Winter Dreams, page 15
She had dressed formally for the little dinner party, because now that Rachel was home in England again there was nothing she liked more than to put on the finery that had been so pointless on the rather isolated plantation in Jamaica. Judith wore a silver wreath in her fashionably dressed hair, and a silver brocade undergown with long ruched sleeves, over which she added a gray-green velvet sleeveless pelisse that whispered over the floor behind her when she walked. She clasped a reticule and folded fan in her buff-gloved hands as she enjoyed the drive through the last of the evening sunshine. Bella had been kept at the very back of her mind—refused admittance until there was no other option.
Daniel walked to the dinner party from Penventon House, and arrived just as Judith’s carriage reached the curb, and so was able to open the door and hand her down. “You look more beautiful than ever, my darling,” he said softly.
She smiled. “You, sir, know too well how to flatter.”
“If the truth is flattery, then so be it.” He kissed her on the cheek, then conducted her into the house, where Rachel and Chris were waiting.
The French windows of the dining room were open to the garden, where little lanterns attracted moths. Potted orange trees still edged the small verandah, but before many more days would have to be taken into the greenhouse for fear of early frosts. Judith glanced outside as the tablecloth was removed, and liqueurs, nuts, and fruit served. Looking at the orange trees past the handsome epergne that brimmed with flowers and moss and was alight with candles, she was reminded of Lisbon, and thus of Jamie. She had been so wrapped up in her own woes these past weeks that she had given little thought to him. The deep dread experienced the night she followed Daniel to Bairro Alto now seemed almost a dream. Six months had passed since then, during which she, not Jamie, had been the twin in danger. She knew beyond doubt that she had been saved by the vigilance of dear Aunt Nicholls.
Rachel was charming in coffee satin and pearls, her hair dressed à l’Égyptienne. Pregnancy suited her, as did being so happy, and she was alight with loveliness, prompting a warm compliment from Daniel. “You are not only delightfully aglow tonight, Rachel, but you have presided over a truly excellent dinner. I vow the dishes were splendid, and the menu perfection.”
Rachel laughed. “Well, I fear the permanent staff must be complimented on that score, for I had little to do with it. You can be glad you did not dine recently with the politician Mr. Canning. I believe it was carp, turtle, and so on, with hock, claret, and madeira. It would seem the turtle was dressed far too high, and Sir Jethro Sattusby suffered great inconvenience afterward. He had resort to Dalby’s carminative, with unfortunate results for those in his vicinity.”
Chris pretended to be shocked. “Rachel, what a decidedly indelicate topic for a lady.”
“My darling, I am sure that if gentlemen spoke of it among themselves, they would describe Sir Jethro’s indisposition in a far more colorful manner.”
Daniel was mischievous. “Turtle is one of the Princess of Wales’s favorite dishes, is it not? Small wonder it appeared at Canning’s table.”
“Fie, sir!” said Judith crossly, “for there is no proof at all that Mr. Canning was one of the princess’s lovers.”
“Well, no, short of being caught in her bed.”
Rachel was also ready to defend the princess. “The delicate investigation has found the Princess of Wales innocent, yet she is still treated as if the commission’s verdict went against her. That is a travesty of justice.”
Chris smiled. “It’s the Prince of Wales’s justice.”
“Exactly,” Rachel declared. “Neither of them has been faithful, but because she is a woman, she is treated unfairly. Men have a lot to answer for.”
Chris gave her a sorrowful look, like a naughty puppy. “We are angels, dearest. What would you do without us?”
“Retain our figures,” was the prompt response as Rachel patted her stomach a little ruefully. She was six months advanced with an infant she was pleased to refer to as Oscar. Sir Richard Croft had pronounced himself satisfied with her progress, and confidently predicted a boy.
Daniel sat back and eyed her. “I trust you do not really mean to call your unfortunate offspring Oscar?”
Chris laughed. “Heaven forfend.”
