Corey McFadden (20 page)

“It’s Ramsey, my lord.”

“Ramsey, Ramsey. How the devil can I remember that? I never call you anything but Mike.”

“Yes, my lord.” She could not help smiling at him. He had called her nothing but “boy” and “monkey” for weeks.

“At any rate...” he paused while he pushed his arms through the sleeves of his dark brown satin jacket, “I want to establish that I need you close by me, that I cannot walk without great pain, that I am peevishly uncomfortable. I want you to fetch my liquor for me, and...this is important...you must dilute it well. Tea, I think, will keep the color right. I want it to appear that I am drinking a great deal, but I want to keep my wits about me.”

“But will I be allowed to mix your drinks?” Maude had not the slightest idea of what to expect.

“Oh, certainly. The bar is used to that. The old fellows in particular have a great many stomach and other complaints that require special attention. No one will think a thing of it.”

He stood still while Maude brushed his jacket, which did not, in fact, need brushing.

“But the most important part will be for you to watch. I had an idea while you were laughing at me about lying down at the table. If I seat myself in the proper place, you can do almost that.”

Maude looked at him askance.

“But it is perfectly simple, if I establish in the beginning that my foot pains me and that I cannot get comfortable. You will procure a stool for me to rest my leg on, then from time to time, whenever Sommesby is about to deal, I can complain bitterly and make you kneel down to resettle my leg or give it a rub, or some such thing. If I am seated to his left, with my right foot sticking out, you will be eye level with his left hand. Voila! The perfect vantage point. You can even give a peek into his boots.” He smiled triumphantly.

“What the devil ails you, boy? You look as though you’d seen a ghost.”

It was true. She was staring at him open-mouthed. “Sommesby. Do you mean the Duke of Sommesby, my lord?”

His eyes narrowed as he regarded the boy. “What do you know of the Duke of Sommesby? Out with it!” He waited.

Maude took a deep breath. “He is an evil man, my lord, as you say. He beats his servants for the fun of it; they think he enjoys it....”

Radford grimaced in distaste.

“And I think I can be sure now that he is a cheat. I think he has taught, or was taught by his footman,” Briefly, she explained about Eddie and the card game. He laughed when she got to the part about upending the table over the supposed bite of a beastie.

“I believe you may have solved a critical problem for me, boy—how to stop the man without having to call him out in front of the whole room. I shall upend the table myself. What fun that will be! Give everyone something to talk about for years.”

Maude gave him a weak smile. She wished she could be as devil-may-care confident about this operation as he was.

“I suppose I shall have to ignore for the moment the fact that you obviously slipped away, unauthorized, to play cards with a pack of hooligans. How did you meet up with such a crowd, anyway? I was unaware that you fraternized with the neighborhood domestics.”

Maude could feel her face reddening. “I met Eddie my first morning here, my lord. I woke up early and was somewhat disoriented. I went outside for a walk and there he was. He was friendly, we talked. I’d never been here before, to London. Then I met him again when I went out one day on an errand. I did not think there was anything wrong in talking...” she limped to a finish, wondering how badly she had transgressed the house rules.

“I see. So you struck up a friendship with retainers from Sommesby’s household. I suppose I should not complain if there’s no harm done. What you tell me about his... proclivities does not surprise me. In fact, it fits in with what I suspect. I take it, by the way, that you are good enough not to share complaints about my household?”

Maude simply could not resist. “Well, there is the matter of your boots, my lord, a real disgrace...” she dodged as he lunged for her, laughing, and slipping behind the chair. “I would beg your lordship to be careful of your poor foot!” She giggled.

“Ah, my poor foot. Yes. If you are ready, I shall treat you to an interesting evening. But I must have your word that there will be no interference from you at the end of our charade. When I signal you to be gone, I expect you to vanish, do you understand? I mean, vanish! This will be a matter among gentlemen—such as he is. I shall I speak privately to the duke, that is, if our suspicions are confirmed.”

Maude could feel the knot of fear gathering again in the pit of her stomach. “My lord, I beg of you, perhaps the authorities....”

