Moonstruck Madness

by Laurie McBain

  “No, I think he should be left alone—for now, at least,” Sabrina advised her. “We’ll just have to start taking him into our confidence. But I’ll not have him involved in anything that will endanger him.”

  Mary nodded her red head in agreement. “I don’t fancy seeing us all hanging from the gallows, either.”

  Sabrina watched as Mary withdrew a piece of paper from her apron pocket and began to go over her list of household details, her face absorbed as she mentally calculated her figures. Sabrina smiled fondly at her sister’s bright red head. Nothing must happen to Mary. Not Mary. She was far too good and virtuous to end up on the gallows. Sabrina bit her lip nervously as she allowed her doubts to overwhelm her. What had she led them into? If anyone deserved hanging, it was she.

  ***

  It had been a lovely afternoon, Sabrina thought, as she glanced about the colorful garden. In scattered disorder Sweet Williams, carnations. and gillyflowers blended with the fragrance of violets, sweetbrier, and wild thyme. Sweet pea, honeysuckle, and jasmine clung to the arbors, while the yellow and gold of daffodils and marigolds marched steadily through the pinks and reds of tulips and columbines. Sabrina closed her eyes and listened to the quiet. She could hear the busy hum of the bees from their hive in the herb garden where they flavored their honey from rosemary, lavender, sage, and marjoram planted nearby. It was so restful, so peaceful, so removed from the world beyond the high stone walls.

  “Are you finished, Rina?” Mary asked as she began to gather up the empty dishes and return them to the large woven basket. Richard tossed the remains of roast chicken, ham, and pickled salmon to the floppy-eared, black-and-white spaniels waiting patiently for their share of the picnic. The gooseberry tart and custard pudding had long since been eaten, but the leftover fruit and cheese was repacked, and the empty container of lemonade as well.

  Sabrina finished hers thirstily and added it to the pile. “I enjoyed that so much. It is so pleasant to just relax and daydream for once,” she commented lazily, stretching her arms above her head, then laughed and covered her face as one of the spaniels began licking it with a soft, moist tongue. He rolled over as Sabrina rubbed his long silky hair playfully, laughing as he held up his paws begging for more.

  “I wish every single day could be as nice, but,” Mary added regretfully, “it must end, and I’ve still the accounts to see to.” She glanced at the lengthening shadows on the lawn and sighed. “Aunt Margaret, shall we go in now?”

  “Yes, dear, quite right,” Aunt Margaret answered. “Do remind me to embroider this garden. I must capture these glorious colors, and really, the pickled salmon was just a wee bit too salty.” She smiled, gathering up scattered threads with quick, nimble fingers and tucking them into the large tapestried bag that was her constant companion, along with the two spaniels.

  “When are you going to finish that tapestry you’ve been working on for the past few years, Aunt?” Sabrina asked, looping her arm through her aunt’s as they walked towards the house, the spaniels underfoot. “You’ve never shown it to us.”

  “In time, dear, in time,” she answered vaguely.

  They entered the hall through the side door that opened onto the garden and were stopped by the butler who’d just closed the doors to the drawing room.

  “Visitors, Lady Margaret,” he announced deferentially, but looked to Mary for his orders.

  “Who has called, Sims?” she asked curiously, checking her gown for grass stains and straightening the lacy, flounced sleeves at her elbows.

  “Lords Malton and Newley, your ladyship,” he replied stiffly, ill-contained dislike of the two visitors barely concealed in his well-trained manner.

  Mary cast an inquiring glance at Sabrina, who shrugged and merely tipped the wide, floppy brim of the pale blue silk slouch hat she wore to a more rakish angle over an amusedly arched eyebrow.

  “I suppose we must find out what they want. Come along Mary, Aunt—” she began, but Lady Margaret had disappeared up the staircase with the dogs in tow, a thin strand of scarlet thread the only indication she’d been present.

  Sabrina turned to Richard. “Would you care to be present?” she asked the solemn-eyed boy. His eyes brightened visibly, and he nodded his head in agreement.

  “Please, Rina,” he spoke eagerly.

