The Lady Next Door (2 page)

Sir Reginald Barrett was not accustomed to anyone, let alone a woman with greasy shoes, making mockery of him. Having decided to give her a proper set-down, but not being quick-witted, he found he had not the time to settle on an appropriate one, as he saw, to his astonishment, that she was closing the door in his face. “I shall send my man of business with a list of damages!”

The door continued to swing shut as Marianne said, “Tomorrow, if you would. We are inordinately pressed today.”

Sir Reginald was left staring at the freshly painted door, and not at all in a happy frame of mind. He had no little belief in his own consequence, and he found it irritating in the extreme, to be so brusquely treated by a mere slip of a woman. When he had first contemplated building his new house in Micklegate, it had been his intention to purchase and tear down the two derelict properties which stood side by side there, for a grandiose scheme. To have been thwarted in that aim, to have to contain the proposed project to one lot, had rankled him through the long months of planning and construction, and now this! The morning’s damage had spurred him to confront her with his wrath, and instead of cowering before him, she had laughed at his buttons, for God’s sake! He conferred one last, glowering look on his neighbor’s house and turned on his red-heeled shoes to stalk the short distance to his own front door.

* * * *

At precisely twelve of the clock, Mr. Oldham was shown into the ladies’ drawing room where Marianne and her aunt, the one in clean garb now and the other minus her spectacles, were discussing the absurdities of neighbors. Mr. Hobart, the glazier, had arrived and been sent to Barrett House, and Mr. Geddes advised of the extra expense which was likely to fall to him, a matter which he accepted cheerfully before springing up the stairs to delve into the mysteries of clockworks and turnspits.

Obviously, Mr. Oldham regarded this as something of an occasion, for he was dressed impeccably, wore a newly curled wig, and carried with him a book of poetry which he presented to Miss Findlay, solemnly intoning, “I thought you and your aunt would enjoy these verses of Thomas Gray. They say he will be poet-laureate one day.”

"How kind of you, Mr. Oldham. I had no idea you were interested in poetry.” Marianne accepted the book, mentally noted that she already owned the volume, and passed it along to her aunt who held it close to her nose to read the title. As Miss Effington was more likely than not to comment quite frankly on what a shame it was that it had not been a different work of the author’s, it was just as well that Mr. Oldham found it convenient to take the opportunity to expand on his philosophy of education.

“I am interested in any number of learned pursuits, Miss Findlay. One’s horizons should not be limited by what one imbibes at a university by any means. Nor yet again should one be circumscribed by one’s profession. You would hardly credit the number of attorneys I personally number of my acquaintance, who take no interest in anything but the law. A thousand pities! There is a whole field of arts and sciences ignored for lack of industry in seeking them out. And I do not mean the occasional attendance at the theater! Poetry, painting, sculpture! And the sciences. Why, I have seen all manner of collections of minerals, insects, fish, birds, and animals—including the remains of a dodo! That is not to mention such oddities as a woman’s breeches from Abyssinia, a purse made of toad skin, figures and stories carved on a plum stone, and a great many others.” He proceeded to enlighten them on the interesting phenomena he had witnessed at a museum in London, and on his advanced knowledge of agriculture and manufacturing.

When an opportunity arose for Marianne to interrupt him, she deemed it wisest to do so before her aunt exploded with indignation. “I think you will be pleased to know, Mr. Oldham, that the gentleman who has the lodgings across from yours, Mr. Geddes, is an inventor. Perhaps one day when you have the time, he will show you the ingenious turnspit he has constructed.”

“An inventor! I should consider myself honored to know such a man. My friend Mr. Midford will be green with envy. He is already beside himself that I have taken lodgings between the homes of an earl and a baronet, I have no need to tell you. Why, his lodgings are in The Stonebow and not the least distinctive.”

“Shall I have Beth show you to your rooms? You must wish to see to the dispersal of your belongings,” Marianne suggested hopefully.

“Why, yes, I suppose I should. My man is best when closely supervised, and I am not at all sure I shall keep him.” Marianne was guiding him to the door even as he spoke, but he could not be denied his last words. “Appearances count for a great deal in my profession, you know, and one can not afford a careless or indifferent servant. Not that I care a great deal what the world says of me, so long as I am acknowledged a sober, solid professional. Confidence, Miss Findlay. An attorney must inspire confidence in his clients.”

