Agatha compressed her lips. Tilda was ripe for folly, as had been obvious; if Alastair involved her in a scandal, the Duchess would personally see that he suffered most unpleasantly for it. She supposed it was fortunate that Micah had departed for the Hall blissfully unaware of this latest development. Agatha was in no mood for a set-to with her godson. It seemed quite enough that she must worry about Tilda’s latest peccadillo, but it was not: her grandnephew had called at a ridiculously early hour to inform her that he sought permission to pay his addresses to Madeleine de Villiers. Agatha thought little of a courtship conducted in so cold-blooded a manner, and had sent the Marquess on his way with a few well-chosen comments concerning starched-up young gentlemen. If Lionel was to be successful in his courtship of the volatile Miss de Villiers, he could do worse than study the tactics employed by Micah. It was not to be expected that Lionel would accept this advice with equanimity, and he had left the house in a temper, with, Agatha trusted, a good deal to think about.
She snorted and inspected her second caller of the day. “You were right to come to me,” she said. “This is a diverting tale.”
Motley inclined her head. “I could think of no one else who might be able, and willing, to help.”
The Duchess frowned. “Hush now. I must think.”
Motley was only too willing to obey. Each moment that Clemence spent in Letty Jellicoe’s house was fraught with peril, not only for the actress but for her conspirators. “You’re no more a lady’s maid than I am,” Agatha announced abruptly. “What, then? A governess?” Motley nodded, her face wooden. Odd as it might seem, this deception might simply be a ploy of anxious parents. “Are you certain we have not met before?” the Duchess persevered. “You are damnably familiar, but I cannot recall the occasion.” She abruptly abandoned the inquisition. “Never mind.”
Motley stifled a sigh of relief, for though she had taken care to appear as nondescript as possible, pulling her hair into a severe coil and choosing a gown that made her appear sallow, she feared Agatha’s sharp eyes. She regretted having disturbed the Duchess at so unconventional an hour, but it was the only time her own absence would not be remarked. She had found her hostess still abed, scowling over a delightful adventure tale that certainly didn’t merit such a disapproving expression. To the consternation of various of her servants, Agatha had ordered Motley promptly escorted to her bedchamber.
This room was filed with graceful furniture of an earlier era, a welcome contrast to Letty Jellicoe’s overcrowded rooms. Here was the simple elegance that denoted the best of taste. Motley regarded the Duchess, who was clad in a muslin peignoir, with an exquisite lace cap atop her head, and reclining among countless pillows on a beautiful canopied bed. Silk curtains were drawn to expose the counterpane and floor-length valance.
“I think I’ve hit upon a solution,” Agatha announced with a wicked grin. “It’s not perfect, but it should serve for a time. Alastair Bechard is a curst rum touch, but I had not thought that even he would go to such lengths, be he ever so desirous of mounting a mistress. I am quite out of charity with him! He deserves to be paid in his own coin.” The Duchess spared a brief thought for the missing Tilda, and her face set in grim lines. “There’s wild blood in the Bechards. They must do all to excess.” The sharp eyes raked Motley’s face. “You can vouch for the chit?”
“I can, and do,” Motley replied promptly. “I have known her since she was a schoolgirl. Clemence is lamentably hot-at-hand, but there is no vice in her. I believe she has learned a harsh lesson from this present imbroglio.”
“I should hope so!” Agatha’s fingers drummed the counterpane. “An actress! Definitely not the thing. But the girl shows spirit, and I like that.”
Motley was determined to be fair to Clemence. “I believe she engaged in her current profession in all innocence, with a schoolgirl’s idea of what an actress’s life must be. She is not to be blamed that she has learned otherwise.”
The Duchess nodded. “Which shows the mistake we make in coddling our young. Even the veriest straw damsel must know better.” She sighed heavily. “Very well! I shall trust you aren’t trying to foist a prime article of virtue off on me, and do what I can for the chit.”
“Madam!” Motley was scandalized. Agatha hooted with laughter.
