He saves from famine, from the savage saves;
Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast,
And, till he ends the being, makes it blest;
Which sees no more the stroke, or feels the pain,
Than favoured Man by touch ethereal slain.
The creature had his feast of life before;
Thou too must perish, when thy feast is o’er!
III. i.
Dudley Mayfield arrived before the fortnight was out, breaking
in on their dinner, after being shown to a chamber where he could change out of his riding costume into one more appropriate for dinner in town. A footman ushered him into the withdrawing room, and they all put down their forks to greet Isabella’s brother, a short, beefy, young gentleman with a large head and his sister’s vacant blue eyes. He wore a light brown wig of inferior quality, tied at the nape of his neck, a coat with very few pleats, and a pair of breeches that looked as if they had never been pressed.
Once Mrs. Mayfield had presented her son, Harrowby seemed perfectly glad to receive his new brother. Since he and Isabella had been married in a clandestine ceremony, foregoing the irritation—and the expenses—of a public marriage, he had not had the pleasure of meeting his brothers and sisters-in-law. Hester made no doubt that he would meet them all, as Mrs. Mayfield foisted her progeny one by one upon his purse. Since Dudley was the first, however, Harrowby could welcome him to Hawkhurst House with the expansive hospitality of a man who had usurped another gentleman’s fortune.
In truth, Harrowby had not tired of the attention he received as the Earl of Hawkhurst. Daily requests for preferment and loans from men he scarcely knew had not yet spoiled his appetite for notice, when flattery and fawning always accompanied them. He was not offended by the connection between his popularity and his new-found wealth, not when only a two months ago, he had been one of the supplicants attending peers’ levees.
He invited Dudley to join them. While another chair was being brought, Isabella greeted him with a kiss and declared herself vastly surprised and happy to see him. His mother offered a cool, painted cheek for his salute. Harrowby recalled his cousin Hester to him and presented the only other person at table, James Henry, receiver-general for the Hawkhurst estates.
Mr. Henry had just returned from inspecting his lordship’s property in Norfolk and had stopped in to make his report before going on to Rotherham Abbey. Of the people seated around the table, only Hester knew that he was the bastard son of the former Lord Hawkhurst, half-brother to St. Mars, and, therefore, Harrowby’s cousin.
Looking at him from across the table, she was reminded of his kinship to St. Mars by his hawk-like features, his admirable sense, and his overall grace.
As Dudley settled himself into the chair held by a footman, Isabella looked her brother over and exclaimed, “Lud! But something will have to be done about your clothes, if you’ve a mind to go about with us. That costume looks as if you bought it off a rag-and-bone-man. You’ll have to find a tailor immediately if you don’t want to be taken for the veriest country bumpkin.”
Harrowby cast him a look of sympathy. “Afraid she’s right, dear boy. The clothing you have on may be the very thing for the North. I truly couldn’t say. But only the best will serve at Court, don’t y’know. I can give you the names of a dozen good men in London. They are likely to be very busy this time of year, what with the King’s birthday upon us. But you mustn’t let them fob you off. Just tell them I’m your brother-in-law, and your credit will be good until they can corner you at your lodgings.”
James Henry discreetly cleared his throat. He leaned forward to add, with a grave courtesy, “What his lordship means to suggest is that, by using his name, you will get the credit you require until you have time to make the appropriate arrangements with your bankers.”
“What?” Harrowby glanced up from the bite of eel on his fork. His innocent gaze met James Henry’s, and something he saw there caused him to say with a touch of alarm, “Oh—yes. Just so. Can’t have you running up too many debts now, can we? Word of that gets around, and you’ll never be invited to sit in on a decent card game. Have to be good for your debts of honour, don’t y’ know. The play at Court is rather deep these days. Odds fish, but it is! You can’t sit to play at Hazard without two hundred guineas in your pocket at least.”
“I’ll be going to Court soon, shall I?” Dudley asked. “How quick before I get a place?”
Several pairs of startled eyes turned his way. Even his mother stared—though she was just taken aback by the stupidity of his blunder. Hester, who relished most anything that embarrassed her aunt, hid her amusement with a touch of her napkin to her lips.
