The Spider's Touch (21 page)

Hence different Passions more or less inflame,

As strong or weak, the organs of the frame;

And hence one
MASTER
P
ASSION
in the breast,

Like Aaron’s serpent, swallows up the rest.

II. iii.

Two hours later, she had to wonder if any of the gentlemen would be able to make it back to the boat on their own two feet. Lord Lovett had appointed himself their host and had kept the waiters filling their glasses to the brim. It had taken very little encouragement for either Sir Humphrey or Harrowby to drink beyond their capacity. Both had been in queer spirits before setting out—Sir Humphrey, low in mind for a gentleman who was always cheerful in his friends’ company, and Harrowby, garrulous and loud, as if relief from his fears had turned him hysterical.

Seated beside Lord Lovett, Sir Humphrey was faring the worst. After several glasses of ale, he had started to bemoan the fates of Lord Oxford and the others. Using every form of persuasion from cajolery to rebuke, Lord Lovett and Harrowby had advised him to hold his tongue, and his mumblings had quickly subsided. Occasionally a morose comment still escaped, but it had been many minutes since his sentences had made any sense.

Under the influence of mead, Isabella’s eyes had grown brighter, and her intentions even more blatant, though she had spared an occasional provocative glance for her husband as well. These seemed to satisfy Harrowby’s
amour propre.
In any case, he took no exception to the flirting between his wife and their host. On the contrary, it was not long before he began showing a keener interest in the masked ladies, who threw out lures to him as they passed. Some of their language was so coarse as to leave Hester in no doubt as to their trade. In deference to the presence of his wife, she supposed, Harrowby made no response other than to laugh at their invitations. But as the night wore on, his laughter diminished, and, after one very large and buxom woman strutted past him, promising him greater delights than he had ever experienced in his life, he waited a mere twenty seconds before excusing himself for a piss and stumbling after her.

That was the chance that Isabella had been waiting for.

“I should like to take stroll amongst the shrubbery before we go. Will you escort me?” she said to Lord Lovett, with a look that left nothing in doubt.

Hester fought a rush of mortification, which spread from her toes on up. Even forewarned, she found it difficult to accept adultery in someone she loved, and she could not help but love her cousin. Isabella was heedless, often selfish, ignorant, and foolish. But she had a heart that could be generous in spite of the rapaciousness with which she had been raised. She was happiest when everyone around her was merry, and she even found it in her occasionally to be distressed by someone else’s suffering.

Harrowby, though, had just evinced his own lack of fealty to the vows they had spoken, so Hester doubted that he took them seriously either. To her a vow was all the reason required to keep faith.

These painful thoughts had taken only a few seconds to race through her mind, but they must have shown in her face, for Lord Lovett seemed to notice her embarrassment.

“I would not like to leave Mrs. Kean alone,” he said, giving her a look of understanding that brought a lump to her throat. “I’m afraid our dear friend Humphrey has drunk far too much of a companion. Isn’t that right, Cove?”

Thus applied to, Sir Humphrey made an effort to see who had spoken. His blurred eyes located Lord Lovett’s face, where they rested before closing in a peaceful sleep. Lord Lovett caught him as he fell and eased his head onto the table.

“Hester won’t mind staying here,” Isabella said, peering over Lord Lovett’s shoulder. “Will you, Hester? Harrowby is sure to come back soon, and she should stay here to tell him where we’ve gone.”

“Unless she had rather stroll with us?”

Lord Lovett’s invitation surprised them both. Hester wondered if his flirting had been nothing more than that. She even felt some hope that Isabella could return home without the stain of adultery on her soul.

She had no thought of playing chaperone, though. Not when her opportunity to steal away had finally come.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, smiling openly at him for perhaps the first time in their acquaintance. “But my cousin is correct. I shall be perfectly happy listening to the musicians play, and if my lord were to return and find us missing, he might regard it as an inconvenience at least.”

He inclined his head, but his manner indicated that he would have preferred for her to join them.

