Mayhem in Bath

by Sandra Heath

  Gathering her skirts, she made her way upstairs to her room.

  Chapter 20

  Polly was too restless to go immediately to sleep, which was hardly surprising after all that had happened. She undressed, washed, and put on her frilled nightgown, but as she sat before the mirror to brush her hair, listening to the rain dashing against the window, her thoughts returned to the ball. She was apprehensive about that too. Was her gown really suitable for such a grand occasion? What if her accessories were too fussy, too plain, or even too old-fashioned? Oh, there was nothing for it but to try everything on now!

  Twisting her hair up on top of her head, and fixing it with a single pin, she stepped out of her nightgown and went to the wardrobe to take out her ball gown. It was made of spangled lavender silk exactly the same shade as her eyes, and she always wore it with her mother’s amethyst necklace and earrings. There was a spray of artificial lilies-of-the-valley for her hair and a silver-spangled reticule and ivory fan for her wrist. The final touch was a delicate silver lace shawl. But when she had put everything on, she was unhappy with her reflection. It didn’t feel right. But why didn’t it? She had always been pleased with everything before, and it was all still in pristine condition, even the little flowers in her hair, although she suddenly didn’t particularly like them or the way she wore her hair. She wanted something new, something different...

  The flowers were swiftly unpinned and tossed on to the dressing table. Then she studied herself again. Were the amethysts too old-fashioned? No, she was sure not; they were very fine indeed. Was it the gown’s sleeves? They were perhaps a little plain, for it was all the rage to wear bows on them. She would purchase some suitable satin ribbon tomorrow and make some bows, but that still wouldn’t quite achieve what she wanted. There was something else. She continued to look at her reflection, twisting this way and then that, and suddenly she had one of those flashes of inspiration that every woman knows now and then. The necklace would make an excellent circlet! Yes, that was it! Deftly, she took the necklace from her throat and arranged it around her forehead. A delighted smile lit her face. It looked splendid, and once she’d made the bows for the sleeves, she would feel more than ready to face the Duke and Duchess of York. And she would hold her own with the likes of Lady Georgiana Mersenrie!

  A yawn overtook her, and she knew it was time to sleep. She changed back into her nightgown, extinguished the candles, and was just about to climb into bed when she heard a solitary carriage drive into the crescent from Brock Street. The coachman flicked his whip and called out to his team, but Polly didn’t give the vehicle a second thought. She certainly would have if she’d known who was in it, and where it was going.

  A little earlier, when Dominic returned to his house, he had also been too restless to sleep. Polly was on his mind, both for herself, and her insistence that there was a cat called Bodkin. Was it wrong to disbelieve her? What if there really were such a creature, and it was locked in a cupboard? This was possible, he decided, so he took a candlestick and went from room to room, calling softly. “Bodkin? Are you here? Answer me, you dratted feline!”

  He had almost completed his inspection of the third floor when he heard a shuffling sound. He froze, glancing around as the candle shadows leapt over the walls of the empty bedroom he happened to be in. “Bodkin?” he said again.

  There was silence, then the sound of running footsteps retreating along the passage to the landing. It certainly wasn’t a cat! The hairs on the back of Dominic’s neck prickled, and he followed cautiously. “Who’s there?” he called, so intent upon the mystery that as he stood at the top of the staircase, wondering if his quarry had gone down, up, or into one of the other rooms on the same floor, he didn’t hear the carriage draw up outside. As a consequence, when someone knocked loudly at the front door, he gave such a start that he almost dropped the candlestick.

  A footman hastened from the kitchens, still buttoning his braided coat as he opened the door. He had to step quickly aside as Georgiana swept in, her midnight blue cloak parting to reveal an exceedingly décolleté damson satin gown beneath. She flung her hood back from shining dark curls to which she had again fixed a false white braid. “I must see Sir Dominic immediately,” she declared, beginning to tease off her long white evening gloves.

  The footman wasn’t sure what to do, and then decided it was best to bow to her wishes. “Er, who shall I say, madam?” he inquired, helping with her cloak.

