Mistletoe Mischief

by Sandra Heath

  Rupert sat back. "Do you think I made Chloe just a little jealous last night?"

  Megan smiled again, ruefully this time. "I do not think she will ever be jealous of me, Lord Rupert, for she is beautiful and sought after, and I am neither. Besides, what lady is ever going to be jealous of a companion?"

  "Greville's mother was," Rupert murmured, then sat forward again. "Miss Mortimer, although you may not aspire to out-and-out beauty, you are nevertheless very attractive, and I think you most charming."

  "You are too kind, I fancy," she replied, and reached for a slice of toast from the silver rack.

  "Good morning, children," said Greville's voice suddenly, and they both turned with a start to see him standing in the doorway, from where he had heard all they'd said. He raised an eyebrow at their openmouthed silence. "Where are your manners? You are supposed to say good morning in return."

  "Good morning, Greville," Rupert replied guiltily, wishing he hadn't made the observation about the late Lady Seton.

  "Good morning, Sir Greville," Megan said, and quickly returned her gaze to her toast, but she watched as he went to examine the contents of the domed dishes on the sideboard. He wore a dark blue coat and cream breeches, both of which colors were repeated in the stripes of his waistcoat. His top boots were impeccably polished, a sapphire pin was fixed to the knot of his neck cloth, and some seals hung from his fob. From the thickness of his lashes and ideal proportion of his nose, to the steadiness of his gray eyes and the way his hair curled softly at the nape of his neck… She drew herself up in horror, for an unexpected warm sensation had begun to stir treacherously through her veins. This wouldn't do at all! He was too unpleasant to be admired! She buttered the toast so vigorously that it disintegrated, leaving her with little more than a plate of crumbs.

  Greville shook his head at Edward and helped himself from the sideboard dishes, then came to sit directly opposite Megan. "Well, Rupert," he declared, "I think you have damned poor Miss Mortimer with faint praise; indeed you were less than gallant. Charm she certainly has, but beauty also."

  Megan was astounded to hear a compliment from him.

  Rupert was dismayed. "I say, Miss Mortimer, I didn't mean any insult, indeed quite the opposite."

  "I saw no insult, Lord Rupert."

  Greville looked at her. "You seem taken aback that I should praise you, Miss Mortimer."

  "I confess I am, Sir Greville," she replied, deciding that honesty was the best policy.

  "Would you like me to revoke my words?" He smiled a little. It wasn't exactly a warm smile, but neither was it cold. Just somewhere in between. "Perhaps I will be able to convince you of my sincerity when I escort you to the ball tonight. I vow I will show you every attention."

  The ball! After the excitement of the night, she had quite forgotten it!

  "Now I appear to have put you at sixes and sevens again," Greville murmured.

  She blushed, and reached for another slice of toast, which she buttered with more care this time. Chloe was so impatient to commence the shopping expedition that she called for Megan at half past nine, which was rather earlier than agreed. Megan had been just about to write her secret letter, but had to abandon it to hurry upstairs for her new dark green cloak.

  A bright buttercup-yellow pelisse trimmed with white fur was Chloe's choice today, and it was very cheerful and sunny when the skies were so cloudy. Megan felt quite dull beside her as they walked down the Steine past the Marine Pavilion, outside which the German band was once again playing carols. A small crowd had gathered to listen, and a woman roasting chestnuts on a brazier was not short of business. With only five days to go till Christmas, the spirit of the season was almost tangible. Children's faces shone with excitement, and among the adults there was a liberal sprinkling of footmen carrying an assortment of presents from various fashionable emporiums.

  Megan and Chloe passed the Castle Inn on the corner into Castle Square, where Oliver's lodgings stood next to a silk warehouse. Megan saw the name Duchess Place above the fanlight of the door, and commented upon it.

  "Isn't that where Mr. March has rooms?"

  Chloe nodded. "Yes, and very tolerable they are too." She blushed then. "I-I only know what they are like because Papa visited Lord Palmerston there about five years ago. They are most comfortable and well appointed for two and a half guineas a week."

  "Mr. March is a very fortunate gentleman to have found favor with you," Megan said.

  "It is most kind of you to say so, Miss Mortimer."

