Page 29

‘Eliza, you’re wet! Where have you been?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing. How did you manage to slip away?’

‘After the performance, when everyone was asleep, Mr Flynn parked his chaise just outside my window and I climbed out and onto the vehicle’s roof.

’ She giggled and clung to her rescuer’s arm.

Mr Flynn beamed, then went in search of some wine.

Eliza looked at the transformation in her friend with some wonder.

Rose had always been striking in her looks, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and here she was wearing a beautiful gown of pale pink organza that set off her olive skin to perfection.

She seemed to have lost her diffidence and stood with her head held high.

Rose’s dark eyes were full of delight at the sight before her.

‘You look bloomy, Eliza. That gown’s prime stuff.

Not what we’re used to!’ She put out a hand to feel the quality then peered more closely at her friend.

‘But you’re a little pasty and more than a trifle topsy-turvy.

Wet as a drowned rat. What’s the trouble? ’

Eliza’s smile was wan. She was suddenly very tired.

‘I’ve had a whirlwind of a night. I’ve lost a mother and found a place in the world, all in two hours.

My heart is battered. I don’t know who I am any more or where I’m going.

’ She did not mention she had also had a declaration of what seemed to be love, only to have it quickly withdrawn.

The music had temporarily stopped so the musicians could eat and drink.

It was well past midnight and many young men were spilling out of the card room, well lubricated and boisterous, in search of more liquor.

The sight of Eliza and Rose Bowman drew many curious eyes.

The contrast in their colouring was dramatic, one so fair, one so dark.

A couple of the bloods recognised Miss Bowman from Astley’s Amphitheatre, and there was sniggering and muttered lascivious comments.

Circus folk and other itinerant entertainers were unwelcome as equals in any part of polite society and their presence here, at the pinnacle of the haut ton, was considered by some social arbiters to be an insult to their carefully stratified way of life.

One gentleman had emerged with the other gamesters and was deeply in his cups and enraged by his losses at the gaming tables.

Lord Davenport’s bleary eyes alighted on these two women in animated conversation.

He made his uncertain way through the crowd of guests and in an over-loud voice accosted them.

‘I know who you are. This is no place for women such as you.’

Eliza and Miss Bowman looked at him with shock.

The room quietened and all eyes turned towards them.

Lord Davenport’s colour was high and his speech blurred, suggesting the extent of his inebriation, but his slur on their characters and class brought a curious crowd closer, some hostile, some sympathetic.

Into the centre pushed the unmistakeable figure of Zadoc Flynn.

‘Sir! You are drunk. Apologise to the ladies and withdraw!’

‘I will do no such thing!’ He was riled at being humiliated in public by a nobody. ‘These harlots have no right to be here, polluting the air for the rest of us.’

Eliza and Rose were used to insults and prejudice on occasions when they travelled with the circus, but to be so characterised and demeaned in such elevated company – and for Eliza in front of her new friends – was mortifying. Colour rose to their cheeks as every eye seemed to be turned their way.

Zadoc Flynn was outraged. He too was slightly the worse for drink. He ripped off his coat and cast it to the floor. Putting up his fists, he addressed Lord Davenport. ‘Withdraw your slurs and apologise or I shall knock you down.’

The drunken lord sneered. ‘I’ll be damned if I will. You’re just a clodpole from the colonies and you’ll not make me do anything.’

As if from nowhere, Mr Flynn’s right jab took everyone by surprise, not least the smirking man on whose face it landed.

The room was silenced and aghast as Lord Davenport was floored.

Helped by a couple of cronies who dashed forward, he struggled to his feet, bleeding from his nose.

‘What the devil!’ he hissed. ‘I’ll call you out for this. Name your seconds.’

The crowd parted as Lord Purfoy strode into the middle of the melee.

‘Davenport, you’re drunk!’ His cold eyes flickered over the man’s bloodied face.

‘You’re in no condition to call anyone out and Mr Flynn was entirely correct to defend these young ladies’ honour and reputations.

’ His disapproving gaze swept over the other befuddled young blades who had gathered, hoping for a proper mill.

‘This is Lady Bassett’s ball and we owe it to her not to turn it into a common brawl. Get back to the tables.’

He shepherded Eliza, Miss Bowman and Mr Flynn towards the Wolfes who had been cooling off in the orangery. Corinna came forward, concerned at the exhaustion clear in Eliza’s face. ‘It’s certainly time to go home. And you’re wet too. I’ve called for the carriage.’

Zadoc Flynn was still fuming. He turned to Lord Purfoy. ‘I want to kill that devil-begotten cur.’

Lord Purfoy took him aside and said with a curl of his lip, ‘I’m afraid in England we don’t aim to kill our antagonists in a duel. It is a matter of honour, not death.’

‘Well, I brought Miss Bowman here to experience a dance and I intend to give her that pleasure at least.’ Zadoc Flynn looked defiant.

Then his face lost its mulish look and he smiled.

‘And I’ll apologise to Lady Bassett for my behaviour.

’ The orchestra had struck up again and he took Rose by the hand and said, ‘Come on, Miss Bowman. I hear the strains of a waltz. I can’t take you home without having the pleasure of one dance. ’