The Women of Nell Gwynne's (6 page)

Lady Beatrice tended her own body with the same businesslike impartiality. During her bout with Sir Richard, her nether regions might have been made of cotton batting like a doll's, for all the sensation she had derived from the act. Even now there was only a minor soreness from chafing. Applying lotion, she marveled once again at the absurd fuss everyone made, swooning over flesh, fearing it, dreading it, lusting after it, when none of it really mattered at all...

She knew there had been a time when the sight of Sir Richard's naked body with its purple tool would have caused her to scream in maidenly dismay; now the poor old thing seemed no more lewd or horrid than a broken-down cart horse. And what had her handsome suitors been but so many splendid racing animals, until they lay blue and stiff in a mountain gorge, when they were even less? They might have had shining souls that ascended to Heaven; it was certainly comforting to imagine so.
Bodies
in general, however, being so impermanent, were scarcely worth distressing oneself.

Lady Beatrice got dressed and returned to the boudoir, where she settled into an armchair and retrieved a copy of
Oliver Twist
from its depths. She read quietly until Sir Richard woke with a start, in the midst of a snore. Sitting up, he asked foggily where his trousers were. Lady Beatrice set her book aside and helped him dress himself, after which she took his arm and escorted him out to the reception area, where he toddled off into the ascending room without so much as a backward glance at her.

"He might have said 'thank you'," observed Mrs. Corvey, from her chair by the tea-table.

"A little befuddled this evening, I think," said Lady Beatrice, leaning down to adjust her stocking. "Have I anyone else scheduled tonight?"

"No, dear. Mrs. Otley is entertaining his lordship until midnight; then we may all go home to our beds."

"Oh, good. May I ask a favor? Will you remind me to look for the latest number of
Fraser's
tomorrow? The last installment—" Lady Beatrice broke off, and Mrs. Corvey turned her head, for both had heard the distinct chime that indicated the ascending room was coming back down with a passenger.

"How curious," said Mrs. Corvey. "Generally the dining area closes at ten o'clock."

"I'll take him," said Lady Beatrice, assuming her professional smile and seating herself on the divan.

"Would you, dear? Miss Rendlesham had such a lot of cleaning up to do, after the duke left, that I gave her the rest of the evening off. You're very kind."

"It is no trouble," Lady Beatrice assured her. The panel slid open and a gentleman emerged. He was bespectacled and balding, with the look of a senior bank clerk, and in fact carried a file case under his arm. He swept his gaze past Lady Beatrice, with no more than a perfunctory nod, focusing his attention on Mrs. Corvey.

"Ma'am," he said.

"Mr. Greene?" Mrs. Corvey rose to her feet. "What an unexpected pleasure, sir. And what, may one ask, is
your
pleasure?"

"Not here on my own account," said Mr. Greene, going a little red. "Though, er, of course I should like to have the leisure to visit soon. Informally. You know. Hem. In any case, Ma'am, may we withdraw to your office? There is a matter I wish to discuss."

>"Of course," said Mrs. Corvey.

"I don't mind sitting up. Shall I watch for any late guests?" Lady Beatrice inquired of Mrs. Corvey. Mr. Greene turned and looked at her again, more closely now.

"Ah. The new member. I knew your father, my dear. Please, join us. I think perhaps you ought to hear what I have to say as well."

M
R. GREEN, HAVING accepted a cup of cocoa in the inner office, drank, set it aside and cleared his throat.

>"I don't suppose either of you has ever met Lord Basmond?"

>"No indeed," said Mrs. Corvey.

>"Nor have I," said Lady Beatrice.

"Quite an old family. Estate in Hertfordshire. Present Lord, Arthur Rawdon, is twenty-six. Last of the line. Unmarried, did nothing much at Cambridge, lived in town until two years ago, when he returned to the family home and proceeded to borrow immense sums of money. Hasn't gambled; hasn't been spending it on a mistress; hasn't invested it. Has given out that he's making improvements on Basmond Hall, though why such inordinate amounts of rare earths should be required in home repair, to say nothing of such bulk quantities of some rather peculiar chemicals, is a mystery.

"There were workmen on the property, housed there, and they won't talk and they can't be bribed to. The old gardener does visit the local public house, and was overheard to make disgruntled remarks about his lordship destroying the yew maze, but on being approached, declined to speak further on the subject."

"What does it signify, Mr. Greene?" said Mrs. Corvey.

"What indeed? The whole business came to our attention when he purchased the rare earths and chemicals; for, you know, we have men who watch the traffic in certain sorts of goods. When an individual exceeds a certain amount in purchases, we want to know the reason why. Makes us uneasy.

"We set a man on it, of course. His reports indicate that Lord Basmond, despite his poor showing at university, nevertheless seems to have turned inventor. Seems to have made some sort of extraordinary discovery. Seems to have decided to keep it relatively secret. And most certainly
has
sent invitations to four millionaires, three of them foreign nationals I might add, inviting them to a private auction at Basmond Park."

"He intends to sell it, then," said Lady Beatrice. "Whatever it is. And imagines he can get a great deal of money for it."

