So Everard Emmanuel accepted the benefice of St Lawrence’s Church at Rattlesden from his father the Bishop, because he would have a wife to support now, and Annie Easter married her curate in the church of St James in Bury St Edmunds and a very pretty picture she made standing before the altar in her blue watered silk with a modest poke-bonnet to hide her blushes. Calverley gave the bride away, looking exceedingly handsome, and the Bishop conducted the service looking extremely grand, and the wedding-breakfast, which was held in the Athenaeum, was the biggest and most lavish that the citizens of Bury had ever seen.
The Bishop was impressed. Whatever cobweb doubts he might still have had about the strength of his new daughter-in-law’s character or the suitability of her family were swept away by the brisk broom of her mother’s forceful personality. ‘A capital family!’ as he told his wife later that evening. ‘Capital! A lady of charm and capacity without a doubt.’
He had been a trifle perturbed by her first letter to him, in which she had expressed her ‘very great pleasure that our two important families are to be allied’, for trade, however prosperous, could hardly be compared to the undeniable status of a bishopric. But the lady herself was a revelation, so slight and thin and yet with such force and speed, quick in her movements, her wits, her speech and her decisions. A woman of mercury, and uncommon well-dressed. The Bishop had an eye for such detail, and he missed none of it now, from the diamonds and pearls at the lady’s throat to the exquisite and costly embroidery at the hem of her gown. He liked her shrewd eyes and the dark hair springing so forcefully from her temples and that wide, uncompromising mouth. Why, she had success written all over her. Not the sort of lady to endure a mere curate as a son-in-law, nor to allow him to remain a country parson for long.
‘I knew this marriage would be the making of him, when our foolish boy brought dear Annie to dine for the very first time,’ he told his wife as they walked to their places at the wedding breakfast, ‘and I am rarely mistaken, as I think you will allow. Yes, indeed, an excellent match!’
Dear Annie was so happy in her excellent match she was virtually speechless with pleasure. The service had been so awesome and magical she still wore the charm of it like an aura, all those faces gilded by candlelight and beaming love at them both, and the hymns rolling upwards into the high blue and gold of the ceiling, echoing and calling, and circlets of gentle candles flickering yellow warmth, and the great gold cross pulsing like a beacon. And James, her own dear James, looking at her with such affection, and saying, oh so passionately it made her tremble, ‘with my body I thee worship’. Now she sat beside him in her beautiful blue gown in the splendid blue and gold of the banqueting hall of the Athenaeum, breathing in the heady scent of spring flowers, light-headed with champagne, and it seemed to her that the whole world was blue and white and gold and beneficent, and that it would be springtime for ever and ever.
Nan was well pleased with the wedding too. It was a relief to see that Annie was quite herself again after her incomprehensible behaviour. And the wedding breakfast was so well organized it all went without a hitch. Or very nearly.
It was Johnnie who caused what little trouble there was, dratted boy. He’d seemed so pleased about his sister’s marriage, wishing her well and offering to help her move into the rectory, so it was rather a surprise when he suddenly launched into a violent verbal attack on two of the guests. But then, as his mother knew only too well, nobody could ever be sure what was going on inside his swarthy head.
The meal was over and the dancing was about to begin and the bridal couple were circulating to talk to family and friends in the time-honoured way, when Nan became aware that voices were being raised at the other end of the room, and set off at once to see what was happening. What she found made her very angry.
On a kindly impulse she had invited Thomasina and Evelina from Ippark, and they had duly arrived, clutching carefully wrapped gifts and plainly delighted to have been asked to join the family celebration. Now they stood beside the stairs to the minstrels’ gallery cowering together like frightened rabbits while Johnnie ranted at them, his face quite distorted with rage. ‘How she could have done such a thing I cannot imagine! After all the cruelty your family unleashed upon her when she was poor and widowed. She asked for bread and you gave her a stone. She asked for help and you kicked her from the door. Now you impel her into shameful action. I wonder at you. Have you no —’
He got no further because his mother seized him by the arm and dragged him painfully into the nearest anteroom, hissing as she went, ‘Hold your peace, boy! D’you hear me? Hold your peace!’ He was so surprised that he lost his breath, so her orders were quite unnecessary.
When they were in the little room and alone, she turned upon him with venom. ‘How dare you speak to my guests like that?’ she roared. ‘Have you no sense of propriety at all?’
‘They are Easters, Mama,’ he said, his face still suffused with rage. ‘Easters! How could you bring yourself to invite such people after all they’ve done to you? Members of that wicked family.’
‘You are an Easter too, let me point out.’
‘I am your son,’ he said proudly. ‘I do not count myself an Easter and I never will.’
