Reprise Read Free Page A

carriage. More eager for this treat than to see the house, actually.
    “I wouldn’t like to do that, Uncle,” Prudence said, hoping to restrain him.
    " I’ll take the responsibility,” Hettie said. “He told me early, the wretch, and I had myself called at the ungodly hour of eight-thirty on purpose.”
    Clarence, who never arose later than eight, said “Eight-thirty! You are an early riser!”
    “Not usually, but as the villain got me up at the crack of dawn, I’ll haul him out by the ear. See if I don’t.”
    After a few more attempts at stalling, Prudence was talked into going by the others, and they all three set off to Dammler’s rooms at Albany. When the carriage pulled up to the door, Clarence alit to open the door for the ladies, but said he would “just wait outside,” for he had high hopes that some friend would chance by and see him lounging at his ease inside a crested carriage, and he would be able to tell him he awaited his nevvie, Lord Dammler, the poet.
    Prudence and Hettie went inside, their eyes accustomed from a few visits to the eastern decor of the place. Ottomans and leather hassocks stood in lieu of sofas and chairs. The tables, too, were brought back from Persia, short tables with nacre inlays, and one trivet table made entirely of brass. It was odd and interesting rather than beautiful. “The brothel,” Hettie called it quite bluntly.
    The butler appeared not only surprised but acutely uncomfortable to see them in, and asked them to await his lordship in the saloon. They accepted this, but had not been seated a minute until Hettie arose saying, “I’ll go and hurry him along. He’s probably sound asleep.” Prudence nodded and remained where she was, but after a few minutes she decided to continue her wait in Dammler’s library, always a place of interest to her.
    The library took her next door to Dammler’s bedroom, and as the door stood partially open, she could hear very distinctly what was being said.
    “How did you come to do such a thing!” Hettie exclaimed, in a very shocked voice, and she was not a lady who was easily shocked.
    “It just happened. I can’t explain now. For God’s sake get rid of her, Hettie. Get Prudence out of here.”
    “What excuse can I use?”
    “Say I’m sick--say what you like, but get her out of here!”
    Prudence stood listening, thinking she must have misheard, misunderstood. Dammler was furious that she had come. Why should he be?
    He spoke again. “I’ll meet you at Berkeley Square in half an hour. Now go, before she comes in and catches me like this.” His voice sounded deranged.
    She didn’t know what to think. Within the space of seconds she envisaged him ill, wounded, suffering from some disfiguring disease or accident. She took a step towards the door, her heart in her mouth, prepared, she thought, for anything. She found she was mistaken. She certainly was not prepared to see him standing hale and hearty in a flamboyant dressing gown with a cup of coffee in his hand and a voluptuous blond lady in his bed, with a table set for two beside it. The female wore next to nothing--some scanty bit of white diaphanous material, possibly an undergarment.
    Prudence took one step into the room and two back. Then she advanced again, slowly, looking around at the disorder of the chamber--an evening gown thrown over a table, silk stockings on the floor, Dammler’s coat hanging on a door knob. Then she looked at the female. She was exquisite. A cloud of platinum curls, a pair of large green eyes, a heart-shaped face. The girl opened red lips and laughed inanely, revealing perfect teeth. “Who are you?” she asked in a sweet, childish voice.
    Prudence didn’t answer the question, nor was it necessary for her to return it. She knew well enough who this vision was. Cybele. Dammler’s former mistress, still current mistress, as well. She had seen them together before at the opera. Cybele was not the sort of apparition one could forget, hard as