by Joan Vincent
Disgust and satisfaction vied on Donatien’s face as the hackney drew away. He walked further down the street where a coach awaited him. Climbing in, he settled back against the comfortable squabs. “Have you obtained it?” he asked the dark mound in the corner of the opposite seat.
“Oui, mons—Missteer von Willmar.” The man lightly tapped the wooden box beside him. “From the West Indies.”
“I will send word when and where I want it. Feed it, but not enough to satisfy its hunger.”
“But I hate—”
“Have you stayed well-hidden?”
Gano shrank back into the darkness. “Oui. Aye.”
“If you damage my plans your death will be much longer in coming than was Letu’s.”
* * *
October 13th Friday
Darton opened the White Salon’s doors. “Mr. Leonard.”
The gentleman preened in the doorway. His double breasted cerulean coat had wide lapels, his shirt points towered past his chin. Fobs of coloured ribbons fell from an embroidered red waistcoat, which did little to mute the sunshine yellow breeches. These fitted so tightly that Elminda gaped.
Uncertain whether to be amused or offended, Sarah went to her brother and greeted him.
“What, not a word for my new garments? They are all the crack,” Michael preened and turned about.
Amabelle’s muffled snort displeased him. “As a country miss you have no idea of style,” he told her. “But I shall not be so rude. You look tolerably well this eve.”
“Tolerably well?” the young lady challenged.
“Mr. von Willmar,” Darton announced.
“Good eve, Lady Edgerton.” He gave a stiff bow to her and Amabelle. Then he kissed Elminda’s hand. “You look charming this evening.”
Irritated at the lack of a compliment Leonard stalked to the door. “You had best get your wraps, ladies.”
“But Gil—Mr. Crandall has not arrived,” Sarah protested.
“He can make his way. The crowds that protest the prices have been large and—”
“Good evening,” Crandall interrupted.
“We were just leaving,” Leonard told him.
“Go on. Sarah and I shall follow. Wait for us in the lobby,” the doctor told him.
When everyone had gone, Sarah chuckled. “You are quite wicked.”
“A time alone with those three ought to make even a poor country doctor’s company acceptable,” he answered.
“She is young and—”
“Far too accustomed to thinking of no one but herself,” Crandall finished. “No, do not puff her good points. There is no need.”
A short time later Amabelle fluttered her handkerchief at Sarah and Crandall as they made their way through the crowded lobby. “Stepmama. Stepmama, over here.”
Elminda hissed, “Your manners, Amabelle. One would think you had not attended an expensive seminary.”
“My goodness,” Sarah said when they joined them. “What a boisterous crowd. I was fearful we would never enter.”
“We could not have done so but for Mr. von Willmar,” Elminda purred. She exchanged a smile with that gentleman.
Leonard checked his watch. He led the way up the stairs. In the small box the ladies took the seats at the front and the gentlemen stood behind them.
Leaning forward Amabelle asked, “What do those signs they carry in the pit say?”
Leonard pointed to one. “Covent Garden Synagogue.”
“Goodness, they are fighting,” Elminda exclaimed. “Why are they shouting O.P.?”
“They want the ‘Old Prices,’” Michael explained.
“I had no idea the theatre would prove such an adventure,” Amabelle exclaimed.
“I pray it does not become too much of one,” Sarah murmured. “Michael, what shall we see tonight?”
“King Richard the Third with Kemble. The farce is The Farmer.”
“Oh, Richard Kemble,” said Elminda.
“It is Charles Kemble,” Leonard corrected her. “I hope we will be able to hear him over the pits clamour.”
“Stepmama, look.” Amabelle flitted her fan toward the other side of the theatre. “Is that not Lady Tretain and Leora? My goodness, that gentleman with them could be Mr. Tarr.”
Clutching her fan, Sarah gazed at the Earl and Countess Tretain. “The family resemblance is pronounced.” She prayed that her agitation did not show.
“Will the baron join them?” Amabelle wondered aloud.
“How close is your friendship with the earl?” Michael asked his sister. “Perhaps you could approach him about procuring me a better position.”