  “Lady Georgiana Mersenrie, you numbskull,” she replied in a short, irritated tone.

  Dominic went down the staircase. “What an unexpected honor,” he said, nodding at the footman, who withdrew thankfully.

  Georgiana’s eyes filled with tears, and before Dominic knew it, she’d flung her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. “Oh, Dominic, I’m so utterly wretched!” she cried, clinging to him.

  He put his hands on her little waist. “What is it? What’s happened?” he asked.

  She raised her head and stretched up to put her lips briefly to his, then she drew away, her eyes lowered unhappily. “I... I feel so confused, Dominic. Seeing you again like this has put me in such a dilemma...”

  He searched her face in the candlelight. “Have you and dear Algie fallen out?” he inquired shrewdly.

  She flushed. “Is that why you think I’ve come?”

  “Yes,” he replied frankly, then took her hand and led her into the library. He closed the door, placed the candlestick on the mantelpiece, and faced her. “Have you and Hightower quarreled?” he asked.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. “We did have a small disagreement,” she admitted.

  “Not so small, if you’ve come running to me.”

  “He was very mean.”

  “In what way?”

  She bit her lip a little sheepishly. ‘To be truthful, it was all something and nothing; indeed. It was mostly my fault.”

  “So, he wasn’t the mean one,” Dominic observed dryly.

  “Not really. I picked on him a little.”

  “You do surprise me.”

  She flushed again. “Don’t be horrid.”

  “Georgiana, I’m merely pointing out that you and he aren’t in the least compatible. You want his title, but unfortunately the man comes with it!”

  “I know; indeed I know it so well that all I could think of was you.” She subjected him to the full force of her wonderful dark eyes. “And now that I’m with you, I think choosing Algie was the most foolish thing I’ve ever done.”

  Dominic’s feelings were mixed. She was saying the very thing he wished to hear, and yet... She was exquisitely beautiful, and just to look at her made his body ache, but could he believe anything she said? Could he even like her? For weeks she’d been making it painfully plain she’d settle for nothing less than a duke, and even today at the Pump Room she had taken spiteful pleasure in taunting him, yet now she was so wide-eyed and earnest that she all but displayed wings and a halo! Polly had called her shallow and designing, as well as the most monstrously insincere female in society, and... He paused as he realized he’d thought of the Peach’s Bank heiress by her first name. Devil take it, if he remembered correctly, he’d even addressed her thus!

  Georgiana was perplexed by his silence. “Don’t you love me anymore?” she whispered, her voice like a warm velvet caress.

  He saw tears shimmering on her lashes, and the moment of truth slid back into the mists of desire. “Oh, my dearest Georgiana...” His hands stretched toward her, and she gave another little sob as she came into his arms.

  “Make love to me again, for I need you so,” she begged, pressing her wonderful body to his.

  He felt control slipping away. “My darling,” he whispered, and his lips found hers in a kiss that smoldered with passion.

  Someone—or something—sneezed behind them, and Dominic broke away to turn sharply, thinking a footman had entered for some reason, but no one was there—at least, no one visible. “Who’s there?” he dem
anded, feeling certain that eyes were upon him from somewhere by the door.

  Having heard nothing, Georgiana looked at him in confusion. “Why are you asking that? We’re quite alone, Dominic.”

  He remained intent upon the door. “Bodkin?” he called suddenly.

  Georgiana blinked. “Bodkin?” she repeated. “Dominic, are you feeling quite well?”

  “Perfectly,” he replied. To Hades with Polly Peach and her wretched cat!

  Georgiana took his face in her hands and stood on tiptoe to put her parted lips to his.

  He forgot the sneeze, forgot Bodkin, forgot Polly ...