‘Deuce take it!’ she swore. ‘I never heard such a load of old squit. Of course you’re an Easter. Who do you think your father was. Now you go right back in there and apologize. You frightened those two poor old creatures fair out of their wits. I’m downright ashamed of ’ee, so I am.’
‘No,’ he said, obdurately. ‘I will not.’
‘You will.’
‘I will not.’
‘Then you will go home and missing the dancing,’ she said, glaring her annoyance at him. ‘How dare you make such a scene at your sister’s wedding?’
He turned on his heel without another word and left the room and the building. Infuriating boy!
Fortunately her two beleaguered relatives were very understanding. When she got back to the assembly room they were talking to Calverley, who was at his most charming and had managed to imply that the boy had taken rather too much to drink, and confused them with somebody else. ‘Not used to it, you see Miss Thomasina. Pray do allow me to refill your glasses.’
‘I do apologize,’ Nan said, joining them as the waiter poured champagne. ‘When you were so very kind as to come all that way.’
‘Boys will be boys,’ Evelina said mildly. ‘We did not take him seriously, I do assure you.’
‘When the wine is in,’ Thomasina smiled, ‘the wit is out.’
‘I shall have something to say to him when the wedding is over,’ Nan promised.
But in the event, Sophie Fuseli had something to say to her which put all thought of Johnnie’s ill manners quite out of her head.
The newly weds had departed in a flutter of rose petals and a landau loaned by the Bishop; the guests had said tipsy farewells and were now being sped on their way by the charming Mr Leigh, in so many coaches and carriages that Angel Hill was quite muddled with them; Billy was cheerfully drunk and had been carried hiccoughing to his bedroom; and Nan’s fine house was suddenly quiet, an empty beach deserted by the tide, for the only guest to remain was Sophie Fuseli, which was only right and proper considering she was her oldest and dearest friend.
The two women kicked off their shoes as soon as they’d climbed the stairs to Nan’s fine drawing-room. Nan had ordered tea to refresh them, but Sophie threw herself down on the chaise-longue declaring that she was too tired for anything.
‘Such a wedding, my dear!’ she said. ‘I vow I have never seen another as fine.’
‘If Johnnie hadn’t been such a pest ’twould have been perfection.’
‘A wretch, I fear,’ Sophie commiserated. ‘Will he apologize, think ’ee?’
‘Not he. A more determined crittur I never came upon. Oh no, he’ll stay in his room till morning, and breakfast early to avoid us, and be out and away before we can see the going of him. Annie looked well, did she not?’
‘A credit to you, my dear.’
‘Calverley has been uncommon kind to her.’
‘Aye,’ Sophie said. ‘I do not doubt it. She is young and pretty, and whatever else you may say about that gentleman, he always had a soft spot in his heart for youth and beauty.’
There was an edge to her voice that made Nan look up at her sharply. ‘’Tis a fatherly interest,’ she rebuked, ‘no more, I do assure you.’
‘A proper interest, beyond question,’ Sophie agreed, smoothing the already smooth muslin of her gown. ‘In that direction at least, my dear, his interest is perfectly proper.’
That unnecessary gesture, combined with averted eyes, and a tone of voice overloaded with meaning, alerted Nan to prickling alarm, despite her fatigue. ‘You’d best say what you have to say, Sophie,’ she said. ‘For a hint is a thing I cannot abide. Out with it, I prithee.’
Sophie looked her old friend straight in the eye. ‘He has another mistress, my dear,’ she said.
Nan had always known she would hear something of the sort, sooner or later, but to hear it spoken now, after he’d proposed to her, now when she was rich and secure, now on this special day, was so painful it was as if someone was squeezing her heart in a vice. But she spoke coolly, ‘She is young of course.’
‘About Annie’s age, I fear.’
‘And pretty?’
‘A vacuous face,’ Sophie temporized, ‘with little character.’
‘But pretty.’
‘What is her name?’ It was necessary to know everything.
‘Mistress Meg Purser,’ Sophie said. ‘Daughter of a groom at the Swan with Two Necks, so they say, and mistress to at least four others, to my certain knowledge, before she caught his eye. ’Tis a passing fancy, I would lay money on’t. ’Twill pass. Howsomever, there has been talk, my dear, so I thought it best to tell you of it myself before others could gossip.’
‘You are a good friend, Sophie. I’m beholden to you,’ Nan said, when the extreme pressure of that inward vice had eased enough for her to speak again. ‘And he is nothing more than a fickle wretch, which you have known all along.’
‘Shall you tax him with it?’ Sophie asked, leaning forward to pat Nan’s listless hands.
