The Urchin's Song Part 19

His heart was pounding like a sledgehammer, the force of it creating a physical pain in his chest and a dryness in his throat that no amount of liquid could a.s.suage. She was gone from him; she was gone from them all - Betty and the bairns, Vera and Horace, all of them. She had been like one of those vibrantly beautiful b.u.t.terflies that fluttered to rest on dank soil before flying off to lush pasture.

He couldn't take his eyes off her face even as the truth hit home. She wasn't the little urchin bairn Betty and his da had taken in because of her h.e.l.lish situation at home any more; she was a wealthy, successful, beautiful and intoxicating woman. He hadn't been thinking clearly the last few weeks since he had come back from Scotland to Sunderland; just the thought that there might have been a chance for him had addled his brain. But his mind was now clear and working normally, and it was telling him he was the biggest clot out. He hadn't moved down to Sunderland because of Betty, at least that wasn't the main reason. Why hadn't he had the gumption to admit it to himself before? He had wanted to move into the perimeter of Josie's life again, or at least be with people she cared about so there was a likelihood of seeing her. Which made him what? He didn't like to think about what it made him.

Josie had known from the moment she'd walked on to the stage that the only way she was going to get through her performance was to look no further than the footlights. If he was with someone she wouldn't be able to bear it. It was illogical and unreasonable and a hundred other things besides, but she couldn't help it. She wouldn't be able to sing a note if her worst fears were confirmed. It was as simple as that.

Amazingly she found her voice didn't reflect her turbulent emotions. Claudette Belloc had done her job well, and all the little Frenchwoman's tuition came to the fore as Josie let her voice soar into the instinctual routine of the songs she knew so well.

Amuse and relax them a little first; then a song which would tug at the heartstrings followed by an even more poignant ballad to bring the silk handkerchiefs into play. It was the first time she had sung mechanically but no one seemed to notice.

After finis.h.i.+ng with 'After the Ball is Over', Josie curtsied again and again to the applause before she rose finally, and it was only then, as she smiled and waved to the audience before walking from the stage, that she allowed herself to glance in the direction of the seat in the second row. It was empty.

Chapter Twenty.

Contrary to her original plan Josie said very little to her husband during the ride to Squire Conway's estate in Berks.h.i.+re, and Oliver, still smarting under what he saw as his wife's incredible proposition that she would seek a solicitor's advice with a view to taking control of her earnings, said even less.

It wasn't the first time they had been invited to spend the weekend at this particular house, and as the carriage scrunched on to the gravel drive which was lit by many lanterns hanging from the ma.s.sive oak trees bordering the drive, Josie's heart sank at the number of empty coaches it contained. A smartly dressed footman was waiting to help them dismount, and two stable-boys were hovering in the background ready to release the horses from their shafts and take them to the Squire's stables.

They descended into a large forecourt which again was lit by many lanterns as well as lights from the many windows of the huge house in front of them, and Oliver took her arm as they climbed the ma.s.sive horseshoe-shaped steps to where another footman was holding open the door for them.

Steven Conway met them in the hall, two liveried servants standing behind their master ready to take the guests' coats and hats, and the blaze of lights, the buzz of voices and the sound of genteel laughter was all too familiar. A small maid dressed in black alpaca with a stiffly starched ap.r.o.n and cap was waiting to escort Josie to the ladies' room where she could freshen up after the journey, the Hogarths' portmanteaux and bags already having been whisked up to their room.

The name or names of each guest would be neatly written on a card slipped into a tiny bra.s.s frame on the bedroom doors, and Josie had come to realise a little night movement between the rooms of these rambling country houses was not unusual. However, it was unthinkable that appearances wouldn't be kept up and everything was done with the utmost discretion. The hostess would always arrange things for the convenience of her guests; some married couples preferred separate rooms and there was nothing at all wrong with that - gentlemen could snore so dreadfully, after all, and some ladies liked to retire earlier than their husbands and didn't appreciate being woken in the early hours after their spouse had indulged in a bout of gambling and drinking.

