Maggie MacKeever (13 page)

Lovedayl silently held out the tiny doll. She had not expected such a cold reception.

“Does anyone know of this?” Isolda asked, taking the thing reluctantly between thumb and forefinger. Mrs. Snugglebutt gasped and sketched a sign in the air. Twitching saw an opportunity and grasped it; she moaned and swooned into Huffington’s arms. A look of baffled consternation crossed the valet’s face, and perspiration stood out on his forehead, for his unwanted burden was of greater mass than he. Finally, with the air of one reaching a major decision, he deposited the abigail gingerly on the floor and fled from the room. Isolda dropped her face into her hands.

Mrs. Snugglebutt, lacking such useful items as smelling salts or vinaigrette, soundly slapped the recumbent Twitching. The unfortunate dresser came to her senses with a great many protests about the injuries done her unconscious body.

“Flapdoodle!” retorted Mrs. Snugglebutt. Loveday was relieved to find that Isolda’s shaking shoulders were caused by laughter, and not sobs.

“Never,” choked that lady, “have I seen such a contretemps. You now know my secret, child. My staff may be for the most part incompetent, but I cannot find it in me to dismiss them. They are an unfailing source of amusement to me!”

Twitching took immediate umbrage at these words, and burst into tears. After delivering herself of an impassioned diatribe concerning her years of devoted service and Isolda’s heartless ingratitude, she tottered from the room. Her exit was somewhat spoiled by Verdelet, with whom she collided in the doorway. Dillian and Jem entered the room to find both Isolda and Loveday in whoops.

“I could find no one,” Jem began, and Isolda held up her hand.

“Wait!” she begged. “Let me compose myself!” The doll lay forgotten in her lap, where Dillian’s quick eyes spied it.

“Loveday!” she gasped, gingerly picking up the thing. “Where did you find this?”

“On my bed. Along with Verdelet.”

“Verdelet?” Isolda shot an accusatory glance at Dillian. “You did not tell me this.”

“Loveday, you cannot think me responsible!” Dillian was distressed.

“When did you discover it?” Jem demanded.

“Just now.”

“Then it couldn’t have been Dillian. She’s been with me ever since you came back.”

“And she was with me before we left,” Loveday pointed out. “But who could it have been? I went to my room immediately upon our return.”

Isolda sighed. “It looks like some of Mrs. Snugglebutt’s work, but why she should wish to frighten you I cannot imagine.”

A snort of indignation came from the housekeeper’s corner of the room. “If that don’t beat all!” She stood before them in outrage, fists resting on her plump hips. “My work indeed! I’ll take leave to inform you, ma’am, that I’d never do any such a thing, and if you don’t believe me, I’ll be glad to give notice!”

Dillian quickly set herself to soothe Mrs. Snugglebutt’s ruffled sensibilities, and succeeded tolerably well. “If you’ll just give that to me, miss,” the housekeeper said to Loveday, who had reclaimed the doll and was examining it with somber fascination, “I’ll get rid of it for you.”

“What will you do with it?”

“Bum it, most like.”

“Gracious, no!” protested Loveday, clutching the monstrous creation to her. “It’s supposed to be me!”

Dillian was pale. “It must not be destroyed. The doll is bound to Loveday. If it perishes, so will she!”

“Poppycock!” Mrs. Snugglebutt departed to remove an inebriated Tarbath from the larder. Isolda sent the other servants after her.

“I wonder how we are to go on,” Isolda sighed. “Things seem to be deteriorating at an alarming rate.”

“Why is Tarbath foxed?” asked Loveday, who had been treated to a glimpse of that glassy-eyed individual. “I thought he only took to the wine cellars in emergencies.”

“I forgot you did not know,” Isolda replied. “Someone was seen walking on the castle wall during your absence. Tarbath, unfortunately, spied the intruder, and reacted as he does in any crisis. My grandson deplores this habit. Tarbath has developed a nicely discriminating taste in the matter of wines.”

“I thought the castle wall was dangerous!”

“It is, extremely so, as everyone knows.”

“Give me that doll, Loveday, I’ll take care of it for you.”

Loveday wordlessly handed Dillian the doll.  The girl gently removed the hatpin from its heart.”

Jem held out a piece of crimson silk. “It wasn’t the tower lady, at any rate. Ghosts don’t leave footprints or bits of material behind.”

