Since Maddy threatened to succumb to one of the tantrums that had enlivened her childhood, Lady Henrietta intervened. “You told me,” she said, “nothing of the sort. This entire reprehensible scheme was your idea, and I had little faith that Maddy would prove sufficiently unscrupulous to bring it about. I am glad she did not, for it would be unthinkable that she must atone for your folly.” She gazed upon her startled audience, and smiled at her daughter. “I wished only for Maddy to be given an opportunity to take her place in Society, and would never have countenanced a marriage made for the reasons that my husband proposed.”
Maddy was stricken dumb by this show of independence, and by Claude’s silent, if sulky, acceptance of his wife’s new role, but Motley smiled appreciatively. It was evident that Lady Henrietta had taken advantage of her daughter’s absence to establish firm control over her tiresome spouse.
“I was not to divulge the information,” she remarked, “but I can see no harm in making you aware that Emile has agreed to dower Maddy. But he will go no further in resolving the current difficulties.”
“How enterprising of you, Motley!” Lady Henrietta looked speculative. “But there was no need: Claude has made a comeabout, and our situation is now secure.” She smiled. “He has also come to a realization of his responsibilities and has foresworn gambling except in the most modest degree.”
Claude, who had not come to this realization without the application of threats, curses, and annihilating arguments delivered by his lady wife, and whose temper was further exacerbated by the knowledge that Lady Henrietta held, most firmly, the pursestrings, looked for an object on which to vent his wrath. He glared at Motley. “I heard my brother’s name. What has Emile to do with this?”
Motley was not dismayed by this indication that Claude was on the verge of a distempered freak. “The situation grew so muddled,” she explained, “that I thought it necessary to consult him.”
If Claude had ever known of Motley’s past association with the Comte, he had forgotten, but Lady Henrietta’s memory was more reliable. She raised a delicate eyebrow. “Fiend seize you, woman!” bellowed Claude. “Who gave you permission to interfere in my affairs? Highty-tighty behavior, to be sure! I trust Emile sent you off with a flea in your ear, as you so richly deserved.”
“Not at all,” Motley replied. “He was most courteous, and indicated a strong interest in Maddy’s circumstances.” Lady Henrietta’s eyebrow climbed a further fraction of an inch.
“Altogether displeasing!” Claude glowered. “I’ve a strong notion to turn you off without a character.”
Nothing in Motley’s demeanor indicated that she perceived the seriousness of this threat, or even that she suffered the slightest unease. Nor did Lady Henrietta evince any dismay at the thought of losing her long-time friend, but surveyed her husband with an expression that one might direct toward a child in the midst of a tantrum. Claude shrugged irritably and turned his back on them.
“We departed immediately we had your letter.” Lady Henrietta studied her daughter. “I had meant to make the journey in any case, to tell you of the happy change in our financial affairs. Such tidings were best not expressed on paper, or so I thought, but perhaps I should have taken the risk. Child, you look shockingly worn down.”
Briefly, all else had been forgotten in the light of Claude’s surprising good luck. But Clem was missing, Kenelm in danger, and there was the puzzle of Alastair Bechard. And Lionel, despite the Earl’s comment that his wrath had cooled, had made it quite clear that he had no great opinion of Maddy. Miss de Villiers considered that she had made a fine muddle of her affairs.
“All the same,” growled Claude, in the tones of one determined to be adamant, “Maddy is going to marry Wilmington.”
Chapter Fourteen
Letty Jellicoe was in high spirits. The news of Clem’s disappearance had acted as a tonic, and this, coupled with the knowledge that her mother had arranged an eminently suitable match for the disappointing Alathea, had proved more beneficient to Letty’s spirits than even her favorite patent remedy. Such was her sense of well-being that parental commentary on her inept handling of the situation, and the numerous flaws in Alathea’s character, had no adverse effect. Alathea’s intended was comfortably established, a man of great character who, being twice his intended’s age, might be expected to keep her firmly in hand. So pleased was Letty with this development that she had come to believe that it had evolved solely through her efforts. She allowed Eunice to place a pillow behind her back, and smiled languidly upon Timothy Rockingham.
