The Bath Trilogy

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The Bath Trilogy Page 10

by Amanda Scott


  “I’ll hire a man from the village,” she said firmly. “You may make your own arrangements.”

  “No.”

  She glanced at him, but he said no more than the one word. Furious, she turned with a flounce and went upstairs to get her cloak, hat, and gloves. By the time they had reached Nibley, however, she was once again grateful for his presence. Not only was the road in poor repair, but they could scarcely see it for the thickening mist, and she was glad that he was driving.

  “We are going to find an inn,” he said the moment the carriage wheels struck cobblestones.

  Recognizing the implacable note in his voice and knowing better than to challenge it outright, she said, “Very well, but only to warm ourselves. Despite the gloom, it cannot be past one, and I want to make Westerleigh today.”

  He said grimly, “I think you are going to be disappointed, because this mist, if I am not mistaken, will soon turn to rain, if not snow. We’ll rack up here and hope for better weather tomorrow. I’ve no wish to freeze to death on this damned road.”

  “Good gracious, Ned, the hall cannot be but a few miles from here! We can easily make it in an hour or so.”

  He called over his shoulder, “Jem, do you know these parts?”

  “Nay, m’lord,” the tiger shouted from the other side of the hood. “Never been here afore, and I’ll tell you, them tall hedges a-leanin’ over the roadway in this fog make me keep listenin’ fer boggarts and beasties. Makes m’ flesh crawl.”

  “Very likely.” He looked at Sybilla. “You cannot possibly be any warmer than I am, and I’ll tell you right now that once I find a fire I’m going to sit by it till bedtime.” His expression altered, making his thoughts clear to her even before he added, “Perhaps by then I’ll have found something else to warm me.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, my lord.”

  She could not deny the cold or the damp. Nor could she think him mistaken in believing the weather would grow worse before it got better. Still, she had not needed his suggestive remark to tell her she did not wish to spend the night at an inn with only him for company. It had been easy at Charfield, with Sitwell and Brandon to provide buffers, but there would be no one to help her at Nibley. By the time Ramsbury located the inn through the deepening mist, she had decided she would have to take matters into her own hands. The information they received at the inn reinforced that decision.

  “Only the one bedroom for hire upstairs and the taproom below,” the landlord replied to Ramsbury’s request for two bedchambers and a sitting room. “Don’t get many folks on this road. Can let ye have the taproom to yerselves, I expect, lessen we gets more company tonight. Don’t think we will, though. Most folks’ll be laid low where it’s warm.”

  “The one room will have to do then,” Ramsbury said. “Draw me some ale, man, and fetch out a maidservant to see to my wife. She will wish to refresh herself.”

  “Aye, we’ve a maidservant, sure enough. Here, Sarah! Lady needs yer!” he shouted. Moving to the tap, he drew a tankard of ale, blew the foam from the top, and handed it to Ramsbury. “That do yer, sir?”

  “Excellent,” the earl responded, meeting Sybilla’s shocked gaze with a look of amusement.

  She moved nearer, turning her back to the landlord and speaking in a low tone so that he would not hear. “You will not share my bed, Ned, so you need not think it.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “ ’Tis the only bed in the house, love. You heard the man.”

  “There will be a carpet,” she snapped, “or a nice hard floor!”

  “I should infinitely prefer a soft bed and your arms to comfort and warm me.”

  “They are more like to strangle you,” she muttered.

  He chuckled, but just then the maid entered, apologizing for the delay and assuring Sybilla that she would have her settled in a jiff. Sybilla followed the young woman willingly, racking her brain to think what to do. Only one solution presented itself. Inside the tiny bedchamber—really there was not even room on the floor for a man Ramsbury’s size to stretch out—she turned quickly to the maid.

  “Is there someone who can help me get to Westerleigh Hall?” she demanded.

  “Why, mistress, the weather—”

  “Never mind the weather. Is there someone who knows the way to Westerleigh well enough to find it in this dreadful mist?”

  “Aye, I expect m’ brother Seth could find it easy enough, but why would ye be wantin’ ter set out again when ye’ve only just got here?”

