Silken Secrets (8 page)

Miss Vulch, like most redheads, was prone to spotting from the sun. Even with all her layers of protection, the charge of being bran-faced was not entirely foreign to her. But she did not sink under it. She had pretty brown eyes, a trim figure, a lively manner, and a dowry of ten thousand pounds.

“Mary Anne!” She smiled gaily. “Whatever are you doing with a dust cloth in your hands? My dear, you look a quiz. You have dust on your chin.”

“Some ladies don’t think it beneath them to pick up a dust cloth, you see,” Mrs. Vulch pointed out to her daughter.

“Do come in. I’m delighted you called.” Mary Anne smiled and showed them into the Blue Saloon.

Mrs. Vulch perused the chamber closely, trying to figure out why it should be that her own saloon, where everything was bright and new as a penny, failed to achieve the casual air of elegance that still lingered here at the Hall despite the sad disrepair of the chamber. Her piano was as good as new, as no one ever played it. All the books Adrian bought were the same—why, most of the pages weren’t even cut.

“You should be out driving on a fine day like this, Mary Anne,” Bess said. “I wager that horrid uncle of yours has gone off and left you carriageless. You should make him buy you a phaeton. Papa’s buying one for me.”

On this breathless rush of words she smiled contentedly around her. Mr. Robertson must have laughed up his sleeve to see such a shambles. She examined the sofa cushion for dirt and brushed it with her gloves before sitting down. Mary Anne had some hopes her friend had come to invite her out for a drive and glanced at the clock to see it was already after three.

“Yes, I would like to go for a drive, but as you said, Uncle is out in the carriage.”

“I’d love to take you, but alas, we have dozens of cards to deliver. This one is for you,” Bess said, and handed Mary Anne an invitation. “It’s only for dinner this evening. Mama thought we ought to do something to entertain Mr. Robertson. You know him, I think?” she asked with a carelessness that was belied by the sparkle in her eyes.

Even delivering cards would have been a welcome diversion, but Miss Vulch didn’t offer and Mary Anne disliked to ask. “Yes, I know him,” she replied mysteriously.

“You sly dog!” Miss Vulch said. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a
tendre
for Mr. Robertson. He’s only a drapery merchant. Mama said he would not do, didn’t you, Mama?”

“Your papa said he would not. He seems very gentlemanly to me.”

“He’s rather handsome,” Bess said forgivingly.

“Rather handsome?” Mary Anne exclaimed. “I would say he’s
very
handsome.”

“Oh, you
do
like him!” Miss Vulch teased. “Only look at her blush, mama. Joseph will be vexed to hear it. Not that I shall reveal your secret. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it from me. Is that the ring Joseph gave you for your birthday?” she asked, having espied the ring. “He dropped by the house last night after leaving you,” she added with a quick look from the corner of her eye to see how this went down.

“Yes, Mr. Robertson told me this morning,” Mary Anne replied with a very similar look.

She saw a light of avid curiosity on her friend’s face. “This morning? Why, how did you come to see Mr. Robertson today? He said he was going out looking for the silk.”

“I met him while I was out riding,” Mary Anne said, and had the pleasure of telling her story to a new and enthusiastic audience that hung on every word and asked a hundred questions.

“Did he kiss you?” Miss Vulch asked, when the recital was done.

“No! Of course he didn’t!”

“Some ladies know how to behave themselves.” Mrs. Vulch snorted. “Kissing, indeed! Miss Judson is shocked at you, Bess.”

“I swear, I wouldn’t put it a pace past him. He’s such a flirt. But I can obviously tell
you
nothing of Mr. Robertson,” she said, and went on to relate every word that had left his lips and a good many that had not.

“I’m sure I don’t know when you had such a cose with him,” Mrs. Vulch exclaimed. “Every time I’ve spotted him, he’s dashing letters off to London.”

“I would offer you a glass of wine, but you are in a hurry to deliver your cards,” Mary Anne mentioned.

“Oh, the party is small. Just Joseph and you and your uncle. Will Lord Edwin come?” Mrs. Vulch asked eagerly.

Mary Anne was not surprised to hear the “dozens” of guests dwindle to three. She was used to her friend’s careless way with facts.

Visits between the two houses were common, but the question brought to mind last night’s argument. “I’ll have to see if he’s engaged this evening,” Mary Anne prevaricated. “Of course, I cannot accept if Uncle is busy elsewhere with the carriage. I’ll have Fitch take our answer as soon as Uncle returns.”

“I hope you can come. Cook is preparing a green goose—your uncle’s favorite. And spring lamb,” Mrs. Vulch tempted.

