When the Devil Drives (9 page)

‘Very well, madam.'

Having carried her point, the contessa was all smiles again. ‘All done, then. I shall send for everything else tomorrow.'

By my count, over the last hour and a half in the fitting room, that included two day dresses, a superb evening costume in jade silk with a bodice of Valenciennes lace and a matching mantle in silk taffeta, two cloaks and a muslin pelerine embroidered with seed pearls in flower shapes. Also a riding outfit in blue twilled silk with a close-fitting jacket, the garment of all of them that had most provoked my envy.

Suzette and I had arrived at Madame Leman's premises in Piccadilly at half past eleven precisely. There'd been no sign of the contessa, so for ten minutes or so we discussed my requirements. Since I'd presumably have to move in the same social circles as the contessa, a new evening gown seemed appropriate. We'd done no more than settle the colour (soft green with darker moss green trimmings, so much
le mode
she told me) and the materials (velvet, with silk pleating on the bodice) before a small commotion broke out downstairs. Madame Leman scurried out to the landing.

‘Contessa, so pleased.'

The woman must surely have been complicit in the double booking. I wondered how much Mr Clyde had paid her and noted that he was being given a good performance for his money.

‘So sorry, desolee, madame. One of my silly girls must have made a mistake.'

The contessa had swept into the fitting room, looking annoyed. When she saw me, annoyance gave way to a moment's puzzlement then, with hardly a pause, to recognition.

‘We have met, yes?'

‘The night before last,' I said. ‘At the recital.'

‘Yes.' The full force of her smile beamed out at me. ‘You were taking my part against all those foolish men.'

Madame was still talking about the mistaken appointment.

‘It's no matter,' I said. ‘I'm sure the contessa made her engagement with you first. I can come back later.'

Of course, I had no intention of going. The contessa made it easy for me.

‘No, you must stay and give me your advice. I know nothing, nothing, about English fashion. You shall guide me.'

‘I'm sure you know more than I do,' I said.

Every pleat and tuck of the clothes she was wearing proved it. She'd already untied her cloak and let it drop, to be caught by her maid, and her eyes were ranging round the room. I'd seen fencers at an academy look like that, choosing their weapons. The seamstresses produced the first garment for her to try and her maid undressed her to chemise, corset and petticoats. She stood there, in her white silk stockings and cream satin pumps, entirely unembarrassed at being in her underwear in front of a woman she'd only known for a few minutes. She was beautiful, a pocket Venus. For all her small size, her breasts were full and rounded, her hips curvaceous enough to give shape to a skirt. And yet there was one blemish to the perfection. When she bared her upper arm, four dark bruises such as a man's fingers might have made stood out against the white skin. She must have been handled roughly when she tried to get to the princes' carriage. She gave no explanation. Mrs Leman had probably seen worse and made no comment. Successions of muslin, silk gauze, velvet, were wafted over the contessa, patted into place and minute adjustments made. Now and again she'd ask me for my opinion, but only as a matter of form. After the business of the fox fur was settled and while her maid was dressing her in her outdoor clothes, she turned to me.

‘We shall go together, yes? You'll come to have breakfast with me?'

Breakfast? It was one o'clock by then. I said I should like that.

I followed her downstairs, our maids behind us. A blue painted droshky was waiting outside. A palomino pony, hide gleaming like antique gold, stood between the shafts. The driver on the box was a lad as handsome as a young Pan, in sky blue livery with silver braid. He jumped down to help us in. As the droshky only carried two people, that left both maids on the pavement. The contessa's maid seemed quite used to this treatment. Suzette glanced at me.

‘I'll see you later,' I said.

It would do her no harm to walk the short distance back to Grosvenor Street. The droshky went from a stand straight into a fast trot. Even in Mayfair, our equipage turned heads. We drew up outside a house halfway along the east side of Grosvenor Square. Before we'd come to a halt, young Pan had jumped off the box to help us out. He left the obedient pony standing and leapt up the steps to bang on the front door with the butt of his whip. Goodness knows why. There was a perfectly normal bell. The door opened immediately, as if of its own accord. When I followed the contessa inside, there was another young man in sky blue livery, standing to attention. She swept past him. I followed her upstairs.

