A Dangerous Fortune (36 page)

Just as she was thinking about the prince, a great cheer went up outside the house, indicating that the royal party had arrived.

A moment later the prince and Princess Alexandra came in, dressed as King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, followed by their entourage got up as knights in armor
and medieval ladies. The band stopped abruptly in the middle of a Strauss waltz and struck up the national anthem. All the guests in the hall bowed and curtsied, and the queue on the staircase dipped like a wave as the royal party came up. The prince was getting fatter every year, Augusta thought as she curtsied to him. She was not sure whether there was any gray in his beard yet, but he was rapidly going bald on top. She always felt sorry for the pretty princess, who had a great deal to put up with from her spendthrift, philandering husband.

At the top of the stairs, the duke and duchess welcomed their royal guests and ushered them into the ballroom. The guests on the staircase surged forward to follow them.

Inside the long ballroom, masses of flowers from the hothouse at the Tenbigh’s country home were banked up all around the walls, and the light from a thousand candles glittered back from the tall mirrors between the windows. The footmen handing round champagne were dressed as Elizabethan courtiers in doublet and hose. The prince and princess were ushered to a dais at the end of the room. It had been arranged that some of the more spectacular costumes should pass in front of the royal party in procession, and as soon as the royals were seated the first group came in from the salon. A crush formed near the dais, and Augusta found herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Count de Tokoly.

“What a delightful girl your nephew’s wife is, Mrs. Pilaster,” he said.

Augusta gave him a frosty smile. “How generous you are to say so, Count.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I detect a note of dissent? No doubt you would have preferred young Hugh to choose a bride from his own class.”

“You know the answer to that without my telling you.”

“But her charm is irresistible.”

“Doubtless.”

“I shall ask her to dance later on. Do you think she will accept?”

Augusta could not resist an acid retort. “I am sure of it. She is not fastidious.” She turned away. No doubt it was too much to hope for that Nora would cause some kind of incident with the count—

She was suddenly inspired.

The count was the critical factor. If she put him together with Nora the combination could be explosive.

Her mind was racing. Tonight was a perfect opportunity. She had to do it now.

Feeling a little breathless with excitement, Augusta looked around, spotted Micky, and went over to him. “There’s something I want you to do for me, now, quickly,” she said.

Micky gave her a knowing look. “Anything,” he murmured.

She ignored the innuendo. “Do you know Count de Tokoly?”

“Indeed. All we diplomats know one another.”

“Tell him that Nora is no better than she ought to be.”

Micky’s mouth curled in a half-smile. “Just that?”

“You may elaborate if you wish.”

“Should I hint that I know this from, let us say, personal experience?”

This conversation was transgressing the boundaries of propriety, but Micky’s idea was a good one and she nodded. “Even better.”

“You know what he will do?” Micky said.

“I trust he will make an indecent suggestion to her.”

“If that’s what you want….”

“Yes.”

Micky nodded. “I am your slave, in this as in all things.”

Augusta waved the compliment aside impatiently:
she was too tense to listen to facetious gallantry. She looked for Nora and saw her staring around in wonderment at the lavish decor and the extravagant costumes: the girl had never seen anything like this in her life. She was quite off guard. Without further reflection Augusta made her way through the crowd to Nora’s side.

She spoke into her ear. “A word of advice.”

“Much obliged for it, I’m sure,” Nora said.

Hugh had presumably given Nora a malevolent account of Augusta’s character, but to the girl’s credit she showed no sign of hostility. She appeared not to have made up her mind about Augusta, and was neither warm nor cold to her.

Augusta said: “I noticed you talking to Count de Tokoly.”

“A dirty old man,” Nora said immediately.

Augusta winced at her vulgarity but pressed on. “Be careful of him, if you value your reputation.”

“Be careful?” Nora said. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Be polite, of course—but whatever happens, don’t let him take any liberties. The least encouragement is enough for him and if he is not set straight immediately he can be very embarrassing.”

Nora nodded understanding. “Don’t worry, I know how to deal with his type.”

