Gibbous House 79

Brougham held out a chair for Arabella. There were other women in the Mogul: at that time there were several ladies in society with a taste for the lower entertainments, but there were few in evidence that night. A certain kind of woman would ape the fashions of these adventuresses with far less panache than Arabella was able to manage. Still, Arabella's origins were far closer to those of such women of quality, and she put to shame the tawdry bawds accompanying the moneyed and the meretricious, that night.

We took our seats to the sounds of a singularly bronchitic and less than tuneful squawk. The assembled audience had begun to laugh the moment its owner had appeared on the raised dais in front of them. Brougham gave a loud whisper in Arabella's direction:

'Sloman, usually on at Evans', jolly good.'

It was a matter of taste, I assumed. Every song seemed to include a sketch of one of the regular habitues of the Mogul. One fellow with a writerly look - and a notebook clutched to his chest - stood up to bow at the mention of Makepeace. I reflected that one ought never to underestimate the vanity of writers. A few songs later our new-found boon companion beamed beatifically during a song lauding the exploits of one Supper Club Johnny, although I imagined a few of those watching merited the epithet.

Arabella struck exactly the right note in her performance that evening. For a performance it was; I myself, who knew her to be eight and twenty, would have believed her no more than of majority age. Again, she hid the boldness and self-assurance which I found so attractive behind a flirtatious and, yes, inane chatter. Brougham cut a figure that was testament to a louche and dissolute existence enjoyed by more than one or two of his peers. The swelling abdomen told of port and too many suppers in the Mogul and other places like it.
Naturally, despite the affectation of diffidence, he possessed the supreme self-confidence of all his class: a certain knowledge of the strata of society and his own elevated station within them. Above all, he knew himself to be irresistible by dint of this status and wealth.

Equally naturally, Arabella resisted him with great skill and feigned reluctance.

She resisted Brougham that night, in Evans' the next night. At Regent's Park Zoological Gardens the following week, and on the Serpentine after that. On every occasion I played the chaperone, the doting and indulgent elder brother. As with any man accustomed to having every wish gratified, the denial of one impelled him to strive ever harder to attain it. Arabella refused all gifts, as a player at Speculation will spurn a trick in the hope of greater gains. The proffered gifts became more outrageous, we were both sorely tempted by a sapphire and ruby brooch of Indian origin in the shape of a butterfly. However, we remained resolute.

The game continued for several months and I despaired of Brougham ever closing his wet mouth on the hook.

Finally, Brougham came to call at a house on Cadogan Square that the fool believed to be ours. A fortunate encounter with the rich and effete son of a cotton merchant in an alley in Limehouse had offered an opportunity for extortion and blackmail, but I had saved the coin for a later day and extracted the use of his London address after his departure, under some other cloud, for the Grand Tour. A man's reputation in society is a precious thing, and as such, a marketable commodity.