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‘The embodiment of every man’s dreams, wouldn’t you say, Miss Southeran? A lovely damsel in distress, waiting for her knight to rescue her. And what a prize!’
Eleanor turned round with a start to find Mr Guthrie immediately behind her. She looked round for her aunt, but the Walcots were some distance away, having been separated from their niece by the crowd. Mindful of her promise to her uncle, Eleanor said, ‘If report is true, her face is her only fortune, sir. The knight in question may not have to rescue her from dragons—only her own, undeserved penury.’
‘Yes, of course. I am cast as the dragon in this fairy-tale, “if report is true”, is that not so, Miss Southeran? Well, it looks to me,’ he swept on without waiting for her reply, ‘as if the knight is about to make his appearance. More than a knight—a viscount, no less!’
The French ambassador had finally released Miss Anstey, and she had rejoined the group of fashionably dressed people with whom she had first arrived. Among them was a young man who was now talking most earnestly to her.
‘Robert Morrissey, heir to an Irish earldom. A very worthy candidate, don’t you agree?’
‘Since I know neither the lady nor her knight, I cannot tell, sir,’ said Eleanor coolly, disliking the thread of mockery running through Mr Guthrie’s words.
‘Well, I think it will do very nicely—it will at least relieve the worst of her fond mother’s anxieties.’ He bowed and disappeared as abruptly as he had come. Eleanor didn’t know whether to be angry or pleased, but saw that her aunt and uncle were about to join her again, and was glad that awkward explanations had been avoided. She asked her aunt about the Ansteys’ party.
‘They are with their cousins, the Verekers—the ones who live in Berkeley Square. And the young man who is paying such particular attention to Marianne Anstey is Lord Morrissey. Would you like to meet them?’
She took Eleanor over to the other side of the room and made the introductions. Mr and Mrs Vereker were an amiable couple, who were clearly enormously proud of their beautiful protégée. Mrs Anstey was soberly dressed and stayed quietly in the background, pleased to let her cousins take charge. Eleanor, who was guiltily aware that she had spent half an hour in the park that afternoon with Mrs Anstey’s reported enemy, was prepared for some coolness, but when they were introduced the lady smiled pleasantly enough, if somewhat timidly. Marianne proved to be as amiable as she was beautiful. Her manner was a delightful mixture of modesty and charm, and Lord Morrissey’s attentions had brought an appealing flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her lovely eyes. He was obviously well on the way to falling in love, and Eleanor privately agreed with Mr Guthrie’s words that it might do very nicely.
After a few minutes Lord Morrissey made his excuses and took Miss Anstey off towards the ballroom. A young man Eleanor had met at a previous party came up and took her off as well, and soon the ball was well on its way. Though she did not quite dance every dance, Eleanor was seldom without a partner, and received a good many compliments on her appearance. She found herself enjoying the evening. She had just returned from a set of country dances and was standing with her aunt and uncle when she saw that the ambassador himself was approaching them. She stood back modestly in order to allow him to speak to her uncle, but then saw that Mr Guthrie was with him. She looked anxiously at her aunt. Lady Walcot was smiling at the ambassador, and though the smile faltered a little when she saw his companion she quickly recovered.
‘Lady Walcot, I am enchanted to see you so well,’ said His Excellency. ‘I see that you have lost one daughter only to gain another—and such a pretty one! Mademoiselle?’
Eleanor curtsied low and blushed as the ambassador took her hand and kissed it. He glanced mischievously at Mr Guthrie. ‘And now, Lady Walcot, I see that your niece is not dancing at present. That is quite wrong. May I present Mr Guthrie to you as a most desirable partner for the young lady?’
Eleanor had difficulty in suppressing a smile. Her aunt was undoubtedly outraged by a manoeuvre which made it impossible for her to refuse, but no one could have guessed it from her demeanour. She smiled graciously, then inclined her head.
‘How can anyone refuse you, Ambassador? My niece would be delighted, of course.’
‘Excellent! And I shall take you and Lord Walcot to the refreshment tables—I have a champagne there which will please you, I think. Come, my friend Guthrie will take good care of the pretty niece, n’est-ce pas, Jonas?’
