Lady Caraway's Cloak, page 16
“I am returning to Caraway today, Mrs. Hitchens. Would you like to accompany me?”
“Oh, Lord, luv yer, I couldn’t! But I ’ave the cost of the stage in me reticule, I ’ave, and if I am sharp I could still find me a place on today’s coach.”
“Nonsense. It is very uncomfortable on the stage and I am sure those pennies could be put to better use. Mrs. Higgs, my housekeeper, will find you a strong cup of coffee and you can weigh out some tobacco for your Stanforth, for I am certain he can do with such a luxury right now. No, don’t protest, for I am quite firm on this point and I always get my own way, you know.”
This said with such a kindly smile that Mrs. Hitchens could do nothing more than draw out her handkerchief again and mutter that it were “a right shame my lady were no more at Caraway, for she was sore missed and that was a fact.” Which nearly made Serena want to cry, so she merely paced about the room, turned the key of her clock, which did not actually need winding thanks to her efficient staff, and swallowed softly.
“In an hour, then?”
“Yes, if you be certain ...”
“I am, and what is more, it is a help to me, for my maid, Davina, is feeling poorly and if you are so kind as to accompany me, I shall not have to require her to travel again. She is recovering from the sad effect of a bout of seasickness.”
Serena did not add that she wished it were possible to recover as quickly from the effects of a certain Lord Caraway, but that matter she felt perfectly entitled to keep to herself. So she rang the bell for Mrs. Higgs, and when all was made perfectly clear, and Mrs. Hitchens had been ushered from the room with great efficiency and kindly murmuring from Mrs. Higgs, who was glad of the company, Serena damped the fire and made her escape thankfully back to the second floor.
There, she climbed a carpeted stairwell to reach the library with its many tomes, some still in bandboxes, barely unpacked. The vellum volumes she sought, however, were not amongst this sad lot, but already upon the uppermost shelf. She bore them down and read hurriedly, until she came to a certain chapter of interest. She smiled, though no one was about to see the transformation in her face.
A small time later, Miss Waring, wavering between anxiety and ecstasy, begged Serena to break the news of her engagement to the dowager. “For,” she said, “I have never known anyone who can wheedle Mama as you can!”
“I do not wheedle, Julia!”
“Yes, you do! You know you do, and you are a dear, for if you did not have the knack of managing Mama I would never have gone to the Nottingham fair, nor been allowed to keep my kitten because of mama’s aversion to pets, and then there was Flotsam, and the maypole dancing and ...”
“Stop! You are making my head spin.”
“But you will speak with Mama?”
“Oh, I will speak with your mama all right!’
“But about the captain? Please? Please, please?”
“Oh, very well, and do not tell me you do not know how to cut a perfectly good wheedle yourself! You are twisting me all about your little finger!”
Julia grinned. “It is in such a good cause, Serena! Shall you be back tonight?”
“I do not know, it depends on what the weather does and what the roads are like. I will try, but do not hold out much hope. Can you bear an evening in London without a ball?”
“You make me sound utterly spoiled! Of course I can! Truth to tell, now I am engaged I have lost all interest in balls, for Adam”—Julia blushed as she pronounced his first name and found it fitted very nicely round her tongue indeed—“Adam can only dance with me twice and the rest of the time it is really quite dreary.”
“Surely not when Lord Caraway dances with you?”
“Lord Caraway has his eyes cast elsewhere, I will have you know, and very disconcerting it is to find my toes are being trodden on just because he loses sight of you for a moment!”
“Oh, what ... what poppycock!”
“Poppycock yourself, my dear Aunt! And I tell you what, the sooner you will have him, the sooner I can get my slippers mended, for there is simply no point when I know they shall suffer the same fate, night after night, until you do! You forget he is meant to be courting me, so I spend longer with him than is strictly comfortable. He is beginning to grow tedious.”
“He has not tried to kiss you again, has he?”
“No, he only threatens with that enormous, big, lazy grin on his face.”
