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‘I would really like that. Thank your papa, Val. In fact, Scipio’s going home today. He doesn’t like Town life.’

‘Now, Lucie, don’t forget to take Alice as chaperone,’ Lady Godley said with asperity. She was still going to insist on the proprieties until her goddaughter was safely married.

Lucie kissed Lady Godley’s cheek and the two young lords bowed as they took their leave. Their laughter echoed down the stairs and they all headed off to choose a mount from the famous stables of the Duke of Ely.

11

IN WHICH CRESTS ARE LOWERED AND LIFE FLOWS ON

Mr Brabazon wished to exercise his four greys and asked John to harness them to his curricle. He then tooled round to Albemarle Street where he alighted, charging his groom with keeping the horses warm while he disappeared through the familiar blue door. Anthony Brabazon had long prided himself on being impervious to love. His relationships with women were conducted through the prism of erotic convenience and emotional restraint. But all these habits of his life had been upended and he found himself disconcerted, overtaken by an unfamiliar longing for a larger, more vivid life of feeling, desire and love. First he had to deal honestly with those he could no longer accommodate in this new pattern of existence. Mrs Markham had forfeited his loyalty by making public her liaison with Lord Rockliffe. But he owed it to his other long-term inamorata to clarify this change.

After a painful interview where tears were shed and financial settlements made, he left the house for the last time in an unhappy and distracted frame of mind. Barely acknowledging his groom, he climbed back into the driving seat and headed north. Instead of stopping in Grosvenor Square, he continued towards the Park in the hopes of a rattling good drive to settle these unaccustomed feelings. The horses were fresh and flying up Park Street. John had already remonstrated with his master about the speed, but Mr Brabazon was thinking of other things.

Sybella and James, accompanied by Nurse, were walking slowly on their way home from the Egyptian Hall. They had passed Woods Mews with the busy stables and carriage houses, and then the Swan Tavern on the northern end of Park Street, crossing the road to bypass their half-foxed clientele spilling out onto the road. All of Sybella’s small party were weary, even James’s excited chatter had ceased. He was grasping a paper kite bought from the museum and was gazing into the basement windows of the big town houses they passed, on the look-out for any kitchen cats dozing on a windowsill in the sun. Into this quiet procession came the sound of horses’ hooves going at quite a pace. James and Sybella peered down the street and saw a curricle approaching, an extremely smart equipage pulled by four matched greys, their pale manes streaming.

James was the first to recognise them and suddenly extricated his hand from Sybella’s grasp and ran forward, just as the horses drew close. They were being driven at a spanking trot. Sybella was frozen for a moment with shock as James dashed into the road waving his kite, crying, ‘Mr B, Mr B, look what I got!’

As if time was suspended, she watched in agonised horror as her small son tumbled under the leader’s hooves, his flaxen head hitting the ground, his flailing arm in its blue serge suit still holding the kite. She threw herself into the mêlée of hooves just as the horses, whinnying wildly, were pulled up short, the front wheel of the curricle a mere inch or so from James’s head.

Almost instantaneously the driver had leapt down and grasped the rearing horses’ heads, holding them steady until John, his groom, could take over. Mr Brabazon strode to Sybella’s side where she had dragged James clear and was cradling him, bruised and bleeding. Her own bonnet had been ripped off and her arms were muddied, her hand grazed.

She looked up, white and furious with shock and fear. ‘How could you! How could you drive so fast and not see him! And you the best horseman in London!’ Exhaustion and terror had broken her usual constraint, and the emotional turmoil of the last weeks burst from her. ‘How can you be so careless! Keep away from him!’ She held James close to her bosom.

Mr Brabazon fell to his knees beside James’s small body. ‘We must check for injury,’ he said calmly, as if he had not heard her outburst of grief and fury. She released her hold on her son and he gently probed the child’s limbs for any obvious breaks.

When his fingers reached James’s side, the child cried out, ‘Ouch! Mama, it ’urts! Aaaah!’ he wailed.

Mr Brabazon met Sybella’s accusatory eyes and spoke dispassionately. ‘I don’t think any of his limbs are broken, but this pain may mean he’s damaged a rib. I hope no internal injuries. It’s better if he’s kept as flat as possible. We’re close enough to Green Street. Will you permit me to carry James? But I’ll need you to support his head, and Nurse his feet.’

Sybella could only nod. Speech demanded more energy than she could muster.

In this way, they processed up the road and turned into Green Street. James was moaning with every few steps and crying out for his mama. Sybella felt broken with guilt and fear. She had allowed this to happen to the most precious person in her life who relied on her for protection and love. And she had failed in that sacred duty. She had let him down, she had let his dead father down. The guilt overwhelmed her. The only way to mitigate this horror was to deflect some of it into blame and the obvious focus for her fury was Mr Brabazon, arrogant, thoughtless, selfish, recklessly driving far too fast and now the dreadful Nemesis of her fate.

Samson opened the door, and shock at the sight of the limp, bloodied body of Master James made his doleful face lengthen into a mask of tragedy. ‘Samson, can you send for Lady Godley’s doctor?’ Sybella’s voice was barely above a whisper. They laid James down on the sofa in the morning room. She started to undress him to check his limbs for herself, her heart frozen with a cold hand, as James sobbed and cried out in pain.

Mr Brabazon stood by the door. ‘Can I fetch the doctor for you, Mrs Lovatt?’

‘No, thank you. Samson will organise it.’ Sybella did not raise her eyes and her voice was icy.

‘Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything. Just ask.’

‘No. Please just go.’ Somehow, she had summoned enough energy to make the words sting with dismissal. She only looked up as she heard the few words he said to Samson, then the front door clunk shut and the wheels of the curricle rolling away. Tears sprang into her eyes as she gently wrapped her son’s bruised body in a blanket and gave him the horse she had knitted as a present when he was three.

The doctor was reassuring. No major breaks, but only the rib where a horseshoe-shaped bruise had risen lividly on his right side, in purple accusation. He checked James’s breathing, looked closely for any blueness round the lips and said he thought his lungs were undamaged. To help with the pain, he decided to bind his chest with a broad bandage to hold the rib in place while it healed.

‘Now, Mrs Lovatt, Master James needs to take the occasional deep breath throughout the day, to keep his lungs clear. Hold his chest while he takes those breaths as it’s going to be painful. Then, in a week’s time, start singing with him again. Good for the lungs.’ With these brusque words, he was gone, saying blithely over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be back on the morrow to check on our young patient.’

James was looking very forlorn, cradling his knitted horse and wincing every time he tried to move. ‘Where my kite?’ he sobbed pathetically.

‘Don’t worry, darling. We can easily get you another one.’

‘Was showin’ it to Mr B.’

‘I know. But don’t concern yourself now. What would you most like to help you get better? Some warm milk? A bit of toast?’

He shook his head mournfully, then brightened up. ‘Play Papa’s violin, like you used to. Tom Boley.’

‘Ah, you mean “Poor Tom Bowling”. That’s a good song.’ She quickly unpacked her violin. Sybella was still playing the ballad to James when Lucie and Lord Lynwood returned. As they entered the room, their faces were full of concern. She put down her instrument and bow. James was almost asleep and Sybella shepherded them into the back of the room.