A Banbury Tale

by Maggie MacKeever

  “Accusations?” There were cold fingers on Maddy’s spine.

  “There were other women. Somehow Cassandra learned of them and berated her husband for his infidelity.” Clem shrugged. “What would you? A man is a man. Matters continued in this manner for a couple of years, and the Earl spent more and more time away from the Hall. Then, one night, he returned unexpectedly, and at a time when his wife had shown remarkable improvement: she was always more rational when he was away. There was a confrontation between them, a terrible argument, but what it concerned no one could say. The servants heard raised voices, and closed their ears.” Clem appeared to interpret this discretion as gross negligence. “The next morning Cassandra was found, clad in her nightgown, at the foot of the stairs. Her neck had been broken.”

  “She fell?” Maddy inquired, feebly.

  “Perhaps.” Clem’s glance was mysterious. “There are those who say it’s more likely she was thrown, or pushed, for she was increasing.”

  “What? But you said she would not allow him near her!”

  “Women do not always have children by their husbands, ma petite. The identity of Cassandra’s lover remains a mystery. There was a dreadful scandal, but Wilmington faced it down. Some even believe that he still wears the willow for her.”

  “How dreadful!” Maddy was shaken. “I do not understand how she could have taken a lover. Surely the man must have known she was mad!”

  “Perhaps not” Clem rose to idly pace the room. “Perhaps he believed she was held prisoner, which is the tale she told to anyone who would listen.” She turned to frown at Maddy. “But you must not repeat this, for it is almost forgotten now. Nor must you publish your opinion that Cassandra was not sane.”

  “Where did you hear it?” Maddy pressed icy hands to her cheeks. “I wonder that the Earl can bear to continue living in this house!”

  Clem looked around her. “It is a very fine home, and very old. Did we but know, many tragedies have probably happened here. One cannot blame a house for the behavior of its occupants.” The blue gaze returned to Maddy. “I had the story from Alastair, and he would be enraged to learn that you consider his sister at fault. He blames Wilmington for the whole.”

  “His sister!” Maddy stared open-mouthed. “But he and Wilmington continue on terms.”

  “I doubt that either of them cares to rake up old scandal. Doubt me not, Maddy—Alastair Bechard considers Micah Marryat with the greatest enmity.” Clem grimaced. “But I stand here talking, and forget that I have work to do. Were I you, cherie, I would apply to Emile.”

  “Perhaps.” Maddy was distracted. “But there is a snag. Uncle Emile must not know of Kenelm’s attachment for you, for he is a high stickler, and Kenelm is his heir.”

  “Oh, the devil!” cried Clemence.

  * * * *

  Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was engaged in climbing a tree. It was a pursuit perhaps better suited to the under-gardener, or to a groom, but Mathilda had excelled at the exercise in her youth and saw no reason to call a servant to perform a task that she could execute perfectly well. She squirmed along a branch and surveyed the object of her mission, a tiny ball of petrified fuzz that had ventured too far too soon. “Wretched creature,” crooned Tilda. The kitten yowled.

  Tilda crawled further along the branch, and grasped the youngest and most adventuresome of her entourage. The kitten clung, hissing, to the tree limb, and Tilda settled herself to wait “You won’t get down by yourself,” she scolded. “Do you wish to spend the entire day here?” The tiny creature stared at her. “You shall have a saucer of milk,” Tilda promised, “and sleep on a pillow in my room.” She thought wryly that the Duchess would be vastly diverted by her current occupation; Timothy would be shocked and disapproving; and Micah—but one never knew what Micah would do.

  Having lured the kitten onto her shoulder, where it clung with tiny needle-sharp claws, and informing that its name was to be Intrepid, Tilda discovered that she was in no great hurry to descend. Tyre’s Abbey was again a battleground, for Puggins and Eunice Scattergood were not on speaking terms. Eunice had taken exception to the housekeeper’s interpretation of her latest dream, and took as a personal insult the prediction that her increase would be consigned to the worm. “Shall we just stay here?” she asked. “And let them think we’ve disappeared?” Intrepid purred a throaty approval, but Tilda reflected that it would not be prudent to try Agatha’s patience too far. The sound of approaching hoofbeats caught her halfway down the tree. Tilda swore.

