Dark Assassin - Anne Perry [108]
Rose was hopelessly drunk. She must have had far more than Hester had seen or realized. Was this the terrible weakness that Morgan Applegate had been trying to guard her against? Had he the faintest idea what she was like? What she was saying so devastatingly loudly was awful! The worse for being perfectly true, and what everyone was secretly thinking.
Rose was about to start playing the violin again. The pianist was waiting, half in agony, half in ecstasy. It was probably a night she would remember for the rest of her life. She kept her eyes straight ahead and took a deep breath, then plunged in with a resounding bass chord, and then a trill on the top notes.
Hester was desperate. It was all completely out of control, and part of her was on the edge of laughter. It was only the knowledge of ruin that stopped her joining in. She snatched the violin bow from Rose, gripping it around the middle in a fashion that probably did it little good. She flung it behind her, towards the back of the dais, where at least no one would tread on it. The original violinist was still collapsed in a heap, and someone was waving a fan at her quite uselessly. The cellist had disappeared completely.
“You are going home because you are no longer welcome here,” Hester told Rose as sternly as she could. “Put that violin down and take my arm! Do as you are told!”
“I thought we could play a game,” Rose protested. “Charades, don’t you think? Or perhaps not—we’re playing it all the time, really, aren’t we? Or blindman’s buff? We could all grope around, bumping into each other and grabbing hold of the prettiest, or the richest…no, that’s being done too. All the time. What do you suggest?” She looked at Hester expectantly.
Hester could feel her face burning. “Come home,” she said between her teeth, suddenly overtaken with fury at the senseless destruction of a reputation. “Now!”
Rose was startled by the tone rather than the words. Reluctantly she obeyed.
Hester put an arm around her and grasped her wrist with her other hand. Awkwardly but efficiently she marched her to the edge of the dais. Rose, however, misjudged the step, tripped over her skirt, and pitched forwards, only just saving herself from serious hurt by dragging Hester with her, and at the last moment by putting out her hands to break her fall.
Hester landed hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. This saved her from using a word that had not passed her lips since the days in the army that Rose had referred to. Struggling to disentangle herself from her skirts and stand up without treading on Rose and falling flat again, she rose with great difficulty to her feet. “Get up!” she commanded furiously.
Rose rolled over slowly and sat up, looking stunned, then began to laugh again.
Hester leaned forward, caught Rose’s hand, and jerked hard. Rose slid forward but remained on the floor.
It was Alan Argyll who came out of the crowd. Everyone else was milling around, trying to pretend nothing had happened, and either surreptitiously looking at the spectacle or studiously avoiding looking.
“For God’s sake get her out of here!” he snarled at Hester. “Don’t just stand there! Lift!” He bent and hauled Rose to her feet, balancing her with some skill so that she would not buckle at the knees. Then, as she began to subside again, he picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and marched her towards the door. Hester could do nothing but follow behind.
Outside it was not a difficult matter to send for Rose’s coachman. Ten minutes later Argyll assisted her, with considerable strength, into the coach.
“I assume you will go with her?” he said, looking at Hester with disdain. “You seem to have arrived with her. Somebody needs to explain this to her husband. She can’t make a habit of it, or she’ll be locked up.”
“I shall manage very well,” Hester assured him tartly. “I think she has gone to sleep. Her servants will help as soon as we get that far. Thank you for your assistance. Good night.” She was