Summer Folly

by Kruger, Mary

  “She said I stole it,” Maddy, one of the maids, put in. “As if I would. Something ugly, that was. Chip straw with cherries for trim and coquelicot ribbons.”

  “Goodness,” Anne murmured, as some comment seemed to be called for. What had started as a frightening experience was rapidly degenerating into farce. “May I assume you found it?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am, but it did show up, the next morning,” Mrs. Justice said. “And can you guess where?”

  Anne avoided Giles’s eyes. “No.”

  “On the Prince of Wales, of course. The statue, I mean,” she added, as Giles shouted with laughter. Anne let the giggles she had been restraining tumble out, and even Julia looked amused. “Well may you laugh, Your Grace, but Miss Catherine was that upset that the entire family left that day.”

  “How poor-spirited of them,” Anne said.

  “Me, I always thought Miss Joanna did it, for a trick, like. Miss Catherine’s sister,” Maddy added.

  “Well, ma’am, between you and me they weren’t much of a success,” Mrs. Justice said. “Encroaching, I’d call them. I think the ghost did us a favor.”

  “Ahem.” Giles cleared his throat. “That’s as may be. What we need to know now is if anyone feels they can no longer work here.” The staff looked at each other, but no one spoke. “No? Excellent.”

  “I do not approve of such strange goings-on, Your Grace,” Benson said, his mouth pursed. “It is not as it should be.”

  “Nothing is as it should be anymore,” Giles muttered. “Very well. Try to sleep for what remains of the night. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Mrs. Justice curtsied and then waddled out of the room, gathering the female servants around her like a flock. The menservants trailed behind them, leaving only the family, and Obadiah.

  Anne leaned her head back against the chair. Had she really once complained of life being dull? It certainly had been most interesting lately. “A ghost who sings,” she remarked. “How can a house as new as this be haunted when Tremont Castle isn’t?”

  “Old spirits, lady,” Obadiah said, and Anne raised her head to look at him. With the servants gone, there was no longer any need to make light of what had happened, for fear of their giving notice.

  “You don’t really believe that, Diah.”

  “No, lady.” Obadiah crossed the room and sat in a satin-striped chair, causing Julia and Giles to look at him in some surprise. “There’s somethin’ about this house, though. Don’t know what it is, but there’s somethin’.”

  “This is all nonsense,” Julia said. “It was one of the servants playing pranks, mark my words.”

  “How?” Anne said, and Julia subsided.

  “What do you think is wrong?” Giles asked, looking directly at Obadiah.

  “I don’t know, Your Grace.” Obadiah’s gaze was equally direct. “I don’t believe the house is haunted. I would know.”

  The two men stared at each other, measuringly. “Obadiah has the gift,” Anne said, softly. “Second sight.”

  “Sometimes.” He flashed her a smile. “Not this time. I just know, sir, that there’s somethin’ goin’ on in this house. Someone wants us out. I don’t think he’d hurt us, lady,” he added, quickly, as Anne straightened.

  “‘He?’ You know who is doing this, then?” Giles said.

  “No, Your Grace. Just a feelin’.”

  “Well, I think it is all nonsense. Giles, your arm, please.” Julia rose stiffly from her chair, with Giles’s help. “Old spirits, indeed. I suggest we question the staff thoroughly and find out who is causing this.”

  “In the morning, Mother.”

  “Of course, in the morning. Some of us need our sleep. Come, Elizabeth,” she said, and swept out of the room, Beth trailing behind her.

  Giles turned back to Obadiah. “You’ll keep an eye out for whoever’s causing this mischief?”

  Obadiah nodded. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said, and went out, leaving Anne and Giles alone.

  Anne rose. “I must go, too,” she said in a rush. “We’ve an important day tomorrow, and I must check on Jamie again—”

  “Anne.” Giles held out his hand, and she went still. “There are some things I would ask you.”

  Anne pushed back her hair. “Can it wait?” Now that all the fuss and bother were over, memories of that moment in the hall came crowding back. The sense of safety she’d so briefly felt when she’d realized it was Giles with her; his eyes, looking down at her, inquiringly at first, and then darkening with another emotion, one she didn’t want to name; the feel of him, warm and strong against her. That was the most disconcerting memory of all, the one that made her want to flee.