“You’ll get used to my tongue, young woman!” Motley blinked, not accustomed to hearing herself referred to as young. “I deplore Madeleine’s involvement in this thing. Alastair will be cross as a cat if he learns of her responsibility for the disappearance, and there is no telling what abominable notion that odious man may take into his head.”
“I am afraid that damage may have already been done.” Motley met the Duchess’s sharp glance. “No, Maddy has not confided in me, but I know her rather well, and I believe she regards Lord Bechard with apprehension. It seems more than the expected reaction of a well-brought-up young woman to a gentleman of his sort.”
Agatha, who’d always been fond of a rogue, reflected that Madeleine was not so well brought up that she took offense at the flattery of her godson. “That’s put the cat among the pigeons, then. Hell and the devil confound the man! We must act without further ado. The girl will come to me, ostensibly as my maid. It won’t be thought wonderful, since I dismissed the last one.” The Duchess cackled. “A more mealy-mouthed creature I never hope to see—she had spasms regular as clockwork. But the chit will have to be circumspect, for servants will talk. Well? Will it do?”
“Admirably,” Motley replied with relief. She knew the Duchess would treat Clemence well, and spare her the more onerous and distasteful aspects of the profession. “I only hope that her presence here may not become known.”
“Wouldn’t matter if it did,” Agatha remarked. “I’m known to be philanthropic; it’s like me to save a young woman from ruin. I don’t propose to keep her on as a lifelong dependent—I daresay it wouldn’t suit either of us—but she’ll do well enough here until I can think of something else for her.”
“And Lord Bechard?” Motley offered cautiously.
“We’ll consider him when we must.” The Duchess fervently hoped that Micah would have returned by then. “You go on home and prepare the girl. I’ll fetch her this afternoon.”
“Maddy’s aunt will require some explanation. What will you tell her?”
“You may leave that safely to me.” Agatha hadn’t the vaguest idea how she would deal with Letty Jellicoe.
“You’ve done right to put the matter in my hands.” The dark eyes narrowed. “I’m sure we’ve met before. I wish you’d tell me where.” She paid no heed to Motley’s disclaimer, and observed with interest her betraying flush. “I daresay it will come to me.”
Having dispensed with the matter of Clemence, Agatha was free to devote her thoughts again to Tilda. It was obvious that some action must be taken to recover her guest. If Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson were involved in something so unexceptionable as a long-overdue affaire, she wouldn’t be happy at being dragged home, but that chance had to be taken. The Duchess preferred that Tilda refrain from such amours until after she was safely wed. “And on your way out,” Agatha added decisively, “send James the footman to me.” James was a discreet and invaluable young man.
* * * *
“I have nourished a serpent in my bosom!” Letty wailed, having recourse to her vinaigrette. Her blond curls were wildly askew. Maddy assumed an expression of innocence and wondered, with sinking heart, what catastrophe had befallen her.
“It is not bad enough,” Letty said, fortifying herself with a liberal dollop of Battley’s Sedative, a draught that was heavily spiced with opium but milder than Black Drop, “that you must fritter away your chances. Not one offer have you received! That alone utterly sinks my spirits,” Letty glowered at her niece. “You have made a sad botch of it. You are wild to a fault, my girl! For it is not at all the thing to waltz three times with a gentleman, and particularly not with Wilmington! You will give Chesterfield a disgust of you, and then where will you b
e? It is no small triumph to have Wilmington dancing attendance on you, but you can be sure he has no thought of marriage.”
Maddy uttered a feeble protest. “People,” interrupted Letty, with awful wrath, “have begun to whisper that you’re fast! Sally Jersey remarked to me that you seemed to actually encourage the Earl.” She moaned with remembered mortification. “It was only with the greatest difficulty that I persuaded her that your shocking behaviour was due to ignorance.” Lady Jersey’s outspoken comments still had the power to sting. “You are prodigiously like your father, but I did not expect that a de Villiers, even a mere dab of a girl, would be so cork-brained. Madeleine, you have put me to the blush!”
Maddy thought it an excellent time to apprise her aunt of Chesterfield’s announced intention, for this diversionary tactic would surely send Letty into transports of joy, but Alathea peeped into the room.
