Bath Scandal (14 page)

“I don’t know. He’ll get word to you. The message will be from Mr. Jones.”

“Who is Mr. Jones?”

“Your uncle Horatio. He will be using that name.”

“Queer nabs. He knows where I am putting up, so I expect I shall hear from him. Daresay we shall come up with something. I wish Uncle would not dip so deep. He always loses.”

“You’d best go now. We are planning to attend a musical comedy this evening. I hope you will join us?”

“That sounds dashed good. I like a musical comedy.”

“Then I shall see you this evening.”

Bea did not lie down but tended to her toilet instead. As she sorted through her gowns, she thought of Southam and Deborah. It angered her that Deborah had hoodwinked him into an offer, but it angered her more that he had allowed himself to be hoodwinked. She would not lift a finger to help him. Why should she? Who was to say he’d have her if she did manage to free him from Miss Swann? He thought her worthy of a three-day fling, but that was no indication of any more serious intention. Oh, no, she was not about to bestir herself on Southam’s behalf.

 
Chapter Eleven

The Mop Girl
was a roaring success. The plot was entirely inane, the acting inferior, and the music poorly played, but overall it pleased the crowd who had come to be entertained. Millie was a delectable little blonde with just a trace of a lisp. No one was farouche enough to suggest that Lord Gallivant would not immediately fall in love with her, or even that a lord who dropped every second
h
was an unlikely nobleman. Southam’s party left the theater in high spirits, to retire to the Royal Bath for a late supper.

It was not till this time that Bea could manage a private word with Tannie. “Did you see your uncle?” she asked.

“I received a note from Mr. Jones, but I daren’t go to him. A rascal’s following me. We were seen together at the track, Horatio and I. They are trying to learn from me where he is holed up. The man followed me to dinner, here to meet you, to the theater. As we entered the hotel again, I noticed the demmed—pardon me, ma’am—the curst fellow is still dogging my heels. He is worse than a shadow.”

“Could you not send Horatio a note at least?”

“All I could say is that I haven’t got the blunt—not yet, that is. I would not want the old boy to lose heart completely. I sent a footman off to London with a note for my man of business to send me some blunt.”

“Could you sign a promissory note in the meanwhile, to get the fellow off Horatio’s back—and yours? You are a duke after all.”

“Offered to do it! The scoundrel wouldn’t believe I am Duke of Cleremont. Who the devil does he think I am, if I am not me?”

As she examined Tannie’s careless toilet and unprepossessing face, Bea could not entirely blame the scoundrel, whoever he was, for doubting Tannie’s word. “Is there anyone who could vouch for you?”

“Southam,” he said, with a diffident look. “I did not like to drag him into this. I mean to say, one don’t like to trot out the dirty dishes when he is trying to make a good impression. Already knows I am an idiot, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Bea was delighted to hear such a strong indication of serious intentions and hastily assured him it was no such a thing. Still, as Southam had taken an aversion to Horatio, it did not seem a good idea to involve him in this particular scheme.

“I would lend him the money myself if I had it,” Bea said. “I could raise five hundred. I have that much left of last quarter’s allowance. I shall need it before my next allowance comes due, however.”

“No, no. I could not let you do it. There is no saying Mr. Jones will repay in cash. He will probably repay me with some curst old picture of a wart-nosed uncle. Mama tells me I am collecting up any such relics I can find, but you would have no use for such an ugly thing. Pay to be rid of it, I don’t doubt.”

“So what are we to do?”

“Keep Mr. Jones under wraps till I hear from my man of business. Let it be a lesson to Horatio—er, Mr. Jones.”

Gillie came forward to hear what they were whispering about, and their private discussion was at an end. “Shall I call for you for the races tomorrow?” Tannie asked.

“Yes, please,” Gillie said. “What are you doing in the morning, Tannie?”

“We can have a driving lesson if you like. There are some excellent drives hereabouts.”

As this was permitted in Bath, there seemed nothing against allowing it in Bournemouth. Bea was happy to have a morning free of chaperoning duties. She thought she might visit a bank and try her hand at borrowing the money for Horatio. The duke would repay her within a few days, and she didn’t like to see her old friend having to hide himself like a criminal, and, more importantly, missing the races that he so loved.