Then there were the recognised lovers to be considered; individuals could get very annoyed if they had gone to the same house-party only to find themselves at the other end of the building from their current amour, especially if the hostess had made the unforgivable faux pas of putting them in the same room as their husband or wife. The professional Lothario would be furious if he found himself in a room surrounded by ladies who were all accompanied by their husbands.

This question of the disposition of bedrooms always gave the current hostess cause for anxious thought; it was so necessary to be up to date with the current gossip on who was sleeping with whom. It was part of a good hostess's duty to see to such things, and an essential part of the fevered weekend activity.

Josie had come to understand these finer points of upper-cla.s.s behaviour slowly. Oliver had always arranged that they share a room, and although she invariably retired long before he did, he was always careful not to wake her and to behave with consideration. She had been shocked at what she deemed to be unprincipled and dissolute conduct by educated folk who should have known better, the more so because she perceived it was considered absolutely acceptable as long as certain unspoken rules of propriety were observed. When she'd first expressed her disquiet to Oliver he had hugged her tightly, telling her she was a rare find and that he loved her all the more for her aversion to such behaviour, but he hadn't said that he agreed with her. He had always been used to this kind of social intermingling, he'd explained when she had objected to his acceptance of what she considered blatant adultery. She had to remember he had grown up with this kind of thing, and although, of course, it was different now that they were married, it wasn't a surprise to him. Most of these people had little else to do, after all.

When Josie came out of the ladies' room she had the wives of two of Oliver's old friends either side of her. Of all Oliver's friends she liked these two women best; they happened to be twin sisters who had married two brothers, and both Victoria and Winifred had taken a s.h.i.+ne to Josie from the first time they'd met. Both sisters had what Josie had heard referred to disparagingly as 'spirit' by some of their contemporaries, and this was frequently expressed in their involvement with the growing Suffragette Movement. The fact that the King had publicly expressed his lack of sympathy with the movement, and stated that he considered it a danger to the established order of society had not deterred Victoria and Winifred an iota.

As the three of them walked through the open doors of the drawing room from the hall, it was Victoria who gave a smothered groan and said under cover of her hand, 'Stella's holding court again. Why does that woman think she has to be seen to monopolise every male in sight?'

'Because she was spoilt from the cradle,' Winifred answered darkly. Winifred's husband was the nearest of the little cl.u.s.ter of men grouped round the other woman, and Stella's hand was resting on his arm. 'And she is so indiscreet. She virtually publicises each new affair. I don't know why G.o.dfrey puts up with it.'

'Because he's besotted, my dear. Absolutely besotted.'

Josie said nothing, but she was looking at Stella and as always happened when she saw the other woman a sickness rose up in her chest. The cold beautiful face, the large round blue eyes which always took on a steely hue whenever they met hers, the perfect creamy skin with its touch of peach . . . Stella Stratton was stunning and she knew it, but it wasn't that which bothered Josie so much. It was the hostility with which the other woman always greeted her - when she did greet her, that was. Most of the time Stella went to great pains to ignore her.

They had been late arriving and within a few moments of entering the drawing room, supper was announced by one of the servants, and the requisite devilled chicken and accompanying dishes were served in the dining room.

Whether it was because Josie's senses were heightened after the events of the day involving Ada and Dora, and not least that evening when she had seen Barney again she didn't know, but as she sat down with her plate of food, Victoria and Winifred still either side of her, she noticed that Stella and Oliver had seated themselves on the opposite side of the room and their heads were close together. Oliver was smiling at first, and then after a moment or two he threw back his head and laughed out loud, and ridiculously Josie felt the impact in her stomach like a physical act of betrayal.

She forced herself to act as though she was enjoying both the food and the company, which normally would have been the case because Victoria and Winifred were sharp-witted and interesting, especially when they were relating the latest happenings within the Suffrage Movement like now, but she was painfully conscious of the pair sitting on the chaise-longue.

At half-past twelve a number of the ladies present began to retire, Josie included. Her mind had been in too much turmoil for any discussion about Ada and Dora on the carriage-ride to the Conway estate; she had felt she needed a quiet hour or so to compose her thoughts before she related the events of the day to Oliver. She walked across to her husband now, nodding unsmilingly at Stella before she concentrated her gaze on Oliver, saying quietly, 'I'm going to our room; it has been a tiring day.'

