I was surprised to learn that Frederick Hollydean has become involved with Miranda, but upon reflection I see that it is exactly the sort of thing he would do. I have a vivid recollection of the worm he tried to put down my back when I was eleven, and while this is not quite the same, there is something wormy about Miranda that would probably appeal to Frederick. And I cannot but approve of Thomas’s description: “Horrible Hollydean” suits Frederick perfectly. Nor can I help hoping that Frederick will find being disposed of to be properly uncomfortable.
I think it quite likely that Mr. Strangle is also in Miranda’s confidence, if not her employ. The Reverend Fitzwilliam, you will recall, had no knowledge of him, though Mr. Strangle claimed they had been at school together. If Frederick is out of the way, however, I doubt that you will have much cause to associate with his tutor. Under the circumstances, this is just as well. Your description of his behavior makes me certain Mr. Strangle is an utter toad.
I think that if I have one of the grooms take this to town immediately, it will still catch today’s London mail coach.
Yours in haste,
Cecy
23 June 1817
11 Berkeley Square, London
Dear Cecy,
I have just received your letter concerning epicyclical elaborations of sorcery. Perhaps it is a mercy that I did not know how very serious the threat to Thomas has become, for I doubt I would have been able to keep still at the Grenvilles’ ball, and Thomas detests a fuss.
Taking the day in strict order, breakfast was marred by a contretemps between Georgina and Aunt Charlotte. As I hoped, Aunt Charlotte’s determination to keep my misbehavior a complete secret has prevented her from punishing me in any of her usual ways. The effect this has had on her temper is startling. Georgina asked, understandably enough, for the news of Oliver that had taken us from the house at such an unreasonable hour the night before. When Aunt Charlotte did not reply at once, I explained that Thomas had received a letter from Oliver’s host. Georgina pressed me for details. For a moment I was tempted to tell her that Aunt Charlotte had refused to let me read it myself, but I merely said, “Oliver is very well.”
“Very well!” exclaimed Georgina. “Is that all? Who knows what he might be up to? Cockfighting, bearbaiting—even gaming!”
“A lady has no knowledge of such pursuits,” sniffed Aunt Charlotte.
Georgina’s response to this was a wonderful combination of indignation and illogic. Aunt Charlotte lost her temper to such an extent that she sent back the toast to the kitchens. The civil war that resulted when the cook discovered Aunt Charlotte’s crime took all her resources to quell. Georgina was engaged to drive out with the Grenville twins, and was thus able to escape while Aunt Charlotte was occupied with the cook.
So I went to my room to conduct a thorough search for my pearl eardrops. It seemed to me most unfair that I should lose not just one but both earrings, and at the same time, too. But after I looked through my things twice and checked every spot I could think of where they might have fallen, it occurred to me that Georgy might have borrowed them and forgotten to mention it to me. (I’m sure this reminds you of your coral bracelet. I admit I was thinking of that misunderstanding when I looked in Georgy’s jewel case.) It seemed to be simpler to borrow the eardrops back than to provoke a brangle. So, with a ruthless exercise of what Oliver calls “eldest’s rights,” I searched Georgy’s jewelry.
The eardrops were not there. Neither was her brooch set with aquamarines. But at the very bottom of the case lay a slim little memorandum book bound in limp green leather. It was very wrong of me, but I am only human, and I opened it. My punishment came when I read the first page. Frederick Hollydean had reason to ask me if I shared Georgy’s talent for the tables. The little green book contains a list of her wagers. Unfortunately, most of the entries record losses, my eardrops and the blue brooch included.
I don’t have to describe my feelings. You must share them. While the sums involved are not large, our family history makes it a very grave symptom. If the Talgarth passion for gaming has recurred, Georgy may easily ruin herself while Aunt Charlotte is busy lecturing her on her posture. What should I do? What can I do? Will scolding Georgy myself have any effect? It never has before. How I wish, for the thousandth time, that you were here or that we had never left Rushton.
This revelation sent me to my room to think until it was time to prepare for the ball.
