Perdita (18 page)

"Would you like to have a look around the place while Mrs. Steddy prepares some food?” he asked.

I have personally an insatiable curiosity for looking over people’s homes. I never reject any offer to take a tour, even when it means laying down money for a hired tour, as is done at Swindon to raise funds for the Historical Society. I was disappointed when Perdita said, "I want to go out and see the river. I’ll take Lou with me.”

Stornaway had noticed the eagerness on my part. "Let me show
you
around the house, Miss Greenwood. It is rather interesting. Lady Marlborough is said to have designed one of the suites. She was a bosom friend of my ancestor who had the place built. By legend, the desk in that suite was her gift to the hostess for having entertained her.”

“I would love to see it,” I answered, my interest fanned to a white heat by the story.

We went abovestairs, into a suite of rooms that had a view of the river. There was no Chinese wallpaper here, nor any antique furniture. A stark white textured paper, plastered with gold roses as big as cabbages, hung on the walls. Gold draperies were at the windows, and a gold-canopied four-poster stood in the corner. A gilt cage was erected on top of the canopy; a canary on a perch, a stuffed canary that is, was imprisoned in the cage, from which garlands of flowers were suspended. The Pantheon Bazaar came to mind, in all its gaudy splendor. There was more. A brocade chaise longue stood under the window, with a little table at its side. The floor was covered with a thick white rug, also sprinkled with gold roses. A jarring note was added by a crystal vase holding a bouquet of red silk roses. There was no desk in evidence, from the period of Queen Anne or any other monarch. One felt instinctively the chamber had been done up by an illiterate female, with a bent for finery.

"This is the sitting room in here,” he said rather quickly, looking at me in a curious way. Again there was no desk. What there was was a plenitude of mirrors, dressing tables, and mostly clothes-presses. “Lady Marlborough wrote on a dressing table, did she?” I asked, with a suspicious look.

“The Steddys must have moved it,” he answered quickly. “But do you like the suite?”

“No, I cannot say that I care for it. It is not to my taste at all.”

"You can have it redone any way you like.”

“Is it worthwhile to go to so much bother? We should be gone within the hour. Shall we go below now?”

He quietly closed the door, leaned against it and folded his arms. “First, let us have a chat, Molly.”

“Moira. Miss Greenwood to you.”

“Yes, yes, in public I shall address you any way your delicate sense of propriety decrees, but
entre nous,
my heart, you will always be Molly. I have not the least objection to being styled Mr. Brown, either. In fact, the house is leased under his name.”

“A recent transaction, I take it? Your ancestral bosom-bow of Lady Marlborough resided elsewhere? In your imagination, perhaps?”

“Precisely.”

As he made no move to unfold his arms or change his posture, I, too, leaned against one of the many clothes-presses and adopted a similar attitude. “You lied to Mr. Alton, and you lied to us. This is what you had in mind all along. Not taking us to London at all.”

“I am very eager to unload April, in London or anywhere else you care to suggest. As to
lying,
well, let us say I was undecided. I felt there was one chance in a hundred Alton and you were telling the truth. April’s tale removed the one percent. The wicked stepmother and the lecherous suitor already strained credulity, without tossing in untold fortunes, to be showered on her from all sources. That you had been discussing me and my assets with your actress friends in light of a potential patron confirmed it. Phoebe was right. I am rich as Croesus. You have done well to attach me, Molly. I congratulate you.”

I looked at his shoulders, and I looked at the door behind them. I did not think it would be easy going past the former, to get out the latter. As I sought about for a sound argument, John’s tip was recalled to me.

“Would Lady Dulcinea approve of your taking a mistress so close to the wedding?” I asked, in a reasonable way.

“It has nothing to do with her. I have not even offered for her yet, if it comes to that. She is in no position to issue ultimatums. And neither are you. One dislikes to harp on vulgar money, but there
is
that debt between us . . ."

“I cannot get the money while you hold me here.”

A frown gathered on his brow. “What is it you object to? You were Alton’s mistress, and God only knows whose before him. What is it about
me
that you dislike?”

“Your taste in decor.”

