Bath Scandal (16 page)

“I would like to believe that. How do you explain that person in your bedroom last night?”

She tossed up her hands. “My bedroom seems to attract the undesirable element.” She took pity on him and decided to explain. “He was trying to learn where Tannie’s uncle is hiding. Evendon—he is presently going under the alias of Mr. Jones—is into the blacklegs for a thousand pounds, you see. When Tannie would not reveal where Evendon is hiding out, Garrity tried to scare the information out of me. He saw us together at the races, I suppose.”

He listened, staring in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell him if you know?” he asked suspiciously.

“Tell him! I am not such a Johnnie Raw! Mr. Jones had no money to pay. They would probably have beaten him.”

“Where is Evendon? I’ll take the money to him now.”

“He is hiding out somewhere with a friend, but I don’t know exactly where. Tannie knows. He’ll deliver the blunt, and he will repay me as soon as his man brings him the money. Then I shall repay you, and you can quit monitoring my expenditures. And casting aspersions on my character,” she added in a cooler tone.

“You led me on! You let me believe the worst!” he defended. He knew he should be angry with her for this stunt, but he was so relieved to know she was not a fallen woman that his charge lacked conviction. He even smiled sheepishly.

“Only to show you a lesson, sir! You are swift to accuse.”

“I shall redress the offense as much as possible by being equally swift to apologize, Beatrice. I am sorry.”

“More to the point, will you let Gillie finish her visit? In Bath, I mean.”

“You mean, you actually want her?”

“Of course I do! She is a delightful child. It is not her fault if her brother is a gudgeon. Besides, I like to finish what I have begun. I have got her a good way toward landing a duke; I should like to finish it.
He
is serious, whatever about Gillie. He was afraid you would take a pet because his uncle is such a wastrel.”

“I shall caution him not to support Evendon’s expensive vices in future. As to Gillie, I would be happy if you would keep her for the present. She and Deborah cannot seem to rub along. Two women under the same roof—it seldom works.”

“My only concern is whether Gillie wants to marry the duke,” Bea said, frowning.

“She’s a fool if she lets him slip through her fingers. She’ll not do as well again.”

“She is young—I would not push her into it if she is at all uncertain,” Bea said.

“She has a few weeks to make up her mind.”

“You forget, Tannie will be going to Newmarket shortly. Have you given any more thought to London?”

“I’ll discuss it with Deborah. I’m sorry to land her in on you unannounced. I cannot imagine why she did not write and check with you first, for in the usual way, she is punctilious about such things.”

When the tea arrived, they settled in for a friendly chat. Southam complimented her on her new bonnet, and she inquired as to the state of his wounds after last night’s “accident.”

“I am recovering. I felt a dashed fool, being beaten by that little ankle-biter.”

“Garrity is short but stocky,” she consoled. “And very fast-moving. He got my brush away from me before I could land a good blow.”

“How did he get into your room?”

“I, like a greenhead, opened the door without asking who it was. I thought it might be you.”

“Me?” he asked, with a conning grin. “Now that surprises me, that you would open the door to me.”

“You or Miss Pittfield, with a message that Gillie was ill, since she stuffed herself with macaroons after the play.”

“I am very sorry for that misunderstanding the night we arrived. I must have been mad.”

She gave him a coquettish smile. “At least I cannot fault your taste, Southam.” She rose and took up her hatbox. “Now I really am going to pack. I asked Tannie to return early, so he should have Gillie here soon.”

“A pity we must cut short our trip. But with Deborah landing in on us ...” He drew a weary sigh.

If he felt any pleasure in anticipating Deborah’s visit, he was doing a wonderful job of concealing it. Bea was curious to see them together. “You must be eager to see her,” she said.

“Yes! Yes, indeed. Very eager.” He looked about as eager as a man on the way to the tooth drawer.

Beatrice left, and Southam sat on alone, wondering how he had got into this muddle. He felt a nervous qualm that he would not get out unscathed.

 
Chapter Thirteen

When Bea finished her packing, she went to Gillie’s room to see if she had returned from her drive yet.

Miss Pittfield was there alone. “I’ve packed up Gillie’s things,” she said. “When she returns, all she will have to do is change out of her driving bonnet and she will be ready to leave.”

