The Waltzing Widow/Smith

by Joan Smith

  Driven off with Morton to Canterbury to meet a bishop—it suggested only one thing to Avedon. A special marriage license. “Are you sure?” he asked. As soon as the foolish question was out, he wished he could disown both it and the desperate voice in which it was spoken.

  Strangely the question threw Higgs into doubt. There had been many unusual goings-on over the past weeks. Remembering to call Miss Percy Mrs. Percy, and vice versa. “It’s what I was told, your lordship,” he replied uncertainly.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  Avedon left and went to his mount, which he had tethered in front of the house. With his mind in a state of chaos, he took the reins and walked down toward the road, trying to make sense of it. It was soon pitifully clear. Lucy had accepted an offer from Morton. They were in such a rush to be married that they could not wait for the banns to be called. They had gone to the bishop for a license. Archbishop it would be, if they went to Canterbury. Odd Lucy hadn’t applied to Norris, but Canterbury was closer, of course.

  He rubbed his jaw. He had read something in the journals recently about Archbishop Manners-Button being at his Lambeth Palace seat in London—some episcopal conference. Perhaps one of his diocesan bishops was handling cathedral affairs. Despondency sat like a cloak on his shoulders. He felt as if the sun had fallen into the sea, and he would never see it again. Lucy married to Morton. It was infamous. He wouldn’t allow it.

  When he realized what folly his mind was wandering into, he clenched his jaw and pulled himself back to reality. He was curious to learn all the details of the match, and the place to do it was obviously Milhaven. He clambered onto his mount and dug his heels in till the great gelding was galloping down the road. Trees and houses and fields of cattle rushed past unseen. In his mind Avedon was wildly contriving some means by which he could oust Morton in Lucy’s affections in the short few days he had left.

  How had he been so insane as to let Morton win her? Why had he not come down off his high horse and told her he loved her? He had sensed that she had some interest in him from the first meeting. Oh, nothing obvious, she was too proud for that. But there had been a tension when they were together, a quickening of the air, a hastier beating of the heart. A man knew when a lady was interested in him.

  And what had he done to fan this flame? He had followed his first cool reception on the High Street by making her life a living hell. He had torn up her road, offered her a carte blanche, gone into her home reviling and chastising her. And to add the final, infamous insult, he had called her a liar and a conniver. Good God, he’d be fortunate if Morton didn’t demand satisfaction.

  Before long the brick walls of Milhaven appeared, and he put his mount over a fence, angling across a meadow to shorten his path. He didn’t bother knocking on the door but just flung it open and pounced in. Tony was sitting in the saloon with his legs stretched out straight in front of him. He was dressed for riding, in buckskins and topboots, and held a crop, which he occasionally tapped on the floor while waiting for his mount to be ready.

  “Avedon, what the deuce brings you here?” he demanded, looking up in surprise. His pale face wore a sulky expression.

  “I came to discover what you can tell me about Morton and Mrs. Percy,” he answered.

  “He’s gone to Canterbury on business,” Tony replied in a dull way. “You need not fear she’s trapped him, Uncle. Aunt Sal told us all about her. Morton was out of reason cross. I’m sure if Lucy was letting on she was married to Captain Percy, there is some good reason for it.”

  “There is no call to take that condescending tone. She was married to him,” Avedon said sharply.

  “Aunt Sal told us it was all a hum.”

  “We were mistaken.” A feeling of disquiet grew in Avedon.

  “I knew it all along,” Bigelow declared triumphantly. “Haven’t I been telling you you misjudged Mrs. Percy?” He paused a moment and added with a sly look. “But Morton don’t know about it, and he’s jaunted off to Canterbury.” He rose and began straightening his jacket. “Do you know, Uncle, it’s such a jolly fine day that I’m going out for a ride. Perhaps to the village,” he added, for he wished to get to Rose Cottage unaccompanied, to resume the flirtation before Morton returned.

  Undeceived, his uncle said, “She’s not at home. She went to Canterbury with Morton.”

  “He wouldn’t have invited her,” Bigelow said. “He had some pretty sharp things to say about Lucy.”

