Pretty Polly

M. C. Beaton
is the author of the hugely successful Agatha Raisin and Hamish Macbeth series, as well as a quartet of Edwardian murder mysteries featuring heroine Lady Rose Summer, the Travelling Matchmaker, Six Sisters, House for the Season, School for Manners and Poor Relation Regency romance series, and a stand-alone murder mystery,
The Skeleton in the Closet
– all published by Constable & Robinson. She left a full-time career in journalism to turn to writing, and now divides her time between the Cotswolds and Paris. Visit
www.agatharaisin.com
for more, or follow M. C. Beaton on Twitter:
@mc_beaton
.

Titles by M. C. Beaton

The Poor Relation

Lady Fortescue Steps Out • Miss Tonks Turns to Crime • Mrs Budley Falls from Grace

Sir Philip’s Folly • Colonel Sandhurst to the Rescue • Back in Society

A House for the Season

The Miser of Mayfair • Plain Jane • The Wicked Godmother

Rake’s Progress • The Adventuress • Rainbird’s Revenge

The Six Sisters

Minerva • The Taming of Annabelle • Deirdre and Desire

Daphne • Diana the Huntress • Frederica in Fashion

Edwardian Murder Mysteries

Snobbery with Violence • Hasty Death • Sick of Shadows

Our Lady of Pain

The Travelling Matchmaker

Emily Goes to Exeter • Belinda Goes to Bath • Penelope Goes to Portsmouth

Beatrice Goes to Brighton • Deborah Goes to Dover • Yvonne Goes to York

Agatha Raisin

Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death • Agatha Raisin and the Vicious Vet

Agatha Raisin and the Potted Gardener • Agatha Raisin and the Walkers of Dembley

Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage • Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death • Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam • Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came

Agatha Raisin and the Curious Curate • Agatha Raisin and the Haunted House

Agatha Raisin and the Deadly Dance • Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon

Agatha Raisin and Love, Lies and Liquor

Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye

Agatha Raisin and a Spoonful of Poison • Agatha Raisin: There Goes the Bride

Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body • Agatha Raisin: As the Pig Turns

Agatha Raisin: Hiss and Hers • Agatha Raisin and the Christmas Crumble

Hamish Macbeth

Death of a Gossip • Death of a Cad • Death of an Outsider

Death of a Perfect Wife • Death of a Hussy • Death of a Snob

Death of a Prankster • Death of a Glutton • Death of a Travelling Man

Death of a Charming Man • Death of a Nag • Death of a Macho Man

Death of a Dentist • Death of a Scriptwriter • Death of an Addict

A Highland Christmas • Death of a Dustman • Death of a Celebrity

Death of a Village • Death of a Poison Pen • Death of a Bore

Death of a Dreamer • Death of a Maid • Death of a Gentle Lady

Death of a Witch • Death of a Valentine • Death of a Sweep

Death of a Kingfisher • Death of Yesterday

The Skeleton in the Closet

Also available

The Agatha Raisin Companion

Constable & Robinson Ltd.

55–56 Russell Square

London WC1B 4HP

www.constablerobinson.com

First electronic edition published 2011

by RosettaBooks LLC, New York

First published in the UK by Canvas,

an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd., 2013

Copyright © M. C. Beaton, 1988

The right of M. C. Beaton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in

Publication Data is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-47210-126-6 (ebook)

Mrs. Charlotte Manners was a pretty widow, silly, vain, and ambitious. And yet she was clever enough to admit to some limitations, two of them being that her grammar was faulty and her spelling slightly worse.

She was in sore need of an elegant letter writer. The recipient of these letters was to be the Duke of Denbigh.

When Charlotte was seventeen and the present duke twenty-four, he had proposed to her and she had refused him. For at that time, the duke had been Lord Charles Stuart, the youngest son of a notoriously clutch-fisted father. A Mr. Manners had also proposed. At that time, the young Charlotte had considered wealth to be a more desirable commodity than a title. Mr. Manners had been common but vastly rich. He had paid no attention to the unwritten social law that a man did not give a young miss expensive presents and had showered the dazzled Charlotte with expensive trinkets. And so she had rejected Lord Charles and married Mr. Manners. Mr. Manners had not lived very long after
his marriage and Charlotte had been left a very wealthy widow.

She had just learned that a cholera epidemic had carried off Lord Charles’s father and two elder brothers and that Lord Charles had become the Duke of Denbigh. Not only was he now one of the richest men in England but a duke as well.

Charlotte’s spies told her that the duke was at his estates in the country. She planned to lure him back into London and into her arms. But to do that, she would need to write to him delicate letters, sweet letters that would reanimate his affections.

