Deirdre and Desire (23 page)

Indeed!’ Lord Harry looked curious. ‘Silas has an unforgettable appearance. He is all nose with little beady eyes and he walks like a crab.’

‘Why! A man just like that stopped right in front of me one day and looked into my face. Then I thought he was following me and I confess I was afraid.’

‘When was this?’ he asked sharply.

‘Why, it was the morning when . . .’ Deirdre broke off and bit her lip, remembering it was the morning she had met Guy in the park. ‘I forget,’ she added lamely.

‘There would appear to be some connection with your family,’ said Lord Harry thoughtfully. ‘I shall ask Lady Sylvester.’

Deirdre realized she had not yet tried to impress him with her new-found knowledge, and launched into her speech about the latest iniquities of the Prince Regent.

‘Poor Prinny,’ said Lord Harry with amusement, although Deirdre had a feeling he was more amused at her lecture than he was at the antics of the Prince Regent.

‘But why should he suddenly fall in love with the Stuarts?’ demanded Deirdre, narrowing her eyes in what she hoped was a penetrating and intelligent look.

‘He is wretched because of his own unpopularity. He is, I think, fascinated by the Stuarts because they have become such a romantic legend, and he would so much like to become a romantic
legend himself. And then, the more unpopular he gets, the more determined he seems, in some perverse way, to cultivate more unpopularity.’

At that moment, Lady Godolphin came puffing up to say they were leaving.

Somehow, by the time they had all struggled down the stairs again and were waiting on the step for their carriage to be brought round, Lord Harry had disappeared. Lady Godolphin said he would
not be joining them for supper, and Deirdre could not help asking, ‘Did he say anything about seeing us again?’ to which Lady Godolphin said crossly, ‘If you mean you, miss, no he
did not and I can’t say I blame him.’

Deirdre flushed and hung her head.

But when they were at Lady Godolphin’s and Deirdre had retired with Lady Godolphin to her boudoir where they planned to repair their appearance, Deirdre remembered about babies and about
her ignorance of how they came to be conceived.

She waited impatiently until the maid had left the room. Lady Godolphin was the very person to ask. There was something so inhibiting about putting delicate questions to Minerva or
Annabelle.

As soon as the door had closed behind the maid, Deirdre took a deep breath and said, ‘Lady Godolphin, how does a lady have babies? I mean, how does she
get
them?’

Lady Godolphin looked at Deirdre’s red face with indulgent amusement. ‘And you a country girl,’ she laughed. ‘Well, I belong to the old school and go in for plain
speaking. I don’t believe in gels being kept in ignorants, so I’ll tell you direct. Now, sit down and listen.’

Deirdre sat down and leaned forward. Lady Godolphin looked quickly around as if expecting shocked matrons to leap out from behind the curtains.

‘See here,’ she said hoarsely. ‘The man takes out his pinnace and puts it into her virginal and after a bit of fiddley-diddley, a baby is started.’

Deirdre looked blank.

Lady Godolphin groaned.

‘I’ll try again. The man, see, he takes his Shaftsbury and puts it in her private.’

‘Private what?’ asked Deirdre.

The maid came back into the room with a warming pan.

‘Well, there you are,’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘I’m glad you asked me. I’m good at explaining delicate matters. In such intimate things, I don’t believe anything
should be left to the imagination.’

Deirdre was just as baffled as ever.

After she had returned to Minerva’s and was lying in bed, still struggling with the problem, Deirdre felt she
had
to know.

Betty would know. Betty, the maid, had been present at the birth of Mrs Armstrong’s boy in the village last autumn.

Deirdre decided to go to Betty’s room and ask her. It did not seem quite right to ring the bell at this hour of the night or morning, thought Deirdre with a fretful glance at the clock
– but if she, Deirdre, just crept into her room and asked her softly, well, then she would know and then she could sleep.

Carrying a candle in its flat stick, she cautiously and quietly made her silent way to the maid’s room, and gently pushed open the door.

She gave a gasp and the candle dropped from her hand, but there was still enough light from the rushlight beside the bed to show Miss Deirdre Armitage the splendid vista of John Summer’s
bare backside and Betty’s startled face peering over his shoulder.

