Lady Jane's Ribbons Page 11

  Jane looked from one to the other, her gaze resting finally on Betsy. ‘Do you really think he would?’

  ‘Yes. He hates Chapman, Lady Jane, because Chapman was responsible for his wife’s death in that fire. He was the best whip on the Brighton road, and I think he still is.’

  Jacob groaned aloud. ‘For heaven’s sake, Betsy, talk some sense! He’d be a positive liability on the box of any stagecoach, let alone one involved in a race like this!’

  Betsy looked imploringly at Jane. ‘Dad’s wrong, Lady Jane, I know that he is.’

  Jane hesitated and then nodded. ‘I believe you, Betsy.’

  The girl tossed a triumphant glance at her father, who sighed again. ‘All right, let’s assume that we’ve got a new coach and that Arthur Huggett remains sober enough to actually pick up the ribbons; that leaves us with the most difficult matter of all in my opinion – horsing the coach.’

  ‘But you already have horses.’

  ‘And I’ve already said that they’re not anywhere near good enough, it’s bang-up teams of blood and bone you’ll be needing, and lots of them. London to Brighton is approximately fifty-five miles, that’s six stages, and therefore six fresh teams; that’s a minimum of thirty horses, not counting the spares you’d be best advised to keep on hand. Thirty of the best bloodstock horses in the realm, Lady Jane, that’s what your brother and Chapman will have ready for the race; we haven’t got any. The usual practice is to approach landowners along the ground, since they’re usually the only ones with money enough to keep the sort of cattle we’re talking about. There’s only one hope I can think of, and that’s Lord Ardenley at Maywood. He’s a very fine amateur whip, in my opinion probably the best, and he’s kept well out of coaching recently, but as far as I know he still keeps a large stable at Maywood. He might—’

  ‘No, Mr Wheddle, I think not. Lord Ardenley and I don’t see eye to eye.’

  ‘Oh. Well, that’s the best I can suggest.’

  She sat back, gazing at her coffee cup for a moment. ‘Have you told me everything I should know now, Mr Wheddle?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I’m still set on going ahead with it, sir.’

  ‘I was afraid you’d say that,’ he replied resignedly. ‘Forgive me for asking this, Lady Jane, but what happened to make you suddenly decide upon such a startling course? The earl’s passion for the ribbons has been going on for some time, it’s not new.’

  ‘No, but it’s been getting worse, and last night was the last straw.’

  ‘Last night?’

  ‘It was his fiancée’s birthday ball, but he took himself off to Brighton on some errand connected with the race. He stayed there overnight and forgot all about the ball.’

  ‘His fiancée? That’d be Miss Lyndon?’

  ‘Why, yes.’

  He smiled a little. ‘Oh, I’m not well up on such things, Lady Jane; it just so happens that my cousin is a footman at Lyndon House and I know there was a grand birthday ball there last night.’

  ‘Very grand indeed, if my brother had only been there to see. Anyway, he came back this morning and had the absolute gall to tell her fibs about his absence. He covered himself with laurels and then was odiously pleased with himself for getting away with it. It was the last straw, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘So, you saw my notice and began to think?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll only teach him a lesson if you bring the Swan in ahead of him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And there’s many a slip ’twixt cup and lip, for even with a fine new coach, a sober Arthur Huggett, and thirty bloodstock horses conjured out of thin air, you’re still going to need more than a morsel of good luck to win on Midsummer Day. That race is far from won.’

  ‘I realize that, sir, but I will win it,’ she replied, smiling because she knew he’d decided to agree. ‘Mr Wheddle, am I to understand we have that deal?’

  He gave a reluctant nod. ‘We do, Lady Jane, although I think I’m the end in fools for letting you persuade me.’

  Betsy was overjoyed. ‘And will Arthur Huggett be allowed to drive the coach on the day?’

  Jane nodded. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone else.’

  ‘You won’t regret it, Lady Jane, I promise you! Will and I between us will keep him on the straight, but I don’t think we’ll have to try very hard, because he’ll want to do it.’

