Salt Bride (18 page)

“Oh, yes! Susannah, you are
so
right. She’s been in love with Salt since
forever
.”

“Yes, Eliza, we all know Salt is the great love of Diana’s life but we don’t say it out loud.”

“What a pity St. John came between them.”

“Not in all things, my dear Susannah. There is the rumor, which Diana has never denied, that her two brats—”

“—are
Salt’s
?”

There was a collective gasp.

“Good God! How Extraordinary!”

“But… Isn’t there also the rumor he’s barren?”

One of the women made a sound reminiscent of a startled pheasant. “Salt?
Barren
? Don’t be a dolt, Eliza! A divine specimen of maleness who can go on and on and on, barren? Ha!”

“Well, even if he isn’t barren, who’s to know? Diana’s friend Artemisia is always quick to put a stop to any unwanted breeding.”

“Indeed, Susannah? Interesting.
Exceedingly
interesting.”

“Yes, I thought you would find it so. She helped me in a most difficult predicament.”

“Arta
who
?” interrupted the whining voice.

The explanation was given as if speaking to a child, or one who did not know the English tongue. “
Artemisia
. Syrup of Artemisia. Surely you’ve heard of it? Rids one of unwanted brats before they are formed.”

“Oh!
That
Artemisia. I thought you were referring to Diana’s friend Artemisia.”

“Yes, well we were! She is Diana’s particular friend. Comes in a bottle.”

There was a collective giggle and then silence fell before one of the female voices returned to the question of the paternity of the St. John children.

“He does dote on Diana’s brats.”

“Yes, he does, Susannah. And quite rightly, too.”

“Just like a papa should.”

“But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“No. Not from you.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“Perfect sense,” two females voices echoed in awed unison.

“The game’s afoot! I’ve thirty pounds on Pascoe Church to win!”

“Eliza! I was wrong,” her friend announced with disgust. “Your head is full of wool.”

As she sipped tea from a delicate porcelain dish in the Yellow Saloon, Jane was still wishing she had pulled away from the wall of the Gallery box and not listened to the rumor and counter rumors about the Lady St. John and her husband. Watching through the netting it was clear Diana St. John was infatuated with her husband. But did he know it? And were they lovers? She had no idea.

Jacob Allenby had repeatedly lectured her about the hypocrisy rife within Polite Society. How the ruling class was riddled with vice in all its forms and that the Earl of Salt Hendon was just as guilty of the unspeakable sins of his class as the rest of the inhabitants of Gomorrah, as he continually referred to London, the environs of Westminster in particular. And his lordship had committed the most heinous crime of all amongst his wickedly depraved brethren: he had seduced a virgin and then abandoned her with child.

He had preached this sermon to her so often that Jane became immune to his hellfire and brimstone prophesies. Living in a house in the wilds of Wiltshire where no pictures livened the walls, fires in the grate were permitted only every second day, and such vanities as looking glasses and feminine fripperies were strictly forbidden, the Earl of Salt Hendon’s nefarious lifestyle was another world away. Yet, now that she was the Countess of Salt Hendon, it mattered to her a very great deal, and that bothered her. It bothered her because she was in love with her husband. And because she was in love with him, the sooner she signed the document banishing her to Salt Hall, the better for her peace of mind.

Loud laughter intruded into these musings and Jane remembered she was in the Yellow Saloon where the ladies had gathered to await the gentlemen who, having finished playing their games of Royal Tennis, were bathing and dressing in readiness to sit down to a good dinner. With their silk and brocade layered petticoats spread out around them, and painted and ivory fans fluttering on flushed upward thrusting bosoms, the ladies lounged about on the arrangement of sofas and wingchairs by the two fireplaces, chatting amongst themselves.

Diana St. John presided over the tea things with all the aplomb of one used to the task. Of course she had made an elaborate display of refusal when the butler and four liveried footmen had arrived with the trolleys stacked with the Sevres porcelain tea service, plates of sweetmeats and a variety of cakes and pastries, and the teapot and coffee urn on their silver stands. But Jane, not knowing the first thing about playing hostess to a gaggle of sharp-eyed society matrons, was only too willing to allow Lady St. John the honor even if it did highlight her lack of social skills. Her calm capitulation to Lady St. John’s expertise won her a few nods of approval from the older matrons, but the close friends of Diana St. John were all smug smiles at their friend, as if she had won a small victory against the young Countess.

Jane saw these looks of petty triumph but ignored them and unable to join in a conversation about politics and people she knew not the first thing about and, had she been inclined to be cynical, was deliberately kept steered in this direction by Diana St. John and her cohort for the specific purpose of excluding her, she drifted over to the window with its view of the square below. Here she sipped her tea and watched the traffic of sedan chairs, carriages and a bullock team with its drivers and dogs, maneuver comfortably about the wide streets of Grosvenor Square.

She was studying the hive of activity that accompanied the arrival of a coach laden with luggage outside one of the townhouses, liveried footmen sent out into the cold to put down the steps and hand down the occupants as quickly as possible to enable them to dash indoors to the warmth of a good fire, when out from the corner of her eye she caught a flash of movement through the wide doors that opened into the dining room. More movement and laughter and Jane went and stood in the doorway in time to see two children, the son and daughter of Lady St. John, running up one side of a very long polished mahogany table that had been set with silver and crystal for upwards of thirty guests. They were being chased by a man in somber attire and behind him, walking at a brisk pace, a woman dressed in grey with a severe hairstyle.