  “I suppose it can.” Giles’s eyes were both wary and puzzled. “But I was wondering about your servant.”

  “Obadiah is no man’s servant,” she said, swiftly, unease forgotten for the moment. “He is a free man and may go where he wishes. Do you know, he’s had an offer to oversee a neighboring plantation, but he decided he wants to stay at Hampshire Hall instead? We’re lucky to have him.”

  “I didn’t know that. About his other offers of employment, I mean.”

  “No, I didn’t tell you.” She smiled, suddenly. “Probably because I was too busy wrangling with you.”

  “Probably.” Giles returned the smile. “This business with the second sight, though.”

  “Oh, he has it. I’ve known him to predict the most amazing things.”

  “Really.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  He smiled. “No, not quite.”

  “How vexing of you,” she answered in the same light tone, and then went still. Of a sudden, she knew what was different about his eyes. The light was back in them.

  “Anne?” Giles said, prodding her out of her reverie, and she realized she’d been staring. “Are you well?”

  “Oh, yes, quite.” She took a deep breath. “As for Obadiah. He warned Freddie not to leave the plantation the night he died.”

  “Did he, indeed!” Giles stared at her. “Then you think he’s right about this house?”

  “Yes. There’s no one else I’d rather depend on.”

  “No one?”

  “No one,” Anne said, and was startled by the disappointment that flashed across Giles’s face. “‘Tis late. If I am to be in good form tomorrow evening I must go to bed. It wouldn’t do for me to appear before Prinny looking hagged.”

  “As if you could.” Giles walked beside her, his hand on her back. She was acutely, and uncomfortably, aware of its warmth. “Anne—”

  “Good night, Giles.” Her voice breathless, she spun away from him and dashed for the stairs, not looking back, even though she knew he was watching her. This was an unexpected development, indeed. What did she do now?

  By the following evening the incidents of the night had been, if not forgotten, at least pushed out of mind. Everyone in the household was excited and flustered at the thought of the dinner at the Marine Pavilion. Julia was more cross than usual, Beth more fluttery, Anne more inclined to chatter. Only Giles appeared untouched by all the excitement. “If you ask me, this is a damned nuisance,” he growled as they set off in their barouche for the short drive down the Steyne to the Pavilion.

  “It is a great honor,” Julia said. “I am proud of you, Giles. Though of course it is no more than you deserve.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Giles’s mouth quirked back as he looked across at Anne, unusually silent. Like the rest of them she was in full court dress; her gown of white satin was embroidered with some sort of beading on the bodice, and her hair was pinned up and topped by a ridiculous headdress made of ostrich feathers. A diaphanous shawl draped lightly about her shoulders completed the ensemble, but also tantalized, the sheer material revealing just a hint of white shoulders and bosom. Anne hadn’t changed. She was still the consummate flirt in all her satin splendor. He much preferred her appearance of last evening, young and touchingly vulnerable in her
nightclothes, with her hair pulled simply back. He’d never seen her quite like that, and it intrigued him. Who was the real Anne? The woman who fought so hard for her independence, the girl who flirted, the ice princess she now appeared? Or the beguiling woman she had been last evening, for so short a time, in his arms?

  Anne was trying very hard not to fidget. The satin gown, purchased when she had learned she would be making an appearance at the Pavilion, was one of the most beautiful she had ever owned, and one of the most uncomfortable. The stitching for the intricate beaded embroidery made the bodice stiff and scratchy. Of course she couldn’t scratch herself, much as she longed to, and so she was doomed to suffer. Her only consolation was that Giles appeared as uncomfortable as she felt.

  He sat across from her, looking out the window, his arms crossed on his chest and his lips set. He hated this, poor man, and yet he was doing as his duty demanded. An admirable trait, particularly as he looked so handsome in his full court dress. Velvet jackets and tight satin breeches would make many another man look like a fop. Not Giles. The years he had spent working at his estates showed now in the breadth of his shoulders, in the strength of his thighs. He was, without a doubt, a man, and a splendid one, very much a duke. Anne, however, far preferred him as he had appeared last night, with his disheveled hair falling across his forehead. Far more approachable, except for that moment in the hall—but, no, she wouldn’t think about that. It had been an aberration, born of the surprise of the moment. It would not happen again.