  Sybilla opened her mouth to inform the young woman that it was none of her affair, but her good sense stopped her before the words were formed. Ramsbury would be on her heels before she was out of the innyard if she did not have help. Her brain worked swiftly, and the words fell from her lips without thought. “I have been abducted,” she said in a conspiratorial murmur. “That man below wishes to seduce me, and he brought me here thinking no one would help me. He is accustomed to getting what he wants,” she added, thinking that that much, at least, was true.

  “We’ve a constable in Nibley,” the maid said, shocked. “I’ll have m’ father send for him straightaway.”

  “No!” Sybilla exclaimed, horrified. “Oh, no, you mustn’t do that. His lordship is a powerful man, and it would never do for us to cross him so openly as that. But you must help me. Seek out this Seth you told me about, and have him hitch horses to my phaeton. If he will direct me, I am an experienced driver, and I will see to it he comes to no harm. I will also pay him handsomely,” she added shrewdly.

  The maid nodded. “Do you wait here, m’lady, and I’ll tell Seth what he is to do. We’ll have to wait till his lordship’s man comes into the kitchen for his dinner, but then Seth can see to things, right enough. How will you get away, then?”

  “You’ll tell his lordship that I am not feeling well,” Sybilla said, thinking quickly. “No doubt he will assume that I am only sulking, but that will do as well, for he will leave me alone, I think. If he suggests calling a doctor or coming up himself to see how I am, I must depend upon you to think of a way to stop him. Can you do it?”

  “Oh, yes, m’lady,” replied the maid, entering into the spirit of the thing. “I’ll tell him I’ve given you one of my ma’s possets and it’s put you straight off to sleep. It would do, too,” she added, grinning.

  “Very well,” Sybilla said, sighing with relief. “Perhaps I will go down now and have a bite to eat. Then I can tell him I wish to rest. That will give you time to attend to everything.”

  And so it was. Ramsbury, having found a newspaper on the bar in the taproom, was deep in its contents soon after they dined, and he raised no objection to Sybilla’s desire to rest after the meal. She hurried upstairs, threw her cloak over her shoulders, pinned her hat in place, and drew her veil over her face. Sarah came to fetch her only minutes later, and after listening carefully at the door, they tiptoed down the corridor to the back stairs and descended to the rear door. Sarah put her finger to her lips, nodding toward the kitchen, from whence Sybilla could hear the sound of Lassiter’s voice. She nodded and followed Sarah across the yard to the stable.

  The young man who met them nodded in reply to Sybilla’s questions, assuring her that they could best get away by taking the phaeton slowly around behind the stable to the road.

  “Can’t see nothing from yon kitchen in this weather,” he said, “but they may hear if we ain’t careful, and ain’t no one else hereabouts with a rig like this one. Chance is, man’ll recognize the sound of ‘is master’s rig.”

  “No, he won’t,” Sybilla said, “for the rig is mine, not his, but you make a good point. It won’t do for anyone to hear us.”

  That he was relieved to learn he wasn’t stealing the earl’s phaeton was obvious, for the young man relaxed visibly. After that, it was relatively simple for him to lead the horses—the same team they had driven from Charfield—to the road. When he started to swing himself up onto the tiger’s perch, however, Sybilla hissed at him to join her on the driver�
�s seat.

  “It won’t do for you to sit back there, for you cannot see past the hood well enough to guide me.”

  “Can’t see worth a groat as it is,” he said, chuckling, “but Westerleigh Hall ain’t hard ter find. You be a friend to Mrs. Manningford, ma’am?”

  “I am Mr. Manningford’s sister,” she said.

  “Ah, well it be a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, and ’tis glad we be ter favor Mr. Manningford. He is a right good landlord.”

  “Is he, indeed?” said Sybilla politely. She had her doubts that the credit went to Charlie. It was Clarissa Manningford who ruled the roast at Westerleigh, but at least it appeared that she had the good sense not to flaunt that fact.

