She did not really believe herself to be in any danger, despite appearances. Neither of the Selwyns had offered any direct harm; the blow she had taken from the door had been an accident of her own causing. Nor did the siblings have the air of ruffians, or dangerous villains. They had more the manner of overgrown children, spoiled and wilful, unable to comprehend why their mother’s chosen toy — or perhaps, their own? — had not chosen to come and play with them. She ought, she thought, to be equal to such a situation: peculiar, but in no real way threatening.
Still, they proved resistant to her sensible objections, and with every passing minute the coach barrelled farther away from Werth Towers.
And if Great-Uncle Silvester had heard her plea, he was being awfully quiet about it.
By the time the coach finally drew to a stop at a wayside inn, several hours had dragged joltingly by. Gussie had given up hope of Great-Uncle Silvester, or of drumming any sense into her new bosom-friend either (as Miss Selwyn insisted on calling herself, before kindly offering her the gift of her Christian name: Clarissa).
Gussie’s attempts at persuading the Selwyns to turn the coach around, and deliver her back to her home, had universally failed. So had her enquiries as to the reason for her abduction; ‘Word of my wit and vivacity has spread as far as Somerset, I suppose, and naturally engendered in you a burning desire to enjoy my company?’
‘You have hit upon the very truth of it, Miss Werth,’ drawled Charles, a sardonic glitter in his eye. ‘We have never known anything half so entertaining at Starminster, I assure you.’
Clarissa delivered her brother a thumping blow upon the shoulder, which he swatted away, muttering, ‘Really, Clara, if you will not be more feminine we will never be rid of you.’
‘That is a good thought,’ said Clarissa, arrested in the middle of whatever she had been going to say. ‘I shall marry the first man I see.’
‘John Coachman, I collect.’
‘Except John Coachman.’
‘Ahem?’ said Gussie.
‘Oh! Charles is quite right,’ said Clarissa hurriedly. ‘We were anxious to make your acquaintance, and really, what with Mama and your aunt being so thick with one another, we are practically family. Are not we?’
Gussie had longed to observe that family were not ordinarily inclined to abduct one another, not even among the peculiar Werths. But she had seen enough of the Selwyns to realise that theirs were different rules of conduct altogether, and held her peace. She was not to receive an explanation en route, it appeared.
By the time the inn was reached, she had abandoned thoughts of escape. Partly because she was road-weary and sore, and eager to seek her bed. And partly because, though the manner of her journey was somewhat… unorthodox, and she felt some apprehension at the prospect of making so odd an appearance at Starminster, she could not feel an absolute disinclination to go along with it. For to go there coincided exactly with her wishes, however the means.
And her curiosity was piqued. Whatever reason the Selwyns had for forcing her compliance, it could have nothing to do with anything so absurdly simple as a desire of making her acquaintance. And though she prided herself a little upon her wit, she could not for a moment believe that fame of it had spread as far as her aunt’s old connections in faraway Somerset.
No, the Selwyns must have another reason for bringing her to Starminster. And Gussie, alive with curiosity, was determined to find out what it might be.
Chapter Five
Miss Frostell took her time getting down from the coach. Theo, travel-sore and suffering a powerful thirst, gave up waiting for her to overcome her scruples, or whatever might be causing the delay, and strode into The Red Lion coaching inn by himself.
‘I require two rooms and a private parlour,’ he informed the landlord, noticing only that the man was short and as thin as a reed before he resolutely turned away his gaze, and regarded instead the portrait of a fat woman in a great wig that hung over the fireplace.
The landlord bowed low. Theo never troubled himself to dress to suit his eminence; nothing about his dusty driving coat, with its meagre two capes, could have provided any real clue as to his status, nor the favourite old hat crowning his unbrushed locks. Still, innkeepers had a special sense for such things, he supposed, for somehow his status was always found out.
The fellow hesitated. ‘I am sorry to disappoint your lordship,’ said he. ‘My two best bedchambers are yours, but at present I have no parlour available—’
Theo favoured the hapless landlord with a stare. Then, a slow smile.
