The Glittering Lights (Bantam Series No. 12) (6 page)

At other times Lady Alice never complained. Never in front of her husband by word or deed did she ever draw attention to her helplessness or invite his sympathy.

Instead she made herself so attractive that when people stayed in the house or were entertained at The Towers, they would often say to Cassandra, afterwards:

“You know, I keep forgetting that your mother is confined to a wheel-chair. She is so unbelievably brave and never makes anyone embarrassed by referring to it, that I always think of her as living quite a normal life.”

“My father and I feel like that too,” Cassandra would reply, and it had in fact been the truth.

But there was no disguising the unutterable gladness on Lady Alice’s face when Sir James returned from London! Her arms would go out to him with a cry of welcome which to Cassandra was more moving and revealing than any words.

“Have you missed me, my darling?” Cassandra heard her father say once as he bent to put his arms around his wife.

“You know that every moment when we are apart seems like an eternity of emptiness,” Lady Alice replied.

Cassandra had felt the tears come into her eyes as she recognised the throb of anguish in her mother’s voice.

‘That is love!’ she told herself now. ‘Love is when one can sacrifice one’s own feelings so that the other person shall be happy! At the same time, Mama knows that Papa loves her with all his heart.’

It would be different where she and the Duke were concerned: he would have no love for her, only a sense of duty.

“I cannot bear it! I cannot bear it!” she said aloud again.

She decided that if her plan failed, if she learnt that the Duke’s heart belonged elsewhere, then she would brave her father’s anger and would refuse categorically to marry him, whatever the consequences.

Cassandra took off her silk wrapper and got into bed.

“I will give him a fair chance,” she said aloud. “In fact he shall have more than a chance. I am giving myself a handicap in my efforts to be sporting about it!”

She tried to smile at the racing jargon but failed.

Instead she buried her face in the pillow and tried to think, not of the Duke of Alchester, but the part she must play in attempting to deceive him.

In the train to London Cassandra went over her plans a dozen times, and it seemed as if the wheels of the train sounded an accompaniment to what she was thinking.

“It is crazy—it is crazy—it is crazy!” the wheels were saying. Cassandra had known it was crazy when she awoke in the morning and having dressed, had gone first to her mother to receive last minute instructions about taking good care of herself.

“Buy the loveliest gowns you can find, darling,” her mother said. “I am sure Bond Street will be full of delectable confections!”

“I will certainly try to find some dresses you will like,” Cassandra announced.

“But come back as soon as you can,” Lady Alice admonished.

“I promise I will do that,” Cassandra answered. “A little of Aunt Eleanor’s gossip goes a very long way!”

Lady Alice laughed.

“I should not tell her the Duke is coming to stay. You know she can never keep a secret.”

“I never tell Aunt Eleanor anything that I do not wish to be known all around Mayfair within the next half an hour,” Cassandra laughed.

On the door-step she put her arms around her father’s neck.

“I wish you were coming with me, Papa,” she said. “But you know if you did I should never get anything done. Without you I shall concentrate on spending a large amount of your money.”

“You have only to write a cheque on Coutts Bank and they will let you have everything you require,” Sir James said. “You have enough with you now?”

“More than enough.”

Cassandra kissed him again and got into the closed carriage where Hannah was already seated, stiff and still somewhat disagreeable about having to pack in such a hurry.

The horses set off and Cassandra waved to her father until a turn of the drive took them out of sight of the house.

Then she leaned back in the carriage.

“Hannah,” she said, “we are off on a great adventure.”

The maid looked at her suspiciously.

“What do you mean by that, Miss Cassandra?”

“You are going to help me to do something quite outrageous,” Cassandra answered.

“I’m going to do nothing of the sort,” Hannah said stiffly. “If you’re up to any of your tricks, Miss Cassandra, I’m going back to Her Ladyship at this very moment.”

Cassandra laughed.

“Oh, Hannah, I love to tease you! You always rise to any bait I cast under your nose. What I am going to do will not be too shocking, but I need your help.”

“I’m not doing anything of which Her Ladyship would not approve,” Hannah said stoutly.

But Cassandra knew that she could rely on her to help her as she had always done in other escapades however reprehensible.

