Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057)

by Heath, Sandra

  Chris nodded. “Thank you, Digby. Will you send someone to report the matter to the necessary authorities, although I know they can do nothing.”

  “Yes, Sir Christopher.” The butler left the dining room again.

  Chris pulled a chair out at the table for her. “Well, you must be right, Mally. He chose your room to begin on—and that proved his undoing, eh?” He smiled at her.

  She settled herself, and took his hand quickly before he went to sit.

  “Chris, forgive my sending for you so dramatically and publicly like that. It was not at all the thing, was it?”

  “Under the circumstances, sweetheart, you were quite justified—and I would be hurt to think you would hesitate merely on the grounds of what looks correct. Besides, I seized the chance of flying to your side with a good deal of alacrity, I promise you.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Think no more of it.”

  “Do you think the authorities will find anything?”

  “No. If nothing was stolen then there will be nothing to turn up to offer a clue. Whoever it was came and went empty-handed. End of chapter, I fear.”

  End of chapter. Was it? Again the unbidden thought slid into her head. It had been no burglary, for the intruder had come directly to the bed. To her bed— As she took some crisp bacon from the silver dish on the table, she pondered the man in the square the night before. He had been little more than a silhouette. A silhouette in a box coat. Like some country man back in Breconshire and hardly like a Londoner— She stared at the bacon. That was it. He had looked like a country man. And a country man had been at the Swan with Two Necks asking about Maria.

  “Mally? I’d warrant a penny now would purchase some intriguing thoughts.”

  “Mm?”

  “Your thoughts.” Chris stirred his coffee, watching her.

  “Oh, I was just wondering what the fellow came here for, that’s all.” She sounded open and honest, she decided, even if she knew inside that she wasn’t being either. She wanted to tell him about Maria, but then she had promised her mother that Maria’s reputation would come before all.

  “Don’t let it worry you anymore, sweetheart. He’s gone and that’s the end of it. Now, let us change to a more pleasing topic. I have arranged a dinner party for a week tomorrow. A party for four.”

  “Four? You and myself, presumably, but who are the other two to be?”

  “Richard Vallender. And—Annabel.”

  “Oh. My, she was busy last evening, wasn’t she?”

  He smiled. “How sweet to see the stirrings of jealousy in you for a change, jealousy as ill-founded as my own. Before I left for Hartmore’s yesterday, Richard called. He was on his way to Benleigh Square and realized how close he was passing to me. I took the opportunity of nailing him to a set time and place for dinner with us. Annabel then seemed the obvious choice for a fourth.”

  “Obvious indeed.” Mally raised an eyebrow. “I trust you enjoyed yourself yesterday. From all the lights and so on one would have imagined at the very least a coming-out ball was in progress. You told me it was a dinner with her father.”

  “And so it was. I did notice the lights myself, though.” He grinned. “I don’t get a welcome like that when I come here.”

  “Damn her.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “And damn you too.”

  “How kind.” He sat back then. “Tell me, you have friends in Benleigh Square, don’t you? Sarah Chitterly?”

  “Yes. Sarah and her aunt live there. Number seven.”

  “I thought so.”

  She watched him curiously. “Why do you ask?”

  “Richard had paid off his chaise, knowing that he was so close to his destination. He asked me which way around to go to get to number three. I may be mistaken, but is that not the address of that German doctor who’s creating such a name for himself at the moment? Schiller? Schriller? Stiller? It begins with ‘S’ anyway.”

  “Yes. Sarah lives four houses away from him. I had tea with her one afternoon and we amused ourselves by counting the carriages calling there.”

  Chris poured himself another coffee. “I don’t somehow think Richard was calling socially. He seemed a little tense. Oh, nothing that anyone who didn’t know him well would notice, but then I knew him very well once and things like that remain with you.”

  “I hope you are wrong. Oh, you must be, for he looked in rude health to me the other day. Yesterday. Oh, was it really only yesterday? It seems more like last week. So much has happened.” Mally looked away. Yes, a lot had happened.

