The Dashing Miss Fairchild (16 page)

Giving the woman who had been the originator of a great deal of her grief since coming to Bath a wary look, Clare politely replied, “And good day to you as well. I confess I am surprised to see anyone out in such rain."

"She just said not a minute ago that she doubted we would have any company, and now here you are,” Venetia said with surprising satisfaction.

Clare wondered if Venetia merely preferred to avoid direct conversation, for Mrs. Robottom was no particular friend of hers. Ushering the stout matron into the drawing room, Clare bade her sit down. Bennison paused by the door, a brow raised in inquiry.

"Tea and cakes, I believe,” Clare ordered, figuring that her caller would appreciate such. Then she crossed to take a chair close to where Mrs. Robottom perched.

"I heard there was a near disaster yesterday,” began her visitor.

Nodding cautiously, Clare decided to allow Mrs. Robottom to do most of the talking, as which near disaster she meant was beyond Clare.

"That poor baby,” continued the caller, “must have been frightened nearly to death. You are a very brave woman, Miss Fairchild."

"La,” Venetia inserted, “she is quite intrepid. I wonder that she dare do half the things she does, for I should faint, I am sure. My mama thought it vastly unladylike to be so bold. But then, ladies of a certain age may do as they please, I suppose. I have cautioned Clare time out of mind that she must show more discretion."

Darting a glance at her guest, Clare merely smiled. “You really ought to use spectacles when you do your needlework, Venetia. You are beginning to show the signs of incipient wrinkles about your eyes."

Horrified at the very notion of such a frightfully dreadful thing, Venetia jumped up, “Oh, dear, I'd best see to it at once."

Mrs. Robottom watched the flutter of Venetia's muslin skirts as they went around the doorway, then smiled at Clare.

"That was unkind, I fear,” Clare said ruefully. “But I believe I have heard quite enough of my naughtiness of the past few days. I warn you, dear ma'am, that if you have come to ring a peal over my head, I shan't listen for a moment."

A hearty laugh echoed about the room. Mrs. Robottom took Clare's measure with shrewd eyes. “You have spirit, my girl. Ladies of a certain age, my eye. You are far from being in that lot. Now,” she settled more comfortably onto her chair, “tell me precisely what has occurred in your latest efforts to find William's mother. I might add,” she added with a shade of uneasiness, “I feel badly about the misunderstanding I had regarding you, my dear. I am truly embarrassed. I ought to have sought the answer instead of flapping my tongue. It shall be guarded more closely in the future, you may be sure."

Not knowing quite how to respond to such a handsome apology, Clare merely nodded her head and said, “I confess I felt dismayed to think my family name meant nothing in Bath. However, I am sure you expended your best efforts to right the mistake. My brother would be vastly amused at my pretensions, I believe."

"And he is?” Mrs. Robottom asked, her face assuming a wary mien.

"Viscount Seton,'’ Clare answered with just a hint of pride in her voice. The urge to let her guest know that her family was most respectable had proved irresistible.

"Oh, my!” the matron replied in near comical dismay.

Deciding that Mrs. Robottom might possibly find a missing clue in what Clare had learned to this point, she elected to reveal more than originally intended.

"Now, to tell the tale. You see, it was like this,” she began. What followed was a carefully edited version of the trip to The Folly and the interview with Mrs. Caswell. The sympathetic clucks and tuts from her listener prodded Clare on to reveal more, although keeping well away from the matter of Mr. Talbot wherever practical.

"And you visited Lady Knowlton as well,” commented Mrs. Robottom, noting with interest the delicate pink that flared in Miss Fairchild's pretty cheeks at the mention of that part of her story.

"Indeed, she is a charming lady, all that one might wish,” Clare answered demurely.

"I cannot like that you have been shot at,” continued Mrs. Robottom. “Although, I expect you like it even less,” the lady chuckled, then sobered as she recalled that such a shot could very well have proved fatal.

"It has been rather hard on my bonnets,” Clare said in reply, her eyes reflecting that in spite of her light words, her memories of those awful moments still haunted her.

"I wonder if there might be a clue overlooked at that inn in Marlborough?” Mrs. Robottom mused after Bennison had set the tea out for Clare to pour.

"The Castle Inn? Yes, I have wondered at that, but I questioned everyone about and learned nothing of value. It was as though that infant simply dropped from the sky."

