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Godalming for lunch, his thighs (one of the
unmentionable parts of the body) had stiffened so that
he staggered into the King's Arms and collapsed into a
chair with a groan.
The King's Arms gained as much custom from their
presence as had the last two inns. In fact, the
innkeeper confided that Gayo and Annie drew a bigger
crowd between them than had turned out when Tsar
Alexander stopped at his hostelry a few months since.
The triumphal procession continued through
Guildford without stopping, and paused for tea and a
change of horses in Esher, to the delight of yet another
landlord. They crossed sinister Wimbledon Common in
the twilight without Teresa having to draw her pistols
against a highwayman, then rumbled across the
wooden bridge at Putney.
It was dark when they drove through Fulham and
Chelsea and Kensington, but Teresa could tell by the
twinkling lights of a thousand villas that the open
country was behind them. She could not repress a
gasp as at last they entered the gas-lit streets of
Mayfair.
Lady Parr nodded indulgently and patted her knee.
"'Tis amazing bright, is it not?"
"Indeed, ma'am, I can scarce believe it is night. And
the houses! There are so many houses, and so tall!"
"London is a monstrous fine city," said Muriel with
a happy smile. "Kingston and Spanish Town are
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nothing to it, I vow. I am prodigious glad to be back."
A few minutes later the carriage came to a halt and
Andrew appeared at the door. "Here we are in Hill
Street," he announced, opening it. "The house is all lit
up, my lady. I believe your brother is at home. We
shall leave you here and go on to Stafford House. May
I have your permission to call tomorrow morning to see
how you go on?"
One of the postilions had run up the steps and
banged on the door, which opened to reveal a glimpse
of the elegant interior. A pair of footmen came down
and, directed by Kinsey, began unloading the Parrs'
luggage from the other coach. Lady Parr and Muriel
both kissed Teresa's cheek before descending to the
pavement.
"I am grown excessively fond of you, child, I
declare," said her ladyship in a surprised voice, then
sailed up the steps and into the house.
"You will visit us, will you not?" asked Muriel
wistfully, and disappeared in her mother's wake.
* * * *
Andrew and Marco joined Teresa in the chaise and
they set off again. "Not far now," said Andrew
reassuringly. "Stafford House is on Park Lane. I hope
the duke and duchess are in residence."
"Where else would they be?" asked Marco,
surprised. "Is that not their home?"
"I had not thought," said Teresa, "but I recall that
Papa spent most of his childhood in the country. I
expect the duke has a country house as well?"
"Several."
Teresa was silent, trying to imagine what it would
be like to have more than one home. Her father's
family clearly lived on a lavish scale she found hard to
believe. How could she ever make a place for herself in
such a world? She was not merely a yokel, but a
barbarian. She reached for Marco's hand.
All too soon the carriage pulled up. Rowson
appeared, opened the door and let down the step.
Andrew jumped out and turned to offer Teresa his
hand. "Be brave," he whispered.
Wide stone steps between elaborate wrought iron
railings led up to a pedimented front door; above, a
row of pilasters added to the air of impressive
elegance. Teresa looked up, counting rows of windows,
but the top of the facade was lost in darkness.
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Marco stepped down beside her. "Ionic columns,"
he said matter-of-factly, pointing to the pilasters. "I've
seen them in pictures of the old Greek temples.
Narrower and more elaborate than Doric, but less
ornate than Corinthian."
Teresa laughed. If her little brother accepted this
enormous mansion with such nonchalance, she could
do no less. "Very decorative," she said, and went up
the steps.
Rowson had already knocked and the door was
swinging open. A wrinkled old man in green livery with
crimson piping bowed to Teresa. "What can I do for
you, madam?" he enquired in a reedy voice.
"The hall porter," Andrew hissed in Teresa's ear as
he stepped forward. "His Grace's niece and nephew,
Miss Danville and Mr Marco Danville, to see his
Grace," he announced.
The porter looked flustered. He beckoned to a
liveried footman who stood motionless against the
wall, and whispered to him. The footman departed in
haste.
A few moments later a portly butler in black
appeared. He was completely bald, and as he advanced
with stately tread across the hall, the light of several
dozen wax candles reflected from his shiny pate. "Miss
Danville?" His voice managed to be at once imperious
and suspicious. "His Grace is not at home. I believe his
Grace is not expecting you?"
"No, he does not even know of our existence," said
Teresa candidly. "We could not advise him of our
arrival since we only reached England yesterday."
"Indeed, miss." The butler's nostrils quivered in an
inaudible sniff. "I am given to hunderstand that you
claim to be his Grace's niece."
Teresa's chin rose. A light rain was beginning to fall
and she had no intention of standing on the doorstep
getting wet while this haughty man interrogated her.
He was, she reminded herself, no more than a servant.
"I am the duke's niece, Lord Edward Danville's
daughter. We shall wait until he or my aunt returns."
As she spoke she advanced into the hall, followed
by Marco, Andrew, Annie and Rowson. In the face of
this concerted front, the butler stepped back. Then he
saw the parrot on Rowson's shoulder. His spine
stiffened. "The bird can wait in the stables," he said
coldly, and beckoned the footman, whose eyes were
77
popping in his still otherwise expressionless face.
"James, take the bird round to the mews."
James's jaw dropped and he stepped forward with
every indication of alarm. "Me, Mr Boggs?" he faltered.
"¡Hijo de puta!" said Gayo indignantly. "Misbegotten
sea scum!" With a squawk, he flew to Teresa s
shoulder.
She noticed that Andrew's shoulders were shaking
and glared at him. "The parrot will stay with me," she
told the butler, with all the hauteur of an aristocrat
born and bred. "It is far too cold for him outside in this
abominable climate. Where do you wish us to await my
uncle?"
Mr Boggs, routed, looked around the hall as if he
wondered if he dared keep them standing there
indefinitely.
For the first time Teresa noticed her surroundings.
The circular, domed entrance was floored with pink
veined marble, and marble pillars flanked each
doorway that opened onto it. At some point Rowson,
with quiet efficiency, had carried in their bags and the
pathetic, grubby little pile looked hideously out of
place. Opposite the front door, a double stair with
ornately carved banisters, gleaming from much
polishing, curved up to a wide landing.
Marco, oblivious of the altercation behind him,
was examining a glossy red vase on a stand in a niche
between the staircases. "Samian ware," he announced.
Andrew joined him. "I believe that must be the
original Greek pottery, not a Roman imitation," he
proposed.
"If you will come this way, miss, gentlemen." Boggs
interrupted the discussion of classical pottery. Leaving
Annie and Rowson perched on the edge of a pair of
straight chairs in the hall, the butler ushered Teresa,
Marco and Andrew into a small, chilly, back parlour.
To Teresa's annoyance and Andrew's amusement,
he stationed James outside the door. "For all the world [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]