High Spirits at Harroweby (13 page)

As the Marquess of Bastion and Miss Snypish threaded the tree-lined lanes, the latter’s face all but glowed with excitement. The marquess was everything she had hoped he might be: titled (of course), handsome (to her way of thinking), and as malleable as potter’s clay. Nothing could be better! She had, at first, been by no means encouraged that so much of his conversation seemed to lead back to the subject of Lady Selinda Harroweby, but, if he were indeed the shy person his cousin Waverly had described, it stood to reason he would fall back on a subject he supposed to be neutral. For safety’s sake, however, Miss Snypish had fed him a Banbury tale about Lady Selinda, which had seemed to dampen his interest quickly enough. Indeed, the heart-rending tale of Lady Selinda’s failing health seemed to have set an expression of decided consternation on the marquess’s ordinarily bland face.

Anxious to further draw Bastion
’s attention to her own charms instead. Miss Snypish went on to describe in no small detail her recent forays into the stock market, and she was gratified to see his interest immediately riveted at the mention of money. Her dealings had, in fact, been a source of secret pride to her. Because of her oddly situated employment (in which silent complicity paid a good deal more than mere competence ever had) she had, by her standards, a goodly amount of capital at her disposal.

As she described the workings of the market, the Marquess of Bastion had been instantly impressed with this undertaking
’s resemblance to the games of chance which had both fascinated and frustrated him over the years. Could it be that faro and finance had something in common? Enthralled, he questioned her closely about the various subtleties of her investments.

“
Why, it sounds exactly like something one might come across at Boodle’s or White’s,” Bastion murmured, awestruck at the notion. “And you say you actually profit from this endeavor?”

“
Consistently,” Miss Snypish assured him with a proud nod, “for it really is more than gambling. You see, an investment is nothing more than a wager that the value of a commodity, for example, will increase. However, it is a good deal more like placing money on a horse, I should imagine, than wagering on a toss of the dice.
That
is ruled by chance alone, of course. With a horse, however, I daresay you must know something of its lineage and past performance. You have information which enables you to make an informed wager.”

Bastion allowed, with growing respect for the lady, that this was quite true.

“Well, it is just so on the ‘change,” she explained earnestly. “One knows a certain amount about the market, the tenor of the times, the past performance of the commodity. It’s all in the newspapers if one but looks. It’s quite simple, really. In fact,” she went on in a conspiratorial tone, “I have quite a nest egg saved up myself. I shall be glad to let you know of any investments I make.”

“
I say!” he exclaimed with some feeling. “That’s very sporting of you, I must say, Miss Snypish. There’s some—most—who don’t give a fig how I get on. You truly are a remarkable woman!”

Miss Snypish all but blushed with pleasure at this first compliment of her adult life. Yes, she would snare this prize, she told herself with resolute conviction, or die trying.

When the fascinated pair at last rejoined Lord Waverly and Selinda, Miss Snypish wore a look of marked triumph. She had held high hopes for this meeting, but, when it came right down to it, she had not actually dreamed that engaging the marquess’s attention would prove to be so easy. Moreover, in a very brief time, she had been able to discover yet another interest she and that gentleman held in common. Immediately, she announced the plans for the following day.

“
We shall all,” she informed the group in tones that forbade anything like dissension, “visit Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks on the morrow. That remarkable lady has just brought a new exhibition to town, Lord Bastion has told me, and I am most anxious to see it. I have heard,” she went on in a gleeful undertone, “that she uses actual human teeth! I cannot wait.”

“
It really is the most amazing thing, Waverly,” his cousin told him with considerable enthusiasm. “I saw it last year with Slaverington. Some don’t care for it, but I must admit I found it quite fascinating. Exceedingly enlightening.”