It was a long, rather tiring journey to London, but Cassandra did not notice either the landscape speeding past them or that the hours seemed long drawn out.

She was planning, scheming, working out every detail of what she intended to do.

Her father had often said it was a pity she had not been a boy, and because he had no son he used to talk to her of his business schemes and developments.

He often tried out on her new ideas before he put them to a Board of Directors, or sounded her to find out whether a new approach to a difficult problem would get the response he intended.

Cassandra learned from him the importance of every tiny detail, when something new was to be put into operation.

“It is always the weakest link in the chain which can prove disastrous,” was one of her father’s favourite remarks.

Cassandra knew now that in her present scheming the weakest link in the chain would be the risk of exposure.

Hannah thought she was very quiet but said nothing. She did, however, look anxiously at her young mistress. She had been used to her chatter and was finding this serious mood almost frightening.

But Cassandra was smiling when finally they arrived at Sir James’s house in Park Lane, where the bow windows on the ground and first floors overlooked the green trees of Hyde Park.

The residence was the acme of comfort, Sir James having even installed the new incandescent electric fight which was the last word in sensational novelty, and a telephone, the first Exchange having been opened in London in 1879.

Lady Fladbury had in her youth been a pretty girl. She had however grown stout and heavy in her old age, and at sixty found it impossible to move quickly.

She was ten years older than her Step-brother but was devoted to him, and she had a real affection for Cassandra.

“I had been wondering when you would visit me again,” she said when her niece appeared, “and I cannot tell you how delighted I was when I received your
father’s
telegram this morning.”

“It is delightful to see you, Aunt Eleanor. I have come to London to buy some new clothes. I have also a number of social engagements, so I shall not be a trouble to you.”

“You are never that,” Lady Fladbury replied. “At the same time, I was wondering if I should cancel the Bridge party I have arranged for tomorrow night.”

“No, please,” Cassandra begged, “do not cancel anything, Aunt Eleanor. I am practically booked up for the whole of the time I am here. In fact I was half-afraid you might feel offended that I can spend so little time with you.”

“No, of course not. All I want is for you to enjoy yourself,” her Aunt replied.

Cassandra sipped the hot chocolate which the Butler had set down by her side.

“Tell me all the gossip, Aunt Eleanor,” she begged. “You know as well as I do that living in the wilds of Yorkshire we never hear any scandal until it is out of date.”

Lady Fladbury laughed.

“I cannot believe that,” she said, “but there are quite a lot of amusing incidents which are the
on-dit
of the moment.”

She chattered away about a number of their acquaintances. “To whom is the Prince of Wales attached now?” Cassandra asked.

“Far too many lovely women for me to enumerate,” Lady Fladbury replied. “But one thing is very certain; since Mrs. Langtry, His Royal Highness’s lady friends, even if they are actresses, are accepted in some sections of society.”

Cassandra laughed.

“A crown can work marvels! But I see no reason why an actress should be treated as a pariah!”

Lady Fladbury appeared to be about to reply. Then changed what she was about to say to a question.

“What about you, Cassandra? Have you not any plans to marry?”

“Not yet,” Cassandra answered. “I have yet to find someone who will capture my heart.”

“It surprises me that James has no-one in mind for you,” her Aunt said reflectively. “He always used to talk when you were a child as if he expected you to marry at least a Prince, and yet here you are over twenty and still a spinster.”

“But not quite an old maid,” Cassandra protested.

“I was wondering the other day who would suit you,” Lady Fladbury remarked, “and I have quite a long list of eligible young men who would welcome a pretty, intelligent and of course wealthy young wife.”

As Cassandra made no comment, she continued:

“I thought your father would be certain to bring you to London for the Season. He has not asked me to apply to Buckingham Palace that I might present you, so I assume he has done so himself.”

“I expect so,” Cassandra said indifferently. “The last Drawing-Room does not take place until the end of May. That gives us plenty of time.”

“If you are to be presented, your father surely would have told you so.”

“Perhaps he has not received an answer,” Cassandra replied. “I feel I am too old to be a
debutante
.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Fladbury exclaimed. “You will have to be presented sooner or later. It looks as if it will have to be on your marriage.”

“When I find a husband!”