‘Aye, I daresay,’ Nan said, doing her best to sound unconcerned, ‘should occasion arise. I’m a deal too fatigued at present for any such caper.’ And she was relieved to be rescued by the timid knock on the door that announced the arrival of the tea.
Nevertheless it was not knowledge she could deny or forget. It was hooked into her gut like a tapeworm, and even though she did her best, during what remained of the evening, to talk and laugh as though nothing were amiss, she was drawn and drained by it.
Calverley was in his element. After an afternoon and an evening when he’d been an admired host without the burden of responsibilities, he was in the most genial and expansive mood, complimenting Sophie on her style and beauty, Nan on her management of the wedding, teasing Bessie out of her tears, talking horses with Thiss, still the life and soul of the party, even though it was now limited to the five of them.
It wasn’t until he and Nan were preparing for bed that he made the first serious mistake of his day. ‘How now, my Nan,’ he said, giving her his most dashing smile, ‘with your daughter married and gone, what better time for us to marry, eh?’
The worm clenched its terrible jaws. ‘You have another mistress, I’m told,’ she said. ‘She en’t like to take too kindly to such a notion, I’m thinking.’
It took him aback that she knew about it, but he laughed aloud, trying to brazen it out. ‘Come now, Nan,’ he said. ‘You know my style. I’ve had women a-plenty. What of that? You are the one I want to marry.’
‘Seems to me,’ she said, turning away from him to clean her face with rose-water, ‘we heard some words today concerning this matter what ought to give ’ee pause for thought.’
He was actually thinking hard behind those sleepy eyes, casting about frantically for an excuse or a diversion, regretting his folly in courting the delectable Meg so openly, cursing Sophie for telling tales. But he said nothing.
‘Forsaking all other, till death us do part,’ she quoted, looking at him in the mirror. In the chill of her anger, she was noticing, almost for the first time, how much weight he’d put on recently. In a year or two that rounded belly would be a paunch, and that gilded chin would droop into jowls. You en’t the charmer you was, my lad, she thought. ‘Forsaking all other, eh?’
‘Well, as to that,’ he said carelessly. ‘’Tis an old fashioned notion. Of no account in these new times, I tell ’ee. I wager there ain’t more than three men in the whole of London would abide by it.’
‘More’s the pity,’ she said, unpinning her hair. ‘To my way of thinking the world has come to a parlous state when loyalty en’t worth the candle.’
‘If ’twill content ’ee, I will see no more of the wench,’ he said. ‘You have my word on it.’ But he’d made his offer too late to placate her, as the set of her jaw revealed only too clearly.
‘’Tis all one to me,’ she said, climbing into bed. ‘You’re a faithless wretch, Calverley Leigh, and not one I’d wish to marry. So let us have no more on it.’
It was a set-back, he could see that, but not a defeat. She seemed more weary of him now than angry. ‘Howsomever, one you might love from time to time, I daresay?’ he suggested, smiling at her in his most amorous way.
Despite the worm, she was warmed by his affection. ‘If I’ve a mind to,’ she said, snuffing out the candle. ‘Now I’ve a mind to sleep.’
But it was several days before he could court his way back into her arms and even though their love-making was intensely pleasurable there was still a distance between them, made worse by the fact that he had to leave for Exeter the very next day. And from then on they were both kept so busy, he buying horses and she buying shops, that they had no time to quarrel and barely time for conversation. He took care not to refer to marriage, and made a point of bringing her pretty presents whenever he returned from one of his trips. But even so it was more than three months before the worm was finally stilled and she was smiling at him and welcoming him almost in the old way. All of which was a considerable trial to him because his creditors were now so numerous and so insistent it was everything he could do to keep them away from litigation.
‘I do assure you, gentlemen,’ he said, over and over again that summer, ‘’tis a matter of time before I am possessed of a considerable fortune. You shall all be paid. You have my word on it.’
‘I’ve had your word on it, these many years,’ the ostler wrote from his London stables. ‘Words don’t buy hay, Mr Leigh, and ’tis seventy guineas outstanding as from this morning.’
And the secretary at White’s took to dropping reminders beside his plate at every single dinner. It was uncommon irritating.
Finally he strolled down to the Strand and took Billy to the coffee house. But his answer was unnervingly familiar. ‘I would like to oblige ’ee, Mr Leigh. You know that. Howsomever, all such matters have to be referred to Mr Teshmaker. ’Tis company policy. Why not ask Mama?’
So he had to agree that that was what he would do, and that it was of no consequence, no consequence at all.
