by Sandra Heath
“Don’t attempt to gull me with napkins. Uncle, for I’ve already observed your sins. You know you are forbidden port. Why are you so willfully disobeying your doctor’s instructions?”
“It is but a single fall from grace,” he muttered, testing his gouty foot with great care on the floor. Then he seized his walking sticks and began to make much of hauling himself to his feet.
He expected her to rush to spare him such painful exertions, but she left him to struggle. If he was well enough to gobble chicken suppers and guzzle decanters of port, he was well enough to stand up to greet her! She eyed him heartlessly. “Be honest, Uncle, admit that you’ve really come here with marriage contracts in mind.”
He ignored the remark as he hobbled over to peck her on the cheek. “Is all well at the house?” he asked.
“As well as might be expected under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” he asked quickly, fearing an imminent assault on his purse.
“I wish to know about the agreement you have with Lord Benjamin concerning Nutmeg.”
He was momentarily taken aback, but then recovered. “How do you know about that?”
Her heart sank that he did not deny it. “You forgot to padlock your study door. Bodkin found it open and went in to tidy up for you. The ledger was open on your desk.”
“He had no right to go in there.”
“I know, but he did, and so the truth is out. What have you to say?”
He rubbed his chin for a moment. “Well, it’s all nonsense, of course,” he said then.
“Nonsense? Oh, Uncle, how can you dismiss it like that? Nutmeg was Bodkin’s sweetheart, and you allowed Lord Benjamin to take her like a piece of furniture!”
“It wasn’t like that, my dear. Oh, please sit down, for my poor foot is very sore tonight.”
“Good,” she replied unsympathetically, but went to sit on the sofa.
“You’re very cruel, Polly,” he complained, easing himself carefully back into his chair.
“No, Uncle, you are the cruel one. How could you let Lord Benjamin take Nutmeg to put her on show at fairs and such things?”
“Eh?” He looked blankly at her. “What are you talking about? What fairs?”
She paused. “What do you know of the page of Nostradamus that Lord Benjamin is purchasing?” she asked then.
Hordwell’s face was a puzzled blank. “Nostradamus? I don’t know anything. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Polly, stop talking in riddles.”
He clearly knew nothing, and for that at least she was relieved. But it didn’t absolve him of the crime of handing poor Nutmeg over in the first place.
He eyed her across the firelight. “Well? What’s all this about a page of Nostradamus?” he prompted. She told him what Bodkin had told her, and when she’d finished, he gave a disbelieving chuckle. “What superstitious rubbish. Spells, indeed. Polly, I did not give Nutmeg to Benjamin, nor did he take her, although he was certainly prepared to do so. Out of consideration for her well-being, I hasten to add, not any despicable motive. In fact, she left of her own accord, and I have no idea where she is. As to the entry in the ledger, well, that was made in anticipation of an actual transaction. You see, I intend to virtually rebuild the house she looked after, and it occurred to me that she might appreciate a temporary sojourn in the comfort of Bath. I was going to mention the subject to you, so that you could tell Bodkin, and he could explain to her. The intention all along was for her to return to her true home again as soon as the alterations were complete. But she disappeared before anything could even be put to her. Neither Benjamin nor I had anything to do with her departure, and she certainly isn’t here in this house, or in the other one here in the crescent. Now, that is the truth, which you may take or leave, as the pleasure moves you.”
Chapter 6
Polly hesitated, for there was earnestness in her uncle’s manner and voice that suggested he was telling the truth. “If that is so. Uncle Hordwell, perhaps you can tell me why she went without saying anything to Bodkin?”
“I have no idea. Maybe they had a quarrel, which he is omitting to mention,” he replied, spreading his hands.
In spite of herself, she was convinced. “Very well, I believe you,” she said.
He breathed out with relief. “Oh, my dear, I’m so glad.”
“There’s just one thing.”
“Yes?”
“You must tell this to Bodkin as well. You see, as soon as he found that wretched entry in the ledger, he rushed here to Bath to find Nutmeg. He’s in a terrible temper; indeed I would hardly know him. He’s become a boggart, I fear.”
