The Waltzing Widow/Smith

by Joan Smith

  No interrogation could be instituted while they sat having dinner with the bishop. “We had a lamentable incident in Canterbury,” Bishop Norris said, and told Mrs. Percy the story of the layabout who had attacked Mr. Carlton in front of the Deanery.

  “That is shocking,” Mrs. Percy exclaimed, but even that did not seem sufficient to account for Lucy’s trembling smile while Norris relayed the story.

  After dinner the bishop retired to the study to read some literature picked up at the conference, and Mrs. Percy took the advantage of his absence to quiz Lucy.

  “Lord Avedon stopped by this morning,” she said in a tone of studied nonchalance. “Twice, actually. Higgs spoke to him the first time. The second time he came around to the garden, and I had a word with him.”

  Lucy smiled that dreamy smile. “What had he to say?” she asked politely.

  “Not much. He just inquired when you had left. I daresay what he really wanted to know was when you would return. Perhaps he’ll stop by this evening.”

  Lucy was coming to know him well enough to realize he would need more than a few hours to compose himself. “I shouldn’t think so,” she replied. “I told Morton not to call till tomorrow. Uncle will want an early night.”

  Was it Morton Carlton who had turned her into a moonling? “Call on the bishop?” she asked eagerly. “Do you mean he wished to speak to him about an offer?”

  Lucy looked stunned at the suggestion. “Good gracious, no. There is nothing like that between us, Auntie. Morton is just a friend. A good friend,” she added with another soft smile as she remembered his quick-wittedness in hustling Avedon from the scene of his disgrace. As a last effort, though she knew it was no good, Mrs. Percy said, “Bigelow was with Avedon this morning.”

  That got a surprising response. “Was he? That’s odd. I didn’t see him at—” She came to an abrupt halt and blushed.

  “At Canterbury?” Mrs. Percy prodded, trying to quell down her eagerness.

  “Yes.”

  “You saw Avedon there?”

  Lucy began a violent pleating of her skirt. “I believe Morton had a few words with him,” she said evasively.

  “Oh, really! Now what could have taken him to Canterbury? Odd he didn’t mention to me that he was going.”

  Lucy looked up uncertainly. She was bursting to tell her exciting story to someone and said shyly, “The stupidest thing, Auntie. He took the notion we were seeing Uncle to get a special wedding license. He was quite upset.”

  “I see!” Light dawned, and Mrs. Percy moved her chair closer so that conversation could be carried on in the enjoyable conspiracy of whispers. “That bothered him, did it?” she said encouragingly.

  Lucy fell into an unusual burst of giggles. “Oh, Auntie, it was so funny! He struck Morton, knocked him right down, and Uncle Norris came out waving his stick and threatening to call the constable.”

  “Dear me. That doesn’t sound like Avedon!”

  “No, and I fear he is so ashamed of himself that he will hesitate to call while Uncle is here.”

  Mrs. Percy nodded in complete understanding. “I’ve been working on our guest list for your uncle’s dinner party while you were away. We really need Avedon to fill our table. Do you think a written invitation might draw him out?”

  Lucy had been giving this problem some thought and said, “Lady Sara will make him come, for she very much wants the archdeacon’s job for Dr. Rutledge. Morton told me. Perhaps if I wrote Avedon’s card...”

  “The very thing! What shall we say if Norris recognizes him?”

  “I shouldn’t think he will. I hardly recognized him myself. And if neither Morton nor I say anything, you know, Uncle will not suspect the truth.”

  The card was written that very night and delivered the next morning to Chenely, where it caused a monumental row.

  “Not accept!” Lady Sara gasped, her eyes bulging from their sockets. “Not accept? You are mad, Adrian. Of course we shall accept.”

  “You must go, certainly,” he agreed, “but I shall be busy.”

  “What can you possibly have to do that is of more importance than getting John his promotion?”

  “I have to... to do my accounts,” he said, bereft of inspiration.

