“Hush, listen,” she said.
Middleton had become slightly aggressive. “I think you know the truth about what happened,” he said in a challenging voice.
“Do you, indeed?” Hugh grew audible as his tone became less friendly.
“Forgive me for being so blunt, Pilaster. He was my brother. For years I’ve wondered what happened. Don’t you think I’ve a right to know?”
There was a pause. Augusta knew that such an appeal to the rights and wrongs of the case was just the kind of thing to move the sanctimonious Hugh. She wanted to intervene, to shut them up or change the subject or break up the group, but that would be tantamount to a confession that she had something to hide; so she stood helpless and terrified, rooted to the spot, straining her ears to hear over the murmur of the crowd.
At last Hugh replied. “I didn’t see Peter die, Middleton. I can’t tell you what happened. I don’t know for certain, and it would be wrong to speculate.”
“You have your suspicions, then? You can guess how it happened?”
“There’s no room for guesswork in a case such as this. It would be irresponsible. You want the truth, you say. I’m all for that. If I knew the truth I’d consider myself duty-bound to tell it. But I don’t.”
“I think you’re protecting your cousin.”
Hugh was offended. “Damn it, Middleton, that’s too strong. You’re entitled to be upset, but don’t cast doubt on my honesty.”
“Well, somebody’s lying,” Middleton said rudely, and with that he went away.
Augusta breathed again. Relief made her weak at the knees and she surreptitiously leaned on Micky for support. Hugh’s precious principles had worked in her favor. He suspected that Edward had contributed to the death of Peter, but because it was only a suspicion he would not say it. And now Middleton had put Hugh’s back up. It was the mark of a gentleman never to tell a lie, and for young men such as Hugh the suggestion that they might not be speaking the truth was a serious insult. Middleton and Hugh were not likely to talk further.
The crisis had blown up suddenly, like a summer storm, scaring her badly; but it had vanished just as fast, leaving her feeling battered but safe.
The procession ended. The band struck up a quadrille. The prince led the duchess onto the floor, and the duke took the princess, to make the first foursome. Other groups rapidly followed suit. The dancing was rather sedate, probably because so many people were wearing heavy costumes and cumbersome headdresses.
Augusta said to Micky: “Perhaps Mr. Middleton is no longer a danger to us.”
“Not if Hugh continues to keep his mouth shut.”
“And so long as your friend Silva stays in Cordova.”
“His family has less and less influence as the years go by. I don’t expect to see him in Europe again.”
“Good.” Augusta’s mind reverted to her plot. “Did you speak to de Tokoly?”
“I did.”
“Good.”
“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
She gave him a reproving look.
“How foolish of me,” he said. “You always know what you’re doing.”
The second dance was a waltz, and Micky asked her for the pleasure. When she was a girl the waltz had been considered indecent, because the partners were so close together, the man’s arm going all the way around the woman’s waist in an embrace. But nowadays even royalty waltzed.
As soon as Micky took her in his arms she felt changed. It was like being seventeen again, and dancing with Strang. When Strang danced he was thinking about his partner, not his feet, and Micky had the same talent. He made Augusta feel young and beautiful and carefree. She was aware of the smoothness of his hands, the masculine smell of tobacco and macassar oil, and the heat of his body as it pressed against hers. She felt a pang of envy toward Rachel, who shared his bed. Momentarily she recalled the scene in old Seth’s bedroom six years ago, but it seemed unreal, like a dream she had once had, and she could never quite believe it had actually happened.
Some women in her position would have had a clandestine love affair, but although Augusta sometimes daydreamed of secret meetings with Micky, in reality she could not face the skulking in back streets, the hole-in- corner meetings, the furtive embraces, the evasions and excuses. And besides, such affairs were often found out. She was more likely to leave Joseph and run away with Micky. He might be willing. At any rate she could make him willing if she put her mind to it. But whenever she toyed with that dream she thought of all the things she would have to give up: her three houses, her carriage, her dress allowance, her social position, the entree to balls such as this. Strang could have given her all that, but Micky could offer only his seductive self, and it was not enough.
“Look over there,” Micky said.
She followed the direction of his nod and saw Nora dancing with Count de Tokoly. She tensed. “Let’s get closer to them,” she said.
It was not easy, for the royal group was in that corner, and everyone was trying to be near them; but Micky skillfully steered her through the crush until they were close.
The waltz ground on, endlessly repeating the same banal tune. So far Nora and the count looked like any other dancing couple. He made occasional remarks in a low voice; she nodded and smiled. Perhaps he was holding her a little too closely, but not enough to cause remark. As the orchestra played on, Augusta wondered whether she had misjudged her two victims. The worry made her tense and she danced badly.
The waltz began to wind up to its climax. Augusta continued to watch Nora and the count. Suddenly there was a change. Nora’s face took on a look of frozen consternation: the count must have said something she did not like. Augusta’s hopes rose. But whatever he had said clearly was not sufficiently offensive for Nora to make a scene, and they danced on.
Augusta was ready to give up hope, and the waltz was in its last few bars, when the explosion came.
Augusta was the only person to see how it started. The count put his lips close to Nora’s ear and spoke. She colored up, then stopped dancing abruptly and pushed him away; but nobody except Augusta noticed this because the dance was just ending. However, the count pushed his luck and spoke again, his face creasing with a characteristic lascivious grin. At that second the music stopped, and in the momentary silence that followed, Nora slapped him.
The smack sounded throughout the ballroom like a gunshot. It was not a polite ladylike slap, designed for drawing room use, but the kind of blow that would deter a drunken groper in a saloon-bar. The count staggered back — and bumped into the Prince of Wales.
There was a collective gasp from the people around. The prince stumbled and was caught by the duke of Tenbigh. In the horrified silence, Nora’s cockney accent rang out loud and clear: “Don’t you ever come near me again, you filthy old reprobate!”
For another second they formed a still tableau: the outraged woman, the humiliated count and the startled prince. Augusta was possessed by jubilation. It had worked — it had worked better than she could have imagined!
Then Hugh appeared at Nora’s side and took her arm; the count drew himself up to his full height and stalked out; and an anxious group clustered protectively around the prince, hiding him from view. Conversation broke out around the room like a roll of thunder.
Augusta looked triumphantly at Micky.
“Brilliant,” he murmured with real admiration. “You’re brilliant, Augusta.” He squeezed her arm and led her off the dance floor.
Her husband was waiting for her. “That wretched girl!” he expostulated. “To cause a scene like that under the nose of the prince — she’s brought disgrace on the whole family, and doubtless lost us a major contract too!”
It was just the reaction Augusta had hoped for. “Now perhaps you’ll believe that Hugh can’t be made a partner,” she said triumphantly.
Joseph gave her an appraising stare. For one dreadful moment she feared she had overplayed her hand, and he had guessed that she had orchestrated the whole incident. But if the thought crossed his mind he must have dismissed it, for he said: “You’re right, my dear. You’ve been right all along.”
Hugh was steering Nora to the door. “We’re leaving, of course,” he said neutrally as they passed.
“We’ll all have to leave now,” Augusta said. However, she did not want them to go immediately. If no more
