Perdita (21 page)

“No, please, hear me out. I want to get it off my chest. The Catholics know what they are about, confessing their sins and wiping the slate clean. You are to give me absolution when I have finished. You will not be so heartless as to beat me in my weakened condition. It is now or never. There was no one I wanted to marry, so I chose the belle of the Season, Dulcinea. Top of the hill, daughter of a duke, rich, a
good
girl, you know, not my sort at all. Perhaps that is why my decision fell like a noose around my neck.

"Stafford and myself discussed it many times. He reached the watershed at the same time as me, both headed for the altar. Then I met Perdita, and you, on our last wild spree. That is all it was to be, just one last fling. I did not want to get tied up in anything lasting. It was extremely disobliging of you to come into my life so late, Miss Greenwood, and in the disguise of a scarlet woman, to fool me.”

“The thing is, while you were having your last fling, we were having our first. It was a wretched muddle, from first to last.”

“But think if we had not met at all! That must be our consolation. You were the first thing—lady!—I ever came across that I could not have. It first intrigued, then enraged me, and finally convinced me that I
would
have you, whether you wanted me or not. Well, I was conceited enough to think you
did
want me, actually, but were only being a little distant to bring me to heel. It is a good thing I am flat on my back, or you’d knock me over. I see it in your eyes. My behavior has been unforgivable,” he said, then looked at me expectantly.

“There were reasons . . ." I said, in an exculpatory way.

“Really I am waiting for more than absolution. You are supposed to tackle that metaphysical impossibility now, forgive the unforgivable.”

“Bear with me a moment. The impossible takes longer than a second.”

“I may take a turn for the worse at any moment. I see the Grim Reaper in the corner there, hiding behind the curtain.”

“That is a shadow, Stornaway.”

“Even the shadow of death is enough to set a fellow trembling and making all manner of good resolutions. But I mean to keep them!”

“Very well then, I shall forgive you, if you forgive me.”

“You mean her, the brat. I not only forgive her, I laud her good sense and resolution. Also her aim, but I think that was an accident.”

“It was. She never held a gun in her hands before. She did not mean to hurt you.”

“No, she meant to kill me painlessly. How did you come up with that
wicked
idea to tell me you were
enceinte?
I had already turned you into a virginal lightskirt, in my mind. One tumble from the pedestal, perhaps two at the most. Then to hear you say you
didn’t know
who the father could be . . ."

“Daugherty taught me the trick. He let on to me he had gotten rid of you at Kingsclere by that ruse, claiming Perdita was in such a state. Did you really give the old faker a thousand pounds?”

“Yes, you know what happens to a fool and his money. But I got nearly half of it back.”

“Maybe I could go to Mother Gaines and . . ."

“No! Stay away from him! I will be happy to sponsor the arts a little.”

I could see he was upset by my visit, becoming more excited than was good for him. After a short while, I arose to make my leave.

“You must go first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “No one need know you were here the night. We shall put about the impression you went directly from Grifford’s to Alton’s. I shall call on you there, as soon as I am able.”

“We won’t be there long.

“Let me know where you go, then—Brighton, or whatever. We shall discuss it tomorrow before you leave.”

“All right. Good night.” I leaned over to pat his hand, as anyone will do to an invalid.

He grabbed my fingers, squeezed them. “I wonder if I have a fever. Would you mind feeling my brow?”

It felt warm to my touch. “A slight alteration,” I told him, concerned, though not alarmed.

“My heart is palpitating too. Feel my heart.” He moved my hand to his heart and held it there, at which point I realized he was not so much ill as bent on flirtation, even when he was flat on his back in a sickbed.

I turned a knowing, discouraging eye on him, while searching my mind for a setdown to humor an invalid. My fingers felt the strong, rapid beating of his heart, with not a sign of a palpitation. His good arm reached out, encircling my waist. “Now for the lips,” he continued softly, as he crushed me against him for a passionate embrace that raised my own temperature higher than his, and set my heart to wild palpitating.

