"Yes, the way you took good care of your wife, I suppose?
"
Frustration and anger surged through him. "You know nothing about the circumstances of my marriage.
"
Her voice held a chilling finality. "No. And I don
'
t wish to know. Can
'
t you get it through your head? It
'
s over and done with! How many times do I have to tell you?
"
"It will never be over! Because of Amy, there will always be a tie between us.
"
There was much that she might have said in rebuttal. She was too spent to summon the energy.
When they reached Rosedale, Ransome ordered the coachman to wait. Bertie followed him up the stairs. On the landing, they changed places and she led the way to her own chamber.
"Amy sleeps with me,
"
she told him by way of explanation. Curiosity got the better of her. "Why did you tell the coachman to wait?
"
With undiminished tenderness, he laid the sleeping child on the trundle bed next to the tester bed. He straightened without haste.
"I
'
m going back to Lewes,
"
he answered.
Instinct warned her not to question him further, but she could not stop herself. "Why?
"
Without blinking an eyelash, he responded, "There
'
s a brothel there that I
'
ve become acquainted with. Of late, I find that I
'
ve had surfeit of the company of well-bred ladies.
"
She felt as if she had been slapped. Turning her back on
him, she fumbled for the fastenings of her pelisse. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she began to undo them.
"Bertie, one word from you and
…
"
"Don
'
t let me stop you, Colonel.
"
Silence filled the room. She heard the
click of the latch as he closed the door. Moments later, a carriage door slammed and the sounds of horses and carriage wheels came to her through the open window.
M
rs. Rosie Snow was in a towering temper, which was evident to anyone who knew her by the square set of her shoulders, the jut of her chin and the brisk, impatient strides which carried her away from the scene of revelry on the Cliffe. There was further evidence to be seen if one had a mind to examine her more closely. No one did. For on that dark stretch of road which led from the bonfire to the outskirts of Lewes, few were about with the exception of the odd man and his maid, who melted into the shadow at anyone
'
s approach. Mrs. Snow scarcely saw them, so lost was she in her bitter ruminations.
To her cost, she had mistaken the character of Lady Jocelyn. It seemed that the prune-faced, curds-and-whey drab could become a veritable she-cat when she had a mind to. She had underestimated that lady. Which was why her protector, Sir Charles, was at that very moment in the bosom of his family and she, Rosie Snow, was left to find her own way home. Intolerable! And it had been contrived so effortlessly. Devious bitch!
And everything had started off so well! She
'
d been delighted when Sir Charles had made no objection to her presence at a public masquerade where it was quite possible that in the course of the evening she might very easily rub shoulders with his wife. The poor man was under the misapprehension that their costumes would conceal their identities, for there was always a plethora of pirates and shepherdesses at such events. She had known better. But she
'
d had no wish to rob him of his illusions. Why should she? It gave her a perverse pleasure to look these well-bred, top-lofty ladies in the eye and watch them squirm when it registered that she, Rosie Snow, could lure
their men from them by merely crooking her little finger.
Her first inkling of trouble had caused nothing more than a small ripple of annoyance. She
'
d been locked in an embrace with Sir Charles when he had suddenly pulled back.
"My God, she
'
s staring at us!
"
"What?
"
She
'
d been dazed from the ardor of his kiss. There had never been any doubt that Sir Charles was a skillful, demanding lover.
"Henrietta, she
'
s looking this way.
"
The eyes of the two women had clashed.
"Of course she doesn
'
t recognize us,
"
she
'
d crooned. She couldn
'
t help smiling her triumph at the other woman. "Besides, she
'
s a well-bred wife. Even if she does, she
'
ll look the other way.
"
There had been no resumption of the kiss. Sir Charles had been ill-at-ease from that moment on. But it was after the fireworks display that he
'
d lost interest in her completely.
"What the devil does she think she
'
s doing?
"
His eyes were fastened on the group of merrymakers who were dancing to "The Grand Old Duke of York.
"
Henrietta was at their center. As the fiddlers increased the tempo of the music, she picked up her skirts, baring herself to the knees.
Sir Charles could not drag his eyes away from the picture his wife presented. With head thrown back, eyes flashing, she linked arms with the man who was partnering her, and was spun around with great gusto till she was swung off her feet. Breathless and laughing, she
'
d turned her face up to her partner. It was an invitation the young man could not resist.
"He
'
s kissing her!
"
Sir Charles ejaculated, and started forward.
She checked him with a hand on his sleeve. "What
'
s the harm? You were kissing me. And if she did recognize us, she
'
ll only throw it in your teeth. Leave well enough alone, why don
'
t you?
