Death and the Cyprian Society Read online

  “Have you no sense?” cried Miss Le Marchand. “Whoever heard of bringing a ferret to a meeting? You’ve spoilt it for the rest of us, now, you and your ferret ‘Napoleon’!”

  “Her name is ‘Neigeux,’ said Miss L’Etoille loftily. And after handing her pet to a servant, to be kept until called for, she ostentatiously moved her chair as far as possible from Miss Le Marchand’s.

  “Ribbons are such pretty things,” said Arabella, addressing her sister. “Yet they have been responsible for nearly two deaths in as many weeks. I think I shall avoid ribbons in the future.” But, of course, she did not mean that.

  When everyone had settled down once again, soothed with wonderfully strong coffee, which was served in tiny-hand-painted-sky-blue-and-gold-Spode-demitasse-cups-decorated- with-the-double-bird-of-paradise-crest-on-one-side-and-the-CS-motto-on-the-other-and-a-single-bird-of-paradise-inside- below-the-rim, along with little sesame biscuits (because luncheon was still two hours away), Arabella formally addressed the gathering. In the interests of brevity, we shall skip over the welcoming speech and agenda items of lesser import, and go straight away to the object of this meeting.

  “I don’t know whether many of you have considered it,” she began, “but, collectively, we have captured the attentions and affections of the most influential men in the most important city of the most powerful nation on Earth.”

  Here the courtesans would have applauded, but their president checked them with an upraised hand.

  “I mention this, not merely as an item of passing interest, nor a detail upon which we may preen ourselves: Consider, ladies, what it actually means.”

  She paused, significantly, and surveyed the company with a bold, challenging look. “The twenty-eight of us—and I say twenty-eight with the tacit understanding that one of our number, who is not here today, is by nature incapable—can, if we choose, bring about the necessary changes to make this country, nay, to make the entire world a better place. Let us, then, in the months to come, decide how we can best use our power to promote the greatest good!”

  Amidst thunderous applause, with Cyprians rising on every side to cheer Arabella and her great idea, she smiled and modestly made her way to a chair, where a freshly-poured-tiny-hand-painted-sky-blue-and-gold-Spode-demitasse-cup- decorated-with-the-double-bird-of-paradise-crest-on-one-sid e-and-the-CS-motto-on-the-other-and-a-single-bird-of-paradise-inside-below-the-rim awaited her.

  By the time the Beaumonts got home, the sunlight had mellowed to a rich apricot, and the shadows had grown to ridiculous lengths. The sisters changed from their club clothes into much more comfortable chemises and dressing gowns, and dined alfresco, in the loggia, where they ate with their fingers. Bumper after bumper of sparkling wine was lifted high . . . laughed over . . . quaffed . . . to celebrate the very successful outcome of all their adventures.

  “Bell,” said Belinda, sitting sideways in her chair and draping one lovely bare leg over the arm, “aren’t you simply aching to know what was in that letter you returned to Lady Ribbonhat?”

  “No,” Arabella replied, with a smile. “Because I do know. And therefore have no need of aching.”

  “You do? How? Did Lady Ribbonhat shew it to you at Charburn?”

  “Good heavens,” said Arabella, carefully snipping a small cluster of grapes from a larger bunch in the bowl upon the table. “Lady Ribbonhat may be a clown, Belinda, but she’s no fool. Unless I miss my guess, she ordered a fire lit the instant I was out the door, and burnt that letter to cinders!”

  “Then how can you be familiar with the contents?”

  “Well, as you know, Lustings was formerly in the possession of the Seaholme family, to which Lady Ribbonhat belongs by marriage.”

  “Yes?”

  “The duke still uses my library from time to time, to write the sort of letters he does not wish his mother to know about.”

  “But I still don’t . . .”

  “He keeps his family seal in a drawer of my desk for that purpose. So, I simply broke the seal on Lady Ribbonhat’s envelope, removed the letter and perused the contents, re-folded it, dripped a new puddle of wax on the outside, and stamped it with the family crest again.”