And the landlord stepped back, as they always did, his eyes darting away from the glint of Lord Bedgberry’s teeth. He swallowed. ‘I was mistaken,’ he said hurriedly. ‘A private parlour, and two bedchambers.’
Theo put his smile away. ‘I am much obliged,’ he said affably. ‘And I should like a good dinner for one person to be set out in it, in half an hour’s time.’
‘One, my lord?’
Theo heard Miss Frostell’s measured steps approaching, and her light voice as she addressed some remark to Great-Aunt Honoria. ‘One,’ he said firmly. ‘Whatever is most like to please the lady.’
The landlord coughed. ‘You shan’t be joining her, my lord?’
‘I shall have other arrangements.’
The landlord paled. Behind him, a pair of begrimed maids hovered in a doorway, staring at Theo and crossing themselves.
No; not at Theo, for sailing off to the fireplace went Great-Aunt Honoria’s head. Not, at this time, attended by a trail of fresh blood.
‘Lord Bedgberry’s aunt,’ explained Miss Frostell in a kindly tone, answering the unspoken question in the landlord’s face. ‘For really, it would never have done for us to take to the road without her. Have you bespoken rooms, my lord?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Theo, on his way to the door. A mere, spindly landlord he could withstand, but the presence of two vibrant maids, glowing with life and blood, was too much to be borne. ‘This fellow will see that you are fed.’
‘How obliging,’ murmured Miss Frostell.
As Theo stepped out into the dust of a hot afternoon, he heard the landlord saying, in a quiversome way, ‘W-will her ladyship be requiring dinner?’
‘Lady Honoria?’ said Miss Frostell, her voice receding with every stride of Theo’s. ‘I believe she sups on terror, sir, and I can see she is already being well provided for.’
***
They were three days upon the road, wending slowly westward across the country. Clarissa had had forethought enough to bring extra supplies for Gussie, in the way of nightgowns and tooth-powder, but Gussie soon tired of wearing the same dress. It had not been intended for travelling in the first place, and the light, rose-coloured muslin, while becoming to her pale complexion and dark hair, was ill-suited to the road. Moreover, she had come out without bonnet or spencer either, being engaged in only a short walk across the park in the height of summer.
‘Do not concern yourself about it, Miss Werth,’ was Clarissa’s airy reply. ‘You will find everything you could require at Starminster. We are very well prepared for your visit.’
This turned out to be the literal, extraordinary truth.
In the midst of a hot afternoon upon the third day, the Selwyn family’s travelling coach drew up at last before the elegant façade of a house so grand it bordered upon palatial. Gussie, too astonished to remember her dignity, stuck her head out of the window, the better to look her fill at Starminster. The house dated from a similar period to Werth Towers, she judged, but was in a different style altogether. It bore none of the rambling eccentricity of her own family’s home, none of its patchwork peculiarity and mismatched design. Starminster made an imposing presence, built as it was entirely from a pale, honey-coloured stone and positively bristling with big, bright windows. Huge double doors, gilded in gold, guarded the entryway; a myriad of little turrets and spires and battlements crowned the roof; and the lawns surrounding this majestic abode were arranged wit
h a perfection only a small army of gardeners could achieve. Starminster, in short, reeked of money.
But it would not do to act too much the country mouse, and gawk at such splendour with round-eyed astonishment. Gussie withdrew her head, and composed herself to behave as though she had visited dozens of palaces.
She did not fool Charles, who smiled at her with a kindness laced with malice. ‘Charming little place, is it not?’ he said.
‘Don’t torment our guest, Charles,’ said Clarissa, too impatient to wait for the footman to open the door, and throwing it wide herself. ‘Or she will abandon us before the day is out, and then you will be sorry.’
‘She can hardly do that without stealing Henry’s carriage,’ said Charles. ‘And I am persuaded Miss Werth’s manners are far too good to permit of it.’
