Maggie MacKeever (21 page)

“So it is!” said Neal, in a voice devoid of sentiment. “Good old Button! Toby found him in one of the closets.” Here Jem—busy still with tasks more suited to a nurserymaid— felt obliged to insert a fond remark that Toby was slippery as a greased pig.

Miss Mannering had become aware, as her fellow conspirators apparently had not, that no assurances of assistance had been vouchsafed by Binnie. Unless matters were too soon to come to a crisis, assurances vouchsafed must be. “You have not said you will help!” she wailed. “Does this mean you
won’t?
Surely you cannot be so cruel!”

Much as she would have liked to be, because this situation was utterly appalling and Delilah guilty through the most noble of motives of the most reprehensible conduct, Binnie did not think herself sufficiently heartless as to inform Sandor of Toby’s occupation of the nursery. Binnie had no doubt that the duke, as Delilah had predicted, would order Toby tossed out into the street. It then occurred to Binnie that noble motives were not something ordinarily associated with Miss Mannering. “I’ve said nothing of the sort!” she protested, as Neal berated her for the callousness of her conduct, and several tears slid down Delilah’s freckled cheeks. “Nor am I likely to. Oh, do let me
think!”

“Yes, do!” cried Delilah, and grasped Binnie’s hands. “Think of poor little Toby, who is mute! Without a proper home, or anyone to care what happens to him! Condemned to cruelty and misuse!” To ensure that Binnie’s cogitations followed those lines, she surreptitiously prodded the babe. Nothing loath, Toby abandoned Button and flopped down with an utter lack of ceremony in Binnie’s lap, for Binnie had joined the others on the floor.

Binnie stared at the child. Had she, when Delilah grasped her hands, felt on Miss Mannering’s finger a wedding ring? Covertly, Binnie glanced at the girl’s hand. A wedding ring it was. What could it mean?

In this manner Binnie pondered, and the answer was not difficult to find. Previously Binnie had thought Delilah enamored of someone; now she realized that Delilah had been sufficiently enamored to engage in wedlock. But how did Delilah mean to form an eligible connection, an intention stated several times, if she already had a spouse? Perhaps the girl did not realize the laws concerning bigamy. And to whom was Delilah wed?

Nor did that answer prove elusive. Delilah was amusing herself and Toby by instructing him in Shelta, tinkers’ talk. A
mush-faker
was an umbrella-mender, explained Miss Mannering; a
ghesterman,
a magistrate, a
dinnessy,
a cat. A
nyock
was a penny, a
midgic,
sixpence; and a
tripo-rauniel,
a pot of beer.

Johann! Binnie thought unhappily. Scant wonder the tinker had dared brave Sandor in his den; he had more than ample grounds for blackmail. The idea of introducing to society a young lady who was secretly married to a tinker made Binnie’s blood run cold. Then it turned to positive ice. The implications of Delilah’s championship of Toby had burst upon Binnie. She groaned.

The others were staring at her. Binnie could hardly announce her suspicions regarding Toby’s parentage. “I’ll help you,” she said, firmly if faintly; it would be cruel beyond bearing to part a mother from her babe. “This seems as good a moment as any to tell you that I am going to marry Mark.”

Dead silence greeted this announcement, which was delivered with as little gusto as if its speaker was en route not to the altar but to the guillotine. Neal was first to speak. “Why?” he inquired.

Binnie had not the energy to embark upon a discussion of pros and cons. “It seemed like a good notion at the time,” she said, rather gloomily.

This lack of enthusiasm did not strike Neal as odd, perhaps because he viewed his own approaching nuptials in a similar light. “We must decide what’s to be done with Toby,” he remarked. “Perhaps Cressida will be willing to adopt him.”

Gently, because she was devoted to her brother, Binnie pointed out that Miss Choice-Pickerell was unlikely to look with favor upon such a suggestion. “Mark is more understanding. Perhaps I may take Toby into my home.”

Miss Mannering, paying little heed to this bird-witted discussion, was regarding its subject. Toby was slobbering in a friendly manner on Binnie’s skirts, and kicking his chubby heels in the air. The Baskervilles, Delilah decided, had an astonishing knack for going from bad to worse. Heartily, she deplored the tendency of the objects of her benevolence to make the straightening out of this tangle ever more difficult.

