In amazement and fury Roger stared at Mary, but it was Georgina who was the first to speak. Sitting up in bed and making no attempt to hide her splendid breasts, she asked in icy tones:
‘To what, Madam, do we owe this unpardonable intrusion?’
Mary swallowed hard, then replied hoarsely, ‘I had to know. I had to know for certain.’
‘So you employed some roughs to break in here,’ Roger snapped. ‘How could you stoop so low?’
‘For this you could be sent to gaol,’ Georgina added calmly. ‘And I’ve a mind to send for the Watch.’
‘ ’Tis an idle threat,’ Mary retorted. ‘You’d not dare face the scandal.’
‘Would I not? Then you don’t know me, girl. It has ever been my principle to defy all threats. I’d be praised for my courage, while you would be hounded from society as a vulgar, sneaking little bitch.’
‘I care not a rap for society. My only interest is my husband, and you have stolen him from me. I’ve long suspected it, and by tracing him here have seen him with my own eyes disporting himself with you. That you show no shame brands you as a gilded whore.’
Georgina suddenly laughed. ‘If “whore’s” the word, ’tis you to whom it applies. I have “disported” myself, as you describe it, with a number of personable and distinguished men, but sought no gain other than my own pleasure from so doing; whereas you, my lady, sold yourself to a middle-aged man of no breeding, and so became a kept woman.’
‘I was married to Mr. Wicklow,’ Mary retorted angrily.
‘What is the moral difference?’ Georgina sneered. ‘ ’Tis mutual attraction alone that justifies a woman in giving herself. And I have loved Roger all my life.’
‘Then by now you should have had your fill of him, and had the decency to refrain from pursuing him after he married me.’
‘Mary, you are wrong,’ Roger intervened. ‘Georgina has not pursued me. Married or single, with the one exception of while she was St. Ermins’ wife, by mutual assent we have continued discreetly to be lovers. To spare your feelings I have done my utmost to conceal from you this sole infidelity. But now that you have come upon us in flagrante delicto, you must reconcile yourself to Georgina and me occasionally gratifying our mutual passion.’
‘I’ll not condone it,’ Mary burst out bitterly. ‘Why should I allow you to wreck my life?’
‘Fiddlesticks!’ declared Georgina disdainfully. ‘How can you have the face to say such a thing? Roger found you destitute in St. Petersburg, the widow of a common merchant. He married you, gave you a name you could be proud of, a delightful home, ample money and restored your status as acceptable in high society. Aye, and he has even since caused you to become a Countess. Wrecked your life indeed! From near the gutter he has raised you to be one of the most fortunate young women in England.’
‘No matter. He gave me his love, and you have taken it from me.’
‘I have taken nothing that has not been mine since before you were in your cradle.’
Again Roger intervened. ‘Mary, I beg you to be sensible. I warn you now that, unless you accept the situation as it is, I’ll have no alternative than to share a home with you no longer.’
So be it, then!’ Mary was trembling with rage. ‘Desert me if you will. But I’ll have my revenge. I’ll ruin you. I swear it. And I’ll put an end to your enjoying your sport with this lecherous witch.’ Turning, she drew her hood over her head and fled from the room into the garden.
Roger got out of bed and closed the French windows. Georgina remained sitting up, with her hands clasped round her knees, until he came back and topped up their glasses of champagne. Taking hers, she said:
‘What a little fool the girl is, cutting off her nose to spite her face like this. Still, one cannot help but feel sorry for her.’
He nodded. ‘I agree, and I deeply regret having inspired in her this unbridled passion for me. If only she would be sensible and realise that nine-tenths of a loaf is better than no bread. Even so, this confrontation has its compensations for me. Much as I’ll regret having to leave my home after having for so many years longed to settle down in it, I was getting little joy from her companionship, and at least we will be able to be together much more frequently.’
‘You really mean, then, to make no attempt at reconciliation?’
‘Yes. In threatening us in the way she did, she went too far. I’ll make ample provision for her, but leave her now to stew in her own juice.’
‘What will you do, and where will you live?’