And now, with Claude’s arrival, she was no longer responsible for her niece. Letty frowned, forgetting momentarily that such exercise led to the premature advent of racial lines, and considered the catastrophe that Maddy had wrought with her ambitious schemes. It would serve the girl well if she were to remain unmarried, though with Claude’s determination to bring Wilmington up to scratch, this seemed unlikely.
Letty’s thoughts were not the only ones that centered on Miss de Villiers. It was Motley’s opinion that her recalcitrant charge was behaving in a most unsatisfactory way. Maddy was, in fact, exhibiting all the classical symptoms of one rapidly sinking into a decline. Her volatility was dampened, she jumped like a startled rabbit when spoken to, and she tended, at the least provocation, to fly into the boughs. It was very odd that she should behave so now, when her ambitions were close to realization, for the Earl would not easily escape parson’s mousetrap. Motley regretted that she’d sworn silence to Emile, who wished to take steps in private, without his interest in Kenelm’s affairs being known. Her sympathies were with Kenelm, who scoured the countryside ceaselessly, and could only by force be made to rest. Motley wondered just what Emile’s private investigations might entail, but the Comte’s intentions had not been revealed.
Nor had his intentions concerning herself. Motley smiled dreamily, then realized that this expression was not, perhaps, the most suitable under the circumstances. She found Lady Henrietta regarding her with conjecture. “Motley,” murmured her employer, “you greatly intrigue me.” Motley blushed. Were the Comte so heedless of the dignity of his station that he again asked for her hand, she would not be so chuckle-headed as to refuse. But that was a matter for the future. One’s first thought, now, must be for the missing Clem.
“I think very poorly of the chit,” Agatha remarked. “What must she do, after all our efforts on her behalf, but run away at the first opportunity? And to do it in such a shabby manner! I vow, I am tempted to wash my hands of the minx.”
“And well you might!” agreed Claude, for Clem’s disappearance was interfering grievously with his plans. The Earl was damned elusive, and the confusion of his household gave him an excellent excuse to be elsewhere precisely when Claude wished to speak with him.
Motley eyed her charge, who was fidgeting. Maddy could not be persuaded that Clem’s abrupt departure was not her responsibility, though such concern was excessive. Motley, who knew neither of Wilmington’s somewhat brutal advances nor of Lionel’s threat to reveal the de Villiers’ stratagems, wondered what other matters might occupy that damsel’s thoughts.
“I can see,” commented Wilmington, “that the chit’s unconventional leave-taking must be a source of considerable chagrin.”
“You are devilish out of humor!” barked his godmother. “I find you a dead bore.”
Rather than exhibiting discomposure at this sharp speech, its recipient grinned. “Cut line, Agatha,” he advised. “You shan’t come to cuffs with me.”
Wilmington had dutifully joined the searchers but, when their efforts had proved fruitless, had announced that there were countless other pursuits on which he might more profitably waste his time. When the Duchess took him to task for an obligation so lightly discharged, his lordship had unfairly pointed out that Clem’s presence in his home had been no doing of his. Nor did he consider Lionel an inspiring example, for all that young gentleman aided Kenelm’s efforts most zealously. After all, a you
ng man must grow tired of the Hall’s rustic delights, and the girl’s disappearance led to excellent sport. What better excuse for riding pell-mell about the countryside?
“And no matter what you say”—the Duchess turned her fire on the silent Tilda—“you cannot stay in that great barn of a house without a suitable female companion! You had best remain here until I can arrange matters satisfactorily. Surely among my various indigent relations there must be one who would suit.”
“It is good of you, Agatha,” Tilda replied, “but there is no need.”
There was a light in Agatha’s eye that foretokened battle to come. “There is every need! If you’ve an ounce of sense in that carroty head, which I’ve had occasion to doubt, you’ll listen to me.”
“Bravo!” applauded the Earl, and earned stormy looks from both ladies. “It is a well-taken point, Agatha, for the whole world would be shocked to learn that Tilda has chosen to dwell in virtual isolation, but I must point out that the Hall is already filled to the rafters.”
