Maggie MacKeever (16 page)

His lordship then offered to perform the same service for Jane. “Ungrateful!” responded Eleanor, whose mood was very frivolous as result of her husband’s skilled attentions, and the wine, and the combined events of a long and trying day. “You have already abandoned the wench! Not that she holds it against you, mind! She merely wants to be put in the way of a little honest work, since you have left her destitute.”

“Nell.” Lord March was encouraged by his wife’s cheerful demeanor to caress her cheek. “Can this be true?”

“Gudgeon!” Lady March kissed her husband’s caressing hand. “If you ever turned an eye of love on that platter-faced female, I’ll eat her red silk bonnet!”

Red silk bonnet? A vague memory twinged. Something to do with black velvet trimming and a feather— but it was all so ephemeral. Yet the creature
had
known about his undependable memory. In an effort to aid his concentration, Marriot retied his wife’s green ribbons. “You relieve me, my dear! I would not like to think I had fallen into licentious ways.”

“Even if you had, it would not signify.” Eleanor held out her empty glass. “You were drunk as a wheelbarrow, you will recall. Rather, you
don’t
recall, but Jane assures me it is true. When she discovered you had hopped the twig, she was ready to blow her brains out—but then she decided no gentleman was worth putting a period to her existence over, even if he did
have the others beaten to flinders, which she assures me is the case!”

Eleanor was very calm for a lady whose husband’s behavior left much to be desired, thought Marriot. He hoped this fine tolerance was result of believing this odd tale had been made up out of whole cloth. “Did you mean it when you said you didn’t mind me kissing Mab?” he asked.

“Mind? Why should I?” When her wineglass remained empty, Nell tossed it carelessly aside. It landed uninjured atop her spouse’s discarded nightware. Mar-riot’s lugubrious expression struck her, then. “Oh! You cannot truly think I do not mind! That is, I don’t, but if I thought you really
meant
it, I would mind dreadfully! You cannot expect that I am jealous of Mab, who is our friend—and this Verney female is obviously playing a May-game!”

“You relieve me.” In demonstration of this sentiment, Lord March drew his wife down against his chest. “I could never forgive myself if any action of mine—whether in or out of my senses—made you unhappy, Nell!”

“Oh, Marriot!” Lady March snuggled closer. “As if any action of yours
could!”
As result of this exchange, the fire burned lower yet.

“But we must be practical!” decreed her ladyship as she struggled to a sitting position and drew up the ancient fur cloak—which had by now become an integral part of the bed furnishings—over her knees. “I wonder what fish this Jane thinks she may fry—yes, and I wonder also why Henrietta was so quick to insist I help the girl, because I’m quite prepared to wager Henrietta believed her no more than I!” Nell frowned at her spouse. “I just thought of something. Sight of Jane may jog your memory, Marriot.”

“Perhaps.” In this moment, Lord March aspired toward no sight other than his disarmingly disheveled and somewhat tipsy wife. “And perhaps not! I don’t wish to dash your hopes, but it’s still possible the wench is a stranger. Tell me what she looks like.”

“She is—” With a surprised expression, Nell broke off. “I cannot, other than to say she is a very ordinary seeming female. Pale hair and eyes and skin—unexceptional in every way. Also very common! She has a rough, colloquial way of expressing herself.”

Lord March reflected silently upon his own recent development of picturesque turns of phrase. “She doesn’t sound like a lightskirt.”

“I don’t think she is.” Lady March’s uncertainty was due to her lack of intimate acquaintance with such. “Let us say instead that she enjoys freedom from the shackles which hamper a lady of quality. And she tells the most stupendous rappers! I wonder if it has occurred to Henrietta that we may all be murdered in our sleep.”

If this possibility had presented itself to Henrietta, it had not done so to his lordship, who as a result sat so abruptly upright that he very nearly tumbled his wife right out of bed. “Calm yourself, Marriot!” she gasped, clutching him. “I charged Benson to keep a sharp eye on our guest. If it is the jewels she’s after, we need not fear she’ll find them, because they are still hidden beneath the bed!”

“You
are
a clever darling!” Marriot settled back amid the pillows, his expression wry. “This curst inactivity has left me on edge.”

