All Smiles

by Stella Cameron

“Of course you may,” Etranger said. “We’ll continue our discussion tomorrow. Meanwhile I’m grateful you’ll be able to take care of that other matter.”

  Hunter no longer wore his costume. Meg studied him and noted he showed agitation. “Is there a problem?” she asked him.

  “Well—no.”

  “You’re a good man, Lloyd,” Jean-Marc said. He didn’t take his eyes from Meg’s face. “Time enough in the morning, hmm?”

  Hunter made a noise that could be taken for agreement.

  Faintness overcame Meg. Her skin turned cold. She wiped her brow and felt perspiration.

  “You’re ill,” Jean-Marc said and dropped to one knee beside her. “Meg, look at me. Dash this gloomy room. Look at me.”

  Her head felt too heavy to support, but she did as he asked. “I have had an unpleasant experience,” she told him. “You will insist on the truth so I might as well give it to you at once. I haven’t strength left to pretend. Hunter, promise you won’t say anything to Sibyl?”

  He stood close to Jean-Marc and bent over her. “I promise, I promise,” he said. “What has happened to you?”

  “I was attacked.” She allowed a moment for her announcement to make its impact. “I was on my way to help the Princess. Then I saw a man I thought was you, My Lord, coming from her sitting room. You—he held Halibut. I was afraid you were taking him away so I followed to a room in the old servants’ quarters. The man—I have no idea who he was—turned on me. He hit me.”

  “Good God,” Jean-Marc muttered. “Let me see you more closely.”

  She raised her face. “I was more shocked than hurt,” she said.

  “You are bruised. See, Lloyd, the brute has bruised her.”

  “He lifted me onto a table and made me dance. He used a lighted taper to make me dance.”

  Absolute silence followed.

  Hunter found one of her hands and chafed it.

  “I cannot believe this,” Jean-Marc said. He touched the side of her face, and she felt the bruising then. “Did he burn you?”

  “Yes.” To try to make the truth less amazing wouldn’t help. “My ankles and the sides of my feet.”

  “Hell’s teeth, burned.” Jean-Marc said. “Yet you are here looking for a cat? What else…Did he do anything else to you?”

  “He—” Meg bowed her head “—he wore a headdress and it was draped across his face. I don’t know who he was. But…he did not sound English.”

  “Meg?” Jean-Marc stroked her jaw repeatedly with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t ask you what he wore, or how he sounded—although both are of interest. I asked if he did anything else to you.”

  “He kissed me,” she whispered, and shuddered. “And he took certain other liberties. But he held the lighted taper and, well, it impeded him.”

  Hunter’s grip on her hand tightened.

  “You must rest,” Jean-Marc told her. Even by what little light there was, she could see that he was a man enraged. “And I must discover the criminal in my own home. Your assistance is invaluable, Lloyd. I’m sure Meg doesn’t need to be concerned about her sister’s welfare, but I know you will take care of that anyway.”

  “Indeed I will. I’ll return to Number Seven at once.”

  “Thank you. Tomorrow I shall remove my household to Windsor, but first I will speak with you.”

  “As you wish,” Hunter said.

  Jean-Marc had already turned his full attention to Meg. “We shall awaken Verbeux and have him check the burns. If you’ll excuse us, Lloyd?” He picked her up and carried her from the ballroom. Frequently looking into her face, he set off for Verbeux’s quarters.

  Hunter watched Count Etranger climb toward the next story with Meg in his arms. The man hardly looked like an employer dealing with an employee for whom he felt only mild responsibility and suitable disinterest.

  If Hunter were asked his opinion, he might just say that the Count was taken with his sister’s companion. In that direction lay heartache for Meggie—if she were to fall for the man.

  There was nothing to be done about that tonight, if ever. Making a shoulder available if she needed it later might be the best he could do. He ran quickly downstairs and let himself out into the damp and foggy night. The scent of wet earth and misted roses made him smile. A flash of red in the park sobered him instantly.

  A woman moved swiftly toward the other side of the square. He followed, hoping she wouldn’t realize he was there.

  As instinct had made him suspect, she left the park, crossed the street and mounted the steps at Number 7. That woman was Lady Upworth. Once seen, she would be difficult to forget, and they had been introduced at the musicale.

