Miss Cheney's Charade (19 page)

Emma agreed, then hurriedly slipped from her bed to dress for the day. Nothing much had been unpacked—not that she had brought so very much with her. Her dear mama had always told Emma to be prepared for anything, so she had brought extra dresses along. Now she was most thankful for that forethought.

“So, we are to meet your George’s chosen lady, are we?” Lady Titheridge said with an arch of her brows.

“Is it not the best of things? George has not the least interest to come to London at the moment, so it suits him fine to oblige me on this matter.”

“He did not appear to be too shocked?” her ladyship inquired carefully.

“Not in the least. Said he could quite understand.” Emma gave her benefactress a happy smile, then tucked into her breakfast with the most enthusiasm she’d known in days.

The somewhat unprepossessing church exterior turned out to contain a number of wonders inside.

Lady Titheridge was in a fine humor while strolling about the interior. “Oh, Emma, do look at this little chapel. What a beautiful thing it is. I have always admired Purbeck marble, and these shafts are splendid, as well as those rich arcades.”

Emma nodded, then stared at the ceiling. “That’s a lovely painting Ma’am, and quite old, I believe.”

“Elegant tracery and lovely colors,” her ladyship agreed.

“I believe I like the decoration on that little chapel the best of all,” Emma concluded after a tour of the building. “It reminds one of lace, does it not? Such delicate decoration almost looks like a confection from Gunter’s.” She ran a finger over one of the carved pillars with an admiring look at the little chapel. “It is a pity that the king wouldn’t allow poor Lord de la Warr to be buried here after all his trouble and expense of building this chapel.” Emma edged toward the door. A bit weary, she hoped Lady Titheridge would tire as well. Besides, Emma longed to be gone.

Her ladyship thought the priory remarkable, but took pity on the impatient Emma. She soon joined her by the door, then hurried her off to the traveling coach.

Braddon had packed their belongings and placed them into the coach. She waited for them in the shade of one of the many trees that grew by the path to the church.

“Ah, the fresh air of the country,” her ladyship declared before entering the vehicle.

Emma, eager to meet the woman who might well turn out to be her sister-in-law, waited with barely concealed impatience for Lady Titheridge to settle in the coach.

And at last they were off.

The manor house was lovely, Emma decided in great charity. The drive to the house was splendid, with vast views across the downs. The solid redbrick structure had many sparkling windows that overlooked the farm. A porch with fine Ionic columns covered the entry.

The traveling coach with its crested doors pulled up before this entry. The groom soon had the door open, the steps down, and Lady Titheridge quickly clambered out. Emma hastily followed.

A gentleman opened the front door, and then came across the porch to greet them.

“Greetings to our humble home. Sir William Johnson at your service, my lady.” He bowed politely over Lady Titheridge’s hand, then looked at Emma. “No need to ask who you are; you look just like your brother. Welcome, Miss Cheney.”

He escorted them into the house with great geniality and soon had them settled in the drawing room with his beloved wife.

Seated in a wheeled chair. Lady Johnson looked like a fragile bit of lace. Emma immediately worried that their visit would overtax the lady.

“I know that expression. I may look like the next wind would blow me away, but I am as strong as can be,” Lady Johnson declared in a clear, high voice.

“Now, Mama,” a girl chided, “you will have them thinking you are shamming.” She stepped forward from off to one side of the room, and Emma was pleased to see that George, for once, had been correct in a description of a woman. Beatrice was indeed an angel. Soft, blond hair formed a halo about an oval face from which blue eyes gazed out with amusement.

The greetings were done with a minimum of fuss. The footman entered bearing a tray with a hearty repast, fit for someone who had been tramping through an old church.

“George thought you would wish to view our chief sight this morning. “ ‘Tis a pretty thing, is it not?” Lady Johnson said while pouring another cup of tea for Emma.

“Indeed it is, ma’am,” Emma replied politely.

