Carola Dunn - Mayhem and Miranda

by Mayhem

  She and Lady Wiston had once visited the Bethlem Hospital for the Insane—once only. Her ladyship, who faced with scarcely ruffled equanimity the horrors of squalid tenements, hospitals, and even Newgate prison, had vowed never to return. The fettered creatures shrieking in their darkened cells were bad enough. Far worse were the treatments described in answer to Lady Wiston's queries: isolation, strait waistcoats and shackles, blisters and purges, cold plunges, forced feeding, cauterizing, and the deliberate inculcation of fear.

  The idea of Lady Wiston undergoing those tortures made Miranda feel sick. Lord Snell could not possibly contemplate subjecting his aunt to such horrors only because she liked to stand on her head.

  Mr. Daviot must have misunderstood—but suppose he had not? If Mr. Daviot was right, Lord Snell had asked for his support, which suggested he needed support for his application. He would not get it from any of her ladyship's servants or friends. On the contrary, dozens of people would be more than willing to stand up in court and swear to her sanity and goodness.

  So she was safe. On that reassuring thought, Miranda at last fell asleep.

  Nevertheless, she passed a disturbed night. At one point she dreamed Lord Snell was driving her in a curricle at a terrifying pace through the corridors of Bethlem. He kept assuring her that it was for her own good, to cure her of madness.

  Waking, she recalled his promise to take care of her should anything happen to her employer. How she had fretted over whether he was hinting that he loved her! Now she saw a new and sinister significance to his words. Had he been attempting to bribe her not to stand up for Lady Wiston?

  Miranda slept late the next morning. Washing and dressing in haste, she hurried downstairs.

  "Oh dear,” she said to Alfred in the hall, “Mudge must be desperate to get out. Where is he?"

  "Her ladyship took ‘im out, miss, after I tried and ‘e bit me. I went along wiv her ladyship's humberolly acos o’ the rain. Her ladyship said as you wasn't to be disturbed."

  "Oh dear! You did wash the bite, didn't you? Let me see. Not too bad, luckily, but I shall put some basilicum on it. Come along to the study, Alfred."

  The first thing she noticed as she entered the study was the absence of Mr. Daviot's manuscript. The table in the window was clear, no paper, pens or inkstand. A horrid sinking feeling invaded the pit of her stomach.

  "The house is very quiet,” she said as casually as she could, opening her medicine chest. “Where is everyone?"

  "Her ladyship's gorn to see summun about them mudlarks, miss, the Tuttles. She'll be back for Mr. Sagaranathu. ‘Is lordship's gorn out on business. Mr. Daviot's at ‘is club, and Mr. Bassett's at the Admiralty."

  At his club! Miranda closed her eyes in brief thankfulness. For a moment she had feared Mr. Daviot's quarrels with both herself and Lord Snell might have driven him to go off adventuring again.

  "But what about his book?"

  "'Is book, miss?"

  "Mr. Daviot's papers. They are gone."

  "'E took ‘em wiv ‘im, miss. Told her ladyship ‘e'd get more done at ‘is club."

  He did not want to work with her any more. Miranda fiercely blinked back a sudden rush of tears and concentrated on applying the basilicum to Alfred's wound.

  "Ta, miss. I'll bring your breakfas’ to the dining room right away."

  "Thank you, Alfred. All I want is a cup of tea."

  "Her ladyship said you was to eat proper,” Alfred said disapprovingly. “Tell you what, miss, Mrs. Lowenstein got some plums this morning. If you don't fancy muffin and eggs, I'll bring you some o’ them."

  Over tea and greengages, Miranda tried without success to give her attention to The Times. Last night's fears now seemed nonsensical, as midnight terrors so often do in the light of morning. What distracted her from the daily news was the hurt of Mr. Daviot's defection.

  She felt abandoned, which was ridiculous. After all, she had helped him, not the reverse, and only because Lady Wiston had desired it.

  And because she enjoyed his company more than that of anyone else she had ever met, said the traitorous little voice in her head.

  To her relief, she heard Lady Wiston in the hall, asking after her. Draining the last drop of tea, she went out.

