“No one’s reputation is going to be injured, Lord Hyatt. Miss Lafontaine has agreed it would be best not to call here again. I can send her a written communication if we discover any answers to her inquiry. She was actually relieved that she need not attend my mother’s gatherings. I think she is somewhat afraid of the spiritual aspects.”
“More likely she’s afraid Gilly Pimstoke will slip her lead if she’s gone. The bloke’s as rich as Golden Ball.” He nodded, then slammed the invitations down on her desk so hard the inkwell teetered and would have fallen if Maylene hadn’t caught it. Some of the ink splashed on her fingers. He handed her a handkerchief of softest white linen—with his crest embroidered on it. “Then, here. Now you have everything you want: Mondale’s blank check and a passport to the Polite World. Go and make the most of your opportunities, Miss Treadwell. I shan’t stand in your way if Florrie Fountain won’t. Land yourself an eligible parti or take a page from Florrie’s book and hook yourself a wealthy protector. Just let the duke off your fishing line!”
A protector? He thought she could be a…a rich man’s mistress? One tiny part of Maylene was gladdened that he thought she could attract a gentleman; the rest of her was incensed at Lord high-and-mighty Hyatt’s lewd suggestion. She tossed his handkerchief back in his face, which left a trail of ink down his cheek and on his immaculate white neckcloth.
“I would have continued to help the duke because he needs assistance, and that is what I do, my lord. But now I swear I will move heaven and earth to find his daughter for him and then I’ll…I’ll see she marries Lord Shimpton instead of you!”
*
Some days a mother was a girl’s best friend. Other times, a young woman might wish she’d been born under a cabbage leaf. This was one of those times.
Lady Tremont arrived home in a wondrous mood, not in the least exhausted by spending the duke’s money. Aunt Regina might need to rest after trying on corsets and such, but the baroness was full of enthusiasm. And to find a handsome, well-funded gentleman closeted with her daughter, why, her cup runneth over. Luckily, it did not spill on Lord Hyatt, since he was already oddly mussed, with tousled hair and a black streak along his cheek. If Campbell had not assured her that there had been other company during his call, she might have been concerned. Now she was more concerned with keeping him at Treadwell House, to Maylene’s horror.
Lady Tremont invited the earl to stay to tea, meager though it would be after the priest’s depredations. Then she had to exclaim over the invitations to Lady Belvedere’s ball, which he’d been so kind as to bring in person. Everyone knew how busy his lordship was, with his many interests, so his consideration was even more gratifying. Had he seen the latest showing at Somerset House, and did he support the Corn Laws? Had he a horse entered at Newmarket, and what did he think of shell pink crepe for Maylene?
Maylene thought black would be better, for she was sure to die of embarrassment. Her mother was going on, though, explaining to Hyatt that they’d decided white was too insipid, especially since she wasn’t any dreary young miss, and the brighter colors were too strong for Maylene’s delicate complexion. Didn’t he agree? Maylene’s complexion took on the fiery hue of mortification.
“Mama, I am sure his lordship has better things to do than discuss fashions.”
“Nonsense, Lord Hyatt is a man of style himself. He can give us excellent advice. Aunt Regina thought the Belgian lace would do for an overskirt, whilst I liked a softer pink netting. Which do you prefer, my lord?”
The fact that her daughter sat silently through the conversation did not bother Lady Tremont one whit. A mother knew what was best for her girl, even if the foolish chit refused to make a push to engage the Ideal’s interest. One smile, Maylene’s doting parent believed, and Hyatt would lose his heart to her darling. He was more likely to lose his temper, Maylene could swear, since he never seemed to have that emotion under control when she was around. If he shouted at her mother, Maylene vowed to herself, she’d toss the entire inkpot at him. Then the teapot. She frowned, and her mother kicked her ankle as they sat side by side on the sofa.
As if aware of Maylene’s threats, Hyatt was being polite, for now. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, at Maylene’s expense, of course, for he had to know how uncomfortable Lady Tremont’s unsubtleties were making her. Goodness, her mother was being so obvious that Maylene wished she could crawl back under that cabbage leaf. Now Mama was practically begging Lord Hyatt to dance with Maylene at the ball, since she’d know so few gentlemen there.