Tannie took his leave, and the remainder of the party went upstairs together. Southam just bowed at Bea’s door and wished her a good night’s sleep. This particular incident inevitably brought to mind the previous night’s misdemeanor.

As Bea was putting on her nightdress, she heard a light rattle at her window. She took it for the sound of a branch brushing the pane and ignored it. It came again, louder, and unmistakably was not the wind.

She put on her peignoir and went to the window, where she saw a dark shadow standing below, tossing pebbles. Some gallant trying to make contact with his lady and mistaking the room? She raised the window and leaned out. “You have got the wrong room, sir!” she called.

“Nay, it’s yourself I’m looking for,” an uncouth voice called back. “You know where he is hiding, the old crook. Best tell me, if you know what’s good for you.”

His menacing words alarmed her. She said, “Go away, or I shall call the proprietor!” Then she closed the window and drew the curtain. Her heart was beating rapidly, but she soon calmed it. It must be the blackleg from the racetrack, looking for Horatio. He had seen them together. As Tannie had failed to lead him to his quarry, he had decided to pester her, but he couldn’t do much when she was safe in her room with the door locked. She checked the bolt. It was secure.

She proceeded with her nightly ritual of removing her combs and brushing out her raven hair. The man obviously meant business. Something must be done to pacify him. As she was about to go to bed, she heard a light tap at the door. Southam was the first name that occurred to her. Surely he was not about to repeat last night’s performance? No, it must be something completely innocent. Perhaps Gillie was not feeling well! She had consumed the better part of a plate of macaroons before retiring. As soon as this idea darted into her head, she hurried to the door and opened it, just enough to show her her caller’s face.

Three inches was wide enough for her caller to wedge his foot into the opening. His grimy fingers curled around the door and forced it open. She opened her lips to shout for help, but was assailed by visions of rousing the hotel. People rushing out, staring, gossiping, Southam running and making a great to-do of it. No, she could handle this person. The man did not intend to harm her. She would reason with him, make some arrangement for paying the debt.

“Who are you?” she demanded boldly.

“The name’s Garrity,” he replied, in the same way.

Bea found herself looking levelly into the eyes of a man no taller than herself, though considerably thicker. He was a dark-haired, swarthy fellow in a fustian jacket and leather waistcoat. She decided to take a high hand with him and not let him see she was frightened.

“Please state your business and leave. As you can see, I am preparing for bed.” She casually picked up her hairbrush, as though to brush her hair. Her thinking was that with its bristles and hard silver back, it would make a useful weapon.

“Evendon owes me a thousand pounds. He ain’t shabbing off without paying—not unless he goes in a casket. Ye’d best whiddle, lass, for I ain’t talking through my hat.”

“I have no idea where he is, but the young gentleman you have been harassing is the Duke of Cleremont. I can vouch for him.”

“Ho, and you with your rum togs are the Duchess of Wales, eh?” He subjected her to a scathing examination. “Jane Shore, more like. Me, I’m just a poor hard-working prince.” He lowered his brows and advanced toward her, balling his hands into fists. “Where is he? And no tricks.”

She lifted her brush and struck out at his head. The blackleg, accustomed to attack, deftly dodged aside and grabbed her wrist. All Bea’s good intentions fled as panic seized her. “Help! Southam, help!” she called out. Though the blood pounded in her ears, she thought she heard footsteps through the wall. She definitely heard a door slam.

The man looked at her angrily. He let go of her wrist and prepared to flee just as her door flew open. “I’m owed a thousand pounds, and I mean to have it, miss,” he growled.

Before he got to the door, Southam was in the room. Bea stood, staring with bated breath. The man was temporarily shocked into immobility. His victims were not usually top-of-the-trees gents like the one now glowering down at him. The light-skirt’s patron, most likely. Such swells were trouble. They’d be calling in constables and laying charges. This gent, however, did not resort to accusations but raised his fist and darted forward.

The blackleg effortlessly dodged the blow. Being short, he had no hope of landing the swell a facer. His heavy, balled fist shot out into Southam’s abdomen with all the force of his wiry body. A surprised, choking gasp hung on the air. Southam doubled over in pain, while the man stood, waiting for him to recover. Without thinking, Bea flew at him with her hairbrush. She landed one good crack on the side of his head before he wrenched the brush from her fingers and tossed it aside. He headed for the door but risked a parting shot to Mrs. Searle, “A thousand pounds. By tomorrow, or he’ll be sorry.” Then he was gone.

