Corey McFadden (6 page)

“Gad, Mama, enough! I am mortified to discuss such things with my own mother! Still, after rape and murder, what’s a little flux?”

“Silly boy! Well, perhaps you are right. If we do too much planning, we will never get to it. And we must move right away. Maude will be eighteen in a few weeks and I will have no excuse next year not to give her a Season. Several of her mother’s former friends accosted me at Amelia’s parties this year about Maude’s future. I was able to put it off this year because she was still shy of eighteen but I doubt if those old biddies will tolerate our keeping Maude under wraps much longer. I cannot risk exposing her to all those lovesick puppies in London. Her actual dowry is sufficient to attract modest attention and I suppose she could be considered pretty enough, although she’ll never hold a candle to Amelia.”

“Spoken like a true mother. Amelia is lovely, no doubt, but Maude could be ravishing if she cared to clean herself up and take some pride in her appearance. Her hair is beautiful and that figure... Well, as I have said, I’ll have no trouble with my part in this little scenario.”

“Hmmph, she is no beauty, nonetheless.” Claire would never see it. “I suggest we act right away. James and I are invited out to dinner in the neighborhood tomorrow night. We can take Joe with us to drive the carriage. If I give Cook the day off to see her ailing sister, she’ll be out of the house, too...”

“If she doesn’t have to be put to bed in a state of collapse. When did you ever give any of the staff a day off?”

Claire ignored the interruption. “That leaves only the scullery maid and the housemaid. They both sleep up in the attic. Do you think you can be quiet about it?”

“Rape? Mama, surely you jest! ‘Excuse me, Maudie, could you be silent a moment while I ruin you?’ Really, Mama, we’ll have to improve upon that bit of the plan.”

What to do, what to do? Claire mused thoughtfully. She would not be stymied by such a small consideration as two young maids. “Ah, I have it! A drop or two of laudanum in their evening cider. So simple, really, I shall see to it myself.”

“Mind you it’s just a drop or two,” John remarked dryly. “I am beginning to think my once happy home has turned into a house of horrors.”

Claire shot him an exasperated look. “You’ll thank me when this is over and you are set up for life. If it hadn’t been for my keeping an eye on the main chance, we would still be dodging creditors in the slums of London.”

“And, to be sure, you have my eternal gratitude.” John planted a wet kiss with his fleshy, moist lips on Claire’s cheek. “I think that to preserve some slight hope of marital bliss, I shall make Maude a handsome proposal first, after you and Papa leave and the girls have finished in the kitchen and gone up to bed. I shall point out the benefits to her. Perhaps she’ll be reasonable....”

“And if she is not, just take her! The arrangements must be made final tonight. If Maude were to speak to her fool of an uncle he does know enough to set her straight about her affairs. You’ll not get a decent second opportunity, so I should hope you do not bungle this one. I take it you do not require a diagram?” Claire gave him an amused, inquiring look.

“Mama, you wound me! I know where everything goes, I assure you. And it will be my pleasure.”

“Very well, my love. You may leave all the domestic arrangements to me. Oh. and after the deed is done, perhaps Maude should have some laudanum as well. I do not want her running from the house in hysterics before we have a chance to put her options to her. I shall leave a decanter with a small amount of doctored brandy in it on the desk in the drawing room. Prevail upon her to drink it—perhaps even immediately beforehand would be better. That way she’ll be less able to fight you off.”

“Ah, Mama, you are truly an interesting woman. Perhaps you have a drop of Borgia blood in your veins? You may count on me. And now, if there are no further crimes to plan—arson? robbery? No? Well, I shall take myself to bed to dream of the pleasures of the morrow. I do have a most fascinating day ahead of me.” John heaved himself up from the divan.

He paused at the door and looked back at her fondly. “Mama, you are positively frightening. But you are a genius, and you have never failed us yet.”

