Maggie MacKeever (7 page)

Apparently no Elphinstone was a marvel of discretion. Under other circumstances Tabby might have laughed to see someone thrown into such a pucker, but she liked Sir Geoffrey too well to be amused at his expense. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “Perhaps if you made a clean breast of the business to Lady Grey—”

Sir Geoffrey looked horrified at the suggestion. “You don’t know Gus. If she got into such a flap about my hiring you, can you imagine what she’d say about my association with a—well. Mrs. Quarles has strong passions and indulges them with great latitude, if you take my meaning. Yes, and Gus would have my head on a platter if she could hear me talking to you like this! I know I shouldn’t, but I must talk about it or go mad.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Damned if I know what I’ve done to deserve that someone should place an insuperable obstacle in the way of my happiness and endanger my peace of mind.”

Tabby sought some way to console her distrait employer. “Were the letters so very bad? She merely writes that she wishes to speak with you.”

“But I don’t wish to speak with her!” Sir Geoffrey looked even unhappier as he recalled the throes of his infatuation and how very reckless he had been. “Not only do I not wish to speak with her, you may be sure that if I
did
speak with her, Lady Grey would find out!”

Silence descended upon the study. In the hallway, Drusilla stirred. So fascinated had she been by these disclosures that she had stayed too long in one position and her muscles had grown quite cramped. The name Quarles was not unfamiliar to Drusilla, who, alas, was not above listening to servants’ gossip; she associated it with a certain yellow-haired female Sir Geoffrey had doted on a few months past.

In the study, Sir Geoffrey looked at Tabby. “And then I thought of you!”

Why he should have done so Tabby had not the most distant guess. There was no receipt for this kind of trouble in her little book. But she couldn’t withstand the hopeful expression on Sir Geoffrey’s face. “If there’s anything I can do—”

Sir Geoffrey brightened at this offer. He was not wishful of putting a period to his existence, after all. “That’s our good Tabby! Clever puss! I knew you would wish to go and meet her in my place! See what she wants and persuade her to go away!”

Drusilla didn’t hear Tabby’s answer; Lambchop joined her in the hallway then, almost knocking her over in his attempts to display the trophy he’d brought from the kitchen, a cold boiled knuckle of veal. Again, Drusilla pushed him away. Not to be denied his due praise, Lambchop nudged open the study door and collapsed with his booty on the rug.

Drusilla followed her pet into the study. She tugged at his collar, tried to persuade him to dine elsewhere. Lambchop’s table manners were appalling and would not benefit the rug. The dog bared his teeth at her in what was doubtless meant to be a friendly gesture and refused to budge. “You’d best give it up,” advised Tabby. “Mrs. Phipps didn’t, and look what happened to her.”

Drusilla decided that Tabby was unhinged by Sir Geoffrey’s confidences. Who the deuce was Mrs. Phipps? “You’d best do as Pa says, Tabby. If Lady Grey finds out about this Quarles female, it’ll queer Pa’s pitch for sure.”

Sir Geoffrey appeared slightly put off by this indication that his younger daughter had been listening at keyholes. “Lady Grey is right!” he said. “I
have
allowed you to run wild. And when this wretched business is cleared up, I shall have a great deal to say to you. You’re right about one thing, puss. If Tabby refuses to act as my emissary, we’ll all be in the suds!”

Tabby tried very hard to withstand this pressure. She was growing fond of Sir Geoffrey and his family and wished none of them harm. It seemed very likely that harm would come to them unless someone intervened and tried to convince the dreadful Mrs. Quarles to relinquish all claim to Sir Geoffrey. But why must that someone be her? She glanced desperately around the room in search of rescue. Her gaze fell on Lambchop. Replete, the dog burped and wagged his tail.

“Are you going to cry craven?” inquired Drusilla impatiently. “I beg you will not! I’m too young to go and try to reason with this female, and you can imagine what a muddle Ermy would make of it. It’s hardly the sort of thing we can entrust to an outsider, is it, and so you’re all that’s left!”

Chapter Eight

It was with mixed emotions that Tabby set out from Elphinstone House. Of course she wanted to help Sir Geoffrey. He had rescued her from the prospect of poverty and starvation, after all. To fail to do his bidding now would make her the most undutiful wretch in existence. Only a monster of ingratitude could stand by and see so kind a family disgraced.

