A Banbury Tale

by Maggie MacKeever

  The Duchess swung around. “Where have you been, you odious girl?!”

  Tilda laughed, and moved forward to embrace her friend. “Thereby hangs a tale! You will be greatly diverted, I promise you.” She moved aside to inspect a pile of cards and invitations that lay upon a silver tray. “Just as I thought.” She extracted an envelope that bore an impressive masculine scrawl. “You’ve only yourself to blame for your ignorance regarding my affairs.”

  Agatha accepted the missive and studied her companion. “You don’t look as if you’ve suffered any great harm,” she conceded grudgingly, “which is more than you deserve. I don’t hesitate to tell you that I am very cross with you.”

  Tilda removed the voluminous cloak that hid her evening dress. “I knew that you would be, and I apologize most abjectly, but it truly wasn’t my fault.” She paused judiciously. “Or it was, but I intended you no anxiety. At the outset, I only meant it for a lark.” She watched Agatha’s thin fingers tighten on the parchment. “Don’t distress yourself! I continue very well, and have suffered no harm but to my self-esteem.” She wrinkled her nose. “Micah would say that I have been well served.”

  “Do stop this prattling,” interrupted the Duchess, “and tell me what’s transpired!”

  “Only fancy,” Tilda retorted, “I’ve been abducted! And the cream of the jest is that it all occurred through my own stupidity. You must believe that I am properly chastened, and try not to read me a severe scold.”

  “The deuce you say!” roared Agatha. Tilda sighed.

  “Yes,” she said. “I rather thought you’d take it like that. Recall that you did say I was wanting in dash.”

  “I think,” the Duchess advised, in goaded tones, “that you would be wise to cease from pitching me any more gammon and come out with the truth!”

  Tilda overlooked this vulgarity. “You will recall mention of a certain hotel?” Agatha nodded. “No one would take me there. Timothy said I would not like it. Micah said I should like it, but refused to escort me, for no ladies of any reputation visit there.” She glanced at her friend. “Of course their refusals merely strengthened my resolve.”

  “Of course.” Agatha’s tone was dry. “You’re wild to a fault, my girl. Go on!”

  Tilda closed her eyes. “So I prevailed upon Alastair to escort me, since he first told me of the place. I did not dare confide in you. I suspected you would throw a rub in | my way.”

  “And well you might!” snapped Agatha. “Alastair Bechard is a basket-scrambler!”

  “Agatha, such vulgar expressions! No, don’t pinch at me. Everything went off very well, and I was congratulating myself, when I discovered that Alastair had different plans for my entertainment.” The Duchess noted that Mathilda’s expression bore traces of shock. “Agatha, he forced me into an establishment of ill repute!”

  The Duchess sat bolt upright. “He what!”

  Tilda laughed. “Never fear: my virtue’s intact, and entirely thanks to you. Alastair somehow learned that Miss de Villiers is involved with his actress, and lays the blame for that bird’s flight at Maddy’s door. He did not tell me so, but I have had a great deal of time in which to ponder the matter, and believe my assumption to be correct. He remained in that accursed place only long enough to direct a note to you, then left me to the mercy of my jailors, whose companionship was far preferable to his.” She glanced at the letter. “Do read it, Agatha! I am curious to learn what it says.”

  The Duchess perused the missive with tightened lips, then tore it into small pieces and consigned it to the fire. Tilda’s guess was right; Alastair had foreseen that Maddy would apply to Agatha for aid, and he had also known that Clem had received refuge in Letty Jellicoe’s house. His terms for Tilda’s release were diabolically succinct: when the runaway was handed over to him, Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson would be restored to her friends. He did not need to elaborate upon the alternative; it would not have been the first time that a noblewoman had taken up residence in a house of ill repute. “My God!” she uttered, with furious contempt. “Alastair Bechard shall pay for this.”

  “You must not think I was in great danger,” Tilda said quickly. She reached into her reticule. “I realize I have been very foolish, but I am not quite such a ninny as I must appear. I know Alastair bears no great love for me.”

  Agatha eyed the delicate pistol that Tilda held. “Much good that did you!” she snorted. “Get on with the tale.”

