Kitty (16 page)

He tried another tack. “What about this Lady Henley. You say your mother got in touch with her by advertising in the
Times.
Can you imagine, just imagine, mind, that this Lady Henley would want to kill you?”

Kitty giggled. “Not unless she’s turned cannibal. She isn’t interested in anything but food.”

“Well, then, has anyone shown you any bit of dislike or hate that you can think of?”

Kitty thought of the screaming, crying Charlie Styles but to explain it to the detective would send Charlie and his friends to prison. Then there was Veronica. But that would mean betraying her husband’s trust. She shook her head.

“Well, my Lady, that leaves us pretty much where we started. Now if I could just take you through it all again….”

It was two hours later when the detective decided he had gotten as much as he was going to get that evening. “I’ll call on your mother and Lady Henley tomorrow,” he said. “Now, if you would just tell his Lordship to step in here for a few minutes…”

Kitty found her husband pacing up and down the hall outside. “Of course I’ll see him,” he said when she relayed her message. “And I’ll get rid of him quickly. Insufferable little bounder. Go and see to your packing.”

But Kitty was not to learn what passed between the detective and her husband. Peter Chesworth was very silent on the road home and Kitty desperately wished he would say something to raise the cloud from her mind. For the detective’s insinuations had started her worrying again. What did she know, after all, of this strange man sitting next to her?

He seemed to brighten, however, when they reached their town house. He sent Checkers, the butler, to fetch the decanter of sherry and ushered her into the drawing room. Kitty looked at Checker’s fat retreating back and when he had closed the door on them, she asked her husband, “Did you hire the servants, Peter? They are not at all like the ones at Reamington.”

“No, why?” said Peter. “Your mother engaged the staff here. If you don’t like any of them, get rid of them.”

Kitty quailed before the idea of giving the slab-faced Checkers notice. “Perhaps it’s because I am not used to many servants,” she ventured. “I will wait a few days.”

The door opened abruptly and Checkers entered bearing the tray. He turned his back on Peter as he deferentially handed Kitty her glass. She glanced up into his watery eyes and started at the look of undisguised venom on his fat white face. In a second it was gone, leaving her to think that she must be overtired and imagining things.

After they had finished their drinks, Peter escorted his wife to the door of her bedroom. He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the cheek but her body was so soft and pliant against his and that scent from her hair—gardenia, that was it—was clouding his senses. His mouth slid across her cheek and found her mouth and Kitty’s mind went spiraling off into a dark, dark night lit by bursts of fireworks. Then, gradually, as if it were happening to someone else, she became aware of long, hard fingers stroking her bosom and a lean muscular leg pressing between her thighs. Bright-colored images chased each other across the night of her mind. The sun sparkling on the blond hairs on Henry’s hand as it clutched her breast, Charlie’s blond wig lying in the fireplace, and the white body of her husband, gleaming in the electricity as he laughed at her picture. She went rigid and cold as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over her. Peter was immediately aware of her reaction and cursed himself for getting carried away. He kissed her lightly on the forehead and with a husky “good night” took himself off to his own room.

Immediately, Kitty wanted him back. Not to hold her like that in that frightening way but just… she wanted… oh, what in the name of heaven did she want! Kitty threw herself on her bed and indulged in a much-needed bout of tears.

Kitty shyly entered the breakfast room next morning but the passionate lover of the night before was immersed in the
Daily Telegraph
and merely smiled at her and returned to his paper.

At last he put it down and turned his attention to his breakfast. “Good God,” he exclaimed, lifting cover after cover. “This all looks as if it had been made a week ago. Checkers, who on earth is our cook?”

“Mrs. Checkers,” replied the butler blandly.

“Your wife, eh? Well you’d better straighten her out this morning, Kitty.”

Again that look from Checkers, a mixture of insolence and venom, was directed at Kitty. But this time her husband intercepted it.

“Checkers, you’re dismissed. You’ve got your marching orders. Now go, and take your wife with you. Your wages will be forwarded to you,” snapped Peter Chesworth.

The butler opened his mouth to say something and was forestalled.

“You want to know the reason, I suppose,” said Peter Chesworth. “Well, I’m dismissing you for dumb insolence and not because of your wife’s hellish cooking. Not another word. Go.”