“I’m sure you do, Mr. Oldham.” His grave thanks for her approbation were declared as he exited, and she leaned against the door thankfully when she heard his tread on the stairs. “Aunt Effie . . ."

“For God’s sake, Marianne, whatever were you thinking of to take such a pompous long-tongue into the house? Did you ever hear such drivel? Why, when I was a girl, Mr. Addison did a marvelous satire on such ‘virtuosos.’ He detailed the will of Shadwell’s Sir Nicholas Gimcrack and we laughed over it for days. A box of butterflies, a female skeleton, and a dried cockatrice to his wife; his receipt for preserving dead caterpillars, and three crocodile eggs to his daughters. He cut his son out of the will for having spoken disrespectfully of his little sister, whom he kept by him in spirits of wine.” Miss Effington laughed reminiscently, but her face soon darkened. “We shall never rid ourselves of his company. I give you fair warning, he will be forever dropping in—just to tell us of the dragonfly which landed on his brief, or inviting us to lectures on petrified things.”

Marianne absently picked up her aunt’s spectacles and crossed the room to hand them to her. “He was the only one who would pay what I was asking, Aunt Effie. And now you can see why. I can just hear him telling his friend Mr. Midford, ‘You will find my lodgings in the house between that of the Earl of Latteridge and Sir Reginald Barrett, my dear fellow. Quite a convenient and exclusive location.’ No wonder he didn’t remark on the worn carpet and the bruised wainscoting, with such attractions right by. But you mustn’t think he will pester us, my dear, for he keeps regular office hours and I am determined to ward off any attempt at familiarity.”

Adjusting the spectacles firmly on her long nose, Miss Effington grunted. “It’s as plain as paper he’s interested in you, my girl, and I doubt he’s one to take a hint, so be on your guard.”

“Interested in me?” Marianne chuckled delightedly. “He may be interested in my house, Aunt Effie, but you may be sure he would find me sorely lacking in the more sober virtues a man of his position must look for in a wife.”

"Humph. He could just as easily decide that the house is more important in the long run.”

Chapter Two

After Sir Reginald’s visit in the morning, it had occurred to Marianne that her other neighbor’s property, too, might have been damaged, but she could not see from the gardens any broken windows or signs of disruption. Nonetheless, she had penned a note to Mr. Vernham, the earl’s secretary, whom she had met on several occasions, inquiring into the matter. Now, when she sorely needed to relax with a dish of tea, Roberts came to inform her that Mr. Vernham had called.

“Show him in, Roberts, if you will, and have Beth bring tea for us all, and some biscuits if Mrs. Crouch has any fresh.” She smiled gratefully. “And thank you for all your efforts, Roberts. I fear it has been a hectic morning.”

“Everything’s right and tight now, ma’am.” He permitted himself the ghost of a smile before exiting, to return almost immediately with the caller.

Mr. Vernham, dressed soberly in an olive green kerseymere coat and black knee breeches, approached to take Marianne’s hand. “I’m delighted to see you again, Miss Findlay. And you, Miss Effington. I trust you are well?”

This last, directed to the older woman, who was carelessly stuffing her spectacles in her work basket, brought a sharp retort. “I would be a great deal better if Mr. Geddes had not taken it into his head to destroy the kitchen. Have you come to claim damages on the earl’s behalf?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he murmured under her piercing gaze. “Rest assured we have suffered no ill from the explosion, save only that it woke his lordship much earlier than he had intended to rise.”

Marianne’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “A great pity, especially since his lordship had a late night, or so I would infer from the roisterous comings and goings until all hours.”

 “Just so. Harry Derwent is with us at present and we are expecting the earl’s mother and sister in a week or two. The mourning period for the late earl is over now, and we will probably be in residence for several months.”

A faint shadow passed over Marianne’s face, and she exchanged a glance with her aunt which Mr. Vernham could by no means interpret, but she merely smiled and said, “The house has been empty very nearly the entire time since we came here. I’m sure it will be pleasant to see it occupied. I pray you will convey our apologies to his lordship and his household for the disturbance.”

“Certainly. If I may be of any assistance . . ."