Hyatt had to agree, since he was drinking their tea and eating their last biscuit. He undoubtedly wanted to keep an eye on her anyway, Maylene supposed, to make certain she didn’t entrap any schoolboy into an honorable offer…or steal any of Lady Belvedere’s knickknacks. Her mother was busy proving their avaricious intents. She was also busy encouraging Hyatt to attend that evening’s spirit-calling session.
“But, Mama, you know his lordship does not believe in the beyond.”
“Then we shall just have to show him, won’t we? I have very good feelings about tonight, my dears. I’m positive Max and Alex will have some answers for us. In fact, my lord, why don’t you stay and take pot luck supper with us beforehand?”
Maylene was growing desperate. “But, Mama, you know how you like to relax in solitude before a meeting.”
Her ankle got kicked again, for her effort. Much more of this and she would be too lame to dance at the ball, with Hyatt or anyone else.
“And you can play the pianoforte for his lordship while I rest and prepare myself,” her mother concluded. “Aunt Regina will be happy to act as chaperone. Isn’t that lovely?”
Listening to another amateur performance was about as lovely as a visit to the tooth drawer, and Maylene knew it well. Hyatt’s polite refusal was a relief, and an insult, since he claimed a prior engagement for dinner that Maylene did not believe for an instant. He’d be honored to attend the séance, though, dash it.
“Mama, how could you?” Maylene wailed after he left. “The earl despises us. He thinks we are climbers and charlatans. Whatever were you thinking of, to invite him to the sitting, much less to dinner?”
“Grandchildren,” was her fond mother’s answer.
Chapter Twenty
Expectations sat like another guest at the round table that evening. Tonight, everyone seemed to feel, they would have answers. Even Lord Hyatt was eager, for he’d convinced his friend Mondale to make this the last try at Max, the dearly departed detective—and his dog.
He and Maylene shared the sofa by the hearth again, though she sat so far into her corner that the welting on the cushions was making indentations in her arm. She huddled in her shawls, despite the meager heat from the fireplace, while he lounged at his end of the couch, one midnight blue superfine-clad arm spread across the furniture back, where it could almost touch her bare neck. Maylene made sure not to lean back. He was quiet while Lady Tremont went through her routine of making everyone present swear that what they heard or saw here, stayed here. His fingers only started drumming on the sofa cushions when the baroness began her preliminary chants and swaying motion. Maylene scowled at him, but since she was always scowling at him, he paid her no mind.
Finally, Lady Tremont got down to serious business, greeting her dear friend Max with smiles and coos, then introducing the guests at the table.
“What’s that, dear? Alex is there, too? How nice. Good doggy, Alex.”
Lord Hyatt groaned. Maylene glared.
“And see who has come to chat with us tonight, dears. You remember Lady Crowley, don’t you? She has been most eager to speak to her beloved Aloysius, you know. Just a few words, meant for him alone. Isn’t that charming? What did you say, dear?”
Lady Tremont screwed up her forehead in concentration. “‘Sum, es, est, sumus, estis, sunt’? Whatever is that, Max?”
Everyone at the table except for the duke was mystified. “First term Latin,” Hyatt whispered for Maylene�
�s benefit.
“I am not totally ignorant,” she snapped back, having provided her mother with the conjugations.
Lady Tremont’s brow cleared. “Oh, Lord Crowley is practicing his classics so that he can speak to some of the saints? How enterprising of him, to be sure. Lady Crowley is bound to be disappointed that she did not get to give him her message, but perhaps next time? Yes, I’ll tell her to try again.”
“And again and again,” Hyatt muttered.
But Lady Crowley seemed happy enough with knowing the dastard she’d married was still safely dead. Her unsaid farewells could wait.
“And here is our brave Lieutenant Canfield,” Lady Tremont was going on, “who was so concerned about his lost leg. Yes, I think he is looking much stronger now, too.”
Canfield did have better color and had put on some weight. He managed his crutches much more skillfully and was a great deal less self-conscious of his missing limb. Aunt Regina had sent him to a prosthetics manufactory, Lord Hyatt had sent him to be interviewed as secretary to a member of Parliament from his home borough, and Maylene had sent him a smile of welcome.
