Vintage Love (195 page)

“Why?”

“They were close friends,” she said. “I think what you have heard is nothing more than scurrilous gossip!”

Grant looked somewhat abashed. He said, “You could be right. Those rakes at the club are so jaded that they seize on anything that hints of scandal.”

“You would do well to close your ears to them,” she told him.

“I will,” he said. “And by the way, Jeffrey is giving another lavish soirée in a few days. It’s to have a Night In Venice theme! Everyone is to attend in Venetian costumes of the last century. So he cannot be too short of money.”

“I see,” she said.

“I have been invited,” Grant said. “I know you have refused me often. But I’ll ask you again. Would you care to attend with me?”

She didn’t want to turn him down abruptly, so she said, “Let us wait and see how I feel on that day.”

The young man smiled happily and made her feel guilty since she had no serious thought of attending. He said, “I will call on you in a day or two and pray that your decision will be favorable.”

In the carriage with Hector and Peg, on the way to the theatre, Mary told of her conversation with Grant Curtis. She said, “London is beginning to gossip about Jeffrey. His position must be daily becoming more dangerous.”

“I agree with you,” Hector Waddington sighed. “Some of the authorities may note that Noel Hastings vanished without any explanation and put two and two together, arriving at the conclusion that Jeffrey is the Crimson Mask.”

“If they do they’ll hang him!” Peg said dolefully.

“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,” Mary said. “But I do worry for him!”

She somehow forced herself to give a good performance in “She Stoops To Conquer”. She accepted her customary curtain calls with a forced smile and then hurried backstage to near collapse in her dressing room. She hurried to remove her make-up and costume and change to street clothes. Still, Howard Blake had not put in an appearance.

Making her way downstairs she found him standing by the stage door with a harried look on his handsome face. As she came up to him he doffed his hat and apologized, “I’m sorry to be late. But I had a grim session with my brother and he kept me longer than I expected. I have my carriage,” he said. “And I’ve reserved a booth for us at Grimaldi’s. The trade is light there at this time of night.”

“Grimaldi’s will do as well as any place,” she said, her tension and weariness showing in her voice and manner.

Fog had returned to the city and she sat back in the carriage and stared out at the shrouded night as they made their way to the famous restaurant over cobble-stoned streets. In the secluded booth they were largely shielded from the eyes of other patrons. They ordered and then sat forward to talk.

She said, “I assume Edward told you tonight that he still hasn’t settled the business of the letter?”

Howard was surprised. “That is almost precisely what he said. How did you know?”

She said grimly. “Because he’s been to see me.”

The young man gasped. “What?”

“He was at my home today.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “That’s a long story. He wanted to bargain with me.”

Howard scowled. “Bargain about what?”

“The letter.”

“I don’t follow you,” he said incredulously. “How could he bargain about the letter when I’ve just come from hearing him tell me he’s not sure of getting it!”

She gave him a bitter smile. “That’s his story. It doesn’t happen to be the truth.”

“Go on!” the young man opposite her said urgently.

“He can get the letter if he wants to, he’s settled that with Nell’s father. Now he’s merely playing a game with us.”

“What sort of game?”

“You must promise me not to do anything hasty and not to allow yourself to be unduly angered,” she warned him.

Howard said impatiently, “Tell me what he had to say to you.”

“He offered me a bargain. He’ll save us from scandal. See the letter is destroyed, but for a price.”

“How dare he bargain with our reputations!”

“I told him that.”

“What does he want from you?”

“A promise to become his mistress,” she said quietly.

Howard’s face went deathly pale and he pounded a fist on the table so that it attracted attention from the few others in the place. Leaning toward her, he whispered hoarsely, “I’ve always known him to be a rotter but this time he’s outdone himself.”

“Don’t allow it to anger you beyond reason,” she begged him.

The young man clenched and unclenched his hands. “What did you say to him?”

“I ordered him out of my house!”

“Good!”

She said, “But he did not go without a threat. He gives me three days to make up my mind. I wanted you to know his position in the matter. You need not have any hope of help from him.”

