Maggie MacKeever (15 page)

Tabby cleared her throat. The footman jumped and looked guilty. Tabby brushed aside his explanations, watched him retreat along the hallway out of sight. Then she squared her shoulders and knocked on the drawing room door.

The entire family was within. Ermyntrude, still in page’s attire, sprawled rebelliously on the window seat. Sir Geoffrey leaned against the marble mantlepiece, his head in his hands. Lambchop and Drusilla shared the zebrawood sofa. “There you are!” said the latter on Tabby’s entrance. “We was wondering where you’d got to. Just wait until you hear what Ermy’s done now!”

Tabby glanced back down the hallway to make sure no servants hovered within earshot, then firmly closed the door. “I know what Ermyntrude has done!” she said grimly. “She left me a note. I set out to prevent her making a byword of herself—and consequently had a most illuminating conversation with St. Erth!”

Ermyntrude still thought her scheme had been a nacky one, and the fact that it had gone awry made her cross as crabs. “Everything would be on the road to being settled by now,” she said sulkily, “if you had not been so late!”

“I?” Tabby sank down on a rosewood chair. “You
were
counting on me to come after you! I thought St. Erth had misunderstood something you had said. Oh, Ermyntrude, how could you be such a—”

“Pea-brain?” supplied Drusilla. “Goose-cap?”

Ermyntrude ignored her younger sister. “What did St. Erth say?” she asked eagerly of Tabby. “The fact that he had his man accompany me home argues a degree of interest, don’t you think? He could have just turned me out!”

Tabby marveled at Ermyntrude’s ability to interpret a situation in the way that best suited her. “He said that you are a little baggage, and I could not disagree. Although I thought Mr. Philpotts would offer him some violence.”

“Mr. Philpotts?” In her surprise, Ermyntrude sat up straight. “You told
Osbert?
How could you!”

“How could I set off to rescue you,” Tabby countered, “when I hadn’t the slightest notion where to go? I thought you didn’t care a button for Mr. Philpotts—though I’ll be hanged if I understand why you don’t prefer him to St. Erth! Mr. Philpotts is all kindness and consideration, and rich as the devil as well. But that’s past praying for! For you to discover in yourself a fondness for so unexceptionable a gentleman would be unthinkable. Instead, you must do your best to sink yourself below reproach. You are very lucky that things worked out as they did, Ermyntrude, else your reputation would be in shreds.”

Ermyntrude was made even more cross by this tongue-lashing. “I’d rather be thought bachelor’s fare than an old cat!” she snapped. Tabby flushed, and Ermyntrude immediately felt guilty. “Oh, Tabby, truly I did not mean that! It’s just that everyone is angry, and now you are ringing a regular peal over me, and all I wished to do was bring St. Erth up to scratch before word of Pa’s love letters got out and threw a rub in my way!”

Tabby thought Ermyntrude had thrown a rub in her own way. St. Erth would avoid her like the plague now that he knew he was marked down as her victim. Tabby realized that Ermyntrude’s cheeks were tear-streaked and felt reluctant pity for the girl. No doubt Sir Geoffrey had already scolded her. Tabby would say no more.

Sir Geoffrey raised his head from his hands. His handsome cheeks were pale. “It is I who must come under the gravest censure, not Ermyntrude. None of this would have occurred were I not such a miserable failure as a parent.”

“Oh, Pa, cut line!” Drusilla said quickly, before he could again indulge in painful self-recrimination and Ermyntrude again dissolve into guilty tears. “It wasn’t you as dressed up Ermy like a page and sent her after St. Erth. Indeed, you would’ve forbade her to do it if she’d asked, and that she didn’t ask is because she’s a pea-goose, and that ain’t to be laid at your doorstep.”

Sir Geoffrey looked doubtfully at his younger daughter. “It’s not?”

Drusilla shook her head. “No. She’s been like that as long as I’ve known her. I suspect she was born that way! But here’s Tabby come to tell us how she spoke with Mrs. Quarles!”

How Tabby hated to be the bearer of further bad tidings. “I wish I could tell you that I convinced Mrs. Quarles to be reasonable, but the truth of the matter is that I didn’t speak to her at all.” She sighed. “I meant to, certainly, but—I shall try another day!”

Sir Geoffrey looked even more unhappy. “I guess I was mistaken in you, too! I was so sure you were sent especially to help us in our time of need. I thought you would
wish
to help us, being as we have treated you as one of the family. Not that I mean to scold! I’m sure you’ve done your best. I expect our troubles are too much for an outsider to bear.’’