  Avedon’s feeling of disquiet began swelling to anxiety. “I tell you, she went with him. I’ve been at Rose Cottage.” He drew a long breath and announced, “Higgs told me they’d gone to get a marriage license.”

  “Rubbish! Marriage is the last thing he had in his mind.” They exchanged a look of dawning suspicion. “Good God!” Bigelow exclaimed. “You don’t think he’s—no, it cannot be an abduction. Her chaperon must be with them. She wasn’t at Rose Cottage, was she?”

  “I didn’t see her. If Morton isn’t arranging a wedding—well, it is pretty clear what he does have in mind.” Avedon strode purposefully toward the door.

  “Wait for me!” Bigelow shouted, and ran after him. There was a nervous delay while Bigelow’s mount was brought around to the front. “I’m just going to take a nip up to Morton’s room and see if he left us a note.”

  “He’s not a runaway schoolboy,” Avedon said, but Tony ran off.

  When he returned he announced, “If he was getting married, he would have worn his best jacket. He didn’t. It’s hanging in the closet. And furthermore, he didn’t take his prayer book with him.”

  “He doesn’t need his best jacket to get a license,” Avedon pointed out.

  “He has no intention of marrying her. He’s seducing her.”

  This possibility was enough to fire both gentlemen to a new pitch of wrath against Morton Carlton. “I know just when he hatched this whole scheme,” Bigelow said through thin lips. “As soon as Sal left yesterday afternoon, he had that old mare of his saddled up and went posting off. That’s when he went to Rose Cottage and fed Lucy this Banbury tale about getting a marriage license. That was to con her into going off with him.”

  “Perhaps she convinced him of the truth,” Avedon said uncertainly.

  “Why didn’t he tell us last night, then, when he returned from Rose Cottage? Not a word did he say, but only sat there grinning like a jackal. Now we know why.”

  Avedon listened intently. “We’ll stop at Rose Cottage and see if Miss Percy went with them,” he decided.

  “And if she did?”

  Avedon came to a frowning pause. Morton was not a savage after all. If Miss Percy was with them, then the affair was respectable, and it would be obtrusive for him to go pelting after them. When he finally spoke, it was not about Miss Percy. “I wonder what time they left,” he said.

  “He was gone before I came down. We’ll ask Higgs.”

  They knew even before they reached Rose Cottage that Miss Percy had not accompanied her charge. Through the trees along the side of the road they caught a glimpse of her sunbonnet in the back garden. Avedon disliked to throw the poor soul into alarm. He rode around to the rear and worded his query discreetly.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” he said, trying to force a smile. “I hear your charge has gone to Canterbury.”

  “Oh, good morning, Lord Avedon—Tony. Yes, she has gone off with Mr. Carlton—to meet the bishop, you know. Higgs told me you were here earlier.” She assumed Carlton had told the family the true story by now.

  “Yes, at what time did they leave?”

  “They wanted an early start. They left around nine.”

  Avedon pulled out his watch. It was a few minutes past ten. God, they’d never overtake them. “Thank you,” he said, and turned his mount around.

  Mrs. Percy smiled softly to herself. Avedon wasn’t too happy about that. Very likely Lucy had only accepted Carlton’s escort to rouse a little jealousy. She expected to see Avedon again before sunset.

  “How fast c
an that jade move?” Avedon asked his nephew.

  “Jade? I’ll have you know my blood can outrun anything on four legs. She can go fast enough to beat Carlton’s tired old hacks to Canterbury, even with an hour’s lead.”

  They both dug in their heels and galloped down the road to Canterbury, while mud from last night’s downpour splattered in all directions. Their pace left little time for conversation but did not stop their wild imaginings of Lucy at the mercy of an accomplished womanizer. To that extent their imaginations rode in tandem. From there Tony’s veered off into wild and unlikely rescue scenes involving swords and guns, neither of which he or Mr. Carlton carried with them.

  Avedon’s daydreams were hardly more realistic, except that they involved fists. He wanted the satisfaction of physically pummeling Carlton’s handsome face with his own fists, after which a grateful and repentant Lucy would throw herself on his bosom. As the miles flew by, more practical considerations rose up to disturb his fantasies. He should have told Sal or someone where he was going. Tony hadn’t left any message, either.