Naturally, Miss Mannering did not despair. To straighten out even the most dreadful of tangles was not beyond her abilities.

Or was it? She matched Toby stare for stare. The babe bore not the least resemblance to his alleged sire, Johann. But if Toby was
not
Johann’s child, then whose was he? And why had he been in Johann’s custody?

Definitely, Delilah had acted without sufficient forethought. Had she in her zeal to thrust a spoke into Johann’s wheel, also failed to take Athalia into sufficient account? Would Athalia add two and two together, associate Toby’s disappearance with Delilah’s visit to the campsite, and achieve an accurate total? If Johann realized Delilah had spirited Toby away, he would have a very sharp sword to held over her head instead of, as she had intended, the opposite. With the fervor of ten thousand troopers, Delilah cursed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Because she was in mourning, Miss Mannering’s social debut was a small, intimate affair. No more than a hundred invitations had been issued to the cozy evening reception held in the Duke of Knowles’s bow-fronted house on the Royal Crescent. Thus obliged to curtail her guest list, Edwina had extended invitations only to the
crème de la crème.

Not a single member of the Upper Ten Thousand who sojourned in Brighton this season, and who consequently graced Edwina’s guest list, had rendered polite apologies. Edwina was not especially surprised by this gratifying development. The
ton
were very curious about newcomers to their ranks, and ever eager to scrutinize young heiresses, the means by which many old, titled families managed to live in the style to which they had become accustomed before inflated prices and imprudent sons had diminished their income. Miss Mannering was a considerable heiress indeed.

She was also a considerable success, having created a sensation on her entrance, clad in a lovely gown trimmed with knots of ribbon. Luckily, Delilah appeared to advantage in black, the requisite color for a young lady recently bereaved. There was no dancing, due to that bereavement, which was rather a pity: Edwina would very much have liked to see the Duke of Knowles engage Delilah for a waltz. Or several! she amended. Let the polite world be made aware of which direction the wind blew.

Of course Sandor could not conduct himself in a manner so shocking, not to a damsel under his own care. Too, Delilah was prohibited by mourning from marrying for almost a year. That, too, was a pity; perhaps the unwritten rule might be bent a bit in this case. After all, Sandor was a duke and had no need to bend his knee to the conventions that bound less exalted folk. Edwina decided she should drop a gentle hint, lest some gazetted fortune hunter in the interim made Delilah his prey.                      

What a pleasure it was to see Miss Mannering deporting herself like a well-brought-up young woman, for a change. Not a single vulgar expression—and Edwina had been listening sharply, ready if necessary to cover any slip—had this evening been heard to pass her lips. She was very natural, amiable but not forward, a young lady of distinct breeding.

Currently she was holding court, surrounded by a number of admirers, in the drawing room. This was a lovely chamber, furnished with pier tables, commode and elegant fire screen; and a gilt suite consisting of large and small sofas, a confidante and armchairs, all of a simple design that incorporated scrolled endpieces and straight legs, adorned with flutings, paterae, palm leaves, and honeysuckle. The plaster walls boasted rectangular panels of stucco design alternated with Zucchi paintings of Piranesi-style ruins. The design of the carpet—a circle within a square, and in the center a star surrounded by paterae and swags—echoed the Kauffman medallions in the ceiling. Edwina beamed upon Miss Mannering, then turned her attention to another young lady who stood at her side.

Edwina, as has previously been stated, rather admired Miss Choice-Pickerell. Since the Choice-Pickerells were the only persons on the guest list who were not included in the ranks of the Upper Ten Thousand, and consequently might be expected to feel somewhat ill-at-ease, Edwina was making a special effort to compensate for any natural sensations of inferiority. “Lovely, is she not?” she now inquired of Cressida. “Our little Delilah has made quite a hit, it seems!”

Much as she disliked the necessity of doing so, Miss Choice-Pickerell agreed. Cressida did not find Miss Mannering at all attractive; it could only be the heiress’s fortune that exercised such allure; it certainly wasn’t the distinctly commonplace combination of freckles and flaming red hair. Cressida may be forgiven these conclusions, which were as unfair as they were uncharitable; Delilah may have been no beauty, but she possessed an abundance of charm. However, Cressida knew herself perfectly qualified to receive the compliments of persons of the first consideration, and that she was being ignored in favor of a dab of a girl with no manners and less countenance piqued her vanity.