The marquess now cast a sidelong glance at Lady Selinda. He had noticed on his first seeing her that day that she was not at all in looks; at this last description of Madame Tussaud
’s artistic technique, however, she had become pale, indeed. How could he have ever thought her a beauty? he wondered with incredulity. It must surely have been all the champagne he had drunk the night of her ball, he decided with a frown. And then, there was also that hereditary wasting sickness of which that extraordinary Miss Snypish had so kindly warned him. She was right it seemed: the disease’s course must be extremely rapid, for the girl looked a good deal less robust than she had just a week ago.
Bed her or wed her ...
The terms of his wager with Slaverington echoed in his head.

Marrying the poor chit would not be such a bad thing, he supposed, and the prospect of inheriting her fortune more quickly than he had imagined was a fair induc
ement. But bedding her and casting her aside? That was something else entirely, wasn’t it? He was well-aware that his reputation was not quite what it ought to be, but even
he
wasn’t equal to fulfilling his wager by such an expedient. Would Slaverington allow him to cry off he wondered?

* * * *

As the carriage rattled along, Lucy shrank into the squabs, trying to make her diminutive presence even less noticeable. Sharing the compartment with persons of such immense proportions as Rupert and his mother was not a pretty prospect, even for one so small as Lucy. Each took up the greater part of the bench upon which they had deposited themselves, and the child was in a quandary to decide which of them should have the bliss of squashing her up against the door. Furthermore, neither scoundrel was in charity with the other, and Lucy suspected that it would not be long before their interchange of barbed glances became verbal. All she could do, however, was envy Lady Sybil’s invisibility.

In spite of enormous discomfort, emotional and physical, the long coach ride to Darrowdean still held some small amusement for Lucy. To begin with, it took a fair amount of concentration for her to maintain a sober countenance. Although Lucy was, of course, the only passenger who could either see or hear the ghost, Lady Sybil carried on a continuous monologue, reminiscing about the various sights of London as their carriage made its way through the
city, remarking on the countryside and villages through which they passed, and, from time to time, commenting satirically on Prudence and her unlovable son in the most outrageous terms imaginable.

Beyond this, however,
the irreverent spirit further diverted herself by plaguing their dreams whenever either Prudence or Rupert chanced to drift off to sleep. Even though the sight of their disconcerted faces as they started into wakefulness was extremely amusing, Lucy had much rather the ghost allowed them their repose, for it was a good deal less noxious for her than the strained vigilance that followed their dreams.

Lucy sat, therefore, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing aloud for several hours, until the rattling carriage came to halt in front of an inn. Rupert
’s stomach had been rumbling unmercifully for some hours, but his mother, who had put away a meal of Amazon proportions that morning, had insisted they wait until late afternoon to break their fast. The pair descended the carriage heavily, snapping irritably at one another. Lucy waited a moment for the vehicle to stop rocking before she attempted to follow them, but, as she moved forward, her progress was immediately obstructed by the substantial form of Rupert’s mother.

“
Stay in the coach, brat, and do not think of stirring,” she was told crossly. “Don’t for a moment think I haven’t seen your sly little smirks. When you can behave yourself as a decent child ought, you shall be fed something. But not before.”

With that
, Prudence made her bulky way toward the mouth-watering aromas issuing from the inn, and Lady Sybil, perforce, followed in her wake. If only the wretched woman had put the pomander into her luggage instead of insisting on constantly wearing it, the ghost might have been able to stay behind with Lucy. In addition to feeling that the child might need some reassurance, Lady Sybil had no desire to observe Prudence when she applied herself to her dinner. Something would have to be done about this inconvenience before too long, Lady Sybil decided.

Although Rupert was very nearly beside himself with hunger, he tarried a moment at the carriage door. He did not, of course, have any natural feeling
for the child, but he did recognize an opportunity to ingratiate himself with Selinda. If he could pose as the brat’s champion, he reasonsed, he might well find it an advantageous avenue into her older sister’s heart once more. When the coachman, too, had made his way toward the taproom (Rupert trusted no one), he leaned in close and smiled.