“You forget Bevis,” Timothy pointed out. “Surely Tilda’s brother and her housekeeper provide her with sufficient countenance.”
“Bevis!” The Duchess grimaced ferociously. “Were Mathilda in need of protection, he would doubtless cower beneath his bed.”
Since the Duke of Abercorn had suffered, as a result of his sister’s unrepentant tongue, a fit of the gout so severe that it necessitated his confinement to his quarters, with a large portion of the household staff in constant attendance, Tilda could offer no argument.
“Should Tilda stand in need of protection,” Timothy replied, “she has but to call on me.”
“Oh?” inquired the Duchess. “Are you now in residence at the Abbey? An unconventional arrangement, to be sure!”
“Gammon!” Tilda interjected. “You know that is not what Timothy meant. And why should my domestic arrangements be of such interest to the world?” Her tone was rebellious.
Letty wondered why a gentleman so well appointed as Timothy Rockingham should nourish a tendre for this ramshackle creature. Tilda paid for dressing, as was shown by her elegant green velvet riding habit, but she was much too independent and mettlesome.
“Just think what antics you might indulge in, unchaperoned,” Micah was kind enough to explain. “You might entertain a steady stream of male visitors, and no one would know.”
“The servants would know, for a start. Do you think Puggins would tolerate such depravity?” Tilda scowled at him. “I hardly think I would dare engage in such activities without them coming to your ears.”
“We all know,” murmured Eunice with a malicious titter, “that there is little dear Mathilda will not dare!”
“Don’t concern yourself with my sensibilities,” retorted the Earl, effectively distracting the Duchess from this impertinence. “I am not easily shocked.”
“And I am?” inquired Agatha. “Do stop this brangling!” She addressed Tilda severely. “Your household, my dear, is devoted to you. There isn’t one of your servants who wouldn’t lie himself blue in the face to keep from tarnishing your good name.”
Claude listened, fascinated. It sounded like Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was inclined to engage in shenanigans. He wondered if this might be turned to his advantage, for he suspected she was not indifferent to the Earl.
“You may set your conscience at ease,” Tilda said. “I intend to conduct myself with the utmost propriety.” The Earl indulged in what sounded very much like a snort.
“Your intentions, Mathilda, are always good.” The Duchess was stern. “It is in their execution that you falter.” She turned her fierce visage on Micah. “What is this quibbling over a room? The Hall is large enough to house an army and, if memory serves, it has.”
Claude listened, with interest. It was not inconceivable that this great rambling structure would soon be his daughter’s home.
“Ah, but consider the condition of the remaining chambers,” the Earl replied. “They are small and mean, hardly the style to which Tilda is accustomed.”
“I would prefer,” remarked Tilda, “to remain in my own chambers in my own home.”
“Dominic’s home!” Eunice interrupted. She was ignored.
“I have it!” remarked the Earl, with perverse delight. “You shall have Cassandra’s room. I daresay it will suit you well enough.” Maddy stared, brought briefly out of her brown study by this summary disposition of that locked and forbidden chamber. She recalled the tragic fate of its last occupant.
“Excellent!” approved Agatha. A sharp glance quelled further protest. “You are outnumbered, Mathilda.”
Micah smiled. “Tilda has yet to learn to accept defeat gracefully.”
Claude cleared his throat. “Wilmington,” he said, “I must have a word with you.” It did not at all suit him to have this fiery creature residing under the Earl’s roof, particularly since his daughter was proving so damnably difficult, and had now announced an intention to remain a spinster until the end of her days.
“A noble impulse,” remarked the Earl wickedly, “but it’s unnecessary for you to give up your chamber so that Tilda will be comfortable. It is more fitting that she should occupy my wife’s rooms.”
Claude looked as though he’d swallowed a distasteful morsel, and his spouse hid a smile. Tilda, wondering what new game the Earl played, reluctantly agreed. Bevis would be incensed, but she cared not for that. It was as well, she supposed, that she not be left virtually alone while there was a possibility that Alastair lurked in the neighborhood. The thought brought the frown back to her brow.
