A Banbury Tale (18 page)

“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.”

“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.