The Convenient Marriage

Chapter Eleven

No lady of spirit, of course, could resist the temptation of pushing matters further, and Horatia was a lady of considerable spirit. The knowledge that the eyes of the Polite World were on her invested her behaviour with a certain defiance. That anyone should dare to suppose that she, Horry Winwood, had fallen in love with Lethbridge was a ludicrous presumption to be treated only with scorn. Attracted by Lethbridge she might be, but there was a very cogent reason why she should not be in the least in love with him. The reason stood well over six foot in height, and was going to be shown, in vulgar parlance, that what was sauce for the goose could be sauce for the gander as well. And if the Earl of Rule could be roused to take action, so much the better. Horatia, her first annoyance having evaporated, was all agog to see what he would do. But he must be made to realize that his wife had no intention of sharing his favours with his mistress.

So with the laudable object of making his lordship jealous Horatia sought in her mind for some outrageous thing to do.

It did not take her long to hit upon the very thing. There was to be a ridotto held at Ranelagh, which, to tell the truth, she had given up all idea of attending, Rule having refused quite unmistakably to escort her. There had been a slight argument over the matter, but Rule had ended it by saying pleasantly: “I don’t think you would care for it, my dear. It won’t be a very genteel affair, you know.”

Horatia was aware that public ridottos were looked upon by the select as very vulgar masquerades, and she accepted the Earl’s decision with a good grace. She had heard all sorts of scandalous tales of the excesses committed at such affairs, and had really no wish, beyond a certain curiosity, to be present at one.

But now that battle was joined with the Earl a different complexion was put on the matter and it seemed all at once eminently desirable that she should attend the Ranelagh ridotto, with Lethbridge, of course, as her escort. There could be no fear of scandal, since both would be masked, and the only person who should know of the prank was my Lord of Rule. And if that did not rouse him, nothing would.

The next step was to enlist Lord Lethbridge. She had feared that this might prove a little difficult (since he was so anxious not to cast a slur on her good name), but it turned out to be quite easy.

“Take you to the ridotto at Ranelagh, Horry,” he said. “Now, why?”

“B-because I want to go, and Rule wo—can’t take me,” said Horatia, correcting herself hurriedly.

His oddly brilliant eyes held a laugh. “But how churlish of him!”

“N-never mind that,” said Horatia. “W-will you take me?”

“Of course I will,” replied Lethbridge, bowing over her hand.

So five evenings later Lord Lethbridge’s coach drew up in

Grosvenor Square, and my Lady Rule, in full ball dress, a grey domino over her arm, and a loo-mask dangling by its strings from her fingers, came out of the house, tripped down the steps, and got into the coach. She had thoughtfully left a message with the porter for Lord Rule. “If his lordship should inquire for me, inform him that I am gone to Ranelagh,” she said airily.

Her first view of Ranelagh made her delighted to have come, quite apart from the original object of the exploit. Thousands of golden lamps arranged in tasteful designs lit the gardens. Strains of music floated on the air; and crowds of gay dominoes thronged the gravel walks. In the various rotundas and lodges that were scattered about the ground refreshments could be had, while in the pavilion itself dancing was going forward.

Horatia, observing the scene through the slits of her mask, turned impulsively to Lethbridge, standing beside her with a scarlet domino hanging open from his shoulders, and cried: “I am so g-glad we came! Only see how pretty! Are you not charmed with it, R-Robert?”

“In your company, yes,” he replied. “Do you care to dance, my dear?”

“Yes, of course!” said Horatia enthusiastically.

There was nothing to shock the primmest-minded person in the demeanours of those in the ballroom, but Horatia opened her eyes a little at the sight of a scuffle for the possession of a lady’s mask taking place later beside the lily-pond under the terrace. The lady fled with most ungenteel shrieks of laughter, hotly pursued by her cavalier. Horatia said nothing, but thought privately that Rule might have reason for not wishing his wife to attend public ridottos.

However, to do him justice, Lord Lethbridge steered his fair charge carefully clear of any low-bred romping, and she continued to be very well pleased with the night’s entertainment. In fact, as she said over supper in one of the boxes, it was the most delightful adventure imaginable, and only wanted one thing to make it perfect.

“Good God, Horry, what have I left undone?” asked Lethbridge in mock dismay.

She dimpled. “Well, R-Robert, I do think it would be quite the n-nicest party I have ever been to if only we c-could play cards together!”

“Oh, rogue!” Lethbridge said softly. “You will shock the solitary gentleman in the next box, my dear.”

Horatia paid no heed to this, beyond remarking that it was ten to one the gentleman was a stranger.

“You don’t like d-dancing, Robert, you know you d-don’t! And I do want to try my skill against you.”