Now there was only Johnnie between him and ruin. It was a slight hope, but his only one. That night he took the boy to dine at Goosegogs, ‘to introduce you to me friends, eh,’ and plied him with brandy and careful compliments. But it was as impossible as ever to carry on a conversation with this young man. He spoke so little and with such lack of expression.
‘How old are ye now?’ Calverley asked when their second brandy had been served.
‘Eighteen, sir.’
‘A young man, damme. I tell you what, Mr Johnnie Easter, you should be in charge of the shop by now. I’ve a mind to speak to your mother about it.’
Silence
‘We shall see you married next.’
Silence. Not even the flicker of an eye.
‘At your age I was all for going on the Grand Tour, damme if I wasn’t. What think ’ee? Would ’ee like to travel?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Would you care for another brandy?’
‘No thank ’ee.’
‘Some other beverage perhaps?’
‘No thank ’ee.’
‘Now look ’ee here,’ Calverley said, driven to directness by the boy’s infuriating lack of response. ‘The fact of the matter is, I’ve run into one or two little debts. I’m – er – a bit short of cash, dammit. What d’you think should be done about it? I ask you as man to man.’
‘I couldn’t say.’
‘Could you see your way to a loan?’ He could hear the wheedling note in his own voice and was ashamed of it, but this had to be done. ‘I would ask your mother if only she were here. But you see how it is …’
‘No, sir.’
Was that no to the loan or no, he didn’t see? ‘Fifty guineas would see me clear. How about it?’
Johnnie looked up suddenly and spoke at some length. ‘It ain’t my money to give,’ he said. ‘Nor yours to take, I’m thinking.’
‘Your mother would give it were she here.’ It was irritating to be lectured by this surly young man. ‘Why quibble?’
‘Precisely because it belongs to my mother, sir, and not to you or to me.’
What shrewd, hard eyes the boy has, Calverley thought. Best to try another tack. ‘I will let you into a little secret,’ he said confidentially. ‘Your mother and I mean to marry. We do not noise it abroad but ’twill be a matter of months merely. That is all. Then of course all this money that we are both treating with such caution, – a proper caution, I don’t deny it – all this money will be legally mine.’
‘When it is, sir,’ Johnnie said with icy politeness, ‘then you may use it as you think fit, as you may use her, poor woman. But if you do marry, you will marry without my blessing, and until that time, let me tell ’ee sir, I shall do all in my power to prevent you.’
‘Impudent puppy!’ Calverley roared. ‘Have I to be told who I may or may not marry by a youth of eighteen? I never heard the like!’
Johnnie put his empty brandy glass down on the table and rose to his feet with superb dignity. ‘Thank ’ee for the dinner and the brandy, sir,’ he said. ‘Now pray allow me to wish you good evening.’ And he staggered out of the club.
Deuce take it, Calverley thought, pouring brandy down his throat to ease his temper, the boy’s a wretch. I should never have asked such a hard heart. I might have known ’twould fail. But deuce take it, what is to be done now? The street outside the window was crammed with carts and horses and for a moment he was irritated by the noise they were making. Then they gave him an idea. I shall go to Newmarket, damme if I don’t, he thought, and try my luck with the horses.
Newmarket was better than the best physic. He’d forgotten the excitement of the place, the thunder of hooves, the familiar voices calling the odds, the heavy smell of trodden turf, leather and liniment and the pungent sour-sweet sweat of horses. It lifted his spirits at once. Pirouette seemed to be in good form, quite amazingly unproved according to Mr Price. So he booked in at the Rutland Arms until the end of the meeting and entered his filly for the Five Hundred Guineas, with the vague hope that she might be placed. Then he wrote to Nan, partly to show her that she was in his thoughts, and partly to spike Johnnie’s guns before the wretch could talk to her and make mischief.
‘’Tis an uncommon good meeting,’ he write, ‘with plenty of entertainments and many friends hereabouts which I have not seen for years. Jericho cast a shoe on the way. Pirouette is in good shape. Johnnie and I had words before I left. We were both too far gone in drink to know what we were saying. Goosegogs serve a capital brandy. I trust he will not concern you with it, for ‘twas all nonsense. Your own Calverley.’
The last day of the meeting was chill and misty but his friends, old and new, were in high good humour and came rollicking to the inn to collect him. ‘Uncommon poor weather,’ they told him cheerfully, but they were full of ideas for improving it and most of them could be carried in the hamper they’d so thoughtfully provided, pork pies, veal pies, chicken and ham pies, pressed tongue and potted meats, to say nothing of an assortment of spirited beverages to keep out the cold, like cherry brandy and sloe gin and British Hollands flavoured with essence of cloves. All of which he seemed to have consented to pay for, it being, as they were happy to point out, ‘your day at the races today, me dear.’
