The House in Grosvenor Square

by Linore Rose Burkard

  Mrs. Bentley even kissed Miss Herley, and there were tears in the eyes of each of the females. She then turned to the Paragon. “Sir, after what has occurred tonight, I am decided in thinking that you were right indeed; Ariana must stay at your house, nothing is safe anymore, nothing!” Mrs. Bentley had suffered an awful night, reflecting on all her vulnerability—her carriage wasn’t safe, her own house wasn’t safe—it was horrid, vexatious, and, and—something must be done.

  Mr. Mornay frowned. In a strong tone he replied, “Mrs. Bentley, your niece is safe. Miss Herley is safe. Lord Wingate is in custody. The threat is gone. I repeat, the threat is gone.”

  She blinked, trying to digest the good news. Could it be? At long last? “My heavens! Is it true?” She looked around. “This is wonderful indeed!” She turned to her faithful companion. “Did you hear, Mr. Pellham? The danger is over!”

  “Yes, ys, my dear.” To the Paragon, he said, “And you must be the hero, sir, who saved the day for the ladies.”

  “I had much help,” he said, though Ariana’s shining eyes revealed that she shared Mr. Pellham’s opinion. Mornay added, “We are all tired and in need of our beds. Now let us get some rest.” He gave Ariana another soft kiss on the mouth, and said good night. With a bow to the whole company, he left with Lord Antoine, who had just finished kissing Lavinia’s hand.

  Mrs. Bentley too was tired. She was exhausted, in fact. “Haines, quickly. Call Mrs. Ruskin. Miss Herley and Mr. Pellham are both in need of beds. See that they are settled comfortably in guest rooms.”

  Finally she felt she could rest. Ariana was safe. Returned and beneath her own roof, thank God! Her brother would not find her lacking as a chaperon when he arrived the next day. And the wedding so near—only two days away!

  The butler at Grosvenor Square had a problem. Her name was Mrs. Hamilton. He knew his situation and that of all the staff was perhaps in peril, but somehow the thought of the housekeeper being a thief of the master’s goods made that problem pale in comparison. His pending dismissal hadn’t been confirmed by the master, for one thing, while Mrs. Hamilton’s duplicity was undeniable. It bothered him mightily.

  When Mr. Mornay returned with Lord Antoine, the loyal Mr. Frederick received their personal effects: hats, coats, and gloves. He awoke a maid to take the guest to his chamber, gave the young lord a candle sconce for light, and led the way for Mr. Mornay himself. Of course he was greatly relieved that his employer had returned safely, elated also at the news of Miss Forsythe being returned unharmed; but still the matter of Mrs. Hamilton lay heavy upon him.

  The thing was, other than the circumstantial evidence that Molly had discovered, they had no actual proof the lady was guilty. He believed her to be guilty, all the servants did. But they wanted proof. And Mr. Frederick did not want to trouble the master with unproven theories, particularly on this night when his endurance had already been severely tried by the danger to his lady.

  At the door to his bedchamber, Mr. Mornay took the light from Freddy and said, “Gather the staff after my breakfast tomorrow. I’ll address the servants regarding the future plans for me and my wife.”

  “Yes, sir.” He kept his countenance bland, but Freddy’s pulse had quickened. Would this be the fateful announcement of their ruined hopes? Was his situation, after so long a period, to be ended with so little ceremony, no preparation, no asking of his future plans, or concerns? He retired wearily, and with small hopes of the morrow.

  That morning, Mrs. Hamilton could not believe it. Not a single item was there in the wall, in the secret crevice, as it ought to have been. All the small things she had napped—gone! Her eyes fell on the little bed, empty now, and blazed with anger. That little upstart! She rushed from the room, heading to the kitchen. What I won’t do to that girl! Taking my things! Well, her borrowed things, for that was how she viewed them. Molly must be dismissed instantly!

  Belowstairs Mrs. Hamilton found the girl on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stone floor of the kitchen. She stopped in front of her, hands on her hips. Cook, and another maid, Letty, looked at her wonderingly.

  “Can I help ye, Mrs. ‘amilton?” Cook asked, affably.

  “It is this chit I want!”

  Molly looked up, startled, and then sat on her knees, waiting. “Me, mum?”