Hugh was standing nearby talking to the duke of Kingsbridge. Now he noticed Augusta, looked suspicious, and came to his wife’s side. However, Augusta had already said all she needed to say, and she turned away to watch the procession. She had done her work: the seeds were planted. Now she had to wait anxiously and hope for the best.

Passing in front of the prince were some of the Marlborough Set, including the duke and duchess of Kingsbridge and Solly and Maisie Greenbourne. They were dressed as eastern potentates, shahs and pashas and sultanas,
and instead of bowing and curtsying they knelt and salaamed, which drew a laugh from the portly prince and a round of applause from the crowd. Augusta loathed Maisie Greenbourne, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was rapidly turning over possibilities. There were a hundred ways her plot could go wrong: de Tokoly could be captivated by a different pretty face, Nora might deal with him graciously, Hugh might stay too close for de Tokoly to do anything offensive. But with a little luck the drama she had plotted would be played out—and then there would be ructions.

The procession was coming to an end when, to Augusta’s dismay, she saw the face of David Middleton pushing through the crowd toward her.

She had last seen him six years ago, when he had questioned her about his brother Peter’s death at Windfield School, and she had told him that the two witnesses, Hugh Pilaster and Antonio Silva, had gone abroad. But now Hugh was back and here was Middleton. How had a mere lawyer got invited to such a grand occasion? She recalled vaguely that he was a distant relation of the duke of Tenbigh. She could hardly have foreseen this. It was a potential disaster. I can’t think of everything! she said to herself frenziedly.

To her horror Middleton walked straight up to Hugh.

Augusta edged closer through the crush. She heard Middleton say: “Hello, Pilaster, I heard you were back in England. Do you remember me? I’m Peter Middleton’s brother.”

Augusta turned her back so that he would not notice her and strained to hear over the hum of conversation around her.

“I do remember—you were at the inquest,” Hugh said. “Allow me to present my wife.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Pilaster,” Middleton said perfunctorily,
and returned his attention to Hugh. “I was never happy with that inquest, you know.”

Augusta went cold. Middleton had to be obsessed to bluntly bring up such an inappropriate subject in the middle of a costume ball. This was insupportable. Would poor Teddy never be free of that old suspicion?

She could not hear Hugh’s reply but his tone was guardedly neutral.

Middleton’s voice was louder and she picked up what he said next. “You must know that the whole school disbelieved Edward’s story about trying to rescue my brother from drowning.”

Augusta was taut with fear of what Hugh might say, but he continued to be circumspect, and said something about its having taken place a long time ago.

Suddenly Micky was at Augusta’s side. His face was a mask of relaxed urbanity but she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders. “Is that the Middleton fellow?” he murmured in her ear.

She nodded.

“I thought I recognized him.”

“Hush, listen,” she said.

Middleton had become slightly aggressive. “I think you know the truth about what happened,” he said in a challenging voice.

“Do you, indeed?” Hugh grew audible as his tone became less friendly.

“Forgive me for being so blunt, Pilaster. He was my brother. For years I’ve wondered what happened. Don’t you think I’ve a right to know?”

There was a pause. Augusta knew that such an appeal to the rights and wrongs of the case was just the kind of thing to move the sanctimonious Hugh. She wanted to intervene, to shut them up or change the subject or break up the group, but that would be tantamount to a confession that she had something to hide; so she stood helpless
and terrified, rooted to the spot, straining her ears to hear over the murmur of the crowd.

At last Hugh replied. “I didn’t see Peter die, Middleton. I can’t tell you what happened. I don’t know for certain, and it would be wrong to speculate.”

“You have your suspicions, then? You can guess how it happened?”

“There’s no room for guesswork in a case such as this. It would be irresponsible. You want the truth, you say. I’m all for that. If I knew the truth I’d consider myself duty-bound to tell it. But I don’t.”

“I think you’re protecting your cousin.”

Hugh was offended. “Damn it, Middleton, that’s too strong. You’re entitled to be upset, but don’t cast doubt on my honesty.”

“Well, somebody’s lying,” Middleton said rudely, and with that he went away.