“As soon as we have lunch,” Bea said, glancing at her watch. “I told her to return early. I had thought she’d be here by now.”

“The girl is scatterbrained, and the duke not much better.”

“As you have things well in hand here, Miss Pittfield, let us go downstairs and have a glass of wine while we await Gillie.” Bea wanted to be on hand when Tannie arrived, to give him the money.

They went down to the private parlor, where Southam was pacing the floor. “I thought they would be here by now,” he said impatiently.

“Youngsters take little account of the time,” Miss Pittfield said soothingly. “They’ll be along any minute.”

“We mean to have a glass of wine while we are waiting, Southam. Why don’t you join us?” Bea suggested.

The wine was ordered and brought. One glass was drunk, then another, while they took turns looking at the clock and assuring each other the youngsters would be along any minute. At their regular lunching time Southam said, “The duke is not exactly a youngster. You specifically asked him to return early, Cousin. This disregard for your wishes promises an uncertainty of character that I cannot like.”

“They may have had some minor mishap—overturned in a ditch, or some such thing,” Bea said. “They are not far from civilization. If that is the case, they will either return soon or send us word. Have another glass of wine, and do stop pacing, Southam. You are making us fidgety.”

Southam sat down to gulp another glass of wine. He was soon back at the window, pacing to and fro. At half an hour past their lunch hour, the ladies began to become nervous as well. “I hope they have not had a serious accident,” Miss Pittfield said.

“Tannie is an excellent driver,” Bea pointed out. “He may be a bit slack in other areas, but he certainly knows his horses.”

Southam turned on her in alarm. “What do you mean, slack in other areas?”

“You know what I mean—a little careless of his appearance, hardly a great conversationalist. He does not care much what people think of him.”

“You are not suggesting he might be taking advantage of her?”

She just looked at him, astonished. “Of course not! That was not my meaning.”

“He is a good deal older than Gillie and more infatuated than she. By God, if he’s trying anything—”

“Don’t be such a ninny, Southam,” she said roundly. “The duke is a gentleman from the tip of his dusty hat to the toes of his boots. If he has inadvertently compromised Gillie, he will certainly marry her immediately.”

Southam looked up, interested. Bea caught that hopeful gleam and leapt down his throat. “What a despicable creature you are! You would force Gillie to have him if you could. What you ought to do, if you are truly worried, is to go after them, as I plan to do.” She jumped up and headed for the door, forgetting in the upset of the moment that her carriage was sitting in its stable at Bath.

“Do you know which way they went?” he asked.

Miss Pittfield spoke up. “She mentioned Branksome Wood Road, to the northwest of town. ‘We haven’t been out toward Branksome Woods,’ she said. ‘We shall take that road today.’ Unless the duke was flinging dust in our eyes by having her tell us so,” she added ominously.

“Not you, too, Miss Pittfield!” Bea exclaimed, chagrined.

Yet as she darted upstairs for her bonnet and pelisse, she did experience just one stab of alarm. She had thought that today, of all days, Tannie would make a special effort to be home early. His uncle was waiting for his money. It was true, Tannie was a rather uncertain fellow. If Gillie had laughed at his offer of marriage, for instance, and if the duke had a temper buried under his outer shell of indifference ... No, she would not let herself fall prey to such imaginings.

She had introduced the duke to Gillie; she had promoted and sponsored the whole idea. If anything happened to Gillie, it was her fault—and Southam would not hesitate to fling it in her face. At that moment she regretted she had ever met Lady Gillian.

Southam had his carriage at the door when she came pelting downstairs. “Miss Pittfield will stay here in case they return. She knows which route we are taking and will have my valet hire a mount and come after us. How the devil does one get to the northwest edge of town from the east cliff?”

“You had best ask someone before we go.”

Southam just hollered “Spring ‘em,” to his groom, and they wasted a quarter of an hour lurching through city streets before they stopped for directions. They were told to go up Westover Road to Bourne Avenue, and hence out the Branksome Wood Road. As they proceeded on their course, Southam watched out his side of the carriage and Bea out hers, checking for a sight of the duke’s carriage in the ditch or at an inn.

