There was to be no chance for such an excursion that day, however, for Selinda was immediately pulled into Miss Snypish’s chamber (which, she noticed, was much more elegantly appointed than her own) and immediately imposed upon to arrange the companion’s lank tresses in a more becoming style. Selinda set about this demeaning occupation with little argument, for she knew that would achieve nothing. Indeed, the past six months had so accustomed her to performing tasks beneath her station that the impropriety of such an endeavor barely registered.
As Miss Snypish’s dull, limp locks slipped stubbornly through various combinations of combs and pins, Selinda frowned, trying desperately to think of some course of action that might be open to her. She and Lucy had often argued about the wisdom of seeking out Mr. Basham for a private conversation if such a thing could be arranged. Lucy had, for some reason, been dead set against it. Yet, Selinda knew that to seek out any other party would prove fruitless, for Basham had been named executor of the estate.
If only she might depend on Lucy’s cryptic comment about Lord Waverly! Selinda felt in her heart that he was the very sort of person from whom she might obtain good advice. There was something very odd about his marked attentions toward Miss Snypish, but perhaps she had judged him too quickly. Certainly that regard had served to deflect Miss Snypish’s waspish temper, and for that she was duly grateful. Her attention now returned to that creature whose appearance was not a bit improved by Selinda’s ministrations.
“I believe there is nothing for it but pomade,” Selinda remarked with a less-than-hopeful sigh.
With that, she was directed to the bundle of goods purchased the day before at Cosgrove’s and found there a jar of the stuff that smelled very much like axle grease mixed with violets and was of a similar consistency. It did the trick, however, and soon Miss Snypish’s hair was piled in an odd, inflexible arrangement just above her ears. Selinda pushed at it a bit longer, wondering if perhaps she hadn’t used too much of the stuff, but it would not budge.
“I would not have believed it possible,” Miss Snypish murmured.
Selinda bit her lip, wondering what new trial she must face, watching with morbid fascination as the coiffure set to dull opacity.
“Truly, Miss Snypish,” she began hesitantly, “I am sure with practice I might do better, but I have never before attempted such an endeavor ...”
“Then you are to be congratulated,” she was told, much to her surprise. “Who would have thought you would be possessed of a talent? Now you may leave me. I suspect we may have callers this afternoon, by the way, so prepare yourself for company.”
As she departed, Selinda could not help but dart a curious glance over her shoulder at Miss Snypish, who sat before her glass, rapt with self-admiration.
Chapter Fourteen
Lord Waverly and his cousin called once again at Harroweby House later that afternoon. The weather had cleared a little, and the two gentlemen stood on the stoop for some minutes in conversation before applying once again for admission.
“Now you are certain you have the drill straight, Bastion?”
“I am not such a nodcock that I cannot follow a simple line of reasoning. I only hope you are correct. Odious as I am certain it will be, I shall steel myself to doing the pretty with that Friday-faced companion. You’re certain there is no other way to Lady Selinda?”
“You’ve seen yourself how she’s watched,” Lord Waverly reminded him. “Trust me. Miss Snypish is the chink in the armor. I suppose it’s asking too much to expect you should be grateful that I interest myself in your affairs. You surely cannot imagine I find this sort of endeavor at all diverting.”
“Oh, nothing of the kind,” his cousin reassured him quickly. “It’s just that I had rather we approached it the other way around.”
“I thought I had explained my plan sufficiently. If your reputation were not rivaling Byron’s for profligacy, there would be no trouble with your approaching an innocent miss in her first season. But as it stands, any guardian would as soon cast their charge to a crocodile. You must therefore convince the companion of your honorable character before you begin to even hint at your intentions. She’s an odd touch, this Miss Snypish, but she’ll be a friend to your suit if you can ingratiate yourself.”
“I only hope you do not expect me to escort her any place I am likely to be known,” Bastion huffed. “I should never live it down!”
