snapped.
Eliza had managed to edge away from Major Arabin's hand. 'So you see, in today's rehearsal,' murmured Mrs Bruce in her ear, 'to oblige our friend to explain her feelings on the subject of a cold-hearted husband and a shamed wife ... well, you couldn't have known, of course.'
Eliza bit her Hp hard.
'Don't distress yourself, my dear,' said Derby.
She stiffened at the phrase and averted her head. He knew he was never to use endearments in public.
'Might this be a suitable interval for tea?' The Duchess of Richmond stood in the door of the saloon, blithe as always.
They all shot up. Had she heard them talking about her sister? If she had you wouldn't know it. The members of the World had such self-mastery, Eliza thought. But then, so had she, once she'd got over her mortification. 'Perfectly suitable, Your Ladyship,' she carolled, leading the group to the door.
S NOW WAS beginning to fall that afternoon, as if the mildness of March had shrunk backwards into winter. The Derby coach turned on to Grosvenor Square, the largest and most impressive of the three squares in Mayfair. It was more like a parade ground than a place to live, Eliza always thought, but it was popular; she'd once heard Derby mention that more than half its residents were tided. The oval park was thick with trees; the iron railings had a fresh coat of black paint, she noticed, and the statue of George I as a Roman emperor had been regilded.
'Are you sure it's wise to follow Mrs Darner?' Mrs Farren was clutching her workbag. 'His Lordship himself said it was none of your fault, the little upset.'
'You go on home, Mother, I won't be long,' said Eliza instead of answering.
'Well. If you're sure. I suppose it gives you an excuse to pay a call and get on visiting terms,' she added, brightening.
Eliza suppressed her irritation. Everything was policy for Margaret Farren; every step was an inch further up the ladder.
As they passed the irregular roof line of the north side she rapped on the ceiling, but the driver didn't rein in till fifty yards on, where the imposing arches and half-columns of Derby House stood out from the terrace.
'It was number 8 I wanted,' she said, as he opened the door and unfurled a large canvas umbrella.
'Number 8?' He repeated it as if it were a vastly inferior address. 'Ah, Mrs Damer's. Very good, madam.'
It nettled Eliza, somehow, to have him guess the name of the person she was visiting, but on the other hand what use was a coachman who didn't know where everybody lived? 'It's all right,' said Eliza, stepping down, 'I'll walk from here.'
'M'Lord wouldn't like that, not in this weather,' said the coachman, so she sighed and climbed back in. He cracked the whip and turned the horses round; this was the only square where there was enough room for such a manoeuvre without tangling the traces. They were a splendid pair of bays, highly trained as well as handsome, she could tell that much; Derby always had the best carriage horses money and sense could buy.
'Could you please bring my mother home to Great Queen Street?'
'Certainly, madam. And I'll be back here whenever you need me,' he said indulgently.
Mrs Farren stuck her head out of the window as Eliza got down. 'Shall I wait dinner?'
'No, no.'
'I'll keep something warm at least,' she cried as the carriage pulled away. The coat of arms, with the motto in Gothic lettering, Sans changer, had already grown a faint mould of snow.
Eliza's stomach was tight with tension as she rapped on the door of no. 8, a narrow four-storey house in red brick with stone facings and a patterned fanlight. A black footman ushered her into the reception room and took her wraps, which were sprinkled with wet flakes. It was all much smaller than Derby House, of course—just two rooms deep. The furniture was mostly satinwood, with slim legs and an airy, modern feel, and there were shiny brass knobs on all the doors. Eliza noted a marble chimney piece and curtains of striped linen on the tall
Eliza had managed to edge away from Major Arabin's hand. 'So you see, in today's rehearsal,' murmured Mrs Bruce in her ear, 'to oblige our friend to explain her feelings on the subject of a cold-hearted husband and a shamed wife ... well, you couldn't have known, of course.'
Eliza bit her Hp hard.
'Don't distress yourself, my dear,' said Derby.
She stiffened at the phrase and averted her head. He knew he was never to use endearments in public.
'Might this be a suitable interval for tea?' The Duchess of Richmond stood in the door of the saloon, blithe as always.
They all shot up. Had she heard them talking about her sister? If she had you wouldn't know it. The members of the World had such self-mastery, Eliza thought. But then, so had she, once she'd got over her mortification. 'Perfectly suitable, Your Ladyship,' she carolled, leading the group to the door.
S NOW WAS beginning to fall that afternoon, as if the mildness of March had shrunk backwards into winter. The Derby coach turned on to Grosvenor Square, the largest and most impressive of the three squares in Mayfair. It was more like a parade ground than a place to live, Eliza always thought, but it was popular; she'd once heard Derby mention that more than half its residents were tided. The oval park was thick with trees; the iron railings had a fresh coat of black paint, she noticed, and the statue of George I as a Roman emperor had been regilded.
'Are you sure it's wise to follow Mrs Darner?' Mrs Farren was clutching her workbag. 'His Lordship himself said it was none of your fault, the little upset.'
'You go on home, Mother, I won't be long,' said Eliza instead of answering.
'Well. If you're sure. I suppose it gives you an excuse to pay a call and get on visiting terms,' she added, brightening.
Eliza suppressed her irritation. Everything was policy for Margaret Farren; every step was an inch further up the ladder.
As they passed the irregular roof line of the north side she rapped on the ceiling, but the driver didn't rein in till fifty yards on, where the imposing arches and half-columns of Derby House stood out from the terrace.
'It was number 8 I wanted,' she said, as he opened the door and unfurled a large canvas umbrella.
'Number 8?' He repeated it as if it were a vastly inferior address. 'Ah, Mrs Damer's. Very good, madam.'
It nettled Eliza, somehow, to have him guess the name of the person she was visiting, but on the other hand what use was a coachman who didn't know where everybody lived? 'It's all right,' said Eliza, stepping down, 'I'll walk from here.'
'M'Lord wouldn't like that, not in this weather,' said the coachman, so she sighed and climbed back in. He cracked the whip and turned the horses round; this was the only square where there was enough room for such a manoeuvre without tangling the traces. They were a splendid pair of bays, highly trained as well as handsome, she could tell that much; Derby always had the best carriage horses money and sense could buy.
'Could you please bring my mother home to Great Queen Street?'
'Certainly, madam. And I'll be back here whenever you need me,' he said indulgently.
Mrs Farren stuck her head out of the window as Eliza got down. 'Shall I wait dinner?'
'No, no.'
'I'll keep something warm at least,' she cried as the carriage pulled away. The coat of arms, with the motto in Gothic lettering, Sans changer, had already grown a faint mould of snow.
Eliza's stomach was tight with tension as she rapped on the door of no. 8, a narrow four-storey house in red brick with stone facings and a patterned fanlight. A black footman ushered her into the reception room and took her wraps, which were sprinkled with wet flakes. It was all much smaller than Derby House, of course—just two rooms deep. The furniture was mostly satinwood, with slim legs and an airy, modern feel, and there were shiny brass knobs on all the doors. Eliza noted a marble chimney piece and curtains of striped linen on the tall
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