Maggie MacKeever (26 page)

The maidservant—Moffet—bobbed an awkward curtsey. “Yes, milady! At once, milady!” she mumbled, and disappeared.

Ill-temper somewhat assuaged by this evidence of the awe she inspired, the dowager turned to Sir Phineas, her arms crossed beneath her bosom, which was displayed to very un-dowagerlike advantage by the extreme
décolletage
of her puce satin gown. Once more Sir Phineas’s butterflies awoke. “Perhaps you have misinterpreted the evidence,” he offered quickly, before Georgiana could dwell further upon his failure to do his duty. “I should not say so, but Arthur Kingscote is not the sort of young gentleman to appeal to a woman of Miss Valentine’s refined preferences.”

“Women of refined preferences don’t go trysting in my garden in plain view of everyone in the house!” Lady Blackwood replied brutally. “In point of fact, they don’t tryst at all, being uniformly namby-pamby and mealy-mouthed. It was different in
our
day, was it not, Phineas? For all that, this is no longer our day. Sara has behaved in an unconscionably foolish manner, and must pay the consequence.”

Could it be that the dowager would be lenient with the errant Sara? wondered Sir Phineas, with sudden hope. Or had he just imagined that he glimpsed a faint trace of some basic humanity in her dark sharp eye? Perhaps it was not too late to try and pour oil on troubled waters. “Consider, Georgiana: how can you be certain that Miss Valentine is not a victim of circumstance? Your nephew is a flirt, as you yourself have said. Miss Valentine can hardly have any real interest in him, or he in her, because they barely spoke when they met by accident the other day.”

In the dowager’s dark eyes could be currently seen no warmth, and the implacable expression on her ravaged features denied the slightest possibility that compassion had ever even briefly lingered there.
“What
other day, Phineas?” she inquired.

“Georgiana, you are unfair to Miss Valentine! It was a chance meeting, I swear. We were caught by the rain in Oxford Street and ducked for shelter into the Pantheon Bazaar. Jevon was there before us, engaged in conversation with—” Dare he omit that detail? One glance at the dowager’s virulent features assured him he dared not. “With a certain little opera dancer from Drury Lane. He was buying her a bonnet. So far is Miss Valentine from being embarked on the primrose path that she no sooner grasped the situation than she immediately departed the premises.”

“You fascinate me, Phineas,” said the dowager. “Silly Sara ran out into the rain and thereby got a drenching and caught a head cold. It serves her right. And what did Jevon do?”

It occurred to Sir Phineas that, in attempting to smooth over the misunderstanding between Lady Blackwood and Miss Valentine, he was presenting Mr. Rutherford in a most unfavorable light. Sir Phineas bore Mr. Rutherford no malice, and it was not his intention to alienate the dowager duchess from her heir. “Mr. Rutherford behaved very commendably!” he immediately explained. “He followed us out. So offended was Miss Valentine that she refused to hear his apology, and I fear we left him standing in the middle of the street. In the pouring rain.” Sir Phineas frowned. “I had not realized before, but the whole episode was very odd. Although I cannot censure Miss Valentine for not wishing to remain in the same room as a gentleman’s, er,
chère amie.”

“Lud, Phineas, but you’re a green-head!” observed Lady Blackwood, almost charitably. “You fancy the chit yourself, I’ll warrant. More fool you!”

Georgiana was watching him, assessingly, he thought. “I have the highest regard for Miss Valentine, but I am more than twice her age. Were I twelve years younger, or even ten—but I am not! And I am
very
set in my ways.”

“Green-head!” Lady Blackwood repeated. “I was not talking about Sara. Or about marriage! Now that you have explained away the silly twit’s misconduct with Jevon, perhaps you will try and sweep her misconduct with Arthur under the rug also. Ah, but here is Sara herself—and it took you long enough, my girl! Sir Phineas has been kind enough to inform me that you and my nephew are not on speaking terms. Therefore, whatever passed between you in my garden is supposed to not signify. Have you anything to add in your own defense?”

How pale she looked, thought Sir Phineas sadly; how woeful and withdrawn. “No, ma’am. It was all a misunderstanding.”

“Humph.” The dowager walked slowly toward Miss Valentine. “I conjecture next you’ll try to tell me this fuss over Arthur is a misunderstanding also.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Though she kept her eyes discreetly lowered, Sara resolutely stood her ground. “It wasn’t Arthur’s fault.”