“I have met him only once,” Sarah said to quell his hopes. “The countess only called to thank me for a small kindness.”
“Your rheumatic cure?” guessed Crandall.
“Yes, it worked quite well for the dowager.”
“How did it happen that the Countess of Tretain heard of one of your potions?” Michael demanded.
Amabelle clutched her stepmother’s arm. “Stepmama, look. No, to the right and up a level. Hadleigh—Mr. Tarr that is, and the baron. See that vivid red gown and the brilliant green satin. Who are those ladies?”
“Hrummph,” Elminda snorted, her opera glasses trained on them. “I would not call either of those creatures ‘ladies.’ I pray they do not lean over even the slightest bit more.”
Immediately all parties in the box looked at the two gentlemen and their companions. As they did so the red-gowned woman brushed a lock from de la Croix’s forehead and the green one tapped Tarrant’s cheek.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Elminda.
Michael shushed her. “The play.”
Sarah dared another glance at Hadleigh. The woman he was with was young, beautiful, and very receptive to his attention. She watched the curtain open but saw nothing of the play.
* * *
“You have no respect whatsoever for ill omens,” André commented as he and Hadleigh made their way through the crowded corridor. “It is Friday the 13th after all. Why did you insist we bring the widows to the theatre when you knew Tretain would be here? And now we are to visit the Edgerton’s box? Shall I wish the doctor and Lady Edgerton happy?”
“No, you dolt.”
“I trust you realize we cannot have ingratiated ourselves with the Edgerton ladies.”
“I am only doing the polite,” Hadleigh snapped.
“Never let it be said that I kept anyone from that,” André jested. He bowed Hadleigh into the Edgerton box, but stepped back when Leora and the Tretains left it.
The earl’s eyes flashed his displeasure. “Good evening, de la Croix.”
Mischief sparkled in Leora’s eyes. “Who is that lady with you? The one with la robe très décolleté.”
“We shall speak of this another time,” Lady Juliane intervened. “I trust you and Hadleigh are enjoying the play.”
“What I have seen of it,” André said with an innocent air.
Juliane rapped his sleeve with her fan and bore off Leora.
Tretain hung back. “Tarrant looks a bit worn.”
André glanced through the open door at Hadleigh’s animated conversation with Amabelle and to the side, Sarah’s taut expressionless face. “He will continue to look anxious for some time,” he said and directed the earl’s attention to the countess.
“Tante Juliane, however, is radiant this eve.”
“She is as lovely as the first time I saw her,” Tretain said, then chuckled. “Well, perhaps not the first time.”
This stirred André’s memory of their time in that farmhouse those long years ago. His aunt and Tretain, unconscious strangers, had been placed abed.
“I am very glad Juliane decided to bring Leora to town. It is wonderful having her here.”
Knowing Tretain spoke of his wife, André smiled. It faded as a well-known roué bowed to his sister. “You had better steer Pensevy away from Leora,” he said, his voice sharp.
The earl went to do so
. Watching him, André caught sight of von Willmar strolling with Elminda Edgerton. The man leaned over, listened intently to whatever she said. One cannot account for the taste of either party there, he thought, then was distracted by a familiar voice. He executed a grand flourish to Lord and Lady Broyal.
“André, how good to see a friendly face in this crush,” Maddie said, her face alight with delight.
“And my pleasure to see such a beautiful one,” he returned and raised her hand to his lips. “Come, let me introduce you to a gallant lady.” André leaned toward Maddie and whispered, “It is she who saved Hadleigh’s life but no one is to know.”
Maddie nodded. She smiled warmly during the introduction to Lady Edgerton and her stepdaughter. When it was explained that they were visiting London for the first time she exclaimed, “Have you see the Tower of London? No? Excellent.”
At the puzzlement in Sarah’s eyes, she chuckled. “Quen—Broyal promised to take me tomorrow but now he cannot. Could we make a party of it? Perhaps André or Mr. Tarrant would grant us escort?”
“I shall be happy to oblige,” Hadleigh offered. “Amabelle will enjoy the crown jewels.”
