Maggie MacKeever (20 page)

He waited in vain. Never had Sir Malcolm been so in charity with Eulalia, who had considerably advanced her own case by agreeing wholeheartedly with his most bloodthirsty remarks, chief among which to date had been a strongly expressed wish to break the viscount’s blasted neck. “Well, sirrah?” snarled Sir Malcolm. “We must have this business settled. You deny that your behavior is strongly to be deprecated? I doubt that you’re prepared to go into the witness box and so swear!”

“Good God!” Shannon was no little bit startled to be addressed as if he were a defendant at the bar. “Why should I? Surely you cannot doubt my word!”

“No?” Sir Malcolm was in a fractious, pompous mood. He paused, dramatically, and Eulalia was heard to murmur a comment upon the untruthful tendencies of young gentlemen who lived depraved lives. “Did you know, Roxbury, that the theft of property worth more than one shilling can be punished by death? Then what price the theft of my daughter, eh?”

As clearly as if he wore his robes of magistrate, Sir Malcolm was set on dispensing justice from the bench. Lord Roxbury, who had never expected to make an appearance at the bar of the Old Bailey, found the experience singularly unnerving. “I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest notion of what you mean.”

“You would do much better to confess your guilt.” Eulalia’s manner was as ghoulish as if a public execution was imminent.

“Oh, don’t harangue the lad!” Sir Malcolm did not care for interference in his examination of the witness; and he had recognized the gleam of temper in the witness’s bloodshot eye. “I imagine it’s true enough that he doesn’t know anything about
that.
It stands to reason. If Jynx had gone to him, he’d hardly dare show his face here.”

“Jynx is gone?” Shannon had thought her, as Sir Malcolm had promised, confined to bread and water in her room. “Where?”

“That’s precisely what I’d like to know!” Sir Malcolm waved a tattered piece of paper. “She says she’s gone to Cornwall, but how she’s to get there I can’t imagine, since she left without money or clothes.”

“Without clothes?” repeated Lord Roxbury. His mind boggled at the notion of Miss Lennox wandering in a state of nature through the London streets.

“Not a stitch, save what was on her back.” Fortunately, Eulalia did not guess the viscount’s thoughts. “Poor child, I am afraid her case must be desperate! It will be all your fault, Lord Roxbury, if our dear Jessamyn is lured into the—the fleshpots! I’m sure it’s not at all surprising that after the way you played fast and loose with her that she should have run away.”

“After she made a cake of herself, you mean,” interrupted Sir Malcolm.

“And who,” said Shannon, in a dangerous tone,
“
told Jynx that I had, as you put it, played fast and loose with her?”

“I’m sure I don’t know!” Eulalia realized that she’d put her foot in it. “It’s common knowledge. I mean, Lady Blissington!”

Sir Malcolm had no desire whatsoever to enter into a discussion of Adorée Bliss, not because of Lord Roxbury’s pursuit of the lady, but because of his own. “There’s no need to discuss
that,”
he said sternly. “It’s water over the dam. The question is where Jynx has got to, Well, Shannon?”

“How the devil,” retorted the viscount, “am
I
supposed to know? You seem to forget that your daughter got to dagger drawing with me last night. She’d hardly turn around and acquaint me with her plans!”

Sir Malcolm made a violently irritated gesture, and overturned his water glass. “Yes, and I’d like to know what inspired her to engage in a public brangle with you! God in heaven, it’s not like the chit to go beyond the line.”

“Jessamyn’s conduct was altogether displeasing,” offered Eulalia, “but it may be partially excused by her discovery that she had clasped a serpent to her bosom.” She glared at Lord Roxbury. “A nefarious hellhound!”

Shannon refrained from a display of temper, difficult as it was; both Sir Malcolm and Eulalia were regarding him as if he was a suspicious and desperate character. “That also is water under the bridge,” he replied, in sorely goaded tones. “What
I
would like to know is why no one attempted to prevent Jynx, in her highly overwrought condition, from leaving the house!”

Sir Malcolm dabbed ineffectually at the water that had splashed across the table to drip into his lap. “Because,” he said testily, “she went out through the window of her room! I could hardly be expected to think of that accursed tree.”

