The English Witch (23 page)

He never even looked at her. True, the others were raising a terrific clamour, and he was kept busy making clever retorts. Still, he might spare her a glance instead of dropping so coolly into the chair next to Jess—at the other end of the table. Will, the faithless fribble, couldn't spare his Intended a glance either. He only stood by the door, smiling appreciatively at the witticisms of his erstwhile rival. Gone after Basil, indeed. To carouse with him no doubt. To share some unspeakable dissipation or other. As disagreeable visions of buxom barmaids and chambermaids paraded through her head, her feminine flutterings of concern and relief precipitously gave way to rather unfeminine heavings of fury. Oh, she wished they
had
killed each other, the selfish beasts.

Miss Ashmore was so busy working herself into a rage that she barely heard the conversation. It was not until she heard the gasps of surprise and Jess's "Oh, Lud!" that Alexandra called herself to attention.

"Eloped!" Lady Hartleigh exclaimed.

Alexandra's head jerked up, and her whole body began to tremble. But no one was looking at her or Will. They were all fixed on Basil, who answered with a little smile, "That's what I said. Randolph has run away with Miss Marianne Latham to Gretna Green. Actually, they're not running any more. By now they must be wed."

Lord Tuttlehope blinked uncomprehendingly at his wife, who blinked back.

"Marianne?" Alicia gasped. "Run away with Marianne?"

"Why, yes," said Basil. "Why do you think she was so obsessed with Athens and Sparta? You yourself remarked it. Not once but many times have I heard you complaining about those tiresome Penelope Wars. You see, when Mr. Burnham and Sir Charles visited, the two young people took a liking to each other. That much even I dimly noticed. I did not, however, imagine it was as serious as it turned out to be."

"But if it was so serious, why elope?" Jess asked.

"One assumes that they believed their respective families would object. Mrs. Latham, you see, wanted Marianne to have a London comeout with Alicia as chaperone."

"Oh, dear," said Alicia in sudden comprehension. "Mama and her titles."

"So, obviously, she wouldn't look kindly upon a wool merchant's son. Moreover, it appears that Randolph's parents also had other plans for him." This was communicated with nary a glance at Sir Charles, who sat speechless, gazing at Basil as though he were Lord Elgin's caryatid suddenly come to life.

Miss Ashmore stared at her plate.

"At any rate," Basil continued, "our two young lovers must have decided it was futile to attempt to bring their respective parents around. Randolph leaves Westford in despair. Then letters are secretly exchanged. The plot is hatched...and the two took the only course open to them."

At this point, several at table recollected Randolph's mis
ery upon his arrival and how his spirits had miraculously undergone improvement.

“I thought it was because he'd taken a fancy to Hetty,” Alicia admitted ruefully. “They were so cheerful together at that picnic.”

While the others carried on noisily about this startling news, Miss Ashmore occupied herself with the story between the lines. No wonder Basil had been so friendly with Randolph. Having wormed his way into the young scholar's confidence, thereby learning of the hapless romance, Basil must have persuaded Randolph to elope. Certainly it wasn't the sort of notion Randolph would conceive on his own.

Now all made sense. The Blue Swan—the nearest mail coach stop on the road north—the night of the gala when, in the great crush of people, the disappearance of a guest or two was less likely to be remarked. And Basil, helpful as always at the inn to see that everything went according to plan. Randolph had only to board the coach, meet Marianne, and travel on with her to Scotland. Yes, Basil must even have arranged how the young woman was to meet her lover without arousing suspicion. No wonder he'd been so adamant about getting the other elopers back to Hartleigh Hall. Only one wedding was required to scotch George Burnham's scheme.

She stared unseeing at the eggs congealing on her plate. For her, he'd said. He'd done it all for her. He could have let her go off with Will if he didn't care...but no. Her disappearance would cause more of an uproar than Randolph's. She and Will might easily have been caught and stopped, for Will's disguises had only made them more conspicuous. She, Will, Randolph, and Marianne, all on the same coach. Good heavens, what a farce. Everything would have been ruined just as Basil had said.