“You are very kind, Mr. Vernham, but I believe matters are in hand. We did have an irate visit from the baronet, which is perfectly understandable, as any number of his windows were blown out. Hardly an acceptable circumstance, when the house is but newly finished.”

“Yes, a shame. Sir Reginald is not known for his placidity of temper, and I hear he wished to buy your property for the lot.”

Marianne grimaced. “Perhaps I should have sold it to him, but we had begun making the improvements and he offered no more than for the Moore house, which was in a shocking state of decay. If he had agreed to compensate for the added investment . . . But of course he would not, since he only wished to tear it down. It’s a pity he didn’t have his man of business approach me when we first came, before I had done anything. Heaven knows I would as soon have had a house elsewhere.”

Again the mysterious exchange of glances occurred between aunt and niece, vastly piquing Mr. Vernham’s curiosity. "You've never met Lord Latteridge, have you?” he asked conversationally.

“No, he’s not been at his townhouse but for a day or two the whole year we’ve been here. At least I’ve seldom seen much activity there.”

“He’s spent most of the time since his father’s death at Ackton Towers setting things to rights. The old earl lived largely in Italy due to his health, and my lord was often there or in France. We’ve spent little time in England these last ten years.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Miss Findlay knew any of the other members of the Derwent family, but she seemed to sense his curiosity and, during the refreshments, pressed him for details of his travels, showing not the least interest in the earl, but only in his own impressions of the continent. When he took his leave, Marianne abstractedly retrieved her aunt’s spectacles from the work basket, a rare frown on her forehead. “We’re bound to see her.”

“Don’t let it fret you, my dear. She’s done her worst, and we’ve known, since before we came here, that it was well nigh inevitable. What’s a snub, after all? Consider the source!”

“You’re right, of course.” Marianne picked up her tambour frame, but her eyes were still troubled. “You don’t think Lady Susan and Freddy will come here, do you?”

“Why should they? They’re probably in Hampshire or in town. I can’t see any reason for them to traipse off to Yorkshire at this time of year. If the weather turns bad, the roads will be impassable, and Mrs. Whixley swears it is bound to be a blustery autumn.”

Marianne carefully set a stitch before replying. “I hope you’re right, Aunt Effie.”

* * * *

The Earl of Latteridge surveyed his younger brother with amused eyes as he grimaced over the contents of a glass set before him. “Drink it down, Harry. It tastes foul but it will clear your head. You cannot expect to down three bottles of claret, and as many pints of strong beer, and feel at your best in the morning.”

“You never seem any the worse for wear,” the young man grumbled. “How you can face a plate of eggs and sirloin for breakfast, I shall never comprehend.” With an unsteady hand he lifted the detestable brew and wrinkling his nose and screwing his eyes shut, he consumed it in two lengthy drafts. “Wretched stuff! Where the devil did you come across it?”

"Turkey. You’ll find it’s more efficacious than rhubarb. What now, William?” the earl asked lazily, as he glanced up at the breakfast room door where his secretary had entered wearing a rueful smile.

“Sir Reginald has called and declares he must see you immediately.”

“Does he?” The earl lifted a quizzical brow. “A matter of great urgency, no doubt. Perhaps he has lost one of his patches.”

“He has several on, but I suppose it is possible.”

Harry snorted. “Damned jackanapes. You should have seen the buckles on his shoes last night, Press. Gold rings with diamonds studded all over them. Harper watched all evening to see if any of them came loose.”

“I’m surprised Harper didn’t just pluck a few of them off,” the earl remarked dryly.

Harry flushed. “He ain’t that bad, Press.”

“You reassure me.” Languidly the earl rose from his seat, casting a regretful eye on the remains of his breakfast. “Since I’ve not called to welcome him to the neighborhood, I suppose I must sustain this interview. Where have you put him, William?”

“The gold drawing room, sir.”

In the drawing room there were any number of excellent paintings and pieces of sculpture to attract a visitor’s eyes, but Lord Latteridge found his guest studying his own reflection in a gilded glass. Not that he primped or rearranged any detail; Sir Reginald seemed entirely enthralled by the vision before his eyes. Instead of a greeting, he commented, “It rather magnifies, don’t it? I should get a few of those.”