Midnight Bride (21 page)

"Then what's she doing at that inn?
Georgie
said she and the innkeeper were cooing and lovey-dovey."

"Georgie!
If you believe him about Susan, why not about Miss Elizabeth?
Wouldn't be the first time that Quality has let someone slip between the sheets."

"And what do you know about that?"

"What I heard, that's what! Why do you think Lord Dunstan came here all travel-worn the last time? It was not to see Mr.
Beckworth
, no matter what Mr. Jeffries says."

Before the conversation could deteriorate into an argument, Miller, her face carefully impassive, pushed open the door farther and walked in. Instantly the girls became silent, their eyes meeting. A look of dread crept onto their faces. Miller glanced around the room, noting the pots waiting to be scrubbed, and then raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. Immediately the girls were hard at work. Her face thoughtful, Miller finished pressing the dress and took it back upstairs.

As soon as she had put the dress away and had laid out her mistress's clothing for the evening, she hurried from the room. Finding the housekeeper, she led her to the small room where Jeffries was working. She checked the hallway and then shut the door tightly. "There is trouble," Miller said quietly. Then she related what she had heard.

"I knew that Susan and the other workhouse girls would be nothing but trouble," Jeffries muttered, his face an angry red.

"Some people do not know when they are well- off," Mrs. Lewis complained. "I told Miss
Beckworth
that giving Susan money would lead to trouble."

"What can we do?" Miller asked.

The other two looked at each other. Then the housekeeper sighed. Jeffries cleared his throat. "If they are discussing it in the stables, there is very little. I just hope Master Charles does not hear." He rubbed a hand over his forehead as if he could wipe away what was happening as easily as he could remove the moisture on his brow.

"What are the chances of that happening?" Miller asked.

The two looked at each other again. This time Mrs. Lewis answered. "Not good." She looked at the floor and then at the maid. "You do not think the story is true, do you?"

Miller hesitated a moment, a moment too long. The butler and the housekeeper gave each other a worried look. "Of course it is not true," Miller finally said, her voice firm. There was no need to mention the man's handkerchief she had found weeks ago under her mistress's bed. She exchanged looks with the others. "Does this sound like something Miss
Beckworth
would do?" she asked.

Avoiding her eyes, the other two shook their heads. Jeffries cleared his throat again. He asked, "Then how did the story get started?"

"Georgie
saw Susan. She is the one who told him. At least that is what the maids are saying," Miller explained.

"Georgie?
I will have a few words with that young lad myself," Jeffries promised.

"Don't do anything rash. Just find out where he saw her and if Susan really started the gossip about Miss
Beckworth
. We don't want to make the rest of the household suspicious." Miller's face was set in hard lines.

Mrs. Lewis stood up and straightened the crisp black skirt she wore. "Should we tell Miss
Beckworth
what is being said?" she asked. Her voice was tentative.

"No!" The word burst from both the butler and the maid.

"She has had to endure too much gossip already. I am afraid how she would react to this," Miller said firmly.

"You were not with the family then," Jeffries said. His tone toward the housekeeper was condescending. "You can have no idea what her reaction could be. We must avoid her finding out at all cost."

"I do not understand how you plan to do that," Mrs. Lewis replied tartly. "Someone is certain to say something to her soon."

"Or to her brother."
Miller's words caused them all to freeze.

"If Master Charles hears a word of this," Jeffries' words trailed off. Then he straightened up. "Get back to work. We will keep our wits about us and be prepared for anything," he said majestically. "If it is true, we will consult Mrs.
Beckworth
." Nodding, they left, each hiding a secret fear.

Before long their fears were realized. One afternoon Charles came into the stables, restless, looking for a good gallop to clear his mind. Not seeing any grooms about and in too much of a hurry to seek one out, he lifted a saddle from the rack and entered a stall. He stroked his horse's nose and put a blanket over his back. Before he could lift the saddle in place, the door to the stable swung open again. Two men stood in the open door, their faces hidden by the sunshine and shadow.

"Did you see the mistress today with all her airs of being so good?" one asked.

"You've no call to talk about her like that. She took care of you last winter when you were ill," a younger voice scolded.

