“That would be it,” she said, replacing her goggles. “Historic place. Dates back to the Normans and such.”
“An old family, then,” said Lady Beatrice.
“And his lordship the last of them,” said Mrs. Corvey. “Interesting, isn’t it? I do wonder what sort of fellow he is.”
In due course Maude and Ralph emerged from the bushes, rather breathless. Ralph swept Maude up on the seat with markedly more gallantry than before, jumping up beside her bright-eyed.
“Had a nice rattle, did you?” inquired Mrs. Corvey. Ralph ducked his head sheepishly, but Maude patted his arm in a proprietary way.
“He’s a jolly big chap, dear Ralph is. But we shan’t mention our little tumble to his lordship, shall we? Wouldn’t want you to lose your place, Ralph dear.”
“No, ma’am,” said Ralph. “Very kind of you, I’m sure.”
They proceeded up the drive and beheld Basmond Hall in all its gloomy splendor. If Lord Basmond had given home improvement as his reason for borrowing money, it was certainly a plausible excuse; for the Hall was an ancient motte and bailey of flints, half-buried under a thick growth of ivy. No Tudor-era Rawdons had enlarged it with halftimbering and windows; no Georgian Rawdons had given it any Palladian grace or statues. Nor did it seem now that the Rawdon of the present age had any intention of making the place over into respectable Gothic Revival; there was no sign that so much as a few pounds had been spent to repoint the masonry.
Ralph drove the carriage up the slope, over the crumbling causeway that had replaced the drawbridge, and so under the portcullis into the courtyard.
“How positively medieval,” observed Dora.
“And a bit awkward to get out of, if one had to,” murmured Mrs. Corvey under her breath. “Caution is called for, ladies.”
Lady Beatrice nodded. It all looked like an illustration from one of her schoolbooks, or perhaps Ivanhoe; the courtyard scattered with straw, the stables under the lowering wall, the covered well, the Hall with its steeppitched roof and the squat castle behind it. All it wanted was a churl polishing armor on a bench.
Instead, a black-suited butler emerged from the great front door and gestured frantically at Ralph. “Take them to the trade entrance!”
Ralph shrugged and drove the wagon around to a small door at the rear of the Hall. Here he stopped and helped the ladies down as grandly as any knight-errant, while the butler popped out of the trade door and stood there wringing his hands in detestation.
“Here you go, Pilkins,” said Ralph. “Fresh-delivered roses!”
Pilkins shooed them inside and they found themselves in the back-entryway to the kitchens, amid crates of wines and delicacies ordered from some of the finest shops in London. Some two or three parlormaids were peering around a door frame at them, only to be ordered away in a hoarse bawl by the cook, who came and stared.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” she said, shaking her head grimly. “Common whores in Lord Basmond’s very house!”
“I beg your pardon,” said Mrs. Corvey, tapping her cane sharply on the flagstones. “Very high-priced and quality whores, ordered special, and my girls would be obliged to you for a nice cup of tea after such a long journey, I’m sure.”
“Fetch them something, Mrs. Duncan,” said Pilkins. Pursing his mouth, he turned to Mr. Corvey. “I assume you are their… proprietress, madam?”
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Corvey. “And am in charge of their finances as well. We was promised a goodly sum for this occasion, and I’m sure his lordship won’t be so mean as to renege.”
“His lordship will, in fact, be here presently to see whether your — your girls — are satisfactory,” said Pilkins, his elocution a little hampered by the difficulty he had unpursing his lips.
“Of course they’re satisfactory! Girls, drop your cloaks,” said Mrs. Corvey.
They obeyed her. The plain gray traveling gear fell away to reveal the ladies in all their finery. Lady Beatrice wore her customary scarlet, and the Devere sisters had affected jewel tones: Maude in emerald green, Jane in royal blue, and Dora in golden yellow satin. The effect of such voluptuous color in such a drab chamber was breathtaking and a little barbaric. Pilkins, for one, found himself recalling certain verses of Scripture. To his horror, he became aware that his manhood was asserting itself.
“If that ain’t what his lordship ordered, I’m sure I don’t know what is,” said Mrs. Corvey. Pilkins was unable to reply, for several reasons that need not be given here, and in the poignant silence that followed they heard footsteps hurrying down the stairs and along the corridor.
“Are those the whores?” cried an impatient voice. Arthur Rawdon, Lord Basmond, entered the room.
“None other,” said Mrs. Corvey. Lord Basmond halted involuntarily, with a gasp of astonishment upon seeing them.
“By God! I’m getting my money’s worth, at least!”
“I should hope so. My girls are very much in demand, you know,” said Mrs. Corvey. “And they don’t do the commoner sort of customer.”
“Ah.” Lord Basmond gawked at her. “Blind. And you would be their…”
“Procuress, my lord.”
“Yes.” Lord Basmond rubbed his hands together as he walked slowly round the ladies, who obligingly struck attitudes of refined invitation. “Yes, well. They’re not poxed, I hope?”
“If you was at all familiar with my establishment, sir, you would know how baseless any allegations of the sort must be,” said Mrs. Corvey. “Only look, my lord! Bloom of youth, pink of health, and not so much as a crablouse between the four of ’em.”
“We’d be happy to give his lordship a closer look at the goods,” said Dora, fingering her buttons suggestively. “What about a nice roll between the sheets before tea, dear, eh?” But Lord Basmond backed away from her.
“No! No thank you. Y-you must be fresh for my guests. Have they been told about the banquet?”
“Not yet, my lord,” said Pilkins, blotting sweat from his face with a handkerchief.
“Well, tell them! Get them into their costumes and rehearse them! The business must proceed perfectly, do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And where are my girls to lodge, your lordship?” Mrs. Corvey inquired. Lord Basmond, who had turned as though to depart, halted with an air of astonishment.
“Lodge? Er — I assume they will lie with the guests.”
“I ain’t, however,” said Mrs. Corvey. “And do require a decent place to sleep and wash, you know.”
“I suppose so,” said Lord Basmond. “Well then. Hem. We’ll just have a bed made up for you in… erm…” He turned his back on the ladies and gestured wildly at Pilkins, mouthing in silence The closet behind the stables, and pointed across the yard to be sure Pilkins got the point. “A nice little room below the coachman’s, quite cozy.”
“How very kind,” said Mrs. Corvey.
But the window looks out on the — mouthed Pilkins, with an alarmed gesture. Lord Basmond grimaced and, with his index finger, drew Xs in the air before his eyes.
She won’t see anything, you idiot, he mouthed. Pilkins looked affronted, but subsided.
“Certainly, my lord. I’ll have Daisy see to it at once,” he replied.
“See that you do.” Lord Basmond turned and strode from the room.
EIGHT:
In Which Proper Historical Costuming Is Discussed
They were grudgingly served tea in the pantry, and then ushered into another low dark room wherein were a great number of florist’s boxes and a neatly folded stack of bedsheets.