  Jacob sniffed and shook his head doubtfully. ‘I hope you’re right, my girl, because a lot will be resting on this race.’ He looked at Jane. ‘Mrs Mountain of the Saracen’s Head was mentioned earlier about building a new coach. She’s good, so unless you’ve any personal preference….’

  Jane smiled. ‘Mr Wheddle, my knowledge of coach builders extends to the firm in Bond Street which provided our last landau.’

  ‘They won’t do for a racing stagecoach.’

  ‘Approach whomever you wish, sir, I will leave that entirely up to you, but please do it quickly if we’re to have a new Swan by Midsummer Day.’

  ‘About the cost….’

  ‘Money’s no object.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘And please remember that I don’t want anyone to know about my involvement until the day of the race.’

  ‘With all due respect, Lady Jane, if that’s the case, then I strongly advise you not to come here again in a fancy open landau; it’s much too conspicuous.’

  She smiled ruefully. ‘I realize that and will be much more circumspect from now on. If you need any money, please contact my lawyer, Mr Nathaniel Payne of Curzon Street, and if you need to contact me, please do that through him as well, since it would hardly do to risk my brother’s finding out because you’ve come to South Audley Street. Well, that only leaves the matter of the horses, and I shall have to give that a great deal of thought. They must be available somewhere.’

  ‘You’ll need a magic wand, my lady.’

  ‘I’ll find them, of that you may be sure. And the Swan’s going to come in first on Midsummer Day.’

  He grinned at her. ‘Do you know, I’m beginning to think that’s exactly what it will do.’

  She left shortly after that, arranging to call the next day to meet Arthur Huggett and his son Will, whom Betsy promised to produce at the Feathers at two o’clock in the afternoon.

  As she and Ellen drove back toward Mayfair, Jane gazed at the passing streets, the full import of what she had embarked upon suddenly striking her. But she wasn’t concerned with any possible scandal she might be making; she could think only of the joy of trouncing Henry and his odious Iron Duke. Yes, Henry Derwent, she thought, then you’ll have something unpalatable to pour in your glass and drink!

  TWELVE

  It was raining just before midday the following morning when Jane and Ellen hurried the short distance from South Audley Street to the residence of Jane’s lawyer, Mr Payne, in Curzon Street. Jane was glad of the rain, for it gave her an excuse to wear an anonymous hooded mantle over her fashionable clothes, which was just as well since after seeing Mr Payne she had to go again to the Feathers, and in order to get there without being noticed she had decided for the first time in her life to take a hackney coach. This was a course which even Ellen thought the height of madness, and so it probably was, but what better way was there to travel incognito?

  Mr Payne was appalled to learn of her plans, but after trying unsuccessfully to talk her out of them, he at last capitulated and agreed to act for her. He also agreed, extremely reluctantly, to keep the whole business to himself and not to say a word to Henry. When she and the maid left, he was on the point of going to Long’s Hotel for his favorite luncheon of deviled soles, and it was Jane’s guess that after her visit this meal was almost certain to result in indigestion.

  It was still pouring as she and Ellen hurried back along the wide, fashionable pavement of Curzon Street, and she pulled her hood well down over her face as they hailed a conveniently passing hackney coach. It was a disreputable vehicle dr
awn by a tired old horse, and its interior was very shabby indeed, with worn seats and a scattering of stale straw to soak up the wet from passengers’ shoes. They sat gingerly on the edge of their seats, holding on tightly to the leather straps as the ill-sprung little carriage lurched around a corner and set off on its uncomfortable way toward Cheapside. Jane thought longingly of the elegance and comfort of her landau, and gritted her teeth as the hackney jolted over every rut and bump in the road, its window glasses shaking so much that they seemed in imminent danger of shattering.

  Arthur and Will Huggett were waiting, as Betsy had promised, and as she had predicted, Arthur was more than anxious to have the chance to drive the Swan in the race. He was a chubby man with a florid complexion and a nose of that rosy hue that tells of a predilection for beverages of an alcoholic nature. His blue eyes were watery and his tongue passed frequently over his lower lip as he stood nervously in front of Jane. He wore shabby clothes that had once been of good quality, and he turned his hat anxiously in his hands throughout the interview.