  Megan wondered how far she could go. "It is the truth, Miss Holcroft. It is also the truth that Lord Rupert is heartbroken."

  Chloe halted. "Lord Rupert has only himself to blame."

  "Yes, he says that too."

  Chloe eyed her suspiciously. "Has he primed you to sing his praises?"

  "No, I primed myself," Megan replied honestly.

  Chloe's lips parted, then she went off into peals of laughter. "You are incorrigible, Miss Mortimer!"

  Megan smiled too, and pressed on now that she had started. "I know it is not my place to say so, Miss Holcroft, but I do not like Mr. March at all."

  Chloe searched her face. "Papa does not like him either, nor does Lady Evangeline; indeed, I think I am his only admirer, but then to me he has been all that is attentive and chivalrous."

  "Maybe, but Lord Rupert is in love with you, Miss Holcroft."

  "Is he?" Chloe recalled how Rupert had fussed around his aunt's companion the evening before.

  Megan read her thoughts. "Miss Holcroft, if his lordship paid attention to me last night, it was only to make you jealous."

  Chloe smiled sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose I know it really." She played with the strings of her reticule. "I'm afraid I find it very hard to forgive him for turning me down as he did. I sobbed for weeks on account of it, and I have no intention of letting him hurt me again."

  "He would never hurt you again," Megan replied.

  "Maybe. Anyway, it will not arise, because I intend to accept Mr. March."

  Megan gazed at her in dismay. "He has asked for your hand?"

  Chloe gave her a slightly wicked look. "Not yet, but he is on the point of it."

  "Miss Holcroft, do you feel the same way toward Mr. March that you did toward Lord Rupert?"

  Chloe lowered her eyes, and didn't reply.

  Megan feared she had gone too far. "I-I should not say any of this, Miss Holcroft, for it isn't right that a companion should presume."

  "Oh, but I like talking to you, Miss Mortimer," Chloe said, putting a reassuring hand over hers. "Besides, it gives me the excuse to quiz you."

  "Me? What about?" Megan was startled.

  "Why, Sir Greville of course."

  Megan drew back. "But he and I are barely acquainted."

  "That is not how it seemed to me at Donaldson's yesterday," Chloe replied. "I saw how tenderly he took your hand and drew it over his arm. I could scarce believe my eyes, for you are a companion, and I know how he has always felt about-" She broke off in embarrassment. "Forgive me, I-I didn't mean to offend you…"

  "I am not offended, Miss Holcroft, for he has left me in no doubt as to his opinion on that score. Please believe me when I say that at the library yesterday, his sole purpose was to deter Lady Garsington," Megan pointed out.

  "On account of Sybil?"

  "Yes."

  "And that is all?"

  "Of course." But Megan flushed as she remembered her reaction to him at breakfast.

  "How becomingly pink you have gone, to be sure," Chloe observed dryly.

  "Only because I am dismayed at what you think."

  Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Well, I stand firm, for I know there is something going on, and that it is very much to do with you. To begin with, you appear to be the reason why Lady Evangeline curtailed her stay in Bath to return here, and for a companion you are really clothed rather well, don't you agree? Please do not misunderstand, for I do not mean to be rude in any way, I am just making the obs
ervation. And now Sir Greville and Lord Rupert have arrived as well, and the former not only singled you out most particularly yesterday, but is to partner you tonight at the ball. If they attend such an occasion at all, companions usually sit meekly on the sidelines, they are certainly not escorted by one of England's most eligible gentlemen. I smell a mystery of some kind, Miss Mortimer, and I am not easily put off a scent."

  "There is no mystery," Megan said, but she couldn't help recalling the odd interview in the Wells lodging house, when Evangeline had asked her some very strange questions. And since then there was no denying that this particular new employee had been treated very generously and considerately indeed. First the blue chamber, then joining the family for meals, then the clothes from Mrs. Fiske's, and now tonight's Christmas bal masque at the Old Ship. Chloe was right, there had to be a mystery of some kind. But what could it be? What possible reason could Lady Evangeline Radcliffe have for seeking her out?

  Chapter 20

  Chloe smiled at the various expressions crossing Megan's face. "I would give a penny for your thoughts right now, Miss Mortimer."