“Too ambitious, Horry,” he teased. “I was playing cards when you were sewing samplers. And I’ll wager I was playing better than you sewed.”

“L-Lizzie used to finish all my samplers for me,” admitted Horatia. “But I p-play cards much better than I sew, I assure you. R-Robert, why won’t you?”

“Do you think I would fleece so little a lamb?” he asked. “I haven’t the heart!”

She tilted her chin. “P-perhaps I should f-fleece you, sir!” she said.

“Yes—if I let you,” he smiled. “And of course I undoubtedly should.”

“L-let me win?” said Horatia indignantly. “I am n-not a baby, sir! If I play, I play in earnest.”

“Very well,” said Lethbridge. “I will play you—in earnest.”

She clapped her hands together, causing the man in the next box to glance round at her. “You w-will?”

“At piquet—for a certain stake,” Lethbridge said.

“W-well, of course. I d-don’t mind playing high, you know.”

“We are not going to play for guineas, my dear,” Lethbridge told her, finishing the champagne in his glass.

She frowned. “R-Rule does not like me to stake my jewels,” she said.

“Heaven forbid! We will play higher than that.”

“G-good gracious!” exclaimed Horatia. “For what then?”

“For a lock—one precious lock—of your hair, Horry,” said Lethbridge.

She drew back instinctively. “That is silly,” she said. “Besides—I c-couldn’t.”

“I thought not,” he said. “Forgive me, my dear, but you see you are not really a gamester.”

She reddened. “I am!” she declared. “I am! Only I c-can’t play you for a lock of hair! It’s stupid, and I ought not. B-besides what would you stake against it?”

He put his hand to the Mechlin cravat about his throat and drew out the curious pin he nearly always wore. It was an intaglio of the goddess Athene with her shield and owl, and looked to be very old. He held it in the palm of his hand for Horatia to see. “That has come down in my family through very many years,” he said. “I will stake it against a lock of your hair.”

“Is it an heirloom?” she inquired, touching it with the tip of her finger.

“Almost,” he said. “It has a charming legend attached to it, and no Lethbridge would ever let it out of his possession.”

“And w-would you really stake it?” Horatia asked wonder-ingly.

He put it back in his cravat. “For a lock of your hair, yes,” he answered. “I am a gamester.”

“You shall n-never say that I was n-not!” Horatia said. “I will play you for my hair! And to show I really d-do play in earnest—” She thrust her hand into her reticule, searching for something—“There!” She held up a small pair of scissors.

He laughed. “But how fortunate, Horry!”

She put the scissors back in the reticule.”You haven’t w-won it yet, sir.”

“True,” he agreed. “Shall we say the best of three games?”

“D-done!” said Horatia. “P-play or pay! I have finished my supper, and I should l-like to play now.”

“With all my heart,” bowed Lethbridge, and rose, offering his arm.

She laid her hand on it, and they left the box together, wending their way across the space that lay between it and the main pavilion. Skirting a gaily chattering group, Horatia said with her pronounced stammer: “Where shall we p-play, R-Robert? Not in that c-crowded card-room. It wouldn’t be discreet.”

A tall woman in an apple-green domino turned her head quickly, and stared after Horatia, her lips just parted in surprise.

“Certainly not,” said Lethbridge. “We shall play in the little room you liked, leading off the terrace.”

The green domino stood quite still, apparently lost either in surprise or meditation, and was only recalled to her surroundings by an apologetic voice murmuring: “Your pardon, ma’am.”

She turned to find she was blocking the way of a large

Black Domino, and stepped aside with a light word of apology.

Though there was plenty of music to be heard coming from various corners of the gardens, the fiddlers who scraped in the ballroom were temporarily silent. The pavilion was pretty well deserted, for the supper interval was not yet over. Horatia passed through the empty ballroom on Lethbridge’s arm, and was just stepping out on to the moonlit terrace when someone in the act of entering almost collided with her. It was the man in the Black Domino, who must have come in from the gardens by the terrace steps. Both fell back at once, but in some inexplicable fashion the edge of Horatia’s lace under-dress had got under the stranger’s foot. There was a rending sound, followed by an exclamation from Horatia, and conscience-stricken apologies from the offender.

“Oh, I beg a thousand pardons, ma’am! Pray forgive me! I would not for the world—Can’t think how I can have been so clumsy I’

“It does not signify, sir,” Horatia said coldly, gathering up her skirt in her hand, and walking through the long window on to the terrace.

The Black Domino stood aside for Lethbridge to follow her, and once more begging pardon, retreated into the ballroom.

“How horribly p-provoking!” Horatia said, looking at her hopelessly torn frill. “Now I shall have to go and p-pin it up. Of course it is quite ruined.”

“Shall I call him out?” Lethbridge said. “Faith, he deserves it! How came he to tread on your skirt at all?”

