by Joan Smith
“I was in the cottage last night,” she said. “Tory sent Jennet over to bear me company, for I could not like to be alone in the house at smugglers’ cove. It was very boring, being there alone for hours, and sometimes I had to run to the attic to hide, for Dauntry kept coming to the cottage. So contrary of him. He hardly ever goes there.”
They were interrupted by a sharp rap from the door knocker.
“Harold!” Antonia squealed, jumping up.
“More likely Dauntry,” Cressida warned.
“Oh, he must not see me!”
Antonia darted from the room. Within seconds Lord Dauntry was shown in. He took one look at Cressida’s face and said, “I am not armed, I promise you. It is purely a social call.”
He looked at the tea tray and said, “Good. I am just in time for tea.”
“I hope you will join me,” she said, glancing nervously at Antonia’s cup and the nibbled macaroons on her plate.
Chapter Fourteen
“I see you have already had company,” Dauntry said, glancing at the second teacup on the table. “If it had not been a lady, I should be jealous, Cressida.”
“Why do you assume it was a lady?” she asked.
“Because I saw the tail of a skirt disappear around the corner as I came in. Who was your caller? I hope I did not frighten her away.”
“I had no caller. It—it was Jennet,” she said, and felt her cheeks burning. She had not Mrs. Armstrong’s talent for prevarication. She should have said Miss Wantage!
“Has Jennet taken to wearing sprigged muslin in lieu of an apron?”
“The gown was mine. She was trying it on for me. It requires shortening. We are about the same height.”
“And taking tea with you while she was about it?”
“It seemed uncivil not to offer her a cup. I took your hint about generosity to the servants.”
“I had no idea you paid me so much heed—nor misunderstood me so entirely. There is a difference between generosity and equality. Pray do not consider it necessary to invite Jennet to join you for dinner.”
“If you say so, Dauntry. Naturally, your wish is my command.”
His eyebrows rose. “Hmmm. That suggests interesting possibilities,” he murmured.
“Don’t get your hopes up. We are speaking only of my treatment of your servants.”
“I knew there would be a catch in it,” he said, brushing an imaginary fleck of dust from his sleeve. “Mama thinks you should remove to the castle until the intruder is found. I think so, too. You are acquiring bad habits from your housekeeper. That was an interesting series of lies you have tried to palm off on me, Cressida. You have not quite gotten the knack of it. Try for a little common sense next time.”
She gave a light laugh. “What on earth do you mean? Why should I try to hide it if I had a lady friend calling?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. Unless the lady should have been the duke’s sister, acting as go-between.”
This token show of jealousy pleased her. “You are too foolish, Dauntry,” she said. “Now, tell me what the constable had to say. Or have you been to the village yet?”
“He said there have been no strange men spotted in or about the village. No one else has been burgled. I met Beau on my way back. He and I plan to guard the dower house tonight, as you are not eager to come to the castle.”
“No, that is not a good idea,” she said at once. There was too much chance of his spotting Antonia.
Dauntry’s first dash of surprise was fast turning to annoyance.
Cressida was hatching a different plan with regard to his sister. It was clear as crystal Antonia was in love with her Harold, and his efforts to find her suggested that the love was returned. To save them from embarrassment, she meant to find Harold and help the two of them to continue on their way to the Lake District without anyone’s being aware of their imbroglio.
Dauntry said stiffly, “You have some aversion to my being here?”
“You will want to be looking for that letter, Dauntry. With three footmen and a dog and Beau, we shall be quite safe. As you said yourself, Tory knows who the man is and that he means no harm. Did you get a dog?”
“We have three, plus a pack of hunting hounds, at the castle. I brought Tony’s spaniel. I thought you might enjoy Sandy’s company, as I hope he will enjoy yours. He has been skulking about like a lost soul since she left. I’ll introduce you.”
He called to Muffet before Cressida could stop him. Within seconds a golden sand colored spaniel came bolting in, barking excitedly, ears flopping. He had picked up his mistress’s scent. He ran to her cup and began sniffing at it, knocking the cup over in his eagerness to find her.
