Suddenly, Selinda sat upright. The solution was quite simple: a compromise of her virtue was indeed the answer. All she must do was to find a good-natured, biddable gentleman, one on whom she could depend to be kind to herself and Lucy, and force him to marry her. Except for his unaccountable penchant for spinsterish persons, Lord Waverly would do admirably. And, after all, that peculiarity made no odds at all when compared with the loathsome propensities of her degenerate cousin. Moreover, his Lordship’s attentions, however short-lived, had been anything but odious. Indeed, it seemed quite possible that, in spite of his idiosyncrasies, she should be able to love him before too long. Perhaps, Selinda mused, she already did.
True, she had not known Lord Waverly for very long, but she knew of similar incidents of instant amour: Valeria had succumbed immediately to the flashing eyes of Rothwell in The Abducted Heart, and Melisande in The Rake’s Reform had surrendered her heart at her first glimpse of Blackthorne’s miniature. So, if her budding attachment was indeed love, she reasoned. Lord Waverly was hers by rights and she would have him.
Selinda smiled, sniffed, and began to feel much better as she began to plot a mental framework for his Lordship’s seduction. She wasn’t quite certain how it all worked, but she had heard that a proper lady was never seen without her gloves. Bare hands, she had often been cautioned, gave gentlemen all sorts of ideas. That seemed a logical place to start.
* * * *
For his part, Lord Waverly was also busily engaged in plans for bringing about a satisfactory conclusion to his romantic ambitions. After a nap and a change of costume, he presented himself at the rooms of his cousin, Lord Bastion, just as that person was beginning to stir from his bed for the first time that day.
“Bastion, old fellow!” he called energetically as he strode noisily into the bedchamber and threw open the heavy curtains with a ruthless flourish. “Whatever are you about—sleeping away like an overfed kitchen cat on this glorious day!”
Bastion frowned darkly and immediately pulled the covers up over his bleary eyes. The marquess had also enjoyed a frightfully late night, but his head, regrettably, was a good deal more susceptible to the ravages of brandy than was his cousin’s. In fact, it felt as if some group of badly behaved children had used his noddle in a game of bilbocatch during the night. Survival instinct, however, won out over anguish and indignation, and he forbore to voice the crushing oath, which rose automatically to his lips. Waverly, curse the luck, held the purse strings.
“Up and about, Bastion,” his Lordship commanded heartily, pulling the covers from the foot of the bed and exposing his cousin’s bare feet to the brisk fall air, “or would you rather I departed without rescuing your poor fortune from the ravages it has lately undergone?”
At this odd question, the marquess peeped slowly from under the eiderdown and studied his cousin’s face with deep suspicion: to begin with, it was highly uncharacteristic for Waverly to be so cheerful, nay, downright cordial, in his cousin’s presence. They had never in their lives gotten on. Moreover, the marquess’s admittedly reckless spending habits had invariably met with little patience and no sympathy from his Lordship. That gentleman had never once had the decency to look on temporary runs of bad luck with anything like charity. There was something not quite right about all of this.
“Now, then, that’s much better,” Waverly approved as he watched his cousin’s all-too-obvious ruminations march across his bleary visage. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, Waverly went on, “Coffee should be here shortly, and after you have downed a pot or two, we can begin to discuss the details.”
“Details?” Bastion queried warily. As he studied his cousin’s sphinx-like expression, he was not at all certain that he wanted to know to what his cousin referred.
Waverly laughed briefly. “Indeed, Cousin, a brilliant idea came to me during the night. I own that I have, from time to time, been somewhat troubled by your various escapades, unpaid notes, brushes with unreasonable husbands and papas, but you hit on an ingenious solution to your difficulties at last night’s gathering and I had not the wit to see it.”
Bastion knit his brows and cast back over what he could recall about the previous evening. He mainly recalled downing a good deal of brandy at his club. “I haven’t the first clue what you are talking about,” he pronounced flatly.
“Of course you have not, sapskull!” Waverly rejoined, ruffling his cousin’s hair in a manner calculated to annoy, “for you’ve even less wit than I.”
