The Colonel, choking on a crust of bread, coughed into his napkin.
‘From the number of times the doorbell chimed, I assume the At Home was a successful undertaking?’ he enquired, now concerned about Lavinia’s manner.
‘In that all forty guests appeared, yes. However, three left prematurely due to an impromptu lecture on the evils of the Confederacy.’
‘Given by yourself no doubt. The departed have my sympathy. Lavinia, you really must learn to separate the political from the personal.’
‘There was little of the personal about today’s gathering, and Lady Morgan’s efforts on my behalf have been entirely political.’
For a moment there was only the clinking of glass and the noise of the diners eating. A footman, whose sole duty was the pouring of the wine, filled Lavinia’s goblet then moved on to the gentlemen.
‘So, Mr Campbell, what new and extraordinary things did you learn today in my husband’s study?’ Lavinia returned to the fray.
Unused to the tumult of matrimony but an expert on the nuances of charm, Hamish mustered both his courage and his wit. ‘I learned about the Bakairi and a ritual called Lemaquely, where a Spirit will advise a woman on how she is to behave within the community—and list her personal shortcomings. Any scolding from the Spirit is regarded as an honour. So you see, even the Bakairi have a Lady Morgan spirit.’
All three laughed, and the Colonel took Lavinia’s hand.
‘There, my dear, you can take comfort from the fact that the Bakairi have their social codes, just as we have ours in Mayfair.’
The play of her husband’s fingers across her wrist caused Lavinia a small flutter of arousal; he had not touched her since their lovemaking after the ball. What did Hamish Campbell promise her husband that she couldn’t offer? Intellectual companionship? The possibility of reliving his youth through the younger man?
‘It seems to me that women are freed from their responsibilities only when they are merry widows or eccentric old spinsters,’ she concluded, ‘the rest of us have to make do.’ She turned to the student. ‘Sir, I would exchange the drawing room for the study any day.’
35
AFTER THE MEN HAD AGAIN DISAPPEARED into the study, Lavinia sat down to read. The crackling of the fire, the incessant ticking of the clock, the rustle of footsteps outside, and the faint, distant cry of a rat catcher all contributed to a certain restlessness—even the words on the page seemed to flutter like moths. Glancing up from the page she decided she could not stay a moment longer in this mausoleum, deprived of conversation and company, while in the room above the two men navigated the wilds of the Amazon.
Jumping to her feet, Lavinia pulled on a long hooded cloak and made her way to the stables, careful to avoid the seemingly omnipresent housekeeper, Mrs Beetle.
Lavinia sat in the enclosed carriage, her face concealed by her hood. Outside, from Curzon Street all the way up to the notorious Shepherd’s Market, groups of prostitutes lingered around doorways and shopfronts, their outrageously painted faces tinted yellow by the gaslights as they paraded hopefully for passing trade. Staring out, Lavinia searched for one particular girl whose visage was engraved upon her memory.
In the driver’s seat, Aloysius was surly with disapproval. ‘No good will come of this, madam, I’m telling yer. ’Tis a man’s world and best left that way,’ he shouted down to her, as, to his disgust, an ancient whore winked up at him, her copious cleavage mottled and wrinkled.
But Lavinia, fascinated by the vulgar gaiety of the women and the manner by which they marked their territory, sometimes spitting and shooing off competitors, was enchanted. These women appeared to enjoy a freedom that intrigued her. It was a pageant, she decided, and there were many characters she recognised: the ingénue with her virginal white gown; the duchess with her fleshy jowls and paste; the bohemian with her loose hair and floating robe under which her naked shoulders shifted provocatively.
‘Lady, you shopping for someone or are you here for yourself?’ A pockmarked face loomed out of the mist.
Lavinia, startled, shrank back. ‘I am looking for someone in particular.’
‘Someone’s particular or someone’s peculiar?’ the prostitute chuckled, revealing a broken tooth within the deep crimson mouth.
Aloysius shook his whip at her. ‘Away with you!’
Laughing, the whore vanished into the night. The coachman shivered; it was getting colder. ‘Madam, we should be leaving. The master will be wondering where you are!’ he called.
At that moment, a tall slim figure emerged from a doorway and slipped between the mingling streetwalkers, her face illuminated for an instant by the gaslight. Lavinia, forgetting herself, stepped down from the carriage and ran towards the woman, her skirts becoming soiled in the puddles of mud and horse manure.
Catching her by the shoulder, Lavinia peered into the woman’s face. It was the girl she had seen walking with James outside the bookshop, but close up her features were heavier, her skin coarser, than Lavinia had imagined.
‘May I help you?’
The well-spoken alto voice disorientated Lavinia.
‘Will you talk to me?’ she asked. ‘Just for a few moments?’
The girl hesitated as she assessed Lavinia’s expensive dress, the fur-trimmed cloak.
‘I will pay you well,’ Lavinia pleaded.