  “I was nearly in despair,” Tilda admitted, “when the, uh, proprietress of the establishment visited me. What do you call such a female, Agatha? A procuress? An abbess?”

  “You should have no need to call ‘em anything,” Agatha retorted, “since you shouldn’t even know that they exist. Get on with it! For I don’t imagine that this female willingly allowed you to escape. Alastair no doubt paid her handsomely for her part in it.”

  “Oh, he did. She told me so.” Tilda’s eyes twinkled. “Agatha, she was the drollest creature! I’m sure you must agree. For she did help me to escape, as soon as I told her my name.”

  “What’s this?” The Duchess entertained lively suspicion as to the abbess’s identity.

  “I own I might have found myself in a terrible fix,” Tilda continued, the twinkle even more pronounced, “and must hold it to be a piece of astonishingly good fortune that the lady is acquainted with you, for I am sure that otherwise things would have gone ill with me. Agatha, you sly creature, what other fascinating friends have you kept hidden from me? For as soon as she realized that I was an intimate of yours, she was only too anxious to have me go.”

  “Did she tell you,” Agatha inquired, with no small curiosity, “that she was acquainted with me?”

  “Yes, but you must not blame her.” Tilda laughed. “I refused to leave her establishment until I knew the reason for my release.” She sobered suddenly. “Even then, it was no easy matter, for I could not simply walk outside and whistle for a cab. It was brilliant of you to send James looking for me, Agatha. When he appeared, I was near panic that Alastair might return. But I escaped safely enough, and James very properly escorted me home.”

  The Duchess drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. James must be rewarded handsomely, as well as Mother Murphy, though Agatha had no doubt that astute businesswoman was now the possessor of the magnificent rubies that Tilda no longer wore. “Alastair Bechard is a villain,” she said. “I had not thought that even he would stoop to such treachery.”

  “Nor I.” Despite the lightness of her tone, Tilda was not unaware of her narrow escape, nor did she begrudge the baubles that had been Dominic’s last gift.

  “I think I must make you aware of what transpired in your absence.” The Duchess explained her increased household. She was not deceived by Tilda’s apparent levity, for no amount of assumed nonchalance could disguise the paleness of that complexion or the strain around the fine brown eyes.

  “Gracious!” remarked Tilda, when her friend had done. “This is the devil of a coil. With Micah gone, what’s to prevent Alastair from looking for the girl here?” She grimaced. “I’d give my fortune not to see his face when he finds I’ve escaped his net, but it seems we may find him on our doorstep momentarily.”

  “He wouldn’t dare!” Agatha tugged at the bell cord.

  “No?” Tilda’s tone was dry. “I begin to think that there is nothing that Alastair will not dare.”

  “He’s no more anxious for a scandal than you are,” Agatha insisted. “You need not fear your adventure will become known. I’m more concerned with what he’ll do about his actress. I wager he won’t give up easily, and it won’t be long before he learns from Letty that I took her away.”

  “Agreed.” Tilda studied the Duchess. It was obvious that the dowager was hatching a plan.

  “I think,” said Agatha, ringing the bell viciously, “that my godson would welcome some company. If Alastair is bent on making further mischief, then Micah can deal with it. I daresay the exertion would do him good.” She frowned at Tilda. �
�Don’t sit there staring like a mooncalf. Start packing! Where are those curst servants of mine?”

  “Agatha! Surely you don’t mean to travel tonight? It’s almost dusk.”

  “There’ll be a moon,” the Duchess replied with superb confidence. Tilda glanced doubtfully at a window. “Alastair won’t dare show his face here tonight, but I believe we may expect him on the mom.”

  “I confess I would prefer to depart without taking my leave of him.” Tilda paused with one hand on the door. “But what will you tell Micah? We must give some reason for this sudden flight.”

  Agatha intended to acquaint her godson with as much of the truth as was good for him, but saw no reason to tax Tilda’s resources with this information. For some odd reason, Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson seemed to value the Earl’s good opinion, despite her apparent efforts to divest him of it. The Duchess might have considered Tilda a tiresome creature had she not loved her so dearly. “Don’t bother me with details!” she growled. “I will deal with Wilmington.”