  "They are not worth a penny," Megan replied. "Miss Holcroft, I am only Lady Evangeline's companion, I swear it."

  "If you say so, if you say so," Chloe murmured dryly. "Anyway, enough of this, for we have shops to visit."

  To Megan's relief the subject was dropped, and they embarked upon a very agreeable hour of browsing through the narrow alleys of shops in the old quarter. After that they spent another hour at a rather exclusive haberdashery in Ship Street, where they chose masks and hair ornaments for the ball. Chloe's purchases were lavish, of course: a silver-sequined mask, and for her hair a French star ornament adorned with bright blue rhinestones to match her evening gown. Megan settled for a small black velvet mask and a plain mother-of-pearl comb.

  It was almost midday as they walked down Ship Street, near the end of which stood the Old Ship. The hotel was one of the two most important establishments in the town, the other being the Castle Inn, and it boasted sixty-eight bedrooms, although only eight looked toward the sea because a southern frontage had just been acquired in the past few years. It was to the splendid assembly rooms at the northern end of the building that Megan and Chloe repaired, intending to see what preparations were in hand for the ball.

  Two liveried footmen guarded the main door, but opened them immediately when one of them recognized Chloe. Inside everything was wonderfully decorated with greenery, ribbons, and flowers, and the many chandeliers looked as if they had been freshly cleaned for the occasion. As well as the chandeliers, there were wall sconces containing slender scarlet candles and floor-standing candelabra, which together with the chandeliers would make the rooms dazzling come nightfall. Crystal droplets chinked daintily in the draft from the street as the door was closed again, and then there was the seasonal scent of cinnamon and other spices from potpourri bowls in hearths where coal fires glowed.

  The crimson-and-gold ballroom was ninety feet long, with a coved ceiling, a balcony for spectators, and a musicians' gallery with a delicate iron railing. Footmen were sanding the floor, upon which lay paper templates of holly, mistletoe, and ivy, and some maids were making a mistletoe bough that was three times the size of the one at Radcliffe House. A consignment of hothouse ferns, considered de rigueur for all balls, Christmas or not, had just been delivered from a market garden outside the town. By the evening they would have been arranged around the blocks of ice on stands, which would be necessary to cool the hot air due to all the people, candles, and fires. In the musicians' gallery the orchestra was rehearsing a Mozart minuet, which died away as the first violinist rattled his bow crossly against his music stand and complained about the cellists.

  As Megan and Chloe watched from the ballroom entrance, Chloe noticed someone she knew in the adjacent supper room, and excused herself from Megan for a few moments. No sooner had she gone than a cold draft signified the opening of the door from Ship Street. Megan turned and saw Oliver coming toward her.

  His clothes were as much the tippy as ever, but there was a large graze on his forehead caused by the falling ladder. After glancing into the supper room, where Chloe was chattering with her acquaintance, he confronted Megan.

  "I thought you and Miss Holcroft would never part, coz," he said softly.

  "You have been following us?"

  "A shabby trick, but one which has now paid dividends," he replied coolly, his eyes sliding once more toward Chloe. However, she was deeply engrossed in conversation and had no idea he was there.

  "A shabby trick by a shabby person," Megan responded with mettle, for she was prepared for him.

  "We have some unfinished business, my dear."

  "No, we do not, sir," she replied.

  Oliver held her eyes. "On the contrary, coz, for we were engaged upon negotiations last night when we were rudely interrupted. By the way, who was your rescuer?" This last was added lightly, but was clearly of intense concern to him.

  "No one you know," she answered.

  "I'm not to be trifled with, madam! Who was it?"

  "All I will say is that if you threaten me again, he will come to my assistance, and next time he will not be so gentle with you. As to your financial offer, I have to decline because I wish to stay with Lady Evangeline. And please do not suspect me of attempting to extract more money from you, because that is not the case."

  Cold fury darkened his visage. "I'll make you very sorry for this," he breathed.

  "I think not. You see, I have written a letter and lodged it in a safe place, to be opened if anything should befall me." That wasn't quite true, of course, but it was as near as made no difference.

