A further awkwardness arose when the ladies had left the room. Although the other men had not noticed it, Malderini had, throughout the meal, refused all wine and he now declared himself to be a total abstainer. Such an eccentricity was most uncommon in those days, and almost in bad taste; for the other men felt that out of civility to Georgina's foreign guest they must forgo the pleasure of sitting over their port for any length of time. In consequence, although secretly a little disgruntled, they accepted without protest the lead of Colonel Thursby, Georgina's father, who broke up the session before the decanters were half empty.
At one end of the long drawing-room a table had been made ready for Vingt et Un. Georgina, realising that the Princess would be unable to join in a card game, suggested taking her round the house and showing her some of its treasures. Her husband, through whom the proposal had to be put, had replied with a somewhat ungainly bow:
'I appreciate your Ladyship's thoughtfulness, but in India women are brought up to have no other interests than their husbands and, if they have any, their children. That was one of my reasons for taking a wife while in the Orient. If we were still in the East the Princess Sirisha would, of course, be living in purdah. While we are travelling in Europe that is not possible; but whenever we go into society she considers it her duty to remain at my side, and she derives much pleasure from watching me enjoy myself.'
All the ladies present were hard put to it to hide their shocked disapproval of his selfish attitude towards the lovely Indian girl; but even to show her their sympathy was not easy. Georgina sent Clarissa to fetch from the library some volumes with colour prints of birds and flowers for the Princess to look at, and the other eight members of the party settled themselves round the card table.
From it, two hours later, Rinaldo Malderini had risen the richer by a considerable number of English guineas, and Roger with a shrewd suspicion that the Venetian had detained his wife in the room for a reason he had naturally not given.
For the first hour or so the Princess had sat apparently absorbed in the books Clarissa had brought her; but she had then left Clarissa busily embroidering a pretty bonnet for little Susan and crossed the room to watch the game from behind her husband's chair. Had she remained there that would have given no cause for speculation about her conduct; but from time to time she had moved round the table and stood for a while behind whoever happened to be holding the bank.
Later that night, Roger had discussed the matter with his closest friend, the Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel known to his intimates as 'Droopy Ned'. Neither of them had actually seen the Princess make a signal to her ugly husband but, such collaboration being the easiest form of cheating ever devised, they agreed it to be highly probable that the Venetian's having come out of the game by far the largest winner could be accounted for in that way.
Roger was somewhat cheered by the probability that the man with whom he had to deal systematically cheated at cards. Trickery in connection with games of chance was prevalent all over Europe. Even in the highest circles it was not unusual; but it could definitely be taken as a sign of an avaricious and unscrupulous nature.
It went without saying that, from whichever side Malderini favoured in his report to the Senate of the Serene Republic, he would expect a substantial present of money. That was a recognised perquisite of any ambassador; but in most cases envoys accepted such gratuities only for recommending a policy that they had convinced themselves was in the best interests of their country. Here, though, was a case in which it seemed that an envoy's greed might induce him to accept a heavy bribe to advise his government without searching his conscience too closely about possible results.
That suited Roger, and he was still deliberating on the size of his opening bid to win the Venetian over when there, came a knock on the door. At his call to 'Come in', Edgar, the footman who had been valeting him during his stay at Stillwaters, entered the room carrying two large cans of hot water. Having told him what clothes to put out, Roger got up, shaved, washed, dressed and went down to breakfast.
Only Colonel Thursby was seated at the table. He was a spare, ageing man of kindly disposition and high intelligence. On his retirement from the Corps of Engineers, his faith in the future of machines had enabled him to make a considerable fortune during the Industrial Revolution. He had long been a widower and Georgina was his only child. They adored one another and, although he had two houses of his own, he had for several years past become almost a permanent resident in hers. Roger had a great affection for him and, as he helped himself to a Dover sole from the long array of tempting dishes on the sideboard, they dropped into easy conversation.
'Really,' remarked the Colonel, 'what induced Georgina to ask this Venetian here I cannot think! He has the appearance of an overblown woman who was born ugly, follows some hypochondriac regime which makes it embarrassing for other people to do justice to their wine, and treats that charming young Indian wife of his little better than if she were a slave.'
'I fear I am to blame, Sir,' Roger admitted. 'It was at my request that Georgina asked Sheridan to bring him down. Never having met him I had no idea that he was such a monster; but, between us two, Mr. Pitt asked me to get to know him and endeavour to prise him from the clutches of the Whigs.'
The Colonel's thin face broke into a smile. 'What an intriguer you are, my dear boy. But I know that you serve your master well, so I'll grumble no more at having to support the company of this curiously uncouth Italian, Yours is the harder part, by far, and I commiserate with you upon it. Fortunately I am more than compensated this weekend by the presence here of so charming and erudite a guest as Mr. Beckford.'
He had hardly ceased speaking when Droopy Ned and William Beckford entered the room.
Droopy owed his nickname to short-sightedness, his constant peering having given him a permanent stoop. He was the second son of the Marquis of Amesbury, and something of an eccentric. His foppish clothes and lazy manner gave a first impression that he was a nit-wit, but under them he concealed an extremely shrewd brain. He was considered an authority on ancient religions, had written several monographs on the effects of Eastern drugs, and owned an unrivalled collection of antique jewellery.
Beckford was a millionaire, and the richest commoner in England. Orphaned at the age of ten, his upbringing had been supervised by the great Earl of Chatham, who had chosen the ablest tutors for him; among them Sir William Chambers to teach him architecture and Mozart to teach him music. No youth could have made better use of such opportunities. When twenty he had published his first book Biographical Memoirs of Extraordinary Painters. Its subjects rejoiced in such names as Og of Basan and Sucrewasser of Vienna. They had, of course, never existed, and the book was actually a satire on the Dutch and Flemish schools; but so skilfully was it done that many people who posed as being knowledgeable about art were at first hoaxed into accepting it as a serious work. Inspired by the Arabian Nights, he had followed it up with Vathek, which was destined to become one of the classics of the English language.
He was a dark, good-looking man, now thirty-five. Until two years earlier he had lived mainly abroad, and at times travelled with so many servants that on one occasion he had been taken for the young Emperor of Austria. He was a passionate collector of all things rare or beautiful, and also an omnivorous reader. Having purchased Gibbon's library he had shut himself up at Lausanne for the best part of a year in order that he might read the whole of it. Such prolonged withdrawals from society had given him the reputation of a misanthrope, but the fact was that with such great wealth he needed nobody's patronage, so had the sense to do as he liked; and he was exceedingly particular in the choice of his friends.