Deirdre picked up the candle and hurried off to her own room.

She fell immediately asleep, because, all at once, she did not want to think of anything at all.

TEN

Deirdre was feeling very tired. Her father was making return-to-Hopeworth noises. Her sister Annabelle had scooped her up early in the day – eleven o’clock was
early by
tonnish
standards – and had taken her on a shopping expedition.

Annabelle still had all her old love of new gowns and ribbons and gewgaws. They had spent at least two hours in Harding, Hoswell & Co.’s premises in Schoenberg House in Pall Mall.
Unflagging, Annabelle had moved on to Bond Street, very much a masculine preserve with its hotels and apartments, tailors, wigmakers and bookshops, although it had lately become quite
comme il
faut
for a lady to shop there. Annabelle had also spent quite a deal of time at Jane Taylor & Son, ‘China and Glass Sellers to His Royal Highness ye Prince of Wales’ at the
Feathers, Pall Mall, which sold ‘all sorts of China ware, Cutt and Plain Glass’, although she had so far bought nothing at all, and seemed to have endless reserves of energy left to
explore Bond Street.

Past the Clarendon Hotel they trudged with Annabelle’s maid in stolid attendance. The Clarendon Hotel, famed for its enormously expensive dinners, was run by Monsieur Jacquier, who had
been chef to Louis XVIII. It was in the narrow part of the street, known as the Bond Street Straits, and it was there both ladies met Lord Harry Desire, ambling towards them in a leisurely way.

Deirdre had never noticed before her sister’s infuriating propensity to flirt with any handsome man she met. Annabelle chattered on breathlessly and Deirdre reflected that she was too
forward by half. Of course, Lord Harry was only being polite to pay such complete attention to Annabelle’s prattle, but Deirdre cold not help wishing her sister’s hair was not quite so
golden or her eyes quite so blue.

‘I am taking my little sister on a tour of the shops,’ said Annabelle gaily, and Deirdre could have killed her for that patronizing remark. ‘You know how it is, my lord,’
went on Annabelle, ‘these young things will get up to mischief if one does not keep them truly occupied.’

Lord Harry’s calm blue gaze turned on Deirdre.

‘And what mischief have you been getting up to, Miss Deirdre?’ he said.

‘Nothing at all,’ mumbled Deirdre, feeling like a gauche schoolgirl.

‘Then we shall have to invent some for you,’ he said. ‘I am going to the Jamesons’ masked ball tonight. Would that supply you with mischief enough?’

‘I have not been invited,’ said Deirdre.

‘But
I
have and I can escort you, with your father’s permission, of course.’

‘You cannot take her without a chaperone,’ exclaimed Annabelle, turning from flirtatious matron to stern matron all in a moment.

‘Of course not,’ said Lord Harry. ‘A respectable chaperone will be provided.’

‘Oh, in that case,’ said Annabelle brightly, ‘I can supply my little sister with a domino. It is blue which is not exactly your colour, Deirdre, but ’twill
suffice.’

Lord Harry said he would call on Mr Armitage and make all the arrangements, then he made both ladies a magnificent bow, and strolled off.

‘What a man!’ said Annabelle, watching his well-tailored back retreating down Bond Street. ‘Oh, you are such a fool to turn him down, Deirdre!’

‘Ooooh! I wish you would stop putting on airs the whole time, Annabelle, and patronizing me in that stupid way. “My little sister,” indeed!
And
you were making
sheep’s eyes at him in front of everyone in Bond Street. I have a good mind to tell Brabington of your behaviour.’

‘That’s just what a spiteful little cat like you
would
do,’ said Annabelle, tossing her curls. ‘If you say anything at all to Brabington, I shall pull your
disgusting carroty hair out bit by bit.’

‘You are very vulgar and common, Annabelle,’ said Deirdre haughtily. ‘You have learned no manners at
all
.’

‘And
you
have learned no sense, you widgeon. Imagine letting such a prize as Desire get away. Of course, you are so countrified, such a rustic, you no doubt gave the poor man a
disgust of you.’

‘If he has such a disgust of me, then why is he taking me to a masked ball?’

