My Dear Jenny (3 page)

“Oh, please, Miss Prydd?” the girl whispered. Genia leaned
closer, and the girl blushed deeply as she continued: “Could you share your
room with me? I am—you see, we—I—” she rattled off weakly.

Genia thought that she
did
understand, and nodded. “Money
problems? I would be hard put to support myself in a private room for the
length of a full term of measles. If you don’t dislike having a stranger in
your room, I will be delighted to share it with you.”

“Oh, no, I don’t dislike it in the least! That is, you see,
I hardly think of you as a stranger. You’ve been so kind to me.” She glanced
nervously at the concerned faces staring down at her. “All of you have been so—”

“Kind.” Mr. Teverley suggested. From behind him, Domenic
Teverley poked his head and gently proffered Miss Pellering her reticule, which
had fallen from her table. “Dom, run see what’s become of Mrs. Hatcher and the
amiable Mr. Pellering. Pellering, did you say, Miss Emily?”

“Yes, sir.” She looked up sharply. “What? Oh, yes,
Pellering, sir.”

“Excellent. Dom?” He turned, but his cousin had already gone
from the room. After a moment Mr. Teverley raised an eyebrow and glanced toward
the hall door. “I presume he has found someone, for he’s making the devil of a
row.”

Shortly, Mrs. Hatcher appeared in the doorway, full of
concern and pungently worded fretting for the young lady. When Emily insisted
that she could perfectly well walk, this lady offered her sizable arm,
lphegenia promised to lend her support from the other side, and in this awkward
fashion the three left the room.

As the door to the coffee room swung shut, Emily’s
companion, who had edged in quietly behind Dom and Mrs. Hatcher, turned with a
shrug to the other gentlemen and apologized for his sister’s indisposition. He
offered to stand them each a round of punch or ale. Mr. Teverley accepted and
introduced himself and his cousin. The Reverend Mr. Dunham, after thanking the
younger man profusely, made himself known as well and requested ale. For his part,
the young man thanked each gentleman for his assistance and announced himself
to be Adrian Ratherscombe, and much at their service.

“I expect your sister, Miss Ratherscombe, will be recovered
shortly,” the elder Teverley assured Mr. Ratherscombe, motioning Domenic back
when that young man would have corrected him. “And you, sir, what part of the
country are—that is, were you traveling to?”

Mr. Ratherscombe had missed the sign language that had
passed between the two Messrs. Teverely, and was unaware of the discrepancies
developing between his story and that of Miss Pellering—or Miss
Ratherscombe. He quickly sketched out a story of the journey his sister was
making to the northern counties, which Mr. Teverley blandly absorbed. When his
story was done, Mr. Ratherscombe rose, somewhat unsteadily, since he had downed
two tankards of ale during the length of his recital, and announced that he
would now go to check on his sister.

“Oh, by the by,” Teverley said slowly, “I believe Miss Prydd
will be sharing your sister’s room. Your sister seemed a little concerned by
the cost of accommodations while we are here, and I believe she was comforted
to have a respectable female to bear her company.”

“She needn’t have worried about the ready,” Ratherscombe
said, a shade too quickly. “She ought to have had her own room, and—” But
he caught a glimpse of Mr. Teverley, who was absorbed, it seemed, in examining
the toe of his boot. Something about the set of that gentleman’s shoulders
suggested to Adrian Ratherscombe that perhaps his sister might as well stay in
a room with Miss Prydd. He said as much, a trifle ungraciously, and made his
unsteady progress out of the room.

The door had hardly closed behind him when Domenic Teverley
flew at his cousin, demanding to know why he had been told to hold his tongue,
when that Ratherscombe fellow was obviously up to no good, as well as being
caught out in a regular bouncer and upsetting that poor Miss Pellering.

“Your poor Miss Pellering might be the one who is telling
the bouncer, Dom, and might well be Miss Ratherscombe as well.” Teverley’s look
defied his cousin to rebut him. “However, given the nature of our two
mysterious companions, I am inclined to believe, with you, that it is Mr.
Ratherscombe who is the villain in this piece. I rather think, in fact, that we
have stumbled on an elopement. Further, I think that Miss Pellering has thought
the better of the idea, and is somewhat distressed by these turns of events.”