"
Her voice turned low and husky. "There
'
s a room waiting for us at the Maiden
'
s Head.
"
She pouted prettily. "Don
'
t you want to be private with me?
"
The gesture was lost on him. His eyes were still locked on the dancers. Manufacturing an ingratiating smile, she turned into his arms and rubbed herself suggestively against his length. His
interest in Lady Jocelyn wavered. Brazenly, she took his hand and cupped it around one breast. He groaned and crushed her to him.
A terrible wailing, a child
'
s cry, rent the air, and the music suddenly stopped. Sir Charles pushed her away.
Testily, showing a temper she was normally at some pains to conceal, she broke out, "Oh do let us get away from here. It
'
s only some rash child who has scorched his fingers. It happens every year.
"
"It
'
s Peter! My God! What next?
"
She
'
d turned to follow the direction of his anxious gaze. Lady Jocelyn was fussing over some tow-headed boy. She straightened and looked straight at them.
Sir Charles
'
s voice was hoarse when he exclaimed, "She can
'
t mean to bring him here?
"
But it was very evident that that was exactly what Lady Jocelyn
did
mean to do.
As if petrified with horror, like some marble statue, Sir Charles stood and gaped as his wife approached. She was only a step away when he came to himself. His face crimson from chagrin or guilt or a combination of both, he quickly placed himself between the two women.
"Henrietta!
"
There was a desperate appeal in his voice. "Please! Remove yourself at once, and take Peter with you!
"
With great good humor, and as if she did not give a brass button that she was breaking every rule of deportment in the book, Lady Jocelyn said, "It
is
you, Charles. I thought as much. This wretched child has got himself burned and must be attended to at once. Every one of our party seems to have disappeared. Would you be so kind
…
oh!
"
She peeked over her husband
'
s shoulder. "Good evening, Mrs. Snow. Peter, this is Papa
'
s friend, Mrs. Snow. Say how-do-you-do.
"
The sniveling child mumbled, "How do you do, Mrs. Snow.
"
"Henrietta!
"
Sir Charles looked fit to be tied.
"Harry!
"
The cry came from the young man who had partnered Henrietta in the dance. "We
'
re ready to begin whenever you are!
"
"Harry!
"
The name evidently did not sit well with Sir Charles.
"It
'
s what all my friends call me,
"
returned Henrietta gaily. "Now be a good boy, Peter. Papa will look after you. Oh, by the by, Charles, I haven
'
t seen James and Richard in an age. I wonder what has become of those boys?
"
"Richard knows lots of bad words,
"
interjected Peter. "And now I know them too.
"
His tears subsided into dry, rasping sobs as he contemplated his good fortune in having such a knowledgeable pedant for a relation.
Trying to give the appearance of a man who has the situation well in hand, Sir Charles blustered, "Really
, Henrietta, I fail to see…"
"Ta, ta,
"
she said, turning away. "
I
really must go. Don
'
t worry about the boys. I don
'
t think any harm will come to them. They
'
ve just wandered away again. And Mary has gone after them. But the burn on Peter
'
s hand is a nasty one. It really ought to be attended to. Good bye, Mrs. Snow. Lovely to see you again!
"
Of course, after that little display of wifely spite, the night had been ruined. There was no question that Sir Charles would leave his young sons to fend for themselves, or even permit his mistress to come within hailing distance of them. She
'
d been rudely and summarily dismissed and told to remove to Brighton forthwith!
The very thought of the way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her, as if he were turning away second day
'
s mutton, made her seethe with resentment. Well, she would show him! There were gentlemen in the Maiden
'
s Head, if she was not mistaken, who would be glad to keep her bed warm. She smiled at the irony of Sir Charles paying the shot for the room where she meant to cuckold him.
Lost in the sweet delights of her vengeful thoughts, she became careless. She paid no heed to the carriage which bore so relentlessly down upon her. Mercifully, she did not suffer long, and knew nothing when her lifeless body was thrown into the river.
Chapter Seventeen
"
A
nnabelle! What the deuce?
"
The stunned expletive came from Lord Temple as he pushed through the door to the breakfast room.
It was the third time in as many minutes that Annabelle had heard those words, or words very like them. Self-consciously, she touched her fingers to the bruise on her jaw. "I had an accident,
"
she said. "It was clumsy of me. I tripped over my feet and fell against the bed-post.
"
It was a lame excuse, and one that had been concocted by Dalmar to spare her embarrassment. It was his design to put the whole matter of the attack on her before the magistrates in Lewes just as soon as she had quit Rosedale. Not for the world would he permit her to be badgered by over-zealous bureaucrats. For who was to say whose version of the truth the Law would accept? Annabelle saw the sense in his logic. Moreover, she had no wish to become the object of speculation or worse—pity to her friends.
