Marchington Scandal (17 page)

“Did I startle you?” said Oliver Stonenden. “I am sorry. I had to slip out for a moment to see how you were liking the exhibition. Did you hear Sir Thomas?” He smiled at her eagerly.

Katharine tried to speak, but no words would come out. She could not tear her eyes from his. Desperately she nodded.

“Good. I brought him up expressly for that purpose. Your painting is a distinct success. I congratulate you with all my heart.” He came forward, still smiling, as if to take her hands.

With a strangled sound, she pulled her shawl more closely around her. How could she escape?

Stonenden's smile faded abruptly. “What is it? Is something wrong? Are you ill? It is stuffy in that doorway, I know. I hope you left the door a little open. Do you feel faint?”

Making a herculean effort, Katharine managed to croak, “I must go.”

“You
are
ill! Let me call someone.”

“No!” In her turmoil, she nearly shouted. “No, let me alone. I must go home.” Shaking off the paralysis that had kept her rooted to one spot, she moved toward him.

Stonenden again put out a hand. “Of course you shall go if you desire it, but let me get someone to accompany you.”

“No. Please.” She was nearly upon him now; she edged along the wall past him.

He turned with her, his eyes full of concern. “Katharine…”

“Let me alone!” And she broke into a run—past the kitchens and out into the welcome emptiness of the street.

Oliver Stonenden called at the Daltry house not long after breakfast the following morning, but when he was ushered into the drawing room, he found only Mary Daltry sitting there. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “Have you recovered from the excitements of last night?”

Mary raised her eyebrows a little at this, then nodded.

“And Miss Katharine Daltry? I hope she is better.”

“Better?”

“When I saw her last night, she seemed…” He paused, looked at Mary, then added, “Look here, is she ill?”

“Katharine? Why, no, she isn't ill.” Mary gazed at him in her turn. “What makes you think so?”

“She was not herself last night. Is she in this morning?”

“Well…well, no, not precisely.”

Lord Stonenden smiled. “She is imprecisely in?”

Mary met his eyes, and her lips twitched involuntarily. “She is here, but she will not see anyone. She has shut herself in her studio.”

“Ah. Well, of course I mustn't disturb her, then. But is she all right?”

Mary eyed him uncertainly.

“I am concerned; she was upset last night. Did she overhear something at the party which annoyed her? Did someone criticize her painting?”

“Oh, no. I…I really don't think there was anything.”

“No?” replied Stonenden gently. “I believe, on the contrary, that you do.”

She raised her eyes, startled, to his.

“I can be trusted, you know,” he added.

Mary looked a bit flustered. “Well, of course, Lord Stonenden, but…that is, I haven't…”

“Tell me,” he said. “Please. I shall treat anything you say as an absolute confidence. My interest in this is not trivial.”

She looked at him again. Her unease seemed to lighten, and when she spoke, all trace of embarrassment was gone. But she still appeared undecided. “Is it not?” she asked.

“No. I cannot think of anything more central to my life at this moment.”

“Ah.” Mary looked at her folded hands. “There was a good deal of talk last evening.”

“At the party? There was indeed. Did someone say something offensive?”

“You did not hear what they said about the painting?”

“I heard it praised.” Stonenden sounded a little impatient now. “I was told it was a good likeness. Sally Jersey began some nonsense about my eyes, but I was called away.”

“I see. You didn't hear, then. Lady Jersey was the source.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Daltry, but the source of what? I don't know what you mean.”

Mary took a breath. “A…a number of people at your house last night saw things in the painting that I had not noticed. I thought at first that they were mistaken, but as I looked more closely and listened to them, it…it seemed there might be something in it. Lady Jersey was the most outspoken. Of course, one wouldn't pay much heed to her; she lives on gossip. But others, more reliable, thought the same. Everyone was discussing it. I'm certain Katharine heard.”

Stonenden was frowning. “And what did these people profess to see in the painting?”

Mary looked perplexed. “You really did not hear?”

“I did not. I never listen to gossip. And I imagine guests in my house would not be overeager to criticize the portrait to me.”

“Oh, it was not the portrait, precisely. It was…” She drew a breath and went on in a rush. “They said that the picture showed great…great feeling. Lady Jersey in particular insisted that it demonstrated that Katharine…” She trailed off in embarrassment.

Stonenden looked at first startled, then intent, then amused. “I see. I believe I can complete that sentence, knowing Sally Jersey only too well.”

Mary nodded. “And so, you see, it was very uncomfortable.”

