Amanda Scott (26 page)

“Father!” Sybilla exclaimed, startling the pair of them.

He turned on her. “So you’re back, are you? And not before time, either. Get this old harridan out of my sight.”

“Old harridan, am I?” Lady Lucretia’s massive bosom heaved indignantly. “Just because I served you with a few home truths, Mortimer Manningford, you needn’t think you—”

“Get out!” he shrieked again.

Without ceremony, Sybilla grabbed Lady Lucretia by the arm and pulled her toward the door. “Come, ma’am, you will serve no good purpose by remaining. He will not listen.” Pushing her into the corridor, she turned back to her father, whose choleric outrage had not diminished in the slightest. Coolly, Sybilla said, “We will leave you now, sir, but do not be thinking that I will dismiss a single servant over this incident. You would be very uncomfortable with all new people to look after you.”

“This is your fault,” he said scathingly. “Where have you been, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

“With my husband,” she answered shortly.

“Ha! I wish I may see the day.”

“Do you, sir? Then you may shortly get your wish,” she retorted, shutting the door with a decided snap.

Lady Lucretia still stood where she had left her and was watching her with a rueful twinkle in her eyes. “I couldn’t help myself,” she said when Sybilla only folded her lips tightly together and looked at her. “Jane wrote Saturday to tell me she was coming and said that that despite everything, she couldn’t be certain that you and Ramsbury were going to patch things up between you. I just flew into a rage, because I know that the blame for most of your troubles may be set at Mortimer’s door. So I came straight over to tell him what I thought of him. I suppose I have only made matters worse for you, my dear.”

Sybilla didn’t know whether the fact that things were worse could be blamed on Lady Lucretia, but she soon realized that she was not at all happy to be back in Royal Crescent. Although Sir Mortimer said nothing more about dismissing the servants and the days fell into a normal pattern, she could not be content simply to await events. She heard nothing from Ramsbury, and she missed him. When nearly a week had passed and she suggested casually to Lady Axbridge that they ought to have had word from him, the marchioness said only that he was no great hand at letter writing and no doubt they would hear soon enough.

“After all, my dear, we have heard nothing whatever about Fanny Mandeville, and until she is forced to make a new request, we cannot expect to hear from dearest Edmond.”

Sybilla disagreed. She thought that in view of everything that had happened in London before she left, the sooner she heard from dearest Edmond, with a clear and detailed account of his activities since her departure, the better it would be for him.

A
NOTHER FULL WEEK PASSED
before Sybilla learned anything new, and in that time her depression deepened, not only because the weather had taken another turn for the worse, with heavy rains falling almost daily, but because she could not seem to stop thinking about Ned. She missed him and found herself wondering continually about what he was doing. She had attempted to write to him twice, but both times the letters had reflected her depression and her need for him, and she had not sent them.

Her father’s behavior had made it clear to her that she could not simply leave Royal Crescent and let the inhabitants sink or swim on their own. She had a duty to the others, if not to Sir Mortimer. Though she knew it was not necessary for her to stay in Bath permanently, there would still be frequent visits, for like it or not, she could not simply let go of her responsibilities there. If Ramsbury could not see that, there was no hope for their new partnership.

By the end of the week, both the marchioness and Lady Lucretia had become aware of her depression, if not of its exact cause, and it was Lady Lucretia who insisted that she accompany them to the Theater Royal to see Mr. Coates’s debut performance in
Romeo and Juliet.
Though she was not enthusiastic about accepting the, invitation, Sybilla was certainly as curious as the rest of the citizens of Bath to see what manner of actor Coates would prove to be, and she agreed to go. Lady Lucretia promptly issued an invitation to Mr. Saint-Denis to accompany them, and on Friday night her carriage set them down at the Theater Royal in the Seaclose off Monmouth Street.

Sydney was attentive and in a very good humor, and both he and Sybilla laughed at the sight of Henrietta’s silky white head emerging from Lady Lucretia’s muff as they entered the theater, and by the time they had found their places in an elegant side box in the second tier, with its own anteroom and saloon, Sybilla was beginning to look forward to the evening with a real sense of pleasure.

