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A family. A family of her own and a lovely house. Servants, a carriage, her own lady’s maid, if she wished it. And a short walk away, all her new relations with whom to gossip and laugh and discuss fashions. A life of scarcely imagined luxury and comfort and elegance. And most of all, a handsome and compliant husband.
A family.
Eloise laid her head on her arms and wept.
24: A Mill And A Humiliation
Will considered carefully how best to deal with Somerwell and the matter of the gossip he had spread. He would very much like to knock the fellow down again, but he recalled the casual way that Lord Humphrey had spoken of intimidating him. Will was not as imposing a man as Lord Humphrey and he had no troop of brothers to summon at a moment’s notice, but he was a more powerful figure than Somerwell, whose delicate manners seemed averse to physical argument. That might be turned to advantage.
He was still not a member of any of the celebrated clubs, but Will now belonged to two clubs in the City of London, through the good offices of Pa’s friends. One was full of men of that age, quietly reading the newspapers or discussing business over coffee in twos and threes, which was far too genteel for Will’s purpose. The other was the haunt of younger men, wealthy enough to be properly idle and to enjoy that status to the full. Will had in earlier days been just such a one himself, but had lately begun to find such men tiresome. They would fulfil his purpose well, however.
He wrote to Somerwell inviting him to the club, on the pretext of repaying his hospitality in White’s. He had half expected Somerwell to decline the dubious honour of an invitation to Cheapside, but he replied within the hour to express his pleasure at the prospect. Will had arrived early, to prepare the ground for his guest. Somerwell arrived, therefore, in a cloud of pungent pomade, to find Will seated in a prominent position with a tray of glasses and decanters and dishes of sweetmeats set nearby.
The formalities of greeting out of the way, they settled to conversation over glasses of port. Somerwell wanted to talk about Rosie, naturally. The man was obsessed with her, and although he was more circumspect in his language than before, it was clear that he felt no doubt he would soon lead her to the altar.
Will scratched his nose. That was the signal, and the steward loitering at the far side of the room slipped silently away. Within moments, half a dozen men poured into the room in loud dispute, Hatts and Tibbs to the fore, one angrily defensive, the other accusatory.
“You’d better knock it off, Hatts, you hear? Or I’ll knock your head off, I give you fair warning.”
“It’s all nonsense,” Hatts said, backing across the room, hands raised placatingly. “I never said a word about your sister, not a word!”
“It must have been you, and I won’t have it, I tell you.”
“Aye, it’s too bad, spreading foul rumours about a sweet, innocent girl like that,” another one cut in.
Two stewards appeared and remonstrated with them, but they took not the slightest notice, too intent on their quarrel even to listen.
“You apologise right now, Hatts,” another said, poking him in the chest so hard that he had to take a step back, “or Tibbs will have to call you out.”
“No need for that,” growled another. “We can settle this right now.”
And with no hesitation, they all set to. Tables flew over, a tray of glasses crashed to the ground, and two gentlemen playing backgammon in a corner jumped up and joined the fray. The two stewards hopped around ineffectually on the fringes, tugging on flailing arms or legs that came within range, then jumping away before they could be punched in the face.
Will moved the tray to a safer position, and then watched, rather admiring the enthusiasm the men put into their performance. But it could not be allowed to continue for too long, so he strode out and hauled first one and then another out of the mêlée and tossing them effortlessly across the room, where they lay groaning in convincing style. More stewards arrived to take charge, and in no time the room was quiet again, if not precisely returned to normal.
Somerwell was cowering in a corner, mouth open, horror written across his face.
“I must apologise most sincerely for that very uncouth spectacle,” Will said cheerfully, dusting himself down. “I believe there is something amiss with this sleeve. Is it torn at the back? Can you see?”
Somerwell gave a quick nod of his head. “Torn… yes… it is torn. Ruined, I fear. The members here are… a little disputatious.”
Will laughed. “That is one way to describe them. But sometimes a mill is the best way to deal with such fallings out. There will be a black eye or two, undoubtedly… perhaps some broken ribs, who knows? But tomorrow they will be the best of friends again, and Hattersley will have learnt his lesson. Better than a long-drawn-out quarrel, would you not say?”
Somerwell shuddered, then remembered the brandy still in his hand and took a long draught.
“Ah, I see how it is,” Will said, nodding sagely. “Fisticuffs are not gentlemanly, is that it? You prefer pistols at dawn? There is much to be said for that approach, and I am sure that a great many of the gentlemen I see practising at Manton’s Gallery are keeping themselves in readiness for a challenge.”
“I deplore violence in all its forms,” Somerwell said faintly.
“So do I, and so must all right-thinking men,” Will said virtuously. “Nevertheless, honour decrees that a man must answer for his ill deeds. Hattersley was passing foul rumours about Tibbitt’s sister, and that cannot be permitted to pass unchallenged, I am sure you would agree.” He hesitated for a second, wondering if he might be over-egging the pudding, but he was enjoying himself too greatly to draw back now. “I know that if I were to hear of any unpleasant rumour being bandied about the clubs about my sisters, or any member of my family, I should not hesitate to deal with it at once, with fists, for preference, for I do enjoy a good mill, but with pistols if need be. I have always wanted to try my hand at a proper duel, for shooting at wafers in a gallery is tame work. My dear sir, you are dreadfully pale. The unfortunate events you have witnessed have quite overcome you. Will you sit down again? Although not on that chair, for there is broken glass on it, and that one there has a damaged leg, I do believe.”
“I… I must go home… at once!” Somerwell said in strangled tones.
“Of course, of course. Your carriage… is it nearby?”
“Just outside.”
“Then permit me to escort you there. Will you take my arm, sir? You are very pale indeed. I begin to be most alarmed. You will see your physician as soon as he may be fetched, I hope. There now… do take care over this broken glass. Ah, this part has already been swept clear, and we may proceed more speedily. Steward! See that Mr Somerwell’s carriage is in readiness for him.”
