High Spirits at Harroweby (9 page)

Although Selinda had found it essential to her peace of mind over the past six months to banish all the thoughts of injustice and vengeance that arose from her situation, a searing wrath arose in her breast as she now watched Miss Snypish posing in a mirror under the brim of a sweet gypsy bonnet trimmed in ribbons of a delicate willow green. Selinda could only conjecture how she herself would look in such a confection. She appeased her jealousy to some small extent, however, by reflecting with uncharacteristic rancor that her horrid companion resembled more closely a sly rat peering out from under a leaf of lettuce than a fetching bohemian. Still, the sight rankled.

When Miss Snypish had finally ceased her preening, she handed the assistant a wad of bank notes, adjuring her to have the dresses made up as quickly as possible.

“
And to which address shall I direct their delivery?” Miss Motley asked.

Miss Snypish paused a moment in thought. It would not do for anyone at Harroweby House to note either her purchases or speculate about her ability to afford them.
“I believe I shall come and collect them myself,” she said briefly. “Good day to you. Come along, Lady Selinda.”

Once out on the street again, the companion turned to Selinda and, in tones tinged with religious ardor, said,
“I had no idea such places existed. I vow I shall never wear gray again.”

Seizing on t
his relatively companionable moment, Selinda remarked, “I am glad to have been able to assist you. It is such a fine day, is it not, Miss Snypish. How long do you suppose we have until we must return?”

Suddenly suspicious, Miss Snypish turned on her.
“Why do you wish to know?”

Selinda had indeed been wishing to prolong their outing even though the hope of recognizing someone who had known her parents had waned. She had known all along that this was a slim possibility, indeed, for she had met very few of their acquaintances, but it was the very sort of thing that reading romantic novels had encouraged her to look for. Surely the fates could not be so cruel as to bestow on her a life entirely devoid of coincidence!

“Why, Miss Snypish,” she replied in injured tones, “I thought you might wish to step down the street to Cosgrove’s. My mother always spoke highly of their fine soaps.”

Satisfied for the moment that her charge was not plotting anything untoward, Miss Snypish nodded her head.
“I doubt I shall be wanted for another hour or so,” she reflected. “Come, show me the way.”

Before too long
, Miss Snypish proved herself to be as susceptible to the allure of Mr. Cosgrove’s fine soaps and fragrances as she had been to the wares offered by Miss Motley. Not only did she avail herself of several boxes of scented savonettes but also chose an assortment of perfumed waters, oils, sachets, rouges, powders, and a potent plaster said to be efficacious in the removal of unwanted hair. As Selinda stood back and watched the assembly of this awe-inspiring arsenal, she wondered distractedly whether and to what extent she might be called upon to play Pygmalion to this unlikely Galatea.

Lady Sybil had been beside herself with excitement and nervous curiosity ever since the moment she spied Lucy drive off so mysteriously with Lord Waverly. Whatever could it mean, she wondered? With a flutter of anticipation, she had, of course, recognized the handsome gentleman from Selinda’s ball. Used as she was to an existence devoted to diversion, the ghost had found recent events somewhat dampening, despite her keen interest. Thus she was now in high alt that, at last, something pleasant and perhaps even promising seemed to be in the offing.

After the marked success of her morning
’s eavesdropping—however unnerving its revelations had been—the ghost had been disappointed to find that nothing of any note had been discussed in the servants’ domain. They seemed to be, for the most part, an exceedingly lazy, churlish bunch, more concerned with avoiding work and lining their own pockets than attending to their duties. These they performed with such amazing inattention that the likelihood of their garnering gossip of even the most superficial variety was highly unlikely. Moreover, from what she had thus far seen of the household’s operations, Lady Sybil doubted that any of the ill-sorted crew had had the least exposure to the workings of a well-run establishment. So, she decided open-mindedly, it was really not their fault if they were ignorant of the time-honored custom of servants’ hall rumormongering.

All the while she waited for Lucy to return from her mysterious outing, the ghost had paced nervously about the gallery, their prearranged rendezvous. How in heaven
’s name, Lady Sybil wondered, had she ever managed to fill her time before the arrival of her newly found descendants? Her activities and observations during the previous hundred years or so had never seemed so very tedious, but, in comparison to the events of the week just past, they really must have been, she decided.

The intensity of the current Harroweby troubles notwithstanding, the girls really were a most endearing and engaging pair. It was more than that, though. Lady Sybil now realized that she already felt an overwhelming affection for them, as well as an uncharacteristic sense of duty. Prior to their arrival, her ghostly machinations had been altogether self-serving—performed solely for the purpose of, whatever diversion they might afford her. What flirtations and liaisons were in the offing and how might she promote them? There was, of course, that same element here, but so much more was at
stake! Indeed, she felt her present efforts to be quite valiant. Now, as she waited impatiently for Lucy’s return, time (and her newly cultivated sense of matriarchal distress) hung heavily indeed on her unworldly hands. By the time the child’s footsteps at last echoed along the musty hallway, it seemed as if several more centuries must have passed.