“He does, does he?”
“Indeed, but I cannot think he means a thing by it. He is just like the earl, who used to threaten to spank me a dozen times a week, but never did. Very thankful I always was, too, though I gave him a thousand opportunities!”
Serena laughed. “I wish I had been as fortunate! But do not be so sanguine, my Julia. If Lord Caraway threatens to kiss you, he might just take it in his head to make good his pledge.”
“To you, maybe! Not to me.”
Serena, praying Julia was correct, nevertheless pushed the question a little further. Not from the strange, unfamiliar tingle of jealousy, she told herself firmly, but from interest. Julia was, after all, her charge.
Miss Waring answered the question thoughtfully. “If he meant to kiss me, he would have by now. His lordship could have made good his threat many times, for we are often together, you know, and my maid is so timid she stammers whenever the earl is about, and besides, she would very likely like to be kissed herself.”
“Very likely.” Serena’s tone was wry. “He appears to have that effect rather universally, I fear.”
“Well, not upon me, he hasn’t, and he knows it! That is why he uses kissing as a threat rather than a reward.”
“But why should he need to threaten?”
‘Why, indeed!” Julia’s voice was indignant. “But he seems to relish the fact that he is the head of the family. Just because I wanted to waltz with Adam ...”
“But you are just out!”
“So is Lady Tryon, but she got to waltz with Lord Fizherbert and hardly a scandal it caused!”
“Only because Lady Jersey is a close friend of her mama’s and scotched all breath of a scandal instantly. But Lady Tryon was whisked off to Bath, after that.”
“Was she? I wondered why I had not come across her again. I like her.”
“So do I, but you are veering dangerously from the point.”
“Well, the point is, Lord Caraway threatened to cause more scandal than even that if I dared to set foot on the dance floor! Adam refused, anyway, so I could not test him out.”
“I should hope not!” Serena sounded shocked. “You had better marry your Captain McNichols as soon as you are able, Julia, for you are more of a handful than I would have expected.”
“Well! If that does not beat all, after you waltzed, and very shocking it was too, though I contrived not to let that spiteful Miss Wicherly peek at you from behind the potted palms.”
Serena colored, for she recalled precisely what had occurred behind that palm and her derrière still tingled when she thought on it.
“Good God! I shall be the talk of the Tatler!”
“No, for I trod on her gown and it ripped at the frill—hideous. My adjustment was a vast improvement, though Miss Wicherly did not seem to think so, for she called me a very rude name, squealed, and rushed for the powder rooms.”
“Julia, I do believe you have more spunk in you than I give you credit for!”
Miss Waring’s mischievous eyes sparkled. She did, but she would not be saying so to her aunt. Nor would she be staying home that morning, as Serena seemed to expect. But she answered Serena’s compliment with one of her own.
“We are even then, for you have more spunk, Serena, than I give you credit for!”
Her ladyship forced the humor from her face. It would not do to be setting Julia such a poor example. So she said, rather depressingly, that “Lord Caraway’s behavior is not always quite proper and I have told him so!”
Julia just laughed.
“You are blushing!’
“Nonsense! It is merely hot.”
“Hot but heavenly ... no! I shall not tease you so! But you will speak with Mama?”
Serena, her traditional defenses thoroughly assaulted, relented. If it was the quickest way to change the subject, then so be it.
“Oh, very well, you little baggage, I shall leave at once. Now, for all that wheedling and teasing, you may stay and oversee the delivery of the harp—I want it in the top gallery, next to the other instruments. Also, the chaise longue is arriving and some man about a stable of horses for sale. I have his card somewhere.”
“Hear him out, will you? I am interested in a pair of matched bays, but nothing above two hundred pounds, however persuasive he may be. No, don’t pull such a dreary face, the wind might change.”