“Speak up, dear, please. We are all concentrating as hard as we might, I am certain, but there seems to be noise in the background again. What’s that? We should wave? Oh, waves.”
Hyatt cocked his head, listening for the sound of rushing water he expected from the adjoining room. When none was forthcoming, he leaned toward Maylene and whispered, “What, you didn’t have time to reroute your indoor plumbing?”
“If we had indoor plumbing, my lord, you can be sure we would use it for baths, not bathing the poor lieutenant.”
“Then why the waves?”
Maylene wasn’t certain herself. Her mother’s imagination, insight, talent, or whatever rarely followed any play script. “Be quiet and listen, for goodness’ sake. We might find out.”
Lady Tremont’s countenance took on a delighted expression.
“He did? Admiral Nelson himself? What an honor for our brave soldier!” She fell back in her chair and her face went blank as she underwent one of her transformations. After a few contortions, which seemed to alarm the Duke of Mondale at her side more than anyone, the baroness sat up again, with her cheeks puffed out and one eye squinted shut.
“What’s this I hear,” Lady Tremont barked out in a deep, thunderous bellow, “about some sissified soldier whining over his lost leg?”
The lieutenant sat at attention, color brighter than his scarlet uniform creeping up his cheeks.
“You gave it for your country, didn’t you, soldier? Then be proud, damn it! You ain’t a coward, are you?”
“N-no, sir!”
“Then stop hiding like a craven, worrying over the next life. Get out and live this one, by Harry. Live it for your mates who cannot, I say. You owe it to them, else they died for naught. Understand, soldier?”
“Aye-aye. That is, yes, sir.”
“And remember that England needs more brave boys, even if they turn out to be land-lubber infrantrymen. It’s your duty, soldier. You can still father children, can’t you?”
Now Maylene was blushing as vividly as the lieutenant, who stuttered out an affirmative. Hyatt swallowed his laughter, thinking, damn, but this was better than Drury Lane.
“Humph. Then get on with it, dash it. And that goes for the rest of you niminy-piminy lads at the table, too. Get on with it, I say. Put some wind in your sails, men, that’s the ticket!”
Socrates wasn’t finding the admiral quite as amusing now. Niminy-piminy? Him? And it was one thing for his own grandmother to urge him to start filling his new nursery. It was quite another for the Hero of Trafalgar and Lady Tremont, to say nothing of her passed-on paramour and his previous pet.
Speaking of dogs, Lord Shimpton was nearly twitching in his seat. “Do you think it is my turn yet?” he whispered to Lady Crowley, whose hand he was squeezing in his excitement. “Lady Tremont said I could ask Mumsy about getting a dog tonight.”
The widow rubbed her bruised fingers. “As soon as Lady Tremont recovers. It takes great energy to connect with the spirits.”
The baroness was drained, sagging against her chair back. Campbell offered a glass of water, and the duke, on her other side, was calling for smelling salts and the end of the session.
“I shall be fine,” Lady Tremont claimed in a reedy voice, sipping the water. “And we have much too much to accomplish, to waste dear Max’s visit. You are still with us, my dearest, aren’t you?” Her eyes drifted shut, and she started rocking in her seat. Slowly, a smile came over her face, softening its contours, removing the signs of strain and ten years. “Ah, yes, Max, there you are. I am well, don’t worry. Do you see who else has come to visit this evening, my dear? It’s our good friend Lord Shimpton, come to chat with his beloved mother. What’s that, Max? Lady Shimpton cannot speak to us this evening?”
“Mumsy? Is she ill?”
“Someone should tell the cawker she’s dead,” Hyatt murmured for Maylene’s hearing only. The curls ruffled by the closeness of his breath tickled her ear, but she was tucked as far into the corner of the couch as she could go.
“You must be quiet or you will destroy Mother’s concentration,” she said. Heaven knew he was destroying hers.
“What’s that, dear, she is practicing her Latin also?”
“Mumsy?”
