by Anne Gracie
“This is an evening of wonders, indeed!”
—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
“I found the place,” Morton Black told Max. “The Pillbury Home for the Daughters of Distressed Gentlewomen, in Cheltenham. Mrs. Bodkin, the woman in charge, knows no one by the name of Chance, but she’s very well acquainted with sisters Abigail and Jane Chantry—spoke very highly of them both, in fact, particularly of Miss Abigail Chantry.
“According to her, Miss Chantry has worked as a governess for the past six years, ever since she left the Pillbury—for two different families. The first family terminated her employment because they were moving to Jamaica. The second was a London post. She left their employment quite suddenly, Mrs. Bodkin said.”
“Why?” Max asked.
Morton Black shook his head. “Mrs. Bodkin said Miss Jane Chantry left the orphanage to take up a position as a lady’s companion in Hereford, but for some reason joined her sister in London instead.”
A governess and a lady’s companion—it all seemed quite respectable and aboveboard. Not at all the kind of thing that would get someone coming after them with a knife.
“What of the other two girls?”
Morton Black shook his head. “She has no idea of anyone with the first name Damaris, and though she knows several girls called Daisy, none of them has one leg shorter than the other, or speaks with a cockney accent.” Morton Black’s mouth quirked with dry humor. “She made it very clear they only took in the daughters of distressed ladies.”
Max nodded. It was as he thought. “So the two misses Chance—Chantry, rather—have no other relatives.”
“As to that, my lord, they do, though not Miss Damaris or Miss Daisy.”
“Go on.”
“Mrs. Bodkin told me Miss Abigail and Miss Jane’s story. Apparently the girl’s mother and father were set to marry other people, but instead they eloped with each other, which caused somewhat of a scandal. Both families cast them out in disgrace.”
Max leaned forward. “So there are living relatives who could take the girls in now?”
Morton Black grimaced. “Unlikely, my lord. When the two girls were first brought to the Pillbury—Miss Abigail was just twelve years old and her sister was six—Mrs. Bodkin made inquiries and wrote to the head of each family, the Chantrys and the Dalrymples.” He handed over a piece of paper on which was written the names and addresses. “Both families made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with the girls.”
The Chantrys and the Dalrymples. He knew both families by reputation. Both in the upper ten thousand, wealthy and more than capable of taking in two little girls and giving them the kind of upbringing their birth warranted. And yet they hadn’t.
Max clenched his fist around the sheet of paper. “Does Ab—I mean, do the girls know that?”
Morton Black shook his head. “Mrs. Bodkin never told them, didn’t want to raise false hopes.”
“Why would anyone reject two little girls born in wedlock?” Max hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until Morton Black answered.
“Scandal.”
“But that was years before.”
Morton Black shook his head ruefully. “Not the elopement. The girls’ father was shot and killed while attempting to rob a coach on the Great North Road.”
“Good God.”
“My inquiries revealed it was the first time he’d taken to the High Toby—word was he was desperate because his wife was desperately ill and he had no money for medicines. Still, some people don’t care for the reason behind a crime; the crime itself—and the scandal—is all they care about.”
“So if the father was killed and the mother was ill, who looked after Abby and her sister? She was just a child.”
“From everything I can discover, Miss Abigail cared for her family alone.”
“How?” It came out as a croak.
“Not what you’re worried about,” Morton Black assured him. “It was honest hard work. She helped out in a bakery in return for bread and a place for them to sleep. Worked all hours of the day, like a little demon, until her mother died and they took her away to that orphanage.” Morton Black looked at Max. “Twelve years old and looked after her mother, herself and her little sister.”
And she was still doing that now, Max thought: looking after people. “I see. Did you discover anything about the other two girls?”
“No, my lord. I tried every avenue I could think of. It’s a mystery where they sprang from, though when Miss Abigail left the Mason home it was with three other young women. The housemaid I spoke to knew nothing of who they were or where they’d come from, only that one of them was Miss Abigail’s sister.”
Only one, Max thought. “So somewhere between Jane leaving the orphanage and Abby leaving the Mason house, they acquired the other two. But how?”
“Do you wish me to keep trying?”