Chapter Three

Maude ate her cold supper alone in the kitchen with rare pleasure. She had had a wonderful day, spent mostly on horseback, racing like the wind over the hills to the south of the manor house. Even when gray clouds had opened up and poured down on her head, she had not been forced inside, returning only when a cold, wet and bedraggled-looking Joe came to find her so he could harness the horse to the carriage. She had helped Joe with the horses, feeling, as always, more at home in the stables than in the house. The spark of their old camaraderie had not faded with time. She remembered Joe as far back in her life as she could remember anything, and if they could no longer tumble through the countryside like puppies together, neither could age and the divisiveness of their respective stations dim their childhood affection for one another. With the old twinkle of mischief in her eye, she had offered to slip back out to the stables this evening for a card game or two. Unfortunately, Joe had been pressed into coachman duty this evening, and just as well, thought Maude, ruefully, that poor Uncle James would not be maneuvering the heavy old coach in this wet weather, considering how he’d be feeling at the end of the evening.

Now she could still hear the steady patter of rain on the eaves over the kitchen, a cozy, comfortable sound, and it seemed she had a pleasant, private evening ahead of her even without Joe to keep her company. Aunt and Uncle were out visiting, so she need not spend a dreary evening in the drawing room watching Uncle James drink too much and listening to Aunt Claire carp at them both.

And it was such a relief to have Amelia out of the house at last. Those last few weeks of the Season had been nearly unbearable, with Amelia and her mother engaged in endless plotting and planning, not to mention sniping and bickering. Even their brief trips to London for parties had brought little respite since they could not afford rooms and could impose only so long on acquaintances for lodging. Thank heaven at the end of the Season her stepcousin had found a husband, although Maude had cringed at the unseemly haste of a wedding six weeks later. She was still not sure whether or not there was a baby coming, and did not dare ask.

If Amelia did have an early baby, Maude was sure she would not be able to hold her head up in society again. Adopted or not, Amelia was a Romney, and such events provided endless amusement for the
ton
. Still, at least the poor, benighted Geoffrey Talbot had come to Maude’s rescue. The bruises on Maude’s backside had taken a long time to fade after the beating she had received for her interference with the Earl of Radford, and it was only young Talbot’s proposal that had finally stilled the vicious, vengeful tongues of her aunt and Amelia.

Perhaps now there would be some peace and quiet at Romney Manor and if Claire was less harried, perhaps she would have less to complain about. Only with an overwhelming sense of loss could Maude remember back to a time when this house had not been filled with bitterness and strife. She had very early on given up looking for love from her shrewish, ill-tempered aunt, whose unloving fingers would pinch at the slightest provocation and who carried a strap on her person, ever ready to administer a blow filled with self-righteous vigor. Oddly enough, the strap had never been deemed necessary for Amelia or John; only Maude had suffered its frequent, heavy application, and never when Uncle James was anywhere near to see it. And if Maude was now too old to be strapped, except under greatest provocation, Claire made up for it with pinches and slaps and ugly tongue-lashings.

Quickly, Maude finished her supper, anxious to avoid her cousin, John, at all costs. Surely he would go out soon to his cronies. He hadn’t spent an evening at home since she could remember. She gave a shudder at the thought of him. He had acted strangely this morning at breakfast, even for him. Too familiar, she thought. He had kissed her good morning on the cheek, of course, but his hand had lingered at the small of her back with a slight, caressing pressure, and there had been an odd light in his eyes, as if he had a very amusing secret.

Well, perhaps she could avoid him entirely this evening. His place was set as usual in the dining room; he could eat supper alone. She moved quickly and quietly into the kitchen,   gave a quick scrape to her few dishes and placed them in the bucket of sudsy water that had been left for her on the sideboard. Maude had dismissed the two young serving girls for the night; they had seemed so tired and lethargic. It was rare indeed that they should be granted even so much as an hour to themselves and they had gone upstairs, grateful for the break in routine.

Maude pushed softly at the green baize-covered door that led from the kitchen to the hall, and she moved on tip-toe into the library. If she could just get her writing things and slip up to her room without being seen, she could spend a nice, relaxed evening writing to Elizabeth, her one friend from the neighborhood who had married recently and moved to Yorkshire, and was now begging for news of Amelia’s hasty marriage. Maude’s hopes were dashed as she heard John’s booted feet striking the bare wood on the hall floor behind her.

“Maudie!” her stepcousin cried, bounding into the room.

She cringed at his jovial tone, hoping he wasn’t feeling overly companionable.