“Yes.” But her companion's anxious look had disappeared. He seemed almost pleased by her news. “Yes, I'm sure it was quite unpleasant to hear such things gossiped about publicly. But Katharine, Miss Daltry, will get over that, I should think.”

Mary's eyebrows drew a little together.

“I think it would help if I spoke to her,” he went on.

“Oh, I don't believe she would see you.”

“But why not?” He leaned forward. “Miss Daltry, tell me, what do you think about Lady Jersey's conclusions?”

“Why, they are grossly impertinent,” retorted Mary.

“Yes, of course.” He brushed this aside. “But…do you see any truth in them?” Mary started to protest, but he hurried on. “It is very important to me. I would not ask you such a question otherwise. Any woman would be incensed at such a rumor, but is Miss Daltry merely incensed? Surely not. Anger would not cause her to shut herself away.”

“I really cannot discuss this with you, Lord Stonenden.”

“Not even if your cousin's happiness depends upon it? I say nothing of my own.”

Mary looked extremely uncomfortable. “Are you suggesting…?”

“I think I am doing a bit more than that. Do you know how Katharine feels toward me, Miss Daltry? I do not. I know how she once felt, but I have some hope that she has changed her opinion. If I thought for a moment that Lady Jersey was right, I wouldn't hesitate to burst into Katharine's studio and say what I feel.” Mary's folded hands twisted.

“I have done what I could to win her regard,” the man added. “I need to know if I have succeeded. Will you not give me a hint, at least?”

Slowly and reluctantly, Mary met his eager gaze. She did not at all know what she should do. She would not betray Katharine's confidence, but in this matter, she did not have it. She had only her own observations and conclusions, and it was so easy to make a mistake. Yet if she refused to say anything, might that not bring even more unhappiness? She sighed. “I…I know nothing of what Katharine feels,” she answered finally. “She has not told me. But I have noticed…”

“Yes?”

“I…I may of course be quite mistaken, but it seems to me that Katharine is often upset when someone mentions that you and the Countess Standen…that is…” She stopped, unable to complete this sentence.

Lord Stonenden looked puzzled. “Elise Standen? But Katharine knows all about that. It was practically her suggestion.”

Now Mary looked perplexed. “I beg your pardon?” “The countess and young Marchington—she knows about that. We've spoken of it.”

“About…? I'm sorry, I don't understand you.”

“Has she said nothing to you?”

Mary stared at him.

“I wonder why.” He retreated into his own thoughts for several minutes; gradually, his brow darkened. “Look here,” he continued finally, “has Katharine said nothing to you about a scheme to separate the countess and Tom Marchington?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Mary, bewildered. “She asked Tony Tillston—”

“Tillston?”

“Yes. I should not tell you about it, I suppose, but under the circumstances… Katharine asked Mr. Tillston to squire Elinor about, to make Tom jealous. Unfortunately—”

“She had another plan!” Stonenden seemed astonished.

“Yes, we worried for such a time before we could think of anything.”

“But I spoke to her. And Eliza Burnham clearly requested my help.”

“Eliza?” Mary sounded utterly mystified.

Her companion stood abruptly. “There has been a terrible misunderstanding. I must speak to Katharine at once!”

Mary rose to face him. “But I don't… What do you mean?”

He looked impatiently down at her, then straightened and seemed to get control of himself again. “I see how it is,” he said. “What a damnable tangle.”

Mary watched his face. “I don't understand. Were you also trying to separate Tom from the countess?”

“Am,” he corrected. “And I believe the only thing to do now is to finish the process. Explanations are always less convincing than actions. I shall
show
Katharine that I had only her interests at heart.” He turned away. “Good day, Miss Daltry. And thank you!”

“What are you going to do?” she began, but he was already out of the room.

***

Katharine came downstairs to luncheon, looking pale and rather tired. Asked how her painting had gone, she merely grimaced, and the two women ate their meal in nearly unbroken silence. Afterward, when Katharine would have retreated to her studio again, Mary said, “Come into the drawing room for just a moment, dear.”

“Mary, I really don't—”

“Only for a moment.”

When they had sat down, Mary said, “Lord Stonenden called this morning.”

Katharine looked up, startled, then quickly dropped her eyes. “Did he?” she replied coolly.

“Yes. He seemed very concerned about you. I think now that I should have asked you to come down.”

“Indeed not. I am very glad you didn't.”