“But surely
she
wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall
for a queer nabs like that Ratherscombe!” Domenic announced with disgust. “Why,
she’s a regular first-rater, Peter. He’s not fit to—to—”

“Touch the hem of her gown?” Teverley suggested. “Well,
perhaps not, Dom, although I cannot believe that she is entirely blameless, else
she would be at home sewing samplers, or whatever girls her age do. In any
event, this is not here nor there. What is of importance is that we make sure
that that other female—Prydd?—that Miss Prydd should be made to
understand why Miss Pellering requires her constant attention. I should imagine
she’s used to that sort of duty—she’s got a regular lady’s companion look
about her. So I suggest that we work to put Mr. Ratherscombe’s plans awry.”

“You don’t usually put yourself to such efforts for
strangers, Peter,” Domenic said, somewhat suspiciously.

“I am not normally trapped in an inn with half a dozen of my
fellow creatures, with a story out of Mrs. Radcliffe dangling under my nose.
Afraid I might be treading on your territory, infant? Gods preserve us, I have
enough trials these days—I don’t need to add a chit from the schoolroom
to them. But I
have
taken a strong dislike to Ratherscombe, and it will
be amusing to foil his plans. Now, if you’ll keep a lookout for the Prydd
female, we can apprise her of what’s afoot and enlist her aid. I trust she’s
not of the vaporish sort—she didn’t look it, but you cannot tell, and I
don’t think even boredom could persuade me to cope with
two
fainting
females at a time.” Teverley smiled faintly. “Her handling of the landlady and
Mr. Ratherscombe doesn’t suggest hysteria, so I hope for the best. And if she
is a romantic, she can join in on our little project for the love of romance.”

“But Peter...” Domenic Teverley gestured vaguely at his
cousin.

“Domenic, it is now my intention to go to sleep, there
being, it seems, nothing more immediately amusing to do at this point. You may
do likewise, or as you will.” Without ceremony, Mr. Teverley closed his eyes
and shrugged himself into his chair. Domenic, having dealt with his cousin
before in these moods, knew better than to cavil, and, extricating from his
coat a book he had been reading, he sank back himself.

Silence reigned in the coffee room for the space of three
minutes. Then Mr. Dunham, who had obviously been working himself into a sense
of ill-use and indignation, forced himself to speak.

“I am appalled, sir.”

There was no immediate reaction to his declaration of
dismay.

“I am appalled,” he began again. Stopped. Tried once more. “I
am altogether—”

“Appalled,” Teverley murmured from his collar. Dunham
regarded him sharply.

“Altogether,” he agreed. “This sort of conduct! Young
persons fainting in public coffee rooms, abductions, deductions, plots,
seductions, and heavens knows what else, all under the nose of a minister of
the church! I am,” he concluded, “appalled.”

“I am devastated to hear so, sir. How would you suggest we
rectify the situation?” Mr. Teverley did not open his eyes.,

“I don’t know,” Mr. Dunham admitted sourly. “But this sort
of thing should not happen, not in a civilized country! I had best offer my
services to Mr. Ratherscombe and marry them at once!”

Domenic Teverley’s immediate and outraged protest was
forestalled by his cousin.

“I hardly think that that would be wise, sir. I think Miss
Pellering will do much better under Miss Prydd’s chaperonage, especially as I
doubt she truly wishes to marry Mr. Ratherscombe, whom, I apprehend, is badly
in debt, and hanging out for a rich wife.” He waved a hand at his cousin. “Sit
down, Dom, and don’t plan any immediate duels with Mr. Ratherscombe. He’s
probably a better shot than you are, and I imagine that you will be of more use
to Miss Pellering in one piece than two.” He softened his words with a
remarkably companionable grin at the boy, then turned to regard Mr. Dunham with
a fixed and steely look. “I suggest that you allow yourself to be guided by me,
sir. You and I, along with Mrs. Hatcher and Miss—devil take it, what is
that female’s name? Prince? Prine?”

“Prydd,” Dom interjected.

“Thank you, coz. We shall, I think, be passable chaperones
for Miss Emily, and this evening she can write a note to her family, informing
them of her circumstances. By that time, I anticipate no trouble from Mr.
Ratherscombe, who doesn’t strike me as the sort who will fight without decent odds
at his back. Again, then, gentlemen, I am for a nap.” He cast a significant
look at Mr. Dunham, who retired, cowed, to a bench. Then, without another word,
Peter Teverley sank again into his chair and slept.