  Chapter Ten

  Maddy scowled at her reflection. There was nothing in the mirrored image to raise her flagging spirits. She inspected the bronze ringlets and oval face, with its perfect features and changeable gray eyes, and wondered how the Marquess would react when he learned that the object of his affections had no sooner learned that he wished familial permission to court her than she had abruptly departed from town. It was not likely that Lionel would be flattered. Maddy only hoped that her aunt’s explanation was a convincing one.

  Maddy, too, was puzzled by the sudden leave-taking, but the Duchess had offered no explanations, merely bundled them into her luxurious coach. They traveled at a pace that made one suspect the very hounds of hell were in hot pursuit. The Duchess of Marlborough had not only firmly turned aside all attempts at learning the reasons for this unprecedented flight, but had advised Clem to stop chattering like a magpie, an unconsidered remark, endorsed by Motley, that augured ill for their future relationship. Though Maddy had been displeased by the knowledge that Tilda traveled with them, she was intrigued to note that the lady seemed remarkably subdued. Maddy uncharitably hoped that Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson had suffered a disappointment of the heart. She had no serious fear of Tilda as a rival, however, for she had learned that Tilda had spent her childhood in the vicinity of the Hall. Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson had pointed out the estate, though it was far too dark to see, and remarked with indifference that the house had long stood uninhabited. Maddy was surprised that Tilda’s brother neglected the family manor, for she could not know that the Duke of Abercorn so strongly disapproved of his sister’s marriage that he felt it incumbent upon him to remove from the neighborhood; but she was far more interested in this explanation of why Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson and the Earl were on such easy terms. No doubt Tilda had been dangling after Wilmington for years. Maddy almost pitied her, for no gentleman long cherished an interest in so easy a conquest

  Maddy gazed upon rolling lawns. It was good to be in the country again, though the Hall bore little resemblance to Maddy’s home. Here was an estate well managed and a home that had been lovingly enhanced by each successive Earl. There were none of the expensive, useless artifacts so prominent in Letty’s stifling apartments in this spacious and elegant house. Even the furnishings, which bore evidence of diligent and loving care, were of an earlier, less pretentious, era.

  A frown touched Maddy’s features. The Duchess of Marlborough’s efforts to help Clem were welcome, for Maddy could not think what was to be done with her friend, but Maddy had not planned that she, too, would take up residence with the Duchess. Had not their departure been so abrupt, and had she been allowed the opportunity to speak privately with her aunt, Maddy was sure she could have made amends. Letty’s anger would soon have evaporated in the light of Chesterfield’s intentions. Now that romance, it seemed, was at an end, thwarted at its most intriguing point. If only Kenelm had not interfered, she might well have been unofficially betrothed to the Marquess by now. However, recalling that then Clem would have been doomed to a singularly unpleasant fate, Maddy abandoned her regrets.

  Deprived by fortune of her Marquess, Maddy contemplated the Earl. She did not imagine that he would be pleased to learn that his godmother had taken an actress under her wing, for rakes, however notorious, were legendarily stuffy about such things; nor did she suspect that he would be grateful to her for her part in it. Maddy intended to adopt a conciliatory air. She studied her morning dress of lilac jaconet muslin, with its many rows of frills around the ankles, and wondered if it was a trifle too festive for the part she meant to play.

  “Eh bien!” said Clemence, slipping into the bedroom. “What is this face of gloom? You look as though you may dissolve into tears momentarily.”

  “Nonsense,” Maddy retorted, pleased by this success. “I was thinking of my Uncle Emile. He lives somewhere in this area, but I am not sure of the precise direction, for I was but a child when last we visited the Chateau.”

  “Emile?” Clemence wrinkled her nose. “I remember him. He was very amiable, very kind, and tweaked my curls, and called me his little ladybug.”

  Maddy laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Am I not?” Clem agreed. “But how is it that you are no longer on terms with Uncle Emile? Is he not your godfather?” She flopped onto the bed. “We have not had much time to talk. Now my problems are solved—I am to be a femme de chambre instead of a femme entretenue, although I do not know that I’m not better suited for a kept woman than a lady’s maid, but I understand you meant it for the best—tell me how it has been with you.”

  “Ungrateful creature!”

