went on. Here she knew she resembled her father. He had played brelan at Versailles, a cruel game that forced stronger men than he up and up to greater chance before they came crashing down. But he too, when she last saw him so many years before, told her only of the moments of winning.

This time she won a little, then lost a little. Then the games were over. The bank was counting its winnings, and the servants were putting out the candles, now surrounded with wide wax skirts. The daylight was pushing through slits in the heavy curtains. Lady Susan had paid for her pleasures. She had pitted her wits and desire against a mystery at the heart of a game, the chance to overcome chance. It had been exhilarating.

Jack Fortuny had left before her. Their parting had been affectionate but brief; she had been too engrossed. She knew he understood.

Lady Glint sidled up to her in her waddling gate.

‘I see you are back, ma'am.'

‘Indeed I am. It's a pleasure to meet you here – as always. I trust your luck has changed.'

The elderly eyes were steely. ‘We have heard of your sad loss, Lady Susan, but if you want to know what I really think …' she put her velvet-covered arm on Lady Susan's shoulder.

‘Perhaps not,' replied Lady Susan. ‘As you know I pay such small attention to gossip.'

They smiled at each other, nodded heads and passed on. Lady Susan had a whiff of too much scent on old flesh.

In their lodgings in Henrietta Street Frederica had been asleep for many hours. But her mother was too alert even to lie down. So she sat on the sofa to write to Alicia Johnson.

She was careful not to be very explicit, though the two women were frank when they met. She trusted Alicia completely but suspected her of carelessness at home, of leaving her letters around for her husband to see. Otherwise it was difficult to explain the progress of his dislike. Once in liquor he had been over-attentive, after which he'd greeted her stiffly. Now he denied her the house. Alicia said it was her reputation for gambling – he thought only men should lay high bets; Lady Susan suspected it was due to Mr Johnson's perusal of one of her own indiscreet notes.

Alicia Johnson criticised her husband, yet would not take him to task for prying – she even denied he did it. Lady Susan knew full well that, since their schooldays, Alicia had never loved anyone as much as she had Lady Susan but, for all her mockery of Mr Johnson, she had a residual respect for her elderly, shambling and shrewd spouse. The marriage had been childless – whose fault she didn't know – but Alicia was grateful that her husband didn't lay it to her charge; having married a younger wife, he had had hopes. In most areas of life Alicia was more tolerant than her lovelier friend.

The day before Lady Susan and Frederica were due to leave town, the Johnsons at last came from the country. The two women were quickly together for, as soon as her husband hobbled into his chair and out to Brooke's, Mrs Johnson sent a message to invite her friend to take tea. She wanted to see her desperately – and let her admire the drawing room in Edward Street, newly furnished and decorated while they were away.
All that ghastly gold damask has gone
, she had written,
Mr Johnson has no taste
.

‘I would have been here days ago, my dear, if I could. You know I loathe the country and besides you were in town and I have hated losing any precious minute.'

Their talk was general. The new furnishings, the Sheraton-style cabinets, the cotton and damask wall hangings with matching curtains, all suitably admired, the chronic ill health of Mr Johnson – he had been told he had a sciatica now as well as gout – all too slight to take him to Bath for the cure and out of his lady's way. Mr Johnson was not a bad man, she told Lady Susan, but he talked inconsequentially. ‘He has not mastered the art of telling – as we have, my dear.'

They did the miseries of Norfolk and the difficulties Lady Susan was having with an unmanageable daughter. Then they talked of Lord Gamestone; Alicia had thought him a fine catch for her beautiful friend – discreet as well as rich and generous. She was sorry to hear the affair was ending. Finally they turned to their old schoolfellow Charlotte Manwaring.

‘Yes, poor thing,' Mrs Johnson sighed. ‘Her cousin Jane Dawlish is with her at Langford too, I think. She's a more knowing sort of body than our dear friend.'

‘Are you warning me?' smiled Lady Susan. ‘It hardly matters whether I like some hanger-on or other. I don't notice them.'

‘Of course not. But they will notice you, Susan, and all your doings.' She paused and gave her friend a quizzical look. ‘She will not be your friend if there's someone there whom you do come to like and who may like you.'