“I only paid for it; I didn’t choose the stuff. I have already said you can fix it up any way you please. What else displeases you?”

“Everything,” I answered comprehensively.

“Could you be more specific?”

“I could beguile your ear for a fortnight. But let us begin with Lady Dulcinea, the mysterious fiancée. Who is she, by the by?”

“You would like to know that, eh, Molly? What mischief could you not create running to her with stories? You may be sure she is no one you know, or will ever meet. What else?”

“I do not admire your reputation as the greatest rake in all of England.”

“Wounded to the quick!” he said, uncrossing one arm to strike his heart. “Since a running visit to France and Italy a while ago, I am generally accorded the title of the greatest rake in all of Europe.”

“You actually think that is something to be
proud
of!”

“Whatever you do, do with all your might! I had the lesson of my tutor.”

“Rabbits and minks spend their time as you do! Do you have no
serious
concerns?”

“My dear Saint Molly, I am not asking you to spend the rest of your life in bed. I have many other concerns. I only visit Birdland on weekends. Twenty-five hundred per annum is pretty good pay for a weekend job.”

“I really cannot understand why you persist in this. I should think pride would cause you to desist, or shame.”

“They tempt me to change course, but I have more determination than pride. You are a very clever girl. The unattainable is always what a man wants. You have already managed to put me at a disadvantage, justifying my life, my character, when you are every bit as bad, if not worse. You have more than doubled the price I usually pay, and
still
you quibble. Whatever about my character, I know you like my person well enough. That was perfectly clear last night. Don’t trouble to deny it. The attraction was not all on one side. We’ll throw in a carriage and pair—you name it. Any number of gowns you want, but I insist on overseeing their selection. I don’t want to see you in flannelette nighties.” His eyes strayed uneasily to the clothes-presses as he spoke.

“Will I see a sample of your wonderful taste if I open one of these doors? One would take you for a wardrobe master, with such a quantity of them.”

“No! Those are just old clothes—costumes for a play . . .”

I opened the door, and stared at an array of perfectly contemporary outfits—evening gowns, riding habits, morning dresses, suits. I lifted one or two at random out for inspection. “What
can
the play have been, I wonder?
Love’s Labour Lost,
perhaps, as the woman did not get to keep her wardrobe. I don’t care much for your taste, Stornaway. A trifle vulgar and gaudy to suit me. I never cared for swansdown trim. It catches in the nose, you know, and causes sneezing. I am convinced these were selected by a female who enjoys to have a bird in a gilded cage on top of her bed.”

He was nibbling on a smile again, in admission of having been caught in yet another lie. “Swansdown is not
de rigueur
,” he mentioned.

We were interrupted by a discreet tap on the door. With a quick look, as if to silence me, he called, “Come in."

It was Steddy at the door. "The wife says lunch is ready,” he said, expressing no surprise to find his master behind a closed bedroom door with a single lady.

“We shall be down presently. Is Miss Brodie back yet?”

“She’s waiting below. Says she is very hungry.” Steddy left, without closing the door. While the man was within hearing distance, I made a quick bolt towards it and got out.

“We shall continue haggling out the details after lunch,” Stornaway promised, as he came up behind me.

Halfway down the stairs, Steddy said over his shoulder, “You might be interested to know the Sarnias are in residence, m’lord.”

There was a hesitation before Stornaway answered. "The whole family, or only the duke and duchess?”

"They’re all there. Have gone to London for the Season, and came down to open up their weekend place, as you did yourself. They have a party with them.”

“Have they been to call?”

“They dropped in yesterday. I didn’t tell them you was coming, as I didn’t know it myself. Should I let them know you are here, or will you go to them yourself?”

“Don’t tell them.”

Chapter Fifteen

Perdita was already at the table waiting for us. “What took you so long?” she complained, as her eyes surveyed the tasty cold meats and hot raised pies before her.

"Business," Stornaway answered, then sat down to carve a leg of ham. “I used to tremble in my seat when the roasts were put on the table, in case I would be handed the knife,” he said, smiling, and appearing to take some enjoyment from the chore now. "That is odd, too, for I had some notion of being a butcher when I grew up. I liked the village butcher; he used to give me all the best bones for my hound.”