Not only by persons of rank was Miss Choice-Pickerell being overlooked. Rather irritably, she inquired after Neal.

Edwina looked around the room. “Perhaps he’s in the supper rooms, my dear, or engaged with a hand of cards.” Though dancing was out of the question, Edwina had provided every other possible diversion for her guests. Cressida did not appear pleased, she thought, that Neal found other diversions more compelling than herself. “Neal,” Edwina added tactfully, “is not one to neglect his duties.”

Since Miss Choice-Pickerell made no response, Edwina considered her ruffled feathers smoothed. Again she contemplated the guests—or those of the guests within her range of vision—and congratulated herself on the arrangement of a very gay affair. She did so in all justice; her idea of presenting Delilah to polite society in this manner had met with little enthusiasm from her family. Sibyl, in particular, had been against it, though the reason for her opposition was beyond Edwina’s comprehension. For that matter, Sibyl was altogether incomprehensible these days. Edwina could think of no reason for her sudden skittishness. Perhaps finding herself betrothed after so many years of unloved spinsterhood had unhinged Sibyl’s brain.

But Miss Choice-Pickerell was growing sulky, poor thing; it was hardly kind of Neal to subject his fiancée to such arrant neglect. Edwina craned her neck. She saw not the missing Neal but his sister, engaged in a desultory conversation with Mark Dennison. For once, and after lengthy prodding, Sibyl was dressed becomingly, in a dress of embroidered silk gauze worn over a sarcenet slip. Even her hair was arranged attractively, due to the efforts of Miss Mannering, in a mass of loose intricate curls atop her head. Alas, Sibyl’s expression was at odds with her finery. She looked almost grim.

“Come, my dear!” said Edwina to Miss Choice-Pickerell. “Let me make you known to a gentleman who is also soon to become a member of the family. It is not yet public, but I do not scruple to tell
you
that Sibyl and Mr. Dennison are to achieve the utmost felicity.”

Sibyl and Mr. Dennison, thought Cressida, did not look like two people on the brink of bliss. She offered no objection, but allowed Edwina to usher her through the crowded room. “Mr. Dennison and I,” she murmured, “have already met.”

“Excellent!” Edwina spoke rather absently. There was Sandor, regarding his guests with distinct hauteur, as could only be expected from a gentleman of exalted rank and debased temperament—but where was Neal? Edwina would have a few stem words to say to that young man when he chose to reappear. To that end, she inquired of Sibyl her brother’s whereabouts.

Binnie looked, Cressida thought, positively guilty. “Neal? I don’t know! But I will find him!” gasped Miss Baskerville, and fled the drawing room.

“God bless my soul! What ails the girl?” muttered Edwina. Then Delilah beckoned, and she left Cressida with Mr. Dennison, after an arch comment that they would find much to talk about, since they would soon be almost related, as it were, by marriage. These remarks were uttered in a very complacent manner. Edwina was beginning to think herself no mean matchmaker—like her Regent, envisioning herself responsible for all matter of stirring developments at which she hadn’t actually been present.

Mr. Dennison and Miss Choice-Pickerell looked after her, a rather comical figure in a gown of gossamer satin with festooned trimming, bordered with satin rouleaux, the bodice and sleeves slashed with scarlet, and a cap ornamented with roses on her yellow hair; hardly an ensemble suited to a lady of mature years. But Mr. Dennison and Miss Choice-Pickerell were far too well-bred to make mock of their hostess. Instead Miss Choice-Pickerell embarked upon an erudite discussion of the correspondence between the Prince and Princess of Wales regarding their daughter, as published in the
Morning Chronicle;
and Mr. Dennison countered with a description of the festivities with which the prince customarily celebrated his birthday, which included oxen roasted whole, free-flowing liquor, fireworks, and races for every imaginable kind of quadruped, and much ringing of bells.

These civilities concluded, Mr. Dennison and Miss Choice-Pickerell regarded the young lady who was uppermost in both their thoughts. By the fact that Miss Mannering was conducting herself in an irreproachable manner, neither was reconciled to her. “I should not say so,” Miss Choice-Pickerell said, “but I am very much afraid that Miss Mannering is not quite the thing. At least this evening she is not displaying her usual oddities of manner
.
One may conclude that she has been well rehearsed. And one can but hope one is mistaken in thinking her guilty of duplicity.”