  “Mary, Richard.” She clasped their hands and they moved forward as one into the drawing room, past the doors held open by a footman, to greet their unexpected guests.

  “Ah, Lady Mary,” Lord Malton greeted her loudly, nodding to Sabrina and Richard, as he bent over Mary’s outstretched hand. “A pleasure.”

  “Our pleasure, surely,” Sabrina spoke softly, smiling sweetly as she caught his eye.

  “I must say, Lady Mary, your sister grows more beautiful with each day that passes, as indeed do you yourself.”

  “If I might be allowed to add my compliments also,” Lord Newley added suavely, looking directly into Sabrina’s violet eyes. “We must see more of you ladies, eh Malton?”

  “Certainly. Of course we understand that without a man to act as escort, and only your aunt to chaperone you, it is most difficult for you to get about. Ah, how is the dear woman?” he asked hesitantly, looking around the room nervously in expectation of being surprised by her sudden appearance. “I knew the dear lady when she lived here with your father. They were, of course, a bit older than me,” he added quickly.

  “Aunt Margaret has never been better and hardly seems a day older than my sister and I,” Mary smiled. “Please do be seated, and may we offer you a refreshment?” Mary invited, her good manners overcoming her reluctance to issue such an invitation.

  She avoided Sabrina’s grimace and seated herself demurely on a winged settee. “Richard, ring for the footman. We’ve a very fine elderberry wine?”

  “Or lemonade and ginger beer?” Sabrina added helpfully, knowing full well that the gentlemen would much rather have had a brandy.

  “Really, we mustn’t put you to any trouble, dear ladies,” Lord Malton said quickly with a beaming smile, which faded as he broached the subject of his visit. He leaned forward from the chair he was seated in and confided, “We have paid this call on a most serious note, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Oh, dear me, how dreadful.”

  “You may well say that, Lady Mary,” Lord Malton expostulated, settling his bulk more comfortably in his chair, his sword and gold-headed cane complicating matters as he tried to cross his legs.

  “We come to warn you, dear ladies,” Lord Newley began carefully. “We certainly do not wish to frighten you, but we are all in the gravest danger.”

  “Oh, dear. Whatever from?” Sabrina exclaimed.

  “Last night, in my own dining room, a few friends and myself were held up at pistol point and robbed!” Lord Malton told them vehemently, his face turning red.

  “Robbed. How scandalous. Surely you jest. Who would dare?” Mary asked faintly.

  “Bonnie Charlie, that’s who,” Lord Newley spat, his thin lips drawn back from his teeth in almost a snarl.

  Richard gasped, his blue eyes widening in admiration as he stared at Sabrina’s elegant figure as she sat quietly on the settee, appropriately frightened by the news.

  “An outrage. Why I should think you’d have his head,” she whispered.

  “Exactly my words, Lady Sabrina. The impertinence of it all. Well, that is why we’ve come. You ladies must be warned, and prepared to defend yourselves. Have you good, strong footmen to protect your home?”

  “Why, yes, we’ve several big country boys footing for us,” Mary reassured them.

  “Not sure even that’ll do it. Monsters they were. Stood seven feet tall, those henchmen of his. And him, let me tell you, he was six feet if an inch, and a meaner ruffian I’ve yet to meet.”

  “Tch, tch. Six feet if an inch, you say? How distressing,” Sabrina breathed. “I do fea
r, Mary, that I shan’t be able to sleep a wink for fear of my life.”

  “Dear lady,” Lord Newley exclaimed contritely, leaning closer, “you’ve no need to fear. I don’t believe he’s killed anyone yet, and besides, we’re calling in more dragoons to patrol. I shall personally guarantee your safety. I promise you we shall hang that scoundrel before the week is out. He has gone too far this time. Coming into a man’s home, it’s uncivilized.”

  “You’re too kind to be concerned on our behalf, and I am sure we shall be quite safe. We do live a very simple life,” Mary reassured them, and then added ingenuously, “Why, I’m sure we have nothing here that he doesn’t already own.”

  “You’re too modest, my dear,” Lord Malton contradicted. “Well, we really mustn’t detain you any further. We just wanted you to know the truth, should you have heard any exaggerated rumors, that there are going to be reinforcements coming.”