Miss Waring muttered something about “boring and tedious,” but beyond a rebellious murmur, agreed quite placidly. If only Serena could spare her one of the dowager’s famous spasms, she would be perfectly content. She did not mention, of course, that the harp could be overseen by Royce, the chaise longue deposited in the hall, and the salesman ... well, there would always be another time ... . Naughty thoughts, for Miss Julia had other plans for the day. If truth be told, she was developing a disobedient, and just a trifle willful, streak—all quite normal in a young lady of her tender—and lovelorn—years.
Lady Serena, unaware of her charge’s mad impulses, penned a prim note to Lord Caraway, informing him that she would be away from London for a spell, (with no further explanation, though she dreamed up a thousand and crumpled a minimum of ten crisp wafers into the basket, so intent was she on the perfect wording). In the event, she left it crisp and cryptic, and asked both Captain McNichols and the earl to excuse the ladies their evening engagements. Serena rather thought it was to have been the theater, but her senses were so disordered she could not perfectly recall.
She also thanked his lordship politely for his posy and ended with a quotation of her own, “L’amitié de la connaissance.” Yes, the Comte de Bussy-Rabutin, though quoted slightly out of context, seemed apt enough on such short notice to think cleverly. “Friendship from knowledge.” Knowledge of Lord Robin’s secret pursuits, friendship ... well, she rather hoped she would act always as the earl’s friend. She also suspected, at last, that she understood the meaning of the red ribbon, and its cryptic clue.
“Cum finis est licitus, etium media sunt licita.” The Medulla Theologiae Moralis had been correct. Translated? “The end justifies the means.”
If Robin was a pirate—and Serena rather thought he was, for she had suddenly remembered a certain piece she had read in the Gazette, and the coincidence of the red ribbon just seemed to be too providential to conveniently ignore—then he was a very honorable one indeed.
The more she thought on it, the more positive she was that Robin was exactly who he said he was. A devoted peer of the realm, and a British courier besides. It was with a light heart, therefore, that she set off that very morning, in the company of Mrs. Hitchens. Also, a four-horse coachman recommended most highly from the employment agency, a baize-covered portmanteau, a picnic basket and a single perfect bloom, ribboned all over in red.
She was followed from the house, some thirty minutes later, by Miss Waring, very properly accompanied by her maid. Unfortunately, while Serena’s coach took the main road south, Miss Waring’s took another route entirely. Indeed, as she approached Strawberry Hill, she decided, on a sudden spur of the moment, that it was an excellent time to provide her maid with a day’s leave of absence. This she did, with blithe disregard for the conventions, but with a strange, tumultuous beating of the heart. There would be no turning back, she knew, if her sudden thirst for adventure went all too horribly wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
The Earl of Caraway was searching in earnest. He had to suppose, given all the time and energy he had expended in finding this Gabriel Addington, that he had either changed his name, vanished entirely from the face of this earth, or did not exist at all.
Despite the offer of a reward—and yes, he had had to receive several tedious people all claiming to be Addington but none of them, of course, fitting the bill—he was still no closer to the truth.
He read and reread the last missive he had had from Gabriel, for the remainder were still safely stowed away in his desk on The Albatross. Nothing in it seemed to indicate a sudden, anticipated departure. Nothing in it revealed anything more than Addington’s usual neat handwriting, witty comments and sound, somewhat tentative advice. He had written about several of the tenants, but none—not one of these—remembered him personally. It was so odd it was almost surreal.
What was worse, was that the earl was daily becoming more certain of a connection between Serena and the bailiff of Caraway. The more he teasingly quizzed her, the more shuttered she became. Not only shuttered, positively witless! Yes, it was an extraordinary thing, but the only time he had ever been at odds with Serena, or felt her shallow, or was somehow, illusively, disappointed, was when the bailiff or her role at Caraway was being highlighted.