“I hardly think it likely we shall be visiting any of the hells you are known to frequent,” Waverly told him crushingly.
The marquess bit back the retort that rose to his lips. He was, after all, determined to give his cousin’s scheme a try, for the least of the benefits that might be derived from it was the winning of his wager with Slaverington. A hundred pounds, after all, was nothing to sneeze at to someone whose pockets were so constantly to let as his. However, if he played his cards right, he might well land himself in the middle of a plum pudding. For now he’d ignore the heiress and court the shrew, but before long, he promised himself, he would set about a scheme of his own— if only he could think of one.
At this moment, Waverly’s eye was caught by a flash of yellow in the boxwood that grew by the front door. On closer inspection, he was alarmed to find some seven or eight of Lucy’s asters scattered through the shrubbery. Clearly they had fallen from one of the windows above, for none was growing near. As soon as possible he must find out what had occasioned Lucy’s distress.
When at last the doorknocker was applied, both gentlemen were surprised to find themselves admitted by the butler and ushered into the presence of the ladies. The changes that had been wrought in Miss Snypish were nothing short of remarkable. Her new coiffure added not only some six inches to her height but a startling gleam now shone in her predatory eye. Moreover, Miss Motley, working with the promise of a considerable bonus, had been able to deliver one of the new gowns, a walking dress made up in the apple green cambric, abundantly trimmed with corbeau ribbons. Selinda, in a plain gray poplin, was happy enough to fade into the shadows.
“My dear Lord Waverly,” Miss Snypish gushed as she came forward to take his hand, “such a pleasant surprise. Lady Selinda and I are quite wasting away with ennui.”
At this uncharacteristic pronouncement, Selinda started in some amazement. Miss Snypish, feeling that her entree into polite society called for more than a surface polish, had been peeping into the pages of a stylish novel to discover another mode of address than that which she typically employed. She had only been able to find a very few phrases which might suit her purposes, but she was determined to employ them as often as possible.
“Miss Snypish, I must say you are looking quite a new person. My compliments.” Waverly bowed briefly over her hand before nodding to Selinda. “Now ladies, you must do me the honor of permitting me to make my cousin known to you.” As he made this presentation, Waverly was gratified to see that at least Miss Snypish’s altered looks stole the marquess’s attention from Lady Selinda. Indeed, his cousin seemed to regard the gaunt companion with the same hypnotic fascination as a doomed mouse displayed before a hooded cobra.
“Shall we drive out?” Waverly asked. “The weather seems to be holding for a bit. Even so, I imagine we shall have the park quite to ourselves.”
This last was to reassure his cousin for whom Waverly was beginning to have some sympathy. That Miss Snypish was certainly a repellant creature! True, Bastion richly deserved to make some sort of recompense for the years of trouble he had caused, but after all, it was not as if the fellow had ever committed a capital offense.
“We shall be delighted,” Miss Snypish answered for them all, and, commandeering Bastion’s arm, led the way to the waiting carriage.
The park was quite deserted, as Waverly had predicted, but even so, Bastion soon suggested that they alight from their conveyance and seek out a pathway. There, he hoped, they would be even less likely to draw attention to themselves. Before long, the two couples were strolling along well-maintained grav
el paths at some distance from each other.
The rainfall had hastened the falling of the autumn leaves and it now seemed to Selinda as if they were walking through a golden blizzard. She had always found autumn to be a melancholy time of year and was doubly affected by it today, so anxious was she about the well-being of her little sister. She had been trying all afternoon to reassure herself, but with little success. It was all she could do to maintain a tranquil demeanor.
Waverly had not been insensible to her distress. The sight of Lucy’s scattered asters had prompted an intense disquiet which Lady Selinda’s wan appearance did nothing to allay. Thus far she had said absolutely nothing, but her silent anguish spoke far more eloquently than any amount of tearful ravings might have done. What, he wondered anxiously, had transpired since his last visit with Lucy? He wondered if the child’s eavesdropping had been discovered and whether she had even been able to convey its import to her sister. He cursed himself as a wretched incompetent, for it was clear that something untoward had taken place in spite of his assumption that everything was under control.