‘Dear Droopy Ned has always kept a room in Amesbury House at my disposal, against my unexpected returns from the Continent. No doubt he would willingly put me up, but I could not sponge on him indefinitely. I’ll look round for a furnished apartment in the neighbourhood of St. James’s. But what to do with myself is another matter. We had but one more rendezvous planned for Thursday next; then, with the season over, you’ll be off to Newmarket, to maintain your show of being a good wife to old Kew. In August London will be as empty as a drum, and I know not where to go.’
She sighed. ‘How I wish I could ask you to stay at Newmarket; but Kew’s spinster sister, Lady Amelia, remains in permanent residence there, tending him. And you’ll recall how damnably uncomfortable the old vixen made it for us at the time of your only visit.’
‘Indeed I do. Realising that we were lovers, she seized on every opportunity to make things awkward for us; and having her with us at every meal made our situation near intolerable. We were right to decide never to repeat that experience.’
After a moment Georgina’s face brightened, and she exclaimed, ‘I have it! Why should I not rent a small house nearby for you? She need not know of it, and I could leave the mansion every night by stealth, to come to you.’
Throwing his arms round her, Roger kissed her and cried, ‘My love, you are a genius. What a prodigious fine idea. We could also rendezvous secretly in the daytime and ride together in the woods. August now bids to be a heavenly month for me.’
‘For me, too,’ laughed Georgina. ‘And that we may the sooner be together, tomorrow—or today rather—I’ll cancel all my engagements. I’ll give out that old Kew has taken a turn for the worse, and may be about to die; so I must leave at once for Newmarket. In any case, I’m sick unto death of balls, banquets, and command performances. I’ve never known such an exhausting season.’
It was true enough that the past fortnight had taxed even Georgina’s seemingly inexhaustible vitality. As the high spot of the peace celebrations, the Allied Sovereigns had been invited on a State visit to London. Old Francis of Austria, who hated having to make public appearances, had excused himself, sending Prince Metternich to represent him. But the Czar had accepted, and so had his satellite, the weak-kneed King Frederick William of Prussia, bringing with them a host of Ministers and Generals, including the rugged old Blücher, who was immensely popular.
Unfortunately, the Czar had behaved with great tactlessness. In the first place, he had evaded the Prince Regent, who had ridden out to Shooter’s Hill, and the thousands of people who had assembled there to give him a tremendous welcome, by slipping past them in a plain carriage. Then, instead of occupying the royal accommodation prepared for him, he had gone to stay with his widowed sister, the Grand Duchess Catherine, who, from the previous March, had taken over the Pultney Hotel in Piccadilly. The Grand Duchess was a mischief-maker of the first order. She had encouraged ‘Prinny’s’ daughter to defy her father, and make friends of the Whig leaders. She now encouraged Alexander to act in ways offensive to the Prince Regent. From the first dinner at Carlton House, they took a dislike to one another, and on other State occasions kept each other waiting, at times for as long as an hour. But, in spite of their mutual animosity, every day and night of the Sovereigns’ visit had been one long succession of entertainments, at which people of Georgina’s rank were expected to be present.
The following morning, after taking a loving farewell of Georgina, Roger went to Amesbury House in Arlington Street, arriving there shortly before midday.
On enquiring he learned that Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel—known to his friends as Droopy Ned from his myopia giving him a permanent stoop—was at home. He had, by his father’s death, nine months earlier, become Earl of Amesbury. Roger was shown up to him in the same suite that, as a bachelor, Droopy had occupied during his father’s lifetime.
That he had chosen to remain there, rather than move down to his late parent’s more spacious rooms, was due to his reluctance to disarrange the strange assortment of items he had accumulated in his own suite. For a nobleman of his period he had unusual tastes, as he abhorred blood sports, and spent his time instead in experimenting with strange drugs, collecting antique jewellery and studying the religions of the past.
The walls of his rooms were decorated with Egyptian papyri, Roman mosaics and drawings from Greek vases. There was a side table on which stood a retort, surrounded by queerly shaped little bottles, another table with a glass top under which sparkled jewelled crucifixes and rosaries, a big bookcase holding scores of scrolls; in one corner stood a mummy in a sarcophagus, and in another was seated a large, stone Buddha. The Earl was dressed in a flowing, silk robe and his head was surmounted by an elaborate turban; but such a garb was still not unusual at that period as informal dress for men of his age.