  “I have made you laugh, have I not? Tell me!”

  It was very pleasant to share her successes with someone other than the critical Motley, and Maddy took advantage of her audience. She neglected to add, however, her plans for the Earl, and she schooled her features carefully, lest she betray herself to those watchful blue eyes.

  “Love at first sight,” Clem sighed blissfully. “You are very fortunate—but you will not marry this young man? Pray do not develop scruples, Maddy, for it would be a perfect solution to your difficulties.”

  Maddy frowned at her friend, who was a great deal more discerning than she first appeared. Neither the plain and serviceable gown, nor the mercilessly severe style of the dark hair, nor Motley’s stern tutorage had succeeded in dampening that young lady’s spirits or subduing her flirtatious air. Clem had no great claim to beauty—her features were only fair—but such was the force of her personality that one forgot her looks were merely passable. “You forget: Chesterfield will think I have run away from him.”

  Clem wasn’t one to pry, and let this weak answer go without comment, though in her experience, gentlemen were not so easily discouraged. Some, like Alastair Bechard, pursued reluctant damsels like a hound might chase a fox. “And what will he think,” Maddy added, not without complacency, “when he learns I have taken refuge with Wilmington?”

  “Ah, Wilmington!” Clem clasped her hands with enthusiasm. “So devilish, so insouciant!” She adopted a modest attitude. “And so ardent.”

  Maddy stared at her friend, who appeared to consider dissipation and a devil-may-care attitude desirable qualities in a man. “He was one of your admirers?”

  “No.” Clem abandoned pretense. “Had the Earl offered me more than flirtation, I would not be here.”

  “Clem!”

  “Spare me these missish airs!” begged her friend. “Had you the choice, would you prefer to be Wilmington’s petite amie or his godmother’s abigail?”

  “Oh.” In all fairness, Maddy thought the decision might be a difficult one.

  “There!” crowed Clem. “I thought you were not indifferent to him. But he is a rogue, that one, and will not do for you. You had best leave him to la Belle au bois dormant, and content yourself with your Marquess.”

  “The Sleeping Beauty?” Maddy repeated. “Whom do you mean?” The conversation had taken an
interesting turn.

  “Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson, of course.” Clem wore her most angelic air. “Enchanting, is she not?”

  “I don’t understand,” Maddy complained. “Why do you call her that? And why do you tell me to leave the Earl to her? I know there are rumors, but I have seen no indication of anything but friendship between them.”

  Clem refrained from pointing out that Maddy’s upbringing wasn’t one that lent itself to discernment. “You would know that better than I. I only meant to warn you off Wilmington, for I have heard tales of him that you would not. As for the Sleeping Beauty, Alastair calls her so. Why, he would not tell me.”

  “What’s this about Wilmington?”

  Clem’s blue eyes opened wide. “He is said to have murdered his wife!”

  “Surely you don’t believe that.” Maddy’s tone invited further disclosure.

  Clem shrugged. “She was a ravishing creature, as fine as fivepence, and she made a dead-set at the Earl, though he was plain Micah Marryat then. There was no doubt he would inherit, for his father was very ill. He took a marked fancy to her, for all he wasn’t considered to be hanging out for a wife.”

  Maddy was too enthralled with the tale to remind Clem that cant expressions were extremely unsuited to a lady’s maid. “And they were married. What happened?”

  “It was a love match, I believe.” Clem looked thoughtful. “Though I suspect Cassandra was more enamored of Wilmington’s fortune and the title than she was of him. But all was well at first, like a fairy tale.”

  “What happened?”

  “The lady”—Clem chose her words carefully—“was easy to approach, and nasty rumors flew. Wilmington is not one to calmly be cuckolded—there had been no heir, you see—and he brought her here, where she would of necessity be limited in her activities.”

  “Heavens!”

  “It did not serve. She became morose and locked her door against him, spending more and more time in her chambers. Finally, she could not bear to look on him, and comported herself like a wildcat in his presence. It was natural that he developed a disgust of her.” Clem studied Maddy’s startled face. “It is said that she became so unpredictable that he took away her key and locked her door himself, allowing her out only at night when there was no one to see her or hear her accusations and complaints.”