Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (42 page)

Beth glanced at the clock again. Hardly half the afternoon had passed. How could she yearn for him so much? It wasn't lust even, just a simple longing for his presence, his mischievous grin, his quick and salty wit, his comfortable embrace.

"Is something the matter, milady?"

"No," said Beth, gathering her wits. "We're going for a long, brisk walk, Redcliff."

The maid's face fell. "Where to, milady?"

"I don't know," said Beth cheerfully.

"To Green Park, perhaps, milady?" offered Redcliff.

"Good heavens, no. That's no distance at all. Perhaps to the Tower of London."

"What!" exclaimed the maid. "But that's miles, milady. And through some not very nice areas. You must take the carriage for sure."

"I don't want a carriage ride, Redcliff," said Beth tightly. Perhaps this house was a prison after all. What would happen if she just walked out of the front doors? She imagined striding around the square with a bleating train of anxious servants behind. Her sense of humor returned and she smiled. But what was she to do? It would be no pleasure to drag an unwilling maid around London, and the woman was probably correct about the dangers. Beth knew little of London other than the circumscribed area of Mayfair.

"I know," she said suddenly. "We'll visit Clarissa. I need to talk to her anyway."

"Miss Greystone? Where did you take her, milady?"

Beth could feel herself freeze in the face of this new problem. Would Redcliff know the name? Blanche, along with other popular actresses, was often featured in the prints displayed in shop windows.

"To a Mrs. Hardcastle," she said carelessly.

No reaction, thank heavens. "Do you want the carriage then, milady?" asked the maid with the clear implication that the answer should be "yes."

"No, I don't think so." Apart from her desire for exercise, Beth did not want more servants aware of her scandalous association with Blanche Hardcastle. "It is not so very far—" she said and then broke off. "Goodness, I don't know the address. How foolish."

Redcliff looked relieved, but Beth was not to be so easily deflected. This outing was assuming the nature of a major challenge.

"The boy," she said triumphantly. "The stable boy called Robin. He knows. Send for him."

"A stable boy!" exclaimed the maid. "Here?"

"Very well, Redcliff," countered Beth firmly. "We will go there."

"To the mews, milady?"

"Yes."

The maid obviously recognized that her mistress's patience was at an end. They exited the mansion by the majestic front doors and then made their way around to talk to Granger, the head groom in Town.

Dooley was apparently off with the marquess and Viking, but Robin Babson was around. The wiry, sallow-faced man was considerably astonished that anyone wanted to speak with him.

"That varmint," he muttered. "He's here right enough, for all the use he is. And the marquess saying he should sleep in. No right being out at night, that's what I say—"

He broke off because Beth had had enough of contrary servants. For the first time she used a de Vaux look. His grumbles died.

"Right away, milady," he said hurriedly. "Oy! Sparra! Come out here!"

Robin came dashing out, a rough apron over his shirt and breeches. He had a piece of leather strap in one hand and a polishing rag in the other.

"Yes, Mr. Granger?"

"Her ladyship wants to speak with you."

The boy turned and gave Beth a cocky grin. "Yes, your ladyship?"

Beth drew him away from the listening groom. "Where did we go last night, Robin?"

"What?"

"The address. I want to visit the young lady there."

"Oh, number 8, Scarborough Lane. But how you going to find it, milady?"

"Won't Redcliff know?" asked Beth, amused by the direction she could see the conversation taking.

"Nah," said the boy positively. "It's a small street and quite new."

Beth looked at him and smiled. "You think perhaps you should be our guide?"

"Might be best, milady," said Robin innocently.

Beth turned to the man. "Mr. Granger, would you mind if I took Robin away from his duties for a while? He can guide me to where I wish to go."

The man frowned. "The coachman's available, milady. He knows London like the back of his hand."

"I wish to walk," said Beth with amiable firmness.

"One of the footmen would be more suitable than Sparra, milady."

Beth raised her chin and stared at the man again. "I prefer to take Robin, Granger. The marquess also wishes the boy to be addressed by his proper name."

"Yes, milady," said the man quickly, and in a few minutes they were on their way with Robin, as smart as possible in a sturdy woolen jacket, walking a few paces behind.

Once they were in the street and heading in the right direction, Beth said, "I don't see how you can lead us from the rear, Robin. Why don't you walk ahead."

Robin was very willing to do this and sauntered along whistling while Beth and Redcliff walked composedly behind. None of them noticed a sharp-featured individual who gave up supporting the iron railings around the center of the square and began to follow them.

* * *

This time a sensible-looking young maid opened the door of number 8, Scarborough Lane. Her eyes opened wide, however, when Beth gave her card, and it almost seemed as if she would shut the door in their faces. Perhaps the de Vaux look was becoming a part of her, thought Beth, for the maid gave in and admitted them, directing them to the parlor, before tottering away, muttering. With a wink, Robin followed her.

In a few moments the White Dove entered. "You've given poor Agnes a turn, my lady." She glanced at Redcliff who had finally put two and two together and looked outraged. "And your maid, too, I'll go odds. Why don't you send her to the kitchen where she and Agnes can support one another over hot, sweet tea."

Beth agreed, and it was clear Redcliff was only too pleased to escape the presence of such a notorious creature.

As the two women took seats, Blanche said, "I should offer you refreshment, Lady Arden, but to be honest, I'm not sure anything potable will come out of the kitchen for the next little while. This is a somewhat unusual situation," she added with a twinkle.