Tabby wished, as Ermyntrude had before her, that Sir Geoffrey had seen fit to read her a scold. She felt very guilty that he should take the responsibility for her failure upon himself. Consequently, she said something she might ordinarily have not. “You did not tell me Lady Grey had a brother, sir!”

So Sir Geoffrey had not. Indeed the matter had quite slipped his mind. “Forgot about it!” he admitted. “Never met the fellow myself. Gus quite dotes on him, I gather, though he’s a bit of a scamp—but so what if she does?”

Everyone doted on Mr. Sanders, thought Tabby. With the exception of herself. “The thing is, I know him, sir. That is, he doesn’t know who I am—oh, dear! I suppose I should explain.”

Sir Geoffrey allowed as he thought this might be helpful. Tabby began at the beginning of her odd acquaintance with Vivien. She told of her arrival at the inn and Perry’s generous offer of a room, of Vivien’s subsequent visit, and of even the divine Sara’s hysteria. Sir Geoffrey looked startled as a result, and Ermyntrude envious. “And then, at the theater, I encountered him again,” Tabby continued, “when I set out looking for Ermyntrude and Mr. Philpotts. And he was at the party when I went to look for Mrs. Quarles.”

“Aha!” crowed Ermyntrude. “I knew you had an assignation with someone when you nicked my dress!”

“I did not!” Tabby retorted crossly. “I didn’t wish to wear your dress, and I didn’t wish to encounter Vivien. Er, Mr. Sanders, that is! But I did, and he wouldn’t let me go until I told him my name. I didn’t wish to tell him the truth, and so I said I was Mrs. Quarles.”

Sir Geoffrey was trying very hard to make sense of this narration. “Ah!” he said encouragingly.

“And then,” continued Tabby, “I met him again today in North Street. He insisted on taking me up in his carriage.”

Ermyntrude’s interest was also whetted. “Was it a very fine carriage?’’ she asked enviously. “What does he look like?”

“Yes, it is very fine,” said Tabby. “A cabriolet. Mr. Sanders is also very fine, and very wicked. He is Miss Divine’s, er, special friend. So you may be sure she will have little to say to St. Erth.”

Ermyntrude could not like this choice of words. “St. Erth is not on the dangle for that female! And if he was, no gentleman alive could hold a candle to him.’’

Tabby did not care to argue the respective virtues—or vices—of Mr. Sanders and Viscount St. Erth. Better Ermyntrude’s interest should remain fixed on the viscount than that Vivien should catch her eye.
“Why
did he take you up in his carriage?” Ermyntrude persisted. “You were supposed to be bargaining with Mrs. Quarles, Tabby, not enjoying a carriage ride!”

Sir Geoffrey thought his elder daughter was being a trifle harsh. “There, there, Ermy!” he said. “I’m sure Tabby is entitled to have a little fun!”

“You misunderstand,” Tabby protested. “Mr. Sanders did not wish to take me on a pleasure ride.”

Sir Geoffrey frowned. This tale could be better told, he thought. “Then what
did
he want?”

What Vivien had wished to offer Tabby was a slip on the shoulder. She twisted her fingers in her lap. “Apparently he had just spoken with Lady Grey. He wished to tell me that I am depraved, Sir Geoffrey, and that you are even worse. Mr. Sanders has taken the notion that you, er, led me up the primrose path.”

“The primrose path?” Sir Geoffrey was dumbfounded. “That settles it. Gus
has
run mad! Where does she get these queer notions? First Mrs. Quarles, now this!”

Tabby took a deep breath. Confession, she told herself, was good for the soul. “I’m afraid,” she murmured, “that Lady Grey thinks I
am
Mrs. Quarles. I went to speak with her about Mrs. Quarles, but apparently her footman mixed the message up. By the time I realized what had happened, she had fainted, and there was no reasoning with her after that.”

Sir Geoffrey as so stunned by these disclosures that he abandoned the mantelpiece for a chair. “Fainted? Gus fainted?” he echoed.

“Yes, but I don’t think you need worry about her health,” Tabby responded wryly. “She was quite vigorous in her denunciations once she recovered her wits.”

Sir Geoffrey was feeling anything but vigorous himself. “So that’s why she accused me of snatching innocents from the cradle!” he sighed. “Well, that’s one mystery cleared up.”

Tabby felt no better for her confession. Indeed, Sir Geoffrey’s woebegone expression only intensified her guilt. “I am so very sorry!” she said, on the verge of tears. “I truly wished to help.”

Of course she had, and was obviously feeling her failure very keenly. Sir Geoffrey had endured enough suffering of late that he didn’t wish to intensify anyone else’s misery. “You did your best!” he said kindly. “It’s not your fault that it all went awry.”