  “You’re right, he did look healthy. Oh, well, perhaps it was social. Tell me, how is your sister? I notice that she did not come with your mother.”

  She dropped her fork. “Maria?”

  “How many sisters have you?”

  “Oh, she is well enough. Visiting relatives, I believe.” Oh, how she hated lying to him, but somehow— He was Richard Vallender’s friend; and it could be that Richard might know something about Maria. What, Mally couldn’t imagine, but she just knew she wished to say nothing to Chris, both because she had promised her mother, and because she felt that it was the wisest thing to do for the moment.

  She stared across the room at the bobbing Michaelmas daisies in the garden. The man in the square— If he had been the same man who asked about Maria at the inn, what would he be watching this house for? Why, for Maria, of course. It was obvious. And what would he perhaps have thought when he saw a woman like Maria outlined in that window when Lucy had brought the lamp? He would think she was Maria, for at that distance there would be no telling the difference as there was a great likeness between the two Berrisford sisters. The daisies swayed as the breeze brought a shower of red and gold leaves down from the beech tree. There was a connection between Maria and Castell Melyn, and Mally decided there and then that she would foster any burgeoning friendship with Mr. Richard Vallender.

  Chris cleared his throat. “I believe, Mally, that we are about to be joined by your good lady mother. Listen.”

  They listened to the loud voice from the landing above. “Lucy? Lucy, where have you put it? I wish to know immediately. What? In where? Good heavens, you goose, it will be creased beyond redemption!”

  Mally groaned. “Do you know, Chris, if it had not been for Lucy all these years, I think both Maria and myself would have been long since incarcerated in Bedlam!”

  “How long is she staying here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps we should introduce her to old Hartmore. That would be a grand thing, eh? They could put an end to each other, he by boring her, and she by driving him to distraction!”

  Mally laughed. “I don’t think even Mother deserves the Earl.”

  “Maybe not. Nobody deserves him. How he managed to sire a beauty like Annabel I’ll never know. I often wonder if her late mother knew something she never divulged to anyone.”

  “Most likely. The Earl has brown eyes and so did Annabel’s mother. And so has every other Hartmore I can think of. And yet Annabel has green eyes. One does wonder, doesn’t one?”

  “Scandalmonger.”

  Chapter 9

  “There, Lucy, what do you think?” Mally twirled before the nurse.

  “Miss Mall, you’ll finish her completely.”

  “I hope so.” Mally smoothed the folds of blue mantua silk and the soft material shimmered in the firelight. But it was not triumphing over Annabel which was uppermost in her mind about tonight’s dinner party, it was meeting Richard Vallender again. Since her breakfast with Chris after the “burglary” she had become more and more convinced in her own mind that it had had something to do with Maria. Tonight she might be able to find out more about her sister’s friendship with the late Mr. York.

  Lucy smiled fondly. Blue was Mally’s best
color, and tonight she looked exquisite with her dark curls piled so expertly by the ruby pin so that they cascaded in ringlets at the back of her head. And the Italian silk clung to her body when she moved, outlining the curves to perfection. Then Lucy looked at Mally’s face. “But a little more rouge would make you look healthier.”

  “It would make me look feverish.”

  “Better than liverish. Besides, it’s in at the moment to wear rouge, even I know that.”

  “I know—but I’ve more than enough natural color.”

  “Maybe you do—normally. But you’ve had late nights in plenty and a few upsets, and you’re worrying about your sister. To say nothing of whether you are doing the right thing in marrying Sir Christopher. You look pale! Come on now, just let me brush a little Spanish wool on your cheeks.

  Mally gave in and allowed Lucy to color her cheeks. “Have you hung the chenille lace shawl?”

  “Of course, I don’t forget things like that. Be sure to wear it properly now, sweeting, for it’s warmer than your others and silk is not the most sensible of materials for this time of year.”

