Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) (4 page)

She stared at him. “If that's how you truly feel—”

“Oh, it is!”

The carriage had slowed at a congested road junction and Mally did not stop to think. She flung open the door and jumped down onto the cobbles. The door swung behind her as she ran between the chaises and vans, a bright blue and white figure which startled some of the horses and caused a fruiterer's cart to almost overturn.

“Mally!”

She heard Chris calling her. She turned down an alley, pushing her way through the crowds and hurrying until she was sure he could not find her.

Chapter 5

It wasn't until the breeze tore at her carefully pinned hair that she realized she had left her bonnet in the carriage. To be seen walking without her bonnet— Still trembling and blinking back the tears, she stood outside a teashop, staring at the elegant dish of éclairs displayed in the window. The strains of music drifted out into the street from the small orchestra playing inside, and her spirits sank even lower as she sought her handkerchief—which was also still in the carriage. She glanced around. Where was she? She had come down the alleyway and into this street so swiftly and without paying attention, and now she really did not recognize anything around her. Or anyone.

She returned her attention to the éclairs, gazing at the thick cream and soft chocolate. At any other time she would have taken a delight in eating so fine a pastry, but today, when everything had gone so hopelessly wrong—

The reflection of a tall, golden-haired figure in dull green velvet appeared in the window beside her.

Annabel smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Mrs. St. Aubrey.”

“Good afternoon, Lady Annabel.”

The smile was there again, rather too sweetly for Mally's liking. “I was about to take some tea here, would you care to join me? I saw how you were admiring the éclairs and they are indeed most excellent. Please join me.”

Mally could think of nothing to say, and she could not bring herself to be out-and-out rude by refusing. “I—”

“Oh, please do, unless of course you have an appointment.” Annabel's eyes moved briefly to Mally's bare head.

“Thank you, Lady Annabel, I should like to join you.”

***

The waitress placed the dish of cakes next to the silver teapot and bobbed a neat curtsey, smiling charmingly all the while.

Annabel leaned forward to Mally. “Most excellent service here. Small wonder that everyone who is anyone comes here after Hyde Park.”

“Do they?” Mally glanced around. It was dark inside the tearooms, except for the small dais where the three-piece orchestra was playing. The tables were all prettily furnished with pink and white floral cloths and posies of late summer roses. And as she looked around she saw that she did indeed know quite a number of the people sitting at their tea.

Annabel watched her. “But of course everyone comes here, it's
the
thing this year. Petcholli's Tea Shop after the drive. Don't tell me you hadn't heard that.”

“No, I hadn't.”

“Chris is hiding you away too much. But where is he? He was with you in the park, was he not?”

Mally decided that the time for this cat-and-mouse game to end had most definitely arrived. “You know perfectly well that he was, Lady Annabel.”

Again the smile. “I know—I was praying you would quarrel insurmountably. There, is that not honest of me?”

Mally was forced to smile. “Yes, it is, very honest.”

“I make no secret of loving him still. I'd snatch him from under your nose in a trice if I could.
Have
you had an argument?”

“That is none of your business.”

“That means you have.”

Mally poured two cups of the weak tea. “I really don't know why I'm sitting here with you like this. Where is your chaperone?”

“Still in the barouche, I fancy. But as you are a respectable widow, you will pass excellently as a chaperone for a young, unmarried lady such as myself. Won't you?” Annabel's green eyes shone.

Mally put down her cup. “Still in the barouche. You
saw
me flounce from the carriage, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“I should have known you'd still be spying.”

Annabel looked angelic. “Actually I wasn't. It was the wildly banging carriage door, the flash of your bare head passing my window, and the shouting and fist-waving of the other drivers which alerted me.”

“I know, I
did
make a solomon of it, didn't I?” Mally nodded ruefully. “And you, Lady Annabel Murchison, are the last person I should talk of it with, as you are my arch rival.”

“I must correct that statement. I am the
would be
arch rival, but I don't get much of a look-in, do I? I have always been second best, but I can live with it. I think.”

“You must love him a great deal, Lady Annabel.”