She was a master at turning subjects, but not so deft that the earl did not notice. What was more, when she did alter the subject, it was always to something mundane or inane. Why did she do this? Was she protecting Gabriel? Robin preferred to assign a nobler cause to her motives than the more obvious base one, that she was having some sort of illicit relationship with the fellow. After all, she seemed to be intimately acquainted with matters she could not possibly know about ... . she was perfectly open about the fact that she was no longer a green girl, had seemed comfortable, even with his kiss . ... Robin stopped short.
No, “comfortable” was not how he would have described her reactions, but certainly, she was not shocked or missish. Should she have been? Robin’s fingers unwittingly clenched at the question. He surprised himself, for he had not thought, in all of his thirty-odd years or more, to care that much.
Despite his best efforts—and a little bout of personal torture—he could not imagine Serena brazenly comporting herself with the bailiff, then being complicit in extracting funds from him, no matter how worthy the cause. But it remained a puzzle and one that was not just intriguing, it was damn well irritating! He was going to solve it with or without Serena’s help.
He strode over to the mantel, grabbed the sword skillfully concealed in a scabbard crafted to look precisely like an elaborate walking cane, and came very close to shocking the poor servants of Strawberry Hill by slamming the door behind him. He had no sooner taken five steps toward his waiting chaise, than he was arrested by the sight of a familiar face staring at him from one of the stucco columns on the terrace.
The man was not skulking, precisely, for his bearing was as erect as any gentleman’s, but he was waiting, and in a recess which ensured he would not be noticed before he desired to be. Now, however, he obviously so desired, for he stepped out from the shadows and stared meaningfully at the earl.
“James! It is a long way you come to seek me out, for that, I infer is what you do?”
The tall man nodded. “Yes, and I am sorry it is in this dramatic manner, but I fear I am being watched at the clubs.”
“Not now, surely?”
“Yes, and there is never a better time to be on your guard than when you think the enemy is defeated.”
“Gracious, James! That upstart has not escaped again?”
“The Little Emperor? No, but there is a faction ... listen, Robin, how would you like to raise the brave flag of Robin Red-Ribbon again?”
“Last week I was yearning for the excitement. Today I am more sober.”
“You are not refusing us?”
“Not precisely, but you must have a superlative reason, for I am hot on investigations of my own.”
“We always have a good reason.”
“In truth, you are right, and there is always the odd treasure in it to make it worth my while, but right now, I tell you, you need to find another man!”
“Not many men I know have a perfectly good ship, kitted out with all the tricks, bobbing handily on the North Sea!”
“I could name you a few!”
“Bona fide pirates, you mean.”
“Precisely. Or smugglers, to be more precise. By the by, what in the word do you mean, bona fide? I should call you out for that!”
“Stop playacting, Robin, you are no more a bona fide pirate than I am!”
“Spoilsport! And to think I wasted my time teaching you to fence. I should rather have made you walk the plank.”
“We will all be walking the plank if a certain letter from the Regent is not overtaken by the next packet.”
“The next packet only leaves on Tuesday.”
“Precisely. And it is not in the habit of intercepting foreign schooners at the barrel of a gun.”
“Cannons, actually.”
“There you go, then! I knew you were eminently qualified!”
Robin sobered a little. “What sort of letter is it?”
The man called James looked keenly at the earl. “I am not at liberty to say, you know that.”
“Political or personal?”
“It is not one of the Prince’s affairs of the heart, if that is what you mean!”
“I grow too old for this, my dear James!”
“Nonsense! You were observed at Gentleman Jack’s yesterday. You are, if anything, in better shape than ever before. Landed a crushing bruiser to poor Alvaney if half of what is muttered is true!”
“London has not changed a thing since I left! The gossips are still wagging their busy little tongues.”
“Give their chatter substance, Robin.”
“I am on half crews.”
“A pity, but they’re an experienced lot. It is only the Channel, after all, and you have a few days before you leave. I have reason to believe the schooner is moored at Upper Leith and will only depart when certain other vital links have been coordinated.”
“Upper Leith is a stone’s throw from Caraway!”
“Yes, though the coincidence is not really relevant to the case. You should not, I think, need to go ashore.”