* * * *

Felicity was furious. Not only had she ruined one of her favorite dresses clambering about the ruins of that wretched castle, and almost broken her neck any number of times, but she’d found no entrance to the interior. To further her chagrin, she’d been seen, but she thought she’d not inform Theo of that.

She looked upon her sleeping lover with contempt. If it weren’t for his plump purse, she wouldn’t tolerate him for a moment. He was crude, boorish, ill-tempered, and abominably clutch-fisted, though she had not yet despaired of relieving him of some of his coin. What was money for if not to spend? Averil had at least been generous. She would be glad when he came to his senses and realized how fortunate he was to have a paramour as charming, beautiful, and faithful as herself, for then she’d show Theo a clean pair of heels. Perhaps the duke could even be prevailed upon to marry her, in time: Felicity rather thought she’d like that. Of course the old woman would have to go. Felicity had seen the contemptuous way the duchess had looked at her, but that would be no problem. If Averil wouldn’t listen to reason, there were always other methods.

Theo mumbled in his sleep, and Felicity glanced at him, but he did not awaken. She knew better than to rouse him; his temper, upon awakening, was damnable.

She’d hoped to find an unguarded entrance to the castle, for she was sure that all would be well could she but secret herself in Averil’s chambers. Felicity was well versed in the ways of men: she knew that once she’d pleasured the duke, in her own inimitable way, he’d be unlikely to evict her ignominiously from his home. She’d admired Ballerfast. It was a far cry from Theo’s gloomy, run-down estate.

Theo’s uses for a secret access to the castle must be far different from hers, and Felicity wondered vaguely what he had in mind. She couldn’t imagine that he’d willingly share her favors with his rival again. Ah well, whatever his hopes they were to be sadly shattered. There were probably secret entrances in plenty, but none that she’d been able to discover.

“Well, my pet? Were you successful?”

Felicity jumped and glared at Theo. “You gave me such a start! I thought you asleep.”

“I take it that you were not successful, then.”

Theo did not seem well-pleased, and Felicity sought to divert him. “I found no door, but I found something even better!”

“Better than a door?” Theo sat up and arranged himself comfortably among the pillows. “You intrigue me, Felicity. What could possibly be better than a door?”

“The Fairchild chit!” Felicity’s tone was triumphant, but Theo remained disappointingly calm. “I saw her today in the village. I think she’s staying at the castle, for she was with Averil and some other people.” Felicity had learned to withhold various things from her protector, whose tolerance was short. She couldn’t think he’d be interested in Jasper Assheton’s presence, for he barely knew the man.

“Was her brother with her, I wonder?” Theo’s tone was deceptively casual.

Felicity shrugged. “Does he look like her? Then he was not.”

“Better and better,” Theo remarked thoughtfully. “He’s no match for me, of course, but I do not care to come to blows with a stripling.”

“Theo, are you pleased? I made sure you would be!”

“You were wrong. The Fairchild chit isn’t better than a door, but she’ll have to do.” Theo casually patted Felicity’s knee. “I’d never thought to find her here, of all places. How very convenient, to be sure. Another debt to settle with Vere.”

“What do you plan?” Felicity had no qualms about revealing Loveday’s whereabouts; indeed, she was glad to do so since she suspected Averil’s interest in the girl was far from casual. She hadn’t overlooked the softening of his expression when he looked at Loveday, and it didn’t bode well for her own plans. Felicity would be delighted to have Loveday out of her way, but she wanted no harm to come to Averil.

“I think I’ll attend Charmain’s
soiree.
” Theo stretched. “It should be interesting.”

“I did not know you were invited,” Felicity sulked. “Will you take me?” Lady Laurent’s ball was a subject of much gossip in the village.

“I think not, my pet. I have received no invitation, because Charmain does not know that I am here. She will be pleased to receive me, nonetheless. We are old friends.”

Felicity was
not
pleased, but held her tongue. “As for the admirable Miss Fairchild,” Theo mused, “I have not entirely decided, but I rather think I might abduct her.”

* * * *

Sylvester Arthur Assheton, Earl of Dorset, paced his study floor impatiently as he awaited his man’s return.

