"Up there on the top table with all the notes," said Charlie, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Can't afford to be seen with the likes of us, can she?" he added with a grin.
Once the dinner was over there followed a series of toasts to everyone, it seemed to Becky, except the King. Charlie explained that the regiment had been granted dispensation from the loyal toast by King William IV in 1835 as their allegiance to the crown was without question. However, they did raise their glasses to the armed forces, each battalion in turn, and finally to the regiment, coupled with the name of their former colonel, each toast ending in rousing cheers. Becky watched the reactions of the men seated around her at the table and came to realize for the first time how many of that generation considered themselves lucky simply to be alive.
The former Colonel of the Regiment, Sir Danvers Hamilton, Bt., DSO, CBE, monocle in place, made a moving speech about all their fellow comrades who were for different reasons unable to be present that night. Becky saw Charlie visibly stiffen at the mention of his friend Tommy Prescott. Finally they all rose and toasted absent friends. Becky found herself unexpectedly moved.
Once the colonel had sat down the tables were cleared to one side so that dancing could begin. No sooner had the first note struck up from the regimental band than Daphne appeared from the other end of the room.
"Come on, Charlie. I haven't the time to wait for you to find your way up to the top table."
"Delighted, I'm sure, madam," said Charlie, when he rose from his seat, "but what has happened to Reggie what's-his-name?"
"Arbuthnot," she said. "I have left the silly man clinging on to a deb from Chelmsford. And quite dreadful she was, I can tell you."
"What was so 'dreadful' about her?" mimicked Charlie.
"I never thought the day would come," said Daphne, "when His Majesty would allow anyone from Essex to be presented at court. But worse than that was her age."
"Why? How old is she?" asked Charlie, as he waltzed Daphne confidently round the floor.
"I can't altogether be certain, but she had the nerve to introduce me to her widowed father."
Charlie burst out laughing.
"You're not supposed to find it funny, Charles Trumper, you're meant to show some sympathy. There's still so much you have to learn."
Becky watched Charlie as he danced smoothly round the floor. "That Daphne's a bit of all right," said the man sitting next to her, who had introduced himself as Sergeant Mike Parker and turned out to be a butcher from Camberwell who had served alongside Charlie on the Marne. Becky accepted his judgment without comment, and when he later bowed and asked Becky for the pleasure of the next dance she reluctantly accepted. He proceeded to march her around the ballroom floor as if she were a leg of mutton on the way to the refrigeration room. The only thing he managed to do in time with the music was to tread on her toes. At last he resumed Becky to the comparative safety of their beer-stained table. Becky sat in silence while she watched everyone enjoying themselves, hoping that no one else would ask her for the pleasure. Her thoughts returned to Guy, and the meeting that she could no longer avoid if in another two weeks . . .
"May I have the honor, miss?"
Every man round the table shot to attention as the Colonel of the Regiment escorted Becky onto the dance floor.
She found Colonel Hamilton an accomplished dancer and an amusing companion, without showing any of those tendencies to patronize her that the string of bank managers had recently displayed. After the dance was over he invited Becky to the top table and introduced her to his wife.
"I must warn you," Daphne told Charlie, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the colonel and Lady Hamilton. "It's going to be quite a challenge for you to keep pace with the ambitious Miss Salmon. But as long as you stick with me and pay attention we'll give her a damned good run for her money."
After a couple more dances Daphne informed Becky that she had more than done her duty and the time had come for them all to leave. Becky, for her part, was only too pleased to escape the attention of so many young officers who had seen her dance with the colonel.
"I've some good news for you," Daphne told the two of them as the hansom trundled down the King's Road in the direction of Chelsea Terrace, with Charlie still clinging to his half-empty bottle of champagne.
"What's that, my girl?" he asked, after a burp.
"I'm not your girl," Daphne remonstrated. "I may be willing to invest in the lower classes, Charlie Trumper, but never forget I'm not without breeding."
"So what's your news?" asked Becky, laughing.
"You've kept your part of the bargain, so I must keep to mine."
"What do you mean?" asked Charlie, half asleep.
"I can now produce my shortlist of three to be considered as your front man, and thus, I hope, solve your banking problem."
Charlie immediately sobered up.
"My first offer is the second son of an earl," began Daphne. "Penniless but presentable. My second is a Bart, who will take the exercise on for a professional fee, but my pièce de résistance is a viscount whose luck has run out at the tables in Deauville and now finds it necessary to involve himself in the odd piece of vulgar commercial work."
"When do we get to meet them?" asked Charlie, trying not to slur his words.
"As soon as you wish," promised Daphne. "Tomorrow—"
"That won't be necessary," said Becky quietly.
"Why not?" asked Daphne, surprised.
"Because I have already chosen the man who will front for us."
"Who've you got in mind, darling? The Prince of Wales?"
"No. Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Danvers Hamilton, Bt., DSO, CBE."
"But 'e's the bleedin' Colonel of the Regiment," said Charlie, dropping the bottle of champagne on the floor of the hansom cab. "It's impossible, 'e'd never agree."
"I can assure you he will."
"What makes you so confident?" asked Daphne.
"Because we have an appointment to see him tomorrow morning at eleven o'clock."
Chapter 11
Daphne waved her parasol as a hansom approached them. The driver brought the cab to a halt and raised his hat. "Where to, miss?"
"Number 172 Harley Street," she instructed, before the two women climbed aboard.
He raised his hat again, and with a gentle flick of his whip headed the horse off in the direction of Hyde Park Corner.
"Have you told Charlie yet?" Becky asked.
"No, I funked it," admitted Daphne.
They sat in silence as the cabbie guided the horse towards Marble Arch.
"Perhaps it won't be necessary to tell him anything."
"Let's hope not," said Becky.
There followed another prolonged silence until the horse trotted into Oxford Street.
"Is your doctor an understanding man?"
"He always has been in the past."
"My God, I'm frightened."
"Don't worry. It will be over soon, then at least you'll know one way or the other."
The cabbie came to a halt outside Number 172 Harley Street, and the two women got out. While Becky stroked the horse's mane Daphne paid the man sixpence. Becky turned when she heard the rap on the brass knocker and climbed the three steps to join her friend.
A nurse in a starched blue uniform, white cap and collar answered their call, and asked the two ladies to follow her. They were led down a dark corridor, lit by a single gaslight, then ushered into an empty waiting room. Copies of Punch and Tatler were displayed in neat rows on a table in the middle of the room. A variety of comfortable but unrelated chairs circled the low table. They each took a seat, but neither spoke again until the nurse had left the room.