“I’m not so sure,” sighed Tabby. “If I hadn’t meddled, at least Lady Grey would not think I was Mrs. Quarles.”

Drusilla released Lampchop, to that animal’s great relief, because she had been hugging him all this while. Before further unpleasant events could cause her to clutch at him again, he took refuge beneath the window seat. Drusilla paid scant heed to her pet’s defection. Her relief at having Tabby’s earlier queer behavior explained had not been long-lived. Chasing after Ermyntrude in an attempt to prevent a disastrous elopement was commendable behavior. Rubbing elbows with a rakehell was quite another thing. It was perfectly clear to Drusilla that Mr. Sanders was a rakehell. “I had hoped for better from you, Tabby!” she said in disgust. “Instead you’re as bad as Pa or Ermy. Falling in love with Lady Grey’s brother, who thinks you’re his sister’s fiancé’s ladybird.”

“Fustian!” cried Tabby crossly. “I am
not
in love with him. How could I be? I am just a governess, if you will recall!”

The Elphinstones exchanged glances. None was so unkind as to comment on the fact that their governess was obviously given, at least in this instance, to uttering untruths. Of course she was in love with Mr. Sanders. And that, under the circumstances, was very sad.

“And even if I was, it would do me little good,” Tabby continued somberly; having started her confession, she found she could not stop. “For he has made it very clear what sort of female he thinks me to be!’’

“Oh!” cried Ermyntrude. This was better than the romance novels to which she was addicted. “What did he
do
?”

Tabby’s cheeks were rosy. “He offered to buy me off. He wished to know my price.” Her voice trembled. “He offered to set me up in my own little house!”

“He didn’t!” Ermyntrude’s eyes were big as saucers. “What did you say?”

Tabby studied her hands. “I boxed his ears. And then I walked back home and found that you had eloped, and here we are.”

It seemed to Ermyntrude that Tabby’s adventures made her own seem insignificant in comparison, and she thought this unfair. However, she knew how Tabby must be feeling—had not Ermyntrude had her own recent experience with as-yet-unrequited love? She left the window seat and went to perch on the arm of Tabby’s chair. “Never mind!” she said kindly as she patted Tabby’s shoulder. “It will all work out for the best; you’ll see.”

Tabby’s confessions had left her exhausted and ashamed of her outburst. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “I do not expect that I shall encounter Mr. Sanders again— indeed, I mean to avoid him at all costs.” She had a sudden vision of herself and Viscount St. Erth skulking about Brighton in an attempt to avoid those members of the opposite sex who plotted their ruin. The image was so absurd that she had to smile.

That smile relieved Drusilla. She wasn’t certain, but she thought people who could smile hadn’t gone completely round the bend. She cast an anxious glance at her papa, who had reverted to his earlier posture, head clasped in his hands. “Well, there’s no denying we’re in a muddle!” she said briskly. “But even muddles can be undone. It seems to me we’d do better to plan our strategy than to cry over spilled milk.’’

Ermyntrude had recovered from her earlier disappointment, at least sufficiently that she wasn’t going to be dictated to by her younger sister. “We’ve already made plans,” she retorted. “Weren’t you paying attention, Dru?”

Drusilla had been paying very close attention. In all the disclosures of the past hour, she had not heard one constructive suggestion made.
“What
plan?” she asked suspiciously.

Ermyntrude surveyed one outstretched leg, which looked quite attractive in page boy garb. Her approach, she decided, had been too unladylike. St. Erth would prefer a more delicate female. Ermyntrude could languish as well as any other damsel, given the chance.

She was determined that she would be given the chance. “Why, the same plan we have always had! Just because Tabby keeps getting sidetracked doesn’t mean the plan’s at fault. One of us must parlay with Mrs. Quarles.” Now she had everyone’s attention. Ermyntrude drew upon her own recent experience. “And if she won’t parlay with us, then one of us must gain entry to her house and steal those letters back!”

Chapter Seventeen

Meanwhile, at the same moment that Tabby was making her confession to the Elphinstones, a very animated conversation of a different nature was underway in a pretty little villa in North Street. Involved in this rumption also were two females, both of them past their first youth. One looked awesomely respectable, in her trained walking gown of hail stone muslin, straw bonnet, and nankeen pelisse. Mrs. Quarles presented a somewhat more bizarre appearance, her voluptuous person wrapped in a fine muslin dressing gown and a mobcap of net and Brussels lace perched on her golden curls. A shawl of English cashmere was flung round her shoulders. She wore a quantity of pearls at neck and throat. Clearly, she had not been expecting to entertain callers. Nor did she appear to relish this intrusion upon her solitude.