At the prolonged silence, she glanced up from her bowl of porridge, the only sustenance she could force past her stiff lips, and her eyes swept over the Viscount. He hadn
'
t moved a muscle, and looked to be rather white about the gills. But then, so did Charles this morning and the two other occupants of the room, Colonel Ransome and Bertie. She knew that it was going to hurt like blazes, but she couldn
'
t help herself. She grinned, then groaned almost simultaneously.
By way of explanation, she said, "From the looks of us, we
should be under a doctor
'
s care. Speaking for myself, I think I
'
ll give Lewes a miss next Guy Fawkes Day. The boredom and predictability of Bath has become suddenly appealing.
"
No one answered her attempt at levity. She stifled a sigh and wished that Dalmar or some of Lady Diana
'
s crowd would put in an appearance. The tension between Ransome and Bertie was almost tangible. She couldn
'
t wait to shake the dust of Rosedale from her feet.
Only an hour to go,
she consoled herself,
and
w
e
'
ll be on our way to town.
Perhaps then Colonel Ransome would take the hint and leave off his opportuning of her friend. Couldn
'
t he see that Bertie wanted none of him?
On the other side of the breakfast-room door, there was stir. Doors opened and slammed. Girlish laughter and giggles rose to an alarming crescendo. Sir Charles gazed fixedly at the door. It opened to admit Henrietta followed by Lady Diana and two of her young friends, the Hon Miss Loukes and Miss Cranbrook. Their glances flicked over the sober faces of the room
'
s occupants. Lady Diana whispered something in Henrietta
'
s ear and the two of them dissolved in giggles.
Annabelle had to look twice at her sister-in-law, else she would have scarcely recognized her. It wasn
'
t that Henrietta had changed her appearance, or had adopted a new mode of dressing, Annabelle decided, but she
did
look different. And then it came to her. It was in the eyes and in the facial expression. Henrietta looked positively animated. And becoming! And years younger! Annabelle could not tear her eyes from her sister-in-law. Neither could Sir Charles.
In the ladies
'
wake came the other houseguests. Annabelle
'
s eyes brushed Dalmar
'
s. No one observed the betraying pink which stole across her cheekbones. It was Henrietta who was at the center of all conversation.
In answer to a question put by Lady Diana, Henrietta said, "They
'
re country dances. That
'
s why the steps are unfamiliar to you. You
'
re not like to come across them
at
Almack
'
s
or
in
a London ballroom.
"
"But how do you know them?
"
lisped Lady Diana. "I
'
m sure
I
never had so much fun in my life.
"
A chorus of voices gave their assent to Lady Diana
'
s observation.
"I learned the steps as a young girl,
"
replied Henrietta. "Those were the only dances that I knew until I married and made my bow to society.
"
She smiled, the oddest mixture of whimsy and regret. "In those days, I wasn
'
t aware of how uncouth and wild the movements were.
"
"What dances?
"
asked Dalmar in an aside to Sir Charles.
"Vulgar country dances,
"
responded that gentleman irascibly, but careful not to let his voice carry. "You missed the spectacle. My wife taught the whole damn town of Lewes a series of dervishes that made our Morris dancers look like a procession of paid mourners following a hearse.
"
Dalmar
'
s lips twitched, but he managed gravely, "Did she, by Jove?
"
There was a clamor of raised voices from the ladies. "Oh, do say you will, Harry! Do say you will!
"
Sir Charles became aware that his wife was looking a question at him. "Beg pardon. I wasn
'
t listening,
"
he said, none too graciously.
Lady Diana pounced on him. "Harry must come up to town and teach us the steps for my ball. Oh, they
'
ll be all the rage. And I
'
ll be the envy of Lady Jersey and those horrid lionesses of Almack
'
s.
"
"More like you
'
ll lose your vouchers to the place, the whole lot of you!
"
expostulated Sir Charles.
"What a fuddy-duddy thing to say!
"
observed Miss
Loukes in a carrying undertone.
"Well, Charles?
"
asked Henrietta boldly. "Do we or do we not go up to town?
"
He could not hold her stare. "The house has been shut up,
"
he mumbled into his napkin.
Annabelle, who was blissfully unaware of the eddies which flowed beneath the surface, immediately offered to accommodate them both for as long as they wished, and then wondered at the glower Sir Charles shot her.
"Well, Charles?
"
persisted Henrietta.
Bristling under a sea of curious stares, but sticking to his guns, Sir Charles drawled, "I
'
m afraid it
'
s impossible.