“Do I interrupt?” she inquired in the dulcet tones that Maddy had learned to distrust.
“I am overset,” Letty proclaimed mournfully, “by your cousin’s ingratitude. What is it, my child?”
Alathea entered the room, carefully closing the door behind her. “Kenelm,” she announced, “has had a confrontation with Lord Bechard.”
“Kenelm and Alastair Bechard?” Letty’s voice rose to a shriek. “What is this tale?”
“Kenelm insulted Lord Bechard,” Alathea explained with obvious satisfaction. “Deliberately. Fortunately, he is not seriously hurt.”
“I think,” said Letty faintly, “that I am going to have a spasm! I must go to my son. Take me to Kenelm at once!”
“No, Mama,” Alathea protested. “He has requested that he be left alone. The wound is only superficial. I believe that the main injury is to his pride.”
“But how?” Letty asked weakly. “And why? Kenelm and Alastair Bechard! I cannot credit it.”
Maddy already considered her cousin a spiteful cat; Alathea proceeded to justify that opinion. “I cannot say for certain,” she said, with a malicious glance at Maddy, “but I believe it to have been a quarrel over an actress. You must ask Maddy for details, for she knows the girl. Kenelm has been dancing attendance on her for the longest time. I’m sure it’s not to be wondered at, for she’s set her cap at him.”
Letty closed her eyes, and reached blindly for her handkerchief. “This is a crushing blow,” she moaned. “My son and an actress. Infamous! Things could not be in a worse case.” Her eyes snapped open to fix with horror on her niece. “Maddy is acquainted with this creature?”
“Not only is Maddy acquainted with her,” Alathea commented vindictively, “but it is my belief that she has introduced her into this house. Clemence is not a common name.”
“Clemence?” Though not sharp-witted, Letty was no dullard. “Of course! I thought the girl looked familiar.” She grasped her head. “There is nothing else for it: I shall have to put a period to my existence.”
“Pray spare us a Cheltenham tragedy,” the Duchess said, and closed the door sharply upon the goggle-eyed servant who had escorted her to the room. “We shall never succeed in wrapping the matter in clean linen if you are determined to inform your entire household of it.” Maddy gazed upon the newcomer with mingled horror and relief, but Letty turned ashen. “I collect you have learned the identity of Madeleine’s young friend.” The keen old eyes studied Alathea. “I thought you might. It’s a pity, but there’s no harm come of it. Between us, we’ve rescued the chit from a nasty scrape.”
“No harm?” repeated Letty incredulously. “You say that when my graceless niece”—she glared at Maddy— “has brought a Paphian girl into my house? When my son has conceived a tendre for the wretched creature?”
“I shall say a great deal more,” Agatha snapped, “when you collect your wits sufficiently to invite me to sit down.” Feebly, Letty gestured toward a chair. “Now,” said the Duchess, settling herself, “we shall go on much more prosperously if you cease talking fustian and let yourself be guided by me.”
“Fustian!” Letty gasped. “Can you be so indifferent, so heartless, as to condemn a mother’s natural feelings? I am cast into despair!” She glowered at Maddy. “My son has been ensnared by a designing female, which may doubtless be laid at my niece’s door.” She glared at Maddy. “I welcomed you into my home, miss, and this is my reward!”
“Is that why you did it?” The Duchess expressed interest. “I admit to curiosity. What manner of reward did you expect?” Letty stared at her in speechless fury, and Agatha grinned. “Don’t fly into a pelter,” she advised. “As for the other one, you refine too much upon the matter. Her profession may be unwisely chosen, but she’s not yet bachelor’s fare. As for that, where is she?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Alathea ventured, “to learn that she’s closeted with Kenelm in his room.”
“Cousin,” cried Maddy, goaded beyond endurance, “you have a wicked tongue!”
Letty shrieked again. “Unmaidenly,” Agatha announced, though without severity. Her glance moved to Letty. “As for you, Laetetia, you exhibit an unbecoming violence of feeling. If you don’t wish us to get to dagger-drawing, you will cease these squawks and moans, and listen to me, for I can fix things up all right and tight.”