  “Oh, I say!” cried Belinda. “How fiendishly clever! And what did the letter reveal?”

  “Only this,” replied Arabella gravely. “Lady Ribbonhat provided the financial backing for the prime minister’s assassination.”

  Belinda recoiled, nearly toppling from her chair. “What?! She—how could she? And . . . you have known about it all this while . . . and kept it to yourself?”

  “Quite. Just as you will keep it to yourself.”

  “Oh, no, Bell,” said Belinda, emphatically shaking her head. “We must go to the authorities at once!”

  “And tell them what, exactly? That I am the only witness to a letter, now destroyed, that proves my enemy’s involvement in the Perceval affair? They would lock me up in the madhouse, but not before the duke and his mother sued me for every penny I have or ever shall have. There is not a single shred of evidence, now, that Lady Ribbonhat has ever done any such thing. And even if there were, I should never act against her on this. Because I respect her reasons.”

  Belinda stared at her. “What do you mean? No one can have a good reason for murder! I feel as though I have never known you, Bell; that I am only now beginning to see who you really are!”

  “Perhaps I expressed myself badly. I don’t approve of murder, Bunny, any more than you do. But under certain circumstances, I can sympathize with, or . . . let us say, comprehend someone’s state of mind, which causes that person to act out of character in a fit of outrage against an evil-doer.

  “Lady Ribbonhat expressed her reasons in that letter: Spencer Perceval’s anti-Luddite, anti-Catholic policies had laid waste to her family. Her brother blew his brains out. Her nephews were hanged (“as an example”) after the Luddite riots. The wives and children of those nephews scattered in panic over the countryside, and Lady Ribbonhat was unable to discover where they’d gone, in order to send them financial assistance. At the time of her letter, she reported that she had been unable to locate a single relation.”

  “How horrible!” said Belinda. “I never thought I should feel sorry for Lady Ribbonhat. I do, though.”

  “As do I.”

  “This letter she wrote, to whom was it addressed?”

  “I did not recognize the name, and I have forgotten it now. Probably some Irish fomenter who had requested her assistance.”

  “But, Bell; it’s important! The government will want to know!”

  “I am not so certain that they will. They were in an awful hurry to hang Bellingham and close the book.” (She was not going to tell Belinda about Cecil Elliot’s investigation, for she had given her word that she wouldn’t.) “You see, Bunny? This is why I hate politics! Everything’s done below board. No one ever knows what is really going on! And the names of persons who planned the elimination of a smug, superior little second rater, a so-called gentleman who professed himself a great family man whilst he murdered the families of others, is of no interest to me. I am a great respecter of justified revenge. Poor Lady Ribbonhat has no one now, other than Puddles, and I cannot find it in my heart to blame her for having sought vengeance upon a man who was perfectly comfortable with causing such misery.”

  “I never knew she was Irish,” said Belinda thoughtfully.

  “And you still don’t,” said Arabella. “This conversation has not taken place.”

  The sky was turning lavender now, and a couple of bats flittered across what promised to be a magnificent summer evening.

  “Bunny,” said Arabella, “how would you like to sleep in the pergola tonight, and watch the moonrise from the moon window?”

  “That sounds heavenly,” Belinda replied. “Pun very much intended! But I shouldn’t like to be inconsiderate of the servants. It will take hours to set up beds for us in the dark.”

  “Yes,” said Arabella. “I suppose you’
re right. That’s why I took the precaution of ordering the pergola beds this morning. . . ”

  Belinda gave a squeal of delight.

  “. . . And seeing that we are already in our night things, I suggest we repair to the garden forthwith.”

  A short time later, the sisters were snuggled into their cots and gazing, with the dreamy introspection that comes only from still summer nights and too much wine, at the cosmos.

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to remain awake all night, and watch the stars wink out, one after another, when dawn steals across the heavens?”

  “Yes! Let’s do that,” said Belinda.

  “Oh, no; I didn’t mean tonight. I have a very busy day tomorrow.”