"And we know that infants do not come in that manner, do we not, Miss Fairchild?” said a masculine voice from the doorway, rather too full of amusement for her liking.

Tea sloshed over into her saucer as Clare raised shocked eyes to meet those of Mr. Talbot. How dare the man come up here unannounced! She needed time to compose herself before facing him again. “Good day, Mr. Talbot. I see you join the ducks in the rain."

Mrs. Robottom chuckled as she keenly observed the two who faced each other across the width of the drawing room. The tension between them could have been cut with a butter knife.

Turning to Bennison, who revealed nothing of his thoughts, Clare merely ordered, “Another cup for Mr. Talbot, if you please. Or would you prefer sherry, sir?"

"Tea would be welcome on such a day.'’ He strolled across the room and bowed to Mrs. Robottom, then took Clare's limp hand in his to place an almost lingering kiss on it.

She gave him a stricken look, quickly concealed beneath lowered lashes, but not before, she feared, he had observed it. Hastily, she rushed into speech. “I just confided the story of our search to Mrs. Robottom. She is of the opinion that there may be a clue at the inn in Marlborough that we somehow missed."

"It is possible.'’ He accepted a cup of tea from Clare, taking note with great interest of her faintly trembling hand, and her reluctance to meet his gaze. “Not having been there at the time, I cannot vouch for what explorations were made. Your coachman noticed nothing? I still find that hard to accept, for he is an exceptional man. I cannot fathom anything slipping past his eyes, particularly something as large as that basket. You examined the infant's garments, I fancy."

Drawing herself up exceedingly straight, Clare nodded. “I did.” She rose from her chair and swiftly crossed to the hall where she called for Jenny. A word with that young woman, and Clare returned to join those by the tea table.

"Tom Coachman informed me that he was called to the stables by the ostler for a brief look at a horse with a problem. The ostler sought his opinion. I gather it was time and enough for someone to pop that basket into my coach from the far side where no one in the inn yard would be the wiser. No, whoever did this was rather clever about it."

"You still feel the lad is Lady Millsham's child?” Mrs. Robottom turned to see Jenny enter with the baby in her arms.

Walking to her mistress, Jenny gently placed the boy in Clare's arms. “Shall I wait, miss?"

"Yes, please,'’ Clare replied while smiling down at the baby in her arms. She reached out a tender finger to stroke the downy cheek. He clutched at her finger with surprising strength, and she chuckled softly. Her eyes crinkled with amusement as she glanced up to find her two guests watching her with vastly different expressions. Mrs. Robottom looked on with fond delight. A polite mask concealed Mr. Talbot's thoughts.

"See? Note the fineness of his clothing. I believe I have found a coronet cleverly incorporated into the embroidery of his gown.” She unwrapped his shawl, then held up the lower part of William's dress, indicating the center of the delicate design with a steady finger. She had her emotions well in hand now, thanks to the bundle in her arms. If Mr. Talbot thought she might quail before him, he could think again.

Mrs. Robottom fumbled for a pair of spectacles in her reticule, plopped them on her nose, then studied the design. “I see what you mean. It seems to me there is an elaborate
M
in the pattern as well, just below the coronet. I can see this is the work of a skilled needlewoman."

Mr. Talbot spared a glance at the needlework, his mind clearly occupied elsewhere. Clare wished he would take himself off. With Mrs. Robottom sitting at her side, she could scarcely ask him why he was here. That polite mask he had assumed shortly after arrival hadn't cracked once. Although those eyes of his, now deep emerald, were ever watchful, she reminded herself.

"Jenny, isn't it?” queried Mrs. Robottom. At the shy nod from the girl the matron continued. “Are you certain you remember nothing unusual from that day? Not the least little thing? A person who did not belong where she was, perhaps? Or an event just a trifle worth noticing?"

Jenny shrugged, then frowned as she considered the lady's words. “I don't likely know, ma'am.” She scrunched up her face in deep thought, then brightened. “There was an old woman shufflin’ around the kitchen garden. I never seen her before, come to think on it."

Mr. Talbot sprang to life once again. He leaned forward, setting his teacup and saucer on the table as he fastened his gaze on the maid. “An old woman, you say? Can you recall any particulars? Was she perhaps a nanny with one of the parties at the inn?"

