Only the haziest memories of what occurred onstage remain with me. It was a wildly active romantic farce of some sort that kept the audience in peals of laughter. At the intermission some of Esther’s conquests invaded our box, making it impossible for me to get out and stretch my legs, for I didn’t dare to leave Esther untended while Mama and Mr. Stone left for a glass of wine.
What got me through the evening was knowing that in a few hours it would be over and we could escape back to Elm Street. I would lie down and forget this hideous interval. I would put from my mind Two Legs’s winy breath in my face, his foraging hands, which constantly required removal from my waist, my hip, my hands. I would forgethis slanderous comments on the audience and the miserable feeling that I had somehow descended for an evening in hell. The noise and din and lights would fade to blissful dark silence.
During the last act of the play I became aware of a gentleman across the hall who was apparently under the impression that the performance was in our box. He had his glasses trained on us unwaveringly. Another conquest for Esther, I thought, and I was about to turn away when he lowered his glasses and I saw that it was Desmond Maitland.
It took all my self-control to remain seated. My instinct was to jump up, fly across the hall, and beat him, but I did the polite thing and turned away. Not once more that evening did my eyes go a fraction of an inch left of center stage. I even quelled the urge to see who was with him, for he was in a full box, and I was a little curious to examine his companion. She was a young, pretty woman with dark hair and a red gown. White shoulders rose above the gown, and she appeared to be staring every bit as hard as Maitland.
When the play was over the ordeal ought to have been at an end; but no, Mr. Stone had arranged a dinner for us at the Pulteney Hotel. I began talking this down, but Mama got me aside and said, “They will expect to come home with us for a bite to eat if we don’t go, Belle. This is the easier way—we can leave them at the door.”
I girded my courage for another hour of forced gaiety and noise. Half the theaters in town emptied into the hotel after the show. The place was even more crowded and noisy than the Haymarket, but we were soon ensconced in a private parlor. The diversion of having a full plate in front of him gave Two Legs something else to do with his hands besides maul me. I ate a little and drank two glasses of wine, which improved my mood. It allowed me to imagine some humor in the affair: I must have become a little bosky, for in fact our night had more in common with vulgar melodrama than with comedy.
The elder gentlemen drank a deal of wine, Duke rather less. He stated two or three times that what we had seen was what he would call a play. When it was time to go home the two carriages were brought around. I had been unhappy to leave Mama and Mr. Stone alone for the trip to the theater but felt she was an uncertain chaperon for Esther. With Mr. Stone three sheets to the wind, I determined I would not abandon Mama to him. Yet to leave Esther, a young girl, alone with Duke was worse. I solved the dilemma by admitting to Duke that I disliked his uncle’s condition and charging him most severely with getting both Mama and Esther home safely.
“You arranged the party. It is for you to see that no harm comes to the ladies,”
I pointed out.
“Daresay I can handle Uncle Charles. He don’t turn rusty when he’s disguised. Two Legs might. This breaking up will leave you alone with Two Legs,”
he pointed out.
“There are two carriages, and we cannot all crowd into one. I can handle Two Legs.”
“I daresay you can,”
he admitted.
My proud boast was soon put to the test. The sly old gaffer gave his driver some secret direction to drive us not home to Elm Street but to Hyde Park. In the dark of night, and lacking much familiarity with London, I didn’t realize we were going the wrong direction. I was pretty busy finding excuses to move from one banquette to the other to escape Two Legs’s advances. Not till the driver actually pulled into the shadowed drive of the park did I discover his stunt, and by then I had more than an inkling why he had chosen this dark, isolated spot. Even before his arm slid around my waist and pulled me along the seat, I knew what he was up to.
“Behave yourself, Two Legs!”
I exclaimed, and pushed him away.
“I like a lively lass,”
he said, laughing, and attacked me. His wine-soaked lips groped for mine. It was the most disgusting thing you can imagine, to have a drunken old lecher chasing you around a carriage. He was uninsultable. All my angry chiding was taken for playful encouragement.