"If I had known then what I know now . . ."

"You keep your bloody mouth shut. Miss
Beckworth
is a good person."

"Not according to what we were told last night."

"And now
you're believing
the same man who cheated you at cards last week?"

"May not play cards with him again, but why would he lie about the mistress?"

"Maybe because he was sweet on Susan, and the mistress sent her away."

"Or maybe Lord Dunstan did spend the night with Miss
Beckworth
. A lady has been known to take lovers same as a maid." All during this conversation Charles had stayed where he was, hidden from view. Now, his anger more than he could bear, he stepped out of the stall.

He shouted, "Would you care to repeat to me what you just said?"

The grooms looked at each other. If Charles had been able to see their faces, he would have been delighted at the horror there.

Charles dashed to the doorway, but by the time he reached it, they were hidden. "Damn them," he muttered, his eyes hard and his face set in hard lines. He marched toward the manor.

"Jeffries! Jeffries!" he shouted as he walked into the entry hail.

"Sir?"
The older man's voice was as quiet as though Charles had whispered.

"I need Porter in the library. Immediately," Charles
said,
his face red. He was frowning. He plunged down the hallway. Jeffries started to follow him, but stopped when he noticed the housekeeper and Miller standing by the door that led down to the kitchens. They looked at him anxiously. With an almost imperceptible nod the butler sent them on their ways. Then he sent the footman for the valet.

Charles, his long strides carrying him from one spot of the book-lined room to another, whirled around when the door opened. Porter took one look at his master's face and closed the door firmly behind him. "Yes, Master Charles?" he asked, his face worried.

For once Charles let the manner of address slip by without comment. Porter noted the exception and frowned slightly. Fie stood still waiting until Charles made another circuit of the room and came up to him. The two men stared at each other for a moment. Then Charles ran a hand over his face. He crossed to a large leather chair and sat down, hitting his fist against his other hand.

"What has happened, Master Charles?" Porter asked quietly. His face revealed his worry.

Charles
finally sat back, running his hands
through
his hair. He stood up again and crossed to his valet, putting his hand on his shoulder. Porter, startled, stepped back. "Master Charles?"

"You must tell me what you know. Promise me that," Charles said as he tried to get his anger under control. The valet nodded, his face puzzled. Charles took a deep breath and said in one breath, "What are the rest of the servants saying about my sister?"

"Your sister?"
Porter
asked,
his voice breaking. He cleared his throat. His face was pale.

"Tell me."

The older man took a step back. "The other servants, especially the younger ones, do not tell me anything," the valet said hesitantly.

"That never stopped you from knowing the gossip before," Charles said, the frown on his face reflected in his voice.

"Master Charles," Porter began. He stopped and cleared his throat again. "You do not want to know," he finally said softly.

"Then they are talking about her?"

The valet looked ashamed. "Yes," he said quietly.

"And Lord Dunstan?"
The valet nodded. "I will kill the man," Charles shouted, heading for the door. "Get my clothes ready. We leave for London immediately." He threw open the door and hurried down the hallway.

"Shouldn't you talk to Miss
Beckworth
first?" the valet asked, appalled at his master's reaction. He was almost running trying to keep up with Charles's long strides. Charles simply ignored him.

Elizabeth,
totally unaware of the turmoil in her carefully protected world, went about her regular duties while Charles headed to the stables. Warned by his shouts, the younger grooms made good their escape, leaving the head groom to saddle his master's horse himself. "Send a driver with Porter in my curricle," Charles said sharply as he swung into the saddle. He pulled his hat down over his eyes. "And when I return, I want to talk to everyone who works in the stables. Is that understood?" he asked. The head groom
nodded,
certain now what had set his master in action. "And do not let anyone leave. Tell anyone who asks that
Carstairs
does not have the authority to pay him off." Glad that he had not been the one who had revealed the gossip, the groom nodded again. He watched as Charles took the road, pushing his horse hard.

When she walked toward the salon for tea, Elizabeth stopped, startled. There in the entryway stood Jeffries, his face solemn as he shut the door. "Was there a message, Jeffries?" she asked.

"No, Miss
Beckworth
. I was seeing Porter off."