“Not in so many words.” I had learned it from Grimsby the valet’s dossier of misdemeanors. “Although he has never bothered to deny it.”
Wolfgang muttered something in German. It was uncomplimentary. I could tell from the tone, even if the words themselves were new to me.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “It’s all moot now anyway.”
He scowled. “He shouldn’t be speaking to you about such things.”
Perhaps not. It was a tad inappropriate, perhaps, when we weren’t related and weren’t romantically involved. “He doesn’t, mostly. And from now on, I’m sure Laetitia will stop him from speaking to me about anything at all.”
“Good,” Wolfgang said decisively and twirled me around so the skirt of my—virginal, white—frock fluttered.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Tell me what to do, Pippa,”Constance said.
The party was over, at least for the two of us. There were a few stragglers still downstairs, but they were slowly making their way up, too. We could hear them on the staircase, and out in the hall, and above our heads. I ought to be up there myself, given the late hour, but after Christopher and I had dragged a legless Francis up the stairs and into Bluebell—I’m taller than Constance by several inches, so it made more sense for me to take Francis’s other side while his distraught fiancée ran ahead, wringing her hands, to open the door—she had pulled me into Primrose and shoved me onto the divan.
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” I said, folding my hands primly in my lap and getting comfortable. “He was going to backslide sooner or later. He did in July, after Abigail and the baby showed up at Beckwith Place. Now it’s September. Honestly, I don’t think two month intervals are terrible.”
Constance didn’t say anything, and I added, “And all he’s doing is drinking too much. Christopher will make sure he doesn’t get into anything else. Not that there’s likely to be anything to get into. Francis doesn’t travel with Veronal anymore…”
“You told me about Mr. Rivers,” Constance said tonelessly. “He’ll have whatever Francis requires.”
“Christopher won’t let that happen.” And besides, I doubted that Dominic Rivers traveled with a suitcase full of pharmacology, just on the off-chance that someone might ask him for something he could provide. If someone had invited him here for an exchange of goods for money, Dom would have brought the requested substance with him. That was how it worked. But he probably hadn’t come prepared for a bustling evening of business. Certainly not of anything Francis might want to indulge in. He’s not much for party dope, my cousin. When he uses, it’s with the purpose of dulling the senses, not enhancing them.
Constance looked doubtful, and I reassured her. “I promise. Christopher will take care of him. He’s a light sleeper. If Francis tries to get up in the middle of the night, Christopher will wake up and go with him. He won’t let Francis do anything stupid. And honestly, with as much as he has had to drink tonight, the only place he’s likely to go, is the lavatory.”
Constance bit her lip, and I added, “Just be prepared that he’ll be a bear tomorrow morning. Give him lots of coffee and water. Make sure he eats something. And keep him away from Wolfgang for the rest of the weekend.”
Constance looked wretched. “Are you angry with him, Pippa?”
“Of course not,” I said. How could I be? “Francis spent two years in the trenches, being shot at by people who sound like Wolfgang. Robbie died in the War. So did a lot of other people Francis knew and presumably cared for. Of course he’s upset.”
Constance nodded.
“But it wasn’t Wolfgang’s fault. He wasn’t there. He was too young to be conscripted, and he didn’t volunteer. Francis oughtn’t take it out on him.”
“I imagine it’s not that easy,” Constance murmured. I was about to respond, but before I could, there was a knock on the door. “Come in.”
I had expected Francis, in case he had gotten a second wind between the time we had left him in Christopher’s care and now, or perhaps Christopher himself, to let us know that Francis was settled and asleep, and for Constance not to worry.
In a pinch, I suppose it might have been Laetitia Marsden, looking for a heart-to-heart with her cousin. Not that they’d ever been on those terms, but miracles do happen, even if Laetitia was far more likely, in my opinion, to have her heart-to-hearts with one of the Bright Young Things.
As it happened, it was neither of the above. Instead, the young maid I had noticed in the ballroom earlier, the one who had brought Constance the cup of tea, stood in the doorway. “Would you like help before bed, Miss Constance?”
“No, thank you, Nellie,” Constance said gently. Nellie looked younger than the both of us, a fresh-faced twenty-one or so, and quite pretty, in that perfect English rose way, with big, blue eyes and soft brown hair trimmed in a tidy French bob under a little frilled cap.
She turned to me. “Miss Darling? Do you require help with your toilette?”
I shook my head. “That’s not necessary, thank you, Nellie. I’m used to dressing myself.”
Nellie nodded. She made no move towards the door, however, and after a moment, I added, “Some of the other young ladies might appreciate it. I don’t get the impression that Laetitia or that cow who was dancing with the insufferable Bilge handle their own toilette.”
Nellie looked like she wanted to smile but didn’t quite dare to. Constance had no such compunction. “The cow is Bilge’s wife, Lady Serena Fortescue,” she told me with a giggle. “Andno, she’s definitely not used to handling her own toilette. Nor is Laetitia. But she has her own lady’s maid. So does my aunt. Nellie is just stepping up for the occasion.”
“That’s kind of you, Nellie,” I said. “I’m sorry we have no need for your help.”
“That’s quite all right, Miss Darling.” She took a backwards step towards the door. “Perhaps I’ll go see if Lady Serena is in need of assistance.”