Alas, none of these reflections could stop Tabby wishing very fervently that there was someone else who could assist Sir Geoffrey out of his predicament. She was not comfortable with either her assumed role or her borrowed gown—although “borrowed” was not perhaps the proper word for a garment filched from Ermyntrude’s wardrobe when that young lady was absent from the house, Drusilla having been adamant that her sister shouldn’t be let in on the business, Ermyntrude being far too prone to let cats out of bags. Be that as it may, Tabby could not like the square-necked, low-necked gown of clinging pink muslin, with its short full sleeves. Her petticoats were short enough to expose her ankles rather too frequently, and she felt that her arms and bosom were too much exposed. Maybe she did look quite top of the trees, as Drusilla insisted, but Tabby felt like a silk purse that had been fashioned out of a sow’s ear.

She was doing her employer’s bidding, Tabby reminded herself. She was present at this gala not as an impostor but as Sir Geoffrey’s agent. She was to speak with Mrs. Quarles and persuade that scheming hussy (as Sir Geoffrey had phrased it) to a change of heart. To achieve that purpose, Tabby was armed only with her employer’s description of the lady and her own good common sense. It was a very quelling prospect.

Tabby took a deep breath and stepped down from Sir Geoffrey’s carriage, walked up to the door. This was her first close view of Brighton Pavilion, so it was only natural that she should stop to stare. Once the Pavilion had been a simple, comfortable seaside house, two stories high, decked externally with nothing more exceptionable than balconies and verandas. However, that was before a creative muse—some said demon—had inspired the building’s owner to flights of architectural fancy. In the resulting mélange, Tabby thought she recognized elements of Grecian and Gothic, Turkish and Moorish, Egyptian and Chinese and Hindustani. She recovered from her awe and moved toward the entrance.

Invitations to the Pavilion were eagerly sought after, despite the all-too-frequent dullness of the entertainments there, and Tabby was jostled by countless other guests. For one cowardly moment she hoped she might be turned away by the very superior servants who waited at the door. Alas, such was the influence of Sir Geoffrey, and the good strong elbow of his footman, that she arrived safely within.

The interior of the Pavilion was no less exotic than the exterior. Tabby gazed bemused upon great lacquered panels, red and black and gold; painted and carved dragons that hung from silver ceilings and crawled down pillars; gilded and silvered sofas with dragon motifs; china fishermen that stood in alcoves, with lanterns as their catch. She glimpsed a China gallery, a music room with gorgeous frescoes and green-and-golden dragons, a yellow drawing room with Oriental colonnades, a banqueting hall with domed ceiling representing an Eastern sky. Amidst all this splendor she did not espy a lady answering to Sir Geoffrey’s description of his nemesis.

The rooms were insufferably hot. In search of less stale and stifling air, Tabby stepped into an anteroom. She found no opened window there, but instead a gentlemen in the evening dress of the Tenth. He paused in the act of draining a brandy snifter. His slightly glazed expression, as he stared at Tabby, indicated that this glass of liquor was not his first.

How ridiculous he looked. Ermyntrude might admire that magnificently laced jacket, those red breeches with gold fringe, but Tabby found the gentleman reminiscent of an organ-grinder’s monkey. “Pray excuse me!” she gasped, attempting to stifle a laugh. “I did not mean to intrude.”

She was not to leave so soon. With a quickness of movement admirable in a gentleman in his cups, the officer placed himself between Tabby and the door. “Something about me amuses you?” he asked.

Tabby did not deem it prudent to inform the gentleman that he reminded her of a performing monkey. “You misunderstood me, sir. It was something else altogether that diverted me. I apologize again for my intrusion. I will leave you now.’’

The officer was not disposed to let her pass. His bold gaze moved over her body in the clinging muslin dress. The officer was not unhandsome, and more ladies were susceptible to him than not.

Tabby was not among those ladies. Nor was she amused that the officer clearly thought her character equivocal. “You are offensive, sir!” she said coolly. “Pray let me pass.”

Still he did not step aside. “I’ll show you I’m not to be laughed at!” he said, and grasped her elbows.

The man was going to kiss her. No little bit alarmed, Tabby gazed about for something with which to defend herself. Her choices were limited. Tabby bypassed a lamp shaped like an elegant tulip in favor of a tall porcelain pagoda.

