Miss Treadwell's Talent

by Barbara Metzger

The other carriages were arriving, discharging passengers, luggage, and servants to clutter up the view and drown out the sound of the waves. Regretting that he could not devote himself to one guest in particular, Socrates got busy seeing the others all welcomed and settled. He made sure the butler counted the silverware when Aunt Regina was around, that the cook ordered extra fish for the viscount’s cat, that the housekeeper assigned the duke and Lady Tremont rooms at opposite ends of the house. He sent for the magistrate, sent for the local newspapers to read the on dits and events columns, and he sent for subscriptions to the public assemblies. If Belinda was here, he was going to find her.

  The magistrate was distressed to learn that his old friend’s daughter had disappeared, possibly into his district. He would have recognized her, he said, if the chit had been going out and about in the local Society. There had been a rash of robberies though, and, now that he recalled, one of them had involved a young couple. The young man was injured, but alive, so there’d been no need for a murder investigation, according to the sheriff. The magistrate had no idea what had become of the thieves’ victims, simply assumed they’d passed on to their destination. He doubted the incompetent sheriff would ever find the highwaymen, since the man was a drunkard, the magistrate admitted. They had little enough crime as a rule, so his shortcomings never mattered. He’d go ask about that young couple, if the sheriff was sober enough to remember anything.

  No one wanted to wait. As soon as the bags were unpacked and the travel dust was washed off, most of the party left for Brighton. Lady Crowley begged off, claiming the headache, though everyone knew she did not wish to meet any acquaintances who might have heard about her niece’s fall from grace into a bankrupt barony. Lord Shimpton decided to stay at the manor with her and his cat, since Lady Crowley let Tune play with her embroidery silks. She didn’t lecture a fellow, either, nor expect him to make conversation.

  The others strolled along the cobblestone streets, up West Street, down the Marine Parade, along the Steine. Brighton was less formal than London, with strangers nodding and striking up conversations. No one had heard of a young violinist. Aunt Regina joined a group of old women at an ongoing card game, declaring that the old biddies would know everything that happened in town. They didn’t know about a recently married couple. For that matter, they didn’t know about marked decks, but they were learning.

  For the next few days, Maylene and her mother, escorted by the duke and the earl, were rarely at High Oaks at all. They went to every concert or assembly at the Old Ship Inn or the Castle Inn, every promenade and private party where a string quartet or dance band was to play. They showed Belinda’s miniature to everyone, and gave Mr. Collins’s sandy-haired, slim-built description, to no avail. If not for the lack of results, Maylene would be having a wonderful time, not worried about money or what others were thinking of her or how she was dwindling into an old maid. She was having fun, for once, and believed her mother was also. Lady Tremont was blossoming in the duke’s regard, and he seemed to grow younger daily. Maylene’s mother never mentioned Max, and she was too rapt in the duke’s company to be much help in the investigation, which threw Maylene and Socrates together more. Neither one complained.

  And then Maylene spotted a familiar figure in a crowded coffeehouse. He moved away before she could point him out to Socrates, but she was positive she’d seen Reverend Fingerhut. He must have followed them from London, for surely he could have found other sinners in the metropolis to condemn when they left. But why? she wondered, then answered herself: the money, Joshua Collins’s money.

  “Oh, why did I not find out the name of his church?” Maylene despaired, sure it would be the same as the default recipient of the Duke of Winslowe’s estate. She decided to write to Fleur Lafontaine that very afternoon, and possibly add visiting the nearby houses of worship to her investigation.

  Hyatt thought she was seeing too much in the muckworm minister’s appearance. “There’s no reason to be fearful,” Socrates said, trying to comfort her. “My men will see to it that he doesn’t put his signs up or start one of his vigils outside High Oaks. Besides, only the gulls would hear his harangue.”

  Maylene knew that Hyatt employed a veritable army of grooms and groundsmen, most of them retired veterans, some missing an eye or a limb. They were devoted to Socrates and would protect him with their lives, but who would protect Joshua Collins if Fingerhut found him first?