"
He calmly cut into a prime piece of sirloin. "I can
'
t spare the time at present!
"
"You can
'
t spare the time,
"
repeated Henrietta, coming very close to mimicking him.
"No,
"
replied Sir Charles without elaboration.
Henrietta
'
s laughing accents cut across a chorus of groans and protests. "I don
'
t give up so easily.
"
Turning to Annabelle, she said, "We
'
ll make this a hen party. Just you, Bertie and
I.
"
"What about the children?
"
demanded Sir Charles, more astonished than angry. "You know how they abhor town life.
"
Henrietta threw him a disarming smile. "You
'
re right, of course.
"
He beamed at her. "I wouldn
'
t dream of taking the boys with me. You
'
ll manage them, won
'
t you, dear, with Mary
'
s help?
"
No one could mistake the look which crossed Sir Charles
'
s face.
Churlish,
thought Annabelle. And since Henrietta had never in
her
memory left her children to the care of servants overnight, even Annabelle was conscious of the strained atmosphere.
"Then that settles it,
"
said Dalmar, slapping Sir Charles on the back. "Don
'
t worry, old chap. I
'
ll keep an eye out for the ladies, and you can rusticate with a clear conscience.
"
As it happened, young Richard elected to stay with his cousins at Rosedale for a week or two.
"Perhaps Amy would like to stay, too,
"
offered Annabelle, addressing Bertie.
It was Colonel Ransome who answered. As he handed first Annabelle, then Bertie into the closed carriage, he said, "That will not be convenient.
"
He climbed in behind them and reached for Amy. With a crow of delight, she practically flung herself on his lap. Round
-
eyed, Annabelle darted a quick glance at Bertie
'
s revealing profile. She would have to be very obtuse, indeed, thought Annabelle sagely, not to put two and two together under these circumstances.
As soon as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the entrance to her house on Greek Street, she was out the door like a shot, reaching for a fractious, sleepy-eyed Amy. Bertie was only a step behind her, foiling Annabelle
'
s discreet attempt to provide the two Friday-faced lovers with privacy to bring
their differences to a satisfactory conclusion.
An implacable masculine hand on Bertie
'
s arm yanked her backward. She landed with a thump against the banquette, and the door was unceremoniously slammed shut in her face.
"Driver, a turn around the park, if you please,
"
Annabelle heard Ransome command stridently. She half turned on the front step, and watched as her coachman urged his team forward.
"Well!
"
she exclaimed, somewhere between outrage and thwarted curiosity. "That man is just too full of his own importance!
"
She spent the next hour showing young Amy over her new domain. In the nursery, where Richard
'
s knights were set up, Amy was in her element. Annabelle watched in some amusement as Nancy and nurse tried to divert the girl to unexceptionable toys more suitable for a young female. But Amy was very vociferous in her rejection of anything that smacked of "prissy.
"
"Oh dear,
"
said Annabelle to the two bemused maids, "if I
'
m not mistaken, Amy is suffering from a surfeit of male influence, Richard and his cousins. Oh dear!
"
she said again
as the object of her conversation gleefully rerranged Richard
'
s knights and infantry to suit her own taste. Annabelle was not quite sure that Richard would view this desecration with anything resembing equanimity. She had visions of the normal household tranquillity which prevailed in Greek Street being shattered by the spats of noisy, quarrelsome children. The prospect made her shudder.
She was in the morning room, which also served as her study, when she heard a footman open the front door to Bertie. Though she trusted her companion implicitly, events had made Annabelle cautious. Without thinking, she gathered the pages of Monique Dupres
'
s memoirs, which she had newly committed to paper, and thrust them into the bottom drawer of her Sheraton escritoire.
She
'
d made remarkable progress, she thought, and no wonder. She
'
d been driven by an unwholesome curiosity to uncover the shady goings-on of one "Sir Spider.
"
The first time she
'
d come across the knave, he
'
d been only one of many
such characters who marched through the pages of the French girl's manuscript. She hadn
'
t paid much attention. But that was before she knew his identity. Dalmar!
And though the diaries opened in Vienna, she had concentrated all her powers of recall on what had transpired in Brussels, where "Sir Spider
"
had first put in an appearance. Vienna was only of academic interest. Brussels drew her like a magnet.
But oh, she could not shake herself of the unpalatable conviction that she had become something of a peeping-Tom— a ridiculous notion for a publisher to entertain.
On reflection, however, she was forced to admit that she had lost that professional sense of objectivity which had served her so well in the past. It could not be otherwise. Through an unusual set of circumstances, she had become privy to the most intimate, sordid details of Dalmar
'
s past. And none was more sordid than the episode she had spent the last hour regurgitating.