“You are not feverish; you are deranged,” I said severely, pulling myself up, with some disappointment that he was not well enough to overpower me.

“No, I have come to my senses. Sleep well, Molly.”

"I shall, if the canary on top of Lady Marlborough’s bed does not keep me awake.”

“They didn’t put you in that room!”

“Why, I understood it was the one especially selected for me!”

A light laugh followed me out the door. “No, for us!”

Chapter Eighteen

I was in no hurry to court sleep. I had much to consider, as I lay in the fancy canopied bed, beside Perdita. Her restlessness did not help, either. Despite Stornaway’s willingness to call the shot an accident, she was envisioning herself on trial. “You must take your place in the dock and defend my good name, Moira,” she said, in her heroine’s voice, relishing every ridiculous moment.

“You would enjoy the notoriety of being a murderess, but there will be no trial. An accident occurred.”

“I did it on purpose!”

“It was an accident that you hit the target.”

“I think it ought to be reported.”

“If you say
one word,
Perdita, your father will come straight to London and take you home to marry Mr. Croft.”

“He would not have me, after this,” she said, quite happily.

Eventually she slept, which left me free to build all manner of conjecture on my recent conversation with Stornaway. Being no heroine myself, I was not obliged to misunderstand his intentions. I did not fear for a moment that he would change his mind, call the police, or say a word in Society about our scrape. Neither did I believe he would continue wooing me unless he intended to do the right thing. He was not perhaps so worthy a gentleman as one could wish, but he was not an outright scoundrel. I was besotted enough to believe his professions regarding reformation.

My concerns really centered on other people than Stornaway. A man in his position would be surrounded by a large family, who had very likely higher ambitions for him than marriage to a governess. His near-engagement to Lady Dulcinea hinted at it. He had not courted a lady whom he obviously did not like above half without some prodding from home. He had mentioned a mother, long ago at Marlborough. A large party she had been throwing, so she was a social-conscious lady. A countess might well take exception to a woman who had been in close contact with actresses. Then, too, there was the ill-advised run-in with the Duchess of Sarnia and her daughter, who were a part of Stornaway’s social circle. What would
they
have to say of the earl’s marrying such a creature as myself? Plenty, when their own daughter was jilted into the bargain.

If wise counsel prevailed with my beau, he would gracefully back out of my life, and I would not throw a rub in his way. He had not actually asked me to marry him. I relied heavily on his lack of wisdom. If he was inclined to the folly of offering, I would not say no. On that determination, I slept very soundly.

When we went below in the morning, our first question was for Stornaway’s condition. "He slept like a top,” Steddy assured us. "He wants a shave before you ladies go up to say good morning.”

This sounded hopeful, that he wished to show us his most handsome face. Before the shave was commenced, the doctor arrived with his black bag. He lowered his brows and scowled, to see us still in the house, after having been invited to leave.

"This will be a fine welcome for Lady Stornaway,” he said stiffly.

"She is not coming. She does not even know about Birdland,” Perdita told him.

"I felt obliged to inform her,” the doctor answered. "The Duchess of Sarnia suggested it.”

I did not bother to inquire his business at Sarnia’s place. He had run to them to begin spreading the scandal, if I read the man’s character aright.

“Is his mother in London, or at Stornaway?” I asked, to gauge how long it would take her to arrive.

“She was in London. She should be here shortly. She could not like to set out last night in the dark, but promised she would come first thing in the morning.”

I quickly considered what was best to be done. That dame was bound to dislike us. To find us in her son’s house, after remaining overnight unchaperoned was not likely to appease her in the least. Our best course was to be gone before she arrived.

The doctor bowed briefly, then went upstairs. I called Steddy at once. “We are leaving for London immediately,” I told him, and went on to explain my reason.

“Stornaway knows our destination. Tell him we have gone, and why. Don’t bother to accompany us, Steddy. Stay with him; he may need you. We shall take Stornaway’s carriage and groom, and send them back as soon as possible.”

“It might be for the best,” Steddy agreed, after a little considering. “His lordship ain’t in high enough gig to take any extra scoldings today. I’ll tell him what happened.”