Maddie smiled her thanks. “Your address, Lady Edgerton? Would eleven o’clock be too early? I am such a dunce about the correct time,” she confided.
“Eleven will suit,” Sarah assured her.
“I may bring some of my sisters, although I am not certain. Martin and Malcolm have been talking about taking them about. Oh, well, we shall see.” Broyal’s hand pressed against her back informed her it was time to go.
“It was so nice to meet you both. Until the morrow.”
Finding the doorway blocked by Elminda and von Willmar, Maddie halted. She met the Prussian’s gaze and a chill danced down her spine. At her husband’s nudge she walked on.
After all the guests had gone, Amabelle leaned toward her aunt. “Aunt Elminda, you will never guess. That was the Viscount and Viscountess Broyal. Lady Broyal invited Stepmama and me to go on a tour of the Tower tomorrow.” At her aunt’s frown the young woman paused, “I am sure you are welcome to come with us.”
“That is not necessary Amabelle. Mr. von Willmar takes me to Burlington House on the morrow,” Elminda said with a superior nod.
Amabelle glanced at the Prussian.
“I am certain the morrow will be very interesting.”
Chilled by the icy glitter in von Willmar’s eyes, Amabelle pulled her wrap more closely about her shoulders.
Chapter Eighteen
London October 14, 1809 Saturday
Eight-year-old Jessamine Vincouer peered raptly out of the window of the Broyal coach as it made for Charlotte Street. On the opposite seat Maddie smiled at her sister’s excitement.
Jessamine leapt up on the seat and knelt on the squab in the corner. “Look at the heap of barrels loaded on that wagon,” she exclaimed. “What keeps them from falling? Where are they being taken? What is in them?”
“One question at a time,” Maddie laughed.
A lurch careened Jessamine against the corner squab. She righted herself. “I wish it was just the two of us, Maddie.”
“Tomorrow we shall have a picnique in Hyde Park or perhaps St. James. Just you, your sisters, and I.”
“Smashing! I think that is the word Malcolm uses.”
“It is,” Maddie told her. “But you should not repeat Malcolm’s cant.”
The coach jerked to a halt and Jessamine began to slide.
She grabbed for the strap at the side, and rescued herself with a shout of laughter as another pillow skidded to the coach’s floor. Ignoring Maddie’s frown, Jessamine gave the squab a triumphant thump.
“Pick up the cushion that fell before you get out,” Maddie instructed, then accepted the footman’s hand.
Coming down the steps of No. 6, Hadleigh bid Lady Broyal a good morn. “I have been instructed to tell you that everyone is ready and they will be down in a moment.”
“Do not be foolish,” Maddie told him, “there is no rush.”
Inside the coach, Jessamine placed the cushion on the seat and reached to plump the other squab. A soft hiss froze her as she picked it up. Jessamine stared at the snake that slithered from beneath the squab. She screamed and flung the cushion at it.
Hearing the terrified scream, Tarrant and Lady Broyal both made for the coach’s open door. The viscountess, first to reach it, stepped back into Tarrant in an effort to get away from the snake that slithered out of the coach.
“Dear God,” Maddie said as it slithered away. She quickly clambered into the coach.
“I will try to catch it,” Hadleigh said, and ran around the coach. He scanned the rough cobbled surface but saw nothing. Scuffing through several piles of leaves proved fruitless. He hurried back to the coach.
“Stand away,” he ordered Darton who was at the coach’s door and climbed into it.
Maddie clutched her sister and stared wild-eyed at him. “Jessie has been bitten.” Hysteria edged her voice. “Did you see it? Was it an adder?”
“I do not know,” he admitted.
“Were you bitten?” Hadleigh asked the trembling little girl.
Jessamine, eyes wide with fear, looked from her sister to Tarrant. She nodded once.
“Where?”
She held out her hand.
“If it is an adder,” the viscountess gasped, “then—”
“Give her to me,” Hadleigh commanded. “Sarah will know what to do.”
“I must get her back to Margonaut House,” Maddie protested.
He forced a hand between Jessamine and the viscountess. “Best not to waste any time.”