  She hovered at the front door, clearly uncertain what to do next. Hunter made up his mind what action to take and hurried toward her. “My Lady?” he said, loudly enough to be heard but, he hoped, in a pleasant and nonthreatening tone. “I’m Hunter Lloyd. We met at Count Etranger’s.”

  Lady Upworth swung toward him, one hand at her throat.

  He joined her, a smile firmly in place. “Forgive me for mentioning that this is a late visit, My Lady. May I help you in some manner?”

  The red he had seen was her costume, over which she wore a cape that flowed away from her shoulders. “This is so awkward,” she said. A tinkling sound reminded Hunter that small gold coins decorated her hems. “I learned something that disturbed me this evening. It is by no means my responsibility to do anything about it, but I do like both of the Misses Smiles and I rather think I can save them from unpleasantness that could cause them terrible difficulty.”

  Hunter frowned. Lady Upworth had a most beautiful face. He had learned to protect his objectivity from assault by such faces, but there was sincerity in the lady’s marvelous eyes, and an air of discomfort about her that suggested she would rather not come forward with whatever her conscience told her to do.

  “I think I should speak with Sibyl Smiles,” she said. “Do you know if her second cousin, Mr. William Godly-Smythe, is with her now?”

  He used his key to unlock the door and ushered her inside. In lowered tones he told her, “I believe he is. Should you like me to accompany you to Sibyl? She and Meg live on the next floor.”

  She appeared thoughtful before she said, “If it would not be too much trouble, I’d appreciate that.” And she went ahead of him to the stairs. “These are beautiful,” she said. “Who do you suppose all these people are? Carved into the banisters and the newel posts?”

  “My ancestors,” he said wryly. “They didn’t amount to much, but the architect of this house—my aunt’s grandfather—considered the family extraordinary and worth immortalizing in such a fashion. Some say there are carvings of him. See?” He pointed out several faces that seemed to be of the same man. “Sir Septimus Spivey. Supposedly I look like him, which means I am not a thing of beauty.” He laughed and climbed the stairs behind her.

  She paused again and said, “There are babies. How sad. I suppose they represent little ones who died in infancy. And here—” she looked very closely “—here is a blank face. Perhaps it was intended for some future descendant.”

  “Possibly.” Hunter was glad to arrive at 7B. “This is where Meg and Sibyl live. I see light beneath the door. I expect the cousin is still here. Do you know him?”

  Lady Upworth raised her pretty chin. “I believe we are acquainted. He does not like me—that is why I should appreciate your presence, for me, and for Sibyl.”

  “You shall have it,” Hunter said and knocked the door.

  It opened at once, and William Godly-Smythe stood there. “About time,” he said, indicating that they were to come in. “I am a busy man and must complete my business here at once. We won’t detain you further, Lloyd, but Meg—” His posture stiffened and he stared at Lady Upworth. “You aren’t Meg.”

  “I certainly am not,” she said, stepping into the room. “I came to visit Sibyl. And Mr. Lloyd has kindly agreed to remain with me and then escort me back to my accommodations
.”

  “Good evening, My Lady,” Sibyl said. She stood in the center of the room, and her confusion was evident.

  “I told you to bring Meg here, Lloyd,” Godly-Smythe said and Hunter no longer had any doubt that he detested the man. “Where is she?”

  “Asleep, I gather,” Hunter said. The less said of the truth, the better. “I could hardly enter her bedchamber and abduct her, could I? Surely whatever you have to say will wait until the morning.”

  Godly-Smythe’s full attention centered on Lady Upworth, as hers did on him. Lady Upworth’s mouth curved with amusement while Godly-Smythe’s discomfort was evident. “How nice to see you again,” she said. “We must find an opportunity to chat about old times, hmm? After all, we were both involved in some interesting events.”

  “Sibyl is tired,” he said. “Polite calls are never made at such an hour. I suggest you leave.”

  “And miss hearing your latest news?”

  Godly-Smythe’s naturally healthy complexion darkened. “Sibyl, you should sleep. Sleep as long as you can. We will talk in the morning—late in the morning.”