  Mrs. Hamilton grasped one of Molly’s ears sharply between her fingers. “Come this way, my pet! You have something to answer for, and I warrant it had better be a good answer!”

  Molly let out a cry of, “Oh, owww! I ain’t done nothin’ mum!”

  Cook and Letty exchanged curious looks, wondering what the girl had done.

  Mr. Mornay scowled as he looked up from where he sat in the morning room. He had just finished off an enormous breakfast as his appetite had been ferocious when he awoke, no doubt due to the events of recent days.

  The maid’s cries reached him, however, and he slammed down his coffee cup rather too hard, causing a spill on the tablecloth. He wanted to ignore the disruption, wanted to go on enjoying his coffee, and wanted, most of all, silence. How much did a man have to pay to have peace and quiet in his own household? Servants! As much trouble as they are help.

  Lord Antoine, sitting across from him, noted the irritation. “Shall I look into the matter?”

  “I will.” He got up reluctantly and followed the sound to the dining room since the workmen hadn’t arrived yet. Mrs. Hamilton had dragged the girl from the kitchen to the dining room, seeing it as a quiet spot to grill the maid. She was heartily doing so over in the far corner, when he entered. She failed to notice her employer’s presence.

  “I will ask you one more time,” she said between gritted teeth. “What have you done with the things in your room? You stole them, didn’t ye!”

  “I ain’t stole nothin’!” cried Molly, covering her ears with her hands since Mrs. Hamilton had already given them a good, sound boxing.

  “What is this about?” Mr. Mornay had his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

  Mrs. Hamilton came to attention, astonished. She was speechless for a second. Recovering, she cried, “Sir! The missing items from the house! I saw them, sir, in Molly’s room!” She turned and glared at the girl.

  “She put them there, sir!” cried Molly weakly, gulping back tears. “Ask Mr. Frederick, sir!”

  “Mr. Frederick?” Mrs. Hamilton was surprised.

  “Ay. ‘E knows about it.” Molly wiped her nose with her apron. In another minute the butler arrived, and when he saw the occupants of the room, his face took on a knowing look. “Ah. So it comes out, does it?”

  “Freddy—you know what this is about?” Mr. Mornay asked.

  “Sir—I must speak with yout privately.” To Molly he said, “Go to the kitchen and get back to work.” To Mrs. Hamilton he said, “I shall settle this, Mrs. Hamilton. Leave the girl to me.”

  Mrs. Hamilton was in a fright, but what could she do? What could she say? She eyed the butler cautiously and left the room without another word. Could it be that Freddy had found the things and believed Molly was guilty too? Tears of gratitude flooded her eyes. By the time she reached her own chamber—it was the only place she felt was adequate to break down in—she had undergone an astonishing turnabout. She was suddenly acutely conscious of how wrong she’d been to take the things—and how much she wished she had not. Yes, she was out of the money she might have got for selling the trinkets, but she wasn’t on her way to Newgate, and why had she never considered that she might end up there? Servants could be hung for thieving! Either fate was far worse than Draper’s! She ought never, never, to have resorted to stealing from her employer. And somehow she could not let Molly be blamed, either.

  Mr. Mornay wished to return to his coffee. The last thing he needed was difficulty with his staff. The butler came over to him. “You see, sir, it happened like this......”

  Mr. Mornay sighed. Bother.

  But as his butler gave him the story, the Paragon’s eyes roamed the dining room walls and ceiling an
d—wait. Things had changed. He’d been aware, of course, of the ongoing work in his house, but his preoccupation with Ariana and Wingate had all but taken over his mind. And he’d barely stepped into the rooms undergoing work until now.

  “Freddy, hold for a moment, won’t you?” The issue of Mrs. Hamilton was annoying to the extreme, and frankly, he wanted nothing to do with it. He got up and went and stood before the new plasterwork, taking it in, one hand on his chin.

  Freddy came and stood beside him and examined the work, also. He’d done so before, and it had looked to his eye perfectly pleasing. But his master was the Paragon, and here he was noticing it for the first time. What would he say?

  Mornay circled the room, keeping that look of appraisal, his eyes curious, his head nodding from time to time. But Freddy couldn’t read him. What was he thinking?

