by Joan Smith
"Some demmed Whig like myself, you mean?" he asked, enjoying their discomfort.
"Precisely!" she shot back angrily.
Eskott looked at her, realizing there were some undercurrents here he had not fathomed. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me your theory in this regard?"
"It is not theory but a fact that my father's dispatch box was pilfered this afternoon. His letters were opened and perused, then clumsily resealed."
"I am dismayed to learn state secrets are left lying about the house unguarded. When and how did this occur?"
"It happened here sometime around the hour of your visit, Lord Eskott," she answered.
"That is a highly provocative statement, ma'am," he answered, his voice becoming tense with indignation. "There is at least an inference in there that I was the one to do the tampering."
"I don't know who else it might have been!"
"Do you not? I must say someone else occurs to me."
"We do not have other Whig callers, Eskott, and obviously this is not the work of one of our own," she answered hastily, knowing he referred to Henry.
"In fact you are accusing me of opening private and confidential correspondence directed to someone else?" he asked, his voice nearly inaudible with incredulous ire.
She tilted her chin an inch higher and glared, saying nothing. Eskott was suddenly on his feet, his glance slowly circling the room, finally settling on the three distraught lords, every one of whom wished to give Madeline a sound shaking. Her aunt said angrily, "Shut up, you foolish girl!"
"Am I to understand you gentlemen share the young lady's suspicions?" Eskott inquired, his tone haughty.
There was a general, hasty, unanimous disclamation of any such view. "Nothing of the sort!" Tilsit exclaimed.
"Certainly not my interpretation of events," Eldon averred, scowling at Madeline.
More to the point, Fordwich said to his daughter, "You will apologize at once for that impertinence, Madeline."
She regarded him, stunned into momentary silence by the angry reaction she had evoked. Her father did not often speak to her so harshly. When he did, she obeyed unhesitatingly. "I'm sorry," she said, but with neither feeling nor conviction. It was the automatic response to her father's command, and she looked at him even while she spoke the apology.
Then her glance went to Eskott. She had never seen such a face on him before. He was white-lipped with fury, the nostrils flared, the eyes two burning coals that bore through her, accusing, outraged, almost unbelieving.
She waited for what seemed an eternity, half fearing he would walk forward and strike her.
Finally he spoke, suppressing all the violence that wanted to pour out. "I accept your apology, ma'am. Pray excuse me now, gentlemen. Lady Margaret." With a slight ducking of the head toward her aunt, he strode swiftly from the room.
"I don't see what he is so angry about," Madeline said.
"You will go to your room at once," her father commanded.
Still frowning, she arose and left. Eskott was just having his coat put over his shoulders by the butler. She hastened her steps toward him. "Eskott, I..."
He stared at her. "Good evening. Lady Madeline," he said. Then he accepted his hat with a show of indifference, pushed it down on his head, and left, without another glance at her, though she stood waiting for him to say something more.
She went up to her room to reconsider the meeting. She was there five minutes later when her aunt came storming in. "I hope you're happy now! All we need is for your poor father to have to fight a duel, and him already sick with worry about the state of affairs."
"Fight a duel? What are you talking about?" Madeline asked, blinking. "You mean with Eskott?"
"You don't call a gentleman a deceiving scoundrel without paying for it, Madeline. If you had not apologized... Well at least you had that much common sense. This is all Henry Aldred's doings. I feel it in my bones."
"There would be no point in his having done it. Papa does not suspect him either."
"Maybe not, but he knows full well it was not Eskott, and so do you."
After a lengthy deliberation, Madeline convinced herself no one had opened her father's letters at all. She was sorry she had accused Eskott of it without thinking what she said, but only rising to his taunt that Henry was the culprit. He would be in a snit for weeks probably. No matter, she would bring him around her thumb, as she always did. She did not wish to lose his friendship. She would be especially nice to him the next time he called.
Before she retired, her father came up to read her a great, thundering scold for her impudence in speaking so rudely to a caller in his home.
