Philippa Carr - The love child

What could it mean? Why had I hurt my ankle just at that moment? I had turned clumsily because the sight of him had made me numb with horror.

Well, he would take us home in his carriage. I should have protested about that. He would be invited in and given wine or some refreshment. Harriet was impressed by him. I could see that.

I must remind her who he was. Perhaps she would remember when she heard his name. There had been a great deal of talk about the thrashing Leigh had given him in Venice. But that was fifteen years ago. I would remind her as soon as possible that he was a man whose acquaintance we should do without.

The apothecary was talking about his unguents and lotions. He was trying to sell me some of his aids to beauty. There was a face wash he had which could make a lady’s skin look like a child’s. There were lotions to disguise grey hairs. There were exquisite scents to please the gentlemen. His shop was a magic cave of delights.

I lay back and closed my eyes. My thoughts were far from the apothecary’s shop.

In half an hour they returned. Carlotta was very excited. They had been taken to the most wonderful shops. Their kind friend knew all the best shops in the Exchange and he had made sure that they got the best bargains.

“Are you feeling well enough to walk?” His voice was tender though his eyes still mocked.

“I should like to go home,” I answered.

“My carriage is here. All you have to do is to get out of the shop.”

“First,” I reminded him, “we must settle our account with the apothecary, who has been so good.”

He waved his hand. “I have a standing account with him. This shall be my affair.”

“I shall not hear of it,” I replied.

“Oh, come, come, such a small matter.”

“Pray tell me your charge,” I said to the apothecary.

“I forbid it,” commanded Granville.

The apothecary looked at me and lifted his shoulders.

“I cannot and will not allow this,” I said firmly.

“So you would deprive me of this pleasure?”

I took some money from my purse and laid it on the counter. The apothecary looked at it helplessly. I could see he was very much in awe of Beaumont Granville.

“You will at least allow me to give you the comfort of my carriage.”

“There is no need,” I replied. “We could wait here for our own.”

“What has come over you?” said Harriet, laughing. “It is ungracious of you to refuse such kindness so graciously given.”

He helped me into his carriage. We sat facing each other—Harriet beside him, Carlotta beside me.

Carlotta cried: “What an adventure! How is your ankle feeling, Priscilla?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“It was such an exciting morning. First all those lovely silks and now this. … Oh, I did not get the fan. I forgot all about it.”

“Never mind,” said Harriet, “you have had a very interesting morning. But what of poor Priscilla? My dear, I hope it is not painful.”

I said it felt better after the apothecary’s attentions.

“I’m sorry,” cried Carlotta instantly, “I didn’t mean it was fun that you hurt yourself.”

“I understand,” I told her and she gave me her lovely, dazzling smile.

We had reached the house and Beaumont Granville had leaped down to help us out.

“You must come in and drink a glass of wine with us,” said Harriet.

He hesitated and looked at me. I said nothing.

“Yes, please,” cried Carlotta. “You must come.”

He turned his gaze on her. “Are you sure I am not encroaching?”

“Encroaching! After all you have done. We are very much in your debt.”

And so Beaumont Granville came back into my life and the nightmare began.

I said to Harriet, “You know who this man is. He is Beaumont Granville.”

“Yes, that is his name.”

“Have you forgotten Venice?”

She wrinkled her brows.

“Don’t you remember? He tried to take me away from the ball and Leigh went to his apartments the next day and nearly killed him.”

Remembrance came back to her. She burst out laughing.

“It was nothing to laugh at, Harriet. It was a very serious matter.”

“It must be fifteen years since it happened.”

“It is something that will never be forgotten.”

“My dear Priscilla, you are behind the times. Men fight duels one day and forget it in a week or so. It was a bit of high spirits on his part.”

“He almost succeeded in taking me away. If he had …”

“But Leigh was there. That was so romantic. Leigh saved you and then went round and there was trouble. Yes, I do remember it well. All Venice was talking about it.”

“I don’t want to know him.”

“So that’s why you were so cold … and really quite discourteous, I thought. After all, he was offering to help.”

“Harriet, I don’t like the man. I don’t want him in this house.”

“We had to ask him in after what he did.”

“Well, let’s hope that this is the end of it and we don’t have to see him again.”

“He seemed so eager to please, and you must admit he did help with the apothecary.”

“We could have managed without him.”

“Oh, Priscilla, you really are holding this prank against him, are you not?”

I wanted to shout at her: If you knew everything you would understand.

I almost told her, yet I could not bring myself to speak of it. If she knew she would readily understand why I never wanted to see him again.

Carlotta burst in on us. She was carrying the fan she had seen on the Exchange stall and waving it before our eyes.

“You have been out to get it,” I cried. “Oh, Carlotta, you must not go out alone.”

She shook her head. “Three guesses. Now how did I come by this beautiful fan?”

“Gregory went out and bought it for you,” said Harriet. “That man spoils you.”

“Wrong,” she retorted. “Try again. Not Gregory but …”

She was flourishing a note in her hand. Harriet snatched it from her.

She read:

I did not like to think of your losing the fan, so I crept back and bought it. Do please accept it. B.G.