‘Lady Walcot may have every confidence in me, Ambassador,’ said Mr Guthrie smoothly, whereupon Lord Walcot made a curious noise which he was able to turn into a cough. Mr Guthrie raised an eyebrow, then turned to Eleanor. ‘Miss Southeran?’ he said, offering his arm, and Eleanor, with an apologetic glance at her aunt, moved forward. Lady Walcot exchanged a long look with Mr Guthrie and then turned to accompany the ambassador, and Eleanor’s uncle, still amused, shook his head and followed his wife.
‘That was not well done, sir!’ said Eleanor severely as they walked towards the ballroom.
‘Not well done? Well, upon my word, I wouldn’t know how a man could do it better! To get His Excellency himself to plead my case…what more would you expect? The Prince Regent?’
Half laughing, Eleanor said, ‘You know very well what I mean, Mr Guthrie! It was to pay my aunt back for refusing you last night, was it not?’
‘You underrate yourself,’ he said with a smile. ‘There were other merits in the idea.’ Then he stopped and said, ‘But there’s something you should know about me, Miss Southeran. When I play, I don’t take chances. I play to win.’
‘And the prize in this case? Was it worth calling out such big guns?’
‘Well, now,’ he said softly, ‘it depends on what you mean by the prize. Victory over your aunt? An opportunity to dance with you? Or…what?’
Surprised by his tone, Eleanor looked at him, which was a mistake. He was looking down at her with amusement and something more disturbing in his eyes. She said uncertainly, ‘If you are trying to flirt with me, Mr Guthrie, I must tell you that I don’t appreciate it. I prefer sensible conversation such as we had this afternoon to…to silly compliments and empty phrases.’
‘I assure you, I was not trying to flirt with you. And if I were capable of flattery—which I am not—I would tell you that you outshine every other woman in the room, that that entrancing dress is a perfect foil for your sea-green witch’s eyes, and the dark gold of your hair—’
‘Mr Guthrie!’
Undeterred by her angry exclamation, he went on, ‘That, lovely though your features are, they are rendered yet more entrancing by your animation, the liveliness of your expression—’
‘Mr Guthrie, stop this at once or I shall leave you instantly!’
‘But I am not saying such things, Miss Southeran,’ he said earnestly. ‘They are quite clearly false, the merest flattery. You are pretty enough, but far from being the prettiest woman in the room. Miss Anstey, for instance, is a star!’ After a brief pause he added, ‘I grant that you’re livelier than she is—and much more intelligent.’ He gave a delighted laugh at her indignant expression. ‘What sensible things shall we talk about, Miss Southeran?’
Eleanor had never known such a man! Never before had she experienced such a mixture of feelings—anger, amusement, puzzlement, sympathy. Never had she felt so alive.
‘You shall tell me more about the East. But first we shall enjoy your prize, which,’ she said firmly, ‘is a dance.’
They didn’t talk about the East, but after the dance was over he took her to supper, and they talked of other things. They walked through the crowded rooms and at one point found themselves among the plants in the winter garden, still talking. Eleanor had objected to something disparaging Mr Guthrie had said about life in England, and was arguing her case passionately. But her voice died away as she saw him looking at her as she spoke, his eyes focused on her lips. She was overcome with a feeling of panic and turned away from him. ‘We…we must go back,’ she said nervously. ‘My aunt will be looking for me.’
‘No, wait a little. How can we talk sensibly out there among all those people—?’
‘I cannot stay here—it is most improper. My aunt would be very angry if she saw me.’
‘The devil take your aunt!’
‘Sir!’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just that I have something I want to say to you, and there never seems to be a suitable moment. I keep putting it off…’ He gave an exasperated laugh. ‘I think I’m afraid!’
‘Afraid?’ she echoed, looked at him wide-eyed.
‘Yes, and when you look at me like that it all goes out of my head. You have a most extraordinary effect on me—like no other I have ever known. How do you do it?’
Eleanor suddenly became aware of the very strange effect this conversation was having on her breathing. ‘You are talking nonsense, Mr Guthrie—I must go back,’ she said with determination, and started for the entrance to the ballroom.