  Their carriage drew up at last before the Marine Pavilion, festooned with colored lanterns that gave it a festive appearance. A bewigged footman in the blue and buff livery of the Prince of Wales bowed and admitted the Tremont party into the entrance hall. “Heavens,” Anne murmured, startled, as she glanced around. If the exterior of the Pavilion were restrained, the entrance hall was anything but. The walls were painted a brilliant green, and everywhere there was china, dishes, urns, vases, all jumbled together, all so rich in color and detail that one simply couldn’t take it all in. She raised dazed eyes to Giles, whose own eyes twinkled, though his face was expressionless.

  “‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, A stately pleasure dome decree’,” he murmured.

  “Or some such,” Anne answered, and was pleased to see a gleam of amusement appear in his eyes. It was so nice to be in agreement with someone again, so nice to know that one’s opinions were shared, without even having to speak a word. Never had she had this kind of intuitive communication with Freddie, or with anyone else, for that matter. Only Giles.

  Another footman appeared, bowing, to lead them to a drawing room where they would await the Prince. Everywhere were precious Chinese artifacts of ivory and silk and porcelain; bamboo sofas and lacquer cabinets; vivid colors that assailed one’s senses, after the restrained classicism of the past decade. And it was hot, almost stiflingly so. All the fires were lighted, though the evening was warm. For all that, though, Anne found herself rather liking the Prince’s folly of a house. It was original and unique. She liked people who had the courage to follow their own tastes.

  In the drawing room the Tremonts were introduced to the other guests. As was customary at the Prince’s dinner parties few ladies were present. There were only Isabella, the Marchioness of Hertford and the Prince’s current companion, and Lady Clermont, to keep her company. Lady Hertford, aging and stout, was dressed in simple white muslin, much too young for her age and her masterful personality, but she was all that was gracious as she greeted them. So was the Prince, accompanied by his bodyguard, Johnny Townsend, formerly a Bow Street Runner, and Lieutenant Colonel Bloomfield, one of his attendants. After shaking hands all around, he gave his arm to Julia to lead her into dinner, since she held the highest rank of the ladies present. For all Julia’s censure of the Prince she looked quite pleased, Anne thought with amusement. She was, in fact, smiling.

  Dinner was served in a sumptuous dining chamber decorated with more things Chinese. The Prince talked of, among other things, his future plans for the Pavilion; he was, it appeared, not entirely happy unless he was making changes to it. Conversation also centered on the health of the King, who was celebrating his fiftieth year on the throne this year, and on his daughter the Princess Amelia, who had been ill this summer. Anne conversed politely, all the while taking everything in, so that she could tell Jamie about it afterwards. The Prince did have some odd friends. There was Sir John Lade who, with his wife, liked to dress up as a coachman and drive, not only his own carriages, but those of his friends; his front teeth had been filed to points so that he could whistle loudly. More sinister was Lord Barrymore, known as “Cripplegate” because of his lame leg and because his brothers, since deceased, had borne the soubriquets of “Hellgate” and “Newgate”. Next to him Richard Sheridan, the playwright, seemed almost tame, though his antics were as wild now as he neared sixty as they had been in his youth. A rackety group indeed, as Julia had said.

  If the Prince’s friends were eccentric, the food was splendid and sumptuous. Accustomed though she was to enormous amounts of food being served at dinner parties, Anne was stunned by the profusion of dishes set before them. There were four different soups, and fish dishes including trout and turbot. There were also no fewer than thirty-six entrées: ham, chicken fricaseed in the Italian manner, a timbale of macaroni Neapolitan, veal, patés, aspics, and dishes Anne could not even identify. There were potatoes in a hollandaise sauce, green beans au gratin, truffles a lá Italienne, and orange biscuits. And, just in case someone was still hungry, there were also souffles of chocolate, apples, or apricots. No wonder the Prince had such an embonpoint, Anne thought, glancing covertly at his stout figure. If she ate like this every day, doubtless she, too, would soon be quite heavy.