  After the first unrestrained gallop, they had to slow the pace for the horses’ sake, and conversation was possible. “What if it ain’t Canterbury they’re headed to at all?” Bigelow asked. “It could be a ruse, Uncle.”

  “He told her Canterbury. He’d have to head in that direction, or she’d suspect something amiss. We know it isn’t Gretna Green in any case, for you don’t need a special license there. I should think it is marriage. They definitely went to see a bishop, according to Miss Percy.”

  “He might think she was bamming him.” But no more likely destination occurred to Bigelow, and he accepted his uncle’s word. “Where in Canterbury do you think they’d go?”

  Avedon had no more idea than his nephew. “We’ll drive down the High Street, check out the inns, the banks of the Stour, the area around the cathedral,” he replied, as these were where tourists might expect to be found.

  “Shouldn’t we go to the cathedral first?”

  “If they’re at the cathedral, then Lucy isn’t in danger. They’re getting a marriage license. It’s the inns we have to worry about.” It occurred to him that this was a highly unsatisfactory plan. They weren’t even sure Canterbury was their destination.

  “We’d make better time if we split up,” Bigelow suggested. “But we’ll need a meeting place. How about the Rose, in High Street? That is where Papa always stayed.”

  “That’s as good as any.”

  “We’ll go there first and hire fresh nags. I hope you brought plenty of blunt, Uncle, for I meant to go to the bank today. My purse is as flat as a spinster’s bosom.”

  “An edifying simile. I can afford a room and a nag at least.”

  “We’ll hire the room first. I wish I had brought a change of shirt and cravat with me. We shall look like a pair of ruffians, going after Carlton with the dust of twenty miles on us.”

  Avedon spared a glance for his companion and realized that he must look as bad himself. It was not dust that splattered them both from head to toe but mud. Every carriage they passed, and they passed many on this well-traveled thoroughfare, left its traces on their buckskins and boots. In low-lying areas where water stood in puddles, the splatters reached up to their jackets.

  “Damme, I wish I had driven my curricle,” Bigelow said a few times. “Carlton will look as fine as ninepence. Lucy will be ashamed to know us.”

  These were minor irritations, but together with the more serious problem of finding and rescuing Lucy (if necessary), they made for a thoroughly miserable ride. The riders were as fagged and as dirty as the horses by the time they entered the city. Bigelow insisted on hiring a room and repairing his toilette before continuing on his quest. Avedon waited only to get a fresh mount before beginning a systematic search.

  “Don’t be too long about this cleaning up,” Avedon said. “I’ll check the inns on High Street. You take Palace Street and Burgate. We’ll meet back here when we’ve finished.”

  “I shan’t be two minutes,” Tony assured him.

  Avedon found it a depressing business, going from place to place and always hearing the same answer. No one matching Carlton’s and Mrs. Percy’s descriptions had checked in.

  He realized he should have brought a dozen servants with him to assist in the search. It was by this time well after noon. He was tired, dirty, hungry, dispirited, angry with himself and Lucy, and more anxious than ever to find her. Hoping Tony had had better luck, he repaired to the Rose. He found his nephew enjoying a leisurely luncheon in a private parlor, looking as good as the inn’s valet could make him. He had got hold of a clean cravat and had the filth of travel brushed from him.

  “By Jove, Avedon, you look like something the cat dragged in,” he said. “I’ll order you a beefsteak while you wash your face and comb your hair. You don’t want Lucy to see you looking like a scarecrow.”

  “Did you have any luck?” Avedon said, and sat down with a weary sigh.

  “Eh?”

  “I’ve done the inns on High Street. Did you check the ones along Burgate and Palace Streets?” he asked impatiently.

  “Not yet.”

  “When did you plan to start?” Avedon howled.

  “Damme, I could hardly eat a bite of breakfast. I was famished, if you want the truth. And besides, I don’t think he even brought her to Canterbury. I mean, if you was abducting a woman, Avedon, would you tell her chaperon where you was taking her? Devil a bit of it. You’d head off in the other direction. I daresay they’re halfway to London by now, while we make fools of ourselves looking for them in Canterbury.”

