A Scandalous Secret (12 page)

This agreed, they drew straws to determine who should have the felicity of beginning the game. As luck would have it, the lot fell on Mr Markham. Elizabeth, at his left, would be next.

Aware of the almost palpable animosity which emanated from the gentleman, Elizabeth found herself tensing as though about to receive a blow, while she waited for him to speak. Yet this was surely folly. What harm could he possibly do to her here, in full view of his friends and neighbours?

‘A woman is an artist of deception,’
Mr Markham began smoothly, his gaze pinning Elizabeth to her chair as if she were some kind of insect.
‘A portrait false her
golden beauty
paints.’

Heaven itself - or perhaps it was sheer rage at his calculated effrontery - must have lent her inspiration at that moment.
‘‘And yet,’
she responded, her accents equally honeyed,
‘‘each rule has many an exception: All women are not jades, nor all men saints.’

‘Bravo!’ cried Dorinda, clapping her hands in spontaneous acclaim of her clever sister. ‘Can you cap that, Alastair?’

‘I can but try,’ her husband, seated near to Elizabeth, said with a smile. ‘Give me but a moment, I beg.’ He paused briefly, and his response, when it came, startled Elizabeth - and Dominick as well, it appeared:

‘Aye, jealousy miscolours man’s perception,

For everything it looks upon, it taints’

Elizabeth saw Dominick’s eyes narrow, encountering the steady gaze of his neighbour. She herself was much agitated, not only by Alastair’s words, but also by the strange air of deliberation with which they were spoken. What, precisely, did he mean?

The air in the squire’s drawing-room seemed charged, the game not the light-hearted fun it should have been. Elizabeth wondered what the others might be thinking. What lay behind the polite smiles of her host and hostess and the studied civility of the other guests? How much did they guess? Were their suspicions at all aroused, or were they impervious to the atmosphere about them? Was it only her own guilt-ridden imagination which invested these rhymes with some occult significance? She felt she was suffocating and must surely scream or run mad.

Lord Maples was next, and his addition was just as annoyingly thought-provoking as the rest:

‘Ah, ladies! If you toy with man’s affection,

Then take your medicine without complaints.’

There was a brief digression to decide whether or not ‘affection’ could be said to rhyme with ‘perception’. Oswald argued his case well, with several inaccurate quotations from poets past and present, so his couplet was allowed to stand. The play continued with Gwendolyn, who, after a considerable time, managed to produce the following poetic gem:

‘A newly married bride has no objection

To spending pin-money without restraints!’

The tension slowly subsided as each successive poet produced ever more idiotic additions to the verse. Mr Wardley received particular acclaim for his moving description of a young lady who - upon witnessing a vivisection - very naturally, faints!

Mrs Thornwood’s turn was forfeit, but everyone else, not even
excepting Lady Penroth, managed to produce something, however nonsensical.

Mr Markham was quizzed for having begun with so awkward a rhyme; another round was played out with far less interesting results. When the party at last broke up, everyone appeared to have been well satisfied with the evening’s entertainment.

* * * *

‘A most enjoyable party,’ Dorinda said, as they made their way home. The only thing wanting was Mr Markham’s aunt. I had so hoped that she would attend, now that she seems to be going out into society.’ As no one responded to this assessment, she continued, addressing her sister, ‘But I am sorry to see that you have taken a dislike to our congenial merchant, Lizzy.’

‘I?’ Elizabeth was surprised. Had their poetic duel been so obvious, after all?

‘Do not attempt to deny it, my dear.’ In the gloom, she could see Dorinda give a sad shake of her head. ‘I saw you give him the cut indirect at one point this evening.’

‘You exaggerate, sister. In any case,’ she said in defence, ‘I was under the impression that it was your merchant who did not relish
my
company.’

‘Now you are angry!’ Dorinda exclaimed. ‘You never call me “sister” in that dreadful tone unless you are displeased about something.’

‘I think,’ Alastair interrupted, in an obvious attempt to avert an argument, ‘that we had better leave this discussion for another time. I am sure that Maples is not interested in your squabbles, my love.’

Dorinda sniffed. ‘We were not squabbling. I was merely making an observation.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ her husband said gently. ‘I must have been mistaken.’