They continued to chat amiably for some time before Lady Johnson turned to her daughter. “Now my dear, show them to their rooms, for I feel sure they wish to change.” To Emma she added, “We have so enjoyed having your brother about. Sir William and I were not blessed with a son, and my husband likes to discuss things like farm problems and what-all with a man.”

Emma tried to envision her brother talking about breeding cattle and failed. “Yes, ma’am,” she dutifully replied.

George had been absent from the welcome, but Emma decided he spent every hour he could hunting for a treasure or some special artifact that would establish him as a sort of scientist and give him that validity he sought.

Beatrice graciously took each of them to lovely rooms, then said to Emma, “Your brother is off south of the house. If you wish to see what he is doing, you might like to walk out there.”

Eager to see what she was supposed to have been involved in, Emma changed to more sturdy clothing with Braddon’s help, then set off along the lane to the field Beatrice had pointed out to her.

It was a beautiful day. Emma felt as though all was well with the world. What could possibly go wrong now? With George safely in Sussex and she nearly over with her charade, it remained but to wind things up and she would be free.

As to what that freedom might bring her, she couldn’t say. She might hope it involved Sir Peter if she were daydreaming as usual. Practicality had reared its ugly head, however. With modest money, no great beauty, and an inclination to peculiar starts, not even the support of his dearest aunt would likely make her an acceptable
parti
for Sir Peter.

At last she saw George. It was a bit of a shock to see him with the workmen, digging up the soil from a pit. Each shovel-fill would be examined. She saw him eagerly pick out a tiny object, then continue with the process.

“Hullo, George,” she cried when close enough.

“Found a coin that is definitely Roman,” he replied with a broad grin.

“Does that validate your efforts?” she asked with hope.

“Not much, but it offers inducement to continue.”

Emma watched him dig for a bit, then sat down on a nearby rock. She studied the terrain, taking note of the humps and ridges, the lines of trees in the distance.

“Was this a swamp before Sir William drained the land?”

“It was,” came a tired reply.

“Well, I think you might dig over there”—she pointed in the direction she meant—”along that ridge at the edge of the field. Seems to me that if this has been a field, it must have been plowed. How would a chest of treasure or anything special remain hidden?”

George looked at her with that patient, resigned expression brothers give to sisters who come out with stupid suggestions.

“Well, excuse me,” she said in annoyance. “I was only trying to be helpful. I best return to the house.”

Just as she was about to rise, she spotted Beatrice striding along in a graceful walk. Emma waited until the girl drew near, then rose.

“George, there is a man to see you.”

“And who might that be? Very few people know where I am.” He wrinkled his brow in consternation, for it was plain he did not wish to leave his site.

“He said he is Sir Peter Dancy.”

Emma sat down with a thud. Had she actually thought that things were going well?

Chapter Eleven

Emma looked at George and cried, “Now what shall we do?” She paced back and forth, then turned to glare at her brother as though he were the reason for all her troubles. “I truly do
not
wish him to find out everything at this point.”

Beatrice looked puzzled, and possibly a bit hurt at not knowing what had caused such a dramatic reaction to what seemed like rather ordinary news.

Taking matters in hand, George kindly explained things to his beloved in the most succinct way. Then the three found rocks upon which to sit while pondering the problem.

“Are you certain he thinks you are your brother?” Beatrice asked skeptically. “I mean, you two resemble each other to an amazing degree, but there
is
a difference.”

“He claims he is nearsighted.” Emma favored the others with a wry grin. “I swear that is what the man said. I may buy him a pair of spectacles when this is all over.”

“Well, I fail to understand why you simply do not tell him all,” Beatrice said, her confusion clear in her voice.

“I would never be allowed to study the mummy and the other things if I were myself. And besides, I fear my parents would force him to marry me if they found out about what has been going on, and that would be dreadful.” Emma propped her chin on her hands and stared off into the distance. The memory of Sir Peter with Lady Amelia popped up from where it had been stored.

“I see,” Beatrice said in a voice that said she did not see at all. “But he is quite handsome and has lovely manners. And Lady Titheridge introduced him as her heir. Would it be so disagreeable to marry him?” she offered hesitantly. It was very difficult for any young single woman to understand how another young single woman could refuse a situation that was so tempting.