  Maddy pulled her mount to a halt and eyed Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson with frank amazement. “I am quite grateful,” Tilda remarked, “that it is only you. I had visions of some very proper stranger catching me.” She slid to the ground, and moved the kitten, not without difficulty, from her shoulder to the crook of one arm.

  “I beg your pardon!” Maddy gazed about her; “Am I trespassing?”

  “Yes, and you have been since you blithely jumped that last fence.” Maddy flushed guiltily and Tilda smiled. “I shan’t prosecute you, but I must scold you for riding without a groom. It will not do.”

  “I did not mean to come so far,” Maddy apologized. Her cheeks flamed at this criticism. “Forgive me if I intrude.”

  “Not at all.” Tilda smiled. “And you must forgive me for being sharp. I am feeling very cross, but I must not snap at you. The truth is, I have had a letter from my brother today, and Bevis always makes me fly into the boughs. He is very pompous, and must condescend to me, and as a result, we are forever at odds.”

  Maddy stared at this unfamilial attitude. “I do not believe I have met your brother.”

  “No wonder,” Tilda retorted, “for he lives in Scotland, having received an inheritance there.” She pushed carroty curls off her forehead. “But the omission will be remedied soon enough. He writes to inform me that he plans to honor me with his presence.”

  “Do you not look forward to his visit?” Maddy asked. The accusation of trespassing was true, for Maddy had known full well that she ventured upon Tyrewhitte-Wilson land, but it did not soothe her indignation to observe that Tilda looked as fetching in an old and outdated gown as she did in full ball dress. Tilda frowned.

  “No,” she retorted, “and I do think it very hard that, of all times, he must choose to come here now!” Tilda noted her guest’s startled expression. “You think me an ungrateful sister, do you not?” She smiled as the younger girl flushed. “It would be different if he cared a groat for me, but Bevis and I have always been at cross-purposes. He believes I suffer from nervous agitations and is shocked by my lack of restraint, and I find him a dead bore.”

  “Surely you exaggerate.”

  “Not at all,” Tilda remarked frankly. “If I am long encumbered with Bevis, I shall likely go off in an apoplexy, for his moralizing is more than I can bear.” She rubbed her cheek against Intrepid’s fur. “But this is a pretty way to talk! Tell me, how did you leave things at the Hall? Was Micah very surprised by Agatha’s sudden decision to return to the country?”

  “I couldn’t say.” Maddy realized she’d been given much-desired opening. “I have not seen him yet.” She tried for nonchalance. “Tell me, did you know Lady Wilmington?”

  “Lady Wilmington?” Tilda looked blank. “Of course. Micah’s mother and mine were the dearest of friends.”

  She frowned at Maddy’s expression. “Oh! You mean Cassandra. Who has been speaking to you of her?”

  “It was nothing,” Maddy said quickly. “Merely a chance remark.”

  “You’ve been listening to gossip. I pray you will not repeat it to Agatha!” Tilda’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. “Family skeletons are best left to molder in peace, my dear. And now, I must beg you to excuse me, for I have promised my small friend a saucer of milk.” Intrepid opened sleepy eyes and yawned. “Feel free to wander over my property at will, but the next time remember to provide yourself with a groom. These woods are not as free of danger as they appear.”

  Maddy, cheeks flaming, stare
d after Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson, who paused and turned. “Pray tell Agatha that I shall give myself the pleasure of calling on her early this afternoon.”

  No one, not even Motley, had ever administered so severe a reprimand, and Maddy understood that she had transgressed grievously. Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was not to be considered a source of information concerning the Earl’s late wife. But Maddy’s curiosity continued unchecked, despite the warning she’d received, and the quickness of Tilda’s defense was another thing to puzzle over.

  While Maddy was riding slowly toward the Hall, pondering the possible degree of truth of the on-dits concerning Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson and Wilmington, and while Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was walking even more slowly toward Tyre’s Abbey, coddling her kitten and wondering precisely what Maddy had heard about the tiresome Cassandra, the Earl faced his godmother, his dark features twisted into a sneer.