‘I am sure,’ Oswald put in, ‘that, even if Lady Barrowe is correct, the countess must be said to have as much right to her opinion of the fellow as anyone.’

‘Well, I think,’ Dorinda persisted, refusing to yield her point, ‘that Mr Markham is charming.’

Oswald, however, was not to be mollified. ‘His conduct towards Miss Thornwood tonight went beyond the pleasing,’ he said. ‘Such blatant flirtation is not at all the thing, I assure you.’

‘No doubt,’ Elizabeth said sweetly, ‘my sister found that to be charming, as well.’

‘I do not say that it was in the best of taste,’ Dorinda admitted. ‘But Miss Thornwood is at least as much at fault as Mr Markham. And,’ she added with some relish, ‘your own flirtation with Elizabeth, Lord Maples, was scarcely less pronounced. Even Lady Penroth commented upon it.’

Elizabeth raised her brows. ‘I am not surprised. She is an insufferable woman.’

‘I do not understand you tonight, Lizzy,’ Dorinda snapped. ‘You are behaving very strangely. As for your ill-judged remarks to poor Mr Markham after supper - they quite put me to the blush.’

Having now managed to affront both her sister and her guest, it seemed that Dorinda was content to refrain from further speech. Elizabeth was glad that they were almost home. She was certain that her desire to escape from the present company was shared by each of the other occupants of the carriage. When they arrived at Merrywood shortly thereafter, they all parted with the most curt ‘goodnights’ ever uttered.

* * * *

For almost a sennight, no more was said regarding Mr Markham. It was a topic which everyone avoided so studiously that, under other circumstances, Elizabeth might have been highly amused by the
whole situation. As it was, she was beyond seeing any humour in it.

Only Nicky dared to mention the gentleman’s name. Every day he remarked on the continued absence of his new friend and wondered when he would visit them again. His unabashed affection for Dominick made his mother very uneasy. It was the first time that she could recall him attaching himself to any gentleman other than Alastair. Did he feel an instinctive affinity, the bond of blood which could not be denied? Mercifully, now that Selina was pretty much recovered from her cold, he had another playmate to distract him. Still, he continued to express his disappointment that Mr Markham had not returned to Merrywood, and even went so far as to propose an expedition to Lammerton Hall.

Dorinda thought this a capital idea, and lost no time in acting upon it. She scolded Elizabeth for crying off at the last moment with the patently spurious excuse of a headache, and shepherded the two children into the carriage herself.

They were gone most of the day, and Nicky returned with his attachment to his father undiminished. They had enjoyed the afternoon immensely, as they had been regally entertained by their host and his aunt. Indeed, Nicky was full of
Uncle Dominick
and
Aunt Winifred,
having adopted them without reservation - and, no doubt, at their instigation.

‘We had a famous game of croquet on the lawn,’ he told his mother, chattering away innocently. ‘Even Aunt Winifred. I wish you could have been there, Mama.’

‘Perhaps next time.’

‘I hope you mean that,’ Dorinda said, with quiet emphasis. ‘Miss Trottson was quite disappointed at your absence.’

‘And Mr Markham?’

Dorinda sighed. ‘I do not understand your aversion to the man, Lizzy. He is most agreeable.’

* * * *

The following day, Elizabeth was alone in the walled garden adjoining the house, cutting roses to adorn the tables indoors. The fragrant blooms were all around her - pink, white, red and yellow - but she scarcely noticed them.

As usual, she spent most of her time reliving her confrontation with Dominick and the ghastly encounter at the squire’s house. He must hate her, indeed, to have behaved so outrageously in public. Never had she felt so humiliated, not even on her wedding night. She dreaded having to meet him again, though she knew it to be unavoidable.

That wretched man!
She thrust another red rose into her basket. He had spoilt everything by coming here. As long as he remained in the country, she could never feel safe again.

Even Alastair was giving her some very curious looks lately. He knew, or suspected, too much. She was sure of it. Thank Heaven he had left this morning on another of his mysterious London jaunts.

Then there was Oswald. How much did he guess? He was still making a nuisance of himself, exerting every ounce of his charm to captivate her. It was an intolerable bore. Well, today he was off shooting something or other, giving her a well-deserved rest from his romantic labours.