“Not if he desires someone else.” Emma gave her a speaking look that told volumes more than Emma suspected.

“Oh,” replied an enlightened Beatrice. With a glance at George she added, “I see what you mean.”

“That does not solve the dilemma, however,” George said. He had become more alert when Beatrice pronounced Sir Peter handsome. George looked as though he had been pondering that bit of information for the few minutes while the ladies talked.

“It would be impossible to switch,” Beatrice offered. “My parents would wonder greatly, and my dearest mama would most likely say something at the worst possible moment.”

True,” George agreed, with an apologetic glance at his dear love.

“If you could send him out here where the digging is going on, perhaps I could fool him. I could borrow something of George’s to wear.” Emma looked at her brother, then added, “I do not know why the dratted man has to show up here at this moment!”

Beatrice thought for a bit, then said, “I shall send her ladyship’s maid out with clothing for you. She will know what you need. In the meanwhile I will try to keep Sir Peter amused until Braddon sends word that all is ready. It will be up to you to convince Sir Peter.”

George looked very unhappy at this proposal, but said nothing.

“I suppose your lovely mother will suggest Sir Peter stay here,” Emma said with dawning consternation.

“Oh, dear. I fear she already has. She adores company as it is so difficult for her to travel. I know this is hard for you, but mother is loving every minute of the visits.” Beatrice rose from her perch and offered her hands to Emma. “We will do what we can. Perhaps we can convince everyone later on that George has been called away for some reason. Then we can smuggle you both up the back stairs to your rooms. Emma can become herself for dinner. George will have to eat in his room, I fear.”

At this George rose to his feet, looking as though he would protest the arrangement.

Beatrice crossed to his side to give him such a melting smile that Emma was certain George would eat anything, anywhere she suggested.

“Capital,” George said with more enthusiasm than he had shown before.

Emma watched as Beatrice hurried back toward the house. Then she turned to her brother. “I like that girl.”

“I told you she was an angel.”

“You know,” Emma said, changing the subject lest she become involved in a discussion of Beatrice’s sterling qualities, “it is a good thing I was out
here
when he came.”

“You really wouldn’t wish to marry the man? Beatrice said he is handsome.” George studied his sister with the keen eye of a scientist, as though he sought to know her very thoughts. It was probably the first time in his life he had seriously given consideration to her affairs. He seemed to find her more perplexing than the elusive Roman treasure trove.

“He is,” Emma admitted. “But I suspect he may have an interest in Lady Amelia Littleton. I could be wrong, only he showed her particular attention last Wednesday at Almack’s. That is an ominous sign.” Emma sat down on her rock, propping her chin on her hand once again.

George didn’t seem too cut up over this knowledge, and Emma guessed he was happy to find out that Sir Peter-of-the-handsome-face might have other interests.

When Braddon came marching across the field with an armload of clothing, Emma resigned herself to making the change once again.

“Here you are, miss,” the abigail said when she strode up to the rock.

Emma walked to a shack not too far away where she changed with Braddon’s help. The maid carefully hung up Emma’s gown, adjuring her to dress properly before she attempted to return to the house.

George shook his head when he first saw the other George. “And he believed you were me? Ha!” he said with no attempt at elegance of speech in the least.

“Yes, and I cannot think why,” Emma agreed.

Braddon studied the pair before her and smiled. “It is surprising how much you two do resemble each other. Just remember to keep your voice low,” she admonished Emma, then left.

“What would Papa say,” Emma said with a grimace while she brushed down her pantaloons.

“Not to mention Mama,” George added. “I had best go while I can. I’ll tell the diggers to leave. That way, there will be less to gossip about.”

Emma watched him stride away
to the digging site, where the other men had kept working. After a few words the shovels were set aside, and they all sauntered toward a few outbuildings some distance away. Emma prayed they would all have a few pints of ale and forget there was anyone else out here.