“I’ll throttle him!” Howard said savagely.

“No!” she reached out and placed a restraining hand on his.

“I’ll not allow him to complete our ruin!”

Mary said, “You must not become involved in it at all. We must find some other way.”

“
Is
there another way?” he asked in despair.

“There has to be,” she said. “You must not emulate him and yourself become a criminal.”

“He tricked me!” Howard said. “He tricked us both!”

Mary said, “I have not come this far to be destroyed by Edward Blake. I’ll find some way for us!” Her words were tar more confident than her mood but she had to pretend hope to restrain Howard from any desperate action against his brother.

She was at breakfast the next morning when Hector Waddington came into her bedroom brandishing a paper. He sat by her and showed her the paper. “Jeffrey is at it again! He has robbed another stage! And the paper notes that this time he had no companion.”

She gave the paper a brief look. Then putting it aside said, “He’s quite alone now that Noel is dead.”

The old actor seated by her grimaced. “He caused poor old Noel’s death! Next it will be Jeffrey himself,” Hector said. “It can’t go on!”

She gave the old actor a sudden look. “Did I tell you Jeffrey is holding another lavish party?”

“No.”

“This one is to be more outlandish than all the others,” she said. “A Night In Venice! All are supposed to come in Venetian costumes of the last century.”

“He’s staging it with blood money,” Hector Waddington lamented. “Money taken in his stagecoach hold-ups!”

“Let us not think of that,” she said. “I’m considering it from another angle. All London society is bound to be there, including Sir Edward Blake,” she told the old actor. “I’m going to have a talk with Jeffrey.”

Hector Waddington looked confused. “Why? I thought it was understood that it would be best to avoid seeing Jeffrey again.”

“Do not worry,” she told her foster-father. “The situation has changed.”

As soon as she had finished breakfast she ordered her carriage brought round. Then she changed into her smartest day dress of green taffeta and matching bonnet. She surveyed herself in the mirror and was satisfied that she looked her best. She did not want Jeffrey to see her at a disadvantage.

The carriage halted before the fine house in Berkeley Square and the footman helped her out. She went to the door of the mansion.

The butler who answered the door eyed her askance. And in reply to her question if Jeffrey was at home, replied with disapproval, “The master is occupied.”

“He will see me,” she insisted.

“He has given orders he will see no one.”

Mary fixed the butler with a baleful gaze. “Tell him May Waddington urgently wishes to speak with him.”

The butler hesitated. “Come inside,” he said at last. “I shall give the master your message.”

She waited in the huge reception hall which seemed oddly cold and empty in the daytime. From the distant ballroom she could hear the butler seeking out Jeffrey and giving him her message. There was the sound of distant hammering and she guessed that special stages and decorations were being set up for the gala Venice night.

A moment later Jeffrey came out of the living room and over to her. “May!” he said, his face lighting up. “I had feared never to hear from you again!”

She looked at him earnestly. “You told me if ever I needed help I should come to you,” she said.

“And I meant it!”

“I need help badly and I know of no one else to turn to,” she said.

“Come to the library,” Jeffrey suggested.

She went with him to the shadowed book-lined room. Once the door was closed she faced him.

She said, “I know about Noel Hastings!”

“Poor old Noel!” he said gravely. “It was like losing a father!”

“I’m sure of it,” she said.

He eyed her with concern. “But that is not why you have sought me out.”

“No,” she said. “But I do want to make one thing clear. I’m still willing to marry you whatever you’ve done. Just so long as you give it up and leave England with me. I have plenty of money for us to live in comfort anywhere.”

“Never was a man luckier,” he said with a sad smile. And he took her in his arms and gave her a long, tender kiss. She nestled closer to him and he held her in his embrace for a few moments. Then he drew back and asked her. “Why did you come here? Surely not to tell me that?”

She said, “I had to say it. But you are right. There is more.”

“Let me hear it,” he ordered her.

Brokenly, she told him. She finished with, “I do not care how he besmirches my name, but I do have great pity for his brother, Howard. And after all that has happened I refuse to permit Sir Edward to defeat me in such a fashion.”