  By the time Sybilla turned the phaeton between the tall iron gates at the end of the avenue leading to the hall, she was chilled through, damp, and miserable. As Ramsbury had predicted, the mist had turned to snow twenty minutes after they reached the roadway, and the phaeton’s hood did little to protect them. Seth hunched beside her, his hands dug into his jacket pockets for warmth and his chin tucked down into the wool scarf he had wrapped around his throat. Sybilla’s hand were numb, despite her thick gloves, and she was stiff and tired by the time she handed the reins to the lad and told him to take the carriage around to the back and turn the horses over to Mr. Manningford’s people.

  “Then you get yourself something hot to eat and drink, Seth, and don’t you dare start back until this storm has lifted. I’ll speak to my brother, so that will be all right.”

  “Do you want I should ring the bell, m’lady?”

  “No, for we mustn’t keep the horses standing.” As she spoke, she jumped down, nearly falling when her legs refused to hold her. Steadying herself with one hand on the high rear wheel, she grinned up into the lad’s anxious face. “Don’t trouble your head about me,” she said. “I’ll do. Go.”

  Nothing loath, he clucked to the team and drove off. Sybilla, her legs steadier now, hurried through the powdery snow and up the steps to the door, but it opened before she reached it, and she saw her brother’s tall butler framed in the doorway.

  “Madam?” he said, peering at her through the whirling flakes of snow. “Good gracious, my lady, come in, come in! You must be frozen to the bone.”

  “Hello, Ross, is Mr. Manningford at home?”

  “To be sure, he is, m’lady, and the mistress as well, but you’ll be wanting to change your dress before they receive you.”

  “Oh, yes,” Sybilla said, then gasped as she realized she had no dress to change into. Not once had she considered her portmanteau, still tied to the phaeton when she had made her plan, but delivered to her bedchamber while she ate her meal. “Perhaps you will order a hot bath in my bedchamber, Ross, and ask your mistress to attend me there.”

  “Certainly, m’lady, at once.”

  Sybilla followed a liveried footman up the broad carpeted stairs to the second-floor bedchamber that was hers to use whenever she chose to visit Westerleigh Hall. Inside the room, the footman moved swiftly to light the ready-laid fire.

  “Won’t be a moment, ma’am, before the room warms a bit. I’ll send a chambermaid to assist you and see your things are brought up.”

  “Thank you, but I have no things to bring up. They will follow later. No doubt the maid or your mistress can find something for me to wear in the meantime.”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  No sooner had he departed than the door was flung wide again and an expensively garbed, rather stout young woman with light brown hair, a Roman nose, and large round eyes entered, the expression on her face far from welcoming.

  “Good Lord, Sybilla, what are you doing here? I know we were not expecting you.”

  “Good afternoon, Clarissa. Don’t overwhelm me with hospitality. The fact is that I have come from Charfield where Brandon was injured. He is recovering nicely, but Ramsbury was with me, and I decided to come ahead without him.”

  Clarissa sniffed. “I daresay that makes sense to you if not to me, but I must tell you that you have picked a poor time to visit. Both of my little girls have got putrid sore throats.”

  “Then you ought to welcome assistance. I am never ill myself, and I have nursed my brothers and Mally through everything imaginable. I know precisely what to do.”

  “No doubt, but my nursery people also know what to do. Have your bath and come down to see Charles. He is in the library, and no doubt he will be suitably pleased to see you. Do we expect Ramsbury as well?”

  Sybilla controlled her internal reaction to that question with an effort and even managed to smile. A more astute hostess than Clarissa might still have noticed that the smile was false, but Clarissa accepted it at face value and seemed to find nothing amiss with Sybilla’s casual admission that Ramsbury would certainly follow after her.

  “There were some things he wished to attend to first,” she added glibly. “Oh, and Clarissa, I very foolishly left my portmanteau with him. This weather, you know—I thought only about the road. Do you have a frock I might borrow until my things arrive?”

  “Yes, of course, though anything of mine will be a trifle large, I expect, and not what you will wish to be seen in downstairs.”

  “Well, I want to talk to Charlie, but he won’t mind what I wear. I daresay he won’t even notice.”

  Clarissa shrugged. “As you like.”