"Twarn't no people travelin’ with babies, sir. I dunno where she came from, and that's the truth."

"Take care,” murmured Clare, “or you will frighten the girl with that intense look of yours."

He opened his mouth to reply, then glanced at Mrs. Robottom. Obviously changing his mind, he paused a moment, then said more gently, “How was she garbed?"

Jenny shrugged. “A simple blue dress with a white apron, sir. A white day cap on her head as is proper. She didn't ask for nothin'. Cook took pity on her and offered her a cup of tea, which she drank like a lady."

"Which tells me she must have been a nanny or the like. Manners never lie, you know,” Mrs. Robottom exclaimed.

William elected to fuss, waving his arms about in distress. Clare eased him up on her shoulder, patting his back expertly to soothe him. Peering over her bundle, she stated, “I believe I shall return to the Castle Inn at Marlborough to continue my investigation."

"Excellent idea. I shall inform Tom Coachman to be prepared to depart once the weather clears.'’ Richard leaned back against his chair, his hooded eyes watching Clare's sudden stiffening in reaction to his words. “We ought to have no trouble if word of the trip does not leave this room."

Annoyed beyond belief, Clare wondered how to tactfully inform this impossible man that she wished to avoid his company now after enduring it for two journeys. Well, she admitted to herself, perhaps “enduring” was not precisely the best word to describe her feeling. But it had become too draining for her to be with him. Facing him across a table at all meals required fortitude. Sitting next to him while in the coach was worse than facing him, for frequently she was jostled against his body. It was impossible not to be terribly aware of him in every fiber of her being at such proximity. And the memory of those kisses seared her mind, haunted her sleep, and dogged her footsteps most unrelentingly.

"I planned to go alone, with only Priddy to keep me company,” she explained at long last.

"Rubbish,” he tossed back at her with a twinkle creeping into his eyes. “You shall need a man to scout about in areas where you cannot go, Miss Fairchild."

She did not trust that twinkle in the least. His words mocked her even more than his eyes.

Any further discussion of the proposed trip to Marlborough broke off when the sound of feminine chatter reached their ears from belowstairs.

Miss Oliver glided into the room with a jolly smile on her face, her cloak having been handed to Bennison, and quite dry by virtue of a hood and umbrella. “I wondered whose pattens those were in the entranceway. How lovely to see you, Mrs. Robottom, Mr. Talbot as well. You look well, Clare, considering all I have heard."

"Heard! Goodness, people get about more in the rain than I suspected."

"Well, the streets have become virtual rivers, and one must be exceedingly careful where one puts a foot. Is that not correct, Mr. Talbot? But then since you come but from the Edgar Buildings, I fancy it was not too difficult for you?"

"What tale has reached your ears at Lady Kingsmill's drawing room?” Mr. Talbot carefully inquired.

"Only that you and Clare foiled an attempt at kidnapping. It is fearsome how so many children have been snatched for one reason or another the past year.'’ She studied Mrs. Robottom a moment while Clare ordered another tray of tea to be brought, then said, “And what of your visit? Did you learn anything useful?"

"Nary a thing,” Clare responded before Mr. Talbot could say a word. “The countryside was lovely this time of year, and we found the Caswell home with little difficulty. Mr. Talbot's mother, Lady Knowlton, kindly furnished us with their direction. Mrs. Caswell is encumbered by ill health, not to mention a strong lack of curiosity,” she added to general laughter. “I fear she seemed to know nothing of her daughter or if she had even borne a child."

"Mercy!” Miss Oliver said, aghast at such a woman.

"I intend to return to the inn at Marlborough to see if I can uncover anything missed before.” Clare darted a minatory glance at Mr. Talbot, one he seemed to totally ignore, much to her annoyance.

"Leaving again, dear Clare?” Venetia sauntered into the room, wafting her fan before her. Though her face was bland, Clare detected a furious glint in her gray eyes. “I shall go along this time?"

First darting a glance at the dismayed face of her dear friend, Susan said, “Oh, and I had so hoped you might be of assistance to me, Venetia."

"You wanted me? But
I
do not intend to travel. Why Clare bothered to lease this house, I shall never understand. She is away more than she is here.” Venetia gave Clare a petulant glance, then returned her attention to Miss Oliver. “Why do you seek my company?"