James Henry caught her movement out the corner of his eye and turned in time to catch her smile. He quirked an eyebrow, conveying his understanding to her, if to no one else. Hester fought a rush of chagrin, which she suffered whenever they shared a thought, for she had lied to James Henry about the highwayman Blue Satan, afraid that he would betray St. Mars. And with that lie between them she could not be at ease with his friendship.
Mrs. Mayfield broke into the silence with an embarrassed laugh. “A place at Court! Why, you silly boy, one would think that they grew on trees! They are not so easily come by, I assure you! Nobody comes by a place without they have a very influential person as patron.”
“But you said—”
Dudley tried to speak, but his mother did not give him time to finish. “You will see how it’s done, after you’ve been at Court awhile. And you could not do better than to watch how your brother-in-law comports himself. Why there is not a prettier gentleman at his Majesty’s Court than my Lord Hawkhurst, and so I always say.”
As Harrowby preened himself, she continued, “Then, once you have got the lie of the land, so to speak, and you have got someone to take an interest in your advancement—a
relation
, perhaps, for it is always in a gentleman’s best interest to see that his family and his wife’s family gets ahead—then, perhaps this
generous person
will see what his Majesty can do for you.”
Throughout this speech, Mrs. Mayfield had kept one eye on Harrowby to see if her ramblings suggested anything to him. So far, they had produced nothing except an approving expression, so she pushed on.
“Of course, this person would have to have the King’s ear. He would have to be a peer with a great estate, else why would his Majesty care about pleasing him?”
As her hints grew broader, Hester reminded herself that she must not let her aunt’s vulgarity get under her skin. There was no one likely to notice it, except James Henry, who must already have seen Mrs. Mayfield for what she was. She avoided meeting his gaze again, however, for fear of losing restraint.
Mrs. Mayfield had almost exhausted her circumlocutions before the light of an idea brightened Harrowby’s face.
“I’ll tell you who’s important enough to get you a place with his Majesty, Mayfield,” he said. “Me!”
“Oh, my lord!” Mrs. Mayfield erupted in raptures, though the energy she had spent getting through to him made them shorter than they otherwise would have been. “You must make your thanks to Lord Hawkhurst now, Mayfield. How fortunate you are to have such a generous brother-in-law!”
Prompted by his mother, Dudley thanked Harrowby, though he seemed confused by what had just transpired. If he had any guile, Hester decided, it was not as practised as his mother’s.
“And what else do you think, my dear?” his happy mama added. “A particular friend of my lord’s has presented me to his sister, and she has agreed to help you find a good wife.”
“A wife!” Dudley looked horrified. “I never said I wanted a wife!”
“Don’t mean to get leg-shackled, hey?” Harrowby gave a sympathetic laugh. “Not ready for the old ball and chain yet?”
“No!”
“Well, I’d advise you to take cover if that’s the case! When it comes to marriage, your mother has more tricks up her sleeve than a comb has teeth. Zounds! But I ought to know!” Harrowby accompanied this witticism with such a loud shout of laughter as to make Hester jump.
At least, James Henry had cause to squirm for his relatives, and not only she.
But Isabella seemed to think her husband’s joke very jolly indeed, and Mrs. Mayfield wagged her finger at him coyly. “Fie, my lord! You know you was head-over-heels in love with my Isabella. And if it wouldn’t make me blush like a cherry, I could tell a thing or two about your lordship’s courtship of her. But you gentlemen all pretend that you never wish to be wed!”
Harrowby winked grotesquely at his brother-in-law, and said, “Your sister is a saucy baggage, who never ceases to plague me o’ nights. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since I fell into parson’s mousetrap.”
Isabella and her mother laughed uproariously. None of this banter served to soothe Dudley’s horror, though it did divert him long enough to plant the hope that this talk of his own upcoming nuptials was nothing but a bad joke. His expression wavered between terrified doubt and headstrong resentment.
