Lady Susan Plays the Game by Janet Todd Page B

smiled at each other, nodded heads and passed on. Lady Susan had a whiff of too much scent on old flesh.
    In their lodgings in Henrietta Street Frederica had been asleep for many hours. But her mother was too alert even to lie down. So she sat on the sofa to write to Alicia Johnson.
    She was careful not to be very explicit, though the two women were frank when they met. She trusted Alicia completely but suspected her of carelessness at home, of leaving her letters around for her husband to see. Otherwise it was difficult to explain the progress of his dislike. Once in liquor he had been over-attentive, after which he’d greeted her stiffly. Now he denied her the house. Alicia said it was her reputation for gambling – he thought only men should lay high bets; Lady Susan suspected it was due to Mr Johnson’s perusal of one of her own indiscreet notes.
    Alicia Johnson criticised her husband, yet would not take him to task for prying – she even denied he did it. Lady Susan knew full well that, since their schooldays, Alicia had never loved anyone as much as she had Lady Susan but, for all her mockery of Mr Johnson, she had a residual respect for her elderly, shambling and shrewd spouse. The marriage had been childless – whose fault she didn’t know – but Alicia was grateful that her husband didn’t lay it to her charge; having married a younger wife, he had had hopes. In most areas of life Alicia was more tolerant than her lovelier friend.
    The day before Lady Susan and Frederica were due to leave town, the Johnsons at last came from the country. The two women were quickly together for, as soon as her husband hobbled into his chair and out to Brooke’s, Mrs Johnson sent a message to invite her friend to take tea. She wanted to see her desperately – and let her admire the drawing room in Edward Street, newly furnished and decorated while they were away.
All that ghastly gold damask has gone
, she had written,
Mr Johnson has no taste
.
    â€˜I would have been here days ago, my dear, if I could. You know I loathe the country and besides you were in town and I have hated losing any precious minute.’
    Their talk was general. The new furnishings, the Sheraton-style cabinets, the cotton and damask wall hangings with matching curtains, all suitably admired, the chronic ill health of Mr Johnson – he had been told he had a sciatica now as well as gout – all too slight to take him to Bath for the cure and out of his lady’s way. Mr Johnson was not a bad man, she told Lady Susan, but he talked inconsequentially. ‘He has not mastered the art of telling – as we have, my dear.’
    They did the miseries of Norfolk and the difficulties Lady Susan was having with an unmanageable daughter. Then they talked of Lord Gamestone; Alicia had thought him a fine catch for her beautiful friend – discreet as well as rich and generous. She was sorry to hear the affair was ending. Finally they turned to their old schoolfellow Charlotte Manwaring.
    â€˜Yes, poor thing,’ Mrs Johnson sighed. ‘Her cousin Jane Dawlish is with her at Langford too, I think. She’s a more knowing sort of body than our dear friend.’
    â€˜Are you warning me?’ smiled Lady Susan. ‘It hardly matters whether I like some hanger-on or other. I don’t notice them.’
    â€˜Of course not. But they will notice you, Susan, and all your doings.’ She paused and gave her friend a quizzical look. ‘She will not be your friend if there’s someone there whom you do come to like and who may like you.’
    â€˜You must mean the husband – or do you mean the daughter’s lover? Wouldn’t he be too young, even for me?’
    â€˜I certainly do not mean poor Sir James. Though he’s a bit of a favourite of mine – he’s so easily wheedled. I knew his mother, a large, dominating, sharp-talking woman who kept him on her apron strings. The