Georgiana snorted derisively, then reached out long supple fingers and grasped Sara’s chin. Sara winced. “Cinders, I understand!” snapped the dowager. “Look at me, girl! How
dare
you try and set my plans at naught?”

Unflinching, Miss Valentine looked up into her employer’s malicious countenance. “I did not mean to do so!” she protested. “I could not help myself!”

“Paugh!” observed Lady Blackwood. “You want resolution, miss! Well, there’s an end to it. I suppose I should be grateful no more harm was done.”

“Oh!” gasped Sara tearfully. “You are very kind!”

“Balderdash! I’m nothing of the sort.” Preparing to substantiate her claim, the dowager released Sara’s chin. “The coachman can be ready in twenty minutes; I’ll give you two hours. What I
won’t
give you is a character, since from all accounts you have one.”

“But,” gasped Miss Valentine, as ashen as Thomas had been a scant half-hour past, “you said no harm had been done.”

“No, save to your reputation, which is what makes it unthinkable that you should remain here.” Patently unconcerned with Sara’s distress, Lady Blackwood once more tugged the bell pull. “If I allowed you to remain, I would next learn you had allowed the footmen to remove cinders from your eyes—or Thomas! Cinders! Don’t bother to show me a sad face, my girl;
I
don’t think you’re—what did my bird-witted niece call it? Fallen into licentious ways! All the same, I cannot appear to condone your misconduct, else all my staff will think they may similarly misbehave—and all London hear of it. The sad fact is that though it’s the thing for a young gentleman to sow his wild oats, it’s
not
the thing for a female to do likewise. Therefore, you must leave. I will not give you a reference, because to do so would be to give you leave to misbehave in some other household. Nor will it avail you to apply to my niece for succor. Jaisy will soon discover that she too must knuckle down. That is all. Attend to your packing. The carriage will be waiting to convey you to your destination two hours hence—and if you have not made ready for your departure at that time, I vow I
will
turn you out into the street!”

Miss Valentine’s lips had parted as if she meant to speak out in her own defense; now she pressed them tightly together, executed a perfect curtsey and turned toward the door. In so doing, she almost stumbled over Confucious, who during the course of his long, cross lifetime had seen many servants come and go, and who consequently recognized the signs of impending departure. Confucious was not feeling kindly disposed toward the dowager duchess, who had so unceremoniously dumped him on the floor; and at any rate, his loyalty was centered wholly in his stomach. On arthritic legs he trailed after Miss Valentine, the sole person in Blackwood House who could be trusted to remember that elderly gentlemen of crotchety disposition need to be regularly fed.

After Miss Valentine had exited—in the process narrowly avoiding collision with the maidservants clustered in the hallway and eavesdropping at the door—Sir Phineas heaved himself upright. Always he had wished he might do something to ease Miss Valentine’s stony path. Now he wished so more than ever. “You are a cruel woman, Georgiana,” he said.

“Green-head!” For the third time, Lady Blackwood maligned her man of business. She seated herself again in the carved chair, her own face reminiscent of those savage beaked heads. “I should have let her remain, so Arthur could further compromise her, or Jevon break her silly heart? Oh, yes, Sara has a
tendre
for my nephew; she always has had! You’ll see, Phineas: all three of them will come to thank me for this day’s work.”

Always Sir Phineas had wished to assist Sara: and now he thought he saw a way in which he might. Georgiana would be furious, he knew, would take her business elsewhere—but there were times in a man’s life when choices had to be made. Bucolic solitude was no great price to pay for an easy conscience. But he must remain expressionless, lest Georgiana guess his intention. And he must leave at once, if his purpose was to be achieved.

“I hope you may be correct, Georgiana!” he said grimly, and strode out of the room, once more interrupting the maidservants in their favorite position, with ears pressed against the door. No sooner did Sir Phineas pass by than they resumed their listening posts. Now Moffet exchanged with her fellow eavesdropper a look of mutual astonishment. Strange sounds issued through the morning-room door, as if the imperious Dowager Duchess of Blackwood had succumbed to whoops.

