Rake's Progress Read Online Free PDF

67 Clarges Street was no longer her concern.
    Lord Guy sat wrapped in a silk dressing gown and sipped his hock and seltzer. He tried to rememberwhat he had been up to the night before, but it only came back to him in highly coloured flashes. He frowned. Something very important had happened to him, and for the life of him he could not remember what it was.
    Mr Roger slouched in, wearing only his nightshirt and nightcap.
    â€˜You look like a sick gorilla,’ said Lord Guy pleasantly. ‘Sit down and have some hock and seltzer.’
    â€˜I’d better,’ said Mr Roger gloomily. ‘Got to restore my energies for this affair tonight.’ He grinned and winked. ‘Or should I say “affairs”.’
    â€˜Are we going somewhere?’ asked Lord Guy.
    â€˜No, somewhere’s coming here. Don’t you remember, we invited that party of bloods and a crowd of the best-looking high-fliers to come here .’
    Lord Guy closed his eyes. He had a sudden longing for a quiet evening alone with a book.
    But he had escaped death so many times. After the Season, it would be back to shattered bones, dysentery, and cannon fire.
    â€˜Then we had better warn our prim servants,’ he said. ‘Manuel!’
    The Spanish servant appeared from behind a screen. ‘Send that housekeeper to me, and Rainbird as well.’
    Rainbird and Mrs Middleton listened carefully to his instructions. A supper for about fifty was to be served at two in the morning. Musicians were to be sent for. Champagne was to be got in by the crate and ice by the bucket.
    Mrs Middleton blenched. ‘My lord,’ she said timidly, ‘how are we to seat fifty?’
    Lord Guy frowned. Then his face cleared. ‘You’ll need to clear this place out, that is, the hall, the front and back parlours, this bedroom of mine – I’ll move upstairs – and the dining room. Put in tables up here and let them stand about and help themselves. Chalk the floors downstairs and put the orchestra in the back parlour.’
    Rainbird consoled himself with the thought that fifty members of the ton would make good pickings for the Vail Box.
    â€˜What about decoration, my lord?’ he asked.
    Lord Guy looked blank.
    â€˜I mean,’ pursued Rainbird, ‘there is usually some theme at a supper party – eastern or sylvan or . . .’
    â€˜Don’t matter,’ said Lord Guy. ‘The ladies will supply ample decoration.’
    â€˜There is the matter of wages, my lord,’ said Rainbird tentatively.
    â€˜Aren’t you paid any?’
    â€˜Yes, my lord, very low wages when the house is empty. It is the custom for a tenant to pay the difference during the Season – that is, raise the servants’ wages to a normal level.’
    Lord Guy shrugged. ‘Sounds like a hum to me,’ he said indifferently. ‘But I am causing you a great deal of work. Pay yourselves what you think fit and present me with the bill.’
    The servants were at first appalled by the amountof last-minute work facing them, for the guests were to begin to arrive around eight in the evening. But the news that an increase in their wages had been agreed on made them all work cheerfully and hard.
    Angus MacGregor was a chef who enjoyed drama. The son of an earl would entertain only the cream of society. The cook planned to amaze and delight.
    The first shock came around eight-thirty when the staid environs of Clarges Street were enlivened by the arrival of an open carriage brim-full of London’s Fashionable Impure.
    They were painted and feathered and beribboned. Despite the chill of the evening, they were dressed in transparent muslin gowns, cut short in some cases to reveal glimpses of ankle, and, in others, pinned up on either side to expose legs encased in flesh-coloured tights.
    Rainbird tried to bar the door, thinking they were all looking for a fashionable brothel, but they triumphantly produced cards, and Mr