  That night they were to attend a concert at the Castle Inn, where a new performer was going to play with the ensemble. They were all so eager and excited about the evening that Maylene had been able to convince Lady Crowley and Shimpton to attend, since no one would notice them in the crowded rooms. The new violinist was middle-aged, however, and had reddish hair. The master of ceremonies pointed out the man’s wife and her three well-scrubbed children, looking on proudly. Maylene resigned herself to another evening of no answers. Pleasant music, delightful company, an opportunity to wear her shell pink gown and see the earl’s eyes take on a golden sparkle—but no answers.

  The orchestra was performing the new song that was being played everywhere. Maylene had danced to it the previous evening, and was humming now beneath her breath to the familiar strains. Hyatt smiled at her, also remembering the dance, and the tune.

  And then her mother jumped to her feet, right in the middle of the piece. “Tune!” she shouted.

  Lord Shimpton looked around for his cat. “Tune? I thought they wasn’t permitted, so I didn’t bring her.”

  Lady Crowley was crawling under her seat as all eyes turned to them.

  Socrates was groaning. Lady Tremont was about to start talking to her long-lost lover and his fried friend, right in the middle of a concert. The woman had gone from dotty to queer as Dick’s hatband at the drop of a baton. He feared for Maylene, if her mother had lost her mind entirely.

  “Mama?” Maylene and the duke tugged Lady Tremont back into her seat.

  The baroness could hardly sit still. “That’s it, I tell you! It’s the tune, the one I heard! That’s what Alex was trying to tell us! The tune!”

  “That tune?” Maylene asked, waving her pearl-handled fan at her mother’s flushed face. Mondale took it from her, doing a better job.

  “The very one.”

  They had to wait until intermission to rush toward the conductor. Everyone else was trying to leave for refreshments, so they got more cool stares as they pushed and shoved their way forward. The man confirmed that the composer of the popular new air was indeed a Joshua Collins. No, he’d never set eyes on the man.

  “Well, the lad has talent, anyway.” The duke pulled out the miniature of his daughter.

  “Yes, that’s the pretty little gal who sold me the piece. Said her husband was laid up but recovering. He’d better be, for I need a new composition for the Prince’s welcome reception. The Collins fellow will go far if he keeps on writing.”

  “He’ll go to hell if he’s harmed one hair of my poppet’s head,” the duke muttered, while Maylene and Hyatt got directions to the fishing village where Collins’s wife said they were staying. It was nearly on the doorstep of Hyatt’s estate.

  “We’ll see you and the others back to High Oaks,” the earl declared to Maylene, “then go on from there.”

  “I’ll see you in hell first,” Maylene said, echoing the duke’s words. “I am coming, too.”

  “Nonsense. A fishing shack is no place for a lady.”

  “If Belinda is there, I can be also.”

  Jaw clenched, Hyatt grabbed her arm when she would have hurried after her mother and the duke out to the street. “You are not going, and that is final. The situation could get ugly if they are not, in fact, married. The duke intends to bring his guns. So do I.”

  “What, you’d kill my reward—my duke? I am definitely going! Besides, you arrogant jackass, may I remind you that this is my investigation, that you would not even have been here if not for me and my mother? That you belittled our efforts from the beginning
and mistrusted our motives? That you…”

  They bickered all the way home, where they left Lady Tremont and the others after Maylene scribbled a message to Mr. Ryan in London and the duke fetched his dueling pistols. They argued about Maylene’s willfulness and Soc’s highhandedness while the duke primed his weapons, and the driver, a local man who knew his way, followed the narrow roads to the fishing village by the light of the moon on the water. Once again, no one noticed the lone, dark-clad rider who followed their carriage on a bare-ribbed horse.

  Chapter Thirty

  Belinda fainted when she saw her father. Joshua fainted when he heard he was a duke. What joy!

  The newlyweds—the duke almost fainted with relief when he heard they were, indeed, legally married—recovered with assistance from the smelling salts in Belinda’s reticule and the brandy in the duke’s flask. After that, there was much crying and hugging and begging for forgiveness. Joshua’s straw pallet was pulled out into the front room so he could rest, while Belinda wept on her father’s lap in the cottage’s only comfortable chair. Hyatt and Maylene were seated at the scarred wooden kitchen table, and Asa sat on the floor, relishing his mugful of fine liquor almost as much as he was relishing the noble company.