"As though Eskott would do such a thing. We have known him any time these thirty years, and his family before him for eons. I was never so embarrassed in my life, to hear you make such a wicked display of yourself. We may count ourselves fortunate this did not end in the court of twelve paces. It is only my advanced age and Eskott's common decency that prevented it, and not that tight-lipped, insincere apology you were pleased to offer. We'll not see his face at St. James's Street again. I'll be ashamed to meet the man on the street. You will write him an apology, Madeline, and enclose it in a letter with mine."
"I have already apologized. There is no need for you to do it, Papa."
"You are my daughter. I must take the responsibility for your actions. I am grievously disappointed in you. Write the letter, and show it to me before you send it off. I don't know what excuse you may find to offer. I personally can think of nothing to account for your inexplicable behavior."
"You overlook the fact that someone opened your letters, Papa. If not Eskott, then who?"
"That remains to be discovered. It cannot be left hanging like this. I should think Eskott's speaking so openly of his knowledge in front of us must have told you he was innocent, if your trust in his character did not. It is a fine kettle of fish. And just when I had hoped..."
"What?" she asked, curious.
"Why to tell the truth, Meggie had led me to hope he might be in the way of offering for you again. He stops by often enough. It is high time you were settled into a home of your own. I won't live forever, and you need not expect my heir to open his doors to you. You never rubbed along with your Morash cousins."
"But Eskott is a Whig!"
"What of it? He is a gentleman, extremely eligible. I do not despise any man for sticking to his principles, even if they differ from my own. There is something to be said for Brougham's boys after all. They want to rush pell-mell into the future, instead of inching slowly forward, but that is because they are young—younger by and large than our party. They are the future. Changes must come. Even the most reactionary of us realize that. If I were younger... But I am not. I am too old to turn my jacket on my old friends now. And so are you getting on in years, milady. You are too old to be playing the flirt. Rid yourself of Aldred's company, and settle on someone respectable while you still have enough youth to nab yourself a good husband. Not Eskott, alas."
He sighed wearily, looking every one of his more than seventy years. Her heart went out to him. "I'm sorry, Papa," she said humbly.
"I should hope so," he answered gruffly, and left.
* * *
Chapter 15
A probable reason for Henry's having spied on Lord Fordwich soon came to light. A positive confirmation that he was indeed the culprit followed hard on its heels. He did not appear at St. James's Street on the following morning, but sent a stiff note informing his lordship that he had accepted the candidacy for a riding close to his own home, arranged for him by a friend of his father's. It was as a Whig he was running, or being appointed, for it was another of those rotten boroughs he mentioned. He expressed every civil gratitude for the kind attentions shown him by his cousins, et cetera.
"The turncoat!" Lady Margaret declared when her brother showed her the missive. "It is clear now why he was dragging his feet in accepting any position you found for him. It was h
is intention all the time to revert to his father's party. Using us, and causing a deal of mischief into the bargain. It must be Aldred who read your letters, and sent the word to his Whig conspirators, don't you think, Fordwich? That is how Eskott heard of it, but he did not realize the source."
"It begins to look that way. There are plenty of underhanded types in both parties who would not flinch at such a stunt. He was at Westminster for me yesterday. I'll make inquiries and try to discover if he was seen talking to any of them."
"You'll not go out with that cold. You're sneezing ten times an hour."
"I must. Send word to the stables to put in some heated bricks, and warm me a blanket there by the grate, Meggie, if you please. Where is Maddie?"
"Upstairs. Give me Aldred's letter. I'll be happy to show it to her. This will cure her."
"Cure her? You are not still prattling on that idea she has a tendre for Aldred!"
"You would have had him for a son-in-law before the year was out, if it were not for this letter."
She laid his blanket out by the grate, gave word regarding the hot bricks, and pranced upstairs, happy to be the bearer of such ill news for her niece, when its eventual outcome must be beneficial to the girl's welfare.
"I don't believe it!" was Madeline's first reaction. "He wouldn't do this to me. He couldn't..."