Cassandra hesitated a moment and then she said:

“Perhaps, as you told me some time ago, all the eligible bachelors have been caught by the Gaiety Girls. Are there any more heart throbs among the aristocracy?”

“Quite a number,” Lady Fladbury replied. “There is a joke going around that the Duke of Beaufort, who is a Knight of the Garter, was asked by an inquisitive Frenchman what the letters ‘K.G’ stood for after his name, and he answered ‘Connie Gilchrist’.”

Cassandra laughed.

“Are there many noblemen among the Stage-door Johnnies?”

“Too many of them for me to tell you about them all,” her Aunt replied.

Cassandra took a deep breath. She realised she would have to risk being more direct to elicit the information she really wanted.

“What about the son of Papa’s great racing friend, the Duke of Alchester?” She tried to make her voice sound casual. “Is the young Duke’s name connected with anyone in particular?”

“During the Winter he was always with an actress,” her Aunt replied. “I cannot remember her name. Betty somebody. But I do not think it was serious. Nevertheless there is no doubt he has a passion for Gaiety Girls. Lady Lowry was saying only last week that he refuses all invitations to any of the respectable parties.”

“Do you think he will marry someone on the stage?” Cassandra asked.

“I should not be surprised,” her Aunt answered. “Lady Lowry tells us that the men who are infatuated with these painted creatures are too stage-struck to be quite sane!”

“Perhaps that is the ... explanation,” Cassandra murmured despondently.

CHAPTER THREE

Cassandra woke early the following morning and, realising she had an hour before Hannah would come and call her, she rose to draw back the curtains in her bed-room.

She then took from the drawer in which she had placed it the night before the letter her father had given her addressed to Mrs. Langtry.

She looked at the envelope, then deliberately opened it.

Sir James had written in his strong, upright, hand-writing:

“Most Exquisite Lily,

I am so thrilled, as are all those who love you, by the huge success you have achieved on both sides of the Atlantic. I saw you in ‘Peril’ and thought you were not only brilliant but looking, if possible, more beautiful than ever.

This is to introduce my daughter, of whom I am very proud. Like so many other people she is longing to meet the most lovely woman in the world. I know you will be sweet to her, Lily, and I am grateful, as I have always been grateful to you for your kindness.

At your feet—as ever,

My Love,

James.”

Cassandra read it through carefully. She thought it was very gushing, but she supposed that someone like Mrs. Langtry would expect a man to be effusive.

Taking a sheet of engraved paper which she had brought with her from The Towers, she started to copy her father’s hand-writing. She had done it before to amuse herself.

“You write so much better than anyone I have ever known, Papa,” she had said. “At the same time your writing is so clear and distinctive it would be easy for a forger to defraud you.”

“Perhaps he would not be as skilful as you,” Sir James had laughed, “but anyway I will be careful that you do not bankrupt me!”

Now Cassandra found that after a few efforts it would have been impossible for anyone who was not an expert to detect that the letter she had written had not been inscribed by Sir James himself.

She copied exactly the first part of his letter and then, where he had started: “This is to introduce ...” she wrote instead:

“This is to introduce Miss Sandra Standish, a young actress who is the daughter of an old friend, and to ask you if, with your usual generosity, you would grant her a quite simple request. You are someone whom she worships from afar, but apart from the great honour of meeting you she is very anxious for an introduction to the young Duke of Alchester.

It is something as you know, I could easily do myself but unfortunately I cannot for the moment find time to visit London. So please, dearest Lily, help Miss Standish and when we next meet I shall once again be in your debt.”

Cassandra finished the letter as her father had done and re-wrote the envelope. She tore into small pieces her father’s letter and several mistakes she had made in her first efforts at copying it.

Rising to her feet she put the letter away. Then an idea struck her.

She crossed the room to the dressing-table and took from the bottom drawer the jewel-case with which she always travelled and which Hannah never let out of her hand.

It held a great deal of jewellery for someone so young, but Sir James liked his women to glitter, and both Cassandra and her mother received at Christmas and on their birthdays fabulous gems.

From the bottom of the case, Cassandra drew out a leather box which contained, reposing on a velvet lining, a large diamond star.

It was one of the few presents her father had given her which she had thought did not measure up to his usual exquisite taste. There was something a little garish and ornate about it.