Hordwell shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, dear ...”
“I’m very worried about him. Uncle, for he was absolutely livid when I last saw him. In his present mood I fear he’s capable of anything.”
“That is the way with boggarts.”
“You may count upon it—you and Lord Benjamin are to be targeted for some mischief, so the sooner we find him, the better.”
“Find him? My dear, he’s kept himself invisible to me of late, so I fear you will have to tell him.”
“He’s so disgruntled with the human race at the moment that he won’t let me see him either. I only know he jumped onto Sir Dominic Fortune’s carriage because he threw his things in first, and they are visible.”
Startled, Hordwell sat forward. “Fortune’s carriage?”
“Sir Dominic is the disagreeable person who has taken Lord Benjamin’s house here in the crescent,” she explained.
“I know who he is.”
“Yes, I suppose you do. Well, he’d been Wrecker Johnson’s victim and was just driving past to safety again when Bodkin rushed from the house. I followed the carriage here to Bath, and went to the wrong house. It was Sir Dominic who directed me here.”
“I see. Why do you find him disagreeable? I haven’t met him, but have been led to believe he is a man of impeccable manners.”
“He’s too full of his own importance.” Polly smiled then. “But I fancy Wrecker’s pigs cut him down to size.”
“Dear me. However, enough of him, and enough of this wretched Nutmeg business. Have you eaten? The cooking here is most excellent.”
“I’m sure the Duke of Lawless would be flattered to know your opinion,” she replied wryly. “As it happens, I brought something to eat in the carriage.”
“Nothing too lavish, I trust?” The miser in him was foremost.
“It was as nothing compared with succulent cold chicken suppers and the finest port,” she replied pointedly.
He colored a little. “A guest must eat as his host provides,” he said unctuously, then cleared his throat again. “Well, how very pleasant it is to have you here, my dear. It’s unfortunate that Lord Benjamin has been called away to London, but he will return on Halloween. He has acquired tickets for the fancy dress celebrations at Sydney Gardens. The Duke and Duchess of York will be there as well. He’s going as a devil, I believe. Lord Benjamin, that is, not the Duke of York.”
A rather overweight devil, she thought ungenerously. “What costume are you to wear, Uncle?” she inquired, thinking he could just go as himself. Being a sly old skinflint seemed a perfectly acceptable guise for Halloween.
“Me? Oh, nothing. Fancy dress is optional.”
“What a spoilsport, to be sure,” she murmured, and then turned the conversation to the contentious but important subject of Lord Benjamin Beddem’s marital intentions. “Uncle, I know you hope to marry me off to Lord Benjamin, so you may as well accept that I will never marry him.”
“We’ll see, my dear, we’ll see.”
“No, Uncle, we won’t.”
“But just think of the Beddem fortune, Polly, to say nothing of the fact that you may one day be a duchess,” he said, perplexed that any sensible young woman could turn down such a grand opportunity for advancement.
“Only if the duke’s firstborn forfeits his life as well as his fortune,” she pointed out. “And we only hav
e Lord Benjamin’s word about being left the fortune. He is so disreputable a fellow that I doubt if he dares to even trust himself. You, Uncle, are the only one to credit him with any semblance of honesty.
“He would hardly lie about such a thing.”
“Why not? He has his eye upon my fortune! Uncle, he knows you won’t question a single aristocratic word that falls from his lips, and so feels at liberty to say anything he chooses!” A thought occurred to her. “Has he cozened you for money in recent weeks?” She was thinking about the costly page of Nostradamus.
“No.” Hordwell changed the subject “Are you intending to stay a while?”
“In Bath, yes, but not in this house.”
“What nonsense. Of course you must stay here!”
“I hardly think it would be appropriate. Uncle.”
“I insist that if you are in Bath, you lodge here,” he said firmly.
“Uncle—”
“That is the end of it.”
