Virtuous Cyprian Read online

  Lucille froze. Did Susanna hate dogs? She had no idea. Seagrave was looking quite bland, but she suddenly had an unnerving feeling that he was deliberately testing her. She shrugged lightly.

  ‘I do not recall…’

  ‘When you were driving in the Park one day last summer…or was it two summers ago?’ Seagrave mused. ‘Harriette Wilson’s dog bit your arm and I am sure I remember you saying you thought they were hateful creatures and should all be destroyed. You were quite vehement on the subject!’

  Lucille mentally added another item to the list of things about Susanna which she found unattractive. The list was getting rather long and she was learning far more about her sister than she had known from the first seventeen years of their lives together. As for Harriette Wilson, Lucille knew her to be a legendary Cyprian in the same mould as Susanna, but her choice in pets was beyond her. ‘Oh, well…’ she managed to sound quite vague ‘…that dreadful little, yapping creature—’

  ‘Miss Wilson has a wolfhound, as I recall,’ Seagrave commented, with mild irony. ‘Scarcely a small creature, and one which left a scar on your arm.’

  Lucille glanced down instinctively, although she was wearing a jacket whose sleeves covered her arms from shoulder to wrist. Which arm would Susanna have injured? How could she tell? This was getting ridiculous. She cast about hastily for a change of topic.

  ‘And what do you call your horse, sir?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Seagrave sounded mystified at the sudden change of direction.

  ‘Your horse—that magnificent creature I have heard that you ride about your estate. Surely it must have some equally magnificent name?’

  Seagrave laughed. ‘I named him after Alexander the Great’s steed, Miss Kellaway! A conceit, I suppose, though he is worthy of it!’

  ‘Bucephalus,’ Lucille said absently, then recollected herself again as Seagrave shifted slightly, giving her a look that was quizzical to say the least.

  ‘You have an interest in classical history, Miss Kellaway? I would never have suspected it! You must have inherited some of your father’s scholarly nature, after all!’

  What did he mean, ‘after all’? Lucille bit her lip. She was bristling with indignation at the slur on her intelligence but since she knew Seagrave was actually criticising Susanna rather than herself, she realised she should not regard it. She reminded herself that Susanna would shudder to be thought a bluestocking. ‘Lud, we were always being fed such tedious facts at school,’ she said, as carelessly as she could. ‘How tiresome to discover that some of it remains with me! I would rather die than become an intellectual!’

  ‘No danger of that!’ Seagrave said laconically. ‘I imagine your talents must lie in other directions!’

  The comprehensively assessing look he gave her made Lucille tingle suddenly with an awareness which was completely outside her experience. She shivered in the cool air. Strangely she felt no insult, as she had done with Sir Edwin. The shadows were deepening with every moment, creating a dangerously intimate atmosphere about them. The thin, sickle moon rising above the branches of the yew and the scent of honeysuckle on the breeze did nothing to dispel this illusion.

  Seagrave took another step towards her. He was now so close that he could have reached out and touched her but as yet he made no move to do so. Lucille’s pulse was racing, the blood singing quick and light through her veins. Her mouth was dry and she moistened her lips nervously, watching in fascination as Seagrave’s gaze followed the movement of her tongue, the look in his eyes suddenly so sexually explicit that she caught her breath. Then Sal ran forward, barking at shadows and Lucille turned hastily towards the lych-gate.

  ‘I’ll bid you good evening, sir.’ She hardly recognised her own voice, so shaken it sounded.

  Seagrave caught up to her at the gate. ‘I saw you coming out of the church, Miss Kellaway,’ he said abruptly. ‘Can this be some remarkable conversion to moral rectitude?’

  The mocking undertone in his voice banished the magical spell his presence had cast on Lucille. She had read about physical attraction, she reminded herself sharply, and knew that it had nothing to do with loving, liking or respecting another person. No doubt she should just be grateful that Seagrave was indeed no Sir Edwin Bolt, with his insultingly lewd comments and disgusting mauling of Susanna’s naked flesh. Only she, Lucille, in her inexperience, had for a moment confused that intense physical awareness with feelings of a deeper and more meaningful kind.

  ‘Did you imagine that I was there to steal the candlesticks?’ she snapped, angry with herself for her susceptibility and with him for his sarcasm. She gathered up her skirts in one hand to enable her to walk away from him more quickly. ‘Do you exercise the right to decree whether your tenants attend church or not, my lord? Take care that you do not assume too many of the Almighty’s own privileges!’

