'He drew Mrs. Carter.'
She made a face. 'I hate her, too. She is fat, like Lady Breckenridge. Do you know how I stay so slender, Captain?'
Of course, I had no idea. I'd had conversations with eight-year-old children that had baffled me less.
'I eat what I like,' she explained. 'Then I put my fingers down my throat and bring it up again. Lady Breckenridge could do that. Then she would not be so fat.'
I wondered what she wanted in response. Praise that she was so clever? Admonishment for a disgusting practice? I was beyond my depth.
I assumed, from process of elimination, that this young woman must be Lady Richard Eggleston. I found it difficult to believe that the oily Eggleston had been paired with this flower-like creature, but marriages in the ton produced some odd bedfellows. She could not have been more than seventeen years old.
'Can you direct me to the billiards room?' I asked.
She did not even blink. She pointed with a small, bony finger. 'The north wing. Last door along. She will be there. I hate billiards.'
I was not certain whom to feel sorrier for, Eggleston or his bride. I supposed I should give Richard Eggleston's young wife my compassion. She had no doubt been thrust into marriage to fulfill her family's ambitions.
My own father had wished me to marry the daughter of a nabob-those businessmen who made their fortunes on the plantations of Jamaica and Antigua and returned to England to live in high style. I suppose the woman in question had been no better or worse than any other, but I had defied my father and married a pretty girl of poor gentility with whom I'd thought myself madly in love.
I turned from Lady Richard after a polite leave-taking, at least on my part, and sought the north wing.
Chapter Nine
The windows in the billiards room at the end of the wing faced west. Sunlight dazzled me when I entered, and the character of the room became clear only after I'd blinked a few moments. Every flat surface of the pale green walls and white ceiling was filled with plaster motifs of rams' heads. Two billiards tables stood in the center of the room, and gilded armless chairs rested against the walls where players could lounge while they awaited their turns.
A woman bent over the far table, cue poised in competent fingers. She had a mass of dark brown hair pulled under a lace cap, and wore a dark blue, high-waisted, long-sleeved gown. She was thankfully older than Lady Richard Eggleston; I put her age to be close to thirty.
She had a long, sharp nose that did not mar her face but drew attention to deep-set dark eyes, which showed hard intelligence. Lady Richard Eggleston had called her 'fat,' but this was a misnomer. Lady Breckenridge was plump of arm and leg, but her rounded physique was much more pleasing than Lady Richard's starved appearance.
A thin string of smoke rose from the lit black cigarillo that rested on the varnished edge of the table. Lady Breckenridge glanced at me once, then her cue moved expertly forward, connecting with the ball with a sharp crack.
She lifted the cigarillo and inhaled from it for a long time, all the while watching me. 'Well, come on then,' she said, smoke mixing with her words.
I hesitated. A game with Lady Breckenridge could provide me the perfect opportunity to quiz her about her husband, but no one played without wagering on the outcome, and I could not afford to lose.
I resigned myself. I chose a slender cue from the rack at the end of the room then returned to the table. Lady Breckenridge watched while I gathered the balls and positioned them for a new game.
She handed me the cigarillo. 'Be useful.'
I took it. A wisp of smoke curled into my eyes, stinging them.
She leaned over the table again and quickly shot. Her balls rolled into precise position. 'Is the commotion over?' she asked. 'I mean Serena shrieking at that damned maid.'
I took Serena to be Lady Richard. 'It seems to be finished.'
Lady Breckenridge lined up another shot. 'They were rowing over my husband, if you want to know. Lord knows why. The little bitch can have him.'
I wondered if she meant Lady Richard or the maid. I leaned against the table as Lady Breckenridge went on with the game. The cigarillo burned steadily and a bit of ash floated to the floor.
Balls clacked. 'She's already put an heir in the nursery,' Lady Breckenridge went on, 'and Eggleston does not want her. Breckenridge does not really either, but the silly fool believes herself enchanting.'
She missed her shot. She straightened and almost snatched the cigarillo from my hand. She drew a long breath of it. 'Oh, do not look so shocked, Captain. Are you a Methodist?'
'No,' I answered.
I leaned down and sighted along my cue. Three balls plus one cue ball occupied the table. We would generate points for ourselves by sending balls into the six pockets about the table, or by caroming the cue ball from the table's side into one of the other balls. A simple game, but one that took some skill.
I shot. Balls clacked to the corner of the table, and one disappeared.
As I leaned down for another shot, Lady Breckenridge asked suddenly, 'Why are you here?'
As she probably had intended, I started, and my cue slipped. I straightened it, not taking the shot, and answered, 'I came with Mr. Grenville.'
'I thought you were a journalist. Like Egan.'
'No,' I said.
But like Egan, I'd come to pry. I shot, and missed. She gave me a triumphant look and handed me the cigarillo.
'You do not say much for yourself,' she observed.
I leaned on my cue. 'Grenville is more interesting.'
'Of course he is. My husband worships him like a god. Lord Richard wants to sleep with him.'
I hid a start, but upon reflection, I was not terribly surprised. Grenville had attracted such attentions before, though he did not return them. Such were the hazards, I supposed, of a raging popularity.
Lady Breckenridge was staring at me again. She glanced at the cigarillo, then at me, and her lip curled derisively.
I preferred my tobacco in the form of snuff, but under Lady Breckenridge's dark stare, I lifted the cigarillo to my lips and drew its smoke into my mouth. She watched me with calm dispassion until I exhaled slowly, then she lifted her cue and shot both cue ball and secondary ball into a net pocket.
She won that game and suggested another.
Fortunately, though she was obviously prepared to trounce me at billiards, she had no qualms about discussing her husband, not even when I asked a direct question about the incident with Captain Spencer on the Peninsula.
'I suppose you are asking because Westin managed to kill himself last week and so escape a trial,' she said. 'Serena told me. Full of glee she was. But she is sordid and likes sordid things to happen.'
'And do you?'
She gave me an amused smile as if my fishing delighted her. 'The entire incident was entertaining. Mrs. Westin holds herself above everyone else, and yet, her husband was about to be arrested for murder. Happy escape for her when he died, was it not? Her marriage was cold, Captain, very cold. That is why she is so brittle.'
'She has borne much,' I pointed out.
'As have I, married to Breckenridge. Pity me that the war ended and he came home.' She carefully sighted down her cue, then shot. The cue ball slammed into the table's side then hard into another ball. 'Do you know what happened when the Westins stayed at Eggleston's in Oxfordshire? Lord Richard proposed the card game. Mrs. Westin grew so upset when she learned what it was all about that she nearly swooned. She begged her husband to take her away, which he meekly did.'