“Something else has arisen. Miss Chance was attacked in the street the other day by a man with a knife. Can you think of any reason why?”
Morton Black shook his head. “Everyone I spoke to only had good to say about her. Of course, the Masons, her most recent employers, were annoyed about the way she’d left so suddenly, but otherwise I would have said she has no enemies to speak of.”
“Nothing at all odd or fishy?”
Morton Black thought for a moment. “It was odd that Miss Jane set out in a coach for Hereford and ended up in London, without a word to Mrs. Bodkin or, from the sounds of it, her sister.” He added, “Her unexpected arrival at the Mason home led to Miss Abigail being sacked. And from the sounds of it, the other two girls were with her then.”
Max shook his head. “It seems an unlikely cause for hostility to me, but keep on it, Black. Dig as deep as you need to, no expense spared. I want to know who has it in for Miss Abigail. That fellow with the knife meant business.” Max had the aching arm to prove it.
* * *
Lord Davenham came downstairs that evening dressed to go out and looking, in Abby’s private opinion, quietly magnificent. He glanced into the sitting room, where Lady Beatrice and the girls were taking sherry before dinner, and to Abby’s surprise he came in, accepted a sherry and sat down beside his aunt.
“I’m delighted to see you up and about again, Aunt Bea.”
“Rather more up than about,” she grumbled. “But I’m getting stronger every day.” She released her nephew’s arm and gave him a critical inspection. “Looking very dashing, my boy. Dining out again, I suppose.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He returned the inspection with a grave air. Abby and the others hid their smiles as he said, “You’re looking rather dashing yourself, Aunt Bea. Your hair in particular looks quite—”
“Natural,” she said firmly.
He inclined his head. “I was going to say vivid.”
“It’s titian, as it’s always been.” Daisy and Lady Beatrice’s maid had spent most of the afternoon giving her iron gray hair what Daisy called “a restorative treatment.” Lady Beatrice’s hair was now gleaming with life—and bright red henna.
“Thanks to these gels, my health is improving and my natural color is growing back.” She eyed him beadily, daring him to contradict her.
His lips twitched. “I’m delighted to see you’ve made such a leap in health since this morning. I’m sure all your visitors helped,” he said, but the gaze that rested on his aunt was fond, rather than sardonic, Abby saw.
“Do you like my very modern crop? The girls insisted I leave off my cap.” Nobody had insisted on anything of the sort. She patted the short red curls self-consciously. “I’m told I have the kind of bone structure that can carry it off.” She gave Lord Davenham an approving glance. “You do too, Max.”
Lord Davenham, in the act of sipping his sherry, choked.
Just then the front door knocker sounded. Lord Davenham put down his sherry glass. “That’ll be Freddy. I’ll mention your invitation to dinner, but whether he’ll come or not . . .”
“Stay her
e!” Lady Beatrice caught Max by the sleeve. “I can see you haven’t the slightest intention of getting young Monkton-Coombes to come in. Featherby, step outside and find a fair-haired young dandy in a dangerous-looking equipage. Present him with Lady Beatrice Davenham’s compliments and say he is expected for dinner. And if he hesitates, tell him I’d particularly like to inquire after his mother.” Lady Beatrice winked at Abby. “That should do the trick.”
Abby glanced at Lord Davenham, expecting him to be annoyed at his aunt’s high-handed manner. He didn’t look at all concerned.
What was he up to? Abby wondered. He’d made no attempt to leave; he hadn’t even stood up. And now he sat back with an air of lazy anticipation, almost as if he were amused.
Quick footsteps sounded in the hallway. A tall, elegantly dressed young gentleman entered the room, hat and gloves in hand. He didn’t even glance at the other occupants of the room, but made a beeline for Lady Beatrice, saying, “Lady Beatrice, I cannot apologize enough—so delightful to see you again. My mother sends her regards, of course. I’m so pleased you’ve recovered from your illness—you have recovered, have you not? You’re looking wonderful, I must say. Very, ah, up-to-the-minute.” He hadn’t batted an eye at the vivid head of curls.