It was a lighthearted moment during which all four knew they would always remain close friends no matter what the circumstances. So it went without question that Daniel’s next suggestion was agreed upon.
“I have been sent tickets for next week’s grand fireworks display at Somerset House,” he said. “The occasion is the first wedding anniversary of the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Sainte-Marie.” The vicomtesse was English, and had inherited a vast fortune that her French émigré husband was doing his very best to squander. Daniel continued, “There are four tickets, so I trust we will all go?”
Rachel clapped her hands. “I adore fireworks!”
“So do I,” Judith added.
Chris shrugged. “Then I can hardly do anything but join the general delight. But how on earth did you acquire the tickets, Daniel? I believe they are like gold dust. Are you friendly with the couple?”
Daniel pursed his lips. “No, not particularly. To be truthful, I do not know how they came to be sent to me, but they are definitely in my name. If it’s an error, I’m not going to correct it.” He drew a brisk breath. “So it’s agreed? We will attend the display?”
They all nodded eagerly, then fell to discussing the various fireworks they had seen in the past. The very last thing Judith expected at such a moment was to suddenly see Jamie at a writing desk in his lodgings in Gibraltar. He looked well and was smiling as he read aloud a letter he had just written to her.
My dearest Judith,
I trust this note will find you well, and that its contents will give you great cheer, for I have yet another posting. I will be coming home to England for Christmas and mean to lodge with you at Elmleigh . . .
Daniel saw her distracted expression. “Judith?”
“Jamie’s coming home,” she said, her eyes aglow with delight. “I’ve just seen him! He’ll be here for Christmas!”
He smiled. “Your sixth sense has returned?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. I saw him at his desk, reading a letter he’d just finished to me. The window behind him looked over the Devil’s Tongue Battery and the Mediterranean.”
No one looked askance, for Rachel had always known about the strange link Judith had with her twin, and Chris had been acquainted with the facts as well. He had also been told that Judith feared she had lost her gift, so he was aware of how important its return was to her. Grinning, he got up to bring another bottle of champagne from the cooler. The cork popped and the champagne frothed into the glasses.
Daniel proposed a toast, and they all drank, “To Jamie.”
“To Jamie,” Judith repeated, but as she sipped the bubbling liquid, she knew that her sixth sense had not returned alone, for it brought with it the awful sensation of foreboding that had overwhelmed her in Lisbon. When Jamie returned to England, he would return to danger.
For most of the following week Judith was confined to Elmleigh again, this time with a sprained ankle, of which she took great care, so that it would be better in time for the fireworks display. Her precautions paid dividend, and she felt almost completely recovered as she set out in her carriage for Somerset House. It was late evening, and the sun was beginning to set.
The occasion definitely called for formal wear, so she wore a dark green spangled muslin gown with a train that fell from a very high waistline. A golden tiara adorned her Grecian hairstyle, and there were gold armlets between her long buff gloves and the gown’s short petal sleeves. She looked good and she knew it, so there was a smile on her lips and a glow on her cheeks.
Daniel was to have been in the carriage with her, but had earlier sent a message to say he was unavoidably detained in Downing Street with the Prime Minister and the new Foreign Secretary, Lord Howick. He promised to leave at the first opportunity, and that tide permitting, he would take a boat from Whitehall Stairs downstream to Somerset House, which had a water entrance beneath the terrace.
Somerset House was home to numerous government departments and a number of institutions, including the Royal Academy, and stood in the city between the Strand and the Thames. A splendid terrace overlooked the river, and it was from here that London’s ton was to watch the grand show.
October could as often be quite warm as autumnal; this year the Indian summer had continued, so the temperature was very pleasant as Judith’s carriage arrived. The rusticated vestibule entrance was in the Strand, where the street divided to pass on either side of the church of St. Mary-le-Strand. It was always busy here, the shops illuminated and open well after dark. Hackney coach stands cluttered the cobbles, and the smoke of the torches outside Somerset House drifted hazily toward the church. So many of London’s most fashionable persons were attending the fireworks display that a line of fine carriages queued along the street. Slowly each vehicle reached the entrance, where liveried footmen waited to attend to doors and assist guests. At last it was Judith’s turn to alight.