  “And polish your boots as well, no doubt. If you do not come with me, Avedon, I shall never forgive you. Never! You will never see me darken the door of Chenely again. We will be strangers from this day forward. You know how long and hard I have worked for this promotion. If you scuttle it for me now, when I am this close—”

  “If you have any hopes of landing that plum for Rutledge, the worst turn I could serve you is to show up at that party.”

  Lady Sara was completely bewildered. “What on earth are you talking about? He will be honored that you, an earl, go to see him. And we must have him here, too. I had thought tea, but as they are asking us to dinner, we shall make it a full, formal dinner. The Wedgwood, I think ...”

  “You can throw him a ball with my blessings, but don’t expect me to attend.”

  “But why?” It was a cry from the heart.

  “Because,” he replied unhelpfully.

  “That is not an answer, Avedon.”

  Avedon wavered on the edge of confessing all but found it too large a pill to swallow. “Don’t ask, Sally. I just can’t, and it would serve you ill if I did.”

  Lady Sara drew out her handkerchief and had recourse to a lady’s last resort: tears. She sniffled angrily into the wisp of lace and linen, while pondering this mystery. Avedon paid no heed, and she sniffed more loudly. She saw with satisfaction that her tears were having the desired result and hiccupped roughly.

  Avedon rose at once and went to comfort her. “Now, don’t cry, Sal,” he said. “You know I would help you if I could.”

  A sob racked her whole body, while she peered hopefully up from the dry linen. She saw that while Avedon’s heart was touched, his resolve remained firm. He put an arm around her shoulder, and she slid her head to his chest.

  From this vantage point she considered the case. More than threats and tears were called for. Avedon was a good, ambitious brother who could not deny her his help without a strong reason. There was obviously something he was keeping from her, and she must draw it from him by fair means or foul. She sniffled forlornly and said, “We have always confided in each other, dear. There is no one I would sooner turn to than you in my time of need. Not even John is so understanding. I hope you would do the same if you were ever troubled.” She rubbed her eyes to redness and turned them up to gaze soulfully at him.

  “Of course,” he said gently.

  She lay her white fingers on his sleeve. “Lately, dear, I have sensed some ... withdrawal in you. Your strange behavior in jaunting off to Seaview the day before yesterday and returning so late. Then that bout with the bottle. And I heard from the servants that you did not drive your curricle home, but rode on an inn nag. Then, just yesterday, you were gone all day without a word to me. I was weak from worry.” And still he did not confess.

  “It was just business, Sal,” he said, but with an appraising look.

  He wanted to tell her, she was sure, but he was ashamed or afraid. The best way to ease his mind was to make him believe she overestimated his difficulty; then he could reassure her that it was not that desperate and tell her the truth. The worst catastrophe she could envisage was losing money. “I hope you have not been gambling, Adrian! Pray, don’t tell me you have lost Chenely!”

  “Good God, no. It has nothing to do with money. It is—a lady.”

  The worst he could do to a lady was not hard to figure out, though she knew Adrian would never do such a thing. Not to a real lady, at least. “Have you got someone in trouble?” she asked softly. No hint of censure tinged her dulcet voice.

  “Sally! I think you know me better than that.”

  “But you said it is something that would give the bishop a disgust of you,” she reminded him.

  After her questions, broached in a complet
ely sympathetic manner, Avedon began to see he was not quite the lowest form of humanity on the earth. “I daresay the bishop would think nothing of it, if he hadn’t happened to witness it,” he said and opened his budget.

  Lady Sara resumed an upright posture and listened with the sharp ears of a judge. She said nothing while he poured out his heart. It was not till he finished his story—“So that is what happened”—that she gave tongue to her feelings.

  “Have I got this quite straight, Avedon?” she asked in a frosty tone. “My brother engaged in a low, common brawl on no provocation whatsoever on the doorstep of Canterbury Cathedral, in front of Bishop Norris, whom you know perfectly well I have been trying to ingratiate for years? Does that about cover it, dear?”

  “I told you my provocation!”