He stood up as Roger came in, smiled at him, shook him warmly by the hand and said, ‘Welcome, old friend. Sit you down and join me in a glass of Madeira wine.’
‘That I’ll gladly do.’ Roger sat down and added, ‘I’m much in need of sustenance after the night just past.’ Then he gave an account of how Mary had broken in on him and Georgina, and all that had followed.
Droopy peered at him with his short-sighted eyes, shook his narrow, bird-like head, and said, ‘ ’Twas a shocking breach of the decencies; but are you really of a mind to leave Mary for good and all?’
‘I am, indeed. Knowing how desperate jealous she is, I do not blame her overmuch for having me spied on to resolve her doubts; but to confront us naked in bed together was an act that I cannot forgive.’
As Droopy filled a glass for Roger, he said, ‘I understand your outraged feelings at the moment. But, given time, I hope you will reconsider the matter. Remember, you are all that Mary has, and how she dotes upon you. Doubtless, she already repents her rash act, and as the price of your continuing to live at Richmond, will condone your occasional visits to Georgina.’
‘Nay, Ned. My mind is made up. These past few months she’s led me the very devil of a life, and I’ll be damned if I’ll submit to a renewal of it after a brief patching up of our differences. In fact, I’ll not even see her again, and ’tis that which brings me here. I’ve come to ask you no small favour.’
Droopy smiled. ‘In that case, name it, and I’ll be your lordship’s obedient servant.’
Not yet having become accustomed to being addressed as a lord caused Roger to give a sudden laugh. Then he said, ‘I am greatly opposed to going down to Richmond and entering on an altercation with Mary. Do me the kindness, Ned, to go there in my stead. See my man Dan Izzard, and have him pack up such things as I am likely to need for the next few months, which I intend to spend with Georgina at Newmarket. Have him, too, pack all the rest and store them in the attics until I require them.’
‘I’ll certainly oblige you in that, and I’ll order your room here to be prepared for you to occupy until you leave for the country. But in return I ask one thing. ’Tis that, on your return from Newmarket, you should go down to Richmond and see Mary.’
‘I’ll do that, since you wish it; though I doubt it will change my resolve to be done with her.’
For the week that followed, the two friends spent most of their evenings together, but Droopy was allergic to any form of exercise, while Roger disliked spending the best part of the day indoors; so he usually rode in Hyde Park in the mornings and spent several afternoons in long walks, often through parts of London rarely frequented by the gentry.
Except for the uneasy fourteen months’ truce, in 1802–3, brought about by the Peace of Amiens, Britain and France had been at war for twenty-one years, and its effect on both countries had been devastating, particularly since Napoleon had initiated his ‘Continental System’ in 1806.
By his decrees in Berlin, and the following year in Milan, he had forbidden the import of British goods to all Continental ports; and he was then master of every country from the Baltic to the tip of Italy. The object of his ‘System’ was to ruin British commerce, and thus so deplete her vast wealth that she would no longer be able to subsidise coalitions of Continental countries with her gold, to pay their troops in attempts to throw off his yoke.
Britain had retaliated by a blockade that prevented ships of neutral countries from landing cargoes in Continental ports. In spite of an enormous increase in smuggling, many cases of Napoleon’s officials accepting bribes to let goods through, and the reluctance of several countries to enforce fully Napoleon’s decrees, the blockade had inflicted much grievous hardship on the many millions of people then ruled by him. The Industrial Revolution in Britain having occurred long before that in other nations, she had supplied them with the greater part of their agricultural implements and other metal goods, woollens from Yorkshire, cotton fabrics from Lancashire, china from the Potteries, sugar and spices from the Indies and, most resented of all, forced them to use ground acorns as a substitute for their beloved coffee.
But the people of Britain had suffered almost as severely. The loss of their principal markets had caused hundreds of factories to close, and merchants great and small to go bankrupt, resulting in an appalling degree of unemployment. This had been still further increased since 1812, when long-growing resentment by the Americans because Britain prevented them from trading freely with the Continental countries had caused them at last to declare war, and thus also closed the markets of the United States.