Augusta breathed again. Relief made her weak at the knees and she surreptitiously leaned on Micky for support. Hugh’s precious principles had worked in her favor. He suspected that Edward had contributed to the death of Peter, but because it was only a suspicion he would not say it. And now Middleton had put Hugh’s back up. It was the mark of a gentleman never to tell a lie, and for young men such as Hugh the suggestion that they might not be speaking the truth was a serious insult. Middleton and Hugh were not likely to talk further.

The crisis had blown up suddenly, like a summer storm, scaring her badly; but it had vanished just as fast, leaving her feeling battered but safe.

The procession ended. The band struck up a quadrille. The prince led the duchess onto the floor, and the duke took the princess, to make the first foursome. Other groups rapidly followed suit. The dancing was rather sedate, probably because so many people were wearing heavy costumes and cumbersome headdresses.

Augusta said to Micky: “Perhaps Mr. Middleton is no longer a danger to us.”

“Not if Hugh continues to keep his mouth shut.”

“And so long as your friend Silva stays in Cordova.”

“His family has less and less influence as the years go by. I don’t expect to see him in Europe again.”

“Good.” Augusta’s mind reverted to her plot. “Did you speak to de Tokoly?”

“I did.”

“Good.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

She gave him a reproving look.

“How foolish of me,” he said. “You always know what you’re doing.”

The second dance was a waltz, and Micky asked her for the pleasure. When she was a girl the waltz had been considered indecent, because the partners were so close together, the man’s arm going all the way around the woman’s waist in an embrace. But nowadays even royalty waltzed.

As soon as Micky took her in his arms she felt changed. It was like being seventeen again, and dancing with Strang. When Strang danced he was thinking about his partner, not his feet, and Micky had the same talent. He made Augusta feel young and beautiful and carefree. She was aware of the smoothness of his hands, the masculine smell of tobacco and macassar oil, and the heat of his body as it pressed against hers. She felt a pang of envy toward Rachel, who shared his bed. Momentarily she recalled the scene in old Seth’s bedroom six years ago, but it seemed unreal, like a dream she had once had, and she could never quite believe it had actually happened.

Some women in her position would have had a clandestine love affair, but although Augusta sometimes daydreamed of secret meetings with Micky, in reality she could not face the skulking in back streets, the hole-in-corner meetings, the furtive embraces, the evasions and
excuses. And besides, such affairs were often found out. She was more likely to leave Joseph and run away with Micky. He might be willing. At any rate she could make him willing if she put her mind to it. But whenever she toyed with that dream she thought of all the things she would have to give up: her three houses, her carriage, her dress allowance, her social position, the entreé to balls such as this. Strang could have given her all that, but Micky could offer only his seductive self, and it was not enough.

“Look over there,” Micky said.

She followed the direction of his nod and saw Nora dancing with Count de Tokoly. She tensed. “Let’s get closer to them,” she said.

It was not easy, for the royal group was in that corner, and everyone was trying to be near them; but Micky skillfully steered her through the crush until they were close.

The waltz ground on, endlessly repeating the same banal tune. So far Nora and the count looked like any other dancing couple. He made occasional remarks in a low voice; she nodded and smiled. Perhaps he was holding her a little too closely, but not enough to cause remark. As the orchestra played on, Augusta wondered whether she had misjudged her two victims. The worry made her tense and she danced badly.

The waltz began to wind up to its climax. Augusta continued to watch Nora and the count. Suddenly there was a change. Nora’s face took on a look of frozen consternation: the count must have said something she did not like. Augusta’s hopes rose. But whatever he had said clearly was not sufficiently offensive for Nora to make a scene, and they danced on.

Augusta was ready to give up hope, and the waltz was in its last few bars, when the explosion came.

Augusta was the only person to see how it started. The count put his lips close to Nora’s ear and spoke. She
colored up, then stopped dancing abruptly and pushed him away; but nobody except Augusta noticed this because the dance was just ending. However, the count pushed his luck and spoke again, his face creasing with a characteristic lascivious grin. At that second the music stopped, and in the momentary silence that followed, Nora slapped him.