“Unhand me, sir!” she demanded. It seemed only fair that before she began smashing her host’s treasures, she give her accostor one last chance. “Release me at once, and we’ll say nothing more of this matter, and no harm will be done.”

Tabby’s captor was immune to reason, such was the volatile combination of brandy and Ermyntrude’s clinging gown. He murmured something unintelligible and drew Tabby closer into his arms. She took firmer grip on the porcelain pagoda, which was amazingly heavy, and prepared to break it over the officer’s head.

At that moment, the door swung open. On the threshold stood a green-eyed gentleman. He frowned as he recognized Tabby. “What the
devil,”
he inquired, “is going on here?’’ The officer apparently did not feel up to explanations. He released Tabby and beat a quick retreat.

Tabby wished that she might also do so. What must Vivien think? Probably as had the officer, that she was one of the frail but fair. Tabby meant to have a word with Ermyntrude about her borrowed dress. “Thank you!” she stammered. “For coming to my rescue.”

Vivien plucked the pagoda from her hand and returned it to its place. Tabby admired his long-tailed blue coat and black pantaloons, white waistcoat and exquisite cravat. “Prinny is not always wise in his choice of friends,” he said. “And, unfortunately, their behavior sometimes leaves much to be desired. Luckily, I was passing by and recognized your voice. Or thought I did.” He smiled. “It seemed so bizarre a notion that I had to stop and see.”

Bizarre, indeed, thought Tabby. Here she was, a mere dab of a girl, being introduced firsthand to the foibles and indiscretions of the gay and polite. It was not an introduction to which she had aspired.

She could hardly explain to Vivien that she had a job of work to do. “Er, and very glad I am you did!” she responded. “I am in your debt.”

“Good!” Vivien smiled again, in a manner calculated to melt the coolest heart. “Then you will not run away from me again so soon. You acted as though you did not trust me when last we met.”

Trust this self-admitted rakehell? Of course she did not. But it would be unkind to tell him so. And what on earth was responsible for these sudden palpitations in her chest and the buzzing in her ears?

When she did not answer, Vivien looked concerned. “That brute really upset you, didn’t he? The man was drunk. He’ll forget you quickly enough. But if it would make you feel better, I’ll call him out.”

Tabby suffered further palpitations as result of this suggestion and thought of the subsequent notoriety. “Oh, no!” she gasped.

“You relieve me,” Vivien said wryly. “I confess I’m not much for pistols at dawn. Is this your first visit to the Pavilion? Come, let me show you around.” Tabby could think of no good reason to refuse him. Indeed, she found it curiously comforting that so wicked a person could also be kind. She allowed Vivien to escort her from the room.

He led her down the hallway, stopped a passing servant, presented her with a glass of champagne. Tabby accepted it gratefully, but wrinkled her nose at the bubbles, in a manner that led Vivien to conclude that she wasn’t accustomed to strong drink.

He didn’t know what to make of his Miss Nevermind. At first he’d though her Perry’s peculiar, until circumstances had caused him to dismiss that conclusion as absurd. Now he wondered if the notion had been so nonsensical as it had seemed then. In Vivien’s experience, no green miss would wear so blatantly inviting a gown. His curiosity was aroused.

Vivien was too skilled a sportsman to cram his fences. He did not follow the example set him very recently by a certain officer of the Tenth, but set out on the promised tour, concluding in an astonishing passageway of painted glass, decorated with flowers and insects, fruits and birds, and illuminated from the outside.

Tabby looked around her, awed. It was easy to imagine that they were passing through an immense Chinese garden. And difficult to think why Mrs. Quarles had wished to meet with Sir Geoffrey here. Tabby would have thought a less public setting more suitable for a rendezvous, but she was inexperienced in such things. One thing was certain; the reprehensible Mrs. Quarles had influential friends.

Yes, and Tabby was neglecting her duties. She was here to save her employer and his family from disgrace, not to listen to Vivien describe the stable Prinny was in the process of building, which was to be an equestrian palace with a huge fountain in the center and an exterior in the Moslem Indian style. “I must go!” she said abruptly. “I have already taken up too much of your time.”

“You must let me be the judge of that.” Vivien had half expected such a maneuver; he caught her hand. “I rescued you, did I not? You have not offered me a reward.”