"No, and couldn't go snooping through your father's private correspondence either, I suppose? Well he has done it, and good riddance say I."
A letter was soon being slipped out the back door by the good graces of a footman. It was directed to the Albany, and requested in rather peremptory tones that Aldred present himself at St. James's Street at his soonest convenience to meet Lady Madeline. It was not the man but a letter that came an hour later, explaining that Mr. Aldred was no longer in the employ of Lord Fordwich, and any further meetings at St. James's Street were unlikely. Any further correspondence must be delayed, as he was leaving that same day for home, to meet with his new sponsor, Mr. Leadbeater. The name was not recognized by Madeline.
She had never heard it, did not know he was the uncle of Agnes Dannaher. In fact, she did not know even the girl by name. There was not a word of love, or explanation, or apology. "Naturally our former plans, vague and tenuous as they always were, will be ineligible now, as Lord Fordwich will dislike my suit, but my principles must take precedence. I know you will agree with me in this. Sincerely..."
The more she read, the more indignant she became, till at last she could hardly hold the sheet steady. Principles indeed! His only principle was self-advancement. Something or someone had convinced him he would get ahead sooner on the left side of the House. That was his great principle. No doubt there was an heiress in the picture somewhere. A rapid survey of her friends and acquaintances led her to Taffy Barker to ascertain this point, but she was too ashamed to send for him. She would ask him the next time they met socially. The likeliest place to meet him that week was at Lady Wethercote's rout party.
She was on the fidgets all day, unable to settle down, or even sit down. She paced about her room for an hour, then went belowstairs to pace the length of the Gold Saloon, reviewing the history of her association with Henry, and finding a fresh insult at every turn. She had taken a greenhorn from the country, got him properly outfitted and housed, introduced him to everyone, personally sponsored him into the ton, got him two or three good offers of employment, and this was her thanks. He turned and bolted on her the instant he got an offer he liked more. The offer was no better than the first one from Tilsit he had turned down either. Only an M.P. for a small borough. What was there in it that he should snap it up so fast? She had the liveliest suspicion that there was a girl, and a rich one, mixed up in the plot somewhere.
In the end, she decided to drive down to Bond Street just to get out of the house. Lady Margaret, who had promised Fordwich to keep an eye on the girl, went with her. They had done no more than alight from the carriage and walk a block before Taffy was spotted across the street, lounging on his malacca cane as he peered in a window display at a collection of snuff boxes. He was with another gentleman whom Madeline did not recognize. The speed with which Madeline flew across the street, without even looking to see if a carriage approached, set her aunt off on a series of clucking admonitions.
"Mr. Barker, I forbid you to buy another snuff box!" Madeline said playfully. "I know you have a round hundred of them. Are you setting up in competition with Lord Petersham?"
"Oh hallo, Lady Madeline, ma'am," Barker said, turning to speak to the ladies. He made his companion known to them, a Mr. Barker also, a cousin from the country. After a few complaints about the cold weather, the more interesting topic of Mr. Aldred was brought up by Barker. "Daresay you was pretty surprised to hear of Henry's marriage," were the first words spoken on this subject.
"Marriage!" she exclaimed, in accents that revealed all her astonishment.
"Why you cannot mean he didn't tell you! Dropped around to see me last evening. All set. He goes off to Manchester today. Merry as a grig. Well, he has been fond of Agnes forever, of course. Her old uncle Leadbeater gave him little hope, but the girl went into a steep decline, forcing her uncle to condone the match. Old Leadbeater is happy to have rescued him from the Tories into the bargain. It will be one more vote for the brewers. Agnes owns a brewery you must know. Rich as Devon cream. A good match for your cousin. You must not fret he is throwing himself away. Henry spoke of getting a special license. I was invited up to the do, but don't like to make the trip in the dead of winter. I'll pay my respects to the bride when they get back to London."
"When is that likely to be?" she asked, assuming a pose of polite curiosity.