The diamonds were too large and the setting not as delicate as the presents he usually chose, but she was aware that it was a valuable piece.

She thought as she looked at it that it would be a very suitable present for someone like Mrs. Langtry.

Cassandra had been surprised at the number and value of Mrs. Langtry’s jewels, of which the papers gave long and elaborate descriptions every time she appeared.

The story of her climb to fame when she had appeared in London with her husband, so poor that she had only one black dress, had been reiterated over and over again, just as the Prince of Wales’s infatuation had lost nothing in the telling, even to those who lived as far away as Yorkshire.

What was inexplicable was the thousands of pounds’ worth of jewels Mrs. Langtry suddenly acquired, despite the fact that she was so poor she had to earn money by going on the stage.

‘But of course, since she is so beautiful, people want to give her presents,’ Cassandra told herself and the explanation seemed simple.

Cassandra thought it likely, because he rather enjoyed giving presents, that her father had contributed to the diamonds which had astounded America and even in England were referred to constantly in every newspaper.

She shut the box which contained the star, set it down on the writing-table, and closing her own jewel-case replaced it in the drawer.

She opened the letter which she had already sealed and added a postscript:

“To me you have always been the most glittering star in the Universe.”

Once again Cassandra wrote the envelope and put the letter and the jewel box in a drawer of the writing-table which she locked.

When Hannah came to call her mistress she found her already half-dressed.

“Why didn’t you ring the bell, Miss Cassandra?” Hannah enquired.

“I thought you might be having your breakfast,” Cassandra answered, “and I did not wish to disturb you because we are going out as soon as you can be ready.”

“At this hour of the morning?” Hannah asked in surprise.

“I have a lot to do,” Cassandra answered. “I am sure, Hannah, you do not wish to stay in London any longer than is necessary.”

She knew this was the best way of getting Hannah to do what she wanted because the maid hated Sir James’s town house and always longed to be back at The Towers.

It was however two hours later before Cassandra had managed to have her breakfast and leave her Aunt without appearing rude.

Lady Fladbury had a whole repertoire of gossip to relate about friends, and an endless flow of tittle-tattle about the Socialites who filled the newspapers; so that Cassandra could hardly get a word in.

She wished to pick her Aunt’s brains without appearing to do so, and finally she managed to say:

“I would like to visit the theatre whilst I am in London. What is Mrs. Langtry’s new play like?”

“Rather amusing!” Lady Fladbury replied. “It is a comedy-drama called ‘Enemies.’ Another of Coghlan’s adaptions from the French.”

“Is it exciting?” Cassandra enquired.

“The second act concludes with murder by strangulation of a country girl in a fit of passion by a deaf and dumb idiot,” Lady Fladbury answered, “if that makes you laugh!”

Cassandra smiled as her Aunt went on:

“I have to admit that Mrs. Langtry acted quite well. Of course she was extremely refined and lady-like—that goes without saying— but everyone says it is the best part she has played.”

“I would like to see it,” Cassandra said.

“Of course the Prince of Wales was at the opening night,” Lady Fladbury continued, hardly pausing for breath.

“I expect Mrs. Langtry’s clothes are very beautiful,” Cassandra hazarded.

“Of course!” Lady Fladbury answered. “Since she does not pay for them, she can naturally afford the best.”

“I suppose the theatre management thinks the expense a good advertisement,” Cassandra remarked. “But where does she buy them?”

“Most of her clothes come from Worth or Doucet in Paris, but Redfern of Conduit Street, where the Princess of Wales shops, makes some of them.”

“I have often been to Redfern,” Cassandra murmured, but her Aunt was not listening.

“Have you heard the story that Alfred de Rothschild said he would give her a dress from Doucet, and Mrs. Langtry ordered an extra petticoat with it? When the bill came he sent it on to her, saying he had offered her one dress but no more.”

Cassandra laughed. She did not like to show her ignorance by revealing that she thought it very strange that Mrs. Langtry should allow a man to give her a gown.

“She must be the envy of every other leading lady,” she remarked. “Where do they purchase their gowns?”