“I do. May I call you Mally again? We were friends once.”

“And let a snake in the grass wriggle even closer to me?”

“Why not? It will keep you on your toes.”

“And wear me out with anxiety as to what you were up to.”

“Ah, but you'll have to worry about that anyway, won't you? I have decided, you see, that I must make one last despairing bid to get him back.”

“Is this the gauntlet on the ground?” asked Mally, sitting back.

“Well”—Annabel smiled—“I could not respect myself if I let him slip away without at least trying, could I?”

Mally raised her eyebrows. “Try away then, Annabel.”

“Eat your éclair. They
are
good, you know.”

“And just how well do you know the proprietors of this establishment? Well enough to have this éclair laced with something final?”

“Oh, that wouldn't be the thing. For my own pride and self-respect I have to
win
him from you. So your heroine's death among the chocolate and cream would do my cause little good, wouldn't it?”

“After that I think I
will
eat this confection then.”

Annabel drank her tea. “You know, Mally, I rather like you. Damn you. What
did
you quarrel about?”

“Mind your own business.”

“I can guess anyway.”

“How?” Mally licked her fingertips.

“It can only be the one thing, the only thing ever to screw Chris up to a pitch.”

Mally flushed. “And that might be—?”

“Daniel St. Aubrey, of course.”

“This is delicate ground, Annabel, and definitely not ground I wish to tread with you.”

“You're blushing, Mally.”

“So would you be. Please, Annabel, leave it alone.” Mally looked steadily at the golden-haired girl.

“I did not realize the wound was still so open, Mally. I'm sorry.”

They fell silent for a moment and then Mally cast around for her reticule, forgetting again that she did not have it with her. “I must be getting back, my mother will be wondering where I am.”

“Shall we share a chaise? After all, we live in the same square, do we not?”

Mally just wished to get away from her enforced companion. “I think I will go alone, Annabel.”

“Then you will have a long walk, I fear. And my reputation may suffer a little from being unescorted.”

Mally sighed. The reticule.

Annabel smiled. “The offer of a shared chaise is still there. Oh, come on, I'm not poisonous—not really anyway.”

Mally laughed defeatedly. “That sounds like the understatement of the century!”

***

The chaise rocked and bumped down Pall Mall and Mally gripped the handrail, wincing with each lurch. “Good heavens, I had no idea traveling could be so uncomfortable still.”

“Soft living,” replied Annabel.

“That's the second time this afternoon I've heard that phrase.”

“Oh? Who else said it then?”

“Not Chris, if that's what you're fishing for. No, it was one Richard Vallender, widower, of Breconshire. Now
there's
a handsome, winning gentleman for you, Annabel, wickedly charming and looking for a second wife.”

“I'm not sniffing the market for husbands, I'll have you know.”

“No, but your snout is a little too close to my corner of the yard.”

Annabel laughed. “Not really, I don't stand an earthly chance.”

“I wouldn't be so sure. After today's episode I think my stock is rather low
chez
Carlyon.”

“You cannot mean that.”

Mally said nothing as the chaise wobbled around yet another corner. She heard the comforting sound of a familiar clock, St. Blaise's. The driver flicked his whip at the weary horse and it moved a little more swiftly, setting the unsteady remains of the springs heaving from side to side again. Annabel gripped the door handle for support, glancing suddenly at Mally as she saw Chris's carriage drawn up outside Vimiero House.

As the chaise ground to a standstill, Chris was just coming down the white steps. Mally climbed down with Annabel, who was determined not to drive on around to number fifteen if there was a chance of speaking with Chris. She searched for her purse and thrust far too much money into the driver's hand and waved him on quickly.

Chris bowed stiffly to Mally. “I returned your reticule and bonnet.”

“Thank you, Chris.” She spoke lamely, conscious of Annabel standing there. “Annabel was kind enough to convey me home.”

“I thank you, Annabel.” He smiled at the tall girl.

“It was nothing, Chris, nothing at all. We took tea together in Petcholli's and have got to know each other quite well. I was most pleased to be of help.”