  “Yes, that the bishop’s niece went to meet him, accompanied by our cousin,” she snapped. “And for that you have robbed John of his promotion. You have consigned me to living in a hovel the rest of my life! I shall be fortunate if John is not demoted to curate. I think you have taken leave of your senses.” She rose and began pacing the room.

  Avedon remembered that there was still one item he had neglected to confess. He hadn’t mentioned the carte blanche, nor did he intend to do so now. “I thought they had run away to get married,” he said.

  “What if they had? She would still be family. Morton could have put in a word for John as well as you.”

  Avedon turned a disillusioned eye on her. “Well, by God, if that don’t beat the devil. I have been pouring out my heart, and you don’t care a tinker’s curse for me. All you think of is yourself.”

  There was a long future of cadging off Adrian still to be enjoyed, and Lady Sara quickly recovered her wits. “Oh, my dear, it is you I am thinking of as much as anyone. You cannot blame me if I put my dear husband just a tiny bit before you. Now that you are deeply in love yourself with dear Lucy—and I could not be happier for you both—you know how the heart is touched. John will be so disappointed. We must think of some way out of this morass. Do you think Norris got a good look at you?”

  “He looked straight at me.”

  “But you were wearing your hat?”

  “I had on my lid, certainly.”

  “Then he only saw the bottom of your face. He must have been very upset, too, and he only saw you for a moment, all covered in dust. He will never recognize you. Wear your most elegant evening suit, and if you could adapt a different speech, a drawl perhaps.”

  “I can’t drawl!”

  “Of course you can, dear. You underestimate yourself.” It was soon clear he also underestimated his sister. “And to put the clincher on it, I shall say you were here all day with me. If Norris notices any resemblance, he will think he is mistaken.”

  “Morton and Lucy know the truth.”

  “Morton won’t tell. So thoughtful of him to try to help John by delivering Lucy to Canterbury and meeting the bishop, though the scoundrel ought to have let us know what was afoot. And Lucy won’t tell, either, if you make her an offer.”

  “You’re willing to lie to a bishop!”

  “I have no intention of lying to him, dear. I shall just speak to Miss Percy when he happens to be listening in. In the unlikely case that Norris discovers any resemblance between you and the ruffian who assaulted Morton, we shall claim it was a cousin, who does happen to bear some family likeness. That will account for Morton’s kindness in wishing to keep him out of the roundhouse. Now, let me see what must be done. I shall answer the dinner invitation, and you must dart down to Mil-haven and rehearse Morton. And perhaps you should see Lucy, to propose to her,” she added as an afterthought. “A widow will be doing pretty well to nab a title.”

  “She isn’t a widow. Her chaperon is,” he said, and had to explain all that intrigue to her.

  “Well upon my word! The conniving little chit lied to us!”

  “Yes, she is not much better than we are ourselves, when it comes down to it.”

  “Better? Oh, my dear.”

  Lady Sara gave a satirical little laugh and swanned out of the saloon to answer the dinner invitation. Avedon, his head in a swim, went to Mil-haven to discuss the matter with Morton.

  “The very thing. Leave it to Sal,” Carlton said, smiling.

  “We might possibly pull it off if Lucy went along with it, but—but I haven’t the gall to suggest it,” Avedon said. “And what if the bishop should recognize me before I get a chance to gain Lucy’s help?”

  “Yes, I see your problem. Let me go first. I told her I would call today. I’ll get her aside and ask her assistance. Any other message you wish me to carry, Cousin?” he asked archly. “Never mind. I can probably do the job better without your help. Quite like Prissy and Tony. Some love affairs are best conducted with the lovers apart.”

  Avedon disliked to be left out of his own romance and came up with a different suggestion. “Bring Lucy here, if she’s free. I would like to do my own explaining, Cousin.”

  “I’ll try.”

  The bishop’s visit brought a host of callers, and Miss Percy was not free to abandon them, but she was encouraged that Avedon was making an effort at least to see her. She hid her joy as much as she could and said, “You may tell Lord Avedon that I will not reveal his identity to my uncle. If he can control his tongue and his fists for one evening, there is no reason he should not come. We would not have invited him if we had not thought him suitable to meet Bishop Norris.”