Motley wondered what caused Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson to regard an exquisite Sevres vase with such unwonted seriousness, but the Duchess grew restless again. “Where can they be?” she demanded irritably. Kenelm and Lionel had ridden to the village to ascertain whether Clem had caught the London stage. “They’ve had time to twice go there and back again.”
“It’s my opinion,” commented the Earl, “that the chit is cutting a wheedle. She’ll soon appear, and affect great surprise that her absence has brought us all to a standstill. Or it may be a ploy to make Kenelm declare himself.”
“That makes no sense,” Tilda observed with satisfaction. “He’s already made her an offer.”
“An event,” murmured Letty bitterly, “for which my niece is entirely to blame. My son and an actress! Never have I been more mortified. I hope that he may never find her, so we may have peace again.”
“An un-Christian attitude,” remarked Lady Henrietta, “and precisely, Letty, what one might have expected of you.”
Letty gasped and assumed an unearthly pallor but was soon revived, not so much by Eunice’s smelling salts as by Timothy’s solicitude.
“I do not seek to understand the female mind,” the Earl remarked. “It is eminently irrational.”
Hostilities might have broken out anew, with Agatha an appreciative auditor, had not Lionel’s voice sounded in the hallway. Maddy sprang to her feet, with an eagerness that did not escape her mother’s watchful eye.
“What word?” she cried as he entered the room.
“There is no trace of her.” Lionel looked unusually grim. “It is almost certain that she did not take the stage. Kenelm goes to London now. He means to search for her among her old acquaintances. It is possible that she found her way there by other means.” There was no need to add that it was even more likely that the girl had met with foul play. Nor did Lionel advise his silent audience that Kenelm also meant to seek out Alastair Bechard. Having delivered this unencouraging news, Lionel went to try once more to persuade Kenelm from this latter course.
“If the girl meant to return to the stage,” Agatha remarked bitterly, “she might at least have taken her leave of us in the ordinary way! Though why she would resume a career for which she admittedly had little aptitude when young Jellicoe is head over heels in love with her is more than I can say.” Letty’s moan was ignored by all save Timothy, who sympathetically patted her hand, an act that brou
ght a becoming flush to that lady’s cheeks.
“Love, I’m told, is an emotion that inspires one to act in an extremely odd manner.” Micah gave no indication of ever having suffered this malady. “Perhaps this will teach you to be more careful of what stray dogs you bring home. You would have been saved a great deal of trouble, Agatha, if you’d left the girl where she belongs.”
“How true,” muttered Eunice, who unreasonably blamed Maddy for the loss of her comfortable home. “I cannot think what Dominic would say to such goings-on! He would be shocked that scandal has invaded the neighborhood—and, indeed, has come so close to home.” Her malicious glance rested on Tilda. “Yes, Dominic would be very disturbed.”
“On the contrary.” Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson wore a thoughtful air. “Dominic would have remarked that the fate of such a creature had naught to do with him, and would have promptly dismissed it from mind.” She smiled. “If Dominic’s rest is disturbed, Eunice, it is only by your constant references to his saintliness.”
“How can you!” cried Maddy. “Clem may lie injured somewhere, she may even be dead, and you can do nothing but dissect her character! Clem took her place on the stage because there was nothing else she could do, but her lineage is impeccable, perhaps more so than your own!” She looked daggers at the Earl. “She, at least, has never been accused of murdering someone!”
“Madeleine!” Motley was scandalized. Her rage boundless, Maddy abruptly left the room. Tilda, regarding the Earl’s granite features, reflected that Micah’s courtship of Maddy was the strangest she’d ever been privileged to witness.
* * * *
“Eh bien!” Hands on hips, Clem surveyed the humble room that had obviously once been inhabited by those born to a less exalted state in life than she had previously enjoyed. The furnishings were crude and sparse. Through two small windows set high in a wall came the only illumination. “I do not think I like this place.” Closer inspection revealed that the windows were useless as an avenue of escape. Clem moved to disdainfully peer into the littered fireplace.
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