Bad Miss Bennet (5 page)

Mr Getheridge would not be drawn any further. ‘Let us talk at length in my box at Drury Lane,' he insisted. ‘I shall call for you on Thursday evening, madam. And now I must return to business, pray allow me to show you out.' Once in the foyer I approached a clerk who allowed me to withdraw a little cash from Darcy's parsimonious allowance.

When I arrived back at Curzon Street I found the mistress of the house eating a dish of fruit curds and reading
The Maid of Moscow
.

‘This is no time to be eating slops and reading romantic trash,' I admonished her. ‘I am in need of urgent advice. I may be on the brink of making my fortune or of ruining my life.' Selena looked alarmed for a moment and then collected herself.

‘I thought you had already done the latter by marrying Wickham.'

‘Yes, yes, in a manner of speaking, but at least I am still respectable.' My friend's expression denoted a degree of disbelief but she understood my general drift.

I told her of my conversation with the banker and his dubious offer. Selena considered this for a moment, frowning horribly.

‘You know of his reputation with women, I trust?' I nodded. ‘I believe he treats his mistresses lavishly. It is only his first wife who has been overlooked. As long as you avoid the pitfalls of matrimony you should do well.'

‘There is little likelihood of that,' I pointed out, ‘since he has acquired another wife and family.' Selena shrugged and returned to spooning curds into her mouth.

‘Then what is the problem?' I thought for a moment and then reminded her of Getheridge's offer to direct gaming clients my way. She put down her spoon and became more animated. ‘That could be a wonderful opportunity for us. We could operate the best syndicate in London.'

‘We?' I echoed. ‘I thought the offer was made to me.'

‘Yes, but you will need assistants and premises,' she reminded me. I sank down in to a chair and tried to identify the thing that was niggling away somewhere at the back of my mind.

‘Do you not think it was a strange offer to make to a woman … in the circumstances?'

Selena shrugged. ‘No doubt he has some ulterior motive of his own connected with his finances – or the bank's. The man is known to be an utter fraud and rogue but at least he is honest about it. He knows you will not betray him because you wish for a share of the golden goose.' I could only agree with this assessment but I still had one other obstacle to overcome. ‘The man is so confoundedly hairy,' I sighed. ‘I am not sure I can bring myself to …' She made a
tchk
sound.

‘Think of the money and think of England.'

At that moment another thought struck me with great force. ‘Almack's!' I cried. ‘How will I ever gain admission there? If a whiff of scandal attaches itself to me I will be lost; the guardians will not even interview me.' Selena looked sceptical.

‘I told you, effrontery is the only virtue needed in high society.'

‘Not at Almack's, they are more discriminating than the Prince Regent.' Selena was growing impatient. She threw the curd spoon at the cat, which had cautiously entered the room. ‘Mistresses have great cachet these days. All the royal family have them and most of the aristocracy. Their children are often given titles.'

‘And the women themselves are often cast aside after a few years,' I pointed out.

‘At least they are well provided for.'

‘I do not intend to be cast aside by anyone again.' At that moment Miles wandered in with a note delivered by hand and addressed to me. Getheridge had written a few lines.

Go to the jewellers Rundell and Bridge on Ludgate Hill. You will find some trinkets awaiting you. It would give me great pleasure if you would wear them on Thursday evening.

Rundell and Bridge were the most fashionable jewellers in London. The Prince Regent patronised them extensively. Selena raised an eyebrow. ‘Think of England, my dear.'

The next morning we hot footed to Ludgate Hill where I was so mesmerised by the glittering display in the shop window that I had to be almost dragged inside. I was handed a satin lined box containing two identical diamond and amethyst bangles.

On Thursday evening I had leisure to admire my gift as I changed into a gold and white silk gown and drew the bangles over my long gloves. Selena and Miles had arranged to take a box at the theatre in order to chaperone me from afar, as it were.

‘Just scream if you are in any distress, dear Lydia,' said Miles puffing out his chest. ‘I am a military man after all. I was in the Fighting 52nd under Sir John Colborne you know.'