“Oh, she’s performing a cotillion! How lovely. Oh? She wishes to make sure her precious Frederick dances it at Lady Belvedere’s ball? I’ll tell him. And Maylene will teach him.”
Maylene groaned as loudly as Lord Shimpton. He was more concerned with his mother’s opinion than Maylene’s toes, however. “But what about m’dog? I wanted to ask Mumsy what kind I should get!”
“Did you hear that, Max? The dear young man needs advice. Yes, I suppose Alex would know best, if you don’t mind asking him.” Lady Tremont tilted her head to one side, listening. “No, dear, I cannot understand the barking. Oh, Alex says he smells water? That’s all he says? You’re sure? What has that got to do with the proper dog for Lord Shimpton?”
Lieutenant Canfield offered the information that there had been a breed of water spaniel in Portugal. And the duke had heard that fishermen in the Canadian provinces used black retrievers to bring in their nets.
“Perhaps he’s still getting Admiral Nelson’s scent,” Lady Crowley suggested. “I recall the one time I was on a sailing ship and thought I would never get the smell of dampness out of my clothing.”
Hyatt was more cynical, naturally. “What, are you sending your suitor off on a wild-goose chase—or should I say wild-pooch chase—now that you have Canfield in your sights? I suppose you own shares of a shipping line.”
“You know we own nothing of the kind,” Maylene said, taking notes of the possible interpretations. “I am as confused as everyone else about the meaning, but that is the way the spirit world operates, you know. Oracles give useful answers, but not necessarily obvious information.”
“Fustian. It’s raining out, is all. It doesn’t take a fried flea hound to smell what passes for spring showers in London.”
No, that was Lord Shimpton.
Lady Tremont was continuing. “Well, perhaps Lady Shimpton will come chat with us again another time and we can ask her then. I am positive she knows just the perfect breed of doggy for her darling son. Meanwhile, Max, dear, do you recall our search for that young man, Mr. Joshua Collins?” A moment went by. “Alex smells water? Yes, dear, you already told us that. Lord Nelson has come and gone. But were you able to reach Winslowe? The missing gentleman is his heir, after all, so Winslowe should know his whereabouts. Oh, he never cared for that branch of the family? So he doesn’t mind if the estate goes to the Evangelical Association Church of Repentance?”
Maylene minded that the reward money would go to them, too. She tried to signal her mother to try harder. “Do you hear music, Mama?”
“No music. Only water.”
Maylene muttered, “Bother.”
>
Her mother frowned. “Let us go on to the next guest, Max, dear. His Grace of Mondale is here again, even more concerned for his missing daughter. Have you or Alex managed to gain a clue as to Lady Belinda’s location?”
Everyone held their breath while Lady Tremont listened.
They all exhaled on a sigh when she said, “Yes, dear, I know Alex smells water. That’s all?”
The duke let go of the baroness’s hand to wipe at his eyes. “I’ll never find her now. My girl is gone.”
In a firmer tone than she’d used before, Lady Tremont addressed the afterworld. “You know, dear, perhaps you should not be relying so heavily on Alex’s assistance. When all is said and done, he is still a mere dog. What? Yes, I know he ran into that burning building to save your life, but even you must admit that was not terribly clever. Loyal, yes, but intelligent? No. Alex was a small dog. How could he have rescued you? If he could have carried his precious water, then… No, dear, I am not criticizing your dear doggy. Please do think about Lady Belinda though. Were you able to make contact with her mother?”
The duke lifted his head again. “Minty?”
“I see. She was sleeping peacefully, and you hated to disturb her. I doubt she’d be resting so comfortably were her daughter in peril, so that is something, Max. Thank you, dear. His Grace will take solace from that, at least. But can we try again, do you suppose? His Grace brought a pair of Lady Belinda’s gloves and a stocking, so Alex might pick up her trail, as you suggested last time.” Lady Tremont spread them on the table in front of her, then waved one of the gloves in the air. Then she sighed. “Yes, I know. Alex smells water.”
The duke gathered his daughter’s belongings and clutched them to his chest. They could all see that years of keeping his emotions in check were all that was keeping him from collapsing entirely. Hyatt swore, next to Maylene.
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