Lord Roxbury, who had expected to learn that his fiancée had departed Lennox House in a clandestine manner, and who had questioned Sir Malcolm about the matter only to turn the conversation from the topic of what had caused their quarrel, digested this information. Silence reigned. And then Shannon, no longer able to control his mirth at the picture thus presented of Miss Lennox, in complete evening attire, scrambling out her window and down a tree, dropped his face into his hands. His shoulders shook.

Sir Malcolm eyed the viscount with no small bewilderment. “Do you think,” he said to Eulalia, “that we may’ve been a little hard on the lad?”

“Nonsense! There’s more than ample ground for suspicion of his part in this.” Eulalia, too, stared. “What an odd affair!”

It was too much for Shannon to bear. He whooped with laughter. Unfortunately, Sir Malcolm and Eulalia regarded his mirth as a most suspicious circumstance and, once Lord Roxbury had regained control of himself, a feat accomplished all the more quickly by his being the focus of two glacial glares, the inquiry was once more resumed.

Most rigid and searching were Sir Malcolm’s questions, and Shannon could offer no explanations that were acceptable. He could not present Sir Malcolm with the truth, as he had realized the moment he stepped into the dining room. Such was Sir Malcolm’s present temper that if he learned Innis Ashley had pawned his daughter’s betrothal ring, Innis would promptly be clapped behind bars. Briefly, and wistfully, Shannon contemplated that delightful vision. Alas, he decided regretfully, it would not serve. He and Jynx had between them already caused sufficient scandal. Were Innis to be imprisoned, and all London made aware of his possession of her ring, tongues would wag mightily.

Not, reflected Shannon, that they weren’t already doing so. Jynx had apprised the
ton of
her conclusions regarding his acquaintance with Adorée Blissington; and he had apprised the
ton
likewise of her
tête-à-têtes
with Innis Ashley; and he could easily imagine what was being said over chocolate this morning about this
ménage extraordinaire.
In truth, it was not as much fear of further gossip that made Shannon hold his tongue as it was dread of Jynx’s reaction should Innis be jailed.

Again, Lord Roxbury mused that Miss Lennox had never explained Innis’s possession of her ring. If it had not been used in repayment of gambling debts, then how had he come by it? Surely Jynx did not nourish a
tendre
for him? Shannon rather thought among the sentiments of which Miss Lennox had so soundly delivered herself last night had been a stated preference for himself. As she had also stated a strong reluctance to engage in marriage, Shannon took little consolation from that long-awaited admission.

Meanwhile, Sir Malcolm proceeded with his interrogation, in a manner so stern that Lord Roxbury next expected to be told that Sir Malcolm held a warrant for his apprehension, and that he must consider himself held in custody. “May the accused,” Shannon interrupted, “enter a plea on his own behalf?”

“Eh?” inquired Sir Malcolm, disoriented by this breach of protocol.

“Damn it all, not guilty!” Shannon uttered wrathfully. “Sir! We are no forwarder than we were when I first arrived, and though you may not share the sentiment, I am prey to a very great anxiety about Jynx!”

“So you might be,” remarked Eulalia, unable to bypass an opportunity to alienate the two men. “Since the entire thing is your fault.”

Lord Roxbury swore, fulsomely. “I suggest you apply to Jynx concerning
that—
if ever she’s found. Which, since the pair of you seem a great deal more interested in heaping recriminations on my head than in discovering her whereabouts, seems unlikely!”

Sir Malcolm could not be expected to quietly tolerate this slur upon his parental aptitude. “Damn your eyes! I’ve already sent a man to Cornwall to see if she’s gone there, and
I’ve called in Bow Street.” Belatedly, he was stricken by the impact of the viscount’s words. “Do you mean to say that
Jynx
was responsible for that accursed contretemps? By god, if so, I’ll disown the little twit!”

“At this point,” retorted Lord Roxbury, as he rose and in a most careless manner crammed his hat onto his head, “I cannot say which of us is more offended or offended against!”

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Sir Malcolm had in no wise vented the total of his spleen. “I haven’t given you leave.”

“This is not a courtroom, and I am not obliged to await dismissal from the bench, or endure further cautions on my conduct!” The redness of Shannon’s eye was not entirely attributable to excess. “In answer to your question, however, I feel it my duty to inform you that I shall first remove to White’s, where I shall seek relief from a bottle of port, in which I stand in great need after the fatigues of this long and unpleasant morning.”

“Disgraceful!” uttered Eulalia. If looks could kill, and Lord Roxbury wished they might, she would have been stricken down on the spot.