‘Because it
is
a
masked
ball and he won’t have to look at your insipid little face.’

Breathing hard through her nose with rage, Deirdre stamped on Annabelle’s toe. Annabelle rammed the ivory tip of her parasol into Deirdre’s instep.

Deirdre kicked Annabelle in the shins and Annabelle drew off and punched Deirdre in the midriff.

All this they performed with rigid social smiles pinned on their faces.

Then Annabelle began to giggle, and put an arm around Deirdre’s waist. ‘I haven’t changed, have I?’ she laughed. ‘Come along and I will get us ices at
Gunter’s and I will behave myself.’

Deirdre grinned back and they moved off arm in arm down Bond Street. Deirdre wondered whether she should ask Annabelle about babies. But it was well known in the Armitage family that Annabelle
desperately wanted a baby and so far nothing had happened. How odd! Perhaps she did not kiss her husband enough.

Deirdre was in such good spirits by the time she returned to Minerva’s house in St James’s Square that she was able to accept the fact that Lady Godolphin was to be her chaperone
without demur. Deirdre was fond of Lady Godolphin, but found her embarrassingly eccentric and often wondered at Lord Harry’s very obvious affection for her.

Minerva was delighted that Deirdre should be seeing Lord Harry so soon again. Of course, it had been different when Deirdre had appeared afraid of the man, but now she was not, well, there was
no denying that Lord Harry would be a delightful addition to the Armitage family.

Deirdre had seen Betty in the morning before she had left with Annabelle, but had been too embarrassed to ask the maid any questions.

But as Betty was helping her dress for the masked ball Deirdre at last blurted out, ‘I’m sorry I went to your room like that, Betty.’

‘I’m sorry too, miss,’ said Betty, putting the curling tongs on their little spirit stove to heat.

‘What were you doing?’ asked Deirdre. ‘I mean . . . I . . .’ Her voice tailed away.

‘Well, miss, seeing as how vicar is never going to let John and me marry, we decided to force his hand. So we were making a baby.’

‘Oh.’ Deirdre thought furiously. But her thoughts seemed to be dominated by the memory of the nakedness and size of John Summer’s bare bottom.

‘Oh, so that is how it is done,’ she said at last.

‘Please don’t talk about such things, miss,’ said Betty earnestly. ‘It is not fitting that a young girl like yourself should know of such matters. I am that ashamed you
saw us.

‘I won’t tell anyone, Betty,’ said Deirdre. ‘If one takes off all one’s clothes and goes to bed, does that mean one gets a baby?’

‘Like as not, miss. Please don’t talk about it. What if Lady Sylvester were to hear you?’

‘Very well, Betty,’ said Deirdre, knitting her brow. One green eye swivelled in the direction of Betty’s stomach.

‘Is the baby in there now?’ she asked. ‘I’ll not ask you anything else.’

‘Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,’ said Betty, finally turning brick red. ‘Now, be a good girl and say no more.’

‘Just like bulls and cows,’ said Deirdre at last. ‘
Ouch!
That hurts. You are burning the back of my neck, Betty.’

‘You a vicar’s daughter!’ exclaimed Betty, tears starting to her eyes. ‘I just know you’re going to come out with one of them remarks when you
oughtn’t.’

‘No, no, Betty, I promise. But you see it is all very curious.’

‘Curiosity kills,’ said Betty. ‘Now, Lady Peter sent round that domino, and Miss Minerva – I mean, Lady Sylvester says she has a pretty mask. I’ll just go and fetch
it.’

‘It’s all right, Betty, I’ll go. I feel too restless to sit around.’

Deirdre went along the passageway, the dark blue taffeta skirts of her gown rustling as she walked.

But instead of going directly to Minerva’s room, Deirdre sat down at the top of the stairs and propped her chin in her hands. She always sat on landings when she was upset. It seemed a
suitably in-between world. Stepping into an actual room seemed to mean she had to take some sort of action.

If she took off all her clothes and went into Lord Harry’s bed, she would get a baby and then he would be pleased. Naturally, he would marry her. But perhaps only the lower orders got
babies that way. How odd to think of the
ton
cavorting about like beasts of the fields.