'Of course, my dear.' Oliver stood to his feet, kissing her lightly on the cheek as he added, 'You don't mind if I take a little port before I come up?'

She was so tired of the hypocrisy. Oliver was going to do what he always did; stay up until three or four in the morning gambling and drinking with his cronies, and he didn't care if she minded or not! Nevertheless she smiled and said, 'Not at all. I'll see you a little later.'

On reaching the room which had been designated for herself and Oliver, Josie turned the big ebony handle and pushed the engraved oak door open with a feeling of thankfulness. She needed to be quiet and think, she told herself as she walked across to the long cheval mirror to one side of the four-poster bed and stared at her reflection. These big houses were an absolute maze at the best of times, and this one had endless large guest rooms with dressing rooms attached besides the Conways' private quarters and the staff accommodation. The big drawing room, the morning room, the breakfast room, the library, the billiard room, the gentlemen's smoking room, the grand ballroom, the large dining room and small dining room . . . The list was endless. And there were people everywhere, all the time. She had got lost the first time she and Oliver had come here and it had been all of ten minutes before she had found her way.

Josie glanced at the four-poster bed with its heavy tapestry cover, and saw that one of the Conways' maids had laid out her white lawn nightdress and negligee and Oliver's linen nights.h.i.+rt and velvet dressing gown. She remained standing looking at these for some moments without really knowing why, but conscious that her stomach was churning and that Stella Stratton was at the forefront of her mind for some reason. Not Ada and Dora, not even Barney, but Stella.

And then she mentally shook her mind clear, seating herself on the satin chaise-longue at the end of the bed and shutting her eyes. Why hadn't Barney tried to see her? How could he come all this way and not even try to talk to her? And then she answered this with the same argument she'd been putting forth ever since she had first seen him in the audience that evening. The only argument she would allow herself to consider. Because he was not in London because of her. No doubt he had seen her name and thought he'd take in the performance for old times' sake, but perhaps his reason for being in the capital - business, a woman - was pressing? And it might well be a woman . . .

Josie lay further back on the sofa and let out a long sigh. If it was a woman, that would be perfectly understandable, of course. Barney was a young man in the prime of life and it had been four years since Pearl had died; time enough to get over what had clearly been an unhappy marriage and for him to consider settling down with someone else. She dug one fist into the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s where an ache was affecting her breathing, but she did not open her eyes, not even when hot burning tears ran down her cheeks in a flood.

She shouldn't be crying on the day she had found her two sisters again against all the odds in the world. This thought did nothing to check her sobs, and after a minute or two Josie turned over on to her stomach and buried her face in a cus.h.i.+on and let the regret and disappointment and confusion have free rein.

She hadn't been aware of falling asleep, so when she awoke, cramped and with her neck twisted in an unnatural position against the back of the sofa, it took a moment or two to realise where she was. She pulled herself upright, wincing at the pain which lanced from her neck into her head, and looked vaguely about the bedroom which was dimly lit by two amber gla.s.s-shaded lamps. The bed was empty.

What time was it? She rose to her feet, walking across to the small fireplace which had a marble surround and an elaborate basket of fresh flowers in place of a fire, and glanced at the large decorative gold clock which took up most of the mantelpiece. Nearly four o'clock. Surely Oliver would be here soon? He must have lost enough for one night by now. This thought carried with it a strong element of bitterness, and now she began to pace restlessly about the room.

She would tell him what had transpired concerning Ada and Dora as soon as he made an appearance, whether he was intoxicated or not. And then she would go on to disclose her decision to work in the north-east for a spell. She wouldn't mention her brothers. She bit hard on her lip here. It would do no good and she was already giving him enough to take in. Hubert might not contact her again anyway, and unless he did Mr Webb had made it plain she had no hope of tracing him. But he would contact her. He had to.

After was.h.i.+ng her hands and face in the big china bowl with its matching jug in the adjoining dressing room, Josie smoothed her ruffled hair into the neat chignon at the back of her head and reseated herself on the chaise-longue in the bedroom.