He had already contacted his man of business and described the tangle in which Lady Selinda and her sister found themselves. Although Mr. Noon was often irritatingly efficient and painstaking, Waverly knew he had but to bring a difficulty to the man’s attention and all aspects of its resolution would be attended to. As he watched his cousin and Miss Snypish round a bend in the pathway, he drew Lady Selinda aside to a small copse. There, he laid his greatcoat over a damp stone bench where they sat quietly for a moment.
“Lord, Waverly, I...” Selinda began, then stopped short. She had, for a fraction of a second, considered drawing off her gloves and fluttering her eyelashes; there, she had often been assured by a series of governesses, lay the path to certain destruction, and she knew she must take some sort of action. However, even Selinda knew there was hardly time to bring about a seduction. The place was all wrong, too, she supposed, for it was not even moonlit. Even though images from last night’s shocking dream flitted through her head, she decided instead to rely on Lucy’s recommendation to trust his Lordship; the only difficulty was in forming the proper words.
“Yes, Lady Selinda?”
“It’s very odd, but my sister said I might...” Here she faltered again. However could she explain her peculiar reliance on the judgment of a mere child?
Waverly smiled encouragingly. “Lady Lucy is a great favorite of mine. You are fortunate to have her.”
Although these unlooked-for words went a good way to reassuring her, Selinda’s lower lip began to tremble. “I am afraid, Lord Waverly that I do not have her at all. Oh! It has been the most horrid day!”
Even though Selinda had neither removed her gloves nor fluttered her eyelashes, Lord Waverly was suddenly moved to take her into his arms and pat her back, whispering nothing more romantic than, “There, there, Lady Selinda. There, there.”
Selinda sighed raggedly and surrendered to the embrace. Even though it was nothing like her dream, it felt so good, after all her trials, to finally be comforted, to rest in strong arms, and to feel for a moment, however brief, that someone else might undertake to shoulder her burdens.
They continued in this fashion for some minutes until Selinda, sensible that such an arrangement would not at all meet with Miss Snypish’s approval should she and the marquess suddenly come upon them, reluctantly pulled herself from Waverly’s arms.
“Now tell me all, madam,” Waverly said, taking her small hands into his. “I spied Lucy’s distress signal when we arrived just now—would that I had seen it sooner!—so I know that something disagreeable must have happened. But trust me and we shall contrive somehow to make everything right.”
“Lucy’s distress signal?” she asked, greatly puzzled.
“She did not tell you? Has she told you anything of what went on yesterday?”
“Not a thing,” Selinda told him, her eyes wide.
“I suppose I am not surprised. She is a remarkable child, but I imagine she takes too much on herself. I am sure she felt that you already bore a sufficient burden without hearing further unsavory revelations.”
As Waverly went on to explain the import of his outing with Lucy, the whole horrid picture came into crystalline focus for Selinda. How could Lucy have kept this intelligence from her? Much of it Selinda had suspected, but the extent of her supposed relations’ corruption shocked her beyond words. The very idea than anyone should prey on orphans offended every sensibility. Like Lucy, however, her greatest distress was occasioned by the thought of losing her home, and she was exceedingly grateful to hear the measures Lord Waverly had already taken.
“Now,” he want on, “tell me what distressed Lucy into displaying her yellow asters.”
“Oh, sir, they have taken my Lucy away and I fear without the constraint of my presence she shall be cuffed about unmercifully, for the poor child does seem to put their backs up. I am a little heartened to learn they must have taken her to Darrowdean while they transact the sale, but now I am afraid they will be tempted to flee once that is done. Will they force her to go with them or abandon her along the way?”
Waverly sat in thought for a moment before speaking. “I fear there is nothing for it but to go to Darrowdean as quickly as possible. You wish to come along with me, don’t you?”