Polly felt a little like a worm on a hook. “Aren’t you being a little free with the Duke of Lawless’s hospitality. Uncle?”
“If Benjamin were here, he would insist as well.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure he would, but his motives would be questionable, would they not?”
“I do wish you wouldn’t keep denigrating him, my dear, for he isn’t the monster you seem to think.”
“No, he’s worse, and I refuse absolutely to stay beneath his roof.”
“He isn’t even here,” Hordwell pointed out.
“I know, but—”
“Polly, it would distress me a great deal if you were to stay elsewhere. It would not be seemly, and would reflect very poorly upon me. I am your guardian, or had you forgotten?”
“That’s blackmail. Uncle.”
“To be sure, and very necessary, too.”
She considered a moment. As Lord Benjamin was absent, surely it would be all right for her to stay? She made a hasty decision. “If you insist. Uncle, but I only wish to remain in Bath until I’ve found Bodkin and convinced him that neither you nor Lord Benjamin have Nutmeg imprisoned somewhere. If I still haven’t found him by Halloween, I will remove to an inn or hotel, and nothing you say or do will change my mind.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he warned, but then gave a satisfied smile. “I’m glad you’re here, my dear, for it means I have the use of a carriage again. Did I mention that the large carriage is being repaired?”
“No.”
“It’s most inconvenient, oh, not for the cure, to which I am conducted by means of a sedan chair, but certainly for everything else. For instance, apart from the Halloween junketing at Sydney Gardens, there is a ball at the Assembly Rooms the day after tomorrow, again attended by the Duke and Duchess of York. By the way, Polly, did you know that four years ago the Duke of York took this very house?” He indicated the portrait above the mantelshelf. “Just imagine—we are guests beneath the very roof that once sheltered a prince of the blood.”
“I am in awe,” she murmured.
He frowned disapprovingly, for he found it astonishing that she was not as impressed as he by royal or noble blood. Putting her failings down to a lack of correct parental guidance on the part of his late sister and brother-in-law, he sniffed and continued, “As to the ball, everyone who is anyone will be there, but every hired carriage in Bath has been snapped up. The crush of traffic near the rooms promises to be unbelievable.”
“Surely anyone with sense will walk,” Polly ventured, thinking that walking seemed infinitely preferable to the madness of driving the short distance along Brock Street, around the Circus, then a few yards east to the Assembly Rooms, in the full knowledge that everything was bound to grind to a complete standstill anyway.
“Polly, you know it isn’t done to walk to a ball!” he replied tartly, then went on. “On the day before the ball—that’s tomorrow, of course—there is to be a fine army review on Claverton Down, at which the duke will take the salute of his own regiment of light dragoons. I confess that even though I have been invited to join Count and Countess Gotenuv’s very select luncheon party in their tent at the review, and—”
“Count and Countess Who?” Polly interposed, never having heard of them before.
“Gotenuv.” He chuckled. “Gotenuv by name, got enough by nature, for they are rumored to be fabulously wealthy. They’re Russians, but the count is out of favor with the czar, so he and the countess were obliged to flee the country. Anyway, where was I?”
“Their select luncheon party at the review.”
“Ah, yes. Well, their tent will be right next to the royal pavilion, and I had resigned myself to not attending due to lack of transport, but now we can go together, for I have no doubt the Gotenuvs will graciously include you among their guests.”
“Uncle, you cannot keep imposing upon other people’s hospitality like this. They don’t know me, and I don’t know them, so why on earth would they wish to include me in their exclusive party?”
“They are very well bred, my dear, and any such request from one of their guests would be agreed to without question.”
“As you would agree if you were the host? I think not.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Polly, for you know I would never have a tent at a royal occasion in the first place.” Hordwell frowned at her. “Anyway, I was telling you about the Gotenuvs. They’ve taken the other end house here on the crescent, and are very well acquainted with Benjamin, upon whom they dote as if he were their son.”
Which meant they were probably addled, Polly thought, further surmising that Lord Benjamin’s interest in them would be purely mercenary. No doubt he intended to swindle them out of all he could. “Does the count play cards?” she asked shrewdly.