Because she was a lady, Eleanor made no comment regarding certain very active moments recently shared. And because he knew his wife so well, Marriot guessed her thoughts, even though she said not a word. “Jade!” he murmured, and tweaked a dangling lock. “You take my meaning. We have been waiting for some suspicious move. Finally, things have begun to happen, and I am glad of it.”

“Personally, I would welcome a French invasion more!” exclaimed Lady March. “How can you talk of inactivity, what with Mab asking Parrington to kiss her and then calling him a dull stick, and being compromised by you and Fergus in turn, and Lady Katherine vaporing, and Henrietta acting the part of a spy—”

Lord March gave the dangling lock a harder tweak. “—and Parrington admiring
you!”
he interrupted.

“Parrington?” Eleanor looked astonished. “Does he, do you think?”

From the shadows beyond the embroidered bed-hangings came another voice. “Yes, he does!” Holding the Toledo walking sword pugnaciously before her, Lady Amabel approached the bed. “I don’t blame you for it, Nell—or him! All the same, it is
me
Fergus wants to marry, and so I mean for him to discover, once this wretched business is cleared up.”

Lady March regained her breath, possession of which had temporarily deserted her upon her friend’s abrupt appearance. “Mab! You gave me a very nasty turn!” Added Lord March, sternly: “How long have you been here, brat?”

“Long enough!” Mab caught sight of the clothing thrown on the floor. “But not
that
long!” she hastily amended, and discreetly turned her back so that his lordship might retrieve his nightshirt.

With a somewhat wistful expression, Lady March watched her husband perform this act. “You still want to marry Parrington, Mab? Even though you called him a dull stick?”

“And so he is sometimes. What has that to do with it?” Having snatched her ladyship’s wineglass off the pile of discarded clothing, Mab refilled it and took a sip.

“You may turn around now,” invited Lord March, his rerobing complete.
“And
you may tell us what the devil has brought you here at so advanced an hour, when one might more reasonably expect you to be asleep.”                       .

“One might
expect
it, certainly!” Lady Amabel, with wineglass and walking sword, joined Lord and Lady March on the old bed. “One might also be very much mistaken! Has it not occurred to you that if I can just walk into your bedchamber, so might anyone else? And that it is foolish to leave your door unlocked with a strange—and very suspicious!—person in the house? You need not bestir yourself; I locked it behind me, Marriot.” The fire having burned low, the room was cold, and Mab was clad in nothing stouter than her spotted muslin gown. She snuggled under the other end of the ancient fur cloak.

Carefully, Lord March repositioned the Toledo sword, so that it posed less imminent peril to life and limb. “In what manner am I mistaken, brat? Beside yourself, who is not abed?”

Mab chuckled. “You should rather ask who is! I see the pair of you are on good terms. Then you aren’t angry with Marriot for hugging me, Nell? I am glad of that! I don’t think I could bear it if
you
were out of patience with me.”

Blushing, Lady March snatched back the hand with which she’d been absentmindedly fondling her husband’s knee. “Don’t be absurd, Mab!”

“Absurd, am I?” Mab drained her glass. “After the rappers that Verney female has been telling, it wouldn’t be wonderful if you
were
feeling a trifle cross! Myself, I’ve never heard anything half so absurd. She must be very desperate to take so dangerous a gamble, because she could not have known how you would react to her fibs. You might as easily have arranged for her to shelter in gaol as admit her to the house.”

“Not really.” Lady March rearranged herself, elbows propped on her own knees. “Not without taking the chance that this odious story might get around. The family has already been the focus of more than enough tittle-tattle of late.”

“Have you considered that her claims might in some part be true?” Lady Amabel cast Lord March a speculative sideways glance. “Maybe the creature merely wants to be bought off.”

“Poppycock!” uttered Nell.

Inserted Marriot, “I am waiting to be enlightened as to who else is abroad at this ungodly hour.”

Lady Amabel smirked. “Just about everyone, I think! Benson is trailing the Verney female all about the house. I came very near to skewering poor Benson on my walking sword before I realized what he was about; and then was almost caught by Henrietta, because she was trailing him! Benson seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, though Henrietta looked fit to leap out other skin. I wish she might! And I hope they don’t stumble across anything.”