  “Still losing in the hells,” Lady Upworth said to Godly-Smythe. “Gambling can be so difficult for some to put behind them.”

  Fascinated, Hunter observed both the verbal and unspoken hostility between these two.

  “I am a man of strong character,” Godly-Smythe said. “And you, My Lady, do you continue to pour your fortune away?”

  Lady Upworth laughed. “No, no, I am reformed, sir. But I shall never forget that ugly scene at Toby Short’s. When you were accused of cheating and couldn’t pay your debts.”

  “How dare you, My Lady,” Godly-Smythe said, his voice tight and low. “You have mistaken me for another, I assure you.” He moved his eyes significantly in Sibyl’s direction.

  Lady Upworth seemed to consider. “Perhaps,” she said finally. “There is always such a crush in those places—or there was. It’s been a very long time since I was drawn to cover my unhappiness over the death of my dear husband by seeking raucous company.”

  Godly-Smythe nodded. “Quite so. Sibyl, I think I shall go down and prevail on Reverend Baggs to share his room with me. I should not be comfortable too far away from you, my dear. Come to me at once if anything disturbs you.” With a measured stare, first at Lady Upworth, then at Hunter, he approached the door. “You make your way upstairs, Lloyd. I’ll see Lady Upworth out. This is no time for socializing.”

  Hunter thought it was indeed time for him to leave. “As you say,” he told Godly-Smythe. The Count didn’t intend to pursue the issue of whether or not Sibyl would accept Godly-Smythe’s proposal before morning. There was nothing to be accomplished by remaining.

  “You go along, Mr. Godly-Smythe,” Lady Upworth said. “Mr. Lloyd will take me home. But first I must give Sibyl her instructions from the Count for tomorrow.”

  Godly-Smythe’s discomfort at leaving Lady Upworth with Sibyl showed, but he smiled at Sibyl, inclined his head to Lady Upworth and quit the room. His footsteps were soon heard descending the stairs.

  “It is extremely late,” Lady Upworth told Sibyl, “but I decided I must come to you. Mr. Lloyd, I really cannot impose upon you further. Please go to your bed. Sibyl and I have a good deal to talk about.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said, “I could not countenance your walking home alone.”

  “I am quite safe, I assure you,” she said, and produced a pistol from the folds of her cloak. She immediately tucked it away again. “I have had to learn to protect myself, and I can.”

  Hunter heard Sibyl draw in a sharp breath. The sight of the weapon had surprised him also, but at least he was accustomed to such things, even if not in the hands of a lady. “You want to be alone with Sibyl,” he said. “Very well, but I shall be in my rooms waiting for your summons. Regardless of how fearless you are, it’s out of the question for you to return to Number Seventeen alone at this hour.”

  The door closed behind Hunter, and Sibyl sat down. She buried her face in her hands.

  “I need your full attention,” Lady Upworth said. “We can’t know how much time we have before your second cousin returns. I don’t expect him to leave you alone for long—not if he thinks I’m still here.”

  Sibyl raised her face. “It’s very late, My Lady. I am so tired.” And she no longer trusted herself to make good choices—about anything.

  “Buck up,” Lady Upworth said. “I am more tired than I can tell you, but I came because you need my help. You are in danger. And I have decided on a dangerous course—to me—in order to help you. You and Meg should leave your positions at Count Etranger’s at once.”

  Sibyl felt a chill. Exhaustion of mind and body drained her.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Sibyl? You must get away from here—far away.”

  She needed Meg, Sibyl thought, but challenged herself to be strong, as strong as her sister would be if she were here. “I’m sure you mean well, My Lady,” she said, “but please don’t worry about us. We are not worried. In fact, our lives are greatly improved now, thank you. We shall manage very well.”

  “No.” Her Ladyship’s tone was harsh. “You are not listening to me. You are in danger, I tell you, grave danger. I am going to arrange for you to get away. I know you have had financial troubles but I will help you. You will have plenty of money. I can and will see to that.”

  Tiredness slipped away from Sibyl. She regarded Lady Upworth carefully, attempting to assess that lady’s state of mind.