  The garment she produced was a lovely soft blue wool robe with a fleecy lining. Not only did it drip with lace, but Sybilla saw at once that the belt would make it possible to wrap it tightly and fasten it in place. She would have no need to blush for her attire. Having dried her chemise by the fire while she bathed, she put that on first and drew the robe on over it. Then, discovering that the satin slippers Clarissa’s maid brought her were too small, she slipped her half-boots on over her bare feet and went in search of her brother.

  She found him in his library, but he was not alone. Ramsbury stood by the fireplace, and the formidable look on his face when he saw Sybilla stopped her in her tracks.

  VII

  CHARLES MANNINGFORD, AN AMIABLE-looking young man with gray eyes and curling fair hair, attired in the casual manner of a country squire, laughed when he saw his sister and said, “What a start, Sybby! Here you are, no doubt drenched to the skin, when you might just as well have ridden with Ramsbury and let someone else drive your damned phaeton. You never change, do you.”

  She looked at him, bewildered, and Ramsbury said gently, “I told you it would come on to snow, that you would do better to ride in the closed carriage with me, but you must always see for yourself how it will be. You made very good time though. We lost sight of you almost immediately in that mist, but then of course, Jem didn’t know the road as well as your man does.”

  Charles laughed. “ ’Tis just like you, Sybby, to insist upon driving yourself, and just like Ramsbury to give you your head in order to prove you wrong.”

  Sybilla relaxed and said casually to the earl, “My only foolishness lies in the fact that I let you carry my portmanteau, sir. I had to borrow this robe from Clarissa.”

  “Poor Clarissa,” Charles said, frowning. “The children are both ill, you know, as I have just been telling Ramsbury, and one of the nursery maids as well, so Clarissa has had much of the care of the little girls thrown to her.”

  “She seems to be bearing up well, as usual,” Sybilla said, moving to sit in a chair near her brother and avoiding the earl’s gaze. “I will help all I can, of course, now that I am here.”

  “Oh, to be sure, for you must know precisely what to do in such a case; however, I …” Charles looked a bit hunted. “I think she prefers to look after them herself, you know. She’s their mother, after all, and she’s equal to anything, Clarissa is. Not that we don’t appreciate your offering, Sybby, but—”

  Ramsbury cut in again, saying mildly, “Sybilla cannot be of much assistance to you, in any case, I’m afraid, since we will be traveling back to Bath tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no, we won’t
,” Sybilla retorted. “You cannot think I would leave poor Clarissa in the lurch like that. Of course, we will stay—or I will, at least. You may do as you please.”

  Ramsbury chuckled and said to Charles, who was looking rather anxious, “She’s burnt to the socket now, but she never cries quit. Been looking after Brandon, as I told you, then exposing herself to this weather as she did. Always thinking of her family, of course, of hastening to their aid, but I think the sooner I get her safely back to Bath, the better it will be.” His gaze met hers, and despite the lightness of his tone, she saw steel in his expression. Still watching her, he added, “I’ve ordered our things sent up to your room. You will no doubt wish to change into a proper gown before we sit down to supper.”

  “No! That is,” she added hastily, meeting her brother’s look of astonishment, “you know I never sleep well after traveling, Ned. You would do much better to take the room next to mine so that you at least can get a good night’s sleep.”

  To her dismay, he stood up and held out a hand to her, saying amiably, “You may be right. Suppose we go upstairs now and discuss it. We’ll see you at supper, Manningford.”

  Charles jumped to his feet and escorted them to the door of the library. “Yes, do run along,” he said cheerfully. “No need to stand on ceremony with me, you know. I’ll just go and find Clarissa and tell her you’re only able to stay the one night. She’ll be so … so disappointed that you cannot stay longer. I say, Sybilla,” he added with a grin, “why didn’t you tell us you and Ramsbury were together again? Your own brother oughtn’t to have to find out such things by guess and by happenstance.”

  “We are not—” But she bit her words off, deciding she had no wish to try to explain the tangle to her brother with Ramsbury standing right beside her, so clearly determined to put obstacles in her path wherever he might do so. She glared at him.

 

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