“They won’t.” Lord March deduced from his wife’s awkward posture that she would benefit from a back rub, and immediately obliged. “Unless they also happen upon this chamber. The gems are still hidden under the bed.”

On the verge of protesting this poor hiding place, Lady Amabel paused; few safer spots in fact existed than the ancient four-poster, due to the amount of time Lord and Lady March spent therein. “We must not allow ourselves to be thrown into a pucker!” Mab added ironically, her companions having become engrossed in Lord March’s ministrations to Lady March’s person. “Though I do not believe the Verney woman’s story, she must know something, or she would not have come here at all.”

Thus reminded of his peril, Marriot moved away from his wife and idly picked up the walking sword. “We must remember that she asked for
me,”
Nell remarked. “I wonder why.”

“We must remember also that she seems to have some acquaintance with Marriot’s forgetfulness.” Disliking his lordship’s morose expression, and his ferocious manipulation of the sword, Mab scooted hastily aside. “She did confirm that he’d been set upon by footpads.”

“That’s not all she confirmed,” gloomily uttered Lady March. She could not bring herself to believe that Jane Verney’s accusations were true, that Marriot was immensely susceptible to feminine attraction—but how she wished they were well out of this business! If ever they would be.

“Do you wish me to the devil, my darling?” Belatedly aware that the ladies huddled together on the opposite side of the bed, Marriot threw down the sword. “I could not blame you for it if you did.”

“Marriot! Never!” Horrified, Lady March reached out.

“Darling!” responded his lordship, doing likewise.

“Fudge!” interjected Lady Amabel, as between the doting couple she placed the fur cloak and herself. “Must the pair of you try and put me to the blush? Or do you simply not care that there are stolen jewels beneath the bed, and a strange woman sneaking about the house, and a very real possibility that Marriot may be hanged? You aren’t in your altitudes
now,
are you, Marriot? Then I beg you will try and concentrate your mind!”

“Hanged?” Reminded of this dire possibility, Lady March clutched at her throat. “Mab, how can you say such a thing?”

“I’m not the one who wishes to hang him!” True love could be a little tiresome for other than the participants, reflected Lady Amabel. “We don’t know that anyone does—or should! In fact, we know precious little, in case you have forgotten, about what Marriot’s done or where he’s been. Jane Verney is our first real opportunity to find out.”

Certain things might be better
not
revealed, mused Eleanor, unaware that her husband’s reflections proceeded along similar lines. “How do you propose we make this great discovery? Thus far the woman has told us a tissue of lies.”

“Not altogether.” Mab nibbled at her lower lip. “We know she’s looking for the jewels. And we don’t want her to abandon her search, or we will never discover the truth.”

Marriot elevated a brow. “Are you suggesting we give her the accursed things, brat? If so, I must tell you that though I am concentrating my mind
very
hard, I don’t see the use of that!”

“Not give her them, exactly.” Mab thought very hard. “We don’t want her to get the wind up and smell a rat! But I think we must allow her to guess that we have the jewels, and perhaps even to believe she may get them back.”

“A tall order, surely?” Lady March mistrusted her friend’s ruminative expression. “How do you think you may bring it off?”

Lady Amabel was triumphant. “With your help, very easily, Nell!”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Came the eve of Lady March’s
soirée
. All the fashionable world was present, including Lord Parrington, despite his mama’s strongly expressed desire that he should not. Fergus had not openly defied his parent, exactly. Instead he left her with the impression that he would gather with convivial souls for dinner and play at Brooke’s, as a result of which deception he was feeling very dissatisfied with himself.

That any of his fellow revelers shared his mixed feelings was unlikely, Fergus thought. On this first occasion that Marcham Towers had been thrown open to the public since its master’s dramatic reappearance, the old house was crowded with the chosen and the best. Glimpsing his hostess, Fergus made his way toward her through the crush.

Though Lord Parrington might not appreciate the magnitude of this occasion, others were less inclined to nitpick—and even Fergus had to admire the chamber he found himself in. The long gallery had eleven windows, three of them bays, along its outside wall; and along the inner were two fireplaces, each rectangular, with a chimneybreast rising in three tiers.

Near one of those fireplaces stood Lady March. Fergus approached her, a feat not accomplished without the judicious application of his elbow to those persons of the first consideration rash enough to put themselves in his way.