  * * * *

  The club's page boy materialized at Peter's elbow with a cat-soft tread uncanny to one accustomed to Alfred's cheerful racket. “Mr. Bassett to see you, sir,” he murmured discreetly, unheard by the other denizens of the hushed reading room.

  Peter dropped his pen on the inkstand. He started to straighten his papers but gave up with a silent groan of despair. Who would have thought they could get so muddled in only a day and a half without Miss Carmichael's care? Leaving them scattered, he went down to the lobby.

  Bassett's beaming face told all.

  "You have your command,” said Peter with a smile.

  "Yes, the Adder's mine! I'm to go aboard this day sennight and take her down to Gravesend to await orders."

  "Congratulations, my dear fellow. I'm devilish glad for you. This calls for a toast. Come into the coffee room and we'll drink to HMS Adder and all who sail in her."

  "Just a quick glass, old chap.” Bassett followed Peter into the front room, nearly empty at this hour. “I can't wait to tell Miss ... the ladies. I say, Daviot, d'you mind if I ask your advice?"

  "By all means,” Peter assented cautiously. They sat down at the table in the window and he ordered a bottle of claret before he went on, “What's on your mind?"

  "The trouble is,” Bassett burst out, “now the moment's come there isn't time, what with getting kitted out with a new uniform and all. I want to do it up all right and tight, no havey-cavey business, which means telling my parents and asking her brother's permission. But they're in Devon and he's in Lincolnshire and in just a week—"

  "Whoa! Her brother's permission?” Between his pique at Miss Carmichael's misplaced regard for Lord Snell and his aunt's plot to marry off the pair, Peter had overlooked Bassett's admiration for that infuriating female. “Never say you mean to pop the question?” he asked as the waiter arrived with a bottle and two glasses.

  "I mean to ask her to marry me. Do you think I have a chance?"

  "But it's only a fortnight since you told me you cannot support a wife."

  "Nearer a month, and I'm not a half-pay lieutenant any more. Though we'd still have to wait, at least until after my first voyage."

  "I don't believe in long betrothals,” Peter said firmly, filling their glasses. One way or another he had to put a stop to this nonsense. A woman who succumbed so easily to a title and a handsome face was not worthy of his friend. “It wouldn't be fair to tie her down when she might meet someone else in your absence."

  "I suppose not.” Bassett looked disconsolate. “But if she doesn't know I care for her, she might accept an offer from someone she doesn't like half so much. I do think she likes me, at least a little, don't you?"

  "I'm certain she regards you as a very good friend, old chap, but I'm afraid her head's been turned by that damned snake Snell. I'll tell you what, why don't you ask her if you may write to her? She will realize you have serious intentions, and if she agrees, you will have hope for the future, without a binding promise either of you might come to regret."

  "I daresay that will be for the best.” The young officer sighed, but to Peter's relief he did not appear heartbroken. “I'd hoped to go aboard an engaged man. Still, I'll have plenty to keep me busy. A ship of my own at last!"

  Peter raised his glass. “The Adder, her new captain, and all who sail in her!"

  The joyful grin restored to his face, Bassett joined in the toast.

  "I'm off,” he said then. “She'll be glad for me, anyway, and so will Lady Wiston. I'll see you at the at-home."

  "Oh, I shan't be there. I really must get on with the great work, you know. Time and tide wait for no man."

  Bassett laughed. “That's a fine thing to tell a sailor. But you have to eat. I'll see you at dinner."


  Peter nodded. Though he had not intended to go home for dinner, either—he hadn't yesterday—an excuse to satisfy his aunt would be hard to find. He could not tell her that the less he saw of Miss Carmichael flirting with Snell, the happier he was.

  No, that was not it! He did not give a damn if she set her cap at a nobleman, though he'd have expected her to have better taste. It was the sight of Snell himself Peter could not stand. The sneaksby had wormed his way into his aunt's favour like a maggot into an apple, and the devil of it was, Miss Carmichael was right about not warning Aunt Artemis.

  To disillusion her would only distress her for nothing, not because Snell had no evil designs but because he was at point non plus when it came to carrying them out. He had failed to suborn Peter, and there would be scores of others to swear to the soundness of her mind.

  Returning to his writing, Peter reflected on how much less complicated life had been among the Iroquois.