  The eponymous Bodkin was not present, having much earlier in the evening shinned up the drainpipe to Zuder’s skylight, where he’d immediately seen Polly’s note. But the rain had done its worst, and as he took the square of paper to read, it fell apart in his fingers. Tossing the soggy fragments aside without another thought, the brownie tried to open the skylight, but instead of opening easily as it had before, it refused to budge. He gritted his teeth to tug and push, then in a fury jumped up and down so violently that he almost tumbled back down the slippery slates. Pulling himself together, he applied himself sensibly to the problem. He didn’t intend to allow a mere roof window to keep him away from the sweet things he craved.

  As luck would have it, his knife was tucked into his belt, so he used it to attack the skylight, hacking and slicing, carving and stabbing, until at last the unfortunate window gave up the struggle. The triumphant brownie gave a whoop of delight, dropped into the attic, and scampered down through the building to fall ravenously upon the goodies below. For the next hour he indulged in an orgy of gobbling. Sugary footprints, crumbs, cream, jelly, and custard soon littered everything, and there wasn’t a single dish in the shop that hadn’t been decimated in one way or another, whether by being sampled, or trodden on as the greedy brownie scrambled over the glass shelves behind the once pristine counter. It was a disgraceful exhibition by a once mild, tidy, agreeable creature, but a boggart is a boggart, and that is that.

  Having gorged to the point of bursting, he staggered back up to the roof, and with some difficulty hauled himself out through the skylight onto the slates. It was still raining heavily, and this time he did lose his balance. With a yell he rolled down to the gutter, which he grabbed to save himself, but it came away from the roof, swinging him out above the alley below. He wrapped his arms and legs tightly around it, and gazed down in dread, waiting for the inevitable. It came soon enough. With a mournful groan, the gutter detached itself completely and plunged down, brownie and all. It pierced the muddy ground like Lord Algernon’s sword at the review, and juddered to and fro so fiercely that Bodkin felt quite dizzy, but at last it became quite still, and he was able to slide down to terra firma.

  Thanking the powers that be for his lucky escape, he began to run back to the Royal Crescent mews. Once in the haven of his hayloft, the excitement of having decimated Zuder’s a second time began to fade. The drumming of the rain on the roof made him feel quite low, and his thoughts turned to Nutmeg. Where was she? Was she well? Did she miss him? Oh, how he’d punish the wicked humans for what they’d done! He glanced at the pumpkin, and his eyes flashed with bitter fire. Halloween was only a day or so away, so it was time to make a start. Taking his knife again, he set about creating the largest, most horrible jack-o’-lantern that ever was.

  Much later, in the small hours, when even Bodkin had finally gone to sleep, Polly awoke with a start as something disturbed her. Puzzled, she got out of bed and went to the window. The rain had stopped, and all was quiet, but just as she was about to turn away, she heard a carriage driving out of the crescent into Brock Street. She saw a link boy running past, followed by an elegant scarlet vehicle drawn by a team of two cream horses. The coachman shouted encouragement to the team, and flicked his whip. It was the same shout she’d heard earlier, she thought, looking more closely as the carriage swept by. A flawless profile was visible inside. Georgiana!

  Polly’s heart twisted, for where else could Lord Benjamin’s sister have been in the intervening hours, except with Dominic? Her eyes stinging with tears, Polly hurried back to bed, where she cried into her pillow as if her heart would break.

  Chapter 21

  The day of the ball dawned bright and sunny; indeed it could not have been better than the previous evening had it tried, but Polly awoke feeling wretched, with red eyes and a wan face. All she could think of was how foolish she’d been to think fondly of Sir Dominic Fortune. As to wondering if he felt the same way about her ... How could she have been so naive? Lady Georgiana Mersenrie was the one he wanted, and probably the one he deserved.

  She did what she could to make her eyes look less swollen and tearstained, but not even her Chinese box of cosmetic papers could really disguise the truth. All she could do was pretend to have had dust in both eyes, and then brazen it out. Once again the ball was out of the question, so new bows and so on were no longer of any consequence. All in all, Nutmeg notwithstanding, she felt so out of sorts that she thought of returning to Horditall; indeed of skulking back there.