‘Wait! Eleanor—’ he called, but stopped abruptly as he saw Lady Walcot standing at the entrance.
‘At last I’ve found you! What on earth do you think you are doing?’ Lady Walcot’s voice was sharp, and one or two bystanders cast curious glances in her direction. She forced a smile, whispering to her niece, ‘Don’t bother to tell me. You’ve been with that man!’
‘Aunt Hetty—’
‘We’ll talk when we get home, Eleanor, not here. Now come with me—several people have been asking to meet you. Ah, Lady Marchant, there you are! We’ve been looking for you—this is Miss Southeran, my niece…’
Eleanor did not see Mr Guthrie again that evening. Her aunt kept her close at her side until the carriages arrived to take them home. But she would not have looked for him in any case. Her feelings were much too confused to face him again so soon. This same confusion of feeling made it difficult for her to discuss the matter with her aunt afterwards, and Lady Walcot, drawing her own conclusions, was most concerned. ‘I blame myself,’ she said unhappily. ‘I should never have agreed to your dancing with him—I know what he is. Heaven knows how he manages it, for he is not at all handsome. But he is a dangerous man, Eleanor. I beg you to forget this attraction he has for you.’
‘He…he seemed sincere,’ said Eleanor hesitantly. ‘As if he too felt the same…attraction. Could I be so wrong?’
Lady Walcot exclaimed, ‘The devil! The scheming, contriving devil! He has bewitched you, Eleanor, just as he bewitched Ev—But no, I mustn’t say any more.’ She appeared to be debating with herself, and then to reach a conclusion. ‘You must go to bed, Eleanor,’ she said slowly. ‘And in the morning I shall see what I can do.’
Eleanor slept badly that night. She tossed and turned, reliving the moments with Jonas Guthrie, especially the time in the winter garden. One moment she wanted to meet him the next morning, and then, after another debate with herself, she had decided that it would be better if they did not see each other again. Was he a dangerous philanderer—all the more dangerous because he did not appear to be trying to charm? Or was he the straightforward man he appeared to be? And what was it that he had been afraid to tell her? She eventually fell into an uneasy slumber, still debating the question.
She woke late the next morning to find that one question at least had already been decided. It was far too late for a ride in the park. When she eventually came downstairs she found her aunt waiting.
‘I have someone I wish you to meet,’ she said briskly, ‘and we are late. Put your bonnet on and come with me, Eleanor. Don’t delay—the carriage is waiting.’
A few minutes later they arrived at a modest house in a street off Cavendish Square. Here they were taken into a small parlour, where a lady was waiting to receive them. It was Mrs Anstey. She greeted Lady Walcot in a soft, well-spoken manner and then turned to Eleanor. ‘Miss Southeran, you are very welcome, though I am sorry the occasion is…is such an awkward one…’ Mrs Anstey paused and looked to Lady Walcot for help.
‘Mrs Anstey has agreed, at my urgent request, to talk to you, Eleanor. I am very obliged to her—the matter is a painful one, as you will see, and I would not have asked her to speak of it had I not been so anxious for you. I am sure you will give her your earnest attention—it concerns Mr Guthrie and his behaviour towards the Anstey family.’
‘Surely this isn’t necessary, Aunt Hetty—’
‘In view of your refusal to accept my word for Mr Guthrie’s character, and especially in view of your behaviour last night…’
‘I wanted to explain—’
‘Forgive me, Eleanor, but Mrs Anstey’s time is precious. We must not waste it.’
Good manners silenced Eleanor. She sat chafing under her aunt’s disapproval, convinced that this whole visit was an unnecessary exercise. Lady Walcot said, ‘Mrs Anstey, would you mind telling my niece how well you know Mr Guthrie?’
‘Jonas and I were brought up together, Miss Southeran. His mother was a Vereker, too. That is to say…I mean his mother was a Vereker before she was married. As I was.’
‘You were sisters?’
‘No, no! Oh, dear, how stupid of me…Caroline, his mother, was my cousin.’
‘From what you have told me,’ said Lady Walcot, casting a glance at Eleanor, ‘you practically brought him up?’
‘Well…yes, I suppose so,’ said Mrs Anstey uncertainly. ‘I was so much older than he was, and he had no mother…He was a dear little boy when he came to us.’