  “Thank you, I’m quite reassured now,” Mary thanked them. “We appreciate your solicitude, my lords, don’t we Sabrina?”

  “Indeed we do, and although your description of the highwaymen quite terrified me, I am most interested and reassured to know about the dragoons.”

  “As good neighbors it was our duty, and of course it’s always a pleasure to visit such lovely ladies,” Lord Malton complimented as they heartily made their good-byes.

  After the doors had been closed behind them, they remained silent for a moment until Richard couldn’t control his giggle and started to laugh, his slight body shaking with mirth.

  “It is just too priceless. I should’ve asked Lord Newley for the time,” Sabrina laughed as she untied the ribbons beneath her chin and flung aside her hat.

  “Yes, it is rather,” Mary agreed, wiping her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “But I hope we aren’t underestimating them. Foolish though they are, they’re not completely blunt-witted.”

  “No, but they’re windbags. They couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended upon it. With their chatter, Will and John can pick up any news at the tavern from their servants, who love to gossip, and we can gather what we may direct from the horse’s mouth, for I’m sure the dragoons will not be able to make a move without Malton’s advice.”

  Richard stared at Sabrina in open admiration, his face flushed with excitement. “When are you going out again, Rina? Can I ride with you? I promise I won’t be frightened,” he pleaded hopefully.

  Sabrina shook her head. “You know I told you we would never discuss that. Besides, you’re needed here. Should anything happen to me, what would Mary and Aunt Margaret do? They’ll need you, Dickie.”

  “Nothing will happen to you,” Richard vowed, flinging himself at her feet and wrapping his arms about her waist “Nothing, ever!”

  Sabrina looked over his head into Mary’s eyes and wondered what she saw, but Mary shook her head despairingly, unable to answer the question in her eyes. Nothing must go wrong now, nothing must happen to interfere with their plans. Sabrina intended to make sure that nothing did, and vowed to herself that she would not allow anything, nor anybody, to upset their lives.

  A bold bad man.

  —Edmund Spenser

  Chapter 3

  The Duke of Camareigh leaned indolently against the portal of the double doors and watched as the carefree dancers glided past. First they slowly danced the minuet with its bowing and crossing, the partners flirting provocatively as they drew together, and then a more lively bouree, followed by a courante to keep them breathless with its quick, running steps.

  “Aren’t you going to join in, Lucien?” Sir Jeremy Winters inquired, as he took two glasses of champagne from a tray offered by a liveried footman and handed one of the brimming goblets to the duke.

  “And have my feet trod upon? No, thank you,” Lucien declined wryly as a red-faced, perspiring gentleman stumbled past.

  Sir Jeremy laughed. “Even if you shun my more lively entertainments, I’m glad you accepted my invitation. Only sorry I’d already planned such a cursed large party. Don’t get you down this way much.”

  “I thought I might as well look up an old friend, as long as I was here looking over some property I’ve acquired,” replied the duke.

  “Heard you’d won Davern’s estate. Not much, I’m afraid,” Sir Jeremy informed him. “He’d let it go for years.”

  “Yes, I’d thought as much, but I like to know what I possess. It may be worth saving,” he paused, taking a sip of champagne. “If not, I’ll sell or lose it in a game of hazard next week.”

  Sir Jeremy shook his head. “Lavenbrook lost everything last week in one hand. Shot himself dead in his host’s dining room.”

  “If you can’t afford to lose, you shouldn’t play the game,” Lucien commented unsympathetically. “We’re all bound to lose sometime and should be prepared to pay.”

  “But for God’s sake, man,” Sir Jeremy replied fervently, “sometimes you just can’t help it. I’ve often found myself in too deep and just luckily managed to extricate myself in time.”

  “When I play a game, whatever it may be, whether at the tables or elsewhere, I expect to pay my debts, and,” he added, his eyes cold, “I expect to collect what is due me. I make no allowances, and I always collect.”

  “Well, I like to collect too,” Sir Jeremy began, “but I give a friend a chance to regain his losses and time to pay.”

  “I never gamble with friends who can’t afford to lose—it’s the best way to lose your friends,” the duke replied lazily.