The tea sloshed into the saucer, revealing half an inch of sugar in the bottom of the cup.
“Good gracious! The beast has no manners! Get him out of here,” Cressida said. “Muffet!”
Muffet removed the unruly animal with great difficulty, for Sandy did not wish to leave.
“Strange,” Dauntry said, frowning. “He is usually very docile. You can keep him outside. He is a good guard dog.”
“That might be best.”
They resumed their taking of tea, but between Cressida’s nervousness and Dauntry’s pique, it was not a great success. The instant he set down his teacup, Cressida rose. Dauntry rose politely. She began nudging him toward the door. “Don’t let me keep you, Dauntry. It is of the utmost importance that you find that letter.”
“Why do I get the feeling you wish to be rid of me? It cannot be that hand on my back, propelling me toward the door.”
She pulled her hand away but continued moving toward the hallway, where Muffet was still struggling with the recalcitrant spaniel. Sandy escaped and ran to Dauntry, who tried to hold him, but he was off, down the hallway, barking and baying, with his leash hanging behind him. He turned at the door to the library, tail wagging fiercely.
“You had best see to him, Muffet,” Cressida said nervously.
“He’s picked up the scent of your intruder!” Dauntry said, and took a step after the dog.
Tory came bustling out of the library, pulling Sandy by his leash, and closed the door behind her. She cast a pleading look at Cressida, who understood that Antonia was hiding in the library.
“Oh, your lordship. You have brought Sandy to visit us. How nice,” Tory said. “He seems pretty excited, does he not?”
Sandy was sniffing and scratching at the library door. “We’d best get him outside, your ladyship. What must that knock-in-the-cradle of a Jennet do but bring a baby rabbit into the house. You know how she loves animals. The creature seems to be an orphan. She has put a dish of lettuce in the library to feed it. I’ll make her get rid of it as soon as we get the dog out of the way.”
Jennet, curious at the racket above stairs, came running up from the kitchen. “That rabbit of yours is causing a great fuss, Jennet,” Tory scolded.
“What rabbit?” Jennet asked.
“She hasn’t the wits God gave a kitten, poor child. She has gone and forgotten all about it,” Tory explained before turning a wrathful eye to Jennet. “I asked you to watch the ragout while I came up to see your rabbit was not nibbling the book bindings,” Tory scolded, and taking the girl by the arm, began propelling her back down the kitchen stairs, while pulling at Sandy’s leash with the other hand.
Cressida knew she was lying and thanked providence for the woman’s quick imagination. Dauntry cast a long, searching gaze on Cressida. “At least Jennet remembered to remove your sprigged muslin before returning to the kitchen,” he said satirically.
“Oh, yes, indeed. She is very careful.”
“For a moonling.”
“Don’t let me detain you,” Cressida said, and began once more to maneuver Dauntry out the door.
“I thought we might go for a ride this afternoon,” he said, digging in his heels and stopping.
“Oh, no, I could not possibly. I shall be very busy.” She tugged at his arm.
> “I am free for dinner, if you would like to join me—or even if you would like me to join you.”
“You would not care for Tory’s ragout.”
“Try me. I do not care for this ragout of lies and evasions I am being fed, but I am in no hurry to leave. I feel like Sandy, the way you are yanking me about.”
“I can see you are in no hurry!” she said in exasperation.
“On the other hand, I can take a hint when I am hit over the head with it. Good day, Lady deCourcy.”
He left, not in the best of tempers, and Cressida ran to the library. Antonia was not in evidence, but when Cressida saw only a pair of ladies’ slippers from her crouching position under the table, she came out.
“Where is Sandy?” Antonia asked. “I am so happy he is here. May he come in, Lady deCourcy?”
“Of course, but first we must talk. Have you any idea where Harold is?”
Antonia pouted. “Somewhere, drunk as a lord,” she said.
“He has visited this house twice. He must be close by.”