  "You have more pluck than I expected, coz," he murmured thoughtfully, his voice almost drowned as the orchestra resumed the minuet.

  "I fear that you have lived down to my expectations," she replied.

  "Does this mean that you intend to regale Miss Holcroft with my past actions? Perhaps you already have?" He saw in her eyes that as yet she hadn't, and he smiled. "Your letter will not protect you from my revenge, my dear, for there will be nothing to connect me with anything that might happen to you. Hold your tongue to Miss Holcroft, or take the consequences."

  Megan had no opportunity to respond because Chloe suddenly saw them talking and hurried out of the supper room. "Why, Oliver, what a pleasure this is!" she cried, her lovely face alight with a smile, but then she saw the dressing on his forehead. "Oh, goodness, how dreadful! Whatever happened?"

  "I, er, walked into a cupboard," he replied, taking her hand and raising it palm uppermost to his lips.

  Her fingers closed solicitously over his. "I do hope it isn't too painful?"

  "I am assured it will soon be well again." He gazed into her magnificent blue eyes. "It is most fortunate that I have happened upon you like this, for I have just acquired that new team of roans I mentioned yesterday, and am about to go for a drive along the East Cliff. Would you care to join me?"

  "Oh, yes!" Chloe replied eagerly. "Miss Mortimer and I would love to!"

  Oliver's smile froze for a fleeting moment, but then he was all smooth apologies. "I, er, fear that cannot be so, Chloe, for the curricle will only seat two in comfort. Three might be a little dangerous."

  "Oh, yes, I wasn't thinking." Chloe's face fell, and she looked imploringly at Megan, who knew what was expected of her.

  "Please go for the drive, Miss Holcroft. I am more than happy to return to Radcliffe House on my own."

  Chloe hesitated, well aware that she was in the wrong, but unable to resist the curricle. "If you're sure you will not mind, Miss Mortimer?"

  Megan smiled. "Of course I don't," she fibbed, for she minded very much, not on her own account, but on Rupert's. If she could have thought of a way to tweak Chloe's conscience right then, she wouldn't have hesitated to do it.

  "I am in your debt, Miss Mortimer," Chloe declared, then linked Oliver's arm to walk out to Ship Street.

  Megan watc
hed the stylish curricle leap swiftly away toward the corner, beyond which the sea was gray and choppy beneath the cloudy sky. She heard Chloe's laughter, half exhilarated, half frightened by the recklessness with which Oliver urged the new horses, then they turned the corner and were gone. With a sigh Megan followed them to the bottom of the street, then crossed the uneven track that ran atop the low cliffs of this part of the town. To the west the track ran between the town and the shore, and at first it did the same to the east, but then one of the town's defensive batteries blocked its way, forcing it to swing inland toward the Steine. Now a road, it passed between the Star and Garter Inn and Mahomed's Baths, which actually jutted above the beach.

  It was low tide, and wheeled bathing machines stood where the mounds of pebbles by the cliffs gave way to gleaming sand. Fishing boats had been hauled above the high water line by capstans beside Mahomed's Baths, and nets and lobster pots were strewn all around. The air was sharp with the smell of salt water, seaweed, and fresh-caught fish, and a flock of seagulls screamed and dove around a solitary boat that was coming ashore.

  Megan walked down some rough stone steps to the pebbles. There was no one using the bathing machines, which was hardly surprising in December, nor did there seem to be anyone around the beached fishing boats, which had cheerful paintwork and lighthearted names. She smiled as she read them. Martha Mary, Letitia Anne, Salty Sylvia, Philip pa's Fancy, Belle Bevington… She looked again at the last one. Belle Bevington? Now, where had she recently seen that name before?

  A burly fisherman suddenly straightened from the depths of the boat, where he had been applying some tar, and on seeing Megan, he touched his hat respectfully. "Good day to you, miss."

  "Good day." Megan stepped a little closer. "Why have you called your boat the Belle Bevington? Is it a family name?"

  "Oh, no. It was a notion of my late brother's, God rest his soul. He saw the name on a brass memorial up at St. Nicholas's and decided it would be just dandy for the boat he was abuilding." Of course! The memorial was set into the floor directly in front of Lady Seton's fine marble tomb.