The Darcy Connection (10 page)

Outside the warehouse, blinking in the sunlight, Eliza bumped into an elderly man in a snuff coat. He stopped and apologised, his hand on her arm. Eliza smiled at him and was about to assure him that it was nothing, when she felt a tug at the strings of her reticule and Annie let out a wild screech.

The next second another man, wearing a blue coat and not looking in the least like a humble tradesman, had seized Mr. Snuffcoat's arm and had him in a firm grasp.

“I've got the boy,” said Annie, but at that moment, the thin lad she had grasped by his collar kicked her shins, she loosened her grasp, and he was gone in a flash.

The man who had bumped into Eliza was setting up a whining song of complaint. What had he done wrong? This lady here had come out of the door and gone straight into him.

“Be quiet,” said his captor, and, to Eliza, “Are you all right?”

Eliza blinked, as she and the man recognised one another. “Why, beg pardon, I hardly expected, Miss Eliza Collins, is it not?”

“It is, Mr. Bruton,” said Eliza, recognising him first with astonishment, and then with some dismay. “Why are you holding that man?” she said, more sharply than she intended.

Annie, her face bright with indignation, burst out, “Because he's a thief, Miss Eliza, an old trick, and I'm ashamed that I didn't see it coming!”

“The respectable-looking man jostles you, while his apprentice, one might call him, his young accomplice, steals your reticule or picks your pocket,” said Mr. Bruton.

“You've got nothing on me,” the man said. “You can't prove nothing.”

“He's right,” said Mr. Bruton. “Although I've a good mind to haul him up before a magistrate just so his face gets known.” He shifted his grasp so that he was holding the man up by the edges of his coat, and looked him straight in the face. “Clear off. And take care not to cross my path again.” With a final shake and shove he let him go, and the man vanished nearly as quickly as his assistant had done.

Mr. Bruton turned to Eliza and said sharply, “What are you doing in this part of town? This is no place for you.”

“Being a mere
provincial,
” said Eliza with a cold smile, “I am come to do my shopping.”

Mr. Bruton stepped back a pace, as though he had been slapped.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir. Annie, let us find a hackney cab.”

Mr. Bruton had recovered his poise. “No, my carriage is nearby, you will permit me to drive you back to Aubrey Square.”

Eliza opened her mouth to refuse, then saw how petty it would be to do so. “You must have business here,” she said. “We do not need to trouble you, I and my maid came in a hackney cab, you know.”

“It is not the least trouble in the world, I am finished here and intended to drive back in any case. My groom is walking my horses, so if you will wait here, I shall be back directly.”

“What a fine gentleman,” Annie whispered to Eliza while they waited, standing just inside the door of the warehouse, while a distressed Mr. Jessamy kept up a lament as to the wicked ways of thieves and his dismay that customers of his should be attacked like that.

Mr. Bruton's carriage drew up, an elegant curricle with two high-bred greys in the shaft. Mr. Bruton leapt down to help first Eliza and then Annie into the carriage, and then, instead of getting up into the driver's place, he got in beside Eliza.

“I fear we must be taking you out of your way,” said Eliza, striving for a cool and polite tone.

“I am a neighbour of yours,” said Mr. Bruton. “I live in Falconer Street, which is close to Aubrey Square.”

“What brings you to Spitalfields?” she asked. “I cannot believe that you were buying vegetables or silks.”

He gave her a swift glance. “My family owns properties in this part of London.”

“There are some fine houses there, but it seems to have come down in the world.”

“My family built one of those houses, Miss Eliza. Mine is a Huguenot family, although my family moved from that part of London two generations ago.”

Eliza was puzzled by this information. His mother was a Lady Sarah, and he clearly moved in the best circles, was every inch the gentleman, and yet he spoke of having his origins in Spitalfields, which, despite the elegant houses, could never have been a fashionable part of the town.