On our arrival at the Grenvilles’, Alice took me aside at once to say, “Thank goodness you are here, Kate. The Marquis of Schofield has been here for nearly an hour and he hasn’t a civil word to say to anyone. Perhaps you can amuse him.”
She showed me where he sat, watching the guests arrive from a chair in the corner. The change in him was more marked now. Even with his dark coloring, he seemed pale, and his dark eyes seemed to burn. When I greeted him, I thought for a moment he did not recognize me, so fierce was his hooded gaze. But his voice was perfectly matter-of-fact as he greeted me. “Well, Kate, so your Aunt Charlotte decided to let you live. I’m gratified.”
“She seems to have changed her attitude the instant you mentioned a special license,” I said. “Life in London has made her most unpredictable. Her volte-face was astonishing.”
“Yes, astonishing,” said Thomas, with an unpleasant smile. “Really, Kate, she’s not a stupid woman. The instant you marry, her influence over you ceases. I don’t think your Aunt Charlotte is a woman to surrender influence willingly.”
I let this remark go unanswered and asked if he wished to convey a message to James Tarleton through a letter from me to you. At the very idea he drew himself up a little straighter in his chair and said, “Yes, by all means. Tell James not to trouble himself. I am perfectly well able to manage things alone.”
“What a gudgeon you are, Thomas,” I replied. “Are you sure you are well enough to waltz? You are looking very ill.”
“I shall sit out our waltz, with your permission,” Thomas replied grandly. He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “I shall sit them all out. I only came to tell you to be sure to beware of Miranda. She has some scheme afoot, and Harry Strangle is still on the loose to put it into practice. I had hoped that my abduction of the horrible Hollydean would lure Strangle into my clutches as well, but there isn’t a trace of him anywhere.”
I felt a reminiscent chill as the memory of that dreadful day when Mr. Strangle came to tea presented itself. “I will be careful,” I said.
Thomas looked at me with an expression of skeptical surprise. “Don’t let your aunt pitchfork you into Strangle’s company for a brisk sermon on vice, either,” he said. “The fellow has done altogether too much research on that topic. And don’t take that ring off. Now, I must tell you how much I admire your tactful remarks about my health. I wish I could insult you in turn, but you are looking very healthy indeed. And I do admire this new fashion of wearing your hair half-tumbled down in back.”
As I engaged in a desperate effort to restore my coiffure without benefit of a mirror, Miranda arrived with Dorothea in tow. From our vantage point in the corner, we could watch them sweep into the ballroom, Dorothea looking perfectly enchanting and Miranda fairly glittering with self-satisfaction. Dorothea disappeared behind a wall of young men, and Miranda surveyed the room with an air of calm disdain that suggested she found the marble floors and crystal chandeliers poor stuff indeed compared to her customary surroundings. I could tell the instant she caught sight of Thomas, for her eyebrows rose halfway up her forehead and then drew down into a frown. After a moment her bland expression returned and she began a circuit of the room, her progress bringing her steadily toward us in a procession of greetings and snubs.
“What a dreadful woman,” said Thomas, watching her approach.
“But how well she dresses,” I replied.
“Thomas,” purred Miranda, “how divine to see you here. How very seedy you are looking these days. Have you been ill?”
“Not at all,” Thomas replied
. “I see you’ve trained Dorothea to look at her partner when she dances and not at her feet. What a wonder you are, Miranda. Why don’t you take Frederick Hollydean in hand?”
“Dear Thomas, always such delightful company,” said Miranda. “Do you know, from your appearance I would judge I am about to lose a little wager I made with a dear friend of mine. But I can’t regret it. Remember the promise I made you once, that I would dance at your funeral? Perhaps that glad day is not so far off. And even if I am unable to take full advantage of your company before your departure, no doubt your charming fiancée will provide me with diversion of her own.” Her eyes when she said this rested upon me with cold merriment.
I glanced from Miranda to Thomas to see his response to this savage pleasantry. To my surprise, he was not looking at Miranda, but past her, with an expression compounded of equal parts exasperation and fondness. I followed his gaze to see, sweeping up to stand beside Miranda, the most striking woman I have ever beheld.