The butler hesitated but Peter Chesworth was again reading his paper and Kitty realized that her husband did not doubt for a minute that his order would be disobeyed. Nor was it. Checkers finally choked out, “Very good, my Lord,” and closed the door quietly behind him.

Peter Chesworth threw down his paper again. “I’m dashed if I know what’s going on. Because of all this marriage mess—sorry, Kitty—I never really
looked
at any of the servants. I’d better run around to Scotland Yard and get that detective of yours onto Checkers. I’ve never seen anyone with such a vile look. Why, he looked as if he could have murdered you,” he added cheerfully.

Kitty shuddered. “I was going to have luncheon with Mama today and I wondered if you would join me?”

Her husband looked at her in dismay. “Can’t do it, my dear. I have a luncheon appointment in the city with a chap who’s getting me a special deal on a cart-load of superphosphates.”

His wife looked puzzled and Peter laughed. “I forget you don’t know about farming. Well, it’s one of our farms at Reamington. Jezzald, the farmer, has been overstocking and he doesn’t even care. He’s taken the heart out of the land until it’s good for nothing. Tell you what, I’ll drop you off at your mother’s and then pick you up afterward. Then my agent had better come over and get rid of this lot of servants and get us some more.”

“Oh, but that’s heartless!” cried Kitty. “Some of them might not deserve to lose their jobs.”

“You’ll lose your life by one of them if we’re not careful,” said her husband grimly. “Don’t worry, my agent will sort through their references.” There was a slight noise outside the door.

He leaped to his feet but whoever had been in the hallway was gone.

At midday, he escorted Kitty to Park Lane and helped her down from the carriage and bent gallantly to kiss her gloved hand. Kitty looked down at the black, curly head bent over her hand and began to stammer, “P-Peter, I would like to t-tell you…” and then lost her courage. She desperately wanted to explain why she had rejected his lovemaking the night before but standing in the middle of the pavement with the coachman within earshot, she felt suddenly shy of the tall stranger who was her husband.

“I just wanted… to know… that is, when will you be finished with your luncheon?”

“Oh, not very long. Less than two hours if the traffic in the city isn’t too heavy. Is that what you really wanted to say?” The pale gray eyes looked uncomfortably shrewd.

“N-no,” said Kitty. “But I’ll tell you later.”

He watched her slight figure walk up the steps and then sprang into the carriage and directed the coachman to drive to the city.

Lady Henley was waiting alone. “Your mama is not feeling very well,” she said. “She’s gone to lie down. Don’t know what’s the matter. She was all right this morning. Quite her usual old self. Then she had a sort of faint turn. Anyway, I’ve ordered a light luncheon for the pair of us.”

The luncheon was indeed light by Lady Henley’s standards—only five courses with a different wine for each course. Kitty began to feel quite light-headed towards the end. Usually, she was very careful and only drank a little but Lady Henley had proved to be an unusually entertaining companion when she put her mind to it and Kitty found that she had absent-mindedly been draining each glass.

“Where did you say your husband was?” asked Lady Henley.

“He’s gone to buy a load of phosphates for one of the farms at Reamington.”

Lady Henley grunted. “That’s Peter Chesworth all over. When he was in Afghanistan with my son—” She paused. “Didn’t you know your husband used to be in the army?”

Kitty shook her head. “Well, what a strange couple you are to be sure,” said Lady Henley. “Peter was a Captain in the Wiltshires and a very brave soldier. But my poor son, John, caught a bullet and died in the hospital in Peshawar and Peter got a nasty case of enteric fever and was sent home.

“John used to write to me a lot about Peter. Peter was his Captain. John used to say Peter would dream of nothing but Reamington. His father was alive at the time and drinking and gambling the estate into rack and ruin. ‘I’ll save Reamington!’” Peter used to tell my son. ‘Even if I have to sell my soul to do it!’”

Lady Henley saw the distress on Kitty’s face. “Don’t take it to heart, my dear. I don’t think you realize how much his land means to a man like Peter Chesworth. He loves every stick and stone, man, woman, and child on his estate. He’s a good landlord and God knows, there ain’t many of that kind of old aristocracy left. He’ll expect you to look after his people too. You’ll need to see that John on the home farm is going to the dentist and that Molly in the village is attending school and that Jane is marrying the right man and that the old people have enough to eat. All that kind of thing. You didn’t just marry Peter Chesworth, you married all these other people y’ see. But have your fun in London first because it’s a lot of work.”