Mr. Coates’s appearance when the curtain went up was startling and unlike any Romeo they had ever seen before, for he wore a spangled cloak of sky-blue silk, red pantaloons, a white muslin vest, an enormous cravat, and a full-bottomed Restoration wig capped by an opera hat. Sybilla and her companions agreed that he presented one of the oddest spectacles they had ever witnessed upon the stage.

His voice was peculiarly harsh, and his every movement betrayed his ignorance of dramatic gesticulation. Moreover, since his garments were all too tight for him, his movements were so stiff and awkward that every time he raised his arm or took a step, the audience erupted with laughter. When his red pantaloons split soon after the first interval, revealing white linen beneath, at first the audience appeared to believe he had done it on purpose, and there were cries of outrage, but when it became clear that he was completely unaware of his disarray, the laughter continued.

The audience became steadily more exuberant, until in the midst of one of Juliet’s impassioned speeches, when Coates took out his snuffbox and applied a pinch to his nose, a wag in the gallery cried out, “I say, Romeo, give us a pinch!”

Mr. Coates promptly walked to the side boxes opposite Lady Lucretia’s and offered the contents of his box, first to the men and then, with an air of great gallantry, to the ladies.

Suddenly, Sybilla sat up straighter in her chair and peered toward the opposite side of the stage. Then, touching Lady Axbridge on the arm to draw her attention, and leaning close—for with all the commotion attending Mr. Coates’s antics, she knew her voice would not be heard—she said directly into her ear, “There, near Mr. Coates—’tis Fanny, is it not? Ned did it! She has come.”

Her heart was beating rapidly, and since she continued to stare, it was not long before Fanny caught her eye and nodded. She was not alone, but Sybilla did not recognize the two gentlemen who sat beside her. Neither was Fanny’s husband.

The second interval came at last, and Sybilla half expected her to visit them, but neither Lady Mandeville nor her companions stirred from their chairs. Fanny did look their way more than once as the evening progressed, and Sybilla thought she looked perturbed, and very thoughtful.

The last act began with Coates continuing as he had begun, but his antics no longer were enough to draw Sybilla’s attention away from her own thoughts, for she had had no difficulty imagining what Fanny was thinking. Here she sat, right beside the marchioness, clearly in close association with her. How on earth would Fanny imagine that she could write in Sybilla’s name to someone Sybilla saw nearly every day?

Clearly, she decided, Lady Axbridge could not remain in Bath, but must return to Axbridge Park, which, after all, was not so far away that they could not be pretty certain that a message from her would reach Bath in time to arrange to catch Fanny in the act of receiving the money. And Ned could just as easily go to the park, too, for that matter. Indeed, from there he could see that the money was hand-delivered to Fanny. And that, she decided, was a good idea at last. She would write to Ned as soon as she got home. She only wished they could leave at once.

Just then the audience erupted into hysterical laughter, drawing her attention back to the stage, where she saw to her astonishment that Romeo, grasping a crowbar, was attempting to break into Juliet’s tomb. Amidst an uproar of helpless laughter and shouted offers of technical advice, the curtain was rung down only to rise again, moments later, on his death scene.

To the great delight of his audience, he first whisked a dirty silk handkerchief from his pocket and carefully swept the floor of the stage. Then he placed his opera hat in position to use for a pillow and laid himself down. After various odd gyrations, he relaxed at last; however, voices from the house bawled out, “Die again, Romeo!”

Obedient to the command, he rose up and repeated the ceremony, but no sooner did he lie down again than the call came again, and although he was clearly prepared to enact a third death, Juliet now emerged from her tomb and gracefully put an end to the ludicrous scene by saying firmly, “Dying is such sweet sorrow that he will the again tomorrow!” Sybilla’s party did not stay for the farce.

In the carriage, Lady Lucretia said abruptly, “I never saw such a thing in my life, and poor Henrietta was so disturbed by all that din that she did not so much as pop her head out of my muff.” She patted the small head that emerged now and was rewarded with a lick.

“Well,” the marchioness declared, “I never before heard of anyone’s taking a dog to the theater, Lucretia, so if she was disturbed, I daresay ’tis you and not Mr. Coates who is to blame. What did you think of his performance, Mr. Saint-Denis?”

“Too energetic by half,” Sydney drawled. “Quite wore me out. After the heavy pace of London, I had hoped for more peace and quiet here, you know. At least the rain has stopped.”