“Never you mind, missie. Two Legs you wanted, and Two Legs you shall have. I’ve had my eye on you before. I was a little shy to speak up, but you showed me the way. Aye, it was thoughtful of you to get rid of the others. I couldn’t have done better myself,”
“I shall show you the way out of this carriage if you don’t sit back and behave yourself, sir!”
I informed him.
“Nay, we’d both prefer the comfort and privacy of the coach,”
he rallied. “I’m too old for performing outdoors.”
There was a new, frightening tone creeping into his voice. His hands, too, grew bolder at every attack. There was no reasoning with him. A rising panic invaded me. I would have to escape—to jump out of the carriage and lose myself in the shadows of the park. When the horses slowed down at a curve I already had my hand on the door handle. I threw it open and rolled out on the ground. Thomson’s carriage drew to a halt a few yards farther on. Two Legs got out, and I struggled to my feet to run. He moved very swiftly for an
old man, whereas I was hampered by long skirts and high-heeled slippers.
The park was deserted at half past midnight. The air was cold, and the only illumination was a crescent moon, half concealed by clouds. Trees in the park rose up like black shadows in the still, gray silence. The only sounds were the wind in the trees, the soft thud of our feet hitting earth, and our gasping for air as we pelted along. I thought of abandoning the road, running into the bushes and trees, but I was afraid the footing would be even worse there; besides, I was just a little afraid of becoming thoroughly lost. Thomson wasn’t gaining much on me, but the thudding feet were drawing insensibly closer, and I couldn’t run much longer. Just when it began to seem he might overtake me, I saw a hope of rescue that gave me a last burst of energy.
A pair of carriage lights appeared in the distance, coming toward us. Not a moment too soon; my side was cramped and my breaths were hardly strong enough to fill my lungs. I staggered into the path of the oncoming carriage and waved my arms wildly. The driver saw me and yanked the horses to a halt. The welcome jingle of the harness and his hearty “Whoaa!”
were music to my ears. Immediately the door opened and a gentleman got out. With the last of my breath I wobbled toward him as he hastened forward to meet me. When we were about three paces apart, I recognized my savior as Desmond Maitland.
If there was a fate worse than being caught by Two Legs Thomson, it was being rescued by the abominable creature who stood before me. I tried to revile him, but my breath was gone. I just slumped, panting, and was caught in his arms before I quite hit the ground.
A hundred jumbled thoughts and sounds and sights vied for attention in the next minute. I remember Maitland shaking me and demanding to know what had happened, was I hurt, and such things. His face was a white mask of anger glowing in the moonlight. When he had determined I still had some life in me, I was passed from his arms to the driver’s.
Maitland took off
after Two Legs and knocked him down with one smashing blow to the jaw. I don’t know which sound was uglier—that of his fist hitting flesh or that of the accompanying curse—but both struck me as eminently suitable. Maitland returned and bundled me into the carriage. His angry mask had petrified into something resembling rock.
There were no warm bricks this time, but my feet burned from flying along the stony path. Maitland threw the fur rug over me, and I just as quickly shucked it off. My deep breaths reverberated in the small closed space. They were the only sound till Maitland drew a bottle of wine from the side pocket, uncorked it, and handed it to me without a glass.
Then I realized my throat was parched, and I lifted the bottle to drink directly from it. My arms were trembling, and my gasping for breath caused a gulping, unladylike sound. I drank deeply, then handed the bottle back to Mr. Maitland. Should I thank him, I wondered, or should I follow my heart and leave without a word?
While I pondered this decision his voice cut like a knife into the dark silence. “I hope you’re satisfied!”
I had been anticipating various reactions from him—an apology, sympathy—but certainly not this cold, vehement anger. Coming on top of a long, extremely vexing night, it was enough to annihilate common sense. “No, I’m far from satisfied! I’d as lief have been caught by Thomson as rescued by you!”
On this brave speech I reached for the door handle.
His hand shot out and grabbed mine in a painful grip. I didn’t hesitate to use my nails to discourage him. When he pulled back in surprise I opened the door and jumped out. I wasn’t sure whether I had jumped from the frying pan into the fire or the reverse, but the park looked even darker than before, and I stood a moment before striking off down the road, away from Thomson. Though I would never in a million years have admitted it, I was half relieved when the door opened and he came after me. I hastened my steps along till he was required to run to catch me. He didn’t try to stop me or say anything but just walked along a step behind me, like a prince consort. I heard the carriage turn around and come lumbering after us.