“Well?” Bastion prompted impatiently, ignoring the insult. “Pray, just what is your solution to my dissolution?”
“A wife!” Waverly pronounced triumphantly.
Here a weighty pause intervened. “I beg your pardon?” Bastion finally ventured with a dumbfounded expression. “Did I hear you aright? A wife?”
“Ex-act-ly!” Waverly smiled triumphantly as a serving man entered with a coffee service. Taking it from him, Waverly poured out two cups and set one into his cousin’s hands. “I am afraid I did you a very great disservice last night, Bastion. You solicited from me an introduction to an eligible young lady and I declined to make you known to her. I have now reconsidered the matter. In fact, I believe a steady woman of unimpeachable character and gentle background must be the very thing to set your fortunes straight.”
The dim light of understanding slowly dawned in Bastion’s eyes. Now his memory of the previous evening came rushing back to him, including his wager with Slaverington. What a paperskull his cousin was! That is, if he was reading him correctly.
“So,” the marquess ventured carefully, “am I to understand that you will actually arrange for me to meet Lady Selinda?”
“That is a part of my plan,” Waverly admitted, although he had not the least intention of revealing the whole of it to his cousin. “However,” he went on slowly, “there are some considerable impediments involved, as you might well imagine.”
“Ah, yes,” Bastion sighed with disheartened recollection, “the Gorgons!”
“Just as you say, the Gorgons,” Waverly con firmed, “but I believe I have found an inroad if you will but trust me implicitly and do exactly as I say.”
Chapter Nine
The next day, Lucy found herself unaccountably at her leisure, unsupervised and, hence, unvexed. Her sister and Miss Snypish had left together on an errand immediately after breakfast, and Aunt Prudence and Rupert had closeted themselves in another part of the house all morning with strict orders that they not be disturbed on any pretext. That was an order which Lucy felt most inclined to obey. She had seen no sign of Lady Sybil since their conference on the previous afternoon. At that time, they had both determined to gather as much information as they might by whatever means at their disposal in order to form some sort of plan.
Lucy’s familiarity with her own genealogy was limited to such remote history as constituted interesting tales and legends, and she now attempted to discover more practical information. She had hoped to make an investigation into the various branches of the family which might currently survive in hopes of determining the sort of relationship (if any) to which Aunt Prudence might hold claim. Surprisingly, however, she could find no copy of the family chronicles in the library. Moreover, one page of records in the family bible appeared to have been neatly removed.
“Blast it!” she muttered, then quickly clapped her hands over her mouth. She really would have to watch her language. Selinda, she knew, would have been sorry to have heard such an oath from her little sister’s lips, and her guardians would have used the blunder as an excuse for one of their odious punishments. With a concerted effort of will, Lucy suppressed her vexation and, perching in the morning room’s sunny windowseat, turned her energies to listing the facts as she knew them:
1) Mama and Papa never made mention of any relations (note: may not have been on visiting terms with Rupert and Aunt P. Understandable.).
2) Rupert and Aunt P. did not claim ties until after advertisement had been posted (note: if
not on visiting terms, might not have been aware until then).
3) Rupert and Aunt P. made difficulties about arrangements in London (note: they are of the sort to make difficulties, regardless).
4) Pinch-penny ways—may be tunneling funds to their own coffers.
Lucy set down her pen and frowned. All she had were her suspicions. It was true that Aunt Prudence and Rupert were unspeakably vile, but that, in and of itself, was not evidence of wrongdoing. It was further clear that Rupert had plans to gain access to their entire fortune by any means, however contemptible, but even Lucy, for all her youth, knew that his was not an uncommon scheme. In addition to this frustrating line of reasoning, her glimpses of second sight, while more frequent, were proving more annoying than helpful. Tantalizing clues and vague images wove themselves about her waking and sleeping hours. The air fairly buzzed with plotting and planning, but she found it impossible to sort through the tangled web. Nevertheless, she sighed resignedly, pressed her fingers to her temples, and tried to concentrate.