“G-goodness knows!” said Horatia. She gave a little chuckle. “He was d-dreadfully overcome, wasn’t he? Where shall I find you, R-Robert?”

“I’ll await you here,” he answered.

“And then we p-play cards?”

“And then we play cards,” he concurred.

“I w-wont be above a m-moment,” Horatia promised optimistically, and vanished into the ballroom again.

Lord Lethbridge strolled towards the low parapet that ran along the edge of the terrace, and stood leaning his hands on it, and looking idly down at the lily-pond a few feet below. Little coloured lights ringed it round, and some originally-minded person had designed a cluster of improbable flowers to hold tiny lamps. These floated on the still water, and had provoked a great deal of laughter and admiration earlier in the evening. Lord Lethbridge was observing them with a rather contemptuous smile twisting his lips when two hands came round his neck from behind, and jerked apart the strings that held his domino loosely together.

Startled, he tried to turn round, but the hands that in one lightning movement had ripped off his domino, closed like a flash about his throat, and tightened suffocatingly. He clawed at them, struggling violently. A drawling voice said in his ear: “I shan’t strangle you this time, Lethbridge. But I am afraid—yes, I am really afraid it will have to be that pond. I feel sure you will appreciate the necessity.”

The grip left Lord Lethbridge’s throat, but before he could turn a thrust between his shoulder-blades made him lose his balance. The parapet was too low to save him; he fell over it and into the lily-pond with a splash that extinguished the lights in that cluster of artificial flowers which he had looked at so scornfully a minute before.

A quarter of an hour later the ballroom had begun to fill again, and the fiddlers had resumed their task. Horatia came out on to the terrace and found several people standing there in little groups. She hesitated, looking for the Scarlet Domino, and saw him in a moment, sitting sideways on the parapet and meditatively surveying the pond below. She went up to him. “I w-wasn’t so very long, was I?”

He turned his head, and at once stood up. “Not at all,” he said politely. “And now—that little room!”

She had half advanced her hand to lay it on his arm, but at that she drew back. He stretched out his own, and took hers in it. “Is anything the matter?” he asked softly.

She seemed uncertain. “Your v-voice sounds queer. It—it is you, isn’t it?”

“But of course it is!” he said. “I think I must have swallowed a morsel of bone at supper, and scraped my throat. Will you walk, ma’am?”

She let him draw her hand through his arm. “Yes, b-but are you sure no one will come into the room? It would look very particular if anybody were to see me l-lose a lock of hair to you—if I d-do lose.”

“Who is to know you?” he said, holding the heavy curtain back from a window at the end of the terrace. “Butyou need not be alarmed. Once we have drawn the curtains—like that—no one will come in.”

Horatia stood by the table in the middle of the small saloon and watched the Scarlet Domino pull the curtains together. Suddenly, in spite of all her desire to do something outrageous, she wished that she had not pledged herself to this game. It had seemed innocent enough to dance with Lethbridge, to sup with him in the full eye of the public, but to be alone with him in a private room was another matter. All at once he seemed to her to have changed. She stole a look at his masked face, but the candles on the table left him in a shadow. She glanced towards the door, which very imperfectly shut off the noise of the violins. “The d-door, R-Rob-ert?”

“Locked,” he said. “It leads into the ballroom. Still nervous, Horry? Did I not say you were not a real gamester?”

“N-nervous? G-gracious no!” she said, on her mettle. “You’ll find I’m not such a poor g-gamester as that, sir!” She sat down at the table, and picked up one of the piquet packs that lay on it. “D-did you arrange everything, then?”

“Certainly,” he said, moving towards another table set against the wall. “A glass of wine, Horry?”

“N-no, thank you,” she replied, sitting rather straight in her chair, and casting yet another glance towards the curtained window.

He came back to the card-table, slightly moved the cluster of candles on it, and sat down. He began to shuffle one of the packs. “Tell me, Horry,” he said, “did you come with me tonight for this, or to annoy Rule?”

She gave a jump, and then laughed. “Oh, R-Robert, that is so very like you! You always g-guess right.”

He went on shuffling the pack. “May I know why he is to be baited?”

“No,” she replied. “I d-don’t discuss my husband, even with you, R-Robert.”

He bowed, ironically she thought. “A thousand pardons, my dear. He stands high in your esteem, I perceive.”

“Very high,” said Horatia. “Shall we c-cut?”

She won the cut, and electing to deal, picked up the pack, and gave a little expert shake of her arm to throw back the heavy fall of lace at her elbow. She was far too keen a gambler to talk while she played. As soon as she touched the cards she had never a thought for anything else, but sat with a look of serious, unwavering concentration on her face, and scarcely raised her eyes from her hand.