“He would not be at home. I don’t think he would dare to show his face in Beachy Head. If Melbury were here, I should think he would be with him, but Melbury was going to Bath.”
“He has to eat. I wonder if he is hiding out at home. Is there a dower house at his estate?”
“Yes, but his aunt Gertrude is living there, and he would never hide at her house. She is horrid.”
After a moment she added, “Who might know is Allan Brewster. He is Harold’s best friend.”
“I don’t think Brewster knows a thing. I have spoken to him more than once. He thought my caller was Melbury.”
“But if we could speak to Brewster, he might know where Harold is, for they are very good friends,” Antonia said.
“Very well, then, we shall write to Brewster and ask him to call.”
“But don’t tell him I am here.”
Cressida dashed off a note asking Brewster to call as soon as possible. It was close to lunchtime. They had either to take Miss Wantage into their confidence, or continue to keep Antonia hidden.
“She is bound to find out sooner or later,” Cressida said. “We might as well tell her.”
Before lunch, Cressida had Miss Wantage and Beau called to the saloon to meet Lady Harold. Beau was favorably impressed by her beauty and averred that Lord Harold must have rocks in his head, by Jove. Miss Wantage was so thrilled at this scandalous story that she could hardly decide what tack to take. It was an excellent opportunity for lectures and condemnation of drunkenness and the morals of the younger generation. On the other hand, Lady Harold would be a countess when Lord Harold came into his honors, and it was well to have another house to visit.
“Poor child,” she said, taking Antonia to her bosom. “What a wretched time you have had, and no one to turn to. If only I had known! Fancy them keeping you locked in the attic like a dog. Why, if the house had happened to catch fire, you would have been baked alive up there. Lord Harold wants a sound thrashing. If I were a man, I would give him one. Poor girl.”
It was enough to send Antonia off into fresh bouts of self-pity. Other details of her ordeal came out. She had had to walk the five miles from Beachy Head in the dark, and someone—probably a dangerous murderer, or perhaps it was only a dog—had stalked her the whole way. She had blisters on both heels and had nearly died of starvation, for she hadn’t enough money to buy food.
“We must get this child to bed at once and call the doctor, Cressida,” Miss Wantage decreed. “What were you thinking of, not to have those wounds on her poor feet attended to? If they became infected, she might be crippled for life.”
“They are very sore!” Antonia said, although she had not mentioned them before, or displayed any propensity to limp.
Miss Wantage herded her upstairs and put her to bed. She had their meals served on a tray, thus allowing Beau and Cressida a peaceful luncheon.
“The chit sounds a perfect ninnyhammer,” Beau decided. “Naturally, Lord Harold was nervous as a tick on his wedding night. I daresay I should be the same. She is spoiled rotten, if you want my opinion. A pretty little thing, though.”
“She has no experience, Beau. We should not be too hard on her.”
“I would not be too hard on Lord Harold. Only look what she has put him through, all his masquerades—and where has he been laying his head while she is in your attic as snug as a bug in a rug? Probably curled up in some tree trunk or cave, like a dashed bear.”
The afternoon dragged by slowly, as time does when one is waiting for something. Miss Wantage and Lady Harold never stirred from the bedroom. When Cressida went upstairs, she found them both sound asleep; Antonia in the bed and Miss Wantage in the chair, with her mouth hanging open and mild snorts issuing from it. It seemed best to leave them thus. At dinnertime there was still no reply from Mr. Brewster.
Cressida and Beau were just leaving the dinner table when there was a knock on the door, and Muffet came to announce Mr. Brewster.
Chapter Fifteen
“Good evening, milady,” Brewster said with a bow he had practiced ten times in front of the mirror before leaving home. It was a very model of elegance, and he was extremely annoyed that Beau should destroy it by choosing that moment to walk into the saloon and capsize him in mid-bow.
“Sorry,” Beau said, setting Mr. Brewster back on an even keel.