“No, boy, nothing official. It just won’t do under the circumstances. It’s something you wouldn’t understand. I will have your word, boy, or I shall carry on without you.” He stood and waited while Maude stared at him, unable to keep the fear and unhappiness from her face. She nodded slowly, agreeing she would not interfere, no matter what the danger to his lordship, and, satisfied, Radford patted Mike’s shoulder absently, and turned away.

Chapter Thirteen

None of the little soirees that Maude had been allowed to attend in the neighborhood of Romney Manor had prepared her for the sights that met her eyes in the venerable gaming establishment of White’s. It was an imposing structure from the outside, rococo, very elaborate, with columns and scrollwork and a massive door of carved mahogany panels flanked by two liveried footmen. At once, Maude blessed Mrs. Formby for insisting on formal livery. She would have stuck out like a sore thumb in the everyday household uniform.

The ninth Earl of Radford limped through the doors, his foot heavily bandaged, supported by his father’s carved ivory cane and his young attendant, a scowl of pain darkening his handsome face. He was forced to pause while a gaggle of foppish peacocks—those who stayed close to the entrance in order to see and be seen—gathered around him, oohing and aahing over the earl’s misfortune.

Maude stood next to him, but her eyes were on her surroundings. She had to remind herself to close her mouth. The furnishings and decoration were magnificent. From the plaster scrollwork on the ceiling to the fluted columns standing throughout the room, all was swirling, creamy elegance. Around the walls were arranged delicate, carved settees and loveseats, richly upholstered in thick, colorful brocades. Only the very eldest of gentlemen made use of the seating, however, as it was no way to mingle. Liveried serving men slipped in and out like elegant wraiths, carrying sterling trays with crystal glasses of brandy or whiskey that glittered in the reflected candlelight from the enormous crystal chandeliers overhead. Everywhere there was the low buzz of gentlemen’s voices in discreet conversation, broken by the occasional loud guffaw from one group or another.

And as for the gentlemen, Maude nearly gasped as she surveyed them. No ballroom of dancing ladies could contain such color. Satins, silks, ruffles, laces, and brocades created a riot of textures and brilliant hues. There were elaborate powdered wigs, patches, and make-up on the older gentlemen. Thank heaven Radford did not go in for such nonsense; none of the young men nowadays bothered with wigs and few even powdered their hair. But if the clothing styles for fashionable gentlemen were gradually giving over to the more subdued, no one had yet informed most of the clientele at White’s.

“When you are through gawking, Ramsey, I should like to be escorted to the back rooms,” Radford stated in a querulous voice.

“Yes, my lord. I am sorry, my lord.”

Maude took his arm and they began the halting pace forward. She was chagrined to have been caught gawking, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether he was playing his irritated role, or if she had just been guilty of one of those faux pas she so feared.

The progress was slow through the several anterooms leading back to the gambling areas. Everywhere it was ‘hail fellow, well met’ for the Earl of Radford. He was apparently a most popular addition to the social set, but Maude found herself pleased to note that it was the more subdued members, and not the sycophantic peacocks, who seemed to be among the earl’s inner circle.

At last they gained the room the earl sought. They paused near the entrance while he discreetly surveyed the occupants of the room. “There he is, boy, in the green, over by the window,” the earl said in almost a whisper. “It’s Sommesby. And damned if he isn’t already in conversation with young Beauchamp.”

Maude glanced covertly in the direction Radford indicated.

“Let us maneuver over there, and mind, I’m going to tear into you in front of him.”

She was glad of the warning.

It took only a minute for them to reach the duo, and Radford greeted the new marquis heartily. “Well, Beauchamp, I see you meant it when you said you’d be out this evening. Blast it, Ramsey! Mind my foot!” Radford turned a furious glare on his hapless retainer, then turned back to the two gentleman, murmuring, “Clumsy oaf! I’m having a devil of a time with this gout, but I could not bear to stay home any longer. This epidemic has made hermits of us all. Your Grace,” Radford nodded in the duke’s direction, “I trust you are well?”

“Naturally. I am never ill.” Sommesby was aloof. If he had been preparing to engage the boy, Beauchamp, in a game, he must have felt he had been interrupted at a crucial moment.

“Would you gentleman be interested in a game?” Radford asked amiably.