  * * * *

  Miranda was glad to see Mr. Bassett go off happily to order the proper gold braiding put to his cocked hat. His face had fallen when she composedly told him she and Lady Wiston would always be delighted to receive news of his travels. He was a dear fellow, but a private correspondence was more of a mark of intimacy than she was prepared to grant.

  Eustace and Alfred came in to clear away the tea things. Lady Wiston was looking unwontedly fatigued. With all the arrangements to be made for the Tuttles’ future, she had scarcely sat down all day.

  "Do go and lie down, ma'am,” Miranda urged.

  "I believe I shall, dear. Pray tell Cook, Godfrey's friends will stay to dinner."

  "They will?” Miranda was dismayed. She did not like the looks of the two physicians who now stood by the window talking to Lord Snell. Why had he chosen to consult such unprepossessing characters?

  One was a bulky man with a triple chin underpinning his red, greasy, sycophantic face, and a habit of rubbing his hands together. The other, small and angular, had a sly, foxy expression which reminded Miranda of the pickpocket Lady Wiston had hit with her umbrella. Both wore black with a rusty cast, suggesting their practices were neither extensive nor lucrative.

  From that point of view, they fitted in well with the rest of the guests, but they had not mingled with the others. Instead they had lurked near Lady Wiston, eavesdropping on her conversations and whispering solemnly together as they now did with his lordship.

  They reminded Miranda of carrion crows. “You mean you have invited both those doctors to dine?” she asked doubtfully.

  "Yes, dear. Or rather, Godfrey asked me if he might invite them. I must say they seem rather odd people, do they not?” Such words from Lady Wiston amounted almost to outright condemnation. “Not at all the sort whose company one might expect Godfrey to frequent.” She gave Miranda an anxious glance. “You know, dear, Godfrey never stayed in the house before, even when the Admiral was alive, and I begin to think perhaps I did not know him very well."

  "I daresay Lord Snell has his reasons for issuing the invitation.” How she wished she could be certain of those reasons.

  Ought she to warn Lady Wiston of her fears? If only Mr. Daviot were there to be consulted, but of course he was missing just when he was needed. In any case, he had made it plain he wanted nothing further to do with her. She would not lower herself to chase after him, even to tell him about the carrion crows.

  "It is a pity they will be here tonight,” said Lady Wiston with a sigh. “I fear they will cast a damper on our celebration for dear Mr. Bassett. You spoke to Twitchell about the champagne?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Excellent. I shall go up now and lie down until it is time for my exercises."

  The less the doctors saw of yoga the better! Accompanying her ladyship out into the hall, Miranda said hopefully, “You are tired, Lady Wiston. Surely you may omit your practising just this once?"

  "Oh no, dear. It does not tire me. Indeed, it quite renews my energy. I have something new to show you this evening."

  Miranda smiled at her. “I am going to take Mudge out now before it starts raining again,” she said, “but I shall be back in plenty of time to watch.” And to endeavour to keep the crows away, she added silently.

  She was too late. It was a windy day and Mudge took exception to a scrap of paper blowing across their path in Hyde Park. He yanked the lead out of Miranda's hand. Chasing him, she broke a bootlace. When at last she hobbled home, Eustace informed her that her ladyship and the two medical men were all above stairs in the green sitting room.

  Miranda hurried up to her chamber, threw off her bonnet, kicked off the wretched boots, and scarcely pausing to don slippers, sped along the passage.

  In the centre of the room, Lady Wiston sat cross-legged in her green and beige Cossack trousers, neatly matching the carpet. Her eyes were closed and in a tranquil voice she intoned, over and over again, a string of incomprehensible syllables: “Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum."

  By the window, the black-clad physicians stared and gravely shook their heads. Lady Wiston appeared serenely oblivious of their presence. Miranda was not.

  Crossing to them, she said softly but with all the courteous firmness at her command, “Do come down to the drawing room, gentlemen, and take a glass of Madeira."

  The fat man licked his lips. “That's very kind of you, miss,” he said in an unctuous undertone. “However his lordship's already promised us a glass and he asked us to wait here while he dresses for dinner."