  “I’ll give him your message,” Mr. Carlton said, and returned to Milhaven to do it.

  “How did she seem? Was she still angry?” Avedon inquired eagerly. He felt like a schoolboy with his first crush.

  “Not angry, exactly. Just a little stiff. It will be for you to soften her with your persuasions. A tiara should go a long way.”

  “Lucy wouldn’t be swayed by that.”

  “Of course not. She’d prefer a commoner. Odd she didn’t tumble for me.” Morton gave a knowing laugh and left.

  Avedon returned to Chenely for more scheming with his sister as to what he should say to awaken Norris to the many excellencies of Dr. Rutledge. It was a long, exhausting day at both Chenely and Rose Cottage, but twilight came at last, and with the sinking of the sun, excitement rose in every heart except that of the bishop, and perhaps Lady Bigelow, who knew nothing of what was afoot and would not have cared if she had.

  In all their harried planning, the conspirators overlooked one vital character. No one thought to inform Lord Bigelow what was afoot. In a moment of weakness Avedon had relented on the straw curricle, and Tony spent the day on the roads trying it out. As the hour for departure to Rose Cottage drew near, Mr. Carlton remembered and said, “It will be better if you don’t mention having been in Canterbury yesterday, Tony.”

  “Eh? Why the deuce not?”

  Carlton hesitated, disliking to make him privy to all that had happened. “Just don’t mention it,” he said. “The bishop would think you’re a looney if he knew why you and Avedon were there. It will be better to say nothing.”

  “Adrian don’t want to look stupid, you mean.”

  “Do you?”

  Bigelow gave a sulking hunch, which his cousin took to mean he would keep his mouth shut, and they were off to Rose Cottage.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was impossible to assemble any real elegance at Rose Cottage, but the ladies did what they could with the inferior equipment at hand. The centerpiece of roses arranged by Mrs. Percy’s own hand was the prettiest thing on the dining table. For the rest of it the food would be fine, and there would be no shortage of it. Cook was preparing a turbot in white sauce, a roast of spring lamb, and a pair of capons, along with all the fresh vegetables that Lady Sara would sell her.

  For the bishop’s dinner party Lucy chose her green lutestring gown shot through with fine gold stripes, and with a darker green band around the waist. The small string of diamonds at her throat was unexceptionable, but it did not shine more brightly than her ey
es. She sat in state with her aunt and uncle, awaiting the first knock of the front door. It was only the local vicar, Mr. Peoples, and his wife, come unfashionably early in their eagerness to meet the bishop. Next came the party from Milhaven, with Morton leading the way. Last to arrive were Lord Avedon and Lady Sara.

  Avedon’s eyes flew across the room to Lucy’s. Her glance met his gaze for a fleeting moment, displaying neither pleasure nor pain but a studied indifference, before turning away. She rose to make the new arrivals known to her uncle.

  “You know Lady Sara, of course,” she said. “Deacon Rutledge’s wife.”

  “We are bosom beaux.” The bishop smiled and took her hand.

  “My husband will be so sorry he missed you,” Lady Sara simpered. “But you might as well try to make fish fly as to get him away from his work. He is the most dedicated man in the parish. But I don’t have to tell you that, milord.”

  “No, indeed,” he replied and turned his eyes to Avedon. He beheld a noble gentleman of impeccable grooming and beautiful if slightly stiff manners. It never so much as touched his mind that this stately lord had anything to do with a ruffian brawling in front of the cathedral.

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance at last, milord,” the bishop said. “Your sister is forever singing your praises. She tells me you have some original Donne manuscripts in your library. I would give a monkey to see them.”

  “I will be happy to put them at your disposal at any time. I have been thinking I ought to give them to the Bodleian, for no one at home really appreciates them.”

  Lady Sara looked alarmed, whether through the danger of losing valuable documents or the insinuation that she did not live with her head in sermons, he was not sure. “Why, Adrian, John peruses them every chance he gets. Only he so seldom leaves the parish,” she added dutifully.