Sir Phineas and Georgiana—each embroiled up to the eyebrows in tangled schemes—had failed to consider a certain very snaggy knot: Lady Easterling. Jaisy was not a damsel to sit idly by while Fate went about planting facers to all and sundry. Nor was she a damsel to be left at the post, try as Georgiana might to out-jockey her. No sooner had the news of Miss Valentine’s abrupt dismissal been brought to Lady Easterling by Moffet, another of the staff with whom she was prone to gossip, than Jaisy had sought out her friend. When private speech proved impossible—the dowager duchess had invaded Sara’s mean little bedchamber, there to speed her packing with gruesome tales of females forced to earn their livings in various horrid ways, such as manufactories or coal pits, and a sidelight on the number of English females shipped across the Channel to work in Continental brothels, and a zestful description of a pauper asylum in Bethnal Green—Jaisy next repaired to Arthur’s room. That unchivalrous gentleman refused her admission, shouted crossly that he wished to see and speak to no one and quite ignored her promises of assistance. Undeterred, Jaisy unearthed inkwell, paper and quill, and slid voluminous and explicit instructions for the untangling of this dreadful coil under Arthur’s door. Then she returned to her own chamber and donned a carriage dress of corded muslin, a cottage hat and lilac satin shawl, because Carlin was engaged to take her up beside him in his carriage this afternoon. So that his lordship need not become involved in the confusion which reigned this day in Blackwood House, she slipped out through the recessed pedimented door and awaited his arrival on the steps. She had not long to wait. Punctuality was among his lordship’s virtues.

If Lord Carlin was surprised that Lady Easterling should choose to await his arrival on the doorstep, unprotected by a single footman, he made no sign—and in point of fact Lord Carlin was not especially surprised. As result of frequent exposure, Kit was growing inured to Jaisy’s highly irregular conduct. Often she exasperated him, but mingled with the exasperation was another emotion that he found difficult to define. Perhaps the Rutherford lack of stability was contagious. Lord Carlin could conceive no other explanation of why, when Lady Easterling was at her most outrageous, he wished primarily to smile at her antics.

That Lady Easterling was in an outrageous frame of mind today was obvious; she looked like the cat that had been at the cream. Lord Carlin was very curious about what mischief was currently afoot. He could not be so ill-bred as to inquire, nor did he wish to encourage the young lady’s larks. Therefore, Lord Carlin put forth an exceptionable observation on the British goods that were piling up unsold in every port. Just days past the
Morning Chronicle
had reported that not a single entry for import or export had been made at the London Custom-House during the course of a full week, an event unprecedented in that establishment’s history.

Jaisy was not interested in the wretched state of the economy, as explained to her so patiently by Lord Carlin, in goods that piled up unsold, or workers who were out of a place. It was all very sad, and it was very generous of his lordship to try and elevate her mind; but Jaisy thought it very silly to dwell upon misfortunes which one could not amend. Ills that one
could
mend were another matter; and tangles that one had already unraveled were the most gratifying of all.

Lady Easterling was all cock-a-hoop, and well deserved to be. If the weather was overcast, it was not actually raining, and thus qualified as a splendid day. Carlin had taken her up beside him in his vis-à-vis, a white-upholstered conveyance with copper springs and iron shafts. Having tidied away the twisted affairs of her friend Sara, Jaisy was free to enjoy without reservation the privilege of being seated beside London’s most eligible bachelor in his carriage, for all the world to see. With the air of a connoisseur, she studied the horse that drew this light conveyance. “Grand hocks and splendid shoulders! Forelegs well before him! A spanking turn-out!” she commented generously.

By this evidence of her ladyship’s excellent spirits, his lordship was neither elated nor dismayed. He had become accustomed to her frank manner of speech, as well as to her unpredictability. Jaisy’s manners might lack polish, she might be a sad romp with a regrettably colloquial manner of expressing herself, but she was a sunny-tempered creature who would never bore a man to death. Furthermore, she was quite lovely, now that the dimples had reappeared in her cheeks, and the roguish twinkle in her huge blue eyes. That the return of her ladyship’s sunny mood and hoydenish eccentricities signified he need no longer dance attendance upon her in an attempt to persuade her toward those very ends did not occur to Lord Carlin, which is just as well, because had his memory not been so conveniently dilatory, his own spirits would have sunk.

In excellent charity with one another, then, Lord Carlin and Lady Easterling embarked upon their carriage ride, Lord Carlin being so generous as to promise that Lady Easterling might tool the reins at some future date, and Jaisy professing herself most appreciative that his lordship should trust her with his bang-up bits of blood and bone. If Kit winced at her choice of phrase, it was inwardly; and his forbearance was rewarded by Lady Easterling’s assertion that he was a regular dash who turned out in prime style.