“Why on earth is there only the one place laid at the table in the dining room? Weren’t you planning to take supper with me?”

She turned to face him, willing herself not to show her irritation. His dark brown eyes danced mischievously in the lamplight. His thick, lecherous lips gave her a big grin. He ate and drank to excess and it showed in his pasty, puffy face. Maude gave a tiny shudder. She hated being alone with him.

“Well, I-I’m rather tired tonight, John. I thought since everyone was gone, I’d just make short work of supper and go on up to bed.” This wasn’t quite true, of course, but she wanted to head off any thought he might have that they spend part of the evening together.

“Ah, well, I suppose I might as well do the same. Where is the kitchen staff by the way? There doesn’t seem to be anyone about but us.”

“The girls seemed very tired, so I sent them up to bed. I thought I could just clear off the few supper dishes myself.”

Again, she caught that odd glint in his eye. Maude felt a shiver up her back. She must get upstairs. She would be safe behind her locked door. She turned to the desk and fumbled at the small secretary to find her box of stationery and a pen.

John poured himself a generous portion of brandy from the decanter. “I must say that was thoughtful, Maudie. And so domestic of you to offer to do the cleaning. Sit, sit! How about a small snifter of brandy? It will revive you marvelously.”

Maude stared at him, nonplussed, accepting the glass with no intention of drinking it. She sat on the edge of the small needlepoint seat on a most uncomfortable occasional chair, wondering how soon she could excuse herself without seeming abrupt. She and John, in all their years together in this house, had never shared a companionable chat, and she had no wish to do so now.

“I can’t say I’ve ever thought of you as the domestic type, Maudie,” he said after a long sip. “Have you ever given any thought to marriage and a family?”

Surely that was an innocuous remark between cousins? Why did she have the feeling that a trap was closing around her? She was certainly being ridiculously fanciful. Maude look a deep breath, drawing herself up to face him steadily. “Not really, John, I cannot imagine leaving Romney Manor. And I’ve never met anyone who has captured my fancy.” She allowed herself a little comradely grin. He was just being friendly, after all.

“But what about children?” he asked smoothly. “Surely you don’t mean to stay here, keeping Mama and Papa company for the rest of your life and not start a family of your own?”

It wasn’t that she did not want children, Maude thought, it was just that she couldn’t imagine herself in the role of a wife. It would mean spending the rest of her life playing lady, dressed up like a peacock every minute of the day, simpering at parties and routs, gossiping and visiting, day in, day out. Impossible!

“I am not really opposed to marriage, John. I just do not see myself going about the business of finding a husband. And then, if I get one, I shall have to go about the business of being a wife. You know,” she added quickly, before the leering look could appear, “entertaining and running all the social activities—all the silliness involved with being out in society. You must admit, I do not have the patience for all that sort of thing.”

“Indeed, I see your point, Maudie,” he said, drawing again on his brandy. “You were never one to go along with all the nonsense the other girls find so entertaining. I daresay Amelia hasn’t had a thought in her head these last ten years that didn’t involve her attire or her matrimonial prospects. You’ve always been so much more sensible than the other girls of my acquaintance.”

John had paid her a compliment! Well, a sort of a compliment. And such an unexpected one at that. He had never intimated that he had anything but contempt for what his mother termed Maude’s ‘hoydenish ways’. And surely he had played the admiring fop for years for the young ladies he now so disparaged. Maude sat back in her chair and took a sip of the brandy, perplexed at this unexpected sentiment. Not in ten years had he said anything nice to her at all. It had been all teasing and tormenting when they were younger, and snide jabs since they’d grown. In spite of herself, she smiled at him. Pleasant was better than unpleasant, after all.

John smiled back, in a comradely sort of way. “Still, Maudie,” he went on, “if you can’t see yourself prancing about at parties, I can’t see you moldering here as a spinster forever. It would be such a waste. I mean, you would make a fine mother, and children are such fun to have about.”

Now Maude was stunned. The last person in the world she expected to hear wax eloquent on the joys of children and motherhood was Cousin John, who spent no more time than necessary in any domestic pursuit. He preferred his card parties and Lord knew what other sorts of unmentionable entertainments to anything involving household or family. And she could not recall having ever seen him near a child, much less enjoying its presence.