Lady Sybil, on the other hand, was finding few impediments to her investigations that morning. She had watched with amusement as Rupert shut the doors to the red saloon, bolted them securely, pushed a settee against them for good measure, and, finally, pulled the curtains shut. These precautions notwithstanding, the pair had drawn their chairs within a hairsbreadth of each other and spoke in such confidential whispers that the ghost was forced to perch invisibly on Rupert’s generous lap in order to hear their conversation.
“Do stop twitching, Rupert,” his mother admonished. “You are setting my nerves all ajangle.”
“I cannot help it, Mater,” he told her in hollow tones. “I have the most shivery feeling. Like a goose walked over my grave.”
His mother looked at him narrowly. His manner had been very odd lately. “Well, my own,” she told him, “this shan’t take long. Then you must rest again. I only hope you have not taken the ague. There are a number of things we must speak of, however, and time grows short.”
“What a good thing it was that the Snipe was so easily got rid of this morning,” Rupert began. “That viper knows too much already.”
“Trust me, my own,” his mother returned with a sage nod, “her usefulness to us is limited and quickly drawing to a close. Believe me, she shall not get more than the scraps she deserves. The same goes for that insect Basham. Now mark me, Rupert: another week and we shall have completed the sale of Darrowdean. We have already built up quite a considerable fortune, you know, by merely selling off oddments here and there. Soon, we shall be able to make off with a fine nest egg, with or without the remainder of the chit’s fortune. I have given the matter some considerable thought of late, and I am not at all convinced that she is quite the thing for you, my sweeting.”
At this, Rupert’s eyes narrowed to angry slits in his corpulent face. “I do not mean to discuss this item, Mater,” he spat. “I have taken a fancy for her and I shall have her, one way or another.”
“At least,” his mother allowed, “you have the sense to see that there is more than one way of having her at your disposal.”
Refusing to be satisfied with this odious insinuation, Rupert continued in a frosty tone, “I will not brook interference, Mater. I shall have her as my wife in our own establishment. It is bad enough one such as I must worry about rivals but to endure your fiddling about is not to be borne. That wretched ball was certainly a nodcock idea. I did not at all relish the attentions I witnessed being paid to her, especially by that odious Lord Waverly. I thought you promised only dotards and rakes would take notice of her.”
“But, my sugar plum,” his mother protested, shocked at such rebellion from her darling, “you know that giving the girl her season provided us an opportunity to conduct our sale of Darrowdean without interference, and the ball gave us a way of ruining her chances of taking. I was at great pains to see that the worst debauchees and eccentrics in society—and mind you, his Lordship is accounted one of the latter—were present in great numbers, as well as a number of nobodies and upstarts. It was an ill-assorted group, and you will remark there have been but few cards and no callers at all. She could not possibly have taken. Regardless what plans you may have in mind for the little baggage, I doubt that any shall take notice of her situation or lift a finger if they do. I have made sure that she is quite, quite friendless.”
“Do let us hope so. Trust me, I am not about to countenance meddling from anyone in this affair. And, should we be discovered, I have no intention of assuming any blame. Gaol may be old home to you, Mater,” he sneered unkindly, “but I do not fancy changing my residence in that manner.”
“Have a care, Rupert! You know well enough I have forbid you to speak of such things,” his mother hissed viciously, for once abandoning the honeyed terms in which she usually addressed her son. She looked at him with an appraising squint before continuing coldly, “I would not be so high in the instep if I were you. You are no more a clergyman than I am a gentlewoman. It would not be at all wise were you to forget the necessity of my goodwill. And as for prison, do not forget that you missed being born in that hole by mere days. There is some good fortune in all things and you will recall that my first acquaintance with our Mr. Basham, Shambeigh as he was called in those days, took place within those same prison walls. I have done enough suffering for both of us, but mean to profit by it now. If you but heed me in all things, there should be no reason for this plan to fail.”