Chapter Twenty-one
Judith’s ticket was examined, then she was ushered through the great triple-arched entrance beneath the Royal Academy’s great exhibition room. In front of her was a quadrangle of noble proportions, presided over by a statue of the present king in a Roman toga. At his feet were a lion and the prow of a Roman war galley to symbolize imperial and naval power. A string quartet was playing something by Mozart. More torches flickered and smoked, and elegant fashions, plumes, and glittering jewels were very much in evidence among the arriving guests.
Rachel and Chris were supposed to wait by the statue, but there was no sign of them. Judith glanced around, expecting to see them at any moment, but then one of the Somerset House footmen came up to her. “Begging your pardon, madam, but are you Mrs. Callard?”
“Yes.” Judith looked curiously at him.
“I am instructed to show you to the table that has been reserved on the terrace.”
“Instructed? By whom?” She knew nothing of any reserved table.
“Why, Lord Penventon, madam. I have already shown Mr. and Mrs. Nansloe to their places, and now that you have arrived, with your leave I will conduct you there as well.”
Something made Judith wary. Surely Daniel would have mentioned the fact that they were to enjoy one of the coveted tables? But if Rachel and Chris were already seated there . . . She nodded. “Very well.”
“Please come this way.”
The footman quickly conducted her toward the riverside wing and out to the balustraded terrace that ran for the entire frontage. The terrace was supported on a majestic arcade that screened a quay, which tonight was as brilliantly illuminated as the terrace above. The crush was tremendous, and a small battalion of footmen hurried everywhere with trays of the iced champagne that the bridegroom, lavish with his wife’s money, had ordered should flow as freely as the Thames. A full orchestra was playing, but struggled to be heard above the guests’ chatter. There were lanterns everywhere, strung above the terrace and fixed to poles along the balustrade. The display itself was to be launched from barges moored out in the Thames, which was thronged with boats of uninvited onlookers. Every inch of shoreline was crowded, and more people leaned from windows.
Judith was led through the press to the downstream end of the terrace, where a number of tables had been set for the most privileged guests. The one Daniel had apparently been granted was in the corner closest to the river. As she arrived, Chris rose to draw out her chair, which was right in the corner, beneath a very bright and decorative golden lantern. “This is your place, Judith,” he said. “See? It has a card with your name.”
Mystified, she sat down. “Did either of you know about this table?” she inquired, looking at them.
They shook their heads. “Not a thing,” Chris said, turning to beckon a footman to bring some champagne and then resuming his seat.
Rachel, charming in damson satin, with a matching bandeau in her hair, and a white swansdown tippet over her arms like a shawl, was not inclined to question anything. “What does it matter? It’s a wonderful surprise, and I shall give Daniel a hug when he arrives.”
Judith smiled. “He certainly managed to keep it a great secret. See how many envious looks we attract. Why, I do believe Lord and Lady Aylesworth are without seats. She is looking so daggers at us that I vow I almost feel the blade in my breast.”
Another half an hour passed in general chitter-chatter, Judith and Rachel taking great glee in criticizing the attire of nearly every lady. Then Rachel looked out at the moored barges. “I do hope Daniel isn’t too long,” she said, “for I think the fireworks are about to commence.”
There did indeed seem to be a lot of activity on the barges, men with lighted tapers moving to the wooden framework bearing the first burst of fireworks. It was already too late for Daniel to join them for the commencement of the show, for there were cheers as the tapers were held to the carefully prepared fuses. Then a stir of expectancy passed through the terrace as everyone tried to get as close to the balustrade as possible.