“I do wish you’d go to bed, Phyllida,” he said testily. Busy with her needlework, his daughter ventured no reply. She knew her duty, and was not one to shirk it. Her father was prone to go off in odd humors, and it fell upon his offspring to keep a watchful eye on him. Normally this responsibility fell to his son and heir, Jasper. Phyllida considered that her brother made too light of his obligation, often accompanying his father on jaunts rather than keeping him safely at home.

Phyllida shifted in her chair. She had lately discovered herself to be in an interesting condition, with which news she planned to greet her husband upon his return from Portugal in the near future.

She wondered if her children would ever regard their father with the same exasperated amusement as she and Jasper regarded theirs. Phyllida doubted it; Adolphus was much too discreet to cause his offspring a moment’s unease. She surveyed her father thoughtfully. Lord Dorset was a white-haired gentleman in his late sixties. He had been widowed many years, his wife not having survived the delivery of a stillborn child.

Phyllida was the eldest of a large family, most of whom had not survived infancy. Jasper was the only remaining son, a younger brother having been killed on the Peninsula. Phyllida thought of Denis, and sighed.

“What ails you, lass?” her father asked, his gruff voice masking concern. Phyllida shook her head. Her anxiety for her father was prompted by affection, not a sense of filial duty, and she would never deliberately evoke the pain that Denis’s name must cause him.

“I wish you would not wear yourself to the bone,” she replied. “Dipper will surely not ride the night through. It’s quite a distance.”

“Aye. A devilish long distance. But he’ll return tonight, and you may bank on it.”

Phyllida found her father’s mood too restless for her liking, and determined to inject a distracting note. “I shall give Loveday a terrible scold when next we meet. I’ll warrant the baggage is engaging in some more of her humbuggery.”

Sylvester gazed at his daughter with sudden interest. “You think she’s playing a deep game?”

“Loveday doesn’t ordinarily behave in quite so thoughtless a fashion. This betrothal is the worst coil she’s involved us in, and will give rise to just the sort of scandal as must be abhorred.”

“You don’t think that the chit has a decided partiality for Jasper?”

Phyllida shrugged. “Loveday is not one to wear her heart upon her sleeve, and in any case we shall shortly see. It’s not like her to take such drastic measures without due provocation, but perhaps she’s simply taken leave of her senses.”

Sylvester snorted. “You may make yourself easy on that score! Loveday would not have affianced herself to Jasper without good reason, as you well know. The chit’s an incorrigible flirt, but doesn’t want for common sense.”

“And Jasper’s not one to be easily taken in.” Phyllida pondered. “I wonder what the outcome will be.”

Lord Dorset also wondered; there was a short silence in the room.

“There is an aspect of this affair that you have not considered,” Phyllida continued, “for your mind is of too nice a tone to care for such things.”

“Well?”

“Now that Lord Fairchild is impoverished, and even worse, discredited, Loveday too will come under censure. It is possible that she may make a recovery, but if she continues to be so thoughtlessly impetuous she may sink herself irreparably below reproach.”

“Doing it rather too brown, my girl. I’m not in my dotage yet.”

“You, Father, are as astute a gentleman as ever drew breath,” retorted his fond daughter. “However, the fact remains. Loveday is the most complete romp, and could easily be considered not quite the thing.”

“Fairchild’s part in this affair is monstrous.” Sylvester frowned. “I knew the man to be a pernicious scoundrel, but never thought that even he would behave so shabbily.”

Phyllida sighed. “I do wish I could lend a hand, but I fear such a thing would not be practicable.” She knew, none better, the decided discomfort of having one’s dirty linen washed in public.

Sylvester looked at his daughter sternly. “Do take yourself to bed, lass, or your Adolphus will think you’ve fretted yourself into illness in his absence. I promise you I shan’t come to grief.”

“Very well. If you promise me you won’t wait up half the night.” Phyllida gathered up her work. She could not fault her father for anxiously awaiting word from his son. Her only concern was for his health.

Her father, who despite his frail appearance was perfectly sound, glared. “I’m hopelessly henpecked,” he retorted. “I wonder that you don’t goad me into an apoplexy with your infernal cosseting!” Phyllida smiled, and was transformed from a rather plain matron into a twinkling girl. Sylvester thought with a pang that both she and Jasper had their mother’s smile. Not so Denis. Denis had been more like him.

“Have it your way, girl,” he growled, with a dismissive motion. “I’ll wait just an hour more. Never have I been more browbeaten! I’ll be glad when your husband takes you away.”