the breathtaking sensations of that chance meeting. He had almost expected to see the same two tattered veterans begging for food, but they had receded into the day’s unreality. He frowned. There had been plenty of others, though.
She had been right about one thing. Her house was close by; he was not even breathless from the walk. It was cold, with watery sunlight, but he had not needed the new boat-cloak which he carried loosely over his arm. The house, though, was enough to chill his blood. He did not quite know what he had expected, but it was large and elegant, with a presence to match. He stopped again. He should turn and go, now. And there were several carriages outside: she was not alone. Perhaps he should have gone to the house when she had asked him, to take tea. But that invitation had been two days ago. He had looked at her little card several times since then, unable to decide what to do.
And then an Admiralty messenger had brought him the letter, and the sailing date. They would leave from Plymouth, so it was time he began the long journey to Falmouth, where Sir Richard Bolitho would be requiring his presence.
Instead, he was here.
What would she say? She might not even consent to see him. He stared at the house again, trying to remember his captain, her husband. He had assumed that Mildmay had been given the old
Canopus as an insult, because of some past misdemeanour. Perhaps he had offended someone in high places: it was not uncommon. That was why I was sent to her. Taken originally as a prize from the French at the Nile, she had received such a battering and had subsequently been worked so hard that her greatest enemy was rot.
But Mildmay had left the ship while she had been in dock, and had been promoted to flag rank, with further promotion two years later. Now he was dead.
He felt his confidence, never very great, wavering. He would make an even bigger fool of himself this time.
The double doors of the house were before him, although he did not recall having mounted the steps. As though he had been secretly observed, one of them swung inward, opened by a tall, rather severe-looking woman dressed from neck to toe in grey, with a bunch of keys hanging from the chatelaine at her waist.
“Yes?” Her eyes moved over him swiftly. She was probably more used to senior officers and the quality, he thought, and, surprisingly, it made him smile. It was the same assessment and dismissal that the Jermyn Street tailor had given him.
He said, “I wish to speak to Lady Mildmay.”
The eyes moved on, looking for a carriage or some other evidence of respectability.
“She is not expecting your visit?” It was not really a question.
Avery heard music, a pianoforte, and in the sudden stillness applause, like a scattering of dry leaves.
“No, not exactly. I-”
“What is it, Mrs Pepyat? I thought I-”
Avery removed his hat. “I am sorry, my lady.” She was standing by the great, curving staircase, one hand to the bosom of her gown, as if she had been surprised or annoyed by the intrusion.
She said, “Mister Avery, you keep a poor diary!” But she smiled, and walked to meet him. “Is something amiss?”
He took the cool hand she offered and kissed the back of it. “I am recalled, my lady. I must leave for Cornwall shortly.” The pianoforte had started to play again, and Avery said, “I will leave. You are entertaining.”
She watched him, her blue eyes questioning. “No, no. That is a Mr Blount-he comes from Highgate to play for us, to raise money for the sailors’ hospital at Greenwich.” She shrugged. “It is an amiable way to meet old friends, or acquaintances, if you prefer…” She smiled. “You like music, Mr Avery? It is Mozart, very fashionable, it seems.”
Avery was listening. “Yes. His Fantasy in C Minor.” He did not see her raised brows. “I sang in the choir, and my father’s organist used to entertain us with that music afterwards.”
He must go. The formidable Mrs Pepyat obviously thought so.
“Take this gentleman’s hat and cloak.” A footman darted out from nowhere, and took them from him. His line of retreat was severed.
She slipped her arm through his and guided him toward a tall doorway.
“We will sit by this pillar. See? No one has noticed a thing.”
He sat beside her. Although she had released his arm he could still feel her touch. The room was full, the women, some young, some not so young, sitting attentively, with here and there an expensively shod foot tapping in time to the music. The men were mostly older, and there were several red uniforms: senior officers putting on a brave face for society’s sake, but, for the most part, obviously bored. The pianist named Blount was very small, with the frame of a youth, but his face could have been that of an old portrait, and Avery knew simply by watching him that he had completely dismissed his audience from his mind.
She leaned toward him, and Avery saw two other women turn instantly to observe them. “There will be refreshments later. I shall have to entertain then, a little.”
She was very close, so close that he could smell her hair, her perfume, and see the rise and fall of her breasts.
“Am I as you remember, Mister Avery?”
She was teasing him again. Or was she.
He lowered his voice. “Exactly as I remember.”
She turned away. The music ceased and people stood to applaud, some, he thought, out of pleasure, others with relief that it was over.
An act of charity. Avery glanced around at the rich gowns, the stylish hair arrangements, the men, smiling now as the first trays of wine appeared. How much of the collection would find its way to the sailors’ hospital, he wondered, and was shocked by his own cynicism.
He remained by the pillar and took a goblet of wine from a passing footman. She was moving amongst her guests without hesitation or uncertainty. He heard her laugh, and saw two of the soldiers beaming at her.
He stepped back as a solitary naval uniform, a lady on one arm, paused to speak with Lady Mildmay before heading for the door. Escaping.
She was with him again, her eyes moving across the room. “Are you enjoying yourself, Mr Avery?”
“That officer. I know him.”
“Vice-Admiral Bethune. Yes, he has risen like a bright star.” It seemed to amuse her.
“And that was his wife.” She was not as he had expected. Perhaps he had been misinformed.
She was looking at him steadily. “Not his wife. From what we hear, one can hardly blame him. He is very attractive, if I may say so as a woman.”
Some of the others were leaving now, their duty done. She asked suddenly, “Recalled, you said? When do you return?” She turned to smile and curtsey to a big, florid-faced man and his lady. “So good of you to come, Your Grace!” And as quickly, the smile was gone. “Tell me.”
He shrugged. “I am joining Sir Richard Bolitho’s squadron.”
She put her hand to her breast again. Off guard, no longer so composed. “The Americas? The war?”
He smiled. “It is the way of sailors, madam.”
She turned again as two more women rose to leave. They smiled like old friends, but one looked directly at Avery, her eyes full of a hard curiosity.
Avery asked abruptly, “And who was that? ”
She closed her fingers on his arm, either ignoring or not caring for the consequences.
“That was your admiral’s wife, Lady Bolitho. Did you not know?”
Avery shook his head. “This is not my world.” He glanced at the door. “I have things to attend to, my lady. I did not mean to disturb you. That was not my intention.” He saw the sudden doubt in her eyes.
“Do you have a carriage?”
“I can easily obtain one. I am going to Chelsea.”
Somebody called out to her but she did not appear to hear. She said, “My carriage can take you there, and in more comfort.” She gripped his arm more tightly. “Please.” No further pretence. “Please stay.”
“I think we owe Lady Mildmay a debt of gratitude for her charming hospitality, and the dedication with which she has always carried out her work on behalf of those less fortunate.”
She bowed low, her smile confident. The shadow between her breasts made a lie of her composure.