She waited for a full half an hour before jumping to her feet. Dare she go downstairs and ask him to accompany her to their room? He wouldn't like it and normally she wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, but it was half-past four in the morning. This was absolutely ridiculous. The maid would be bringing tea in another four hours and she needed to talk to Oliver properly before the rigid itinerary of so-called enjoyment of the day began.

Her mind made up, and without waiting to change her rumpled evening dress for one of the day dresses she had brought with her, Josie cautiously opened the outer bedroom door and stepped on to the silent landing outside. The corridor was faintly lit by a lamp placed halfway down the pa.s.sage, but it was still difficult to see clearly. Josie groped her way through the flickering shadows to the end of the landing which opened up on to a wide gallery. Some distance to her left were more stairs leading upwards to the next two floors, and to her right the ones which would take her to the ground floor, their room being on the first floor of the east wing.

She descended the stairs slowly. The ground floor looked to be in darkness but already the first signs of dawn were streaking the sky outside the two ma.s.sive leaded windows either side of the front door. The s.h.i.+ning suits of armour lining the walls of the hall at various intervals stared at her impa.s.sively as her feet click-clicked on the marble tiles, and after opening the heavy oak door of the drawing room and finding it empty, Josie moved on to the billiard room which was some distance - and a couple of winding pa.s.sageways - away. Again, the room was silent and deserted.

The gentlemen's smoking room. There were small tables and chairs in there; no doubt that was where the last few night owls were still playing cards or just lying back in their chairs talking and drinking. It took Josie a minute or two to reach the smoking room which was not situated close to the billard room as one might have expected, but on the other side of the ground floor and next to the large and opulent dining room. A strong smell of brandy and cigars a.s.sailed her nose when she stood on the threshold of this room, her feet sinking into the thick piled claret carpet as she took a few steps inside. Where was Oliver? Everyone was in bed, even the staff; she should have realised it before.

Her heart was thudding fit to burst now, but as she quietly retraced her footsteps along the pa.s.sageways to the main hall she was aware of another, stronger emotion coming into play. She knew where Oliver was. She should want to cry, shouldn't she? Cry and moan and shout and scream? Wasn't that what women usually did when they had been betrayed? But the white heat of her anger had burned up everything but the need to confront him and tell him she knew what he was about. And with whom. Oh yes, and with whom.

How dare he! How dare he do that to her with that dreadful woman. Oliver was no fool and whatever he said to the contrary he knew how much Stella disliked her. To humiliate her by consorting with Stella Stratton . . .

She was hardly aware of her feet skimming the floor as they took her swiftly up the stairs to the first floor of the east wing. She checked the name on each little bra.s.s plate, opening the door to their own rooms and ascertaining that Oliver was not back before she transferred her search to the floors above. Oliver had told her the Conway family occupied the three upper floors of the main house, so when she couldn't find the name she wanted she made her way to the west wing.

G.o.dfrey Stratton's name was in a corridor occupied exclusively by gentlemen involved in matters of state, and Josie's lips came back from her small white teeth in a bitter smile at their hostess's diplomacy. Not all their lady wives - those who had wives, that was - would be about intrigue and liaisons whilst the men discussed international and home politics in the privacy of the small drawing room or the morning room or whatever, but this 'thoughtful' arrangement certainly preserved the confidentiality of those who did.

It was now almost five o'clock and no doubt the staff would soon be rising, but no power on earth could have stopped Josie from following this matter through to its logical conclusion. If she had thought about it, she would have realised she hardly recognised herself as she marched along the silent landings, but then she came to the name she had been looking for. 'Lady Stratton'. Lady. Lady be d.a.m.ned. Her rage became overwhelming for a second. And then she tried the handle of the door. It was locked, but then she would have expected it to be.

She rapped on the door; loud, ringing raps which bruised her knuckles although she would be oblivious to the pain till later. It was a moment before Stella's voice, high and startled, called, 'Who is it?'

Josie did not reply to this, but when there was the sound of movement from within and then that of a man's voice, m.u.f.fled but nevertheless definitely male, she knocked again, and this time she kept knocking until the door was suddenly swung open.