Hester waited until they had disappeared down one of the shorter alleys of trees before leaving her chair. Terribly afraid that Harrowby would come back before she, too, could get away, she started in a third direction, glancing nervously back over her shoulder to check for his arrival.

With her gaze diverted, she did not perceive the gentleman who stepped in front of her until she bumped into his chest. Letting out a cry, she tried to retreat, but he took her by the arms and would not release her until she looked up.

Blue eyes greeted her from behind a black mask. A teasing smile softened the harsh set of features she remembered so well and filled her with immeasurable joy and relief. “St. Mars!” she whispered, a smile bubbling up from inside her, too.

He stared down, holding her in his grasp a moment more. “I thought you would never be rid of them. Come, let’s get away, before any of them can return.”

He released one of her arms, but held the other to urge her away from the alcove and towards a towering row of trees. Within moments, he had drawn her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they had joined the lines of promenaders, who strolled up and down, giggling and calling out to strangers and friends. At Vauxhall, it seemed, no distinction between lord and commoner was observed, for no one could tell what face lay behind a mask.

After they had covered a safe distance, Hester stole a sideways glance at St. Mars. Tonight, he had not bothered to disguise his age. But a shorter wig than any fashionable gentleman would wear, a plain brown suit with no lace to distinguish it, Quakerish shoes, and the mask had altered him enough that she felt sure that no one would know him.

Her scrutiny had not escaped him. “What do you think of my disguise?” he asked.

“It is admirable, sir. But do you not think the mask poses a slight inconsistency with your  choice of costume?”

“Because I affect the Quaker?”

She nodded.

“But, surely, even a Quaker could be tempted to sin on an evening like this when the nightingales are singing in the trees. And if he were to sin, who would be more likely to wish for concealment?”

His teasing tone started a pulse deep inside her. The feel of his muscles beneath her palm was wonderfully warm and hard.

“Very logical, my lord. I see that you gave the matter adequate forethought before taking this risk. And may I apologize for not doing as well? Until this evening, I had not thought how hard it would be for us to find each other here. I was very relieved to encounter you so quickly.”

“Did you think I would allow you to wander about in a crowd like this?” St. Mars had dropped his playful tone. “I’ve been watching you all evening. I followed you up from the riverbank and did not take my eyes off your table once.”

Hester was so overcome that she could only murmur a shy, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Who is that gentleman who walked away with your cousin?”

Nothing could have punctured the cloud on which she had been floating since she’d found him faster or more completely than this question. For the past few moments, Hester had forgotten that the man beside her had been in love with Isabella, indeed, that he must be in love with her still.

“That gentleman is Lord Lovett. He is a great friend of both Isabella’s and Harrowby’s.” She hardly knew how to refer to Isabella’s husband when speaking to St. Mars, for to call him Isabella’s husband or Lord Hawkhurst would remind him of all he had lost, and to acknowledge him as his first cousin might not be something St. Mars desired to do.

“His actions this evening scarcely fit those of a friend to Harrowby,” he said significantly.

His comment brought a rush of embarrassment to her cheeks.

Before she could think of a response, he asked, “Is their marriage already so weak?” —then, with scarcely a pause— “No, do not answer that, Mrs. Kean. It is inappropriate for me to speak to you of such a matter. Tell me instead how everyone does at Hawkhurst House.”

Relieved by the change of subject, but with her mood properly subdued, Hester gave him news of his servants—Will, who had won a race against five of the fastest footmen in town, Mrs. Dixon with her painful tooth extraction, and his former valet Philippe and his annoyance with Harrowby’s morning callers.

He responded feelingly to the first two, and laughed at the third. “How I should love to witness one of Harrowby’s levees! I make no doubt that he loves them. You have been charitable once, Mrs. Kean, in reminding me of something I cannot and do not regret. I do not possess the temperament to enjoy a levee.”

“It turns out that Philippe does not either, when I believe he had anticipated liking them very much. He is not averse to an audience, as you undoubtedly know. But he cannot abide being told how he should go about his job in a better way.”