‘That will not be necessary,' said his wife rolling her eyes and dragging him aside. ‘We are speaking of a trip to the theatre not another battle with Napoleon. Lydia is perfectly capable of looking after herself.' I swallowed hard and agreed.

‘It should be a capital evening,' Miles continued oblivious of the undercurrents in the room.
‘The Beggars' Opera
is a rollicking piece of work and it stars the luscious Vestris in a breeches part, I understand. A rollicking piece in a rollicking piece, eh?' He laughed heartily at his own wit while his wife sighed and urged him to ring for the carriage they had hired for the evening.

When Mr Getheridge handed me into his elegant dark barouche he eyed the bangles approvingly and told me how well they became me. I looked suitably gratified and said how much I was looking forward to the play.

‘Oh, it has already started,' he replied as if the play was the least important part of the evening. ‘We will have a little supper in my box, yes? There will be time to observe the play later.'

I discovered that evening how little the society of London considered the wishes of the players. The audience preferred promenading, visiting each other in their boxes, eating, drinking and making as much noise as possible. When they had exhausted these pastimes they paid a little attention to the stage, often shouting disapproval at the piece or whistling at the female players. The young Italian actress known as Vestris was the idol of London, adored – by the men at least – for her beautiful legs.

When we reached Mr Getheridge's box I also discovered to my annoyance that it was almost impossible to see the stage unless one twisted one's body and head into unusual and agonising positions. Obviously my companion did not intend to spend much time watching the players.

‘As it is an opera, my dear, you do not need to watch, you can listen.'

I sat down and felt a long arm snaking around my waist. I fancied I could feel the hairs tickling my skin through the thin silk of my gown. Some women might find this erotic but I confess I did not. He placed his rather short legs upon a chair and relaxed. He began to lick my right ear lobe but was distracted by the servant arriving with our supper.

I was forgotten for a moment while he exclaimed over the lobster and champagne, the game pie and other delicacies. ‘A veritable feast, my dear, I trust we shall do it justice.' The lobster suddenly appeared to be staring at me accusingly, bright pink and furious on its bed of ice. For a moment it metamorphosed into the face of my brother-in-law, bulging eyed and grim of mouth. I started and gave a little scream.

‘I am afraid I could not eat a thing,' I murmured faintly, searching in my reticule for the sal volatile. Mr Getheridge did not notice my discomfort.

‘Come now, Mrs Wickham, a little lobster, a little champagne and
l'amour
while the singers serenade us on stage. What could be more delightful and romantic?' He nudged me playfully in the ribs and I almost collapsed. I refrained from telling him what I thought was romantic. It would not serve in the circumstances.

Eventually I composed myself and sipped a little champagne while my companion demolished most of the food, occasionally waving a chicken leg in my direction to emphasise a point. I realised I would have to make myself more agreeable to him. A man who has bestowed two diamond bracelets on a woman expects more than a token gesture in return.

I tensed as many muscles as I could place under my command, clenched my teeth for a moment, then turned and bestowed a dazzling smile upon my host and would-be benefactor. I leaned across the intervening space between our chairs and stroked his cheek languidly while he admired my
embonpoint
. (I am still persevering with the French language, if only to spite Lizzie.)

Mr Getheridge gasped out, ‘Call me Tom,' before clutching me to his person in a bear-like grip. On the stage the hero MacHeath was serenading us with
‘How happy I could be with either, were t'other dear charmer away!'
I was bent backwards over the edge of the box in an alarming manner which at least enabled me to see part of the audience from an interesting, if dangerous angle. I could have sworn that I recognised a face in the crowd below. It was the highwayman's accomplice, the handsome one who had beguiled me on the coach to London. With him was a young woman of the streets, pretty enough, if somewhat highly coloured. She was decked out in feathers and lime green satin and around her neck she wore my garnet necklace.

I was overcome with excitement and fury at this discovery as well as being squeezed almost to death as ‘Tom' wreaked havoc upon my person while uttering guttural, incomprehensible sounds probably ape-like in origin. It was my misfortune to be wooed by an enthusiastic baboon.