These enticements were her own effort. She treasured the friendship with Lord Edwin and his niece. The word
parvenu
was unknown to her, but she knew the feeling if she didn’t know the word. She had a fine house, a good deal of money, and the best clothes in the village, but she knew her family lacked cachet as surely as she knew Mary Anne and Lord Edwin had it. How the girl grew up so ladylike with no one to guide her was a mystery. It must be something that people were born with, like a squint or gapped teeth.

For half an hour the young ladies discussed fashions and the spring assembly, Miss Vulch’s new phaeton, and village gossip, and Mrs. Vulch called her daughter to order from time to time. When at last the Vulches decided Joseph would be home from his day’s labor, they rose and took their leave.

“I do hope you can come tonight,” Mrs. Vulch said.

“Do try,” Bess added. “I have the sweetest new bonnet I want to show you—glazed straw, with
coquelicot
ribbons. It would look marvelous on you, Mary Anne. Why don’t you buy one and we’ll pose as twins? Do you think the ribbons will clash with my hair?”

Miss Judson thought
coquelicot
was a bad choice but said she’d give her opinion when she saw the bonnet on.

“If you can’t come, I’ll give Mr. Robertson your particular apologies.”

“Oh, no! I shouldn’t want you to do that!”

“He’ll be devastated. How I should like to see Joseph and he sparring for your attentions. It would be better than a drama, wouldn’t it, Mama?”

“Better than that wretched piece your papa took us to in London, and that’s a fact.”

“I thought Joseph would give you an engagement ring for your birthday yesterday,” Bess said. “Twenty-fourth, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m twenty-four,” Mary Anne said, and ignored the other speech, which had been delivered in a quizzing way.

“Mama is having a huge party for my twenty-first, next month. Turtle soup, if you please! Mr. Robertson says it is all the crack in London. Served by all the smarts and swells, from what he hears the customers say in his shop,” she said, and took up her sun umbrella. “I feel quite a spinster, still single at such an advanced age.”

“Perhaps Joseph will give
you
a ring for your birthday,” Mary Anne replied. “I didn’t realize he was calling on you till Mr. Robertson mentioned it.”

“Calling on me? My dear child, what can you mean? He only came to see the family, as he often does lately. His mother and Mama are becoming bosom bows. I can’t imagine what plans they are hatching,” she said with an arch smile at her mother, and they finally left.

“Let Miss Judson worry her fine head about
that,”
Bess said as they hastened to their carriage.

“You’d do better not to advertise you’re after him,” her mother cautioned.

It was no secret in the Vulch family that Joseph was becoming interested in Bess, but till his interest firmed, her mother would have preferred to keep it within the family. His mama fostered the affair. Bess’s mama connived at it, and between the three of them, they hoped to convince Joseph that ten thousand pounds was better than a load of debt.

Before long Lord Edwin returned, smiling the smile of the wicked. He had found his boat. Jeremy Black was down with the flu and had agreed to let Fitch hire his for the night. It was to be picked up under cover of darkness by Fitch and sailed down to Horton Hall.

Mary Anne didn’t remark her uncle’s smile. She was too worried that he’d refuse the Vulches’ invitation to dinner.

“Take mutton with that smuggler? I hope you sent them home with a flea in their ear,” he exclaimed.

“I told them Fitch would deliver your answer. They’re having green goose and new spring lamb,” she mentioned hopefully.

“Green goose, eh?” he said. “What mess of pottage is Plummer brewing up for us?”

“She made a stew with the leftover chicken.”

This wasn’t as bad as it could be. Lord Edwin liked Plummer’s chicken stew. It was really the bottle of brandy Vulch always served after dinner that turned the trick. For all his common ways, Vulch poured freely.

“I daresay you’d like to go and have a cose with Miss Vulch.”

“I always enjoy Bess’s company.” This wasn’t the moment to warn her uncle that Joseph Horton would be of the party.

It would get in the evening pleasantly till it was time to see Fitch off. “Very well, then, you may write up an acceptance for Fitch to deliver.”

“Oh, and Uncle, I forgot to tell you. Codey was here with a search warrant from Lord Dicaire in London. They rooted through the entire house. I think you should write a letter of complaint to the papers.”

Lord Edwin looked interested, no more. He liked writing letters of complaint to the journals. This suggestion was given to distract his mind from Vulch’s perfidy, which might yet endanger the dinner party. She waited with bated breath to hear what he would say and was surprised to hear a tinny laugh issue from his throat.