Lady Grandpoint had noted the entrance of the carriage into the square from an upstairs window; when it drew up outside her house, she at once came downstairs to see why Eliza was returning in such state.

“It is you, Mr. Bruton,” she said. “Pray, Eliza, what is all this?”

Before Mr. Bruton could betray her, before even he had a chance to open his mouth, Eliza shot him a warning glance and said smoothly, “Mr. Bruton was driving down Bond Street and chanced to see us. It was coming on to rain, so he very kindly stopped to take us up.”

“Rain?” said Lady Grandpoint, looking up into a blue sky in which only the tiniest puffs of cloud were visible.

“A sudden short shower, ma'am,” said Mr. Bruton promptly, his mouth twitching; do not laugh, Eliza begged him inwardly. “But Miss Eliza was ill shod in her sandals to walk on wet pavements.”

Lady Grandpoint had a suspicious look on her face as she invited Mr. Bruton to come in and take some refreshment.

“I thank you, no, ma'am. I do not want to keep the horses waiting.” He bowed to Eliza. “Good day, Miss Eliza.”

She curtsied an acknowledgement and murmured a brief thanks for his assistance. Although she had been impressed by his swift and ruthless apprehension of the thief, she had neither forgotten nor forgiven his remark.

Lady Grandpoint did not press her invitation, and he swung himself up to the driver's perch and took hold of the reins.

“He is, I am sure, an estimable young man,” Lady Grandpoint said as she swept through the front door, “and quite one of the most eligible men in London, if you are prepared to overlook his parentage.”

“What is wrong with his parentage?” said Eliza, following her into the house.

“His mother's family of course are irreproachable, none higher in the land. They say it was a love match, that Lady Sarah, who always was a strong-willed woman, fell in love with Mr. Bruton. Others say that her father, the late Lord Tenderton, a reprobate, I have to say, sold Lady Sarah to a besotted Mr. Bruton. Either way I suppose it has turned out as well as any marriage does. They have but the one child, this young man, not so young, either, he must be quite eight-and-twenty, now I come to think about it. We are all surprised he is not married; these bankers, you know, are very keen to secure the succession to their piles of money, and like to have a son to carry on the business in the family name.”

“Perhaps he has not yet met a woman he wishes to marry.”

“Oh, as to that, a man of that age must have met several women he would be happy to marry, and certainly there are plenty who would jump at him, with all that wealth! However, I do not altogether trust him. He has a kind of disdain for the social niceties, he is in society but not entirely of it.”

“Men are luckier than women in that; they can choose their own pursuits and interests, they are not obliged to haunt drawing rooms and ballrooms.”

“One expects them, however, to conform to the norms of the world in which we live. Apart from the social round, so important for people of our sort, one expects gentlemen to indulge in sports of all kinds, naturally. Or even gaming, although I am glad to say Lord Grandpoint has never been addicted to the tables, no, nor to horses or all the other creatures and contests that men like to bet on. Mr. Bruton is neither a sportsman nor a gambler.”

“If he's a banker, it's as well he has no inclination for gambling. And perhaps that fact that he is involved in business precludes him from spending much time on the hunting field or out with a gun.”

“His father does not own a country seat, which is exceedingly odd, since he is rich enough to buy an abbey or two. Lady Sarah regrets it, apparently, but he says he has no great love of the country. She has her family seat, though, she is on excellent terms with her brother, and may go to Tenderton whenever she wishes. Mr. Bruton is a fine whip, I will grant you that.” Lady Grandpoint paused, as though unable to put her finger on what precisely it was that troubled her about him.

“Yet there is that something, a kick in his gallop, one might say. I should not like to see you become too friendly with him. Indeed, there is little likelihood of that, for if he has shown no interest in the most dazzling debutantes of these last few seasons, why should he look at you?”

“Why, indeed, ma'am,” said Eliza gaily. She was pleased with the quick way Mr. Bruton had grasped her predicament, and his tact in not mentioning Spitalfields, but beyond that, he was simply a man whose present courtesy hardly made up for his unflattering remark on making her acquaintance.