The situation had been greatly aggravated by the shortage and high price of corn. A large proportion of the Tory members in the House of Commons depended for their seats on the farmers, and to protect their interest there had long been a duty on imported wheat. The Whigs, on the other hand, largely represented the industrialists in the cities, whose interests lay in keeping the price of corn down, so enabling them to pay low wages to their workers. For several years previous to 1813 there had been a series of bad harvests, which had led to a steep rise in the price of bread. The harvest of 1814 was better, but its effect was being countered by the cessation of shipments from America, with the result that the high price had had to be maintained. That spring a strenuous effort had been made by the Whigs, led by the fiery Whitbread, to introduce a Corn Law that would permit the import of corn free of duty. But it had failed, with the result that great numbers of the unemployed were starving from lack of the means to buy even bread.
Those walks through the poorer parts of London caused Roger great distress. In every street there were shuttered shops. On the corners stood idle groups of sullen, gaunt-faced men, clad in rags. The women were slovenly and haggard, slow-moving and having only a few potatoes or bits of offal in their shopping baskets, and the sad-eyed children were too listless even to play in the gutters. In the Midlands and the North, it was said to be even worse, with thousands of people, particularly children, dying from malnutrition every week. It was a terrible price to pay for victory, and it could not be wondered at that the government was so unpopular.
George III was now seventy-six, and no more than a cypher. In 1788 he had shown signs of a disordered mind, and the following year a Regency Bill had been passed by Parliament; but a few months later, to the delight of his people, the King had made an unexpected recovery. They admired him for his exemplary life, straightforward manner and for growing the biggest turnips in England—which had caused them to nickname him ‘Farmer George’. But his recovery had not been permanent. By 1810 he had become unquestionably mad, and ever since, blind and often raving, had been confined to his rooms in Windsor Castle.
He had been most unfortunate in his sons, particularly the Prince of Wales, who had hated him and caused him endless trouble, not only by piling up mountainous debts and entering into a morganatic marriage with the actress Mrs. Fitzherbert, but also by openly encouraging the Whigs in their opposition to his father’s Tory government. ‘Prinny’, as he was called, although known abroad as ‘The First Gentleman of Europe’, was a liar, a cheat and even bilked his friends out of money they had lent him. He was regarded as so despicable by many of the great nobles that they refused to know him. Moreover, he had been drunk when leading Caroline of Brunswick to the altar, and afterwards treated her abominably, a year after their marriage turning her out to live in a cottage near Blackheath which had formerly been occupied by Mrs. Fitzherbert. These many blackguardly acts had not only made him most unpopular with the people, but caused the government, when formulating the Regency Bill, to restrain his powers to such a degree that he, too, was no more than a cypher.
The control of the nation’s affairs had therefore fallen into the hands of some one hundred noble families, many of whom held posts in the Tory government. Since 1812 Lord Liverpool had been Prime Minister, but his Cabinet was dominated by Lord Castlereagh who, as Foreign Minister, had long been extensively occupied with international relations. Yet, even had it been otherwise, it is doubtful if any Ministry could have greatly ameliorated the terrible state to which the people of Britain had been reduced by the Napoleonic wars.
On the last day of July Roger received a letter from Georgina. She said that she had found a suitable house for him, no more than a mile from the Duke’s mansion, and had arranged for him to take it on a yearly tenancy, in the name of Richard Barclay; as it was preferable that none of her people, who might have heard of her association with him should know him to be living in the neighbourhood. There followed particulars about the local solicitor and a middle-aged couple named Atkins which she had engaged to come in daily to ‘do’ for him.
On the next day Roger took the coach to Cambridge, and put up at an inn there for the night. Early on the following morning he hired a horse and, having left his main luggage at the inn, rode the fifteen miles to Newmarket. At the solicitor’s a clerk was detailed to take him to the property and show him over it. He found it to be a pleasant little house, set well back from the road, beyond a small, neatly-kept garden. It was named Mellowmead and was the type of home to which a successful tradesman might have retired, having a sunny parlour, large kitchen and three bedrooms. Behind it there was stabling for two horses and a trap, and a small dairy. The furniture was country-made, the curtains worn but clean, and the linen of fair quality.