Jessamine began to cry. “Am I going to die?”
“No,” Hadleigh assured her as he gathered her in his arms. “Darton, send for Lord Broyal,” he commanded. He ran into the house with Jessie.
“Sarah! Sarah, come at once.”
Amabelle came from the White Salon. “What on earth is the matter?” Then she saw Hadleigh and the little girl sobbing in his arms. “Stepmama, Stepmama!”
Sarah came out of her room down the hallway placing a last hatpin. Lowering her hand, she hurried forward. “What is it?”
Hadleigh bounded up the last step. “Jessamine has been bitten by a snake. An adder, I think. I could not find it.”
Maddie pounded up the stairs and careened around Tarrant. “Please,” she pleaded, wild with fear. “Help Jessie. I will do anything. Give you anything.”
“Amabelle, take Lady Broyal into the salon and give her some brandy,” Sarah ordered. “Hadleigh, bring the child to my bedchamber.” She threw open her bedroom door and hurried to pull back the counterpane. “Place her on the bed.”
“Jessie,” she said and gave her a shake. “Jessie.”
Drawing a shuddering breath, Jessamine looked at Sarah. She saw a calm face and tried to stifle her sobs.
“That’s a good girl,” Sarah soothed and began to unbutton the child’s pelisse. “Take deep slow breathes.” She drew off the coat.
“Hadleigh, give me your cravat and then have Cook bring me her sharpest knife and a bowl.” She accepted the neck cloth. “Go. Jessie and I will do fine. Will we not?”
At Jessamine’s nod Hadleigh hurried out just as Molly entered.
“Let us get you out of your gown, Jessie, and then you shall show me where the snake bit you,” Sarah said.
“Molly, please fetch me a basin of warm water, towels, and soap ... and my tincture of Echinacea.” She laid aside Jessie’s gown, pulled off the little girl’s shoes, and then laid her back against the pillow.
“Now, where were you bitten?”
Jessie pointed to her left wrist. “I picked up—the cushion—to plump it,” she sniffed. “I had been kneeling on it. There were so many—interesting things to see—and then I heard—a hiss. How could a snake—get into a coach?”
“I do not know,” Sarah answered. She turned the girl’s wrist to the light. The sight of two tiny punctures close to
the hand constricted her throat. Sarah wrapped Hadleigh’s cravat tightly around the girl’s upper arm and then placed a pillow under her wrist. “You must lie still. Tell me about your favourite treats.”
Jessamine tried to sit up when Molly entered carrying a knife. “What are you going to do?”
Gently pushing her down, Sarah explained what she planned to do. “Now,” she said, taking Jessamine’s hand, “I want you to close your eyes or turn your head.”
* * *
Heavy, hurried steps on the stairs outside of the White Salon turned Maddie toward the door. She blinked when it was thrown open. Before she drew another breath Broyal crushed her against his chest in a fierce embrace.
“Are you all right, Maddie?” The viscount demanded. “The message said—”
Absorbing warmth and strength, she whispered against his cravat, “It is Jessie.”
The viscount held her away, searched her features. His breath came out in a relieved whoosh and he again, with infinite care, gathered her to him.
“They said you were bitten by an adder. I was so frightened,” he whispered and gave light kisses between words.
“But Jessie was bitten.”
A cough made Quentin aware of the other occupants of the room. He asked Tarrant, “Where is she?”
“Sarah—Lady Edgerton, is tending the little girl. If anyone can save her, Sarah can,” Hadleigh assured him.
Stepping forward, Amabelle added, “I have sent for Mr. Crandall. He is quite the best doctor in Sussex.”
As if on cue, Crandall thundered up the stairs and strode into the room medical bag in hand. His eyes raked the room. “Who has been bitten?” he demanded. “Sarah?”
Hadleigh’s stomach clenched at the thought. “No, it is Lady Broyal’s young sister. Come, I shall take you to her.”
The viscount held Maddie back. “Wait here with me,” he told her. “You must remain calm.” Ignoring everyone, he kissed her. “You are certain you were not harmed?”