  “I’m wearing this gown because I know Chris likes me in it, and because Annabel knows he does too! Oh, God, she said she’d keep me on my toes and she was right. I only wish she were less beautiful and dazzling!”

  “Well, she’s got the height to carry everything off, has that one. And her hair is the brightest natural gold I’ve seen in years.” Lucy nodded approvingly. “And she knows well to wear different greens all the time. It’s her device.”

  “Don’t deflate me, Lucy, I beg of you.” Mally looked at her reflection again. “Perhaps I should have worn the white gauze—”

  “That pale blue is perfectly good, Miss Mall. Now then, I’ve put your white gloves and reticule on the dressing table. Shall you wear a necklace?”

  “I don’t know. No—” Mally smiled and took off her engagement ring. “I shall wear no jewels at all, except my ring over my glove. That will be something to rub Lady Annabel’s nose in the mud with!”

  “Sweeting, I don’t think you need to rub her nose in any more than you already have done.”

  “And I shall change the ruby pin for that green enameled butterfly Maria’s betrothed bought for me in Italy—it will catch the green in the ring. There. Now I feel I can take on the world and his wife—and any predatory titled lady!”

  She was pulling on the slender white kid gloves when Digby knocked upon the door. “Yes, Digby, what is it?”

  “Mr. Paulington is here, Madam. I have shown him secretly into the library and Mrs. Berrisford does not know he is here, as you directed.”

  Mally took a long breath. “Yes, thank you, Digby, I shall be in the library directly.”

  The butler closed the door again and Mally bit her lip. Lucy patted her shoulder. “Don’t let anything spoil your evening now, for dining out with Sir Christopher and his friend will do you good.”

  “That is easier said than done, isn’t it, Lucy? What if he’s discovered something dreadful?”

  ***

  “Good evening, Mr. Paulington. Have you discovered anything?”

  He scrambled to his feet hurriedly, for he had been lazing very comfortably in Daniel’s chair. “Oh, good evening, Mrs. St. Aubrey.”

  “Please sit down again, Mr. Paulington.”

  “Thank you. Thank you kindly. Well, Mrs. St. Aubrey, I have managed to discover something concerning your sister. She did indeed leave the mail at Cirencester and spent that night in a hostelry named the Castle. On the following morning she was called for by a gentleman driving a phaeton.”

  “She was called for?”

  “Yes, madam. And she was expecting him, whoever he was. I got a description of some sort from the innkeeper, but unfortunately the fellow was more interested in the phaeton than in the driver. Now then, yes, here it is. He was quite tall, lean, with dark hair—he thinks—reasonably well togged out but no Corinthian or beau. As I said, the innkeeper was more interested in the phaeton. Seems it belonged to one of his rivals, a posting house in Gloucester by the name of the Rose and Crown.”

  “A post phaeton? That is surely something new!”

  “Seems this Kennett of the Rose and Crown has done well with the phaeton, there’s many folk fancy themselves up on a high-flyer like that. It is a dark brown drag, well lacquered and polished, and it has red wheels, with a yellow crown device thing in the center of each lamp—the crown of the Rose and Crown. The rose is painted on the back and gets covered with mud with each puddle! Anyway, that was what I discovered. So, I took myself on the next stage to Gloucester and looked up this Mr. Kennett at the Rose and Crown. The phaeton was hired to go to Cirencester and then to Hereford. Kennett sent a boy to Hereford to pick it up two days later, as agreed. He was pleased with himself too, for some rector or other wanted to come to Gloucester and paid for the use of the phaeton, so I reckon that drag’s more than paid for itself three times over. So, Mrs. St. Aubrey, the trail led me back right to where it started. Hereford.”

  “Did you go there too? To wherever the phaeton was left?”

  “Yes, but there wasn’t much time to make inquiries, for the mail was about to leave and I didn’t want to have to hang around another day. The gentleman left the phaeton at the inn during the night. No one can remember it arriving—there was something of a junketing there that night, for the innkeeper had married again. Anyway it was there come the morning. No one saw the gentleman or the young lady. So that’s it, I’m afraid, the trail has run out. I tried, I offered various sums to various people, but they just did not know.”