"Scandalous," agreed Beth amiably. "You should have seen the trouble I had getting out of Belcraven House and to here without turning everyone on their ear."

"Lucien often found the same thing," said Blanche, and then stopped, looking conscious.

Though the words did give her a slight pang, Beth said, "I don't suppose we'll get anywhere if we ban his name from conversation, will we, Mrs. Hardcastle? I must make it clear, however," she added amiably, "that if I find you still have designs on my husband, I'm likely to put a bullet through your heart."

Blanche grinned. "Good for you! Is it possible you'll go so far as to call me Blanche, your ladyship? My real name's Maggie Duggins, and I should tell you I'm a butcher's daughter from one of the less desirable parts of Manchester." She paused for a moment to give Beth the opportunity for comment. When none came, she smiled and continued, "I'm well-used to Blanche by now, but Mrs. Hardcastle never sounds like me at all."

"I will," said Beth, "as long as you don't 'your ladyship' me. I find that equally strange. In private, please call me Beth."

"I doubt we're ever likely to meet in public, Beth," said Blanche wryly. "You've come to see Miss Greystone?"

Beth nodded.

"She's in her room, and I'll call her in a minute. I'd like to talk to you first, though. That girl is in a very awkward situation. Do you have any plan for her?"

"No. I wanted to talk to her again and see if she has any ideas. I also wanted to warn her and you that her parents and Lord Deveril have started a full-scale search. I had hopes they would be more discreet for fear of scandal."

"Money on one side and lust on the other leaves little room for discretion," remarked Blanche. "Miss Greystone did ask if I could train her for the theater, but aside from the fact that it would be improper it's hardly a place to hide."

"She could become a teacher or governess, though I'm not sure she is really suited to the profession," said Beth thoughtfully, "but how it would be achieved, I don't know."

"Perhaps you could fake references for her," said Blanche casually.

"What?" asked Beth, shocked.

Blanche shrugged. "If she went after some provincial position with references from the Marchioness of Arden, it would doubtless work."

"Oh, I couldn't."

"If you're going to be squeamish, you'll have her married to Deveril," said Blanche plainly. "She can't stay hidden here too long without word getting out, particularly if they post bills and a reward. She needs to be well away with a new identity and some form of employment. Someone will have to forge something."

Beth felt as if she had suddenly found herself at the edge of a precipice. "So if I behave correctly I will fail a girl in dire need," she murmured.

"'Rules to regulate behavior,'" quoted Blanche quietly, "'and to preserve reputation, too frequently supersede moral obligations.'"

Beth stared at her. "Mary Wollstonecraft!"

Blanche smiled. "You seem like a woman who would have studied her. Surely she would say, 'Help Clarissa and be damned to Society.' After all, Miss Greystone's position can't help but remind me of her Maria in
The Wrongs of Woman,"
she said, referring to Mary Wollstonecraft's novel.

"Indeed. I wouldn't put it past Lord Deveril to consign Clarissa to an insane asylum if it suited his purpose. But it's not just reputation, Blanche. It's the law."

The two women immediately plunged into a penetrating debate on right and wrong. Only the rapping of the door knocker broke their absorption. As Agnes passed through the hall on her way to answer it, they looked at one another and smiled.

"Oh," said Beth, slightly appalled at the situation in which she found herself "but this is likely to be a tortuous friendship."

"It'll give Lucien giddy fits," said Blanche, laughing.

"Indeed," said a sneering voice. "A more improper association is hard to imagine."

Both women turned sharply to see Lord Deveril standing in the doorway with a pistol in his hand. Two unpleasant-looking men were behind him, one dark and bearded, one sandy with piggy eyes. Pig-eyes was holding Agnes. His fat hand was clamped over the maid's mouth and above it her pale eyes bulged with terror.

"I think it my duty to remove my bride from such a den of iniquity," said Lord Deveril.

Chapter 20

He was as horrible as Beth remembered—gaunt but with a brutish strength in his jaw and hands; sallow with shadows almost black around his bloodshot eyes. The vile smell of him was already oozing across the room.

Beth looked at Blanche and saw she was almost exploding with rage at this invasion. She spoke quickly before the other woman could make the situation worse. "Clarissa is not here."

"No?" remarked Deveril. "You consort with your husband's whore of your own accord? No wonder he chose you for his bride. So compliant. Do you perhaps enjoy three in a bed?
"
He turned his disgusting gaze on Blanche. "Do you allow voyeurs Mistress Blanche? I would gladly pay for such a spectacle."

"You bloody grubshite," said Blanche between clenched teeth. "If you aren't out of here—"

The room reverberated with the explosion of the pistol. The delicate crystal chandelier plunged from the ceiling to lie shattered on the crimson and gold carpet. Agnes fainted, and her captor let her fall to the floor.

While Beth and Blanche were still frozen with shock, Lord Deveril handed the smoking pistol to the bearded man and pulled another from the pocket of his greatcoat. "The next ball will go into you, Mistress Soiled Dove. What's one trollop more or less?"

Beth forced herself to her feet. "I hardly think you dare kill me, Lord Deveril."

Before he could respond, Redcliff came running and was immediately grabbed by the other man. "Take both the maids to the kitchen," said the viscount. "Tie them and gag them. If everyone is sensible, it shouldn't be necessary to kill them." He looked at Blanche. "Do you have other servants?"