‘I should hesitate to steal a carriage, certainly,’ said Gussie, emerging into the bright air of the afternoon. ‘But I am sure your brother would not mind my borrowing one, for he could never wish to keep me here against my will.’ She held Charles’s gaze as she spoke, hoping to provoke some telling reaction from him. But he only smirked, and strode towards the glittering doors that were already swinging open. Servants poured forth, and converged upon the carriage, bent upon divesting it of luggage, cushions and other what-not before its return into the coach-house.
Before Gussie could collect herself, and will her stiff legs into movement, she was accosted by Clarissa and swept into the house.
‘I am putting you in Adley’s charge,’ she declared. ‘You’ll like Adley, everyone does. A dear old creature, quite devoted to the family, and I assure you she has the strictest instructions to attend to your every need.’
Adley turned out to be Mrs. Adley, the housekeeper. Gussie’s impressions of housekeeper and house were brief and muddled: she was marched through the hall too quickly to discern much about it, save that it was enormous and echoing, honey-coloured and cool, and hung all about with tapestries and paintings. Mrs. Adley escorted her up a wide, white stone staircase clad in scarlet carpet; grey-haired and comfortably proportioned, with her plain garb and welcoming manners, she proved something of a foil to the breath-taking splendour of the house. While Gussie mildly resented the cavalier treatment of Clarissa, she soon warmed to Mrs. Adley, just as Clarissa had said she would.
‘I will show you to your room,’ Mrs. Adley said. ‘Doubtless you’ll be tired, after such a long journey, and wanting a bit of rest.’
‘I am very much in want of rest,’ Gussie agreed. ‘But more in want of a washstand, and a change of gown.’
‘Of course, my lady,’ said Mrs. Adley. ‘You will find everything awaiting you in your room.’
‘It’s just Miss Werth,’ said Gussie. ‘Shall I indeed find everything? Gowns too?’
‘I believe you will be pleased, miss,’ said Mrs. Adley. ‘Her ladyship has gone to a great deal of trouble to secure your comfort.’
Gussie, mystified, did not know what to think. Some part of her felt a little compunction, upon hearing this, for her family’s easy dismissal of the invitation. It was rare that anybody had gone to so much trouble purely for the sake of Gussie’s comfort — indeed, no one ever had — and she could not help being gratified by such attention.
But her ladyship had been so discourteous and high-handed as to compel Gussie’s attendance upon her, and for reasons that remained unclear. Under such extraordinary conditions as those, a close attention to her needs was the very least she had the right to expect.
Furthermore, for a lady to arrive at a house unattended by any relative or companion, or even by her maid; unencumbered by any luggage, and wearing a gown wholly unsuited to the occasion; these were the heights of impropriety, by anybody’s measure. Nobody appeared to regard it at Starminster, however, not even the servants. Either they had expected it, and saw nothing to question in her ladyship’s importing her guests by force; or they were too well-trained to betray any condemnation or surprise, and contented themselves with despising her in secret.
Gussie held up her chin, and swept up the stairs with all the implacable hauteur of a duchess.
She was taken aback upon reaching her room, and finding that the term had been misleading. A whole suite of rooms was assigned to her use, of sufficient grandeur to flatter the consequence of a princess. She had a handsome salon, fitted with elegant, low divans and mahogany tables; a bedchamber so enormous she might lose herself in it, the four-poster bed hung with velvet drapes; a reading room, small, but amply provided with books and upholstered chairs; and a dressing-room. This last Mrs. Adley ushered her into with a smile, pointing out a fine porcelain wash-basin upon a marble-topped table, and the great mirror that hung above both.
She then proceeded to throw open the doors of the closets, and Gussie gasped at the array of garments waiting inside. Gowns aplenty, sewn of fine muslins and silks; spencer-jackets and an embroidered pelisse; stockings and half-boots, dancing slippers and shawls; and a handsome pearl-grey cloak. She had never worn clothes so fine in her life.
‘Why,’ she gasped. ‘I believe they mean to keep me here forever.’
‘You’re to be paying us a long visit, miss?’ said Mrs. Adley. ‘I thought her ladyship had said as much.’