Eliza walked to the Wyttons' house in Harte Street, which wasn't far from Aubrey Square. Lady Grandpoint had told her that three o'clock was no time to be paying a call, but Eliza said Camilla wouldn't mind at all. “In her note she says to come as soon as I can, and it is not a formal call, you know. We are old friends, and cousins as well.”

“It is all very well in Yorkshire to neglect the forms of polite life, I dare say in the north these niceties count for nothing. However, as a matter of principle, you must be attending to what is and is not done in London.”

Eliza heard her out in silence, and then, knowing that her great-aunt always took a rest in the afternoon—at least, she said it was a rest; Eliza was of the opinion that it was more in the way of a strategic recovery time, mustering her plots and plans for the rest of the day—she chose a propitious moment to slip out of the house.

Fermer was also having an afternoon retreat in his room in the basement, Eliza judged, as a footman with an impassive face opened the door to let her out.

“Shall I say where you are gone, should her ladyship enquire, Miss?” he asked.

“Out,” said Eliza briefly, and skipped down the steps. She could have brought Annie with her, but Annie would not want to be torn away from the delights of cutting and making, for the dress lengths they had bought in Spitalfields had been sent home only an hour after they had arrived back. That had elicited a further enquiry from Lady Grandpoint, as to the origin of the rather humble packages.

“A warehouse Annie knows, where the prices are more suited to my purse,” Eliza replied, and since Lady Grandpoint was more interested in Charlotte's toilette for a grand affair that evening than in Eliza's frocks, she let the matter drop.

The Wyttons' butler did not seem at all surprised at Eliza's arrival at this unconventional hour, and in a few minutes Eliza was upstairs, being enfolded in a hug by Camilla.

Her cousin held her away and looked at her. “You look well, you have a bloom, but my dearest Eliza, what a shocking gown!”

“Do not feel you have to be polite, cousin,” Eliza said. “You sound just like Lady Grandpoint, let me tell you.”

“Ah, your great-aunt, how do you go on with her? Alexander has a great respect for Lord Grandpoint, says he has a shrewd head on his shoulders for a member of the House of Lords, but I find him lacking in humour. Does anyone ever laugh in that house?”

“No.” Eliza looked around at the room they were in, the main drawing room. “What a delightful room, full of light and airiness.”

“I hate clutter,” said Camilla. “We have just had it done up, it had dark walls and hangings before. While you are here, you must see my dining room—well, you shall see it in any case, for you must dine often with us. Alexander desires his compliments to you, by the way, he looks forward to seeing you again. He is away at his club, he was wild to get together with his cronies and catch up on all the town gossip. We have been away for several months, and he feels quite out of things.”

Eliza had only met Mr. Wytton once, soon after Camilla's wedding, when the newlyweds had been travelling in the north and had paid a call at the Palace in Ripon. The bishop, who disapproved of all the Darcy girls, had stigmatised them as a rackety pair; Mrs. Collins had simply said that Camilla was very much what her dear mother had been at her age, and privately to Eliza, that Mr. Wytton was just the right husband for her. Clever, and an unusual man, and witty with it. Camilla would never be happy with a fool for a husband.

“Now, tell me everything,” said Camilla, when they had paid a visit to the nursery floor, for Eliza to pay her respects to the Wyttons' infant daughter. “How do you go on in London? And how is Charlotte? I hadn't been back in town five minutes before I was hearing of the latest beauty, and imagine my surprise when I heard who it was. Is she really grown so lovely? For when I last saw her, she was nothing out of the ordinary.”

“She is a grubby caterpillar turned into a magnificent butterfly,” said Eliza. “Only there is nothing of the butterfly in her temperament, of course. I am the butterfly as far as that goes. Or rather”—with a grimace as she looked down at her shabby gown—“a moth.”