'What on earth--'

Stella's indignant protest was cut short as Josie pushed her aside with enough force to cause the other woman to stumble, and then Josie was standing in the room. Ridiculously, at such a moment, Josie was conscious of thinking, This is a far better room than any we have ever had here, as her gaze flashed round the enormous suite with its high, four-poster bed in front of which was virtually a small sitting room. Then all she could see was Oliver tucking his s.h.i.+rt into his trousers on a chaise-longue at the foot of the bed.

'Josie! How did you--? This isn't what you think. h.e.l.l! Listen to me--'

As Oliver rose from the sofa, still adjusting his clothes, the coolness in her head which had guided her thus far vanished. She was so angry she quite literally had a red mist in front of her eyes, and as Stella grabbed hold of one arm, saying, 'How dare you force your way into my private quarters!' the other woman's voice was cut short for the second time in as many minutes as Josie shook her off in much the same way an enraged bull would shake off a rat. Stella went sprawling in a confusion of long blonde hair and silk, coming to rest in an ungainly pose which bore evidence to the fact she was wearing nothing at all beneath the diaphanous nightdress.

Stella had been spoilt from the cradle, adored by indulgent parents and then a string of lovers, not to mention her doting husband, and this was the first time in her life anyone had had the temerity to handle her in such a fas.h.i.+on. She'd landed against a small walnut writing desk, hitting one side of her face and her hip as she did so, and now she lay in utter shock, winded and speechless.

'I don't want to listen to you, Oliver,' Josie said steadily, amazed how calm her voice sounded. 'Neither do I wish to remain in the presence of your wh.o.r.e, but I felt I needed to make it plain that I will be leaving for Park Place as soon as a coach can be summoned. You are more than welcome to stay on here and enjoy the . . . entertainment,' her eyes, full of dark light, flashed to Stella for a moment, 'soiled and sullied as it is.'

'Listen to me, woman!' Oliver was completely ignoring Stella stretched out on the floor. 'This isn't what you think, I promise you.'

'Spare me.' Josie's voice was sharp and cutting. 'Your wh.o.r.e is known to be generous with her favours to more than one gentleman on occasions like this.'

She turned, making for the door which was ajar, and it was then that Oliver made the mistake of launching himself forward to grab her arm. Josie reacted by instinct with a lightning move of her body as she avoided his hands, and Oliver stumbled and fell, his head coming into contact with the edge of the door with a resounding crack.

Stella was now shrieking like a banshee and not at all how one would expect a lady of the realm to react, but as Oliver rolled over and then began to sit up Josie did not wait to see if he was all right. She continued out of the room into the pa.s.sageway beyond, where the occupants of the rooms either side of Stella's were emerging.

She was aware of startled faces staring at her but no one said a word. 'I think one of them or perhaps even both might require the services of a doctor,' she said evenly as Stella's screams diminished. 'Perhaps someone would be good enough to deal with that? Good morning.'

Josie made it to the end of the landing and beyond without pausing, but then the shaking in her legs reached such proportions that she had to lean against the wall before she could trust herself to walk down the stairs. She felt as if all the strength was draining out of her but knew she had to make her way back to her room before this happened.

Oh Gertie, Gertie, Gertie. Josie had never needed the support of her sister so much or felt so alone. The enormous staircase and grand sweeping s.p.a.ciousness of the house enhanced the feeling that she was tiny, nothing; that she was dwindling down to a mere speck. She moved swiftly through the house, the full enormity of what had happened only now really beginning to dawn on her. Oliver and Stella. Oliver and Stella.

The reverberations of this scandal would go on for some time; this was one liaison of Stella's to which G.o.dfrey Stratton wouldn't be able to turn a blind eye. The thought brought no comfort. Her mind seemed numb to emotion now, the coldness of shock having taken over.