  “I’d have thought you’d be, of all people, the most understanding, Lucien. After all, you were in tight spots many times before you managed to break even and eventually make your fortune.”

  Lucien smiled thoughtfully as he answered seriously, “That is precisely why I feel as I do. I had to make my fortune at cards, a professional gambler you might say, and therefore it was a business, and charity and compassion played no part in it. I couldn’t afford to feel either. That is why I didn’t and prefer not to play with friends.”

  Sir Jeremy shook his head regretfully, his friendly features mirroring dissatisfaction. “Cursed nuisance having your inheritance tied up the way it is.”

  The duke’s jaw hardened as he ran his thumb along his scar. “More than that, Jeremy. Up until a couple of months ago I thought I’d managed to circumvent my grandmother’s ploys, but as usual she refuses to concede defeat and continues to dictate and meddle in my affairs. This time she has outmaneuvered me and I must swallow my pride and give in gracefully. I have no other choice if I wish to own my ancestral home, and I have vowed that no one but I shall inherit it. So, I find myself in the position of being engaged to the Lady Blanche Delande, my grandmother’s choice as a perfect wife for me, despite my feelings to the contrary. However,” he shrugged in resignation, “there is little I can do to remedy the situation except marry the chit—as ordered—for I’ll be damned if I’ll let my cousin Percy inherit.”

  Sir Jeremy felt a twinge of unease as he stared at his friend’s haughty profile, the sherry-colored eyes narrowed reflectively and the finely chiseled lips curved in an unpleasant smile. In an untrimmed cream silk, full-skirted coat with matching waistcoat and breeches, the duke was an elegant foil to the brightly dressed dancers in their gaudy pinks and puces, oranges and reds, lavishly embroidered and trimmed in gold and silver.

  “Well, shall we see how the play is going in the gold salon,” Sir Jeremy broke into the duke’s thoughtful silence.

  They drifted from the room to the gold salon, where tables had been set up for games of chance, and stood watching the engrossed card players. As they continued to stand there another man moved closer and stood nearby, his face flushed with drink as he glared at the duke’s arrogant profile.

  Lucien turned his gaze slightly and glanced dispassionately at the man staring so rudely at him until the man shifted uneasily and turned his eyes
elsewhere.

  “Who is the malcontent who’s trying to put me to the blush?” Lucien inquired casually.

  Sir Jeremy glanced around the room in surprise as he looked over his guests, who were busily absorbed with their cards, until his eyes alighted on a stocky gentleman in salmon colored velvet, his brow thunderous as he stared at Lucien in a definitely unfriendly manner.

  “What the devil?” Sir Jeremy demanded, looking at Lucien questioningly.

  The duke returned his look steadily. “I’ve not the slightest notion why this fellow should bear me malice. I haven’t even had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”

  “He’s Sir Frederick Jensen. A real hothead, always in a sulk about some imagined slight.”

  “Really,” the duke drawled in boredom. “How tiresome.”

  “A real hot-air merchant. His mouth has gotten him into countless duels,” Sir Jeremy confided distastefully.

  “Then how is it he’s a guest of yours, Jeremy?”

  “Someone else’s guest, not mine. There’s always some parasite worming his way in. But short of throwing the braggart out, what can I do but cold-shoulder him?”

  “Well, you shall have to do better than that because the fellow is coming this way,” Lucien stated dryly, “and unless I’m mistaken, with the express purpose of engaging us in conversation.”

  Sir Frederick Jensen swaggered up to the Duke of Camareigh, ignoring Sir Jeremy, and cast a baleful eye at Lucien’s amused expression.

  “Laughing in your sleeve at me, are you, your grace?” he sneered loudly, causing the nearby card players to glance up in interest.

  “Hardly that, since I know nothing about you to laugh at,” Lucien replied indifferently.

  Sir Frederick’s mouth curled into a sneer as he leaned forward, and jabbing a finger on the duke’s wide chest said, “No, you do yours behind a fellow’s back. Maligning my character, holding me up to ridicule.”

  “It would be a waste of my time since you seem to be doing that yourself,” Lucien replied coldly.