Jan Burke - Eighteen

In truth, Charles, she had come to my notice. However, unlike most women-who are drawn to me by my fortune and rank-she had no need of either. This being the case, I was sure I held no attraction to Miss Bannister. While I don’t suppose a great many children have been frightened by my visage, or told by their nursemaids that I shall come to steal them if they don’t mind their manners, I’ve not Dallingham’s handsome face.

I did not blame the ladies of the ton for being taken in by him, for I too readily remembered one beauty who flattered me into believing that all mirrors lie, and ’twas a heady experience. That was long after I’d had my town bronze, so what chance does a chit fresh from the schoolroom have against the influence of a handsome face?

By the time we arrived at Bingsley Hall, my spirits were quite low. These were by no means lifted when Dallingham, at the moment we passed the gatekeeper’s lodge, announced with a covetous eye, “She’s to inherit all this, too, you know! Bingsley dotes on her.”

I had every intention of leaving at the first possible moment, but Lord Bingsley would not hear of it. For my part, I could not help but like the old fellow and his lady, who proffered every kindness imaginable-the upshot of this being my acquiescence to the Bingsleys’ insistence that I stay the night. My relative was not expecting me at any certain date, and so I agreed to break my journey with them.

“Good man! For we’ve something of a celebration this night, haven’t we?” Lord Bingsley said, clapping Dallingham on the back.

Dallingham, who had apparently already met Lord Bingsley, seemed relieved not to be met by an outraged relative when introduced to his wife’s aunt. Lady Bingsley, if not quite as effusive as her husband, was nonetheless all that a hostess should be.

For her part, the former Miss Bannister seemed, as always, becomingly shy in the company of gentlemen, and to my own relief, was not at all demonstrative with her new spouse.

In fact, dear Charles, the two of them seldom looked at eachother. Dallingham was eyeing the thick carpets, the beautiful vases and charming chandelier with the air of a man who is calculating the price each might fetch at auction. One would have thought him a solicitor’s clerk, practicing the art of taking inventory of the Bingleys’ estate. He made little effort to hide his happy contemplation of taking possession of their goods upon their demise. He divided his time between this and the depletion of Lord Bingley’s cellars.

Watching him, I found myself seething, until I felt a gentle hand on my sleeve. “My dear Lord Rossiter,” the new Lady Dallingham said softly, “how glad I am that you have come.”

She moved away rather quickly, and spoke to her aunt, all the while blushing.

I did not suppose for a moment that Dallingham, a man whose name has been linked with two actresses and any number of fair Cyprians, thought her very lovely. She tended to plumpness, a little. Her face was not that of a classic beauty, and no one would mistake her for a diamond of the first water. But there are other gems than diamonds, my dear Charles, and I found much in her that was admirable and becoming.

I wanted to ask if something was troubling her, if there was any way in which I might be of service, but I had no opportunity for private speech with her that evening-which was, I tell you plainly, easily one of the strangest nights of my life.

We were beset by real difficulties at table that evening. Dallingham wasn’t paying the least attention to me or his wife; he was admiring the silver and china, repeatedly congratulating Lord Bingsley on his fine cellars, making gratifying comments to Lady Bingsley on the excellence of the soup á la reine, and remarking on the beauty of the epergne at the center of the table. (It depicted tigers chasing one another round about-not to my taste, frankly-don’t like to dine with figures of things that would just as soon dine on me.)

But just as the second course-a haunch of venison, saddle of lamb, boiled capon and spring chicken-was served, Lady Bingsley said in a ringing voice, “Pistols at dawn!”

Dallingham and I exchanged looks of some consternation, even as Lord Bingsley calmly replied, “You’ll never do me in that way, my dear.”

“I know a good deal about pistols,” her ladyship replied. “Don’t I, Amelia?”

“Yes, Aunt,” the former Miss Bannister replied.

“Yes, yes,” said his lordship, “but for all that you know about them, you are an execrable shot.” He continued to apply himself to the venison, even as her ladyship appeared to apply herself to the problem of shooting him. Dallingham, so far from being dismayed, seemed on the verge of losing any semblance of gravity still left to him, while his new wife calmly continued to take small bites of the lamb.

Within a few moments, his lordship looked up from his plate and said, “Arrow through the heart. While you sleep.”

“I must say-” I began weakly.

“Nonsense!” said her ladyship firmly.

“It is not nonsense!” protested my host. “I’m a demmed sight better with the bow and arrow that you are with pistols. I’ll creep into your room through that old priest’s hole.”

“Now, there you’re out!” said her ladyship. “The priest’s hole is in Lord Dallingham’s room-the exit, in any case.”

At this, Dallingham, who had been drinking steadily from the moment of our arrival, was overcome with mirth.

“I find nothing amusing…” I tried again.

“By Jupiter!” his lordship said, “You’re right! Hmm. In that case, it shall have to be something more subtle. Perhaps when you go riding-”

“Please!” I said. “Your lordship, your ladyship…I beg pardon…not my place, really…but I can’t possibly face the next course if there is to be nothing but this talk of murder!”

There was a moment of profound silence before his lordship said, “Not face the next course? Rubbish! There’s to be lark pudding!”

And so the exchange of murder plots continued. I would have made good on my threat to excuse myself from the table, lark pudding or no, had not the former Miss Bannister looked at me so beseechingly, I forgot all else.

By the time the ladies retired to the drawing room and Lord Bingsley offered his excellent port, though, I had heard our hosts exchange no fewer than twenty threats of foul play, and had decided to leave this odd household by first light, beseeching looks or no. Miss Bannister had married a bounder, but it was his place to take her away from such humbuggery, not mine.

But Dallingham was extremely well to live by then, as the saying goes-or at least, in too much of a drunken stupor to converse. Other than expending the effort required to continue to drink, he seemed to be using whatever powers of concentration remained to him to prevent himself from falling face first into the table linen he so admired.

Sitting there over port, blowing a cloud with his lordship, I sought an excuse for an early departure. But as if reading my mind, his lordship said, “Must forgive us, Rossiter. Her ladyship and I are not much in company, as you must know. You are outraged, as any good man would be.” He paused, and looking at Dallingham, said in a low voice, “Unlike yon jackanapes! Were I twenty years younger, I’d darken his daylights! But here…well, we keep the ladies waiting. I only mean to ask you-nay, beg you-and I’m not a man who often begs!-beg you to see your way clear to remain with us another day or two.”

“My dear Lord Bingsley-” I began, but in what was becoming a habit in him, he interrupted.

“For Amelia’s sake!” he whispered, then added, in a normal speaking voice, “You’ll grow used to our havey-cavey ways, I’m sure.”