acquired the property with the intention of refurbishing the cottages and using them to house students who come from a distance.” He grinned. “There’s no stopping that woman once she gets an idea, you know. Between her and the Countess of Warwick, I believe they plan to train every able-bodied woman in England to earn her livelihood from the land.” He shook his head. “And by Jove, I think they might succeed.”
CHAPTER TEN
Now that Lillie was a race-horse owner, she decided to go in for racing in a really big way. She found a counsellor and guide to advise her about racing and pulling off betting-coups; bought a house at Kentford, just outside Newmarket, called Regal Lodge; and adopted the name Mr. Jersey as a racing pseudonym.
The Gilded Lily: The Life and Loves of the Fabulous Lillie Langtry Ernest Dudley
Kate, with Charles and her maid Amelia Quibbley, took the morning Great Eastern train from Colchester east and north to Ipswich, then west through Bury St. Edmunds to Newmarket. There, they separated at the station, Charles being met by Bradford Marsden and walking off in one direction, Kate hailing a hansom and being driven off in another. It was after eleven when the cab pulled up in front of Regal Lodge and she got out, followed by Amelia, who waited while the driver took down the bags.
Mrs. Langtry had written of her house as a “small cottage,” but it was neither small nor very like a cottage, Kate thought, looking up at it. Regal Lodge was a substantial brick house, half-timbered in the second story, with a great many mullioned windows and numerous imposing gables and chimney pots, set behind wrought-iron gates off a quiet lane. Mrs. Langtry placed a premium on privacy-as well she might, for Charles had told Kate that when the Prince visited the racing stables at Egerton House, where his racehorses were trained, he visited Mrs. Langtry as well. His Highness was not in such oblivious thrall to the Honorable Mrs. Keppel that he had forsaken his old friend Lillie.
Kate rang the bell beside the iron-studded front door and was admitted by a courteous butler named Williams, who begged to inform her that Mrs. Langtry offered her most profound regrets, but that she was engaged with her advisers and could not be disturbed.
“If her ladyship would be pleased to be shown to her rooms,” he added, “the luncheon bell will ring shortly.”
The rooms-a spacious bedroom and dressing room; a private bath with a water closet and a bathtub which was connected to a small gas hot-water heater; and a sleeping closet for Amelia-were more than ample. The bedroom was luxuriously furnished in blue and silver draperies, bed coverings, and carpets, and there were bowls and vases filled with roses on every table. Amelia unpacked a champagne-colored dress of embroidered linen and helped Kate change into it.
“You look lovely, m’lady,” Amelia said, putting the finishing touches to Kate’s hair just as the luncheon bell rang.
“Thank you,” Kate said, smoothing her skirts. “If you don’t mind, Amelia, I’ll leave you to finish unpacking. And then you might go downstairs and join the staff at lunch.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Amelia answered equably, taking Kate’s leather jewelry box from the portmanteau. She gave Kate a sidelong glance. “Are there any special instructions, ma’am, especially as regards the servants?”
Kate smiled at the question. It was hard to keep secrets from one’s lady’s maid-and impossible to hide anything from Amelia Quibbley. The young woman-brown-haired and petite, with a pretty, open face-had been with her for several years, not just at Bishop’s Keep but also at Sibley House, the London residence where Charles and Kate stayed when Parliament was in session. The house was big as a castle and as unfriendly as a mausoleum, with a large, impersonal staff supervised by an impassive butler and a tyrant of a housekeeper. Kate relied on Amelia’s company and friendship and often used her as a liaison with the other, less amiable staff. Perhaps for this reason, perhaps for others, Amelia had developed an almost intuitive sense of what her mistress might require of her, as well as the ability to appraise an unfamiliar household.
Kate took the gold brooch that Amelia handed her. “I have two purposes in being here, Amelia. Mrs. Langtry has expressed an interest in staging one of my stories, and while the idea doesn’t greatly appeal to me, I plan to discuss it with her.” Looking at herself in the mirror, she pinned the brooch at her throat. “And Mrs. Langtry has agreed to be the subject of an article I’ve been asked to write for The Strand, and I would be glad of any insights into her true nature-the sort of insights servants sometimes share. I might not be able to use them in the article, but they would help me to better understand her character.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Amelia said demurely. “I’m sure people ’ud like to know wot she’s really like. When she’s not on the stage, that is.”
Kate met Amelia’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m sure they would,” she replied.
“Lady Charles!” Mrs. Langtry exclaimed, rising gracefully from a sofa in the drawing room. She was wearing an elaborate dress of sea-foam green watered silk with a bodice of pleated chiffon, cut low to show the full, soft whiteness of an alluring neck and shoulders, with a circlet of impressively large pearls clasped around her throat. She held out both her hands, and she and Kate traded the inevitable social kiss on both cheeks.
“So
“Kate, please,” Kate said.
“I’ve played two Kates,” Lillie said firmly, “and you’re not a bit like either of them. If I can’t call you Kathryn, I shall call you Beryl.”
Lillie turned to gesture to two men, who were smoking and talking alongside what appeared to be a large tiled fish pond, sunk into the drawing-room floor. “Before you go, gentlemen, you must be introduced to my houseguest-the famous lady author. She’ll be writing an article about me for
As Lillie made introductions, Kate studied the two men. The elder was Captain Dick Doyle, whom Lillie presented as her racing manager, an enormous man in frock coat and waistcoat with a pale gray tie. He was round-cheeked and jovial, but there was a shrewd glint in his piggish eye. Kate felt herself being assessed and swiftly dismissed as being of no possible interest or utility. Lady authors were not, apparently, among the entities he managed.
The other man, slim and youthful in appearance, was natty in a checked tweed suit and red tie with a huge diamond tie tack. His name, Lillie said, was Todhunter Sloan.
“Tod is the brilliant American jockey who introduced short stirrups to England two years ago,” Lillie said, smiling at him playfully. “They all laughed at his style when he first began to ride in this country. A monkey up a stick, they called you, didn’t they, Toddie? But then he showed them how to win races, and they stopped laughing. And now they all try to copy you, don’t they, dear?”
Sloan grinned and tapped his cigarette into a delicate porcelain bowl that did not look in the least like an ashtray. “Damn right, Lil, m’love,” he drawled, in a broad Midwestern accent. “They all want to be just like me, don’cha know.” He snorted disdainfully. “Brit jockeys don’t have the sense the good Lord gave a goose. No idea how to run a race. Hang around at the start like it was a damned Sunday-school picnic and they was waitin’ fer somebody to pour the lemonade.” He threw back his head and guffawed, showing horsy looking yellow teeth.
“There’s nobody like you, Tod, old chap,” the fat man replied in an affably ingratiating tone. “You’re one of a kind.”