“All that must change, you must spend some of the money you have put by on clothes for yourself.”

“That is just what I have been doing, this very morning.”

Camilla was one of the few people who knew the origin of Eliza's funds, and she found it a great joke. “You must be sure that no word of your activities ever reaches Lady Grandpoint, for she would be scandalised.”

“I am used to keeping secrets,” said Eliza. “I hope you left Alethea and her husband well?”

“I did indeed, her husband is a delightful man, mercifully after that dreadful man she first married.” Camilla looked serious for a moment and gave a shudder. “You will have read about the murder, the whole affair was quite shocking. The Italian life suits Alethea for the moment, although they will come back to England in due course, I dare say, for Titus has his house and estate to take care of. And I saw Georgina in Paris, very much the grande dame, I assure you, living in great style, Wytton and I were quite overawed. Belle is in the country, expecting a child, and you may see Letty, for she is coming to London next month. Mama and Papa are still in Vienna, and there, that is all the family news. Your papa and mama are quite well, I feel sure, I have come to the conclusion that it is an odd fact of life that men who wear bishop's gaiters and apron are among the happiest and most satisfied of the human race. Now, I want to hear what you have been up to since you came to town, every detail. Have you met any pleasant men? For surely Lady Grandpoint is scheming to marry you off.”

Eliza laughed. “She hopes to find me a respectable clergyman. No, the trip to London is all on Charlotte's account. Besides—”

Camilla was at once alert. “Oh, there is a wealth of meaning in that ‘besides.' Out with it, you have a young man in your eye. No, there is more to it than that, I sense a positive attachment. Who is the lucky fellow?”

Eliza told her.

“Anthony Diggory?” Camilla frowned. “I am sure I met a Sir Roger Diggory, while we were in Yorkshire.”

“His father.”

“The very model of an English squire, clearly a descendent of Squire Western! Tell me, is his son like him?”

“Oh, no, Anthony is tall and handsome. Fair, and—well, I hope you may meet him one day.”

“If you are to marry him, I certainly shall, I must look him over, to see if he will do for you. No, I jest, I would not presume to question your choice. Only, you don't look so very happy, the word
marry
has made you thoughtful.”

Eliza wished she could tell her the whole story of her engagement, but even so unconventional a person as Camilla would consider a secret engagement shocking. Besides, these things had a way of coming out, and here in London, with the gossip that she couldn't help hearing, she knew just how easily a woman's good name could be lost. The engagement had not seemed so wrong at the time, although she was beginning to feel they had been rather too precipitate, too rash.

“At present, his parents do not approve of his marrying me. They wish him to make a better match, better in the material sense, that is.”

“And he stands by you? That is excellent. And you are sent to London to be out of his way, for I can see that your own parents would not want to offend Sir Roger, he is a potentate in those parts, is he not?”

Eliza told Camilla, a keenly interested listener, a little more about Anthony's virtues, and then, for she found that talking about him made her melancholy, changed the subject. Were the Wyttons now settled in town for the season?

“Indeed we are, and I plan to enjoy myself a great deal. And we shall be entertaining, so you will come to all our parties. Charlotte, too, naturally. Or is she under Lady Grandpoint's thumb, does she get taken out to much statelier affairs? And does she have a young man in her eye? Does she have a troop of admirers?”

“There is a Lord Rosely, who is very smitten with her.”

“Freddie? Oh, that is charming, he is a sad rake, but with such a lively disposition—I do not believe his nature truly vicious, I merely think he has sown his wild oats rather more vigorously than his family and well-wishers think quite right. I know that his mother, Lady Desmond, is eager for him to marry, but is he not hanging out for a girl of large fortune? Has Charlotte come into an inheritance that I have not heard of?”

“No. However, Lord Rosely is clearly head over ears in love with her, he cannot take his eyes off her, and resents every word she says to other men.”

“You amaze me, unless Charlotte is grown much less serious than she was wont to be.”