She sat in front of her mirror looking for inspiration in her own reflection. Charlotte often found her own beauty a great source of inspiration. If only I had studied harder at that stuffy seminary, she thought. Then her large blue eyes widened. What was the name of that vastly popular girl who had taken all the prizes? She got to her feet, went up to the attic, and opened the lid of one of the trunks stored there. Charlotte never threw anything away. She rummaged through piles of schoolbooks, children’s books, novels, and sheet music until she found a notebook. It contained the names and addresses of her former classmates.

Her eye ran down the names, finally stopping at one. Verity Bascombe. That was it! Why not invite the poor thing to town for a visit? Verity had a modest background. She was a lawyer’s daughter. She had never had much in the way of looks, and her dowry would be very small. Not married, most likely.

Charlotte carefully replaced all of the items in the trunk, except for the notebook, and then ran back down the stairs to write a letter. In writing to such a one as Verity Bascombe, there was no need to strive for elegance.

*   *   *

Verity Bascombe lived in a slim stone house on the outskirts of Market Basset, a small town near Bath. Her mother had died some years before, and Verity had remained with her father despite several proposals of marriage. Her quiet life suited her. She acted as hostess at her father’s infrequent supper parties, attended church, was a member of the local sewing circle that made clothes for the poor, and read a great number of books from the circulating library. Recently, her father’s behavior had made her begin to feel uneasy. Instead of being grateful to Verity for running his household competently, Mr. Bascombe had begun to point out that it was time she thought of setting up her own household. The first time he had voiced this, Verity had smiled, thinking that he would soon drop the subject. But he had returned to it the next day and the days after that. A promising young lawyer, George Carruthers, had taken to walking home with them after church on Sunday. Mr. Bascombe had said that Verity was not giving such a promising beau enough encouragement. She was twenty four, her father had pointed out, and would soon be wearing caps.

Verity was not precisely beautiful. She had thick brown hair and black eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Her figure was neat, but a trifle short. She was somewhat thinner than was considered fashionably correct, and had no dimples on her elbows, a sad defect.

Everyone liked Verity. She was considered a cheerful, sensible lady. But no one knew of the passionate romantic that lurked inside Verity, the romantic who had turned down those proposals of marriage. Perhaps George Carruthers was her last
hope. He was all that was suitable. He belonged to the professional middle class, his legs were passable, and his skin, if a trifle sallow, was at least unmarked. He had a great deal of good sense, and no one knew that Verity was heartily tired of good sense, sound values, and a lack of humor.

But she privately thought that if she could depress Mr. Carruthers’s hopes, then her father would become resigned to the idea of a spinster daughter. The only reason for marriage that Verity could see was to gain a comfortable home and independence, and she had both of those in her father’s household.

The arrival of Charlotte’s letter only caused a small ruffle in the tranquil pool of her life. Verity thought of the spoiled seminary brat that had been Charlotte, put the letter aside so that she could send a refusal later in the day, and continued to eat her breakfast.

Mr. Bascombe looked at the discarded letter with a certain amount of irritation. It was a very unusual event for a letter from London to arrive in Market Basset and he thought Verity might at least have volunteered to tell him who it was from.

“Verity,” he said sharply. “I remark you have received a letter from London!”

“Yes, Papa.”

“From whom?”

“No one of importance,” Verity said placidly. “A girl who was at the seminary in Bath the same time as I has written to ask me to visit her in London.”

“Where in London?”

“Berkeley Square.”

“Berkeley Square! That is the best address in England! Who is she?”

“She is now a Mrs. Charlotte Manners and is a widow, and, I believe, extremely rich. I am always
reading about her in the social columns. When I knew her, she was the Honorable Charlotte Parren.”

“An aristocrat?”

“Yes, Papa, and a very pampered and spoiled one.”

Mr. Bascombe took a deep breath. “You will go, of course.”

“No,” said Verity, surprised. “I was not a particular friend of Charlotte’s. Besides, the idea of staying for any length of time with some stranger is fatiguing.”

“I have made up my mind: You are to go,” said Mr. Bascombe. “I have long wished to travel to Edinburgh to stay with an old friend. This is my opportunity. I shall go when you go to London.”

“But—”

“I said, you will go!” shouted Mr. Bascombe. “I had ambitions for you when I sent you to that expensive seminary in Bath. I thought you would make useful friends. But I’ve watched you turn down invitation after invitation. I am not going to go to my grave feeling that if it had not been for me you would have been married with children.”