  “B’gad, not one but two dooks under m’roof! I’ll drink to that! And an earl? I’ll drink to that, too, b’gad.”

  “Hush, poppet, I forgive you.” Tears were running down the duke’s cheeks, too. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. Didn’t you know that?”

  “But you wanted me to marry Lord Hyatt.” The mention of the man she had so insulted brought fresh tears. “I tried to love him for you.”

  “Damn, you should have told me, poppet. I would have understood. Soc would have withdrawn his offer if you were unwilling. You didn’t have to run away!”

  Belinda wiped her eyes on the duke’s handkerchief and stood, moving to kneel by her husband’s side, pulling the blankets more firmly around him. “Would you have let me marry a poor music instructor, Papa?”

  The duke could not answer her. He did bend toward Joshua to say, “It is not what I wanted, young man, but I will welcome my daughter’s husband. I might never approve of you, but I am not one to disown my flesh and blood. Belinda is all I have, and if I have to share her with a man not of my choice, so be it. In a month or so, when you have regained your strength, I will take you to London, help straighten out the details of your inheritance and investiture, introduce you to my clubs, see you seated in Parliament. Then I intend to take you to Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Parlor and beat the hell out of you. After that, if Belinda still wants you, I might forgive you.”

  Joshua nodded, but spoke to Belinda: “I am not sure I wish to be duke. My music…”

  The duke was not about to lose a titled son-in-law in exchange for a starving musician. “Nonsense, you can do both. We already have a passel of poets in the peerage. Nothing wrong with a fiddler.”

  “But I don’t know how to be a nobleman.” Joshua looked toward Maylene. “All those estates Miss, ah, Treadwell mentioned, all that property, the people who rely on the dukedom for their livelihoods—I wouldn’t have the least idea what to do.”

  The duke was losing patience. “You don’t have a choice about being duke, boy, no more than I did. It’s yours by birth. You’re young. You’ll learn the rest”

  Maylene disagreed. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but if His new Grace is half as gifted as Lady Belinda and that conductor in Brighton say, he has no business worrying over what crop to plant or which breed of hog to raise. Such a talent should not be wasted.”

  “Spoken like your mother’s daughter,” Socrates said with a laugh. “But you are seeing the responsibilities, Collins, not the rewards. You can finance your own musical productions if you wish, or hire a concert hall. You simply find honest, competent men to manage your holdings while you do what you are good at. You have the funds to hire an army of them—and I know of one army man I can highly recommend as your general steward to start.”

  “Lieutenant Canfield!” Maylene exclaimed. “The very thing!”

  The duke nodded. “And it’s not as if you are alone, lad. You’re family now, and I think I have enough experience to give you good advice. My daughter expects great things of you. We’ll all help to see that you do not disappoint her.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” said Asa, before he fell over.

  The duke reluctantly agreed to leave the young couple where they were until morning. Joshua was in no condition to travel in a cramped carriage over bumpy roads in the dark, with a storm coming on besides, and Belinda would not think of leaving him. Hyatt hauled the snoring fisherman onto his cot in the sleeping alcove, leaving him a handful of bank notes and the flask before they left.

  The rain hadn’t started when Hyatt handed Maylene into the coach, but the moon and stars were obscured by clouds, the narrow path lit only by the carriage lamps. The driver had to keep the horses in check, and the steady, slow motion soon put Maylene half to sleep after the excitement of the evening.

  Socrates spent the trip reassuring his friend.

  “Belinda seems happy, don’t you think, Soc?”

  Happy, in the rundown shack, sleeping on the floor? She’d looked exhausted, overwrought, and at least five years older than the last time he’d seen her the previous month, but yes, she seemed exceedingly happy. “Very. I think she will be even happier knowing they have your blessing.”

  “And Collins seems a decent chap.”

  Socrates yawned. “All wealthy dukes are decent chaps.”

  “And it’s not simply infatuation. They’ve been faithful to each other for three years, it seems, since Belinda started taking those private music instructions. That must mean the marriage will succeed.”

