Any number of illustrious men might be everywhere seen, but I had eyes only for two of them: George Canning, who danced with an energy and enjoyment that must testify to his love of the fair sex — for the most part with Harriette Wilson, once Radcliffe released him; and Robert, Lord Castlereagh. The latter held himself aloof, his hands clasped behind his back, and a faint expression of distaste upon his lips. He had dressed with his usual style and care; he looked every inch the distinguished gentleman; but was equally so far above his company, as to support the long wall of the principal room to the exclusion of every other amiable activity. On one occasion when Lord Sidmouth chanced to speak to him, Lord Castlereagh deigned to answer; but in general, the Great Man preserved the air of an Eton schoolmaster, forced to administer an exam. I believe he presently entered the card room, and sat down to whist, from which he did not emerge until well near dawn.
Of Sylvester Chizzlewit there was no sign, until a few minutes before twelve o’clock. I was engaged in going down a country dance — having been solicited by a portly fellow whose wet mouth must give me a disgust of him, but whose awkward embarrassment at the whole situation in which he found himself, suggested the country cousin being shown the delights of the Metropolis — when I observed my solicitor standing a little apart from the general throng, with his friend Malverley by his side.
I still went masked, and must thank Heaven for my obscurity. Despite all his regard for my pluck and daring, Chizzlewit should be shocked to discover my presence in this place — I had suppressed the full intelligence of my plan, from a fear that he should hasten to discourage me from attempting it. In the note I had sent round to his chambers, I had urged him only to bring Charles Malverley up to scratch: At all costs, the Earl’s son must put in an appearance at the Cyprians Ball. But my plans must not miscarry — Malverley could not be allowed to take fright, and leave Limmer’s Hotel before my object was achieved—
I stumbled on my modish sandals, and let out a faint cry of pain.
The country cousin was immediately all solicitude; nothing could exceed his concern and anxiety; I was escorted, limping, from the crowded floor and established in a vacant chair, not far from where Chizzlewit stood. I sent my puffing swain in search of a claret cup, saw him disappear into the frenzy of the refreshment tables — and moved immediately towards my solicitor.
He had separated a little from Malverley, who was encircled — much as Julia Radcliffe had been — by a host of admiring acquaintance.
“Mr. Chizzlewit,” I hissed.
He turned, and bowed. “Fair lady. May I be of service? No improper pun intended, I assure you—”
“Good God,” I said, nonplussed. “Can it be you do not know me?”
I lifted the mask a fraction from my face, and had the satisfaction of hearing his sudden indrawn breath. I grasped his arm, and led him from the floor.
“Miss Austen — I beg your pardon — I should never have expected — I should not have presumed—”
“Yes, indeed, but there is no time for that now. Has Malverley seen her?”
“Miss Radcliffe? I do not think she has yet fallen in his way.”
“Then bring him to the little anteroom at the end of the passage,” I said, “in ten minutes’ time.”
I left Chizzlewit, and recruited Eliza — who parted from Lord Moira with what seemed like regret.
“My dear,” I consoled her, “only reflect how you shall be in whoops, when next you encounter the Earl in the Park! Nothing else may possibly have come of it, you know.”
“I do realise the truth of what you say, Jane, but only conceive how delicious it is to be engaged in flirtation again! I felt myself quite twenty years younger! I do believe he was on the point of offering me carte blanche! And not the slightest chance that I should be discovered by dear Henry!”
“Eliza, only succeed in bringing your old friend the Comte d’Entraigues to the little anteroom at the end of the hall — in twenty minutes’ time — and you may return to the Earl with my blessing,” I promised.
I FOUND JULIA RADCLIFFE ESTABLISHED ON A STIFF-backed chair in the supper room, surrounded by her acquaintance. She was nearly impossible to approach. Julien d’Entraigues stood behind her chair, and at a motion of her finger, bent low; something she said, sent him immediately from her side. I saw my chance, and contrived to put myself in the young Count’s way.
“Pardon,” he murmured, and would have stepped around me, but that I returned his word with a hurried phrase.
“Julien! Are you not to play this evening? Have I only to call the tune?”
He stopped short, and stared at me, frowning.
“I do not apprehend … ” he said; then, “Miss Austen?”
“The same. Do not ask what I cannot answer, I implore you — but bring Miss Radcliffe to the anteroom at the end of the passage as swiftly as may be contrived. My life — and hers — depend upon it, monsieur le comte!”
Chapter 30
Crimes of the Heart
Wednesday, 1 May 1811, cont.
THE DIM FIGURE OF A COUPLE, ENTWINED ON THE settee against the wall of the anteroom, brought me up short when I would have entered — but I perceived at a glance the pair were unknown to me. It was essential that they should be forced from the room, and so, on the spur of imagination, I reeled a little as tho’ drunk, and muttered, “Lord! My head! If I do not get a little air soon, I am sure I shall be sick!”
I had only to press my hand against my mouth, and choke a little, for the two to beat a hasty retreat — at which point I swiftly closed the double doors.
The room was such as any respectable inn might offer, as private accommodation for a member of the Quality: the sort of parlour that should be hired for dining, by a gentleman in Town on a matter of business. It offered a round deal table and the aforementioned settee by way of furnishing; but there was also a hearth in which a fire was burning, and a window, draped in tarnished silk. I went to this window, and lifted the drapery from its place, to reveal — as I had expected — one William Skroggs, Bow Street Runner.
“Miss Austen.” He saluted me with a leer.
“You encountered no difficulty in entering the premises?” I enquired.
“None.” The contempt of his tone must suggest that no Runner should be barred from as respectable an amusement as the Cyprians Ball. “But if you mean for me to stand all hours behind a smoky curtain, while light o’ loves plies their trades under my very nose—”
“Do be quiet,” I said crossly. “I have done the better part of your work for you. Someone is coming.”
I hid myself behind the opposite drapery, the far edge drawn sufficiently back for me to observe the centre of the room, and waited for the door to open.
As I had suspected, Charles Malverley was first to enter the room, followed by Sylvester Chizzlewit, who took up a position by the doors.
“—for the same reason, I collect, that you would bring me here,” Malverley was saying carelessly as he entered. He held a wine glass in his hand, and the beauty of his countenance was flushed. “I must thank you for your solicitude — my tortured heart is warmed by your amiable concerns — and there is at least this to applaud: You have thrown women my way, rather than the boys old Castlereagh is partial to. The man studied too much of the Greeks, during his time at Eton.”