The Quality of Mercy - By Barry Unsworth Page 0,51

Major and Mrs. John Winslow. His main interest was reserved for his host, who gripped him lightly by the arm and said, “Come and sit here by me, my dear sir.”

As he sat down, Kemp noticed that Spenton had Miss Sheridan on the other side of him, and that she was young and full-breasted and good-looking, with dark hair dressed up on her head and large eyes whose color he could not determine. Sykes had said that there was a Lady Spenton but that she did not care for London life and spent most of her time on the family estates in the north of England.

“I am glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” Kemp said.

“And I yours. I believe we have matters to discuss. But we will save that for a stroll together after supper. So we can aid digestion at the same time, eh?” He turned in his chair to smile full upon Kemp. “If you are agreeable, that is.”

“Yours to command.” A man of affable touch and condescending gesture—so much might have been expected. There was a good deal of charm in the manner, but the face that was turned to him was strangely at odds with itself; the high, clear forehead and the delicate molding of bone at temple and cheek were at war with the narrow-lidded, rather protuberant brown eyes and the heavy jaw with its strongly marked cleft, like a dimple that continued too far. He was resplendently dressed in a dark crimson suit with a high collar and buttoned sleeves, and a lace-edged cravat tied in a bow under his chin and secured at the throat with a diamond stock pin. “Yes, yes,” he said, “all in good time, we will kill two birds with one stone.”

He looked away as he spoke, and Kemp allowed his face to relax from the smiling expression it had assumed. Smiles never came easily to him. His gaze fell on Miss Sheridan, and she raised her head slightly and widened her eyes at him in a way that seemed provocative. It came to him that this was a lady who had seen some mixed company in her time, for all she was so young. He was wondering what more he might say to Spenton when he found himself being addressed by the viscount, who was sitting at his left.

“We are to hear some singing, sir. This gifted young lady is shortly to oblige us. Did you ever hear La Petunia sing ‘Lasciami piangere’? Egad, sir, she could melt a heart of stone. I once wrote a sonnet to her nipples. Do you enjoy the opera? The English are generally too coarse for it.”

“The ballad is a form more congenial,” Kemp said coldly. He did not like to hear his fellow countrymen criticized and thought the reference to this foreign woman’s nipples in very questionable taste, with the viscountess at the table and within earshot, arguing as it did an acquaintance that went rather further than merely listening to her sing. However, glancing at the lady, he could detect no sign of displeasure. “We do not like all this Italian posturing and gesturing and pretended passion,” he said.

“We are patriotic, I see,” the viscount said. “Very commendable.” He gestured toward the rococo decorations in the columns of the arcade. “It was those same posturing fellows that designed all this,” he said.

Kemp checked the sharp reply that rose to his lips. He had not come here to quarrel, and it had occurred to him that the other might be slightly drunk. The whole back of the box was occupied by an enormous painting of Britannia Victorious, receiving the victor’s wreath from Mars. He turned his head pointedly away from Mowbray and fell to studying that.

Perhaps feeling some strain in the silence that ensued, the major’s lady, Mrs. Winslow, said, “They have very good concerts at Ranelagh Gardens nowadays too. Did any of you go to hear Mozart perform there on the harpsichord? His own composition, you know. Only eight years old, quite amazing.”

Conway, a thin, languid man with eyeglasses, now spoke for the first time. “He will not last, he will burn out. Charles Blenkinsop, the organist at St. Paul’s—now there is a man.”

“Now would be the time for your performance, my dear,” Spenton said to Miss Sheridan. “I will escort you.”

Leaning forward and resting his arms on the outer rail of the box, Kemp saw the couple emerge from the arcade and walk arm in arm through the crowd,