“But you know, Katharine, I think there may have been some misunderstanding between you and Lord Stonenden. He was telling me—”

“Really, Mary, I do not care to hear what he was telling you. Please.” She got up and walked over to one of the front windows. “Oh, dear, here is Elinor. I suppose I must see her.” She laughed shortly. “Her faith in me is so touching, and so misplaced. I do not understand why she keeps coming here. I have done as little for her as for myself.”

“Katharine…” But the servant came in to announce their caller, and in the next moment Elinor was with them.

Though she wore a very fashionable fawn morning dress, lavishly trimmed with dark green braid, Elinor looked wan and red-eyed. She sat down with them despondently and gazed from one to the other of them with wide brown eyes. Katharine moved uneasily in her chair.

“How are you, dear?” asked Mary.

Elinor shrugged. “Your painting is very nice, Katharine. I wanted to tell you. Everyone admired it excessively.”

“Thank you, Elinor,” said the older girl, touched.

There was a silence.

Finally Elinor heaved a great sigh. “I know I am horridly tiresome, and I do beg your pardon, but I am so worried about Tom. I cannot think of anything else, and I…I don't know what to do.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she groped in her reticule for a handkerchief.

The other two watched her helplessly.

“I w-wish I could b-be more s-sensible,” sobbed Elinor, “b-but I don't know how.”

“You are being very sensible,” answered Katharine. “Indeed, I have the greatest admiration for your fortitude.”

“Y-you
do
?”

“Oh, yes. In your place, I would have murdered Tom with a hatpin by this time. Or, at the very least, thrown things.”

Elinor chuckled shakily at this absurd picture. “Perhaps I should have. Perhaps I will. Nothing else has done the least good.”

“Perhaps you should,” agreed Katharine.

The others stared at her.

“Well, Elinor is right. Nothing else has worked. And I begin to think we have let Tom off too easily. Why should Elinor wait quietly while he does what he pleases and creates a scandal? It may be time for you to kick up a dust, Elinor.”

The younger girl's eyes were wide. “I don't know if I
could
. He hardly speaks now. And when he does, he is sullen and so ill-tempered. He boxed Chivers's ears yesterday.”

“Well, he wouldn't dare box yours!”

“No.” Elinor sounded doubtful. “He did once, though, when I lost his pet turtle.”

Katharine laughed. “I think he takes you far too much for granted. That is what comes of marrying a man one has known all one's life. But if you made a great fuss, I wager he would listen.”

“Do you think so?” Elinor frowned.

“I do.”

“But I have never—”

“Precisely, Elinor. You have always allowed Tom his way. Perhaps it is time you stopped.”

Her younger cousin eyed her uneasily. “I always felt so sorry for him, you see. Sir Lionel and Lady Agnes never let him do anything he wanted to do.”

“I understand that,” began Katharine, when, as if summoned by Elinor's remarks, another visitor strode into the room as the maid announced, “Lady Agnes Marchington.”

The three women turned and stared, Elinor with almost ludicrous apprehension. Lady Agnes stood before them, arms akimbo, looking from one to the other truculently. She was a large woman, taller even than Katharine, with a massive, tightly corseted figure and piercing blue eyes.

Her traveling costume was not the height of fashion, but her air of consequence easily outweighed this slight disadvantage.

“Well, Elinor,” she said in a deep commanding voice, “they told me at your house that I should find you here.”

“L-Lady Agnes,” stammered her daughter-in-law, rising hurriedly. “What a…uh, pleasant surprise.”

“Is it?” Lady Agnes surveyed the others. “Hello, Mary. Katharine.”

The Daltry ladies greeted her, Katharine with a slight smile. “Will you sit down?” Katharine invited.

“No. I haven't time for that. I came only to fetch Elinor and to ask one question.” She fixed them each in turn with a ferocious glance. “
Where
is my son?”

Elinor gave a little squeak, and Katharine had to press her lips tightly together.

“He is not at home,” Lady Agnes went on, “and the servants seem astonishingly unable to tell me where he
is
, so I ask you, Elinor.”

“I…I don't know…that is, I'm not sure. He went out this morning. He never tells me where he is going.” Elinor ended on a gasp.

“Does he not? Well, that is your own fault, my girl. He would tell you if you asked properly. And if you had given him a proper home, he would not be making a fool of himself and his family as I understand he now is. Come along, we shall wait for him at your house.”

“I have my carriage,” blurted Elinor.

“Hah. Well, you must follow me, then. Don't dawdle. Mary, Katharine, I shall call again when this unfortunate matter is set right. Good day.” And she turned and swept out of the room.