  It meant Belinda had lied to him and her father for the past two years. But yes, such constancy boded well for the match, unlike many in the ton, where affairs lasted three months, and affections less. “I think they seem well suited,” he said noncommittally.

  “And your heart is not broken?” Mondale asked. “No, I can see it is not.” What he saw was Maylene’s golden head resting on Hyatt’s shoulder while the earl held her secure against the swaying of the carriage. When a clap of thunder awakened her with a start, Socrates whispered soft words and brushed butterfly kisses on Maylene’s forehead until she went back to sleep. The duke chuckled. “No, I don’t think you are too devastated at all, my boy. Not at all.”

  *

  A fierce storm raged through the night, so it was late morning when the duke and Hyatt returned to the fishing village with two carriages and three footmen. The duke almost had apoplexy when he heard there had been a fire at Asa’s shack in the middle of the night. His little girl was covered in soot and his new son-in-law, the genius duke he’d described to Lady Tremont, was coughing fiercely. Asa was on a ladder, trying to stuff rags into the charred hole in the roof.

  “My God, were you struck by lightning?” the duke demanded.

  “Not bloody likely.” Asa got down and handed them a painted wooden sign that was charred at one end. “Some bastard lit this and tossed it onto the roof, I’d guess. Makes no sense to me.”

  Only a few of the letters were legible. Asa was scratching his head. “I don’t know nobody named Pent.”

  “Thank God for Asa’s dog,” Belinda put in. “His barking woke me in the middle of the night, so I managed to get Joshua and Asa out of the cottage. If not for the noise, we would have died in our sleep. Then the rain came right after a bolt of lightning and put out the fire.”

  Asa was still scratching his head. “Thing is, I don’t have me no dog. Nearest one’s at Lidell’s farm, nigh three miles away.”

  “But I could swear I heard someone say ‘Good boy.’”

  Who says you can’t teach a dead dog new tricks?

  *

  The magistrate came to High Oaks the following morning. He was happy the duke had his daughter back, and happier still to report that two hi
ghwaymen had been arrested the day before, and they still had some of the little lady’s jewelry on them. Of course now the magistrate had a new mystery. Some stranger had been killed by a bolt of lightning outside of Brighton during the storm last night. No one knew who he might have been, but the poor sod’s half-starved horse was unhurt, over at the livery stable if any next of kin wanted to claim the sorry beast.

  *

  “I’m sorry, Soc,” Maylene said.

  Since they had just shared a very satisfying kiss in the orangery, away from all the others, Socrates was surprised. “You are? I thought that was rather nice myself. Perhaps we’ll have to try again, though, if you are disappointed.”

  Maylene blushed. “No, not the kiss.”

  “Ah, then you are sorry Aunt Regina has cheated my household staff out of a month’s wages. Or that Shimpton’s hellcat is using my prize Aubusson carpet to sharpen its claws. No? Then perhaps you regret foisting that solicitor fellow Ryan on me. The housekeeper is complaining that his hair oil is ruining the pillow slips.”

  “Don’t be foolish. I mean that I am sorry you lost your fiancée.”

  Socrates kept his arm about her shoulders as they strolled through the glassed room, supposedly admiring the plants. The orange trees could have been sprouting shillings for all they noticed, or cared. “But my fiancée was found, remember? You ought, since you were the one who found her. In fact, I do believe you have boasted of nothing else for the past two days.”

  “I do not boast. And that’s not what I meant anyway. I meant that I am sorry your intended bride is already married. All your plans, the perfect match you’d arranged, are all destroyed.”

  “Ah, that. Do you know, I don’t regret that loss one whit. In fact, I do not consider it a loss at all.”

  “Really?”

  He stopped their meandering and kissed the tip of her nose. “Really. You see, Belinda found herself a gifted violinist. It doesn’t matter that she is tone-deaf or that he was poor. They are happy together, and I am happy for them. Besides, I found a talented lady of my own. You found my heart, Maylene mine. It was tucked so far away, a marriage of convenience would have been good enough, until I met you. Now only you will do for me, my love.”