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The young man paused for a moment, removed a silver hip flask from his pocket, offered it to her and when she shook her head took a swig. ‘Well, my name is Peregrine Flyte, like the bird.’ He laughed. ‘And yours, may I ask?’
‘I’m Miss Rose.’
‘Well, how appropriate, Miss Rose.’ He started to fidget and, glancing at the receding crowd, said cheerfully, ‘It looks as if your companion might have better things to do. Shall I escort you back to your party? I presume you have a party?’
‘Yes, we have a supper box near the Temple and I’m concerned at being absent so long.’
‘Oh, that’s easy. I know the short route back. Would you like me to show you?’
Madeleine looked around, peering into the dark trees where her cousin had disappeared what seemed an age ago. There was no one in sight, and she suddenly realised how threatening the night could be in a wild place like this. Madeleine wanted very much to get back to the supper box, and the security of the Lockhart family party.
‘How far are we?’ she asked with a note of anxiety in her voice.
‘About one hundred yards away. I’ll show you the path,’ he said, offering his arm, and led her off the main avenue and across the grass towards a clump of trees. As they walked, the brilliant lights were left behind and the inky dark was ever encroaching. Despite the distant music, Madeleine felt suddenly very much alone.
In the heart of the shadow, Mr Flyte turned to her, all friendliness gone. ‘What swag’s in yer bag?’ His voice had turned rough.
From being a gallant stranger, he was suddenly the antagonist, and Madeleine felt her nerves stretched taut, alert to the danger. ‘You can have whatever I have,’ she said quickly as she tried to untie the ribbons on her reticule, fumbling in her haste.
Her assailant was impatient. He pulled a knife from his jacket pocket, grabbed the bag and cut the ribbons, then scrabbled inside looking for coins. ‘One shilling!’ he spat the words out in disgust. ‘What trinkets have ye got?’
‘Just these.’ She put her hand protectively over her pearl necklace and when he reached to yank it from her neck, Madeleine cried out, ‘No! It’s my mother’s. If you break the silk, they’ll fall into the grass and we’ll never find them in the dark.’
His arm instead pinioned her by the neck against his chest as he attempted to open the clasp. The stench of his unwashed body was almost overwhelming. In a mad moment of anger that he should take one of the few precious things of her mother’s, Madeleine bit his arm as hard as she could. He smacked her across the face and in shock and pain, she let out a piercing cry.
Through the trees, she saw a man running towards them. Her assailant’s arm was so tight across her throat she could barely croak the warning, ‘He’s got a knife.’
* * *
Mr Shilton was feeling uneasy. He had settled Miss Payton and her mother into their beautiful box, close to the Chinese Pavilion and within sight of the triumphal arches that led to the Firework Tower. He ordered from his assigned waiter the special fine-cut ham, the roasted chicken and salads, the sweet pastries and cheesecake puddings. They were to drink champagne rather than the famous arrack punch. The women seemed delighted with everything he had arranged, but he was anxiously awaiting the masked Lord Whiley who was due to happen upon them any moment.
‘Mr Shilton, thank you. This is a most diverting evening.’ Miss Payton had drawn him to one side and dropped her voice conspiratorially. ‘It is so kind of you to go to so much trouble. My dearest Mama does not get out very much. A widow’s lot is not a happy one.’ She looked up at him in her coy way, and although he suspected this look was much practised, he nevertheless found it charming.
Just as he raised her gloved hand to his lips, a large shadow fell on the party sitting round the supper table arrayed with food. In one athletic movement, Lord Flambard leapt over the low barrier that separated the supper boxes from the passing crowd.
‘Why, Mr Shilton! How good to see you. And with such charming company. Pray introduce me.’
Ferdy Shilton looked up at the impressive bulk of finely tailored suiting and a spasm of irritation discomforted him; how had he allowed himself to be inveigled into this dishonourable scheme? Max Flambard’s dark eyes were merry behind his mask and Mr Shilton thought his friend’s physique and facial features were unmistakeable to anyone who knew him, but he had to go along with the demeaning charade.
He turned to Mrs Payton, who was as pale as if she had seen a ghost. Her hand was trembling as she extended it while their host said, ‘Mrs Payton, I would like to introduce Lord Whiley to you. Lord Whiley, Mrs Payton.’
To Ferdy Shilton’s disgust, he watched Max slip his thumb between her fingers and squeeze them hard as he brought them to his lips. A flush rose from Amelia Payton’s décolletage and suffused the pallor of her cheeks as she inclined her head in polite recognition, but the archness of her glance betrayed her true feelings.
Ferdinand Shilton was relieved that Miss Payton had not been watching this revealing interchange between the ignoble stranger and her mother, but had instead been diverted by a passing troupe of jugglers. ‘Mr Shilton, that harlequin can juggle eight oranges at one time. And then do it again blindfold!’ she exclaimed before Mr Shilton took her hand and said, ‘Miss Payton, may I introduce Lord Whiley to you? Lord Whiley, Miss Payton.’
His lordship accepted her hand in a show of elaborate courtesy. ‘Enchanté, Mademoiselle,’ and kissed her fingers lightly.
‘Are you French, Monsieur?’ she asked him politely.
He gave a deep chuckle. ‘No, but I know Paris well.’ He did not look at Mrs Payton, who had unfurled her fan and was wafting it to cool herself and hide her colour.
Mr Shilton, ever the perfect host, said with less warmth than usual, ‘Lord Whiley, would you care to join us for supper and the fireworks later?’ He could not but feel that his old friend had manoeuvred him into this shameful drama. Like a pirate, Lord Flambard had boarded his friend’s peaceful yacht, intent on steering it off course to serve his own concupiscent ends. Ferdy Shilton had hoped to get to know Miss Payton better with the thought that he could then visit her and her mother and ask for her hand in marriage. But this friendly evening of ease and pleasure had given way to one of subterfuge and anxiety, and of ill-disguised desires which threatened to capsize his carefully laid plans.
After the meal, Mr Shilton felt sure that Lord Flambard had inadvertently brushed his thigh, mistaking it for Mrs Payton’s. Miss Payton was aware that her mother was unexpectedly energised by this stranger in their midst, but could only hope it gave her a few hours’ happy diversion when she could talk to Mr Shilton. So the meal proceeded in a disjointed way, with murmured flirtation punctuated by an occasional laugh and remonstrance on one side of the table, while Miss Payton endeavoured to discuss with Mr Shilton his plans for Nonsuch House, his country estate in Surrey.
So enervated was their attentive host by the stresses of the evening that he did not even lead his enthusiastic party to the Firework Tower to see close up the central event of the night. Instead they sat and watched the pyrotechnics from the comfort of their box. When it was all over, Ferdy Shilton was desperate to escape. Under the pretext of finding his waiter to request more champagne, he made his way back through the excited inebriated crowd. Above the hubbub, he heard a distant scream and peering into the dark expanse of wood to his right, caught sight of a woman struggling with a much larger gentleman. Sensitive to bullying of any kind, his chivalrous nature was roused and he bounded off towards danger, knowing he could be of some help.
As he neared the couple, Mr Shilton thought he knew the young woman. Wasn’t she Miss Rose, the sleeper at Lady Barnsley’s ball? Her voice, constricted by the ruffian’s arm, barely reached him, but he made out the words, ‘a knife!’ And in that moment they both recognised each other and Madeleine’s heart began to hammer even more erratically in her chest.
