Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground Page 11

  “Write to my mama,” Sylvia replied promptly, although it was the letter to Lord Marklye that was preoccupying her.

  She did not dare make an attempt to commence her letter to Marklye until she had seen the Sullington party depart. But, as soon as they had, she opened the drawer and took out the box.

  Determined not to run any risk of being tempted, she smoothed out the paper in which they had arrived as best she could and wrapped the box without opening it again. Then she spent at least half an hour endeavouring to untie the knots in the string so that she could use it again. After she had broken almost every nail upon both hands, she finally succeeded in achieving this, tied it firmly around the parcel and knotted it several times with grim determination. It was only when she had done so that she realised that she had not yet written the letter and, unless she wished to spend another half hour untying the string, she would be unable to insert it into the box. On discovering this oversight, several words, which she would not have wanted Melissa to hear, passed her lips. She would just have to insert the letter, folded, between the paper and the string.

  She put the box back in the drawer, picked up the branch of candles and repaired to the table under the window, where she drew a sheet of paper towards her, mended her pen, dipped it in the ink and waited hopefully for inspiration to strike her.

  Chapter 12

  “Pray stand up, Cassie; it is useless to plead with me,” the Duke said, quite gently but remorselessly. “I have made up my mind and your enacting me a Cheltenham tragedy will achieve nothing but shame when you think on it later.”

  She was clasping his legs, her tears splashing unregarded on to his trousers; now she snatched the hand with which he was endeavouring to raise her to her feet and conveyed it to her lips. “Will you not kiss me once more for old times’ sake?” she asked, looking up at him beseechingly; her eyes were reddened and awash with tears, which had glued her eyelashes together in clumps.

  “No. You are deluded if you think that enticing me into your bed once more will change my mind. It will not and I will not do it for it will give you no pleasure but, on the contrary, add to your anguish. I am sorry, Cassie; you were in the right of it when you accused me of using you for my own purposes yesterday; I have, but it has not been entirely one-sided.

  “Pray do not insult me – or add to your own torment - by pretending that you love me for I know that you do not. One of the things we have in common is that we both hold the other’s sex in aversion because of what was done to us in the past. I hope that, in time, I shall be able to feel some affection for my wife.”

  Cassie, seeing a faint glimmer of hope in this last bitter comment, stopped sobbing for a moment to entreat, “If you marry this girl, whom you do not love, could you not continue to visit me from time to time?”

  “Would you really like me to do that? Have you no shame that you can suggest such a course even before I am married? No, I will not. I shall strive to be faithful to her.”

  “Shall you? You have not been faithful to me.”

  “I am not married to you and have not, before God and a whole congregation, forsworn other women. When I marry, I shall endeavour to keep my vows. With the money I shall settle on you, you will not have to find another protector if you do not want one. Please let go of my leg.”

  “I will if you will kiss me first. Pray kiss me one last time.”

  “I cannot do so when you grovel upon the floor. Stand up.”

  She removed her arms from his leg, an action which brought on a fresh torrent of sobs for that familiar limb was strong and straight and she felt, letting it go, as though she were a twining plant bereft of its host and that she would never again be able to stand by herself but must lie, abandoned upon the ground.

  He was holding out his hand but, as she took it and he raised her to her feet, she said accusingly, “You have seen her again, have you not?”

  “Who?”

  “Your erstwhile fiancée.”

  He shrugged but did not attempt to deny it. “Yes.”

  “And you still love her?”

  He stepped back, dropping her hand, and said coldly, “I wish you would not use such exaggerated language, particularly to describe what you imagine to be my feelings for a woman from whom I parted a long time ago.”

  His confirmation of the reappearance of his first love galvanised Cassie. Her tears dried instantly and, exchanging her imploring manner for one of derision, she asked, “And has she grown fat and dull? No, I see that she has not. It is your seeing her again that is prompting this sudden decision to marry, is it not? Do you wish me to believe that her reappearance - neither fat nor dull - has had the effect of instantly dissolving the feelings which you have nursed for her for so long? Is she married?”

  “No.”

  “In that case why do you not renew your suit?” She almost spat the words at him..

  “My feelings have undergone a change. I can imagine no woman I would like less to marry.” He turned away as he spoke and moved closer to the door.

  “How fortunate then that you did not do so!” She gave him a contemptuous look and added, pushing the knife in as hard as she could, “You do not deceive me: it is perfectly clear that you are still in thrall to her.”

  He had reached the door and, his hand upon the knob, turned and asked coldly, “Do you want me to kiss you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then pray curtail the dramatics and the accusations and allow me to do so.”

  But, as he now stood some yards from her, one of them was obliged to move closer to the other. He did not, standing with an air of ill-concealed impatience, directly in front of the door.

  For a moment Cassie was tempted to deny herself that last painful gesture, to dismiss him with another cutting insult, but she had never acquired the ability to let go of something in time to salvage even an iota of pride, and, her mouth trembling and fresh tears starting to her eyes, she stumbled towards him, throwing herself upon his breast and feeling his arms go round her, probably for the last time.