  “I’m not quite in my dotage, ma’am!” The hazel eyes shot emerald sparks. “I do not believe that my absence left you desolate, nor do I accept the tale that the exigencies of a London season left you all so worn down that you have come into the country on a repairing lease.”

  The Duchess raised her brows. “You accepted our presence calmly enough yestereve. What has happened to set you off?”

  “I was not at my most astute,” retorted Micah, “having been dragged from my bed in the middle of the night.” His expression softened. “Nor did I care to scold when you looked so worn down. Come, confess the whole. You know that I will help you with whatever scrape you’ve fallen into.”

  “I,” announced Agatha haughtily, “do not tumble into scrapes.” She frowned. “But that was a very handsome offer, and there’s no denying it’s the devil of a fix. You may wish me to blazes before this thing is done.”

  “Never that.” The Earl smiled. “Spare yourself. I’ve already seen the fair Clemence. I collect you’ve yielded to noble impulse and rescued her from a life of infamy.”

  “Not I, precisely.” Agatha shot him a keen look. “You’d better hear the whole.”

  Micah listened to his godmother’s recitation of her adventures with remarkable impassivity. Only the most discerning observer would have noticed the scarcely imperceptible tremor that occasionally assaulted the corner of his mouth.

  “Letty Jellicoe turned Madeleine out for her part in it,” the Duchess concluded. “She would have sent her home, but I insisted she come with me. She’ll keep the other one company, until I decide what’s to be done with her.”

  “I don’t envy you your task,” Micah remarked. “I do not foresee that it will be an easy one.”

  “You’re being mighty equable,” the Duchess snapped. “I thought you’d read me a thundering scold.”

  “I do not care to see you involved in such an escapade, but I cannot but applaud your young friend’s actions, even though they must bring her under the gravest censure. Can Letty Jellicoe be trusted to keep a still tongue in her head?”

  Agatha snorted. “She can.” She met her godson’s interested gaze. “Ah, no, I’m not so indiscreet. You must believe that Letty will tell the world we’re ruralizing, for I will say no more.”

  “Agatha, have you no shame?” Micah inquired. “I perceive you’re blackmailing the poor woman, and experience strong curiosity.”

  The Duchess grinned, but didn’t elaborate. Her friends among the working classes often regaled her with fascinating details of the lives of the wealthy and famous, information that she was not reluctant to utilize.

  “Very well,” the Earl conceded. “A secret it will remain. I only hope you were not too rash. Those two young ladies may give you a difficult time.”

  “I shall call upon Mathilda for help,” replied Agatha, flushed by so easy a victory. Micah’s brows snapped into a frown.

  “Tilda?” he repeated. “You did not say that she had a part in this. Do you mean to tell me that she accompanied you in this madcap start?”

  “But of course she did!” Agatha waved an airy hand. “Surely you did not think that I would leave her alone in town?”

  “That won’t do.” The Earl’s face was stem. “May I remind you that Tilda has her own townhouse, and Eunice Scattergood to play the chaperon? Simple enough for her to remove there when you decided to leave.”

  “She was tired of racketing about.” Agatha fought a losing battle, but was game to the finish.

  “Nonsense!” retorted Micah. “Tilda thrives on excitement and gaiety. The truth, if you please, ma’am, or I shall tell Alastair to come and fetch his tiresome chit away.”

  “Bully!” snapped the Duchess. “Not that I believe you’d do such a thing. Go ask Mathilda yourself, if you must know her reasons for departing the metropolis.”

  “I shall.” There was a dangerous gleam in Wilmington’s eye. “But first I prefer to hear the truth from you.”

  “Very well.” Agatha eyed her godson with approval. “You’ve the devil of a temper, young man!” Micah showed unmistakable signs of imminent wrath, and she hastened to regale him with the tale of Tilda’s adventures with Alastair Bechard.

  “Hell and the devil confound it!” spat the Earl, and strode purposefully toward the door.

  “Micah!” cried his godmother, considerably startled. “What are you about?”

  Micah paused at the doorway, his features a ferocious mask. “I am going to call on Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson,” he replied with icy rage, “and I am going to wring her lovely neck!”