"What
are
you going to be when you grow up, Stornaway?” Perdita asked. It was a child’s question, and not even intended for an insult.

He stared, not at her, but at
me,
as though I had put her up to it. "In the unlikely event that I ever
grow up,
I shall manage my estate, and sit in the House,” he told her patiently,

“That sounds very boring,” she commiserated.

“So it does. It is why I remain so determinedly youthful.”

“It sounds very interesting to
me,”
I said, passing my plate along for ham.

The repast was delicious. I ought to have been trembling in my shoes for fear of more bargaining after luncheon, but I was not. I felt in some undefinable way that I had got the upper hand over Stornaway. He was less ruthless, less physical today, more open to argument. His intention was to strike a bargain, not use force, and I had no intention of humoring him by setling on a fee. With Perdita to bear us company, I would not allow myself to be put upon. If he refused to continue on the way to London, we would quite simply run away. We were not so far from the city. Someone would have pity on two ladies in distress, and take us up in his, or preferably her, carriage.

We were quite lively over our meal. “You must own this is preferable to a picnic in the open air,” he mentioned.

“Why no, I was looking forward to having champagne and sandwiches in the rose garden,” I replied, only to be contrary.

“We can do that too, some weekend,” he answered, with a meaningful, secret look.

“Are you having us for a weekend party?” Perdita asked.

“It is my ardent hope,” he said. “I look forward to many pleasant weekends at Birdland this season.”

“I am very sure you will be here with
someone,
Lord Stornaway, but I cannot promise it will be us,” I told him.

“It will be you; I insist.” His smile was softly conspiratorial. Looking at him, Perdita took a pique that it was not directed at herself.

“I am not at all sure I will be able to make it,” she said loftily.

“So much the better.”

A plate of apple tart was brought to the table, along with a pot of coffee. Mrs. Steddy was a good cook, the fare plain, everyday stuff, but well made. I was invited to pour coffee, while our host served the tart. As we raised our forks, there was a loud knock at the front door. Within a minute, Mr. Steddy came bowing into the room.

“The Duchess of Sarnia and Lady Dulcinea are here,” he said, in a voice that held some laughter in it. The look too that he shot at Stornaway hinted at a joke, or at least a bad predicament for his lordship. I must own my own emotion was one of sheer glee. How very delighted I was that his fine lady friend was about to catch him out entertaining a pair of unchaperoned females.

Stornaway sat perfectly, rigidly silent for about thirty seconds, trying to look unconcerned. When he opened his lips, he spoke in a languid manner. "Pray ask the ladies to attend me in the front parlor. I shan’t be a moment,” he said.

Steddy bowed, smirked triumphantly, and left to do as he had been bidden. Stornaway sprang up and into action. “You two go to the kitchen,” he said, pulling Perdita away from her apple tart. "Mrs. Steddy will take you up the servants’ stairs to hide in a bedroom.”

“I will not hide!” my charge declared firmly. “I want to meet a duchess. I have never met one.”

“You never will in my house, brat. Molly, take her above, for God’s sake, and be quiet.”

“Do you suggest under a bed, or in one of the clothes-presses?” I asked helpfully, taking a sip of coffee. “Pity you had not a firescreen. They are used in all the best French farces this Season.”

“Very clever, but you must go
now!"
he said, taking the cup from my hand and slapping it on the table. “I cannot have the likes of you seen by the duchess.

“Indeed no! What
would
she think of her prospective son-in-law? Why, she would take the inconceivable idea he is not quite the thing. I wager Lady Dulcinea would not like it, either.”

“Go!” he said fiercely.

There was that in his eyes that encouraged us to go, rather quickly. It was not till Mrs. Steddy had sneaked us up the backstairs that the full extent of our shabby treatment was borne in on us. I took Perdita to the Marlborough suite, not that I particularly wished her to see it, but I was curious to give all those gowns a closer perusal myself.

“What did he mean, the likes of us?” Perdita asked, frowning. "John told him who I am.”