An Appetite for Violets by Martine Bailey Read Free Book Online Page B

stage. No one had befriended him; all day the lads had found sport hollering ‘Hey, Tarbrush!’ and ‘Chimney Chops!’ as he went about his business. I swore I would return his kindness in some way, even if it meant some bouncing from the others.
    As I watched him, Mr Loveday’s sad eyes turned around to a spot behind me, and he stiffened like a sentry. Mr Pars looked up and also gave a start. Turning around I found the object of their interest. Right near me, at the back of the hall, stood Lady Carinna, splendid in a blue gown that shone like an angel’s glory.
    It was a battle for Mr Pars to reach her; his blood was up for he knocked a few loiterers out of his path.
    He was stiffly correct by the time he bowed before her. ‘Lady Carinna. If you had but rung—’
    ‘Rung? Damn you, Pars. If there is no answer to my ringing?’ Her voice carried loudly and those close by began to turn and stare. Then the play halted too, for old George had missed his cue. For a moment there was a hubbub, till silence fell and Lady Carinna noticed us all agog.
    ‘Mr Pars,’ she hissed, as loud as a swishing whip, ‘I must discuss our departure at once.’ Then she turned with a rapid shimmer of blue silk and our steward trotted after her.
    After a moment’s silence all the company burst into curious chatter.
    ‘Where she be off to then?’ asked fat Nell the laundress who stood close by me. ‘Back to London, you fancy?’
    ‘I hope so,’ I said, puzzled and uneasy. ‘For I reckon she brings only trouble here.’

 
     
     
PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE
 
North Lodge
Mawton
1st November 1772
Mr Ozias Pars
Marsh Cottage
Saltford
Ozias,
Brother, I have no time for courtesies, for the news here at Mawton is so prodigious I must share it at once. Two days ago, Sir Geoffrey’s bride arrived here without news or notice. And this close on word that Sir Geoffrey himself has retreated to his Irish estate, after no more than ten days’ dalliance with his bride in London. Oh, the folly of old men!
As for the girl, she had not been here a single day before I knew her to be as tainted and shallow as a puddle. However, she does not lack a vixen’s cunning, as you will learn. Last night she confided to me that by the month’s end she will leave for France and onwards to Italy, where her uncle owns a property. I asked if her husband would join her. ‘No, no, he is too liverish to travel at this time of year,’ says she. ‘But he insists I must go for my health that declines in this northern chill. And I should like you to lead my little expedition, Pars, for I do so need a man of good sense to make my arrangements. Indeed, he writes to me of his absolute trust,’ she said, ‘that you will appoint a sound deputy while you are absent.’
Now letters had arrived, I knew that, but from her insistence on always sending her own man for the post box I had lost my usual intelligence. I left her with assurances I would think on the matter.
I have been considering the situation with great thoroughness of mind. I have sought assurances from young John Strutt that he will do his best to oversee my land agent’s duties, the farm and household. Then, last night on Souling Night my lady brought all to a head, interrupting the revels to tell me she wished urgently to gather the funds for her travel. No sooner was Sir Geoffrey’s dresser open than she rifled through it, as quick as a dealer of cards at the Assembly Rooms. Soon there was close upon £1,400 upon the table.
‘This is not suffcient,’ she said. ‘Look here, I bring with me a letter of credit signed by Sir Geoffrey himself. You must visit Sir Geoffrey’s banker in Chester tomorrow and draw a further £1,000 for the journey.’ I perused her letter and found it most properly drawn up, with Sir Geoffrey’s own seal and signature – a little shaky for sure, but I would swear in a court of law it was his own hand. Brother, you see how these Town Madams may run through a Fortune?
‘Speed is