He nodded. “Perhaps we should dine together again, as in old times, eh?”

Mally quivered inside. As in old times! There had been the
four
of them then!

But Annabel immediately took the straw. “Oh, I
would
like that, I would like it very much indeed.”

Mally stood erect and angry.
I'll warrant you'd like it, my lady!

Chris smiled. “Then the matter shall be arranged.”

Annabel twirled her parasol. “I must take myself back to Father, he's such an ogre if I'm late—and my old grump of a chaperone will be sure to have grumped away at him, for I see that my barouche has preceded me.”

Mally smiled sweetly. “Perhaps you should accompany Annabel to her door, Chris, to reassure them that she has come to no harm.”

Chris's eyes went incredulously to her face and she saw the instant hurt and anger there. “But of course, I should be delighted. Come, Annabel, take my arm and we shall indeed walk the remaining yards together.”

Annabel put her hand through his arm and with a tiny backward glance at Mally, she walked away with him.

Mally stood there on the pavement watching them. Why had she handled that so very, very badly? She had thrust him into Annabel's clutches, and for no good reason beyond her own stiff-necked pride. She looked around the square where the wind was bringing down the leaves with each breath now. Damn autumn! And damn all men!

Chapter 6

Mrs. Berrisford was in a fluster when Mally entered the drawing room. “Wherever have you been? I have been
frantic!
And then when Sir Christopher returned without you—”

“Don't fuss, mother. We had a small argument and I refrained from traveling a further inch with him. That is all.”

“That is
all?
Sweet heavens, child, you cannot go cavorting around this
dreadful
city alone!”

“I can if I so wish, I am no maid to be chaperoned! Look, I don't wish to even talk about it, even with you, if you don't mind.”

Mrs. Berrisford stared at the strained look on her daughter's face. “Lucy tells me that you and Sir Christopher are frequently at daggers drawn.”

“Then Lucy had no right.”

“I am your mother, Marigold, and I have every right to know these things.”

“Chris and I have differences, but they are not important.” Mally forced herself to smile reassuringly.
Oh, the fibs
—

“Well, Marigold, I am much chagrined that you did not see fit to confide your problems in me. After all, what's a mother for?”

Mally went to stand by the window and look out over the gardens. How could anyone confide in a mother who threatened the vapors at every turn?

Mrs. Berrisford sat down by the fire again and took up her crochet work. “I sometimes think that children were sent merely to be millstones around our necks. The very
heaviest
millstones imaginable. Your behavior this afternoon, Marigold, was worthy of a Cyprian, a demirep no less. And here was I, thinking that my elder daughter was more the
ton
than anything else in human form.”

“Oh, Mother, please, shall I bring you the sal volatile? Or perhaps that curious bottle you lug around in your reticule?”

“If your father were here now he'd give you a good wigging for speaking so disrespectfully to me.” Mrs. Berrisford blinked and sniffed pathetically.

“Oh, give me patience! Mother, I am just not in the mood for your mummery!”

The sniffs stopped abruptly. “
Marigold
, you have never spoken to me like this before.”

“Then perhaps I should have.” Mally could willingly have burst into tears. Right now the very last person on God's earth she wished to be closeted with was her mother.

The fire in the hearth shifted and sparks fluttered up the chimney like bright rubies. The clock on the escritoire chimed softly in the silent room. Mrs. Berrisford started twisting the thread on the crochet hook again, sniffing once, but no more.

After a while Mally went to sit next to her, putting her hand over hers gently. “I'm sorry, Mother—I'm a little overwrought, I fear.”

Mrs. Berrisford smiled. “Yes, dear, the strain of such a great match must surely be telling on you. I forgive you. Willingly. And now I have something to tell you. Your Mr. Paulington arrived not five minutes after you and Sir Christopher had gone.”

“I did not think he would be here until later. What did he say?”

“Well, he asked me all the questions you asked me this morning. And then he asked if I had a likeness of Maria. I gave him that miniature we had done for her to give to Thomas on their marriage. He said that he would take himself to the Swan with Two Necks and make inquiries and that he would return later this evening to let us know if there is any hope.”