We came to a turning in the road, and I had to stop to get my bearings. Maitland stopped as well, waiting. I turned, left, and his hand fell on my arm. “You’re headed to Belgrave Square. Elm Street is this way,”
he said.
“Thank you, and now that I know the way, it won’t be necessary for you to accompany me.”
“Consider me a shadow.”
I turned and headed toward Elm Street. I held my head high, which gave me no view at all of the road or of the large rock in my path. I was walking hard and fast and struck it with enough force to give me a very real fear that I had broken my toe. I couldn’t suppress one little yelp of pain. I took another step, however, and winced. By then it was clear that I wasn’t going to walk home.
Maitland raised his arm to have the carriage draw up, and he held the door. I was so frustrated I wanted to kick him—or the carriage—but my throbbing toe warned me against such a course. I got in and sat stiff as a ramrod while Maitland took a seat beside me, and the carriage rambled into motion. My ignominious situation improved his humor. His voice was hardly more than furious when he asked, “Just what in God’s name did you think you were doing?”
“I was going home after the worst evening—and day!—of my life.”
His reply had the force of a whip lashing the air. “Whose fault is that? You wouldn’t have been attacked by that old pervert if you hadn’t climbed into a carriage alone with him. There may be some excuse for Esther’s behaving like a lightskirt—she at least is young and inexperienced. You’re plenty old enough to know better. Your day,
and mine,
would have been less hideous if you’d told me the truth about the money.”
Just when I thought I hadn’t an ounce of fight left in me, I was suddenly alive again and burning as brightly as a gas lamp. “Thank you for calling me a liar—and a thief! I know money holds a paramount position in your scale of values, but it matters less to me. I am sorry you were unable to find your money. No doubt it’s a grievance to you that you aren’t able to pocket the five thousand belonging to Mr. Pelty, but you are mistaken, as you must surely know by now, to think
I
have it. We at Elm Street were very much amused by your little comedy—your game of cards to see the color of our blunt, and your assuring us the bills were unmarked so we would feel free to spend them. Unfortunately for you, we had only the one cut bill. Perhaps you could take the scissors to some of your other friends’
money and have the law down on them instead.”
My rant done, I turned my head aside and looked out the window at the darkness.
He lunged forward, grabbed my chin, and forcibly turned my head back to face him. “What was I to think? You had the banknote!”
I wrenched his hand away and threw it back at him. “Don’t touch me again. You thought I had the lot long before that, or you wouldn’t have put us to the test! How
dare
you come into our home like a friend and treat us so shabbily!”
“You just accused
me
of trying to bilk Pelty!”
“I’d accuse you of murdering Graham if I could! I wouldn’t put it a bit past you.”
“Belle, I wasn’t trying to con you. I admit I first struck up an acquaintance with that in mind, but I had dismissed you as the culprit days ago. I did it only to set Pelty’s mind at rest. He’s been nattering at me that ‘Miss Haley has to know something,’
and I did it to prove to him you were innocent. You could have knocked me over with a breath when I looked at that banknote and saw the cut. You gave Eliot Sutton that letter authorizing him to get the carriage. It was possible the money was there.”
“Eliot hasn’t even gotten it yet!”
“His groom could have. I tell you that pound came from the money that disappeared. Where did you get it?”
“Are you sure you’d believe the word of a
liar,
Mr. Maitland?”
“I’m not responsible for what I might have said to Roy after you gave me that banknote. I felt betrayed. He told me you tried to burn the bill—does that sound like innocence to you?”
“He’s lucky it wasn’t him I chucked into the grate. I only did it in a fit of temper.”
“A fit of temper isn’t going to get us very far,”
he said impatiently.
“At least it’ll get me home. I’m sorry I ever came up to London. But maybe it did me some good after all. I wasn’t completely convinced there was a devil; now I know that London’s full of them.”