Kitty suddenly remembered Checkers. She told Lady Henley about her husband getting rid of the servants. “Very odd,” commented Lady Henley. “But your mama got quite uppity with me. Wanted to get them herself. Probably went to some riff-raff agency.”

The dessert was served—a bowl of
chartreuse de pèches à la Reine Alexandra
—and Lady Henley let out a grunt of pure pleasure. “Goody. M’ favorite,” she explained.

“I don’t think I can eat any more,” said Kitty faintly.

Lady Henley’s eyes glistened. In an effort to do right by her young guest, she had restrained her gluttony. But enough was enough. She drew the bowl toward her and wolfed the whole confection down, gave a hearty, satisfied belch, and called for a plate of
petits fours
. “Don’t think I’ll bother about a savory today,” she remarked, shoving
petits fours
into her mouth with amazing rapidity. The little biscuits had been served in a basket made of intricately spun and woven toffee. Lady Henley picked it up and gave it a baffled look and then, with an almost apologetic glance at Kitty, clamped her jaws around the handle of the basket and started to crunch happily, like a dog with a delicious bone. Slivers of toffee flew right and left and me room was silent except for Lady Henley’s massive crunchings.

Kitty began to feel dizzy with the amount of food and wine she had consumed. “I think I’ll need to get some fresh air, Lady Henley,” she said, rising and clutching the back of her chair for support.

“I’ll take you for a drive in the park,” said Lady Henley, heaving herself to her feet and ringing for the carriage.

The fresh air did wonders for Kitty. She felt alive and happy and inclined to burst into fits of giggles at the sight of a woman in a large hat or an organ grinder’s monkey. Lady Henley felt her eyes beginning to close, glad that her young friend seemed to be in spirits. A snore from her companion sent Kitty into gales of laughter and the astonished stares from the people in the other carriages in the Row made her laugh even harder. The world around her dizzied, sparkled and whirled like bubbles in a champagne glass. She felt like dancing. She
would
dance! She called on the coachman to stop and before he knew what she was about, she had nipped smartly down from the carriage and started dancing away among the other carriages, her frothy skirts sailing about her. With an oath, the coachman told the footman to “get to their heads” and ran after the dancing girl. Carriages stopped, lorgnettes were raised in amazement. Voices cried, “I say, isn’t that Lady Chesworth?”

How delicious it all was! Kitty did a particularly fancy pirouette to the enchanting music singing in her head and bumped up against a stationary carriage. She found herself staring into the horrified eyes of her husband. Beside him sat Veronica Jackson, gleefully surveying her from head to toe.

Peter’s carriage had been stopped by Veronica at the corner of Park Lane. Would he mind driving her to the park? She was to meet a friend there. It would only take a minute. When they reached the park, she kept craning her head to look for the mysterious friend and Peter Chesworth had just decided that the friend did not exist when he looked down and saw his wife.

Kitty glared straight at Veronica and the champagne bubble burst. “Get out of that carriage and leave my husband alone,” said Kitty. Her voice had carried and the fashionable throng seemed to stop their carriages as one.

“Oh, go away,” hissed Veronica. “You’re drunk!”

“Get down from that carriage now… you
damned
harpy.”

Veronica trembled artistically against Peter. “Darling, can’t you
do
something with her?”

That was the final straw. Kitty seized Veronica by the arm and gave it a mighty tug. Veronica pulled back and then made the mistake of standing up. Kitty caught at her dress and gave another heave and Veronica tumbled over headlong onto the grass. There were loud cheers from several of the young men in the carriages around. Cursing, Peter Chesworth jumped to the ground to help Veronica to her feet. She immediately fell heavily against him and put her arms around his neck.

Peter was trying to ease her away from him and avoid the rain of blows descending on his head from Kitty’s parasol. Lady Henley’s coachman came panting up and Peter almost shoved Veronica into his arms. He then seized his enraged wife and carried her bodily into the carriage. “Drive on, man!” he yelled to his coachman. Kitty had begun to sob hysterically. Her hair was falling down and she had dust and dirt on her skirts from where they had whirled and brushed against the various carriages.