Judith could have remained seated, but the urge to stand was too great, and she clasped a hand around the lantern pole as the first rockets soared into the night sky. Twinkling sparks littered the velvet darkness, and the audience clapped delightedly. Soon there were cascades, Catherine wheels, Roman candles, and jerbs cracking, spitting, and bursting over the river. Smoke drifted, the lights were reflected in the water, and everyone’s attention was on the splendid display.
At last Daniel arrived, and Judith smiled as he came up right behind her and secretly slipped an arm around her waist without anyone seeing except Rachel and Chris. “I’m so sorry I’m late. No one talks at quite such length as politicians,” he whispered, his lips to her ear so she could hear without him needing to raise his voice.
“Are you permitted to tell me about the meeting?”
“I don’t think you want to know.”
She turned her head. “Bella?”
“For the most part,” he admitted.
“Is she here already?”
He shook his head. “No. At least, not that anyone is aware of. There hasn’t been word of her since she accepted Gould’s contract.” He smiled. “You have no need to fear her, I promise.”
She looked at the fireworks again, and leaned discreetly against him. “Did you come by river?” she asked.
“Yes. The tide is just on the ebb, so it didn’t take long—certainly not as long as it would have to come through the streets.” He watched a particularly spectacular burst of flaming colors that reflected dazzlingly in the Thames. “Tell me, how did you all manage to get a table?” he asked then.
She faced him in astonishment. “But, you got it, Daniel, or so we’re told.”
“Me? I tried my level best to secure one, but it was too late, they had all been spoken for.”
Chris heard. “You didn’t secure the table?”
“I’d like to take credit, but know nothing about it.”
Judith told him how his name had been given by the footman. “He definitely said it was your table, and look—there are place cards for us.”
Just then another group of latecomers was shown toward them, no lesser personages than Lord and Lady Holland and two friends, who evinced great indignation to find interlopers at their table. Lord Holland, a new Cabinet minister and also the nephew of the late Mr. Fox, was embarrassed, but his wife bristled as only she could. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded imperiously, the fireworks rendering her face a delicate shade of green.
Daniel hastened into the breach. “Lady Holland, I fear there has been a prank played upon us.” He explained what had happened. “We will of course give up the table immediately,” he added.
“I trust so,” she replied icily. “Why on earth anyone should think this an amusing thing, I cannot imagine.”
Nor can I, Daniel thought uneasily, for it seemed too premeditated and particular for comfort.
Seeing his face, Judith became disquieted too. Her disquiet changed to horror as suddenly she was confronted by Aunt Nicholls. The ghost wanted her to duck down out of sight, and Judith needed no second bidding. She sank as if her knees had buckled, then crouched below the balustrade.
Lady Holland looked at her in astonishment. “Is something ailing you, madam?” she inquired coldly.
Then everyone gave a start as the lantern directly above Judith exploded into jagged fragments of flying glass. Judith screamed and scrambled away, showing herself fleetingly above the balustrade. Then the lantern pole shattered, scattering splinters of wood over the table. Cries of alarm spread along the terrace as the fireworks took second place to the goings-on at the corner table.
Daniel knew exactly what was happening, and forced Judith down as low as possible. “Stay down, someone’s firing at you!” he breathed, then leaned over the balustrade in the hope of seeing who it was. There were so many craft on the water and so much noise from the fireworks, that the marksman’s activities had gone unnoticed. Then he noticed a twenty-foot wherry being poled by a waterman toward the great arch in the center of the arcade, which supported the terrace. The wherry had a canopy close to the prow, and a single passenger: a thin man who looked up just before the boat slid out of sight beneath the terrace. It was Ferron!
Daniel caught Judith’s hand, dragged her to her feet, and left Chris and Rachel standing in confusion with the Holland party as he rushed her into Somerset House. Inside, he grabbed a lighted candelabrum from a startled footman, then hurried Judith into a deserted anteroom that faced the courtyard. “Ferron’s here again, and will by now have alighted at the quay here. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get away. In the meantime you are to stay here, do you understand? Close the shutters at the window, and wedge that chair under the door handle. Don’t open it for anyone except me.”