Hester smothered the sigh that a more intimate knowledge of her family inevitably provoked. Her impression of Dudley was no more favourable now than it had been on first acquaintance, formed during her brief stay at Mayfield Park before she had traveled with her aunt and Isabella to London. He had been raised with no sense or taste, and she doubted he had the personal qualities to benefit from good instruction if he had received it. At home he thought only of his pleasure in riding and shooting with his cronies, who were no more intelligent or sensible than he. Like Isabella, he had a cheerful temperament if everything went his way. He only seemed to differ from her in his propensity to sulk whenever things did not. Although she could sympathize with his resentment over his mother’s manoeuvrings, she also knew that his main objection to marriage was likely to be the threat it posed to his pleasure.
She could only imagine the resentment James Henry must feel on knowing that a part of his father’s estate was to be wasted on an undeserving oaf like Dudley Mayfield.
* * * *
Harrowby was not immediately able to take Dudley under his wing, for the next day, he had to attend the interment of the Earl of Halifax in Westminster Abbey. Without a day to lose, Mrs. Mayfield decided to take it upon herself to improve her son’s appearance by taking him to visit some of the shops in the City. Dudley would rather have amused himself by going to see a public execution, but since the hangings for this term—six men and a woman—had already been carried out, he consented to accompany his mother after dinner.
Isabella was promised to Madame Schulenberg at four o’clock. Hester was to accompany her, for Isabella had refused to set foot in the Palace again without her cousin’s support. Her last experience at a drawing-room given by the Princess of Wales had been a disaster. That evening the King had made one of his rare appearances and had addressed Isabella in French. Weak in any language but her own, she had become so tongue-tied as to embarrass both herself and the King. She had no more understood his German accent than she had been able to reply, so she still did not know if her panicked,
“oui,”
had been an appropriate response. The King had quickly recognized her dilemma, which was common to most of his courtiers, and with an inclination of his head had dismissed her. But Isabella had vowed never to be caught in the Palace without her own interpreter again.
Mrs. Mayfield was piqued at having to forego a visit with the King’s mistress, but her ambitions for Dudley gave her no choice. After sharing her resentment that Lord Halifax had chosen that day to be buried, when Harrowby might have taken his brother into London, she set off, but not before drawing Hester out into the hall to speak to her alone.
With a talon-like grip on her niece’s arm, she said, “Hester, see if you can discover how much it will take to win Madame Schulenberg’s influence for Mayfield.”
“I thought Lord Hawkhurst agreed to speak to the King for Dudley.”
“Yes, he did. So you know of intent, and there is no cause for you to refuse me, Dame Right.”
“I only meant that it might be better for my lord to speak to Herr Bothmar or Herr Bernstorff instead.”
Mrs. Mayfield dismissed this idiotic notion with a laugh that was meant to express her fondness for her son-in-law. “That will never work, and I shall tell you why. Dear Lord Hawkhurst is so congenial, he is likely to let Mr. Bothmar put him off. That gentleman is besieged night and day with requests for posts, and those are from people who are much more ruthless than Isabella’s husband. A simple request will never do the trick, even from an earl, when so many others are paying dearly for the privilege. I have heard a clear three thousand may be required, either to La Schulenberg or to Madame Kielmansegge.
“Besides,” she went on, “Hawkhurst will be happier if we can tell him how it is to be done without he bestirs himself too much. So I want you to bring it up with her today.”
Hester did not even try to hide her dismay. “Aunt, I fail to see how I, a mere dependent, can raise such a sensitive subject. Wouldn’t it be more suitable for Isabella to introduce it?”
The expression on Mrs. Mayfield’s face reflected the continuous battle that raged inside her. She could never bring herself to admit that her daughter did not have the brains to undertake the mission, yet she was determined to keep Hester in her place.
After a few more seconds’ struggle, she finally said, “My daughter, the Countess, must never appear to doubt her husband’s ability to pull it off. She must remain above such things.
“But you, Hester—you will be expected to contrive for the advancement of your family. Why, I am sure Mrs. Jamison will not help us to find a rich wife for Mayfield without we send her a good haunch of venison—if not the whole beast. Such manoeuvrings must fall to the dependents of the great, else where would the money come from to feed us all?”
With that pointed reminder of the fate that might yet be Hester’s if she failed to fulfill her duties, Mrs. Mayfield left her standing in the hall.