“Delighted!”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, let’s get a fourth, shall we?” Radford said. “Oh, there’s George Willmott. He’s always good for a round or two.” Radford waved and a gentleman waved back and started across the floor toward them. Radford turned and smiled at Beauchamp. “You must be careful of this old rogue,” the earl said, gesturing toward Sommesby. “He’s quite a sharp at cards, as I recall.”

“How silly you are, boy.” Sommesby laughed, clearly delighted that the fool Radford had set up his game for him. “Everyone knows I rarely take home more than a few shillings.”

“Except on your really lucky nights, eh, Your Grace? You’ve had a few of those, I believe.” Radford was enjoying himself, indeed.

Maude was not.

“There’s a table. Let us be seated, gentlemen, and begin. I cannot stand for long on this foot—dreadful gout, you know. And I simply must have some whiskey.” Radford gestured peremptorily for assistance and Maude stepped forward to take his arm. “Careful, you fool. You’ll make it worse!” the earl hissed, loud enough for Sommesby, who was right behind them, to overhear.

Fool! Now that was going too far. She was calculating how to get even with him as she helped him to the table.

“Here we are,” Radford paused a moment, as if looking back for George who had stopped off to chat with another group. When Sommesby selected his seat, Radford moved to the seat on his left.

“Fetch me a stool, Ramsey. Something padded. Then bring me a whiskey. I’m in unbearable pain and your clumsy jostling hasn’t helped.”

Murmuring a discreet “my lord,” Maude pushed off for the servants’ area. He had briefed her earlier on how to procure a stool and his thinned liquor. She encountered no trouble, surprising herself at the ease with which she managed. None of the other servants paid her a minute’s worth of attention. To them, she was just another retainer, and a young one at that, paid little enough to take abuse from the cantankerous peerage.

She returned with a stool tucked under her arm and a small salver balancing a crystal glass which seemed to be full of whiskey. That it contained little whiskey and a great deal of tea, poured discreetly from one of several flasks Maude had tucked in her jacket, was a secret known only to the two of them. I hope it chokes him, she thought. Calling me a fool, indeed.

George Willmott had joined the party in her absence. He seemed to be an amiable fellow, not given to the excesses of costume that marked so many of the other young bucks in the room. Apparently recently a bridegroom, he was twitting Radford about his continuing bachelor status while dealing out the cards.

Maude placed the glass at Radford’s elbow, then bent down to arrange his bandaged foot on the stool. She was careful to set the stool where its placement would afford her the best view of the duke’s card handling. As much as she feared this evening’s outcome, she would not shirk her part.

“Damn, Ramsey! Try and be more careful. I cannot tolerate any further jostling.”

The earl took a deep draught from his glass and looked aggravated. Sommesby smiled at him, as if in sympathy because of his cloddish servant.

“I don’t recall your ever having gout before, Radford. And you’ve never been one to require coddling,” Willmott said, curiosity lacing his voice. “This poor Ramsey you’re abusing so freely—a bit young to have to lug the likes of you around, isn’t he? Where did you find him, by the way? Eyes like a girl, he’s got, long lashes. You’ll have half your kitchen and laundry staffs big-bellied by summer with this one about.”

Maude tried to keep the expression of shock off her face.
Eyes like a girl! Oh Lord! Please don’t put any ideas into his head now.
And such a crass remark to make, about big bellies. So this was how gentlemen talked when there were no ladies present. What clods! Well, she was not surprised.

“Oh, he’s too young for that, aren’t you, boy? Not even bearding yet. Look at him blush. I swear, Willmott, you’ve offended my servant’s tender ears.”

They all laughed uproariously at her expense. Maude was furious and, of course, in no position to respond. She bent down, pretending to reposition the earl’s foot, just to get away from their laughter. It was all she could do to refrain from seeing to it that his foot began to ache for real. He would owe on this one!

“I say, Radford, if the boy does not please you, I always have room for a new young footman about the place. They come and go, you know. It is so hard to keep good servants these days.” Sommesby smiled pleasantly as he fanned his cards, but Radford did not miss the look of speculative interest in the duke’s face.

“Oh, he’ll be all right after I break him in, Your Grace. He’s country-bred.” Radford nonchalantly dismissed the duke’s remark and appeared to study his hand.