"Indeed, miss," said Mr. Greene. "The latest report from our man is somewhat overdue; that, and the news of this auction (which came to us from another source) have us sufficiently alarmed to take steps. Fortunately, Lord Basmond has given us an opportunity. It will, however, require a certain amount of, ah, immoral behavior."

"And so you have come to us," said Mrs. Corvey, with a wry smile.

"It will also require bravery. And quick wits," Mr. Greene added, coloring slightly. "Lord Basmond sent out a request to a well-known establishment for a party of four, er, girls to supply entertainment for his guests. We intercepted the request. We require four volunteers from amongst your ladies here, Mrs. Corvey, to send to the affair."

"And what are we to do, other than service millionaires?" asked Lady Beatrice. Mr. Greene coughed.

"You understand, it is strictly voluntary—but we want to know what sort of invention could fetch a price only a millionaire could pay. Is it, for example, something that touches on our national security? And we need to know what has become of the man we got inside."

"We shall be happy to oblige," said Mrs. Corvey, with a graceful wave of her hand.

"We would be profoundly grateful, Ma'am." Mr. Greene stood and bowed, offering her the file case. "All particulars are here. Communication on the usual frequency. I shall leave the matter in your capable hands, Ma'am."

He turned to depart, and abruptly turned back. Very red in the face now, he took Lady Beatrice's hand and, after a fumbling moment of indecision, shook it awkwardly.

"God bless you, my dear," he blurted. "First to volunteer. You do your father credit." He fled for the reception chamber, and a moment later they heard him departing in the ascending room.

"Am I to assume there are certain dangers we may face?" said Lady Beatrice.

"Of course, dear," said Mrs. Corvey, who had opened the file case and was examining the documents within. "But then, what whore does not endure hazards?"

"And do we do this sort of work very often?" "We do." Mrs. Corvey looked up at her, smiling slightly. "We are no
common
whores, dear."

SEVEN:

In which Visitors arrive at Basmond Hall

A
S THE VILLAGE of Little Basmond was some distance from the nearest railway line, they took a hired coach into Hertfordshire. Mrs. Corvey sat wedged into a corner of the coach, studying the papers in the file case, as the Devere sisters chattered about every conceivable subject. Lady Beatrice gazed out the window at the rolling hills, green even in winter, unlike any that she had ever known. The streets of London were a realm out of nature, easy to learn, since one city is in its essentials like any other; but the land was another matter. Lady Beatrice found it all lovely, in its greenness, in the vastness of the tracts of woodland with their austere gray branches; but her senses were still attuned to a hotter, dryer, brighter place. She wondered whether she would come in time to grow accustomed to—she very nearly said
Home
to herself, and then concluded that the word had lost any real meaning.

"... but it was only fifty-four inches wide, and so I was obliged to buy fifteen yards rather than what the pattern called for—" Jane was saying, when Mrs. Corvey cleared her throat. All fell silent at once, looking at her expectantly.

"Arthur Charles Fitzhugh Rawdon," she said, and drew out a slip of pasteboard the size of a playing card. Lady Beatrice leaned forward to peer at it. It appeared to be a copy of a daguerreotype. Its subject, holding his lapels and looking self-important, stood beside a Roman column against a painted backdrop of Pompeii. Lord Basmond was slender and pale, with small regular features and eyes of liquid brilliance; Lady Beatrice had thought him handsome, but for the fact that his eyes were set somewhat close together.

"Our host," said Mrs. Corvey. "Or our employer, if you like; one or all of you may be required to do him."

"What a pretty fellow!" said Maude.

"He looks bad-tempered, though," observed Dora.

"And I am quite sure all of you are practiced enough in the art of being agreeable to avoid provoking him," said Mrs. Corvey. "Your work will be to discover what, precisely, is being auctioned at this affair. We may be fortunate enough to have it spoken of in our presence, with no more thought of our understanding than if we were dogs.
He
may be more discreet, and in that case you will need to get it out of the guests. I suspect the lot of you will be handed around like bonbons, but if any one of them takes any one of you to his bedroom, then I strongly recommend the use of one of Mr. Felmouth's nostrums."

"Oh, jolly good," said Dora in a pleased voice, lifting the edge of her traveling cloak to admire the amber buttons on her yellow satin gown.

"Our other objective..." Mrs. Corvey sorted through the case and drew out a second photograph. "William Reginald

Ludbridge." She held up the image. The subject of the portrait faced square ahead, staring into the camera's lens. He was a man of perhaps forty-five, with blunt pugnacious features rendered slightly diabolical by a moustache and goatee. His gaze was shrewd and leonine.

"One of our brothers in the Society," said Mrs. Corvey. "The gentleman sent to Basmond Park before us, in the guise of a laborer. He seems to have gone missing. We are to find him, if possible, and render any assistance we may. I expect that will be my primary concern, while you lot concentrate on the other gentlemen."

At that moment the coach slowed and, shortly, stopped. The coachman descended and opened the door. "The Basmond Arms, ladies," he informed them, offering his arm to Mrs. Corvey.