  “Really? Now that you’re assured of your money, I should think you would want to amuse yourself!”

  “That is exactly what I intend to do,” said Arabella. “I am having breakfast with Garth. Elliot is coming for dinner in the afternoon and then I’m going out to a late supper with the duke, just like the sphinx.”

  Realizing that her sister was indulging in artistic metaphor again, Belinda decided to needle her a little.

  “You’re so learned, Bell,” she said. “I never knew that the sphinx had even met those gentlemen.”

  Arabella was unperturbed.

  “I shall begin my day with the fiery passion of youth, then progress, in the afternoon, to experience and finesse, and finally end with comfort and security,” she said. “Thus, I shall experience all the phases of adult life in a single day!”

  “Four legs, two legs, three legs? But, surely . . .”

  “I wasn’t being literal, Bunny. Garth is somewhat younger than I, Mr. Elliot is roughly my own age, and the duke is somewhat older. Three generations, more or less; each with its own advantages. That is all I meant.”

  “I see,” Belinda said, smiling in the darkness. “The sphinx metaphor doesn’t quite apply, then, does it? Because they’ve all got three legs.”

  “Yes, indeed!” said Arabella happily. “Especially Garth.”

  GLOSSARY

  A–E

  arsy-varsey: arse over ears. To tumble backward.

  chuffed: flattered

  cove: a man

  crack salesman: a pimp, or brothel keeper

  dolly shop: pawnbroker’s

  F–J

  fart catcher: a footman

  four-legged frolic: sexual intercourse

  gasser: a humorous situation

  give the crows a pudding: to have crows feasting on one’s corpse

  gnarler: a snarling lap dog

  goggles: eyes

  hide the bone: sexual intercourse

  K–O

  Marshalsea, the: a private prison, run for profit, containing mostly debtors

  mattress jig: sexual intercourse

  moon-eyed hen: a woman with a squint

  morris off: leave

  mort: a woman

  muffin man: a pimp

  nanny house: a brothel

  P–T

  peckish: hungry

  pugilist: boxer

  rhino: money

  round heels: one who is easily tipped over onto her back

  row: fight

  shit sack: a dastardly fellow

  sprats: children

  stale: a prostitute

  tinsel weeks: the first few weeks of a honeymoon

  THE CYPRIAN SOCIETY CLUB ROSTER

  The twenty-nine members include:

  1. Almond, Idina—A small, pointed chin, unruly curls, and enormous eyes. A regular kitten.

  2. Beaumont, Arabella—You already know her, of course, but what you don’t know is that, since there are so many members by that name, our Arabella is going to elect, for club purposes, to be known as “Thetis.”

  3. Beaumont, Belinda—When she hears that her sister will be taking a more exotic name, Belinda will decide to have one, too. Because two siblings named Thetis and Belinda seems ridiculous. Belinda’s club name will be “Semele.”

  4. Birdwood, Cecily—Her miniature portraits would never have brought in much income on their own. But people found it thrilling to have their portraits painted, and be able to say, “It was done by a courtesan,” which resulted in a windfall for the artist.

  5. Carnac, Kitty—Plump, sweet, and delectable. A kind of blond version of Belinda.

  6. Chandler, Rosabel—A redhead, famous for her eccentric habit of fashioning jewelry out of food.

  7. Cobb, Victorine—Possessed of such a lovely face that she might have married a sovereign, had she had a fortune to go with it. As it was, her face earned the fortune for her.

  8. Denbigh, Louisa—She had a most fetching gap between her front teeth. And you know what they say about gap-toothed women.

  9. Desta, Feben—Style. My God, she had style! This woman not only knew how to dress, but how to set a table, throw a party, drive through town, behave in public when encountering an enemy. Arabella was quite envious of her.

  10. Entwistle, Isabella—A terrifying, icy blonde, known in some circles as the Viking Princess, Isabella was born without emotions. But this stood her in good stead when it came to negotiating, passing judgments, or dealing with the suddenly dead.