“Of course, but however shall I get away?”
“I shall leave you instructions in Lucy’s pouch tonight at midnight. Do you think you will be able to go out?”
“Miss Snypish retires quite early, and I don’t imagine the servants will stir themselves. I’m sure I can do it. What then?”
“Why we shall abduct Lucy, of course,” he smiled as he pressed her hand. “I’m sure she will think it great fun.”
Chapter Fifteen
As the Marquess of Bastion and Miss Snypish threaded the tree-lined lanes, the latter’s face all but glowed with excitement. The marquess was everything she had hoped he might be: titled (of course), handsome (to her way of thinking), and as malleable as potter’s clay. Nothing could be better! She had, at first, been by no means encouraged that so much of his conversation seemed to lead back to the subject of Lady Selinda Harroweby, but, if he were indeed the shy person his cousin Waverly had described, it stood to reason he would fall back on a subject he supposed to be neutral. For safety’s sake, however, Miss Snypish had fed him a Banbury tale about Lady Selinda, which had seemed to dampen his interest quickly enough. Indeed, the heart-rending tale of Lady Selinda’s failing health seemed to have set an expression of decided consternation on the marquess’s ordinarily bland face.
Anxious to further draw Bastion’s attention to her own charms instead. Miss Snypish went on to describe in no small detail her recent forays into the stock market, and she was gratified to see his interest immediately riveted at the mention of money. Her dealings had, in fact, been a source of secret pride to her. Because of her oddly situated employment (in which silent complicity paid a good deal more than mere competence ever had) she had, by her standards, a goodly amount of capital at her disposal.
As she described the workings of the market, the Marquess of Bastion had been instantly impressed with this undertaking’s resemblance to the games of chance which had both fascinated and frustrated him over the years. Could it be that faro and finance had something in common? Enthralled, he questioned her closely about the various subtleties of her investments.
“Why, it sounds exactly like something one might come across at Boodle’s or White’s,” Bastion murmured, awestruck at the notion. “And you say you actually profit from this endeavor?”
“Consistently,” Miss Snypish assured him with a proud nod, “for it really is more than gambling. You see, an investment is nothing more than a wager that the value of a commodity, for example, will increase. However, it is a good deal more like placing money on a horse, I should imagine, than wagering on a toss of the dice. That is ruled by chance alone, of course. With a horse, however, I d
aresay you must know something of its lineage and past performance. You have information which enables you to make an informed wager.”
Bastion allowed, with growing respect for the lady, that this was quite true.
“Well, it is just so on the ‘change,” she explained earnestly. “One knows a certain amount about the market, the tenor of the times, the past performance of the commodity. It’s all in the newspapers if one but looks. It’s quite simple, really. In fact,” she went on in a conspiratorial tone, “I have quite a nest egg saved up myself. I shall be glad to let you know of any investments I make.”
“I say!” he exclaimed with some feeling. “That’s very sporting of you, I must say, Miss Snypish. There’s some—most—who don’t give a fig how I get on. You truly are a remarkable woman!”
Miss Snypish all but blushed with pleasure at this first compliment of her adult life. Yes, she would snare this prize, she told herself with resolute conviction, or die trying.
When the fascinated pair at last rejoined Lord Waverly and Selinda, Miss Snypish wore a look of marked triumph. She had held high hopes for this meeting, but, when it came right down to it, she had not actually dreamed that engaging the marquess’s attention would prove to be so easy. Moreover, in a very brief time, she had been able to discover yet another interest she and that gentleman held in common. Immediately, she announced the plans for the following day.
“We shall all,” she informed the group in tones that forbade anything like dissension, “visit Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks on the morrow. That remarkable lady has just brought a new exhibition to town, Lord Bastion has told me, and I am most anxious to see it. I have heard,” she went on in a gleeful undertone, “that she uses actual human teeth! I cannot wait.”
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