Only Dorinda, she believed, was completely unsuspecting. After all, she was far too involved in her own marital woes to notice much else. But surely it could not be much longer before the situation with Alastair was resolved, one way or another. Once it was, how long would it be before she began to notice other things?

‘Good!’ a familiar voice croaked behind her, interrupting her reverie. ‘I’m glad I found you alone.’

Elizabeth turned to confront Miss Trottson, who was marching towards her with an alarmingly determined look on her face. So much for the charms of solitude! It seemed that there was no place she might hide whither her problems would not follow.

Chapter 8

‘Miss Trottson,’ Elizabeth said, ‘this is a pleasant surprise.’

The old woman came right up to her and treated her to an eagle-eyed stare. ‘No doubt it’s a surprise, Countess,’ she said. ‘Whether it’s so pleasant... well, we’ll see.’

Elizabeth did not know how to respond to this, so she simply ignored it, saying, ‘However did you find me, ma’am?’

‘That bacon-faced butler told me where you were.’ She chuckled. ‘Wanted to follow me out here, too, but I set him straight on that head.’

In spite of herself, Elizabeth could not refrain from smiling. She could just picture the stiff-necked Frakes being given a set-down by Miss Trottson. She really was an original.

‘I am sorry,’ she said now, ‘that my sister is not here to receive you. She has gone over to visit Squire Thornwood.’

‘She has, has she? No doubt she’ll meet my nephew there.’

‘Is Mr Markham also visiting the squire?’

Miss Trottson snorted indelicately. ‘Yes, young jackass that he is. And I’m glad that your sister’s out and the children ain’t around. It’s you I came to see.’

‘Indeed.’ Elizabeth stiffened instinctively.

If the older woman noticed the brusque tone of the response,
she made no sign. ‘I hear,’ she said, ‘that you had quite a time at the squire’s house last week.’

This amazing
non sequitur
almost overset Elizabeth. ‘You came to discuss the squire’s party?’ she asked.

‘I’d say there was quite a lot for everybody to talk about. I ain’t at all surprised that you didn’t call on us with your sister after that.’

‘I had the headache yesterday,’ Elizabeth answered carefully. ‘But I do not see what that can have to do with the party at Rosedale.’

‘Don’t be a goose,’ the old lady chided. ‘Dominick told me all about the game you played, and that silly verse of his. He ought to be ashamed of himself - and so I told him.’

‘Dominick - Mr Markham - should be ashamed?’ Elizabeth was more confused than ever. What was the old woman driving at?

‘I’m glad you put him in his place, too.’ Miss Trottson bobbed her head sharply. ‘Served with his own sauce, by God!’

Since it was obviously no use to dissemble with this woman, Elizabeth said directly, ‘I think, ma’am, that you are well aware of my previous - acquaintance - with your nephew.’

‘I am,’ the other replied, even more bluntly. ‘But I ain’t concerned with the past now. It’s the present that’s got me in such a pother.’

They had turned towards the house and were walking side by side along the stone path that led up to an ivy-framed entrance.

‘I do not know what Mr Markham’s intentions might be,’ Elizabeth began.

‘If you know what’s going on in that head of his, you’re more clever than me. But I suppose you’ve not heard the latest news?’

Elizabeth frowned. ‘I’m afraid I am quite in the dark.’

‘Well, that’s really what I came to see you about,’ Miss Trottson said, coming at last to her point. ‘What do you think that foolish
boy has done now? He’s got himself engaged to that bird-witted Gwendolyn Thornwood!’

Elizabeth stood stock still. The basketful of roses slipped from her nerveless fingers to land on the pathway, spilling its fragrant contents at her feet. There was a strange rushing sound in her ears, and she felt curiously unsteady on her feet. Miss Trottson, who had walked on a couple of paces, turned and caught her by the arm.

‘Good Lord!’ she cried. ‘You ain’t going to swoon, are you?’

‘No ... no, I assure you,’ Elizabeth said, though she was far from certain herself. She did not know if she could withstand many more shocks like this.

‘Come, my dear. You’d best sit down,’ the old woman suggested. There was no bench nearby, but a low stone wall edged this portion of the path, separating it from a small herb garden beyond. Miss Trottson sat her down firmly on this and settled alongside her. ‘I should have brought my sal ammonia,’ she muttered almost to herself, ‘but I didn’t think you’d take the news this hard.’