  11. Farrell, Olympia—A voice like an angel’s, speaking and singing. An accomplished musician, too. She was one of those people who could pick up any instrument and play as though she’d been practicing for years.

  12. Fortescue, Amber—First cousin to Arabella and Belinda Beaumont.

  13. Fortescue, Claire—Amber’s sister.

  14. Fortescue, Ivy—Amber’s other sister.

  The Fortescues must be credited with saving their Beaumont cousins from starvation after Charles lost the house, but they are also responsible for Arabella and Belinda’s entry into a life of shame and ignominy. Judge them how you will. (Perhaps it should be mentioned that Ivy cheated Arabella out of the price of her maidenhead, promising her fifty percent and giving her ten pounds when Ivy had actually charged the customer one hundred pounds. But that is all water under the bridge. Probably.

  15. Fox, Arabella—Like her name, red-haired and sly. Also a fabulous storyteller—could keep a roomful of people enthralled for hours.

  16. Golder-Green, Amy—Dressed, acted, rode, shot, fenced, climbed, threw, and ran like a man, but looked, smelt, and tasted exactly like a woman.

  17. Grant, Frances—Wonderfully observant. Wrote for the newspapers under the initials “F.G.”

  18. Hearn, Philomela—Six feet tall, and fond of fancy dress. But like Thetis, she was always recognized, no matter what disguise she attempted.

  19. Imbrey, Arabella—Unbelievable stamina. When not working, she loved best to walk, and was rumored to have trudged the length of Britain four times.

  20. Laithwaite, Dido (aka the Clap Trap)—Her nickname was undeserved. The man who gave it to her—both the nickname, and the reason for it—had also enjoyed the favors of his wife on the same evening. It was actually she who had given him the pox. Dido, fortunately, escaped infection. Nevertheless, the nickname followed her everywhere. Eventually, she got used to it.

  21. Le Marchand, Marguerite—A handsome Jewess. Sharp-tongued, shrewd at business, and extremely amusing company.

  22. L’Etoille, Alouette—From Bigasse, France. And the reader can well imagine the jests that were made of that. Her Frenchness was suspect. She frequently forgot to have an accent, and didn’t know the meaning of many French words and phrases. She looked French, though.

  23. Moon, Fanny—Sweet-faced, kindhearted, self-effacing, and loyal. If one didn’t know better, one would have taken her for an upstanding, decent young woman.

  24. Savory, Pearl—Tiny—only four feet, eleven inches! Her hair was so long she could sit upon it, although Marguerite observed that if Philomela had Pearl’s hair, it would barely reach her shoulders.

  25. Snow, Polonia—She had the whitest of white skin, with the blackest of black hair, and red lips. Like the fairy-tale princess, without the
dwarf entourage.

  26. Terhune, Arabella—A keen legal mind. Had she been a man, she would have given legendary barrister Henry Brougham a run for his money. As things stood, she gave him something quite different.

  27. Tilden, May—A buxom brunette whose large, cowlike eyes had a bovine expression, even when closed. Men obsessed with their own mothers found her fatally attractive.

  28. Twist, Calypso—This was not her real name. It couldn’t have been!

  29. Worthington, Constance—Should be familiar enough to readers by now to require no introduction. Besides, were I to give her one, it could not help but be uncomplimentary.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

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  Copyright © 2015 by Pamela Christie

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8645-1

  eISBN-10: 0-7582-8645-7

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: January 2015

  ISBN: 978-0-7582-8644-4

  ISBN-10: 0-7582-8644-9

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: January 2015

  Notes

  1 This was not the traditional type of registry in which thoroughbred bloodlines are documented, but a catalogue of London’s most attractive men, complete with measurements and other personal details. Such directories pertaining to the city’s women had long been available, but, so far as Arabella knew, there had never before been any kind of book for women about the men by whom they were surrounded. Her compendium, nearly finished now, was all-inclusive, and the making of it had afforded the author great personal satisfaction. She had enjoyed the research, particularly.