Page 110 of A Much Maligned Miss

Caroline, with a mouthful of hot tea, had no time to respond before the older woman rattled on. “Your portrait’s been delivered to much excitement. They’ve hung it betwixt them two pillars. Most indecent you looks in it too,” she pronounced with satisfaction. “Like you been up to no good. Them hussies from the attics are all staring at it and talking up a storm over it.”

“Hussies?” Caroline echoed before realizing Gracie was referring to the new barmaids.

“That Cherry tried to say you’re nothing special and she can’t see what the gents get so worked up about. Then that Violet dragged her clean across the bar by her hair!” Gracie chortled. “Said another crack like that and she’d fetch up in the Thames wivout any teeth! I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her, I wouldn’t! Vicious little madam, she is and no mistake.”

“I’m sure she is no such thing!” Caroline protested. “I’m very fond of Vi.”

Gracie looked at her askance. “Well, she likes you, that’s certain.”

Caroline nibbled her bottom lip. “I hope Effie did not have much bother restoring order among the ranks,” she said with misgiving.

“Don’t you worry about that.” Gracie shrugged. “Effie turned a blind eye to it and that Mr. Ewell, he didn’t even turn a hair. Reckon he’s seen a catfight or two in his time, for all he’s a prizefighter. Cherry retreated to lick her wounds, none the worse for a missing clump of hair, and as for the others, they’re a sight more subdued now. Whisperin’ about you behind their hands now instead of daring to say it out loud.” Gracie gave a toothless grin.

Caroline frowned and reached out to stroke Romulus’s ears. “I suppose Lord Atherton and Mr. Carstairs went out again today,” she said, embarrassing herself by sounding a good deal more forlorn than she should.

Gracie sniffed. “Then you supposed wrong, missy. They’re around and fussing about that wicked gambling hell of theirs.”

“They are?” Caroline was surprised. Why had Gervaise not brought her up her tea? It was the first morning he had not done so. She felt a ripple of unease pass down her spine but after all, it was opening day. He was doubtless far too busy to wait on her hand and foot.

“A good deal of fuss and nonsense,” Gracie said, pulling a face. “And all getting under my feet. How am I supposed to clean with everyone scurrying about hither and thither like a swarm of ants?”

Caroline made sympathetic noises and drained her teacup. “But what’s this?” Gracie asked, glancing at the foot of the bed. “More presents? Proper spoils you, don’t he?”

Caroline peered down the bed. “What is it?”

Gracie picked up two large boxes and a slimmer one of velvet, carrying them over to Caroline. On inspection, the first turned out to be a box of gleaming glacé fruits in jewel hues and the second, a rounder box of glazed marzipan fruits which resembled miniature peaches and pears.

How strange, Caroline thought. Why did he not simply leave them in the sitting room? He had never left sweets on the bed before.

“This one looks like jewelry,” Gracie said, passing over the final box.

Caroline lifted hinged lid to find a rather showy bracelet of garnets and pearls set into chunky gold links and fastened with a padlock in the shape of a heart. She regarded it with some surprise, for it did not really look like something Gervaise would pick out.

It looked altogether too…well, gaudy for want of a better word. Still, she clasped it to her wrist and Gracie made a jocular remark about “the wages of sin.”

Oh, thought Caroline with a little shiver of recognition. So that was it. Gervaise had warned her that he meant to treat her like a courtesan from now on, and these were the first indications of that new treatment. Gifts on the end of the bed were for services rendered.

She felt a little cold. “I think I will stay in the warm today and finish my sewing,” she heard herself say aloud. “I’ll stay away from the hustle and bustle below. Could you kindly ask Reg to light the fire in my sitting room for me?”

She would finish sewing the miniature bridal dress today and box it up prettily to send to Vance Park. She would have to write an unsigned note, telling Teddy it was part of Miss Pomfrey’s trousseau. Likely he would never guess that she was his benefactor. She hoped not, for she was not fit company for him. Not anymore.

Squaring her shoulders, she reminded herself that this was her own choice and nothing more than what she had wanted and asked him for. If she spent her day quietly, she would rally in time for this evening to wear that scarlet beaded dress for the opening. A scarlet dress for a scarlet woman, she thought, her finger tracing the red garnets in her new bracelet. Her gaze drifted over to the table where the frilly pink dress she had sewn for Miss Pomfrey lay, and for some unfathomable reason, her eyes blurred.

45

By the time Gervaise returned to their rooms to dress, Caroline was nowhere to be found. On finding the cats shut in the sitting room and two empty wineglasses on the table, he guessed either Effie or Violet had helped her to dress and then accompanied her down to the grand opening.

He took his time washing and selected his cream waistcoat and black tailed coat with customary care. By the time he had pinned on his watch chain and pocketed his cigarette case, it was already half past six. They were throwing open their doors at seven, though the gambling club itself would not open until ten o’clock.

Gervaise proceeded downstairs. It was already noisy in the bar area, what with Barty Ewell’s crowd, Ralph’s cronies, and the swelling ranks of their own staff.

“Ah, there you are, Gervaise,” Ralph cried. “And just in time, for I was just about to propose a toast to our venture before the masses arrive!” He topped up the last of the glasses with champagne and passed them around liberally.

“To our success!” he cried to a chorus of hurrahs, but instead of raising his glass, Gervaise rapidly lowered it. He caught his breath, catching sight of a vision in scarlet adopting a bold pose before the Maenad painting, hand on hip.

Caroline. She looked magnificent, as glittery eyed and flushed as she did in the portrait.

“See, I told you it was ’er!” a woman’s voice rose triumphantly. “That’s two bob you owe me, Clarence Brent!”