  He held her while she sobbed into his coat for some few minutes before dropping his arms, lifting her chin and bestowing upon her what she could not pretend was anything but a valedictory kiss, after which he put her away from him gently, turned on his heel and went out.

  Cassie stood as though turned to stone for a moment. Then, taking a long, shuddering breath, she opened the door through which the Duke had left, peered outside as though hoping that he was standing there waiting to be recalled, observed that the hall was empty except for the usual footman, and slammed it shut as hard as she could, wishing, as she did so, that her lover’s head – or at the very least his hand - had somehow become wedged between the door and the jamb.

  At a loss as to how she could discharge the remainder of the rage which boiled inside her, she screamed, hurting her throat as she did so. But no one came to her aid. Not one of the servants appeared. The footman in the hall must have heard but then he could not possibly have failed to hear the slammed door either and, shortly before these two clear signifiers of a temper unleashed, he must also have noticed the Duke leave the room and presumably the house. She did not doubt that by this time all the servants knew that she had been abandoned.

  She threw herself upon the sofa and indulged in a prolonged and noisy fit of weeping, not caring if all the servants were standing outside listening. She would, she resolved, grinding her teeth, dismiss the lot of them, which would teach them to treat her with such disregard.

  It was some time before she ran out of tears and, by the time she did, her eyes and throat hurt so much that she could no longer mourn her loss in this manner. Once she had stopped making such a noise, she became aware of the silence of the house. If the servants were standing outside, they must be holding their breath. She rose and once more opened the door to peer into the hall. The footman was still at his post.

  “I should like some wine,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  “Certainly, M
adam,” responded the footman, bowing, and moving towards the door which led into the servants’ quarters.

  Cassie went back into the saloon but she did not sit down. She stood by the window, staring, unseeing, into the street, down which a few people were walking in a desultory fashion. How could life go on for others when hers had come to an end?

  She heard the door open but did not turn round. The slight chink of glass as the butler placed a tray upon a small table beside the sofa was followed by the sound of him mending the fire. “Will that be all, Madam?” he asked at last.

  She turned then and saw him standing respectfully beside the table.

  “Yes, thank you. His grace has left me,” she added dully, watching the man’s face to see his reaction.

  There was none worthy of remark. His countenance remained impassive.

  “Yes, Madam.”

  Cassie nodded and the man bowed and withdrew, his thoughts still concealed within his bosom.

  She sat down and lifted the glass that the butler had half-filled for her and took a sip, wincing as the liquid passed the soreness in her throat. She did not want to think about her situation now, she certainly had no wish to dwell upon her recent conduct, neither when the Duke had been present nor after he had left, but she had no choice.

  The minutes had ticked on since he broke the awful news that he was leaving her and she must, as she had done before, somehow gather the tattered remains of her pride about her and find some way of salvaging her amour propre. She wished she had not gone on her knees to him: it had not, unsurprisingly, answered; the action had merely left her ashamed, as he had warned her that it would. She knew that she had displayed very little pride when pleading with him but suspected that the wound was caused more by her fear of being irretrievably damaged in the eyes of the world than by loss of the man. It would be only a matter of time before everyone knew of her shame at being cast off by the Duke.

  Reflecting on the nature of shame – and hers in particular – she knew that Prue had been right when she had pointed out that she had never recovered from her ruin; now, the worst part of the Duke’s departure was her knowledge of the humiliation of his rejection. She wondered, bitterly, if this shame would live for ever in her soul beside that other, first, rejection.

  Resolutely, she pushed aside the memory of her abject pleading followed, almost without pause, by her vicious verbal attack upon him. There was surely no point in refining upon what had been a singularly unpleasant episode. He had gone and would never return to her arms unless the wretched woman, who had beguiled him so long ago and whose spirit had hovered over them both ever since, were to disappear for ever in some way, either through marriage to another or through death.

  She must by now be in her mid-twenties; why had she come to London at this juncture? Was she looking for a husband? Did she have one in mind? Did she perhaps regret losing the Duke and had she come to take possession of him once more? He had expressed an intention to marry a young girl but it seemed unlikely that he would go ahead with such a plan while his first – and Cassie suspected, only - love was still free.

  She sat up. The cursed woman must somehow or other be removed and it seemed to her that there were three ways in which this could be achieved: she might marry another; it might be possible to engineer a situation in which she would look so bad that the scales would fall from his eyes and he would see her as the cold, hard, worthless woman that she was; or – and this was the only permanent solution – she might die. Any one of the three could probably be arranged. She would surely be doing him a favour to dispose of her.

  She knew her name; she had never been able to forget it, but she had no idea what she looked liked or indeed where she could be found, although she was certain that she was now in London. If somebody were to be set to watch him, they would eventually find her.

  It was at this point that she remembered her friend, Mrs Farley. Prue was a powerful woman; she had a great deal of money and, on account of her disreputable past, was almost certainly in touch with a more degraded class of person, from amongst whom there would be bound to be several who would, for a sum of money, undertake the removal of an unwanted person.