  Various wines accompanied the food, so that by the end of dinner things had got quite merry, and quite loud. It was with a great deal of relief that Anne rose when dinner was finally over, several hours after they had sat down, to follow the Prince to the Music Room. Once again they were surrounded by chinoiserie, as they passed through a bewildering procession of anterooms and drawing rooms painted French blue, with more china, Chinese costumes of rich scarlet brocade and gold embroidery, stuffed birds, and models of odd-looking boats, which Giles assured Anne in a low voice really were called junks. Down a corridor in which larger than life figures in Chinese robes held fishing poles from which dangled lanterns. Into a gallery walled with glass, on which were painted birds and insects and fruit and flowers, all in vivid colors, all illuminated from without, so that the effect was rather like walking through a Chinese lantern. When at last they reached the Music Room, a vast oval room that was a model of restraint by comparison, even Giles was looking slightly dazed. Only Julia, who remembered a time when chinoiserie had been in vogue, seemed unmoved by the splendor they had passed.

  The Prince’s wind band was playing, loudly but melodiously, in the Music Room as they entered, and the Argand lamps were lighted, casting a brilliant glow. There appeared to be upwards of a hundred people already there, Anne guessed, among them the cream of the ton: Beau Brummel; the Earl of Jersey and his wife; Lords Yarmouth, Petersham, Erskine, and many, many more. All turned expectantly toward the doorway as the Prince’s party entered, and Anne’s wonder and amazement were abruptly replaced by the urge to flee. These people were likely only to scorn her.

  A hand grasped her arm, gently but firmly. “Courage,” Giles whispered, and she looked quickly up at him, her fear dissipating. With Giles by her side, she could face anything.

  “What do you think of my Pavilion, Mrs. Templeton?” the Prince asked, and Anne, flattered at being singled out, smiled.

  “It is most impressive, sir,” she said, tactfully.

  “Indeed. I understand you have a prosperous plantation in Jamaica.”

  “Yes, your Highness,” Anne said, slightly taken aback. “Hampshire Hall. It will be my son’s when he’s grown.”

  “I hope we can convince you to remain in Englan
d until that time. Eh, Tremont?” And to Anne’s astonishment he winked roguishly at Giles, who merely smiled. “Come, Mrs. Templeton. Allow me to show you some of my treasures.”

  “I would be delighted, sir.” Anne took his arm, allowing herself only a very quick look at Giles. This was beyond what she had expected; she hadn’t thought she would catch the Prince’s eye. She didn’t think she was quite old enough for him. That thought made her relax as they promenaded about the room and the Prince pointed out various of his possessions, telling her of their origin and history. He also talked, with surprising knowledge, about Jamaica, drawing Anne out on the subject and making her feel quite at ease. He could be, she knew, petulant and petty and lewd, but tonight he was at his best, urbane, gracious, charming, discoursing knowledgeably on all they saw. By the time they had completed the circuit of the room, Anne was quite thoroughly charmed by him, and quite grateful. If he knew the stories about her, he gave no sign. No matter if she were shunned for the rest of the evening. The Prince of Wales had accepted her, and that was quite enough.

  Prince George returned with Anne to the Tremonts, conversing with them for a few more minutes, and then turned to speak with Colonel McMahon, effectively dismissing them. Able to move as they wished for the first time since entering the Music Room, the Tremonts withdrew. “I am proud of you, Giles,” Julia pronounced. “You are carrying on the Templeton tradition.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Giles turned to Anne. “You and Prinny seemed to be having an enjoyable conversation.”

  “Oh, hush. ‘Tis disrespectful to call him so in his own home,” Anne protested.

  Giles’s eyes gleamed. “Now you will be able to tell everyone that you once flirted with a prince.”

  Anne shook her head. “I found him most charming.”

  “With an eye for beauty. I didn’t think to warn you about that.”

  Anne stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. “I don’t know whether to be complimented or insulted, sir.”

  “Dash it, Anne, I didn’t mean—”