“No, he wouldn’t, which is what made him amusing to me.”

Hester wondered if she heard him sigh.

She had been so happy speaking to him, in a way she could talk with no one else, that she had allowed herself to forget that her absense must not be for long. Reluctantly, she reminded him. “Is there anything particular you wished to speak to me about, my lord? Your message sounded rather urgent.”

Now she did hear him sigh and wondered what had made him do it.

They were just about to reach the end of an alley of trees. St. Mars halted, gave a good look about, and turned to lead her back to a short path leading off of it. Rustlings and murmurings from behind the densest shrubbery, where no lamps shone, gave warning that they were not alone. With a muffled oath St. Mars took her hand and led her farther down the path until they had passed the last of these sounds by thirty feet at least, before telling her to wait while he checked for listeners. Then he returned, and with a courtly gesture, invited her to join him behind the shrubbery.

It would have been foolish to demure, given the friendship they had shared, so Hester covered a slight trepidation, in which she could recognize a definite thrill.

St. Mars came after her. He stood to face her, and said, “I came to warn you.”

His words astonished her. She had not known what to expect, but certainly not this.

“I saw you going into Lady Oglethorpe’s house with your cousin the other night, and I wondered if you knew how dangerous a friendship with that lady could be.”

Hester’s mind leapt quickly to the reason. “Because she is a Jacobite?”

“You knew? And still you went? Does Isabella have any idea of the risk she might be exposing you to?”

Not noticing the way he had phrased his question, Hester offered him apology. “I did try to stop her, my lord. Truly. Harrowby—pardon me—
your cousin
had expressly told her to take care of the friendships she made, and I tried to remind her. But Isabella had hoped—that is, Lady Oglethorpe promised her the kind of entertainment that Isabella likes, and Bella cares nothing for politics. They hold no meaning for her. She merely wishes to enjoy herself.”

“What sort of entertainment does your cousin like?” His tone was harsh, and Hester believed she knew why. “It must not be gaming, for she might find that anywhere.”

“My lord
...
.” She couldn’t help the pleading note in her voice. “I had rather not discuss Isabella’s faults with you. It would be disloyal of me.”
And only give you more pain,
she thought, not saying this aloud. “Suffice it to say that she went hoping for a pleasure she did not find there. I doubt that she will want to go again. But if you wish, I can make sure she does not by telling her husband beforehand. I believe he would stop her.”

“Whether he can or not, you must refuse to accompany her. Is that understood?”

His shift disconcerted her. It seemed a puzzling tack. “I shall refuse if you wish me to, my lord.” Though how her refusal would keep Isabella safe, she did not know. Unless he believed that Bella would not go if she did not.

She could almost feel him relax. “That will do. I shall not worry then.”

A curious point had risen in her mind. She was about to ask him what he had been doing in the Palace Yard on Tuesday night, when he said first, “I have learned to rely on your good judgement, Mrs. Kean. I hope you can give me the benefit of it again. But, before I ask you what I need to know, you must promise to trust me. I should not like you to doubt my good intentions.”

“I have never doubted you, my lord.” Amazement filled her voice. “I cannot believe I will begin to doubt you now.”

By way of response, he took her hand and pressed it with a kiss. Then, he gave it a squeeze and let it go.

He started to pace, as he did when troubled, she had noticed. She thought he was on the point of speaking when a loud set of voices came from the other side of the hedge.

A coarse expression from one of the men with respect to a female physique made Hester flush with anger.

St. Mars moved quickly, as if to block her from the unpleasantness. “Try not to regard it,” he said. “Some men are worse than beasts, but you should not let them distress you.”

“Is it truly only
some
men, my lord?” Hester was instantly sorry for the words, which were not fair. And for her bitter tone—the result, she supposed, of the conduct she had been witnessing all evening.

St. Mars did not take offence. He did sound concerned, however, when he said, “I can assure you that not all men—not even all gentlemen, despite what you may have seen to the contrary—regard your sex with so little respect.”