‘Came to you? In America?’ asked Eleanor, somewhat puzzled.
‘No, no. This was over thirty years ago—Jonas was a baby…I was a girl and still living in England then.’ She looked anxiously at Lady Walcot, then said nervously, ‘Perhaps I had better explain. You see, Richard Guthrie, Jonas’s father, abandoned poor Caroline before Jonas was born. She came back home to have the child, and died soon after. I think it must have been of a broken heart, don’t you? Jonas and I…we were both orphans living with relatives. We were very close, though I was ten years older.’
‘But what happened to his father?’ asked Eleanor.
‘He was a bad lot, I’m afraid. I think he eventually went into the army and was killed. But Jonas never really knew him. It is surprising…’ Her voice drifted away.
‘He must have felt very alone in the world.’
‘Oh, no! He knew he always had me to turn to—until I left England and went to live in America…’ Mrs Anstey’s voice trailed away weakly again, and Eleanor felt a sudden impatience with her. The woman is a born martyr, she thought, and then reproached herself for her lack of charity.
Lady Walcot said, ‘And later, I believe, your husband took Mr Guthrie as a business partner on your recommendation?’
‘Well, partly. Jonas left England for India when he was still quite young. I’m not sure how, but he made a fortune out there. Then he came to see me in Boston. He was looking for a suitable investment, and my husband happened to need some new capital for his family concern and…and they helped each other. It worked very well to start with. I was delighted to see him again, and Henry and the girls were all devoted to him. For a while Henry and I even thought that we would be more closely related to Jonas. But then the engagement was broken off…’
‘Engagement? Mr Guthrie has been engaged? To Marianne?’ asked Eleanor, growing pale.
‘No, no. Jonas was engaged to my other daughter. But then it was broken off. And things went wrong after that.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘Miss Southeran, I am not precisely sure what went amiss. I took no part in the business, of course. But Henry—my husband—and Jonas suddenly seemed to disagree a great deal, and though Mr Oliver did his best to keep the peace there were frequent arguments.’
‘Mr Oliver?’
‘My husband’s other partner. He is now married to Evadne.’ Mrs Anstey’s hands were twisting in her lap. She said suddenly, ‘Oh, Miss Southeran, if you only knew how wicked Jonas Guthrie has been, how like his father!’
The sudden passion in this timid little woman’s voice was startling. Eleanor was impressed, and, dreading what more was to come, she asked slowly, ‘Why do you say that?’
Mrs Anstey looked uncertainly at Lady Walcot, who leaned forward and said softly, ‘Please, if you can, tell her! I give you my word that it will go no further.’
‘I…I…am ashamed to tell you that Jonas Guthrie is the father of my daughter’s child!’ This was said in a low voice, and at first Eleanor thought she had not heard correctly. She looked blankly at Mrs Anstey, who added in a clearer, louder tone, ‘He seduced my daughter Evadne, and gave her a child.’
Chapter Three
Eleanor found herself without a word. The morning’s revelations had been a shock and she was experiencing great difficulty in retaining her outward appearance of calm. She wanted to leave that neat little room, to refuse to listen to the ugly story which was being unfolded in it. But this was impossible. She must stay.
Mrs Anstey mistook her silence for embarrassment and said nervously, ‘I’m sorry—your aunt did ask—’
‘In her own words, my niece is not a child, Mrs Anstey! And I wish her to hear everything,’ said Lady Walcot grimly.
Eleanor rallied and found her voice. ‘But she is married to Mr Oliver?’
Mrs Anstey lowered her head and said, ‘Yes. It is shameful, is it not? He…he agreed to marry her in return for a sum of money—paid by Guthrie.’
‘Why didn’t Mr Guthrie marry her himself? Why didn’t your husband insist?’
‘By the time her condition was discovered my husband was dead, and we were on the verge of bankruptcy.’ Mrs Anstey’s voice faded again and Lady Walcot took over the story.
‘Mrs Anstey found herself without anyone to advise or help her and the one man who might have been her support proved to be her worst enemy. He refused to marry Miss Anstey—at first he even denied that the child was his! Then, when he was forced to admit the truth, he paid another man to shoulder his responsibilities.’