  “Show me all the new work,” he said. And so the butler took his master through the rooms that Miss Forsythe had seen fit to augment with new painted roundels, bas-relief work, and sculptures. Almost imperceptibly, finishing touches had miraculously been put in place, and suddenly disarray had become order. Paintings had been completed; dust and debris swept and washed clean. All the mess and upheaval came together in fact, in a masterly fashion so that the thorough cleanup had left the house looking newly finished.

  The head of Mary Magdalene brought a strange little smile. At the sight of the mother of God, he exclaimed, “She’ll have us taken for papists!” But he wasn’t frowning.

  When he saw the bed-chambers, he had to stop, put his hand on his hips, and just look around and shake his head.

  Freddy could stand it no longer. “Well, sir?”

  Mornay looked over at him, almost as though he’d forgot the man’s presence. “Amazing,” he said. “Did Miss Forsythe conceive of it all?”

  “According to Mrs. Hamilton, sir, yes, she did.” Mrs. Hamilton had shared much more than that, including her opinion of the “appalling cheek” of some people, and how the “future” mistress didn’t know her place, but Freddy didn’t bother to elaborate.

  “Does it meet your approval, sir?”

  The Paragon turned and greatly surprised his long-time servant by flashing that remarkably handsome, full smile. “I’m so proud of her, I hardly know what to say!” He looked back over the room. There was a greater softness in effect, a hinting at femininity but not so much that his masculine sensibilities were offended.

  The bed, in particular, looked very inviting. Yes, it met entirely with his approval.

  Mr. Frederick hated to ruin the moment, but he had to ask, “And Mrs. Hamilton, sir? Shall I wait for further proof of her part in the thefts?”

  “I think what you have is sufficient. She wouldn’t have known about the things in Molly’s room if she hadn’t put them there herself. That’s enough to send her to the magistrate, but—” he looked thoughtful a moment. “In honour of my coming wedding, I will settle for dismissing her.” He paused. “I’ll need a new housekeeper quickly, and one who won’t mind going back and forth from Aspindon to here.”

  “Sir, are you certain you do not wish to prosecute her? There were quite a few trinkets in her possession.”

  Mornay paused. “Anything of great value gone?”

  “Those ruffians stuffed their pockets when they were here, so it might be sticky knowing who took what. But Mrs. Hamilton had a necklace that belonged to your mother, a silver candlestick, a portrait of the king, and a pile of guineas. Apart from that, nothing of much value.”

  “She had the portrait and the candlestick?” he seemed amused. He was thinking Ariana would be happy to learn that Mrs. Herely hadn't napped the things, after all.

  “We won’t prosecute,” he said. When the servant still waited, he asked, “Is there anything else?”

  Freddy frowned. “Sir, Mrs. Hamilton was of the opinion that we were all to face dismissal. following your wedding.” It sounded foolish now to his own ears, but he had to know the truth.

  Mr. Mornay seemed mildly amused. “On what account would I do that?”

  “She thought it was the wish of your…of Miss Forsythe, sir.”

  “Mr. Frederick!” His amusement turned to annoyance. “Miss Forsythe’s wish? Surely you know her better than to think—” He stopped. In a different tone, he asked, sharply, “Is this what caused the difficulty between you and her? She mentioned a troubling incident or two, and I’ve been so busy I’m afraid it slipped my mind.”

  Freddy was visibly disturbed. “I regret to say that this was the difficulty, sir. I am terribly sorry.” There was a pause while Mornay considered whether to give a further combing. Freddy spoke first. “I will offer my resignation, sir, if that will satisfy—”

  “Don’t be a pigeonhead. You’re not going anywhere, Freddy.”

  The butler could have done a jig, but he swallowed with dignity and said merely, “Thank you, sir!”

  “See that the staff is given the correct information and in future please check all rumours and speculations with me before acting upon them.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Mr. Mornay had gone down to breakfast without a cravat. He rarely appeared even in his own home without properly dressing, but he’d forgot about Holliwell’s being there, and he was so hungry that he had no patience to get the knot right beforehand. He was in his dressing room trying to get it done speedily now, for Freddy had informed him that his man of business was in his office awaiting his pleasure. Where was Fotch when he was needed?