  Lady Upworth smiled. “I can tell you are seeing the wisdom of accepting my help. I assure you, Sibyl, I should never forgive myself if I failed to help you.”

  Sibyl smoothed her skirts and considered how to deal with this very uncommon situation. “Why do you believe we are in danger? We are very unimportant people—ordinary people. No one would gain anything from causing us unhappiness.”

  “You and your sister are not ordinary,” Lady Upworth said.

  “You are accomplished. You possess a quiet charm that is appealing, and your sister is, I admit, quite the most unusual creature I have encountered for a long time. I can well imagine why…She is attractive to men, I think. Because of this it is important that she have an opportunity to meet suitable people.”

  Sibyl did not like Lady Upworth. “Meg is to have a very suitable caller. Sir Robert Brodie. He is a surgeon and is clearly interested in Meg.”

  “No time.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Sibyl said, frowning. “What do you mean, no time?”

  Lady Upworth pushed her cloak behind her and sat down. “I mean that there isn’t adequate time to hope that a first meeting may turn into something more. Sibyl, you must take me seriously. I cannot reveal my sources, but I have discovered information that leads me to believe you and Meg are dangerous to someone, and that your very lives may be in danger.”

  “Who is it?” Sibyl chafed her arms. Goose bumps had sprung up on every inch of her body.

  “Tomorrow the Count intends to remove his household to Windsor. He would take you all with him—and me, of course—and no doubt he’ll throw some suitable event for Désirée there. I believe he thinks it will be safer for everyone at Riverside, that he will be better able to protect against enemies. I disagree. I think he is desperate and not thinking clearly—and that he doesn’t want to face the truth.”

  Trembling, Sibyl asked, “What is the truth?”

  “Oh, I don’t know it all.” Lady Upworth flapped a hand before her face and sounded irritated. “There is some great intrigue in progress. One unpleasant event follows another. I fear for us all, but mostly for you and Meg. It may be best to reduce the household to as few members as possible, the better to identify interlopers, or people in places where they do not belong. Now, we will discuss what is best for you.”

  “I’m afraid we won’t,” Sibyl said firmly. “And I should like to go to bed now.”

  Lady Upworth stood up and took off the cape. She was a magnifice
nt creature, brilliant and impossible to ignore—and so unlike Sibyl. Sibyl smiled at the thought of any comparison being made.

  “I am not wealthy,” Lady Upworth said, “but I have enough money to keep the two of you comfortably until all this nonsense is resolved.”

  “You’re very kind, but we don’t need money.” This was more than embarrassing, Sibyl thought. It was demeaning to think that anyone would feel free to treat her like a pauper.

  “Tell me about your situation and how it came about.”

  The woman was without shame. “I would rather not, thank you,” Sibyl said.

  “You are humiliated by your reduced circumstances. I assure you that is unnecessary with me. I did not always have money. I married it. Now, enough of this silly pride. A simple explanation, please. What happened? I know you lived in Puckly Hinton and your father was a minister, apparently quite a well-fixed minister.”

  Sibyl considered, then said, “Yes, he was. He came from a wealthy family.”

  “And you and your sister were his heirs?”

  How, Sibyl couldn’t guess, but she suspected Lady Upworth already knew the answers to her questions. Perhaps it didn’t matter. “We were left a trust that was to provide an adequate allowance for each of us. The house and the rest of Papa’s holdings went to William as the closest male relative. That was a stipulation—that the house must go to a male. Unfortunately, a few months ago we learned that there was to be a reduction in our allowance. The explanation given was that we had been expected to marry by now and that, since we show no sign of doing so, if the money is to last, we must take much smaller amounts.”

  “I see.” Trailing about the room with her diaphanous red costume floating about her fine figure, Lady Upworth frowned, and her smooth brow wrinkled.

  “We are managing well, thank you,” Sibyl said. “Between what allowance we do get, and our own efforts, we shall do well enough.”

  “A shame,” Lady Upworth said. “You are genteel women and quite unsuited to such things. Now, please give me your word that you will repeat nothing of what I am about to tell you.”

  Orders, regardless of how they were couched, were still orders. Lady Upworth had a most authoritative air about her. She expected to be obeyed.