"Not immediately. They're having the treacle moon in Scotland, to visit the girl's maternal relatives. Deuced bad time for travel. Don't know why they didn't wait till spring, but I expect Agnes would not be put off any longer. Afraid she'd lose him."
"To the Old Lady of St. James's Square," the cousin said with a laugh. "Some elderly female took a sharp interest in Aldred, was forcing her attentions on him. I think it was as much to escape her clutches as anything that Henry rushed the thing forward," the cousin said, all unaware that he was saying anything amiss.
It came with the force of a sharp blow to the heart. Madeline felt physically ill with mortification. Henry had been laughing about her to his friends, making fun of her behind her back, intimating that she was forcing her attentions on him. The awful chagrin on Taffy's face, the open-mouthed horror, told the story too well. He stared helplessly from his cousin to Madeline to Lady Margaret, trying to think of something innocent to say, to cover the devastating truth just uttered.
"Heh heh, a little joke you know," Taffy said, rifling his mind for any single aging female on St. James's Street that he might pretend the reference was to. "Didn't mean you, Lady Madeline," was his best effort at mitigating the insult.
"It must be me he referred to," Lady Margaret said with an ironic smile, while the cousin looked totally puzzled, unable to imagine what the dashing young female he spoke to could have to do with Aldred's "managing old female."
To cover the gaffe, Taffy rushed into other matters. "You will not be best pleased at his reverting to his old Whig stand, but the Aldreds have been of that stripe forever, you must know. His papa cut up something dreadful."
"To tell the truth, Mr. Aldred never pleased us overly much," Lady Margaret said, in her grande dame manner. "Shall we be running along, Madeline? The wind is so chilly here on the street. Good day Mr. Barker; and Mr. Barker," she said, nodding to the two cousins in turn, before getting a firm grip on her niece's elbow to pilot her into the shop that purveyed snuff boxes.
"You dough-head!" Taffy was heard to castigate his companion.
"But surely she can't be the Old Lady..." The damning voice petered out to silence as the door closed.
"I'll kill him!" Madeline said between clenched teeth as she looked out at their rapidly departing forms, b
ut of course it was Henry she meant.
"It would be a benefit to the world if someone would. Stay here. I'll see if the store has a boy we can send for our carriage. You'll want to go home to lick your wounds in private."
Madeline sat like a stone statue, silent, staring, during the drive home. Though she looked as if she might have frozen in the chilly winds, she was in fact a very active volcano inside. She was not high-minded enough that vengeance formed no part of her plans. She would dearly have loved to avenge herself on Henry Aldred, but her most wiley schemes were incapable of fulfillment. He was not here; would not be here for some time. He had jilted her; told the world he was doing it, then darted off and left her to face the taunting laughter. She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide for a decade.
"So what do you mean to do about it?" her aunt asked, when they had reached the comfort of their own saloon.
"What can I do? The coward has removed himself from my wrath. Till he comes to town with his bride, I can do nothing. And it is not her I wish to embarrass in any way. She'll have hell enough in her life, married to that scoundrel. There's nothing I can do but smile and pretend to like it."
"That's the spirit!" Lady Margaret said, relieved at this good sense. Indeed she was hard pressed to conceal her glee at the whole development. Any course that saw Madeline free of the young man was pleasing to her, and if a little embarrassment was thrown in—well, it wouldn't do her any harm to have her crest lowered an inch. "Just go about your business as before, and pretend you don't care two straws."
"I'll ask Eskott to take me to Lady Wethercotte's rout party this evening."
"That you won't, my girl," her aunt said swiftly and firmly. "You may count yourself lucky if he speaks to you in future, let alone takes you to routs and balls."
"I apologized twice—once orally, and once in writing. Eskott is not one to hold a grudge, Auntie. We quarrel more often than not, but he always comes back."
"Not this time. Don't ask him, Madeline. Don't lay yourself open to further humiliation. Listen to me this time. I was right about Aldred, and I am right about Eskott. We old ladies do know something."