The honorable Frederick Monkton-Coombes was quite the specimen of the handsome man-about-town, Abby thought. His face was long, but very good-looking, his eyes were a brilliant blue and his hair was thick and golden, arranged in careful, windswept locks. Jane had gasped audibly and sat up straighter. Damaris too had stiffened and was staring, and Daisy positively gaped.
Without apparently pausing for breath, Mr. Monkton-Coombes continued. “I’m extremely grateful for your charmingly impromptu invitation, but I’m afraid I have an unbreakable appointment—tragic, I know, but there it is. I can think of nothing more delightful than dinner with you and your charming companio—” He glanced sideways and broke off suddenly. He blinked. Slowly a glazed, stunned expression crossed his face.
Wordlessly he stared at Jane and Damaris, sitting side by side on the sofa. They were looking very pretty, Jane in a pale amber dress that highlighted the gold of her hair, and Damaris cool and serene-looking in a soft lilac print. They looked, to Abby’s admittedly biased eye, like the sun and the moon, sitting side by side.
Mr. Monkton-Coombes stared. His eyes bulged and his jaw dropped open. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.
Abby wondered whether he was about to choke. She rose, thinking he might need a drink of water.
At her movement, he jumped as if she’d poked him and closed his mouth with an audible snap. He looked at Abby, a most peculiar expression on his face. He glanced at Daisy, who was looking very pretty in a ruffled blue gown, swallowed and then turned to Lord Davenham and in a low, indignant voice that Abby thought only Lord Davenham was supposed to hear, said, “Muffins?”
Abby, who was close enough to hear it too, blinked. Muffins? What was he talking about?
Lord Davenham gave a half smile and shrugged. His gray eyes were dancing, Abby saw. It softened his austere face wonderfully.
Mr. Monkton-Coombes gave him a narrow I’ll-deal-with-you-later kind of look and turned back to Lady Beatrice. “On second thought, my engagement is not of such an urgent nature,” he said smoothly.
“Oh, are you sure?” Lady Beatrice purred, delighted with the success of her little scheme. “I’d hate you to miss your appointment.”
“Oh, that’s all right. It was with a sad, rubbishy fellow, given to telling the most shockin’ untruths,” Mr. Monkton-Coombes confided. “The kind of dog-in-the-manger fellow who doesn’t deserve my company, let alone dinner at the club.”
Lady Beatrice gave a satisfied smile. “You show excellent judgment, dear boy. The girls and I will be delighted to dine with two such handsome gentlemen. Featherby, lay another place at the table, and instruct Mr. Monkton-Coombes’s groom to return for him at nine o’clock.” Featherby bowed and glided from the room.
“Freddy, dear boy, you haven’t yet met my nieces, so let me introduce them.”
Max watched sardonically as Freddy bowed gracefully over the hand of each of the misses Chance. He didn’t know who was more pleased to become acquainted, Freddy or the girls. Freddy was practically twitching like a hound on a hot scent.
Freddy was built like a greyhound, lanky more than muscular, yet women always clustered around him like bees around a honeypot. Max had no idea why. Freddy claimed it was his blue eyes and fatal charm, but Max thought it was more that Freddy was always up to the mark with the latest fashionable thing. Women liked that.
And, of course, there was the nonsense he talked. Freddy had an endless supply of nonsense and all the latest gossip, and women seemed to love it. Even Aunt Bea was laughing. While there were women to charm, Max wouldn’t get a single word of sense out of Freddy tonight.
Well, perhaps one. Max grinned to himself. Muffins.
Serve him right. Max would have no trouble now getting Freddy to keep an eye on the Chance girls while he was away in Manchester.
The butler appeared at the door and Aunt Bea held out her hands to Max. “Max, dear boy, your arm, if you please.” She picked up a silver-topped ebony stick and gave him a look that told him she was not prepared to appear as an invalid in front of guests.
“Max will take me in to dinner,” she announced to the room in general. “Freddy, my dear, will you accompany Abby, and you other girls, I’m sorry—next time we’ll arrange it better so that we have more gentlemen and a properly balanced table.”
Max helped her to rise, took her hand in his and allowed her to lean heavily on his good arm. His bad one was aching, and so was his shoulder, but he’d had worse pain in his life.