‘No,’ said Gussie. ‘Not so very long a visit, in fact.’ Only as long as it took her to unearth the motive behind such peculiar treatment, so inexplicable a mix of consideration for her comfort, and contempt for her will. ‘Where did all these come from?’ she said, gesturing at the astonishing array of garments before her. ‘Her ladyship might have been preparing for my arrival for a twelve-month.’
‘As to that, I do not know,’ said Mrs. Adley, serenely untroubled. ‘Some arrived only this morning. Others were gathered from somewhere or another about the house. Her ladyship will be able to explain everything to you, I am sure.’ Upon which helpful note, having enquired as to Gussie’s further requirements, Mrs. Adley excused herself, and left Gussie to wash and change her attire in peace.
For some moments, Gussie eyed the handsome gowns with something approaching trepidation. She felt ushered into a jewelled trap, replete with every comfort but freedom. As though, like Persephone in the Underworld, she might be condemned to remain forever, were she so foolish as to partake of any of the proffered delights.
But that was foolishness. They could not confine her at Starminster forever; her family would have something to say about it, in due time. And she still had not quite given up hope of Great-Uncle Silvester.
Besides, what reason could they possibly have for doing so? For clothe her in luxury as they may, feed her on sweetmeats and beguile her with flattery, she remained a mere Gussie Werth, of no particular distinction.
Perhaps it was odd to be so comforted by a recollection of her own insignificance, but Gussie launched a foray upon the closets with renewed confidence. She selected for her immediate use a gown of sky-blue muslin overlaid with white gauze, and a fine, pale-gold shawl to throw over her elbows. She had thought, upon taking them down, that they must prove too large for her; but when she donned the gown, and tied the drawstring of the neckline over her stays, it proved to be perfectly suited to her figure, as though sewn especially for her use.
Thus attired, her complexion refreshed by the contents of a porcelain water-jug set upon the washstand, Gussie prepared herself to venture downstairs.
It was only as she was passing back through the bedchamber and her salon, that she was fully struck by the nature of the contents. For the rooms were arrayed in dusk-rose and ivory, accented in delicate silver; and it had only just at that moment struck her how odd it was, that her assigned chambers should happen to be decorated in all her favourite colours.
Chapter Six
Clarissa awaited her at the foot of the great staircase. She had changed out of her gentleman’s attire, and now wore an unexceptionable gown of figured muslin, trimmed with lace, and with a shawl similar to Gussie’s own cast about her arms. She beamed up at Gussie as she de
scended the stairs, and said: ‘Well, and while the rose is a shade more becoming with that hair, the blue really looks very well indeed.’
‘How kind,’ Gussie said tartly. ‘I should be ashamed to look anything but my best, indeed, when on the point of being introduced to my chief abductor.’
Clarissa tutted, and presumed so far as to tuck her arm through Gussie’s, in the friendliest — and most familiar — manner. ‘I wish you would not fix so upon this notion of abduction!’ she said. ‘While I own that we did not precisely ask your permission, still, you cannot pretend not to be delighted to find yourself at Starminster?’
‘Who could be anything but delighted, indeed?’ Gussie agreed. ‘I daresay nobody in history has ever been provided with so luxurious a prison.’
Charles’s voice intruded from somewhere across the hall. ‘There is nothing to be said in defence of our rudeness, Miss Werth, I quite agree. You were not in so very great a hurry to escape, however, were you?’
‘Would it have been of the smallest use to attempt it?’ Gussie countered.
Charles appeared to be giving the matter serious thought. ‘I am not perfectly certain,’ he said. ‘Clara? What is your opinion?’
‘Not the least use in the world,’ she said merrily, and steered Gussie towards a door at the rear of the hall, that led into a short passage. ‘Now, Miss Werth, if you do not object, Mama is quite wild to meet you.’
‘And Lord Maundevyle?’ said Gussie.
‘Henry, too,’ Clarissa agreed. ‘Though I do not know if he is about the house, at present. He is given to long walks, you know, and might rather be on the other side of the park.’
‘That is as it should be,’ Gussie murmured. ‘When one has been kidnapped, you know, it would be the heights of rudeness to expect one’s presence to interfere with the regular habits of the household.’
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