‘Such an exhausting morning.'

She collapsed onto a sofa. It was a spectacular collapse. She seemed to rise into the air then waft down onto the cushions, perfectly horizontal, like an acrobat. Her eyes closed, but her hand reached down to pick up a silver bell from the floor and tinkle it.

I settled into an armchair and looked around. At first glance, this room was as colourful and exotic as an aviary. Shawls in a rainbow of colours draped every horizontal surface, silk cushions plumped out chairs, a daybed, the window seat. And yet, once you were accustomed to the dazzle, there was nothing that couldn't have been packed up and carried away in a couple of hours. Behind the softness were the plain furniture and bland decoration of a rented apartment, much like the one that I was supposed to inhabit at number four Grosvenor Street. The place was not so much an aviary as a perch for a bird of passage. The door opened. The young man from downstairs came in followed by an angular maid, both carrying trays. If the contessa were deeply in debt, at least she was sinking in style. Still without opening her eyes, she fluttered her hand towards a table. They put the trays down and withdrew.

I was hungry and thirsty. There were a silver chocolate pot with two delicate cups, a decanter of what looked like Madeira and two glasses, a plate of thinly sliced seed cake, bowls of bonbons, hot house grapes with the bloom still on them.

‘Would you like me to pour the chocolate?' I said.

She nodded. When I turned back towards her with a full cup, her eyes were open and she was watching me.

‘I forget your name.'

I told her. We sipped our chocolate.

‘You have no rings,' she said.

She was wearing four or five, mostly sapphires.

‘No.'

‘You are not married?' she said.

‘No.'

‘But you have a gentleman?'

‘I have a gentleman.'

And yet I knew it was dishonest, because she would take it another way. I was unmarried but out in society and apparently not short of money. Therefore I must be a kept woman.

‘You know many people?' she said.

‘Yes, quite a number.'

‘Have you been presented at court?' she said. Her pretence of exhaustion had gone. Her eyes were very bright.

‘No.'

‘But you know people who have?'

‘Yes.'

In truth, very few. My friend Cecilia, now heavily pregnant so confined to her country estate. Two former clients, only one still on speaking terms.

‘Tell me, how is it managed?'

‘It's not easy,' I said. ‘I believe the Queen keeps to quite a close circle of friends.'

Her chocolate cup rattled down on a table. ‘It's a great mistake in a country, to have a queen.'

Although no defender of Little Vicky, I had to protest. ‘Why not a queen? What about Queen Elizabeth and Catherine the Great?'

‘Yes, and where were the chances for women in their time? With a king, if a woman is beautiful there's always a way in to court. What's the point of being beautiful if there's only a queen?'

She was as indignant as an orator attacking the poor laws. I thought I'd heard most political points of view but here at least was something original.

‘I confess it's never occurred to me,' I said.

She stood up and began ranging round the room, picking up a sweetmeat from the bowl every time she passed the table.

‘When I met you, I thought you knew people. I hoped you might help me.'

‘Help you how?'

‘To know how things are done. To be invited.'

‘I'd have thought you knew much better than I do,' I said.

‘Yes, but not in England. What do I know about England? I have no friends here, nobody.'

‘Then why did you come here?' I said.

She didn't answer, apart from grabbing a stuffed date from a bowl and biting into it as if it had annoyed her as well. I noticed several newspapers on a table, which surprised me until I noticed that they were all turned to a page with the court circular. Her eyes followed mine.

‘Look at them. They ride in the park, they listen to the band, they entertain the same boring people to dinner.'

‘Are other courts more interesting?' I asked innocently, fishing for any reference to the Saxe Coburg household.

‘It depends who's present.'