  “And no one could give a better description of the gentleman other than that he was tall, dark, and not particularly fashionable?”

  “No, madam. When he hired the phaeton at Gloucester it was a wet day and the man wore his hat well down and a cloak which flapped around him like a live thing. Hid anything of notice about him fairly sure.” Mr. Paulington got to his feet. “To my mind, Mrs. St. Aubrey, it seems certain that your sister knew this man before she left Llanglyn and that the full intention was to run off with him. The fiddling around at London and so on was just to throw off any trail—they were not to know that I would be following them.” He sniffed proudly.

  “They still succeeded in the end, didn’t they?”

  “Eh? Well, yes, I suppose I must admit that. Though I could go back and try—” Then he shook his head. “No, it’d be more than any needle in any haystack you care to mention. There’s roads in and out of Hereford like nobody’s business, and the night’s long this time of year, they could have gone anywhere. I have to admit defeat, Mrs. St. Aubrey, much as it grieves me to say so.”

  Mally opened her reticule, where she had earlier placed a sum with which to pay him. “Thank you, Mr. Paulington.”

  “I only wish—”

  “Not to worry, no doubt in her own good time my sister will return to us. Thank you again, Mr. Paulington.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. St. Aubrey.”

  She heard the front doors close after him, and then she left the library and went into the drawing room.

  “Oh, there you are, Mother. How do I look?” She smiled brightly, much more brightly than she felt.

  Mrs. Berrisford put down the eternal crochet work. “Oh, most perfect, Marigold, most perfect. Sir Christopher will surely fall in love with you all over again.”

  Mally went to the table where Digby had earlier placed a decanter of Malmsey. She poured two glasses of it, more to give herself a moment to consider than because she wanted a drink. What should she tell her mother? Maria had eloped, and had given not one thought to the misery she caused her mother. And it would appear that the man came from somewhere reasonably close to Llanglyn, for why else would the trail end in Hereford? Perhaps he was already known to her mother— Anything was possible. But wh
o was the other man searching for Maria? The decanter rattled against the glasses, for her hand was shaking. Well, whatever it was all about, for the moment the main thing was to reassure her mother.

  “Mother, I have just been speaking with Mr. Paulington.”

  “Oh, dear. It’s not going to be bad news, is it? Oh, it is, I can see it in your eyes, you’ve something dreadful to impart!” The crochet slipped to the floor as Mrs. Berrisford’s hands flew to her mouth.

  “No, no, Mother, don’t immediately think the worst like that. Listen now.” Mally crouched beside her mother’s chair and put the glasses on the floor. “I think we have to accept that Maria has eloped. She was met by a gentleman at Cirencester and drove off in his phaeton with him.” Best let the trail end at Cirencester—

  “A gentleman?”

  “Yes. Not a leviathan of the haut ton, I fancy, but nonetheless a gentleman.”

  Mrs. Berrisford searched her face with hurt expression. “But why could she not have left word? Or sent word? Why leave me to worry so, especially when she knew I was already upset about poor, dear Agatha. I did not think she could be so cruel to her own mother.”

  “Oh, you know Maria. She just probably did not think—and she was upset herself, about Mr. York. After all he was her friend, you said so yourself.”

  “Yes, indeed I did. Mind you, I was convinced it was more than a mere friendship she had with him, convinced. It seems I was wrong. Oh, dear, I don’t know what to think anymore. You are sure she has eloped?”

  “What else can it be? She was met at the inn in Cirencester by a gentleman and went off with him. No one was forcing her.”

  “Oh, the disgrace. What am I to say to the Clevelys? I shall never be able to hold my head up again in Llanglyn, never!”

  “Of course you will.”

  “But Marigold, who was the other man asking about Maria then?” Mrs. Berrisford sat up suddenly as the thought struck her.