Southam, pale as paper, was just trying to stand upright. His hands clenched his abdomen. He lurched toward the door, trying to give chase.

“Sit down, Southam, before you fall down,” Bea said weakly. “You haven’t a hope of catching him. Are you all right?”

Southam sank onto the side of her bed and looked at her with accusing eyes. She poured him a glass of wine and took one herself, to steady her nerves. This brief pause gave her time to consider what story to tell him. She soon concluded the truth cast no dark reflections on her, and Southam would not give a tinker’s curse if Tannie’s uncle was dipped.

As she handed him the glass, she said, “Shall I call a doctor?”

“A constable might be more to the point,” he replied, through clenched teeth.

“I doubt he’ll return.”

Southam took a sip of wine. He was hardly aware of the agony the blow caused. Anger drove everything else out of his head. “Think again. The thousand pounds—it is a gambling debt?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t have the money to pay it?”

“No. It’s not—”

His brows drew together in a scowl. “How can you be short of money, with the sum Leonard left you?”

“He didn’t leave me that much!”

“A widow should be able to live in some style on two thousand a year. She would if she did not gamble. Of all the asinine, foolish, dangerous things!”

“I do not gamble!” she shot back. How dare he read her this lecture! As if it were any of his business!

“I saw you with my own eyes. You admitted it!”

“One pound!”

“Cut line, Beatrice. One thousand, I believe, is the sum the tout mentioned.”

Bea’s hot anger cooled to reason. Let Southam go his length and make a fool of himself. She would enjoy seeing his pride humbled when he learned his mistake and had to come begging for absolution. “That is the sum,” she said.

“I realize I am deeply in your debt for your chaperoning of Gillian. I shall pay the thousand pounds.” He rose stiffly. “Naturally I shall be taking Gillian home to Elmland with me when we leave here.”

“Of course. You would not want to leave her in the care of a hardened gambler,” she replied with an ironic smile.

“It is nothing to laugh at! I was used to envy Leonard. I see now he had a deal to put up with.”

“So he had, but then, Leonard was never such a stiff and pompous ass as yourself, Lord Southam.”

His nostrils flared, and he clenched his lips with the effort to restrain his temper. “I shall give you the check tomorrow morning.”

“Cash would be preferable. The person who called prefers cash, for obvious reasons.”

“What reasons are those? My check is good.”

“He did not believe Tannie was a duke; he may take the notion that you are not Lord Southam.”

A tide of red rose up from his collar. “You have involved the duke in this degrading matter?”

“The duke is very much involved and has been from the beginning.”

“I’ll send that whey-faced wretch packing first thing in the morning. I might have known any
parti
introduced to Gillie through your graces would be ramshackle.”

She swallowed this infamy, consoling herself with the prospect of his shame when he learned the truth. “He is innocently involved, Southam.”

His scowl deepened. “You’ve been cadging from that boy as well?”

“Cadging is a hard word. I consider the thousand pounds a short-term loan. You will have your money within a day or two.”

“The thousand pounds is a gift.”

“I do not accept gifts of that magnitude from gentlemen.”

“A payment, then.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Having Gillie was a pleasure. She has somehow managed to avoid that taint of self-righteous self-consequence you have picked up from your fiancée. You were used to be more amusing.”

“There is no need to cast slurs on my fiancée, Mrs. Searle,” he said haughtily.

“You did not hesitate to cast slurs on
me
!”

“I have not accused you unjustly of anything. If my words are offensive, then you should examine the cause of them, ma’am.”

“And you should find out what the devil you are talking about before you make a jackass of yourself. Good night, Southam. I am sorry to have disturbed your rest.”

She took him by the arm and led him to the door. He gave an abbreviated bow and left, still hunched in pain. Bea shook her head and smiled ruefully. Southam would feel a perfect ninny when he learned the truth tomorrow. A dish of humble pie would do wonders for his arrogance. She would let him stew for the next twelve hours or so, to show him the error of his hotheaded ways. Her only regret was that she had introduced Deborah’s name into the conversation.