Sybilla grinned at him. “Poor Sydney.”

Lady Lucretia said tartly that had she known he tired so easily, she would have asked someone else to accompany them. Then, scarcely giving him time to murmur an apology, she went on to discuss the play at length with the marchioness. Sybilla, wanting to think, was very glad to be let down at her own doorstep a quarter-hour later.

Lady Lucretia’s footman saw her to the door, and inside, Robert awaited her. She could see at once that he was big with news. “What is it now?” she asked wearily.

“M’lady, you’ve a visitor.”

She suddenly felt rather breathless. “His lordship?” When he nodded, her heart began to pound until it occurred to her that Ramsbury might well have traveled to Bath with Fanny. “When did he arrive?” she demanded.

Robert said, “An hour ago, but he don’t want it noised about that he’s here, ma’am. I know, and Mrs. Hammersmyth knows, of course, but no one else. He is waiting in the drawing room.”

Sybilla hurried up the stairs, pausing at the pier glass on the landing to remove her headdress and smooth her hair. Then, shaking out the skirts of her apricot-colored evening dress, she entered the drawing room and came to a stop just inside the door, pausing there for a long moment to look at him.

He was sprawled on his back, asleep, on the hard sofa, his right arm dangling to the floor, his left tucked beneath his head as a pillow. The flickering candles in the sconces flanking the sofa cast dancing shadows over his face. He looked very tired.

She shut the door and moved toward him, touching him lightly on the shoulder. “Ned … Ned, wake up.”

One sleepy eye opened. “Sybilla, that you?” Then, as he stirred, “Put out those damned candles, will you, before they give me a headache, dancing about like they are.”

Obligingly, and with her expression carefully controlled, she found a candlesnuffer and snuffed the ones above the sofa. He had straightened up by the time she finished and was looking at her with a critical eye.

“I like that dress,” he said. “The color suits you.”

“You can scarcely see it in this light,” she retorted.

“Don’t start up with me, Sybilla. Just say ‘thank you’ for the compliment. That will be a new experience for you. Is there any brandy about?”

“There is a decanter in the library. I’ll fetch it.” But before she turned away, she favored him with another long look. “Are you sure you want brandy, Ned? You look as though you’ve been going the pace too hard already.”

“I have, but brandy won’t hurt me. I’m suffering from lack of sleep, not an overabundance of spirits. I’ve been traveling since yesterday, and I’d have been here a good deal sooner had I not lost a wheel outside Speenhamland. Thought they could fix it in a trice, but it took so long I made it only to Reading before I couldn’t stay awake any longer. Then the roads were a mess from all the rain, and I couldn’t make good time at all today. Nonetheless, here I am at last.”

“I thought you might have come with Fanny,” she confessed, not meeting his look. “I’ll fetch the brandy.”

She did so, and when she returned with the decanter and a glass, he poured out for himself before he said calmly, “I didn’t come with her, but I am responsible for her being here.”

Sybilla turned one of the gilt-wood chairs to face the sofa. “How did you do it?”

“Emily Rosecourt’s little gaming parties,” he said with a smile. When she only looked bewildered, he explained. “It took some doing, and you will undoubtedly hear some rumors you won’t like, but she lost nearly three hundred pounds to me in the end. I daresay it was ungentlemanly of me to encourage her, especially since she’s been plunging deeply elsewhere of late and seemed to believe that while I held the bank she could bet as wildly as she chose, no doubt in hopes of winning enough to pay her other debts and apparently in the certainty that either her luck would change or I would tear up her vouchers afterward.”

“But you didn’t,” Sybilla said, beginning to see where he was leading.

“No, I didn’t. And I know that Mandeville won’t frank her. One reason it took so long to set it all up was that I wanted to be certain of that. And though she has been thick with Brentford since Norfolk’s party, I doubt he would agree to pay her debt to me, or that she would be brazen enough to ask him to do so.”

“If she is only flirting with him, surely an application for money to finance her gaming would be a trifle premature,” Sybilla suggested delicately.

“Very true,” he said, “but as I happen to know she has lost to him as well, it would be more than premature; it would be foolhardy. He is a dangerous man to cross. In any case, she was greatly discomposed when I demanded payment by midweek, and I believe she will do whatever she can to find the money.”