“
You will not credit it, Lady Sybil,” Lucy bubbled as she skipped in, her little face alights with excitement. “What a wondrous day it has been! I have just been out riding and dining with a veritable paragon!”

“
Oh, yes, I am well aware of Lord Waverly’s charms,” the ghost assured her, breathless with relief and anticipation, “and I agree most heartily. In fact, were I but a hundred years younger ...”

“
Or I a few years older ...” Lucy mused with a mischievous grin.

“
... our poor Selinda would do well to have a care for her interests,” Lady Sybil finished with a flourish of her fan.

“
Well, I doubt we should have very much success in that quarter,” Lucy confided, “for it is the most amazing thing ever: Lord Waverly is top over tails in love with Selinda!”

“
What! Surely he did not tell you so?”

“
He did not have to. It came to me in a blinding flash as he was speaking of her. I know that flash of old and I know I am not mistaken.”

“
I hope not indeed,” the ghost declared, her voice edged with doubt, “for I believe he is the very gentleman for her. I thought as much when I watched them dance together the other night. I wish you might have seen them. They moved as one!”

“
Well, you needn’t worry, Lady Sybil. I know I am not wrong, at least, in this case,” Lucy said earnestly. Then she sighed and a slight frown of worry appeared. “All we need to ascertain is the state of Selinda’s affections. I wonder how her heart stands. Do you believe her affections can possibly have been engaged as well?”

“
If they have not been,” the ghost pronounced with confidence, “I shall make certain that they soon enough are.”

Lucy climbed up into a dusty window seat and crossed her legs.
“How do you propose to accomplish that?”

“
Ah, you forget, my dear,” Lady Sybil smiled. “Dreams are my special talent.”

“
A romantic dream!” Lucy exclaimed. “The very thing indeed! I know it may be ill luck, but I almost begin to believe we shall prevail in all things at last. Now then, I have told Lord Waverly
almost
every thing about our trials. I think it best he does not know about
you,
of course. The effect of our conversation is this: he has promised to help Selinda and me with Darrowdean and anything else he can manage. We have even contrived a way to exchange messages. Oh, you cannot imagine, Lady Sybil! He is so pleasant and kind. He
even
called me Lady Lucy with the utmost civility and drove me about the city, even though we drew all sorts of impertinent stares. I believe he is almost worthy of Selinda.”

“
If
any man is worthy of a woman, it may be he!” the ghost agreed.

“
Everything seems to be falling into place then. Did you find out anything belowstairs?”

“
Very little, unfortunately.
Only that your wretched guardians are being robbed and ill-served as scandalously as they deserve.”

“
Hmm,” Lucy frowned. “I suppose that only means Selinda’s and my interests are being attacked on yet one more front, for you must remember it is our fortune being abused here. Gracious, sometimes it seems there’s not a soul about who doesn’t have a hand in it. Is there no end to wickedness?”

“
Not in my experience,” Lady Sybil, sighed philosophically. “The only thing to do, I suppose, is to turn one evil against the other. We already know that there is contention and counterplotting among the conspirators. They do not trust each other you know—a few well-designed dreams, and we can perhaps turn their suspicions to our own purposes. By the bye, one thing we shall need to do is find a means for you to carry one of my former possessions about with you. I should like to follow you out if the opportunity presents itself again. I suppose we cannot have you toting a piece of furniture about. I wonder ... where can all my jewelry have gone?”

* * * *

Rupert’s mother had in the meantime sat for several hours playing set after set of patience, the corners of her mouth anchored down at an alarming angle. In the past, the game’s monotonous pattern had often helped soothe her nerves and focus her attention. She had “learned patience in prison,” she was fond of saying to herself with a bitter laugh. In that dismal keep, the game had helped her while away many a tedious hour. At her elbow now sat a half-empty glass of gin. That expedient had always provided a sure, if transitory, source of additional solace.

The red saloon
’s heavy curtains were still drawn against the brightness of the blue autumn day: sunlight had always depressed Prudence. Moreover, this morning’s interview with her wayward son, Rupert, had distressed her at her heart’s core.

Prudence had begun the day in a foul temper and her seething displeasure was growing by the minute. She had been cursing her
shortsightedness for some days now. Lapses of good sense were unusual for her and, since the outset of this adventure, the most promising of her life, she had made a number of ill-judged decisions. She now realized that it had been altogether unnecessary to bring the two girls along with them to the city. She would have done much better to have left them sequestered somewhere in the country, but at the time, there had seemed to be many important reasons to keep them with her.