  Seagrave’s eyes narrowed at this before he unexpectedly burst out laughing. ‘A well-judged reproof, Miss Kellaway! What a contradictory creature you are! Come, I shall escort you back to Cookes!’

  Lucille preferred not to torment herself with his company. ‘Thank you, but there is not the least need! Good night, sir!’

  Seagrave, who was used to having his companionship actively sought by women rather than abruptly refused, found this rather amusing. He wished he had kissed her when he had had the chance. He watched with a rueful smile as her small, upright figure crossed the green and disappeared in at the gates of Cookes. Susanna Kellaway…He frowned abruptly, recalling what he knew of her. His wits must be a-begging to find her remotely attractive.

  He knew she was supposed to exercise a powerful sexual sway over her conquests, but the attraction he had felt had been far more complex than mere lust. God alone knew what had prompted him to tell her about Salamanca. If he had not forcibly stopped himself, he imagined he would have blurted out all about his alienation from normal life, the driven madness which had possessed him when he had returned from the wars…Damnation! This sojourn in the country must be making him soft in the head! He called Sal sharply to heel and set off across the moonlit fields back to Dillingham Court.

  The good weather broke the following day, and Lucille spent the morning curled up in the drawing-room with an ancient map of Dillingham that she had found in her father’s study. Each lane and dwelling was carefully labelled; Cookes was there, though at that time it was still a row of individual timbered cottages, drawn with skill and precision by the cartographer’s pen. On the other side of Dragon Hill, the only high land in the area, lay a beautifully stylised house named on the map as Dillingham Court and surrounded by its pleasure gardens. Lucille’s curiosity was whetted, but she knew it was unlikely that she would ever see the Court in real life.

  There had still been no word from Susanna, and two weeks had already passed. Lucille no longer really believed that her sister would return in the time she had promised, and she itched to be away from Cookes. Wearing Susanna’s character, even without an audience, suddenly grated on her. If only Seagrave had not come to Dillingham! Lucille shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her conscience pricking her again.

  Immediately after luncheon the rain ceased, driven away by a brisk wind that hurried the ragged clouds across the sky. Lucille was tired of being cooped up all day. She put on a pair of stout boots to protect her from the puddles and called for the carriage to be brought round.

  ‘I wish to go to the seaside, John,’ she told the startled coachman.

  It was six miles to the sea at the nearest point, which was Shingle Street, and the journey was a slow one over rutted tracks. Clearly John thought that she was mad to attempt such an expedition, but Lucille did not care. Once out of the village environs, the lush green fields soon gave way to thick forest and heathland, flat, dark and empty to the horizons. On such a grey day it was both forbidding and desolate, but Lucille found it a fascinating place. When they finally reached the sea, she descended from the carriage to be met by the full force of the wind and was almost bl
own over. The fresh salty tang of the air was exhilarating.

  Feeling much better, Lucille told John that she would walk along the shore for a little way and asked him to meet her at the gates of the only house she had seen in the vicinity. Scratching his head, the coachman watched her walk off along the shingle beach, a slight, lonely figure in her outmoded coat and boots. How could two sisters be so different? he wondered. Miss Susanna Kellaway never walked anywhere if she could ride; more fundamentally, she had never said please or thank you in all the time he had worked for her.

  The walking was hard along the shingle, and the power of the waves was awesome at close quarters. The sea was gunmetal grey, a heaving, bad-tempered maelstrom as it hurled itself on the shore. Seabirds screamed and wheeled overhead. Here and there, sea wrack was scattered across the beach; flotsam and jetsam from ships, bent and misshapen after their time in the water. Lucille stooped to consider a few pieces and picked up a piece of wood that had been worn smooth by the force of the waves.

  She had reached a point where there was a set of ancient, worn steps cut into the shingle and she turned away from the sea to follow them up the small cliff. On the headland the turf was smooth and springy, the path skirting an ancient fence which marked the boundary of the house Lucille had seen earlier. She paused, wondering who could have chosen to live in so desolate a spot. The house itself was hidden from her view by a well-established shrubbery and cluster of gnarled trees, but it looked a substantial dwelling. And as she considered it, leaning on the fence, a voice from near at hand said:

  ‘Goddess! Excellently bright!’