Yet he could have told her. He could have taken her into his confidence instead of leaving her to make herself miserable over him for five whole days.

Fortunately for her fraying temper, the group broke up at last. While the others were filing out of the room, Basil took Sir Charles aside. "Mr. Latham asked me to put this into your hands," Mr. Trevelyan explained
sotto voce
as he
slipped the baronet a letter. "You'll want to read it in private, I daresay."

Alexandra, who'd been hovering nearby, overheard the exchange and saw the envelope. Consumed with curiosity, she followed her father to the library. He sat down at the small study table where Mr. Hobhouse's
Ihivels in Albania
lay open awaiting his perusal. She sat down across from him and watched as he unfolded the paper and read, apparently oblivious to her presence.

When he got to the end, he gave a feint whistle in surprise and then began at the beginning again. This made Alexandra very impatient indeed. When he'd finished for the second time, she burst out, "For heaven's sake, Papa, what is it? What does it say?"

As the baronet returned from someplace apparently far away, she saw the familiar furrows settling into his forehead. "What does it say? What does it say? Only that I've been played for a fool these ten years and more. George Burnham has been cheating me.
Cheating
me, Alexandra. I can scarcely credit it. Yet the evidence is there, Mr. Latham says. He's talked to those with whom George dealt and seen their records for himself."

His daughter snatched the letter from his hands and read it. "Good grief!" she exclaimed softly. When she was done, she dropped the letter onto the table and looked at her father. Her eyes were filled with compassion—though what beat in her breast was great relief. "Oh, Papa. How disappointing for you. You trusted him—with everything."

"The more fool I," her father muttered. "Who'd have thought there could be so much deceit in this world?"

Her conscience pricked her. "Why you know there is, Papa, as there has always been, because men are greedy for money and power. Without greed, very likely there would have been no Peloponnesian War. No wars at all, probably. No civilisations toppled and rebuilt. All history an open book. No mysteries. Then think how bored you'd be."

He mustered up a wan smile. He was not, after all, entirely without a sense of humour, though it had been cruelly tried in recent months. "Still, it is not pleasant to contemplate how I've been taken in," he growled.

The accusing look he bent upon Alexandra made her a tad uncomfortable. Hastily she replied, "You must look on the bright side. I know you think highly of Mr. Latham. Didn't you once tell me you wished it was he who had the care of your troublesome finances? And doesn't he say in his letter that he took the liberty of looking into these matters in the hope of discovering some means by which he might act as your partner in future? Does he not offer to do so now in the kindest and most gentlemanly way? And his reputation is the highest. Why, half the peerage has dealings with him."

It took some time. The baronet persisted in grumbling about deceit and trickery. Mr. Trevelyan's name was mentioned more than once with doubt and suspicion. Alexandra's own lack of forthrightness was remarked upon, but at length Sir Charles grumbled himself into a state of weary resignation. Consequently, when she mentioned Lady Bertram was to take her to London for the Little Season and the generous offer to take charge of her until a suitable husband was found the baronet offered no objection.

He would be glad, he told his daughter bluntly, to have her off his hands now that he was free of his obligations. Yes, she might go with Clementina for as long as she liked. He was tired of keeping track of her suitors and fiancés. He wanted to go back to Albania where a man might do his work in peace. Dead civilisations and the dead who'd belonged to them were not nearly so troublesome as one unmanageable daughter aided and abetted by an interfering, overbearing woman and her unspeakable nephew.

Alexandra listened patiently to his complaints, and when he was bored with them at last she took herself away. Putting aside Henry Latham's letter, he turned to Mr. Hobhouse's work, and in a very little while the furrows erased themselves from his brow.

***

"Eloped, did they?" Lady Jess said to her brother. She'd followed him to the billiard room where she was in the ladylike process of soundly trouncing him. "Just like that. And I suppose Basil never had a hand in it."