Her opponent gathered up his cards, glanced at them, and seemed to make up his mind what to discard without the smallest hesitation. Horatia, knowing herself to be pitted against a very fine player, refused to let herself be hurried, and took time over her own discard. The retention of a knave in her hand turned out well, and enabled her to spoil the major hand’s repique.

She lost the first game, but not by enough points to alarm her. Once she knew she had thrown a guard she should have kept, but for the most part she thought she had played well.

“My game,” said the Scarlet Domino. “But I think I had the balance of the cards.”

“A little perhaps,” she said. “Will you cut again for d-deal?”

The second game she won, in six quick hands. She had a suspicion that she had been allowed to win it, but if her opponent had played with deliberate carelessness it was never blatant enough to warrant any remark. She held her tongue therefore, and in silence watched him deal the first hand of the final game.

At the end of two hands she was sure that he had permitted her to win the second game. The cards had run very evenly throughout, and continued to do so, but now the more experienced player was ahead on points. She felt for the first time that she was up against a gamester immeasurably more skilled than herself. He never made a mistake, and the very precision of his play and judgement seemed to cast her own shortcomings into high relief. She played her cards shrewdly enough, but knew that her weakness lay in counting the odds against finding a desired card in the pick-up. Knowing him to be some forty points to the good, she began to discard with less caution, playing for a big hand.

The game had become for her a grim struggle, her opponent a masked figure of Nemesis; as she picked up her cards in the last hand her fingers quivered infinitesimally. Unless a miracle occurred there was no longer any hope of winning; the best she could expect was to avert a rubicon.

No miracle occurred. Since they were not playing for points it did not signify that she was rubiconed, yet, irrationally, when she added her score and found the total to be ninety-eight she could have burst into tears.

She looked up, forcing a smile. “You win, sir. I f-fear rather l-largely. I d-didn’t play well that last game. You l-let me win the second, d-didn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“I wish you had not. I d-don’t care to be treated like a child, sir.”

“Content you, my dear, I had never the least notion of letting you win more than one game. I have set my mind on that curl. I claim it, ma’am.”

“Of c-course,” she said proudly. Inwardly, she wondered what Rule would say if he could see her now, and quaked at her own daring. She took the scissors out of her reticule.

“R-Robert, what are you g-going to do with it?” she asked rather shyly.

“Ah, that is my affair,” he replied.

“Yes. I kn-know. But—if anyone f-found out—horrid things would be said, and R-Rule would hear of it and I d-don’t want him to, because I know I—I ought n-not to have done it!” said Horatia in a rush.

“Give me the scissors,” he said, “and perhaps I’ll tell you what I mean to do with it.”

“I c-can cut it myself,” she replied, aware of a tiny feeling of apprehensiveness.

He had risen and come round the table. “My privilege, Horry,” he said, laughing, and took the scissors out of her hand.

She felt his fingers amongst her curls, and blushed. She remarked with would-be lightness: “It will be a very p-powdery one, R-Robert!”

“And a charmingly scented one,” he agreed.

She heard the scissors cut through her hair, and at once got up. “There! For g-goodness sake don’t tell anyone, w-will you?” she said. She moved towards the window. “I think it is time you took me home. It must be d-dreadfully late.”

“In a moment,” he said, coming towards her. “You are a good loser, sweetheart.”

Before she had even a suspicion of his purpose he had her in his arms and with one deft hand nipped the mask from her face. Frightened, white with anger, she tried to break free, only to find herself held quite powerless. The hand that had untied her mask came under her chin, and forced it up; the Scarlet Domino bent and kissed her, full on her indignant mouth.

She wrenched herself away as at last he slackened his embrace. She was breathless and shaken, trembling from head to foot. “How d-dare you?” she choked, and dashed her hand across her mouth as though to wipe away the kiss. “Oh, how dare you t-touch me?” She whirled about, flew to the window, and dragging the curtain back, was gone.

The Scarlet Domino made no attempt to pursue her, but stayed in the middle of the room, gently twisting a powdered curl round one finger. An odd smile hovered about his mouth; he put the curl carefully into his pocket.

A movement in the window made him look up. Lady Massey was standing there, an apple-green domino covering her gown, her mask dangling from her hand. “That was not very well Contrived, surely, Robert?” she said maliciously. “A vastly pretty scene, but I am amazed that so clever a man as you could make such a stupid mistake. Lord, couldn’t you tell the little fool was not ready for kisses? And I thinking you knew how to handle her! You’ll be glad of my help yet, my lord.”

The smile had quite vanished from the Scarlet Domino’s mouth, which had suddenly grown very stern. He put up a hand to the strings of his mask, and untied them. “Shall I?” he said, in accents utterly unlike Lord Lethbridge’s. “But are you quite sure, madam, that it is not you who have made—a very great mistake?”