Chapter 16

16

Sophie awoke smiling, stretching languorously in her narrow bed, even though she knew that last night had in sober truth been a mistake that she should regret. The fact was, she didn’t wish away a single second of it. Whatever she had shared so briefly with Drake wouldn’t turn her from her purpose – nothing would – but it had been glorious, exhilarating and deeply satisfying, and her life held little enough pleasure, so she would not feel guilty. Guilt was a waste of time and energy.

She found that the Dowager had been up and in her sitting room for a while when she went to see how she was after the exertions of the previous evening. The old lady looked tired, and it struck Sophie that she had been crying, but she did not want to press her as to why. Lord Wyverne’s mother might have many reasons for private tears, she thought.

Delphine did not acknowledge her own tears in any way, nor show any further signs of distress, saying only, ‘I am glad to see you, my dear. Do not read to me, not today – I am not in the humour for it. I want to talk to you.’

A little curl of dismay rippled through Sophie’s stomach. There were many topics she would rather not discuss with Delphine; the whole subject of the old woman’s grandson headed the list after last night, but there was a great deal more besides. ‘Yes, madame la marquise?’

‘I started to speak to you last night, to warn you, but we were interrupted and I was not able to finish, but now I must. Lord Wyverne plans another gathering tonight, I am sorry to say.’

‘Another dinner?’ Sophie grimaced.

‘Oh, no, dear child. If it were only that. It is ridiculous – at my age and with all my experience, you would not imagine that there is anything I am afraid or embarrassed to speak of, and yet I find that it is so.’

‘It must be something very terrible,’ said Sophie with an attempt at lightness.

‘I fear it is. Did you learn Latin in your youth, my dear?’

Sophie presumed that this odd question was not the non sequitur it appeared to be, for Delphine’s wits were far from wandering. ‘I did, a little,’ she said cautiously.

‘I do not suppose that your studies included the work of Suetonius?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I remember I have seen his name upon a volume…’ She almost said, In my grandfather’s library at the Chateau de Montfaucon, but she just stopped the words in time. ‘I cannot recall where. In any case, I have not read any text by a person of that name, nor heard anything that I can recall.’

‘It is scarcely surprising, for his work would not have been at all suitable for a young lady. I wonder then if you have ever heard of the Empress Messalina?’

‘I believe I have, though I do not know any details. Is she not proverbial for wickedness?’

‘Indeed,’ said the Dowager drily. ‘There are many scandalous stories Suetonius tells of her, but one of them is that she once challenged Rome’s most famous prostitute, Scylla, to a contest, to see which of them could… engage with the most men in succession before tiring of it. And that, I am sorry to say, is the theme of Lord Wyverne’s party tonight, with Lady Wyverne, I need scarcely say, in the role of Messalina. I believe her opponent, if that is the word I seek, has been brought from London and employed at vast expense. She is quite celebrated in her own right, apparently, as such women sometimes are, and Marchand tells me that she is to receive an enormous bonus in gold if she wins. I understand that large bets are being laid on the outcome.’

‘Good God,’ Sophie said. And then again, ‘Good God. And all this is to happen…’

‘In public. In the Marble Saloon.’ With a little hiccup of laughter that might easily have been a sob, Delphine said, ‘It’s terribly draughty in there. All that marble – so chilly. It is so typical of men – they cannot possibly have considered.’

‘And everybody will be…’ Sophie had thought herself beyond being astonished, but she now discovered she’d been wrong. She’d been moving in low circles, she’d thought, over the last eight years, and consorting with all manner of thieves, rogues, artists and whores. She’d seen people drunk, so often that it was no longer any sort of novelty, and in the grip of lust and murderous rage. The two things could be all but synonymous. She knew that some men, many men, harboured all sorts of dark impulses, and she knew that women could too; not by any means all the women on the streets were victims, or just victims. She’d seen women offer to sell their own children for a flagon of gin, and no way to prevent it. She wasn’t an innocent; she wasn’t at all easily shocked. It was possible to argue that no one would be hurt by what would happen tonight, and certainly she was no enemy of passion or of pleasure. But could this be described as passion, or even honest lust? There was something so cold-blooded about it, so deliberate. To make a contest of it…

‘Everyone will be watching?’ asked the Dowager wearily. ‘Yes. I imagine that’s the point of it. The display, the show it makes. No doubt, since she is to play the part of an empress, she will be wearing every jewel she possesses, if little else. I am sure he will insist upon that. We must not delude ourselves that this would be happening if Wyverne did not want it. I would assume that it was his idea; it certainly bears the stamp of his nature. Whether his wife is an enthusiastic participant or takes part merely in order to please him, I cannot say. I don’t understand the nature of the bond between them, and I don’t care to, really. She had made her bed, quite literally on this occasion. If she were ever an innocent, which I suppose even she must have been once, it was long ago. My concern is only for the servants, and for you.’

Sophie looked at her in silence; she almost feared to ask. ‘There will be no maids downstairs this evening, and the stair that leads to their – to your – chambers will be guarded. They have all been warned to stay away, to make sure they are safe, and now I am warning you too. You most of all, I think, for they must imagine you entirely unprotected and friendless, and Rosanna has begun to dislike you into the bargain. I could see that well enough last night.’

‘You’re not just worried that I, or any of them, will see things we should not see? It’s more than that. You are concerned for our physical safety too?’

‘I am.’ The old lady sounded very tired suddenly. ‘I do what little I can. Perhaps I am over-reacting – no, I am not. I would believe anything of Wyverne’s so-called friends – I cannot know what they might do, but I would not be at all surprised; recall how that creature last night tried to accost you not five minutes after you had sat down. As for Wyverne himself, I have no specific reason to think him a rapist, but I know how very wicked he is, and that he has no scrap of morality or fear of consequences to restrain him. I do know for a fact that he has blood on his hands. And I think you must know it too.’ She paused and then said very deliberately, ‘Your father’s blood. Your family’s.’