Several liveried servants were going about the business of arranging epergnes filled with fruit and flowers equidistant down the center of the table under the blaze of three candlelit crystal chandeliers. Others were placing warmers and silver servers on two very long sideboards that were up against one wall either side of a massive marble fireplace, all under the watchful eye of the eagle-eyed under-butler. None of these servants took the slightest notice of the boy and girl playing around the table, nor did they seem to mind, except when the St. John children directly affected their particular task, then they merely stepped aside and got on with things. The man, whom Jane now decided must be the boy’s tutor, and the girl’s governess were quick to come between the busy servants and the giggling children when necessary.

Yet when the boy pushed aside two ribbon-back chairs and dived under the table, quickly followed by his giggling sister, the tutor and the governess lost all patience and hollow threats to their life were made if they didn’t show themselves immediately. These threats were naturally ignored by the adventurous children, who made threats of their own to stay under the table unless given sweetmeats and punch immediately. It was only when the tutor pushed up his sleeves and volunteered to thrash the life out of both of them if they didn’t surface forthwith that Jane bravely stepped forward and made her presence known.

The tutor and governess took one look at Jane, recognized in her delicate beauty and embroidered petticoats that she was not a servant and dutifully, if reluctantly, stood aside from the table as requested. It took the under-butler whispering at their backs that they were being addressed by the Countess of Salt Hendon for the tutor to double over till his nose almost hit his knees and the governess to plunge into such a deep curtsey that she almost toppled over. But Jane saw none of this as she had carefully bobbed down, one hand holding the table edge to remain steady, to peek under the table.

“Hello. Do you remember me from the Tower Zoo?” she asked with a friendly smile, the St. John children huddled between the turned legs of a couple of chairs.

“Hello. You liked the lions best,” stated the boy, dark eyes wary, as if waiting for the inevitable lecture on bad behavior.

“And your favorites were the elephants,” Jane responded.

“I’d like to ride an elephant one day,” the boy announced.

“I hear that in India they use elephants much like we use draught horses here.”

The girl’s hazel eyes lit up. “Do they? Can I ride one too?” she asked Jane hopefully.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merry!” her brother said with derision. “You’re a girl. Girls can’t ride elephants.”

The girl pouted. “If I go to India—”

“Girls can’t ride elephants and girls can’t go to India. Girls can’t do anything.”

Merry poked her tongue out at her brother and said sullenly, “I will! I will if I want to!” And looked to Jane for support and said more even-temperedly, “I can go to India if I want, can’t I?”

Jane smiled at the girl, saw the mulish look on her brother’s face, as if he expected her to agree with him, and said placidly, “It’s not a matter of can’t, is it? It all depends on what happens when you are a grown up young lady. Of course it goes without saying that you’ll be a lady of fashion and marry a very handsome and important man—”

“Just like Uncle Salt?” the girl said hopefully, and when her brother groaned showed him her tongue again.

“Yes, just like your Uncle Salt,” Jane said evenly, trying not to smile. “If you marry a gentleman who decides to travel to India one day, then of course you’ll go with him.”

“If he was important like Uncle Salt, Merry’s husband wouldn’t go to India,” the boy stated emphatically. “He’d be a nobleman and needed here to run the kingdom.”

The girl opened her mouth to speak but Jane spoke first saying lightly, “That is very true, but perhaps your sister’s future husband might be a diplomat, like your other uncle Sir Antony, and travel to India on important business for his King?”

The girl smiled triumphantly at her brother, who had to concede Jane had a point though he added haughtily, with nostrils aquiver that was alarmingly reminiscent of his Uncle Salt at his most scornful,

“Mamma says diplomatists are failed political men. Or sent away because they’re an embarrassment to their family.”

“But surely your Uncle Sir Antony is neither?” Jane asked, startled.

“Mamma says Uncle Salt sent Uncle Tony away because he caught him making up to Cousin Caroline.” The boy rolled his eyes and crossed his thin legs adding, because this sort of talk made him uncomfortable and the beautiful lady was looking at him queerly, “Whatever making up to means. But that’s what I heard Mamma telling old Lady Porter, so it must be true.”

Jane hid her shock but she must have appeared stunned for the girl offered her comfort and an explanation.

“Oh, Uncle Tony doesn’t mind living abroad. He told me so. And Mamma says Cousin Caroline is much too young to be married.” The girl frowned in thought. “But she’s soon to turn eighteen. I should like to be married when I’m eighteen. Eighteen isn’t too young to be married, is it?”

Her brother added, because Jane was looking confused, “We’ve always called Uncle Salt uncle, even though he is our cousin. And we call Cousin Caroline cousin, even though she’s Uncle Salt’s sister, because she’s much too young to be called an aunt. It’s simple really.”

“But not too young to be married, is she, Ron?”

Her brother shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that, Merry. But if you want to get married at eighteen, I’ll not object.”

Merry beamed to receive such praise, and feeling generous asked Jane, “Would you like to join us?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But you must be very quiet because we’re hiding from Uncle Salt. He always finds us but not today, whatever he says to the contrary. He’ll never suspect we’re under his dining table!”

“You’re such a slow top, Merry!” accused her brother, an embarrassing glance at Jane. “You can’t invite one of Uncle Salt’s guests to come under the table. What would Mamma say?”

“Oh, I’m not one of the guests,” Jane assured them with a smile and dropping to her hands and knees crawled under the table.

She found it surprisingly spacious between the turned legs of the chairs, and tucking her stockinged legs up underneath her silk petticoats she was able to sit comfortably with the two children; being small and slender helped. She smiled at the boy, who was regarding her with wary fascination. No doubt he had never seen an adult under a table before. It was a new experience for Jane, too, but she was enjoying herself and felt far more comfortable in the company of these two children than she had with the tedious company and incomprehensible conversations in the Yellow Saloon.