“Maybe that will convince the old wether I’m innocent. I wish I had been here to see Codey’s face.”

“Mrs. Plummer was perfectly uncivil to him, I’m happy to say. Did you convince the roofer to fix the roof on tick?” she remembered to ask.

“Eh? What’s that? Oh, the roof. No, he wasn’t home. I’ll see him tomorrow. No hurry.”

Mary Anne happily hastened to the desk to write up the acceptance to the Vulches’ dinner party. She had her new shawl to wear. She hadn’t thought to mention that to Bess.

Chapter Seven

While his niece arranged her toilette, Lord Edwin went haring off after Fitch to notify him of developments.

“They’ve been and searched the house,” Lord Edwin said, smiling. “That’s pretty good evidence they have no idea where the silk is. We should have easy sailing tonight. I’m dining with old Vulture, but shall get away early to give you a hand with the loading.”

Fitch was undeceived as to what form the “help” would take. “Nay, stay as late as you like, and sop up a tot of his brandy for me whilst you’re there. I’ll not be leaving till midnight. I’ll load her up while Codey has his nightly draught at the tavern.”

“I wish I could go to Folkestone with you, Fitch, but someone must be here in case of trouble at this end. Remember, now, you sleep on the boat and get to McNally’s Drapery Shop first thing in the morning to let him know the cargo’s in. I’ll be over later in the morning to collect payment.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Fitch grinned.

Above stairs, Miss Judson decided that while Joseph did not merit her new silk shawl, Mr. Robertson did, especially as he might not still be in Dymchurch to see it at the assembly. She also wore her best blue silk gown and made a very pretty picture as she took stock of herself at her dim minor before going below.

The sight of his niece flaunting the ill-gotten shawl threw Lord Edwin into a pelter when she came down. Very likely Vulch knew the Frenchies’ habit of including one worked piece of silk as a sample. To see his niece wrapped in that obviously new shawl would rekindle his suspicions.

“Do you like it, Uncle?” she asked, and made a pirouette to show off the embroidered back of the shawl.

“Licked to a splinter. Very pretty, my dear,” he said, but in a strangled voice. Egad, how could he get the thing off her back without raising suspicion? “But you’ll want your wrap for the trip, eh? Just carry the shawl and put it on when you arrive.”

“It’s not that chilly. I’ll be fine in the carriage,” she replied.

“It smells like a storm brewing, and we’re taking the gig,” he improvised hastily. “Fitch has some—some work to do while we’re away and isn’t free to drive us. Since we’ll be in the open carriage, I wish you would wear your wrap.”

“Couldn’t Jem drive us? My hair will be blown to pieces.”

“Jem is busy,” Lord Edwin said firmly.

“What is Fitch doing?”

“He’s hammering some boards up in the attic ceiling. Just get your wrap and let us be off. Give me your shawl. I’ll carry it for you.”

Mary Anne thought she would be warm enough in the gig, but to protect her toilette from dust, she agreed to wear her wrap. Her uncle removed the shawl and sent her upstairs. “I’ll be awaiting you in the gig,” he called after her. Then he took the shawl into the saloon and hid it under the sofa cushions.

She was desolate to discover, when they reached Vulches’, that Uncle had forgotten the shawl at home. But the delightful accents of Mr. Robertson coming from the saloon soon put it out of her mind. She went on trembling knees to make her curtsy to the assembled crowd. She noticed that Bess was at Mr. Robertson’s elbow.

That, she thought, must account for Joseph’s having added himself to the other end of the sofa. There he sat, guarding the heiress, as wary as a dog at his meal. Mr. Robertson sat between them. He rose when she entered. Joseph and Mr. Vulch rose, too.

As soon as the greetings were over, Bess invited Mary Anne to sit on the chair closest to her. In a carrying voice she said, “I’ve been waiting this age for you! I’m so happy you could come. Doesn’t she look lovely, Mr. Robertson? I see what has been detaining you, Mary Anne—your toilette.” Her head turned from one to the other at these playful sallies.

“I meant to wear a new shawl I got for my birthday,” Mary Anne said.

“You wanted to put me in the shade, sly wretch! Never mind, I’m sure your old shawl is enough to eclipse me entirely.’’ She gave Joseph a glance from the corner of her eye but heard no denial of this statement. “I knew you would make a special effort when I told you who would be here,” she said with a meaningful nod of her head in Mr. Robertson’s direction. Behind her fingers, but in a perfectly carrying voice, she added, “You see, I have saved you a chair beside him.” The speech was accompanied by a knowing smirk and a quick dart of her eyes toward Mr. Robertson.