‘How did Mr Oliver come to agree to this dreadful scheme? He was a partner in the firm, too. Why did he not take up your defence?’
‘Jonas was…was more masterful. He knows how to get people to do as he wishes—I can’t explain how,’ said Mrs Anstey, ‘and Mr Oliver was in severe financial difficulties himself. He had always been fond of Evadne and he was happy to marry her—but without the money it would have been out of the question.’
‘It has proved impossible to find out why the firm foundered, Eleanor,’ said Lady Walcot. ‘The books disappeared after Henry Anstey shot himself. But Mrs Anstey saw them in Guthrie’s possession the day before they vanished and she believes he still has them—or has destroyed them. And is it not significant that he seems to have survived the firm’s collapse with his own fortune intact?’
‘Conscience money,’ said Mrs Anstey sadly. ‘He paid conscience money. He made a fool of my husband, and a paramour of my daughter, and he thinks that he has solved everything when he buys a husband for Evadne. But how could he do it to us—to Evadne, to me? We loved him! We trusted him!’ She shook her head mournfully. ‘He was such a dear little boy!’
‘Are you absolutely certain that Mr Guthrie is the villain?’ Eleanor heard the slightly desperate note in her own voice and tried to speak more calmly. ‘It seems so strange. Is there no one else?’
‘It was strange, Miss Southeran! At first I refused to believe that he had cheated us, I refused to believe that he could be so wicked—so like his father! I begged, I pleaded with him to explain what had happened.’ Mrs Anstey dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and continued, ‘But he pushed me away. He said we could think what we liked, that he had found a husband for Evadne, and enough money to pay for a passage to England for Marianne and me. That should be enough. His manner was so…so hard! It was as if he couldn’t bear to look at us…’ She paused, then added, ‘The only other person involved was Mr Oliver, who was as poor as we were until Guthrie paid him to…to marry Evadne.’ She shook her head obstinately. ‘In the end he was just like his father. No, Miss Southeran, Jonas Guthrie is the cause of all our troubles. What else can I think?’
‘Indeed, what else can anyone think, Eleanor?’ said her aunt sternly.
‘I…I’m not sure…He left you entirely without resources?’
‘He must have had some vestige of feeling. He paid for our passage to England, he arranged for someone to meet us when we landed and take us to our Vereker cousins in Berkeley Square. They have been very good to us. But we have not spoken to Jonas since we arrived in England. Indeed, we have avoided meeting each other since we came to London, and, though I understand he was a frequent visitor at Berkeley Square before Marianne and I came from America, he has not been there since.’ Mrs Anstey blinked down at her hands. ‘I…I still find it difficult to believe…’
She stood up. ‘I’m afraid you will have to excuse me. I must go and fetch Marianne from her lesson; she will wonder where I am.’ She hesitated and then said timidly, ‘Miss Southeran, I agreed to talk to you today because Lady Walcot has been so very good to Marianne and me. I do not know what I would have done without her. Thanks to the help from my cousins and your aunt’s kindness in sponsoring Marianne in London, I now have hope that one of my daughters at least will make the marriage she deserves. Lord Morrissey has been so very attentive. But any scandal…I know I can be sure of your discretion.’
‘Of course,’ said poor Eleanor, pulling herself together. ‘And I see now why my aunt wished me to hear your story. I am grateful to you for being so frank with me, Mrs Anstey.’
‘I saw it as my duty,’ said Mrs Anstey simply.
As they got into the carriage again Eleanor was conscious that her aunt was waiting for her to say something. But what was there to say? Mr Guthrie was a complete villain, it appeared—there was no mistaking the sincerity of Mrs Anstey’s feelings. Before talking to her Eleanor had thought, hoped even, that the woman might be a charlatan—it wouldn’t be the first time that a poor widow with a beautiful daughter had tricked her way into society. But unless Mrs Anstey was a consummate actress, which Eleanor very much doubted, she had been telling the truth. This was no scandalmonger, no vindictive gorgon—this was a woman patently sincere in her distress and shame. Mrs Anstey was completely convinced of Guthrie’s guilt, and very unhappy that it was so.