When she reached her room Josie locked the door behind her, before walking through to the adjoining dressing room and taking her portmanteau and other bags from where the maid had placed them after she'd put their clothes away. She packed her things quickly after stripping off the evening dress she was wearing and extracting a pretty day dress in light blue muslin. Once she had washed in the china bowl, s.h.i.+vering a little as the water from the jug felt icy cold, she dressed in the clean clothes and then spent some time doing her hair. The face staring back at her from the mirror was chalk-white, and for a moment she felt sorry for the woman in front of her as though she was looking at someone else. That frightened her. Was she going mad? No, no, of course she wasn't, she told herself in the next instant, and she wasn't going to try to break this cold detachment which had taken hold of her either. Not now, not yet. She still had to leave this house and she intended to walk out with her head held high and with dignity.

Her toilette finished, she sat down on the chaise-longue, her bags at her feet, folded her hands and a.s.sumed a straight-backed pose, not allowing herself to slump in the slightest. Once the maid brought the morning tea she would request a carriage be put at her disposal and she would leave.

However, at eight o'clock she was brought to her feet by a knock at the door and the voice of her hostess saying, 'Mrs Hogarth? This is Elizabeth Conway. May I speak with you, please?'

Josie's legs were trembling as she walked across to the door, but her face was pale and composed when she opened it to find Lady Conway, flanked either side by Victoria and Winifred. The three women were fully dressed and coiffured which gave Josie an inkling of the frantic activity which had been going on in some quarters. 'Please come in.' She stood aside for the ladies to pa.s.s her and then shut the door behind them, taking a deep silent breath before she turned round.

'Josie, I'm so sorry.' This was from Winifred as the twins reached out and grasped her hands in theirs.

'That woman is an absolute menace,' Victoria added darkly, 'but she certainly got her just deserts this time. I hope I would have had the courage to react exactly as you did in a similar situation.'

Josie had expected censure, and for a moment she had to bite hard on her inner lip to retain her composure in the face of their understanding.

Lady Conway had glanced at the bags at the foot of the chaise-longue, and now she said, her voice soft, 'G.o.dfrey and his wife left at seven o'clock this morning and I understand they will be going abroad for a few weeks. Your husband has talked to Steven and myself and he has offered an explanation for what occurred. Would you come to our private sitting room and hear what he has to say?'

Josie looked at the gentle-faced woman in front of her. She had found her inoffensive on the one or two occasions she had talked with her, and certainly she and Steven seemed to be one of the few married couples who enjoyed each other's company, but there was no way she could comply with her hostess's request. 'I'm sorry, Lady Conway, but that is not possible. I would be obliged if one of your coachmen would take me back to town as soon as it is convenient?'

Lady Conway was vexed. She had to admit that Oliver, dear boy that he was, had been somewhat indiscreet in view of the fact he was sharing a room with his wife. Nevertheless, it would be such a shame if the girl allowed a strumpet like Stella Stratton to come between her and her husband. Added to which, and this latter consideration Elizabeth Conway acknowledged was a far less n.o.ble one - the t.i.ttle-tattle over this matter was going to be scurrilous enough as it was; it would help water it down a little if two of the chief individuals in the unfortunate affair were seen to be reconciled.

'My dear, the doctor has advised Oliver to lie quietly for some time - he has a touch of concussion and needed a few st.i.tches in a wound to his forehead - but I know he is anxious to put his case before you without delay.'

'He has no case, Lady Conway.' Josie was now ramrod straight. There had been a touch of reproach in the other woman's voice when she had spoken of Oliver's injuries, as though Josie herself had caused them, but in Josie's mind Oliver had brought this on himself.

And it appeared Victoria was of the same mind as she now said, a gurgle in her voice which she couldn't quite disguise, 'Let us hope a few more men of our acquaintance take note of what occurred here this weekend, and a few women too. I understand those people adjoining Stella's room will never view her in quite the same light again after the sight which met their eyes this morning!'