  Lucille jumped and spun around. The voice was of a rich, deep-velvet quality and would have carried from pit to gallery at a Drury Lane theatre. Emerging from the shrubbery was an extraordinary figure, a large woman of indeterminate age, wrapped in what seemed like endless scarves of blue chiffon and purple gauze in complete defiance of the climate. Over her arm was a basket full of roses and at her heels stalked a large fluffy white cat. The most worldly-wise, disillusioned pair of dark eyes that Lucille had ever seen were appraising her thoughtfully.

  ‘That, Miss Kellaway,’ the lady said impressively, ‘was in tribute to your beauty and was—’

  ‘Ben Jonson,’ Lucille said, spontaneously. ‘Yes, I know!’

  The pessimistic dark eyes focussed on her more intently. ‘Would you care to take tea with me, Miss Kellaway? I have so few visitors here for I am not recognised in the county!’

  For a moment, Lucille wondered what on earth she meant. It seemed impossible that such a character would remain unrecognised wherever she went.

  ‘I am Bessie Bellingham,’ the lady continued, grandly. ‘The Dowager Lady Bellingham! Bessie Bowles, as was!’

  She paused, clearly expecting the recognition she deserved, and Lucille did not disappoint her.

  ‘Of course! I have read of you, ma’am—your performance as Viola in Twelfth Night was accounted one of the best ever seen at Drury Lane, and the papers were forever arguing over whether comedy or melodrama was your forté!’

  ‘Well, well, before your time, my child!’ But Lady Bellingham was smiling, well pleased, and the cat was rubbing around Lucille’s ankles and purring. ‘My own favourite was Priscilla Tomboy in The Romp, but it was a long time ago, before I met dear Bellingham and ended up in this mausoleum!’

  She took Lucille’s arm and steered her through the shrubbery towards the house. ‘You have no idea how delighted I was when I saw you on the beach,’ she continued. ‘Of course, I had heard that you were staying in Dillingham—my maid, Conchita, knows everything! And I thought that, as we two are the black sheep of the neighbourhood, we could take tea and talk of the London this provincial crowd will never know!’

  Lucille remembered, with a sudden uprush of alarm, that Lady Bellingham, in common with the whole of Suffolk, would think that she was Susanna. But it was too late to cry off—the house had come into view and Lady Bellingham was drawing her forward up the wide, shallow steps and onto the terrace. It was, Lucille thought, a particularly ugly house, foursquare and squat, brick-built and crouching low to the ground as though sheltering from the wind off the sea. And how such a character as Lady Bellingham could choose to immure herself here, Lucille could not imagine.

  ‘I am seldom at home,’ Lady Bellingham was saying as though she had read Lucille’s thoughts, ‘for I travel a great deal on the continent—when the European situation will allow! But for now you find me all alone—’ she gave a theatrical shrug ‘—and happy for some distraction!’

  They had gone into the drawing-room, which was stuffed full of furniture mostly in the French style. Lady Bellingham subsided on to the gilt-wood settee, and Lucille somewhat gingerly perched on one of the matching, silk-upholstered chairs, which proved a lot less spindly than it looked. The cat, graciously accepting the bonbon Lady Bellingham held out, curled up in a large fauteuil and fell instantly asleep. Lady Bellingham rang a small brass bell and ordered tea, then turned her world-weary gaze back to Lucille.

  ‘So tell me how dear Bertie Penscombe is these days,’ she invited, her dark eyes sparkling with malicious enjoyment. ‘Is it really true that you have thrown him over for Seagrave? Not that I can fault you there, my dear! Seagrave has to be one of the most charismatic men that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting! Now, if I were thirty years younger…’ She helped herself to another bonbon, her eyes never leaving Lucille’s face.

  Lucille found herself to be completely tongue-tied. She was unable to comment on the attributes of Susanna’s former lover, and was all too aware of the attractions of the Earl of Seagrave. And as she hesitated fatally, Lady Bellingham clapped her hands together in a sudden, energetic gesture that made Lucille jump.

  ‘No, no, no, no, no, no!’ she said abruptly and melodramatically. ‘I have puzzled over it since we first met, and I cannot account for it! You cannot be the Cyprian!’