“In ordinary and much cheaper shops,” Lady Fladbury replied, “and you may be quite sure they resent it. At the same time, I am told that Chasemore has done a wonderful job for George Edwards at the Gaiety. I have not seen the new show, but it caused a lot of comment that he gave them the chance to dress his new production.”

Cassandra had found out what she wished to know.

“I must go, Aunt Eleanor,” she said. “I am keeping the horses waiting, and you know how much Papa dislikes my doing that!”

It was an excuse to which there was no reply, and Cassandra got away while she could to find Hannah waiting for her in the hall.

Cassandra gave the footman an address and they set off down Piccadilly.

It was a cold, blustery day, and she was glad of the warmth from her fur-trimmed jacket.

“Where are we going, Miss Cassandra?” Hannah enquired.

“Shopping,” Cassandra answered, “and do not be surprised, Hannah, at anything I buy. This is the beginning of the adventure about which I warned you.”

In spite of the warning, however, Hannah was extremely surprised and said so in no uncertain terms when during the morning Cassandra purchased clothes of which the maid told her a dozen times her mother would not approve.

“You must have gone out of your mind, Miss Cassandra!” she said in horrified tones when the
vendeuse
had left the Dressing-Room to fetch a seamstress to alter one of the gowns.

There was no doubt the dress Cassandra was trying on was very different from the beautiful gowns she had previously worn.

They had been elaborate and many of them had had a decided Parisian chic about them. But what she was wearing now was glitteringly spectacular and accentuated her flamboyant red hair and dark-fringed eyes. It was also very theatrical.

“For goodness’ sake, Miss Cassandra, why are you wasting your money on this trash?” Hannah asked.

“I have my reasons,” Cassandra answered enigmatically. “What do I look like, Hannah? Tell me the truth!”

“You look like something off the Music Hall, and what your father would say about you dolled up like some fast hussy from behind the footlights, I don’t know.”

“Thank you, Hannah, that is exactly what I wanted to hear,” Cassandra answered.

She paid no attention to Hannah’s protests and went on ordering, to the delight of the saleswoman.

“We made some really attractive gowns for Miss Sylvia Grey,” the woman volunteered.

“She is in ‘Little Jack Shepherd’ at the Gaiety,” Cassandra remarked.

“Yes, and one of her gowns, not unlike the one you have on, Madam, was written up in several of the newspapers. But it is Miss Nelly Farran who gets the applause. She really pays for dressing, and she herself said she had never worn clothes which made her look better.”

The woman recommended a milliner who had provided the bonnets for the leading ladies of ‘Little Jack Shepherd,’ and Cassandra bought shoes and handbags to match each outfit.

Finally Hannah announced it was long after her luncheon time.

“And you’ll be fainting on my hands if you don’t have something to eat soon, Miss Cassandra,” she said sharply. “Come along, now. You’ve wasted enough money and a real waste it is too! I can’t see you wearing one of those vulgar garments, and that’s a fact.”

“You will be surprised, Hannah!” Cassandra answered.

She took one of the gowns and an evening wrap with her, and arranged for her other purchases to be delivered if not that evening, first thing the following morning.

Then she stopped the carriage at a shop called Clarksons.

Hannah looked up in disgust and exclaimed:

“Theatrical wig-makers! You’re never going to buy a wig, Miss Cassandra! If you do, I’ll go straight back to Yorkshire and you’ll not stop me.”

“No, I want something quite different,” Cassandra answered, “and you need not come in with me, Hannah. I can manage quite well by myself.”

She went into the shop and found just inside the door there was a counter on which were displayed the grease-paint, lip-salves, powders and paints which were required by actors and actresses.

Such things were not obtainable in any of the shops she usually patronised.

She made several purchases and went back to the carriage.

“I want to know what’s going on!” Hannah said. “If you want my help, Miss Cassandra, you’ll have to tell me the truth.”

Cassandra was as yet unwilling to reveal her secret plans even to Hannah.

She fobbed the maid off with excuses until finally they arrived back at Park Lane.

Lady Fladbury was not particularly interested in what her niece had been doing during the morning. She had more bits of gossip she wished to relate to Cassandra, and she chattered away all through luncheon hardly giving her time to reply.

“Are you never bored, Aunt Eleanor, living here alone most of the time?”