Of all the Harroweby properties, Darrowdean was the least prominent and least likely to attract the interest of interfering do-gooders. It was a secluded property, and the only neighbors seemed to be a doddering squire and his wife who rarely ventured out. Had the sale of the estate not been so tempting, it would have been an admirable place from which to execute her plans. The lands were rich, though, the manor attractive, and, best of all, it was not part of any entail. The prospect of easily gotten wealth had been too tempting for Prudence
’s avaricious soul. She had considered, of course, placing the girls at one of the other estates, but she was unsure how much interest their sudden arrival might arouse. She knew she would have to take Selinda to London for her Season eventually, for she was at first quite careful to play the role of an interested, albeit heavy-handed, relation, respecting in most ways the dictates of the Harroweby Will. She might just as well, she had decided, use their absence from the country to her advantage.

What a fool she
’d been! A Season in London indeed! That, her hindsight now told her, could quite simply have been got around. The Harroweby sisters were more easily bullied than she had at first thought six months ago. Threaten harm to either and the other would comply with anything. No, the presence of the girls in the city, particularly Selinda’s, had caused Prudence nothing but trouble. Despite her words of reassurance to Rupert, she was afraid that someone might have become interested in Selinda’s situation. She could ill afford meddling if she and Rupert were to make their escape with what fortune they had amassed intact.

And Rupert!
Rupert! He had disappointed her very badly indeed this morning. Well, she had spoiled the lad villainously, but in exchange she had always expected unfaltering loyalty. Drat that wretched Harroweby girl with all her mincing ways! What rankled most, after all, was that Prudence knew she had been wrong once more. Forcing a marriage between Selinda and Rupert had been her idea to begin with. It had certainly seemed the least complicated means of acquiring a fortune. Even so, Rupert had at first been reluctant to leg-shackle himself; that is, until he had actually clapped eyes on the little minx. Then it was a different story altogether.

Since their first meeting, it seemed he could think of nothing else but possessing the chit. At first
, Prudence had dangled the girl in front of him like a choice bonbon. He had been quick indeed to lick his lips in anticipation. Only lately, however, had she begun to regret her scheme. Rupert was now not only bewitched, but out and out rebellious as well.

For twenty-five years, Rupert had been her sole consolation, her pride, her companion, and her joy. She had sacrificed everything for his well-being and happiness; petted and praised him, as well. He had been born mere days after her release from prison, a tangible souvenir of her futile attempt to bribe a guard with her body. Afterwards, she had for a time tread the boards at a number of run-down theaters, having discovered a talent for acting and dialects that had served her very well over the years. Later, when her figure had run to fat, she
’d turned her agile hand to stealing what she could. It had been a hard life, she reflected bitterly, but the end of her troubles was in sight. She was not about to lose either her chance to enjoy a fortune or her son’s affections because of some slip of a spoiled heiress.

Oh, she knew how it would be. Once the pair married, she would be consigned to the background at best, no longer heeded, no longer the most important force in Rupert
’s life. Well, she frowned unpleasantly, she would as soon see him hang as see him doting on that privileged little seductress.

Prudence continued to turn the cards relentlessly, her bitterness eating away at her spirits, until a slight rap came at the door.
“Enter,” she commanded morosely as she brushed aside an acidic tear of self-pity. OH, it’s only you, Snypish. Well, what is it?”

“
You asked to see me when I returned,” the companion stated with prim civility beneath which resided a vigorous sense of loathing. She would be very glad to rid herself at last of this repellent role of subservience. Before long, she told herself with an inner smile, the fortune she had quietly been accumulating and the connection she hoped to make with Lord Waverly’s cousin, the Marquess of Bastion, would make her the beneficiary of the same kind of groveling and fawning she had been forced to perform herself. The prospect made her heart race with excitement. She had landed on her feet this time and no mistake.

“
Oh. Yes,” the other replied flatly, barely acknowledging her. “We have some arrangements to make. My son and I shall be departing the day after tomorrow. We shall be absent for some two or three days at the most. During that time, no one—no one at all, mind you—is to stir from this house. There are, of course, to be no visitors.”

Well, we shall see about that
, Miss Snypish thought rebelliously to herself. The combined effects of her shopping expedition and being greeted upon her return by gentlemen’s cards and flowers (both of which she had seized upon without the least thought of Selinda’s interest) had fed the fantasies she had lately been nursing and set her on a path from which there was no return. She would go wherever she pleased and see whomever should happen to call, and hell take any who tried to stop her. In spite of these inner ragings, she nevertheless held her peace and silently nodded her habitual compliance. “Where will you be going, madam?” she asked, taking considerable pains to keep her voice carefully neutral.