  She decided to waste no more time in idle misery, or repine a moment longer for what had been taken from her without making some push to repossess it and, since at her advanced age she was conscious that she had not a great deal of time to spare, she must put her plans into action without delay. Prue would be an invaluable source of information as well as a sustaining presence in this, Cassie’s hour of need.

  Having found a solution of sorts to her despair and, having spent some time in the gathering darkness of the saloon toying with the delightful results that might be expected to follow the removal of the parson’s daughter, Cassie rang the bell and instructed the butler to order her carriage to be brought to the door.

  When she arrived at Prue’s house, the footman who greeted her looked somewhat surprised.

  “Is your mistress at home?”

  “Yes, Madam, but she is entertaining guests to dinner.”

  “Oh!” Cassie’s heart sank. This put a damper on the enthusiasm and determination with which she had set out. Not only was Prue not likely to want to listen to her friend’s woes or be called upon to find a solution to them, but she would no doubt be embarrassed to have been caught entertaining without having issued Cassie with an invitation.

  She was wondering whether she could bring herself simply to turn round and go home again – which was what she thought she ought to do – when the butler sailed into the hall. Now unable to leave without offering some explanation for her presence, she said, “I understand Mrs Farley is presently engaged. Would you be so kind as to give her a message from me? I do not want to trouble her just now but I should be most grateful if you would drop a word in her ear to tell her that I have called, something unexpected having transpired.”

  “Certainly, Madam. Would you care to wait in here while I inform Mrs Farley of your arrival?”

  He ushered her into a small saloon to the side of the hall. Cassie, wishing she had stayed at home and sent a note instead of arriving in person, sat down, rather straight, on a small chair near the fire. She did not have long to wait.

  Mrs Farley was opulently dressed in what seemed at first sight to be cloth of gold; she looked every inch the retired courtesan; her hair was dressed high and ornamented with a glittering comb. Around her neck hung a similarly dazzling necklace, which was so extensive that hardly any of the lady’s ageing flesh could be seen between its brilliant stones.

  Cassie blinked at this refulgence and attempted to rise from her chair but Mrs Farley bore down upon her with such speed that she was enclosed in a scented embrace before she had quite straightened her knees. As a consequence of being caught in such an unsteady position, she lost her balance and fell heavily upon her friend’s bosom.

  “My dear, you look perfectly frightful!” Mrs Farley exclaimed, setting her visitor upon her feet and standing back so that she could examine her face more exactly. “Have you broken it to him?”

  “He threw me out before ever I had a chance,” Cassie cried, the ready tears gathering in her eyes and beginning to spill down her cheeks.

  “Threw you out? You mean you are homeless?”

  “No, oh no; he said he would give me the house, but he has broken off with me and I …”

  “Well, it does not signify who broke it off with whom: the main thing is that you are now free – or will you lose the house if you take up with someone else?”

  “Yes, I expect so. I am not certain, but, Prue, I cannot bear the thought of taking up with anyone else!”

  “No, no, of course not,” Mrs Farley replied hastily, scenting an approaching scene and not at present having either time or inclination to deal with it.

  “But I am interrupting you,” Cassie murmured. “Pray ignore me! I shall go home directly. You must return to your guests.”

  “Yes, I shall in a moment,” Mr
s Farley said more warmly. Cassie could generally be relied upon to consider other people’s feelings; it was one of the traits of her character that Mrs Farley found both appealing and infuriating. It made her a good friend but did not, in Prue’s opinion, advance her career a great deal.

  She steered Cassie towards a sofa, pushed her down and seated herself beside her. “I am entertaining an excessively tedious set of cits,” she explained. “They are former colleagues of my husband – and their wives. I invite them here from time to time because, as you know, I was left quite a considerable sum of money but am perfectly hopeless at managing it myself. My talents, sadly, do not run in that direction. As a consequence, I take advice from one or two of them. This is not an evening of advice-seeking but one of making up to the wives. They are quite dreadful for the most part and you would not like them at all – they are excessively vulgar. And, what is more, if I were to invite you to join us, all the men would instantly become mesmerised and the wives would most likely turn against me.”

  Cassie smiled. “But are not they equally mesmerised by you?”

  “Oh, no, not at all for, although I am dressed in a vulgar and dazzling manner – yes, I saw you blink when I came in – I am not now much to look at. But you, my dear, are not at all the sort of competition they would enjoy, so I shall not invite you to join us.

  “I can see that you are very cast down. Did you bring an overnight bag with you?”

  “No. I did not feel that I could so presume upon your good nature.”

  “Don’t be silly. I told you to come to me. If you will not object to borrowing some of my things, I will have a bed made up for you at once and I will order dinner to be brought in here for you. I am not certain how much longer my guests will hang around but it may be best if we discuss our plans tomorrow. Pray do not despair; all will be well. I may not be good at managing stocks and shares but I am excessively good at getting my own way with people.”

  Cassie laughed although there was a little catch in her voice. “Thank you; I will stay here if you are certain you do not mind for I own I have a great reluctance to return to my own house at present.”