During this lecture, Rupert took pains to assume the look (if not the spirit) of chastened repentance for his ill-judged remarks. He had witnessed the results of his mother’s cold anger before this, but never had it been directed at him until now. It was not a pleasant experience. When his mother had finished speaking, he cocked his head at her and pasted a winning smile on his pudgy face, a maneuver which, in the past, had never failed to win her forgiveness. She stared back at him now, however, with a steely expression. Chilled, he went on in a placatory tone, “How fortunate it was that you had the wit to see past that rogue Basham’s wig and paint. When you called to him using his true name, I vow I thought he would swallow his tongue, he started so. The very idea of a convicted forger passing as a respected solicitor! It makes me laugh! Do you think we can rely on him, though?”
“He can risk exposure even less than we. After all,” she smiled smugly, “it was he who suggested and promoted this scheme, albeit to save himself from the blackmail I hinted at. I think he has no choice but to honor our compact. Now to business, Rupert. You and I must take ourselves to the country in two day’s time to settle matters at Darrowdean. Snypish shall have orders that the chits are not to stir a foot outside.”
“And why doesn’t Selinda come with us? I am not easy leaving her here.”
Rupert’s mother regarded him with an icy glint.
“All right, then, it will be but a few days, I suppose. But what shall we do about visitors?” he asked agitatedly. “I do not want them having any visitors.”
“There is but little fear of that; however, I shall have it put about that we are all under quarantine here. Snypish, you must own, looks admirably like a charnel house attendant for all her superior airs.”
“Have you thought how we shall be rid of that one? I wager the Snipe’s as tenacious as a pit bull when it comes to money matters. Gads,” he shuddered in sudden recollection, “I had the most beastly dream about her last night! I am sure it was a sign of some sort, but I wonder what it can mean?” Here Lady Sybil smiled to herself. It had just been a practice run, sending that dream, but she was gratified to hear she had not lost her old touch.
“Never fear, Rupert,” his mother assured him. “There shall be no trouble from that quarter. When my arrangements have been made final, I shall tell you all. But mark me: when we return from Darrowdean, you must be prepared to depart again at a moment’s notice.”
Rupert did not in the least relish his mother’s sudden secrecy anymore than her hints that Selinda was not to be h
is in more than a cursory way. She had been used to sharing all of her schemes with him till lately. Why, she was as cagey as a cat. It was an excessively good thing, he decided, that he had already begun planning his own alternate arrangements.
* * * *
After the frustration of her fruitless morning’s endeavor, Lucy was gratified to recognize at last the airy form of Lady Sybil taking shape before her. As the ghost’s features clarified, Lucy was intrigued to see thereon a look of decided perplexity.
“Well, Lucy,” Lady Sybil sighed, “I am afraid you and your sister have landed yourselves quite in the middle of a nest of vipers and no mistake! I never saw the like for corruption and iniquity! And not only are these creatures the veriest frauds as you so rightly suspected, but it would also appear that they are making every attempt to dupe each other as wickedly as they are you! Honor among thieves, indeed!”
Lucy hugged herself, exulting inwardly at finding her instincts vindicated. There was really hardly anything, she decided, so nice as being right. Then, sobering abruptly as she remembered their predicament, she urged the ghost to explain herself.
“It is difficult to know where to begin,” Lady Sybil frowned with exasperation, “so much appears to have been misrepresented and the gaps in the story have by no means been filled in.”
“Then begin anywhere you like,” Lucy told her complacently, “and then we can attempt to piece it all together.”
By the time Lucy had unraveled Lady Sybil’s narrative, however, she was very nearly cross-eyed with confusion. “So,” the child said at length, knitting her brows, “Rupert is neither a clergyman nor our cousin. Aunt Prudence is not our aunt, and Mr. Basham is not Mr. Basham. I declare, I begin to wonder if I am who I think.”
“Well,” the ghost returned philosophically, “at least Miss Snypish appears to be who she claims, although her complicity in this wretched matter is not altogether plain. It is clear, however, that we shall have but little time to get matters into hand if we are ever to save Darrowdean. It will be difficult to retrieve once its sale has been finalized.”
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