It was a cheerful excursion and the cherry brandy proved to be an excellent antidote to damp even if it did make him feel rather fuddled by the middle of the afternoon. ‘Nothin’ like a nip,’ he said happily, as he stood by the rail waiting for the three o’clock start.
And a familiar voice at his elbow said ‘Could you spare a nip for an old soldier?’
He turned rather dizzily, ready to send the beggar packing, and found himself staring at his old friend Captain Hanley-Brown.
‘My dear chap! What a pleasure to see you!’ he said proffering the brandy bottle at once. ‘Feel free, me dear chap, feel free.’
But as Hanley-Brown took a swig from the bottle, Calverley saw how terribly changed he was, his clothes old and soiled, his hair grey at the temples and his round face so lined it looked at though somebody had squashed it between two weights. But worse than any of these things, oh far, far worse, was the wooden stump where his left leg had been.
‘Left it at Talevera,’ Hanley-Brown explained, noticing the direction of Calverley’s glance. ‘Took clean off by a cannon ball, so ’twas.’
‘My dear feller!’
‘Can’t be helped. Fortunes a’ war, don’t cher know. Have you married your rich widow yet?’
‘No, no. But ’tis only a matter of time.’
‘Still playing the field eh?’ Hanley-Brown said admiringly. ‘You always were a dog for the ladies. I wish I could say the same, damme. ’Tis all changed now, so ’tis. Women don’t take kindly to wooden underpinnings, and that’s a fact. I must pay for my pleasures now, or go without. You don’t know what a lucky dog you are.’
‘Pray take another nip of sustenance,’ Calverley said so as to deflect him from his gloom. ‘’Tain’t the weather to be standing about.’
‘At least you’ve two legs to stand upon,’ Hanley-Brown mourned. ‘Which is more than may be said for me. I say, this is dammed fine brandy. Don’t know when I’ve tasted better.’
So naturally one of Calverley’s new friends had to be dispatched to replenish the bottle, and, equally naturally, the two old comrades in arms spent the rest of the afternoon re-living old campaigns, between frequent ‘nips of sustenance’.
By the time the runners were being lined up for the Five Hundred Guineas, neither of them could stand without support. They clung to the rail trying to focus their eyes upon their hopes.
‘I backed our filly, don’tcher know,’ Hanley-Brown said. ‘A hundred to one on.’
‘D’you meanter shay, backed her to win?’
‘Backed her to win. Five shillings. Hundred to one one.’
‘I shall do the shame,’ Calverley decided. ‘Be sho good as to shupport me, sir.’
They staggered to the nearest bookie but he declared it was too late. ‘They’re off, sir. Look.’
‘Deuce take it,’ Calverley complained. ‘How’s a man to bet if the dammed horses run before he’s ready. Must have a bet, damme.’ And he pulled a handful of sovereigns from his pocket and shook them at the bookie. They were all that remained of his pay, but he held them with the air of a man to whom such riches were nothing. So the bet was placed even though the field had disappeared into the mist.
‘Go to – winnin’ posht,’ Hanley-Brown suggested. ‘Shee – finish.’
Then punters all around them were peering into the mist, and they could hear hooves drumming towards them. And presently the heads and shoulders of the runners appeared, disembodied between the blue vapour swathing their legs and the smoke clouding from their bodies. For a few seconds it wasn’t even possible to make out the colours, but then they drew closer and Calverley suddenly realized with a shock that almost sobered him that Pirouette was lying third. Then he and Hanley-Brown were yelling ‘Pirouette! Come on Pirouette! Come on!’ and the noise and excitement reached a crescendo fit to burst their ears, and she was making ground, she was second and still coming on, she was straining every muscle. And the sweat-blackened bodies flashed past his view, and his filly had won by a short head.
He couldn’t believe his luck. Five Hundred Guineas! ’Twas a fortune.
‘Congratulations, sir!’ Mr Prince said when his employer had collected his winnings. ‘I told ’ee she’d run well. ’Tis a tidy old sum sir!’
‘It is, Mr Prince.’
‘You’ll be thinking of settling your stable bills now sir, I daresay.’
He was in such a state of stunned euphoria he wasn’t thinking at all. But why not? He could settle all his bills now, every single one.
So he paid Mr Prince and collected his winnings from the bookie and gave Hanley-Brown a fiver, ‘for old times sake’ and staggered back to the hotel where there was another account to be met for an incomprehensible quantity of food and drink. Then he put his winnings under the mattress and fell across the bed, stupid with cherry brandy and good fortune. Luck was on his side after all. One more stroke like that and how could she refuse to marry him? Blessed by fortune, he thought, and slept as though he’d been pole-axed.