  Holliwell poked his head in the door, and yelled. “Mr. Mornay? Are you here, sir?”

  He took a few steps out of the dressing room. “In here; come in.”

  Holliwell tried not to gawk as he entered the chamber, but he was clearly distracted. He and his brother had been in low tide for so long, he’d forgotten the feeling of being surrounded by finery. “Would it be possible, sir, to call upon the Herleys?”

  Before Mornay could answer, Freddy came back, followed by Fotch, who had not been aware that Mr. Mornay was returned to his dressing room and was therefore in need of his ministrations. He darted around the men and began to fuss over the neckcloth.

  “A note from your tailor, sir,” said Freddy. “The coat sleeves have been redone and are ready for a fitting, and he begs to remind you that you wanted the coat before the wedding, sir.”

  “As though I’d forget. Tell them I’ll come by. It if was cut correctly this time, I’ll pay on the spot.”

  “Yes, sir.. Also a messenger from Rundell’s, sir. The jewellery you ordered is ready for your inspection and approval, sir.”

  “Have them bring it here, and I will inspect it on the premises. If I’m satisfied, I’ll pay for it directly. That ought to quiet their qualms.”

  “No, no, Fotch! Don’t go getting fancy on me, I want the same knot I usually wear!”

  Freddy cleared his throat. “The note, sir, begs to remind you that the jewellery was to be a surprise for your future wife, to be picked up at Rundell’s by yourself. Shall I still ask them to bring it here, sir?”

  “Yes. I cannot go running all over town!”

  “Very good, sir.”

  A footman came hurrying up and handed Freddy another note. “A note from Carlton House, sir. The Regent requires your presence tomorrow at three o'clock.”

  This made Mr. Mornay turn and look at the butler, exasperated. “And does he say what this is about?”

  “No, sir.” Freddy walked away with a smile.

  Holliwell was still standing by, a little awestruck. “Carlton House? You really are friends with the prince, then?”

  “ʼTis no secret,” he answered, while letting Fotch finish the work beneath his chin.

  Holliwell swallowed. “Does this mean, sir, that you won’t have a chance to speak to the Herleys on my behalf? I understand that your wedding is soon—”

  “I'll write to them. Will that satisfy you?”

  “If the result is my wedding to Miss Herley, it will.”

  Morn
ay’s eyes smiled. “Rest easy; I expect it will be.”

  The young man cleared his throat. “I thought, sir—you should know—that I'm willing to get a special license. I would have done it following my stop at Mrs. Bentley’s the other day, but they threw me into Newgate, instead.”

  Mr. Mornay raised a brow at him. “You have the twenty-five pounds, then? Needed for a license?”

  Lord Antoine blushed. “Is that the fee? Well…I...”

  Mornay added, “There's no need for that if you have the family’s approval.”

  Holliwell nodded, if reluctantly. “I suppose you have the right of it.”

  “Much better to start with a traditional ceremony,” Mornay said.

  “May I take your letter of recommendation to the Herleys today, then, sir?”

  “I’m having the papers drawn up today for Miss Herley’s stipend, including the conditions we spoke about. I may, perhaps, manage to get that done as well; in which case, yes, by all means, deliver it yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  Fotch was endeavouring not to smile. Wasn’t the master uncommonly generous to that young man!

  Two hours later, Mr. Mornay shook hands with his man of business who proceeded to take up a pile of papers and put them into a neat stack.

  “We only require the young lord’s signature now, sir, and the contract will take effect immediately.”

  “I’ll have him sign them directly.”

  “Very good, sir; But can he do so now, while I’m here as a witness? This sort of thing requires a witness, you see, sir,” he added, pointing to a spot on the bottom of the paper where the witness must sign. A leather portfolio was opened, awaiting the finished business, its little leather straps at the ready to be tied securely.

  Lord Antoine had been pacing in the library, hands behind his back, eager to get on with the business. Imagine it, a new life for him about to start! And because of the singular Mr. Mornay! He felt an uncustomary ripple of affection well up. Mornay truly was a Paragon—a great man! A much bigger man than Holliwell had ever imagined. Mornay in fact was in grave danger of finding himself quite idolized by the young man. Holliwell thought of Miss Herley and his heart almost burst for joy. But this blasted waiting!