He watched as Freddy tucked Miss Abigail’s hand into the crook of his arm in a damned familiar manner. He said something to her in a low voice—Max couldn’t hear what—and she laughed, a low, intimate chuckle, like water tumbling over rocks in a mountain stream.
“Max, support is one thing, but if you squeeze my hand any tighter, you’ll break it,” Aunt Bea said testily.
Between Max and her stick, Aunt Bea managed to walk into the dining room without so much as a wobble. Max seated her at the head of the table, then turned to seat Miss Abigail. Freddy was before him, however, so Max seated Jane and Damaris while Freddy seated Daisy.
As Freddy passed Max to take his seat on the other side of the table, he thumped Max lightly between the shoulder blades and muttered, “Muffins indeed!”
“Muffins?” Aunt Bea had overheard. “Did you say muffins?”
Freddy blinked, for once lost for words. To Max’s great pleasure, Freddy started to blush. He didn’t think Freddy had blushed since he was about thirteen.
“Yes, Aunt Bea, Freddy has recently developed a . . . well, it’s almost an obsession for muffins. Alas, poor Freddy, no muffins here for you tonight.”
“So I see,” Freddy muttered with a darkling look at Max.
“We don’t know that,” declared Aunt Bea. “Featherby, ask Cook if we have any muffins. Mr. Monkton-Coombes would like some.”
“No, no, it’s quite al—” Freddy began. But Featherby, like the excellent butler he was, had already swept out on a Quest for Muffins.
* * *
Freddy climbed into the curricle after Max, picked up the reins and gave him a hard thump on the shoulder. Max grinned, even though it was his sore arm. “What was that for?” He knew perfectly well what the thump was for, but he recognized a conversational opener when he felt it.
“You said they were muffins.” The groom released the horses’ heads and jumped up behind as the curricle moved off at a brisk pace.
“No, you said that,” Max responded. “I merely said they read a lot.”
Freddy shot him an indignant look and thumped him again. “Dull and earnest, you said. Dull and earnest? Those girls in there are full of fizz. Delightful company.”
“Well, I don’t even know what a muffin is, exactl
y.”
“Then you shouldn’t go around blackening the reputations of charmin’ girls. A muffin is dull, earnest, generally plain—though occasionally you’ll find one lurking behind a pretty face—and is bent on marrying a fellow and making his life a misery. Reforming him. Forcing him to do Good Works and attend Improving Talks.” He shuddered.
“Oh. Then they’re not muffins.”
“No, they’re not.” Recalling something else, Freddy added in an aggrieved voice, “Damned if I shouldn’t punch you on the nose on their behalf—you also told me they were as plain as a box of toads! A box of toads?”
“I saw some absolutely beautiful toads on my travels—” Max began, then broke into laughter and held up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, I take that one back. And apologize. Humbly and abjectly,” he said without the slightest humility or abjectness.
Freddy sniffed. The horses trotted on through the night streets.
Max chuckled. “If you’d seen your face . . .” There was a short silence. “And when Aunt Bea sent to the kitchen for muffins . . .”
“One more word and I’ll shove you out of this vehicle,” Freddy said with dignity.
They drove for some time in silence; then Max said, “So you’ll keep an eye on them while I’m in Manchester?”
“They’re really in danger?”
“I think so.”
“Then of course I will.” Neither man said anything for some time; then Freddy added as they approached Barney McPhee’s house, “You know I would have even if they had been muffins.”
“I know.” Max added with a grin, “But you’d have brought along a chaperone to protect you.”
“Dammed right I would have,” Freddy said fervently.
* * *
At the end of the week the move to the new house in Berkeley Square was accomplished. Max, Abby and Featherby had supervised a small army of busy servants—Abby working hardest of all. She so wanted to make the house as perfect a welcoming home as she could. For Lady Beatrice, she told herself. And for him.
To keep the old lady from fussing, Freddy took Lady Beatrice, Jane, Damaris and Daisy for a drive in the park, followed by an ice at Gunter’s. After that, the three girls and a footman walked across the square to the new house, while Freddy took Lady Beatrice to take tea with his mother. By the time she returned, everything was in order and the household was ready to greet her.