  But as this cowardly thought registered, she drew herself up sharply. “Where’s your pride, Polly Peach?” she demanded of her reflection in the mirror. “You’ve got to snap your fingers at them, show you don’t care what they get up to.” She’d have to go to the ball after all, just to look down her nose at Dominic and his precious chienne. Yes, that was what she had to do. Then she could skulk back to Horditall to nurse her misery in private.

  She got up to select the second of the two morning gowns she’d brought with her from Horditall. It was a peppermint-and-white striped muslin, with which she always twisted her hair into a knot that was intertwined with matching striped ribbons. At least, she didn’t usually do the twisting, for that was her maid’s task, but this morning she had to labor upon it herself. Some time passed before she felt she’d achieved something remotely acceptable when she inspected herself in the mirror. “Well, that’s the best you’ll look today, my girl,” she murmured resignedly, then went down to endure breakfast with her uncle and Lord Benjamin.

  They were already seated at the table, each with a newspaper and a gargantuan plate of food. Their chairs scraped hastily as she entered, and as she smiled and murmured a greeting, she was disagreeably conscious of how Lord Benjamin’s eyes moved over every inch of her. He had the ability to make her feel virtually naked! Giles drew out a chair for her, brought her the breakfast she requested, and then withdrew from the room.

  Hordwell immediately commented upon her pallor. “What’s this? Have you been crying, m’dear?” he inquired solicitously.

  She gave a light laugh. “Dear me, no, although thank you for being concerned. The truth is that I spilled my cosmetic powder, and it went into my eyes.

  “Ah.” He proceeded with his breakfast.

  Lord Benjamin studied her, for she was rather unwisely seated directly opposite him. “May I say how very charming you look this morning. Miss Peach?”

  “Thank you, Lord Benjamin,” she murmured, avoiding his gaze.

  He continued, “Your uncle informs me you’ll be attending the ball tonight. I trust you will be so kind as to save a measure for me?”

  She managed a weak smile. “Yes, of course.”

  Hordwell looked up from his newspaper. “Hm, it seems the review turned into a shambles yesterday. Why didn’t you mention any of this, Polly?”

  “It slipped my mind, what with the business of your valuables.”

  His brow darkened. “Some fiend has them, and I’ll get them back if it’s the last thing I do!” he growled, and began to regale Lord Benjamin with the sorry tale.

  As she hoped, the apparent theft took up most of the subsequent conversation, and she stayed out of it by steadily eating her breakfast and keeping her eyes lowered. The ball would be her grand gesture, when she would have an opportunity to snub Dominic. She would then leave for Horditall first thing tomorrow morning. Af
ter all, what point was there in staying? Bodkin was determined to be quite impossible, and Nutmeg seemed to have vanished into thin air, so Polly Peach might just as well return to the wonderful isolation of the countryside.

  She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice her uncle suddenly wink at Lord Benjamin, although she did look up when his chair scraped as he rose to his feet. “You must both forgive me,” he said, “but it’s time for me to adjourn to the Pump Room for the water.” Taking up his walking sticks, he hobbled out, and Polly’s heart sank as she realized he’d deliberately left her alone with her loathed host and suitor.

  As the door closed, Lord Benjamin gave her a warm smile. “Well, my dear, how very agreeable it is that you are here beneath my roof.”

  “I shall be returning to Horditall in the morning,” she replied, determined to snuff any encouragement he might perceive in the situation.

  “Indeed? I was under the impression from your uncle that you would stay on a little longer.”

  “Then I fear he gave you the wrong notion, sir.”

  “May I inquire why you came here?”

  “Oh, it was just female foolishness. I dreamed my uncle was unwell, and so had to rush here to be certain he was all right. He persuaded me to stay a few days. That’s all.” She looked quickly at him. “I did not wish to presume upon your hospitality, but my uncle insisted. I would have preferred to stay at an inn or hotel.”

  “That would not have done at all, my dear; indeed, you are most welcome to lengthen your sojourn if you wish,” he said softly.