  The skinny one, his gaze still fixed on Lady Wiston, nudged his fellow in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Look!” he gasped.

  Miranda realized the chant had ceased. Turning, she saw her ladyship's legs rise slowly and smoothly into the air and stabilize in a perfect, wobble-free Candle.

  "Lady Wiston is wonderfully limber for her age, is she not?” Miranda said quickly.

  The doctors glanced at each other and exchanged portentous nods.

  "The daily exercises are doing wonders for her health,” she gabbled on. “So very sensible of her to take steps to avoid the ills which so often undermine the constitution of the elderly. I am half inclined to adopt the same regimen."

  Though they neither interrupted nor contradicted her, the two men paid little attention to Miranda's lecture on the benefits of yoga. In fact they looked right past her, eyes alight with avid curiosity absorbing every detail of Lady Wiston's contortions.

  Miranda gave up in despair. They had made up their minds about Lady Wiston. All that remained was to cram as many of her friends as possible into the court when the time came for the committal hearing. If Mr. Daviot was right about Lord Snell's intentions. But he must be wrong!

  Chapter 13

  When Miranda went down to the drawing room after changing for dinner, only Lady Wiston, Lord Snell, and Mr. Bassett were there. Lord Snell came towards her.

  "I must apologize, Miss Carmichael,” he said. “I fear my guests have disrupted your domestic arrangements. A patient in whose treatment they are both involved took a turn for the worse and a messenger arrived to fetch them."

  Miranda simply could not force herself to say she was sorry. She was not even sure she believed in the declining patient, or that his lordship had ever intended to sit down to dinner with the carrion crows. The invitation could have been a ruse to explain their staying on after the at-home to see the yoga.

  "Does Twitchell know?” she asked.

  "Yes, yes, I informed him myself."

  "Thank you, my lord.” Did she dare request an explanation of their visit? He would have every right to take snuff at being interrogated by his aunt's companion. While she was summoning up the nerve, he changed the subject.

  "I regret that we have had no opportunity these last few days to drive in the park again. The weather appears to be improving. If it is fine tomorrow afternoon, will you honour me with your company? I promise not to spring the horses,” he added with a smile.

  Perhaps he wanted a chance to explain to her in private
. “If Lady Wiston can spare me, sir, I shall be delighted."

  "Splendid.” His smile suddenly vanished. Looking over Miranda's shoulder he gave a chilly nod.

  She glanced around. Mr. Daviot had just entered. Not having seen him for two days, Miranda was struck by his tall, elegant slenderness in evening clothes, black coat, buff breeches, and spotless white linen. In contrast, Lord Snell seemed lamentably thickset, even beginning to run to fat about the middle.

  Thank heaven Peter Daviot had come, Miranda thought. She must talk to him, find out more exactly what Lord Snell had said to him, tell him about the crows.

  He bowed to her coldly and went on to join his aunt and Mr. Bassett. Miranda wondered if he had heard her express delight at the prospect of driving out with Lord Snell. He had vigorously and convincingly denied any possibility of jealousy—not that she had suspected him of it for a moment, she thought wistfully—so he must suppose she had gone over to the enemy. Did he trust her so little?

  The impulse to consult him shrivelled and died.

  Though one of the company was not on speaking terms with two others, under the influence of champagne dinner was almost a convivial occasion. Mr. Bassett's high spirits bubbled like the wine, and Lady Wiston, less oblivious of discord, remained steadfastly cheerful. Following her example, Miranda did her best to hide her chagrin at Mr. Daviot's disapproval and her wariness of Lord Snell.

  Mr. Bassett was loud in his thanks to Lord Snell and Lady Wiston for their recommending him to the Admiralty.

  "What is influence for if not to be wielded?” said his lordship with a condescending complacency which set Miranda's teeth on edge.

  In contrast, Lady Wiston beamed at the young officer and said, “I should be glad to think I had a hand in helping a friend, but I am persuaded your promotion is entirely due to your merits, dear boy. What a pity it means you must go away so soon."

  "Jove, yes,” said Mr. Daviot. “You'll be sorely missed, Bassett. I trust you won't forget us when you return loaded with honours."

  "You must promise to come straight here next time you are in London,” Lady Wiston affirmed.