  His son, the Will whom Betsy declared she loved, was a burly young man with broad, muscular shoulders and a mop of curly brown hair. His skin was sun-tanned because he had recently had temporary work repairing roofs, and his eyes were the same blue as his father’s, although clear instead of rheumy.

  They both seemed eager to be part of Jane’s venture, with Arthur swearing on his honor never to touch the bottle, and Will promising to see that this promise was adhered to, to the very letter. Betsy had evidently been hard at work on Jacob, who had most reluctantly agreed to let the Huggetts stay at the Feathers, but he made little secret of his disapproval, and stated quite bluntly that he doubted very much if Arthur was capable of remaining sober for one day, let alone two weeks. However, Jane was inclined to think Betsy was right about the old coachman, and she accepted his word, especially as she could see the light of revenge gleaming in his eyes at the thought of maybe beating Chapman, who had so much to answer for.

  Jane and Ellen left the Feathers in the same hackney coach, and Jacob’s parting words were that he would go later that afternoon to see Mrs Mountain at the Saracen’s Head about a new coach. As the hackney bounced along Cheapside on its way back toward Mayfair, Jane felt a thrill of excitement; it had really begun now, she had embarked upon teaching Henry a lesson he’d never forget, and she was enjoying herself immensely. Her only problem appeared to be the acquisition of the coach horses, and she still hadn’t any inspiration about them at all.

  It was still pouring with rain when they alighted from the hackney coach on the corner of Curzon Street and South Audley Street, and there were no passersby to look curiously at the rich, frilled hem of the fashionable pink lawn gown revealed briefly beneath the plain, concealing mantle as Jane stepped down to the wet pavement. She and Ellen hurried along the street, Jane glancing carefully all around before going up to the door to have it open as if by magic as the vigilant Melville attended efficiently to his duties. They stepped thankfully into the vestibule and the butler relieved Jane of her wet mantle.

  She glanced at her reflection in the mirror to see that the hood hadn’t flattened her hair too much, then she turned to the butler. ‘I would like some tea and buttered toast to be served in the blue saloon, Melville, and will you see that Ellen has some too in the kitchens?’

  ‘Certainly, Lady Jane, but maybe you would prefer to join the earl?’

  ‘The earl?’

  ‘He’s already taking tea in the library.’

  ‘Oh. Very well, the library then.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ He bowed and withdrew in the direction of the kitchens, spiriting the damp mantle away with him. Ellen discreetly followed him, hoping that he would be mindful of Jane’s instructions to see that she had some tea and toast too.

  Gathering her skirts, Jane hurried up to the library, pausing in the doorway to compose herself. She mustn’t appear different in any way, and she was sure that at this precise moment she was positively aglow with scheming excitement. She drew a long, steadying breath, and then calmly went in.

  Henry was slumped dejectedly in a chair by the window overlooking the gardens at the rear of the house. Unlike the blue saloon’s windows, there was no roofed balcony outside, so the rain washed dismally down the glass, distorting the gray scene outside. He seemed sunk in gloom as he watched it. His neck-cloth was untied and hanging loose, his shirt was partly unbuttoned, and his favorite maroon coat lay crumpled on the sofa where he had tossed it. He looked anything but happy, and since he hadn’t returned from Watier’s until six in the morning, and then more than a little tipsy, she could only imagine he’d lost heavily and was suffering from the effects of both that and a monumental hangover.

  She sat in the chair next to his, seeing at a glance that he hadn’t touched the tray of tea which Melville had set on the little octagonal table beside him. ‘Henry? What’s the matter? Did you lose last night?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I won. Handsomely.’

  She was a little surprised. ‘You seem very low for someone who won handsomely. Is something wrong?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘And risk an “I told you so” lecture? Thank you, but no.’ She sat back. ‘Is it to do with the race?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what?’

  He scowled at the rain-washed window. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s to do with Dursley.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Blanche hasn’t….’