Cassandra could not help thinking that Lady Fladbury must be lonely—otherwise she would not be so vivaciously voluble when she had an audience.

“I have never been happier in my life!” her Aunt replied with all sincerity. “The truth is, Cassandra, I have never in the past had a moment to think about myself. My husband was a very demanding man, and my children, before they grew up and married, were always expecting me to do what they wanted—never what I wanted to do myself.”

She laughed.

“It is the lot of all women! Sometimes I remember that someone once said: ‘The best thing in life is to be born a widow and an orphan.’ I think they were right!”

She smiled and added:

“Of course they meant a wealthy widow and orphan!”

“So you are now in that position,” Cassandra remarked.

“I am not wealthy, but, thanks to your father, I am comfortable. I have a great many friends in London and as long as I can sit down at a Bridge table, then there is no more contented woman than I am.”

“I am so glad, Aunt Eleanor.”

“I suppose if I were a good Chaperon,” Lady Fladbury went on, “I should be making enquiries as to why you are so busy, but I am not going to ask any questions.”

“Thank you, Aunt Eleanor,” Cassandra smiled.

“All I ask is that you do not get me into trouble with your father.”

“What the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over,” Cassandra quoted.

Then she rose from the Dining-Room table and kissed her Aunt.

“You have always been very kind to me, Aunt Eleanor, and I am grateful.”

“You are up to something, I know that!” Lady Fladbury laughed. “Run along with you! Everyone likes to keep their own secrets. I have three friends waiting for me at a green-baize table who will keep me occupied until it is dinner time.”

To Hannah’s mystification, Cassandra drove not to the shops but to a House-Agent’s just off St. James’s Street.

“What are we stopping here for?” the maid enquired.

“You wait in the carriage,” Cassandra said and disappeared before Hannah could say any more.

An Agent in a smart frock-coat was suitably impressed by Cassandra’s appearance and her expensive fur-trimmed jacket.

“I am looking for a flat or apartment for a friend of mine,” she explained. “She is on the stage.”

“On the stage, Madam?” the Agent exclaimed in astonishment.

Cassandra knew that he thought it almost inconceivable that someone who looked like her should be connected with a woman in such a disreputable profession.

“She is a leading lady,” Cassandra explained sweetly, “and the same type of person as Mrs. Langtry. She therefore wants to live somewhere in the West End so that she will be near the theatre, but it must not be, you understand, in a building with a bad reputation.”

“No, of course not!” the Estate Agent said in shocked tones. “But you’ll appreciate, Madam, it is not every landlord who’ll accept actors and actresses.”

“Presumably because they do not always pay their bills,” Cassandra said with a little smile. “But let me set your mind at rest. My friend has asked me to put down two months’ rent in advance. That should annul any landlord’s fears that financially he might be out of pocket.”

“Yes, yes of course,” the Agent agreed. “It’ll make things very much easier.”

He opened a large Ledger and looked through it with a little frown on his forehead.

Cassandra was quite certain that he was feeling embarrassed because he had so little to offer.

“You will understand,” he said after a moment, “that we do not as a rule keep on our books the type of flat or lodgings which are patronised by your friend’s profession.”

“I understand,” Cassandra said quietly, “but I remember hearing that at one time Mrs. Langtry had a flat in the Albany. Is there nothing available there?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Agent replied, “but there’s a flat in Bury Street. I don’t know whether it would be suitable. The first floor flat was at one time occupied by Miss Kate Vaughan before she married.”

“At least she is respectable now!” Cassandra exclaimed. “Her husband, I understand, is the nephew of the Duke of Wellington.”

“Yes, Madam,” the Agent answered, “and even when she was on the stage, Miss Vaughan would have been acceptable to most landlords.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Cassandra said. “I would not like my friend to feel uncomfortable when she comes to London or believe that she is unwelcome.”

“I’m sure we will find her something which she’ll like,” the Agent said. “What about this flat in Bury Street?”

“You have the particulars?”

He consulted his Ledger.

“It has two bed-rooms, a sitting-room and a small kitchen.”

“That sounds as if it would do,” Cassandra said.

“It also was occupied at one time by someone of importance in the theatrical world,” the Agent revealed. “And so the furnishings should be to your friend’s taste.”