“It is so late, they might have stopped for luncheon. If Tannie has stabled the rig, we won’t see it,” Bea mentioned.

“If that jackanapes is enjoying his luncheon while we are out scouring the countryside for him on an empty stomach, he will live to regret it.”

“I am relieved to hear it. I thought you were going to say you would run him through.”

“How well do you actually know the duke?”

“I have known his family for eons. His uncle speaks of him in the highest terms.”

“This is the same uncle who is in hawk to the blacklegs for a thousand pounds? The man who is in hiding, causing his loutish friends to barge into your bedchamber at midnight? A fine recommendation!”

“Never mind ripping up at
me,
Southam! You were in alt to see I had got a duke interested in Gillie, and you need not bother denying it. You did not ask a single question about his character. You heard the magic words, ‘the Duke of Cleremont,’ and turned from a bear into a sycophant before my very eyes. It was disgusting.”

“I am not a sycophant!” His objection was loud, for he knew there was a grain of truth in her charge.

“And the duke is not a rake. He is staying with his aunt, Lady Sappington, in Bath. She is a regular pillar of propriety. If there were any unsavory scandals in his past, I would have heard. Everyone knows he is seeing Gillie. They know she is under my protection.” He gave her a leery look. “They have obviously had an accident, that’s all. Stop! What is that?”

Southam pulled the check string, and the carriage slowed down to show them a pony cart pulled off to the side of the road. A young couple were eating sandwiches from a lunch box. Their carriage continued on its way.

“We should have begged some food from that couple. I am starved,” Southam said wearily.

“I see where Gillie got her bad habits. I had to scold her for saying she was starved when she first came to me.” She felt a fond nostalgia for those early, quiet days.

“She always had a large appetite. She was a great favorite in the kitchen at home,” Southam replied, in the same nostalgic way. “I remember her sitting at the kitchen table, gnawing on chicken legs or ham bones at nine o’clock in the evening. She often stayed in the stable over the dinner hour.”

“That would be where she acquired her taste for ale.”

“Yes, she preferred it to wine. I remember the first time I caught her taking ale with my head groom. She was sitting on a tree stump discussing what to do in case of a breech birth—of a foal, I mean.”

“I wish you would stop these reminiscences, Southam. You’re making my flesh creep. You speak of her as if she were dead!”

“That is not what I am thinking. You are right. I have been promoting this marriage too eagerly. Gillie is too young. She’s not ready for marriage. I shan’t send her to London this year, either. I shall let her have another year at Elmland, and next year I shall take her to London to make her bows.”

“What will Deborah have to say about that?” she asked.

He looked into the distance. “She can accept it or not. It is up to her. She cannot expect me to put my own little sister out of the house because she cannot get along with her. A man in my position has family duties that must take precedence over his own pleasure.”

Bea regarded him with extreme skepticism. She thought that sounded remarkably like a rehearsed speech. That was what he would say to Deborah in an effort to shake her off. Knowing Deborah, however, she doubted that lady would give up her prize so easily.

The carriage rounded a bend at a fast speed, throwing Bea across the seat. Southam reached a hand out from the opposite bench to steady her, and missed seeing his sister. Bea recognized Gillie’s bonnet and shouted, “Stop!”

Southam looked offended. “I am not attacking you, Cousin. I promised there would be no more of that sort of thing. I was merely steadying you. John Groom is driving too fast. Are you all right?”

“Of course I am all right, idiot! It’s Gillie!” She pointed out the window. There, twenty or thirty yards into a meadow, stood Lady Gillian. She appeared to be gathering wood for a fire. The carriage stood by the side of the road, leaning at a perilous angle that spoke of a broken wheel.

“What the devil is she doing there?” Southam exclaimed.

He stopped the carriage, and they both clambered down. Bea smiled to herself, not only at finding Gillie but at Southam’s hasty defense of his virtue. It indicated what was in his mind. He had certainly been behaving like a gentleman since that night in her room. She thought he had put any thoughts of that sort from his mind, but apparently his feelings for her were not quite dead, or he would not have leapt to his defense so swiftly. Bearing in mind his sudden decision to take Gillie home for a year against Deborah’s express command, she foresaw an interesting time in Bath.