Our packing did not take longer than ten minutes. When we came down, the carriage was just being driven forth from the stable. We clambered in, and the horses sprang into motion.

The day could not have been finer. The new leaves were forming green arches overhead, and in the distance, the river sparkled gold and orange. I had been looking forward to the day at Birdland, but had soon switched my thoughts to excuses that would pass muster with a thoroughly disgruntled Mrs. Alton, and disgruntled she would be at John’s engagement to anyone other than Perdita. Miss Grifford was a good catch, but a better one from one’s own neighborhood had more appeal for her. Who would know, at Swindon, that John had nabbed a prize heiress? What would the name Grifford mean to them? Nothing, whereas the Brodies had the charm of social superiority at home.

We arrived about fifteen minutes after John’s letter telling his mother of his engagement. She was in such a temper she scarcely made us welcome, but when we came downstairs from refreshing our toilettes, she had simmered down to vexed acceptance, and wished to learn second-hand what she could of her prospective daughter-in-law and her family.

"Is she a pretty gel?” she asked eagerly.

Pretty was not, alas, the word that occurred to one in describing Millicent. "She is not ugly,” Perdita admitted. "Plain, I would say, would not you, Moira?”

“Better than plain. Very nice eyes,” I said.

“Do they live in a good style?”

“A handsome house. Everything of the first stare,” I said quickly. “Sociable—they had a large party when we were there.”

“Who attended it? Anyone I would know?”

The names given were not familiar to her. It was not really friends or acquaintances she hoped to hear of, as it turned out, but titles and celebrities, of which there were none save Stornaway, whose name we deemed it wise to withhold.

After half an hour of lamenting, she decided to like the news, and put on her bonnet to impart it to her cronies. We were invited, but not urged, to join her. I explained we should stay home in case Mrs. Cosgrove came while we were out. I was becoming edgy at not hearing from her. Surely there had been time for one of my letters to have reached her, and for her to have come after us.

For the remainder of the day we sat waiting, Perdita and I, jumping a foot from our chairs every time the knocker sounded. It sounded steadily all afternoon, as word of John’s engagement was circulated and friends called to see whether they were to condole or congratulate the mother. By three o’clock Millicent had become “a very pretty, well-behaved girl.” By three-thirty she was “a considerable heiress, of course,” and by four the tale was being promulgated that Mrs. Alton had hoped for just this alliance for some time. Perdita and I were introduced as friends from Swindon, just waiting for our aunt to call for us, and take us off to Brighton.

There was even a little impatience creeping into the last speech, for Mrs. Alton expressed the wish of going to Bromley Hall, where John had asked her to go and meet the family. To her last caller, she said quite frankly she would leave early in the morning, as soon as the girls left. I did not like to consider what would become of the girls if it were impossible for them to leave. It
did
seem an imposition to remain on in an empty house, yet I confess I had not the gall to ask her to take us to Brighton. One can expect only so much good will from neighbors.

It was with an inexpressible wave of relief that the accents of Maude Cosgrove were heard in the hallway while we sat awaiting the dinner bell. I think those accents were a mixed blessing to Mrs. Alton, who would have preferred to hear them before her table was set, but she was relieved to be decently rid of us.

Aunt Maude was wise enough to know we were in some unmentionable scrape, and discreet enough to delay her close questions till we had said good night to our hostess, and got our three heads together abovestairs. Mrs. Alton invited Aunt Maude to remain overnight, it being understood we were all to rise early and go on our separate ways.

"Pray tell me
exactly
what is going on, Moira,” Mrs. Cosgrove said, plopping on the edge of her great bed with a sigh of relief. “I have not slept in the same bed two nights in a row for a fortnight, with galloping about the countryside looking for the pair of you. I dashed to Swindon the day I received your letter about that
vile
Croft person, to give Sir Wilfrid a piece of my mind. I had heard my sister mention him as a debauché twenty years ago. He cannot have been serious to think of marrying Perdita off to such a creature.”