She was old. I am not certain how old, but over sixty at least. She was tall, as tall as Thomas (and a great deal taller than Miranda). Her hair, which must once have been as dark as Thomas’s, was touched with silver and dressed in a heavy knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a black gown of such elegance that she seemed almost foreign, and the only outward mark of her age was the ivory walking stick she carried.
“Sylvia Schofield,” hissed Miranda, at the same moment that Thomas rose smiling and said, “Good evening, Mother.”
“Good evening, Thomas,” said Lady Sylvia. “Do sit down dear boy.” She let her dark gaze sweep Miranda from top to toe. “How very daring of you to wear that shade of yellow, Miranda. What a pity whoever tinted your slippers was unable to get a closer match. Still, it is the price one pays to live in England. In Paris they know about these things. And who is this young lady, Thomas?”
Thomas presented me.
Lady Sylvia’s brown eyes narrowed as she studied my curtsey. “Talgarth. Not one of George Talgarth’s girls?” I nodded and she went on. “Isn’t it amazing, Thomas? George Talgarth was a great friend of Sir Percy’s. What an excellent liar the dear boy was, too. A man after Sir Percy’s own style. A face like an angel and a voice like silk. Now I fancy he married a Rushton, did he not? Ah, I have it. Celia Rushton. You must be the eldest. I’ve heard it is the younger girl who has George’s looks. Not that you haven’t a great deal of your mother’s charm, my dear. That very insouciant fashion of wearing your hair, for example.”
Thomas paid no attention to his mother’s suggestion he seat himself again. Throughout Lady Sylvia’s speech, he stood swaying silently beside me, growing steadily paler. I slipped my hand under his elbow to steady him.
“I understood you were living in Paris,” said Miranda. “How obliging of you to travel so far to inspect your future daughter.”
“But how fortunate I did,” replied Lady Sylvia. “Now, Thomas, you may be annoyed with me, but I have sent my things directly on to Schofield House, so you must come away with me at once and see me settled in. Very boring for you, dear boy, I’m sure, but I shall let the Grenvilles know the fault is entirely mine. Forgive me, Kate, for taking him away from you so early in the evening. Come to tea when I am settled at Schofield House, and I shall tell you all the dreadful scrapes Thomas got in as a child.”
“How charming,” said Miranda, “but doubtless it will require several days to cover so much material.”
“I shall only tell Kate of the ones I heard about, of course,” replied Lady Sylvia. “In general, Thomas was a most resourceful boy, very well able to manage on his own. It has been interesting to meet you again after so many years, Miranda. You haven’t changed at all, I see.”
Miranda seemed troubled by this remark, though it was delivered in very cordial tones, for she excused herself and went away, doubtless to tally up Dorothea’s latest admirers. Lady Sylvia watched her go with unconcealed dislike and then turned to Thomas.
“Thank heavens,” she said softly. “I thought she would never leave. Now, dear boy, tell me. If you hold my arm as if to steady me, can you walk out of here, or ought Kate to keep hold of your elbow?”
“I can manage,” said Thomas grimly.
“Excellent,” said Lady Sylvia. “Then good night, Kate. Don’t forget. Come to tea.”
They departed with deliberate care, but from my vantage point it did not look as though Thomas were retreating. It seemed to me as though the pair of them swept out together in slow and deliberate dignity.
Need I say, I shall accept the invitation to tea at the earliest opportunity?
Your,
Kate
26 June 1817
Rushton Manor, Essex
Dearest Kate,
Your letter arrived late this morning, and I must say that I am glad that for once the post was a trifle slow. For this morning James was waiting in the woods when I went for my ride, and I am sure that had I had your letter I could not have kept from telling him the whole. (Well, not about Georgy’s shocking behavior, of course. That is nothing to do with James or Thomas. I do not see that you can do much about it, either, except to keep a sharp eye on your remaining jewelry. I am afraid Aunt Charlotte would be far more likely to scold you for looking through Georgy’s jewelry box than to blame Georgy for taking your earrings.)
James looked very tired when I met him, and he greeted me with an abrupt demand to know whether I had any word from you yet.
“No,” I said. “But I’m sure Kate will write as soon as she gets my letter. I should hear something today or tomorrow.”