  ‘Ended it with me and accepted him? No, but she probably soon will.’

  ‘Henry, I think you’d better explain.’

  ‘He was at Watier’s last night, and he told me that he had grave doubts about the veracity of my story about the fire in Brighton, such grave doubts that he’s going to send a man down there tomorrow to check. He’ll lose no time at all in telling Blanche, and it’ll finish me with her. Goddamn him, I should have called him out there and then for questioning my word!’

  ‘It’s just as well you didn’t, since although he may be a dissolute rake, he’s one of the most accurate shots I’ve heard of.’

  Henry sighed heavily. ‘Yes, well it isn’t with lead that he’s going to pick me off now, is it?’ He met her gaze. ‘Don’t you dare say I told you so.’

  ‘I don’t need to.’

  ‘What am I going to do, sis?’

  ‘Well, I don’t really see why I should try to help you at all, since you know what I think of you and your despicable lies. But at the same time, I don’t see why the Duke of Dursley should be assisted in his blatant attempts to poach Blanche; so it seems to me that the solution to your problem is very simple indeed.’

  ‘It is? Pray elucidate then, for I’m damned if I can see any solution at all, let alone a simple one.’

  ‘Well, the duke’s man is going to find out that the fire was a very bad one indeed, with crowds of people, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked puzzled. ‘That’s obvious, even to me.’

  ‘So he’s going to have to go to your inn to try and find out what you were or were not doing that particular night. All you have to do is send someone there ahead of him to prime them with what to say to any suspicious questions. If they value their positions, they’ll come up trumps for you.’

  He was staring at her, then he leapt to his feet, dragging her bodily from her chair and kissing her roundly on the cheek. ‘Sis, you old darling! What would I do without you? I’ll write a letter straightaway and have it sent down on the evening Iron Duke. I’ll spike Dursley’s rotten guns for him!’

  ‘Henry, about Blanche….’ But he’d rushed from the room, almost colliding with Melville bringing her tea and toast.

  When the butler had gone, she sat down in resigned silence sipping the tea. Henry should have been left to stew in his own selfish juice, but she could hardly have done that and thereby indirectly assisted the duke in his deceitful and dishonorable suit. She sighed, picking up a slice of toa
st. It was becoming more and more obvious that the only way to make an impact on her self-indulgent, careless brother was by taking him on in the race. He had to change, or he’d lose Blanche. She nibbled the toast, gazing at nothing in particular. Where on earth was she going to get the horses for the race? She couldn’t use Derwent stock because Henry would find out straightaway, and for the same reason she couldn’t approach any of their friends. So what could she do? Where could she go to find thirty such horses? Perhaps it was going to prove too much of a stumbling block, just as Jacob Wheddle appeared to think.

  She was still giving the matter her consideration shortly afterward when someone tapped discreetly at the library door. ‘Excuse me, my lady?’ It was Ellen.

  ‘Yes, Ellen?’

  ‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but there’s something I think you might like to know.’

  ‘Yes?’ Jane looked up with interest.

  ‘Lady Partridge’s maid has just called on me, and she mentioned that her mistress was going to the Grafton House haberdashery this afternoon because they’ve had a new delivery of French lace, direct from Paris. I know how much you like French lace, so I came up straightaway to tell you.’

  Jane’s eyes brightened. ‘French lace? Oh, yes, I certainly do like it, and since it’s so wretchedly hard to come by, I suppose I should take myself there as quickly as possible, otherwise everyone else will have bought it. Will you tell Melville to have the landau – no, it’s raining too much, have him see that the town carriage is brought around immediately.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘And Ellen, you shall pick a piece of lace for yourself for being so vigilant on my behalf.’

  The maid’s face lit up with delight. ‘Oh, my lady!’ She hurried out, her skirts rustling.

  Jane finished her toast and licked her fingers. She only hoped the lady gannets of Mayfair hadn’t picked everything clean before they got there! She glanced approvingly at the rain. It was always a good deterrent, she thought, so with luck Grafton House wouldn’t be as full as might otherwise have been the case. She crossed her fingers and then hurried up to her room.