“Oh, yes. He and Benjamin spend many an evening at the green baize,” her uncle duly confirmed.
Definitely addled, she decided, for who in his right mind would play cards with a debt-ridden sharp like Lord Benjamin Beddem?
“Well, Polly, no doubt you are tired after your unexpected journey. I will ring for a footman to take you up to whichever room is deemed best for you.” He reached over to the bell-pull.
After a moment Giles came. “You rang, sir?”
“I did indeed. My niece will be staying, so please conduct her to one of the guest rooms. Oh, and then refill this decanter.”
Polly darted a cross look at him. “What of your gout. Uncle!”
“Show a little understanding, my dear. It helps with the pain, you know.”
Especially when it’s free, she thought as she followed the footman from the room.
Chapter 7
Earlier, on finding the mews belonging to Royal Crescent, Bodkin had immediately selected a comfortable hayloft in which eventually to spend the night. He’d tossed his bundle and the pumpkin up into the loft from the stable below, his aim so impeccable that both landed in the exact place he’d chosen. Then, after eating a little of his honey, he commenced his search for Hordwell’s carriage.
He combed the length and breadth of the mews, but found no sign at all of either Hordwell’s carriage or Lord Benjamin’s. Having been convinced he’d find Nutmeg straightaway, he soon wound himself up to a pitch, and it wasn’t long before his frustration boiled over. Nothing would do but that he caused as much petty mischief as possible for the innocent grooms, coachmen, and other such staff whose domain the unhelpful mews were.
There was no one about as he muffled horses’ hooves with rags, or when he moved the animals from stable to stable. Come the morning, Dominic’s coachman, the hard-pressed Jeffries, would find four bay horses where there should be grays, and so on. Not satisfied with this, the boggart-brownie then tied numerous door handles together, tipped over some troughs, and hid some well-chosen items of harness beneath the hay in the largest loft. Chance decreed that because he was so busily engaged upon this nuisance making, he neither heard nor saw Polly’s carriage being brought around to the stables appertaining
to 1 Royal Crescent. When he deemed that sufficient temporary disruption would result from his mean-minded handiwork, he stomped off to Zuder’s to console himself with as many free sweet things as possible.
While all this was in progress, Dominic was taking a second bath, being quite convinced that the faint aroma of farmyard still clung to his person. The bath was in a small third-floor room set aside for that purpose. Blue and white tiles covered the walls, and there was a fine washstand and shaving mirror. A wall cupboard contained shelves of freshly laundered white towels, and the curtains were drawn at the window that looked out from the back of the house.
As he languished in the cologne-scented water, resting his head against the thick towel draped over the elegant copper bath, he felt that all trace of pig was at last being removed, but he remained considerably annoyed with Polly for permitting the farmyard incident to take place. Miss Peach might be pretty, but she was also prejudiced and totally without conscience. By what right did she judge him? If ever a young woman was in need of a sermon on the sins of presumptuousness, it was she!
He didn’t open his eyes as someone came into the room to take towels from the cupboard and place them on the chair beside the bath. Nor did he glance around when the window curtains were drawn more neatly, but he sat up sharply when he heard a long female sigh. A maid had come in while he was totally undressed? He turned to remonstrate with the girl for breaching such an obvious unwritten rule, but was in time to see the door closing. Had she seen more of his anatomy than was seemly? At that he smiled philosophically. If she had, it had hardly been his fault, and if she’d sighed, maybe it was because she was so overwhelmed with admiration and desire! He laughed and lay back again.
A footman suddenly spoke from beyond the closed door. “Begging your pardon, sir, but a Major Dashingham has called.”
Harry, his closest friend in the regiment! Dominic reached delightedly for a towel. “Show him up, show him up!”
“Very well, sir.”
Dominic heaved himself from the bath and grabbed one of the towels that had been placed nearby only a moment before. He dried himself briskly and had just donned his dressing gown when the major was shown in.