The Mysterious Maid-Servant (16 page)

Giselda entered the room, conscious that she was wearing yet another new gown and hoping that the Earl would approve of it.

It was of rose pink tulle with little touches of silver and diamante like dewdrops glistening in the pink magnolias clustered in the lace around the hem and on the bodice.

But, as she walked towards the Earl, she was conscious not of herself and her own appearance, but of his.

She had never seen him before in full evening dress and now she wondered if it would be possible for any man to look more impressive or more magnificent.

His black satin knee-breeches and his closely fitting long tailed coat became him even better than anything else she had seen him wear.

His cravat was a masterpiece and, although on other occasions she had never seen him wear jewellery, tonight he had a gold and emerald fob hanging beneath his satin waistcoat.

“Very pretty!” the Earl approved as she drew near to him. “Madame Vivienne is a genius – there is no doubt about that – and this gown becomes you better than anything else I have seen you wear!”

Giselda’s eyes lit up.

“I am so glad you approve, my Lord.”

“If it does not bring Julius to the point – nothing will!” the Earl said abruptly and almost, Giselda thought, unpleasantly.

“I wish I did not have to go to dine with him,” she said without thinking.

“Perhaps this is the last occasion you will have to endure his company.”

“I hope so.”

“I have decided that Henry and I can drop you at
The Plough
on our way to the theatre,” the Earl said. “ I do not like to think of your travelling alone even such a short distance.”

“Thank you – that would be very kind, my Lord.”

Even a few minutes more with the Earl meant more than she could say.

She had been thinking this afternoon that every passing hour that she could be with him was precious.

She had the feeling that the sands were running out and soon, perhaps sooner that she dared to anticipate, he would have left Cheltenham for Lynd Park and she would no longer be able to see him.

“Will you have a glass of Madeira?” he asked and she had to force her thoughts back to the commonplace.

“No thank you,” she answered, “I think I have had enough to drink and doubtless Mr. Lynd will have ordered wine for dinner.”

“I doubt if he can order a good meal, only an expensive one,” the Earl said disagreeably. “Fools always imagine that because a dish costs a lot of money it must be good. You and I, Giselda, know better.”

“You have taught me so much since I have been here,” she said. “I always appreciated good food, but I did not understand the subtleties of sauces or the flavours that come from food being cooked properly and chosen correctly in the first place.”

“There are still many things I would like to teach you, Giselda.”

She raised her eyes to his wanting to say that there was so much she wanted to learn, then found the words died on her lips.

There was an expression on the Earl’s face she dared not translate to herself.

Yet it set her heart beating violently and made her feel as if something warm and wonderful moved up into her throat and strangled her very words.

They stood staring at each other.

Then, as if it was happening very far away, they heard the door open and Henry Somercote come into the room.

*

The Earl and Captain Somercote dropped Giselda at
The Plough
just before seven o’clock.

She had sat talking to them while they ate their dinner and Henry Somercote had made her laugh at his stories of how the Duke had kept him running errands all day and how much the great man enjoyed finding work for other hands to do.

The Plough
had a frontage of over one hundred feet on to the High Street and had, the Earl informed Giselda, the most spacious yard of any inn in the town.

“It has stabling for a hundred horses,” he said, “and a number of coach houses over which there are dovecotes, besides granaries.”

Giselda learnt there were large rooms in the inn that were let out for parties and dances and it was where the Colonel held his committee meetings.

But the ceilings were low and there was a cosiness about the narrow passages and the small dark staircases, which she found fascinating.

She was rather surprised that Julius was not waiting in the hall when she arrived. But she was immediately led upstairs.

The servant, who preceded her opened a door to announce,

“The lady you were expecting, sir.”

Giselda noticed as she entered the room that there was a table laid in the centre of it, but as Julius came forward to greet her she realised that he was not alone.

As he kissed her hand, she saw that he was in evening clothes, but his appearance, while smart, did not compare with that of the Earl.

‘It is because he is self conscious about his clothes,’ Giselda told herself. ‘Whilst the Earl makes them a part of him and once he is dressed, does not fuss about his appearance.’

It was just a passing thought and she turned her face towards the other occupant of the room.

“I have a surprise for you,” Julius said. “We are not to be alone this evening for the simple reason that Mr. Septimus Blackett insists on playing chaperone.”

Julius’s expression was unpleasant and his voice was rude and slurred and Giselda realised that he had been drinking.

She noticed although she had not done so on arrival that his face was flushed and in fact his lips when he kissed her hand had been hot, moist and unpleasant.

Now she looked at Mr. Blackett and saw that he was not in evening clothes at all, but was dressed as might befit a clerk or even, she thought, a commercial traveller.

“Mr. Blackett, in case you have never seen the species before,” Julius was saying in an offensive tone, “is what, my dear Giselda, is known as a bailiff. He has travelled all the way from London – think of the discomfort – to inform me that either I meet his bills which amount to a quite astronomical sum, or else I shall undoubtedly travel back to London with him at His Majesty’s pleasure!”

For the moment Giselda could think of no reply.

Mr. Blackett, a thickset man of perhaps forty years of age, bowed to her somewhat awkwardly.

“P-perhaps you would like me to – withdraw?” Giselda managed to stammer at length.

“No, of course not,” Julius answered. “There is no necessity for that. I have already explained to Mr. Blackett that I shall be able to pay my bills easily and without any trouble before this evening is out, but he does not believe me and so I am afraid, Mrs. Barrowfield, we shall have to put up with his quite obnoxious presence while we eat our dinner.”

Giselda took a step backwards.

“I think – Mr. Lynd, it would be – better for me to – return to German Cottage. Would you be kind enough to order me a carriage? His Lordship and Captain Somercote brought me here and they have gone on to the theatre.”