Happy at the thought that Georgina could hardly have found anything better suited to their purpose, he returned to the solicitor’s, paid half a year’s rent in advance, and completed the formalities. The lawyer promised to let Her Grace know that ‘Mr. Barclay’ had taken the house, have Roger’s luggage brought from Cambridge by the local carrier and instruct the Atkins couple to report to him that afternoon. He also gave Roger the address of a man who had the reputation of an honest dealer among the many horse traders in Newmarket.
Having purchased a spirited piebald mare and hired saddlery, Roger rode back to Mellowmead. There he found the Atkinses awaiting him. The woman was skinny, and Roger formed the opinion that, among her equals, she might be somewhat shrewish; but her husband, Jerry, was a cheerful ex-Dragoon. For a time, before he had had his right knee smashed by a piece of case-shot in the Peninsula, and been invalided out, he had been an officer’s servant, so he suited Roger admirably.
Mrs. Atkins roasted a chicken and made pancakes for Roger’s supper, and her cooking more than offset her forbidding manner, so Roger considered himself in clover. As soon as they had gone, he settled down to wait, hoping that Georgina would be able to pay him a visit that night; although he knew that his wait would be a long one, as it was high summer and she would not dare come to him until well after dark.
To kill time, he made a more thorough inspection of the house. Except for a Bible, there was not a book in it; but in a cupboard he came upon a file of old news sheets and amused himself by reading, mostly ill-founded articles on the closing stages of Napoleon’s last campaign and abdication.
By midnight he was on the point of giving Georgina up and going to bed. Then he heard knocking on the back door. Jumping up, he ran to it and found Georgina there, hooded and enveloped in a long, black cloak. Joyfully, he took her in his arms and drew her inside. She told him then that, as her sister-in-law normally went to bed soon after supper, in future she could come to him earlier; but, not expecting him so soon, a few days before she had invited some neighbours in to play whist, and they had not left until after eleven o’clock.
Although the surroundings lacked the elegance and luxury to which they were accustomed, they found a new delight in this simple home where they could meet in secret. Georgina had told the local solicitor that she did not know Mr. Barclay, but had been asked by a friend, whose bailiff he had been, to enquire for a house in the neighbourhood suitable to his means. This was so that no-one would think it strange that he was not invited to dine with the Duchess.
However, to alleviate her boredom while keeping up appearances down there as a dutiful wife, she did invite friends in the district to dine and play cards two or three times a week. So it was decided that, on such nights, she should not come to Roger, but make up the sleep she would lose on those nights when she spent several hours with him. Nevertheless, they managed to see each other nearly every day, by making a rendezvous to meet and ride in the woods, since if anyone chanced to see them together it would be put down only to a casual encounter.
On all but a few days during early August, the weather was excellent, so they enjoyed their rides through the woodland glades dappled with sunshine, almost as much as the nights on which they had picnic suppers in the house, then spent happy hours in bed together until, well before dawn, Roger saw Georgina home.
But this blissful and carefree interlude was not destined to last. On the eleventh of the month, they were walking their horses down a broad ride bordered by large clumps of rhododendrons. Suddenly, only a few yards ahead of them, a figure emerged from the bushes. One glance was enough. Instinctively they pulled up their horses and stared in startled surprise at Mary.
Without a word she drew a pistol from under her mantle. From those desperate days when she and Roger had survived the retreat from Moscow he knew that she had become a crack shot. Raising her pistol, she pointed it at Georgina.
Appalled, Roger cried, ‘Mary! Are you mad? For God’s sake, stop!’
Ignoring him, Mary took careful aim at Georgina’s face. Next moment she pressed the trigger. The silence of the wood was shattered by the deafening report. At the same second Roger hit out with all his force at Georgina’s left shoulder. The blow knocked her sideways, but did not save her. Hit by the bullet, she gave a loud cry, lurched sideways, then fell from her saddle to the ground.