Jeffrey’s face was grim. “He’ll never do that! You will never be his again!”

“I have told him that. He’s given me three days. What he will do then is not hard to guess. All London will hear his lies.”

Jeffrey said, “What is Howard Blake’s attitude?”

“He has threatened to kill his brother and I’m afraid he might. And that would be no solution, but only add to the scandal.”

“I agree,” Jeffrey said. A strange gleam came into his eyes as he told her, “Sir Edward is among my guests tomorrow night.”

“I know,” she said. “Grant Curtis has invited me to come.”

Jeffrey said, “You will come!”

“I had not planned to,” she protested.

“It is most important that you do,” Jeffrey told her. “When the time comes, you will understand. Let me explain your part in this.”

Despite her tension Mary could not help but marvel at the magnificence of the Night In Venice. Squired by Grant Curtis who was attired in the white wig, silk waistcoat and breeches of an Eighteenth Century nobleman of Venice, she had donned an elaborate white wig in the fashion of the day and borrowed one of the most ornate Eighteenth century costumes from the wardrobe of the Maiden Lane Theatre.

She and her escort were two of a host of exquisitely costumed men and women attending the party. A crowd of onlookers had gathered around the front door of the great mansion on Berkeley Square and there were awed murmurs as each costumed couple alighted from their carriage and made their way along a path lighted by linkboys holding burning torches to the entrance hall.

Mary was aware of the comments of the crowd as she and the elegantly clad Grant Curtis made their appearance. A footman announced them as they entered the reception hall and Jeffrey, resplendent in brown satin, greeted them warmly.

“So happy you were able to come,” Jeffrey said, looking more handsome than ever in his white wig. “Go inside and partake of the joys of Venice!”

She and Grant went on to mix with the throng in the ballroom. A gondola had been constructed on a stand at the end of the room and in it five musicians played a variety of stringed instruments.

Scenes of Venice had been painted for the occasion and mounted on the walls. Gleaming silver goblets were filled with wine and everything else recreated the atmosphere of 18th century Venice.

Grant Curtis looked around him and said, “I’d say your friend, Jeffrey, has outdone himself tonight.”

“I don’t think there has ever before been anything to match this,” she agreed.

“The Prince Regent is not present,” Grant said. “At least I haven’t seen him yet and he is usually very prominent.”

“Might he have decided not to attend?”

“He is one of those most curious about where Jeffrey’s money comes from,” her escort said.

She said, “I don’t think Jeffrey will worry if the Prince Regent is absent. His Highness will merely cheat himself of a memorable evening.”

“True,” Grant said.

She smiled grimly. “And how wise of Jeffrey not to make it a masked ball! Everyone wants to be recognized and admired.”

“Too bad Byron is not here,” Grant said. “This is the sort of thing which would appeal to him!”

A matronly woman in white wig and blue gown came up and touched Mary on the arm with her fan. The woman smiled at Mary and told her, “I have seen many young women play Miss Hardcastle in ‘She Stoops To Conquer’ but none of them have been more appealing than you.”

“Thank you,” Mary said, her heart pounding as she tried to contain her tension.

The old woman insisted on talking about the theatre. She said, “I have always been a strong admirer of Edmund Kean! I still think of him as one of the greatest actors of all time.”

“He surely deserves the tribute,” Mary said politely, wishing the old woman would go away and leave her alone.

“The Waddingtons have operated the Maiden Lane well,” her companion continued. “They have prospered as they deserve! And you are their daughter!”

“I am their
foster
daughter,” Mary corrected her.

The old woman studied her with interest. “Amazing!” she said. “You look a deal like both of them! I am the Duchess of Hampton! I shall attend all your new plays.”

“You are most kind!” she said, praying the Duchess would leave.

“I love the theatre. It is as simple as that,” the Duchess of Hampton went on.

Grant Curtis came to Mary’s rescue, saying, “Let me take you to the garden, Miss Waddington. As I recall you greatly admired it when we were last here!”

She gave him a grateful look. “I would enjoy that!”