“Not at all, it is a case of opposites attracting, perhaps.”

“I shall call upon her and Lady Grandpoint of course, and we shall find an opportunity to invite her here, and I will ask Freddie Rosely at the same time, so that I may judge for myself.” Camilla paused. “I have heard there is a Miss Chetwynd making her come-out this season, and the old tabbies say that Lady Desmond would like her for Rosely.”

“In comparison to Charlotte, I am afraid she does not shine.”

“Yes, the Chetwynds are all pug-faced, it is fortunate for them they are also so very rich.”

Time flew past, with Camilla's quick wit and lively exposition of how life was in London keeping Eliza better amused than she had been since coming to London. She exclaimed at the time. “I have stayed too long, you will be wishing me away.”

“Not at all, I am blaming myself for not planning to invite you to stay with us this year, for I know Wytton would enjoy your company as much as I do. I shall send you and Charlotte a card for a small dance we are having next week. Have you met Mr. Portal? Or Mrs. Rowan, who is, you know, his constant companion? You have? I dare say you got on well with Pagoda, that is what we call him, you know, on account of his having been in India so very long. I shall invite them, and perhaps some other Darcy connections, we are a widespread family, you will find.”

Lady Grandpoint had something to say on the subject of the Darcys when Eliza finally returned to Aubrey Square. “Cousin or no cousin, it is a shocking length of time for a call. Half an hour is the correct time, please remember that in future. She is sending you an invitation? Charlotte, too? Well, you can hardly refuse, for although the Wyttons are a strange pair, they are unquestionably well-bred, and rich, besides. I consider Camilla has made the best marriage of all those girls. Letitia threw herself away on that clergyman—not that there is anything wrong with a clergyman,” she added, recollecting herself, “but when you have a fortune the size of the Darcy girls, it seems a pity to marry a Reverend Nobody. Then Alethea made that disastrous marriage, and plunged the whole family into scandal one way or another. Now she is married again, of course, but she and her husband can hardly expect to be received in the best houses when and if they ever return from abroad. Belle's husband is nothing special, and Georgina's marriage to Sir Joshua, although it was all hushed up, was another shocking business, although I gather they now live a perfectly respectable life—or what passes for one in Paris.”

Wytton came home from his club in good spirits and swept Camilla into his arms, giving her a most affectionate kiss. Then, holding her hand, he went up to the nursery to see the infant Hermione, who had all her audacious grandmother's and namesake's character, even at her tender years.

“My word, she's going to grow up a tartar,” said Alexander, watching with alarm when his daughter's cherubic smiles vanished at the prospect of being carried off by her nurse to have her grosser needs attended to. “How does Nurse put up with that din? I declare, she already possesses a stronger pair of lungs than Alethea, and her voice is trained.”

“And Hermione is not near so tuneful,” said Camilla, who found her offspring highly amusing, even when she was in a temper.

They dined at home. “Let us make the most of a few peaceful moments together,” Camilla told her husband when they were seated in the dining room. It was a striking chamber, with the walls decorated in Pompeian style, a dashing choice that divided those who dined there, some holding it was shocking and outrageous, with female forms clad in little but loose drapery, while others declared it to be enchanting.

Alexander Wytton had revisited the excavations at Herculaneum while they were in Italy, and he looked round the room with great satisfaction. “I suppose that means our friends and acquaintances will all know in a trice that we are back, and we shall have a stream of callers and more invitations than we know what to do with.”

“Most of which you will no doubt refuse,” said Camilla, who had no illusions about Alexander.

“Most of them are nothing but a damned bore. Do you go out tonight? You are dressed very fine. Don't expect me to escort you, however, you have not forgotten that I go to the Royal Society tonight, where Professor Savrier from Paris is giving what promises to be a most interesting lecture on the results of his excavation in Upper Egypt.”

“I have not forgotten, but I am going to the Rutherfords'.”