“And then,” he continued ominously, “I intend to make the most unceasing exertions to effect the return of my fiancée!” Behind him, the door slammed shut.

“Humph!” remarked Sir Malcolm into the sudden silence. “I’d no notion there was so much
spirit
in the lad.” Eulalia voiced her opinion that the viscount’s outburst had been most disrespectful, and as such served as further evidence of his innate depravity.

Sir Malcolm paid his sister-in-law’s jabbering no need. Once more he perused his daughter’s farewell note, in particular her statement that Lord Roxbury was overbearing and unbearable. Under no circumstances, Miss Lennox had written, would she marry such a brute. Nor, she had added, in almost illegible script, would he wish to do so, after the spectacle she had made. Therefore, she begged her father, whose disgust of her must be as great as Shannon’s own, to think of her no more, and to allow her to pass the remainder of her days in obscure and repentant spinsterhood.

“Damned if it’s not a love match!” announced Sir Malcolm gleefully.

Chapter Sixteen

Miss Lennox immediately struck up a friendship with the guilt-laden Tomkin, who was very much impressed with her good humor and domestic accomplishments. Thus was her fund of knowledge considerably increased. She was present when Tomkin caught the chef engaged in shady dealing with the buyer of kitchen stuff, and learned with some surprise that it was not uncommon for overlords of the culinary regions to dispose of portions of excellent meat and whole loaves of bread and even, as in this case, silver candlesticks, along with the more acceptable drippings and grease, all of which were later resold in poorer areas. She was instructed also in the care of the wine cellar, and the proper decanting of wine for daily use, and shown not only how to fine, or clear, wines, but also how to detect alterations committed by unscrupulous tradesmen. A piece of chalk the size of a pea, explained Tomkin and proceeded to demonstrate, would disclose the presence of aqua fortis and oil of vitriol; and an admixture of lime water to port would reveal alum. With meats, Tomkin added solemnly, claret was offered. Tokay was fine with pudding; hock and sherry did nicely throughout the meal; but port must be relegated to wait for the cheese.

In return, Miss Lennox offered enlightenment of her own, including a description of her presentation at court, and her journey there in a sedan chair from which the top had been removed to make room for her elaborate headdress, as well as an explanation of the steeply rising cost of lamp oil and candles, due to the increasing scarcity of whale oil and Russian tallow, direct results of the Napoleonic and American wars. So gratified was Tomkin for these gems of wisdom that he followed her around the house, watched with benevolent eye as she shook carpets and mopped the water closet and dusted countless rooms, and gifted her with his family recipe for chestnut soup, a beef broth rich with puréed chestnuts, ground pigeon and veal meat and bacon, onions and carrots, pepper and herbs and mace. And then he informed her, as she was cleaning out the grate, that a servant through whose carelessness a house was set on fire was liable by law to a penalty of one hundred pounds. At this point he abandoned his pupil, his presence being required at the front door.

No sooner had Tomkin departed than Miss Lennox sat down abruptly on the hearth, and the good humor that the butler had so admired likewise fled. Jynx was exhausted both in body and in spirit, and she did not know what to do about a predicament that frightened her out of her wits. While she was pondering said predicament, with her legs crossed beneath her and her elbows on her knees, voices sounded in the hall. Jynx knew those tones, and they made her despondency complete. Unmoving, she waited for Cristin and Percy to enter the drawing room.

She did not wait long. “Cristin!” Lord Peverell threw himself to his knees in front of the girl. “I beg you, reconsider! I would be the happiest man alive if only you would say yes.”

Cristin raised a dramatic hand to her pale brow. “I cannot, Percy! Do not press me! You know that my refusal is for your own sake. If only it could be—but it cannot! If you would not break my heart, you must not further torment me.”

Lord Peverell did not seem to mind that his determined courtship should be spoken of in such terms. His handsome face aglow with sincerity, he clasped Cristin’s hands between his own. “You noble, saintly girl!” he cried. “All the virtues are yours! To think that for my sake you would so sacrifice yourself!”

“I trust,” Cristin replied, in a brave little voice that clutched Lord Peverell’s heart strings, “that I know you to behave like a gentleman!” Miss Lennox, on the hearth, was stricken with a fit of giggles, the containment of which required no less nobility. “I don’t mind being immolated on the altar of duty because it is for your sake, Percy!”