“You must not leave me!” Julius exclaimed. “I have planned our dinner together and not a hundred or indeed a thousand Blacketts shall prevent us from enjoying it.”

He picked up a glass of wine he must have put down when he greeted her and drained it before he added,

“Besides, the surprise I have for Mr. Blackett is one you too will enjoy. Later when we are alone together I can talk to you as I intended to do this evening.”

Giselda looked from one man to the other in perplexity.

If only the Earl was here, she thought, he would know what she should do, but he was at the theatre and it would be at least two hours before he was back at German Cottage again.

She felt helplessly that if she insisted on asking for a carriage Julius would make a scene.

He was pouring himself another glass of wine and she realised that he was already so drunk that he had forgotten to offer her a drink.

With an effort she said to Mr. Blackett,

“Were the roads very bad as you came from London?”

“No, madam, they’re better at this time of the year than at any other time and I’m glad to say very much better than they’ve been in the past.”

“I have known them to be almost impassable in this part of the world,” Giselda said.

“That’s true and I’ve had some very unpleasant journeys,” Mr. Blackett replied.

They were both making an effort to behave like civilised human beings, but Julius, after pouring the wine down his throat said,

“All your journeys, Blackett, are unpleasant for someone. That is your speciality, is it not?”

There was no reply and he tugged violently at the bell-pull.

“Let us have dinner. Blackett thinks it is going to be the last decent meal I shall have for a long time, but the laugh is on him! Tomorrow he is going back to London with his tail between his legs.”

“I assure you, Mr. Lynd, I would rather have your money than your company,” Mr. Blackett said, as if he had been goaded into a response.

“That is exactly what you will have!” Julius replied. “
My
money!”

Giselda tried to think what this could possibly mean.

Did he really imagine that if he proposed marriage to her, which she was quite certain he intended to do, she would immediately pay his debts?

Surely no man could expect such a response from a woman, even if she was as much in love as poor Emily Clutterbuck?

Then what could be the explanation?

All through dinner she found herself becoming more and more bewildered and finding no answer to her questions.

The meal was well served and not unappetising. It was English fare at its best and while Julius ate little and ordered bottle after bottle of wine and Giselda, because she felt so agitated, could only pick at her food, Mr. Blackett ate heartily.

He was apparently quite unconcerned by Julius’s rudeness or the way he gibed at him continually throughout the meal.

But it was very uncomfortable and Giselda longed to get away, to escape to sanity.

But course succeeded course and she realised that Julius, when he ordered dinner, had been intent on impressing her.

Finally, when it seemed as if even Mr. Blackett could eat no more, dessert was put on the table, coffee was brought round and yet Giselda felt almost despairingly that it was not much after nine o’clock.

‘As soon as I have finished the coffee,’ she planned, ‘I will leave.’

She looked at Julius as she thought it and came to the conclusion that now it would be impossible for him to prevent her.

He was sunk low on the table. The servants had put a decanter of brandy in front of him and his hand went out continually to pour himself glass after glass.

She began to wonder if anyone could drink so much and not fall insensible to the floor.

She had heard about gentlemen who collapsed under the table after dinner, but she had never actually seen anyone do it.

But now, she thought, it was only a question of time before Julius was unconscious.

She had given up making any effort to talk, but, while Julius had been more or less silent at the beginning of the meal, he had now reached the noisy stage.

In a loud, almost incoherent voice, he delivered a long harangue against the iniquities of debt-collecting and in particular those scurrilous people who forced gentlemen into prisons when they could not meet their obligations.

“That is where you want to see me, Blackett,” he growled, “and that, old boy, is where you are going to be disappointed!”

He took another drink.

“In a few hours you’ll be grovelling in front of me, rubbing your hands obsequiously and asking me on behalf of your clients to continue to give my patronage to your cursed inferior shops.”

He brought his fist down suddenly on the table making the glasses and cutlery rattle.

“And that is where you will make a great mistake! I am damned if I will enter any of your stinking premises again and then you will learn what fools you have made of yourselves!”

“How can you pay the money you owe, Mr. Lynd?” Giselda asked him cautiously.

She felt as if it was a question that might have nasty repercussions on her.

At the same time she was determined that now dinner was finished she would leave the room and ask one of the servants downstairs to fetch her a hackney carriage.

“That is a good question, Mrs. Barrowfield, a very good question!” Julius replied. “You are a clever woman – I have always thought that, but I am not going to answer you – yet. No, not yet. I think we have another few minutes to go.”

“Another few minutes?” Giselda questioned in bewilderment.

“Another few minutes,” Julius said with a drunken leer, “and then you will see before you not poor Julius Lynd, not a wretched debtor with empty pockets, but – who do you think will be here?”

“I have no idea,” Giselda answered. “Who will be?”

“The fifth Earl of Lyndhurst – that is who I will be! The fifth Earl – do you hear that, Blackett? Now you know why you will go back to London alone.”

Giselda was very still.

“What do you mean? How is that possible?” she asked.

Julius pointed an unsteady finger towards the clock.

“Bang – bang!” he said. “Just one little bang – and the fourth Earl falls dead! Quite dead.”

Giselda started to her feet.

She moved so violently that her chair fell over backwards and crashed to the floor.

Then she pulled open the door of the private room and ran down the dark stairs.

She ran past several astonished servants, rushed through the front door and out onto the street.

Then, lifting her gown with both hands, she ran faster than she had ever run in her life before.

The carriage, having dropped Giselda at
The Plough
, carried the Earl and Captain Somercote up the High Street towards the
Theatre Royal
.

The history of Cheltenham’s theatrical prowess was a remarkable one.

Originally a very small malt house had been converted into a primitive theatre.

It was here that the young Sarah Siddons appeared in
Venice Preserved
and she moved the members of the audience so emotionally that her performance was reported to David Garrick.