“
Never worry, dearest Lucy,” he told her in a conspiratorial undertone. “I have promised your sister I shall look after you. I will see to it that you do not starve.”

Quickly then, he followed his mother
’s retreating bulk and disappeared into the inn. A few moments later, he returned with several withered apples and the dry end of a loaf. “This was all I could contrive under that vulture’s watchful eye,” he whispered quickly, looking nervously over his shoulder. “Eat it all quickly and don’t leave any cores about. It would benefit neither of us to be found out.”

With that he hastily made his way back to the inn, leaving Lucy to munch away at her meager repast in peace. It would simply have to do until they reached their inn later on tonight, she told herself stoutheartedly. Surely, by then, Prudence would have relented somewhat. Or perhaps her small sins would be overshadowed by some offense of Rupert
’s. At least, Lucy hoped so.

When at last her guardians did return to the carriage, they moved with a sluggish waddle that bespoke their prowess at the table. As they settled once more into the squabs and their eyes grew heavy, Lucy darted a significant glance at Lady Sybil who graciously allowed them their sleep for the present. It was not long before their snores filled the compartment
’s air with a sonorous sawing.

In this relative tranquility, Lucy turned her thoughts to her predicament, steeling herself to the chilly dread now working away at her heart. Her resources were few, but better than they might have been. Lady Sybil was at her side most of the time, and, tied in a handkerchief in her pocket, she had the gold pieces Lord Waverly had left for her. Moreover, they were headed for Darrowdean. So, she had resources, a friend, and knew the territory. It could have been
far, far worse.

* * * *

As soon as Selinda and Miss Snypish had bid farewell to their callers, the latter at once set about determining a costume for the morrow’s expedition. Fortuitously, the companion did not call upon Selinda to assist her in this endeavor but left her to explore her own thoughts for the first time that day. These were, naturally, a good deal lighter than they had been two hours earlier or, indeed, for a good many months. It seemed altogether too good to credit that such a one as Lord Waverly was not only intimately acquainted with their horrid predicament, but had pledged his assistance as well.

As the elder of the sisters, Selinda had,
for the most part, suffered their troubles as her own particular burden. Lucy, of course, was privy to their nature, but how could a mere child be expected to help, after all? Ironically, now that Lord Waverly had revealed the substance of Lucy’s investigation, Selinda felt quite useless in comparison. Her little sister had been more successful in her endeavors than any might ever have guessed— infinitely more so than Selinda herself had been. It was altogether remarkable that the child had managed to learn (and to accomplish with that knowledge) so much in so short a time. It was not that Selinda was ungrateful—quite the reverse, in fact. But she did so wish that she might have saved Lucy’s innocent childhood from the ravages it had lately undergone. Thanks to the child’s efforts, however, the riddle of their supposed guardians’ relationship was now unraveled and the aid of the inestimable Lord Waverly had been enlisted.

Lord Waverly? Selinda
’s ruminations were brought to a sudden halt as she recalled the feeling of his arms around her that afternoon. That moment of comfort had been too brief, but it had been sufficient to still her fears and inexorably engage her heart. If only he could hold her forever! It had been more than just an embrace, of course, lovely as that instant had been. His proposed rescue of Lucy and his assumption of her own inclusion in the undertaking had completely overwhelmed her. How many other gentlemen, for all their lovely speeches, would do as much? They would be full of their protestations for her reputation and safety. They would very likely insist that sitting about in a fretful stew constituted a more proper show of sisterly devotion than riding to poor Lucy’s rescue. Ignorant cattle! There was now not the least doubt in Selinda’s mind: she loved Lord Waverly and loved him completely. She would marry him and they could all live happily—

Just then, an exceedingly dampening thought occurred to her. The same set of events that promised to deliver the sisters from their distress brought with them yet another dilemma. It was quite clear now that Selinda need not embark on a precipitous marriage to anyone in order to bring about a change of fortune. In fact, she need not seduce Lord Waverly after
all!