Since I'd been invited to breakfast, I took a date as well. Marzipan and rose water. Delicious.

‘And you're interested in somebody who's at court at Windsor?'

She gave me a sideways glance and a sudden smile.

‘You are?' I said. ‘Who?'

‘A gentleman who is attending on the princes.'

‘Part of the Saxe Coburg suite?'

A little nod. I ate another date. She poured herself a glass of Madeira and looked inquiringly at me.

‘Too early for me, thank you.'

‘The doctor says I must drink it for my health,' she said. She finished the glass in a couple of gulps. If this was a sample of her eating and drinking habits it was a wonder she didn't have spots on her chin and breath like an old spaniel, but she was as fresh as a milkmaid.

‘So you can't help me?' she said. ‘You don't know anybody who can get me presented at court?'

‘No, but I'm sure you'll meet somebody who will.'

Though whether young Victoria would welcome a woman with the contessa's beauty and reputation I very much doubted.

‘It's not easy,' she said. ‘I've been thinking about the horse riding. The paper says they ride in the park at Windsor every day. Is it like Hyde Park?'

‘Larger.'

‘And other people may ride there too?'

‘I believe so, but I doubt if they're allowed to ride close to the queen's party.'

‘I'm very good on horseback,' she said. ‘I ride like a hussar.' She said it with such certainty that it hardly sounded like vanity, more of a statement of fact. I said that I enjoyed horse riding too.

‘We shall ride in Hyde Park together then,' she said, good tempered again at the prospect of a diversion. ‘You'll see to hiring horses?'

I nodded, not bothering to say that I possessed my own.

‘When?'

‘Tomorrow, if you like,' I said.

She shook her head. ‘Tomorrow's Sunday. Nobody who matters rides on a Sunday. We shall ride on Monday.'

I told her the name of the livery stables where Amos worked and assured her that her driver would know it. I suggested meeting at eleven, knowing that she'd never dream of riding at my unfashionable early hour. Soon after that, she had to change to go and drink tea with somebody. She kissed me on the cheek and said how glad she was to have found a friend. She scared me. She had the ruthlessness of the self-absorbed, which is one of the most dangerous forces on earth.

Tabby was waiting when I got back to Abel Yard, with a self-satisfied look on her face that brought a brief flare of hope.

‘Well, how did you get on yesterday?' I said. ‘Did you find a cab driver who remembered Miss Tilbury?'

‘Nah. They was useless. I found out something about the other one though.'

‘Other one?'

‘The one what went off the top of the Monument.'

I had to keep tight hold of my temper. ‘Tabby, I told you, that case has nothing to do with us. Besides, it's all over. They had the inquest yesterday and decided she killed herself.'

‘I know they had the inquest. I was there, outside the Old Swan.'

‘You weren't supposed to be there. I told you to stay at Aldersgate and talk to the cabbies.'

‘I did, for a long time. Then I could see I wasn't getting nowhere, so I thought I'd walk over to the Monument and see what was happening there. When I got to Fish Hill Street, there was this crowd outside the Old Swan, with a policeman keeping them back. So I went over to find out what was going on and it turned out they were people who wanted to get in to the inquest but they couldn't because there wasn't enough room. And I thought if I could get inside, I could find out about it for you.'

She paused for breath.

‘Tabby, I did not need to know about it because it's nothing to do with me.' Then I spoiled the effect by adding, ‘Anyway, I've heard all about it already from somebody who was inside.'

‘Did he tell you about the old man outside who saw the devil driving round?'

I turned away, intending to go upstairs. She stepped in front of me.

‘He wanted to go in and tell the judge about him, but the policeman kept him back.'

‘I'm not surprised. Now—'

‘The policeman keeping the crowd back called him Gaffer. He seemed to know him. He's an old man, grey hair and beard all over the place, crawling with lice.'

(I supposed that was at least something on the credit side. A few months ago, Tabby would have taken that as a normal state of affairs.)