‘Stop!' I cried, imperiously, pushing away the baboon's hand that was creeping up my thigh. I wriggled away from him and tried to rearrange my dishevelled toilette. Mr Getheridge had fallen to his knees and was endeavouring to get up.

‘What the devil is wrong now?' he exclaimed. ‘I had not thought you one of those demned minxes who like to tantalise a man and …'

‘Quickly, sir,' I interrupted him and seized his arm. I could see that he was miffed but I did not care. ‘We must return immediately to the salon. There is a villain in the audience who stole my jewellery. You must help me to apprehend him and his moll who is wearing my necklace.' Mr Getheridge allowed me to drag him to the door while he exclaimed and moaned about interruptions, villainry and the need to call the watch.

We joined the
melée
in the salon where crowds were pouring out from the various parts of the theatre. Getheridge complained as we were buffeted about by a variety of people parading and strutting around in their finery like peacocks on a terrace. He frequently stopped to greet clients from the bank and I soon lost sight of him. Using my sharp elbows as weapons I managed to reach the far side of the salon where I was able to obtain a better view of the crowd. I soon spotted the highwayman and his companion. The woman's vivid emerald satin gown acted as a beacon and I immediately fought my way towards them becoming quite dishevelled in the process.

I looked around for Mr Getheridge but he was nowhere to be seen. As Selena always remarked, men are useless in a crisis. The highwayman recognised me when I was almost upon him. He gave a guilty start, seized his moll by the arm and hustled her towards the theatre's entrance. I rushed after them crying out ‘Stop thief!' as loudly as I could, but the general level of noise and animation was so great that my desperate appeals went unheard.

As the pair disappeared through the door I threw caution to the winds and rushed out into the street in hot pursuit. I cried out to the coachmen and linkboys waiting outside and a few tried to assist me. We all threw ourselves at the hansom cab in which the pair were making their escape. My helpers drew back as the vehicle began to move but my gown became caught in the door as it was slammed shut making an unmistakable rending sound.

I was dragged along the street for a few yards in the greatest peril until an arm appeared from the carriage window and yanked me firmly inside. I was thrown onto a seat in complete disarray, my gloves and indeed my face covered in dirt, my reticule left lying somewhere on the ground – fortunately with little money in it – and my dress badly torn.

I lay sprawled on the seat for a moment trying to catch my breath before finally looking up furiously at my companions. The highwayman smiled and gave a shrug while his moll giggled and pointed at me with her fan. Mr Getheridge would have described her as a highly finished piece, painted and curled and feathered to a tee but scarcely more than fifteen, I would guess.

Without a second thought I lunged towards her and tore the garnets from her throat. Immediately she screamed and threw herself on top of me attempting to tear out great clumps of my hair, which everyone knows to be my greatest asset. Heaven knows how we should have ended if the highwayman had not separated us and hurled the girl back onto her seat where she began snivelling and whining. He sat back in a corner and watched us both, silently with a cynical smirk on his handsome face.

The vehicle had picked up speed and I knew I could not attempt to leap without risking life and limb. Besides, the area through which we were travelling looked decidedly unwholesome. I clutched the necklace to my bosom.

‘These are my jewels and I will not return them to that purloining slut. You will have to kill me first,' I announced loudly with only a slight tremble in my voice. The highwayman shrugged again.

‘As you wish, young lady. Killing is my trade.' These words chilled me to the bone despite my overheated state but somehow I did not believe that he really meant them.

I swallowed hard and asked where he was taking me.

‘We are bound for Seven Dials.' He smiled broadly as he named one of the most notorious areas of the city. ‘I do not recall inviting you along but you seem to have invited yourself.'

At that moment the moll giggled, snivelled, wiped her running nose on her satin skirt and stared truculently at me. She pointed with her fan at my tattered gloves and the bangles adorning them.

‘If I can't 'ave the necklace I'll 'ave one of them!'

I stared down at my wrists while the highwayman gave a low whistle and seized my right arm in an iron grip.