CHAPTER XVIII #2
‘Oh, pooh!’ Trixie scoffed. ‘I was never in any danger.’ Even through the hubbub all about them, the high, clear notes of Trixie’s voice cut through the noise. Hetty noticed a few heads turn curiously in her direction.
‘Will you both hush! Into the entrance hall now, and quickly!’
Her eyes were on one lady in particular, wearing a dress a great deal more expensive than those about her, watching them with worrying fascination.
‘I’m not going with you if Timothy continues to be so objectionable!’
At last, Hetty had them moving, chivvying them out of the doors – but not before, behind them, she heard the unmistakeable sound of a very tonnish accent utter the word: ‘Allerton.’
They had been recognised.
The entrance hall was empty save for the porter, and so it was the work of a moment to fetch Trixie’s cloak and bundle her into the carriage. ‘Berkeley Square, if you please!’ Timothy called to the driver.
‘Must I go home?’
‘Yes!’
Hetty’s mind was whirring. ‘She cannot.’
Timothy turned to gape at Hetty. ‘You mean to let her go jauntering about town after such behaviour?’
Hetty held fast. ‘She cannot go home. She was recognised.’
‘By whom?’
‘I could not make out her face – it is possible she is a nobody, but in case she is not, we must all return to Almack’s. We need to be seen there for as long as possible, by as many persons as possible – so that if that person says she has seen Trixie, no one will believe her.’
It was the only way to be sure of protecting Trixie’s reputation.
‘She can hardly go dressed in such a way!’ Timothy might not know for certain, but he felt it unlikely that Mrs Drummond-Burrell would deem Trixie’s ruff appropriate Almack’s attire, and Hetty could hardly return in her lemonade-soaked gown. Of all of them, only Timothy was dressed suitably.
‘We shall have to return home and change,’ she decided.
Timothy consulted his pocket watch. ‘It is past ten already.’
Almack’s famously closed its doors at precisely eleven o’clock and no one, not even royalty, could muscle their way through past that point – but they had to try.
Timothy all but leapt from the carriage as soon as it had drawn to a halt, and as one – all acrimony briefly forgotten in the joint venture – they dashed up the stairs.
Hetty helped Trixie out of her costume and into an evening gown – fingers flying over the buttons – before doing the same for herself.
She pulled on her gloves as they dashed back downstairs.
‘How long do we have?’ Trixie gasped as soon as they had landed back into the carriage.
Timothy consulted his watch again. ‘Ten minutes.’
The time had had a sobering effect upon Trixie’s temper, and she looked, now, rather nervous. ‘What will happen if that lady does spread it about that I was there tonight? Will it be very bad?’
‘It will hardly be good!’ Timothy said hotly.
Trixie stole her hand into Hetty’s. ‘I am sorry,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I do see I shouldn’t have done it – it was only I could not dance with the Captain anywhere else—’
‘You were forbaden!’
Hetty hushed him forcefully. Arthur’s ban upon the Captain, she felt, had done a great deal to add to his allure, and nothing good would come of pursuing such ham-handed methods any further.
‘I’m not sure he’s a very pleasant man, Trixie,’ she noted instead.
Trixie rolled her eyes. ‘That’s what everyone says, but no one ever explains why!’
Hetty conceded this was true. After deliberating for a moment, she explained, in her most practical voice: ‘When a gentleman is called a libertine or a rogue, it generally means he’s the sort of fellow who leaves a trail of natural-born children in his wake.
It is sadly common in soldiers, who rarely offer the poor mothers any means of financial support. ’
Timothy pressed a hand to his face. ‘Hetty! You can’t say such—’
‘You and Arthur seem to think dark hints will serve to satisfy her curiosity,’ Hetty said acerbically. ‘Well, you can see how well that served!’
Hetty’s matter-of-fact announcement had given Trixie far more pause than any of the means her brothers had so far used to convince her.
The idea of Captain Edgewood having a brood of natural-born children was certainly rather less glamorous than the mysterious deeds he had hinted at.
‘Perhaps I shall reform him?’ she suggested, but more doubtfully now.
‘He is in love with me, you see. He was in the middle of telling me so, before that woman so rudely interrupted.’
‘In love with your dowry, more like,’ Timothy said derisively – and in a trice, all of Hetty’s progress seemed to vanish.
‘He is not!’ Trixie fired up.
‘Then why has he not paid us a morning visit? Do you not think that a trifle odd?’
‘What would be the point in that?’ Trixie challenged him. ‘The rigmarole Arthur would put him through, the way you would all treat him – why, it would take you all years to let him even past the door!’
‘Well, it seems to me’, Timothy said robustly, ‘that you ought to consider yourself worth such efforts, Trix!’
It was an uncharacteristically astute point, and one which took the wind out of Trixie’s sails – and, for that matter, Hetty’s.
Neither of them, however, had opportunity to respond, for the hackney had drawn to a jolting standstill.
Timothy straightened, reaching for the door. ‘Quick – we have only two minutes!’