Hugh said with a grin: “Or he may want to ask my advice.”
Joseph did not appreciate the joke. “I shall just read the telegraph messages and decide what is to be done when the markets open again tomorrow morning.”
Foolishly, Hugh persisted. “I should like to come, all the same — just out of interest.”
It was always a mistake to badger Joseph. “I tell you I don’t need you,” he said irritably. “Drive in the park with your aunt, she needs an escort.” He put his hat on his head and went out.
Augusta said: “You have a talent for needlessly annoying people, Hugh. Get your hat, I’m ready to go.”
Hugh did not really want to drive with Augusta, but his uncle had commanded him to do so, and he was curious to see the Lioness, so he did not argue.
Augusta’s daughter Clementine appeared, dressed to go out. Hugh had played with his cousin when they were children, and she had always been a telltale. At the age of seven she had asked Hugh to show her his doodle, and then told her mother what he had done, and Hugh had been thrashed. Now twenty years old, Clementine looked like her mother, but where Augusta was overbearing, Clementine was sly.
They all went out. The footman handed them up into the carriage. It was a new vehicle, painted bright blue and drawn by a superb pair of gray geldings — an equipage fit for the wife of a great banker. Augusta and Clementine sat facing forward, and Hugh settled himself opposite them. The top was down because of the brilliant sunshine, but the ladies opened their parasols. The coachman flicked his whip and they set off.
A few moments later they were on South Carriage Drive. It was as crowded as the writer of the letter to The Times had claimed. There were hundreds of horses ridden by top-hatted men and sidesaddle women; dozens of carriages of every type — open and closed, two-wheel and four-wheel; plus children on ponies, couples on foot, nurses with baby carriages and people with dogs. The carriages gleamed with new paint, the horses were brushed and combed, the men wore full morning dress and the women sported all the bright colors that the new chemical dyes could produce. Everyone moved slowly, the better to scrutinize horses and carriages, dresses and hats. Augusta talked to her daughter, and the conversation required no contribution from Hugh other than the occasional indication of agreement.
“There’s Lady St. Ann in a Dolly Varden hat!” Clementine exclaimed.
“They went out of fashion a year ago,” said Augusta.
“Well, well,” said Hugh.
Another carriage pulled alongside, and Hugh saw his aunt Madeleine Hartshorn. If she had whiskers she’d look just like her brother Joseph, he thought. She was Augusta’s closest crony within the family. Together they controlled the social life of the family. Augusta was the driving force, but Madeleine was her faithful acolyte.
Both carriages stopped, and the ladies exchanged greetings. They were obstructing the road, and two or three carriages pulled up behind them. Augusta said: “Take a turn with us, Madeleine, I want to talk to you.” Madeleine’s footman helped her down from her own carriage and into Augusta’s and they drove off again.
“They’re threatening to tell old Seth about Samuel’s secretary,” Augusta said.
“Oh, no!” said Madeleine. “They mustn’t!”
“I’ve spoken to Joseph, but they won’t be stopped,” Augusta went on. Her tone of sincere concern took Hugh’s breath away. How did she manage it? Perhaps she convinced herself that the truth was whatever it suited her to say at any moment.
“I shall speak to George,” said Madeleine. “The shock could kill dear Uncle Seth.”
Hugh toyed with the idea of reporting this conversation to his uncle Joseph. Surely, he thought, Joseph would be appalled to know how he and the other partners were being manipulated by their wives? But they would not believe Hugh. He was a nobody — and that was why Augusta did not care what she said in front of him.
Their carriage slowed almost to a halt. There was a knot of horses and vehicles up ahead. Augusta said irritably: “What’s the cause of this?”
“It must be the Lioness,” Clementine said excitedly.
Hugh scanned the crowd eagerly but could not see what was causing the holdup. There were several carriages of different kinds, nine or ten horses and some pedestrians.
Augusta said: “What’s this about a lioness?”
“Oh, Mother, she’s notorious!”
As Augusta’s carriage drew nearer, a smart little victoria emerged from the ruck, pulled by a pair of high-stepping ponies and driven by a woman.
“It is the Lioness!” Clementine squealed.
Hugh looked at the woman driving the victoria and was astonished to recognize her.
It was Maisie Robinson.
She cracked a whip and the ponies picked up speed. She was wearing a brown merino costume with flounces of silk, and a mushroom-colored tie with a bow at her throat. On her head was a perky little top hat with a curly brim.
Hugh felt angry with her all over again for what she had said about his father. She knew nothing about finance and she had no right to accuse people of dishonesty in that casual way. But all the same he could not help thinking that she looked absolutely ravishing. There was something irresistibly charming about the set of that small, neat body in the driving seat, the tilt of the hat, even the way she held the whip and shook the reins.
So the Lioness was Maisie Robinson! But how come she suddenly had horses and carriages? Had she come into money? What was she up to?
While Hugh was still marveling, there was an accident.
A nervous thoroughbred trotted past Augusta’s carriage and was startled by a small, noisy terrier. It reared up and the rider fell off into the road — right in front of Maisie’s victoria.
Quickly she changed direction, showing impressive control of her vehicle, and pulled across the road. Her evasive action took her right in front of Augusta’s horses, causing the coachman to haul on his reins and let out an oath.
She brought her carriage to an abrupt stop alongside. Everyone looked at the thrown rider. He appeared unhurt. He got to his feet unaided, dusted himself down, and walked off, cursing, to catch his horse.
Maisie recognized Hugh. “Hugh Pilaster, I do declare!” she cried.
Hugh blushed. “Good morning,” he said, and had no idea what to do next.
He had made a serious error of etiquette. He ought not to have acknowledged Maisie while he was with his aunts, for he could not possibly introduce such a person to them. He should have snubbed her.
However, Maisie made no attempt to address the ladies. “How do you like these ponies?” she said. She seemed to have forgotten their quarrel.
Hugh was completely thrown by this beautiful, surprising woman, her skillful driving and her careless manners. “They’re very fine,” he said without looking at them.
“They’re for sale.”
Aunt Augusta said icily: “Hugh, kindly tell this person to let us pass!”
Maisie looked at Augusta for the first time. “Shut your gob, you old bitch,” she said casually.
Clementine gasped and Aunt Madeleine gave a small scream of horror. Hugh’s mouth dropped open. Maisie’s gorgeous clothes and expensive equipage had made it easy to forget that she was an urchin from the slums. Her words were so splendidly vulgar that for a moment Augusta was too stunned to reply. Nobody ever dared to speak to her this way.
Maisie did not give her time to recover. Turning back to Hugh, she said: “Tell your cousin Edward he should buy my ponies!” Then she cracked her whip and drove away.
Augusta erupted. “How dare you expose me to such a person!” She boiled. “How dare you take off your hat to her!”
Hugh was staring after Maisie, watching her neat back and jaunty hat recede along the drive.
Aunt Madeleine joined in. “How can you possibly know her, Hugh?” she said. “No well-bred young man would be acquainted with that type! And it seems you have even introduced her to Edward!”
It was Edward who had introduced Maisie to Hugh, but Hugh was not going to try to put the blame on Edward. They would not have believed him anyway. “I don’t actually know her very well,” he said.