James shifted restlessly in the saddle. “You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!” I said indignantly. “Kate knows how important it is.”
“Does she?” He sounded as if he were talking to himself, more than to me. “But it may be too late already. Sir Hilary has been at work in his laboratory for four nights running.”
“How do you know what Sir Hilary has been doing?” I asked.
“I’ve been watching Bedrick Hall until past three in the morning every night for the past two weeks,” he said. “And before you begin making comments about my sneaking abilities, may I inform you that I’m quite sure I wasn’t seen.”
“You were quite sure the last time, too,” I pointed out. He had sunk back into gloom again and did not seem to hear me.
“If Sir Hilary has finally found out how to use that damned chocolate pot—,” he said in a dull voice.
“Then we must do something,” I said briskly. It felt like a rather obvious thing to say, but I could not stand hearing James talking in that miserable, half-dead tone. “But not until we are sure that things are as bad as you seem to fear.”
“We are not going to do anything at all,” James said. “This is my responsibility, Miss Rushton, not yours.”
“Oh, stuff!” I said. “Kate is as much my friend as Thomas is yours.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “This is my fault.”
“How is it your fault?” I demanded. “Really, you and that Marquis of Kate’s are quite impossible. How do you expect us to do anything sensible if you won’t tell us what is going on?”
“My dear Miss Rushton,” Mr. Tarleton said with a smile, “I do not think I would ever expect you to do anything sensible.”
“What an odious thing to say!” I commented. “And you still have not explained why you think the Marquis’s condition is your fault.”
“I let Sir Hilary have the chocolate pot,” he said. “If I’d known—but I’m not a wizard, and Thomas didn’t tell me.”
“Then it’s Thomas’s fault for not telling you,” I said firmly.
James shook his head. “Thomas trusted me, and I let him down,” he said in that infuriatingly stubborn tone men use when they are discussing things like cards and politics and the military, which they don’t think females understand.
“Oh, well, if it’s a matter of honor,” I said. “You should have said that to begin with. No
t that it has anything to do with deciding what we ought to do next, but I am sure you would have felt better for saying it.”
He gave me a surprised look, tinged with amusement. “Quite so. But may I repeat, Miss Rushton, that this is my responsibility, not yours.”
“You may repeat it as many times as you like,” I assured him. “Only I wish you will leave off calling me ‘Miss Rushton’; it makes me want to look around for Aunt Elizabeth.”
He laughed, which was what I had intended, and spent the remainder of the ride attempting to convince me that he ought to do whatever needed to be done alone. I refused to agree to anything, and ended by telling him to go back to Tarleton Hall and get some sleep before he decided anything at all.
“For even Papa admits that it is impossible to come to a sensible conclusion about anything when one is very tired,” I pointed out.
Eventually I got him to agree. You can, therefore, imagine what a quandary I was in when I returned home to find your letter waiting, with news every bit as bad as James Tarleton seemed to fear. Fortunately, Aunt Elizabeth was going over next week’s menus with the cook, so I was able to slip up to my room to consider.
I thought for quite a long time. I saw that if Sir Hilary had been using the chocolate pot in his spells for four nights running, as James feared, then Thomas might well be in a dreadful state. I also saw that as soon as James discovered this, he would very likely do something foolish. He might decide to break into Bedrick Hall after the chocolate pot, for instance, and if he tried he would certainly be discovered. He has no talent whatever for subterfuge. Unfortunately, I knew I would have to tell him the whole when I saw him next morning. (I was quite certain he would be waiting, and quite apart from the fact that I promised to give him any messages from Thomas, he has a remarkable talent for worming things out of one.) So I determined to do something myself, immediately.
I then went downstairs to find Aunt Elizabeth. I managed to persuade her to pay a morning call on Sir Hilary, to inquire about the proposed party. This was a rather difficult task, because she dislikes wizards so, and calls at Bedrick Hall only when she must, if Sir Hilary is there. I dropped a hint that Mrs. Everslee ought not to have things all her own way, and Aunt Elizabeth was forced to agree.
Sorcery & Cecelia Page 17