'Victoria, dear, that is not particularly helpful.' Lady Conway was very much aware that Steven could have done without the notoriety of this event happening under their roof, considering his standing in the world of politics. There was enough trouble at present with these wretched trade union people always asking for something more and showing scant respect for their betters, and Steven had been so upset when dear Wyndham had resigned as Chief Secretary for Ireland over the problems of creating a coherent Irish policy. What were the Irish, after all, but a country of cut-throats and peasants? Steven maintained their intelligence was like that of the miners here and the rest of the working cla.s.s. Give them any sort of power and Britain would go to the dogs. It was disgraceful, really disgraceful, the way things were going, and although Victoria and Winifred were dear girls and their mother - her sister-in-law - one of the finest women to grace the English court, she did so wish they would drop all this silly nonsense concerning women having the vote. What on earth did women know about such things as politics?

Lady Conway now turned to Josie, her voice reverting to softness as she said, 'Won't you at least listen to what your husband has to say, my dear? He really does have mitigating circ.u.mstances and all is not as it seems.' Not that she believed Oliver's explanation, not a word of it, but this young thing might if Oliver put it in the right way. And after all, everyone knew that any man worth his salt had a mistress. It really wasn't the done thing to cause such a fuss as this girl had done, but of course background would always out. It had been a mistake for Oliver to take a wife without the adequate breeding, as the dear boy now knew to his cost.

'I'm sorry, Lady Conway, but I must leave at once.' Josie could sense her hostess's concern was only skin deep and she guessed the real reasons which had brought Lady Conway to her room in defence of Oliver. And in spite of her misery it was an overwhelming relief that from this day she would be finished with such hypocrisy. 'I have no wish to cause you further embarra.s.sment, so perhaps it would be best if I left now, before breakfast?'

It was her final word, and all three women recognised it as such.

Chapter Twenty-one.

By the time the Conways' carriage drew up outside the house in Park Place the hard knot in Josie's chest was melting, and it was all she could do to smile and thank the two coachmen once they had placed her luggage inside the hall. Josie spoke to her sister in the drawing room, managing to give Gertie an outline of what had transpired before she burst into tears.

She cried for a good while, not least because of the futility of it all. Whatever else, she had believed Oliver loved her, and for him to humiliate her in such a public fas.h.i.+on . . . because people would have known. There wasn't a happening that went on at these weekends that wasn't noticed and talked about. Oliver himself was one of the worst gossips, and he had often expressed his amazement that some folk were naive enough to imagine that their every indiscretion wasn't observed and commented on. And for him to then go and . . . And with Stella Stratton.

The release of all her pent-up emotion did her good, and when she raised her head from where it had been resting on Gertie's shoulder - her sister's arms tight round her - she said quite normally, 'Would you go and inform Mrs Wilde what has occurred and tell her I leave it to her discretion how much she tells Constance and Ethel? And then ask her to get them to pack all my things, yours too if you want to come with me. I am going to Lily's. I can't remain another day in this house.'

Gertie gazed at her without speaking for a moment or two, and then her voice was a mutter when she said, 'Do you think that's wise? To leave before you've talked to him properly?'

Although she had half expected this it still hurt. But then Gertie had always been for Oliver, Josie reminded herself, even before there had been the added inducement of her husband being Anthony's employer. How many times had she thought that if Gertie had been born with the voice and looks to attract Oliver, Gertie would have made him a far better wife than herself. Her sister would have looked at this incident practically, working out the pros and cons of confronting Oliver before she had said anything at all, and then only revealing she was aware of his liaison with another woman if she could use it to her advantage. Money and respectability, and the security they brought with them, meant a great deal to Gertie, which was one reason her sister and Anthony suited each other so well. And such thinking wasn't necessarily wrong, not in essence, and after their traumatic childhood Josie could appreciate the reasons for Gertie thinking like she did more than most, but today it still hurt.

'Like I said, you don't have to come with me,' Josie repeated quietly.

'Don't be silly, of course I'm coming with you.'

'Then could you go and talk to Mrs Wilde quickly because I have no desire to be here when Oliver comes.'

'Do you think he'll come after you?'

'I don't know. Yes, yes I think he will, but Lady Conway said--'

'What?' Gertie paused on her way to the door.

'The doctor diagnosed concussion and told him he had to rest.'

'Oh, Josie.'

Gertie left the room without saying any more, and it came to Josie that although Lady Conway and her sister were worlds apart in every way, their voices could have been identical in tone when expressing their opinion on the matter of her husband's injuries.