I wanted to shout at them both. I wanted to say: It must be sent back. We want nothing from this man, not even a trifle such as this.

“A charming gesture,” said Harriet.

“It was so thoughtful of him,” added Carlotta.

“I think he is a very charming man,” added Harriet, almost defiantly.

I was filled with foreboding.

FOR THE NEXT FEW days I could not go out. On the morning following our visit to the Exchange my ankle was very swollen and Gregory said I should see a doctor. He called one in and the verdict was the same as that of the apothecary. I must rest it and in a few days I should be able to walk on it.

I felt frustrated. Fervently I wished that we had not come to London. Gregory and Harriet took Carlotta to Mulberry Gardens one afternoon so that she should not be disappointed. They took her to Spring Gardens one evening where they supped. Carlotta came in to tell me all about it, her eyes sparkling with the wonder of it all. They had walked through the gardens where they had eaten a collation of fish and venison pie followed by tarts and syllabub; and with it they had drunk a fine muscatel wine.

They had watched the masked ladies parading through the paths and the gallants who had pursued them. Harriet had declared that it was nothing compared with what it had been in the days of Charles when people knew better how to enjoy life. But they had seen some of the players from the theatre walking there, and Carlotta had enjoyed it greatly.

I would wait breathlessly for some mention of Beaumont Granville, for I had a notion that he would not allow the acquaintance to peter out. I was sure that he was bent on some mischief, and those days when I lay on my bed resting my foot, or sat at the window watching people pass by, were for me filled with frustration and fear.

As the days went on I began to think that I had perhaps attached too much importance to the matter. After all, what had happened was no credit to him. Perhaps he wanted to forget it too.

Yet he had looked at me with that sly mockery which had set the fear rising in my heart. I must hope that he had forgotten, and I would suggest that we return to Eversleigh sooner than we had planned.

At length I was able to hobble about, but I still had to take care, and Harriet suggested that a visit to the theatre would not be too taxing and this was arranged.

“After all,” she said, “you only have to walk to the carriage and then from it into the theatre.”

It seemed a good idea and I was glad to be able to get about. I had said nothing more about Beaumont Granville and I presumed the incident had been forgotten.

It was always exciting to be in a theatre—particularly with Harriet, who knew so much about it, having, of course, once been a player herself. The play was William Wycherley’s The Country Wife, which even Harriet had never seen, and I felt my spirits rising.

We had a box near the stage and Carlotta was chattering rapidly, asking questions of Harriet as to who was that and who was this, which delighted Harriet, though she admitted she had been stagnating in the country for far too long.

“We really must come to Town more often, Gregory,” she said.

“Oh, yes, please, we must,” cried Carlotta.

The smell of orange peel was strong in the air; it mingled with the apothecaries’ scents and the less pleasing odours of humanity. It was all part of this somewhat unreal but intriguing world of the theatre. The orange girls proffered their fruit to the young men in the pit who were clearly, and not very successfully, aping the nobility and doubtless making assignations. There was a great deal of giggling and general noise until some elegant lady, masked and accompanied by an exquisite dandy, entered one of the boxes. Then there would be a brief silence while the company studied her in awed curiosity.

The play began. It was quite amusing and I felt better than I had since I had seen Beaumont Granville. Perhaps I had exaggerated, I told myself. It was just a passing encounter. What could he want with me now? I was no longer the young girl I had been when he had cast his lecherous eyes on me. Moreover, he had not made any effort to renew the acquaintance. It was just that initial shock which had unnerved me and that, having led to this silly accident, had made me feel that trouble was looming.

Then suddenly I noticed that Carlotta’s attention was not on the stage. She was gazing at the box opposite, which a short while before had been empty.

It had an occupant now. At first I thought I was imagining this. He had been so much in my thoughts. But there was no doubt. Of course it was Beaumont Granville. He had come late to the play and there he was smiling at Carlotta. My fears were intensified. He looked strikingly handsome. He certainly lived up to his name. He was dressed in the latest fashion. His square-cut coat of thick silk material was braided across the front in many rows and the buttons were rubies. He wore one of the very fashionable wigs which I had noticed since coming to London. They were profusely curled and heavily scented. The curls fell about his shoulders, almost obscuring the most elegant of white silk cravats. The air of worldliness, combined with that Grecian perfection of feature, showed the world that he was a man who would have few rivals for good looks.

I would have preferred to see the ugliest man possible sitting in that box instead of that exquisite dandy.

I glanced at Harriet. She had seen him, too. I was aware of the smile at the corner of her lips.

Suddenly I knew. They had told him we were coming to the theatre and he was there to see us, to torment me as he was well aware he did, to amuse himself with what to him would seem a piquant situation.

I had ceased to concentrate on the play. I was only aware of the secret looks which crossed between my party and him.

I gave no sign—at least I hoped I did not—that I had seen him. I tried to keep my eyes on the stage and pretend to be absorbed by the action; but I could not have told anyone, had they asked me, what the play was about.

After the first act he came to our box.

“What a delightful surprise!” He was bowing over our hands, his manners matching his appearance.

I realized by the looks exchanged between him and Carlotta that it was no surprise; it was an arrangement between them.