Mally sat back. “If there's anything to be discovered, Mr. Paulington will discover it, you may be sure.”

“You're probably right. I have seldom seen a man more like a ferret in my life! His looks would damn him in society, and that's a fact! But then he obviously does not care three straws for his appearance, does he?”

“No. Mother, if you will forgive me, I think I will go and lie down for a while, for my head is aching. I will join you for dinner later.”

“Of course, my dear. Do you know, I really think I could close my eyes myself for a while. That journeying from Llanglyn, all the worrying about my two little chicks. Yes, a rest in that exquisite Green Room would soothe me most excellently.” She wound up her crochet and pushed it back into her reticule. “Lucy tells me we are having goose for dinner tonight. I
do
love goose. And all the trimmings.”

Mally smiled. “Aye, but your waistline doesn't agree with all the mounds of trimmings you seem to need!”

“Marigold,” said Mrs. Berrisford archly, “
I
no longer have to trouble myself with my waistline! Only with the comfort of my interior. Until dinner then.”

“Until dinner.”

The goose was excellent, and Mrs. Berrisford was as good as her word, nodding appreciatively at each vegetable Digby held before her. But Mally had only a portion of goose, a roast potato, and two sprouts. Mrs. Berrisford leaned forward to examine the minute dinner on the gold-rimmed plate.

“Good gracious, child, you'll waste away!”

“I had more than enough to eat last night at Lord Dansford's ball. It will do me no harm to fast for a day or so.”

“I have no intention of fasting. When do you think your Mr. Paulington will come?”

“He's not my Mr. Paulington. I don't really know. Oh, Digby, would you bring up a bottle of the Médoc with the cheese?”

“Yes, madam.”

Mrs. Berrisford's eyes widened. “
Médoc
now? Good gracious, Marigold, you will have us under the table in an hour's time! We have already consumed that excellent Graves—and my capacity, being mere mortal, ends at one bottle of wine per meal, not two!”

“Mother, I feel that my capacity for wine tonight is endless, even if my capacity for food is not.”

“I trust you have not become a secret tippler, Marigold.”

Mally smiled. “No, Mother, whatever I do, I do in public. Besides, when you taste the Médoc, you will more than appreciate it.”

“My dear, I am not a connoisseur.” Mrs. Berrisford applied herself to the mountain of roast goose and trimmings.

Mally watched her. Oh, how many worlds away at this very moment were the unfortunate Mrs. Agatha Harmon? And Maria? Out of sight, out of mind? Perhaps that was unkind, for her mother had surely come on a long journey over Maria's disappearance. Maybe there was some consolation to be had in tucking into good food and deliberately forgetting the cares and woes of the world for a while.

Digby came silently into the dining room and the fluttering of the candles caught Mally's attention. “Yes, Digby, what is it?”

“Mr. Paulington has returned, madam. I have taken the liberty of showing him into the library.”

Mrs. Berrisford's knife and fork clattered suddenly to her plate. “Oh, dear.”

Mally glanced at the butler. “Show him in here, Digby.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Oh, Marigold, do you think he's found anything out?” Mrs. Berrisford mopped her mouth anxiously with her napkin.

“We are about to discover, Mother.” Mally smiled, but inside she was tense and worried. Pray God he had discovered that Maria was all right—

Mr. Paulington sidled around the dining-room door and Digby shut it behind him. He stood there, a foxy-faced, foxy-eyed little man in a scruffy tweed coat which was as disreputable apparently as it had been when last Mally had seen him in this very house. And she liked him as little now as she had done then.

“Good evening, Mr. Paulington. Please come and take a seat. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

“Why thank you, thank you kindly, Mrs. St. Aubrey.” He sat down on the very edge of the nearest chair, wiping the palms of his hands on his knees.

“And now, Mr. Paulington, have you any good news to impart concerning my sister?”

“Your
sister
?” He turned sharply to look at Mrs. Berrisford, who had the grace to look pink and uncomfortable. “I was under the impression as it was a friend we was looking for.”