"If he had, he hasn't confided it to me."

"Hasn't he? And you two suddenly the best of friends." One more stroke was sufficient to dispatch her brother. She stood back, surveying the domain of her triumph while absently rubbing the tip of her billiard cue against her temple, smudging it with chalk. "What happened, Will? One minute you can't bear to have her out of your sight for an instant. Today you can't get far enough away from her. What happened when you met up with him?"

Lord Arden only shrugged and put his own cue away.

"You've given up, haven't you?" she persisted.

"You know, Jess," he said, taking her cue from her and putting it away as well, "you really oughtn't to play billiards at all. But if you must, you certainly should not win against a gentleman."

"Then there's no problem beating
you,
is there? Come, tell me. Have you given up or what?"

Her brother gazed down disapprovingly at her. Really, such a hoyden she was. All of twenty-three, and still unmarried. Well, that wasn't surprising was it? What chap wanted a wife who acted like another chap?

"I have decided," he said coldly, "that we shouldn't suit."

"Oh, you have, have you? Well, who do you think will suit you, you inestimable treasure? One of your ballet dancers? Or perhaps one isn't enough. Perhaps you want a matching pair like those redheaded sisters—"

"Your mouth wants washing out with soap, sister dear."

"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash
you
clean of your sins? Come now, Will. After you'd got all my hopes up, you might as well tell me why I'm to be disappointed. Besides, I've beat you fair and square, and you owe me a forfeit."

The marquess bent a withering look upon his sister which she met with perfect equanimity, being immune to the devastating force of his personality. Knowing that she'd plague him until she was satisfied and fully aware that fabrications would be a waste of breath, he gave in and told her. Not everything, but enough to make her understand. When he was done, she gave a little whistle of surprise that made him wince.
Plague take her! When would she ever learn to behave like a lady?

"Egad, Will," she cried. "You gave up because you thought she was too much for you to handle?"

"I thought the effort required was excessive," he replied dampeningly. "I don't want a wife who requires so much managing."

"Or one who might manage
you
is more like it. Lud, you're a greater fool even than I thought, to give up such a jewel for so paltry a reason. But it's just as well, I suppose. It's obvious you never intended to mend your ways on her account, and that would leave me to comfort her while you were out leaping from one poxy bed to the next. Well then, I suppose I should be thankful Basil opened up your eyes, if he spared me that unpleasant duty. Obliging of him, wasn't it?"

Her brother made no reply. He found his sister exceedingly tiresome today. He gave her one last cold, haughty stare and exited from the room.

"Yes, very obliging," Jess muttered to herself as she played absently with a billiard ball. "And what, I wonder, makes him such a philanthropist all of a sudden? Wretched, interfering beast."

***

"Egad, Maria," said Harry Deverell, as he strolled with his wife along the very same sheltered path two couples had trod several days before. "You haven't any scruples, have you? Half the servants spying for you, the other half spying for Clementina—and then to wring family secrets from Jess after using her brother so unconscionably. Really, my lady."

"But my love, when I saw her out in the garden stomping back and forth in such a temper, I was so afraid she'd catch her gown against the rose bushes and shred it to pieces. I only asked her if she was feeling poorly from the heat when immediately she launched into a perfectly exhausting catalog of her brother's flaws of character. Then, quite on her own—for really, I never prodded her in the least—she told me what Will had told her."

"So Basil frightened him off, did he? Well, I must say your confidence in the wretch proves to have been very well placed. Randolph, Will, even the great debt—all dispatched in less than a week. Amazingly efficient, isn't he, once he sets his mind to something? No wonder Henry Latham speaks so highly of him."

"Yes, dear. But it's the setting his mind in the first place that's so fatiguing. So obstinate, you know."

"Ah, well. He's used to doing just as he pleases. When you think what a way he has with the ladies—why, they're mere clay in his hands—it's no surprise he can't bring himself to settle on one."