  Avedon tried to ignore Tony’s harping on seduction, but if Lucy had not convinced him of the truth, it was just such a stunt as Morton would try, to repay her. Frustration grew till he could hold it in no longer. “Why the hell did you bother coming, then, if you only mean to recline at your ease, swilling ale and stuffing your face?”

  Bigelow gave one of his sulky looks. “You convinced me at the time, but now I’ve thought it over, I realize we ran off half-cocked. Have a glass of ale, Uncle. You’ll feel better.”

  Avedon took his nephew’s glass and drained it. The cool, bitter brew felt good against his burning throat. He set down the glass and said, “Since we’re here, we might as well check out the cathedral. That’s where they said they were going.”

  “That’s exactly where they won’t be, then,” Bigelow replied. “And anyway, you can’t go into a cathedral looking like a pilgrim.”

  “Don’t display your ignorance. Pilgrims and the cathedral have a long association.” He took a piece of bread from Bigelow’s plate and ate it as he returned to his mount.

  He felt, in his bones, that it was futile to continue searching in this city, but decided just to try the cathedral, then return to the inn and take lunch. Like Tony, he had eaten little breakfast and was feeling the want of food. As he approached the cathedral, he saw masses of well-dressed tourists and felt all the shame of being so disheveled himself.

  As he stood looking about for Carlton’s carriage in the churchyard, he heard the cathedral bells ring out. Their joyful peal told him it was not a funeral. Was it a saint’s feast day—or perhaps a wedding? A tremor ran up his spine. No, Miss Percy would be with them if it were a wedding. If they were here, it was for a license. He walked on past a pretty Elizabethan-fronted house, which someone had told him was the Deanery, where distinguished guests sometimes stayed—perhaps even Lucy’s uncle Norris, the bishop. A frown pleated his brow. Was it possible the bishop was visiting Canterbury? Could that be the bishop she was going to see? If Carlton knew she had an uncle who was a bishop, he would realize she was no lightskirt, but a true lady.

  As he glanced at the Deanery, he saw a black carriage parked in the shade of a spreading elm. It looked like Carlton’s. He hastened forward and confirmed that it was. The joyful wedding bells pealed from the tower. Wisps of fact and possibilities reeled around in his mind. Lucy, Morton, gone to see the bis
hop—and wedding bells.

  Had they come to be married, and Lucy kept it hidden from her chaperon? It seemed pointless. Morton was an entirely eligible suitor, and not of an age to be making an adolescent runaway match. But the awful possibility remained that they had been married while he futilely racketed around from inn to inn, thinking to rescue her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucy’s trip to Canterbury was much less harrowing. In a well-sprung chaise and with a charming companion to beguile the hours, she had no greater weight on her mind than that she would not be at home if Avedon called. She took some petty pleasure from considering his surprise when he learned she was away for the day with Morton. They drove directly to the Deanery, where her uncle stayed when he was at Canterbury.

  “Come in and meet my uncle, Morton,” she invited. “He will give us luncheon.”

  Morton knew his duty and was happy for the opportunity to butter up this potential benefactor of Dr. Rutledge.

  Bishop Norris was cheered to see his niece in such improved spirits. “How are you, my dear?” he asked, and put his arms around her. “And where is our Mrs. Percy?”

  “You know how she dislikes travel, Uncle. Mr. Carlton was coming to Canterbury on business, and was kind enough to deliver me and let her stay home. She is busy bringing order to the chaos of an abandoned garden. I would like you to meet Mr. Carlton. He is visiting my landlord, Lord Bigelow. They are cousins.”

  Such close kinship to the nobility was taken as prima facie evidence of good character, and Mr. Carlton was greeted with warmth. The bishop thought Lucy had found herself a new beau and was happy for her. The lad was a little long in the tooth but by no means an antique. Of course his character and financial condition must be looked into closely.

  “I daresay you are both ready for a bite,” he said. “I’ll just tell Mrs. Stapleton to lay another plate. Bishop Redding came as far as Canterbury in my carriage with me, but he has continued on his way. There will just be the three of us.”