  * * * *

  Tilda was in the process of disregarding her own advice. So little an impression had Maddy made that Tilda had no thought of her as she set off unescorted for the Hall. It was not Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson’s habit to seek the attendance of a groom.

  Tilda looked unusually fine in riding dress, and her habit was of a shade of brown that matched her eyes. The long skirt fell in graceful folds, and the tight-fitting jacket displayed her slender figure to advantage. She had dispensed with the top hat and veil that she wore in town, and her soft curls danced around her face in the breeze. Her white gelding was fresh, and Tilda laughed with pleasure as he coquetted.

  The Earl, however, appeared unmoved by this charming picture. Tilda smiled at his approach. “Micah!” she cried. “I particularly wished to speak with you.” Her smile faded as she glimpsed the expression on his face. “What’s amiss?”

  Micah wasted no time in explanations, but dismounted and swung her to the ground. Tilda watched with growing apprehension as he secured their mounts, then turned to face her. “I also wished to speak with you,” he said, firmly grasping her arm, “where we might not be overheard. Have you taken leave of your senses, girl? To allow yourself to be lured into an assignation with Alastair Bechard! It argues an insensibility that I had not thought of you.”

  “The devil!” protested Tilda indignantly. She tried unsuccessfully to free herself. “I had not thought Agatha would resort to tale-pitching! There’s no need to trouble yourself. I made a rare mull of it, and am properly cowed.”

  This conciliatory attitude prompted no discernible lessening of Wilmington’s wrath. “You do not deceive me.” His voice was harsh. “You’re too bold by far, and foolish enough to think you’re awake on all suits. Next we shall see you throw your hat over the windmill, I suppose.” He frowned. “Or can it be that you’re playing a deep game?”

  Tilda had a temper to match her flaming curls. “I think very poorly of this attitude!” she spat. “Who are you to preach propriety to me? What do you know of the unnaturally sheltered and restricted existence that I am expected to lead? You are a man!” Her tone indicated this to be a near-unforgivable sin. “It is the height of absurdity for you to fly into a passion because my behavior does not suit your notions of nicety.”

  Micah’s hands fastened on her shoulders; he gave her a little shake. Tilda glared.

  “I grow extremely bored by these absurd ideas. Is it so wonderful that your friends should not wish you to ruin yourself?”

  “So now I am absurd?�
� Tilda inquired. Lord Wilmington’s expression indicated his agreement with this sentiment. “I appreciate your concern but, in truth, Micah, I’d as lief not be obliged to you!”

  “Come down off your high ropes,” the Earl advised. “I did not accost you so that we might come to cuffs.”

  “Why, then?” inquired Tilda, with great sweetness of tone. Her shoulders ached where Micah’s strong fingers bit into the flesh.

  “Tongue-valiant, aren’t you?” The gold-flecked eyes narrowed. “And damnably hot-at-hand. Tell me, if you please. just why you engaged in this latest indiscretion? And how Alistair persuaded you to place your trust in him?”

  “He did not.” Tilda shrugged irritably, but Micah did not release her. “ There is no need to make such a fuss! I promise that in the future I shall comport myself with greater prudence.”

  “I should hope you might. You were fortunate to emerge intact from this particular prank.” Puzzlement sat upon the Earl’s features. “Why did you do it, Tilda? When both Timothy and I told you it was not the thing?”

  “Why,” demanded Tilda, “must I allow myself to be guided by Timothy, or by you, or by anyone? Am I allowed no freedom in which to order my own life?”

  “I see.” Micah was expressionless.

  “No,” Tilda snapped, “you do not. I suppose it is too much that I should ask you to. As a man, you are lord and master. All that a woman can hope to be is subservient to you. The woman you marry will be the arbiter of your household, and a devoted and submissive wife and mother.”

  “I did not know,” Wilmington interrupted, “that my hypothetical marriage had anything to do with the present case.”

  Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson scowled. “Micah, I do not wish to engage in a brangle with you! Pray do not be obtuse. I do not wish to be placed on a pedestal, or considered a priestess dedicated to preserving the home as a refuge from the outside world.”