  To be unmasked so emphatically, in tones which would have riveted an entire audience, silenced Lucille completely. Lady Bellingham, seeing her total confusion, smiled in kindly fashion.

  ‘No need to look so shocked, my poor child! It is simply that I have played the Cyprian—oh, many and many times! You do not have the air, the style!’ She got to her feet. ‘A courtesan minces, so…’ it was ludicrous to see that solid figure prancing across the drawing-room in such an accurate and cruel caricature of Susanna’s provocatively swaying walk ‘…and she has the air…’ Lady Bellingham stuck her nose in the air and raised a hand to her forehead in an exact parody of Susanna’s delicate, die-away affectations. ‘I vow,’ she said in a languishing drawl, ‘’tis impossible to choose between Lord Rook and Lord Crow, but for their fortune!’

  Lucille could not help herself. She gave a peal of laughter.

  ‘And your dress, the hair…’ Lady Bellingham was shaking her head sorrowfully. ‘My dear Miss Kellaway, if Miss Kellaway you really are, it simply will not do!’

  ‘I know I am very bad at it,’ Lucille said regretfully. ‘You see, Lady Bellingham, I had no idea…and Susanna had so little time…Oh dear, now I really am in the suds!’

  ‘Tell me All!’ Lady Bellingham said impressively, her dark eyes sparkling at Lucille over the rim of her teacup. ‘Horace and I—’ she eyed the sleeping cat with affection ‘—have so little excitement! Can you be Susanna Kellaway’s sister?’

  ‘I am Lucille Kellaway and I am her twin,’ Lucille confirmed sadly, ‘and lamentably poor at impersonating her!’

  ‘Well,’ Lady Bellingham said astringently, ‘that is no bad thing! Why pretend to be a Cyprian when one is not? Lord knows, there’s precious little amusement in it, whatever one might think!’

  Lucille was beginning to feel better under this unsentimental assessment. Slowly, the whole story came out, of Susanna’s request to her and her own foolish agreement. Lady Bellingham nodded and ate biscuits and stroked Horace absentmindedly.

  ‘I only wanted to escape the confines of the school for a li
ttle, and visit the place where our father had lived,’ Lucille finished ruefully. ‘I had no idea that matters would get so complicated! But not only do the villagers detest having Susanna amongst them, but I have been obliged to deceive the Earl of Seagrave—something which I would have wished to avoid at all costs!’

  Lady Bellingham put down her cup and brushed the biscuit crumbs absentmindedly from the folds of her scarves. ‘Seagrave…yes…’ she said thoughtfully. ‘He is not the man to try to cozen! His father was another such—an honourable man, but most awe-inspiring! Not like your own dear papa, my dear—’ her eyes twinkled at Lucille ‘—with whom I once flirted at a hunt breakfast! A gentleman and a scholar, George Kellaway, and quite, quite charming! But he had not an ounce of Seagrave’s authority!’

  ‘I plan to leave Dillingham as soon as I may,’ Lucille said in a rush, ‘and put an end to this imprudent charade! I have been very foolish and do not wish for matters to go any further!’

  ‘A pity!’ Lady Bellingham smiled warmly at her. ‘I am persuaded that I could have taught you sufficient tricks to pull it off! But if you would rather not…’ She shrugged her ample shoulders. ‘Now, I see your carriage is waiting and I should not delay you, for it is a slow drive back to Dillingham! But come and see me again, dear child, for I have enjoyed your visit immensely!’

  ‘You have been very kind to me, ma’am,’ Lucille said, slowly, ‘and I am very glad to have met you! I was quite blue-devilled today!’

  Lady Bellingham enfolded Lucille in a warm embrace and insisted on coming with her to the front door, where John the coachman was waiting, having been summoned from his vigil at the gates by the butler. They drove slowly away down the chestnut-lined drive, and Lucille waved to the bulky, chiffon-draped figure on the steps until they were out of sight.

  The encounter with Lady Bellingham certainly lifted Lucille’s spirits. She now had even less sympathy for a society which could deny itself the pleasure of the company of such an idiosyncratic character through pure snobbery. It seemed that former actresses, like Cyprians, were not to be received or even acknowledged amongst the bigoted gentry of Suffolk. The thought bred determination and bravado. There was not the least need, Lucille told herself, to spend her remaining time in Dillingham moping behind closed doors.