Mrs. Berrisford cleared her throat. “Well, the scandal—I thought it best not to say who she really was.”

“Oh, Mother! Mr. Paulington, Maria is my younger sister. Now then,
did
you discover anything?”

“Well, it's a little confusing.” He put down the miniature, surveying it for a moment and then glancing at Mally. “Reckon there
is
a likeness, now I looks at it again. But, to business, Mrs. St. Aubrey. I went to the Swan with Two Necks and made inquiries there of a fellow named Jenkins. He's the one as always meets the Hereford mails when they comes in. He said as he hadn't seen anyone as looked like the bit of muslin—beggin' your pardon—the lady in this picture. I could tell as he was not coming true with me, mind—you gets to
feel
these things—”

“Mr.
Paulington, will you please get to the point?” Mally could have kicked his ankle in frustration.

“I had to pass a good deal of silver over his palm before he told me. Seemed as she
did
alight from the mail, and the only reason he remembers her was on account of the fact that that very evening there she was again. Going
back
again. Only this time on the Gloucester mail.”

Mally stared and Mrs. Berrisford's mouth opened and closed.

He cleared his throat. “It's quite certain, Mrs. St. Aubrey. He remembers because he heard her ask if it was the Gloucester mail. Jenkins couldn't help wondering, you see, why anyone from Hereford would come all the way to London merely to get to Gloucester. Didn't seem right to him, and so he remembered her. Recognized her picture all right, an' all. Well, as luck would have it, when I was there, the Gloucester mail came in. I collared the driver and asked him about her, not thinking as he'd remember anything at all, not with all the passengers he has to account for. But he did. He remembered her when he saw the picture, because she'd not gone as far as Gloucester. Left the mail at Cirencester, he remembers, because they were an insider passenger short and she was the only woman, so they remembered her. So, if you want me to find out anything else, I'll have to take myself to Cirencester.”

“Then, of course, please do that for us, Mr. Paulington, and we will more than recompense you for your troubles.” She got to her feet and took a silver dish from the mantlepiece, dropping the coins inside into his outstretched hand.

He rattled the money appreciatively. “That'll more than cover my needs, Mrs. St. Aubrey. But there
is
something else you should know. I wasn't the first to be asking after her. Someone else asked, only yesterday.”

“Who?”

“A country man, heavily built and rough. Ordinary-looking, from all accounts, without anything startling about him to latch on to. Wanted to know about a young lady, middle twenties, dark hair. Off of the Hereford mail. But he was a mean man, Mrs. St. Aburey, didn't offer to pay for his inquiries, so he wasn't told nothing. Slid off without another word. Mind, my suspicions was picked up, so I waited for the Hereford mail to come in—which is why I'm a little late coming here. I hoped as the driver might be the same one as brought your sister up to London.”

“And was it?”

“No. But he knew something, for all that. He was at the inn in Hereford a few days back when a man who fitted the description of this country feller came in and started asking about a young lady. The booking chap there said as she'd bought for London. Whereupon the country gent did exactly the same. Someone, Mrs. St. Aubrey, is as anxious as you to find your sister.”

Mrs. Berrisford squeaked, her eyes wide. “Oh, dear, this sounds so very mysterious and frightening. Whatever can it all be about, Marigold?”

Mally saw the worry and alarm growing in her mother's eyes. “Oh, it is surely merely a coincidence, Mother. Is that not so, Mr. Paulington?” She flashed him a warning glance.

“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed, I just thought I would mention it.” Mr. Paulington's chair scraped loudly as he stood. “Don't let it worry you, Mrs. Berrisford. Well, I'll be off then, and I'll do my best, you may be sure. Good evening to you, ladies.”

“Good evening, Mr. Paulington. And thank you.” Mally inclined her head.

A short while after he had gone, Digby came in with the bottle of wine, followed by a wide-eyed, nervous maid carrying the cheese board.

The butler cleared his throat as he set the bottle on the table. “Madam, I do not wish to alarm you at all, but I am concerned that someone may be watching the house. From out there by the trees in the square.”