Upstairs, in the room to which Mrs. Hatcher had directed
them, Miss Prydd was attempting to make Emily Pellering comfortable, with a
view toward persuading her to sleep. As the younger woman was still
considerably overwrought, this was no easy task. One moment she would meekly
agree to lie still and try to sleep, and the next she was sitting up again,
fretting at the trouble she was causing and—in the same breath—imploring
Miss Prydd not to leave her alone. lphegenia had no idea of doing so, at least
until she was sure that the girl was sleeping, and assured her that it was no
trouble, that anyone would be overset by such a disruption of plans. Miss
Pellering said, with a wry, watery sniff, that Miss Prydd’s plans had also been
turned topsy-turvy, and she had not alarmed the company by collapsing in the
coffee room. lphegenia replied briskly that no one had ever accused her of
owning any sensibility at all. Besides, Emily was to call her Genia.

Comforted by this homely rebuke, and warmed by the tisane
which Mrs. Hatcher’s girl Kate had brought, Emily slept at last. Genia sat by
the bed for a few moments longer, then, assured that the girl would sleep for
some time, left to seek the others among her fellow travelers. Just outside the
door she was nearly trampled by Miss Pellering’s companion, who wheeled
unsteadily away from her, mumbled an apology, and started into Emily’s room.

“Oh, please, she’s only just settled in to sleep. And I know
she has been upset by the news and is just a little afraid that you will scold
her, as any younger sister would be of an older ... quite older brother. It
would be so much kinder of you to let her sleep a while.”

The man looked blearily at Miss Prydd. “Afraid of me? Little
Emmy dotes on me. Silly little widgeon, my siss-ssister. Very
overexxcciceitable. Don’t want to waken her. Beg your pardon, ma’am.” He
executed an over precise bow and turned on his heel, but Genia heard the
faintest of murmurs as he walked away: “Fubsy-faced, interfering female...” If
she had not cared particularly for the man before now, this last placed her
firmly on the side of Miss Pellering’s friends: lphegenia knew herself to be
plain, but she was by no means fubsy-faced, rabbit-toothed, or tallow-eyed.
Casting a look of dislike at his retreating form, she shook herself and started
down the stairs.

Domenic Teverley sprang up eagerly at her arrival.

“Is she all right? Miss Pellering? She’s not seriously ill,
is she?”

“Hardly, only tired and overwrought. I left her sleeping.”

“That blackguard Ratherscombe!” Dom began hotly, but:

“Who?” Miss Prydd countered.

“That queer nabs that’s trying to fob himself off as Miss
Emily’s—Miss Pellering’s—her brother!”

“Oh,” said Miss Prydd slowly, trying to assimilate this
news. “Well, I left the gentleman” —a sniff indicated her opinion of Mr.
Ratherscombe’s gentility— “with strict instructions not to bother her. I
doubt he will, since he does have to keep our company until we can leave this
place.”

“I take it, then, that Miss Pellering has not confided in
you?” Mr. Teverley’s voice, clear and unfogged by his recent sleep, startled
both his cousin and Miss Prydd. “We seem to have confounded quite a few of Mr.
Ratherscombe’s plans.”

“Meaning that he had somehow persuaded Emily into an
elopement?”

Peter Teverley regarded lphegenia with respect. “That is my
guess, ma’am.”

“Oh, Lord, and now I suppose I ought to feel dreadfully
shocked. But really, I can only feel sorry for her, poor little thing. I
suppose that, if he exerted himself, Mr. Peller—No, that cannot be right.
What is his name?” Domenic supplied her with the villain’s name and began a
short treatise on his family, which Peter Teverley quelled with a look. “Well,
I suppose that Mr. Ratherscombe could cut a romantic figure if he exerted
himself. But now, what are we to do with them? If we try to tell Emily he’s—well,
all the things you so astutely suggested of him, Domenic—we shall fail as
sure as if we had never begun. To have come so far, Emily must be—er—blinded
to his more unpleasant characteristics.”

“I suggest that we simply concentrate on foiling
Ratherscombe’s plans.” Teverley raised himself up from his chair to continue
the conversation. “Perhaps the emergence of his true colors under frustrating
circumstances will do more to disenchant Miss Pellering than we could hope to
do ourselves.”

Iphegenia turned to him to agree readily and thought of
asking him if he had ever had cousins to deal with (a perfectly absurd thought)
but lost the thought in her startled discovery of how
tall
he was, at
least to one of her modest stature. More than that, he carried himself with a
military dignity and ease that made him seem to tower over everything and
everyone, and between his manner, that of a man of influence, and his skin,
which was not so much dark, she realized, as burned brown by the sun, the
notion of soldiery solidified in her mind.