The incident upset Brewster to such a degree that he forgot the apology he had memorized and said with a scowl, “Sorry I am so late in coming. What must Mama do but take into her head she wanted to visit Mrs. Peabody, who lives halfway to Brighton, and, of course, I got stuck to accompany her. If your note is about Melbury, he is back right enough, but he only landed in last night around ten and has not left my place since. He admits he had a word with Tory at your kitchen door before coming to me, but she would not let him in.”
This explained Tory’s positive assertion that Melbury was in the neighborhood, but that was not why Lady deCourcy had summoned Brewster. She opened her budget to him.
Brewster listened, then spoke. “So this is where she has run to ground. Harold will be vastly relieved to hear it. He has run me ragged these two days looking for her. The fact is, he called on me for assistance the evening of the day we met in Beachy Head, ma’am. Looked like a turf cutter, with a couple of days’ growth of beard and his jacket as black as—well, he had been sleeping in a barn. And it was a very good jacket, too. Stutz.”
“Then he is with you!” Cressida exclaimed.
“Devil a bit of it. There was no way of hiding him and getting him cleaned up without the nosy-Parker servants discovering it. What we did, we eased open a window and slid him into Melbury’s place, as Melbury was away at Bath. That is why Melbury is staying with me now. I did not want him to learn Harold is at Cove House, or he would cause some sort of mischief. Harold has been lying low during the day and prowling about at night looking for his good woman.” He turned to Beau, adding, “He is sorry about that knock on the skull, Montgomery. Hope it hasn’t shaken a brain loose.”
“It was loose already. You have only to ask Sid.”
“Sid who?”
“Lady deCourcy’s name is Cressida. Sid, for short.”
“Ah. Charming,” he said with a frown that denoted disapproval of the name. “Er, about Sissie—”
“Sissie who?” Beau asked.
“Harold’s wife, Tony. Antonia. I don’t see why all the ladies are using men’s names this year. Dashed confusing. Will Tony see him? I have a note here from him making his apologies for the monumental disaster of the treacle moon. I wish she will see him, for I am running out of excuses to keep Melbury from going home. Besides, Harold is trying to dump the whole fiasco in my dish, if you please. I told him, one tot of brandy to relax. What must the gudgeon do but gargle down a cupful. Nervous as a martyr at the stake, of course, staving off the moment. Can hardly blame him. Feels a dashed fool, and so he is. Anyhow, he is a reformed character, so if you woul
d give Sissie this billet doux—” He handed Cressida a grimy note, folded in four.
“Leave it to Melbury not to have any decent stationery,” he said. “Harold scribbled this on the back of a bill or some such thing. Let us hope Sissie has the sense to have him back, for she will never hear the end of it from all the old cats in the neighborhood if she don’t.”
“I shall give her the note myself,” Cressida said, and ran off to deliver it.
In the rose guest chamber, Miss Wantage guarded the young bride. Sandy lolled at her feet. He batted his tail on the floor to welcome Cressida. Miss Wantage lifted a finger to her lips. “Shhh! I have just got her to sleep.”
Cressida held up the letter and said in a whisper, “Good news. This note is from her husband. He wants to come and make it up with her.”
“The villain!” Miss Wantage charged. “We must not let her go. You will not credit what the beast put her through, Cressida. Drunkenness, common brawling in a public room, arrest—all this on his wedding night, if you please, while his innocent bride waited, trembling, for his return. She is well rid of him.”
“I hope you have not been speaking to Antonia in this vein, giving her a disgust of her husband,” Cressida said.
“I? How should I know what had happened? It is Lady Harold who told me. I merely agreed with her that she had married a scoundrel and must be rid of him at all costs.”
“Lord Harold is not a scoundrel. He is a frightened boy who had a glass of false courage before going to his bride and fell into an argument.”
“That will be for Lady Harold to decide,” Miss Wantage declared. Sandy, as if sensing some argument, emitted one yelp and was silenced by Miss Wantage.
“So it will,” Cressida said, and shook the lady’s shoulder, despite Miss Wantage’s dire warning that the consequences would be on her head.