“How?” Letty exhibited a faint show of interest. “There will be a terrible scandal if it becomes known I have had an actress in my house!”
“Who’s to know? Your servants think her a schoolmate of Madeleine’s.” The Duchess had little time to spare for such megrims. “They will continue to think so unless you arouse their suspicions.”
“That female,” said Letty forcefully, “is not to stay another instant in this house!” Her glance fell upon her niece. “Nor will you, miss! You may return to your father. I am sure he will know just how to deal with you.”
“I daresay he might,” Agatha interjected, “but we will spare him that particular task. I came to collect the other chit, but Madeleine, too, may come with me.” The black eyes twinkled at Maddy. “I collect I can find some use for her. You won’t berate me for my choice of abigail, will you, girl?”
Maddy, aware of the significance of this statement as Letty was not, smiled. “Not at all, ma’am.” Not only was this a perfect solution to Clem’s dilemma, but it afforded a splendid opportunity to see a great deal more of Lionel and the Earl, for both gentlemen treated the Duchess of Marlborough’s home as their own. Maddy did not stop to consider that Clem might not care for this summary disposition of her fate.
“I trust,” added the Duchess, regarding Letty and Alathea severely, “that no word of this discussion will be noised abroad. I should hear of it, you know, and I should be most unhappy. As for the actress, you may safely leave it to me to find some suitable place for her.”
Even Alathea, who was not pleased to see Maddy escape so lightly, knew what Agatha’s displeasure must entail. An adverse comment from that lady was sufficient to bring total ostracism.
“And what are we to say about my niece’s sudden removal?” Letty inquired. “It looks exceedingly odd.”
“Not at all,” retorted the Duchess. “I am so delighted with my young friend that I have taken her to stay with me. It is not widely known, but I am an old acquaintance of the family.” She studied Letty. “Or if you prefer, I might say that I did not care for the laxity of your chaperonage.”
“Oh, very well,” Letty capitulated sulkily. “Do what you will with the both of them. I do not propose to bother my head further with this.”
“That,” said the Duchess, “is perhaps the wisest decision that you have ever made.”
* * * *
Much as the Duchess enjoyed excitement, there were limits to what her constitution could withstand—one reason her godson had developed a tendency to cosset her. She scowled. Aggravating a creature as Micah was, she could wish that she still enjoyed his company. Matters were moving out of control. Not only was she suddenly saddled with two young females—both of good birth, one with a damaged reputation, and the o
ther with a lamentable lack of discretion—but Mathilda had still not returned.
One look at Clemence had been sufficient to inform Agatha that the actress would not be long contented with the role of a lady’s maid, and though Agatha didn’t for a moment regret her impulsive rescue, she wondered what she was to do with the girl. Her plans for the de Villiers chit were more precise, but there was also something smoky there. The Duchess had a sharp nose for mischief, and didn’t doubt that Maddy was into it up to her pretty ears. There was that advantage to having the girl under her care: Maddy wouldn’t remain long with Agatha before that astute lady learned her entire life history.
There was advantage, too, in the presence of Motley, whom Agatha fancied would make an excellent ally. At least the arrival of these additional guests had given her reason to turn her household upside down with preparations for their comfort. The servants, scurrying willy-nilly about in a frenzied attempt to obey her peremptory, and contradictory, orders, would have little time to reflect upon Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson’s absence.
James had not yet returned. The Duchess racked her brain for others who might possess sufficient wit to aid her in this dilemma, but could think of none whom she might trust with Tilda’s reputation. There was nothing for it; she must write immediately to her godson and request his swift return.
The composition of this urgent epistle proved difficult, but Agatha enjoyed uninterrupted solitude through the penning of five alternate versions. It was as she tore the last of these into shreds, murmuring profanities, that the door behind her opened and closed quietly.
Agatha was reluctant to turn and confront her visitor, lest it be some other petitioner with a claim on her time. The Duchess considered she had meddled sufficiently for one day, and she had little heart for the machinations that were usually her joy; fear for Tilda preyed on her mind.
“I daresay,” commented a soft voice, “that you are excessively vexed with me?”
A Banbury Tale Page 13